Famiy Ties

by Phantom


Chapter Three

Hot Rod groaned quietly as his optics flickered on unsteadily. The room came slowly into focus. “Hiya, doc,” he croaked weakly as Ratchet's face swam into focus. “What's the damage?”

“Looks like you're going to make it,” Ratchet replied. “Just be more careful next time, alright? We're getting tired of patching you up after every battle.”

“Yes, sir!” Hot Rod chirped, mock-saluting. “Have I been discharged yet?”

“You're free to go. By the way, Optimus wants to see you in his office ASAP.”

“Optimus?” Hot Rod exclaimed. Something tickled at the back of his head. “Was he here last night? I think I remember hearing his voice.”

“He was here,” Ratchet confirmed. “If you feel up to it, you should go see him right away. He has an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

Hot Rod shuddered. A summons from Optimus usually meant that he was in trouble. “I'm feeling a little shaky, but I'd better get this over with. Whish me luck!”

“I'll let him know you're coming,” Ratchet nodded. “Good luck!”

Hot Rod left medbay, shaking his head. Ratchet had seemed a little odd to him. Maybe he needed a vacation or something. Now what could Optimus want to talk to him about? Maybe he had found out just who was behind the scheme to paint a target on Metroplex's wide posterior. Oh dear, he was in for it! Why did nobody in the command structure of the Autobots have a sense of humor? Even when he had been Rodimus, he had kept his wacky temperament.

'Weird,' he thought to himself as those he passed turned to stare. 'Something's definitely up. Why is everyone staring at me like that? Is my gearbox hanging out?' He ducked into a small niche to give himself a visual inspection. Nope, everything was in order. What could be going on? Maybe he was in for some real trouble!

With a sinking feeling, he rapped timidly on the office of the Autobot leader. “Enter,” a deep voice replied. A bizarre feeling of déjà vu overcame him. It was not so long ago that *he* had been summoning visitors from the other side of the foreboding door. With a sinking feeling, he opened the door and slunk in.

“Please sit down.” Optimus gestured towards the chairs that were lined up before the massive desk. 'At least he kept the new chairs I ordered,' Roddy thought a bit bitterly. 'That's about the only thing he kept the same!'

“Am I in any trouble, sir?” the youth asked timidly. The walk over, especially with all the staring, had been enough to rattle his nerves. “If this is about the target on Metroplex, I'm really very sorry about that—“

“You're not in any trouble, Hot Rod,” Optimus said softly, gazing at him solemnly.

'Something really must be up!' Roddy thought nervously. He didn't even notice the comment about Metroplex. Normally he'd nail my hide to the wall!

“Then, uh, what can I do for you, sir?”

Optimus Prime steepled his fingers together and fixed him with a direct stare. “I was hoping that you could give me some information on your creation, Hot Rod. As I'm sure you know, you are a very singular Autobot.”

'Is *that* all?' Roddy thought, relaxing visibly. 'All the information I have is already on file! But if that's what the big cheese wants, that's what he'll get.' The young bot frowned slightly, his optics becoming glazed over as his memory reached into the past.

“Well,” he began slowly, “I was 'born' on the moon Tul, orbiting the planet Yolan in the Nova sector. My maternal unit was a scientist named Phantasma, who was assigned to convert the moon into a communications base and refueling station. There were only about twenty-five Autobots assigned to the moon station. I was only a few hundred years old when the Decepticons attacked.” His face became twisted in a grimace of pain. “As I'm sure you already know, I was the only survivor of the attack. Kup's battalion found me hiding in the rubble after the attack and brought me back to Cybertron. That's about all I can tell you.”

Prime's optics narrowed slightly. “Don't you have any information on your paternal unit? It seems odd that you did not mention a father.”

Hot Rod shrugged. “I never knew my father. Mother mentioned him only a handful of times. She would never tell me who he was—only that he was an important Autobot on Cybertron. But that could have been almost anyone. I've always been a little curious about him, but since everybody else I know was created on the assembly line, it hasn't worried me too much.”

Optimus stood slowly and circled the desk, leaning against it. He rustled a few data printouts absentmindedly. It seemed to be more of a nervous gesture than anything productive. “Well, *ahem*, it seems that I may be able to satisfy your curiosity. Ratchet and First Aid compared some detailed scans of us. It seems,” he bent the printouts in half unconsciously, “that we share more than a few structural similarities. In fact, our internal schematics are nearly identical at first glance.” The printouts shredded in his hands, and Optimus fiddled with the pieces mindlessly, then dropped them, fixing Hot Rod with a direct, unflinching gaze. “Hot Rod, if what they tell me is true, then I am the father that you have been searching for.”

Hot Rod stared dumbly at his commanding officer, mouth agape. His first reaction was to laugh—that Ratchet, what a kidder! But the laughter died before it could escape his voice module. Optimus Prime was deadly serious. He would never participate in such a joke. If it were true, if Optimus really was his father, it could explain a few things. His affinity for the Matrix, for example…. Hot Rod found his thought processes creating a traffic jam in his neural net.

“I can understand your shock,” Optimus began again when the silence became unbearable. “I was rather shocked too, when I found out.” He reached behind him and found a paper fastener, which he began to industriously twist into a new shape.

“H—how? Why?” Hot Rod finally managed to activate his voice module. He grimaced at the sound – his voice sounded hoarse, as if he had swallowed gravel. “I don't understand….” He trailed off, staring at the being that he had venerated for so long. Optimus Prime had been his lifelong hero. That the revered Autobot leader could be his father… it just didn't make sense!

“I suppose I owe you an explanation.” Optimus seemed enraptured by the paper fastener that he was mutating. Hot Rod realized with a jolt that Optimus Prime was even more uncomfortable about the situation than he was. “Alita One and myself had always wanted to create offspring together. We knew that such a thing was an impossibility during the war – we could never subject a child to such a way of life – but it was one of our many dreams for when the war ended. We also knew that such a practice would be risky, since it was so rarely done. And yet, we held on to our dreams. But then a visit to Ratchet destroyed our hopes.” The Autobot leader's voice became slightly bitter. “It seems that Alita One was incapable of bearing a spark. I tried to console her, but she was devastated.”

Hot Rod nodded in sympathy, not knowing what else to do. He felt guilty – this sort of private information was really none of his business. Optimus almost never divulged anything about his personal life. For him to do so now signified the gravity of the situation.

Optimus plowed on, seemingly lost in his monologue. “I thought that the possibility of creating a spark was lost to us forever. It was difficult to accept, but we had no other choice but to go on.” He made an embarrassed coughing noise. “It was about this time that the Nova project, as it was known, came to fruition. Phantasma approached me with the concept of creating a sort of communications outpost in the Nova sector. I thought it was a refreshingly new idea and approved it on the spot. We met several times to discuss the details, but our relationship was always professional. I honestly did not have interest in her outside of the project.”

Optimus continued to twist the paper fastener. It currently bore a resemblance to a Terran rabbit. “Finally the time came for Phantasma's team of scientists and cyberformers to depart for the Nova sector. I wanted to be on hand personally to send off her team. As luck would have it, I ran in to her on the way to the shuttle bay.” The abused piece of metal was twisted into a corkscrew. The elder Autobot hunched his shoulders, looking even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. “I still really can't fathom what happened next. One astrosecond we were chatting about the upcoming mission, and the next we were in a maintenance shed. Alone. Together.”

Hot Rod ducked his head. Optimus Prime did not have to elaborate any further – it was painfully obvious how his creation had come about.

“Afterward, things continued as if nothing had happened. I saw Phantasma and the members of her team off with nothing more than a salute and a few words of encouragement.” He finally dropped the mangled piece of metal and fixed the young bot with a piercing gaze. “Roddy, she never told me that she was with spark. If she had, I would have recalled her to Cybertron immediately. I suppose that is exactly why she kept your creation a secret. She loved her work, and she was a very independent femme. From what I've heard, she handled parenthood very well.”

The Autobot commander squared his shoulders and straightened up, adopting a more formal pose. “Do you have any questions I can answer?”

“Did you tell Alita?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He clapped a hand over his vocal unit in horror. “I'm sorry! You – you really don't have to answer that. It's none of my business.”

“It's okay,” Optimus said with a sigh. “I can understand your curiosity. Yes, I did tell Alita, Primus rest her soul. And, miracle of miracles, she forgave me. I don't know how I ever came to deserve her.” His optics took on a wistful, faraway look.

Hot Rod shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He never should have mentioned Prime's deceased lifemate. It was an understandably painful topic. He clasped his hands together, trying to think of a way to improve the situation. “So, uh, if you're my dad, um, aren't we supposed to do father-and-son things together?”

Optimus rubbed the back of his head. “Hm, that's not a bad idea. I can't say that I have a clear idea of what such things would be. I can't think of the last 'natural' spark creation in Cybertronian history, so I don't have any other fathers to use as a benchmark. I suppose we'll just have to figure things out as we go along.” With a purposeful air, he strode back around his desk and sat down, flipping through an electronic scheduler. “Ah, yes. I have a ticket to see Hvala, the famous Cybertronian opera star, tomorrow. I suppose I could get another ticket without any trouble. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

'Primus, he sounds so formal,' Hot Rod thought to himself with an inward grimace. 'And he wants to take me to the *opera*?' “Uh, okaaay…” he said slowly. 'Oh, what the slag, why not give it a try? It won't kill me.' “It's a date.”

Prime looked up, his optics twinkling. “A date, then. Meet me here at nineteen-hundred hours tomorrow, and we'll leave from here.”

“Okay, see you then,” Hot Rod nodded, rising and saluting his superior officer. Optimus nodded and returned the salute.

Hot Rod shook his head as he left the office, feeling a strange sense of unease settling down on him. 'Dear Cybertron, *what* have I gotten myself into?'


end of Chapter Three

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