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[Chapter Two: Access Granted. Displaying Contents.]

. . . . .

The words still rang in his audioceptors.

"What do you mean he's not the only Prime?!" Optimus heard Bumblebee protest. The young bot couldn't comprehend it. There had always been only one Prime as long as he could remember, barring stories about the original Thirteen.

The fact that there had been Thirteen Primes at the beginning of known Cybertronian history gave credibility to Elita's claim, in Optimus' eyes. Some of the original Thirteen had vanished into the distance of history, their fates unstoried or unknown, and of the remaining Primes on Cybertron, a dynasty of successors had sprung up in their place. The fact that he could bear the Matrix of Leadership was a direct confirmation of his Primal ancestry, tracing back to the First – Prima himself.

"What I am saying is that there is more than one Primal lineage," Elita explained brusquely to the younger bot, casting a withering glare in his direction as she stepped away from Optimus. Her gun was still trained on Knock Out, who was staring at the weapon with his transformation plates raised, ready to shift to alt-mode and drive for his life. "It was only after Nova Prime's ascent to power that the Senate quietly began cloistering the other lines away from the public, and when they were suitably forgotten, they began programs to manipulate or eradicate them."

Ultra Magnus scowled deeply. Brought up and trained as a member of the Elite Guard, he had been told nothing but good about Nova Prime. The turning of the Senate and Zeta's ironfisted, oppressive rule had been enough to shake his faith in Cybertronian government, but to hear what was tantamount to blasphemy about the hero of the Age of Wrath and the initiator of the Golden Age was more than the soldier could bear. "That is outrageous!" he spat at Elita in an uncharacteristic passion. "Nova Prime was one of the greatest Primes in history!"

"Nova Prime was one of the greatest evils our planet has ever foisted on this universe!" Elita snapped sharply at the Captain of the Elite Guard. "Why do you think your Progenitor, Pious Maximus, suddenly began to denounce Functionism and the actions of Zeta, only to mysteriously vanish after speaking out! He knew, Magnus. He knew the truth!"

That was more that Ultra Magnus could bear. The memories of his illustrious father's disappearance had boiled his growing sense of offense into a thick slurry of blinding anger. He moved forcefully past a dumbfounded Bulkhead, Arcee and Wheeljack towards Elita, servos curling into massive fists.

Grimlock stepped in front of Elita-1.

"Magnus," the titan-class mech stated sharply, gaining the Guardsman's immediate attention. The two faced each other, optic to optic, the tension in the air so thick it would require a warp cannon to blast it apart.

"There are … things. Things you don't understand. Let-her-speak." The former gladiator struggled to force out the words, effort visible in his eyes, as he prepared to potentially face his commander in combat. He deemed it necessary to protect Elita from what he believed to be the inevitable consequences of her painful but truthful words.

Magnus' hands slowly unclenched, composure washing over his face in a visible wave, his power lines dimming down and his posture changing. "Very well, Grimlock. For your sake, I will."

The commander of the Dinobots – formerly the Lightning Strike Coalition – turned away from the blue and white Second in Command, his footfalls heavy against the metal ground, walking back towards the gateway to the city. "Come inside," he insisted, his speech patterns more slow and simplistic than Optimus remembered. "It not safe outside any more."

Confused looks were exchanged among Autobots and Vehicons at this bit of news, hushed questions fluttering among the small crowd like the rustling wings of a flock of nervous birds. Elita's ire seemed to cool and her posture relaxed, gun lowering from its steady aim at Knock Out, who staggered a step back with relief. "He's right. Much has happened since you left on the Ark, Optimus," the fembot said, her gaze turning to the Prime as her voice softened and a weary sorrow crept onto her features. "Even since the Wreckers left, we have been left to fight the remains of the Decepticon's other forces."

"Other forces?" Arcee asked, now curious enough to speak. She had been there during the last days of the what was assumed to be the final Decepticon siege in their attempt to destroy the last Ark; she had helped Optimus jettison the Allspark into the depths of space, far from Megatron's reach. She had run with the last few brave Autobot stragglers and Wreckers as they sought to get every last Cybertronian they could find offworld, leaving the planet alongside Cliffjumper in a collapsing space bridge from the depths of Shockwave's facilities in Tarn. Those dark days had hardened her. She'd seen much. She'd lost much...

… But to think that there had been those still fighting on the surface of this dead husk against something that caused even Grimlock to give pause and seek shelter? It churned her tanks. There shouldn't have been anyone left behind. They had been told – they had assumed – that Shockwave had been the only one left, marooned and isolated here for millennia. Elita's harsh demeanor towards Optimus now made sense. The fembot commander and those with her had been left behind.

Grimlock paused, back to the group, as he answered Arcee's question.

"The Swarm."

. . . . .

There had been a lot of catching up to do, and a lot of issues on the table, none of which Ultra Magnus or Optimus Prime had been expecting to deal with. They assumed upon landing that the bulk of their work would be carving out shelters and beginning to restore the functions of Iacon, bringing at least one polity back to life and function, to receive whatever Cybertronian survivors were left, scattered across the galaxy, as they returned home. They would have to create a new kind of society whole cloth, abandoning the choking grip of the Castes and Senate. Prime had looked forward to making this revitalized Cybertronian society a way of life, as he and his former mentor Megatron had dreamed. A part of him still grieved for Megatron and how his struggle to take power into his own hands had torn apart the decaying fabric of a decadent, crumbling civilization, plunging the world into millions of years of civil war. He had seen it coming during his days as an Archivist under Alpha Trion's guidance. He had dared to hope that Megatron's righteous anger would spur the Kaonian towards justice and nobility. He had been devastated when it had, instead, poisoned the mech he had once called brother and friend.

Elita and Grimlock had given the Vehicons free reign inside the city; most of them were civilian caste – miners, laborers, engineers, communications officers, medics and scouts. The fighters were considered (much to their dismay) to be too incompetent to pose any real threat, and indeed, were being treated as largely helpless and in need of protection. As former disposables, and members of the Last Generation, they were seen as too young, inexperienced and weak to deal with what Grimlock had called "The Swarm". With the large majority of them being mechs, their wounded pride was soon assuaged when they discovered that the new dwellers of Iacon were almost entirely femmes.

Happy reunions were soon forthcoming; there were friends and loved ones among the femmes for the Autobots. Leaking lubricant – tears – and fond embraces were the status quo for several cycles. Sad news of lost friends, partners and mates followed after, and much to the surprise of the often starved refugees from Earth, high grade in enough quantities for a feast were soon brought out.

The Vehicons, though initially reluctant and still feeling the sting of millions of years of being outcasts and untouchables, were invited into the celebration. It was not perfect; both sides had been enemies and a few scuffles had broken out here and there, but the over all mood was one of reconciliation for the downtrodden. The Autobots were still Autobots, and most of them, no matter how hard life had been, still had it within them to try to forgive the nameless mechs and femmes that had been herded at them like unquestioning cannon fodder by Decepticons of rank. Lastborns were often callow youths thrust into height of the war's great climax, the vast majority of them never living to see this day.

"So what do you think Elita-One meant when she said Optimus wasn't the only Prime?" Smokescreen asked, a sip of energon serving as the chaser to the question that had been hanging in the forefront of his mind.

"Well, we found out Alpha Trion is one. Maybe he's still alive," Arcee replied, knocking back her own drink.

Smokescreen smiled widely at the though, hopeful that his mentor might still be somewhere on the surface of the planet. "I really hope that's true," he said in a lower tone. "I never thought I'd miss the old bot as much as I do."

"There's a lot of bots we'll see again," Bumblebee cheerfully added, slapping his hand onto Smokescreen's shoulder. With his vocoder functioning again, the yellow mech's personality had blossomed back, lively and chipper as ever. "There were too many of us for the Decepticons to hunt down! Once the word get's out that Buckethead's kicked the bucket and the war's over, this planet will have old friends crawlin' out of the woodwork!"

The Autobots and Decepticons had gathered with the others in Iacon's Thermal Park, a wide area of smooth, easily traversed ground dotted with clusters of crystal and mechanical "flora", streams of naturally occurring energon flows, and thermal vents comparable to Terran campfires or bonfires. Energon supplies were piled on tables and benches and seats had been pulled around the vents as the sun began to sink lower in the horizon, and one of Cybetron's moons was rolling into view. They would be roughing it for awhile until some of the residential areas could be restored, but none of them cared. They were home, and they were together. It was all that mattered.

"Didn't Elita also say somethin' about a Primal Lineage, too?" Wheeljack questioned, leaning back against a bench, one arm over the back, the other holding a bottle of engex. "Not that I ever really payed attention to that kinda stuff. It's outside my pay grade."

"That does raise some questions," Arcee agreed. "I knew some of the things that the Senate had done before the war started were questionable at best and atrocities as the worst, but all we ever knew is that the Thirteen were long gone and that all we had left is the lineage of the Primes descended from Prima."

"Well, it does make sense that there would be more than one Primal lineage," Smokescreen added thoughtfully, glad that Alpha Trion had given him an education in those long hours performing guard duty in the Hall of Records. "All Cybertronian races match up with one of the Thirteen."

"Do you suppose there's other kinds of Primes?" Bulkhead asked, puzzling over the information being discussed around him.

"It's possible," Wheeljack said, taking a long drought from his bottle. "We've seen weirder things just going to Earth."

There was a collective pause as the group recalled that weirdness: Unicron. Terrorcon zombies. The Shadowzone. Humanity, their distant somewhat-kin.

"I need to visit Miko sometime soon. I don't want her to worry," Bulkhead murmured, looking down at the flickering multicolored jet of gasses burning from the vent nearby.

Arcee and Bumblebee lowered their heads as well. They already missed their human friends.

"Eh, I wouldn't worry too much about 'em just yet. They have Ratchet to drive crazy for awhile. Pretty soon he'll be beggin' us to come back and give him a break," Wheeljack grinned.

This stirred soft laughter among the team. Ratchet had grown fond of the humans he had initially looked down on, but even he had his limits of patience around the boisterous children, particularly Miko.

. . . . .

Knock Out sighed miserably, sandwiched on a bench inbetween Sludge and Snarl, both of whom dwarfed him considerably. He looked down at the cube of energon on his hands, paying attention to the benefit of being able to fuel as needed instead of on rations, trying to ignore the huge titan brutes that were no doubt going to ruin his finish by the end of this. The other Autobot team leaders were discussing his fate in front of him, and his one attempt to butt in and protest had been quickly shot down (almost literally) by the gun-happy pink and white harpy seated on a bench to his right. Across the flickering vent flames two other Autobot mutants – a flying creature too similar to Predaking for his liking, and a sullen-looking bruiser with a three-horned quadrupedal alt-mode – were glaring at him, more than likely with evil intent. The Aston Marton took another stiff drink from his cube, avoiding eye contact. He was going to drink himself stupid if this was going to be his last night alive.

Grimlock was seated next to Elita, and across from her were Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus. There were things to be discussed, and despite the war being officially over with Megatron's death and the surrender or desertion of his highest officers, military procedure was so much a part of Cybertronian existence that the Autobot commanders fell into it without a second thought.

"What becomes of Knock Out is outside of your jurisdiction, Elita-One," Ultra Magnus stated matter-of-factly. "He surrendered to Optimus Prime and renounced his Decepticon affiliation, thus making him a non-aligned Cybertronian once more. Furthermore he has entrusted himself to Prime's authority and care."

"He is still a criminal!" Elita protested irritably. "This – this preening fop was one of Megatron's soldiers since the days of the first bombings! Can you even begin to list the war crimes he's guilty of after all this time?"

"Oh, and I suppose after all this time your dainty servos are as pure as diamond dust?" Knock Out sarcastically interjected, emboldened by the drink in his hands.

"How dare you even begin to compare yourself to me!" Elita raged, shooting up out of her seat, pulling her weapon up with her. "You have no idea what we've had to struggle against thanks to your ilk!"

Knock Out followed suit, leaping to his feet, thrusting the hand holding his drink in Elita's direction, sloshing the contents inside, uncurling a finger to point at her. "Oh that's right sister, bring out that gun, you've been itching to use it on me since you first laid optics on me!"

He stopped to look at his drink once more, high-grade dribbled over his hand, wobbling slightly on his legs, before chugging the rest of the cube.

Elita's lip curled in disgust, noting the red mech's deteriorating sobriety. "Of course I have! Decepticons never keep their word – Optimus may give you the benefit of the doubt but in my optics you're just biding your time until you can take advantage of him!"

Knock Out kept his eyes staring straight ahead at the challenging fembot while swinging the arm holding his empty cube behind him. "More," he commanded of Sludge, who was right behind him.

Sludge looked over at Snarl, shrugged, and refilled the cube from a larger bottle on a table to the right.

The Aston Martin took another big swig, his processors swimming in overly potent engex. "Well someone's sure got her bolts in a twist," he accused, staggering a step forward towards Elita. "Y-you think I wanted things t' turn out th' way they did? D'you have any idea what slag I went through ev'ryday with those maniacs 'round?!" he asked, his speech slurring. "All I want'd t' do was race 'n the big M said when he got t' power I could race 'cause I could leave my caste, but OH NO, pretty soon 's just 'Knock Out get this' and 'Knock Out repair that' 'n 'Knock Out get rid of this live grenade' an' then-" He stopped, squinting hard at Elita as he quickly drank down the remaining contents of his cube.

"-an' then all MY work an' MY genius 's tossed aside so they can turn me inna Shockwave's ASSISTANT!" he threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"Ugh, you're overcharged," Elita sneered, drawing back from Knock Out as he swayed back and forth, trying to stand. She glared at Sludge. "And you've just been letting him drink as much as he wants?"

"Him say he thirsty. Sludge give drink," the Dinobot replied innocently.

"Yeah, I'm thirsty," Knock Out added, thrusting his arm back towards Sludge again, who refilled his empty cube. "Dun a condemned mech get – get a las' request? Y' got no mercy?" the medic complained pathetically.

Elita groaned and rubbed her faceplate.

"Thank you," the red mech said to Sludge, before swilling his third glass.

"He's kind of a light weight," Slug rumbled quietly to Swoop, an amused look on his face.

"I don't know too many speeders that aren't," Swoop grinned.

"Elita, we will not be able to move beyond the war unless we can restrain our desire for vengeance and make genuine efforts at reconciliation. Knock Out is a competent medic, and we will need his services, now that Ratchet has decided to remain on Earth," Optimus calmly stated.

"Y'SEE?!" Knock Out loudly interjected, pointing at Prime while looking at Elita. "See? He... he gets it. I need recon... recog... reconsilly-aashun!" The full statement from Prime's lips finally rattled their way down through the red mech's engex-addled mind, and his optics widened. "Y... you really mean it? You think I'm a competent medic?! Mr. Prime, you are th' best Prime, an' I have always admired your giant wheels. An' I mean that sincerely. But not like that."

Knock Out promptly fell forward onto the ground in front of Elita-One, living up to his name.

Narrowing her eyes, Elita brought her gun up, and pointed it at the inert medic's head. "I have had enough of this charade-"

"Elita."

Conversation stopped as if a bomb had suddenly exploded nearby, and all eyes turned towards Optimus Prime, particularly the pink and white fembot whose name had just been spoken with commanding authority of a displeased god.

Optimus Prime did not often use such tones. He preferred to lead with gentleness, dignity, reason and respect rather than brute force. His command style was the opposite of Megatron's; the Decepticon leader used his imposing presence and frightening power to force his will on others and bring them into line with fear. Prime had drawn his troops into willing obedience through earning their trust and respect. Some had thought this to be a sign of weakness unsuited for the power and prestige of the office of Prime. Others – including many Decepticons – had seen that Optimus Prime was just as capable of inspiring fearful obedience as Megatron.

The sound of her name, spoken like that, froze Elita-One in place just as surely as if Optimus had reached into her torso and gripped her spark. He had never spoken to her like that before. She didn't quite now how to react.

"So you finally grew some bearings when you got bigger," Grimlock said, finally commenting on Optimus' now larger and more powerful form. His approval of the situation was obvious. He had always worried that Optimus had been too soft, to unwilling to use the power he knew the Prime had inside him. "'Bout time."

Elita suddenly scowled, feeling openly chastised and perhaps unfairly singled out. "Shut up, Grimlock," she hissed between clenched dental plates, before roughly shoving past the Dinobot commander and marching away from the group.

"Pink bot not used to taking orders," Grimlock stated in an aside to the others, particularly Optimus, as he folded his arms across his massive chest. "She will have to learn."

"Ultra Magnus, please make sure that Knock Out is given a secure location to rest until he comes back online," Optimus Prime said, rising from his seat, his voice returning to its sober, gentle norm. "I'll be back shortly. I need to speak to Elita in private."

"Of course, Sir," Magnus responded, keeping his thoughts to himself, welcoming the chance to settle into some kind of official activity and set of orders.

"Don't take too long," Grimlock called out as Prime moved away from the group, hurrying after the Fembot commander. "It getting dark soon! It won't be safe after dark."

The Dinobot leader watched Elita and Optimus moving further away, and Ultra Magnus could have sworn he saw the faintest flicker of jealousy in Grimlock's eyes.

. . . . .

[Chapter Two: Complete.]

[End of Transmission.]