The Glass Wall
(c) Copyright 1998 Melissa McCook Melody Silver/Golden Eighth Note Ltd. Transformers™ and all related characters are the property of Hasbro, Inc. THIS WORK IS NOT FOR SALE OR PUBLICATION, AND IS NOT MEANT TO BE AN ACT OF PLAGARISM OR BREACH OF COPYRIGHT.
It had been a particuarly bad day--too many battles, too many lives torn apart. Rodimus looked through bleary optics around him at the destroyed landscape, smoke rising from the burnt-out shells of what had once been a peaceful neighborhood. The sidewalks where children had ridden bicycles and played hopscotch were pitted from laser fire, lawns and trees burned to cinders, making this the ultimate suburban nightmare. The acrid smoke pulled at Rodimus' already irritated optics, rimming the brilliant blue sensors with a red, inflamed tinge, and he rubbed the back of his gun hand against them distractedly. The muzzle of the laser pistol was still warm, condensation wafting from its barrel in the gathering cool of the evening, and he felt sick with shame.
Looking down at the broken body of a Sweep that lay mangled at his feet, Rodimus stepped over the lifeless hulk and moved closer to where Ultra Magnus, Arcee, and Springer were helping the Dinobots clean up some of the larger pieces of debris. Not far from where the group worked, Kup lay against the scarred trunk of a tree, Perceptor bandaging a grievous wound in the old Autobot's leg, and Rodimus saw Kup stiffen in pain he would never admit as Perceptor helped him to his feet. No one paid attention to the young leader as he ambled slowly down the shattered street, each Autobot trying to put the pain of the battle behind them as best they could. They had done it so many times, Rodimus thought bitterly, what was once more? From a very young age, all of these Autobots had been taught that pain and death were a necessary part of life, and work was the only sure cure for heartache. There was no room for heartache in a warrior's life, they said--but Rodimus knew as well as everyone else that was a lie.
_Oh, Optimus,_ Rod said silently, talking to his fallen predecessor as he often did when things looked their bleakest, _You were always so good at inspiring them to go on. How much more can we take?_ There was no familiar bass rumble behind him, no celestial voice filling him like it had when he first held the Matrix, and Rodimus shook his head sadly. _He's dead. Get it through your thick skull, Rod._
"He's taking it so hard. Look at him; he's exhausted."
"I know. He's a good kid, he's tough. He'll come around."
A heavy sigh. "Do you really believe that, Ironhide?"
"Sure I do." Ironhide grinned. "He reminds me of you."
Another sigh. "I wish there was something I could do to help him. It wasn't fair, thrusting all of this on him so soon. He was barely more than a boy."
"It wasn't your fault, Prime. The Matrix picks its own Chosen One, you know that."
Brilliant blueoptics fixed the speaker, penetrating clear and true. "Yes, I know, Prowl, but that dosen't make it any easier for me. Or him."
"Tell me about it," muttered Wheeljack, looking past Optimus and Prowl. "Perceptor knows he should have put a temporary weld on that wound first. I taught him that twice over."
"It's just meatball surgery for the moment, anyway, Wheeljack," interrupted Ratchet. "They'll take more time once they get back to the Ar--I mean, Metroplex."
"Hmm. I suppose so."
Looking after the young Autobot leader as the red racer walked slowly into the sunset, Prime shook his head. "I've got to do something to help that boy."
Ironhide gave Prime a strange look. "Uhm, sir, I don't know if you realize this..."
Prime sighed , something he seemed to do a lot lately. "I know, Ironhide, you don't have to remind me," he said softly, raising his blued-steel hands in front of him, encountering a slick, smooth surface barring the way into the land of the living. "There's got to be another way," he said to himself, the normally invisible barrier shimmering like water in a pond when touched. "Somehow."
Rodimus didn't know how long he'd been walking--he only realized that it was dark when he looked up from the road in front of him. Lost in his own thoughts, Rodimus had ventured far away from the scene of carnage, ending up in a rural area, with lights few and far between. Stopping for a few moments, Rodimus took in the heady scent of floral fields, the dry smell of summer wheat and corn wafting from a field in the cool breeze. The stars winked like jewels away from the city streetlights, and Rodimus was able to calm his thoughs into a manageable level in the utter quiet. Quiet, that is, until his comlink squawked, and it was with some irritation that he flipped his forearm speaker open.
"Rodimus Prime, come in! Do you read me, over?" Springer's voice, with a tinge of worry.
"Yeah, I'm here, Springer. I'm alright, I just went for a walk."
"Rod, you've been gone five hours. That's some walk to take and not let your friends know where the hell you are. We thought the 'Cons had gotten you somewhere out in the boonies," Springer scolded.
Rodimus sighed explosively, the sound startling a brace of crows nesting in the cornfield. He watched them fly away, their sqawking thin and reedy as they retreated into the distance. "No, I'm alright. My apologies for making everyone worry." Two farm kids raced along a dirt road on the edge of the cornfield, the engine of their beat-up pickup roaring as they ploughed through a mud puddle, and the teens inside the cab whooped with wild abandon. _I was like that once,_ Rodimus mused, slipping into the shadows so as not to startle the humans with his huge, hulking presence. "I just need some time alone," he murmured into his comlink.
"What?" Springer exclaimed, the Aerial Defense officer's voice reminding Rodimus of the screeching crows. "'Magnus wants us back at Metroplex in a cycle to start on the damage reports. We have to organize a team to get out here and clean this neighborhood up, and I'll be damned if I cover your sorry ass one more time, just because you decide to take a powder. Roddy, you're our leader, for Primus' sake!" The triple-changer flung accusations at his commanding officer, taking liberties that he would only have taken with HotRod in the past, and the juvenile nickname slipped out of Springer's harmonizer before he could stop it.
Rodimus shook his head, pressure building behind his optics as emotion threatened to overflow from where he'd banked it all afternoon. "'Magnus can handle the briefing. You can fill me in on anything important later. Please, Springer, give me just a little time to myself." It was a request he knew he had no business making, since being the Prime meant giving up almost every shred of one's private life for the good of one's fellow soldiers, but Rodimus couldn't bring himself to be a clone of Optimus--even though that was exactly what they seemed to want. Hell, Prime _had_ a private life, though he rarely had time to enjoy it, and Rodimus had come upon that knowledge by accident; once he caught Optimus at the 'Plex BX, flipping through the classical music CD's, knowledgeably talking opera and concertos with the young 'bot at the counter. Everyone in the Autobot force knew about Elita-1, too, though their leader's relationship with the beautiful femme was only spoken about in the most reverent and hushed of tones. _How did you do it?_ Rodimus asked the vague, shadowy image that his processor called up when he thought of Optimus.
"Rod, I can't keep covering for you. Sooner or later you'll just have to--"
"Springer, don't make this into an argument. I'll be back soon. Prime out." Rodimus turned off his comlink, disabling it to every transmission except that of vital emergency, knowing that Springer would not dare risk blocking the narrow-band radio up just to continue the discussion. With that, Rodimus transformed into his sleek, Cybertronian pickup and roared off down the road, gravel flying as he picked up speed.
"Run. That's the only answer he has, is to run." Prowl folded his arms across his chest, watching the young Autobot leader tear across the darkened countryside. "The boy needs to use what Primus gave him between his audiosensors."
Optimus touched the invisible barrier, making it shimmer again, and the rest of the Autobots ranged behind him gave an involuntary shudder.
"Prahme, Ah wish you'd stop doin' that. Gives me the heebie-jeebies."
"Somehow," Prime was murmuring to himself.
Rodimus revved his engine as high as it would go, the tach on his heads-up display wrenching a virtual needle into the red zone. "Warning: excessive RPMs not recommended," said a calm, digitized voice in Rodimus' head, making him all the more frustrated. He remembered when, as HotRod, Ultra Magnus and Kup had threatened to put a restrictor plate on his intake, limiting his ability to speed. _Limits!_ he snarled to himself, throwing his transmission into drive and feeling his cam strain with the torque, launching his high-performance tires forward with a chirp. _Always limits! First as HotRod, now as Rodimus Prime!_ In fury, Rodimus thrust himself out of vehicle mode and into robot mode, his transformation cog groaning with the unhealthy strain, and a vision of Perceptor warning him to stop transforming until he was at a full stop flew through his mind. The force of the transformation flung him into the air, and he landed in a meadow with a muffled THUMP!, limbs akimbo as he lay sprawled on his back, looking up into the starry heavens.
A few cycles passed as he lay there, his mind drifting wherever he let it go; Prime's relationship with Elita, memories of his childhood spent at the Iacon orphanage, the first time he met Springer. His childhood kept coming back to him from inbetween remembered jokes and jabs with the neon green triple-changer, and he cocked his head to one side in thought, sitting up and leaning back on his elbows. Why couldn't he remember it? he wondered, the memories incomplete, like a puzzle with pieces missing. The children at the orphanage--casualties of the war between the Autobots and Decepticons, mostly, either from being caught in the cross fire or abandoned when their parents heeded the call to arms--had always made fun of him, and he had turned to his fists and his speed to escape their taunts. Perhaps that was why HotRod had always shot first and answered questions later, and why Rodimus solved everything by turning tailgate and racing off.
His head still humming with questions, Rodimus transformed and began to roll toward the few lights ahead, following his chinspoiler, as it were. Suddenly, he came upon an old junkyard, and he made sure he came to a complete stop until he transformed, gazing at the odd shapes painted with shadows by the moonlight. The gate hung crazily from its hinges, the metal mesh rusted with years of neglect, and Rodimus leapt over it easily, entering into a graveyard of discarded human vehicles. _More death,_ he whispered to himself, but then cracked a brief smile. _No, they were never 'alive'. Just machines, nothing more._
Moving among the shattered, rusting frames, Rodimus couldn't help but feel an icy finger of chill run up his central neural pathway. His energon level was beginning to drop, and he knew the tiny morsels of energy he'd swallowed from behind a makeshift bunker of a burnt-out house during the battle were all but used up. They had been his last from the store inside his utility pack, too, and he mentally cursed himself for not bringing the extra dispenser he usually carried. His head began to ache, finally knowing what humans meant when they talked about their blood sugar taking a dive, and nausea penetrated his midsection, the digestive fluid meant to break down energon building to an unhealthy level. Images swayed and dipped before his bleary optics, and suddenly, horror stole the breath from his chestplate as the huge, rusting hulk of an old semi truck loomed out of the darkness above him.
"His energon levels are too low. He's let them get too low," worried Wheeljack.
Ratchet shook his head, turning from the scene as the red racer flung himself on his knees in front of the old semi. "Poor, foolish lad. He's done for if he dosen't get that energon level up soon."
"Rodimus, I forbid you to die this way," Optimus Prime said, low, touching the barrier again. "Rodimus, do you hear me?" Concern gave way to frustration as Rodimus swayed drunkenly, and Prime pounded his huge fists against the invisible barrier. "RODIMUS PRIME!" he roared, the Autobots trying to hold him back. Suddenly, Rodimus' optics darkened and he flopped to the ground like a ragdoll. At that precise moment, the Autobots gasped as Optimus slipped through their hands and was gone, the invisible barrier swallowing him without a sound.
Rod raised his head slowly, optics barely coming online as a familar voice echoed through his radiosensors. In front of him, the long-broken headlights of the semi before him came to life, light pulsing through the rusted electronic wiring, and Rod tried to shake his head to clear it. The motion only made the darkness threaten to come crawling back, so he left his optics on half-power to still the pounding in his temples. At this level, he couldn't tell whether he was dreaming or not, but the deep, bass rumble of Optimus' voice was welcome--even if it might just be a hallucination. "Ahoohh....Oohh...Optimus.."he managed after several tries.
"Can't....can't. Energon too low." Rodimus squinted, trying to dispel the snow at the edge of his vision field. "'S that really you, Prime?"
Rod made a face, like a child made to eat liver and onions. "Ugh, no way. That stuff tastes like slag." He yawned mightily, feeling his systems preparing to shut down into emergency stasis. When had he gotten so tired? "B'sides, who wants me back anyway?"
Optimus felt the bonds of the invisibe barrier return, trying to pull him back with them, like the backlash of a slingshot.
_Believe._ The word echoed in the young leader's brain, stirring him into woozy thought. _Blame--that's been my byword, instead of believe,_ he mused to himself. Still, if Optimus believed in him, there HAD to be something good within him. After what seemed like an eternity, Rodimus rolled his head to face the ghostly apparition, and crawled to the semi's side. His nose picked up the smell of gasoline, and although he grimaced at the bitter taste, Rodimus dipped his fingers in the semi's rusting, barrel-shaped tank and put them between his lips. Power began to wind its way through his system, his internal combustion unit refining the petroleum into energon he could use, and suddenly, the semi was just another rusted hunk of junk.
"---imus Prime, come in!" Springer's voice, threaded with worry, burst over the comlink in a flurry of rushed words. "Damnit, Roddy, where the hell are you? We've been looking for you all night, and then you turn off your radio!"
"I--I'm here." Rodimus uncurled from the ball he had wound himself into to escape the pain of his migrane headache, and he was happy to note that his energon levels, boosted by the sharp, burning taste of gasoline at the back of his mouth, had returned to a tolerable level. They were sorely depleted, however, and it would take a good six cycles of recharge before his systems would be operating at peak again. "I'm here in the junkyard. I don't know what town this is; it's pretty rural around here."
Springer was silent for a moment, no doubt trying to get a trace on his leader's location. "You're just outside a village. We've got you on lock, we'll be there soon. Hang on, good buddy."
The endearment made Rodimus smile, and his systems shut down to wait until Springer and the others arrived. _Maybe they DO need me,_ he wondered, drifting lazily into slumber, realizing that Springer's harsh words masked genuine concern that the tough Autobot could not say.
"How did you do that?" Ironhide came up behind Optimus, who was standing a few feet away from Rodimus, and the barrier shimmered again as Prime moved aside to make room for his country cousin.
"I don't know." Optimus looked up as Springer and Arcee arrived in the junkyard, and he smiled behind his faceplate as Arcee shuddered at the sight of the dead semi. "I don't think I want to do it again, though." He turned back to his friends, and they all grinned, headed away from the tableau of younger soldiers as Springer and Arcee laid Rodimus gently on an old trailer to transport him back to Metroplex. "If they need us, we'll be here."
Ironhide laughed, bright light enveloping the group. "That's for sure. Come on, Prahme."
Optimus lingered a moment more, touching the invisible barrier one final time. "Farewell, HotRod," he murmured. Then he turned to his friends. "I'm coming."
Echoes of memory flashed in Rod's head, a gentle, cool touch on his forehead lulling him into healing sleep.
*The End*