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        Time passed. The Autobots gathered together, wounds were healed, deaths were mourned. And Rodimus Prime walked among the carnage, looking at fire-blackened streets where before, so recently rebuilt, there had been no sign of devastation. He looked at the shattered husks of buildings, at the shattered husks of fellow Transformers. He looked at the Iacon base, so ancient, half of the enormous dome that extended aboveground torn apart.

        He looked down at himself. Arcee had done her best to repair some of his more vitally damaged systems, and his self-repair systems had done the rest. The Matrix had filled him with its power even as his body was breaking down under the strain—after the Decepticons fled, he had collapsed. Arcee ran a diagnostic on him, and they discovered that he shouldn’t have even been able to move with the damage he had sustained. He was well enough to walk, now, and help out in the cleanup efforts where he could. But his shell was still battered, and he could see shock in many of the other Autobots when they saw him. Optimus Prime had almost been in better condition when he died. Rodimus hoped at least some of them would take heart from that fact, would understand that Rodimus, if he were nothing else, were at least as strong, if not stronger, than Optimus Prime. They wouldn’t, though. What would stick in their minds would be that he couldn’t even protect himself or Arcee from Galvatron, that they needed to be bailed out by nothing less than a cruiser.

        Ultra Magnus walked up to Rodimus holding a data pad in his hand. He was in good condition—a few black scars from laser fire, a few cracks in his substantial armor, but otherwise he was looking very little the worse for wear. He smiled sympathetically at Rodimus as he took up a position walking next to his commander.

        "Early reports are in, Rodimus. It’ll take fully two months to restore the damage done to the local area, and that’s using pretty much everybody we’ve got on the project. Command and Control was completely destroyed, as well as everybody in it. Perceptor’s lab was attacked by Soundwave, but he didn’t get away with anything that we know of. Perceptor and First Aid are working on repairing the wounded, so it’ll be a while before we get a full report from him on that."

        Rodimus nodded. "How many Decepticons did we scrap?"

        Magnus tapped the pad a few times with one large finger. "So far we’ve counted a dozen offline. Another dozen were so badly damaged they weren’t able to flee with the rest of the Decepticons, so we were able to capture them. This includes both the Combaticons, who were in stasis mode, and the Constructicons. We’re going to have to piece the Constructicons back together, for the most part, but their laser cores are still active, so it shouldn’t be a problem."

        "And how many Autobots did we lose?"

        Ultra Magnus frowned. "Too many. We lost everybody in perimeter guns, as well as nearly everybody in Command and Control. Cliffjumper was badly damaged, and they’re working on saving his laser core right now—apparently, he attacked Cyclonus for what happened at Darios IX and Cyclonus tried to shoot out his spark because of it.

        "We lost three cruisers and their pilots and gunners, as well as Swerve, who was blown up along with Devastator. On the battlefield itself, we lost about sixty Autobots."

        Rodimus looked shocked. "Sixty?"

        Magnus nodded, frowning. "The Decepticons were going for as many kills as they could, especially with Devastator. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem like we lost the Aerialbots. Silverbolt is badly damaged, and they’re all dazed after being knocked out of Superion, but otherwise they’re doing well. We have yet to find Air Raid, though—the other Aerialbots think he was knocked through a hole in the surface plating into the lower levels of Cybertron. As soon as we can spare some people, I’m going to send out a search-and-rescue team."

        Rodimus nodded. "Good idea. Have you contacted Earth?"

        "Yes, though the connection was sketchy at best. I told them to be on alert, the Decepticons may attempt to strike us there while they know we’re weak."

        Rodimus frowned. "This should have never happened, Ultra Magnus. We need to find the Decepticon base, now more than ever. Galvatron’s back, and the Decepticons with him. And it doesn’t look like this time they’ll settle for a few energon cubes here and there—they want Cybertron badly, and if they get it then they’ll be able to take the universe by the throat again. I can’t allow that to happen."

        "I’ve asked Perceptor to come up with a way of tracking them back to their lair when he’s done with the repairs. He mentioned something about a micro-ion detector, I think—I don’t know, you know how difficult it is to follow him. Once, he’s on the job, though, we’ll be able to attack them with everything we’ve got, just like they attacked us here. And without the element of surprise, they won’t be able to win."

        Rodimus stared at the taller robot with cold optics. "We hope."

        Ultra Magnus was taken aback at first, then conceded a nod. "We hope."

        "You’re sure you’re all right?" Springer asked.

        "How many times to I have to say it, Springer? Yes, I’m fine." Arcee said back. She was sitting on a mangled outcropping that used to be a perimeter gun while Springer, who was in a lot worse condition than she was, tried to buff a dent out of her leg. "And will you stop that? You’re gonna wear out my armor."

        "I’ll be gentle, I promise," Springer said, smiling wryly. "Anyway, what did you think you were doing, trying to fight Galvatron?"

        "He was about to slag Rodimus. What would you rather I do, let him?"

        "No, I’m just saying that, you know, it was Hot Rod getting involved that. . ."

        "Killed Optimus Prime?" The new voice finished Springer’s thought for him.

        Springer turned around, gasped at the newcomer. Rodimus Prime, standing tall despite the cracks and dents in his armor, damaged so badly he had no right to still be alive, stood a few meters behind him, his optics narrow as he stared down at the green triple-changer. His shoulders were set as if to do battle, and his fists were balled as tight as they could be, considering much of their exostructure had been torn away.

        "Rodimus! I didn’t mean any—"

        Rodimus held up a hand to silence Springer as he walked slowly toward them. His joints whirred and creaked as his misshapen gears ground together to move him, making him sound far worse than old Kup. "No need to apologize, Springer. It’s a. . .fairly common sentiment. Anyway, I didn’t hunt you down to have an argument." Rodimus smiled, as much as he could, turning his face into a rictus of death as he sat down on a nearby pile of wreckage.

        Springer was eager to make up for the overheard comment. "What can I do for you, Rodimus?"

        Arcee’s optics skipped from Springer to Rodimus and back again. Rodimus had. . .hunted. . .Springer personally, despite his condition, but he didn’t want an argument. Arcee wondered what her former partner was up to.

        "Well, once the repairs on the most badly wounded Autobots are finished, Perceptor is going to fix up a device of some kind to track the Decepticon’s vapor trails back to their base. I’d like you to lead the team that follows that vapor trail and finds the Decepticon base."

        "Me, Rodimus?" Springer smiled. "Why, sure, I’ll be happy to kick some Decepticon tail for you!"

        Rodimus smiled half-heartedly. "I knew you would. Begin assembling your team—you’re to take no more than a dozen Autobots, and you’ll be traveling in one of the smaller shuttles. You’re to avoid engaging the Decepticons if you can, but if you can’t—do your best." Rodimus rose slowly and started to leave.

        "You’ll get nothing less than everything I have to give," Springer replied, pulling out his broadsword and making a few quick slashing motions with it.

        Rodimus patted Springer on the shoulder. "I know you won’t give me anything less. I can always count on you, Springer."

        Arcee watched Rodimus leave and frowned as Springer sheathed his sword and sat back down.

        "Did you hear that, Arcee? Time to bust some Deceptichops! Are you gonna be okay?"

        Arcee hadn’t been paying attention to him. When he reached out to touch her damaged knee joint, she snapped back to the real world with a jolt and stared at him as if she’d never seen him before.

        "Arcee?"

        She shook her head to clear it, then looked away from Springer, down at her wounded knee. "Sorry, I just—I don’t know." She shrugged.

        "What’s wrong?" Springer asked.

        Arcee frowned—she didn’t know what she wanted to tell him. Should she tell him nothing, and perhaps have him enter a situation unprepared, not fully on his guard? Or should she tell him her suspicions, and possibly be wrong, alienating herself from both Springer and Rodimus Prime? She would have to do neither—she had learned, from her time following Elita-1 and Optimus Prime, that there were always other options. She would have to figure out one now.

        "Take me with you, Springer. I can help."

        Springer smiled. "No, Arcee, I can’t have you doing that. Look at you—you’re still pretty battered from that run-in with Galvatron. I can handle this mission fine, don’t worry about that—I’m itching to kick some Decepticon tailpipe after what they’ve just done to us."

        "I can get myself repaired—besides, a lot of other Autobots are in a lot worse condition."

        "Arcee. . ." Springer looked away for a second. It had never been his nature to speak easily—he covered up his feelings with bravado all the time. But Arcee knew he still had strong emotions inside his stubborn laser core, and that he had trouble expressing himself. She waited patiently while he tried to find the words for what he wanted to say. "Arcee, I really don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, if you were to come along, I’d be more worried about you than the mission, and that would be dangerous for everybody."

        Arcee smiled at him, reached up to touch the side of his face. "I understand. And you’re right—but take care of yourself, okay? I have a bad feeling about this mission, and I don’t want to see anything happen to you."

        The bravado returned quickly, smoothly, easily—Springer was plainly more comfortable when his innermost thoughts weren’t exposed for anyone else to see. "Hey, no problem, babe. I’ve got better things to do than die!"

        She laughed. "Good, because I’ve got better things to do than see you dead."

        After a few more minutes of small talk, Springer left to gather his reconnaissance team. Arcee watched him go, convinced that it would be the last time she would ever see him alive again.

        Air Raid awoke with a terrible headache, opened his optics slowly and looked around to see where he had fallen. The last thing he remembered was Superion getting bludgeoned by Devastator so severely that the magnetic locks keeping him and his brothers together broke down, and they shattered. That had never happened before—Air Raid was glad it hadn’t. Not only was it one of the most excruciatingly painful experiences of his life, it was disorienting, as well. Looking around, he had no idea where he was—no idea, in fact, on his location, on how much time had passed, on how badly damaged he and his brothers were, or how the battle was going.

        He stood slowly, his joints aching from the effort. He looked down at himself, saw he was hardly damaged at all. Probably the only reason his circuits were rattled was because he was knocked out of Superion. That was good, because he was ready to get back into the fight and tear apart a few more Decepticons. He pulled his gun and looked around, hoping to find one right here that he could blow a few holes in.

        He had fallen into some kind of dark chamber, not one he recognized. It was lined with tall, grayish statues of Cybertronians, and the entire place smelled of decay. Air Raid started forward, gazing into the darkness and trying to determine what this enormous room was. He walked up to the statue closest to him and read the inscription on the pedestal it stood on.

        "Straxus? Never heard of him." Air Raid snorted. He gazed up at the statue astride the pedestal. "Well, whoever you are, you’re an ugly bot. Cybertron’s better off without you."

        He looked at a few more inscriptions, all written in the Decepticon language, all memorializing the destruction of Decepticons. Air Raid had fallen into a Decepticon "Hall of Heroes," so to speak—one that had been lost over time, it seemed. His were the only tracks in the thin dust on the floor of the chamber, and all the Decepticons entombed there had been destroyed in the Third Great War, long over before he had even been created.

        "Well, I’ll just have to let Rodimus know, so we can come in here and melt it down for scrap. But, first thing’s first—I’ve got to find a way out of here." He looked to the ceiling of the chamber, so that it had collapsed inward where he had fallen in, making it worthless as a way out, unless he wanted to burn energon destroying the debris in his way—which in turn might set the rest of the ceiling to collapse. He would have to find another way out—which would mean wandering around inside this chamber of the dead until he found the door. He shuddered as a twinge creeped through his neuroprocessors.

        He’d just have to find the exit quickly, that was all. He had no intention of staying in this tomb any longer than he had to. He transformed and started flying in a single direction, figuring he would eventually come to a wall with a door in it. Less than a minute later, his suspicions proved true, and he transformed out of the air and landed acrobatically on his feet to walk up to the enormous double-winged door.

        As he landed, his vents kicked up a cloud of dust, and when he turned his head to shield his optics from it, he noticed what appeared to be a pair of legs, grayed-out and mostly destroyed. They had been recently dumped, too—judging from the look of them compared to the look of the rest of the chamber, probably within the last year or so. They were the legs of a Decepticon seeker-jet. Out of curiosity at their rather unceremonious burial here, which seemed to do injustice to this place, Air Raid walked over to them.

        Kneeling, he touched them lightly with the tip of his pistol. "Who are you, I wonder?"

        As if in response, the legs began to glow faintly. Shocked, Air Raid stood up and started to back away. Then, suddenly, the glow shot up from the wreckage and coalesced into a pulsing ball of light and energy. Air Raid had no clue as to what he was looking at, but he doubted it would be a good thing, and turned to the door, stumbling slightly in his haste to get out of the chamber before whatever the glowing orb was attacked him.

        His frantically searching hands found the grips in the doors which opened them. Air Raid yanked the doors, but they didn’t open. He pulled again, and again, his arms nearly coming off at their joints, panicked that the orb might actually touch him, too afraid even to shoot it, aware enough that he knew his shots would pass right through it. He pulled, and pulled, and pulled—

        —and the orb, which had been moving ever closer to him, touched his back. Air Raid jerked, instinctively, when he felt its energy cracking along his epidermal sensors, then began twitching as its energies pervaded his system. White sparks and bolts of energy played along his surface. . .and then suddenly stopped. Silence settled in the chamber again, and Air Raid closed and opened his optics several times. He flexed his hands, looked down at them as if he had never seen them before. He then stretched his arms, as if testing them—he looked his body over, inspecting to see if there had been any damage.

        Finally, he nodded, and spoke. When he did, his voice was a much higher pitch than it was before.

        "Not bad. A little weaker than I’m used to, and smaller. But it will certainly do. A fitting body for Air Commander Starscream!"

        Starscream’s laughter filled the cavernous tomb, echoing with the sound of a god.
 

       To Chapter Eighteen