by David, Peter
Mearing had been all for taking the two of them to a holding facility until they could be thoroughly debriefed. But Lennox had advocated that they be allowed to watch the process, arguing that when it came to the business of the Autobots, a well-informed Sam Witwicky was simply of more value to them than one who was being kept in the dark. Meanwhile, Sam had said he had no intention of allowing Carly to be escorted away, and so after some extended back-and-forth and Mearing ultimately declaring that she had no more time to waste on this, the two young people had been escorted to their current location, where they watched in rapt amazement.
Just when I think they have no more surprises up their mechanical sleeves, Sam thought.
“Optimus,” Lennox said over his communication device. “Authorized to attempt contact.”
Moments later, a blue and red truck came rolling in. Sam couldn’t help smiling. He had never asked for any of this craziness his life had become. Never asked for Prime and his army of Autobots to drop into the middle of his utterly normal existence and stand it on its end. Certainly he’d never asked to be thrust into positions where his life was in constant peril.
Yet for all of that …
Damn. It was good to see him again.
The truck slowed to a halt and then began to shift and rearrange itself. In short order, Optimus Prime stood at his full height. Getting down to business, his chest compartment opened to reveal a glowing energy ball encased in what looked like a spherical metal cage. It was inset into a holder that was vaguely diamond-shaped, except either side of it was flared and extended. Overall it had the appearance of a great winged creature with the tip of one wing pointing up and the other down.
“That’s the Matrix of Leadership,” Lennox informed Mearing, who nodded slowly. “Optimus holds the only thing in the universe that could ever repower them.”
“Sentinel Prime,” came the deep voice of Optimus, “we bid your return.”
Optimus Prime then plunged the Matrix into the chest of Sentinel Prime. Sam felt a rush of déjà vu, for it was in a similar manner that he had once restored Optimus himself to life.
The effect was instantaneous. A pulse of pure energy surged through the being called Sentinel Prime. His back arched, and his head tilted toward the ceiling. And then he cried out in pain and primal rage.
It quickly became evident that his warrior instincts had not dimmed with the passage of time. Apparently, his last memory was of being attacked, and that carried over into the way he came out of his lengthy “death.” Barely had he become reenergized than he lunged from his makeshift throne, grabbed Optimus, and threw him to the ground. When Optimus’s body struck, it unleashed a clang so loud in the enclosed space that to Sam it was like standing with his head inside the bells of Notre Dame cathedral while they were chiming.
Even as Sentinel Prime immobilized Optimus, his forearm extended into a deadly blade pointed directly at Optimus’s Spark chamber.
NEST soldiers all around the room immediately brought their weapons up, but they were uncertain as to how to proceed. Optimus Prime was vulnerable, and Sentinel Prime’s capabilities were unknown. When the bullets started flying, they might well end up killing Optimus while simply pissing off Sentinel.
Obviously that was what Lennox was thinking, because he threw his arms wide and shouted, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Leave it to Optimus!”
Leave it to Optimus. Worst name for a robot sitcom ever, Sam thought bleakly, trying to fight down the overwhelming sense of fear that he was about to witness his great friend’s death yet again … and quite possibly forever this time.
And then, the picture of calm, Optimus said, “Sentinel, it is I.”
Slowly, very slowly, the words seemed to penetrate the haze of fury that had fallen upon Sentinel. Lowering his sword arm, he started looking around the room. Other Autobots were now gathering, regarding him with reverence and awe.
“The Ark,” said Sentinel Prime, putting his hand to his head. Each word was heavy, thick, as if he were re-learning how to speak. “It was … spinning … out of control …”
“Yes,” said Optimus. “You were crippled by Starscream.”
“I locked myself … within the crash vault. I did not know … if I would ever look upon one of my kind again.”
“We are here,” said Optimus. “You are safe. I feared the damage would be too catastrophic to revive you. I should have known better.”
As one, Optimus, Ironhide, and the other Autobots all genuflected, dropping to one knee in deference to their fallen leader, returned to them long after all hope had been lost.
Sentinel nodded slowly. “The war …?”
“The war was lost,” Optimus said.
“And Cybertron? Our home?”
Sam’s heart went out to Optimus. He knew that even though the loss was ancient by any human standards, to Optimus Prime the fate of his world was like an open wound.
“It was left a barren wasteland,” he said heavily, “under Decepticon control. It is dying … like its whole galaxy. A small band of us have taken refuge here on planet Earth. We have formed an alliance with its human race.”
Sentinel tapped his chest and looked momentarily puzzled. “Is this their language I am speaking?”
“One of their languages. It is called English,” Optimus said. “Acquired through this world’s computer network and imparted by me into you when I brought you back.”
The elder Autobot warrior considered all that he had heard, processing it. And then he said gravely, “Stand, young Optimus.”
Not young anymore, Sam thought, but it’s all relative, I guess.
Optimus Prime did as he was instructed, getting to his feet and facing his mentor.
When he spoke, it was like a benediction. “You are, and always have been, the bravest warrior I have ever known.”
Sam’s heart swelled with pride on behalf of his friend.
Then Sentinel’s concerns shifted to another priority. “In my escape … the ship was damaged …”
Optimus anticipated what his mentor was going to say. “You saved five pillars, Sentinel.”
“Only five.” Sadly he said, “Once … we had hundreds.”
“Autobots!”
It was Mearing, calling down to them imperiously from the gantry. Sam winced at her tone of voice. Where did she get off complaining about lack of respect being paid to her when she was speaking to beings that were old beyond anything that walked the earth? To say nothing of the fact that she was apparently immune to the pure drama she was witnessing.
Not knowing what Sam was thinking and probably not caring if she had known, Mearing continued. “What is this technology you were trying to save?”
Secretly Sam was hoping that Sentinel would slap her down for her attitude. But apparently he was far too gracious a guest to do that. “Together, the pillars form a space bridge. I designed it, and,” he said with a touch of pride, “I alone can control it. It defies the laws of physics to transport matter through time and space. It was to be our key to winning the war.”
Anyone else might have appeared thunderstruck by what Sentinel was saying. Mearing raised an eyebrow, which was apparently as demonstrative as she allowed herself to be. “You’re talking about a teleportation device.”
Beam me up, Scotty, Sam thought.
“For resources,” Optimus spoke up. “Refugees—”
“Or soldiers,” Mearing immediately said. “Weapons. Bombs. A means of instant strike. That’s the military function, isn’t it?”
Sam immediately recalled something his grandfather had always said: To a carpenter with a hammer, the whole world looks like a nail. Mearing was someone obsessed with security concerns, with trying to figure out the next way terrorists were going to strike. So naturally, when presented with something as benign as a means of transportation, she immediately started thinking about military applications. It was the kind of moment when Sam felt embarrassed to be a human.
Sentinel tilted his head, re
garding Mearing with what amounted to polite confusion. It was as if he couldn’t quite fathom how her mind was working. “If my ship had escaped,” he said, as if it should have been obvious, “we could have shipped all Autobots to a safe haven.” Then, with a touch of impatience, he added, “It is our technology. And it must be returned.”
Mearing didn’t seem the least bit inclined to accommodate him. “Yes. When the human race says so. You don’t just bring WMDs into our atmosphere. Kinda have to clear customs first. Little formality, paperwork. Separates us from the animals. Oh,” she added, “and I wouldn’t try to penetrate the safe yourself if I were you. If it’s not opened by the proper authorities, such as myself, it has fail-safes inside that will permanently damage the contents. It’s for your protection, of course. Just to make sure they don’t fall into enemy hands.”
Sentinel Prime took this in for a moment and then turned to his protégé. “These ‘humans’ … we call them allies?”
Sam groaned. He felt mortified on behalf of his entire race.
But then his great and good friend Optimus Prime stuck up for humanity in a way Sam wasn’t entirely sure it deserved.
Without hesitation, Optimus said, “We have fought as one, Sentinel. I would trust them with my life.”
There were proud exchanges of looks between the soldiers and Lennox, Carly, and Sam. The only one who didn’t look as if she cared was Mearing, who remained as dispassionate as ever.
“Then I am grateful for your alliance,” said Sentinel. “But hear me and mark my words: The Decepticons must never know the space bridge is here. For in their hands”—and he was now addressing not Optimus but all the humans in the facility—“it would mean the end of your world.”
v
(On the outskirts of Washington, D.C., three Dreads, Crankcase, Crowbar, and Hatchet—the creatures who had been skittering around the surface of the moon not all that long ago—watch in respectful silence as a rusted oil tanker pulls up on squealing wheels. They bow, and the foremost of them says, “Lord Megatron, your forces are assembled and ready.”)
(There is a pause. These days it takes Megatron a few moments just to gather enough strength to speak. Finally, he does: “Then upon my command … we strike.”)
vi
Mearing’s office in NEST headquarters was cluttered with boxes that had unique labels, broad enough that they would give no details to anyone wandering in but specific enough that Mearing would remember what the contents of each and every container was.
At that moment, Sam was standing between two of them, one of which was labeled bad shit and the other SCARY STUFF. Sam supposed that it was appropriate he was there: Certainly he’d run from the latter enough times to find himself landing heavily in the former. Carly was directly behind him.
He was trying to get up a head of steam in dealing with Mearing, but she wasn’t giving him any sort of opportunity, cutting him off repeatedly before he could get started.
“What I’m trying to say—” he began again.
She didn’t acknowledge that he was even saying anything. “An investigation’s been opened. We’ve sent agents to your office. You’ll be notified if we need anything more.”
“And if the Decepticons come after me again?”
“For the time being, we’ll be sending you home with Autobot protection.”
In immediate response, Wheelie and Brains jumped up on her desk and began gyrating about as if they were on a dance floor. Sam hadn’t even realized they were there. Obviously Mearing hadn’t, either, because she was glaring at them.
“Whoo hooo! The gang is back together!” Wheelie crowed. “Bumblebee back in da house!”
Sam had seen many strange things in his life, but a robot talking like he just wandered in from the hood was undoubtedly right up there.
Without a word, Mearing pulled out a gun from her top desk drawer and put the barrel to Wheelie’s head. “Please take your toys off my desk,” she said to Sam.
Wheelie and Brains immediately vacated her desk. Sam mentally kicked himself. If he’d known that was all he had to do to get their cooperation, he’d have visited a gun store long ago. Then he turned his attention back to Mearing. “Look, you don’t get it. Where there’s one human involved, there could be more. Who knows how many humans have been pulled into this Decepticon plot? There could be—I dunno—a whole network that’s—”
“Conspiracy theories?” She looked at him pityingly. “That’s what we’ve got now? Conspiracy theories of people working with alien invaders to pave the way for their incursion? Please try to keep these nonsensical notions to yourself on the way out.”
“So that’s it? We’re just being sent home?”
Carly sounded a bit confused by his reaction. “What’s wrong with home?”
He looked at her in surprise, trying to hide his feelings. I’d have thought that you would be on my side. How can you not get it? Then he turned back to Mearing. “Who do I have to meet with to get you guys to understand? I can help you here. I can contribute! What, am I just supposed to go back to ‘work’? Are you aware,” he asked, leaning his hands on her desk, “that I applied for a job here?”
She tapped the barrel of the gun on her desk impatiently. Sam promptly removed his hands from it. Casually she dropped the gun back into the drawer and said, “I am. Denied your application myself. This unit is for veteran intelligence officers and special forces. Not for boys who once owned ‘special cars.’ ”
Sam felt gut punched, being dismissed so casually. For a moment he was at a loss for words. And Carly instantly earned his love all over again when she said, “Well, that’s not quite fair, ma’am.”
Mearing stiffened. “Do not call me ‘ma’am.’ I am not a ‘ma’am.’ ”
Carly seemed taken aback and then, sounding very suspicious, said, “You are a woman, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I get it,” Sam said immediately. “She’s actually one of our brave fighting men. And he’s just, y’ know, working out some issues. Don’t worry, sir,” he went on, “nobody is questioning your valor just because this is how you’re dealing with your inner femininity. I bet you have a medal. Do you have a medal? Can I see your medals?”
Mearing did not appear the least bit amused. Instead she pointed behind Sam. He turned, and his face fell as he saw a cluttered shelf on the wall next to the door. It was overcrowded with medals.
“You break my chain of command,” Mearing said icily. “There’s nothing complicated about it. No one works with the Autobots who’s not approved by me.”
There was the sound of heavy footfalls at the door, and it was pushed open. Soldiers were standing there with the obvious intention of escorting them out.
Trying to put the best spin on the situation, Carly said to her boyfriend, “Sam, you have done what you came for.”
“Yeah, but there’s so much more I can—”
“With all due respect, young man” Mearing said, not sounding as if she were offering the slightest shred of respect to him, “you’re not a soldier. You’re a messenger. You’ve always been a messenger. And once more, your government thanks you … for delivering the mail.”
He wanted to leap across the desk and slug her.
He wanted to crawl into a corner and die.
Ultimately he did neither. He simply stood there, unresponsive, until the soldiers entered and firmly escorted both him and Carly out the door.
CANADA
In the more northern regions of this continent, we roll through a scenic overpass, through the twisting roads of the mountains, higher and higher toward a place where the snow never melts but instead sits atop the peaks, permanent and glistening and white.
In our camouflaged forms, we reach an overlook and park as innocently as any Earth vehicle would. Yet we might well draw attention were any humans about. I might well not, for my disguise as an Earth truck is ubiquitous. Sentinel, however, has chosen the form of what humans call a fire engine. It is a vehicle dedicated to protection. I
t was a natural choice for him, although more inclined to acquire notice in such out-of-the-way places as this.
A vast glacier stretches out before us in the distance. After a few moments to verify that we are alone, we shed our disguises and assume our natural states.
We stand quietly for a moment, my mentor and I, taking in the majesty of what we are seeing. Despite our size, despite our power, in this instance we feel …
… small.
“This planet Earth you have shown me,” Sentinel Prime says to me. “I remember when Cybertron was once this beautiful.”
I can no longer keep in the truth that has plagued me all these centuries. I must speak the guilt that I have carried, the knowledge that matters could have, should have, gone very differently on my home world if the right Autobot had been there to accomplish what was necessary. “It should have been me aboard that ship. If you had stayed to lead the fight—”
“No,” Sentinel says immediately. “The decision was mine. We sought a safe haven for our Autobots. And here”—he gestures around—“you have found it.”
I do not know that I necessarily agree, but I know my mentor all too well. He will not change his opinion or assign blame. Nevertheless, what is right is right. My chest cavity opens, and I remove the Matrix of Leadership from it. I extend it to him, holding it with the reverence it deserves. “You led us on Cybertron, Sentinel. Let the Matrix be yours … to lead us again.”
Sentinel makes no move to take it. “And how could I ever lead you? In a world I do not know?” He stares at it for a moment longer and then waves it off. “No, I am no longer your teacher, Optimus Prime. Now you are mine.”
His words fill me with both pride and a sense of responsibility greater than I have ever known. I replace the Matrix within me and, for the first time since Sentinel has returned, genuinely feel that I am worthy of it.
