New Developments

A Transformers: Armada Story

By William Rendfeld

Joy and relief were in great abundance around the Romanov family's table that morning as they sat down to breakfast, the television going in the background as the local news continued.

Before she could start on her oatmeal, Alexis found herself embraced tightly by her mother. The young preteen couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed, despite appreciating the affection and concern. "Mom!"

A chuckle. "Helen, stop smothering her – she's in no danger here." His voice still tinged with hints of a Russian accent, Nikolai Romanov was an older, somewhat portly man with a well-trimmed beard and a warm face. His eyes, however, betrayed bitterness and hard-earned wisdom, both gained as a result of his experiences growing up as the Soviet Union was starting to fall.

"I know, but after what happened…" A professor of literature, Helen Dawson-Romanov had met her husband shortly after his arrival in the US and employment as a history professor. They'd happily married soon after, Alexis being their only child and thus a major concern for her due to the incident in Indianapolis. "I'm sorry. I know that no one from your group was hurt, but…"

"Mom, it's okay, I understand." Even a few days and the relative enjoyment of the US Grand Prix hadn't cast aside what had happened the night before – an assumed terrorist attack, in reality something far more dangerous. Alexis truly wished she could share the true details with her parents but it wasn't her secret to reveal. "I got home safe, didn't I? And hey, I got a few days off from school. What's to complain about?"

"Yes, you and your classmates were all safe, and no one was killed… but mark my words, this won't be the end of it." Her father shook his head, memories of investigations in both Russia and the US flooding his mind. "If that truly was terrorism, then we can expect talk about this for some time to come. The news is still talking about the bombings in London and considering this was much closer to home, it will be even worse. Your mother and I are too old to be hearing about such things, and you are too young, moya princéssa."

She couldn't help but smile. "You aren't that old, pápa."

"Say that when my arthritis isn't acting up, and then I will believe you," her father answered amidst a few hearty chuckles. He turned to the screen, eyes widening in surprise. "Alexis, isn't that one of your teachers?"

The young girl turned to the television screen, Diana's face clearly shown as her mother turned up the volume. "Portland Public Schools are being pressured to release Diana Masters, the teacher involved in organizing the trip…"

"Thirty-six were injured in that attack. Several hundred-thousand dollars worth of property damage and hundreds of phone calls from concerned parents, demanding that the person who put their children in danger be dealt with." Superintendent Bryson tossed the newspaper and assorted notices down hard onto his desk before glaring harshly at the woman before him. "What do you have to say to all of this, Miss Masters?"

"I'd say there's very little that can be done about it, and that those parents should be grateful that their kids are safe." Diana had little trouble maintaining her composure, confident in the knowledge that she'd done nothing wrong. "I don't see any problems here."

"Then you clearly aren't looking hard enough." The graying man straightened up in his seat, trying his best to look imposing. "The kids might be safe, but we've still got hundreds of parents calling every two minutes, demanding that their children, our students, be taken care of. That they receive compensation for damages. That someone is made responsible for what happened."

The teacher's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Compensation? None of them that went got hurt, nothing got lost. Where exactly are you going with this?"

"Do you honestly think that these idiot parents care enough about those particular details?" The superintendent kept his eyes fixed on her. "In case you hadn't noticed, we live in very frightening times, and these parents are frightened, especially when they hear the words 'terrorist attack' and 'children'."

"Superintendent, I had no idea that this was going to happen. I did everything in my power to make certain the kids were safe. They still went to the race; they still had a good time."

Bryson all but jabbed his finger onto his desk. "Their children were put in danger, and that's all that matters to them. You've studied history; you know what people want in situations like this!"

Surprise was still clear on her face. "You honestly think they blame me for this?"

"How could they not? Tell me, whose idea was it to use the entire field trip budget this year on this little excursion, hm? Whose idea was it to take the trip in the first place, to go out that far? Last I checked, it was you."

Diana continued staring at him, and then narrowed her eyes as she realized what he was getting at. "So you're just going to cast me to the wolves? Something goes wrong under my watch, and suddenly I'm the scapegoat?"

"Exactly, Miss Masters." Bryson replied crisply. "That's exactly what they want, and it will either be you or me."

A bitter expression on her face, Diana silently rose to her feet. "I should've followed in the family business and joined the military. At least there you have the pretense of loyalty in the workplace. You want me gone? Fine. I quit. You want to speak to me again, contact my lawyer."

Diana turned on her heel and began marching out, only to have her former boss call out behind her. "You put those children in danger, Masters! You'll never work as a teacher again!"

She halted, and turned about-face with near military precision. "I wasn't the one blowing up buildings, smashing cars, or inciting panic. I was making certain my charges kept calm, and got out of harm's way as soon as possible. I'll take credit for doing my job, and not someone else's."

With those words, she quietly left the office. She knew she was probably giving him exactly what he wanted, but she also knew that this was one fight that probably wasn't worth it. And deep down, the now-former teacher knew that this most likely wouldn't be the end of it.

"They're ready for you, sir," a secretary announced after opening the door.

"Thank you." Nervously straightening his blue service uniform, Colonel Michael Franklin was more than a little anxious. He had little knowledge of why he was at the Pentagon, lesser knowledge of why a senior official in Special Operations Command would want to see him in the first place, especially given his off-record activities. Nevertheless, orders were orders, and he quietly entered the office

Waiting for him inside were two people; one familiar, one not. The unfamiliar one was a young woman in thin-rimmed glasses, early thirties at oldest, chestnut hair carefully held in a tight bun, the black suit giving her an air of authority despite her youth. The more familiar person was a tall man with golden hair tinged with gray at the temples, his uniform denoting him as a lieutenant general in the Army and his black name badge lettered "Abernathy".

"Colonel Franklin, welcome." The general gestured at an empty chair. "At ease. I hope the flight over from Lackland wasn't too much trouble."

The colonel nodded politely. "Considering it was either a trip to Washington or a court-martial, I think I was better off coming, sir."

The general chuckled. "Good for both of us that you did." He indicated the suited woman as she rose to her feet. "This is Agent Lynn Graves with the NSA; she's our new liaison."

A hand was offered with a curt nod. "Colonel."

The general sat down, the agent and the colonel following shortly. "With all due respect sir, I'm a little surprised to be here. I'm with Intelligence – if you need information for a special forces operation, I'm sure it would be easier to simply get it from a report or my commanding officer."

Abernathy waved it off. "Unfortunately, a report or your commanding officer can't give us what you or your interests can. We couldn't give you the full information until you arrived, but by the end of this meeting, you should know exactly why you're here. I'm assuming you're aware of what happened in Indianapolis over the weekend?"

"I assume you mean the apparent terrorist attack on Indianapolis International and I've already been appraised, sir. Thirty-six wounded and several hundred thousand dollars in property damage to airport structures and numerous vehicles near and around the facility itself. We're lucky it wasn't worse."

"We're also lucky that cover story is still holding." Franklin looked at Graves with a raised eyebrow. "That wasn't a terrorist attack, Colonel. No one has taken credit for it, and it was sloppy in comparison; most attacks would hit places of major importance, with small devices and meant to go after maximum civilian casualties. Most of the structural damage was done with artillery fire at a distance, at worst with weapons that we've only begun to theorize about. That, combined with eyewitness reports and satellite imaging, shows that we aren't dealing with another London bombing or September 11." She handed him a file, and as Franklin reviewed its contents, she continued, "Those images were taken the night of the attacks – we've managed to digitally enhance them, but I'm afraid we couldn't do more. We noticed seven large anomalous objects in the area that was attacked. Two were airborne and five ground-based. Radar confirmed the presence of the two airborne objects, and all of them were seen by numerous eyewitnesses, many of whom we've convinced to keep quiet. The FBI's already subpoenaed any recording devices they may have had available, as well the airport's security footage. But three of them, ones actually within the city, were described as giant humanoid robots."

The colonel pursed his lips. "That sounds impossible."

"Not as impossible as you'd think. We've examined the wreckage left from the attack. Most of the damage around the airport was caused by conventional artillery, albeit more powerful than anything we currently have but within the realm of believability in several decades' time. Other damage appears to have been caused by some sort of high-powered laser weapon as the places where it struck were cut through with high heat and intensity. And we've had a dozen people come forward so far to report seeing these things, all with consistent descriptions; one large one in green and purple with horns and a massive cannon, and two smaller ones, one blue and silver, the other red and bright yellow. Additional machines, smaller than the blue and yellow ones, were also seen."

"But how could they have gotten into and out of the city without drawing suspicion?"

An understanding nod from Graves. "This is where things get interesting. The more fanciful reports say that the two smaller machines changed from sports cars into humanoid forms, the larger one converting from a tank of some kind. Eyewitnesses report all three vehicles on the roads near the airport, and the tank was reported as having crushed numerous cars while in transit. As for how they left, the witnesses report seeing a bright flash of light 'beaming' the machines away."

"I somehow doubt Jim Kirk's to blame for all of this." Franklin continued to thumb through the routes taken by the assorted machines, noticing their transit. "I doubt this was coincidence. Whatever these things are, they were clearly in Indianapolis for something."

"Whatever it is, it's already gone." The Army general sighed, hands laced in front of him. "An FBI team found impressions in the ground for a large dome-shaped object, as well as signs that it had been recently extracted. However, none of the agencies have reported receiving it. There's no evidence that it was taken with them, so odds are that someone else has it now."

"We suspect that whatever they were here for was inside of the dome, and that they departed once they retrieved whatever they sought. But we have no explanation for where these things came from, what they are, or how they got there. Or any of the other similar sightings." She spread out several more opened files with varying charts and pictures. "On Friday, September 9, around 1612 hours Pacific Standard Time, radio and television signals throughout the state of Oregon encountered medium to heavy interference. Two days later, several people in Portland reported seeing a large military helicopter chasing three children and later mentioned the same craft chasing an SUV out of town. The same day, several troops on a base at Kirtland reported seeing an odd aircraft traveling at high speeds close to the ground, just below radar range. Similar robots were sighted at Sherman Dam the following Saturday, and another group, some with similar descriptions, during renovation on Tooele in Utah."

"Couldn't this be some mass hallucination?"

"If it is, it's a damn consistent one." She smiled wryly. "Which brings us to you."

"Franklin, you're one of the best that Air Force Intelligence has to offer. You've seen action in Europe, the Middle East, and Central America. Your recent service in Afghanistan is only a sampling of what you can do. You've probably done more behind the scenes to save lives than anyone else, and you get results. That, and your extracurricular activities make you perfect for this assignment." At the colonel's surprised look, the general leaned into his chair with a hint of amusement. "We're fully aware of your examinations of the findings for Project Blue Book and associated documents, as well as your meetings with FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner. We never saw fit to criticize given these were done on your own time and didn't interfere in your duties, but considering that we may be dealing with something not made by human hands, you seem the best choice. We need you to find out the details concerning these things, and evaluate if these beings are a threat."

"And what do we do if they are a threat?" Franklin looked between the two. "No offense, sir, but if these beings have the capability to transport matter from one place to another and have weapons like these, I doubt we can defend against them, especially considering our military is currently engaged in two foreign conflicts."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, colonel." He rose to his feet, the younger adults following. "Dismissed."

"Carlos, you want to give me a hand here?"

Where Alexis' family consisted mostly of academics and highly-educated individuals, Carlos' family was at a different end of the economic ladder. His father, Manuel Lopez, ran a small auto repair shop, while his mother, Rosita Jimenez, worked part-time at a local market. The family had enough money to get by, thanks in part to a strong work ethic and to Carlos being an only child. However, in order to help those ends meet in relation to the family vehicles, Manuel often relied on his own skills, and tried to pass them on to his son. As much as he wanted Carlos to succeed in life, the man knew that the boy could use a marketable skill, and auto mechanics weren't going to become redundant anytime soon.

"Coming, papá!" Turning his attention away from the television, he moved to assist his father with the family's old sedan. "What do you need?"

"You to pay attention for one thing." As he went about checking the oil's level, he spoke quietly. "You've been keeping an eye on the news, sí? What they've mentioned about your teacher?"

A worried look. "You aren't blaming her for what happened, are you?"

"No, but a lot of other people are, and I can understand her quitting. I wish she hadn't – she cared about you kids, and I don't get that from all the other teachers you have, but I can understand why she'd do it." Replacing the dipstick, he turned to his son and looked at him square in the eye. "Whatever anyone says, whatever anyone tells you, your teacher was a good woman, and it's thanks to her that you made it home safe."

Carlos gave a small smile. "Not hard to believe that, papá."

"Bueno. I do not want my son speaking ill of good people – that is bad manners, especially in public, and your mamá would not approve. ¿Comprende?"

"Sí, comprendo."

"Bueno. And don't worry about her – odds are she'll be working somewhere else soon enough. Smart women like her always bounce back."

Deep down, Carlos hoped that his father was right, especially as his eyes drifted to the silently watching and listening Grindor.

Jetfire hated dealing with politics. He was a soldier, more accustomed to the front lines and more tolerating of a desk than he was of talking with politicians. As good as he was in relating to those under his command and his peers, he always felt as if he'd have an easier time convincing an armed warhead to deactivate than to relate to a member of the Cybertron High Council.

This cycle wasn't any different.

While Optimus and Straxus served as the political and military leaders of their respective factions, both were under the direct political oversight of the High Council, a collection of politicians elected by their constituents across the Cybertron Alliance. Each of Cybertron's numerous city-states, from Iacon to Kaon, as well as the off-world populations on Cybertron's moons and colonies elected two representatives, one senior and one junior. It was their job, with assistance from the Autobot and Decepticon leadership and Vector Prime, to guide the Cybertronian people. As a symbolic gesture, those who took places on the Council cast off their old emblems, effectively no longer being Autobot or Decepticon and thus neutral. Its current head was a former Autobot, Levitacus, who now stood over the council and the Autobot Vice Commander from his podium.

"Jetfire, you have called for this meeting to discuss recent developments. We have little time. Voice your concerns."

The shuttle steeled himself – this wasn't going to be fun. "Esteemed members of the Council, in recent cycles, we have rediscovered the Mini-Cons, long departed from Cybertron since the Second Great War. A team of Autobots, led by Optimus Prime himself, have started retrieving them on a nearby planet, known by the natives as Earth, in an effort to bring them home. However, this effort has not gone smoothly; a small unit of rogue Decepticons, led by Megatron, has also arrived in the area and has made several attempts to capture the Mini-Cons. Based on recent mission reports, we have grave fears concerning the success of this effort. I ask for greater resources for the mission to Earth."

Murmurings rose up from the council. At last, Levitacus turned to their second guest. "Lord Straxus, as political leader for the Decepticons, I'm assuming you are keeping yourself aware of these events?"

Slightly more comfortable in this situation than his Autobot counterpart, the Decepticon leader responded in the affirmative. "Yes Councilor. Unfortunately, I suspect that Jetfire may well have a better idea of what is going on than I."

Jetfire's optics narrowed in annoyance. He knew full well that Straxus had spies among Megatron's ranks, but couldn't reveal them without risk of losing them. It was only recently that he himself had discovered their identities, and while he was glad for the info, he wished there was more that could be done for them.

"Be that as it may, we have no evidence to directly support the retrieval of the Mini-Cons. They chose to leave Cybertron, to escape Megatron. The fact that he followed them is unfortunate, but we must not force ourselves to act as he himself did. It is not our place to dictate the lives of our people."

"But it is my place to relay the findings of a higher power," a familiar voice rumbled.

The council began murmuring in surprise as, quite unexpectedly, the doors to the Council Chambers opened, and Vector Prime slowly entered, taking a place alongside Jetfire. Levitacus immediately bowed deeply. "Vector Prime… This is a most… unexpected development. You rarely attend council."

"I feel that this is one which I must attend." The ancient looked up towards the assembly, his old optics looking over each of them in turn. For a moment, some of them felt as if they were being scrutinized by their instructors of long past. "Otherwise, we may face the darkest of days ahead. As all Cybertronians know, deep within our sparks, Primus gave us life. The Quintessons may have used this world for their purposes, created our shells and our substance, but it was Primus which gave us our Sparks, that which separates us from simple drones. Autobots, Decepticons and Mini-Cons, since we received life, have been separated from one another, fractured by time, space, and the actions of few towards many. We must be reunited, our race forged together, in order to combat our true threat."

"You don't honestly speak of the Dark God, do you?" another member of the council asked, her tone almost as if wanting to dismiss a ludicrous notion but didn't out of respect.

"I do, Councilor Avalon. As one of the first Transformers to have been given life by Primus, one of the first to have been forged of Cybertron itself, I can safely say this. Unicron is real. He is coming. And we must be ready."

Many joined the military for adventure, or to fulfill a family legacy, or simply because they wished to belong to something greater than themselves. Michael Franklin, however, had reasons beyond these – while he had found a sense of belonging in the Air Force and managed to expand his horizons, he had joined up in pursuit of a mystery in his own past. As he looked over the less-sensitive files given to him at the Pentagon while flying aboard one of the Air Force's C-40B aircraft to Portland International, his mind drifted back to his childhood… and his own close encounter.

As a child, he and his father would visit the Green River in North Carolina once a year to fish. One early time, thanks in part to his own carelessness, he'd fallen into the river and was almost swept away by the current. Franklin's last memories before falling unconscious in the rapids were of looking up into the mountains and seeing a human-like figure high above, then going under briefly before surfacing once more to catch sight of a helicopter, a long winch descending from its side. When he had woken up later, he was alive, and the helicopter was nowhere in sight.

His mother, a deeply spiritual woman, had called it a miracle. When he spoke of the figure, she claimed that an angel had descended from heaven and scooped him from the devil's grasp, and that it was a sign. As he'd grown older, however, he couldn't help but wonder why an angel would use a winch, much less change into a helicopter. And now that he was looking at the less-sensitive information from the incident in Indianapolis in a secluded corner of the jet, he couldn't help but think that the being he saw and the beings sighted there might be connected.

"Excuse me, Colonel Franklin?" He looked up to find himself looking into the face of a man slightly older than himself, with a slightly receding hairline and a moustache, dressed in a crisp black suit and carrying a metal briefcase. While the man didn't entirely stand out amongst other similarly dressed personnel onboard the jet, the UFO researcher in the colonel was immediately reminded of the mythical Men in Black. "I'm Tom Banachek, with Sector Seven."

"Never heard of it."

"There's a reason for that. May I?" The colonel gestured to the seat opposite himself and the man sat down. "Sector Seven is a classified paramilitary agency under the jurisdiction of the executive branch, convened in secret under President Hoover almost eighty years ago. Our mandate is to investigate, study, and if possible combat non-terrestrial threats."

"Aliens." He spoke it more as a fact than a question, making sure to keep his voice low.

Thomas "Tom" Banachek had not been looking forward to meeting the Air Force colonel but he felt it was prudent to at least warn one member of the armed forces should anything truly catastrophic occurred. One thing he could count on was that contrast to his younger partner, Banachek could negotiate things through with more finesse and a lower chance of having weapons being pulled out. Another plus was the colonel's extracurricular activities, which required a flexible mind when it came to reports that would sound otherwise ludicrous to those that followed traditional thinking. It had taken some quick planning and luck to catch up with Franklin onto the plane bound for Oregon.

"Exactly. And despite what you might suspect, we actually have rather dull lives. Aside from the grossly-exaggerated incident at Roswell, we've had little if any activity. That changed last month with the radio disruptions in Oregon." He opened the case and turned it around to display the contents using the case's lid as a shield against prying eyes and making sure to avoid having anything reflected against the window. "The President informed us that once the military became involved in dealing with the NBEs, we were authorized to provide any and all intel we had with the assigned investigators."

"NBE?" And people poked fun at the military's usage of acronyms.

"Non-Biological Extraterrestrial." Banachek's mustache seemed to twitch at the acronym, as if reading the colonel's thoughts. "We suspect that these aliens are entirely mechanical, and that they've either been on or have been visiting Earth for some time."

Franklin pulled a few photographs from the case, immediately recognizing them. "This is the incident on Sunday, September 11, the helicopter chasing an SUV."

"We've managed to track the SUV's license plates to the owner, a former schoolteacher named Diana Masters." He tugged out a sheaf of papers with date of birth, location, education, and a paper-clipped photograph of a brunette. "A class of hers was in Indianapolis over the recent weekend – I doubt that two instances of possible contact with the NBEs is a coincidence. Her vital information is included, and I suspect it will be useful for your investigation."

Putting aside the photographs, the colonel looked at the agent curiously. "You mentioned that these… NBEs… have been here before. Roswell?"

"The so-called saucer fragments were indeed from a weather balloon used for Project Mogul," the agent confirmed, "but found among the wreckage were pieces of ceramic. Most dismissed them, but we realized that the ceramic was slightly radioactive, putting out negligible amounts – not at all dangerous, but enough to stand out. At the same time, we identified as many as five similar individual readings, and have kept track of them since then via satellite. NBE-01 has never returned, but NBEs-02 to 04 have been making occasional appearances across the globe, NBEs-05 and 06 appearing more sporadically. The one spotted in Portland, and the ones seen in Indianapolis, don't match with the first six. These are new."

"Suggesting new arrivals. How many?"

They had to put away the more sensitive materials when the junior officers began their rounds, Franklin accepting orange juice and a ham-omelet sandwiched in an English muffin while Banachek chose apple juice with lox, cream cheese, and bagels, taking the break to have a quick brunch.

"As many as twenty, perhaps more," the older man resumed after the officers had returned to the galley. "If it weren't for the fact that they were fighting among themselves in the recent incident, I'd suspect an invasion."

His eyes landing on another photograph, Franklin quickly connected several dots. "A dome-shaped construct. Your organization found it."

A nod. A clean-up team had been immediately sent out when calls began to pour into the local dispatch, and they had just made it in time before police and reporters began swarming the area. "We think it's some kind of landing craft. Contained inside were a computer console and six pod-like devices. We've found other pods of exactly the same make, two in New Mexico and one in Utah. We haven't been able to decipher their language, however, but each had identical markings inside."

"Suggesting common origin." Sliding one of the photos back into the folder, Franklin studied the older man again with skepticism. "Forgive my suspicions, Agent Banachek, but there has to be a good reason behind you being so candid with me. I'd think an organization like yours would want to combat these entities."

Banachek shot the younger a man a rather frank look. "As you are no doubt aware, our military is currently fighting wars in the Middle East. While there are elements in S7 and in similar organizations across the globe who would welcome the chance to capture or destroy an NBE, I'd sooner we avoid picking a fight with potentially hostile alien lifeforms. And if they are factionalized, as the recent incident suggests, we may be able to negotiate with one or more groups." He pushed the woman's photo forward. "Find Diana Masters, see what she knows. There may be an alien war on our world, but we can at least see if one side cares enough to leave us alive."

"Two Mini-Cons on the last retrieval," Megatron noted darkly. "Two captured Mini-Cons, and another four slipping through our grasp." He turned to face his lieutenant, tapping a finger on the armrest of his throne. "I am not a patient mech, Starscream, and the Autobots now have access to one of the Core Weapons. Our tactical position is slipping. Contact Cybertron – we require reinforcements, no matter what our situation."

"Understood, Lord Megatron." Sketching a slight bow, the red Decepticon quickly exited Megatron's chambers, letting the door slide shut behind him. Waiting for him outside was Demolishor. "It seems things are sliding more in our favor."

"Reinforcements?" Still new to Starscream's side and not particularly eager to fight his fellow Decepticons, the tank couldn't help but be nervous. "Are they going to be a problem?"

The Seeker gave him a reassuring grin. "It all depends upon who I call in."

"Di, you shouldn't be doing this." Kelly looked at her friend with frustration as she continued going through her documents. "I mean, just up and quit? That's what they wanted in the first place! Now the lawyers are going to swoop down on you and…"

"And this entire mess will turn into an even larger media circus." Diana gave an aggravated grunt, shoving a box to the side. "If the school board was going up to bat for me, I'd be staying around and holding what little ground I have. Unfortunately, those gutless weasels are more interested in keeping their jobs than doing them. Believe me, if I had another option, I'd take it."

The reporter gave a reluctant nod. "I suppose. Still, don't be surprised if you see a number of lawsuits come your way soon." She leaned back, mindful of the towers of boxes. "So, what's next?"

"My rent is paid here until the end of the month. Once it expires, I'll move in with my sister in Seattle. Hopefully my doctorate will be official by then and I can see about finding employment elsewhere. Despite what Bryson might think, teaching jobs are still in demand." A weak shrug. "Worse case scenario, I can always ask my old roomie if she needs a research assistant."

"That's one possibility. Of course, it wouldn't help if you had someone in your corner." A curious look from the former teacher, and Kelly elaborated. "Perception's a big thing. If I can expose the snake that forced you to quit, I might just make things easier on you."

"You'd do that for me?"

A shark-like grin. "Hey, you're my friend. I don't want to drag your name through the mud. Besides, it'll make a better story."

Diana gave a light smirk. "Always looking out for your interests, huh?"

"A girl's gotta have her priorities. Just don't expect miracles – I have bosses too, and I don't see them being at all agreeable to me helping you out. Just be careful, alright?"

"Don't have to tell me twice." The two rose to their feet. "And thanks for the support. It means a lot."

"It's no trouble." The reporter waved it off, slinging on her bag. "And make sure that cat of yours doesn't go postal on anyone."

The former teacher gave a quick glance to the orange-striped feline in question as she played with a large paper ball. "This little thing?"

As Kelly smiled and let herself out, Diana slid back down onto her sofa, glad that she had a few people looking out for her. Aware of the opening, her cat jumped up into her lap, prompting a small smile and a scratch behind the ears. "At least you can't be taken away from me, huh Abby?"

Abby purred in slight contentment, looking up at her person expectantly.

"Yeah, just make sure you're fed, and you'll stay." She scooped the cat into her arms and moved to set out some food. As Abby began eating up her meal, a light knock came from the door. Hoping that it wasn't a lawyer serving her a subpoena, Diana moved to answer.

"Excuse me, Diana Masters? May I come in?"

Standing at her door was a tall black man, slightly older than herself and dressed in an Air Force uniform. Taking note of the eagle-shaped pins on his shoulders, the former teacher looked at him uneasily. "I'm sorry, do I know you, Colonel…?"

"Michael Franklin, Air Force Intelligence." A flash of ID verified his identity. "Now that we aren't strangers anymore, may I come in?"

Less surprised but with growing suspicion, she opened the door a little wider. "Have a seat. Please forgive the mess, I wasn't expecting company. Would you prefer water, coffee, tea, or juice?" As the colonel stepped inside, she closed the door behind him. "I especially wasn't expecting a visit from an Air Force officer. Naval or Marine, maybe, but…"

"I'm not here on behalf of your father, ma'am. And water, please." He opened the briefcase he carried with him and removed a few files. "I've been assigned to clarify a few details concerning the recent incident in Indianapolis."

She pursed her lips while pulling out glasses. "Despite what my former employers would have you believe, I have absolutely no connection to the terrorist attack there other than coincidence."

"Your former employers aside, we both know that wasn't a terrorist attack." He pulled a set of photos from a file and placed them on the coffee table. "We have satellite images of seven large transforming mechanoids in the Indianapolis area the night of the attacks, and some of the damage caused is beyond the capabilities of current technology. We suspect that there are more of them, and that they're factionalized. We also know that a 2002 Ford Explorer owned and licensed to you was chased by a large military-like helicopter several weeks ago, and that a similar vehicle was sighted at a military base in Utah some time afterwards." As Diana set the tray down opposite him and gave the photos a critical eye, he watched her for any form of reaction. "In my line of work, we're taught to not trust coincidences. I suspect you know something about what's going on here, and given the fact that these things have been spotted in proximity to several military installations and in civilian areas, I and my superiors are very much concerned."

"And I can't blame them." Diana put down the papers and photographs and gazed at the colonel, hands loosely clasped. "I don't see what I can do to help, however."

Franklin leaned forward slightly, tapping a fuzzy aerial image of Blurr dogfighting Thrust. "Ma'am, I'm going to be frank about this. Deny it all you like; it's clear that you've had some measure of contact with these beings. Given recent events, there are individuals who would like to see us attack these things. I don't want to see that happen unless necessary and I think that you can help prevent such an occurrence."

Diana looked to the man in front of her somewhat nervously, before shaking her head in minor resignation. "If this were a movie, I'd be trying to beat around the bush, denying everything… but between everything I've been through and my own common sense; I know full well that would be pointless." She walked over to her computer. "You're right – there ARE two main factions, with one far less interested in seeing human casualties than the other. I know that for a fact because I've met and spoken with them." After a bit of shuffling, she found a blue CD with a red polygon sketched on it. "The ones that attacked are called Decepticons and the ones who fought them are Autobots. They're from a planet called Cybertron. The two factions are here looking for a third called Mini-Cons – they're much smaller than their cousins, about out size. The distortions those documents mention was caused by a distress signal from an escape pod from the Mini-Con ship. Everything I know is here."

The colonel scrutinized the disc, partly surprised at how cooperative Diana was being but also glad for the lack of word dancing. "Thank you. I'd give the standard speech about serving your country, but I doubt you'd want to hear it." Franklin made note of the red shape on the CD as he put back everything into the briefcase. "I'm going to need to review this before I speak with my superiors. For the time being, I suggest you inform the… Autobots, I'm assuming… about what's happened here."

Surprise crossed the woman's face as she rose to escort him out. "Wait, you aren't taking me into custody? And you actually want me to contact them?"

"As you confirmed, these beings are factionalized, and the faction you're interacting with is clearly more benign than the other. Besides, I may owe them a favor." The colonel stopped shortly to scratch Abby behind the ears and gave a polite nod. "Good day, Miss Masters. I hope this information proves helpful, for all our sakes."

After deliberating in private, the High Council had gathered once more in the main chambers to answer its addressors. "Vector Prime, what you have said is true – the Mini-Cons, though they have left Cybertron, remain our brethren. And if, as you believe, the Chaos Bringer is indeed rising, then we will need everything that we can muster against him. As much as we are hesitant to admit, the mission on Earth is of great import to our people and our survival." Levitacus turned to Jetfire. "The council's decision is unanimous. Should Optimus Prime require additional resources for the campaign on Earth, he may gather them at his leisure. We are adjourned."

With the bang of a gavel, the council meeting was ended. As the assorted councilors began to speak among themselves and descend from their stands, Jetfire turned to the elder Prime with gratitude in his optics. "Have I ever told you how glad I am you're still online, Vector Prime?"

"Many times, and your gratitude is always appreciated." The two turned as the Decepticon leader began to depart. "Lord Straxus, why are you in such a hurry to depart?"

Straxus turned to face them with an apologetic expression on his face. "My apologies, but I fear I've much yet to do in Kaon. If I don't get back soon, who knows what may happen, hm?"

As he departed, the ancient Prime looked to the Autobot Vice Commander. "Now that this is settled, we have another concern. Events have been set in motion, and there is much that I need to show you. Please, follow me."

As Vector led him out of the Council Pavilions, Jetfire couldn't help but be curious. "Where to?"

"Where the end shall begin."

"As recent events in Indianapolis have shown, it's clear that this war is beginning to escalate." Optimus Prime looked among the assembled Autobots, Mini-Cons and humans. "Now that the Race Team is online and the Skyboom Shield in our possession, Megatron is going to get even more desperate."

"Optimus, not to argue or anything, but why would the recovery of another Mini-Con team be so important?" Rad looked among the various Cybertronians. "I mean, there are hundreds of them, right?"

"Not exactly." Sparkplug looked to the young preteen, trying to think of an easy way to explain. "We Mini-Cons are much smaller than larger Cybertronians, and thus much harder to construct or repair when we're seriously damaged. Between that and the fact that many of us were destroyed during the Great Wars, there are very few Mini-Cons still in existence. Besides that, the Race Team forms one of the Core Weapons, and any side that has one of them is far more powerful than the other."

The three children took on curious expressions, prompting more elaboration from Red Alert. "The Core Weapons were developed during the War for Independence. Each one consists of a team of three Mini-Cons combined into one whole piece of equipment. By some fluke that we've never been able to understand, they're more powerful than any weaponry we've constructed before or since. In the case of the Race Team, they form the Skyboom Shield, the ultimate defensive weapon."

"When we're combined and wielded by a larger mech, we can absorb or deflect all forms of energy directed towards us," Mirage explained further. "That includes the energies released from the other Core Weapons."

Alexis doubted she'd enjoy the answer, but asked anyway. "And how many of them are there?"

"Aside from us? Four more teams form four more weapons – the Star Saber, the Energon Saber, the Requiem Blaster, and the Magnawing Shield. Two more teams form weapons of similar power, the Umbral Blaster and the Dirge Saber, but they were attempts at recreating the Core Weapons. Slightly different."

"But if one side has any one of these weapons, they've got a big advantage over the other." Carlos reasoned. "That's why there's a problem?"

The Autobot leader nodded. "Now that the Race Team is with us, it means that the Skyboom Shield is, for the moment, outside of Megatron's reach. He'll do everything in his power to obtain the other weapons, and he's already demonstrated a distinct disinterest in what happens to the human population."

"But you guys can stop them, right?" Rad asked. "I mean, with the shield..."

"We don't work like that, kid." Dirt Boss quickly spoke up. "The Skyboom Shield can only protect the one wielding it, and only for so long. Even it has its limits."

"But even so, we'll do all we can to stop further devastation and try to prevent Megatron obtaining any of the other weapons."

"That's something we'll hold you to, Optimus," Diana called out as she entered. "Sorry I'm late everyone. Hi, kids. Enjoying the day off?"

"We'd like it a lot better if we weren't losing you because of it." Alexis looked at her former teacher sadly. "I'm sorry, Miss Masters."

"Don't apologize, this isn't your fault. Besides, we may have a bigger problem." Diana turned to the Autobot leader with a chagrined look. "I had a visitor earlier today, a Colonel Franklin from Air Force Intelligence. I'm sorry, but they know all about you now."

Alarmed glances spread among those gathered, but Optimus raised a calming hand. "Diana, there's no need for apologies. Now please, tell us everything you can."

:"Are you certain her information is accurate?":

"I see little reason for her to lie to me, sir." Glad for the teleconference capabilities and the privacy of the C-40B, Franklin still continued to make sure no one was eavesdropping on him. "Besides, it correlates with both my sources as well as the information we've been able to collect on our own. It looks to me like some of these 'Transformers' may well be benign, or at least less interested in harming us than the others."

:"Then we may well be walking a fine line.": Abernathy remained thoughtful for a moment. :"Colonel, if what you've gathered is accurate, then we're on the cusp of an actual first contact with an alien race. We have problems enough with our enemies on this planet – we don't need enemies on another one, especially if they're giant robots.":

"Any recommendations, then?"

:"I've a meeting with the President and the Joint Chiefs shortly. For now, see if you can locate wherever the Transformers here on Earth are based. Once we have the go-ahead from the president, make contact. I'd rather avoid a fight if I can.":

"Yes sir." Transmission ended, Franklin returned to his notes. Based on satellite surveillance, Banachek's organization had an approximate location for a Transformer installation on Earth in the Boring Lava Fields. And while he didn't feel comfortable going without an escort, perhaps that was the best place to start.

"Wait a nano-klik, your government's been keeping track of us?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Hot Shot. We were bound to get their attention eventually." Scavenger looked to Diana. "Between the distress signal from the escape pods and our less than subtle battles with the Decepticons, I'm surprised we weren't noticed sooner."

"But why go to you?" Carlos scratched his head. "I mean, how could they know you had a connection to all this? Why not us? I mean, we're the ones that woke the Mini-Cons up in the first place!"

"It was my car Cyclonus was chasing. You may have been his target, but the government either didn't notice you or couldn't identify you. The license number on my Ford's another matter. Between that and my being in Indianapolis over the weekend, and it was too much of a coincidence."

"Sounds like we may need to prepare for an attack." Blurr looked to his commander. "There's no guarantee they can tell the difference between us and the Decepticons."

"I don't think so. My father served with the Marines in Vietnam, my grandfather in the Navy in the Second World War, and one thing they stressed was that the US military believes in honor and not acting without provocation, despite what the current mess in Iraq might tell you." She smiled dryly at the sniper. "Odds are someone noticed that you and Hot Shot were holding off the Decepticons in Indianapolis and not trying to cause more collateral damage. Besides, my impression of the colonel is that he won't recommend an attack unless he feels justified. And even if he does, he can't call up any forces. So far as I know, there isn't a single military installation active in Oregon." The last part was directed at Optimus, both as warning and reassurance.

"Nevertheless, we need to take precautions." The Autobot leader looked among his troops. "Assess local weather conditions and make certain our stealth capabilities are at full strength. If we need to, we'll move the Ark to a safer location."

Jolt raised a hand. "Optimus, it might be a good idea to look up this colonel that Diana met. If we can learn about his career, we might be able to better deal with him."

"An excellent idea. For now, here's hoping we can settle this peacefully. I don't want to create more enemies, especially when we don't need to."

Jetfire had seen much in his many vorns of existence – the births and deaths of stars, the rise and fall of civilizations, wonders created by both the hands of sentient life and by nature. Occasionally, he saw something new that terrified him, made him fear just what coursed about in the mind of whatever being brought reality into existence. This, fortunately, wasn't one of those times. Instead, curiosity and awe filled him as he passed through a seemingly-solid wall and entered an impressive chamber. "What is this place?"

Vector Prime's answer was filled with reverence. "A place of great import to our people and our survival, young one. Where Vector Sigma is the beginning, this is the end: the Well of All Sparks."

The chamber was large, easily the size of a small stadium. Its grey walls, decorated with a number of ancient symbols and dormant circuitry, gave off a sense of age and mystery. Before them was a pit, four long staircases leading to a flattened circle at the bottom. Suspended above the pit was a platform, four long crossways marked with individual symbols supporting the platform and each connected to the floor at points directly between the staircases. Upon the platform was a pedestal, currently unoccupied. High above them, the same four symbols upon the crossways were arranged on the ceiling, directly opposite their placement below.

"As you are well aware, I am the eldest of us currently on Cybertron. However, I am not the eldest Cybertronian in existence." The ancient led the Autobot across one crossway towards the empty pedestal. "At the dawn of time, I and twelve others were created, grown from the surface of Cybertron and granted sparks. Our task was to watch over the resting form of Primus and prepare for the day when his rival would come."

The Autobot Vice Commander decided against mentioning the Chaos Bringer's name. "What happened to the other twelve?"

The old Prime grew solemn. "Some have fallen to darkness and death, due to a betrayal which still haunts my memory. While I remained, four of the survivors departed Cybertron in order to hide away the greatest threats to the Chaos Bringer until such time as they were needed again." He rested a hand upon the pedestal, running his fingers along the edge of a long-empty connection port before turning to Jetfire sharply. "That time is swiftly approaching."

An understanding nod. "Fine. What are we looking for?"

"Seven Artifacts, each of which was entrusted to seven of us among the First Thirteen, each unique in their abilities. I entrusted one of them to Optimus shortly after he was given life – the Matrix of Leadership. Another, I carry with me." He withdrew a long, emerald blade, and held it gently with both hands along its length reverently. "Rhisling, the ChronoSaber. Where the Matrix of Leadership grants wisdom and guidance to those who carry it, this sword allows me power over time and space, the means to look into and travel to any point within the time stream. Separate they are strong, together powerful, but without the other five, they would only delay Unicron, and not destroy him." He gestured towards the four symbols after stowing away the sword. "Four Artifacts are Keys, each representing traits found in quantities among all Cybertronians and marked with unique symbols. The one you stand upon now is the symbol of the Key of Wisdom." Jetfire looked down at his feet and quickly jumped off the marking out of fear of disrespect. Yellow optics took full note of it, a sun rising over a planet and colored blue. He looked on the other platforms, going clockwise around the room – the second red and resembling a speedometer's needle, the third purple and resembling two conjoined gears, and the last colored green and reminding him of an animal's claw. "The others are the Keys of Velocity, Unity, and Power. My four surviving siblings were entrusted with them, and departed Cybertron with them long ago upon four starships. Their current locations are unknown to me." He gestured back to the pedestal. "Upon this would rest the Omega Lock, which would join the four Keys and focus their power below us, unlocking the Seal of Primus beneath this platform. Doing so would allow Primus to come into full consciousness, transform into his true form, and face Unicron in battle at full strength."

Glancing around, Jetfire couldn't help but be curious. "Okay, so the Keys and Lock go here. But what about your sword and the Matrix? Don't they plug in somewhere?"

"In the Vector Sigma chamber, in order to help regulate Primus' functions. Without both of them completing the circuit, Primus would tear himself apart from the inside, and all would be lost. This makes the recovery of the Keys and Lock a task of immense import – they must be retrieved as swiftly as possible."

"I figured as much." Going over what he'd been told in his processor, the Autobot realized something. "Wait… You have the sword, Optimus has the Matrix, and the Keys are Primus knows where… What about the Lock, and how are we supposed to find the Keys in the first place?"

"The Artifacts are linked – when the Lock is found and placed in the presence of Rhisling and the Matrix, it will point us in the direction of the Keys," Vector Prime explained. "As for the Lock itself, I hid it away long ago, following the Second War. Which brings me to another reason why finding the Mini-Cons is of great importance. You remember my old partner Safeguard, yes?"

"Yeah, he left on the Exodus with all the rest and an Omega Sentinel." Realization dawned on him. "You gave it to him, didn't you?"

A tired nod. "More than any other, he was my greatest confidant and my closest friend. I thought it safest in his care. I've no doubt that the Lock is now on Earth, stored within the Exodus, and that we must find it before Megatron learns of it and claims it for his own use."

Now, the Vice Commander was feeling dread, flaps betraying his emotions. "No pressure then."

Getting a rental car from the airport was easy enough. Navigating Portland traffic was somewhat frustrating due to unfamiliarity, but not a serious problem. Waiting for the go-ahead to make contact was almost unbearable. Upon reaching the Boring Lava Fields, however, the colonel couldn't help but feel his efforts were worth it. Once he made sure there was no other traffic, Franklin stepped on the gas and never looked back. If his guesses were correct, one of the Transformers may well be the one he had to thank for being alive today. Whether or not his old questions would be answered today, Franklin suspected that he'd be at least a little closer before all of this was over.

A small part of him was glad that he was going without escort – aside from not wanting to look threatening, he didn't want to risk some idiot panicking and firing a stray bullet even by accident. Besides, this was personal.

The satellite photos he'd been given showed several vehicles, many matched to those seen in Indianapolis and at Tooele, going into this area and seemingly vanishing from view. The obvious explanation was some variety of stealth technology, though clearly far beyond current human capacity. The colonel realized how right he was as a distortion formed some five hundred yards ahead of him, eventually taking form as a large golden-orange structure. His Yukon slowed to a halt and he immediately realized what he was seeing as he left his vehicle – a spacecraft, supported by massive landing struts and with a long embarkation ramp leading to the ground below.

Any lingering doubts about whether or not he'd been noticed faded as long shadows formed over the ramp. Slowly, a large form emerged from the ship, two smaller ones just barely ahead of him. Franklin slipped off his sunglasses, quickly recognizing the lone human as Diana. The two mechanoids, meanwhile, were vastly different – one was a Mini-Con, small with yellow and crème-colored armor, the other an Autobot, large with red and blue armor and massive truck tires mounted on his legs. 'Sparkplug' and 'Optimus Prime', respectively, from the CD he had read through. The three approached, remaining silent until the larger Transformer spoke at last. "Colonel Franklin, I presume."

The colonel relaxed, though only slightly. "Optimus Prime. I wish that the circumstances of this meeting had been different, but I'm afraid current events prevent a better opportunity."

"As do we." The Autobot leader himself seemed to relax slightly, as did the Mini-Con and their human ally. "I assure you we've meant no harm to this planet or any of the life forms or nations existing upon it. Under optimal circumstances, we would have remained unnoticed. You know doubt know why we're here by now."

"As do my superiors." He looked to Diana. "Miss Masters was kind enough to provide us with enough intelligence to realize that you mean us no harm. For that, we're all thankful. Unfortunately, now that we're aware of your presence on this world, we cannot stand by and allow you to act on your own. The conflict with Megatron's forces may be your war, but this is our world, and we are now party to it whether we wish to be or not. We also realize that you cannot simply leave – the destruction we've seen so far would pale in comparison to what could be done if Megatron's forces acted unchecked."

"Then you know why they can't leave." Diana looked at Sparkplug sadly. "There are still dozens of escape pods from the Mini-Con ship scattered over the planet. Megatron won't leave until he's either claimed them or until the Mini-Cons themselves are found."

"Which is why I have a proposal to make. You need resources and assistance in locating the Mini-Cons and defending against the Decepticons. We're prepared to offer that to you."

"Alliances tend to work both ways, colonel." Sparkplug looked at him carefully. "What do you want in return?"

"Whatever you can or are willing to give. Your race has existed for millions of years longer than ours." Franklin gestured at the space vessel." "This ship by itself is years, perhaps decades if not at least a century, ahead of human technology. I'm certain we can find something to constitute a fair trade that works for both parties."

Optimus Prime studied the human closely, analyzing his tone of voice and his expressions. He seemed earnest, and given his decision to come alone as well unarmed, the Autobot leader was inclined to believe the colonel. He carefully knelt on one knee so as to be closer to eye level, mentally pleased that Franklin stood his ground despite his heartbeat rising briefly. "I would like that. There are some things we cannot give your people, but I know there are many things we can do to help one another regardless. Contact your superiors. We can schedule negotiations at their leisure." He raised an arm, his pinky finger almost fully extended. "I hope this is a good beginning."

A small smile cracked the colonel's face as he accepted the offered digit. "As do I. For both our peoples."

The End