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        Rodimus looked up from where he lay, saw only darkness around him. So Perceptor and First Aid had forgotten him completely, had shut down the power in the repair bay and left him for tomorrow. If they were even planning on repairing him in the first place. Very slowly, Rodimus realized that he didn’t feel pain any more—didn’t feel the table underneath him, didn’t even feel his own body.

        This is it, then. I’ve joined the Matrix. He felt a touch of sadness—he was more angry than anything else. He has spent barely a year in command of the Autobots, he had destroyed Unicron and returned control of Cybertron to the Autobots, only to die at the hands of neglectful doctors.

        Rodimus Prime.

        Rodimus recognized that voice. He rose with a body he couldn’t feel, looked around. There, in the distance—that was where the voice had come from. Rodimus moved toward the sound. He knew he was walking, but he felt nothing, as if he were completely disassociated from his body. So this must be what it’s like to join the Matrix, Rodimus thought. He looked ahead, saw a light ahead of him, where the voice had come from. Where Optimus had spoken.

        Optimus. . .

        As he got closer to the light, he felt a sense of warmth flow over him. comforting him. He was heading home, he was certain of it.

        Rodimus Prime.

        Optimus. . .

        He could see the old Autobot leader standing before him, a shadow before the light. Optimus stood as tall and strong as Rodimus remembered him, the air of authority around him thick like a blanket. Even as a Prime, Rodimus did not stand as tall as Optimus had. As he walked closer to his predecessor, Rodimus could see the details of his face and head more clearly—Optimus was staring at him, his optics cold.

        Optimus?

        You have failed our people, Rodimus Prime. You are not worthy of the Matrix.

        Rodimus stepped back, floated away from the ancient Autobot. Optimus, what are you saying? What are you talking about?

        I died, my hope for our kind my last breath. Till all are one. You had the opportunity to bring that about. After the destruction of Unicron, you could have united the Decepticons and the Autobots. There could have been peace.

        There was peace!

        Tell that to Swerve. Or Jazz. Or Bumblebee. Or Pipes. Or the Aerialbots. You did not pursue peace—you sought to conquer Cybertron. The lifeblood of all that perish at the hands of the Decepticons now lies at your feet, as though you yourself were the murderer.

        Prime, no, I—

        Enough! Know that you are my son, in whom I am most disappointed. You have failed me, you have failed Cybertron, and you have failed Earth. You have dishonored the memories of those who have died, of those yet to die. You will pay a dear price for your failures, for your dishonor. You are not fit to bear the Matrix. You are not fit to become one with the Matrix.

        With that, Optimus Prime turned his back on Rodimus, turned his back and walked back into the light while Rodimus felt himself speeding away, backwards, becoming colder and colder, more aware of the heavy weight of his body. He tried to call out to Optimus, but his vocoder made no sound, and Prime disappeared into the unforgivingly bright light. Rodimus screamed and screamed again, begging Optimus to forgive him, to get his attention, to reason with him, to tell him what it was like in the dark time after his death. He screamed—

        "Optimus!" And bolted up from the table, the lights burning into his optics, the whine of the life-support monitors and the beeps of the surgical equipment drowned out by the power of his voice.

        "Rodimus?" Perceptor turned away from the life support machinery he had been monitoring to look at the Autobot leader quizzically. Rodimus sat erect on the repair table, looking around the room, his optics wide with a look of panic. Perceptor moved over to him. "Rodimus, are you functioning adequately? Is something problematic troubling you?"

        Rodimus glanced at Perceptor, his optics narrowing, staring straight through the Autobot scientist. The glare was so intense that Perceptor actually took a step back, surprised at Rodimus Prime’s suddenly irrational behavior. Rodimus turned completely around, stared with the same intensity at First Aid. Then he grappled with his own chest, as if trying to tear himself apart. First Aid and Perceptor rushed forward to stop him.

        "Rodimus! We just repaired you—what are you doing, trying to get yourself damaged again before you even leave the repair bay?" First Aid said as he wrestled with Rodimus’ left arm.

        "Let me go! Let me go, I must see! I must see!" He pushed both his fellow Autobots away, and his chest compartment opened on hidden hinges within his flame-painted hood. His inner circuitry, so recently repaired, stood open to the air, open to easy destruction should Rodimus so choose to claw his way through circuitboards, diodes and motivator chips.

        Perceptor watched in horror and fear as Rodimus’ probing hands reached inward, grasping at the empty Matrix chamber within him. His hands swept the chamber for the Matrix and, finding nothing, Rodimus spoke in a voice tinged with panic.

        "Where is it?" He grabbed First Aid. "What did you do with the Matrix?"

        "Easy, Rodimus! It’s right over there!" First Aid pointed to a display on the other side of the repair chamber, where the Matrix of Leadership sat atop a column, in a transparent square casing. Grapple and Inferno stood on either side of it, guarding it, staring at Rodimus worriedly. "We had to take it out in order to repair some of your internal systems! We kept good care of it for ya."

        Rodimus tossed First Aid aside and walked over to the case, opening it gently and taking the Matrix from it. He placed it in the chamber within his chest, adjusted it when it didn’t fit quite properly. Closing his chest, he closed his optics and sighed, feeling the warmth of the Matrix once again within him, its restorative energies once again flowing through his circuitry. After a moment, he turned around to face Perceptor and First Aid.

        He smiled casually. "Sorry about that," he said, shrugging. "I guess I lost it when I woke up and didn’t know where the Matrix was. No hard feelings?"

        "Not a problem," First Aid said.

        "Of course not, Rodimus." Perceptor agreed, turning around to replace surgical equipment in trays on a mobile cart.

        "You’re good to go, Rodimus. We’ve fully repaired you, replaced a few components that were wearing down, and even boosted the power of your weapons systems while we were at it. The next time the Decepticons decide to mess with you, they’re gonna regret it even more than they did last time!"

        "Thanks, you two. You’ve done great. I appreciate it." Rodimus left the side repair chamber and the repair bay, no doubt to return to what was left of Command and Control to retake the reigns of command. Perceptor watched him go, scratching his chin absently with one hand, deep in thought.

        Deep in the black reaches of space, a lone green spacecraft travels the spacelanes, its sensors reaching out to find a single Junkion spacecraft and its cargo. It has had no luck so far, since Rodimus Prime first ordered it to find Wreck-Gar and warn the Junkions of the return of the Decepticons. . .but, up ahead, it detects some sort of debris field. Fearing the worst, it accelerates, then transforms to reveal Cosmos, the Autobot interstellar scout.

        "Oh, no—no!" Cosmos cannot believe the horror surrounding him. He reaches out with one bulky arm, his hand very lightly touching the decapitated head of Wreck-Gar, floating here in the cold wastes between the stars amongst the wreckage of his companions on the journey to bring the head of Unicron to the Planet of Junk. As what is left of Wreck-Gar goes spinning off away from Cosmos, the small Autobot touches a panel on his chest.

        "Cosmos to Cybertron. Do you read me, Cybertron?"

        "This is Ultra Magnus. You’re coming in loud and clear, Cosmos. Have you found the Junkions?"

        Cosmos glanced up at the debris field and nodded. "Yes, I found them. At least, what’s left of them. They’re all dead, Ultra Magnus. Torn to pieces by—by—I don’t know what tore them apart. But all of them—every Junkion that came to pick up Unicron’s head, including Wreck-Gar—are floating here in little pieces. And there’s no sign of either their ship or the head of Unicron!"

        There was silence over the line for a while. Then: "Very well, Cosmos. I will inform Rodimus Prime immediately. Come back home to Cybertron, Cosmos—we were attacked while you were on your mission, by Decepticons, and we were hit bad. We need all the help we can get—and as long as you’re out there, alone, you’re vulnerable. And I don’t want you joining the Matrix just yet."

        "You and me both, Ultra Magnus!" Cosmos closed the channel, transformed back into his spacecraft mode, did a quick vector calculation, and headed back toward Cybertron at his best speed.

        "Status report, Ultra Magnus!" Rodimus asked as he entered the Autobots’ temporary command center deep within Iacon.

        Ultra Magnus looked up, startled that Rodimus would be up and about so soon after arriving at the repair bay. Already he felt himself sinking in a pit of self-loathing, just from seeing Rodimus Prime. Fully repaired, the Autobot leader stood tall and proud, his surfaces gleaming with a confident grace. Magnus was still damaged from the battle, his cracked armor standing out on him, marking him as the Autobot leader who failed, the placeholder for the Matrix between Optimus Prime and Rodimus Prime.

        "Cosmos has just reported in, Rodimus. The Junkions and Wreck-Gar were destroyed, and there’s no sign of either their spaceship or Unicron’s head. I was just about to inform the Junkions of their fellows’ deaths—unless you would care to do it?" Optimus Prime had always taken the responsibility of such matters on himself, to remind himself what was at stake in the war against the Decepticons. Ultra Magnus knew Rodimus would likely want the same.

        "Why would I want to deal with them? No, you handle it—I don’t want to try to talk TV today, thanks. I’ve already got enough of a headache." Rodimus stared at Ultra Magnus, piercing through his cracked armor into his very soul, searching there for Magnus’ true motivations.

        And in that single look, Magnus realized that he wasn’t trying to do the right thing by allowing Rodimus to contact the Junkions himself—he was trying to mire the Autobot leader down in trivialities, to keep him from the larger task at hand, to make him look incompetent so he himself would seem all the greater by comparison. Magnus looked away from Rodimus in shame, returning to the communications panel to speak with the Junkions.

        Rodimus smiled. The defeated look on Ultra Magnus’ face as he turned back to the communications console told Rodimus all he needed to know—the former leader of the Autobots was no longer a threat to his position. Ultra Magnus had finally figured out that he wasn’t going to pull the steel wool over Rodimus Prime’s eyes. Of course, he could just be acting, as well—Rodimus would have to pay careful attention to his second-in-command until he was absolutely certain.

        "Rodimus! Glad I found you!"

        Rodimus turned around to see who had spoken, then looked down. Cliffjumper, fully repaired and ready for action, stood looking up at Rodimus Prime. "What is it, Cliffjumper?"

        "I’m gonna go Cyclonus-hunting. When I find that Decepticreep, I’m gonna tear him apart so hard he’s gonna think a cosmic storm got to him!"

        Rodimus frowned. "You’ll do nothing of the kind. We need you here, on Cybertron, in case the Decepticons try to make another swipe at us. I understand how you feel, Cliffjumper, but we can’t go off half-cocked and expect to win this war."

        "What?" Cliffjumper looked startled that Rodimus wouldn’t let him hunt down Cyclonus. "Are you kidding me, Rodimus? Do you know what this bot did? You weren’t on Darios IX, you didn’t see the carnage—you didn’t hear him when I fought him. He doesn’t care about anything, Rodimus. He’s a menace to the whole universe if you let him stay loose!"

        Rodimus felt the urge to strike the smaller Autobot rising within him. How dare he disobey a direct order like this? He would never do such a thing were it Optimus Prime ordering him around. Rodimus would have to enforce his right of command here, now, before losing face in front of the other Autobots. He could already feel the optics of the others turning in his direction, awaiting his response. If he was too weak, they would see him as soft, unfit; if he was too strong, they would see him as heavy-handed, tyrannical, unfit. He would have to weigh his options carefully.

        "Cliffjumper, don’t make me order you to stay here. We’ve got trouble here, and we’ll need every bot we’ve got in order to piece ourselves back together. As soon as that’s done, then we’ll send out a bothunting team—but not before. All right?"

        Cliffjumper shook his head. "You just don’t get it, Rodimus. And every astrosecond I spend trying to explain it to you is another astrosecond Cyclonus has to slaughter another planet full of people!" He transformed and drove out of Command and Control, leaving skid marks on the floor behind him.

        "Cliffjumper!" Rodimus activated his inter-Autobot radio. "Cliffjumper, do not leave Cybertron! That is an order!" Frustrated by the static he got as his response, he slammed his fist into the wall beside him, leaving a sizeable hole. The other Autobots in the control center stared at him, then went back to their business. He had blown it, and he knew it.

        "Rodimus Prime, uhm. . ." Ultra Magnus stepped up to the Autobot commander.

        "What is it, Magnus?"

        "The Junkions wanted to know the co-ordinates of Wreck-Gar’s remains, so I gave them to them, but, ah, they want to know if they can ‘swing by’ here and pick up the wreckage from the battle."

        Rodimus frowned and waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, whatever. I’ll be in my quarters." With that, he walked out, walked away from the stares of the Autobots in the control room.
 

        To Chapter Twenty