by David, Peter
The NEST and SWAT teams were overwhelmed. They had not been remotely prepared for an onslaught of such magnitude. They returned fire as best they could, but engaging in a sustained battle with a hoard of Decepticons was simply not a reasonable option.
Explosions erupted across the National Mall. Gigantic swards of grass went flying, replaced by huge craters from the Decepticon blasts. The air was quickly filled with vast black clouds and was thick with the stench of incineration. Soldiers and police officers were falling back, still firing, still dying. Even if the Decepticons had been capable of perspiration, they wouldn’t have been working up a sweat. They moved anywhere they wished, not in pairs but in squads of a dozen, knocking aside trees to get at the humans who were daring to try to impede them. The humans were like ants squaring off against lions.
Sam, at the outer edge of the fight zone, looked at the battlefield with dismay. There’s too many! They’re everywhere!
And through it all, Sam could see Megatron seated upon his “throne.” He was surveying the damage like a proud warrior king, and when the Autobots came through the smoke and debris to face him …
Sam Witwicky in his time had seen many expressions on the face of the primary nemesis of the Autobots: arrogance, fury, disdain …
But he had never seen Megatron displaying complete, utter, and total confidence.
That was what he was witnessing now. Megatron was acting as if the outcome were so assured, there was no reason to expend concern about it. Any opposition offered by the humans or the Autobots was of no consequence. The victory of the Decepticons, as far as he was concerned, was guaranteed.
And Sam couldn’t say he was wrong.
The Autobots charged into battle, firing blindly, firing everywhere. They managed to create a firewall between the Decepticons and the humans, buying time for the desperate survivors to flee the field in the face of overwhelming odds.
“Here we are!” Megatron’s voice carried across the Mall. “Fight us now!”
Sam, when he was much younger, had once been at a seaside resort when an offshore hurricane caused the waters to swell. He remembered seeing the men gathering at the shoreline, tossing up sandbags, literally trying to stem the tide. But they had succeeded for only a short time, for eventually the ocean had overwhelmed the bags. He would never forget his last recollection of that town, watching out the back window of his parents’ speeding car, driving away to higher ground while the ocean cascaded over the bags and annihilated the houses lining the shore.
That was what he was seeing now, except the Autobots were the sandbags and the Decepticons were the ocean.
They had beaten back the initial wave, but now all the forces of the Decepticons, having heard Megatron’s defiant cry, turned their backs on their assaults on the humans and converged on the only opposition that truly meant anything to them.
Optimus Prime surveyed the situation and shouted the words Sam never thought he would hear:
“Autobots! Retreat!”
Immediately, if reluctantly, the Autobots obeyed their leader.
Their leader, however, did not follow his own orders. Instead he charged.
The Decepticons, still massing, were caught off guard. As a result, he was able to slam through them like a linebacker, scattering them every which way. That, to Sam, underscored the fundamental cowardice of the Decepticons. They outnumbered Optimus who knew how many to one, yet their immediate reaction was to get the hell out of his way when he charged forward, guns blazing, Energon sword swinging.
Optimus went straight for Sentinel.
Sentinel turned and saw Optimus coming but did nothing in response. He didn’t bring up that fearsome acid rust weapon of his; he didn’t strike a defensive stance. He simply stood there, waiting.
There were times when the student became the master. When he surpassed his teacher in all ways and thus proved that he was finally, truly ready to assume the title of leader in a way that the previous master never could.
This was not one of those times.
ii
I charge directly at him even as I order the others to retreat. They must live to fight another day, but Sentinel … Sentinel must be rescued, here and now. I cannot run from him.
It is not the same for the others.
They were not taught by him.
They were not groomed by him to become the next leader of the Autobots. They did not know him in the days of yore, only the legend that grew around him. But my loyalty is to him, and that loyalty will not allow me to leave him in the clutches of the Decepticons. If he knew what they had somehow done to him—the crime against humanity, and us, that they had forced him to commit—he would simply want to die from shame.
I must rescue him.
He taught me so much in training me, but I have learned much since then, and I must use all of it now against him. I must incapacitate him, take him with us, find a way to undo what the Decepticons have done to him.
I lunge for him, hoping for a quick takedown.
I am a fool.
He sidesteps me and then, as if I am a novice, uses my own forward momentum against me. He twists around and slams me to the ground with such force that it rattles every circuit in my body.
And he wasn’t even trying.
I attempt to stand, to come at him again, but before I can, he kicks me in the face, knocking me backward. In the distance I hear Megatron laughing derisively. Then, before I can make another move, Sentinel places his foot upon my throat.
“Sentinel,” I manage to say, “you must shake free of their control! Remember who and what you are!”
“Control?” He looks at me oddly and then seems to understand. “You think that the Decepticons have somehow corrupted me? Are forcing me to act against my will? Oh, Optimus, how can one be so old and so utterly naïve?”
“They must have found you … captured you … when we went our separate ways …”
“Yes, I met up with the Decepticons after you and I parted company, but only to finalize our plans. Look into my eyes, Optimus. Hear my voice. You know that I am speaking freely, of my own will. In the depths of your Spark, you know.”
And I realize that he is right. In order for the Decepticons to subsume him to such a degree that he would have killed Ironhide and the Twins, that he would have unleashed this hell on earth, there would have had to be nothing left of his true personality. His words would ring hollow, his eyes would be empty.
I was wrong.
He has betrayed us of his own accord. He has slain his own without compunction.
“Why?” I speak the word, still scarcely able to conceive it.
“For Cybertron,” he says. “For our home. What war destroyed, we still can save. But only if we join with the Decepticons.” Then, with pity in his voice, he adds, “And I knew you never would. It was the only way.”
“This is our home. We must defend the humans!”
“So lost you are, Optimus. On Cybertron we were gods. And here …” He had been speaking with a sad calm, but now he allows his voice to twist with anger. “Here they call us machines.”
And he brings his arm around and aims his cannon at me, the same thing that must have been the final sight for Ironhide. The acid rust against which no Autobot can stand.
“I did not want you to die in ignorance, my old student. You deserved better than that.”
He prepares to kill me.
And I have never, in my existence, had so little interest in continuing to live. For if this is the shape of things to come, what place do I have in it?
iii
Do something, Witwicky, something, anything …
“The pillars!” he shouted. “It’s the only thing he cares about! Go for the pillars!”
“It’s a hell of a long shot!” But Lennox was already bringing his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “All squads: Concentrate fire on the five pillars!”
NEST soldiers had managed to come around and draw closer during the brief period when the Aut
obots had battled back against the Decepticons. The order was quickly relayed from squadron to squadron, and instantly, heedless of the danger to themselves, they converged and started opening fire on the pillars just as Sentinel had his foot upon the throat of Optimus Prime.
What if I’m wrong? What if they don’t have any more use for the pillars now that they’ve transported the Decepticons here?
Then Optimus is finished, and I couldn’t help him.
iv
The humans needed me, and I am unable to help them …
And suddenly the pressure is released from my throat. No acid rust pours down upon me. I am spared, and I do not understand why.
Then I see, and everything makes sense.
The humans of this country sing proudly of the red glare of rockets, of bombs bursting in the air. For a nation that claims to embrace peace, to sing of war would appear contradictory. Perhaps it is not. Perhaps they would prefer peace, but if pressed to war, then they wish others to know that they are very, very skilled at it.
They prove that now as they rain destruction down upon the one thing that seems to matter to Sentinel Prime: the pillars. They are threatened by the rockets and bombs, and suddenly nothing matters except for saving them.
Other Decepticons race in upon his orders, aiding him in hurriedly gathering the pillars. Then, forming a flying wedge, they lay down suppressing fire, battering the humans back, causing them to scatter. Many of the Decepticons have already fled the vast green sward called the National Mall. Naturally. Why engage in a continued pitched battle when they can insinuate themselves into the world of humans? At any given moment, in any place, they can launch a devastating attack on any target and then return themselves to their alternative form and simply drive away from the site. Humanity will be in an endless war of guerrilla terror, never knowing where the next strike will be or when or how many will die as a result.
“Let the humans serve us … or perish!” Sentinel calls as he and the others—his others, his allies, his friends—vanish into the darkening night.
Slowly I get to my feet.
I see Sam Witwicky in the distance, starting to run toward me. He is shouting my name, wanting to ascertain if I am all right.
I cannot face him.
I am shamed.
I have led him astray. I have brought death and destruction down upon him and his kind, and it is only going to get worse. And at the moment when it mattered most, when I needed to stop the individual who was responsible for this calamity, I was fool enough to think that he was under the control of others. My love for Sentinel Prime blinded me to the evil in his Spark.
Humanity trusted me, and I have failed it. I have failed Sam, who has never in his life failed me.
I cannot face Sam Witwicky until I have found a way to make this right. To reverse this calamity.
He deserves better than I have given him—they all do—and I must determine a way to provide it to them.
v
“Optimus!” Sam screamed, waving his arms wildly above his head, his throat going raw from the combination of the shouting and the haze of smoke that was stinging the air. “Optimus! Optimus, what happened? Are you okay? Are—”
He skidded to a stop, almost falling into one of the craters that had been left courtesy of the Decepticons’ rampage. As he stepped back to work his way around it, he watched in astonishment as Optimus Prime shifted into his truck form. The Autobot whipped around, his tires spinning and sending chunks of dirt and grass flying every which way, and seconds later he had driven off into the night.
Sam stood there, speechless, his jaw hanging open. He had no idea how long he remained like that. When Lennox’s voice came from behind him, he practically jumped. “What the hell happened?” Lennox demanded. “Why’d he take off like that?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said.
“Maybe he didn’t see you.”
“He saw me. He looked right at me. And then he … he just drove away.”
Lennox nodded. “He probably had to rendezvous with the others. Figure out their next move.”
“Sure. That’s gotta be it.”
“Just wish to God he’d let us in on the plan. Good call about the pillars, though. Obviously, they still must have some kind of use for them.”
“Sure they do,” Sam said hollowly. “They want to be able to transport themselves instantly all over the world, at any time.”
“Could be,” said Lennox, sounding annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it. “First job in warfare is infrastructure. Be able to move the troops around. Thanks to those things—and Sentinel—they can do that. If they want to overrun Canada, all they need is for Sentinel to get there, and the troops do the rest. On the other hand, maybe they have something bigger in mind.”
“Great. Something else to worry about.” Sam felt wrung out.
Sensing the young man’s unsteadiness, Lennox rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home, kid. Nothing more to do here.”
“Right,” echoed Sam. “Nothing more to do.”
Lennox quickly arranged for a NEST vehicle to bring Sam home. Just before the car drove away, Sam saw Lennox toss a salute to him. He returned it halfheartedly.
He was pleased that Lennox had commended him for the fast thinking about the pillars, but all he could think of was the way Optimus had just bailed on him like that. The thing was, he had a feeling he knew why Optimus had done it. Optimus had more or less vouched for Sentinel, had trusted him implicitly. And that trust had resulted in the deaths of three Autobots. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the Twins sacrificing themselves, it could well have been more. Optimus had to feel that was on his head, and maybe he just didn’t feel like talking to a five-foot, nine-inch monkey descendant about it.
Still, Sam had thought they were friends. Friends were the ones you talked to when things were falling apart. He just didn’t understand.
How can you understand? He’s an alien, for crying out loud. The whole point of aliens is that they don’t think the way we do. We can think we understand them, but we may well be just kidding ourselves. I thought I knew Optimus, but maybe the fact is that I knew as little about him as he did about Sentinel.
He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he scarcely realized it when he was in front of his apartment. He muttered thanks to the soldier who had driven him.
He ran upstairs, calling for Carly. But the only response he got was frantic barking from Buster, his dog, out on the balcony. He went out to the balcony and promptly stepped in a present Buster had left for him. The dog whimpered slightly, chagrined.
“Don’t sweat it, dude,” he said, carefully removing the shoe so he could clean it off. “It’s my fault. Nobody’s been around to walk you.”
That concerned him even more, though. Where the hell was Carly? Wheelie and Brains were nowhere to be seen, but most likely they’d gone to ground with the return of the Decepticons and were probably disguised as merchandise in a Radio Shack somewhere. He tried dialing her number on her cellphone, but she wasn’t picking up. So then he tried his parents. On the third ring, he heard someone pick up and he said, “Mom? Dad? Have you guys seen Carly?”
His mother’s sleepy voice came back: “No. Not tonight. Why?”
“No reason. Sorry I woke you up.”
“Well, it’s a Saturday night,” she said with a yawn. “You’re two young people. You should be out having fun.”
Saturday night?
Oh, my God.
Everything that had happened … he had completely lost track of not only the time but the day. With all the driving around, the waving of guns, the crazy Russians, the former spies—all of that had prompted him to forget that less than a day had passed.
It was still Saturday.
She was at the party. She was at Dylan’s damned party.
Okay, well … fine. Let her be there. Let her be with the people she cared about. The people from work. She had made it abundantly clear that she had no patience for
him anymore. Hell, the things she’d said to him …
Except …
They weren’t just his war stories anymore. It was everybody’s war now. The Decepticons were everywhere, and everyone was knee-deep in it.
“She needs me,” said Sam, and he was certain that he was right. Whatever she thought of him, the fact that he did have the benefit of knowledge meant that he had the best chance of keeping her safe during what was sure to be a time of paranoia and upheaval. She needed him by her side …
… and he needed her. That was what it really came down to for him. He knew he needed her, and he knew she needed him, and the only problem was that she didn’t know it.
And the reason she doesn’t know it is because I just haven’t made it clear to her.
And I have to. Right now.
He snatched the piece of paper with the address on it from the mirror. “Fine. Let’s party.”
MARYLAND
As Sam steered his crappy car up the circular driveway to Dylan’s opulent, Old World–style estate in Potomac, he could see that the party was winding down by the fact that very few cars were lining the drive. He pulled as close to the mansion as he could manage and forced the Datsun’s creaking door open. After he got out, he slammed the door shut behind him, hoping the force wouldn’t cause it to fall off the vehicle.
He fully expected servants or security guards of Dylan’s to intercept him and stop him from barging in. He was, after all, hardly dressed for it. His hair was disheveled, he needed a shave, and he probably still stank from the smoke from the battle at the Mall. It probably wouldn’t make any difference to them that he had been invited. It was doubtful they’d believe it, anyway. This was clearly a world into which he had no business intruding.
To his surprise, though, when he did encounter servants and guys who were obviously security guards, they just smiled and waved him on and even said, “Good evening, Mr. Witwicky.” “Glad you could make it, Mr. Witwicky.” “Can I get you a drink, Mr. Witwicky?” To which Sam replied, “Thanks,” “Thanks,” and “No thanks,” in quick succession without quite understanding why they were not only taking his arrival in stride but obviously recognized him. If he’d stopped to give it any real thought, it might well have set off alarm bells in his head. But he was so preoccupied with Carly that he didn’t waste any extra brain cells on it, which, as subsequent events proved, turned out to be an unfortunate lapse on his part.
