Fire of Youth
Chapter 5
Infernus honestly wished that the friendly Private had stayed. He still felt like an imposter leader despite the assurance that no one hated him, and the young human had somehow helped dispel his lingering self-doubt by his mere presence alone. That man had helped just by slagging standing there and encouraging him to face the dead Prime's team which he, by a cruel twist of fate, now commanded in his place. He had encouraged him not to run despite every circuit in his body screaming at him to hide in shame.
Oh, how he wanted that man back here now. He really, really did. Having him here would make interacting with the others just that much less frightening and awkward. But he did realize he hadn't left out of malicious intent. It was growing quite dark out, and humans by nature were diurnal. Poor Private Daily (he'd seen the human's ID tags) was probably just tired after a long day's worth of training and other tiring, strenuous activities.
The Primeling chuckled weakly in his mind. Heh. That was something any member of the military, human or alien, could sympathize with. Military life was pretty slagging physically demanding compared to other, more mundane or laid-back career choices. He knew that himself. The Elite Guard training camp, while degrading to nothing more than a boot camp by the time he'd gotten into it, had still been very demanding. He'd let the young human get a decent night's sleep before bothering him. He could survive without him till the morning. It was the least he could do in repayment for his random act of kindness. He could probably find him in the barracks or elsewhere around the military compound in the morning if the urge grew powerful enough. All he had to do was follow that unique whiff of detergent and automotive fluids he had smelled that clung to his uniform.
Yeah, he'd sniff him out later. Right now he had to be there for the devastated but accepting squadron that had so very recently been taking orders from someone so much more experienced. He still felt inadequate. He had no previous practice in leading a team. He was new to this.
'Smokescreen, remember that I am still here should you ever have need of me.'
In spite of himself he winced slightly, curbing another flood of mingled grief and gratitude. Even in death the Prime was still willing and happy to help him, tutor him, and guide him. He was still willing to answer his many questions no matter the time of day, no matter how silly or inane they sounded. And he was grateful that Optimus was insisting on calling him by his old name rather than by his new Prime name. It helped somehow. His new name...it would just feel wrong if Optimus said it, and it seemed like he was aware of that.
He just wished he would be able to actively help him interact with his former squadron. He hadn't the faintest idea how to, much less command them in battle.
'They know you already. You already have interacted with them before now. In that regard nothing has changed. And no one is asking you to give orders quite yet. Ultra Magnus would be happy to step in as a temporary leader until such time as you feel you are ready to let him teach you. It is always best to ease into a role unfamiliar to you. For now simply help them through this difficult time. Be there for them.'
Infernus hesitated mentally at the words. His words were encouraging, but he still felt daunted by this seemingly straightforward task. What if he said something wrong? What if he broke down in front of them?
'You have no reason to be afraid of them, Smokescreen. You have no reason to hide from them. They understand that this is hard for you as well, perhaps even harder than they believe. None of them could ever hope to understand the burden you now carry, but none of them will ever show true animosity towards you. All of them view you as a link to me. They will all treat you the same way they treated me – with respect.'
An almost inaudible sigh escaped the Primeling's vocalizer. He knew Optimus was trying to be encouraging. He knew he was trying to get him to be less uptight about this whole task of offering condolence to the grieving team, but uneasiness still plagued his spark regardless of the dead Prime's soothing tone. He was still afraid he might botch it up horribly.
'Come on, kid. No sense hidin', you know. You know these 'Bots. Just talk to 'em. They won't bite.' said Amalgamous.
But still he found himself unable to speak. All he could do was stand there just inside the hangar's threshold, optics abruptly shifting between those of his squadron and the eyes of the humans, never able to maintain visual contact for more than maybe half a second at a time. He just...still felt like he didn't belong in such a position, or anywhere near these 'Bots. There was still a distinct sense of illegitimate usurpation writhing inside his spark, slowly wrapping around it like a constrictor serpent, crushing his confidence bit by bit.
Then, suddenly, it strangely felt as if a hand took hold of that slithering snake of self doubt and very gently attempted to loosen the grip it had over him, and he actually sensed it loosen. He felt, suddenly, a little more sure of himself. Who it was that had done it he had no idea, but he knew somehow that it hadn't been Optimus. It had been someone else. Who though?
'Self doubt is the great killer of leaders, Smokescreen. Allow it to take hold and it will consume you until there is no confidence left. We have confidence in you. Try having some in yourself.' A wise, learned voice said.
He recognized the voice. Alpha Trion's. Mentally he offered the intelligent old archivist a smile and nod. His timing was always something to be envied, and he still owed him another thanks for arguing in his defense before the reformatting. It was nice to know that he had three Primes looking out for him.
'Thanks. That helped.'
'Of course. Now, go on. Talk to them.'
He took a steadying intake of air and took one further step into the hangar. While the uncertainty was still there, it wasn't as strong as it had been a few moments before. Maybe he could do this.
"Um..." His voice quavered in spite of his best efforts.
Mentally he slapped himself in embarrassment. So much for a good start. He was making himself look like a half-witted fool already. Wonderful. Just peachy. Infernus valiantly fought the urge to slink away and hide again, preferably someplace where they wouldn't be able to locate him, all the while wishing Daily were there. He was honestly debating charging over and pleading for the man's presence on bended knees, uncaring if it made him seem a bit childish. That urge was just growing and growing with every passing second, snowballing further on noting all the optics and eyes focused on him.
Then he sensed a subtle wash of warmth and an encouraging pulse. This time he knew it was Optimus, and like Alpha Trion, the little spiritual nudge helped to steady his jangled, frayed, and skittish nerves. Oh, he would owe these mechs so many slagging favors by the time this over and done with. It actually hurt a little to know that the two held such high hopes for him when he personally felt such faith was unfounded and frankly idiotic.
Why would anyone sane put so much faith in someone so inexperienced and unready? No one answered, much to his annoyance. Was that question going to go forever unanswered? Or did they think he was astute enough to find the answer himself?
Bluestreak took a step towards him. Uncertainty now ruling his reflexes, Infernus took a step back to counter it, wariness beginning to swim into his optics. It wasn't that he didn't trust his youngest spark sibling, but he just didn't want to disappoint him. The young, talkative gunner had always held him in high regard when they'd been growing up – not as much as the studious, stern Prowl, but still pretty high, being the second oldest of the three. He recalled he had gone wild over his getting accepted into the Elite Guard. He had cheered when he'd been assigned to guard the master archivist in the Hall of Records, being much more ecstatic about it than he had been at first. Disappointing Blue...it might crush him.
So when the young gunner once more took another step towards him and reached out, he didn't jerk away, nor did he try to remove the hand placed on his arm. But he stubbornly refused to meet his optics.
"Smoke...W-What happened? W-Why do you look like that?"
It was surprising to see the gunner, who was normally a chatterbox to rival all chatterboxes, so at a loss for words. If it hadn't been for his emotional volatility and recent grief and nightmare, he probably would have laughed aloud at such an impossibility. But instead he finally lifted his gaze and met that of his youngest sibling, his blue optics dim and somber.
"Because the Matrix reformatted me. Optimus picked me to stand in his place. He...He didn't survive the destruction of Omega One. His injuries were too severe."
Bluestreak's innocent blue optics widened. Smokescreen saying that meant that the Prime truly was not going to be returning. He was gone, merged with Allspark, sleeping the rest of the war off. He hadn't wanted to believe it earlier, but now he had no choice but to believe it. No one had a choice but to face the facts, having the awful news said aloud as such.
Ratchet, endeavoring the quell his grieving, trembling spark, asked: "Do you know where – ?"
He didn't even get to finish his question before Smokescreen replied back quickly, his voice a mere mumble: "Yeah. I'll...head there in the morning so you can groundbridge there and...retrieve it. I'll need to phase you in. There's no entrance."
The medic stared in dawning comprehension. Smokescreen had rescued the dying Prime from the rubble of Omega One, against his orders for no one to come back for him due to the risk of possibly being followed, and hidden him in a place where the only means of entry were explosives or a Phase Shifter? That was...noble of him, not to mention clever. No doubt if he hadn't disobeyed him, Megatron or one of his cronies would have found him in the burning wreckage and dragged him to Darkmount, or quite possibly killed him on the spot as painfully as possible.
Whether he was aware of it or not, the youngling had ensured his friend had met his demise peacefully, hidden away from the violence. And for that he was eternally grateful. He deserved nothing less for such a selfless sacrifice of his own life.
"There's...also something else there, too. Needs to be brought back before the 'Cons realize the thing's missing form their vault. Knowing my luck, they probably already noticed it's not there. Hopefully it's deep enough underground they won't be able to get a lock on the signal. I made sure there weren't any tracking beacons on it, but I'm not gonna let them get their hands on it again. We need it. Optimus explicitly told me to get it from them."
At that every pair of optics locked onto him curiously. He had stolen something from the Decepticon's vault? What exactly had he taken from them? A weapon? An artifact? He seemed anxious to retrieve it, but why wait until morning then? Wouldn't it be better to go and get it now? Or...Realization hit them then. He was probably hesitant to return to the site where the Prime's body was, wanting a bit more time to come to terms with it.
"Smokescreen?"
The Primeling looked up at the old medic, met his optics for the first time. Confusion warred with anxiety in the youngling's optics. Gratitude flooded those of the healer, and those of others kept safe within the hangar's metal walls whose lives had been saved many times first by Optimus, and now recently by his successor. The darkness of despair had threatened to overtake them at Darkmount, and he had arrived and re-ignited the fires of hope that had been fading within them.
"Thank you. For...for doing what you did for him."
A faint ghost of a smile worked its way into existence on the Primeling's faceplates. "I just...did what I thought was right."
The hours of the night ticked by at a seeming snail's pace, but now the hangar was no longer forcibly silent. Voices spoke quietly to one another about supply levels, resources, the occurrences at Darkmount, and fond remembrances of some of the moments they had shared with their old leader. A rare laugh or chuckle would occasionally intersperse the murmurings and reminiscences as they recalled instances that now seemed funny in hindsight – their suspicions of him during the Nemesis Prime issue with Cylas and MECH, his and Arcee's odd conversations while they had been trapped in the Arctic, Fowler's loud mouth and seeming disrespect towards him, and many more.
Questions were gently pressed onto Smokescreen, leisurely and without force, such as what his new name was and what the reformatting experience had been like. Smokescreen (now apparently Infernus Prime) was surprisingly toned down about the experience, but also expectantly joking about it in a wry yet light-sparked manner. Yet despite that, his old sense of sparkling-like humor didn't seem to have quite returned. No one found it unusual. They knew he was still recovering and coming to terms with his new role, as they all were. Everyone assumed that as soon as the initial grief had passed and he started to settle into the role his humor would return. At least, they hoped it would.
When morning finally came the skies were grey and overcast, warm golden sunlight only occasionally peeking through the somber cloud cover. It was if the heavens themselves were mourning the loss of Optimus along with them. But those little rays of sunshine also seemed to reflect the shared feeling that he wasn't really gone, merely elsewhere. It was as if those little golden, warming rays were his way of saying not to grieve for him, but to stay strong and keep going.
Miko, despite the rush of fleeing the original base, had managed to nick her electric guitar and was perched on the second story catwalks that rimmed the hangar's interior. Fowler and June, with the help of a few friendly military officers during the course of the night, had set up a small lounge area for the kids to use, as well as the adults should they ever need it. Needless to say, the three kids had taken to it instantly.
The spunky, adventurous Asian teen was sitting on the back of the sofa, strumming the strings in a manner totally at odds with her normal style of playing – the notes were sweet, soft, and melodic, quite unlike her typical brand of shriek metal. Rafael and Jack puzzled as to what song she was playing. They quickly figured out that she was playing "He Lives In You" from the Lion King II, even if it was hard to recognize the marimba notes on her electric guitar. Idly they hummed the moving lyrics in their heads. Once she was done with that one the key signature shifted to a more rock and roll beat, and they easily recognized it as Nickleback's "If Today Was Your Last Day".
Those two songs were surprising to hear from Miko. Her taste in music seemed to have suddenly evolved. Or perhaps she was more music genre savvy than they had originally thought, or maybe the tragedy had made her veer towards more soulful, meaning songs for the time being. Whether or not she would revert back to her typical brand of shriek metal once the first grief had passed...
"Um, Prowl? Ultra Magnus? Bluestreak?" Infernus asked rather shyly.
All three looked at him: "Yes?"
"Uh...you guys got vehicle disguises yet?"
All three shook their heads in the negative.
"None of us really had the chance to get one we arrived. We pretty much got here and – boom! Instantly part of a last ditch attack to try and get the Decepticons running again. I mean, it's not like we had the chance to grab one on the go or anything. Commander Magnus landed the ship out in the middle of nowhere on a back road. That's where we found Arcee and her human friend. Nothing for kliks and kliks in any direction, just fields of plant life. No vehicles going by on the roads anywhere. Not even sure I could call that thing a road. It was all gravelly and –"
"Bluestreak." said Prowl.
The young gunner winced: "Sorry."
Oh, how Infernus had missed Bluestreak's babbling on about anything and everything he had seen or was thinking. It was enough to bring a faint, fond smile to his faceplates. Bluestreak could lighten any moment with his sparkling-like behavior.
"Well, you're gonna need disguises when going around outside this place. That was Optimus's rule, and kinda Fowler's rule, too. We need to stay under the radar, especially in populated areas like cities or towns. That's just the rule we have to abide by, so vehicle modes are kinda essential to getting around without getting the humans suspicious about us. You're each gonna need one."
Prowl nodded understandingly. "How would we acquire one? We cannot go out in public like this, according to you. How are we supposed to acquire a new alternative mode if we cannot be seen by the general populace of this planet?"
"I think Fowler might be able to help with that? Or maybe Raf or Jack or Miko. Any of them could help. Fowler's got government clearance, so he could probably put in a requisition order or whatever it's called once you find one that works. You guys do that and I'll...go with Ratchet to...you know."
"Alright."
All three newcomer mechs nodded before turning and walking out into the open, dry air of the Area 51 military base, heading towards one of the low buildings that acted as an office to government officials and high ranking military officers. That was where Fowler would be if their knowledge of human militaristic customs was accurate.
Infernus let out a barely audible sigh. He hadn't thought he'd be able to pull off giving an order, and thinking back on his words, they had honestly sounded more like a request than a direct order. It had sounded like the way Optimus would've given and order – politely, asking rather than demanding.
He felt a pulse of approval from the Matrix, and the former Prime rumbled proudly:
'Indeed. The essence of a good leader is to not hold or think himself above those under his command. A good leader must understand the quality of humility, and not only humility, but empathy as well. Those are things Megatron abandoned and forgot once his lust for power overtook him. Always remember that these few Autobots, and frankly all Autobots, are not merely soldiers, but friends whom you can always rely on. As they follow you, protect you, so must you listen to them and protect them in turn.'
'I will. Promise.'
A pulse of trust made him feel as though the Prime had laid a hand on his shoulder. He could almost imagine him smiling gently as he said: 'I know you will.'
He then turned to face Ratchet, and both mechs shared a grievous but knowing glance. Infernus had given his solemn oath that he would return for the dead Prime's body, and he had no intention of going back on his word. They couldn't just leave his body there in that cavern system. That wouldn't be right. He deserved a proper burial.
Unwilling to speak aloud, Infernus opened a private comm. link to the medic: [I'll fly ahead to the...the place. I'll comm. you once I get there.]
Ratchet merely nodded, pain and gratitude flickering in his optics. He was appreciative of the youngling's sense of inordinate respect, but also sympathetic to the pain and heavy responsibility he was laboring under. He knew, better than anyone present, how much of a struggle a Prime first went through. He had been there to help Orion adjust to the near-sacred role, and by Primus he would be there to help Smokescreen, too. At the very least he owed the loyal youngling that much.
Infernus cast one last look at the old medic before heading out into the open air, reverting to his draconian beast form. Silently he took flight and headed off into the distance, a stray ray of sun igniting his white armor and turning it fiery orange and yellow. Then that single ray of sunlight was swallowed by the grey clouds and the ignition of color dimmed to normal. Soon enough his form was lost to the distant horizon, white metal hide melding with somber grey cloud until the two became one and the same.
The Primeling kept his north-westerly heading, focusing on the smoldering remains of Darkmount, its previously intimidating black metal twisted and warped beyond recognition. His keen olfactory sensors picked up the tang of spilled Energon, telling that a small number of Vehicons had gone down with the fortress, or perhaps the smell was coming from the ones he had slain and that had not been obliterated in the military's assault of missiles.
He felt a pang of pity for them, these dead, nameless troopers lying torn and broken in the rubble. They had simply been obeying orders like any good soldier, and they had paid for it with their lives. But at least now the nameless mechs were beyond material pain and suffering. Right? Or were they doomed to wander to the living world as phantoms, unable to find their way home? Did they, loyal Decepticons, guilty of murder and other such horrific crimes, really deserve such a bleak fate of an afterlife he wondered? His answer came instantly, and it surprised him:
No. They didn't deserve such a fate, regardless of their acts in life. They deserved a chance at happiness, at peace.
'They made it, right? To the Allspark?'
'Onyx recieved them. They are safe and at peace. That is his domain, after all – Guardian of the Dead. He was the first to enter the Allspark, but physically rather than in spirit as all those after him would. It is his task to show the dead the way, to guide them to their rest after they have left their shells. However, his domain does not extend to fellow Primes. When a Prime perishes, they are brought to the Matrix by Primus himself.'
So did that mean when his spark extinguished...
'He will come for you, yes.' said Optimus softly. 'As he came for me.'
Infernus lapsed into mental silence, a tremor of reverence passing through his body as he banked sharply towards the low rise that betrayed where the hidden cavern system was to be found. Tucking his wings in, he dove down towards the ground, his landing this time around not nearly as rough. For a moment he stood there, gazing at the low rise as if in a trance. Then, with a faint sigh of what sounded like acceptance, he opened a comm. link back to Ratchet.
"Ratchet? I'm there. Lock onto my signal and 'bridge over."
[Understood, Inf-Smokescreen. One moment.]
Seconds later a groundbridge swirled open to permit the old medic, the portal closing afterwards to reduce Energon consumption. With their Energon stores from Omega One blow sky high during Megatron's attack, they had to be careful with what little they had left until they could acquire more of the precious fuel. No doubt Raf was the one left in charge of the controls.
The Primeling reverted out of his beast form swiftly, jerking his helm to the low rise behind him.
"In there." was all he said.
Ratchet nodded mutely, his expression spasming as a fresh wave of grief washed over his spark. He let Infernus lay a hand on his shoulder and lead him through the stony low rise into the hidden cavern that acted as a temporary tomb for the body of his old friend. What little light reached them from the skies was quickly replaced by the darkness of the underground. He let his optics adjust for a brief second, and when they did he emitted a muffled, choked sound from his vocalizer at what he saw.
Lying there, his body gunmetal grey and heavily battered, was Optimus. Seeing him in such a pitiable condition made his spark wrench painfully in his chest, but the pain faded somewhat on noticing the serene, content smile on his faceplates. The dead Prime looked...tranquil, even strangely happy. It seemed he had known he would not leave this cavern alive, and he had been at peace with that. He had accepted, willingly, his inevitable demise. He had been ready.
Once more he silently thanked the youngling for ensuring his friend had met his end without fear or pain, sequestered away from the endless violence he had grown so tired of. Such a peaceful death was no more than what he deserved. And knowing his friend, he had every reason to believe he was watching over them. Death would not hinder his protectiveness, and he knew, partially anyway, how the Matrix worked. Smokescreen was a walking link to the former Prime. He was, in effect, his optics and audials, his means of keeping watch over them from beyond.
Infernus shifted uneasily. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. This place, and the sight of the dead Prime, was making him uncomfortable. But they couldn't leave until they figured out where to bury him. Dragging his body around everywhere would seem hugely disrespectful, so it was best to make one trip of it.
"Yosemite." he heard Ratchet murmur.
"Huh?"
"Yosemite National Park. That was where he went whenever he had spare time. Something about the place just seemed to draw him. Putting him at the base of El Capitan, I think, would be fitting. That was one of – one of his favorite places."
Infernus nodded. It would be fitting, considering the Spanish name of the granite formation meant "The Chief" in English. Optimus had indeed been the chief of the Autobots, a figurehead for the entire Autobot cause, embodying what it meant to be an Autobot – mercy, compassion, empathy, humility, courage, and fortitude. And so now would he.
He shifted back into beast form, keeping his wings tucked against his sides. In this cramped space, their massive span would engulf the section of cavern he was in. He bowed his helm to Ratchet before approaching the lifeless grey shell, letting the medic help him get the Prime's body onto his back for transport, slightly extending his wings to keep it from sliding.
[Let's go.]
Ratchet put a hand on his semi-extended wing, and together they phased out of the cool, hidden cavern and back out into the dry, hot air of the open desert. As soon as they were a few paces away from the low rise, the medic opened a comm. link back to the hangar, requesting a groundbridge not to the new base, but one to Yosemite National Park, specifically one to the base of El Capitan. The boy answer back shortly that he would send one, and in moments the swirling green vortex yawned open in front of them.
With a look up at Ratchet, Infernus shifted his cargo slightly and trudged in, the medic following close behind him. Once over the event horizon, it snapped shut behind them. Above, the grey cloud cover began to give way to brilliant, golden sunlight and blue skies. A golden eagle cried out in the distance, the predatory avian's high-pitched keen washing over the desert landscape like a final, parting call before fading away into oblivion.
Ratchet and Infernus worked quickly, the Primeling using his dagger-like claws to tear into the stone and soil of the granite formation's base. It was no mausoleum as would've been befitting of a Prime on Cybertron, but Optimus had never been one for grandeur or spectacle. Optimus had viewed himself as merely a soldier, and so a soldier's grave seemed fitting.
They completed the burial in short order, but Infernus was not content with such an unmarked tomb. He wanted a means for appreciators to be able to find the tomb, but also not give away its location too obviously. An idea came to him then.
Using his fire to super-heat one of his talons, he carved a simple hieroglyphic symbol into a granite boulder nearby. It was an ancient symbol, one only very rarely used in the modern day and age – an artistic-looking spiral with three calligraphic dashes on the outer, upper arc. The definition of such a cyberglyph was simple:
Life Eternal.
