Would-be Spotlight Jetfire

The Barrier's Between Us for Our Treason

Though translucent in his black hand, the disk potentially held the fate of the universe digitally encoded within its molecular structure. But then, that was really no surprise. As a scientist, Jetfire often encountered power of great magnitude in the smallest of forms. It was one of the beautiful ironies of the universe. The Autobot scientist pondered the implications of his assignment—not only how whatever he found could affect the future, but also his outlook on the past. Though he had left behind the Decepticon agendas long ago, he had always appreciated their progressive willingness to shrug off the dogmas of their ancestors. The Autobots still clung to many beliefs and faiths, something he found often frustrating… especially when the new Prime sent him on a wild goose chase.

“Jetfire?” A voice interrupted his thought processes. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see a white and red mech approaching him.

“Hmm? Yes, uh…”

“Scattershot,” the tall Autobot introduced himself.  “Even though we never met in person, my team and I’ve often worked on applying your scientific discoveries into what Autobot Command calls ‘practical applications.’ We’ve made quite a few new devices thanks to your data.”

“Oh, yes,” Jetfire remembered now, though he felt slightly embarrassed. He supposed it was his fault he had not socialized much within the Autobot ranks. The truth was, he still felt like an outsider amongst them. He had supported Megatron during the outbreak of the war, before the shocking revelation of the Decepticons’ apathy toward the sanctity of life had rudely awoken him and forced him to reconsider his loyalties. Many vorns had passed since then, and by now he had been an Autobot longer than he had been a Decepticon, but the echoes of bad choices had a way of reverberating long after those of good choices had died down. He was still working to make amends for his past mistakes. “You’ve done some good work before.” His compliment came out more weak-sounding than he had hoped.

“Thank you sir,” Scattershot seemed to take the compliment at face value anyway, practically beaming. “I just wanted to say that it’s an honor to finally meet you in person. The Techiebots and I hope that this is just a precursor to a closer professional relationship in the future.”

“The ‘Techiebots?’”

“Yes, sir. Uh… we’re still working on the name.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t mind working alongside you all more often as well,” Jetfire said, feeling his confidence build up. It wasn’t the compliments stroking his ego that warmed him up, it was the instant rapport he felt with the engineer. They knew of each other, even if they didn’t know each other, and that was enough for him. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ by the way. Jetfire will suffice.”

“So, Jetfire,” the shorter orange Autobot manipulating the controls at the ship’s helm finally spoke up, “Mind telling us why we’ve been assigned to go flying out to a Matrix-forsaken corner at the fringes of known space?”

“Afterburner…” Scattershot scolded in a tone that lead Jetfire to believe that such exchanges were common between the two team members.

“No, it’s quite alright,” Jetfire interjected. “Now that we’re aboard the ship, there’s no more need to keep it secret, least of all to you.”

==========

Jetfire pondered the significance of the translucent disk lying on the table, under the watchful guard of two Autobots he had never met before. One was green and stoic, standing with his arms crossed and his visor sweeping over him continuously, as if challenging him to make a sudden move and give him an excuse to use the formidable-looking canon mounted on his shoulder; the other smaller, colored blue and yellow, leaned against the wall in a pose that seemed casual—but to a trained eye, it was obvious he was ready for anything. The three of them waited in the large office wordlessly. Jetfire doubted they were interested in conversation, and a war room was hardly the place for it anyway.

Finally the Autobot they were waiting for walked in, followed by a white and black attendant with a data-pad in one hand. The three of them each stood up and straightened their posture. Though Jetfire had never met the new Prime personally, there was something about him that instantly garnered a sense of trust. His charisma was practically visible around him, yet he also had a strength that promised a reason for that trust. Though Jetfire held little faith in the Matrix other than as a life-giver and an icon, he could almost guess why it had been passed on to this particular Autobot. But that was just a hunch, a first impression. The scientist held back his final judgment until he saw with his own two optics what this “Optimus Prime” could do.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jetfire,” his deep, gritty voice resonated throughout the room. “You already know my lieutenant, Prowl. These two are Nightbeat and Hardhead. Nightbeat has come across an… interesting discovery in his travels across the galaxy, one which we would like you to investigate.”

“Me?” Jetfire asked, looking at the blue and yellow Autobot with newfound admiration. Jetfire had heard of Nightbeat; a free agent with his loyalties in the Autobot cause. He lived a mostly self-sufficient life, roaming the galaxy in search of adventure and mystery, as well as information that could come in handy to the war effort. Jetfire had to admit, he envied the adventurer’s life style, but considered himself too practical-minded (a nice way of calling himself a stick in the mud) to undertake such a thing. Still, the thought of a singular adventure alongside Nightbeat intrigued him…

“Ever hear of Paradron?” Nightbeat, who had returned to his previous casual position, asked.

“A mythical lost Cybertronian colony from an era even before Nova Prime…” Jetfire answered.

“Said to have been entrusted with the Prima Sword,” Prowl added, for once looking up from his pad.

To which Optimus Prime added, “An artifact dating back to the First-Forged, said to have power that near-rivals the Matrix.”

“Oh come now,” Jetfire scoffed, “That part’s just a myth. But… you found Paradron?”

“Yes I have,” Nightbeat said, gesturing to the disk. “Maybe the sword is a myth, maybe it isn’t. Now’s our chance to finally find out.”

“Which is what I’m entrusting you to do, whether you personally believe in it or not,” Optimus Prime declared, his voice now sounding a bit more firm. “If the Prima Sword is not a myth, we can’t risk letting something that powerful falling into Megatron’s hands. And even if it is completely powerless, my staff believes it could still act as a symbol, a booster to Autobot morale.”

“And perhaps by studying it, we could shed some more light on where our race came from,” Nightbeat added, almost as if he knew just how to push Jetfire’s buttons.

“Well…” Jetfire thought for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to make or break a myth. And how can I say no to an adventure with the famed Nightbeat?”

“Oh, I’m not going,” Nightbeat said with a shake of his head.

“You’re not?”

“’Fraid not. Appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“Nightbeat is needed elsewhere,” Optimus Prime stated. ”We’ll be assigning you a whole team, as well as a Calabi-class vessel.”

“The Calabi-Yor has just undergone a complete refit for a deep-space expedition,” Prowl said, this time not looking up from his pad. “We’re investing a lot of resources into this mission in the hopes that you come through.”

“I see,” Jetfire tried not to sound disappointed or nervous. Autobot Command was suddenly putting a lot of weight on his shoulders and he had not yet decided if he liked it. “Are you sure I’m the right one for this?”

“There’s a quote from you on your file,” Optimus Prime said, looking him right in the optics. “‘Among the mysteries of science lie the keys to victory.’ You still believe in that, correct?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I do.”

“Then this is your chance to prove it. Bring back the sword and I’ll allow you whatever resources you need to study the artifact.”

“Yes, sir,” Jetfire said, saluting without really thinking about it.  Science is about finding the truth. This was his opportunity to do just that.

==========

“So… this new Prime wants us to jump though a spatial anomaly in the hopes that it will take us to the lost planet of Paradron, establish contact with whatever is now living on that world, and bring back a sword in the hopes that it has magical powers?” Afterburner asked.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Jetfire admitted.

“Well sure, anything can sound stupid when you put it that way,” Scattershot piped up. “I think it sounds like fun.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the short red mech named Lightspeed pledged.

“Count me in,” said Nosecone.

“Ah sure, why th’ frag not?” Afterburner finally muttered.

“You have the Techiebots behind you one hundred percent,” Scattershot declared.

“Thank you, thank you all. But really, you guys need to work on that team name.”

Their destination was so far out there that at maximum speed it still took the Calabi-Yor a whole mega-cycle to get there. Jetfire and company spent most of that time talking shop. The sheer level of inventions they had managed to produce since the onset of the war astounded him. It was a sad irony that war, while bringing out the worst aspects of a society, also catalyzed creativity and brought about some of the greatest scientific achievements. Scattershot and his team had made some very impressive headway in subspace folding technology, and their theories on weaponized vibrations intrigued him. By the end of the first three cycles, Jetfire was practically an unofficial member of the team. He made a mental note to put in a request to have their labs moved together when they returned home.

When the ship fell out of transwarp, it was as if they had been dropped out into the middle of nowhere. There was no solar system, there was no star, there was no anything. Or so it seemed to the unequipped optic. But as a scientist, Jetfire was used to dealing with the invisible. It took multiple sweeps with every single one of their scanners tuned up to their full sensitivity, then hours of their time to sift out the data that was not relevant to find what they were looking for: a fold in the fabric of reality. Obviously it was there, as others had found it before by dumb luck. Jetfire preferred to take a more informed, controlled approach, and once they did manage to pinpoint its location, they spent several more hours studying it and sweeping it with their scanners to learn whatever they could about it. He was ecstatic with the new knowledge they gained, an enthusiasm that eventually spilled over onto his crewmates. Even if they didn’t find anything on the other side, at the very least they would be able to send this information home to further advance scientific knowledge. While Autobot Command might not appreciate it, in Jetfire’s mind this expedition had already become worth the effort.

Finally, the time came when they had to set aside their instruments, throw all caution to the ethers of space, and dive in. Slowly, they began to ease the vessel forward into the great unknown, the enigma that had claimed their ancestors millennia ago. Science is about taking the ultimate risk for the ultimate reward. Even with their shields turned up to full power and specially modulated with the data from their probes, (none of which had exactly made it back in single pieces, it should be noted) the Calabi-Yor rocked, creaked, and groaned as the energies around it did their damndest to break it apart. Jetfire held onto his seat grimly, paying close attention to the ship’s readings and trying very hard not to be mesmerized by the sights outside. Lightspeed, however, was completely caught up by the swirling kaleidoscope of quantum forces, forcing Jetfire to take his seat at the helm and coax the ship forward through the tides.

Finally the storm lost its hold over the ship and they penetrated through the other end of the hole in space into a pocket of Existence which concealed an entire solar system. Initial scans detected one inhabitable planet within the realm. The crew spent six whole minutes congratulating themselves and each other for not only surviving the foray into the anomaly, but finding what they were looking for. Even having Scattershot remind them that their mission was not yet completed did not diminish heir spirits. They had overcome the hardest part—or so they thought.

Approaching the planet, they were met by five flying Transformers. Jetfire ordered Afterburner to lower their shields. He did not want to cause an incident and ruin any chance of peaceful relations with their lost brethren, and so he took measures to appear as un-hostile as possible by flying in slowly, making no measures to avoid detection. As soon as they knew they had been detected, Jetfire hailed the flyers and politely requested to speak with the ruling figures of the planet. The flyers were surprisingly polite and obliging. It wasn’t long before a small holographic form of a golden robot shimmered on the bridge’s projector.

“Bah-Weep-Graaagnah Wheep Ni-Ni Bong,” the mech said, holding his hand up. “I am Xaaron, elder Emirate of Paradron. And you are?”

“Greetings. I am Jetfire, commander of the Calabi-Yor. We hail from Cybertron.”

“Ah, yes. The Ancestral world.” Xaaron did not seem too amazed by the fact. "You are not the first vessel from there to come through the Orifice over the many vorns since we established our homes here. We offer you our hospitality, and even a home should you choose to stay on this paradise.”

“Thank you, but we were sent here by our Prime to establish formal relations with your world.” Jetfire hesitated, unsure as to whether now would be the right time to bring up the real reason why they had come. Diplomacy had never been his forte—in fact this was his first ever first contact. “We also came in search of-”

“The Prima Sword,” Xaaron guessed, much to his amazement. “All who wish are free to attempt to search for it, we won’t stop them. The sword will only go with one who is worthy. You are welcome on the planet, but weapons are not. Land your ship on the coordinates we provide for you and we will speak more of the matter in person. Xaaron, out.”

“So, what do you think?” Nosecone asked after the transmission had ended.

“I think we should do as he says.”

Afterburner snarled, “Like frag I’m leaving this ship without a weapon.”

“Then you can stay behind,” Scattershot said. “Someone should guard the ship while we’re out, anyway. I don’t think it would be wise to blindly trust these Paradrons. There’s something about them that makes my motherboard spark.”

“Everyone makes you react that way, boss,” Lightspeed pointed out.

“Lightspeed, guide the ship down,” Jetfire ordered. “Afterburer, Strafe, you two will stay aboard while Scattershot, Nosecone, Lightspeed and I see what there is to see on this planet—unarmed.”

“What!?” Strafe was obviously about to object to the idea by the way he balled up his fist and almost brought it down on the controls.  

“Just because we won’t have blasters, doesn’t mean we won’t be able to defend ourselves,” Jetfire assured him. “We’ve been at war for vorns now and I’d say it’s safe to assume that these natives have not. We have a battle edge that they lack, especially Scattershot. We’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Scattershot interjected, though it was apparent he wasn’t overly happy about the idea either.

Landing on the planet was an easy enough feat, and once out of the ship they were met by a score of natives. It was understandable; Jetfire doubted Paradron got many visitors. Three rather imposing ‘bots asked (quite politely) to search them for weapons. Jetfire complied, expecting no trouble—until they detected the hilt of an energy dagger stored in a secret compartment in Scattershot’s leg.

“I wasn’t intending to use it,” he insisted. “I never go anywhere without it… it brings me luck.”

Jetfire shot him an odd look. Now what were they going to do? “Would he be allowed to keep it if he were to surrender the power cell?” he asked tentatively.

“That’ll be fine,” one of the sentries said. Despite looking physically imposing, not one of them struck Jetfire as having the spark of a fighter.

In fact, he noted as they escorted him into the senate building, everyone on this planet struck Jetfire as being quite pacifistic. Life on this planet seemed even more peaceful than Cybertron even before the war. It was as if they had stumbled onto a utopia. He was a scientist, not a sociologist, but he still wondered what the Paradrons did to have such enviable peace.

The natives finally escorted them to a large room and asked them to take a seat while they waited for Xaaron. The room was not so much “posh” as it was a work of art. Bronze reliefs were imbedded into the golden walls, commemorating the heroes and history of Paradron. Colored compounds of some sort swirled about fluidly in the ceiling above their heads, resembling the maelstrom of energies his crew had piloted through to reach the planet. In the center of the room was a decagon-shaped table holding up an inviting pitcher of glowing pink liquid energon. Jetfire walked over to the table almost reverently and poured an appreciable amount for himself into a cubical cup. Upon closer inspection, even the pitcher and cups were each a unique piece of art, hand-created individually by an artist who left his signature on each one. Everything in this room had been molded with the attentiveness and passion that only a race of artists could create. The scientist-turned warrior felt almost envious.

There was a boom, and then a pair of double-doors opened to allow in the very same mech that had invited them onto the planet followed by a pair of attendants. Emirate Xaaron’s holographic representation had not done him justice. His golden armor was polished to a shine, and ornate paint markings adorned his form from head to foot. Even glyphs matching the ones on the walls were painted along the sides of his arms and his chest plating. No one on Cybertron had looked that good in many vorns. When in war, there was no sense decorating your frame because it was apt to get scorched away the very next day.

“Welcome to Paradron,” he said with a very distinctive leader-like voice. “I see you have already helped yourself to some refreshment. I hope you find it to your liking. It is the finest static blend from my own personal molecular brewery. I don’t like to brag but it has earned two awards in the past three meta-cycles.”

“It is quite possibly the best energon I have ever had,” Jetfire answered honestly, motioning for the others to each pour themselves a serving. Etiquette was essential to this mission. They didn’t want to appear rude by refusing hospitality.

Seats were taken and drinks were poured, and before long, Jetfire and company were answering the Emirate’s questions about the desperate state of the Home World. Xaaron was understandably saddened to hear of the war, but frustratingly reluctant to take a position of his own. Scattershot seemed hell-bent on convincing Xaaron that the Decepticons were to be reviled, until Jetfire told him to give it up. Xaaron apologized, but insisted that the civil war on Cybertron was not the concern of Paradron.

“I understand,” Jetfire said. He wanted to say more, to tell Xaaron that he himself ascribed to some of the Decepticons’ philosophies, but felt uncomfortable saying such things aloud in the presence of the other Autobots. Instead, he merely added, “It’s not a black and white issue. I don’t want to bring the war to this beautiful planet any more than you do. Too much has been destroyed already and Paradron’s beauty overwhelms Cybertron’s even during the zenith of our golden age.” On that much, he was certain everyone in the room could agree.

“Do I assume correctly when I assume that you wish to use the Prima Sword to your advantage in your war?” Xaaron, now slightly more guarded than before, asked.

“We want to end this war with as little loss of life as possible,” Jetfire answered, “And we will explore every possible avenue towards achieving that goal.”

Xaaron nodded, as if he was satisfied with Jetfire’s answer. “Tomorrow you will be shown to the temple where the Sword resides. You can go inside and see if the Prima Sword deems your intentions for it as worthy or not.”

“What do you mean?” Lightspeed asked. “If the sword is so powerful, why aren’t you guarding it carefully?”

“It is guarded.”

“Heavily?”

“Not by us,” Xaaron assured him. “The sword is held in a temple that guards itself. Only one who is worthy may take it, assuming he can reach it in the first place.” The leader of Paradron stood up. “If you will pardon me, I have matters to attend to. My aides will escort you to tenements where you may stay for the night and you will be welcome to all the comforts of our world. Tomorrow morning we will show you to the temple.”

“Thank you,” Jetfire said, giving Scattershot a significant look. He knew his crew would not be happy with it, but he decided it would be best to play by their rules. He was not sure what to expect within the temple, but at the very least they would be given a free shot at getting the sword. That was what they had come for, and if they had to jump through some hoops, then so be it.

==========

Once Jetfire and crew were gone, Xaaron returned to the same chamber and stepped onto the same holographic transmitter in which he had greeted the Autobot expedition. On the screen before him flickered the bridge of another ship that had just passed through the anomaly, this ship with purple-hued walls instead of gold. In the center of that bridge stood a red and white figure Jetfire would have recognized if he had remained with Xaaron.

“Bah-Weep-Graaagnah Wheep Ni-Ni Bong. I am Xaaron, elder Emirate of Paradron. And you are?”

“Hail, Xaaron of Paradron. I am Starscream, First Lieutenant of the Decepticons…”

==========

“Frag no, we go in as a team!”

“Do you wish to forfeit your opportunity completely?” A large Paradron with a stylized sword logo emblazed on his forearms and forehead leaned down and looked Afterburner optic to optic. “Just try something, please. I haven’t had a good fight in millennia and I want to see if you can break the monotony for me.”

“He’s not going to do any such thing,” Jetfire interjected, pulling Afterburner away by the arm—the arm he was sure would have propelled a fist into the guard’s face within an astrosecond if he did not do something. “As I’ve said before, we will abide by the laws of the land.” Though he looked at the guard as he spoke, his words were intended as a reminder to both Afterburner and Scattershot, who did not look happy at all.

“Only one may enter at a time,” the second guard repeated. “Who will make the first attempt?”

Jetfire released Afterburner and took a step forward. “I will.”

“Are you sure?” the first guard asked. “If anyone has a chance at coming back out with the Prima Sword in hand, I figure it’s you. If you went in first and failed, the rest of the day would be anti-climatic.”

“Thank you… I think,” the white and red Autobot said, titling his head and giving the guard an odd look. “But this is not a fictional story, there is no plot or pacing issues we need to concern ourselves with. As the commander of this expedition, it’s my responsibility to brave whatever dangers are inside first.”

“Very well.” The first guard sounded almost amused as he gestured to a large door. “In you go, then.”

With a sense of trepidation that he refused to admit to himself, Jetfire stepped into the temple and a darkness greeted him almost as consuming as the most forlorn corner of outer space. The walls had a molecular composition that did not permit energy of any kind—be it light, heat, or radiation—to pass in or out. He would have loved to study it further, but he had come here for something more important than an alloy, or so he hoped. Turning his optics and sensors up to full sensitivity didn’t strike him as a good idea, since any sudden change in light or temperature could leave him stunned. He chose a more primitive approach, creating his own light source. High-powered beams of light shot from floodlights on his forearms, revealing reddish-tinted walls covered in glyphs—many of which Jetfire did not recognize. Instantly his hesitation abated and the scientist in him grew aroused—this was the adventure he had always dreamed about.

==========

Jetfire was not the only one feeling adventurous. Scattershot and his crew felt that same sense in their own right at the sight of a familiar tetrajet rocketing toward them. The tetra jet felt that same sense of thrilling adventure as well as he targeted and shot the Autobots—and the guards—bellow, preventing them from feeling anything at all for a long time thanks due to the paralyzing effects of his null-ray cannons.

==========

Three doors; three choices. Jetfire somehow doubted an incorrect choice would be as simple as entering an empty room from which he could simply backtrack to try again. Fortunately, each door had a marking which he easily deduced provided a riddle for him to solve. One door had the word “KNOWLEDGE,” inscribed on it, the middle, “POWER,” and the final, “WISDOM.” Knowledge was the first he ruled out, since there was nothing in the legend of the Sword that promised Knowledge. The legends described it as an object of Power, but anyone with true Wisdom would know better than to seek the sword out for something as selfish as power. Confidently, Jetfire stepped through the door labeled Wisdom and did not look back.

The long, straight corridor ahead of him looked promising, but Jetfire walked cautiously. As a scientist, he was used to dealing with the unknown, and he was not afraid of risk, but he was not foolhardy. The corridor seemed endless, defying the proportions of the temple’s exterior. Jetfire was beginning to wonder if he had slipped into some dimensional fold. Space folding had been largely experimental back in Nova Prime’s day, but not impossible. War was not the only stimulus for scientific experimentation.

War did, however, stimulate many things besides science. It caused untold, pain, waste and death, and at that very moment, it indirectly caused a feeling of shock for Jetfire as the wall ahead of him exploded and none other than Starscream was flung out into the hallway. Chasing him out was a shadowy silhouette mimicking the Seeker’s shape, extending dark tendrils from its fingers to finish him off. Jetfire did not think. He acted. Though weaponless, he was not unarmed. A scan revealed the entity to be composed of nano-machines of some sort, and it merely took a beam of electro-magnetism from a dampener device he had handy to disrupt the bonds holding the creature together.

As it turned to dust, the scientist realized his mistake. The sight of his former friend in danger had spurred a reflex reaction to help him. He grabbed the Decepticon by the arm and got him back on his feet.

“Hey!” Starscream protested, pulling his arm free. “Haven’t you ever heard of finesse?”

“You’re welcome,” Jetfire said, unable to keep the bitter resentment from his voice. It could be argued that he was the one who had betrayed the other, but it was Starscream who had diverged down an unforgiveable path in the first place. “What are you doing here?”

“You know, for a smart guy you’re pretty naïve,” Starscream jested. “What do you think? I’m here for the Prima Sword, same as you. I put a tracker on your ship and followed you here.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“That’s what the dozens of guards I shot said too. Not like they actually could back up their objections, though.”

“And now you’re going to shoot me too,” he guessed, bracing himself for the inevitable numbing pain from Starscream’s trademarks weapons—a sensation he had experienced more than once already.

“Now Jetfire, what kind of Decepticon do you take me for? You just helped me out of a… situation. Nothing I couldn’t have handled myself, mind you, but I’m sure you saved me some time. What kind of thanks would-”

“Your weapons don’t work in here, do they?”

Starscream’s scowl answered the question for him. “Anyway,” he continued, “I say we work together. For old time’s sake.”

“You mean for the sake of your own ambition.”

“We all have our motivations. Besides, the legend goes that the sword will only go with one mech. We might as well save ourselves some time and make the trip to the sword together.”

“Don’t tell me you really believe in that,” Jetfire scoffed.

Starscream leaned against the wall, looking down the passageway as if they were having nothing more than an idle conversation. “All legends are based on some truth, Jetfire. Besides, there has to be a reason why no one has come out with the sword yet. It’s not like you and I are the first to try.”

Jetfire didn’t really see what choice he had. He couldn’t let Starscream have a chance to pull that sword out before he did. And he couldn’t remove Starscream from the temple by force—he had always been a more ruthless fighter, and his time in the Decepticons had definitely honed his combat skills further.

“Come on, what do you have to lose?” Starscream goaded.

“My life,” Jetfire said, before finally slumping in acquiescence. “Come on, then.”

Starscream smirked that unbearably smug smirk of his. “Nice to see the Autobots haven’t turned you into a completely gullible fool,” he “commended” quietly before following Jetfire down the corridor.

Finally they entered a large chamber. At the doorway, “PATIENCE” was inscribed on the floor, in figures big enough that it could not be missed.

“Whoever built this place had a thing for virtues,” Starscream commented.

“At least they’re not making us choose this time,” Jetfire answered as he walked into the cathedral without hesitation. Not five steps in, an invisible, concussive force blasted him back.

Starscream offered him a hand-up. “I think the point is to take things slowly,” he suggested.

“I don’t know what hurts more—my skit-plate, or the fact that I needed you of all mechs to point that out to me.”

“I know. Life’s a riot, isn’t it?”

And so they both tentatively forged into the room together, taking what is described in English as “baby-steps” (for which there is no direct translation in Cybertonix).

After nearly five kliks of silence, Jetfire finally piped up, “Why did you drop out of the Academy?”

“What?”

“I’ve always wondered,” the Autobot clarified, “Why you felt the need to walk away from a promising career as an explorer and start spending your time amongst illegal pit fighters.”

“You mean besides lack of funds? Not all of us could afford the Academy’s heavy fees. You were barely scraping by yourself, as I recall.”

“That’s the reason why you fell in with Megatron? Because you were broke?” Jetfire asked, frowning.

“Of course not! You know that there’s rarely just one cause for anything. How quickly you forget the promises Megatron made for a better future.”

“He brought war to Cybertron! How has he made things better?”

“This war was a long time coming Jetfire, everybody knows that. You were never wise enough to realize an opportunity when it arrives. When Megatron finally destroys those who cling to the old ways and introduce his new order, I’ll be on top, right by his side. And you… well… that all depends on whether you wise up in time or not.”

“You say I’m not wise enough to see opportunity, but how many times have I had to pull you out of situations where you got in over your head?” he pointed out. “You never could be satisfied with your lot in life, even when you had it pretty good.”

“I’ve just always known that I have a greater destiny than sitting in some droll lab all my life, which you would have done if this war hadn’t forced you to go outside. So, you’re welcome for that. We’re Cybertronians, Jetfire! The most powerful beings in the known galaxy. We were meant to do great things. The Autobots are holding us back as a race.”

Jetfire had heard it all before, and he remained unconvinced. “You know I don’t believe in destiny.”

Finally they reached the end and entered the next room, named INTELLIGENCE. This floor was lined with figures and equations, and above the door on the other edge was a large “42.” Taking the lead, Jetfire carefully moved from tile to tile in an order that would eventually calculate to the desired figure at the end. Just as he placed his foot on one tile and shifted his weight onto it, Starscream pulled him back just in time to keep from being incinerated by a beam of energy.

“Wrong tile,” Starscream pointed out redundantly. “I’m surprised you missed that.”

“I… made a miscalculation,” he admitted sheepishly.

“You? Miscalculate?”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Jetfire defended himself. “Besides, why did you just save me?”

“Oh… well…” Starscream seemed genuinely taken aback by the question. “You can still be useful to me.”

“Riiight,” Jetfire said before moving on to the correct tile this time.”

“I mean it. I’ve never been the type to shoot myself in the foot.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Especially not in front of Megatron.”

By the time they entered into the next room, the two former friends turned bitter enemies turned temporary allies had gotten back into the swing of working alongside each other. Moving obstacles made of incinerating energy, traversing narrow paths above molten material, even a fight against a large mechanized guardian—it was almost like old times when Starscream would reluctantly drag him into some adventure or another back before anyone had even heard of the name “Megatron.” Jetfire was shocked to realize that he missed it—and Starscream was right, he needed to get out more.

After what seemed like days, they reached what had to be the final doorway. The walls inside the room were lined with massive statues. Jetfire could only guess who the effigies represented, but just going by their noble stances he could imagine they had all been noble heroes of Cybertron’s forgotten past. What were their great deeds, and why were they now forgotten? He was soon pulled away by the greater riddle posed by the hieroglyphics lining the door. “What do you suppose it means?” Jetfire asked.

“You mean you can’t read it?” Starscream asked from behind him.

“Some of the figures resemble our modern ones, but on the whole the dialect is too old. It could take me vorns to figure them out.”

“Well, that’s all very fascinating,” Starscream’s tone, drawing closer, disagreed with his words. “But…”

Metal screeched and sparks shot out of his chest before he felt or registered the blade run through his shoulder and leap out his front. His vision turned red as system after system sent warnings to his processor. Starscream, once his best friend, had known just where to hit him. Stunned both by the betrayal (which he should have seen coming) and by the feeling of his systems shutting off one by one, Jetfire fell onto the ground. The clanging of impact resonated in his audio processors.

He could hear Starscream’s voice, sounding so far away, and though he could not make out the individual words he knew the Decepticon was gloating. He could feel the Seeker’s presence as he stepped over him as if he were nothing more than a piece of scrap metal.

There was a moment’s pause when Jetfire could not hear or see anything else. Then suddenly, the word “UNWORTHY!” boomed out as clearly as if he were not halfway into stasis lock. Somehow he managed to twist his head and behold the sight of Starscream with his hand on the door, lit up more brightly than a plasma reactor. He heard that familiar high-pitched scream, and for the very first time, that cry gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction. Not happiness… but satisfaction. Perhaps the universe was not completely unjust after all.

The light show ended, and Starscream clanged down on the floor in a heap himself, further enhancing the sense of cosmic balance. Only… Jetfire didn’t believe in such things. What he did know, however, was that something was beckoning him to the door, drawing him in. Though he was, in all likelihood, about to die… he had come all this way. Even if the door did the same thing to him, he had nothing to lose. Drawing on some reserve of strength that he was not sure was his own, the scientist made what some would construe as a leap of faith.

As soon as his hand touched the door, everything went black. When he regained his vision, he was standing and, even more mysteriously, the claxon warnings in his head were gone. He glanced down, and his wound was healing. His systems were back to normal, and upon checking his internal chronometer, time had jumped ahead by two point three kliks. The only logical explanation was that something had put him in stasis lock to repair his wounds… but that quickly?

It was then that he looked outward from himself and noticed something even more astounding: The door was gone, and before him what could only be the Prima Sword hovered in the air, perfectly still, suspended by some unknown force. It seemed he was dealing with a lot of those today… it boggled the scientific mind, but what he solemnly took in one hand and easily pulled away proved that there were many things about the universe that modern science had yet to explain. On the hilt, a square sigil insignia was proudly emblazoned, golden with a red sheen when light flickered over it. Jetfire let a slight smile play across his faceplate, deducing that this was the unmistakable forbearer of the Autobot badge that he proudly displayed on his own chest these days. But, upon flipping the handle over, Jetfire almost dropped the sword in disbelief.

On the other side, a triangular symbol, tinted purple, scowled at him. The scientist experienced something akin to a crisis of faith in his lack of faith. How could this be…?

He looked down at his once and former friend, still piled in a heap on the ground. The Decepticon symbols seemed to stand out more than ever on Starscream’s wings. Jetfire did not believe in destiny, but… What if this war was predestined somehow? What if what had once been once race Cybertonians had always been fated to split into two races, Autobot and Decepticon? Yesterday Jetfire would have scoffed at the idea, but after the experiences inside this temple of antiquity, holding secrets known to their ancestors but carelessly forgotten over the generations, his mind was opened.

Jetfire knew it was his duty to bring Starscream back as his prisoner. He was a wanted killer and a valuable enemy resource. But he had also, at one point, been Jetfire’s friend. What if they had become enemies not by their own choices, but because they were merely acting out their roles in some grand cosmic play? Then Starscream could not really be faulted for what he was doing.

Either that, or Jetfire was going crazy. After nearly dying and then seeing something that could not (yet) be explained scientifically, the Autobot felt as if he didn’t know which way was up any more. Before he could come to his senses, Jetfire decided to give Starscream one final benefit of the doubt and, after making sure he would come back online in a few hours, left him there in the temple to find his own way home… and find his own destiny, if there was such a thing. Perhaps his friend could yet be saved, someday.

He had what he’d come for: an answer, but even more questions to find the answers to.

==========

The Paradrons had insisted on a party when Jetfire had emerged with the sword, and after a ceremony where the leaders of the planet received a chance to finally see the object their people had been charged with guarding, allowed him to leave the planet with it. Jetfire had half expected to have to relinquish the sword back to them.

Aboard the Calabi-Yor and shooting through space back to Cybertron, Jetfire didn’t waste any time resting. He took the sword into the lab as soon as they were safely on their way. The peripheral scans the ship’s equipment could perform revealed the sword had interesting properties in its molecular structure, but nothing absolutely physics-defying that suggested it held great power in and of itself.

Who knew? Perhaps he would find what they were looking for yet once he was back on Cybertron and working with more sensitive equipment. Jetfire was no longer so willing to rule out any possibility. He was not ready to believe in magic, but he understood now that there were some arcane powers in the universe that science had yet to quantify. Through the war and beyond it, Jetfire was prepared to dedicate the rest of his life in search of the ultimate answers. Science is all about adjusting one’s beliefs in light of new knowledge and finding out exactly what one is made of—both physically… and, perhaps, even metaphysically.