34. Command Decision
Reports blared in across the NEST screens. Prowl, Optimus, Ironhide and Arcee frowned at the running displays. On a top bank, worldwide news media were blasting panic across the airwaves, a lower bank showed the more secure responses and feeds from the military units who has aligned with NEST. They had not yet been uninstalled: an oversight, probably.
And in the corner, the line to the US military command crackled fuzzily to life.
"Never thought I'd miss Keller," Ironhide muttered as Director Galloway's smug face resolved from the static of the screen.
"Nostalgia at this point is unproductive," Prowl murmured back. "We must negotiate."
Optimus stepped forward. "You are aware of the attack."
Galloway managed to look offended and amused at the same time. "It is my job, after all."
"Then where's our slaggin' authorization!" Ironhide snapped.
Galloway gave a tolerant sigh. "We must follow international channels," he explained, as if talking to a dull child. Deliberately patronizing.
"Slag international channels—humans might be dying!" Ironhide could not figure out how Galloway couldn't care. They lived under a different flag, a different bit of colored cloth. That was all. Nothing separated any group of humans that he knew of as deeply, sharply or definitely as the rift between Autobots and Decepticons. At this point, they might have evolved to two different species.
"Ironhide, stand down," Optimus said. This was not, as Prowl had said, productive either. "Assistant Secretary Galloway, we offer our assistance to combat the Decepticon attack." Offer. Not beg. We will, he thought, make our own way if we must.
Galloway smirked. "I'll make a note of that." His eyes flicked to Ironhide, goading him for a response. Ironhide's fists balled, trembling with rage. But he stood still, respecting Optimus's orders. Galloway gave up after a few seconds, turning back to Optimus. "The attack is in Switzerland. There are diplomatic issues with crossing boundaries into such a devotedly neutral nation."
Arcee had been ignoring Galloway in favor of the news screen. She'd been summoned here at the first word of the attack, from the berthside of Flareup. She'd hated the separation, hated she might be breaking her vow to be with Flare when she rebooted, but Chromia had told her that it was fine. That duty called. She hated being called here only to have that duty…refused. It made it a waste. "What is this thing that they are attacking?"
Galloway tipped back, smugly. "First, it's not a 'they': it's one NBE. Second, that's classified information."
Optimus frowned. "There was a time that we had access to classified information."
"Or so you thought."
Prowl's door wings twitched—the only sign that even he was getting nettled by Galloway's attitude. "It's the Large Hadron Collider," he said, coolly. So much for classified. Optimus admitted he enjoyed the flash of irritation on Galloway's face.
Arcee squinted at one screen. "Who is that? Some gestalt we've never seen before?"
Ironhide cast one last glare at Galloway before turning his attention to the screens Arcee was monitoring, frowning. "Never seen that one." He felt the weight of optics on him—even after all these ages, after all the recent stress, they still trusted him enough to remember. "Can't get an energy signature from these primitive screens," he muttered, pointedly, loud enough for Galloway to overhear.
The large mech—it was large enough to be a gestalt—was assaulting the main entry to the complex. But, Ironhide noted, with a certain kind of care. Something in there it wanted intact. "What could he want?" he mused.
"The Large Hadron Collider produces subatomic particles, some known collectively as Higgs-boson particles," Prowl said. He flicked his optics to Galloway, then stopped. He would say no more. If Galloway was trying to eavesdrop on them, he would not get anything from Prowl.
Optimus nodded. He turned back to Galloway. "We would like authorization to combat this Decepticon threat before he gets what he wants." His words were mild, but he was testing now. Probing. Finding the boundaries.
"At this point," Galloway said, 'We've not yet positively identified the attack as a Decepticon. So how do we know we wouldn't be sending you there to help him?"
Ironhide growled, his fusion cannons arming in pure rage at the deliberate insult.
Optimus said, coolly in a tone that Ironhide had not heard in too long, "You are making a poor decision based on emotion. I have made the same mistake in my time, and others have died as a result. Their deaths are on my head. I urge you not to make the same mistake." Ironhide quelled himself. Optimus's words were directed at Galloway, but at least the first part could easily have applied to him. And Optimus felt a dark confidence build within him. A leader, not merely a warlord. An Autobot.
"We are," Prowl added, reasonably, "asking for your permission. Were we party to this, we would hardly put ourselves in a position where we might be refused."
"Asking means you are aware of the potentiality of being refused." Galloway leaned in. "Don't worry about us, Autobots. We've got our own weapon now. And I would highly recommend you not get yourself in the line of fire. We're sort of in a 'kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out' mood." And the comm clicked off.
"Well," Arcee muttered, "That was informative."
"It was, rather," Prowl said. "Unfortunately, it confirms everything Vortex and Lennox had said. And it puts us in an extremely precarious situation."
"Everything," a voice said from the doorway, "is a precarious situation when it comes to politics. If you don't figure that out, you're not going to survive long here."
"Master Sergeant," Optimus inclined his head. "We are…unused to politics."
"It's just like war, except the wounds aren't as obvious and the hurt longer." Sternburgh bounced into the room on his crutches.
"Well?" Arcee said. "You offered your information before. What's your advice now?"
"Advice?" Sternburgh pantomimed looking behind both shoulders. "Yee'd mock me forever if she heard this. But do what's right. I don't mean for the humans, or for the alliance with us, or for your cause. Do what's right…here." He thumped his chest. "Except, you know, what you guys have."
"We fight," Prowl said. "That is our default reaction to everything."
"Fight who is the question. If you fight that thing, are you fighting the Decepticons? That thing? Or your own demons?" A microflash of a smile. The human was enjoying himself. Then the smile faded. "Actually, leave the Northrop Frye stuff for later. Do what you can sleep with at night." He settled himself against a console, bowing out. "Just wanted to offer that if you needed a way off this island, Uncle Roe can make that happen." His skin was grey from weariness and pain, but there was some aura of energy in his movements. Someone glad to be acting. Confident in his purpose and abilities. Ironhide felt a stab of envy.
"Well, what do we do?" Ironhide fought to keep the challenge from his voice, raw rage at how Galloway treated Optimus, treated all of them, making him want to lash out. "We let them learn the hard way?"
"No," Optimus said. "We find a way off this island. As I tried to tell him, we cannot let the poor decisions of the few outweigh the needs of the many."
"And ourselves," Arcee added, darkly. "Let's admit, Optimus, we're trying to make a new life here. We have a stake in this as well, not just as some mobile task force, but as prospective citizens. If we will not acknowledge that to ourselves, how can we expect others to?"
Optimus nodded. "Yes. This is our home. And we have a duty, and a right, to defend it." He hesitated at the brink. He'd been passive, reactive too long, and he needed to gather the momentum. He'd acted on his own for too long, and the support of the three others in the room pushed him onward. A leader was nothing without followers who believed in him. And sometimes, that leader needed that faith from them as much as they needed faith in him. "Rally at the loading ramp on Runway One in half a cycle," he said, finally. "Autobots, let's roll out!"