Chapter 2: "Orders from the Top"
It was not long before news channels the world over were broadcasting the arrival of the Endeavour and its Autobot crew. Whether visual or audio, television or radio, everybody was tuning in to the story. The giant robots were still a matter of much discussion; gossip circles, conspiracy theory message-boards, even school newsletters.
"An object believed to be an Autobot space vessel landed at Heathrow Airport…" said Huw Edwards on B.B.C. One.
"…Reports are unsure of how many robots were seen to emerge from the craft…" continued Francois Picard on France 24.
"…Somewhere between 4 and 40…" added Kam Kamaruddin on Radio24 Malaysia.
"…Both the White House and the Pentagon are in talks…" put in Jim Ribble on C.N.N. Radio.
"The aliens are back!" someone exclaimed in a Spanish chat room.
The united N.E.S.T. operatives, along with the new arrivals, returned to Diego Garcia post-haste. Prowl's crew had all downloaded the English language from that holiest of holy sanctuaries which humans know as 'the Web,' and also scanned vehicular forms they each felt suited their specific tastes. Wheeljack's audio receptors buzzed with a powder blue light as he tuned in to the news.
"Well shift my gearstick," he purred in an almost flattered fashion, "all this fuss over little old us?"
"Hey, Big Ears!" Arcee barked up at the taller robot. "That's not necessarily a good thing!"
Sideswipe snorted. "Try tellin' that to Tracks and my brother."
"There's no such thing as bad publicity," Tracks and Sunstreaker chorused, then glared like they were trying to burn laser-holes in each other's face-plates.
"Don't you step on my lines you impudent little milquetoast," Tracks growled, giving the yellow-bodied artist a hard shove.
"You wanna get rough, tomato-face?" Sunstreaker retorted, reciprocating the move on the royal blue thespian. "I'll frag your keester so hard people will think you're a modern art piece!"!
"Guys, guys, guys," Hot Rod intervened, "there's an easy way to settle this." With that, he promptly put their heads together and let them slide to the ground in a dazed state. He dusted off his hands and rejoined the rest of the group, whistling merrily.
Kup blew air through his vents as if he were sighing, "Some 'bots ain't go no discipline." He loomed over Tracks and Sunstreaker as they slowly got to their feet. "You lads watch yourselves. We're guests here, and I was always taught that guests show civility. So if ya start kickin' up a stink, I'll hand yer afterburners over to Ratchet for cleanin' duty. That goes for you too, Hot Rod."
"What'd I do?" Hot Rod protested, feigning innocence. Kup rolled his optics. Nearby, a few human soldiers could not help but laugh amongst themselves at the ridiculous behaviour of the metal giants.
"Christ, man, it's like watchin' The Three Stooges or somethin'," Technical Sergeant Robert Epps observed, struggling to tame the smile threatening to split his dark face in half.
"Hey, so long as they're on our side, they can be as stupid as they want," said Major William Lennox.
XXX
With the Autobots dealing with their own problems, Sam, Mikaela and Raoul had decided to continue their own celebrations at the Banes household. As the night grew steadily later, the thrill of the graduation faded, leaving Sam Witwicky feeling drained, and he was asleep the second his head hit the pillow. When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by a great, vast, unending nothingness. Though he could see naught, he was certain he stood on a solid surface. The sensation of millions of tiny hooks pulling at his skin drew him to walk forwards. From nowhere, greyish fog flooded round his legs and crawled up round his body.
"Somebody leave a smoke machine on?" he asked nobody in particular. As if someone had flicked a switch, the nothingness was replaced by the classical setting of a Greek theatre. An alien sun shone high above, the rows upon rows of seats were constructed of a jet black material that was as smooth and magnificent as polished marble.
"Whoa…"
"Welcome, Sam Witwicky," called a voice. Sam whirled round in surprise and found himself looking up at six tall, exo-skeletal figures with shimmering, obsidian skin and carmine eyes. Each one carried a long staff topped with a different celestial shape.
"Oh God, not you guys," Sam groaned. "Am I dead again?"
…Sam…
"Wha…?" Sam turned again, and wished he had not. He was momentarily blinded by an incredible ethereal light. When his eyes adjusted, he was awestruck at what awaited him. A huge, round thing hovered in mid-air, surrounded on all sides by a field of revolving golden characters that seemed to move in random directions with no kind of pattern, like an insane Rubik's Cube. The field obscured the colour and exact size of the thing, but Sam could make out seven identically-sized holes in its surface. Several groups of Transformers now sat in the rows of seats, watching with the intensity of hard-working, nay, mesmerised students.
"We regret to disturb you, young one," said the leader of the Six Primes, "but we have need of you once again."
"What am I? Your errand boy?" Sam asked indignantly as his senses came back to him.
"You're whatever we need you to be, human," sneered another Prime.
"Hush, Sentinel Prime," said a third. "Such a tone will not be tolerated here." The leader placed one hand around Sam's shoulder and ushered him forward while addressing the thing, "Vector Sigma, this is the boy." The Primes walked backwards until they seemed to melt into the ambience, and Sam's attention was fixated solely on the two entities growing feet-first from the bottom of the golden field. They stood back-to-back, an old man in the body of a Greek scholar facing the boy, and a beautiful Egyptian priestess behind him, speaking inaudibly to the Transformers, who listened to her with wrapt interest.
"I greet you," said the scholar. Sam blinked, and found the avatars had swapped places. The tall, slender priestess was now leaning slightly towards him as the scholar continued their unheard class, swishing his arms dramatically above his head.
"I chose a form I believed your mind could comprehend," said the priestess. "Is it not functional?"
"Uh, n-no, perfectly functional," Sam forced a painful-looking grin, "what do you want from me?" Please God don't let me look at her cleavage…
Blink! The scholar again.
"Long ago," said he, "when your people were still young, Cybertron fell victim to a horrible poison. It caused a quarrel to rise amongst our disciples, and then to a schism within the populace. These political arguments escalated into all-out war, my efforts to bring calm went unheeded, and now everything lies in ruin…the planet is dead."
"Thanks for the history lesson," said Sam dryly, "but what does this have to do with me?"
Blink! The priestess again.
"I am incomplete but it is not too late," said she, reaching out a long, slender arm and pressing one fingertip to the middle of Sam's brow, "our destiny holds the key…to salvation…or…destruction." The world around them was swallowed by an unspeakable evil. Dripping, silver fangs like broad-bladed daggers soared towards Sam. He screamed…
When Sam's vision regained clarity, he was back in the bedroom, lying on the floor in a tangle of sheets. Mikaela gazed down at him from her perch on the bed. A moment, almost a minute, passed between them in icy soundlessness.
Finally, she asked, "What's up, Sam? Did you have that nightmare about John Travolta's career again?" Sam opened his mouth to respond when the door opened as Raoul burst in excitedly.
"Hey, you guys have gotta check out who's on…" his voice faded as he took in the scene, "…play rough?" A pillow struck him across the face.
XXX
Simmons did not want to have to deal with this. When N.E.S.T. had regrouped back at their headquarters, they had come across a rather unpleasant surprise waiting for them. A government official was getting out of a black helicopter, and was presently arguing with the former secret service agent over one single-minded bill; the exile of all Autobots from planet Earth. The official, who introduced himself as Agent Bay, was a rotund Caucasian man in his 40s, with short, brown-grey hair and conniving, owl-like eyes.
"After everything these guys have done, you wanna kick 'em off-world?!" Simmons demanded.
"Uncle Sam signs your paycheques, Simmons," replied Bay snidely, "you know how these things work."
Was I this much of an ass when I worked for Sector Seven? Simmons wondered, rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists, trying with all his willpower to keep a lid on his outrage.
"Well," he said venomously, "all I know is that the last dimwit who poked around here uninvited with bad news…well, I actually I don't know what happened, but nobody's seen him since." Bay faltered. Rumours had spread around the department regarding the fate of Theodore Galloway. Some believed him dead or missing, others said the stress of his encounter with N.E.S.T. led him to retire. Still, if Bay wanted to eat that month, he had to do his job. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie (every pencil-pusher's basic training).
"I won't stand for threats, Agent Simmons," he said sternly.
"We don't make threats," said a grinding voice behind him. Bay turned, and almost fainted at the imposing figure of Ironhide. The other Autobots were gathered around their star gunman. Optimus Prime, like Zeus himself, stood grandly above them all, arms crossed over his broad chest, his epic stillness radiating with power.
"Uh, Simmons?" Bay leaned towards the other man and spoke in a whisper. "How do you think I should break it to them?"
"If you want my advice," Simmons replied, "don't break it to them at all. They kinda like it here. But if you really have to, I'd suggest you avoid the Topkick."
"You got something to say to us, human?" Ironhide demanded, the whirring of his inner gears like the growl of a hungry crocodile. Bay took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead.
"W-well, the government is, uh, very thankful for all your help, but you see, that is, something came up and…" A blue robot just a little taller than the man rolled forward on her single wheel and jabbed him in the chest with one thick finger.
"Get on with, will ya?" Chromia sniped.
"Um, yes, of course, I'm sorry…uh…ma'am?"
The fem-bot grumbled irately and folded her left hand into its gun form, but when she saw the stern looks she was getting from both Optimus and her sister Arcee, she retracted the weapon and rolled away in a huff.
Definately female. Reminds me of my ex, thought Bay. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Talking, shape-shifting robots from outer space. This was ridiculous. The only reason they gave this job to him rather than a trained ambassador was because they were all too scared. He was expendable. Just another desk-monkey. Well, he would definitely demand a raise, nay, a promotion for this. He had enough dirt on just about everybody in the department. It was as good a day as any to use that.
"You all have to leave the planet," he told them with as much professionalism as he could muster. "The American government has been defending you in the public eye and keeping you appropriately sustained for years, despite the already staggering national debt, because we thought we would have a productive use for you. But if Autobots are going to keep arriving out of the blue like this, then we simply cannot afford to keep it up. I'm sorry, but consider yourselves evicted."
"Why you slimy little…" Ironhide hissed, unfolding his cannons. Kup reached out and put a hand on his old student's shoulder.
"Easy there, lad," he said. "Wait 'till they start runnin', then shoot 'em." Optimus threw the warhorse a disapproving glare, then turned his attention to Bay.
"We promised we would leave when asked," he said tonelessly, "and we will adhere to that, but you must allow us the time to prepare."
"I was told 48 hours would suffice," said Bay.
"48 hours would not suffice," Ratchet butted in. "We'd need at least a week!" Bay smiled meanly up at them. He had the upper hand now. They were going against the government's decree, and to his mind, that gave him right of way.
"My orders say 48 hours and that's my final word on the subject, good day to you gentlemen and…ah…ladies." He turned on his heels and marched back to the awaiting helicopter.
When Bumblebee heard the news over his com-link, he quickly alerted Sam and headed for the island (with Mikaela and Raoul both insisting that they come along for the ride). The Autobots and their human friends were busily packing up their equipment, and the headquarters was starting to look more like a warehouse than a top secret military outpost. Kup directed Bumblebee, Hot Rod, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and Tracks as they disassembled and boxed up several large alien devices. Major Lennox and his men knew for a fact that the old man had been left with a usually unruly group, but they were working in complete silence.
"This is bullshit, sir," said Epps, "them guys an' us guys, we risk our butts fightin' Decepticon scum so they can sleep at night, an' they wanna toss 'em out? Makes me sick to be human sometimes."
"I know, old buddy," replied Lennox. "We're all in this team together, so I'm goin' with 'em."
"You're crazy, sir," Epps smiled. "I'm goin' too, 'cause life without the Autobots won't be the same. We'll be boldly goin' where no trigger-happy crazies have gone before."
Kup checked the time-sheet on the data-pad he was holding and opened a com-channel with Ratchet, "We're behind schedule, saw-bones. This'd go a lot faster if you'd lend me Jolt."
"For the fifth time," crackled the response bluntly, "I am not lending you my apprentice. Not when I've got an entire med-bay to put in storage."
Kup shook his head. "Where in the name of Primus are Prowl and the others?"
"Prowl took the femmes to collect energy for the trip. We've got the Endeavour's power-cell and three whole ration tanks to fill. Meanwhile, Prime and Ironhide have gone to Washington to see if they can negotiate for more time."
Kup started, "Then what about Whee-"
Ratchet interrupted, "Wheeljack is currently under my close supervision, labelling crates."
In the medical bay, Wheeljack sat in the corner, dejected and annoyed, stamping Cybertronian characters on large, wooden crates with a Transformer-sized label gun while Sam and Mikaela worked together using a second gun to print accompanying labels in English (with Wheelie interpreting for them). Wheeljack was muttering clicks and beeps to himself in an agitated fashion.
"Wheelie, what's he saying?" Mikaela whispered to her pet.
"You don't wanna know," said Wheelie.
"Why've I gotta do this monkey-job?!" Wheeljack suddenly bellowed, a phrase that the two humans took great offence to. Ratchet looked up from what he was doing behind a console to briefly glower at the younger Autobot before speaking, "Because, if you'd care to remember, when I asked you to take apart the C.R. chamber, the whole room was flooded with coolant! That's why we are also two hours behind. When we are back on schedule, I might be in a good enough mood to assign you something less menial." Once again, Sam and Mikaela were insulted. They had predicted some of the soldiers might want to go along for the ride, and saw translating potentially dangerous implements as an important task.
"It's not fair," Sam murmured, "I can't believe I'm gonna lose the best friends I ever had…"
"Oh, Sam…" Mikaela sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist, attempting to comfort him. She could have sworn she heard his heart breaking in twain. Sam lowered his voice even more so only she would hear. "If Bumblebee goes, then so do I." The girl's eyes widened.
XXX
The burning hot sands of the Nevada Desert were thankfully harmless if one could shut off their nerves and have cooling liquid running through their bodies, and such was the advantage held by Prowl and Corona as they manned a makeshift energising station. The sun's rays were captured in a set of revolving solar panels, which processed the light into precious and life-preserving Energon before depositing it in the awaiting ration tank.
"The first tank should be filled by the end of the solar cycle," said Prowl, eyes on his data-pad. "Arcee and Chromia should be done with the fuel-cell at around the same time…" He noticed Corona was gazing at a nearby rock formation and released a shrill beep from his throat to regain her attention. The purple fem-bot jumped slightly.
"With luck, we can finish the other two tanks tomorrow and…"
She was gone again.
"Corona, what are you looking at?"
"I saw something moving behind that boulder," the femme replied, pointing towards the rock formation. Prowl's soldier-senses twanged and he knelt down beside her, his right hand reshaping itself into a blaster.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
"Positive. I saw it three times," said Corona.
"Human?"
The femme shook her hand and mouthed the word 'human,' while holding her fingers just a little apart, then mouthed the word 'this,' and spread her hands at shoulder-width. Prowl nodded and gestured with his remaining digits. The two Autobots cautiously approached the rock formation from two different directions. The only sounds were the subtle whooshes of their movements and the soft singing of the desert wind. Closer and closer they crept. Corona unfolded her left arm into its weapon mode. Her wires fizzed with trepidation. Closer…then…
BAM!
A purple car propelled itself into the air, sending clouds of grit in every direction. With a shifting of parts, the car transformed into a heavily built fem-bot with the Decepticon insignia etched clearly on her breast.
"Decepticon!" Corona cried, priming her weapon. Strika cackled nastily, twisting in the air and firing rockets from the cylindrical chambers on her shoulders. The projectiles struck the desert floor and the shockwaves sent the two Autobots flying away from her. The Decepticon scout planted both feet into Prowl's stomach on her descent and she proceeded to pummel the courageous robot. Corona transformed into her motorcycle mode and gunned towards the enemy, crashing into Strika's side and ploughing her along the ground.
"Impudent little girl," Strika scowled. "I'll swallow your still pulsating Spark." Her superior strength forced the smaller femme into robot mode. She wrapped one fist around Corona's head and the other around her right arm, pulling them in opposite ways. Flecks of white heat spat from Corona's joints as she released a scream of agony.
"CORONA! Hang on, I'm coming!" Prowl raced towards the struggling females, firing on Strika. A laser-coated bolt passed through the scout's shoulder, forcing her to release her prey's arm and allowing her to hang limply from her other fist. Prowl had Strika's head in his crosshairs, but the Decepticon still had the upper hand.
"Lower your blaster, Autobot," she threatened, "or I'll squeeze the life out of this waste of parts."
Corona hissed through her pain, raising her cannon to her captor's temple.
"Squeeze this, Decepti-creep!" She unloaded both barrels and the force threw Strika across the ground and slammed her into another rock formation. Prowl knelt down and cradled Corona's body. "Are you all right?"
"N…N-nothing Ratchet can't fix, sir," Corona forced a salute. The shell of her right arm hung loosely from her frame. Strika grunted as she struggled to her feet, spluttering and coughing up oil. She turned to her opponents, eyes glowing dangerously. Half of her head casing had been blown clear off, revealing the greasy black skull beneath.
"Somebody call a plastic surgeon," Corona croaked.
"Um…a what?" Prowl blinked.
"You will regret scarring me, Autobot," Strika's voice was low and brimming with burning rage and boiling hatred. Prowl and Corona tensed. Strika lunged forward releasing a feral scream, launching two more rockets.
"Look out!" Prowl cried, picking up Corona and running for both their lives, but the rockets were faster, impacting on the ground and tossing the Autobots helplessly into the air. Strika switched on propulsion jets in her feet and flew up towards Corona, grabbing the smaller femme's single leg in both hands and swinging her like an Olympic hammer.
"Give my regards to the Pit," she said viciously, letting go and cackling with hideous glee as her victim disappeared over the horizon. She returned to the ground just as heat sputtered from her damaged cranium. She had to retreat and recuperate, because if that other Autobot came back with enough anger in him over his companion, she would not last long. She transformed back into her car state and rolled away. Prowl dragged himself out of the crater left where he had landed and his vocal circuit clipped out a drawn out and painful-sounding, "Co…ro…na…no…"
The young femme did not move for what felt like an eternity. Every inch of her body was wracked with pain, pieces of her shell and frame lay around her. Through sheer luck, or perhaps the will of Primus, her vital fuel-lines had not been severed. If she could get a message out in time, she would live, hopefully. She activated her com-link and called weakly to her leader, "…C-Corona to Prime…h-help…"
XXX
For obvious reasons, the meeting between the two Transformers and the American government had to take place on the grounds of the White House rather than inside. The President, surrounded by bodyguards and aids, listened graciously to Optimus Prime's plea.
"Mr President," said the Autobot ruler, "if I may be so bold, we have no home to go back to, and we are willing to share our technology with humankind on a much grander scale than before. We can aid development for non-pollutant fuels, weapons that work on an atomic level so there would no longer be a need to kill."
"And don't you think we're something of a deterrent to your enemies?" Ironhide put in. The aids chuckled. The President stroked his chin thoughtfully, then turned his gaze up to the taller of the two robots.
"Optimus Prime," he said, "while I cannot quite sympathise with your personal plight, I will admit that there have been no significant Decepticon-related threats for a while now, and if our P.R. men can keep the public on your side, we could reach an arrangement. Furthermore-"
"C-Corona to Prime…h-help…" crackled a small voice.
"Corona?" Optimus put two fingers to the side of his head. "Are you all right? You sound hurt."
"I…I'm okay, Prime," said Corona, "but…but…Prowl and me…attacked…De…cepti…con…" Ironhide saw the suddenly hostile expressions on the humans and his face fell. "Oh, slag."
"You have one week," said the President. "Meeting adjourned."
XXX
It was extremely good luck that the Endeavour had a half-decent on-board infirmary. Prowl's injuries were mere chassis-wounds and easily repaired, but Corona was in a critical condition despite her brave insistance. Ratchet took two steps back from the operating table and wiped oil from his brow.
"I've done all I can," he said to Arcee and Chromia. "The C.R. chamber will do the rest."
The two other sisters crowded round their purple sibling.
"Why didn't you call us, sis?" asked Arcee, stifling her concern with sternness.
"Sorry I scared you guys," said Corona in a tiny voice.
"I blame that Prowl," growled Chromia, punching her palm. "Wait 'till I get my hands on him, I'll shove his nose up his afterburner!"
"Don't be mad at Prowl, Chromia," said Corona, "if he weren't there, I'd probably be scrap now."
"Fine…but I'm still gonna sock 'im one," the blue femme huffed. Arcee waved her off and slung one of her youngest sister's arms over her shoulders and said, "Come on, kid, let's get you to the C.R." Chromia took the other arm and they carefully set her inside the black cylindrical tank embedded in the wall. Ratchet closed the transparent lid and pressed a few switches on the side, setting a time and intensity. Corona waved at her sisters before she was shut down and yellow-green liquid was pumped into the chamber.
Outside, the Autobots continued their work, but nothing could hide the despair shared by all. As Optimus Prime made his way towards the Endeavour carrying a crate on his shoulder, Sam ran alongside him, trying to get his attention.
"Prime!" he cried out. "Optimus, please, listen to me!"
"Later, Sam," Optimus sighed.
"But it's important!" Sam protested. "Vector Sigma!" Optimus froze, almost dropping the crate he was carrying. He knelt down and asked in a stunned way, "How do you know about Vector Sigma?" Sam tapped his temple with two fingers as Lennox, Mikaela and Raoul approached with interest etched on their features.
"The Allspark is still in my brain," Sam explained, "and I think Vector Sigma's using it to contact me. It mentioned something about destiny, that it could mean either salvation or destruction."
"This is incredible, Sam," said Optimus, "do you realise what you're saying? Vector Sigma is the life-form from which the first Transformers were born. If it's really still alive, then maybe we can restore Cybertron."
"There's a problem," said Sam, "in the dream, it said something about being incomplete, and I saw this thing with seven holes in it. I think if we can find the seven missing pieces, Vector Sigma could return to full power. I'm sure the Allspark is one piece, and I was thinking maybe the Matrix of Leadership could be another, considering how important it was to the ancient Primes."
"But the Matrix was destroyed in Petra," Optimus pointed out.
"That's a negative, Prime," Lennox chimed in. "We retrieved it from the ruins of the Solar Harvester. It's been in storage ever since. Getting it out shouldn't be a problem."
"Whaddaya say, Optimus?" Sam asked hopefully. Optimus pondered this, then nodded, "It's a long-shot, Sam, but if there's even the slimmest chance we can restore Cybertron, we can try."
"The Allspark's still in my brain," Sam repeated as an excited, lopsided grin formed between his lips. "Looks like I'm going into space."
"You're not going without me," said Mikaela, grabbing her lover's shoulder affectionately.
"An' if my cousin goes, I go," Raoul piped up.
"What the hell," Lennox smirked, "after fighting Decepti-scum, savin' a planet's gonna be a cakewalk."
XXX
Certainly it was an exhilarating prospect, but breaking the story to the families was not as easy as they had hoped. Sam and Mikaela debated with the Witwicky parents for a good while before their son explained the truth, and even then he had to escape his doting mother's deadly embraces and fussing. When his father told him he had gone farther than he ever imagined, Sam could not help feel just a little guilty, but he could not just change his mind. He had a job to do. Raoul had never had a great relationship with his own parents, but the prospect of losing their only son brought out all kinds of emotions that were strange to them. Across the phone-line, they begged him to come back to New York, but that soon gave way to wishes of good luck and to do right by the Banes name. The Lennox family argued for hours on end, and the last thing Sarah said before her husband left the house was, "Don't expect me to be here when you get back, you dumb asshole." Their young daughter Annabelle watched silently from her bedroom window. She knew her father would be all right. After all, in her eyes, he was the bravest dad in the whole wide world.
By the end of the week, the Endeavour was mounted on a ramp and ready for launch. The Autobots and their human companions sat together inside, hairs or wires standing on end with anticipation. Optimus Prime and Prowl sat at the control console.
"Prowl, commence countdown."
"5…4…3…2…1…blast off!"
The ship's thrusters roared to life and as the remaining human soldiers saluted their departing comrades, it disappeared up and up into the atmosphere. Optimus concentrated, calling on the power given to him by that eccentric but noble old galactic knight. The power of the space bridge. His optics faded from blue to a gentle red and an ethereal glow leaked from the crevices in his armour. The Endeavour broke through the invisible shields surrounding the planet Earth. Hot Rod thought, And I never got to find out what it's like to go fishing, as reality turned to crystal rain and the ship disappeared from our solar system for the last time…
XXX
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Cast and vehicles introduced in this chapter;
Wayne Knight...........AGENT BAY
Jack Black.............SIDESWIPE (Lamborghini Gallardo)
Stephen Fry............TRACKS (Chevrolet Corvette C6 ZR1)
Uma Thurman............CHROMIA (Suzuki Hayabusa)