Maelstrom Chapter 37
Pilgrimage 1 Part A
Author's note: This story is part of a LONG series called Maelstrom. It is strictly Gen. 1 - sorry, but that was all that was out when I started writing back in the late 1980's. It began as a fan-publication so the first chapters are in the form of a comic book! If you have not read the nine original Maelstrom Comics and the preceding text stories, I strongly suggest you do. This is a complex universe. They can be found at http// illmatar. deviantart. com (I have put double spaces between the URL here or FF . Net eats the link.) The comics and art which accompanies this series are there.
Most chapters of this series contain strong language and violence. Rated M for adult themes! Really! Transformers characters belong to Hasbro. Critiques adored! This scene contains strong language, violence, and sex. Rated M for adult themes!
Transformers characters belong to Hasbro. Story and OC characters are mine. Critiques adored!
Maelstrom Chapter 37
Pilgrimage 1
Part D
Continued from Part C
Earth:
The Protectobots stared at their doorway, then each other in shock and confusion. A visit from Magnus, who had been their direct superior was the most they'd expected, but to have him flanked by not one, but two Primes left them speechless.
Mostly.
Blades snorted and muttered unintelligibly.
Optimus strode in and sat at the table in their common room, Magnus stood behind him a few paces back towards the door, and Rodimus slid in behind them to lean against the console on the far side of the room opposite Optimus Prime.
Hotspot had the nervous certainty they had just been surrounded. It made him even more cautious and suddenly fearful for his team. What would happen if this didn't go well?
Springer's words rushed back to pounce on him and gnaw. "Defensor's gonna be history." The Protectobot leader wondered all at once if he should have taken those words literally.
Too bad he couldn't share his insights more directly with Blades who was too furious to read anything into the company they were abruptly keeping. All he saw was targets for his angst.
"You bastards have a lot of nerve just marching in here...after what you did to us!" He instinctively headed for Rodimus - the youngest, the smallest, and in his mind, the most lazy.
Magnus moved as if to stop Blades but Optimus shook his head.
"First Aid has work to do," Rodimus said quietly. "The rest of you are unfortunately collateral damage, but that doesn't change anything."
"Work to do?!" Blades screamed, punching Rodimus in the chest, "Don't tell me he's got work to do when you spend all of your time partying! I don't believe that slag you spewed on the news!" He punched at Rodimus again, but while the young Prime had taken the first hit without moving this time he grabbed Blades by the arm and flipped him effortlessly to the floor. All Blades knew was one minute he was standing on his feet, and the next he was on his back with Rodimus sitting nonchalantly on his chest.
Magnus moved again, optics wide. This time Optimus literally put a hand out to stop him.
Rodimus had one foot up under Blades' chin, and he sat there with his own chin on his knee, looking down at Blades for a long moment before speaking.
Finally he said casually, "You don't know what First Aid's been up to: don't think for a second you know what I've been up to. He's not on your team anymore. He's on mine." The smile he threw at Blades was anything but friendly. Rodimus smoothly got up, grabbed the stunned Protectobot by the arm, hauled him to his feet, and tossed him one handed into a chair so hard the chair creaked and bent under the impact. Rodimus went back to his former spot and stood there, unmoving and expressionless.
Magnus' shoulder struts sagged a little and Hotspot was struck that the stoic Autobot was the one showing the most emotion. Optimus hadn't twitched, but Magnus was clearly relieved. What was he afraid of?
They aren't just here to talk to us! Hotspot realized. They're here to decide about us! Unbidden that realization brought on an image he couldn't prove and had no basis for, but was certain of nonetheless. They were on trial and the three senior officers were the judge, the jury...and the executioner. Optimus, Magnus, Rodimus.
He looked to Optimus to contradict his instincts, as if the senior Prime should reprimand his second for being so...blunt, but Optimus said nothing. He met Hotspot's stare though, as if he read the Protectobot leader's thoughts.
Blades stubbornly held onto his bravado. "So are you jerks here to tell us about First Aid or what?"
"No," Optimus said. "We are not going to tell you about First Aid. Don't be stupid Blades. You should know we would never split and weaken one of our combiner teams without reason. This is a serious as it gets. First Aid is where he needs to be and you are not privy to any of it. Insubordination will not be tolerated."
"We are here to see what we can do for you," Ultra Magnus said, "but you must accept that we can't tell you anything."
Groove withered, ducking his head and wrapping his arms around himself like a chilled human. "Will he ever come home?"
Optimus' optics softened a little. "Maybe...if we win."
"And if you don't win?" Blades snapped.
"Then you will be too busy being dead to worry about it," Rodimus said, smiling that ugly smile again.
Blades finally caught up with Hotspot's fear. "What...what are the odds of that?"
"A lot higher than the odds First Aid will come back to you," Rodimus intoned. "Believe me, none of us wanted to hurt you guys, but it is over. He's the only one with his qualifications we can trust. If we can ever release him you will be the first to know. This discussion is over. Don't mention him again."
"Tell us what we can do to help you," Optimus said, his voice reflecting the finality in Rodi's words.
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Cybertron:
Ratchet was really, really bored. First Aid had been gone for days and it seemed everyone had forgotten about him. Alone in the dark, with nothing to occupy him, he realized there had never been a time in his life where he had nothing to do, even if it was only tidying up Med-Lab, or (shudder) Wheeljack's lab.
Knowing that he was merely a copy and that the "real" Ratchet was back in his home dimension hanging out with Wheeljack didn't help. Surely they were up to their necks in research on the Matrix crystals, frustrated, fascinated, and loving every damned minute of it. He wondered if that Ratchet would ever suspect he accidentally duplicated his own mind and left it to rot inside this damned hunk of rock.
The term "stir crazy" never made any sense to Ratchet before, but he felt going nuts was inevitable unless things changed...soon.
He'd given up pacing and stomping his feet. Useless. He couldn't even make a satisfying noise on the table with light-based limbs.
Angry, bored, and feeling abandoned he glared around him, longing for a blaster to destroy something with. The crystal projecting him pulsed and glowed with his anger and suddenly one of First Aid's medical tools flew across the room, landing with a clatter in the direction he'd been staring.
Ratchet blinked, cocked his head to one side, and then slowly a huge grin crossed his holographic face.
It seemed he had something to study after all.
A few hours later, Perceptor let out a startled gasp of surprise when the monitors in his lab suddenly all lit up on their own.
Ratchet's face stared at him from every screen.
"HAH! I did it!" Ratchet cried in triumph.
Perceptor just stared.
"Wha...?" he managed. Concentration was beyond him today. He had resolved to organize his lab, but grief seemed to overrun his ability to focus on even the simplest decisions. Really, he had only succeeded in rearranging the mess, not reducing it.
"Perceptor? Look! If I concentrate I can access the computer network! I can even move objects!"
Perceptor just stared at him.
Ratchet cocked his head again. Not the response he was expecting at all.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked.
Perceptor fell to his knees and cried incoherently.
"Oh...looks like you need a project even more than I do," Ratchet said.
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Cyclonus crept slowly down into the tunnels beneath Iacon. Only rarely did he have to struggle to hide as some reconstruction worker or another went by. He didn't know where he was going or exactly what he was looking for, and debated going back up to the surface or snatching one of the workers to question them.
Evidence of the recent riots was not as prevalent as he expected. From the broadcasts they'd seen on Char, it seemed that the riots had been widespread and chaotic. He expected damage everywhere. Instead he found isolated pockets of workers efficiently erasing the clues he was hoping for,
Cyclonus scowled furiously. Paradronians. Pacifistic scum. How he scorned them! Yet, in his honest way, he had to concede that their return to Cybertron was what really had tipped the war for the Autobots. Up till then, it had been a more even fight, although the Earth alliance was growing more effective for the Autobots as time passed. In the end though, it was the stinking Paradronians that made things look so bleak to Cyclonus, even though few had actually enlisted.
There they were, scrubbing and fixing, leaving the Autobot army free to concentrate on winning the war.
You would not see Optimus Prime cleaning gun batteries or changing light fixtures as Cyclonus had to do. When things broke down on Char, the warriors had to become maintenance droids.
It was demeaning. He sighed and put his mind back on his mission.
Central obviously was one site in need of repair. There was a lot of work going on around the building. He saw workers repairing a gaping hole on one side, and clearing away signs and debris in the surrounding area. No surprise there, but those were due to the second riots - the breeding riots. Cyclonus almost understood why the announcement of inter-Transformer reproduction would upset people who worshiped Vector Sigma. Almost...but the news frenzy to cover the breeding riots and the controversy the Primes were setting off had pushed the prior unrest off the airwaves. Cyclonus wanted to know what set the first commotions off.
No one seemed to be looking for answers about those disturbances anymore. Whether Optimus Prime's remarks on humans were "demeaning" or whether Rodimus Prime had a mate seemed to be much more interesting to the human and Cybertronian news networks.
Idiots.
Cyclonus was not so easily distracted.
He was looking for answers and finally decided where he wanted to start.
There was the yawning fissure in the surface nearby. Reports on the first riots had blamed Omega Supreme, but no real explanation had been given as to why the former guardian would do that. "Mass hysteria," had been blamed for a lot of what went on.
Sure. Omega Supreme just got caught up in the emotion of it all.
Seeing as how that Autobot made Soundwave look warm and fuzzy Cyclonus was a wee bit skeptical of that.
Really, was he the only being wondering about all of this?
Creeping through the tunnels, he finally came upon the gap.
Deep.
Omega sure did know how to make an impression, but from the looks of things he had hit this area more than once.
Checking around, Cyclonus saw most of the work was being done beneath him since his chosen tunnel emptied out about three quarters of the way from the bottom. That made sense. The Autobots would need to rebuild their way from the foundations up. Glancing up, he could see the faint glimmer of a force field covering the gap above him. That made sense too, given how ninety-five percent of Cybertron's current residents couldn't fly, and most of those that could needed a vehicle mode to do so.
Poor things, he thought, mouth twitching.
He kept an optic out for workers beneath him and silently glided out into the pit. He rose and fell somewhat erratically, sometimes clinging to the sides amongst the wreckage to hide from passing Paradronians below.
Nothing seemed out of place. The tunnels he inspected were partially inhabited. Signs declaring some residences unsafe ran along each tunnel for a distance starting at the pit. At varying points for each level, he could see barricades further down, no doubt marking the point Paradronian engineers felt the tunnels were safe to walk in. Each tunnel had a uniform space between it and those above and beneath it.
He sighed. Efficient Cybertronian design - no wasted space. Really... he hated Char.
Just as he was beginning to think he was wasting his time he arrived at the upper reaches of the chasm. He was nervous that someone might see him so close to the surface and was about to turn around when he noticed a break in the pattern of tunnels.
Between two of the top-most tunnels there was a gap on either side of the pit...just the right height for another tunnel.
He frowned.
There was nothing there but more wreckage, but why the gap?
He floated there, puzzling about a possible structural need for extra strength here when a squad of Paradronian workers crossed the pit underneath him. Cyclonus swiftly swooped over to cling to the side...and went right through the wall.
He gasped in surprise and crashed to the floor...right next to a hologram projector. Staring around him he saw a long, door-less corridor leading straight down into the heart of Cybertron.
"Now I'm onto something!" he grinned.
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Spike sighed and tried not to feel too disgusted as Paradronian workers installed a door that was clearly even more blast-proof than the last. He wondered what Carly would say about it if she ever came home since it was quite simply the ugliest thing he had ever seen. Clearly Rodimus had decided to drop the subtleties where the Witwicky home on Cybertron was concerned. That door meant business the way Magnus meant business, looked almost as heavy, and was sure to scare off solicitors on attitude alone.
That gave him pause...what about his homes on Earth? There was the property in Washington which he had been planning to give to Daniel when he got married, the winter house in Florida, and the outrageously expensive yet tiny little apartment he had to keep in New York to be near the UN building.
Spike would bet his liver Rodimus had made improvements in all three.
Sneaky bastard.
Carly would flip....
Of course Carly was already as flipped as you could get wasn't she?
He had told himself, on the way to see her, not to get his hopes up, just as he did every time he went to visit. As before, he ignored himself and got his hopes up anyway.
Since she was hospitalized he had never once failed to go see her every day until this week. Had she noticed? Had it hurt? Had it somehow helped?
Walking into her room and seeing her, hands bound, sitting up senselessly in bed and tied into position, he realized he might as well have been gone five minutes. Nothing had changed.
Not her lank grey/blonde hair going white at the roots.
Not her slightly slack lips that had lost their color and blended into her face.
Not the slight rocking he sometimes thought he imagined.
Not her pale blue eyes which stared...somewhere. Not at him, no matter where he sat or how he turned her head.
Tears welled up in Spike's eyes and he angrily turned away from the stupid workers hanging a stupid door on a stupid place that hadn't protected anyone who lived there. What difference did the door make when the demons were already inside? He stormed into his office and slammed that door with all his might, taking somewhat hysterical note of the fact that it swung easily but made a much deeper thud than it should.
Too little, too late Rodi! he screamed inside his head.
Some logical whispers in his mind told him he was unfairly putting all of this on a person who was part of a large council now, and of course that neither of his loved ones had been at home when they were hurt. The doors merely represented failed protection to Spike; the last (now deceased) front door had actually held up until he was rescued.
Shellshock would take him to task again for his attitude.
The former Autobot was right. Ignorance was no excuse.
Spike growled like a wolf, deep in his chest.
Lancer was right. Shellshock was right.
His head got it.
His heart was a bit slow on the uptake.
And who's fault was it that he'd been ignorant? Shellshock would say it was his own fault, and Spike accepted that, but Rodimus could also have chosen to enlighten him.
He hadn't.
When he came back as a human, Rodimus had come to the Witwickies first. He had slept in THIS house. Spike suspected Carly was secretly thrilled to be cooking dinner for her "other son", and had cried in relief that night that Rodi was alive. Spike had too, and they'd both agreed Rodi's funeral had been harder for them than Optimus'.
Losing Optimus had felt like the death of a parent to Spike - as painful in its own way as his mother's death, even more than Sparkplug's death. His father's stroke had followed a steady deterioration and Spike had known what was coming, but his mother had been hit by a drunk driver. Optimus got hit by Megatron. True they all knew any Autobot might die at any point, but it still had been a sudden thunderbolt of grief.
Rodi's loss was worse. The death of youth. The death of his son's friend. The death of his son...Spike admitted it to himself grudgingly that he still somehow regarded Rodi as his son, or at least a much younger brother. Rodi's return, even as a human... maybe especially as a human had seemed such a miracle to them. Too bad a similar miracle was unlikely to happen for Danny.
They had trusted that the tall, nervous human man was Rodimus. They had trusted him enough to let him sleep on their couch, and enough to let Lancer, a complete stranger, have the guest room.
Rodimus hadn't trusted them with a damned thing.
Not his torture. Not his relationship with Lancer. Not his war on the slavers.
Nothing.
Rodi didn't let Spike in. He didn't let him help. He didn't turn to any of them for so much as a shoulder to cry on when obviously that might have been useful.
Spike remembered the lamp Rodimus had demolished in his sleep. Lancer smacked his face to bring him around and then made up some half-assed lie about Rodi dreaming about fighting Cons. Half-assed...but they had bought it all.
Was this it then? Was this why he felt so betrayed? Not because Rodimus had killed Daniel but because Spike was hurt to find Rodimus didn't see fit to include him?
Did he feel discarded? Disrespected? Obsolete?
Was that why Rodi had shut them out?
Spike looked around his office...at the reinforced door so carefully disguised as the warm hardwood Carly had picked out to make this place feel like Earth. Even the patterns on the wood grain were the same. Spike fell into his leather chair, threw his head down on the desk, and sobbed himself sick. Too little...too late...but you did try to protect us...didn't you Rodi?
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Char:
Viper sat still as a snake, meditating in her quarters, trying to patch her mind together to no avail. Her time on Char was a disjointed mess, but her time with the Autobots was gone. She could remember nothing of her activation, her serpent sisters, her time with Rodimus, the theft of whatever she'd taken, or her desertion. All she had was searing hate, but at least she knew not to be curious about going back to see if the posh life on Cybertron was an option.
She liked Char with its heat, its ruins, and its desolation.
She came to a decision. Her past would come back to her or not. It didn't matter. The future mattered.
Rodimus had set back her ascension into Galvatron's good graces, but he would not thwart her. No...she would let her hatred hone her skills and instincts. She almost felt sorry for her fellow Decepticons. They wouldn't know what they were dealing with until it was too late.
Activating her optics she noted that Adder lifted her head just slightly as her own head came up.
*CRUNCH*
The many-legged vermin popped. Fluid splattered.
Viper smiled at her sister.
It was already too late.
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Cybertron:
Jazz flipped listlessly through one set of cameras after another. It was stupid really, but he knew his bosses were both worried no one was watching Char. He was still technically on bereavement leave, but he needed something to do. Maybe making up for KC's death wasn't the healthiest thing to occupy him, but somehow he felt she would have wanted it.
All seemed usual.
Motormaster was walking down the halls knocking smaller Cons down, with Deadend and Wildrider playing bored backup. The Predicons were "playing" on the training grounds, Soundwave's cassettes were arguing, yelling at each other, and to all appearances having a lovely time.
Jazz admired Soundwave's ability to tune them out...for a guy with audios like that you'd think the ruckus would get to him.
Galvatron sat on his throne and talked to himself, sometimes staring at those around him until they flinched away, sometimes apparently oblivious to them all and wrapped up in his own, diseased mind.
Jazz shook his head, thinking a bit scornfully that he would never hang around such a crazy leader...especially one with such deadly tendencies. Why would you ever spend time with a guy who could kill you like nothing and had the mental problems to do it? Wait a minute....
Jazz sat up straight, shook himself, and decided some things were better left unanalyzed. At least, unlike Galvatron, HIS crazy leader had more than one person who could handle him.
It was only then Jazz thought to look for Cyclonus.
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Cyclonus opted for thorough. He was close to the surface, but the side of the tunnel he was in was clearly headed down. He checked the depth of the pit for workers and slipped out past the hologram to the opposite side. Inspecting the area with all sorts of scanners left him with grudging respect - the illusion held up to everything but touch. Pushing it with his hand he still half-believed in it until he was up to his elbow in what looked like solid wall.
In he flew, determined to make a complete investigation of this strange place. He could see the far end of this side from where he floated. There was nothing structural to see - no doors, no off-shoots, but there were some signs off recent use.
Large tire marks were the most obvious. He floated up to the surface entrance and recognized four sets of acceleration burns on the floor. One set was from huge tires, the other was much smaller. So...at least one Autobot with a very large vehicle mode, like a truck, and the other more like a car. Two other sets overlaid these - both large, one as large as the first. Further down, there were only three sets of marks on the floor - this time from braking. They had been in a real hurry from the length of the skids...why the sudden stop? He looked all around for other clues and got one that made him stare. A long scrape...metal on metal...on the ceiling.
On the ceiling?
He floated up and found grey paint with a fleck or two of orange.
Orange could have meant several Autobots, Cyclonus reminded himself, but all of the suspects he considered morphed themselves right into Rodimus Prime.
Try as he might to figure out what set of circumstances would have resulted in tire skids on the floor and Rodimus skids on the ceiling, Cyclonus was at a loss. After searching vainly for more hints, he returned cautiously to the other side of the pit and followed the long, featureless tunnel down into the depths.
Continued in Part E