The first few notes of a hard rock song betrayed an incoming call. A bronzed hand, glistening with suntan lotion, reached lazily across the sand and picked up the cellphone, pressing one button.

"Hey, gorgeous," Sam Witwicky's voice greeted his girlfriend.

"Hey, Sam," Mikaela replied, smiling a little, her eyes closed against the sun even behind her glasses.

"How's the weather there?"

"Eighty and wonderful. How's Princeton?"

"Thirty and sleeting," Sam replied without even needing to glance out his window. "Tell me you're on the beach."

"Mmm, I am."

"Wearing that bikini that weighs less than my imagination?"

"You know it."

"I'm leaving for the airport in fifteen minutes."

"I may still be on the beach when you get here."

"Bumblebee's probably going to join you the minute we touch ground."

"And you're not?"

"You know me, always working."

"It'll just have to be me and Bumblebee, then, catching the rays all alone... without you...." Mikaela's voice invited Sam to picture all sorts of deliciously naughty things his girlfriend and best friend/car might get up to in his absence.

"Well, maybe I could squeeze in a few hours," Sam hedged, smiling, as he shoved a last pair of socks in his duffel. An irritated-sounding horn honked from below his window. "Ride's here, gotta go. See you when I touch ground."

"Love you, Sam."

"Love you, Mik." Sam hung up the phone one-handed and zipped the duffel closed. "Oh, hey Leo," he called out as his roommate walked back in from the den of iniquity known as their computer room. Sam fumbled for a gift-wrapped box on his bed and handed it over. "Merry Christmas."

"Oh, thanks, man," Leo replied, and dug momentarily around under his own bed, pulling out a small squashy gift-wrapped packet of his own, handing it to Sam. "Here you go. Merry Christmas."

"Cool. Thanks." Sam eyed the gift for a minute, then tore open the paper just as Leo opened his. "What the--" he said, taking it out.

"Wicked," Leo said, eyes wide in appreciation at the decommissioned Sector Seven manual Sam had managed to finagle out of Simmons. "Thanks, man!"

"Good for training to be a spy," Sam replied. "Leo, where did you get this?" He incredulously held up a yellow and gray stuffed toy that looked suspiciously like his best friend.

Leo shrugged. "Chica I know online. I sent her a few pics and asked her to make one up. You like?"

"It is awesome," Sam replied, delighted with the present. "I can't wait to show it off." Bumblebee's horn honked again. "Anyhow," he said, stuffing the plushie into his duffel and hastily tossing the wrapping into a waste basket, "I gotta go. Have a good Christmas, man."

"You too. See you in a few weeks!"

And with that Sam was out the door and down the stairs to where three Autobots waited for him, all four of them eager to depart from the winter weather for a couple weeks of sun, sand, and top-secret government meetings.


Mikaela set down the phone and rolled over onto her back, wanting to toast evenly on all sides. Next to her, Chromia and Arcee soaked up the sun's energy as well. And trundling down the sand from the mess hall came a small blue bot bearing a tray that held a single glass of frosty pink beverage.

"Your drink, my Goddess," Wheelie announced with a flourish as he reached her.

"Thank you," Mikaela replied to her robotic minion, taking the drink. Sipping at the fruit punch, she closed her eyes and concentrated on soaking up the warmth of Diego Garcia.

Simulacra: Ends and Means
by K. Stonham
first released 30th July 2009

"--the President will be stopping to inspect the joint US/United Kingdom military base on the island of Diego Garcia on his way back from the conference, and then is expected to return to Washington to spend Christmas with his family," the broadcaster concluded before Bumblebee clicked the radio off.

Somehow the cargo hold of the plane seemed too big even with Sam and Bumblebee and Hound and Mirage and the three NEST members who'd been waiting for the four of them at the airport. So after being polite and ambassadorial and conversational for a bit, Sam had retreated into Bumblebee's cab. The twenty-plus hour flight between New Jersey and Diego Garcia hadn't been fun the first time he'd done it. And in a few more days loomed the prospect of the flight back to Los Angeles, which was even longer.

What he wouldn't have given for Jetfire and his space bridge capabilities, Sam thought wistfully, lying down across the pseudo-leather front seat.


He was woken by the thrum of Bumblebee's engine starting, vibrating the seat beneath him. Groggily Sam sat up, rubbing the space between his eyebrows, trying to blink consciousness back into his life.

Sunlight spilled in through the open cargo bay door.

They were there already?

"Good day sunshine," Paul McCartney sang from Bumblebee's speakers. Sam sighed a little in exasperation. It was too damn early for cheery Autobot wakeup calls, whatever the time was local time. He needed a bottle of water to wash out the taste in his mouth, and a couple aspirin to kill the headache he could already feel forming. In that order.

A bottle of water and a packet of pills were thrust in the open driver's side window.

Sam looked up at Agent Simmons, who was smiling at him, something that had never yet failed to set off Sam's warning bells.

"Good morning, Mister Witwicky!" Simmons said far too brightly. "Welcome back to Diego Garcia!"

"Just so you know," Sam said conversationally, taking the water--blessedly cool--and the foil packet, "I despise you all for being morning people."

Simmons' grin continued unabated, while behind him Hound leaned against the plane's hull and Mirage leaned against Hound, waiting for the rest of their party before disembarking. There was a certain Cybertronian advantage, Sam thought to himself as he popped pills and took a swig of the water, in not needing more than a half-hour of defragging time a week. On the other hand, he wondered if they got bored in the middle of the night, living as they did on a planet where the natives spent a third of their lives unconscious.

"So," Simmons asked as Sam got out of the car, "how'd the amateur like his Christmas present?"

"Loved it," Sam replied. He smirked, half awake now and heading up. "Wait'll I show you what he got me."


"You," Ratchet said archly, looming as only a giant robot could, "have not been getting enough sleep."

"I slept the entire fragging plane ride here," Sam retorted, glaring.

"One day's good rest does not make up for three months of bad habits," Ratchet countered.

"It's called college, Ratchet. And youth. This is the time when I'm supposed to burn the candle at both ends," Sam snapped.

"You just be careful that you don't burn yourself out," the doctor replied, pointing one finger at Sam warningly. "We need you. And as for you," he said, rounding on the black-striped Camaro, "I don't particularly care for what that road salt's doing to your undercarriage...."

Bumblebee played a sound clip of someone blowing a raspberry.

"Don't you give me the raspberry," Ratchet warned. He took a step threateningly forward, only to have Bumblebee flee the hangar so fast he left tread marks on the concrete. Major Lennox didn't quite manage to muffle his snort of amusement as Ratchet straightened and sighed. "Right, where's he gone to?" the medic asked Sam.

"Why am I supposed to be able to track him?" Sam asked rhetorically. "Probably the beach with Mikaela."

"Well, sun won't do him any harm, and unlike some other bots I could name, Bumblebee has enough sense not to try swimming...."

"Twins?" Sam asked.

Ratchet nodded. "Twins."

"So," Sam said, "not to change the subject, but aren't I supposed to get briefed or something about whatever it is I'm supposed to talk to the President about?"

"Prime and Ironhide are on their way," Ratchet replied. He looked at Lennox. "Do you wish to be present for this, Major?"

Lennox snorted again. "There are a few points I'd like to add to what I'm pretty sure is on your list, without going through the appropriate channels."

Sam grinned. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, and shall name no names," he promised.


"The dossiers," the woman in a sharp suit said, handing a manila folder to the darker-skinned man in an equally sharp suit. He thanked her, and opened the folder to the sheaf of papers within.

Two years ago, before he'd been elected to the highest office, he never would have dreamed of the images that lay before him. Oh, he'd suspected some kind of cover-up in the Mission City incident, and the way the attack on the Qatar base had never been properly followed up upon and died a quick death had been... suspicious.

But giant alien robots waging their war first on American soil, and now globally... it seemed like something out of a kids' cartoon. Not something real. Not something that had been the first thing he'd been briefed about between winning the election and taking office. It was something he nearly hadn't been able to wrap his head around, thinking he'd been having a massive practical joke played upon him. It had taken all of Keller's convincing to keep him from hyperventilating when it had finally clicked that what they were telling him was real.

Let the political pundits wonder why he hadn't appointed a new Secretary of Defense. After finding out the truth of Mission City, there was no way he was letting the incumbent off of his staff.

Sighing, he began paging through the stapled dossiers. Optimus Prime. Ancient leader of a powerful race. Ironhide, his weapons specialist. Ratchet, their mechanic/medic. Bumblebee, a scout assigned to guard one of their first human contacts. Sideswipe, a combat instructor. And on down through the ranks of the small squadron until it got to Skids and Mudflap, who were noted as twins--and how did that even work for robots?--and not exactly having the highest possible processor power.

Major William Lennox, U.S. Army, head of the team that had survived Qatar and Mission City and subsequently formed the core of NEST. Chief Master Sergeant Robert Epps, U.S. Air Force, same background. Agent Seymour Simmons, formerly of the disbanded Sector Seven, now reinstated as Chief Intel Officer for NEST after his efforts in the Egypt incident. And on down through the ranks to two non-enlisted teenagers from Pasadena, California, the first contacts the aliens had made on Earth, each with an Autobot (or two, in the case of the girl) living with them.

President of the United States of America or not, he still didn't feel ready for this.


"Okay, one question," Sam said finally. "How level are we being about Pretenders?"

Optimus Prime tilted his head at the boy. "You feel their presence will be a problem?"

"Not so much presence as disclosure," Sam answered. "I mean, it's one thing for you guys to look like things that are entirely mechanical. It's something else in the human psyche to have robots looking and acting so much like us that we can't tell the difference."

"That," Ironhide said, "makes no sense."

"Look up the Terminator movies, big guy," Lennox replied. "It's bad enough for the familiar to suddenly become alien and dangerous. When it's something that we trusted to be us suddenly attacking us, it's even worse."

"You are... displeased with Hound and Mirage's assignment?" Optimus asked Sam.

"No! They're great," Sam refuted. "But I'm not the average human anymore. You want to give me bodyguards against Decepticon Pretenders, I'm all for it. Other humans, normal humans... you guys aren't going to be in hiding forever, no matter what the governments of this planet think. I'm just trying to figure out how it's going to be best to handle it when everything comes out. Starting now."

"I will say this," Epps added. "Even though my papa told me it's better to ask forgiveness than permission, most of the time it's better to not need forgiveness." He glanced at Lennox. "Most of the time," he emphasized, grinning.

"You hide the Pretenders and sooner or later it will come out," Lennox said. "And when it does, people will wonder what else you're hiding."

"Add to that the fact that Decepticons also have Pretenders," Ratchet agreed. "It's probably best to let the humans know the full extent of what they're up against from the start."

"Um," Sam hedged. "Considering that includes combiners like Devastator... can we maybe ease people into how big you guys can get?"

"Amen," Epps agreed. "That fucker was scary as shit, and considering I hang with you guys, that's saying something."


Air Force One's landing on Diego Garcia was textbook. The salutes of the soldiers as the President came down the boarding staircase, likewise. "Welcome to Diego Garcia, sir," Will Lennox greeted the President as the ladies and gentlemen of the Secret Service fanned out protectively around their charge.

"Good to be here, Major Lennox," the President replied, looking around the bright atoll base. He huffed a quick, almost nervous, sigh. "Well, let's get things started, shall we?"

"Yes, sir." With a minimum of ceremony, Will escorted the world leader and his entourage to the hanger most used for human-Cybertronian interaction.

It was empty except for a teenage boy who turned around to look at them as they all approached. A brief flash of surprise crossed the President's face, then was gone as he removed his sunglasses. "Allow me to introduce you--" Will started.

"Sam Witwicky," Sam curtailed his introduction, offering his hand, "Mister President."

"A pleasure to meet you," the President replied, shaking Sam's hand. "Princeton University, right?"

"Yes, sir. And... by request of Optimus Prime, human-Autobot liaison."

The older man blinked, taken aback. Will guessed that hadn't been in whatever files he possessed on Sam. Come to think of it, there were several things about Sam that probably weren't in those files because no one in the know was interested in compromising the teenager's life and relative freedom. "That's new... for how long, son?"

"Since September," Sam replied, and there was no mistaking him for a kid anymore.

"You're a little young to take on such a heavy role," the President observed quietly.

"No, sir, I'm not," Sam replied. "I'm old enough to fight for my planet, watch my friends die doing the same, and to give my life for it. I've earned the right to stand between the Autobots and humans. The hard way."

A moment's silence. "And if it comes down to it, whose side will you be on?" the President asked quietly.

"Theirs," Sam replied without hesitating. "Because I've maybe only known them for two years, but I've never seen them betray the core values their nation was founded on."

The President was very still, very silent.

"Every history text I've ever read says America was based on the right to freedom," Sam said carefully, quietly. "We became a nation, and a world power, by rebelling against tyranny and injustice. We took in the weak, the oppressed, the different, and made their strength part of our own. There's a statue in New York Harbor. Its inscription says 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!' We were a nation of freedom and hope. And you sent Galloway here, to dictate to the alien refugees who were fighting on our behalf." His voice was quiet, lethal. Pissed off.

"The choice of Director Galloway--"

"You would have sacrificed those fighting for our freedom from tyranny for the sake of political expediency," Sam cut across the Leader of the Free World's words. "I'm not a soldier. I don't work for you. But I can tell you this: your representative hamstrung every effort to keep us free of Decepticon enslavement and annihilation, and it is certainly no thanks to him that this planet survived finding out what was really in that pyramid in Giza." Sam's gaze was ice. "I would respectfully request that you choose your next representative more wisely. Mister President."

The President continued silent for a moment. Then his shoulders folded down a little. "I screwed up," he admitted. Sam started to say something, but he held up his hand. "You had your say, Sam, let me have mine. I screwed up. The buck stops here. Your alien friends? They scare me. And that's not a good reaction for me, for anyone, to have. It clouds... clear thinking. I thought Galloway could make things all neat and tidy, keep the genie in its bottle. I was wrong, and you're right, the entire planet nearly paid the price for that."

"Hard to put a genie back in the bottle once it's opened, sir," Lennox opined.

"I know, Major." The President's eyes were fast on Sam's. "Now, I need to get over this fear so I can deal clearly with this in the future. And I think you're just the man to help me with that. Am I right?"

Sam's smile was genuine. "I think we can manage that, Mister President." And obviously he had some trick up his sleeve that Will didn't know about, or else the Autobots just had very good ears, because they began rolling in as if on cue. "Let me introduce you to the Autobots."