Exiles

by Alex Irvine

  “The Wreckers’ story will be told, Bulkhead. But that is not all Velocitron will need to hear.” Optimus Prime was thinking of Megatron. The Decepticons would be coming. If they had not made it across the Space Bridge at Cybertron, they would find another way. Of that, Optimus Prime had no doubt. And it was possible that the Space Bridge had ejected the Nemesis in this same region, beyond sensor range but within reach … if Megatron was able to put together the same information the Autobots had. Their advantage was the Matrix and the map it had provided. Megatron would not have that.

  But they did not know what else he might have. Best to plan for pursuit or even ambush.

  A wave of sadness hit him as he thought of all the brave Autobots left behind on Cybertron and all the unallied bots who had tried to stay out of the conflict and now found themselves subject to the sadistic whims of Shockwave. For all that Cybertron had needed reform, Optimus Prime regretted the way civil demonstrations had become a civil war. He had tried to avoid that, tried to defuse Megatron’s raging sense of injustice, but in the end he had failed. When the High Council had made him Prime, they also had guaranteed the endless war that had engulfed the planet. So much had been lost.

  What might be gained? That was the question. That was the motivation for their quest.

  Cybertron would be restored.

  First things first, Optimus thought. Right now we need to get off the Ark for a little while, see if we can figure out for certain where we are … and along the way maybe learn something about this place. There were Cybertronian colony worlds scattered across the galaxy. What if it were possible to bring them all together again into a grand confederation of free planets …?

  That was a question for another time, Optimus decided. He needed to stay focused on the task at hand: making planetfall and then figuring out the next step in recovering the AllSpark.

  “Leave the Ark here,” he said. “Let’s meet our Velocitronian cousins. It’s been a long time.”

  The Ark carried a number of landing craft large enough for small exploration or assault teams, and it was in one of them that the first Autobot visitors to Velocitron arrived. They dived from the Ark’s high orbit toward the lost colony planet—Optimus Prime, Perceptor, Jazz, and Bumblebee—abuzz with the tingle of discovery even as each of them knew that their arrival would bring with it consequences that none of them could predict. For the first time in uncounted cycles, Cybertronian and Velocitronian would greet each other. What history had unfolded during those long eons?

  And what new history would be made as a result of the reunion?

  “Look at that,” Jazz marveled as they reached the outer edges of Velocitron’s atmosphere. Optimus Prime did, and he was amazed at what he saw.

  Velocitron!

  The planet’s surface seemed entirely taken up with nodes consisting of road interchanges around which were built massive works. At intervals along the roads between cities were enormous grandstands where Velocitronians gathered to gawk and cheer as the intercity commerce became a race, as it inevitably did. The Velocitronians were forever looking to go faster, forever experimenting with fuels and customizations to themselves, all dedicated to the idea of speed. Optimus knew something of this planet from ancient records he had accessed on the Ark as they made their approach to the planet, but he also had familiarized himself somewhat with colonial history because he found it interesting. In his long tenure as a clerk, he had developed a number of interests in specific areas of Iacon’s nearly endless archives. From both sources, Optimus Prime’s memory and the Ark’s, it was clear that the Velocitronians had been hard at work since the collapse of the Space Bridges. The entire planet was now crisscrossed with roads, its natural topography reengineered to create better banks for turns and longer straightaways for tests of a bot’s absolute limits of speed and endurance. Viewed from orbit, the planet looked like a brown and gray ball encased in a net, each thread of which was in fact a planet-spanning road. The knots were settlements where those roads came together.

  Optimus, still connected to the Ark’s surveillance arrays, magnified the view to get a better sense of what the settlements looked like. He saw staging and repair areas, foundries and mines, extensive shopworks and processing plants for road surfaces. He saw factories churning out machines that rolled out over the planet’s surface looking for untamed natural features or roadways damaged by weather, the passage of time, or accidents. And on those roads, bots in low-slung, sleek alt-forms moved almost faster than optics could follow. Even within the factories, the automated mechas were a frenzy of motion bathed in sparks and the blaze of arc welders.

  “The whole place looks like the Hydrax Speedway,” Jazz said, pulling Optimus back from his magnified observations.

  It was true, although the Hydrax Speedway had long since been destroyed in one of the early battles of the civil war, when its grandstand and staging area had been turned into Decepticon positions that the Autobots had crushed to rubble. Optimus Prime remembered that battle as one of the few outright successes in the war’s first cycles. He was surprised to think of how long ago it had happened.

  An oval track not unlike Hydrax came into view at the edge of the magnified display. Optimus directed the formation that way, and they cut across the Velocitronian sky, with seemingly endless stretches and curves of roadway below them.

  “Perceptor, Jazz, Bumblebee,” Optimus said. He cut off the display as they braked through the tropopause and selected a landing spot outside what seemed to be one of the main settlements, which appeared to be an appendage of the speedway if the configuration of roads and structures was anything to go by. That, apparently, was how Velocitronians’ priorities were arranged. “Let us see if we can slow them down long enough to introduce ourselves.”

  The atmosphere of Velocitron wasn’t very different from Cybertron’s, and Optimus Prime had no reason to expect hostility. Still, he had been reluctant to bring the entire Autobot contingent down all at once. There was no telling what surprises might await, whether ecological or cultural. He did not want to risk any more Autobots than necessary at first contact, and he absolutely did not want to risk landing the Ark until he was certain that both Velocitron and its citizens would be hospitable.

  A second team waited back on the Ark to make planetfall once initial contact had been established. Leading that team was a steady junior officer in the Autobot ranks by the name of Hound. Agile in both body and mind, Hound had proved himself an able leader of small-group actions in various battles back on Cybertron. Now he was eager to prove his worth as an explorer and an integral part of the Autobots’ quest. He had pestered Optimus to be part of the second Velocitron landing team until Optimus had agreed out of fatigue as much as faith. But now that the decision was made, Optimus was comfortable with it. Hound was developing into a useful Autobot officer. Among his most useful qualities was an uncanny intuition about the Decepticons’ strategy and tactics. Even Optimus Prime, who knew Megatron as well as any bot, could only marvel at Hound’s ability to anticipate what the enemy would do next.

  Optimus updated the second team’s orders, putting them on standby alert. They needed to be ready for deployment at a moment’s notice. Then he led his team from their landing site to a crossroads where an inter-settlement highway intersected what was apparently a ring road that defined the perimeter of the speedway area. Bots blazed by, seemingly unconcerned by the visitors—if they noticed the Autobot presence at all.

  “These are some focused bots,” Jazz said while Perceptor ran a number of scans on ambient atmospheric levels and elemental signatures. “If a bunch of strangers fell out of the sky on my planet, I’d stop and look.”

  “Maybe they’re used to it,” Optimus speculated. “We don’t know how much traffic there is among planets. Cybertron’s been isolated for a long time.”

  “What do they do here?” Jazz wondered. “Is the whole point of this place that everyone goes fast?”

  “Whatelse?” buzzed a voice as a bot zoomed
by so fast that Optimus Prime’s optics could barely register what color it was.

  “Come on back and tell us what else!” Jazz called out.

  With the signature squeal of a high-G turn, the bot came into view, slowing as it slewed around and came back in their direction. Slamming to a halt, it said, “Make stuff that makes us go faster. That’s what we do.

  Make laws that make it easier for us to make stuff that makes us go faster. Now I’m sick of talking so slow. Later.”

  “Whoa,” Optimus Prime said as the bot revved up again. It was a blue and white wedge with heavy guns overhanging the sides of its alt-form chassis.

  “ ‘Whoa’ what?”

  “We’ve come a long way,” Optimus Prime said. “We need to talk to one of your leaders here. Is there a High Council?”

  “Nope.”

  “What kind of leaders do you have?” Optimus persisted. At the same time, Jazz asked, “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Blurr,” came the reply before Blurr vanished again.

  They watched the dust settle in the wake of Blurr’s passage. “Fast,” commented Jazz.

  “Extremely fast,” Perceptor agreed.

  “Too bad he is not so fast about telling us what we need to know,” Optimus said, shooting a look at Jazz for interrupting his questioning of the Velocitronian. “We will have to—”

  “What do you need to know?”

  All four Autobots spun around at the new voice. The speaking bot was sleek and red, still finishing the last minor adjustments as it came out of a two-wheeled altform flanked by four companions in more conventional four-wheeled configurations. They hadn’t heard its approach over the screech of Blurr’s departure. Its retinue remained in alt-form, idling as if they might need to peel out at any moment.

  “You can call me Ransack. Along with Override, I run this planet. Who are you?”

  Optimus Prime stepped forward. “I am Optimus Prime. These are Perceptor, Jazz, and Bumblebee.” He indicated each of his fellow Autobots in turn.

  “Prime? You’re Prime? From Cybertron?” Ransack looked skeptical.

  Confused, the literal-minded Perceptor looked up from another experiment he was running. “Where else would a Prime come from? You are aware that only one Cybertronian may carry that title?”

  Ransack looked at Perceptor with an expression of mingled confusion and irritation. “You don’t need to tell me the old stories. I’ve heard them all, too.” He turned back to Optimus Prime and added, “How do you call yourself Prime?”

  “I did not,” Optimus Prime said. “The High Council did, and the Matrix of Leadership confirmed that decision. I carry it within me.” It glowed within his torso as he spoke, its light reflecting in Ransack’s optics as the Velocitronian leader started back.

  “It’s … is it true?” Now, instead of skeptical, he looked stunned. “What’s a Prime doing here? The Space Bridge hasn’t worked in—”

  “I know,” Optimus said. “There is a long story to tell, and I prefer not to tell it twice. You and Override are in charge here?”

  “We are.” A look came over Ransack’s face, giving Optimus Prime the feeling that the leadership of Velocitron was contested or soon would be. “But maybe you should go ahead and tell me before I bring you to her. Any bot can call himself Prime and make a light glow.”

  “Is that how you want this to be?” Jazz asked, stepping right up to Ransack. “You want to talk to Prime that way?”

  As slight a provocation as the move was, it brought Ransack’s four companions—more properly bodyguards, Optimus Prime figured—roaring forward out of the dust that swirled constantly along the roadside. Revving angrily, they aimed and locked their weapons at Jazz and the rest of the Autobots. Bumblebee and Jazz armed themselves while the less combat-ready Perceptor took a step back from the potential melee.

  Optimus Prime held steady, keeping his gaze on Ransack. There would of course be challenges, he thought. But if they started off with a battle, things would go downhill fast. “Jazz,” he said. “Stand down. I, too, would be skeptical in Ransack’s place.”

  “Skeptical’s one thing. Impudent’s another,” Jazz said.

  “This is my world, mecha,” Ransack said. “The impudence is yours.”

  “Enough,” Optimus Prime said. “Jazz, I said stand down.” Jazz took a step back and put up his weapons, but he looked angry, and Ransack looked scornful. Not an ideal start to the reunion between Cybertron and Velocitron, thought Optimus Prime, but at least outright battle had been avoided. “Now, Ransack,” Optimus went on. “Where is Override?”

  “Where else?” Ransack said. “Racing. You want to see her? Try to keep up.”

  Compared with the constant roar of traffic on the roads, the racetrack at the edge of what turned out to be Delta, Velocitron’s largest city, was quiet when Optimus Prime and the other three Autobots reached it. Ransack was already waiting. “You guys are slow.”

  “Real slow,” echoed one of his retinue.

  Optimus held up a hand to the Autobots, sensing a sharp comment coming from Jazz. “You’re specialized, that’s for sure,” he said. “Impressive. How often are there races here?”

  “This is where the championship happens,” Ransack said. “Right now there are qualifying races all over the planet. Winners come here. Once all of the districts have sent a winner, off we go.” He was walking as he talked, doing both incredibly fast. The Autobots worked hard to keep pace with Ransack’s words as much as his strides as they cut underneath the grandstand and through an enormous garage to an even more gigantic hangar space. It was big enough to hold the Ark and the Nemesis side by side, but it had been a long time since any spacecraft had sheltered here. Everything on Velocitron was about wheels, and the hangar was no exception. Bots tinkered with other bots in mechanical bays, working over the myriad small injuries that came from pushing a bot’s altform to the limits of its performance.

  One entire side of the hangar was devoted to a wind tunnel in which drag coefficients were measured, and racing bots complained about them as they popped out of alt-form to consult with their support teams.

  The Autobots, accustomed as they were to more serious pursuits, shook their heads in amazement. “Can you believe they spend all their time on a sport?” Perceptor wondered. He kept his voice low, but Optimus hushed him anyway. No telling who was listening, and the last thing they needed was to antagonize their hosts.

  He felt Perceptor was right, though. Cybertron was convulsed by war, and here, every living bot was concerned about going faster. To what end? Optimus suppressed an urge to shake them and shout, What will you do when the Nemesis comes? What good will your speed do you then? Prepare!

  But he did not. He kept his counsel and followed Ransack to a corner of the hangar where a number of bots were doing what appeared to be a routine examination of an alt-form, red and white and of course built for speed. Its armaments, twin missile cannons, were cleverly worked into its alt-form to minimize drag. Optimus Prime wondered what Velocitronians were like in a fight. More important, he wondered how long it had been since they had tested themselves in battle.

  That test, he felt certain, would come again sooner than they thought.

  As if reading his thoughts, the red and white racer came out of alt-form and strode up to them aggressively. “Looking for me? Override here,” she said. “Who are you?”

  “He says he’s called Optimus Prime,” Ransack said.

  Override looked sharply at Optimus. “Prime?” she asked, reacting to the title just as Ransack had. The Velocitronians, Optimus thought, were far removed indeed from the culture and history of Cybertron. It wasn’t unexpected, perhaps, but experiencing the gulf was much different from anticipating it in a theoretical way. How many Cybertronians, he wondered, still believed that Velocitron was real?

  Perhaps one day he would return to Cybertron and be able to ask.

  “Prime,” he said, allowing the Matrix to show itself. Not in an ostentatious w
ay as he had to the more aggressive Ransack, not to everyone in the hangar, just to Override, to let her know that he was what he claimed to be and that he carried the authority of Prime.

  Whatever that authority might mean on Velocitron.

  For a long moment Override just stared at him. Optimus began to grow uncomfortable. He heard Bumblebee and Jazz shifting their weight behind him, as if they were looking around in anticipation of a fight.

  Then Override reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve come just in time,” she said.

  Of all the receptions Optimus Prime had imagined, being hailed as saviors was absolutely the last. Yet that was how Override treated them. She gathered all the Velocitronians in the hangar and, before Optimus could suggest that maybe they should share some information privately before making statements to the general population, announced the arrival of Cybertronians. “At last they have come!” she said to tumultuous cheering. Optimus and the rest of the landing party were applauded, clapped on the shoulder, besieged with requests and hopeful sentiments: We’ve been waiting! We had almost lost hope! Have you repaired the Space Bridge? What took you so long?

  At last Override quieted the assembled Velocitronians. Optimus Prime noticed that the crowd was swelling. Apparently word of their arrival already had spread; perhaps that was not surprising on a world that cherished speed above all else. “I wish I could offer you more casual greetings,” Override said, “but you have come at a critical time.”

  Keenly conscious of the spectators, Optimus tried to guide the conversation away from topics he thought should be broached first just among leaders. Perceptor and Jazz shifted uncomfortably next to him. Even the unflappable Bumblebee looked nervous. “It is a critical time for Cybertron as well,” he said. “But for the moment, we can celebrate the future rebuilding of connections among all the worlds. The Space Bridges still need to be rebuilt.”

  “The sooner, the better!” someone called from the crowd.