The Trial of Megatron Part One: The End? Chapter 3.2
Really, requesting an audience was the easy part. Getting an answer was more difficult.
“I’m sorry, sweet thing, but you’re going to have to wait like everybot else.”
Optimus didn’t remember Ultra Magnus’s aide ever being such a belle, or concealing the fact that she would rather work devoid of interruptions caused by unsolicited visitors beneath the occasionally muttered drawling ad hominem remark: a thin façade, which betrayed her country-bot origins. The previous aide, on the other hand, wore his heart on his sleeve. Maximus was maddeningly stoic and had a threatening presence. He never smiled and he never seemed to tolerate any disorder. Everything was always maintained and kept picture perfect with Maximus on the job, not only for Ultra Magnus, but also for Powered Convoy Magnus before him.
The fact was Sentinel Prime hadn’t liked Maximus from the start. Ever since assuming the role as interim Magnus, Sentinel had demanded a more visually pleasing and adept substitute for the aged file clerk, and none were more visually pleasing than the fembot that sat behind the desk now.
In behavior, the new secretary was comparable to Maximus. Her mouth was a miniscule tight line. She had been looking through a tablet of digital documents when Optimus entered the foyer. Her two pebble-like dark cyan eyes visually frisked him. At the sight of her, Optimus thought he was in the wrong room and almost turned around and walked out, but her frightening optics stuck on him like a tractor beam and pulled him to the front desk.
“Hello,” He was in a hurry, but tried to mind his manners, “Maybe you can help me. My name is Optimus Prime,” he flicked out a metallic maintenance district credential card, “and I would like a word with the interim Magnus at his next availability.”
Her visual sensors were frigidly locked on to his. “Do you have an appointment?” She asked indifferently in a nonetheless attractive farm girl voice.
“Uh, no,” he stumbled. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there without an invitation. “But I think that Sentinel Prime would appreciate the information I’ve come to talk about. You see, I’ve just come from speaking with the prisoner Megatron in Trypticon. All through our conversation he behaved strangely – he was making threats that I have reason to believe he has full intention and means of carrying out.”
The file clerk looked doubtful, “Sentinel Magnushas asked to not be disturbed at this time. If you are willing to make an appointment you can come back – “ the secretary absently tapped on a monitor screen, “in two deca-cycles.”
Optimus was floored. “You don’t understand; by then it could be too late – “
The aide rolled her optics. It became apparent that she had already turned away plenty of would-be visitors in her time. She flopped her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in her intertwined fingers, “That’s what they all say sugar-gears. Now do you want the appointment or not? Sentinel Magnusis very busy with preparations for this evening.”
Optimus was confused. Sentinel Magnus? Why did she keep calling him that?
But even more curious, “I don’t understand. Ultra Magnus always made time for emergency visits. If he wasn’t in emergency care – wait. What’s going on this evening?
The secretary’s squinting, beady optics popped open in slow motion. “Don’t you know?”
Optimus stood as stiff as a board, noticing her change in demeanor, “No. What is it? What’s wrong?”
For the first time in their conversation, Sentinel’s secretary displayed some degree of warmth as she dropped her arms to her side and furrowed her brow. Sympathy spread onto her face.
“Honey, Ultra Magnus… is offline. Permanently.”
