Chapter Four
It had been a long time since Jack had laid eyes on Bumblebee.
Skywatch was alive with activity as the decontamination crews went over the Autobot Shuttle post-landing. The hangar bays were still ratcheting closed above them, the last traces of the bright Nevada sun thinning away into a mere sliver down over the slate gray metal tarmac. The interior lights flickered on overhead, replacing the warm yellow solar illumination with the pale, dead white of artificial illumination. Only machines were allowed inside the sealed hangar bay, checking for radiation or foreign energies. The human representatives of Skywatch were kept behind transparisteel viewing walls until the Cybertronians had been cleared for entry. As a precaution, plasma turrets in the upper corners of the roof trained on the Autobots as they made their way down the landing platform. It wasn't exactly the welcome they would have received fifteen years ago.
Miko would not be coming immediately; she had to pick the kids up from school. She was excited to hear that the Autobots were back, but Jack was certain she would have been a bit more eager if it had been Bulkhead or Wheeljack on that vessel. She had the same sort of deep camaraderie with them that soldiers fighting in trenches together developed. Nevertheless, she hoped to see even grouchy old Magnus in the mesh again before something terrible happened.
Terrible was happening a lot more lately, and Jack was less than enthused when Bumblebee sent him a message that a Decepticon escapee was headed to Earth. Even less enthused when he was told it wasn't just any Decepticon, but a Phase Sixer - the same one that had violated Cybertronian secrecy on earth and necessitated the eventual escalation of alien warfare on earth. The current ban on Cybertronians could be laid squarely on that glitch's shoulders.
"Bee," came an almost reverent whisper from beside Jack.
Rafael Esquivez wasn't going to miss this for anything. Fifteen years had seemed like an eternity to be out of regular contact with his best friend in the whole universe. He hadn't been allowed to go anywhere near the battle sites to even see Bee during the international incident. His parents would have been insane to have let a preteen boy like him within miles of giant fighting robots.
Jack's parents had been a bit more lenient, but there had been considerable extenuating circumstances in that regard.
Colonel William Fowler stepped into the waiting room alongside Jack and Raf. Despite the gray hair, he didn't seem to show his age, and he'd trimmed down to his Army Ranger weight. Mrs. Fowler had insisted, after all. Nurses were picky about good health, and Jack's mom was probably the most picky nurse Jack had ever known.
"Well tie me to a flagpole and give me a salute," the Colonel muttered with a smile on his lips, looking at the Autobots assembling on the hangar floor, allowing the decontamination machines to scan them for errant radiation. "I never thought I'd see those big metal mugs again."
"Looks like there's some new mugs, too," Raf pointed out. "Bee and Ultra Magnus I know, but the other three I don't - Hey, is one of them piggy-backing the other?"
"Doesn't look like he has any legs," Colonel Fowler mused.
"They were carrying Sixshot when he escaped. If that's the worst of their injuries, Primus is smiling on them," Jack commented.
"Yeah, well, let's just hope Uncle Sam decides to be just as generous," Fowler stated. "Our hands are tied tighter than they used to be. An international incident tied to us right now would plunge us right back into the second depression from economic sanctions alone."
"With all due respect, Colonel," Jack countered, "We're gonna have bigger things to worry about than economic sanctions if Sixshot decides to begin global genocide here. Even if he doesn't, his presence alone might be all it takes to stir up a full-scale Breaker revolt."
"Maybe we should try to ask for their help," Raf suggested, looking longingly through the viewing window, wanting to rush out and catch up with Bumblebee.
"They might not be willing to help us anymore, thanks to Spike Witwicky," Jack sighed grimly, "and we have no idea how they're going to react to the TransMechanoids."
The machines inside the hangar bay trundled away from the Autobots, and the ready lights changed from warning read to blue stand-by. The transparisteel doors unsealed. "Well boys," Fowler said, "We're just going to have to hike up our britches and find out."
*.*.*.*
Robots! There were so many robots!
Las Vegas seemed to be littered with them. They were vehicles, they were humanoids, they were animals, they were inanimate objects that Tailgate and Sixshot attempted to guess the functions of across their internal radios. Everywhere they looked, amid the lights and noise and chaos of urban human civilization, there were robots.
Sixshot's somewhat paranoid behavior paid off for the two holomatter avatars. Utilizing shadowed areas and out of the way nooks and crannies between buildings, they kept out of the public eye. While Tailgate wouldn't have drawn more notice than the occasional warm glances of those with a fondness for babies, Sixshot stood out like a strobe light in the middle of a dark room.
"You're sure Cybertronians are blacklisted on this planet?" Tailgate questioned over his internal com link.
"Quite," Sixshot gruffly retorted, narrowing his eyes, the only visible part of his human false-face. "These are not Cybertronians. None of them wear any kind of badge or identification, and their behavior is too... automaton. Look." The ninja pointed to a automobile sales lot across the road from them. "Do you think any of us would simply sit there in the open sun awaiting our time to be sold?"
"Maybe not sold," Tailgate recanted, recalling what he had been told of the caste system back home. He craned his head over Sixshot's shoulder to try to get a better look at what was going on. Vehicles of all shapes were passing by in clusters at regular intervals, weaving in and out among tall white-gray buildings that rose high into the sky. Holographic ads hovered in mid-air in front of shops and along the sides of office buildings. Human beings passed them by on the sidewalk, the sounds of conversations, communication devices and shoe bottoms hitting concrete mingling with the soft whine of hydraulics, electronic tones and the krunk-krunk of heavier footsteps.
"Maybe we should just scan one of the vehicles around here and blend in," the minibot suggested, "seeing as how we don't exactly do that really well as-is."
"Very well, but I require something with more firepower than these commercial models offer," Sixshot stated.
"Oh, right, because there are combat models just rolling down the highway like it's no big deal," Tailgate retorted.
Sixshot grunted. "Fine. You may begin moving closer to the city. There's a vehicle market not far from our position. I'll be sure to help you pick something that blends in."
*.*.*.*
It had been a very long time since Bumblebee had set his optics on Jack Darby.
Well, it used to be Darby - apparently Jack's mother, June, and Agent William Fowler - now Colonel William Fowler - had hit things off well and ended up a mated pair. What was it humans called it? - Right, married. The closest thing that a Cybertronian had to that sort of pair bonding was conjunx endura, and it certainly didn't have anything to do with producing more Cybertronians. Apparently that meant a change in Jack's name from Darby to Fowler for legal reasons Bumblebee didn't quite comprehend or have time to worry about, but then hey, Orion Pax had his name changed too. It was the little similarities that helped when two different species were trying to come to terms with one another.
Coming to terms was harder than it used to be. After the failed attempt to cyberform Earth using the Omega Lock, the fight had intensified to unimaginable levels before Megatron's ultimate defeat. New York, one of the most populated cities in the world, had been reduced to radioactive debris after a wave of Decepticon occupation and extermination. Sixshot had blown everyone's cover when Megatron decided to up his game ahead of schedule.
There had been nothing Fowler could do to hold off the nuclear assault; a combined effort of terrified nations in Europe and Asia had pushed the button. If it had not been for the obvious threat to humanity that combiners like Devastator and Bruticus had brought to bear, world war three would have been a reality in short order. As it was, the United States of America had borne the brunt of global sanctions after Swindle had leaked to everyone - Autobot and Earth alike - that the head of Skywatch, Spike Witwicky, had been buying arms from the Decepticons and allowing for Cybertronian experimentation all along.
Skywatch had been the Autobot's shield in the final push to get the Decepticons off Earth. They had worked together, hidden the Autobots, supported them, even going so far as to free Optimus Prime after he'd been captured by the less Cybertronian-aware branches of the US military. Skywatch was supposed to help bring Earth up to speed with Cybertronian tech in order to help the fledgling human species from becoming extinct in the Great War. Fowler had put his full efforts into working alongside the Autobots, and making sure Jack, Miko and Rafael, when they came of age, were able to be recruited into the elite organization. It was a heavy blow when the then Colonel Witwicky had shown his true colors, and betrayed the Autobots for his personal glory and gain.
Skywatch had not been the same after that. Jack, Miko and Raf had mercifully not been old enough to be present for the day when the Autobots abandoned Earth, wounded and betrayed. Prowl's last scrap of trust had died that day. Nevertheless, despite all that had happened, despite Bumblebee becoming the next Prime after Optimus, despite the fight to restore the Well of All Sparks and the dragging chaos of trying to rebuild Cybertron in the face of so many returning refugees, there was at least one human that had left a stamp on Bee's mind, and every so often, occupied his thoughts. That same human was now running towards him, bolting out of the observation area beyond the open area of Hangar E.
"Bee, you came back!" Rafael cried aloud in joy, racing to catch up with the taller Cybertronian. Bumblebee laughed in spite of himself and crouched down on one knee to do his best to return the hug that was happening to his shin.
"Yeah, I just wish it had been on better circumstances," Bee apologized, smile on his lips. Raf had grown since Bee saw him last, no more the tiny ten-year-old with the big head and big hair hiding behind the screen of a laptop. Now twenty-five, Rafael had had quite a growth spurt, managing to stand just a bit taller than Jack Fowler. He was lean and lanky in build, and the white lab coat over his uniform suited him and his thin-rimmed, electronics-enhanced glasses well. His hair was still as big as ever, though his head finally seemed in proportion to the rest of him.
"You got bigger," Bee commented as Raf took a step back to look up at him, the young man grinning widely.
"Well yeah, that happens after fifteen years," Raf chuckled. Lowering his voice as the other approached, he added in a murmur, "It's good to have you around again. I really missed you."
Bumblebee's spark ached a little hearing that. His duties as leader had swept him away from friends on earth and the promises of continued contact. "I missed you too." He meant it.
Ultra Magnus made a noise like clearing his throat.
"Killjoy," Bee muttered as he stood up, giving Raf a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"We will have time for pleasantries later, Bumblebee," Ultra Magnus said, formal and dignified as always. "Right now there are more important matters to attend."
"You know I'm still Prime, right?" Bee questioned with a sideways glance at the taller white, red and blue carrier.
"That does not mean I cannot give advice," Ultra Magnus responded flatly, unperturbed by Bumblebee's irritation.
"The more things change," Jack stated with half a smile, shaking his head, then walking out past the safety zone towards the Cybertronians.
Colonel Fowler followed after, arms behind his back, looking up at the mechanical giants in front of him. His neck was going to ache if he had to keep his head tilted this far backwards. Even when he'd first come in contact with the Autobots, he was no spring chicken, and now that he was more ... seasoned, as June gently put it, he wasn't going to be able to push his physiology like he used to. He mentally noted to use the balcony above next time to see them all more eye to eye. Or eye to optic, however the case may be. "So, gentlemen," he began, addressing the motley crew of Autobots, "what brings you back to our little neck of the galaxy?"
"Much as I wish it was a courtesy call, it's not," Bumblebee explained. "We wouldn't have broken the blacklist if it weren't a serious matter. You know why we're here, and we need your help."
"We're willing to help," Jack said, "but things are different now here on Earth, and our hands are going to be somewhat tied. We have problems of our own to attend to that outweigh a rogue Decepticon."
The Autobots looked at each other, somewhat puzzled by Jack's statement. "What sort of problems?" First Aid asked, curious.
Colonel Fowler shouted to the soldiers stationed on the second floor balcony of that ringed the interior of the hangar. "Get the Bot-sized chairs, boys!" Turning back to the Autobots he added, "You might want to sit down before we get into it."
*.*.*.*
"A trash collection bot?" Tailgate whined. "Oh come on, I know you have me hostage and all that but you want me to scan a trash collection bot?!"
"It blends in, does it not?" Sixshot smugly answered. "I'm certain that it would gather as much attention here as it would back on Cybertron."
Tailgate grumbled obscenities under his breath as he passed a scanning beam over the compact, dirty, white-gray street maintenance robot. It continued on its way down the edges of the road, uncaring and unaware that its twin now sat on the sidewalks a short distance away.
"Huh. This feels ... strange," Tailgate said, extending a pair of manipulator arms from the front of his low-slung, boxy new alt-mode. "Sixshot, have you ever scanned an alt-mode on an alien planet?"
Sixshot had already duplicated a slick-looking indigo automobile that was obviously designed for speed and luxury. He pulled up behind Tailgate's alt-mode, keeping a close watch on his captive. "Yes. Why do you ask?"
"Well, is it supposed to feel like... redundancy?" Tailgate questioned, opening and closing the three-fingered claws at the end of his forward armatures.
"No," Sixshot flatly replied. "Although... I too felt something strange about scanning these Earth vehicles." He went silent for a moment and Tailgate quickly retracted his arms as a pair of humans on bicycles wheeled past them.
"A feeling of redundancy, you called it? ... Yes, there is something very familiar about these transforming human creations. I think this bears further investigation," Sixshot pondered aloud, coming to a firm decision.
A glossy red sports car with black stripes, spoiler and side markings parallel parked on the street opposite Sixshot and Tailgate's newly acquired alt-modes. "Man, those two are total idiots. Five bucks says they get picked up in the next ten minutes."
A bulky indigo sport utility vehicle rolled up behind the copper car, parking behind. "Yeah, but did you see what they just did? How did they change their shape like that?"
A white and red utility repair truck on tank treads, crane folded down over its top, rolled up to a stop behind the SUV. "They could be bait. Quality Control is getting more cunning by the day. I advise caution."
"Cheese it guys. QC's due for street patrol any minute, and we're here for the carrier, not the eraserheads over there," the vermillion sports car chastised, shutting off her engine. The other two vehicles went silent, looking all the world like their drivers were inside the deli nearby, getting something to eat on lunchbreak.
The street lights all turned red, and a series of high pitched beeps filled the air. PA boxes posted at the intersections both in front of and behind the two Cybertronians crackled to life.
"Quality Control check will begin in five minutes. All TransMechanoids will be scanned for reformatting records. All Transmechanoids who have missed their last scheduled reformatting will be transported to Maintenance Hub 56-A for scheduled reformatting. If your Transmechanoid is missing, please contact Quality Control. Remember: Regular reformatting prevents dangerous software glitches and accidents. Always blank your Transmechanoid on schedule. It's not just a good idea: It's the law. Thank you for your cooperation."
At the end of the street, a huge, heavily armored tracked vehicle made a wide turn and started up the middle of the road. Charcoal gray and marked with insignias designating it as a police vehicle and priority vehicle, it resembled a bullet train engine fused with a tank and a double decker bus. Red, white and blue lights flashed on top of the vehicle. A radar dome rested in the center of the roof, and scanning beam arrays in rotating domes along its sides were homing in on vehicles lined up along either side of the street.
It made an alarm chirp and came to a stop with a hiss of pressurized gasses and faint squeal of metal against metal. From deep inside the vehicle, a loudspeaker announced in a flat, synthesized monotone: "Reformat schedule out of date. This Transmechanoid will now be escorted to Maintenance Hub 56-A for blanking. Owner has been notified. Thank you for your cooperation." The back of the vehicle opened into a ramp, and a series of smaller wheeled drone robots poured out like an ant swarm over a van-like automobile. The smaller drones clamped themselves to the sides of the vehicle while some rolled under it; interlinking to each other with metal cables, they engaged lifting jacks, and picked the vehicle up, rolling it to the back of the carrier, up the ramp and inside. The liftgates shuttered closed and locked down, ramp retracting. The carrier's powerful engine rumbled and it began its slow, steady crawl up the street.
+Uh, Sixshot? Do we have reformatting schedules?+ Tailgate asked over his internal communicator, worried.
+Highly unlikely,+ Sixshot responded back.
+Then what are we going to do? I don't know about you, but being "reformatted" doesn't sound like something I want to participate in,+ Tailgate radioed back as the carrier rolled ever closer.
+Then we will destroy it,+ Sixshot said plainly.
+Isn't that going to blow our cover?+ Tailgate asked, pensive.
+We have what we need now. I see no reason to maintain it,+ Sixshot flatly answered.
+That's easy for you to say, you're a walking army!+ Tailgate protested. +I'm a waste disposal unit posing as a waste disposal unit!+
+Then it should be easy for me to keep you unharmed,+ Sixshot smoothly radioed back, his engines revving up audibly in preparation for battle.
Tailgate was stunned by the fact that Sixshot was actually going to cover him against what could be any number of unknown enemies or weapons technology - at least for now as a part of his plan - but his delayed expression of gratitude was cut off as the carrier homed in on another vehicle further behind them in the street.
Or, to be specific, it wasn't a vehicle - it resembled a large Earth insect, the kind that could be mistaken for an Insecticon if you weren't positive there weren't any Insecticons left on the planet. Tucked out of the way into side-street between buildings meant for trash disposal access, it was a robotic cricket with a main body roughly the size of a large motorcycle. It was primarily black, its chassis plating ending in iridescent metal edging that added a note of decorative beauty to the mechanical beast. Its build looked nimble and swift, with long sweeping antennae, thin multi-jointed legs, long, translucent wings, and a slender abdomen ending in a sharply-pointed rod, the purpose of which Tailgate could only guess at. Its optics were bright aqua, seeming lively and alert under their hexagonal mosaic surface, fixed on the carrier as its scanners tracked the cricket in return.
"Reformatting schedule not found. Confiscation commencing." The back of the carrier opened and the tiny wheeled robots made their descent, swarming towards the cricketoid. Sixshot maintained his position, observing impassively, preparing for when the carrier would scan himself and Tailgate and find no records. Tailgate inched forward, having difficulty sitting still.
"No!" the cricket shouted in denial as the drone swarmers tried to wrap cables around her back legs. She - the voice sounded definitively female - began kicking away the retrieval drones. "No!" she shouted again, struggling to disentangle herself as more cables were wrapped around her limbs, the surprisingly strong, heavy drones beginning to pull her like a roped steer towards the opening liftgate of the carrier.
Confusion and urgency rose in Tailgate's spark. No, this was no automaton he was seeing, he was sure of it! This was something that had some kind of life to it. It was aware of the danger in front of it, it was resisting being pulled into the carrier. Drones didn't do that. The other "transmechanoid" didn't so much as move as it was taken inside the back of that armored monster. This Insecticon (he had decided to think of her that way, it was just easier and came automatically to his mind) was fighting for what could be her life, and Tailgate didn't want to just stand back and let her die. Phase Sixer be slagged, he was going to save her-
- Until three vehicles across from him suddenly transformed and ran towards the carrier!
...
"They're called Transmechanoids," Colonel Fowler explained as the Autobots took their seats around the oversized table, Fowler, Jack and Rafael standing on the tabletop on the other side of it to remain visible. "After the the Decepticons left, after Witwicky betrayed you and Skywatch both, after the last Cybertronian was gone, the world largely got its act together - somethin' about threats from outside the planet made everyone stop and reconsider all the petty arguments we'd had as nation-states for the last couple of thousand years. There was a concerted effort between several brain trusts in five major countries to take everything we'd found that you and the Decepticons left behind, and try to bootstrap ourselves into a planet capable of defending itself from extra-planetary assault. We didn't want another New York or Darkmount to happen."
"With some retroengineering, five different tech development facilities managed to recreate the Cybertronian body - minus the spark, minus the intellect - thus, "Transforming Mechanized Androids", or Transmechanoids. T-Mechs or Transmechs if you wanna shorten it up a bit," Fowler continued. "At first they were just for defensive purposes only, but eventually we saw a use for them in civilian lines. We freed up the technology and the developers from those five international braintrusts founded PentaTech, which made T-Mechs available to the public. Now we use them for about anything you can imagine - construction, environmental repair and management, shipping, even as family vehicles and helpers. In the last fifteen years, Earth's economy has shifted, and T-Mechs have become irreplaceable. We need them as much as we needed oil in the Gasoline Age."
...
"Make it quick boys, the cops will be here in short order!" the red and black female robot shouted, leaping out of vehicle mode and running towards the cricketoid. Hot on her heels, the indigo SUV and red and white repair truck shifted out of vehicle forms, becoming a heavy set bruiser of a mech, and a slender, nimble mech with a crane over his right shoulder.
"On it!" the repair truck crisply retorted in a calm baritone voice, leaping over a parked vehicle, running towards the Quality Control carrier. "Dirt Drop, would you be so kind as to keep the carrier in one place?" he asked as his larger companion thundered across the asphalt, shaking the ground a little with each step. 'Dirt Drop' nodded, a huge grin spreading across his face. "I'll hold it down, you do the surgery!"
+What an interesting turn of events,+ Sixshot radioed to Tailgate, sounding thoroughly amused.
+I-I thought there weren't any Cybertronians on Earth!+ Tailgate exclaimed, still rattled by what was going on around him, watching as the dark blue-violet mech sunk his grip into either side of the Quality Control carrier's bullet-train front. The carrier's treads reversed immediately, and Dirt Drop, or so he had been called, dug his feet into the ground, pulling against the heavy, thickly armored vehicle as it tried in vain to escape, its engines roaring and treads grinding away bits of pavement in a cloud of dust and sparks.
+As did I,+ Sixshot noted. +Perhaps we were incorrectly informed - and yet, there aren't any badges on any of them. No Autobot, no Decepticon, not even a sigil from the days of the castes or the Golden Age. Maybe these are just some kind of earth-based mechanical life-form. There are other races besides our own.+
That was true; some were smaller, some were larger - they'd met others on Hedonia, like the Ammonites and Terradores. Tailgate's sensor-focus returned to the fray going on in front of him. He still wanted to intervene, but he was second-guessing himself on which side to take.
...
Fowler was not surprised by the looks of shock and concealed abhorrence on the Autobot faces across the table from him. If someone had told him that another species was cloning mindless human bodies for labor or for use as saddle animals, he'd probably react the same way. He only hoped that the revulsion in the Cybertronians he was speaking to would not be so great as to destroy the Autobot's quiet alliance with humanity for keeps.
"Not all of us were on board with the idea," Jack added, arms crossed over his chest, expression serious. "But after New York City was overrun with Decepticons in short order, after seeing what Devastator was capable of . . . we got scared. Suddenly there was a whole universe out there that could wipe us out with casual ease. I guess we decided that we needed to protect ourselves with the strongest things we could find, which happened to be whatever Cybertronians left behind. The people here, with us now? We always saw you as friends. Fellow intelligent beings in the universe just trying to survive in peace." Jack looked down, his tone lowering. "Unfortunately, there are humans out there that see you as machines that aren't really living things, just parts and wires and fluids and bad programming. They hold Cybertronians in the same kind of contempt that most Decepticons did for anything made of flesh and bone."
Bumblebee was visibly struggling to keep himself emotionless as memories of Spike Witwicky, the Headmaster program, and MECH burst in on his though processes. He tried to think of all the good times with Raf to calm the tide of anger, disbelief and revulsion rising inside. Venting slowly, he reminded himself that fear and desperation can make even the best beings do the unspeakable.
"Please tell me you copied me for your helicopters," Whirl cheerfully piped up. "I always wanted an army of zombie clones to do my bidding." Ultra Magnus grimaced harder. First Aid rubbed his hand across his optics.
Cyclonus chose to ignore his temporary talking backpack and fixed his attentions on the small organic-based creatures in front of him. "Sparks," he said flatly, devoid of reaction. "Do these TransMechanoids have sparks?"
"No," Raf answered. "I don't think that's something we could ever make, no matter how much retroengineering we've done."
"Then they are not alive ," Cyclonus replied, calm and collected. "Machines made in our image. Nothing more."
"That's what we thought too," Colonel Fowler replied, frowning. "Until the Breakers started appearing."
...
"Three minutes!" the repair truck alt-mode shouted to the others. "The carrier's radioed for the police!"
The vermillion female had avoided the carrier altogether, headed straight for the cricketoid, who was now almost covered in the swarmer drone units. Her struggles were weakening and the drones were starting to pull her faster towards the carrier, heedless of its embattled state. Arcs of blue-white electricity suddenly danced over the glossy black plating of the cricketoid as the swarmers tried to fry her motors. She screamed in agony.
+That... that sounded like pain,+ Tailgate pointed out to Sixshot, voice quavering.
+So it did,+ Sixshot answered, unmoved by the creature's plight.
+Aren't we going to DO something about this?+ the minibot's engine revved up and he inched forward on his wheels, increasingly agitated by the drama playing out in front of him.
+No,+ Sixshot replied. +I want to watch this. I want to see what happens.+
+You monster!+ Tailgate shouted in fury. +I'm not going to just sit here and let them get reformatted when they're obviously fighting for their lives to escape it!+
Plates on top of Sixshot's hood slid away and the nozzles of beam guns trained on the minibot-turned-trash disposal unit. +You will stay HERE,+ Sixshot hissed in a voice like ice. +Do not forget your position in all of this. If you move before I allow it, I'll escort you personally to the Pit. Do you understand?+
Tailgate ground his gears, seizing up the movement of his wheels as he wrestled with himself. He could try to outrun Sixshot's weapons to help these fellow mechanoids, but it was unlikely in his present form that he'd get far enough to help. He'd be snuffed in short order, and his desire to do the right thing would end in his death, and that would help no one. The only thing he could do was watch. Watch and hope that these strange Cybertronian-like robots would be able to make their escape.
The red and black female showed no fear. She thrust her hands into the electrified swarm, crushing drones in her hands, wrenching them free from the whimpering cricketoid whose servos were smoking and giving out. The female mechanoid was not immune to the electricity; she gritted her dental plates and bore through it forcing herself to keep going, keep tearing off drones, stamping them into scrap with her feet, and redirecting power to back-up actuators in her shoulders and wrists. "Gauge!" she shouted. "We might need a jump over here, cut faster!"
The repair-truck, now identified as 'Gauge', was using an emergency saw against the thick plating of the carrier. Its tread mechanisms were smoking and heating up, chunks of road flipping out behind it and to the sides, flicking against buildings and parked vehicles. The attack on the carrier was activating automated defenses along either side of the street. Humans had taken shelter immediately inside storefronts, which were dropping armored, bullet-proof plating down over doors and windows. Some vehicles were responding by extending defensive plating over their inert forms, transforming them into motionless, armadillo-like domes.
"I can't cut any faster Wildfire!" Gauge shouted back, naming the red female car-form, sparks flying from the saw in his hands as he drew it down over the side of the carrier's plating just in front of a welding seam.
"You've got a hole in it right?" Dirt Drop asked. "Just let me get my hand in it, I'll rip it open!"
Gauge snapped his gaze towards Dirt Drop in concern. "That armor is inch-thick carbon steel!" he shouted, shocked. "You'll tear off your arms!"
Dirt Drop grinned lazily, determination burning in his gold optics. "Yeah, but it'll get the prisoners out won't it? You know what we say!"
Gauge nodded grimly and the two spoke at the same time. "Better broken than blanked!" The repair-truck hopped down from the side of the carrier, running across the street to Wildfire and the cricketoid.
...
"Breakers?" First Aid asked.
"T-Mechs that started doing things outside of their programming," Colonel Fowler explained. "Sometimes it's just buggy software or a malfunction in some electronic system in the T-Mech. After some of them crashed or caused fatal accidents, laws were put into place to have their computer cores wiped clean and reinstalled every few weeks to make sure things are running smoothly. We couldn't afford to have a military T-mech the size of Ultra Magnus going haywire and shooting up a civilian area, you get the idea. The United Earth Defense Forces even installed Quality Control centers around the globe where T-Mechs could get repaired and blanked. Because of the risk T-Mechs cause when they get out of control, specially designed scanning and retrieval carriers were created to ensure that folks who get lazy or forgetful about maintenance don't end up making problems for everyone else."
"Over the last few years, however, we started getting reports from all over the globe that some T-Mechs were not just going haywire - they were acting on their own volition, like they'd just somehow developed free will on their own. I can't explain how it happened, but here at Skywatch, we've seen evidence that there are intelligent, free-willed Transmechanoids working together in cells all over the planet. The UN is tryin' its best to keep this all hush-hush and hide it from the public eye, but the numbers are growing every day. We've tried to make contact with them, but they just seem to appear and disappear without a trace, and they don't like people very much - not that I can blame them. We might be accidentally lobotomizing sentient beings through Quality Control."
"If that is true, and it became well known to the Galactic Council, Earth's position as a protected planet would be in jeopardy," Ultra Magnus stated thoughtfully. "I believe this kind of action is unintentional, but other races will not give humanity the benefit of the doubt. Without that protection, Earth would be open season for any less-than-moral civilization to exploit."
"Can you not just bring evidence of Transmechanoid intelligence to your government and end the core erasures?" Cyclonus asked.
"Oh, right, like that's gonna make everything better," Whirl snorted, his head visible over Cyclonus' right shoulder. "They're already trying to cover this stuff up. You think they're just do a total one eighty and admit to braining a bunch of intelligent beings publicly? I thought you were smarter than that, Cykey ol' pal."
"Don't call me that," Cyclonus grumbled.
"He's right," Jack said. "They don't want to admit that T-Mechs might be intelligent. It would throw our legal system into chaos, and it would halt production of Transmechanoids - maybe outlaw them altogether. Slavery isn't a popular concept in most of the world, but there are a lot of people that hate and fear Cybertronians because of what the war brought to our planet. The kind of upheaval that T-Mech independence might cause ... it would tear the fragile unity our nations have formed apart."
"So far TransMechanoids have been pretty peaceful, just freeing others from Quality Control patrols," Rafael continued, brows drawn together in concern, "but if something pushes them too far, they might revolt."
...
The sound of squealing, crumpling metal echoed through the street, bouncing off shielded buildings and into alleyways and sidestreets beyond as the armored QC carrier's structure gave way, peeling like the skin of an orange. Dirt Drop howled in herculean effort, his motors and internal structure pushed to its limits, threatening to buckle and tear. Sirens were wailing in the distance as the police began to close in.
The last of the drones over the cricketoid had been destroyed by Wildfire, who panted away internal heat, her paint charred black in erratic electrical burns across her frame. Gauge crouched next to her, assessing the weak movements of the T-Mech insect in front of them.
"Can you change form?" he asked the bug soothingly.
"No," she whimpered, limbs twitching. "Hurt. Hurt all over."
"She's losing syntholine," Gauge assessed. "We can save her if we get her out of here fast enough, but one of us is going to have to carry her. I don't dare try to drag her with my tow line, she doesn't have wheels and she won't survive rough treatment in her condition."
"I'll carry her," Wildfire stated, steeling herself to the danger ahead. "You and Dirt Drop take anyone in the carrier and split up, you know the drill."
"You're going to try to outrun the police on foot with a broken T-Mech?!" Gauge blurted out, incredulous.
"I can do this," she affirmed, rallying herself and trying to convince her comrade in turn. "Just get yourselves out of danger."
Gauge saw that he could not change her mind and gave in. There wasn't time left to argue. "Come home to us. Both of you," he urged quietly, as Wildfire carefully scooped the cricket into her arms, holding her like an oversized dog.
"We got a live one!" Dirt Drop announced a short distance away, lifting a smaller white, purple and gray mech out of the inside of the carrier. The prisoner's body was pockmarked with electrical burns - he'd struggled to escape but could not overcome the swarmers.
"Th-thank you, brother," the white and purple mech stammered, his voice raspy and weak. "I did n-not think to see a-another day."
The sirens were getting louder. The bright flash of blue and white up the street was getting brighter. Dirt Drop grinned, pleased to have rescued someone - anyone. In his mind even if something went wrong now, their raid would not have been in vain. "Thank me later. We gotta get out of here. Can you change shape?"
"I think so," the wounded mech said. "But I d-don't have enough fuel for a su-sustained chase."
"Gauge, hook him up!" Dirt Drop shouted, jumping down from the smoking, immobile wreck of the carrier, setting the purple mech down carefully on the street. Gauge quickly transformed, driving over to Dirt Drop and the rescued mech, extending a tow cable from a heavy winch a the back of his truck-bed. Dirt Drop turned with hook in hand to fit under the purple T-Mech's bumper when he gasped and nearly dropped the cable.
"He's a cop car!" the indigo SUV shouted in horror.
"P-please, I'm not a bait mech!" the police vehicle begged. "Don't you th-think w-we awaken too?"
"Hook him up!" Wildfire commanded. "We'll sort this out later but we are NOT leaving anyone behind, IS THAT CLEAR?"
"Sure, Wild," Dirt Drop muttered, blinking at the female robot's sudden intensity. He gingerly hooked up the cable to the bumper of the police vehicle as if terrified that it would grow a mouth and bite off his hands. Gauge rolled forward to test the connection, and when satisfied that it would not detach, and that their rescued police-mech was not in pain, revved his engine, speeding forward. "Let's go! Separate paths, meet up at the rendezvous point!" Dirt Drop transformed, his tires squealing as he shot forward, trying to catch up as quickly as he could. The police would be on top of them at any moment.
Wildfire turned and stared right at Sixshot and Tailgate.
"You two might wanna get your bumpers in gear too. Every last vehicle on this street is gonna be shipped of to Maintenance and core-wiped, so pretending to be a couple of dead batteries isn't going to get you out of trouble," she shouted to the two hidden Cybertronians.
"... You knew we weren't cars?" Tailgate questioned, shocked and sheepish.
"I could hear you two talking back and forth on shortband!" Wildfire exclaimed. "I don't know what the slag is going on between you two but the cops are almost here, so move your tailpipes!"
Sixshot transformed and rose up, pulling a blaster gun from from a compartment at his side. "I don't run from weaklings."
Wildfire gaped in horror. "No! No, what are you doing?!"
Precision laser fire cut into the engine of the lead police vehicle, hitting fuel components and detonating the engine. It slid out of control, other vehicles behind it crashing into it, some flipping end over end, some slamming into the burning wreck. Sixshot continued picking off vehicles one after another, the flames and wreckage rising as the Phase Sixer ended all oncoming pursuit with casual ease. Further explosions quickly drown out the sound of screeching tires and warped sirens, giving way to silence and the sound of roaring flames in the open air.
Sixshot holstered his gun. Tailgate transformed, staring at the carnage, his spark sinking, catching sight of small human-shaped corpses inside the debris.
...
"It would be like a Decepticon uprising all over again," First Aid murmured pensively. "All it would take is something or someone to trigger it."
"Sir!" a soldier burst in from the floor below. "There's a Breaker sighting, east end of Las Vegas!"
"That's just twenty miles from here!" Colonel Fowler exclaimed. "Do we have optics on the area?"
"Yessir!" the soldier shouted back. "Sir - I think the Autobots are gonna wanna see this too."
Ice knotted in the pit of Jack's stomach. "Patch it through to the holo-emitter up here."
The watermelon-sized silver dome in the center of the giant table lit up, multiple focusing arrays over its surface turning on, projecting a three-dimensional image in a circular mist between the Bots and human officers: The wreckage of dozens of police cars, a broken QC carrier, and three Cybertronian-esque figures standing between them in the street.
Cyclonus' spark nearly burst with emotion in his torso. "Tailgate!" he exclaimed. "He's alive!"
"He's with the Breakers?" Raf questioned, surprised by the scenario unfolding in front of them.
Jack's worst fears were confirmed in the moving, flickering light before his eyes. "And so is Sixshot."