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writeyouin · 11 months

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Greetings! I would like to request something from wonderful you! How about a scenario with the Jettwins (you can choose if poly or not) were they have a bot-reader thats carrying their sparkling? Like from when they find out and when the Sparkling is 'born'. It would be hilarious if the Sparkling ended up being not one but two, twin sparklings and they're the most mischief little things in the world. Sentinel fears them. They know that. They use it as their advantage. Thank you for your time! :D

Poly-Jetfire & Jetstorm X Bot-Reader – Sparklings

A/N – For those of you who don’t know, a solar-cycle is 1 day, and a Deca-cycle is 10 days.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Not too fast.”

“Be going easy now.”

“Don’t try transforming.”

“Let me carry that.”

You sighed, giving up on the box that you were supposed to take to Sentinel’s office aboard the ship he now commanded in Magnus’ temporary absence. Jetstorm rushed in to grab it, grinning proudly and opening his mouth to add another comment about what you should or shouldn’t do now that you were carrying sparklings.

Jetfire, who had been just as bad, nodded sagely as you tuned them out, closing your optics for a moment while you vented out some air, trying to keep your composure.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to do as Jetstorm threw the box down and both twins rushed to your side, holding on to you as if you keep you from falling.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you feeling the sick?”

“Are you needing a stasis nap?”

“Should we be calling the doctor-bot?”

“Careful brother, they might be missing the Earth climate.”

“Yes, that must be it!”

You held up your servos, “Alright, that’s enough.”

“Yes, enough for the solar-cycle,” Jetfire agreed.

Jetstorm nodded vigorously, “Yes, you will be needing a rest now.”

“Boys please,” You groaned, then when forced to look upon their concerned expressions, your face melted into a gentle smile as you held out a servo for each of them to hold, bringing the three of you into a small circle.

“Jetfire, Jetstorm, you know you are everything to me. You are the spark that powers me, the circuitry inside, the wind beneath my wings,” You concluded, borrowing an idiom from Earth.

“But you don’t have wings,” They said in unison, sharing a perplexed look.

You ignored their confusion, soldiering on. “I love you both very much, and I’m just as excited to be carrying your sparklings, but I need to be able to continue living my life, just like before.”

“But the Decepticons!” The twins cried out earnestly.

“Alright, almost like before. Look, if I promise I won’t fight any more Decepticons until after the Sparklings are born, but in return, you two have to let me do my other jobs, okay? If it all gets too much, I promise that I’ll ask you for help.”

Jetfire and Jetstorm took a minute to contemplate your request, then they nodded in unison.

“Okay,” Jetstorm kissed your cheek-plate, “We promise.”

“Ja,” Jetfire pressed a servo against your carrying chamber, aiming his promise at the two lifeforms inside. “Promise.”

You vented out some air in relief, “Thank you.”

Throughout the remainder of your carrying term, Jetfire and Jetstorm kept their word, no longer treating you as if you were made from glass. They were still very attentive to your needs, bringing you extra energon rations, and ensuring that Sentinel was extra nice to you (primarily by playing Gorrila-warfare against him, Jetfire pranking him while Jetstorm rested, and vice versa if Sentinel ever acted less than nicely to you), but they also gave you space when you asked for it, and let you set the bar for what you could and couldn’t do.

Then, when it came time to birth the sparklings, the twins were glad to be part of a duo. How anyone could help their partner through birth alone was impossible for them to understand. While Jetstorm stayed with you in the Medical Bay, Jetfire transformed, flying stupidly fast to get the ship’s medical bot.

There was no argument as to who would get to stay, and who would go; they seemed to have worked that out among themselves beforehand. Then, when Jetfire returned with a shell-shocked doc-bot clinging onto the outside of his cockpit, the pair combined into Safeguard to hold your servo.

The birth was relatively standard as far as Cybertronian births went. There was little pain, and the doc-bot ensured that you were as comfortable as could be and that the sparklings were healthy. The one thing that nobody expected was that you weren’t carrying two sparklings like the preliminary scans had shown, but four; the other two hiding behind their siblings. They were considerably smaller, mini-bots by right.

For that alone, Safeguard disbanded, becoming Jetfire and Jetstorm so they could each hold one sparkling while you laid on the berth, holding the remaining two, one in each arm.

“This is incredible, brother,” Jetfire grinned ecstatically.

“That is being the understatement,” Jetstorm laughed.

“I cannot wait to be telling everybody, right (Y/N)!”

You didn’t reply, staying quiet as you looked from one sparkling to the other, your gaze darting around the room.

“(Y/N)?” The twins tried.

“What if…” You mused. “What if we didn’t tell people?”

“You do not want the people to know about our sparklings?” Jetfire said, his brow-plate furrowing in confusion.

“Just give it a few solar-cycles.”

Jetstorm looked down at the bronze sparkling in his arms, a perfect combination of his and Jetfire’s colours. “Why?”

“Think of it,” You said, your eyes aglow with mischief. “Tomorrow, Sentinel’s gonna come in, expecting two new sparklings on his ship, which he, as the Commanding Officer, has to oversee during the naming ceremony.”

The twins looked at each other, suddenly sharing your wicked grin. Yes, Sentinel would certainly be surprised.

As it was, with Sentinel’s work as head of the ship, he was a great deal busier than expected, especially with new reports from Cybertron arriving, informing him of surges in Decepticon activity. Although he was supposed to come in the next solar-cycle, it was actually a Deca-cycle till he could make it to the naming ceremony.

In that time, the sparklings had grown very slightly, and though they couldn’t walk yet, they were proficient in crawling, and they had nice strong grips, allowing them to hold onto their creator of choice.

And so the day came, with you and the twins standing proudly at the ship’s helm, Jetfire and Jetstorm each holding a sparkling, with Jazz hidden behind a control panel, struggling to hold onto the other two sparklings as they tried to escape his grip and make their way over to you.

“Easy now nuts and bolts,” He said cheerfully, using the nicknames he’d provided them, upon having been let into the prank. “You’ll go to your creator’s soon, but just hold on for a few klicks. You may be nuts and bolts, but Sentinel’s nuts and dolts, and he’s gonna get the fright of his life.”

Jazz played a low lullaby from his speakers, soothing the tiny Cybertronians, who looked so much like you. He had hold of one mini-bot and one regular bot.

Finally, Sentinel graced you with his presence and he hurriedly began his speech, taking little notice of the sparklings. All he wanted was to be as far from the new twins as possible; if they were anything like their parental twins, or you, he wanted nothing to do with them.

“And so we mark their creation, yada, yada, yada,” Sentinel huffed half-heartedly, “In the name of Primus, and so on… Skipping past the long rites, I as Captain of this ship welcome the new Cybertronians to the universe. ”

He held out his hands for the first sparkling which Jetfire brought forward.

“We named him Crosswind.”

“Right, right, Crosswind, welcome to existence,” Sentinel said, rolling his optics.

As was custom, he had to keep hold of Crosswind while he was handed the other sparkling.

“And this is his sister, Delta.”

“Right, right, Delta’s alive too,” Sentinel gabbled in a downplayed greeting, hardly fulfilling his duty as Captain. “And now, you can take your glitches back.”

He held them out to you, but you frowned, “Hang on, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“No, I am not,” Sentinel seethed, “Now, take them back!”

“Oh you’re right,” You slapped your helm comically, “You’re not forgetting something, I am.”

At this point, Jazz snuck up behind Sentinel and placed the other two sparklings on his shoulders. They gripped on and the one on Sentinel’s left pawed at his face with a chubby servo, pulling at his mouth.

“WA IN UNCONS NAME S IS!” Sentinel garbled.

You supposed it was meant to be something along the lines of ‘What in Unicron’s name is this?!’ However, with your sparkling now trying to grab his glossa, it was much more difficult for him to say.

“These,” You answered triumphantly, holding back laughter while Jetfire and Jetstorm lost it behind you, their laughter crackling with static as they doubled over, holding onto one another for support, “are our other two boys. Throttle & Wing Walker.”

Sentinel, after regaining his composure hurried out a quick welcome and then practically hurled the sparklings at the three of you.

“Double the ship’s speed,” He ordered Jazz on the way out of the room. “I want them all on Cybertron and far, far away from me.”

And so it was that you held your sparklings and the twins having been brought into a group hug by them, as the seven of you made your way back home, ready to start your life as a new family.

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elendiliel · 1 year

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The Last Prime

Hold on to your hubcaps; this is a long one, as it covers the whole of "Predacons Rising". (I'm willing to repost it as shorter chunks, if that's more to everyone's liking. It's also on AO3 here.)

As usual, inspiration credits to @justawannabearchaeologist's "TFP Wheeljack in TFA" series. For the ending, I am also indebted to @novafire-is-thinking's ongoing analysis series "Who is TFP Optimus?" Both are highly recommended.

Here goes...

---

“We have endured many hardships and countless battles,” Optimus Prime declaimed, “but at last our home planet has been restored. We would not be standing on Cybertronian soil were it not for the valiant efforts of both those assembled here – including one from far away,” his optics rested on Glitch, who blushed and dropped her gaze to the ground; she hadn’t really done all that much, and certainly no more than her duty demanded, “and our absent comrades. Ratchet, who remains on Earth to safeguard our human friends,” Arcee laid a sisterly servo on Glitch’s shoulder, aware that the young medibot missed her friend and colleague, and was more than a little daunted by the prospect of filling his role, “and Cliffjumper, who made the ultimate sacrifice.” It was Glitch’s turn to put a discreet arm around ‘Cee, Cliffjumper’s partner. She knew his death had inflicted a wound on her comrade that would never fully heal.

“But on this day,” Prime continued, “at the dawn of a new era, we gather to bestow a special honour, one earned by Bumblebee through his bravery and devotion to the cause of peace, long before he rid the universe of the scourge of the Decepticon warmonger.” We hope, Glitch caught herself thinking. Megatrons, in her experience, were pretty hard to kill. “In the company of your fellow Autobots, in the presence of our creator Primus, the living core of our planet, and by the authority vested in me by the Matrix of Leadership,” Prime raised the Star Sabre, a relic of the ancient Primes Glitch had nicknamed Andúril, “Bumblebee,” Andúril touched Bumblebee’s left shoulder, then his right, as he knelt before his leader, “arise, a Warrior.”

As Bumblebee stood up, the rest of the team clustered around to congratulate him, even Glitch, though she was still a bit hazy on why the ceremony was such a big deal – or necessary at all. But then, her Cybertron had been officially at peace since before she came online – helium, before her CO came online – and its class system wasn’t as rigidly defined as that one had been before the Autobot-Decepticon war. While Elite Guard positions were very much sought-after by a lot of young ‘bots, they were, theoretically, open to anybot. And she’d never wanted one. She was more than happy to be a field-tech, a healer and protector, not a destroyer.

Unlike, say, Wheeljack. “Let’s get this party started!” The Wrecker lived up to his unit’s name, triggering explosives he must have planted beforehand in a statue of Megatron. Glitch had to admit to a certain satisfaction as the stone warlord was deconstructed joint by joint, but did Wheeljack have to make such a mess of everything?

Prime allowed them a few cycles of jubilation before speaking again. “I am sorry to interrupt your celebration.”

“Here it comes,” ‘Cee remarked.

“Primes never party,” Bulkhead added.

“You might be surprised,” Glitch murmured, thinking of another red and blue mech, who had a hidden talent for the guitar.

“But I must take my leave of you,” Prime carried on. So soon? Prime had fought at least as long and hard as anybot there, and more so than most. He deserved to enjoy some peace, at least for a while.

“Sir, may I ask why?” Ultra Magnus enquired.

“Though Cybertron is once again able to support life,” Prime began, “our planet is currently incapable of generating new lives.”

“Let me guess,” Glitch interrupted him. “We need the Allspark. I wondered when that box of tricks would enter the picture. And it’s probably safely out in deep space, where almost nobody can find it.”

“That is correct.” Prime wasn’t as surprised that she’d second-guessed him as might be expected. He knew how similar their realities were, in some ways. “I assume yours was hidden for the same reason.”

She hummed in assent. “Cooled the war down a treat, especially when Megatron buzzed off to look for it. And before anyone asks, we post-war ‘bots received our sparks from Vector Sigma.” She was aware that the ancient computer had a counterpart in that reality, but clearly it didn’t have that particular functionality. More’s the pity.

Bumblebee was all for retrieving the Allspark as a whole team, but Prime pointed out that they couldn’t leave Cybertron vulnerable to Decepticon remnants. He assigned Ultra Magnus to organise patrols and hunt down Starscream and Shockwave, and Bulkhead to start the rebuilding of the wrecked planet, prioritising a landing field for other Cybertronians who might come home. Only Wheeljack would go with Prime; he was one of their best pilots, and had wandered the galaxy for aeons before finding his way to Earth and the team. Glitch pulled him aside for a quick word as the party broke up, knowing better than to argue with Prime over non-medical matters. (Wheeljack was also much closer to her in height; sometimes she practically had to shout to get Prime’s attention.)

“Promise me you’ll look out for each other,” she said. “The Allspark may be the source of your life, but if my version’s anything to go by, for individual ‘bots it’s trouble with a capital T, R, O, U, B, L and E.”

“It can’t be that bad – can it?” At least Wheeljack was taking her semi-seriously.

“Let me put it this way. My Allspark nearly flattened the ‘bots it chose as its protectors, then almost got them killed again when Megatron found them. They were missing, presumed dead, for half a century.” A very long half-century for Glitch, who had had two close friends on that crew. Including her now-partner and boyfriend. “Megatron was in stasis and pieces all that time. Starscream tried to use it to level Detroit; it offlined Optimus trying to get rid of Screamer, then revived him. Its power also revived Megatron’s head and allowed him to create the Dinobots and Soundwave before putting him back together again. When he got his servos on it, Optimus had to disperse it to avoid disastrophe, and the fragments are still causing all kinds of chaos. Everything from haywire assembly lines to an immortal Starscream. And its reassembly killed Prowl. Shall I go on?” She could, for quite some time.

“No, that’s enough. I’ll have Optimus’ back out there, I promise, and we both know he’ll have mine.” Prime would always put his soldiers’ and friends’ lives first. Then something Glitch had said struck Wheeljack afresh. “Your Starscream’s immortal? I thought ours was a nuisance, but…”

“He certainly used to be. Most inconvenient in some ways, though I for one don’t actually want him dead. Jazz thinks he saw the fragment keeping him alive being pulled out when he and Prowl were reassembling the Allspark, but his shell was never found. And when it comes to that ‘bot – don’t count him as offline until you see the body, and even then you can still be wrong. Come to think of it, that applies to Megatron, too.”

“Not ours, I hope. Anyway, I’d better get going. Look after Magnus and Bulkhead for me.”

“Wilco.” The Wrecker and the field-tech went their separate ways, the latter hurrying to the ex-Decepticon warship the team was using as a base, suddenly dying to get to work.

***

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! How’re you gonna attach the cladding when the framing structure’s incomplete, huh?” Bulkhead’s voice, followed by a series of metallic clangs and clatters that sounded like something out of a slapstick comedy, must have carried for hics as Arcee and Glitch drove to the building site that was meant to be an air traffic control tower.

“Labour issues?” ‘Cee asked as she transformed beside her old friend. With the Autobots rotating between patrols and their individual duties, Bulkhead was having to work with a crew of Vehicon volunteers whose enthusiasm clearly outstripped their skills.

The answer was self-evident, so Bulkhead changed the subject. “Any news of our fugitives?”

“Just signs of recent scavenging in former Decepticon installations.”

“And the warship can’t detect their life signals?” Bulkhead looked to Glitch, now the team’s only tech “expert” on-planet, who had been making friends with the Nemesis ever since Megatron’s defeat.

“Shielded,” she answered briefly. “Working on it. Needed to spin my wheels, though, and get a vent of fresh – whoa!” Amply demonstrating why some of her teammates affectionately called her “the little monkey” when they thought she wasn’t listening, she scrambled up the side of the half-built tower to where part of the frame was likely to give way. A few nanokliks’ work with her built-in blowtorch, and the problem was solved. She all but jumped back down, eager to be on solid ground again, and rejoined her friends.

“Nice one,” Bulkhead said, appraising her patch job with a professional optic. “How’d you spot that?”

“I’ve done my share of construction work, back in Detroit.” She no longer said “back home”; she had three homes in two universes. (The others’ Cybertron wasn’t one of them, though – yet.) “Urban combat tends to get messy, and it’s only right that we should help fix the damage afterwards. Good PR, too. One learns to see problems before they become serious.” Especially if, like her, one had a talent for pattern-recognition – even at the expense of other abilities, such as face-recognition. “By the way – maybe cut the Vehicons a bit more slack. Not everybot has your expertise.” Bulkhead had been a labourer before the war, so-called “low caste”, protoformed for construction. She hoped she’d found a positive spin to put on that.

Either she had, or he’d hidden his reaction well. “I’m trying, but it’s not easy. If a mistake can be made, they’ve probably made it, even with the basic stuff. I know they can learn, but – honestly, I’d rather have a crew of Constructicons than these guys.”

“Scrapper would definitely help,” Glitch agreed, thinking of the Constructicons back in her universe. “’Specially if Snarl lent a servo as well. Maybe Mixmaster, if we could get hold of enough decent motor oil. Not Dirtboss, though. We’d have an Energon racket on our servos before we knew where we were.” She was partway through describing the diminutive Decepticon’s attempt to control Detroit’s oil supply when Bumblebee called her comm. “Glitch, we need you back here now. Magnus is hurt, badly. I’m sending a groundbridge.” Stars, that sounded serious. Oh well. That was what she’d signed up for.

It was serious, as even a preliminary scan made abundantly clear once she’d reached the Nemesis med-bay, where Magnus was already on her repair table. “Blimey, there’s a lot of internal damage here. Most of it pretty bad. Predacon? New one, I’d say.”

“Yeah, two of ‘em. How’d you know?” Smokescreen had been on patrol with Ultra Magnus, and was still hovering by his commander’s side, not quite blocking her light. Had Magnus been hurt trying to protect him?

“I do have optics. Scorching, impact trauma and denta and claw marks add up to Predacon, but the claw spacing and synth shape and size don’t match Predaking. I don’t suppose you got a good look at their alt-modes?” she asked out of vague curiosity, most of her processor focused on her patient.

“Another dragon and one kinda like a big winged cyber-cat. A griffin, I think it’s called on Earth.”

“We’ll have to find them, and quickly,” Bumblebee put in, having just returned from updating Arcee and Bulkhead on the situation. “How’s Magnus?”

“Not good. I can stabilise him, for now, but we need another medic if he’s ever going to recover fully. Call Ratchet in, or let Knock Out out. In or out, I don’t care, just find someone better than me.” She had already begun to fix Magnus’ most severe injuries, but only her centuries of training kept her servos steady. She’d been qualified for less than two stellar-cycles, and had spent rather less time than that in that universe. And Magnus’ wounds were worse than she felt she could handle alone. “In the meantime, clear out and let me deal with this mess.”

Bumblebee and Smokescreen obeyed without a word, and must have chosen Option A. A short while later, Ratchet barged in, medical kit in servo. The two medibots worked side by side, speaking only when necessary, until Magnus was out of danger and heading towards recovery.

“He’ll be all right,” Glitch confirmed, more for her own benefit than for Ratchet’s. “Thanks for coming at such short notice, and – sorry, for calling you in. I suppose I panicked.” Her first case as the team’s primary medic, and she’d dragged Ratchet out of his semi-retirement to help her. Not a good start.

Ratchet’s servo entirely covered hers. “You did the right thing.” She’d seldom heard such gentleness from either Ratchet, that one or her mentor back in Detroit. “You have talent, but a case like this calls for experience you simply haven’t had time to acquire yet. Trying to handle it yourself would have been the height of foolishness.” He smiled down at his junior colleague. “By the way, you did a good job on Smokescreen during the battle. And Optimus, while I was – elsewhere.” Specifically, aboard that very ship and in Decepticon servos. “Thank you for that.”

Glitch blushed in acknowledgement and gratitude. “Just doing my duty. Practically had to blackmail Prime onto the repair table, though. Is he always like that, or was he just worried about you?”

“Oh, he’s been that way as long as I’ve known him, and still has the temerity to lecture me about my Energon intake.” Rightly so. On at least one occasion, Glitch had had to resort to sleight of servo to make sure Ratchet was properly fuelled. He changed the subject with almost unbecoming haste. “Out of interest, how are you getting on with the ship’s systems?”

“Making progress, but Soundwave locked all the data storage up tight. And I’m still tripping a lot of alarm codes. Managed to detach them from the actual alarms, though.”

“Not a moment too soon.” Bumblebee had put his head around the door again. “If either of you can spare some time, we’re having a strategy meeting on the bridge.”

“Go,” Ratchet said. “I’ll stay with Magnus.”

“How’s the commander?” Smokescreen demanded the moment he saw her. He was clearly still beating himself up for letting Magnus be injured.

“With time, and rest, he’ll make a full recovery.” Everybot else visibly relaxed at that. They’d probably have preferred to hold the meeting in med-bay, keeping an optic on the patient and making sure both medics were included, but had respected her preference for peace, quiet and privacy.

As it turned out, the meeting was almost over. Their obvious priority was tracking down the new Predacons, no doubt cloned by the still-elusive Shockwave. Glitch would love to know how he’d managed that in the absence of the Allspark; in her universe, Starscream’s various clones and the Lugnuts Supreme had had to be brought online with tiny Allspark fragments. But the other Starscream had cloned himself as well, without any of that. Interesting…

A question for later, though. Bumblebee had a couple of ideas for places to start looking, and Glitch had something important to say.

“I’m coming with you. Ratchet can hold the fort here; stars know he’s had practice. And given what happened earlier, you may well need a medic soon.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d come along,” Bumblebee said. “I’ve a feeling the first person I want to ask could already do with your expertise.” Such as it was.

His “feeling” was borne out by the fresh Energon trail the scout soon found and followed to its source – Predaking. The wounded dragon-Predacon did not look happy to see them, and the sentiment was mutual; Arcee, Bulkhead and Smokescreen primed their weapons and Glitch readied her shields as Predaking prepared to flame them all, but Bumblebee chose a very different way to deal with the situation. Negotiation. He handled Predaking magnificently, first bluffing him into standing down with a fake Immobiliser, then politely enquiring about the new Predacons. Unfortunately, Predaking claimed to have no knowledge of them, and Glitch for one believed him. As the others started to leave the mighty warrior to brood over the remains of his forebears in peace, though, she looked up from her medical scanner, indicated the site of his still-leaking wound and asked, “May I?”

Predaking just looked bemused, so she explained herself a little further. “I’m a medic, and you’re hurt. With your permission, I’d like to change that latter state of affairs.”

Predaking studied her for a long moment. “You wear the mark of the accursed Autobots, but you do not smell like them, or like any other Cybertronian. You are different.”

“Too right I am. I’m from another universe, but I have some experience treating Cybertronians of this one. You all bleed the same – Predacon, Autobot, Decepticon or neutral.” She forced herself to meet Predaking’s burning yellow optics. “And believe me, if there’d been a way to save the other clones both from the Wreckers and from slavery to Megatron, I’d have done so. What happened was a tragedy, and I give you my word of honour, it will not be repeated on my watch.”

“You speak truth,” Predaking conceded. “As did the other medic, Ratchet, who may have been the first person to show me and my kind true respect. Very well.” He transformed back into his dragon-form, twisting around to display a long cut along one side, awkward to reach, but relatively simple to repair. She fixed it in a matter of nanokliks – it was sparkling’s play after treating Ultra Magnus – and, once she’d found a fuel line, injected a vial of Energon to replace that which he’d lost, before stepping back into his field of vision and bowing. “Until we meet again, Your Highness.”

“Should that prove necessary, little medic.” She chose not to be offended by that as she turned, transformed and raced away after the others.

She soon caught up with them on the way to Darkmount, Megatron’s former citadel, where Knock Out had apparently claimed they could find a list of Shockwave’s old labs. A modicum of hacking – Glitch was getting used to breaking ‘Con cyphers – proved the Decepticon CMO right.

“Well, whaddaya know,” Bumblebee said as Smokescreen messed around on Megatron’s throne and Bulkhead rebuked him. “Knock Out actually shot straight for once.”

“What’d you have to do, scuff his finish?” Arcee asked. Knock Out was notoriously, ridiculously vain, in contrast to Glitch, who was proud of her scratched servos.

“Close. Now, let’s download the data and get outta here.” Glitch was way ahead of him; she’d set the console up to copy the decrypted files straight to a transfer drive the moment she broke the cypher. Which was just as well; a flier, too small and fast to be Predaking, the wrong shape to be Prime, was headed straight for Darkmount. Nanokliks later, one of the last ‘bots any of the party had expected to see landed right in front of them. He was taller and bulkier than he had been just days before, and his optics and biolights shone purple rather than red, but he was recognisably Megatron.

Until he spoke. Whoever was using King ‘Con’s voicebox, it probably wasn’t its original owner. Megatron liked overdone rhetoric, but “minions of the Prime” was a bit much even for him. And “his” voice had extra harmonics that sent a shiver down Glitch’s backstrut as she readied her combat-capable tools. Why was she so tired all of a sudden?

Soon enough, the situation was made clearer. Megatron wasn’t in control of his body – Unicron was. The Chaos Bringer. Widely regarded as a myth in Glitch’s universe; very real in that one. Wait ‘til I tell Bee about this, she thought drowsily and almost nonsensically.

Somehow, she managed to keep pace with the rest of the team as they ducked and dodged Unicron’s fire, but they were clearly outmatched, and evac via groundbridge would require them to get away from their opponent. You’ve been around me too long, she thought hazily as Bumblebee led them, in vehicle mode, between Megatron’s peds, off a ledge and through a tunnel excavated by his blaster. That was the kind of stunt she usually pulled.

They raced through the abandoned corridors of Darkmount until ‘Cee called a halt, not a moment too soon. Ahead of them, the floor gave way to what looked like a deep pool of molten slag.

“What in blazes is that?” Glitch asked.

“A smelting pit,” Bulkhead told her, clearly not wanting to go into detail.

“For once, I don’t want to know.” Mostly because she could guess. All too easily.

Bumblebee barely had time to call for a groundbridge before a lilac explosion behind them announced Unicron-Megatron’s proximity – and threw them all into the air. Bumblebee and Glitch landed on solid ground, but the others ended up hanging over the smelting pit, a chain of terrified ‘bots.

As Bulkhead fought to keep Arcee and Smokescreen from fiery oblivion, Unicron landed Megatron behind him, shaping a pair of hook-like weapons for himself out of lavender light. While Bumblebee held his attention, Glitch climbed up his back, grateful for once for her small stature, and transformed her right servo into a laser scalpel, intending to sever the electrical connection between his right arm and his CPU. But either her fatigue-addled processor had miscalculated, or Unicron’s upgrades had changed Megatron’s internal structure. Where she expected a shower of sparks, deep purple liquid welled from the incision. Dark Energon, she just had time to realise before everything went black.

***

“What’re we supposed to call him, huh? Megacron? Unitron?”

“Really? That’s your biggest issue right now?” The familiar sound of Smokescreen and Arcee bickering greeted Glitch as she came back online. Somehow, they’d survived and returned to their mobile base.

“Megacron sounds better,” she put in, “but Unitron emphasises the fact that it’s Unicron driving the bus, so to speak. Either would work.”

“You’re awake.” Ratchet sounded more than a little relieved – to someone who knew him well. “How do you feel?”

“A little more stasis wouldn’t hurt, but all systems are nominal.” She’d run a self-diagnostic the nanoklik she returned to consciousness. “What happened?”

“It appears you are hypersensitive to Dark Energon. Simply being in Unicron’s presence may have been enough to weaken you, and exposure to that which flows through Megatron’s system caused almost immediate stasis. You’re lucky to be in such good shape after a fall like that, by the way.”

“I’m tougher than I look. And I did feel tired pretty much as soon as Unitron showed up – as though I’d just pulled three shifts in a row.” Her record was four. Not an experience she planned to repeat. “How did we get back here?”

“Ratchet opened a groundbridge above the smelting pit,” Smokescreen answered. “Just as the floor gave way under Bulkhead. Bee scooped you up and jumped right into it.”

“Bet that annoyed Megacron.” As the others moved on to debate their next move, and tried to contact Prime and Wheeljack, Glitch called up the results of a scan she’d made during the battle with Unitron – and a couple of other files. Fascinating… “Ratchet, would you mind providing a second opinion on something?”

“Not at all.” As Glitch sat up on a makeshift repair table that had been set up on the warship’s bridge, the Autobots’ current HQ, Ratchet seated himself beside her, leaning down to examine her datapad. “What am I looking at?”

“Megatron’s sparkbeat, recorded during his last physical exam. Before you ask, I needed access to the medical files in case any of the Vehicons were injured, and if Knock Out wanted to anonymise these data properly, he probably shouldn’t have called the folder “Big M”.” Ratchet conceded the point with a shred of a laugh. She switched to another file. “This is Unicron’s sparkbeat, pulled from your records of his last awakening. And this is a scan of the being currently walking around in Megatron’s upgraded shell. What do you make of it?”

“It looks as though – Unicron’s sparkbeat has been superimposed onto Megatron’s, somehow.”

“That’s what I thought. I think Megatron’s still alive in there. Maybe he couldn’t join with the Allspark because of Dark Energon shenanigans. Unicron’s in control for now, but Megatron’s pulled a Master at least once before. If we can reach him – maybe he’ll do it again.”

“Pulled a Master?” Glitch really had to stop making references the others wouldn’t get.

“Doctor Who. The Master’s another renegade Time Lord, Megatron to the Doctor’s Optimus, if you like. He wants to conquer the universe, not see or protect it, but occasionally he refuels more than his system can handle and has to team up with the Doctor to save his own circuits.”

“I see what you’re driving at. It might be worth a shot, but don’t pin all your hopes on that. Megatron has a strong will, but Unicron is a god.”

“And human mythology’s full of gods defeating each other, or being beaten or tricked by mortals. But I’ll keep all my options open.” Seeing that the others had stopped trying to contact the away team, she and Ratchet headed over to join them. “Any luck?”

“No response. Maybe they heard us and can’t transmit for some reason; maybe we’re on our own. Either way, we need to figure out why Unicron’s here.”

“And what he wants.” Bumblebee finished Arcee’s sentence.

“To destroy the spark of his arch-enemy, Primus.” Ratchet stated what should have been obvious.

“But that’s the core of our planet!” Yes, Smokescreen, we know.

As ‘Cee complained that the situation was unfair, and Ratchet responded in typically dramatic fashion, Glitch headed over to another console and resumed one of her projects. She had an inkling it, and the ship itself, would be needed very soon.

“In other words, life’s not fair,” she said from beneath the console when Ratchet had finished. “All the more reason to make our own fairness.” Hm. That gave her another, trivial idea.

***

“Crikey O’Reilly!” (Maybe Glitch had spent a little too long researching Earth culture.) “That looks like some seriously bad mojo.” (And a shade too long around Jazz, if that were possible.) Armed with the knowledge that Megatron was in some way still alive, the Autobots had just started tracking down his exact location – only to see an energy spike at the same position. Under the circumstances, probably a type of energy Glitch had encountered for the first time earlier that day, but knew about from the others’ stories. Dark Energon. At the Predacon burial ground. That and Unicron’s presence couldn’t add up to anything good.

Specifically, the most likely summation was an army of reanimated Predacon shells (why not more modern Cybertronians? Because they were more accessible, or more powerful?), heading for the Well of All Sparks to undo all the Autobots’ hard work.

“So what do we do?” Bulkhead asked.

“We put ourselves between Unicron’s army and the Well.” Bumblebee’s strategy was simple and sound. They couldn’t afford to wait for Prime, Wheeljack and the Allspark; they had to act, and the warship was their greatest asset.

“Glitch, you’ve been working on this ship since we took it over,” the newly minted warrior said to the field-tech. She had, especially in the previous few hours. It was better than worrying about the away team, or getting in Ratchet’s way as he monitored Ultra Magnus. “Think you can pilot it?”

“He’s a bit bigger than Moth, and I might have to stand on something to reach the controls, but a ship’s a ship. I’m not touching the weapons, though.” In her reality, no self-respecting Autobot used such things if they could help it.

“I wouldn’t ask you to. Bulkhead, can you be her co-pilot and main gunner?” And ready to take over in the event of further Dark Energon exposure, he carefully didn’t say.

“’Con engineering. User-friendly, right?” Particularly when an Autobot had spent days refining the controls – and adding in a few of her own.

Once Ratchet and Ultra Magnus had been transported to safety on the surface, the remaining ‘bots were soon on their way to intercept Unicron’s horde. Glitch had forgotten how much she enjoyed piloting. She was usually scared of heights, but flying a ship she trusted was fine. It didn’t make much sense, but that was often the way with her anxiety. She might have been a microgram rusty, though.

“Whoa, easy!” Bulkhead reached for the controls as she banked to port a little too sharply, sending crewmembers and loose objects sliding across the deck. “You’re flying a warship, not a cruiser.”

“Sorry.” She levelled out, never taking her optics from the instruments in front of her.

“Primary fusion cannons, null-rays, ion blasters – everything we need to stand a fighting chance against Unicron’s army.” Bumblebee listed off the ship’s complement of death-bringers. Glitch wondered idly what had become of the stasis ray she had seen mentioned in the team’s files. That was much more to her liking. Non-lethal, non-destructive and reversible.

“Should be able to buy a fair amount of time for the others to get here,” she remarked to Bulkhead as Arcee complimented Bumblebee on his leadership skills. “Before our circuits get fried.”

“Ah, c’mon! Where’s that famous optimism?”

“It opted out when I saw the scale of our problem. If Prime and Wheeljack don’t show up in time, the odds of our survival are slim indeed. I can’t calculate the probability that they will, and even if they do we’ll still be outnumbered – but I do like those odds.”

“I guess we can only try,” Bulkhead just had time to say before the most annoying person on the planet arrived on the bridge.

“Autobots!” Starscream, and a squad of Vehicons, levelled missiles and blasters at the crew. “Surrender this warship!” Everyone but Glitch turned to face down the intruders – then stopped short, for reasons she only understood when Screamer boasted that he had the Immobiliser, a device that caused instant, lasting stasis-lock.

“And in case you’re wondering, Smokescreen is in no position to come to your rescue.” Glitch could see Knock Out reflected in the viewport in front of her, wearing Smokescreen’s phase shifter. The young ‘bot had been fetching the Immobiliser and another relic, the Polarity Gauntlet, from the ship’s vaults; he must have been intercepted on the way back.

“Climb down and step away from the console,” Starscream commanded her, “or I’ll freeze you and simply drag you away.” Or, more likely, get one of the Vehicons to move her.

“Either use that thing or put it down,” she countered, digits still flying over the controls. “Waving that glowstick of destiny around just makes you look even more like an idiot.” Starscream wasn’t an idiot, she knew, but that was far from obvious. “But if you do use it and miss, you’re likely to hit this console and drop us all out of the sky. And if your aim is good enough,” she activated one of her custom settings, “good luck flying this ship with the isomorphic lock active.”

“Isomorphic lock?” the bewildered Decepticon asked.

“User recognition system I just finished installing. The controls will only respond to designated pilots. And I couldn’t add you or anyone else to the list and fly at the same time, even if you forced me.”

“Ah, Screamy won’t use the glowstick on any of us,” Bulkhead said from where the Vehicons had herded the other Autobots into the centre of a circle of ‘Cons. “He needs us if he’s gonna stand any chance of surviving Unicron.”

“You misunderstand,” Starscream told him, Glitch forgotten for the moment. “I do not intend to use this warship for battle, but for quickly getting as far away as possible from this doomed planet.” Someone was jumping to conclusions.

“Earth would be nice,” Knock Out commented, “now that Unicron no longer seems to be calling it home.” That particular Decepticon did seem to have a soft spot for that world, or at least its cars.

“Shut up!” Starscream lived up to the second half of his name. “Now, deactivate that lock and move away from those controls, Twitch,” the name’s Glitch, “or get stiff.”

“There’s just one thing you’ve overlooked.” What was Bumblebee playing at? Oh well; at least he might have spared Glitch another round of trying to outsmart Megatron’s most cunning lieutenant. “That device you’re holding? Not the Immobiliser.”

In the viewport, Glitch saw Starscream take a moment too long to figure out whether or not the warrior was bluffing. In that moment, the Autobots counterattacked, taking down the Vehicons within nanokliks. Starscream lunged for Bumblebee, and somehow got the upper servo almost as quickly. “I will silence you forever!”

No! She turned, magnets and EMP generator sliding into place – just in time to see a flawless claw-tipped servo phase through the Seeker’s chest, take the Immobiliser and belt him into stasis with it.

“Now will you believe I’m joining the winning team?” Knock Out asked, still holding the remains of the broken relic.

“Knock Out! We needed that!” Ratchet’s common complaint was as good as a “yes” from Bumblebee.

“Wait – it – really was the Immobiliser?”

“Good riddance, if you ask me.” Glitch turned back to her console, but not before giving Knock Out a friendly smile. She rather liked the other medic, despite herself (and hated the idea of putting anybot in permanent stasis-lock). “And welcome to the team.”

***

“Are we there yet?” Smokescreen asked as he, Arcee and Knock Out returned from locking Starscream up. (And, owing to the deployment of Glitch’s best scraplet eyes, checking him over.)

“We’re right on schedule,” Bulkhead replied.

“And so is Unicron,” Bumblebee added.

“Let’s get his attention, then,” Glitch said, before sending the ship into a steep dive, and Knock Out skidding across the deck, the moment the gunners were in position.

Just one strafing run was enough to draw Unicron’s Terror-Predacons away from the Well – and towards the ship. Glitch should have been terrified, but as a power surge pulsed through her circuits, analogous to a human’s adrenaline rush, all fear was burned away. She didn’t even feel the buzz at the back of her head that distinguished reasonable fear from the product of her cross-wired processor. Twisting, turning, diving, soaring, almost dancing between the undead Predacons like a young, less skilled Hera Syndulla or Powerglide, anchored to her console by the safety straps on her legs usually used by human riders, she even found herself struggling not to laugh.

Not everybot was amused, though. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Knock Out asked, clinging for dear spark to an unused console.

“Oh, relax. I learned from Omega Supreme’s mentor.” Her Ratchet, to be exact, who was also her mentor. Might that make her Omega’s sister in some way? Now that would be weird.

“I’d never have guessed. You fly like a Wrecker,” Bulkhead remarked.

“Thank you.” Coming from one of the last of the black-ops unit, she knew that was a compliment.

At that moment, the conversation was interrupted by a ship-shaking impact, which must have done some serious damage. “One engine is down,” Bulkhead reported. “It can be jump-started, but not without compromising our shields. We don’t have any other spare power.”

“I do.” Glitch had prepared for that possibility. She tore a couple of wires from beneath their console, flipped open a panel on her own forearm and crosslinked the two systems before even she could think twice. “Good grief.”

“You OK?”

“Fine. It’s just – more intense than I expected.” The connection she had forged wasn’t a full gestalt powerlink, like a combiner’s, but it still flooded her processor and frame with sensation. With an ordinary ship, she’d probably have gone into shutdown or meltdown almost immediately. As it was, though, it was a simple matter to direct power from her own systems into the inactive ones, giving them the spark they needed to start up again.

While she was distracted by that, a reanimated Predacon she and Bulkhead hadn’t managed to avoid slammed into a viewport right by Knock Out, who jumped back, yelling, “Zombie-‘Con! Zombie-‘Con!”

Bumblebee and Smokescreen moved in front of him, weapons at the ready, but they needn’t have bothered. A burst of yellow flame incinerated the mobile corpse, and a few others.

“Predacon,” Glitch said to herself with more than a little satisfaction.

But even their new allies couldn’t be everywhere at once. Despite Glitch’s modifications to their shields, despite her tweaking the engine burn to turn even their drive plume into a weapon, the ship started to take critical damage faster than she could compensate for it. They couldn’t stay in the air much longer, but Glitch had one last SD card under her plating. Almost by sheer willpower as much as by using the failing thrusters, she placed the ship directly above a flock of fliers. “Brace for impact!”

The warship dropped like the proverbial stone, its fall cushioned by several squashed Terror-‘Cons, skidded on their spilled fuel, and finally came to rest bare mechanometres from the Well of All Sparks. “Everybot all right?”

“Nothing a little carnauba wax won’t fix up.” Really? That was Knock Out’s priority?

Glitch bit back the sassy remark she wanted to make, focusing on the bigger picture. “I wish I could say the same for the Justice. It’s going to take weeks to get him back in the air.”

“You renamed the Nemesis?”

“Of course. The old name was too negative. Revenge is never good, but justice can be – especially if it’s restorative, not retributive.”

Mercifully, Knock Out chose not to get into that argument, though he did his best to start another one. “I say we leave it here to rust, if we even survive what’s coming.”

“Over my cold, offline shell! This is a Cybertronian we’re talking about here!” Knock Out looked surprised and confused. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Bulkhead asked, still recovering from the crash.

“This isn’t just a ship. He’s a Metrotitan. Trypticon, to be exact. Stasis-locked, but alive. I recognised the general layout and file architecture from my Omega Supreme,” all the Omega Sentinels, really; they had been her sparklinghood obsession, “and did some digging.” That was how she had coped with the powerlink. Even in deep stasis, Trypticon’s mind had shielded hers. She vowed to repay him by bringing him back online.

If she lived, that was. The fight wasn’t anywhere near over, and the greatest danger was yet to come. She disconnected herself from Trypticon, then had to brace herself against her console as her systems registered that she was running on fumes. She’d prepared for that, too, and withdrew a canister of green liquid from a hidden drawer below the controls, consuming the contents in one go and making a face. It tasted worse than boot-camp rations.

“Is that Synth-En?” Knock Out was right to be wary. He’d once been soundly beaten by Ratchet under the influence of an early version of synthetic Energon.

“The stable one, yes. Shockwave didn’t have time to destroy his manufacturing facility, though he locked the controls up tight. I had to ask very nicely just for one dose. But if this doesn’t counter the effects of Dark Energon exposure, nothing will.”

Luckily for her, it did. Even outside the protection of the Justice, with a trail of Dark Energon staining the ground, she was still ready for battle as the Autobots (including one recent defector) lined up in front of the Well, the Predacons – Predaking, another dragon and an ursagryph, easily mistaken for a griffin; Smokescreen had been nearly right – landing behind them, all braced for the fight of their lives.

“Stick close to me,” she said to Knock Out, indicating her shield with one magnet. “Finish protector.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Knock Out seemed resigned to the fact. “Speaking of finishes, yours could do with quite a bit of work.”

True, but… “Don’t have time. And I’m still surprised you do.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And if we both get out of this alive, at least let me do something about your hands. They’re painful to look at.”

Glitch spared a brief glance for the offending components. Yes, they were scuffed, but she liked them that way. They showed that she worked for a living; that she wasn’t some spoiled upper-class sparkling or privileged academic. If fixing them up would make Knock Out happy, though… “All right. When we survive this.”

Her optimism wasn’t universal; after all, as Bumblebee pointed out, they were the last line of defence for the Well and the planet. Not the safest role in the universe.

“I would recommend leaving that,” Predaking “suggested”, “to those more suited for the task. Skylynx! Darksteel! Allow nothing to enter the Well!”

Without another word from anybot, the three living Predacons transformed back into their alt-modes, leaped over the Autobots’ heads and charged their undead ancestors. Their flames held back the horde of Terror-‘Cons for a little while, but there were just too many of them; Predaking and his new subjects were swept into the Well, still fighting denta and claw to slow the advance of Unicron’s army.

“Really? This is how it ends?” Bulkhead asked in disbelief.

“We’re not losing our planet,” Bumblebee declared. “Not without taking Unicron with it.” One recently reawakened deity sharing a body with a very angry and independent ex-gladiator against seven extremely determined warriors, six of them fighting for a home they had only just regained, the seventh fighting for her friends. One almost had to feel sorry for the Chaos Bringer. Almost.

The power surge that had carried Glitch through the dogfight was fading at last, followed by the Synth-En’s most obvious effects, allowing fear to take up residence in her processor once more. She ignored it with the ease of long practice. She didn’t stop climbing because she was scared of heights, or making friends because she was scared of losing them. And she certainly wouldn’t back down from a battle because she was scared of dying and leaving her loved ones. All the same – that would be a really good time for the away team to show up.

As if on cue, Magnus’ ship (borrowed by Wheeljack), the Iron Will, swept overhead. The relief in Bulkhead’s voice was shared by the whole of the party as he said simply, “Optimus.”

“I never thought I’d be so happy to see that big rig,” Knock Out added.

“Expeditionary fighting vehicle,” Glitch corrected with her volume turned down low. Knock Out clearly didn’t know Prime had scanned a new alt. (Two new alts, technically, but his dinoform was supposed to be a secret.)

Prime himself disembarked from the Iron Will in midair, flying straight for Unicron, but the dark god fired on the bigger target first. A spear of purple light hit the retreating spacecraft right next to one of the engines, knocking it out of the sky.

“’Jackie!” Before anyone could stop him, Bulkhead transformed and drove off to check on his downed joint-best friend. Arcee tried to follow, but Glitch held her back as she and Knock Out exchanged glances. One medic had to go with Bulkhead and one had to stay behind, but which should be which?

“You go,” Knock Out said. “Wheeljack’s not exactly up to speed with recent developments.” He was right; even injured, the reckless Wrecker would probably attack the ex-‘Con on sight.

“Copy that.” Glitch transformed and raced away towards the crash site, sparing as many prayers as she could for all her friends.

By the time she reached the wrecked ship, Bulkhead had already found Wheeljack and was about to try to move him. She hadn’t arrived a moment too soon. As she knelt beside her patient, she kept thinking of Ultra Magnus lying dented and leaking on her repair table, and her inability to save him by herself. This isn’t like that. Ratchet said you have talent, and Wheeljack’s tough. You can do this.

“You’re lucky,” she told the white sports car once her preliminary scan had finished. “Not many ‘bots survive a crash like that with mostly superficial injuries. There’s still some internal damage, though, and you seem to have hit your head pretty hard, so stay off your peds for a while.” To Bulkhead, she added, “We’d better take him and the Allspark outside before this mess gets any worse. But next time, wait for a medic before trying to move a casualty if possible.”

“I’ve been worse,” Wheeljack informed them a little vaguely as they ‘bothandled him out of the ship, the Allspark in its glowing, floating container trailing behind.

“I’d hate to see that,” Glitch shot back before realising that she had – after Wheeljack’s and Magnus’ fight with Predaking that had cost the commander a servo and his signature weapon. Wheeljack hadn’t quite had time to repair the Forge of Solus Prime before setting off to retrieve the Allspark. He’ll have time soon.

Especially with Prime back in the game. The Autobot leader chose that moment to arrive, unharmed and not visibly grieving; the others were probably fine, then, and holding Unicron’s attention.

Wheeljack cut straight to the chase, as befitted a sports car. “So, how’re we gonna get that thing to safety?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the Allspark.

“By the only means available to us,” Prime replied, “under these most dire of circumstances. The very survival of our species on this or any other world depends upon it.” He outlined his plan; Glitch calculated that it would almost certainly work, and the bait-and-switch element appealed to her, but her spark dimmed to a flicker as she realised what the consequences would probably be, and when he met her optics and gave her a barely perceptible nod, it was practically a single photon.

Nobot else had any better ideas, though, and Prime’s plan didn’t need her, so as he and the Allspark flew back to the Well, she concentrated on things she could do. Fixing Wheeljack and returning to the others.

They got there just in time to see Unicron pry the Allspark’s container from Prime’s servos, having shot him out of the air. “I shall devour your Allspark whole!”

Quite the reverse, as he realised when he opened the container. “What? A trick!” They were the last words he spoke in Megatron’s body; the vessel forged for the source of Cybertronian life, emptied of its former contents, pulled his “anti-spark” out of his stolen shell and sealed it away, hopefully for good. Nanokliks later, a fusillade of explosions echoed up from deep in the Well, indicating that Unicron’s Terror-‘Cons couldn’t “survive” without him. The planet was safe at last.

Megatron’s frame had crashed to the ground as Unicron left it, but as Prime began to explain what had happened to the other Autobots, and Starscream (must have escaped in our crash) turned up like the proverbial bad shanix, he started to get up again, his optics a familiar red once more (though his biolights remained purple). Starscream heaped praise on his master, sounding rather like his alternate’s sycophantic clone, but Megatron’s reaction was somewhat unexpected. When his SIC referred to ruling Cybertron, Megatron refused. Quite forcefully.

“Because I now know the true meaning of oppression,” he said when asked why, after exchanging a long glance with his former friend Prime, “and have thus lost my taste for inflicting it.”

Starscream tried to bluster his way back to familiar ground (or air), but Megatron was having none of that. “The Decepticons are no more, and that – is – final.”

“A sensible Megatron,” Glitch remarked. “Wonders really will never cease.”

Megatron’s optics eventually sought her out, standing in the shade of the Wreckers. “Ah, the visitor from another universe. Tell me, what became of my counterpart in your reality?”

“Last I heard, he was still in prison, having been defeated and captured – by a maintenance crew.” And a few friends of theirs, but she chose to keep things simple.

“A maintenance-?” Megatron stared at her in disbelief for an uncomfortable moment. Then he threw back his head, and a sound rang out that had not been heard from the warlord in many, many stellar-cycles. Great peals of pure, genuine, joyful, sparkfelt laughter.

***

Once again, the Autobots (including Knock Out) gathered under Cybertron’s sun, this time at the edge of the Well of All Sparks. Once again, Prime was making a speech. And once again, it was a bittersweet occasion, though only two people knew why. Unicron was imprisoned, his army had disintegrated, Megatron, Starscream and the Predacons were literally in the wind and Shockwave wouldn’t try anything until the odds were in his favour. Only Prime and Glitch were aware of or suspected the full cost of that victory, though the former was about to change that.

“In order to both protect the Allspark,” he began, “and secure Unicron’s defeat, it was necessary for me to empty the vessel’s contents.”

“Into where?” Bumblebee asked.

“The Matrix of Leadership.” The repository of the wisdom of all past Primes, housed in the current Prime’s spark chamber. Not wholly unlike another Matrix in Glitch’s favourite television programme, she thought, trying desperately to distract herself from what she knew was coming. “As such, my own spark can no longer be separated from the multitude of others within me.” There it was.

“Are you telling us,” Ratchet now also knew what Prime had to do, “that you are now – one with the Allspark?”

“Heh, that’s what you say when someone kicks… the…” Smokescreen’s voice trailed away as he came to the same conclusion.

“Exactly,” Glitch said, her voice already heavy with sorrow.

Smokescreen rounded on her, suddenly furious. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not something one drops into casual conversation. And – I hoped, for once, I was wrong. But after what happened to Prowl – I’m just surprised it’s taken this long.” Her predecessor back in Detroit had donated his own spark to complete a partially reassembled Allspark, which had killed him instantly.

“To not return the Allspark to the Well,” Prime managed to get them back on track, “would be to prevent future generations of new life from existing on Cybertron.” Which, after everything they’d gone through, was unthinkable. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. “My quest must be completed.”

“Optimus,” Ratchet objected, “I didn’t return to Cybertron to save a life only to lose the one I care most about.” Glitch hadn’t even considered the effect on her colleague of losing his Amica. She resolved to be there for him, as much as he and her processor allowed, for as long as he needed her.

“Ratchet’s restored planets!” Bulkhead pointed out. “He’ll find a way to save you!”

“We can turn to Vector Sigma, just like we did before,” Arcee chimed in.

Prime was immovable. “Because the Matrix must now be relinquished with the Allspark, it cannot be restored, or passed down to another. But while this may very well mark the end of the Age of Primes, leadership can be earned with or without the Matrix.” Too right. There was no such thing in Glitch’s universe, to her knowledge, but Cybertron still functioned – mostly. Her own Optimus Prime had no ancient relic on which to call, but was growing into a great leader nonetheless. “And in my view, you have each acted as a Prime.” Steady on!

As his gaze fell on Knock Out, the medibot managed a self-deprecating, “Well, I never really had the best role models.”

“You have them now,” Glitch told him, her optics sweeping across the assembly. Three fierce warriors, three loyal and brave Wreckers, one dedicated doctor – and, of course, the leader who had stood by his people through thick and thin, fighting side by side with them, caring for each and every one.

“As even Megatron has demonstrated on this day,” Prime continued, “every sentient being possesses the capacity for change.” He turned away, towards the Well, activating the stabilisers on his jetpack – then turned back to say one last thing. “I ask only this of you, fellow Autobots.” Yes, that includes you, a brief glance at Knock Out seemed to say. “Keep fighting the noblest of fights.”

“You can count on us to keep the peace.” Bumblebee spoke for all of them, as he so often had since regaining his voice.

Reassured, Prime turned away again and flew high into the air, before letting himself fall directly into the Well. Every optic remained fixed on the shortcut to Primus even after he had vanished and every ‘bot there heard his voice once more – over comms, or in their heads? It was impossible to tell. “Above all, do not lament my absence, for in my spark I know that this is not the end, but merely a new beginning. Simply put, another transformation.”

Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine, Glitch thought as she and her friends watched a multicoloured multitude of sparks rise from the Well. But the words of an even older, even wiser character than the Doctor felt more appropriate. I will not say: do not weep, for not all tears are an evil. She couldn’t cry, but at such times she often wished she could.

For the others’ sake, though, she kept it together until she was in the privacy of her tiny room on the Justice, had put some music on (a human piece, Elgar’s magnificent setting of Newman’s poem The Dream of Gerontius, describing a soul’s journey to the Christian afterlife) and had fired up her terminal (a faithful-as-possible copy of the ones she had left behind in Nevada and Detroit and on her Cybertron) to pour her feelings out into her own music. Before she could make a start, however, a file caught her optic. It hadn’t been there before, and was entitled, “For Glitch.”

She ran a virus scan (one can never be too careful), then opened it. It was a text file, written in an old Cybertronian dialect, laid out like poetry or song lyrics. From the little she understood, she knew they would fit her nearly-finished “Song for Cybertron” perfectly. They captured not just the joy of finally seeing the planet restored and Cybertron’s intrinsic beauty, but also the long aeons of conflict and darkness that preceded that restoration, and the countless Cybertronians who would never see it, those whose shells still lay beneath their world’s new surface and those who had fallen far away. All of them, regardless of faction. Skyquake, Dreadwing and Breakdown would be remembered, just like Tailgate, Cliffjumper and Seaspray. All Cybertronians bled the same – within one universe, at least.

The lyrics were simply signed “OP”. Optimus Prime or Orion Pax? she wondered. The firebrand archivist or the gentle general? And did it matter? They were aspects of the same person, the same spark under different armour. She had fought alongside Optimus Prime, and talked late into the night with Orion Pax. She knew she would miss all of him, whatever he – or she – might want.

When had he written them? According to the file’s embedded metadata, it had been created after Bumblebee’s warrior ceremony, most likely after Prime and Wheeljack left Cybertron, and added to her terminal while she was helping transport Ultra Magnus to the Well. With so much else to worry about, he had taken the time to set words to her music – having first got hold of her draft, somehow. Ratchet had access to all her files, and would do a great deal for his Amica; he’d probably copied it at some point after she casually mentioned that she was writing a song that was crying out for words she couldn’t give it. Prime had obliged – as a farewell gift, it had turned out. “Stars, Orion…”

As the great baritone Bryn Terfel thundered out, “Proficiscere, anima Christiana” – an ancient prayer over the dying – she finally opened her composition software and began a new piece. One that would tell the story of a young ‘bot who dared to look beyond the limits set for him, to dream of a better world, and to work with – not merely for – the oppressed in his unjust society, using his higher status to help them where he could. Who humbly accepted rank and responsibility for the sake of his people. Who, when war came despite his best efforts, knew the names and stories of all his Autobots, and regretted every death, even those of enemy soldiers. Who stayed kind and hopeful even in exile, ceaselessly protecting the organics on his new homeworld – and exacting retribution when one of those in his special care was hurt. Who would tear off a Decepticon’s door to save a human he didn’t know, and give up most of his memory for a planet not his own. Who had remained an Autobot at spark, even when tricked into believing he was a Decepticon. Who had, at last, sacrificed that spark for his renewed world, and whose legacy lived on in the people whose sparks and hearts he had touched.

Though he had told them not to mourn, her spark didn’t even listen to her processor at times, let alone to anyone else. She did grieve for him and the hole he’d left in so many lives, and the piece reflected that. A lament for the last Prime.

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