by Peter David
There was a lengthy silence as the Russians looked at one another. There was no discussion; apparently they had been together for so long that they could more or less read one another’s minds.
Finally they seemed to come to a mutual conclusion. The old man said, “My name is Dmitri, and I will tell you what you wish to know, as long as”—he pointed at Simmons—“we do not have to listen to that one’s annoying voice.”
“Done,” Sam said quickly before Simmons could open his mouth.
Nodding in satisfaction, Dmitri walked across the room to the portrait of the Russian leader. He swung it aside to reveal a wall safe. Entering the combination, he opened it. Sam could see there was a stack of large, flat envelopes inside it. Dmitri reached in, pulled them out, and walked back to the backgammon table. The other men stepped aside, and one of them gestured for the Americans to approach.
Dimitri spread the pictures on the table. “America first send man to the moon. But USSR first to send cameras. In 1959, our Luna 3 take pictures of far side and see nothing. But in 1963, Luna 4 sees strange rocks. Hundreds of them. Then Luna 4 lose contact … forever.”
Sam leaned in to study the pictures. “I’ve seen those! They’re …”
Then he stopped, suddenly hesitant, unsure of how much he should say in front of the Russians. Stepping in quickly, Simmons pulled Sam to one side and looked at him expectantly.
In a low voice, Sam said, “They’re the pillars for a space bridge. Our side found five.”
“Decepticons must’ve raided the ship before Apollo 11 ever got there,” said Simmons, whispering in deference to Sam’s promise to the Russians. “Took the pillars, hid ’em, used humans to help keep ’em hidden. Which means they’re still up there.”
“But it doesn’t make sense! If they found the ship and have all those pillars, why’d they leave Sentinel? I mean, if only Sentinel can use them …” Then the realization slowly dawned on him. “He’s the one thing they still need.” Simmons nodded; it all seemed to make sense. With growing urgency, Sam said, “Let’s get Bee to find Sentinel. We’ve got to keep him safe!”
PENNSYLVANIA
“Allentown?”
Of all places for Sentinel Prime to be, Sam didn’t expect it to be somewhere as mundane as Allentown. Then again, it was as good a place as any, he supposed.
It felt great to be behind the wheel of Bumblebee again. He’d ridden with Simmons at Seymour’s insistence when they had gone to Atlantic City, but now, with Bumblebee leading the way for the rendezvous with Sentinel Prime, he had made it clear to Simmons that he was going to be reteamed with his old friend, and that was the end of that discussion.
Getting Simmons to wait at the truck stop outside Allentown with the Autobots had been no easy task. He simply didn’t need Simmons and his gung ho attitude in the mix, especially since he had no idea what he was going to be dealing with when he encountered Sentinel. Finally he had said to Simmons, “Look, we don’t know what we’re going to be facing. Could be anything. What if Decepticons are already on the scene? We go in with all our resources in one shot and we fall into an ambush, that’s it, game over, end of story. We need to hold the big guns like you in reserve.”
He had been thrilled to see Simmons beginning to nod as he spoke and even happier when Simmons patted him on the shoulder and said, “That’s a plan. That’s a smart plan. You’re finally starting to think like an agent, kid. Obviously, I’m rubbing off on you.” That was a horrifying notion to Sam, but he kept his smile plastered on his face and thanked Simmons for the vote of confidence.
They moved through the streets of Allentown. A police car cruised past going in the other direction, and Sam could see the cop at the wheel watching him with open curiosity and perhaps even a bit of admiration. Sam suspected they didn’t get a lot of Camaros rolling through there. He kept the car moving at the speed limit, and he wasn’t weaving, so they didn’t have any cause to pull him over, which was good. He didn’t feel like answering a lot of questions right then.
“So you still following his beacon, Bee?” said Sam.
The radio flared to life. Sonny and Cher sang, “I got you, babe …”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Abruptly the wheel began to turn, and Sam removed his hands from it. The Camaro hung a right and headed toward an elementary school or, more specifically, the schoolyard. Since it was Saturday, naturally it was empty.
Then, to his surprise, Bee drove up over the curbside and into the yard itself. He was moving around the school toward where Sam assumed the play area was.
“Bee,” Sam said nervously. “We’re not supposed to be doing that. They generally like it if you keep off the grass in parks, so this is, y’ know, not cool and—”
Bee rolled to a stop. He did not, however, back up. Instead he turned off the engine, and the driver’s side door opened.
Taking the hint, Sam climbed out of the car and looked around, unsure of what he was supposed to be looking at. Yes, there was a playground nearby, with swings and a seesaw, a jungle gym, and a …
Fire engine?
Not just any fire engine. The words “Port of Portland” were emblazoned on the side, and below that, “Airport Fire Rescue.” It could not have looked more out of place.
“You’re kidding,” said Sam.
Slowly Sam walked toward it, watching it carefully, and called out, “Sentinel? Sentinel Prime?”
An instant later he heard the now-familiar sounds that signaled the changing of an Autobot from one form into another. Hundreds of metal plates snapped around, and within seconds the fire engine was now standing in front of Sam, looking down at him.
“Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“We don’t sleep,” said Sentinel Prime.
“Right, I should have remembered that. Hi. I’m, uh, Sam Witwicky. I was there when Optimus resurrected you. I’m a friend of his.”
“He never mentioned you to me.”
That hurt.
“However,” Sentinel continued diplomatically, “he has a good deal on his mind. So you and this fine soldier have sought me out.” He gestured toward Bumblebee, who promptly changed into his robotic form but remained on bended knee.
Unsure of the protocol, Sam went to one knee as well.
“Oh, stand up,” Sentinel said with a touch of impatience. “The both of you. I appreciate the shows of respect, but I do not require constant obeisance from the Autobots. And you, human, are so tiny that I can scarcely see you down there when you’re upright, much less kneeling. So please, on your feet.”
Both of them did as they were bidden. Sam said, “I, uh … I kind of figured Optimus would be with you, actually.”
“I desired the opportunity to experience humanity on my own.”
“And you did it here?”
“As good a place as any,” he said, unconsciously reflecting Sam’s own thoughts on the matter. “Small humans climb upon me and frolic. Adults stand near, watching over them. It is curious.”
“What is?”
“I have been monitoring your various broadcasts, and there are constant reports of fractiousness among your people: divides along racial lines, philosophical boundaries. Yet children of all races, creeds, and colors cavort upon me, pretending to be firefighters, with no recognition of the differences between them. Meanwhile the adults, also of various ethnicities, engage in casual and friendly conversation and immediately discourage any fights or discord between the children. I have therefore concluded that for your civilization to reach its true potential, what your planet requires is more playgrounds.”
Sam smiled at that. “I actually think that’s a great idea. I’ll suggest that when we get back to NEST.”
“And why,” said Sentinel, “would ‘we’ be inclined to do that?”
Stepping forward, Sam said, “Because you’re in danger. Terrible danger from the Decepticons.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“With all respect, sir, I don’t think
you realize just how much of a target you are. This is all about you. It always has been. And when—not if—when the Decepticons show up, it’s not going to be some accidental encounter that’s gonna result in a skirmish.” He got louder, speaking with greater urgency. “They’re going to come at you with everything they’ve got, because they need you for something. Something big, something that could, I dunno, wind up resulting in the death of everybody on this world, including all the playgrounds and all the children everywhere.”
Sentinel Prime considered his words and then said, “Very well, friend of Optimus. Lead on … and I will follow.”
Sam couldn’t believe it was that simple. “Okay! Okay, well … that went way easier than I’d have thought possible.”
It was the last thing that would.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Charlotte Mearing hated having to head up to the Hill on Saturdays. Senators tended to dress down on those days, and she felt that it was inappropriate to the office. If you’re going to work, then dammit, look like you’re working.
But it couldn’t be helped. The late afternoon was the only time the idiot senator she had to see had open, and since he was an idiot in charge of appropriations, that meant she had to accommodate him. Her aides were on either side of her, rattling off some last-minute budget numbers that her steel-trap mind instantly grabbed on to for the upcoming meeting.
And then, as she prepared to cross the street to go up to the Hill, a familiar yellow Camaro came roaring up and cut off her approach. And who else was at the wheel but Sam Witwicky? What the hell had he been up to, and why was he riding around in Bumblebee? And how—?
“How did you know where I was going to be?” she said.
Then she jumped back slightly as Brains suddenly popped up from the backseat of the Camaro. “Yeah, that was me. I checked your appointment schedule on your computer.”
“You broke into my office?”
“Nah. Did it from an Internet café outside Baltimore.”
“That’s impossible! How could you possibly hack through all the firewalls?”
“You’re kidding, right? Look who you’re talking to.”
She hated to admit it, but the robot had a point. She turned her attention to someone she was sure would give her less aggravation. “Mr. Witwicky, I thought I was clear.” She gestured for the aides to get Sam out of the way. But the aides hesitated, and she immediately understood why. Witwicky was sitting in an Autobot. If he wasn’t inclined to move, a couple of aides weren’t in a position to make him do so.
“Listen!” Sam said more forcefully. “This whole thing’s been a trap! The Decepticons wanted Optimus to find Sentinel Prime. Because only Optimus had the way to revive him!”
She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“Sentinel’s the key. He’s what they’re looking for. We’re escorting him back to NEST now. I’m going to meet up with them on the way, soon as I’m done here.”
“We? Who’s we? Who’s them?”
“Mirage. Sideswipe. And”—he hesitated and then said—“some others.” Obviously he was hiding something, but he went on before she could ask. “Look, you were right, okay? Obviously, the bridges can be weaponized! And it’s something that the Autobots would never do, but the Decepticons sure as hell would, and they need Sentinel for that!”
“But we have his space bridge. It’s safe.”
“You have five pillars. They have hundreds! You’ve done just what they wanted. They’re gonna be coming for Sentinel Prime!”
Oh, my God, thought Mearing. Oh, my God, what have we done … what have I done …
Her phone started ringing. She glanced at the incoming phone number; it was the office of the senator with whom she was supposed to meet. Doubtless they were wondering why she was late.
She hit “ignore” and sent it to voice mail. Then she looked Sam in the eye and said, “Why did you go on ahead to … I mean, why did you come to me? To tell me all this?”
He had the answer ready: “Just trying to respect the chain of command.”
If Mearing were capable of smiling, she would have done so.
Instead, turning on her heel, she shouted to her confused aides, “We’re going to NEST! Now! Witwicky, follow m—!”
But obviously Sam Witwicky, or perhaps Bumblebee, had other ideas. The yellow Camaro whipped around in a sharp U-turn, causing other cars to screech to a halt, and roared off down the road.
VIRGINIA
i
The convoy of Autobots sped down I-66. Simmons was in the lead, Dutch at the wheel, watching the road carefully. The Autobots were behind them: first Mirage, then the long fire truck that was this new guy they were talking about, and bringing up the rear was Sideswipe.
Simmons was feeling damned good about this. The fate of the world was in his hands again, and he really liked how it felt against his palms.
Then, from an on-ramp onto 66, three black Suburbans came rolling on, pulling alongside the convoy. The moment they drew within range, blinking lights atop them began to spin.
“Hey, we got help! The kid came through in spades!” Simmons said to Dutch triumphantly. “Looks like an FBI convoy.”
And suddenly one of the Suburbans was no longer rolling.
It was running, sprinting like a large metal lion, keeping pace effortlessly. It was Crankcase, who let out a roar that thundered through the morning air. Cars that were ahead of them sped frantically to get away, and Simmons could see the terrified faces of children looking out the back window of a soccer mom van.
They needn’t have worried. They weren’t the targets. Simmons knew all too well who was.
“Battle stations!” Simmons shouted, grabbing for a rifle that was lying on the seat next to him. He hadn’t been expecting a Decepticon attack, but it never hurt to be prepared.
He heard a horrific screech of metal, and suddenly the roof of his Maybach was being torn open. Simmons looked up and saw the Dread perched atop the car. Quickly he swung the rifle up to take aim, but Crankcase was too quick. It reached down, grabbed him, and yanked him up and out of the car. The rifle fell out of his hand, tumbling into the front seat.
Simmons slammed his fists into the creature’s face even though he knew it would do no good. The Dread roared at him, its mouth wide open, and Simmons tried to pull away but couldn’t.
Dutch did the only thing he could: He slammed on the brakes.
The instant he did so, Simmons and Crankcase went hurtling over the front of the car, tangled together. They tumbled forward, rebounded off the hood, and hit the highway, falling to the side, as the Maybach continued to skid past, leaving black tire marks and a smell of burning rubber behind. The impact caused them to separate from each other, and Simmons kept rolling. He heard a horrific crack, and pain ripped down his right leg. He knew immediately that it was broken.
That might well have been the least of his problems, because as he lay there, helpless, he saw the Autobots, still in car form, speeding toward him. Simmons let out a horrified shriek. He rolled frantically toward the shoulder of the road, ignoring the agony that was shooting up and down the entire right side of his body. The oncoming Autobots quickly course corrected and swerved to avoid him, just missing him.
Simmons banged into a railing on the edge of the shoulder that stopped his rolling. He gasped for breath and felt even more pain, now in his chest. He might well have cracked a rib. He heard a low roar and twisted around just in time to see Crankcase coming right toward him, across the highway, and he had no way to stop the thing.
And then, a split instant before the Dread reached him, a vehicle speeding backward slammed into it. It was the Maybach, driven in reverse by Dutch. The Dread let out a screech of protest that was quickly accompanied by a screech of twisted metal as the car ran over the bot, grinding it beneath its wheels. Simmons flinched as he heard an explosion but then realized it was one of the tires on the car blowing out. It thump-thumped over the remains of Crankcase and ground t
o a halt. The Dread shuddered a few times and then lay still.
Dutch leaped out of the car and ran to Simmons, kneeling next to him. Simmons looked up at him.
“This is what happens when you give in to temptation,” Simmons said, and then the pain overwhelmed him and he passed out.
ii
Bumblebee was hurtling up I-66 East when Sam saw the eminently conspicuous red fire engine that was Sentinel heading toward them, going westbound. “Perfect,” said Sam.
Then he realized that there was no sign of the Maybach. Simmons was supposed to be in the lead; instead he was MIA. The vehicles were moving much, much faster than they had been before.
The dashboard radio flared to life, and Robert Preston’s voice sounded in the car: “Well, you got trouble, my friend, yes sir, you got trouble, right here in River City …”
It was a divided highway, but there was a break coming up in the median railing that ran down the middle. It had a big sign that read “OFFICIAL VEHICLES ONLY.” Bumblebee ignored it, and Sam didn’t care about it; the biggest problem they should have at that moment was getting ticketed for making an illegal turn.
Bumblebee canted his wheels, causing himself to fishtail and whip around. He skidded past the break sideways, then gunned the engine and darted forward through the break without slowing down. The move brought them to the forefront of the caravan, right next to the speeding sports car that was Mirage’s alternative form.
That was when Sam spotted the two black Suburbans coming up on either side of them. Unlike Simmons, he wasn’t fooled for a moment.
He leaned out the window and shouted to Mirage, “Tell Sentinel to get outta here! You guys cover him!”
There was a roar of a powerful engine behind him. It was the fire engine, accelerating like a freight train.
“Watch out, watch out!” Sam shouted unnecessarily, because the sports car and and the Camaro were already responding, darting out of the fire truck’s way. Immediately Sam saw the wisdom of Sentinel’s actions: He was clearing the way for his protectors to be better able to move into defensive positions.
