Disclaimer: I do not own "Transformers" in any way, shape, or form. They are the property of Hasbro, Michael Bay, and all the other masters of the craft. I am just a humble college student and make no money from this. I also do not own "Star Gate", which belongs to its respective owners.

The Moonlessnight: I wouldn't blame you guys if you wanted to string me up by my toes at this point. This update is way beyond late. I know it, and I am very sorry. Let's just say life got really complicated after graduation. You never realize how little you make until you see the bottom line of what college really costs. – sighs – I'll be paying these loans off ten years from now, easy. Can anyone say, "Searching for a second job?" All well….

Thanks for this chapter go to my co-worker, BecStorm, for giving me the ultimate scenario for a certain introduction. If you're reading this, I hope I did your idea justice. – grins –

Hijacked

"He blew up a what?" Sam asked, pausing in his task of cooking canned beans over a small camp fire. Still sitting exposed at the top of Lenox Crater, he had taken advantage of the situation to make a hot meal. The meal took a great deal longer than expected to prepare since he had neglected to bring a can opener. Thank the light for thirty-foot tall mechs willing to lend a helping fingernail…and the patience of a saint as the human cleaned up the remains of three cans crushed in the name of goodwill.

"Most of the planet and his own aft twice a cycle," Ironhide scoffed, only to receive a quick kick to his leg armor via a nearby medic. Said medic glared at the soldier for a moment, ice blue optics the only part of his face Sam could see in the darkness, before repeating his earlier statement.

"He blew up a wing of-," the sentence devolved into a shrill rolling of sounds too fast and high for Sam to comprehend before ending in perfect English, "a prominent research facility based in Iacon."

Twisting his pinky finger in his ear, Sam furled his brow, "Yeah, that's what I thought you said. No translation for the name of that place, or do you like tormenting me?" Ratchet crossed his arms in a fair approximation of human annoyance, bringing a sigh to Sam's lips. "All right, so Wheeljack blew up an important building in this Iacon place. Why exactly?"

"To prove the existence of gravitons in our planet's atmosphere…or the lack thereof," Ratchet quickly amended. "In short, his little stunt provided our race with the key to interstellar travel."

"Which is?"

"Why, wormhole theory of course!" Bumblebee chirped.

Unable to resist the urge to laugh, Sam settled for a derisive snort and continued stirring his can of beans. "You're pulling my leg," he said, raising his hands in mock defense when Ratchet remarked contrary to the declaration. "It's just an expression, Bee. What I mean to say is look, if you want to go and try to make stuff up then you might as well choose something a little less obvious than 'we traveled through a wormhole to get to Earth'. That's like something off of Star Gate and I just don't go for that kind of stuff."

Running a quick search on the term "Star Gate", Optimus Prime joined in the conversation. "There is some validity to the claims of this fictional 'Star Gate' you refer to Sam, although 'folding space' as they suggest would undoubtedly result in catastrophic gravimetric and dimensional instabilities for the surrounding star systems."

"Like when you crumple a page from a notebook, Sam," Bumblebee offered, recalling on of Sam's more frustrating homework assignments. "The page never lays flat afterwards."

"Indeed," Ratchet chimed in, "which is why gravitons are so important to the equation. They allow the very forces that hold the universe in its tracks to propel one through the vast distances between stars."

Agape, the teenager stared in silence until his dinner bubbled from its container with a gurgling plop. Jerking his hand back before the searing substance reached his fingers, Sam set about fishing the can from the its perch in the embers using a pair of makeshift wooden tongs. Succeeding after only a few small spills and glaring at what little remained in the can; he set his dinner aside in lee of conversation. "You mean to tell me that wormholes aren't just science fiction? You guys actually use them to, you know, travel?"

Optimus nodded, his optics bobbing brightly against the stars overhead, "I assure you that we speak the truth."

Sitting down with the heavy whirring of many gears, Ironhide chuckled. "To think a bunch of humans took out Blackout when they didn't even know how our most rudimentary technology works. If your race ever learns what we mechs know, we'll be in a world of hurt."

Silence descended on the group, leaving Sam to munch slowly on his sparse dinner and contemplate just how primitive humans must seem to the Transformers. The thought gave new perspective on why the Decepticons acted as they did but Sam subconsciously pushed the idea away. He did not fancy thinking too kindly of the aliens that came to destroy, intent on getting to know humanities new protectors instead. Scrapping the last vestiges of baked beans from their blackened metal container, Sam sighed. "So, barring a good night's sleep, where are we heading next? We've been to a junkyard, a salt mine, and this crater. The locales are getting better as we go, so I figure you must be saving the best for last."

Tilting his head so the moonlight glistened off his silver face plating, Optimus actually smiled his optics flickering sky blue. "Two locations remain on the list your government provided. The nearest of these two is a military base with which you might know, Sam."

Racking his brain for any pertinent information, Sam drew forth only images of the base hidden within the Hover Dam. Casting a furtive look at Bumblebee, Sam wondered how the mini-bot would react if taken back into the bowels of that base, where the spy had been brutally tortured by Sector Seven. Seeing the glance and correctly interpreting it, Prime shook his head, "The perspective base is located in Nevada, Sam, not Colorado." Confusion clouded the teenager's face and Optimus Prime sighed in defeat. "The military designation for the base is the 'Groom Lake Facility', but you likely know it by its popular moniker: Area 51."

Sam's leapt to his feet, his sore ankle momentarily forgotten as he violently shook his head, "No way! Not a chance! We are not going within a hundred miles of that place. Do you know what that place is known for? God! Do you want to end up in a million little pieces under some white coat's microscope?"

Confusion now clouding Prime's processor, the Autobot kneeled to peer closely at the boy. Placing a massive hand on the ground less than a foot from the young human, he cocked his head in a plain show of his bewilderment. "You think your government would betray our trust so easily?"

Reminded quite suddenly of the size difference between the races, Sam gulped audibly, "No, no. Just, you know…. Everyone knows that place is alien central. Not exactly the best hiding place if you know what I mean."

Bringing his free hand up to pinch his 'nose' in frustration, Optimus slowly shook his head, "We Autobots pride ourselves on our ability to blend in with the local environs, Sam. To put it simply, we are very good at hiding in plain sight."

Throwing his hands in the air, Sam started pacing. "Which is why you used my lawn as an intergalactic truck stop and smashed up my dad's path? That's not blending in. That's sticking out like a sore thumb." Sam jabbed his thumb in the direction of the woods to emphasize his statement, wincing as the motion stretched the shallow cut on his hand. Unwilling to back down because of a little discomfort, he continued his rant. "Your weapons specialist wanted to blast my dog into oblivion if you don't remember. Heck! You're all so good at hiding that a regular kid like me spotted your best spy transforming to make a report out in the industrial district. What do you think will happen if you guys start using a place like Area 51 as a base? Smarter people than me are obsessed with that place. They'll figure out what you are before they figure out who you are. The crazy ones might just shoot first and ask questions later, you know? I just-. I-."

Sam's ankle reached its limit right about the time Bumblebee's hurt warbling reached his ears. Crumpling to the ground like a tree cut at the base, Sam lay winded and red in the face from more than the pain throbbing in his foot. Gears shifted to his right as Ratchet moved, only to be silenced by the whirring of more gears near his head. "No, Ratchet. Give the boy a moment."

Laying there on the ground, Sam smelled the rich smell of earth and vanilla that made up the scent of northern Arizona pines. The smell coupled with the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears worked to calm him, bringing his words into sharp contrast in his mind. Finally, with a sigh that stirred the dirt in front of his face, Sam gathered his will and rolled onto his back. His body protested the movement so soon after his fall, but the boy swallowed any murmur of complaint as he stared up at the four shapes looming above him.

"Bee, I didn't mean that," Sam said, "You too, Ironhide, Ratchet, Optimus. I don't know what I was thinking."

Optimus lowered the arm that held Ratchet in his place and the medic knelt to perform the scans his programming demanded. Shuttering his optics briefly, Optimus sighed for the third time that night, "No, Sam. You have no need to apologize. What you said hold the ring of truth and that truth cannot be denied." Leaning in close enough for Sam to see the intricate workings of his optical array, the leader of the Autobots gave a ponderous nod. "The actions Sector Seven took against Bumblebee a week ago confirm your feelings. We would be foolish indeed to walk willingly into base of…white coats…as you called them." Words scrolled across Prime's HUD, causing him to stand to his full height. "Bumblebee?"

"Yes, Optimus?"

"Set up a perimeter around our campsite. Since Sam is currently indisposed, we will be spending the night here at the crater. When Ratchet declares him fit, we will leave for our final destination."

"Yes, sir," Bumblebee replied with a curt salute. He cast a quick glance at the boy now cupped from chest to toes under Ratchet's hand. Sam saw the look and cast his own glance at Ratchet who only shook his head with a proverbial click of his tongue.

"I told you to stay off your feet, Sam. Now, you have no choice." Face plates moving in a cruel grin, Ratchet's optics turned icy. "I will stay like this until you either offline of your own volition, or I will offline you myself. Either way, you are not moving from this spot until I say so."

Dropping his head to the ground in weary defeat, Sam closed his eyes. Standing and dusting dirt from his aft, Ironhide laughed. "The kid's smarter than we gave him credit for, eh Hatchet?"

"Indeed," the reply came, "Indeed."

Meanwhile, not far outside of Tranquility, Nevada….

A comet shot across the night sky like a firefly on steroids, flaring white as it hit earth's atmosphere at unimaginable velocities. A tail formed as millennia of cosmic debris burned away, a trail of blue ice to contrast the red brilliance of flame. Over the lake it streaked, past the lookout point where Sam often wandered, and out into the fields beyond. There, the celestial object skimmed the tops of tall corn stalks to land with a deafening crash just outside the city power plant. Transformers surged, electricity arced through the air, and guards scurried from their posts to see what power had rocked the ground beneath their feet.

Little did they know, that 'power' now stood below a sagging electrical line, a faint blue light emanating from its bizarre skeletal form as it scanned a nearby utility vehicle. A few short minutes later, a brand new 2007, GMC C5500 4 by 2 bucket truck pulled out onto the road and drove serenely away.

The incident, while bearing striking similarities to the events weeks prior, quickly met the kibosh of several military personal bearing papers of authority. The newspapers reported the 'comet' as a recently discovered rogue that harmlessly burned off in the troposphere. The events at the power station became the fault of a mystery technician hired and fired the same day, the resulting brownouts the result of a blown transformer.

Two days later, a pair of thieves sat huddled on a dark street corner. A white utility truck idled, keys in the ignition and unattended as it had for nearly three hours. Taking a final glance up and down deserted street, the two thugs approached the vehicle with identical smirks upon their faces. Crowbar in hand one hand, slim-Jim in the other; they intended to make off with the expensive tools waiting for them in the idling car's storage bins.

While one shady criminal kept a lookout the other set to work with the crowbar, prying with all the might of burly arms at one bin after another. None gave an inch. Banging on the largest storage compartment in frustration brought a third crook from the shadows. "Hey, Jimmy man," the third said in a hoarse whisper, "Not so loud or someone will hear."

Giving the side of the truck a solid whack, the thief with a crowbar scowled. "These government types are getting smart, Rick. I think they lined the bins with steel or something."

"So," said Rick, grabbing the slim-Jim from Jimmy's hands, "We'll just pop the locks and take this baby back to our garage. The tools there'll make quick work of whatever's in that thing."

Chuckling in a low, hoarse voice, the third crook grinned. "That's why you're the boss, Rick. You're the smart one, no doubts about it."

"Got that right," Rick said, setting to work at slipping the thin piece of metal between the driver's window and the frame of the truck. A few slips of the wrist and one satisfying pop later and the door clicked open. "Everyone in and let's get a move on."

As Jimmy and the lookout piled into the backseat, Rick settled into the driver's seat. His eyes darted quickly to the left and the right, sure that at any moment a cop would spring from the bushes waving a gun. The whole situation smelled of a poorly planned sting, but his boys had been casing the truck for hours without spotting anyone. What fool left their keys in the car and the engine idling in this day and age? Still….

Running his hand along the steering column one last time in search of a hidden kill switch, Ricky sat up straight and put his hands on the wheel and his foot on the gas pedal.

The truck obediently coasted forward as he pressed the accelerator, easing the vehicle out onto the street and down the road. They cleared the street, then the block, and soon the city limits. Smiling to himself as relief sunk in, Ricky thought of the idiot who left the truck unattended in the first place. "Man," he groused, "some smuck is going to pay through the nose for this one. What do you think one of these cherry-pickers cost, Jimmy? $17 k? 20?" He laughed, running his fingers along the stirring wheel. His minions laughed behind him. One of them dropped the heavy crowbar to the floorboard with a clang.

That is when the situation got a little weird.

"You mind picking that up?" An unfamiliar voice said.

The laughter fell silent and Ricky glanced around nervously, looking for the source of the sound. "Aw, crap! I knew this was a setup!" The lookout yelled, pulling the collar of his jacket up in a futile attempt to hide his face. "There must be cameras hidden in here somewhere, man."

The voice spoke again, this time a little louder, "No, there are no cameras anywhere in my interior. Now, will you please pick that metal bar up? I don't like objects that filthy under my seats."

Ricky glanced down at the radio, noticing at last that the sound came from the stereo system. Swallowing hard, he turned the radio off and pasted on a fake grin for his underlings. "Some whack job is playing a trick on us, guys. This is just a recording they put on a CD to scare us."

The truck bobbed underneath him and laughter erupted from speakers that received no signal from the radio. "You think I'm just a recording? By Primus, that's a new one in my books."

Rick slammed on the brakes then, bringing the truck to a screeching halt. "Man, these cops are sick bastards! They rigged up cameras, a secondary sound system, AND hydraulics into this puppy."

"You think this is all cameras, sound systems, and hydraulics huh?" The disembodied voice crooned. Locks clicked suddenly into place, leaving the three criminals scrambling at doors that no longer opened. "You haven't seen anything yet."

Then, the gas pedal hit the floor and the truck sped down the street at speeds that blurred the lights they passed into lines of color. The road curved sharply to the left and the truck veered with it, coming up onto two wheels before righting itself and speeding on. Passengers, bereft of seatbelts slid from one side to the other with painful results as the truck took turn after turn at dangerous speeds. Ricky slammed his foot down on the breaks several times, stopping only when his ankle twisted painful under his weight. His breath hissed between his teeth and he cursed loudly in three different languages.

"Huh," the truck said, "A man with your talent for language should find employment in the communications fields, not stealing trucks. You had enough yet?"

Reduced to tears, the lookout nodded his head vigorously. Jimmy muttered prayers under his breath, now clutching the crow bar to his chest with his feet held stiffly off the floorboards. Rick, tough to the end, gave a single sharp nod.

"Good." The truck stopped so suddenly that Rick felt it fishtail and he clutched the steering wheel for dear life, sure that the truck would flip. It did not and he soon realized that the doors had clicked open. Without a second thought he jumped from the vehicle and ran into the night, leaving his companions to stumble out on their own. They emerged a few seconds later, falling from the passenger side in a tangle of arms and legs. The truck laughed quietly and watched them go, pulling its doors closed with a soft click.

When they disappeared from sight, the truck bobbed once as though nodding in satisfaction. "A bot can't digest a little information in peace on this planet, can he? Download a couple thousand terabytes, grab a quick stasis to sort it, and they up and try to steal you. All well. I guess I should radio in…. Optimus Prime? This is Wheeljack. I've arrived earlier than anticipated and am awaiting your orders.

"Me? Yes, you might say that. The locals here are definitely a colorful bunch, a tad primitive though. Can you believe they haven't discovered gravitons yet? That's the basis of wormhole theory for Primus sake!"

If you don't know what kind of truck Wheeljack is, do a search on the GMC C5500 model and it'll come up. Not a bad looking truck for what it's designed to do.

The Moonlessnight: There you go. Say hello to Wheeljack, the first Autobot to be hijacked on his first day on earth. Get it? "Hi, 'Jack"? – grins – It's a poor excuse for a joke. Sorry. Anyway….

Like in previous chapters, this is an attempt to work the movie in with previous TF universes. This time, I tackled the wormhole/space bridge theories. Shameless "Star Gate" plug on describing my take on it because I just love that show. Hopefully, I pulled that off well enough for people to understand what I was getting at. Oh! Yes, I do realize that Sam keeps getting hurt in this story. I just can't keep the kid out of trouble. It's like that character enjoys it or something. Go figure.

I apologize again for the extreme lateness of this chapter. As is, I'm up until three most nights trying to balance work with some semblance of a social life. Then, there are my own personal stories to write as well. I'm working on a rather detailed series right now that I hope to have published some day and, needless to say, it is taking time. So, yeah. Sorry again and I hope to have the next installment of this story up in a much more timely manner. There's only a chapter or two left now barring any random inspiration. We're down to the home stretch.

Thank you to those of you who have stuck with me through all of these delays. Thank you to all the new fans too. Each and every one of you are what keep me writing this story, so pat yourselves on the back and keep on reviewing. – grins like a cat – Until the next post!