The Diego Diaries: Home Again Jiggity-Jig (dd8 511)

=0=Mid morning

He stood on a corner with his partner in City 3, District 13, the latest and newest mass habitation site that was being settled by their people. Three others were in process nearby, sites 14, 15 and 16, their need assessed by refugee reports from satellites, sensors, alien visitors and their own networks designed to find their scattered people. There were hundreds of millions waiting for rescue and the unthinkable, that a billion or more could be rescued was slowly coalescing in their collective psyches.

Maybe the body count was wrong.

Around them Public Works was removing sand, taking it away to clear roads. Traffic was still one lane but it was moving along well. Newbies were everywhere checking out the sights even though the slog was still real. Places that were unusual to their experience, restaurants, department stores and especially groceries and bakeries had lines and crowds. That there was no payment system involved in having these luxuries was almost mindbendingly unthinkable to this population, most of whom knew what privation felt like.

The two Watchmen were taking in the scene, this, their new beat at the new substation down the block, Watch Substation #422. They were doing extra duty and would until the stand down of the migration mission later today. There would be horse patrols here from now on. A stable was being raised in the open set aside public lands between Terra Hub and Crater District Five. The patrols based this far out would draw their mounts from that location. There would be 200 horse patrols working on three shifts throughout the orn and they would be the most popular Watch feature of them all.

"Well, how about lunch at The Pub?" one of them asked. "We can be on call there and it won't be problematic."

The other, his longtime partner on the beat nodded, so they walked onward helping lost people, answering questions and watching for problems as they headed toward a restaurant that would become home base for the locals as it was in the other six cities where it was a business.

=0=The Resort of Autobot City, Resort Ridge, Mars

They walked along the windows staring out at the slightly red panorama below them. Sand was piled, it was obvious, but the speed of its removal was amazing to everyone who sat in comfortable chairs looking through the telescopes and binoculars that the Resort provided. It was relaxing, the hum of voices, the laughter of kids running past and the smells of the several restaurants and the two bakeries that operated here on the concourse.

One could sit here and order a meal or a snack and brew by pressing a button on the chair arm. He did. He gave his order to a sweet kid, then relaxed again. This was the life.

Alexander Williams and his partner were here to scope out investment opportunities. They coincided their business meetings at Unidad with their vacation here. It was a nice move. They played golf, swam, hiked the trails, danced, dined and pampered themselves inside this miraculous habitation along with all manner of individual, most of whom they'd never rub elbows with otherwise.

His rarefied feet never touched the ground mostly.

He was the head of a world economic forum, One Vision World that sought to reformat the Earth into his own version of Utopia. He was an economist with ideas that included the ownership of everything that existed on Earth by a small group of select individuals who would run everything including every institution in every country that existed.

Everyone else?

"They would own nothing and be happy."

Though he didn't like mingling with the plebes, this was a nice way to enter the new paradigm that Prime's colony and various habitation zones, especially Prima Station afforded. He could take the temperature of the situation before butting heads with his nemesis, Owen Harris.

The afternoon and evening would pass nicely for him and his partner. The following day at Unidad would be the best part of this, to entice the leadership there to join up with his organization and to head butt Owen Harris into vacuum.

=0=Magnus

Ultra Magnus stared at the data pad with messages from Carly Witwicky. They were about meetings and a convention to be held at the Habitat in which a number of investors were here to pose joint [possibilities between Autobot Nation, Inc., the business entity developed to trade with Earth and a number of consortium enterprises. There were also controversial individuals including Alexander Williams and his partner, Landess Verbum, a Swiss-Italian financier who 'got' Williams apparently, whatever that meant.

The schedule in which both he and Venture would appear to speak and to answer questions, hear proposals and show the flag was listed. They were many. Some of them were closed, that is, between both them and one or two individuals along with their advisers.

"Oh joy," he murmured as a rap on the door caught his attention. "Staff meeting at The Fortress in a joor."

"Thank you, Blondi. I'll remember," Magnus said as she grinned, then walked off. He stared at the door, then pulled his computer closer. Inputting a jack, he entered not just his and the colony and Cybertron's databases but accessed on the down low those of Earth. He would have everything he needed to know about everyone before the meetings and then some.

Magnus was no one's fool.

=0=Around Crater District 13, in any of the cities there and some parts of Crater District 12, City 6

They walked around the city noting its beauty and the sparkling energy. There was so many out and about that the Watch was there in extra force. They weren't afraid of the newbies, mostly. They were there to help and guide them. The videos explaining nearly everyone's function, the range of occupations and the assistance that was theirs now that they were home again in the safety of their people helped but being here usually was a process of incredulity fading to confidence.

Even with videos, the size and scope of the colony was without precedence in the minds of most of those coming. Some had lived on Cybertron in the orn but it wasn't this, towering, glittering and vast. It was old, battered, bled to death and ready to burn, their Cybertron.

This was a revelation. It would remain so for some time.

=0=At the Central Office of the Autobot City Unified School District, Metrotitan, Metro District Five, Autobot City, Mars

Roto stepped out of his testing room to take a break. He was seeing children for a preliminary screening for various syndromes, problems and ailments. As the Director for Speech and Specialized Education for the district, he handled children from those bedridden, damaged physically and psychologically, behind in their learning, messed up in their minds to those with learning styles and impediments that might be problematic.

He screened them with games, the little ones, and had chats designed to elicit information without causing anxiety from the older ones. Others were working through the kids, checking for damage and trauma.

They would find it.

=0=Seniors in space

They worked out how to wind down their part of the situation. The ships were finally in the last configurations, those that were left and waiting to be led through to their, hopefully, last ever destination.

Hard Drive worked with Paragon who had been at it from the moment Prime and Prowl had stood down. They organized the last groupings that would go through the bridge. That would leave the Army and Air Force 'clean up' crews, specialists that would detail the area of the migration, cleaning up the space as much as could be done. The less attention drawn to an area the better in everyone's book.

"What about this?" Paragon asked as he pointed out a number of ships with medical markings that had been Autobots in the mass. They'd transformed their ships to medical care centers and had doctors pinpointed all over the migration to support them. "This is an amazing idea. Transporting ships with doctors to these migrations before we come to them will cut down on the delays and problems, I think."

Hardie considered that. Paragon had a bent to solving medical problems for those in need. The traumatic care system in the colony was as much his idea as anyone. "I think so, Pari. We can send ships to do this on a grid mapping of a migration. They can do more work in less time than we do now. What about fleshing out the idea and presenting it at the next staff meeting. I like it."

Paragon glanced at Hard Drive, an Immortal, surviving member of the Revolutionary Council of the War Against Quintessan Oppression and someone he admired like few others. "I will do so, Hardie."

They worked onward and by 2200 joors on the TMC at Mars the last group of ships would flash through the bridges taking the last groups of refugees to safety at last.

=0=Prime

He stood on a low table, a portable one brought by the owner of The Paint Box. He was an old friend and the personal detailer of Prime and Prowl when the twins weren't around, something that Tullus was very proud of. He was finishing the finish on Prime after patching up the damage he received in the migration from fighting. Having a comfortable conversation with Optimus, talking about sports, children, grandchildren and the new group of refugees had been pleasant and once again illuminating.

Tullus had been a master detailer and had done work on a lot of wealthy and powerful individuals. It was a living.

With Optimus, it was a calling. He loved, loved, loved this Prime. "There you go. All as good as new."

Prime glanced down, then stepped down from the platform Tullus used on jobs outside his many studios. "Thank you, Tullus. You are an artist I have come to rely upon."

Tullus grinned. "My pleasure, I assure you. What do you think about the next game?"

"I feel lucky," Prime said with a grin.

They chatted as Tullus packed up, then he left.

"You look good again," Prowl said with a smirk. "Of course, it wouldn't be needed if you'd just LISTEN."

Prime stared at Prowl, then grinned. "Where is the fun in that?"

Prowl stared at him, then grinned in spite of himself. "Slagger. We have a meet up at IntraCom. Now that you're presentable, I'll go with you."

Prime grinned. "I count on it. I will even let you flip my podium after I speak."

Prowl snickered all the way to the lobby.

=0=Moments later

"Three … two … one. You're live, Prime," Jazz said as Blaster managed the cameras.

"Good afternoon. I am Optimus Prime," he said as he sat on his set. "I would like to welcome more than seven million of our brothers and sisters home."

=0=TBC 8-29-2022

Privation: (pry-vay-shun) lack, doing without, being without.

There is a man called Kurt Schwab who is the template for our boy Alexander that I'm using here in the story for this character.

He has his tentacles into every government in the world, trains people in his philosophy to work in every government in the world and is about as scary a dude as I ever heard about. A quote about him from Wikipedia: "(he) plans to replace a recognized democratic model with a model where a self-selected group of 'stakeholders' (billionaires and corporations) make decisions on behalf of the people." A model of rulers and serfs.

Apparently half the cabinet of Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau are these people. Its also said that he's one of Scwab's baby officials.

"Everyone will own nothing and be happy." -Wikipedia, Kurt Schwab

I can't wait for him to butt heads with Owen Harris. You know you're a worthless carcass when even Owen Harris thinks you're scum. :D:D:D