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“You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Thundercracker didn’t speak again – he lunged forward, thrusting his wing sword with deadly precision. Optimus Prime parried the blow with the shield on his right arm. Sparks flew as jagged blade met diamond-print metal. Optimus pushed the wing sword away and danced forward, only to receive Thundercracker’s knee in his midsection.
Doubled over, the Autobot leader barely managed to raise his other arm to block a second attack. The ex-Decepticon drove a fist into Optimus’ shoulder, knocking him to the floor, and snorted. “Pathetic. Really, really pathetic. A Decepticon cadet with a breem’s worth of combat training could take you down right now.”
Optimus grunted. “It’s a unique situation. I haven’t exactly had this body for long.”
“No excuse,” Thundercracker said casually. “Pretty much every Decepticon in the ranks has been reformatted – they’re expected to be able to fight from the moment they come back online.” He reached out and helped Optimus back to his feet. “If you’re a still little shaky from your make-over, you’re giving them the advantage.”
“And what about you, Thundercracker?” Optimus asked, shaking his head to clear it. “You were one of the original Decepticons – were you reformatted?”
The midnight blue warrior lashed out again, forcing Optimus to drop to the ground and roll away. He took a knee a few metres away, lifted his repaired ion rifle and fired. The gun kicked awkwardly in his grip, completely unlike the weapon he’d trusted for millions of years. Each shot went wide, and Thundercracker charged.
Spurred into abrupt motion, Optimus took the ex-Decepticon down with a wicked clothesline strike and, once again, moved quickly out of range. This was far from how he’d expected to spend his day.
For the first time in nine million years, Cybertron was at peace. Megatron was dead, his body disintegrated and his remaining Decepticons in disarray. Unicron – the beast of their racial nightmares – had been put to rest once more. And though they’d lost allies along the way… Ligerjack, Saidos, Metroplex and Evac… the Autobots had guaranteed the safety of four worlds.
There was still much to be done. The remains of their base on Earth had to be salvaged, and decisions made on a continuing Autobot presence there. Gigalonia, a world of enormous Transformers, needed to be coaxed out of centuries of deception and prejudice. Most importantly, Speedia and its high-velocity inhabitants were gripped by a horrid civil war that threatened to wipe them out within months.
There was much to be done… and yet Optimus Prime was here, in the Decagon, ignoring all his responsibilities. Not just his responsibilities to their allies – those who had helped them secure the Planet Keys – but also his responsibilities as bearer of the Creation Matrix. Cybertron, his home world, was not only peaceful but also full of plenty – its environment and resources had been, in something of a miracle, rejuvenated. His people needed leadership, a new agenda to follow in a world without warfare.
As the Prime, it was his task… but he could not turn his processor to it. Not yet. Not when his own body was a mystery to him.
“Now that is what you’re supposed to be doing,” Thundercracker said wryly, rubbing his chin. “Almost re-broke my neck with that one. Good stuff – knowing your opponent’s weak points and targeting them.”
Optimus felt sick.
“I’m not too sure where the weak points are in that snazzy new number of yours,” the jet said pleasantly, a smile creeping over his crimson face plate, “but I’m sure going to enjoy finding out.”
He went on the offensive, batting the ion rifle away. It spun in the air and clattered to the floor, sliding out of reach. For the second time of late, Optimus found himself in hand-to-hand combat.
The last time, he’d come to blows with a being of pure evil – a bizarre fusion of Megatron and Unicron. To win the day, he’d willingly sacrificed his own life… but, instead of dying, had been reborn in a new body at the whim of Primus, creator of the Transformers.
His only previous experience with reformatting was on Earth, four years earlier. It had been a simple matter – a slight tweaking of his alternate mode so it resembled a Terran semi-trailer, rather than a Cybertronian all-terrain ground-pursuit vehicle. This was different. His Primus-given chassis looked like one of Earth’s fire trucks but was far more complex, more… potent.
His central torso was not red metal but, rather, a highly polished substance similar to ruby. Optimus could feel energies crackling within his chassis but had no idea how to access them… or if he even could access them. His limbs, meanwhile, bulged with new devices of esoteric, arcane or simply unfathomable function.
Thundercracker brought his wing sword down in a strong, centralised cutting action. Optimus raised his hands and clapped them above his head, catching the deadly blade between them. The ex-Decepticon grunted in surprise, then protested loudly when the Autobot leader wrenched the weapon from his hands. Optimus deftly flicked the blade over itself and caught its handle.
“Live by the sword,” he trailed off, leaving a sense of menace in the air.
He was not the only one who had been changed by Primus. Once an uncomfortable mixture of Mini-con and battle platform, Ultra Magnus was now a towering giant of incomparable strength, speed and skill. He could now run, jump and move faster than ever before and, thanks to his new wings and rocket pack, could even fly. His vehicle mode – a white and blue car carrier – was blisteringly fast and all but unstoppable once it started rolling.
Magnus had no cause to mourn his old body’s weapon systems, either. They’d all been incorporated into the breathtakingly deadly cannon he’d taken to calling “Blue Bolts”. The power of the Overload platform – missiles, ordnance, energy cannons that could fell a star ship – was packed into a gun that stood taller than many of the Autobots.
Rodimus, too, had been touched. For a time, the young cavalier had stood as the Prime, a worthy bearer of the Matrix. He had given up that status, that robust frame, in deference to Optimus. In his sacrifice, he’d become something in between… a Prime-in-waiting, a smaller, sleeker version of a leader-born. His acceleration and velocity were awe-inspiring – almost to the peaks achieved by Blur and Override – and he’d continued to learn new abilities.
Through the tutelage of Vector Prime and his exposure to the unique atmosphere of Speedia, Rodimus had learned to manifest a Force Chip – a disc-shaped device that boosted his abilities exponentially. Both he and Magnus had easily adapted to their altered bodies, eager to “put it through its paces”.
Optimus was not the only one who had been changed by Primus, but he was the only one befuddled by his new status. That confusion had mixed in with another emotion dominating his neural net – shame. During the fight with “Megacron”, he’d given into a very dark, very ugly part of his personality he’d long thought buried. It had been an intensely uncomfortable experience and, yet, it had given him victory.
A human religion he’d studied had a unique way of looking at personality flaws. The holy men claimed negative attributes were nothing more than abilities gone to waste… or misused. He’d taken this to heart. Rather than suppressing it again, Optimus wanted to make peace with the violence, the entropy, within his own Spark and learn to use it to his advantage. To master violence and, in doing so, make peace with it.
And who better to preach violence than a Decepticon?
Waving the sword, Optimus carved a no-mech’s land between himself and Thundercracker. The jet circled warily, arms outstretched, looking for an opening. Another sweep drove the ex-Decepticon further back. Pivoting on a grey toe, he flipped his shoulder-mounted cannons into place and fired two purple bolts of energy.
Instinctively, Optimus dropped the sword and threw both arms up in front of his face. The tactic made no sense – especially not after centuries of combat – and yet his body seemed to move of its own accord. He winced at searing heat of the incoming blasts, braced himself for the impact… and felt nothing.
He lowered his arms noticing, at the same time, how they glowed. More accurately, the diamond-press shields built into his arms were pulsing with a faint purple light. Optimus felt a tingle run though his systems as energy darted through his circuitry and began to gather in his chest. His ruby torso gleamed, as if lit from within, and the twin blue panels on his chest flared to life. Thundercracker wore an expression of utter bafflement.
There was a hissing noise, then a deep hum, from Optimus’ chest. Yellow lights flickered around small, detailed sections of his chest plate. Abruptly, two thick columns of purple energy erupted from the twin panels, splitting the air and pouring their fury onto the ex-Decepticon. Life a leaf in a tempest, Thundercracker spun and toppled, landing unceremoniously on his skid plate with a resounding “oomph!”
Once the energy storm had subsided, Optimus ran across to his sparring partner. “Are you all right?” he asked, offering a hand.
Thundercracker took it. “I ain’t shooting you again,” he groused. “Some trick… energy absorption and redirection.”
“Magnification, too,” Optimus murmured. “It seemed as if I took in the energy of your blasts and multiplied it before it was released.”
The ex-Decepticon smirked. “Or maybe,” he whispered, a gleam in his optics, “my cannons’re a lot more powerful than you rated ‘em.”
Suddenly he shifted his weight, pulling down on Optimus’ arm. Off-balance, the Autobot leader toppled, then twisted to avoid razor-sharp fins on the jet’s knees. He didn’t get to hit the floor this time – Thundercracker again jerked on the outstretched limb, turning at the same time, and hammer-threw Optimus into a wall.
His thick, padded back took the worst of the impact and Optimus bounced to his feet. He tried to summon another chest blast and failed – the mechanism was designed for catch-and-release, not storage. Another thing learned, he thought ruefully.
Thundercracker grinned as he scooped up his sword. “So now we’ve got some idea of what you can do,” he said, “why don’t we take it on the road and really try it out?” He hopped off the ground and transformed, elongating his body into a blade-like fighter jet. Again his cannons flipped into place, this time blowing out a section of the wall. He soared through the opening and into the floodlit streets of Iacon… a dark shape against the gold.
Optimus transformed as well, ignoring the nausea as his body twisted in unfamiliar ways. Amazing, how accustomed we become to a style of transformation, he thought, when our entire structures are created for near-constant change. His trailer appeared, as if from nowhere, and completed the change to fire truck. He gunned his engine and raced out of the gaping hole, sirens blaring. Faces flashed by – Armourhide, Checkpoint, Downshift – but he paid them no heed. All his attention was focused on Thundercracker… and his game.
Was he making a mistake, trusting the dark warrior? True it was he’d aided their cause – saving Arcee’s life on Gigalonia, jumping into the fray against “Megacron” – but he’d never made a secret of his intentions.
We may be fighting for the same goal, but that don’t mean we’re on the same side, Prime. I’m an ex-Decepticon, not an Autobot, and as soon as Megatron is dead, so too is this little alliance.
Thundercracker’s solemn promise, the day he’d sided with the Autobots. Well, the day had come and the tyrant had fallen… so on which side of the wire did he stand? As much as he fought to understand the beast within his Spark, Optimus was also fighting to glean some hint of his macabre soldier’s loyalties.
His recurring nightmare was the ex-Decepticon “dumping his data” to his former peers. Despite the warnings of his advisors, Optimus kept Thundercracker in the loop – the jet was as well informed as any member of the rank and file. Such information could be put to great use by a Decepticons… great and terrible use. Should that happen, Optimus would be culpable for every security failure, responsible for every casualty. The Autobot’s own leader would have become an unwitting informant.
Worse still, he was giving Thundercracker a unique insight into his new capabilities – whatever they might be. Should the ex-Decepticon choose a former loyalty, a past way of thinking, despite his experiences with the Autobots, he’d have all the details he’d need to successfully pick them off.
Purple fire tore up the ground beneath his tyres. Optimus wrenched his steering to the left, to the right, and back again. He was surprised by the manoeuvrability of this new alt mode, even without a turning hitch in its centre. Though its upper structure was bore a heavy ladder and water cannon, it was amazingly light and not at all cumbersome. If only it had some way of coping with air-based attacks…
He flinched. There was no better way of describing the reaction – Optimus Prime flinched, and his ladder assembly flinched with him. Like a pump-action shotgun, it cocked forward and back in itself, causing an array of missile launchers to swing out and lock into place. The crimson warheads leaped into the air, screaming as they went, and burst in golden blooms around Thundercracker. Instead of conventional munitions, they were some form of sonic attack – they wreaked havoc with the jet’s guidance system and forced him to land, somewhat awkwardly, by the Energon Pools. Optimus flinched again, tucking the launchers away, and transformed to robot mode.
Thundercracker was on him in a second, wing sword flashing and face scarred with anger. His assault was furious, uncompromising. Optimus raised his arms and hid behind them, fighting down a wave of panic.
It had happened – he’d played right into the hands of an assassin. The ex-Decepticon meant to do away with him, to ensure both factions were without their leaders, before consolidating his power base within both ranks. The alliance of convenience was over and the real Thundercracker had been revealed… a being no less crazed nor power-hungry than those he’d claimed to despise. Just like Sideways, he’d won grudging trust all for a sinister, traitorous end.
Rage swept through Optimus. He growled – a low, horrible sound whose origin seemed deeper than his synthesiser. Digging his heels into the golden plains of Iacon, he started to push back against the vibrating blade, snarling as he parried the blows. Optimus gave into the darkness in his Spark – the hatred, the fury, the loathing – and let it fuel his retaliation. He would not give in to this deception. He had not fought, for nine million years, to be poisoned by a snake in the grass. The Prime would not fall.
As if sensing his anger, Thundercracker fought back. Steam blew from his nostrils and a red glow emanated from his metalwork. His infamous “warrior’s spirit” had been activated, as it always was, by righteous indignation. The ex-Decepticon stopped his retreat and met Optimus’ force with its equal, deadlocking their competition. What had been sparring became, instead, a test of strength with no clear winner.
“Glad… to see,” Thundercracker hissed through clenched teeth, “you’ve… figured… it out… at last.”
“You won’t be… so glad… in a moment,” Optimus grunted.
Summoning his might, Optimus threw his arms forward, causing Thundercracker to stumble. He did not hesitate and, falling back on well-honed practice, mentally commanded his trailer to begin the combination sequence – then remembered how things had changed. The order would have no effect, and the ex-Decepticon would…
An electric charge crackled around his body. He watched, trance-like, as his trailer fragmented and flew through the air. Each of the pieces transformed as they moved, then slammed – magnetised – onto different sections of his chassis. Larger hands and forearms enveloped his own, while shin pads and boots wrapped around his legs and feet. From the ladder unfurled a thick chest plate and shoulder pads, topped with a red-and-gold helmet. His optics darkened for a split second then reactivated, giving him a higher perspective on the battle. Displays across his vision gave him measurements on new systems, told him the power ratings of different weapons.
He had not combined with his trailer… he was wearing it as a suit of armour.
The rage flowed out of him like cheap fuel. It had achieved nothing, after all… just like that night in the Imperial Amphitheatre. Whatever had changed for the Transformer race, one thing remained true: all-out conflict could end only in mutually assured destruction. Mastering violence achieved nothing because there was no way to conquer it – the emotion led solely to grief, misery and suffering. The only thing to be found on the other side of violence was carnage.
Unicron’s death had not wiped the taint from their Sparks but, rather, created a need for them to be mindful of it. No longer did their violence feed the Chaos Bringer, but always would it pose a threat to them. As he’d first done long ago, Optimus pledged himself to finding another way… an alternative to conflict…before taking up arms.
Arms. He thought of the weaponry built into his new body. Shields that absorbed and re-directed energy… that turned an attacker’s violence against them. Missiles that upset a foe’s balance and control… but did not destroy them. Even his alternate mode – the brilliant red fire engine – hinted at the overall purpose for which Primus had redesigned him.
The metamorphosis was no casual change, no spur of the moment decision. Knowing its people would experience a new era of peace, Primus had altered his chosen champions with an eye to the future. And Optimus Prime’s role was to extinguish conflict, not initiate it. Cooler heads must prevail, at all costs.
Cooler heads.
Taking stock of his armoured form, Optimus reached up and behind his back. Grasping the ladder firmly, he pulled it onto his shoulder like a rocket launcher. Obediently, the assembly’s twin hoses flipped around to face forward… directly at Thundercracker. Optimus sighted along one of the steel-grey rungs, and triggered the release mechanism.
If the jet had expected water, he was in for a rude surprise. Streams of liquid nitrogen burst forth, drenching Thundercracker with a super-cooled torrent. It coated his legs and pelvis and splashed onto his arm, causing him to cry out. He shivered so badly as to drop his sword and froze, in place, with a sour look on his faceplate.
“Frelling wonderful!” he cried. “Can’t even have a slightly aggressive sparring session with an Autobot without it turning into all-out war! For frack’s sake!”
Optimus stopped, abashed. Thundercracker’s intentions had been pure – he’d simply fought to the best of his ability, just as he’d promised. What had seemed the machinations of an assassin had, truly, been the actions of a colleague and fellow warrior, eager to test the mettle of a worthy adversary. Optimus shook his head, sorrowed by his paranoia and loss of control. It would be the last time, he vowed.
Thundercracker fired his foot-mounted thrusters, eventually melting the thick ice that covered his body. Snarling at the lingering frost, he marched across the plain. “Next time you’re testing a new body,” he roared, jabbing a finger at Optimus’ armoured chest, “count me out!” He turned and stalked… somewhat unsteadily… away.
The Autobot leader watched him go, then ordered the armour to fall away. He heard a buzzing noise as the magnetism deactivated, and watched his “spare parts” reform into his trailer. Momentarily, he toyed with the idea of ordering it to transform into a small battle station, but filed the idea away for another time. He already had most of the answers he needed… at least on one topic.
He was no liability. Optimus’ new body was more powerful than his original form and, in many ways, easier to operate. Between his new weapons, his armoured “super mode” and ability to combine with Ultra Magnus to form Omega Prime, he was more than equipped to lead the Autobots… and Cybertron… into a new era.
But where did Thundercracker fit into that scheme, now that Megatron was dead?
He’d had the chance, on a number of occasions, to finish Prime off. It would have taken but a little more pressure… a touch more malice… a slightly keener edge. He could have believably claimed it an accident – sparring with a reformatted warrior had its hazards. Yet he’d acted, despite Optimus’ paranoia, honourably. It had been a competition, not an attempted murder.
Did this mean he’d chosen, at last, to cast his lot with the Autobots? That he had new reasons for staying? Surely he’d seen the truth of the civil war now, having fought it from both sides. That such an intelligent being could have missed the palpable evil, the tangible inequity, of Megatron’s cause was unfathomable.
Or was Thundercracker carefully honing his knife, ensuring it would kill the moment it sliced into their unwitting backs?
Optimus again glanced at the limping form of the ex-Decepticon. He’d thought he’d never understand his new body, the violence in his Spark but, now, realised the real mystery lay within the processor of a dark, airborne warrior.