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sakon76Well, have been poking at this one for literally years... got a touch of inspiration to work on it after rewatching the 1986 movie after seeing the 2007 movie, and got enough of a run on chapter 2 tonight that I feel the need to post this. I haven't watched anything else of G1 or BW in years, though, so this is probably going to need massive editing after I get around to that. For editorial notes, Roddy's new name I blame on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hoshikage, as it was originally from a fic of hers, and she also gets the credit for what happened between the Transformers and the human race, from a different fic of hers... both unfinished, I think.
As cold as ice, as cold as the deep blackness of true space, the robot drifted lifelessly past the stars. Its exterior, once red and gold, was dulled by the uncountable stellar dust particles that had collided with that metal surface. Its optics, once glowing with soft light, were dark. It did not move.
Only deep within the secure cavity of its chest was there any indication of life, a faint blue glimmer.
A spark.
Transformers: Freefall
Chapter One
by K. Stonham
released 1st August 2007
Monitoring the sensors was perhaps the most boring job aboard the downed ship. Rhinox didn't mind boring. It meant routine, safe, secure--peaceful.
"Hmm." An asteroid was heading towards the planet, perhaps three times the size of the stasis pods but roughly of the same density. He focused in on it, was mildly relieved when he saw that its trajectory placed it nowhere near the pods, then frowned as he read some of the elements the long-range sensors were picking up.
"Hey, Rhinox," Rattrap said, "why the long face?"
"Take a look," Rhinox invited.
Rattrap stood up on his hind legs and peered at the screen. "Tronium alloy?"
"It can only be made on Cybertron," Rhinox agreed. "But there's no way that's a stasis pod."
"And it's too small to be a ship," Rattrap mused, beady black eyes fixed on the screen which calculated out the trajectory of the falling object.
"So the question is, what is it?"
*
When Optimus received the message from Rhinox, he was doing nothing more complicated than mapping a previously uncharted section of the planet's coast, and enjoying the natural beauty of its ocean. His sensors were nonetheless left wide open against the possibility of a Predacon attack, and thus the communique across Maximal channels didn't startle him as badly as it could have.
"Optimus," Rhinox's voice crackled across his comm.
"Optimus here," he replied, lowering his datapad. "Go ahead, Rhinox."
"We're tracking an unknown object approaching the planet," his second told him. "It's due to make planetfall in 2.3 klicks."
"Not a stasis pod?" Optimus inquired.
"Not a chance," Rattrap's voice cut in. "It's too big. But get this, fearless leader... we're reading tronium alloy off the thing."
His optics widened. Even if it wasn't one of their comrades in the stasis pods, that meant.... The calculated possibilities ran through his processing unit. A derelict ship? A probe? If they were lucky, they might be able to salvage enough parts to repair the Axalon. Assuming, of course, the Predacons didn't get to it first....
"I'm sending you the coordinates," Rhinox told him. "And, Optimus, if the Predacons get to it first...."
"I want Cheetor and Rattrap as backup," Optimus decided. "Whatever it is, if the Predacons get their hands on it, it won't be good."
"On our way, fearless leader!" Rattrap said. He could practically see the salute the weapons specialist had to be giving the Axalon's console in his place.
Optimus turned immediately and jetted in the direction of the coordinates Rhinox had sent him. If the Axalon had noticed the object, it was almost certain that the Darkside had as well, and would be sending out their own investigative party, and whatever, or whoever, the freefalling object was, Optimus didn't want the Predacons getting their hands on it.
*
The meteorite had plowed a very long, wide, deep burning stripe into the narrow valley cradled between two mountain ranges. It made it very obvious to Primal where he should be looking, if not what he should be looking for.
As he rounded the last hill, his jets involuntarily stalled as his intake valves failed for a second to operate.
"Sweet... Matrix," he breathed, setting down gently, more shocked than he thought he'd been in... he didn't even know how many megacycles.
The metallic form before him was enormous, covered with dirt and whatever else it had plowed up upon impact, but he could still see the flames painted on its chassis, could still recognize the crimson Autobot symbol above them. Switching back to beast mode automatically, Optimus approached slowly, unbelievingly. He reached out to touch the metal form, not even flinching away from its searing heat. They'd only met once, aeons before, but the other had left an impression on him he remembered as clearly as if it had happened only a cycle ago.
"Rodimus... Prime...." he breathed reverently.
*
The protoform, feeling more nervous than he had since he was brought online, waited outside the room to be summoned.
The door hissed softly open. "Come in," a voice said from within.
Still unseen outside, the protoform straightened and took a deep intake of air before walking into the room.
He knew of the Prime, of course. Everyone did. Basic history databanks had been programmed in from the instant he'd come online. They'd fascinated him, absorbed him, become his entire area of research for a time while he grew and learned and tried to figure out where he'd fit into the society in which he'd been created. And now that he knew what his core programming was, what he was best suited to do, he had submitted his request for an appellation inspired by the figure whom he had admired most in the history he had studied.
He hadn't expected his request to catch the eye of the Prime.
He hadn't expected the Prime to be so big, to loom over him at several times his height and mass.
So it's true, he thought, slightly stunned. The Prime had refused to be upgraded into Maximal form. He'd heard the reasons why, the official statement of a decision to keep the bulkier, less-efficient form as a memoriam to the Great War, to those lost, and to the human race with whom contact was now forbidden. He just hadn't really believed that anyone would do such a thing. He began to appreciate how intimidating the Autobots and Decepticons must have seemed to their allies, how large, how powerful.
"You asked to see me, sir?" he asked.
The Prime nodded. "I apologize for taking time from your studies. Your teachers report well of you. Especially Springer." A wry smile caught at his mouth. "He's the one who showed me your naming request. Please don't hold it against him. It's just a very unusual request."
He nodded. "I know, sir."
"Please," the Prime deferred. "Just Rodimus."
"Rodimus," he repeated, slightly uneasy with addressing the Prime so informally.
"Can I ask why you want to name yourself after Optimus?" the Autobot inquired.
"I... admire him greatly, si--Rodimus," the protoform replied.
Blue optics went slightly distant. "He was a great Autobot," Rodimus agreed. "Those of us who knew him... still miss him."
"Can you tell me about him, sir?" the protoform asked. "More than what is in the history databases, I mean."
Rodimus had refocused on the present moment again. "I assume you've read how I became Prime? Both times." The protoform nodded. "The first time, he never intended for it to be me; no one did. Ultra Magnus was his chosen successor. But even after Optimus came back and saw how badly I'd screwed things up, he never blamed me. Not even for my part in his death. All he ever said, much later, was how good a job I'd done." He smiled faintly. "And when he had to use the Matrix again, and his own spark, to restore the Earth and the human race from what we'd done to them... he wouldn't let me be the one to sacrifice myself. He told me I had to stay and lead. That he trusted me. That... I really was the Chosen One." His voice had dropped to a whisper by the last sentence. The protoform was respectfully silent. Rodimus shook his head slightly, as if to clear away overwhelming memories. "I'm sorry, I hadn't processed that data cache for a long time." He hesitated, then turned to a high shelf, one well out of the protoform's reach. "If you're interested in history, you've researched humans and our relations with them, correct?"
"Yes, sir. Rodimus," the protoform answered, correcting himself. "The two centuries we associated with them were the pivotal point in ending the Great War."
"All well and good in words, but lacking... well, the human factor," Rodimus Prime chided softly, a touch of laughter in his voice. He set the object he had picked up down on the ground. It proved to be a holopad. The protoform stepped closer, curious, as Rodimus thumbed it on. A hologram sprang to life, a laughing human boy with curly brown hair and a smile. He threw a ball back and forth with an older human who resembled him. Surely his progenitor... his father, the protoform thought. "This was taken in the Earth year 2006," Rodimus said. "These are Spike Witwicky and his son Daniel. I never knew Sparkplug, Spike's father... he passed away before I ever went to Earth. For two hundred years their family were our friends, advocates, ambassadors, and teachers."
"Teachers?" the protoform asked, looking up in surprise.
Rodimus nodded, his optics on the hologram and a faint smile hovering on his mouth. "Though we were the far more advanced race, they were the ones who allowed us to change. Organic lifeforms exist in a state of continual change. They progress, they evolve, quicker than we could ever imagine. An entire lifespan in a hundred years or less. We learned that from them. We learned how to change, and in the end, that adaptability was what gave the Autobots the ability to end the war. And in being allies physically more frail than we are, they gave us something to protect. Not that they always needed protection." Rodimus' smile became firmer. "It always shocked the Decepticons when humans were able to take any of them out. Unfortunately, it only made them madder that an 'inferior' species was doing something better than they were."
The protoform nodded. "The Great Purge. They knew they had lost the war, so they wanted to strike the Autobots where it would hurt the most, before surrendering."
"An entire planet of organic life, an entire sentient species, lost," Rodimus murmured. "There were only a few hundred humans off Earth at that time."
"Six hundred and thirty-two," the protoform agreed.
"We... couldn't let that happen," Rodimus said. "Not after all they'd done for us. All they'd meant to us. Optimus used the Matrix to restore the Earth, restore their sparks. He sacrificed himself, and the prohibition on returning to Earth was put in place. We would not allow the humans to suffer any more for our war."
"But... the war was over, wasn't it?" the protoform asked, surprised, looking up at the Autobot.
"It would be more accurate to say we achieved a truce," Rodimus corrected. "Decepticons became Predacons. Autobots became Maximals. We talk to each other now instead of firing weapons, but the philosophies we Cybertronians live by have become no closer. So whether the War has truly ended... I can't say. It may well be that this is only a breathing period. I hope, though, given the price we paid for it, that it's more than that." His optics were on the looping hologram of a grinning human boy and his smiling father for a moment longer before he turned it off and picked it back up.
"I... admire him greatly, sir," the protoform said quietly. "I know I can't live up to him, but being allowed to carry his name would be the greatest of honors."
Rodimus had set the holopad back on its shelf and seemed to be considering things for a moment. "There was a human saying," he said eventually, "that no one was ever truly gone as long as they were remembered." He looked back at the protoform. "Your data files indicate you wish to become an explorer and scientist."
The protoform nodded. "There's so much that even we don't know about the universe," he replied. "What better way to find out about it, than to go find it?"
Rodimus nodded. "I can't claim to be the one who knew him the longest, or the best, but... I'd always thought that if there hadn't been a war, that might have been one of the paths Optimus might have taken." He was silent for a moment. "It would be good to have his name said again. Request approved. Wear his name--your name--with pride and honor. Optimus."
The protoform--Optimus!--stood shocked for just an instant, to have his request granted so quickly, in such a manner. As soon as he'd received the request from the Prime to review his appellation request, he'd calculated the odds of having it approved as being infinitesimal. "Thank you," he said finally. "Sir. Rodimus."
Rodimus smiled. "Thank Springer. If he hadn't brought your request to my attention, the system would have automatically rejected it."
*
The Prime had vanished a few decacycles later. Rumors had floated around, still floated around, about abduction, annihilation, an attack by the Predacons... emotions had revved high on both sides and Optimus had come to understand what Rodimus had meant about the War perhaps not being so dead as he'd believed. But the group that had come to be known as the Maximal Elders, mainly composed of the Prime's closest friends and advisors, had eventually been able to calm tensions, sending out party after party to search for the vanished leader. All had returned empty-handed.
But now, here before Optimus, Rodimus Prime had finally reappeared.
And as he watched, blue arcs of raw energon began crackling across the Autobot's chassis, threatening to overload him--if he wasn't nonfunctional already.
"No!" Optimus said, as if his command could belay the storm. If Rodimus shut down, they'd never know what had happened to him. The Matrix, too, would be lost forever....
He couldn't interface with the older technology; their people had advanced so far that Optimus' system was incompatible with Rodimus'. "No!" he urged vocally instead. "Prime--Rodimus! You need to reformat!" He didn't even know if it was possible, but surely the Matrix bearer, the Chosen One, would be able to do so if anyone could. He placed his paws on the Autobot's arm, blue-white energy burning him. "Reformat! You have to--the energon will kill you otherwise!"
There was no response, not even a glimmer of light in blue optics.
More and more energon gathered, forcing Optimus to retreat from the growing lightning storm. The giant metal form before him seemed to attract it like a magnet, more and more and more. It was deafening, it was blinding--
--it ended with a great explosion that shook the valley, and then all was silent save for the distant rolling echoes.
Recalibrating his optics, Optimus looked at the sizzling, blackened crater. Hesitantly he approached, not wanting to peer over the edge. He did so anyway.
A red fox sat in the center of the hole, examining a paw. It looked up as Optimus looked at it, then gathered itself and leapt, easily clearing the edge. He turned to watch it. It regarded him.
"...Prime?" he asked hesitantly, not sure.
Its eyes widened.
"It's me, sir, Optimus Primal... you interviewed me, once, when I wanted to use Optimus Prime's name...."
The fox nodded. "I remember." He looked around curiously. "Where are we? And... why these forms?"
"The planet is unknown," Optimus replied, reporting. "My crew and I are stranded here, as are a crew of Predacons. Many of our comrades remain in orbiting stasis pods. These forms, these beast forms, protect us from the raw energon this planet has in plenty." The fox nodded slowly, taking things in. "Sir, can I ask what happened? You vanished centuries ago and no one knows why."
"Centur--" The fox cut himself off. "I don't remember that. I remember... I was in my office. And then... nothing until I woke up here just now." He looked back up. "An unknown planet, you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"And things are stable on Cybertron?"
Optimus nodded again. "In the wake of your disappearance, the Maximal Elders govern, balanced by the TriPredacus Council."
"Maximal... Elders...?" Rodimus' tone was at once both slightly incredulous and amused. "Let me guess. Ultra Magnus, Arcee, Springer, Kup... and I'd guess Jazz and Goldbug?"
Optimus nodded. "With Blaster providing the deciding vote in cases of a tie."
He was not expecting the bark of laughter. "Magnus is going to wear my audio receptors out with complaints about my disappearance when we get back to Cyberton."
"Sir...?"
The fox grinned a lupine, toothy smile at him. "I think for now you'd better stop remembering I have any kind of rank, Optimus. This is your mission and your crew... and if it's all right, I'd rather not have anyone know who I am." A slightly sad smile. "It's hard to make friends when all anyone sees you as is a legend."
"Then... what should I call you?" Optimus asked, consciously restraining himself from adding "sir" to the end of the sentence. "'Rodimus' isn't a common name any more than 'Optimus' is."
"I think for now, the name 'Foxfire' will do best."
"Well, then... Foxfire it is."
Foxfire paused for a moment, then said, "You know, whenever we get back to Cybertron, Springer and Arcee are going to put you up for a commendation."
"Oh?" Optimus raised an eyebrow.
Foxfire grinned again. "They've been trying to get me to upgrade to a Maximal form for centuries."
*
As the fox started walking out of the valley with the gorilla, a pair of interested optics followed their movement. The 'bot hovered nearly silently on transparent wings, hidden from the Maximals' view by a copse of trees... though not they from his.
"Innnterestingggg.... Fox-bot is Priiiiime," the Predacon buzzed to himself. "Not to be telling Megatron about this, though, no. This izzz Wazzpinator'zzz secret!" This determined, with a nod the flying Predacon turned and started heading back to his own base.
*
"What are your crew like?" Foxfire asked as they came over a ride.
Optimus shaded his optics. "You'll find out soon enough."
Wondering at the slightly rueful and worn tone he heard in the Maximal's voice, Foxfire looked in the same direction and saw a yellow streak of fur with something dark clinging to its back streaking toward them, a line of dust puffing into the air in its wake. He just had time to ask "Your crewmembers?"
"Indeed," Optimus replied, as the cat screeched to a stop before them.
"What's up, Optimus? Where's the meteorite?" the cheetah demanded in a rush.
"Yeah, and who's that?" the rat clinging to his back demanded, pointing at Foxfire.
"This is Foxfire. As of today, he's a member of our crew," Optimus replied. "Foxfire, allow me to introduce you to Rattrap, our demolitions expert, and Cheetor, our jungle scout."
"Wait, so was it a ship crash, then?" Cheetor burst out. "Is there anything left we can use to salvage the Axalon?"
Rattrap smacked one of the cat's ears with a paw. "Kid, don't make me hurt you." Beady black eyes flitted between Foxfire and Optimus. "What we picked up on the sensors was too big to be a stasis pod, and too small to be a ship. What's goin' on, here?"
"I was an Autobot," Foxfire said quietly. "I guess I must have been drifting in space a long time. I don't even know how I got here. Wherever here is."
"Whoa, wait, an Autobot?!" the cheetah demanded, sitting up straight. The rat fell off his back with a muffled "oof." "That means you're ancient! Even older than Rat-face here."
"Kid..." the rat threatened, one paw on the side of his head as he levered himself up. He looked up at Foxfire, though. "Well, as long as the boss monkey vouches for ya, I guess that's good enough for me. Welcome to the party."
"Thanks," Foxfire said with a nod. He could feel Primal's optics on him, but didn't look at him. He wasn't in a position of authority here, and wouldn't take away Primal's command, no matter who he really was. What he really was.
Cybertron was in the hands of those he trusted, and he had no more way to get back than Primal and his crew did. For the first time in a very very long time, Foxfire thought, perhaps since the instant Megatron had blasted Optimus Prime before and because of him, he was free of the weight of leadership and responsibility.
He knew it couldn't last forever, but couldn't help thinking of it as just a little breather space. A vacation. Maybe, if they'd ever forgive him for it later when the truth inevitably came out, a chance to be just a simple Autobot in the ranks again... just a Maximal soldier for a little while.
He could practically see Springer grinning at his audacity, and Arcee pretending to be incensed, all the while gentle, merry approval dancing in her optics. And Magnus accepting it all with a sigh, a smile, and a quiet "Whatever you have to do." He almost grinned as he wondered just what imprecations Kup would level at his head for the stunt, both of them knowing the elderly Autobot meant not a word of them.
In the meantime... these Maximals were his people as sure as any he'd left (however he'd left, which he wasn't sure of) on Cybertron. And if Optimus Primal needed his help, as a warrior or for any words of advice he thought Foxfire might be able to give him... well, he was there to help. And so he set off with his new companions for the downed ship Axalon, Cheetor's questions running a mile a minute, Rattrap occasionally deriding them and then asking a question of his own, and Optimus watching the three of them with cautious, amused optics.
hoshikage, as it was originally from a fic of hers, and she also gets the credit for what happened between the Transformers and the human race, from a different fic of hers... both unfinished, I think.As cold as ice, as cold as the deep blackness of true space, the robot drifted lifelessly past the stars. Its exterior, once red and gold, was dulled by the uncountable stellar dust particles that had collided with that metal surface. Its optics, once glowing with soft light, were dark. It did not move.
Only deep within the secure cavity of its chest was there any indication of life, a faint blue glimmer.
A spark.
Transformers: Freefall
Chapter One
by K. Stonham
released 1st August 2007
Monitoring the sensors was perhaps the most boring job aboard the downed ship. Rhinox didn't mind boring. It meant routine, safe, secure--peaceful.
"Hmm." An asteroid was heading towards the planet, perhaps three times the size of the stasis pods but roughly of the same density. He focused in on it, was mildly relieved when he saw that its trajectory placed it nowhere near the pods, then frowned as he read some of the elements the long-range sensors were picking up.
"Hey, Rhinox," Rattrap said, "why the long face?"
"Take a look," Rhinox invited.
Rattrap stood up on his hind legs and peered at the screen. "Tronium alloy?"
"It can only be made on Cybertron," Rhinox agreed. "But there's no way that's a stasis pod."
"And it's too small to be a ship," Rattrap mused, beady black eyes fixed on the screen which calculated out the trajectory of the falling object.
"So the question is, what is it?"
When Optimus received the message from Rhinox, he was doing nothing more complicated than mapping a previously uncharted section of the planet's coast, and enjoying the natural beauty of its ocean. His sensors were nonetheless left wide open against the possibility of a Predacon attack, and thus the communique across Maximal channels didn't startle him as badly as it could have.
"Optimus," Rhinox's voice crackled across his comm.
"Optimus here," he replied, lowering his datapad. "Go ahead, Rhinox."
"We're tracking an unknown object approaching the planet," his second told him. "It's due to make planetfall in 2.3 klicks."
"Not a stasis pod?" Optimus inquired.
"Not a chance," Rattrap's voice cut in. "It's too big. But get this, fearless leader... we're reading tronium alloy off the thing."
His optics widened. Even if it wasn't one of their comrades in the stasis pods, that meant.... The calculated possibilities ran through his processing unit. A derelict ship? A probe? If they were lucky, they might be able to salvage enough parts to repair the Axalon. Assuming, of course, the Predacons didn't get to it first....
"I'm sending you the coordinates," Rhinox told him. "And, Optimus, if the Predacons get to it first...."
"I want Cheetor and Rattrap as backup," Optimus decided. "Whatever it is, if the Predacons get their hands on it, it won't be good."
"On our way, fearless leader!" Rattrap said. He could practically see the salute the weapons specialist had to be giving the Axalon's console in his place.
Optimus turned immediately and jetted in the direction of the coordinates Rhinox had sent him. If the Axalon had noticed the object, it was almost certain that the Darkside had as well, and would be sending out their own investigative party, and whatever, or whoever, the freefalling object was, Optimus didn't want the Predacons getting their hands on it.
The meteorite had plowed a very long, wide, deep burning stripe into the narrow valley cradled between two mountain ranges. It made it very obvious to Primal where he should be looking, if not what he should be looking for.
As he rounded the last hill, his jets involuntarily stalled as his intake valves failed for a second to operate.
"Sweet... Matrix," he breathed, setting down gently, more shocked than he thought he'd been in... he didn't even know how many megacycles.
The metallic form before him was enormous, covered with dirt and whatever else it had plowed up upon impact, but he could still see the flames painted on its chassis, could still recognize the crimson Autobot symbol above them. Switching back to beast mode automatically, Optimus approached slowly, unbelievingly. He reached out to touch the metal form, not even flinching away from its searing heat. They'd only met once, aeons before, but the other had left an impression on him he remembered as clearly as if it had happened only a cycle ago.
"Rodimus... Prime...." he breathed reverently.
The protoform, feeling more nervous than he had since he was brought online, waited outside the room to be summoned.
The door hissed softly open. "Come in," a voice said from within.
Still unseen outside, the protoform straightened and took a deep intake of air before walking into the room.
He knew of the Prime, of course. Everyone did. Basic history databanks had been programmed in from the instant he'd come online. They'd fascinated him, absorbed him, become his entire area of research for a time while he grew and learned and tried to figure out where he'd fit into the society in which he'd been created. And now that he knew what his core programming was, what he was best suited to do, he had submitted his request for an appellation inspired by the figure whom he had admired most in the history he had studied.
He hadn't expected his request to catch the eye of the Prime.
He hadn't expected the Prime to be so big, to loom over him at several times his height and mass.
So it's true, he thought, slightly stunned. The Prime had refused to be upgraded into Maximal form. He'd heard the reasons why, the official statement of a decision to keep the bulkier, less-efficient form as a memoriam to the Great War, to those lost, and to the human race with whom contact was now forbidden. He just hadn't really believed that anyone would do such a thing. He began to appreciate how intimidating the Autobots and Decepticons must have seemed to their allies, how large, how powerful.
"You asked to see me, sir?" he asked.
The Prime nodded. "I apologize for taking time from your studies. Your teachers report well of you. Especially Springer." A wry smile caught at his mouth. "He's the one who showed me your naming request. Please don't hold it against him. It's just a very unusual request."
He nodded. "I know, sir."
"Please," the Prime deferred. "Just Rodimus."
"Rodimus," he repeated, slightly uneasy with addressing the Prime so informally.
"Can I ask why you want to name yourself after Optimus?" the Autobot inquired.
"I... admire him greatly, si--Rodimus," the protoform replied.
Blue optics went slightly distant. "He was a great Autobot," Rodimus agreed. "Those of us who knew him... still miss him."
"Can you tell me about him, sir?" the protoform asked. "More than what is in the history databases, I mean."
Rodimus had refocused on the present moment again. "I assume you've read how I became Prime? Both times." The protoform nodded. "The first time, he never intended for it to be me; no one did. Ultra Magnus was his chosen successor. But even after Optimus came back and saw how badly I'd screwed things up, he never blamed me. Not even for my part in his death. All he ever said, much later, was how good a job I'd done." He smiled faintly. "And when he had to use the Matrix again, and his own spark, to restore the Earth and the human race from what we'd done to them... he wouldn't let me be the one to sacrifice myself. He told me I had to stay and lead. That he trusted me. That... I really was the Chosen One." His voice had dropped to a whisper by the last sentence. The protoform was respectfully silent. Rodimus shook his head slightly, as if to clear away overwhelming memories. "I'm sorry, I hadn't processed that data cache for a long time." He hesitated, then turned to a high shelf, one well out of the protoform's reach. "If you're interested in history, you've researched humans and our relations with them, correct?"
"Yes, sir. Rodimus," the protoform answered, correcting himself. "The two centuries we associated with them were the pivotal point in ending the Great War."
"All well and good in words, but lacking... well, the human factor," Rodimus Prime chided softly, a touch of laughter in his voice. He set the object he had picked up down on the ground. It proved to be a holopad. The protoform stepped closer, curious, as Rodimus thumbed it on. A hologram sprang to life, a laughing human boy with curly brown hair and a smile. He threw a ball back and forth with an older human who resembled him. Surely his progenitor... his father, the protoform thought. "This was taken in the Earth year 2006," Rodimus said. "These are Spike Witwicky and his son Daniel. I never knew Sparkplug, Spike's father... he passed away before I ever went to Earth. For two hundred years their family were our friends, advocates, ambassadors, and teachers."
"Teachers?" the protoform asked, looking up in surprise.
Rodimus nodded, his optics on the hologram and a faint smile hovering on his mouth. "Though we were the far more advanced race, they were the ones who allowed us to change. Organic lifeforms exist in a state of continual change. They progress, they evolve, quicker than we could ever imagine. An entire lifespan in a hundred years or less. We learned that from them. We learned how to change, and in the end, that adaptability was what gave the Autobots the ability to end the war. And in being allies physically more frail than we are, they gave us something to protect. Not that they always needed protection." Rodimus' smile became firmer. "It always shocked the Decepticons when humans were able to take any of them out. Unfortunately, it only made them madder that an 'inferior' species was doing something better than they were."
The protoform nodded. "The Great Purge. They knew they had lost the war, so they wanted to strike the Autobots where it would hurt the most, before surrendering."
"An entire planet of organic life, an entire sentient species, lost," Rodimus murmured. "There were only a few hundred humans off Earth at that time."
"Six hundred and thirty-two," the protoform agreed.
"We... couldn't let that happen," Rodimus said. "Not after all they'd done for us. All they'd meant to us. Optimus used the Matrix to restore the Earth, restore their sparks. He sacrificed himself, and the prohibition on returning to Earth was put in place. We would not allow the humans to suffer any more for our war."
"But... the war was over, wasn't it?" the protoform asked, surprised, looking up at the Autobot.
"It would be more accurate to say we achieved a truce," Rodimus corrected. "Decepticons became Predacons. Autobots became Maximals. We talk to each other now instead of firing weapons, but the philosophies we Cybertronians live by have become no closer. So whether the War has truly ended... I can't say. It may well be that this is only a breathing period. I hope, though, given the price we paid for it, that it's more than that." His optics were on the looping hologram of a grinning human boy and his smiling father for a moment longer before he turned it off and picked it back up.
"I... admire him greatly, sir," the protoform said quietly. "I know I can't live up to him, but being allowed to carry his name would be the greatest of honors."
Rodimus had set the holopad back on its shelf and seemed to be considering things for a moment. "There was a human saying," he said eventually, "that no one was ever truly gone as long as they were remembered." He looked back at the protoform. "Your data files indicate you wish to become an explorer and scientist."
The protoform nodded. "There's so much that even we don't know about the universe," he replied. "What better way to find out about it, than to go find it?"
Rodimus nodded. "I can't claim to be the one who knew him the longest, or the best, but... I'd always thought that if there hadn't been a war, that might have been one of the paths Optimus might have taken." He was silent for a moment. "It would be good to have his name said again. Request approved. Wear his name--your name--with pride and honor. Optimus."
The protoform--Optimus!--stood shocked for just an instant, to have his request granted so quickly, in such a manner. As soon as he'd received the request from the Prime to review his appellation request, he'd calculated the odds of having it approved as being infinitesimal. "Thank you," he said finally. "Sir. Rodimus."
Rodimus smiled. "Thank Springer. If he hadn't brought your request to my attention, the system would have automatically rejected it."
The Prime had vanished a few decacycles later. Rumors had floated around, still floated around, about abduction, annihilation, an attack by the Predacons... emotions had revved high on both sides and Optimus had come to understand what Rodimus had meant about the War perhaps not being so dead as he'd believed. But the group that had come to be known as the Maximal Elders, mainly composed of the Prime's closest friends and advisors, had eventually been able to calm tensions, sending out party after party to search for the vanished leader. All had returned empty-handed.
But now, here before Optimus, Rodimus Prime had finally reappeared.
And as he watched, blue arcs of raw energon began crackling across the Autobot's chassis, threatening to overload him--if he wasn't nonfunctional already.
"No!" Optimus said, as if his command could belay the storm. If Rodimus shut down, they'd never know what had happened to him. The Matrix, too, would be lost forever....
He couldn't interface with the older technology; their people had advanced so far that Optimus' system was incompatible with Rodimus'. "No!" he urged vocally instead. "Prime--Rodimus! You need to reformat!" He didn't even know if it was possible, but surely the Matrix bearer, the Chosen One, would be able to do so if anyone could. He placed his paws on the Autobot's arm, blue-white energy burning him. "Reformat! You have to--the energon will kill you otherwise!"
There was no response, not even a glimmer of light in blue optics.
More and more energon gathered, forcing Optimus to retreat from the growing lightning storm. The giant metal form before him seemed to attract it like a magnet, more and more and more. It was deafening, it was blinding--
--it ended with a great explosion that shook the valley, and then all was silent save for the distant rolling echoes.
Recalibrating his optics, Optimus looked at the sizzling, blackened crater. Hesitantly he approached, not wanting to peer over the edge. He did so anyway.
A red fox sat in the center of the hole, examining a paw. It looked up as Optimus looked at it, then gathered itself and leapt, easily clearing the edge. He turned to watch it. It regarded him.
"...Prime?" he asked hesitantly, not sure.
Its eyes widened.
"It's me, sir, Optimus Primal... you interviewed me, once, when I wanted to use Optimus Prime's name...."
The fox nodded. "I remember." He looked around curiously. "Where are we? And... why these forms?"
"The planet is unknown," Optimus replied, reporting. "My crew and I are stranded here, as are a crew of Predacons. Many of our comrades remain in orbiting stasis pods. These forms, these beast forms, protect us from the raw energon this planet has in plenty." The fox nodded slowly, taking things in. "Sir, can I ask what happened? You vanished centuries ago and no one knows why."
"Centur--" The fox cut himself off. "I don't remember that. I remember... I was in my office. And then... nothing until I woke up here just now." He looked back up. "An unknown planet, you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"And things are stable on Cybertron?"
Optimus nodded again. "In the wake of your disappearance, the Maximal Elders govern, balanced by the TriPredacus Council."
"Maximal... Elders...?" Rodimus' tone was at once both slightly incredulous and amused. "Let me guess. Ultra Magnus, Arcee, Springer, Kup... and I'd guess Jazz and Goldbug?"
Optimus nodded. "With Blaster providing the deciding vote in cases of a tie."
He was not expecting the bark of laughter. "Magnus is going to wear my audio receptors out with complaints about my disappearance when we get back to Cyberton."
"Sir...?"
The fox grinned a lupine, toothy smile at him. "I think for now you'd better stop remembering I have any kind of rank, Optimus. This is your mission and your crew... and if it's all right, I'd rather not have anyone know who I am." A slightly sad smile. "It's hard to make friends when all anyone sees you as is a legend."
"Then... what should I call you?" Optimus asked, consciously restraining himself from adding "sir" to the end of the sentence. "'Rodimus' isn't a common name any more than 'Optimus' is."
"I think for now, the name 'Foxfire' will do best."
"Well, then... Foxfire it is."
Foxfire paused for a moment, then said, "You know, whenever we get back to Cybertron, Springer and Arcee are going to put you up for a commendation."
"Oh?" Optimus raised an eyebrow.
Foxfire grinned again. "They've been trying to get me to upgrade to a Maximal form for centuries."
As the fox started walking out of the valley with the gorilla, a pair of interested optics followed their movement. The 'bot hovered nearly silently on transparent wings, hidden from the Maximals' view by a copse of trees... though not they from his.
"Innnterestingggg.... Fox-bot is Priiiiime," the Predacon buzzed to himself. "Not to be telling Megatron about this, though, no. This izzz Wazzpinator'zzz secret!" This determined, with a nod the flying Predacon turned and started heading back to his own base.
"What are your crew like?" Foxfire asked as they came over a ride.
Optimus shaded his optics. "You'll find out soon enough."
Wondering at the slightly rueful and worn tone he heard in the Maximal's voice, Foxfire looked in the same direction and saw a yellow streak of fur with something dark clinging to its back streaking toward them, a line of dust puffing into the air in its wake. He just had time to ask "Your crewmembers?"
"Indeed," Optimus replied, as the cat screeched to a stop before them.
"What's up, Optimus? Where's the meteorite?" the cheetah demanded in a rush.
"Yeah, and who's that?" the rat clinging to his back demanded, pointing at Foxfire.
"This is Foxfire. As of today, he's a member of our crew," Optimus replied. "Foxfire, allow me to introduce you to Rattrap, our demolitions expert, and Cheetor, our jungle scout."
"Wait, so was it a ship crash, then?" Cheetor burst out. "Is there anything left we can use to salvage the Axalon?"
Rattrap smacked one of the cat's ears with a paw. "Kid, don't make me hurt you." Beady black eyes flitted between Foxfire and Optimus. "What we picked up on the sensors was too big to be a stasis pod, and too small to be a ship. What's goin' on, here?"
"I was an Autobot," Foxfire said quietly. "I guess I must have been drifting in space a long time. I don't even know how I got here. Wherever here is."
"Whoa, wait, an Autobot?!" the cheetah demanded, sitting up straight. The rat fell off his back with a muffled "oof." "That means you're ancient! Even older than Rat-face here."
"Kid..." the rat threatened, one paw on the side of his head as he levered himself up. He looked up at Foxfire, though. "Well, as long as the boss monkey vouches for ya, I guess that's good enough for me. Welcome to the party."
"Thanks," Foxfire said with a nod. He could feel Primal's optics on him, but didn't look at him. He wasn't in a position of authority here, and wouldn't take away Primal's command, no matter who he really was. What he really was.
Cybertron was in the hands of those he trusted, and he had no more way to get back than Primal and his crew did. For the first time in a very very long time, Foxfire thought, perhaps since the instant Megatron had blasted Optimus Prime before and because of him, he was free of the weight of leadership and responsibility.
He knew it couldn't last forever, but couldn't help thinking of it as just a little breather space. A vacation. Maybe, if they'd ever forgive him for it later when the truth inevitably came out, a chance to be just a simple Autobot in the ranks again... just a Maximal soldier for a little while.
He could practically see Springer grinning at his audacity, and Arcee pretending to be incensed, all the while gentle, merry approval dancing in her optics. And Magnus accepting it all with a sigh, a smile, and a quiet "Whatever you have to do." He almost grinned as he wondered just what imprecations Kup would level at his head for the stunt, both of them knowing the elderly Autobot meant not a word of them.
In the meantime... these Maximals were his people as sure as any he'd left (however he'd left, which he wasn't sure of) on Cybertron. And if Optimus Primal needed his help, as a warrior or for any words of advice he thought Foxfire might be able to give him... well, he was there to help. And so he set off with his new companions for the downed ship Axalon, Cheetor's questions running a mile a minute, Rattrap occasionally deriding them and then asking a question of his own, and Optimus watching the three of them with cautious, amused optics.
