Part 3

The vaulted ceiling of the Midnight Express made for an excellent projector screen. After work that day Windblade stopped at the Port Solare Archives to collect the night's subjects. She carried boxes of data discs dating back to DD 50, a lot of them credited to a "Blaster of Iacon." She had searched for anything she could find that had Optimus Prime in it.

Midnight was fixing the energon goodies, while a young bot was working on the projector. That was Nautica, a first year student when Windblade and Midnight were graduating from school. She was interviewing Midnight for an oration on "Situational Monoformers" and hung around to watch what Windblade had brought.

Some of the videos were speeches, the typical "Freedom for all sentient beings" stuff. There were a number of unfamiliar place names brought up. One was in the wake of a battle at "Simanzi" Windblade couldn't find any more information on. At one point Nautica leaned forward and pointed at the Prime's chest.

"There! See that light? That's it!"

"The Matrix of Leadership," Midnight muttered. The power of the Primes."

"What do you think it is, really?" Nautica asked no one in particular, "I mean, it's clearly some sort of ancient battery or power cell, but what's the delivery system? I bet it's a focusing crystal, controlled by sheer mind-power! The old Primes could hoist it over their heads and shoot lasers! Pew Pew!"

"Don't be daft Nautica! That's a vessel of sacred power, not some fancy laser pistol! Besides, the laser sounds would be much deeper, less a "pew" and more a "SPOOM."

Windblade wasn't concentrating on their antics. A new video was on the screen, showing footage from the war.

It wasn't Cybertron. This was some alien world, a wide desert stained orange by triple sunsets. A line of Autobots trudged through the sands carrying their wounded; dust-caked, bled dry, and grimacing in the driving wind. At the side of the motley cavalcade was Optimus Prime, a hooded shroud across his shoulders. He was observing a small yellow bot on one of the cots while a white and red medic tended to his wounds.

Now Optimus Prime leapt into a fierce purple inferno wielding an axe (Nautica thought it looked like a giant mouth, but the video quality wasn't very good).

Now Optimus Prime, a bot Windblade recognized as his cohort Ironhide, and a burly green bot foisted up a flag bearing the Autobot Insignia over a burning cityscape.

Now Optimus Prime stood in front of a large orange spacecraft, the Ark that he and his crew would eventually go down with. "Our home is dying. To spare it any further harm we must leave Cybertron. Already war is being waged across the stars. With hope we will be able to return to this planet one day. Until then, I leave Iacon under the protection of Omega Supreme, our last line of defense."

It went on like this for some time, clip after clip.

Midnight sighed. "He seemed like a good bloke. Makes you think, if a spark like that could get snuffed in this war, what can we do against it?"

Windblade spoke for the first time in a while. "There hasn't been war on Caminus in centuries, and there hasn't been a war like... this since all the colonies were one on Cybertron. The Mistress is hoping that the Autobots camping here will keep it that way."

The last film she had was of a battle on Cybertron. There were thousands of troops running through the streets (this was dead in the center of the war) and Blaster's diminutive cameraman had to continuously dodge errant rifle fire. They were rushing to get to the second floor of a building above the chaos. On a bridge yet another story up two figures were locked in combat. One had a familiar orange battle axe, the other a grisly purple mace.

"Megatron. He's fighting Megatron!" Nautica called out. I've heard the soldiers say he was a gladiator, that he ripped out the sparks of two Primes with his bare hands."

"I wouldn't believe everything you've heard from the soldiers Nautica. I'm the one who serves them drinks."

And as the disc ran down Blaster's unit prepared to enter the fray themselves, switching from war photography to just plain war. The three bots in the bar decided that was enough for one night. But as they powered down for the evening, Windblade began to dream. And perhaps it was the energon, too high yield for the lateness of the hour. Perhaps it was far too many hours spent focusing on the wartime videos. Perhaps it was even the timbre of the Last Prime's world-worn voice echoing from the past within her shell. But her dreams were more vivid than anything she had ever experienced.

She floated in a sea of cool blue flames. She heard a voice, vast and rich and enveloping, but she couldn't make out what it said. Then suddenly she was falling, stars and moons flying past her at an impossible speed. A planet, or asteroid, thrumming with red light whizzed past, then an orb of mottled green, now a vast purple sphere rushing to meet her head on, only to shatter like crystal at her touch. Then finally she slowed at a planet nestled in an aura of sapphire. A star was hurtling towards the planet, a bright tail trailing behind it. Then the universe spun behind her eyes and everything went black.

She perceived many sets of eyes on her, huge eyes belonging to huge bodies. Titans! Walking cities from the ancient past. They stood in a circle around the Speaker and opened up their chests to her, revealing blinding white lights. The lights converged into one, and she was back at the comet, now much larger, much closer. She sensed something within the starburst as it screamed towards the ground, and reached for it. It was a person, spark visibly pulsing inside their frame. The whole of their body was coated in a rough, orelike cocoon. She touched the descending form, and the light dissipated all at once.

The two robots now silently descended towards a mountain of fire. The molten core caught them softly, silently, heatless as they impacted, and the sleeping bot now opened its eyes. As Windblade sank unfeeling into the fiery stew it crawled forth, shaking free from its shell. He turned to look at her as she was swallowed, and she knew the face.

Under the magma was a hallway, and here was Windblade's dream more imperceptible from reality than ever before. The hallway was lined with pods, each one containing a sleeping robot. And in front of her, slumbering once again, was the bot she had seen above. It could be no other. Optimus Prime. A light burned within the Prime's chest. He was alive! He was... alive. That's what the voice was telling her. She felt herself being pulled up and out of the world, over a landscape of tall buildings with Autobot flags. Then it was nothing but stars. A bolt of red lightning crashed across all of creation, and she was awake.

Windblade looked around. The bar was silent. Midnight and Nautica were still asleep. It was as if nothing had happened. As she lay back down, she thought she heard a voice whisper "go" across the wind.