Part Thirty-Six
Disclaimers in Part One
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Diarwen awakened in the early morning, darkness still outside their window. Optimus had moved her, futon and all, to the corner of their berth.
She noted that he was getting entirely too good at doing that without waking her.
The lights in his office were on. She yawned, pulled on her chemise and slippers, and went to him, by way of the necessary.
She found her bondmate glowering at his datapad as if it were a Decepticon.
"What is wrong, acushla? Has something happened?"
"I am trying to work on this ritual, and getting nowhere with it."
Curious, she climbed to his desktop. "May I?"
"Of course, you are my bondmate." He offered her his palm. "By Cybertronian law, we are one spark; there are no secrets in a sparkbond. And this is not oathbound, in any case."
Diarwen peered over the edge of the datapad, its cool blue light gilding her cheekbones. "For this, you will need Sam. I have a passing fair acquaintance with modern Cybertronian, but this bears about as much resemblance to it as Old English does to the modern language."
"True. Most Cybertronians do not speak the Language of the Primes any more, or they have just enough of it to get through services at the Temple. It was the formal language of the palace and of ritual, but with the passing of the Original Primes, there are very few left who speak it colloquially. Milestrina can, though."
"What is making it difficult?"
"The writing of ritual is part of your tradition, but Sigma Prime wrote most of our rituals, and they have come down to us verbatim."
She made optic contact, and the bondmates gazed at one another for a few seconds, love like a rising tide between them, before Diarwen said, "There are many varieties of dedication to the gods, or to a specific god. What is this one intended to do, exactly?"
"You know that we young Primes did not choose to dedicate ourselves to Primus. That choice was made for us, by virtue of the Sigil placed upon us. That is to change. The evening after our Prime Council, I was briefly in the presence of Sigma Prime and Nova Prime. I was left assured by that contact that my decision to cease forcing all Prime Candidates into the life of a Prime does reflect the Will of Primus."
"That is a very sound decision. I would not be surprised to find that the lack of choice in the current process was somewhat horrifying to Primus."
Optimus smiled at his bondmate. "Nor should I. At any rate, every potential Prime will still be trained, of course. But now, that that period of instruction is to be a novitiate for them. They will be expected to spend time in prayer and meditation, to search their sparks and determine for themselves if they truly have a vocation. If they do, then before their Elevation, they will go through this ritual to dedicate themselves to Primus of their own will." Optimus' optics flickered down to what he had written, and back to Diarwen. "I am to be an example."
"You will be the first?"
"I shall."
She puckered her brows. "So it is similar to a sparkling's Acceptance of a cohort?"
"Yes, so it is, and also of an adult's Acceptance into additional cohorts. I had not thought of it in that way. At Elevation, we do become part of the cohort of Primes, so that is indeed a great part of it."
"What became of those young Primes who failed their elevation? Are they too part of that cohort in the Well of All Sparks?"
"Indeed they are."
Diarwen nodded, her face grave. "Very similar to Acceptance, then. It seems to me that they offered themselves to Primus, and from that instant they were Primes, whether or not they survived the desperate attempt at Elevation that was left to them without the Matrix."
Optimus inclined his head; his bondmate had, once again, clarified for him what hours of thought could not.
Presidents and dictators would have paid him to teach them to nod that way; he became immediately dignified and transcendent with a dip of the helm. "It is so."
Diarwen said, as if her thoughts had come to her from a long, long way off, "When I fought beside the humans in Afghanistan, many of my compatriots were firefighters in civilian life. They said to me, several of them, that the only act of heroism was to put on the uniform for the first time; everything thereafter was part of the job. I think the same thing can be said of Primes. To take on that mantle is to sacrifice yourself for the People, as was true of the Irish kings of old. You have, in essence, given Lord Primus a blank check, as our human friends would say."
"That is true, but you know yourself the rewards attendant on meeting those demands placed upon us by our gods. And it is no more than anyone else on this base has done."
"Aye, I know it. When I have some distance from this place and time, I will write a song for the warriors I have known here, and those who fought with us in Chicago. There are no greater heroes feasting in the hall of Arionrhod than they. I will do my best to see that the People sing those names for a thousand years."
Optimus smiled at her, this keeper of his spark, whose own soul he kept in return. "Your kind and mine have long memories, Diarwen. As long as we function, their legend will live on, and we will remember them with gratitude."
She rose, and went to the stairs. "Come back to bed, acushla. You need to recharge. There will be time enough for this tomorrow."
Optimus smiled, and put the datapad in his desk. He knew now what he needed to write, and how it needed to be written.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Burnout stood shrouded in the shadows of the temple, with only his own optics and the flickering blue light of the Eternal Flame for illumination. Past the overhang, the predawn light began to dispel the chill of a desert night. On either side of a wide aisle, a congregation consisting of most of the bots in residence here, and no small number of their human compatriots, stood in hushed stillness; Optimus Prime waited outside the boundary of the Temple.
Only the quiet hum of idling engines was to be heard. Even the sparklings were silent. The collective energy field was taut with anticipation.
It was not every day that Primus decreed a new ritual for the People.
Burnout spoke. "Hear, People of Cybertron, how the First One has blessed us."
"Share with us the wisdom of the First One," the Cybertronians replied.
"From the days of Prima until this day, Primus has chosen his Primes to serve Him and to guide the People. We honor Prima, first among Primes, and the greatest Magnus."
"We honor Prima," came the response. Some in English, most in Cybertronian. The Pretenders had scattered themselves throughout the human audience to act as response-leaders.
"We honor Solus Prime, Warrior, Maker, and Prime Consort."
"We honor Solus Prime."
The priest continued to call the roll of the Primes. Absent from among them were all those named Fallen, the last of whom was Sentinel.
But included were all the Prime Candidates who had not survived their attempt at Elevation. They would be remembered and honored among the People, for their ultimate sacrifice had been their first and only act as Primes.
Finally Burnout, his optics flashing every color of the rainbow, called out, "We honor Optimus Magnus, our Defender, our Liberator, and our Lord Prime, beloved of the People."
The People thundered, "We honor Optimus Magnus."
Optimus had not expected that, but those rainbow optics were the unmistakable sign of a priest in communion with the Well of All Sparks. His faceplates heated with embarrassment, but he stood tall and walked down the aisle to stand before Burnout.
"Why come you before this flame, which symbolizes the Spark of Primus?" said the priest.
Optimus bowed his helm. "I wish to rededicate myself as His Prime, to serve Him and His People for all the orn of my function."
"Do you make this request of the First One of your own free will, with no misgivings in your spark, knowing that He will require of you all that you are, and all that you ever will be?"
Optimus did know that. But he had died once in the service of Primus already. He said calmly, "I do not fear to make this request, nor to ask the help of the First One."
"Does any spark, soul, or spirit come with you into this rededication?"
Diarwen stepped forward from the first row of seats to stand at Optimus' side. She wore a new gown of scarlet with a blue tabard over it, the hem of the tabard embroidered with Optimus' signature flames. Her hair coiled in a matron's plaited crown, woven through her circlet of silveroak leaves. A belt of braided metals rode low on her slender hips, its buckle the Autobot symbol, the end falling just short of her tabard hem bound also with flames. "I, Diarwen ni Gilthanel, consort and bondmate to Optimus Magnus, do so enter into the Presence of Lord Primus. May I be found acceptable unto Him."
"Be welcome among the People, and in the sight of the First One."
Optimus said, "My brother and sister Primes, I present to you the other half of my spark, my beloved Consort, the Lady Diarwen."
The Sidhe warrior, more accustomed to a sword salute, had not come under arms to a peaceful temple. She curtseyed gracefully, till her knee nearly brushed the clean-swept stone of the temple floor, and spoke in Sidhe, with Evanon translating into English, and Milestrina providing the Cybertronian glyphs. "Most esteemed Ancients and Elders, well do I remember thee from the days of my childhood. Know that thou art remembered for thy grace and courage among the People of Titania, and will be held precious in our sight as long as our kindred remain in Tir Nan Og and in Arda. It is my honor and great joy to be joined to one of your number."
Diarwen stood, and felt a chill wind where none was present in the physical world. She had met enough spirits on the astral plane to recognize a ghost: the spirits who sent her welcome were those of the Original Primes, whom she had met before. The rest, those who had followed the Six, regarded her with a mixture of welcome and curiosity.
There were among them those who had never met an organic. Over his long lifespan, though, Nova Prime had taken organic consorts, though bonded to none, but many vorn separated her from him. Diarwen both welcomed and returned their curiosity.
Many there were unable to see Nova drop to one knee before Milestrina to put himself on eye level with the ancient Conservator, one servo gently wiping away the single coolant tear that spilled from her faded optic. Diarwen's own eyes filled at the silent look that passed between them. She understood then that he had been her Patron, and much more.
Last to come forward were the six Primes who had preceded Optimus, along with the absent Sentinel—Ultra Magnus, very like Optimus but stern and forbidding, yet wise; that wisdom bestowed, she thought, by a certain kindness in his deep blue optics.
Lio, one of the few quadrupedal frame types that she had ever seen, had been very young at his death and was still youthful in spirit. Guardian was the winged Prime who had so infuriated Starscream; then Nexus, and Zeta, and studious-looking Alchemist. These had been Optimus' second family, for a thousand years—a long time even by Sidhe reckoning.
So much of what Diarwen knew of that part of his life began and ended with his brother's betrayal, added to only by what little else she had gleaned from off-handed remarks made by Ironhide and Chromia. After a time she had a sense from them that she was accepted into the company.
Lio parted last from Optimus, for they had been relatively close in age and companions within the palace. The lionformer paused to give Diarwen a saucy wink, which made her smile, before fading back into the otherworld.
The Prime and his Consort turned to face the People. Beside her, Diarwen felt Optimus settle his fields as he looked around, making optic contact with many in the crowd. Then he began to speak in English. "We stand together at the threshold of a new way of life. I ask of you, my people, to join with me in building a new Cybertronian society, where every life is valued—one where we do not simply give lip service to the idea that freedom is the right of all sentient beings.
"Instead, we dedicate ourselves to the creation of a civilization where that is held to be the will of Primus. That begins with the dawn of a day where Primes choose to be such, and also encompasses the reality that we must build where each of us is placed. We will all be given the opportunity to reach high, to work toward realizing our dreams, regardless of caste or status. From now on, we are no longer Autobots first, or Decepticons first. We are Cybertron. Until all are one."
"Until all are one," hundreds of voices thundered in reply, in Cybertronian, in English, and in Sidhe.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
The day shone sunny and bright as Optimus bade farewell to Diarwen. As he did every day, kept his awareness of her position, movement (none at the moment; she was at her desk), and condition (happy) at the forefront of his consciousness as he covered the very short distance to work. Sideswipe sent greeting glyphs, then fell silent as he accompanied Optimus to the "business side" of Cliff House.
They arrived, and Optimus let his knowledge of his bondmate's happiness stay in the background of his mind.
He nodded to the bots and humans present in Admin, and then went to the conference room instead of his office. From the particles of coffee in the air, the humans had several cups of it inside.
They proved to have an urn set up; they also had a large platter of baked goods, and a second of rust sticks. Prowl was chewing one thoughtfully, with as much enjoyment on his face as Prime had seen lately. Jazz watched, broad grin encamped on faceplates.
Ironhide smiled at him from across the room, and the affection foster-son and foster-father held for one another filled the space between them.
Drift, there as Excellion's captain, Wheeljack, and Ratchet, Scott Glasco, Will Lennox, Alastair Graham, Arturo Melendez...all those summoned were present.
Diarwen in her role as Prime Consort had received an invitation, but Optimus remembered her wrinkling up her nose. "I've naught to add, Optimus, and when I do not these meetings are not...something I find rewarding." Those last four words had come out in a rush; she would never be so indiscreet as to use the word "boring." Optimus almost smiled.
Sam had found himself explaining that she now had a title to Carly when hers arrived; shortly after, Optimus had fielded a 15-minute call from him that was little less than a cry for help. Carly, after all, was British. She had not been born to and did not want a title.
Optimus tossed that problem right into his own Consort's lap. Her solution consisted of three minutes of conversation: "Sam, let me speak to Carly, please. Hello, Carly. —Have you seen my tiara?" A tiny silence, and a noise from Diarwen's cell phone that might have been a snort of laughter, then, "That is because I do not have one. You do not have to either, unless of course you wish to."
Another tiny silence, and Diarwen's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners; Optimus thought she was trying not to laugh. But all she said was, "On this base and only here, bots and a few Pretenders will address you as 'Prime Consort' unless you request them not to."
Quack-quack from the cell phone. Diarwen gave a very slow blink, such as a cat does. "No, of course they will continue to call you 'ma'am,' as that is the standard of polite address on the base. They certainly will not curtsy to you, unless you request that." A splutter from the phone that might have been outrage, laughter, or the first succeeded by the second. Diarwen continued, "Carly, being a Prime Consort means that you can set the rules for how much formality you desire. I desire very little. Did you know that I have been called 'Prime Consort' for almost six months now? It is painless to be so addressed, and it has made no changes at all in my daily life. That is because I did not allow it to. You can do the same."
And such, it seemed, was all it took. He smiled at the memory, then glanced around the conference room.
All expected were present. He cleared his throat. "Good joor, everyone. Does anyone have any urgent business before we begin with the weekly reports?"
Sam waved half a cheese danish, the intergalactic signal for "I want to talk." "We have a visitor, Optimus, that VIP Director Mearing told us to expect, the guy from the President's staff. He's presently on base. He wants to address us about the election. I told him we'd bring him in last so he could have as much time as he needs. Flareup is showing him around the base until we're ready for him."
"Did he give you any more information than that regarding his topic?"
"No, he didn't."
"Very well. Thank you, Sam. Prowl?"
The provost marshal reported, "Two fourteen-year-old humans were caught in a compromising position in the storage shed by the firing range. Their parents were summoned to retrieve them from my office, and both are now receiving a lecture from Dr. Parker." He waited for a round of laughter to die down, then said, "Other than that, there have been no incidents since my last report. However, I do wish to report that the motion-sensitive cameras, installed after that photographer's incursion into the base, are now performing. We ran tests last night, and they do indeed send a signal to Admin when triggered."
"Thank you, Prowl. Chief Melendez?"
The head of operations said, "Minor fire yesterday evening, sir; a mouse chewed some wiring in the supply shed beside the plant services building. Personnel on duty extinguished the fire without incident and damage was confined to the immediate area of the junction box. Suggest, sir, that you review the existence of mice with Excellion, or he might catch 'em gnawing on something he'd rather they didn't. Perhaps he should consider getting a ship's cat, sir."
Optimus relayed that advice immediately, which Excellion received with a certain amount of alarm. He said, "Thank you, Chief. Ratchet?"
"The member of Excellion's crew who underwent reformatting sends thanks for the Pretender frame; it's more than satisfactory. The others who must reformat soon are much larger-framed bots than that patient formerly was, with appropriately larger sparks. It's my opinion that transition into such small frames would be medically contraindicated for those bots except in a life-and-death emergency.
"I have no concerns about any others whose health I monitor on an ongoing basis, and thus nothing to report." Ratchet smiled; no news was good news. "But those who need reformats—where are we on sending the Aerialbots up to the moon to salvage the Ark, Prime? I need those materials."
"It is a high priority. We are stockpiling enough energon for them to make the trip and come back with full loads of salvage. I will have Silverbolt report to you to discuss their carrying capacities, so that you may prioritize what is to be retrieved on the first trip. We will need to accommodate space for crew identification and the ship's log."
"Thank you, Prime," said the bot.
Optimus nodded. "Jazz?"
"Nothing t' report, Prime. Now that Soundwave's accounted for, the human internet is as safe as we can make it. Least, from Cybertronian threats, that is."
"Thank you, Jazz. Wheeljack?"
The Wrecker said, "I'm happy to report that our energon production capacity is now keeping up with our needs, and even providing us with a modest surplus every orn after fully supplying the fliers."
Sideswipe exclaimed, "Thank You, Primus!" Those in performance frames had suffered most from the shortages; speedsters were particularly prone to damage after long periods of idleness.
Wheeljack grinned. "Excellion deserves some of the credit. He's modified a number of his exterior surfaces which aren't in daylight all the time for energon production if conditions are met for it."
"Thank you, Wheeljack. Sam, do you have anything else?"
"Not right now, Optimus, but I might after I hear what Mr. LaSalle has to say," the younger Prime replied.
"Mr. Glasco?"
"I'd like to invite Raf Esquivel and Camlock to train with us."
"Thank you. I will convey the invitation to Camlock and to Raf's uncle, contingent, of course, upon medical approval."
"Sir." Glasco sat down.
"Are there any more reports?"
The room fell silent.
Optimus said, "Then I think we are ready to hear from Mr. LaSalle." He commed Flareup to that effect, and there was a brief delay full of speculation, the munching of rust sticks, and coffee refills while she brought the White House staffer to the conference room; he declined a lift, and walked from the firing range.
Optimus helped himself to an energon goodie from a tray in the middle of the table, and sent Chromia a quick thanks: they really were very good.
A few moments later, Flareup pinged for admittance. "Mr. Jemar LaSalle to speak to everyone, Prime. Mr. LaSalle, Optimus Prime."
"Thank you, Flareup. Welcome, Mr. LaSalle."
LaSalle climbed the stairs to the tabletop and laid his briefcase on the human-sized table, in front of a vacant chair, then extended his hand to touch the digit Optimus held out to him, just as if he were shaking hands with another human. "Thank you, Prime. It's an honor to meet you in person."
"Mr. LaSalle, may I introduce everyone?"
"Thank you."
This was accomplished. They were not to know that Flareup had sent a "cheat sheet" of names and paint jobs (human, Pretender, and Cybertronian alike) to LaSalle's phone.
LaSalle smiled at the end of this. "It's wonderful to have the opportunity to thank you all properly, after so long."
Optimus tipped his helm. "May I ask what for, sir?"
"Your assistance as a group, and an action of your own during the battle of Chicago. My family was caught in the Loop; we were there for my daughter's sixteenth birthday. We had just finished breakfast and were leaving the hotel to take her on a shopping spree, her birthday present, when all hell broke loose."
LaSalle, a trim, spare man who reminded Optimus of his foster-father, blinked for a moment. Then he continued, "People were shot down all around us. The Decepticons fired into the crowd, it seemed for nothing more than target practice."
Ironhide rumbled into speech. "It was," he said.
LaSalle nodded to him. "I'm not surprised to hear that. My family—I knew if we stayed in the open, we were dead. A crashed armored car sat close by, ripped open. We hid inside it, but there was no way to get back out without being seen. It was only a matter of time before the Decepticons spotted us."
There was a brief silence. No one spoke; they'd all been in that situation or something like it, though they couldn't imagine what it might be like to have your family in it with you.
"What went on next is why I asked to be the one to address you, Prime. You led the Autobots on that charge down Wacker Boulevard. You looked down at me and my family, and you barely broke stride, but you took the time to shove the armored car over onto the sidewalk with your foot, where we could duck down the alley and get to better cover in a basement. We were safe there until the National Guard rescued us."
The room was silent for a moment. Then Optimus spoke.
"I remember now. I am gratified to hear that you escaped safely. I regret that there was not time to get you and your family behind the lines."
"An unnecessary regret, sir. You were doing exactly what had to be done. I, personally, will never forget it...More to the point of today's meeting, the administration has not forgotten everything that you have done for this nation and for our world."
"You're very welcome, Mr. LaSalle. How may we be of assistance to you now?"
LaSalle said, "It's more what we can do for you, Optimus, and it has to do with the upcoming election. I understand that you can't take sides, but that isn't what this is about. I don't know how closely you have been following the Republican primaries?"
Optimus said, "I keep myself updated on political news across party lines."
"Good. You know, then, that Mitt Romney is almost certain to be the GOP nominee. He is the former governor of Massachusetts, a graduate of Harvard Law School, and a very wealthy man who has a large number of similarly wealthy friends and campaign backers."
"And a guy who put his dog in its crate and fastened the crate to the top of his car for a drive of several hundred miles," Scott Glasco added, and threw a pencil down on the table.
LaSalle smiled at him. "That too, Mr. Glasco. But it is that group of backers who concern us most in reference to your people. We have credible information that they plan to use your presence on Earth as a divisive issue. You're aware that they have already been making every effort to portray the President as un-American, as lying about having been born in this country, as having religious ties to the Middle East, et cetera. We've already seen efforts to include your people in the fiction that the President is bringing hordes of undocumented people into the United States."
Optimus replied, "Yes. When we had protesters outside the base, that was one of the accusations leveled against us."
La Salle fiddled with the leather portfolio in front him for a moment, then said, "The backers mean to demand that the President force you either to submit to Pentagon authority, or to leave the planet. Now, before I go any further, the President has no intention of caving in to those outrageous demands. But all they need to get more people than just their base behind this ultimatum is one incident. We believe that there is a plan out there to create such an incident."
Optimus scowled. "Precisely what kind of incident?"
"I don't know if they've decided that yet, Prime. All we know at this time is that it would have to be something newsworthy, and something that they could spin to embarrass the President. We also know that they accept a certain amount of collateral damage as the cost of doing business, so we would not be surprised to find innocent bystanders caught up in it. In fact, it would make the incident more newsworthy if there were."
Optimus' optic shutters narrowed as he considered possibilities. Beside him, the fields of his 2iC altered as he brought up his formidable tactical processor to accomplish the same task, an order of magnitude more efficiently.
"Mr. LaSalle, to counter this effectively I need names and more intel on their capacities," Prowl said. "The more information I have available, the more accurate my predictions can be, and the better my ability to formulate an effective response."
LaSalle's own fields radiated frustration. "I understand, Prowl. Director Mearing will be speaking to you presently. Part of the problem is that we have a suspect list too broad to formulate a response. As for their capacities, they have the right-wing lunatic fringe, who tend to be very well armed, and many of them have a military background, or quasi-military training of the kind hate groups engage in. Anyone on our list of suspects has the money to recruit from this pool of potential operatives and secretly equip them with top of the line gear. They can't field a regular army, but it is our opinion that they could recruit, organize and outfit a strike force of a few hundred individuals within weeks. It is my personal opinion that they have already done so."
Lennox said, "Mr. LaSalle, you're talking about treason against the United States of America. An armed uprising by, what, a corporate militia of some sort?"
"The financial reports of some of these corporations rival those of small nations in net worth, Colonel. Some of them have security forces on their payroll which could be considered a small army. But we don't expect them to show up in uniform and try to conquer a city somewhere. Rather, we think they're going to use small groups of extremists who honestly believe they're saving the country from the forces of...fill in the blank. Essentially, their talent pool is very small-minded: anyone who differs from them is the enemy. You've seen these patriot groups on the news, and you know from the protests outside the base how small a spark it would take to set off that particular powder keg."
Optimus said, "Yes, very tiny indeed.—Mr. LaSalle, what does the administration want us to do?"
"For now, be aware that things may not be as they seem, particularly if you are asked to assist with an emergency or something of that nature. It might be a set-up, with the intention of making you look like the cause, and not the solution."
Optimus said with a frown, "It would sit ill with me to refuse assistance were we asked to give it."
LaSalle straightened. "I am not advising you to do so. But consider being as public as possible about responding to a call for help. In your position, I would first confirm that a request for assistance is valid, originates from the source it purports to come from, and is in fact a request from state or local government. If you get any kind of call from some other source, call 911 first, and make every effort to let the authorities respond before you arrive at the scene. Either way, if you choose to respond, be seen to cooperate with whoever is in charge. If something looks 'off' in any way, document the daylights out of the situation, so that you can make a liar out of anyone wrongfully reporting it."
Prowl said, "I will push out general orders to all of our people to that effect shortly after this meeting, Mr. LaSalle."
"Thank you, Prowl. In general, be aware that your actions are under scrutiny by people who are avidly seeking any excuse to take things the wrong way. Be careful not to become the lead story. If you turn up any information, report it to Director Mearing before taking any action. The FBI and Homeland Security are already investigating any credible reports of armed insurgents within the United States, no matter what kind of extremists they happen to be, and they have been doing so since 2001. The government of the United States is on this, and you are not on the edge of a cliff with a lot of well-armed crazy people between you and safety.
"For example—if they set up a training camp somewhere and leak its location to you, please, don't take unilateral action. You handled the situation with the Eastgaters exactly right. The local sheriff took the lead and then you did what had to be done, and your special capabilities averted a tragedy as a result. The difference here is that the people ultimately responsible would work to see that tragedy happen and blame you for it."
"I understand, Mr. LaSalle. We dealt with similar situations in the early days of our war, when propaganda was still a useful weapon. On several occasions, the Decepticons attempted to sway the opinion of neutral civilians by making it look as though we had committed atrocities. We will maintain a constant awareness of the possibility of similar events here. I take it that Director Mearing is fully aware of this situation?"
"Yes, sir, she is, was I should say, briefed at the White House this morning."
Lennox said, "Mr. LaSalle, this—sounds impossible to me, but I feel it is my responsibility to ask. Are you suggesting the possibility of a coup d'etat?"
"That's always a possibility, Colonel. Right now, though, we feel that the interests of this group of people are best served by facilitating the election of a president who would be sympathetic to their objectives. And let me state for the record that we have zero evidence that any potential candidates are involved in any such plot, or even aware of it."
"Strict compartmentalization would be absolutely necessary for the success of a plot like this," Prowl said. "And, in the event of its failure, to limit damages."
"Of course, sir."
Jazz muttered something that sounded like, "Here we go again. Frag it."
The Prime cut his optics to and away from his Spec Ops head, but didn't contradict him, and no one else did either.
The spymaster asked, "Mr. LaSalle, do you think they're making use of the internet?"
"I think they've learned enough from al Qaeda to use couriers," LaSalle replied. "For short messages, they might have pre-established codes that could be trusted to non-secure communications, but anything incriminating is very likely to be off the grid. Of course, Lady Luck could smile upon us and someone could slip up."
Optimus said, "I have noted that Lady Luck's assistance tends to appear most often when we have not depended upon it."
"Yes, sir." LaSalle might have grinned.
With that, the meeting ended and most of the attendees went on about their duties, after a bit of post-meeting banter and a little friendly chatter with LaSalle. Optimus asked him, as well as Lennox, Sam, Jazz, and Prowl, to come with him to his office.
End Part Thirty-Six