I called Annabelle into my office in the morning on the first Sunday in November. Will's interview with the Secretary of the Army had resulted in a glowing report to the Senate. Assuming Mearing's machinations in Congress would be as effective as in the White House, Will would likely be promoted in January when the Senate reconvened. I could tell the reality of it all was hitting him when he sent me another email overnight asking me to pull any strings I could.
Even though we were both civilians, Annabelle stood at attention, and I half-smiled. "At ease." After she shifted her stance, I gestured toward the other chair in my office. "No, really. Relax, Annabelle."
Her head jerked in a nod and she sat as stiffly in the chair as she'd been standing before. This was not normal behavior for her. "I feel like you want to talk about something else first?"
"Pardon, Prime?"
"You're channeling your father – and you live here. I'd like to think I've at least earned adopted-cousin status or something. Knock off the military-brat routine and talk to me like I'm your friend."
She let out a slow breath and hung her head. "I understand if you want to…to rescind the offer. I'm not cut out for Team Prime."
"What are you talking about?" I demanded.
She lifted her head, and her eyes were fierce. "I'm glitched. I cracked. Diego Garcia was under attack and…and I had a flashback and I was a blubbering mess for the next two hours."
I sighed, suddenly understanding where she was headed with this. The poor girl had been traumatized several years ago when she and her mom had been captured by Shockwave and several other Decepticons. Healing her body had required the Autobots sharing their cloning tech, but her mind still bore the scars.
She started to tear up, and I offered her a box of tissues. She yanked a couple out and gathered her composure. "I was worse than useless, and that's just the way it'll probably be for me, maybe for the rest of my life. Tracks didn't say anything to me about it, but he's been irritable around me ever since. You – all the Autobots – are relying on me to…to help lead the human Autobots of the future and I'm not strong enough."
"Annabelle…"
"I'm not!"
"Firebrand," I sharply said, and she stiffened to attention in her chair again. "That's not why I asked you to come in here."
She blinked four or five times in surprise. "It's not?"
"No." I hadn't known about her breakdown, so Tracks and I were going to need to have a discrete conversation after this, but… "I asked you in here because you're the only one I trust to help me fix this problem."
"But I'm not…"
I held up my hand to quiet her. "I have warriors. I have strategists. I didn't ask you to be on my team to be either one."
"You need someone trained in international relations," she remembered.
"So I don't care if you can't fight your way out of a wet paper bag. I need someone with a big heart, a sharp mind, and a quick tongue. That's you."
She swallowed hard and then nodded.
"So, Firebrand, I need your help. I tried to pull strings for your dad, but this promotion comes directly from the White House. Whether Will likes it or not, he's being promoted and reassigned to the Pentagon."
"What?!"
"They didn't tell you?"
"Not about the reassignment part. I thought he'd be promoted and stay on Diego Garcia."
"Nope. He's being removed from NEST's day-to-day operations. That's why he's so against the promotion. The President's National Security Advisor made sure of it."
"Mearing?" Annabelle muttered, surprising me. "She really is seriously arrogant." Then her face lit up. "So Mom and Dad are coming here?!"
"Yes, but your dad has been quietly trying to fight it for months."
Her expression fell slightly. "Mom hates living in big cities."
"Do you think that's why your dad is so against it still?"
"Well…Diego Garcia is all I ever really knew growing up. Maybe it's grown on him? It would be hard for him to leave Ironhide behind, that's for sure."
"That gives me a couple of ideas to work with. I'll see if Ironhide can stay assigned to your dad, and as for your mom…there are some more-rural places to the south and west of here. Because your dad's promotion will literally require ratification by the Senate and place him in the public eye, Prowl suggested it would be safest if your mom and dad lived in a house that didn't have their names attached to it. Maybe one of the Autobots' corporations could buy a rural property they would like and they could live there?"
"And you want me to help pick it out?"
I grinned. "It's a nice day for a drive, and I overheard Hound and Trailbreaker talking yesterday about getting out of the city for a while."
"Thank you, Prime!" All but squealing with joy, she ran out the door.
…
I found Tracks in the Command Center. Bumblebee was on duty with him, but I figured he should hear what Tracks had to say for himself.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded.
"About Firebrand's glitch?" Tracks asked with a shrug of his shoulder-launchers. "She asked me not to. She was terrified you'd demote her."
"What?" Bumblebee asked.
"When DG was attacked, it triggered a flashback for her," I explained to 'Bee.
"And you didn't report it?" Bumblebee asked Tracks, backing me up.
"Like I said, she asked me not to. How squishy of her to change her mind and tell you."
Bumblebee whacked him up the side of the helm. "It's a medical condition for her, and you're her guardian. If your ward is in need of medical care you have an obligation to make sure she gets treatment!"
"But she asked me not to!" he repeated. "And she's a legal adult, as she's annoyingly fond of reminding me."
"I want to know any time she's struggling with her trauma, even if she wants you to keep it a secret," I said, just so we were crystal clear on this one. "She's a legal adult, but I'm the one who has to face Will Lennox – or worse, Spitfire – if anything happens to her."
He paused, no doubt envisioning having his own bumper handed to him beginning with Sarah Lennox, followed by Will, then Ironhide, then Chromia and/or Arcee and possibly ending with Optimus Prime.
"Understood, Samuel. I will keep you better apprised."
…
The only way I could work a regular meditation practice into my schedule was for me to give up Sunday brunch. Mikaela was less than thrilled that my new project was eating into family time until I pointed out that the alternative was dying for Optimus again. After that, she was willing to yield on brunch – but only for a couple of months.
After Annabelle took off to go house-hunting and my family left for brunch, I called Optimus and routed the audio through the surround sound in the living room. Thanks to the bond, it was almost as good as having him there in person. Optimus had me listen to various background stuff – ocean waves, drumming, Tibetan singing bowls – to figure out what was most soothing. I voted for the waves, since it reminded me of good times back in the day in California. Then he reviewed a proposed script for me. It had a lot of nice touches, like encouraging me to get 5% more comfortable and to make any background noises around me part of the meditation.
The best part was that it was my bond-brother guiding me through the meditation. He poured that endless peace into the bond as he read the words in a calm, soothing tone. Even just in that first week, I was able to get into a light meditation, according to Ratchet (who had been spying on me via my fitness watch).
Optimus made a recording that I practiced with off and on during the week but without the advantage of my brother's peace saturating our bond. Then we tried again in earnest on Sunday. That second week, Ratchet declared that I made it into a typical meditation brain pattern. (I credit that one to Optimus' hypnotic voice as he read the script instead of any innate ability on my part.)
One part of the meditation had me imagine opening my eyes, rising to my feet, and looking around. Then there was silence for a bit built into the script. On that second Sunday, I mentally stood up and saw our living room, empty of everyone but Optimus, who was my height and relaxing on the couch.
"We're in my mind, then," I observed.
"Yes," he answered, still using his warm, slow script-voice. "Know that your body is safe. It is resting comfortably and will be waiting for your return. You are free to explore your surroundings."
I looked around, trying to see if anything else was different. It all appeared to be exactly how I remembered, but since this was my mind, it would have been weird if it hadn't been. Eventually I gave up and resurfaced in the waking world.
The third Sunday, I explored my imagined living room a bit more thoroughly. Everything looked the same still, but I could hear a rhythmic, rasping sort of sound coming from the direction of Beatrice's bedroom. Curious, I drifted over that way. As I did, the sound got louder; I was definitely getting closer.
When I pushed her door open, it was neat and tidy inside. That gave me pause since, in the real world, her room was anything but. Did that mean we weren't in my mind anymore? I proceeded with a little more caution.
'Trice wasn't in her room, but the rasping got even louder. I stepped across the threshold, tilting my head as I tried to figure out what the sound was and where it was coming from.
There! The closet door was ajar, and the sound was coming from inside. I crossed to Beatrice's closet and slowly opened it.
Elita One was sitting cross-legged on the floor, making that rasping sound. She was sharpening a blade.
I watched her in confusion for a moment before asking, "Why are you here?"
Rising to her pedes, she extended the sharpened blade to me, handle first. "I trust him. Optimus trusts him. Will you not also trust him?"
I looked warily at the knife but grasped the handle.
Taste of rust. Smell of carrion. Crumbling, oozing decay.
I dropped the blade in horrified surprise and startled out of my meditation.
…
In our bond dream that night, I met Optimus in my living room. My experiences during my meditation were on both our minds.
"You saw her?" he eagerly asked. "You spoke with her?"
I nodded, happy for him but still unsettled myself. "Wanna see?"
"Yes."
I relived the memory for him, crossing the living room to Beatrice's bedroom and then opening her closet door. Again Elita was there sharpening the blade, but when she stood, she turned her focus to my brother beside me.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Neither of us were imagining this new sequence of events – Elita was taking charge of this bond vision. I could feel it. The only other time anything like this had happened was with Alpha Prime when Optimus had tried to show me that memory that involved Primus. We were now living something new – real time – instead of reviewing a memory.
When she extended her hands, she still held the knife, but it was crossways in her palm, and she also held the whetstone. She wordlessly offered the stone to Optimus, but he was a storm of emotion. Hope, longing, grief, and then briefly, a stunning sense of wholeness. He held out his palm, and she placed the stone in it.
Then she focused her attention back on me. Turning the blade so the handle was pointed toward me, she repeated, "I trust him. Optimus trusts him. Will you not also trust him?"
But I remembered the disgusting sensations from before and didn't accept the knife. Instead, I asked, "Who?" When she didn't answer, I demanded, "Jazz?" That's who she'd been talking about the first time she'd said that line about trust almost twenty years ago now.
She smiled slightly and looked down at the blade again. "The one you seek."
I looked down at the knife, too, but when I looked up, she was gone and Optimus and I were back in the living room.
"What in the Pit just happened?" I demanded.
But Optimus was looking at his palm, which still held the whetstone. A part of me softened as I realized that his had been a very different experience. "Optimus?" I tentatively asked. "What happened to you back there?"
He studied the whetstone. "That was no vision or dream. She was truly there. I felt her over our severed bond. Heard her in my spark."
Astounded, I asked, "What did she say?"
He closed his fist around the stone and looked up at me. "That this was your quest, not mine. Going forward, I am forbidden to walk with you, though you can tell me about your experiences."
I blinked as I processed that. "So, I guess that means we're on the right track?"
"Yes."
"I wonder why you're forbidden to see the visions."
"She only said that it would jeopardize my ability to draw energon from the Matrix of Leadership. There's a reason you and I have distinct roles, and this one is not mine."
I sighed as I remembered again what she had said. "Was she implying that I don't trust Primus?"
His amusement rolled over our bond. "Are you implying you do?"
He had a point. More often than not, I had found myself pretty frustrated with the Cybertronians' creator. "I guess that's our next step, then. I need to figure out how to trust him. No biggie."
That last part was sarcastic, and Optimus huffed a half-laugh, though he quickly grew thoughtful. "Then our task is clear for next week. I will need to revise the meditation script slightly as a result."
…
During my meditation on the fourth Sunday, I imagined standing up again, and I looked around the living room in surprise. Everything was as I remembered it, except it was night. The lights were out except for a cheerful fire in the gas fireplace. In the waking world, it was broad daylight, or as broad daylight as you get in early December.
I wandered my living room, sensing that the change in the time of day was important, but not seeing anything out of place that actually was important. Frustrated, I eventually gave up and resurfaced.
...
On Tuesday of that week, I returned late from an evening meet-and-greet to find Mikaela curled up on the couch with 'Trice.
I grinned at them, and Mikaela put a finger to her lips, warning me to be quiet. "She went to a classmate's birthday party after school today and ate way too much sugar. Gave her an upset stomach and she even threw up."
"Poor little thing," I whispered, kneeling beside her and brushing her bangs from her forehead. "Think she's down for the night?"
"Probably. Both Annabelle and Daemon already turned in for the night. Think you can carry her to bed, or should I get Hound in here?"
"I'll do it," I said, scooping her up way less gracefully than I'd imagined in my head. Still, she helped by wrapping her arms around my neck and resting her cheek on my shoulder.
Once I got her tucked in, I came back out to the living room to find Mikaela intently sketching away. Looking over her shoulder, I raised my eyebrows in surprise when I recognized the place she was drawing. "What's this?"
"Hmm?"
"Why are you drawing this?"
"Oh. It's that door I keep dreaming about but can't get through," she said distractedly. "I dozed off while 'Trice and I were cuddling, and I dreamed about it again. But this time I remembered a lot more details, like the fact that it doesn't have any doorknobs, so there's no lock to pick. No wonder I couldn't get through. I figured I'd sketch it before I forgot again."
It was a set of dark, double doors with a shiny, metallic circle drawn on the front of them so that the circle was touching all four sides of the doorframe.
"Do you know where these doors are?" I asked her.
"It's just a dream, a figment of my imagination," she said, not looking up from her paper. "I kind of got the impression a while ago that they're somewhere on Cybertron, but I don't know why. Could be Earth. Why do you ask?"
Optimus could feel me freaking out and sent some calm my way. Gulping air another couple of times, I said, "They are on Cybertron, or they used to be, anyway. They're the doors to the Sanctuary in the Temple where the Cube used to be kept. As far as the Autobots are concerned, you just drew God's front door."
She finally paused and looked up at me with a puzzled expression. "You're trying to commune with Primus and I'm having dreams about his doorstep?"
"Apparently?"
"But that doesn't make any sense," she said, setting aside her pencil. "I've been having this recurring dream for years. Since before we even got married."
I shrugged and tapped the paper with my pointer finger. "All I know is that, if you show that to any of the Autobots, they'll all recognize it as the doors to the Sanctuary."
With a half-smile, she said, "I've never remembered so much detail before. Maybe we should count this as a good omen for your quest."
"I'll take whatever good luck I can get," I said with a smile of my own. Then I stole a kiss. "Come on, let's call it a night."
…
The following Sunday, my living room was again dark inside of the meditation. And again, the room didn't really have anything out of place. I listened closely but didn't hear anything unusual, either. In fact, it was unusually quiet – no hum of electricity.
Maybe the difference was outside instead of in here?
I crossed to the large, south-facing windows and pulled the drapes back to find the city lights gone. Instead, the sky was full of stars, and on the horizon stood the constellation Orion. Practically every human on Earth recognized Orion's Belt, at least; I was the only one who knew that, when he was younger, Optimus had answered to the name Orion. That constellation was also important to the Ancient Primes, and they'd made it part of the riddle that helped me find the Matrix of Leadership. And in ancient Egypt, that group of stars had been known as Osiris, god of death and resurrection. But I couldn't figure out what it all meant.
I stared at that constellation for a long moment before I noticed it moving. Other stars gathered to it as it strode toward me, giving it a clearer form. This was a mech. He stepped through the window like it wasn't even there and joined me in the living room to stand shoulder-to-shoulder and eye-to-eye with me. The starry being rested his forehead against mine and said in Optimus' voice, "I've got you, boy."
But this wasn't Optimus. I could still feel my brother, and this…person wasn't him. "Who are you?"
He lifted his helm to look me in the eye (kinda, because his optics were stars). "The One you seek. The One all my children seek."
"Primus?"
"The First Cause, yes. Why do you seek me?"
"We're trying to recharge the All Spark."
The starry avatar of Primus tilted his helm curiously. "... Recharge?"
"Yeah, you know? Reenergize it."
"You want to replenish it."
"Yeah, whatever. Like The Fallen was supposed to. Like he almost did a few years back."
"His intent was not to harvest your sun. That would have been a step toward creation and in accordance with Her will. He wanted only to destroy."
"Wait! Her?"
The starry shoulders shrugged. "Fate."
We were getting off track. I'd ask Optimus about this mysterious fate-personified later. "So The Fallen used the Matrix to turn on the solar harvester, but he was never going to collect that energy to recharge, um, replenish the All Spark?"
"Correct. You would have seen the spark of the Matrix change, had that been his intent. But it did not change. He never sang to it."
That's why it stayed blue! "So activating it to…be replenished would change it red?"
"Correct."
"Then I need your help."
"You shall have it."
My thread of thought disintegrated into a jumble of images – portals and space battles, dripping energon and sparks flaring to life, kissing Mikaela and hugging my children close. Optimus in a rage, shouting at Elita, at a Seeker, at Prowl. Optimus with red optics.
I jumped at the sight, leaving the meditation behind.
The real Optimus felt my alarm, of course, and I could feel his curiosity.
Before he could ask, I said over the speaker-phone, "Your god has a very strange idea of what constitutes help."
"You were successful, then."
"I apparently was successful at meditating. I don't know if I have what I need yet, though. I'll go into more detail tonight."
"Still, it's progress," he agreed. "We'll discuss it tonight."
…
Even after telling Optimus everything I could remember, though, he was as baffled as I was. We weren't sure if the snippets of vision were past, future, or just possibilities.
On Monday afternoon, I couldn't get settled into the recorded meditation. After it finished, I texted Optimus. /I think I might need to unpack a few things about Primus. How high does Sarkisian's clearance go?/
/Not that high. But Ratchet has worked extensively with her. Perhaps he could help./
/Not likely./ I quickly followed that text with, /Did I say that out loud?/
Optimus teasingly replied, /I don't know. Did you?/
/Let's try to hash it out just between brothers first./
His emotions over the bond settled into a more serious mood. /Very well. Why do you not trust Primus?/
/Um…because he doesn't give a slag about any of you? I mean, look at how many Cybertonians – Autobot, Decepticon, and neutral – have been extinguished because he doesn't bother to do anything about your wars./
/So it would take him intervening for you to trust him?/
I sighed deeply. /I guess so./
I felt his warm affection over the bond. /He intervened by giving us you./
Slag it all! /Yeah, whatever./
/How else can you explain the All Spark ending up here, us crossing paths, you pulling me back from the Well of All Sparks repeatedly, you receiving a spark, and you acting as a check and balance on me in your role as Prime?/
/You suck at therapy./
But his amusement washed back to me over the bond. /Consider it, Sam. You are Primus' intervention. And practice the meditation again tomorrow./
…
Tuesday, I still couldn't settle into the meditation, so I texted Optimus. /Since this is Primus we're talking about, maybe I need to talk to a Cybertronian priest instead of a shrink./
/You do recall that would be Prowl?/
But a much better idea than Prowl or Ratchet occurred to me. /'Bee was a Temple guardian, too! I mean, would he know enough to be helpful?/
Optimus' feelings turned introspective. /He would be a good starting point./
I was busy with work by day, and between the kids and Mikaela, I didn't have an evening free until Thursday after 9 PM. But Thursday evening, 'Bee and I went for a ride going nowhere in particular. I just pointed him west, and away we went.
"Out of curiosity, is there a reason you wanted a road trip with just me?" 'Bee asked as the urban vibe of Arlington faded into suburbia. Jokingly, he added, "I mean, are we finding a place to scream into the void or do you need to get roaring drunk?"
"Nothing like that," I quickly assured him. "I'm not running away from anything, I needed to talk where it could be just you and me. You remember how I'm trying to figure out the inner workings of the All Spark?"
"Yes," he answered, perfectly serious now.
"To figure that out, Optimus and I have concluded I'll need to approach Primus directly. But to do that, I have to trust him, I think. And I don't. Like really don't."
'Bee drove in silence for a few seconds. "Why not?"
"Because he doesn't give a slag about your war," I grumbled.
"Okay, even if that were true, so what?"
I blinked in surprise. "How can you say that, 'Bee?! Your entire species is on the brink of extinction and Primus doesn't care. He hasn't done anything to stop it! He could have struck Megatron down. He could have given you visions so you could prevent attacks…"
"That's not how Primus works," 'Bee interrupted. "He's not Fate…"
I made a mental note to ask him about Fate, too.
"...he's a god. He's got powers that transcend time and space, but they're not limitless. He's not a philosophical impossibility like some humans think of God."
"Wait," I cut in. "How do you know so much about human theology?"
"I did use to be a Temple guardian," he reminded me. "Especially since getting this bond, Optimus and I have geeked out together over some of this stuff."
I smirked, "Well, you're welcome to keep geeking away without me. But back up a second on something else. What do you mean by philosophical…what did you call it?"
"Philosophical impossibility. Here's an example that might make sense to you. Greek and Roman philosophers believed that the tangible world is total garbage, so an unembodied god was better than one that had a tangible body. That struck me and Optimus as kind of backward since Primus has a tangible body – in our canon, anyway. So he's not a god in the ways you might be expecting. He's not all-powerful either. He's powerful, but so is his brother Unicron." Over our kin-bond, I felt him shudder in loathing.
I frowned thoughtfully to myself. I guess I had been kind of expecting an all-powerful Primus. "Did you guys believe he was all-knowing?"
"Optimus says that Primus' dreams are our lives."
"So much for patient confidentiality," I snarked.
"You're my Prime, not my patient," 'Bee quipped back. "I can try to keep this confidential, if you want, but bonds…"
"I know. Bonds make it all but impossible." I considered my options and then nodded to myself. "Optimus is in on all this anyway. But back to my question, you're saying Primus knows what you all know?"
"Yes. We are living sensors for him, among other things. And what he knows, Fate uses to weave him and us together."
I thought on that for a few long minutes. It was almost like Tolkien's The Silmarillion where you have the different races like Men and Elves and then there are the gods and angels like the Valar and Maiar, and then there was the god who was a father to the other gods and looked a lot like something a Christian priest might agree with.
"So Fate…I've heard you guys mention her before, but I didn't know she was the one in charge."
"Oh, she isn't," 'Bee quickly said. "Or maybe 'he.' There's some disagreement on that one, so some mechs go with 'it.' Regardless, Fate is just the weaver. We're the ones in charge. Our freedom, our choices, are what drive the pattern Fate weaves."
Exasperated, I said, "Why do you call this deity 'Fate' instead of 'Weaver,' then?"
"Because we have the freedom to choose, but we don't get to choose our consequences. Fate is the one who most-clearly sees what those consequences are – or maybe what they should be – and makes them happen." He quickly added, "All this stuff about Fate is coming from Optimus, by the way. We're getting way above my paygrade."
I sighed and turned all this over in my mind. Bumblebee and Optimus had very different expectations than I did about what Primus actually was, what his capabilities and limitations were. Was that part of my problem? I was having unrealistic expectations of Primus, and when he didn't live up to them, I blamed him? It felt a lot like letting him off the hook too much. "But even if he's more limited than I thought, he still doesn't care about you guys!"
"What makes you say that?" 'Bee challenged.
"Are you saying he does?"
"I know he does," he quietly answered, "with every drop of energon."
"But so many of your kind are dead!" I shouted. "Mechs and femmes who shouldn't be! Jazz and Elita and Cliffjumper!"
"Sam…"
I felt it over our kin-bond as a realization suddenly dawned on him.
"...you've never ingested energon."
"So?"
"So…" I could feel his consternation over the bond as he tried to put something into words that wouldn't translate well. "So it's not just fuel. It's not even like special fuel or something. It comes from the All Spark, which means it really comes from Primus. It's…him. Distilled Primus. When you drink it in, you can feel he cares, that life is worth living, that good lies ahead for us still. It doesn't just feed the frame, it feeds the spark, too. It's almost like a … like a sacrament."
I blinked as I processed that.
"So unless you want to try developing a taste for energon, you're going to have to trust me. Can you do that when it comes to Primus? Optimus and I both trust him. Can you trust our trust?"
I snorted in amusement.
"What?" 'Bee demanded.
"Nothing. It's just…the one vision I had before things started getting…weird with Primus was a vision of Elita. She said, 'I trust him. Optimus trusts him. Will you not also trust him?' It was something she'd said about Jazz years ago, but this time it was about Primus. And I don't think I can trust him, not yet, but…you and Optimus?" I scoffed because, of course!
He glomped me in a hug of the heart as he felt my bone-deep, unflinching trust in my brother and my guardian. It was kind of overwhelming, to be honest.
"Love you, too, 'Bee," I managed to eventually say.
Author's Note: If you'd like to try meditating to the sound of Optimus Prime's voice, the meditation app Calm has one with Peter Cullen reading the script in character. It's geared toward children, but even an adult can appreciate how soothing that voice can be!
