Milestones

Copyright 1996, Robert A. Jung
Originally published July 9, 1996

Note: Fans who don't like human-oriented stories will probably not like this one. I'm hoping you'll give the story a read anyway, but I'm warning you now, if you want to see people slaughtered by the truckload, this won't satisfy you (go see Independence Day instead). Yes, Transformers figure prominently in this story, but they're not the only stars here...

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All characters depicted or mentioned in this story are the trademarks and/or copyrights of their respective holders, except for those that aren't. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, is coincidental, etc., etc. Geez, it's just a story, guys. Don't get too uptight over it...

The view outside the window was unbearably seductive. Sparkling blue-green water glittered beneath the midday sun, held back from the clear, cloudless sky only by an impossibly thin horizon. A few gulls swooped lazily in the distance, diving occasionally towards the Pacific in search of tidbits. If you stared hard enough, you could almost imagine porpoises breaking through the ocean surface, accompanied by a few scantily-clad mermaids.

Kevin sighed softly as he turned away from the view. "Blackrock must be a sadist," he mused. "Bad enough that it's a great day outside and we're stuck in here, but did he have to torture us with the window?"

"Oh, stop complaining," Todd chided with a smile. "If there weren't any windows, you'd complain about how Blackrock has us locked in this box, away from any signs of life, or something similar."

"If it bothers you, Kevin, why don't you cover it with something?" Josie asked. She was the only woman in the room, a California stereotype with a sunshine smile and short blonde hair. "You can hang up a poster or a picture or something."

"Don't encourage him!" Todd exclaimed, tossing up his hands in exaggerated horror. "The last thing we need is a bigger-than-life photo of 'Weird Al' Yankovic watching over us!"

"Hey!" Kevin shouted, "Heretic!" In one sudden motion, he grabbed a bright orange Nerf ball off his desk and lobbed it at the lanky engineer. Todd laughed as he dove under his desk, then came up an instant later with an armful of stuff. Before Josie could blink, a barrage of foam and rubber missiles was flying wildly across the room.

Boys and their toys, she mused with a wry grin. Cupping her hands together, she yelled, "C'mon, guys, knock it off!" With hoots of derision, the two men turned away from each other and started pelting her, sending Josie scurrying behind the computer monitor.

The game finally ended when Todd and Kevin ran out of ammunition. Checking that the coast was clear, Josie smiled at them as she shook her head in exaggerated admonishment. "I hate to be a spoilsport, but let's get back to work. We are getting paid to write code, remember?"

"Yes, Mistress Beller," groused Kevin. As the designated "boy genius" of the team, he played the part to the hilt. A pair of black glasses were always perched prominently on his rounded face; that and his jovial smile often lulled people into a false sense of intellectual superiority. "But it's so nice out there."

Her fingers clattering rapidly over the keyboard, Josie continued, "When you think about it, Kevin, what's the point in getting out, anyway? There's not much you can do from here."

"Hey, you never know. I can bring in my pole and do some deep-sea fishing. Or maybe just hang out with the crews and learn something about pumping oil."

"That's rather silly, when you think about it," commented Todd, with a shake of his head. A Van Halen T-shirt and an oversized pair of faded denims all but buried his slender frame. "Here we are, three of the top coders for one of the world's biggest petroleum companies, busting our butts on one of their state-of-the-art offshore rigs, and we don't know squat about the business itself."

"Yes, it's strange," Josie admitted. "Still, the company's really breathing down our necks over this project, so they obviously think it's important."

The dark-skinned Asian tossed a ping-pong ball into the air, leaning back to bounce it off his forehead. "You ask me, they're worked up over nothing. I can't see those giant robots doing something as stupidly obvious as raiding every rig down the coast. And even if they did try something, that other group, the Autobots, have already promised to stop them."

"I don't know about that," warned Josie. "We don't really know anything about the robots, other than what they've told us. How can we trust them?"

"Yeah," Kevin added with a grin. "Maybe this 'war' of theirs is just a ruse. You know, they fight each other for a bit, then the good guys win and become our pals. Next thing you know, when we're not looking, they whammo! us."

He yelped as Todd bounced the ping-pong ball off his head. "Lay off the bad sci-fi, Kev. Wasn't that last Friday's Midnight Madness Monster Movie? 'Traitors from Mars'?"

"It's still not safe to trust them," Josie continued. "Remember, they're not just aliens, but alien machines. They're not really alive, you know? Do they have any emotions? Do they understand what life is? If they decide that human beings are interchangeable, then I don't want to count on them for anything."

"'Stay alert! Trust no one! Keep your laser handy!'" recited Kevin. "But hey, for the amount of money Blackrock's paying us, I'll be glad to indulge his paranoia."

"No kidding," Todd said. "If we're lucky, after we finish this defense system, he'll get us to do something similar for his auto assembly--"

Before he could finish, emergency klaxons roared to life, and the room was bathed in scarlet. Josie gaped at the flashing lights before sternly turning to Kevin. "Not again! Kevin Mauerman, are you--"

"It's not me!" he pleaded, pointing out the window. "Look!"

Josie and Todd rushed forward and gaped. The tranquil view outside was now scarred by the presence of flying, giant robots. One of them, a broad-chested titan in steel grey, pointed an arm-mounted cannon at them as he roared, "Attack!"

The blast struck an instant later, a blinding fireball of white that rocked the platform to its core. The engineers were knocked to the ground as the window exploded, and the lights in the command center flickered uncertainly. Panicked cries of surprise and terror echoed from outside as the raid began.

Josie quickly pulled herself upright, her palms stinging lightly from where the glass shards sliced them. On the floor beneath her, Todd rolled over and gasped for air. "Shit! They really are attacking!"

Kevin teetered on his feet, oblivious to the blood that flowed from a gash in his left cheek. "Let's get out of here!"

"Are you crazy?" Todd yelled, climbing up with Josie's help. "We'll be killed in an instant out there!"

"He's right," added Josie. "The command center is the most secure part of this rig -- we'll be safer in here."

There was a distant explosion, and the floor lurched again. Josie staggered, but did not fall, and quickly stumbled to the defense console across the room. "Don't just stand there!" she snapped. "We've got to fight back!"

"It's not ready!" Kevin pleaded, even as he and Todd rushed over. "We haven't even started system test--"

"This is the test," Josie gritted, shoving aside a hand-wired circuit board. With rapid precision derived from hours of use, her hands moved over the counter, flipping a series of switches and buttons.

Todd strapped himself into his chair as the video screens and computer monitors before him winked awake. "Beats sitting here like fish in a barrel," he agreed. "Bypassing diagnostics--"

The sounds of alien weapons and human screams grew louder as they poured in through the window. "Gotcha, guys," muttered Kevin, "Just make like Defender and blast the filthy commie mutant traitors, right? North zone on!"

"Aux support ready," Todd said, "data feed synchs are go."

Another burst rocked the platform. The room lights sputtered to black, and the glow from the console suffused everyone with an incandescent glow. Ignoring it, Josie wrapped a hand around her console's joystick. "South ready -- fire!"

On their screens, the robots began to stagger. Large-caliber machine guns, small cannons, and an experimental energy weapon fired from recessed turrets, augmented by an assortment of rockets and missiles. "Yeah!" Kevin whooped, "Eat lead, sucker!"

"He's coming back," Todd stated with surprising calm.

"I got-- What?" His hand jerked suddenly as he re-aimed, and fingers honed by hundreds of video games tapped in a brisk rhythm. "Now I got him! Damn, they're fast!"

Josie's lips were squeezed into a thin line as she pressed the attack, firing on a black, winged robot. He reeled for a moment, then sidestepped her next shot and fired from an arm-mounted gun. Her monitor suddenly winked out as a red light flashed in front of her. "Camera 2 out!"

"Rerouting," Todd chanted, his fingers clattering to her left. Josie's view returned a moment later. She switched weapons with a quick button press, then blasted a missile on the robot's right wing.

Kevin swore as his monitor suddenly died. Before anyone could reply, the oil rig heaved again, jarred by an explosion even louder than the ones before. Chunks fell from the ceiling, and in the back of the room, something crashed to the floor with a crystalline crash.

"Shit!" Todd cried, quickly releasing his straps and stumbling out of his chair. Josie stole a quick look behind her just in time to watch him douse one of the mainframes with a fire extinguisher. Her brow darkened as she returned to her display. Despite losing yet another gun and a quivering crosshair, she continued to fire on the robots darting across her screen.

The left wall exploded.

The force of the blast buffeted Josie out of her chair. She was thrown against the far wall like a rag doll, then fell to the floor with a breathless cry. Miraculously, she didn't black out. On reflexes alone, she staggered to her feet, blinking away a layer of grime that coated her eyes and face.

"K-K-Kevin?" she whispered, her mouth instantly dry. "...Todd?"

They did not reply. Kevin was sprawled on the ground, half of his body reduced to a red pulpy smear. His blood-soaked console was shattered and smoking, the acrid odor of burning electronics mingling heavy in the air with the coppery taste of hemoglobin. Todd fared little better; he was slumped backwards over his desk, his head twisted in a sick, unnatural angle, his eyes locked in an endless stare.

Josie took a trembling step forward, clutching her console for support. She was beyond shock now, too numb for panic and fear to stop her. Instead, through the haze, the sparkling waters of the ocean beckoned, a comforting sanctuary of safety now visible through the crater in the wall.

She took another step, then another, not daring to release the reassuring support of the console. Josie was oblivious to the warm wetness of her bloody hands, to the nauseating smell of death, to the continuing roar of chaos and mayhem rushing from the outside. All that mattered now was her need for the ocean: to swim in it, to escape in it, to be saved by it.

There was another explosion, and the ground rolled again. She was thrown over the console even as it flashed. She screamed in sudden terror: power, raw and relentless, instantly poured through her, burning her from within, consuming her body and soul and mind. A fireball of white flared behind her eyelids, immediately expanding to fill her being...

Then Josie woke up.

For several long seconds, she laid there, not daring to move. Her mind feuded with itself, trying to separate fantasy from reality, until it was finally satisfied with what it decided was the truth.

Her fingers slowly unlocked then, hesitantly retreated from the deep gouges dug into her mattress. Scraps of torn cloth came loose, fluttering soundlessly away. The sticky aroma of boiling sweat assailed her nostrils. The sheets were soaked.

Josie turned to the left and looked at the clock. 3:27 AM. She did not have to check the date; it had to be June 5th. Her sleeps were always dreamless now -- with only one exception.

With a wretched sigh, Josie closed her eyes. She silently whispered the names of her friends, now twelve years dead, wishing she could be with them, knowing she could not. Then, choking back the sobs that filled her throat, she began to sing:

"Happy birthday to me..."

On the planet Earth, near the city of Andrews, Oregon, there was a volcano. Four million years ago, a spaceship from the planet Cybertron crashed into its base, and only by recent geological activity was its crew revived. A race of giant robotic beings, they were divided into two factions, and the ones called the Autobots have since pledged their lives to the people of Earth in stopping the Decepticons' plans of conquest.

Today, Optimus Prime, the leader of the Autobots, was alone in his private quarters, receiving a personal transmission from Cybertron.

The message was delivered without any preamble. "Elita-1 is dead."

Prime gaped. Hesitantly, he echoed, "...dead?"

The image on the display, a frail-looking robot in red and violet, soberly nodded.

"But ... how?"

Alpha Trion glanced away before answering. "She was leading a team on a mission to raid the Decepticon citadel in Effore. The Decepticons there have invented a new magnetic plasma cannon, and we needed the plans, both to discover its weaknesses and to build our own.

"They were spotted on the way out. Elita ordered the others to escape while she stayed to distract the Decepticons. But Scorponok had greater numbers, and they finally had her injured and cornered. Rather than risk being captured and ... 'interrogated,' she threw herself into a smelting pool."

Prime's optics widened. "A smel-- ...so there's ... there is no body?"

"No. We learned all of this by intercepting Scorponok's final report. I see no reason not to believe it."

A stifling silence filled the room. Eventually, in a husky whisper, Prime said, "Thank you."

"There's one more thing," Alpha Trion quickly added. "We found a sealed box among Elita's personal possessions. It had a note attached to it, instructing us to deliver it to you upon her death."

Prime hissed softly. "I see." A pause. "I shall send someone to retrieve it."

"Good. Tell your courier to go to the ruins of my first shop. I'll meet him there."

With a nod, Prime said again, "Thank you."

Alpha Trion hesitated then, as if searching for more to say. But he did not find it, and an instant later, the screen blinked to black.

Prime slumped into his chair, unable and unwilling to do anything but absorb the news. He remained still for several minutes, making neither sound nor movement, a hauntingly immobile golem of red and blue.

Finally, the console beeped. Reluctantly, he stirred, leaning forward to press a control stub.

The display flashed awake once more, and a yellow-and-red robot smiled out at him. "Hey, Prime! Thought you wanted to know, Spike's here! You want to come out and say howdy?"

Prime's expression was unreadable behind his silver face mask. "I cannot," he spoke hesitantly. "I am ... busy. Please give him my regards."

Blaster cocked his head for an instant in surprise, then flashed a light grin. "Okey-dokey, hokey-pokey. Gimme a buzz if you need a hand, okay?"

Prime gave a terse nod. With another press of the button, the screen winked off, leaving him alone once again.

To the eternal consternation of scientists, politicians, and science-fiction fans worldwide, the honor of making contact with the alien Transformers did not belong to either a trained professional nor a would-be xenosociologist. Rather, the honor fell to Buster "Spike" Witwicky and his father "Sparkplug," who were the first ones to befriend the alien mechanoids. As advisors and interpreters, allies and friends, the teenage boy and his blue-collar dad soon found themselves helping the Autobots equally in battling Decepticons and understanding humanity. But while most people would agree that the Witwickys did an admirable job, there remained those who gnashed their teeth at the indignity of it all.

Spike had not been to the Ark in several months. The teen was now a man, and had his own obligations to fulfill. But between semesters at college and vacations with his family, he often found himself returning to the Ark, becoming reacquainted with his "alien" friends and spending many happy hours with them.

He wasn't happy now.

"I don't know what to do."

A yellow robot, eleven feet tall, stood to his left. Peering at a magazine in his hand, Bumblebee said, "I don't see what's wrong, Spike."

"Me neither," chimed the taller white robot reading over his shoulder. "Seems okay to me. Chill, man, but I thought you'd be stoked, having your picture in a big mag like this!"

"That's not the point, Jazz," Spike said. "The problem is--"

"Problem? What problem?" Blaster strode into the room, wearing his ever- present carefree grin. "There better not be any problems around here! Ain't no blues when Blaster's around, 'cause rock 'n roll's my only sound! Oh, hey, Spike, Prime sends his regards."

Bumblebee handed the magazine to the red-and-yellow robot. "Spike's upset about this."

Blaster squinted at the page and began to read out loud. "'...Finally, here's a reminder for Robo-Cupid's calendar. Buster "Spike" Witwicky, boy-wonder ambassador to the Autobots, finally ties the knot next week with his long-time girlfriend, Carlotta Anderson. Though they've been keeping it quiet, People Magazine has learned that the young couple will take their vows on June 7th with a cozy little ceremony in Andrews, Oregon. We don't know if they'll get showered with rice or wiper fluid, but you can bet some of the guests will be putting on a fresh coat of wax for the nuptials.'"

Handing the magazine back to Bumblebee, he shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong. Except for 'Robo-Cupid,' maybe."

"Yeah, Spike," said Jazz. "Worst you'll get are a few reporters, but I don't think they'll want to mess with you when we're hanging around. So why the big to-do?"

Spike sighed softly, his still-youthful face uncomfortable with the accompanying frown. He normally found the Autobots' ignorance of human culture to be charming, but this didn't amuse him at all. "Because," he slowly explained, "if 'People' knows about it, then the world will know it. And if the world knows about it, then Megatron's going to know it. And if Megatron knows about it..."

"Oh, I see," Bumblebee replied with enlightenment.

Spike nodded in satisfaction. "I did a quick check this morning. There's already some talk about this on the Internet. And we know the Decepticons do lurk on the net from time to time."

"Hey, no sweat!" exclaimed Blaster. "We're your Auto-buddies, after all, and we won't let the Decepticons make a mess of things. We'll just call out the 'bots that day, that's sure to keep old bucket-head away."

"It's not that easy," Spike continued. "You have to understand, the wedding's really important to Carley. For a lot of women, it's the biggest event of their lives. Carley's really been getting into this. And she knows all of you already. If she sees a squad of Autobots around the church, I'm afraid that's going to ruin the day for her."

"Aw, c'mon, Spike," chided Jazz, a grin flashing from under his visor. "Don't tell me you forgot, but we're the masters of disguise! Slap some paint on Huffer or Tracks, and I'll bet she won't recognize them!"

Bumblebee nodded. "And there are some new Autobots that you two haven't met, like Dragon. Carley can't recognize him if she's never seen him."

"There you go," Blaster smiled confidently. "We'll keep it low-key. If we just patrol the area, I'll bet she won't even see us at all."

After considering this for a moment, Spike smiled. "Thanks, guys ... I think that'll work. But will it be okay with Optimus Prime?"

"Are you kidding?" Jazz laughed. "For you, m'man, Prime'll give his arm if you ask for it!"

Spike's smile twisted slightly. "Um, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Dropping her corporate cash card on the lunch tray, Josie headed out to the main dining floor, searching uneasily for an empty table. She was never comfortable eating in the company cafeteria; the Warbirds might be home to some of the world's top mercenaries and spies, but none of them wore a freakish body suit composed entirely of strips of metal. Josie was always aware of how she stood out in a crowd, and despite her own assurances, still believed that people talked about her behind her back.

She quickly settled into a suitable spot against the back wall, then untucked a magazine from beneath her arm and opened it on the table. Eating with slow, mechanical motions, she barely registered each forkful of food, focused instead on her reading.

A flash of blue crossed her peripheral vision. She looked up to see a slender gloved arm deposit a cupcake in front of her. The arm's owner, a brunette female dressed in Azure blue flex-metal armor, settled softly into the other seat. "Hello, Josie," Ladyhawke said. "Happy birthday."

Arching one eyebrow at the Warbirds' leader, Josie flatly mumbled, "Thanks."

"Not a very enthusiastic response," Ladyhawke teased, her face mask tensing slightly with a smile. She peered into Josie's face for a moment, then added, "I see you didn't get much sleep last night. Working late again?"

In response, Josie grunted indifferently, grateful she didn't need to invent an explanation for her baggy red eyes. Nudging the cream-covered pastry with one finger, she asked, "What's with the 'present'? You don't usually dote over your employees."

"I'm allowed to make exceptions -- it's one of the benefits of being in charge. It's banana nut, by the way. Your favorite."

Josie did not reply, but returned to her reading. Ladyhawke craned her neck slightly to follow. "'People'?" she asked airily, almost singing the title. "I didn't know you were into paparazzi."

Still silent, Josie turned the magazine around and nudged it forward. Quickly scanning the page, Ladyhawke remarked, "I see. Were you thinking of sending the young lovebirds a gift?"

"No ... um, I want to take a day off."

Ladyhawke stole a quick glance down at the magazine. "Friday?"

Josie nodded.

"Well ... As your supervisor, I have no problems with it. Simply fill out your time card accordingly. But somehow I doubt you have an invitation to their little party. Not to pry, dear, but I do hope you aren't planning on disrupting their festivities. It'd be rather rude."

"No, no. But I'll need to borrow something..."

It was a relatively understated garden. A small brook, assisted by a concealed pump, bisected it with its muted bubbling presence. It fed into a pond in the northeast, home to a half-dozen ducks and a pair of trumpeter swans. A small cluster of fruit trees lined the perimeter, shielding the small grove from the hustle and bustle of the outside world, and various flowers grew over the grounds, dusting the green grass with spots of color. Nothing overly lavish, but more than enough.

Draped over all of this was a majestic blue sky, without even a single cloud or wisp to blemish its grandeur. Sitting on the south side of the property was a whitewashed gazebo. A small crowd milled around it, enjoying the early summer day with good discussion and good company.

"Is my tie on straight?" Spike asked.

"It's fine," Chip chided politely. "That's the fourth time you've asked since I arrived."

Spike smiled down at the man in the wheelchair. "Sorry," he grinned. "I guess I am kind of nervous."

"Don't worry, son, it's perfectly natural." Spike's father, Sparkplug, rested a thick arm around his shoulders. Both father and son were dressed in full tuxedos, complete with cummerbunds and sashes. Idly straightening his own bow tie, Sparkplug continued, "You should have seen me the day I married your mother -- I was so nervous, I fainted before the ceremony!"

"You're kidding!"

"I wish I was!" Sparkplug laughed. "Lucky for me, Bob -- Bob Michelson, my best man -- found some smelling salts and got me up just in time."

"Makes a crooked tie seem trivial by comparison," Chip chuckled through his copper-red beard. "But just to be safe, perhaps we should have some smelling salts ready as well."

Spike snickered nervously, then playfully punched Chip in the shoulder. He and Steven "Chip" Chase were friends from long ago, when the two met through the Autobots. Chip was a reknown computer genius in his youth, whose mental brilliance and physical handicap proved irresistible human-interest fodder for many journalists. Though he moved away several years ago to pursue his studies, he never lost contact with his friends, and regularly used electronic mail to keep in touch.

Grimacing in exaggerated pain, Chip returned the favor by punching Spike in his thigh. Spike staggered with an exaggerated yelp, then straightened suddenly as he noticed two more figures approaching.

The taller of the two was Bumblebee, and the Autobot gave a quiet wave of hello to the crowd. The shorter one was a man in his mid-fifties, also wearing a tuxedo. His pink face was bare except for a pair of black mutton chops, lightly tinged with a few strands of silvery grey. He stepped forward, clasping Spike's open palm with one hand while delivering a healthy slap on his shoulder with the other.

"Hello, Spike!" he roared. "Great to see you again!"

Wincing for an instant, Spike smiled and said, "It's great to see you too, Mr. Anderson."

"Oh, stop that!" admonished the other. "I don't take 'Mr. Anderson' from anyone, and especially not from my son-in-law! Call me Richard, okay?"

"Okay..." Spike nodded hesitantly. "Um, Richard, this is my dad, 'Sparkplug' Witwicky. And this is 'Chip' Chase, a close friend of mine." With a nod towards the yellow robot, he finished, "And you've met Bumblebee already."

"You bet!" Richard enthusiastically confirmed, then clamped both of his hands around Sparkplug's. The two men shook vigorously, sharing in the hearty joy of kindred souls. "Sparkplug, I've been waiting a long time to congratulate you -- that's a fine young man you have there!"

"Thanks," Sparkplug said civilly. "And Carley's a wonderful girl."

Richard's face split with a wide grin. "It's all from her mother's side, believe me, but thanks anyway. I'll introduce you to Mona later, and I'm sure you'll love her. Just don't love her too much, you know what I mean?" he finished with a playful wink.

Chip chuckled behind one hand, and Richard turned to him. "'Chip' Chase, huh? Now I remember! You're Steve Chase, the kid that everyone was talking about a while back! Time called you 'The Edison of the '80s,' right?"

Blushing slightly, Chip looked away for a moment. "The article exaggerated too much. But your memory is correct, sir. Are you a scientist?"

"Me? No way! I'm just a regional sales director, and can hardly tell a quark from a quack! Carley's the real brain in the family. For a while she had me digging up all sorts of news articles for her. Your name certainly popped up enough times for a chowder-head like me to remember!"

"Um, thank you, sir," Chip stammered.

"Nothing to thank me for, my boy! Remind me to introduce you to Mindy later. She's not as bright as her sister, but she's still pretty sharp!"

Straightening up, Richard continued, "You folks really love nicknames; must be a west coast thing. Hey, Sparkplug -- now, 'Spike' is Buster, and 'Chip' is Steve, but what's your real name?"

Sparkplug shuffled uncomfortably. "Oh, gosh..."

With a twinkle in his eye, Richard leaned forward and pressed on. "Must be something meaty for a big strappin' guy like yourself! What's the secret? Kent? Lou? Arnold? Killer?"

"I'd rather not..."

"Oh, come on! We're family now, or will be, in a few hours! Nothing to hide from each other, right?" Richard flashed a grin to Spike and Chip, who were smiling and nodding in agreement. "Don't be a spoilsport!"

Sparkplug sighed. His face twisting slightly, he muttered, "...Irving."

Richard's smile dissolved. Bumblebee asked, incredulously, "Irving?"

An instant later, Richard's smile resurrected itself. "Well, that's okay, nobody's perfect!" he boomed with a belly-quivering laugh. "Mind if I call you 'Sparky' instead?"

Ignoring his son's muted snickering, Sparkplug nodded.

The music swelled subtlety, regally, as Wagner's "Wedding March" filled the air. The bride slowly advanced, all but floating on her father's arm, treading gingerly on a rose-petal trail that led from the gazebo to the pond's edge. The world held its collective breath as every eye -- electronic and otherwise -- watched her procession.

Except for a pair.

Reverend David could not help himself. Even after countless ceremonies and innumerable variations, the beauty of the wedding ceremony never failed to touch his soul. And had this been any other wedding, he would, right now, be watching the blushing bride along with everyone else.

But this wasn't any other wedding. Though the party was small enough -- just immediate family members and close friends -- almost half of the visitors were Autobots. While the reverend was well-versed in the Autobots' history, he had never before had the chance to see one up close. And while he had conducted some unusual weddings before (including the Jones couple, where a snafu with the invitations resulted in several hundred unexpected out-of-town guests arriving throughout the ceremony), being the focus for a half-dozen mechanical aliens definitely surpassed them all.

His inattention, then, should be forgiven.

Carley climbed the low platform with a muted rustle and stopped next to Spike. Her train swirled behind her, a pool of unblemished white silk. Her father slipped his hand into hers. Then, with a mild twist of his arms -- a casual gesture embedded in a solemn ceremony -- he placed her hand in Spike's, giving away his daughter.

The two of them smiled at each other before turning to face forward. While a duck quacked in the distance, the reverend took a step and rested his hands on their shoulders. Quietly, respectfully, the pair knelt, submitting themselves before the world.

Reverend David began to speak in a hushed whisper. As intended by the ceremony, the softness of his voice was as potent as the words themselves. While he was joining the couple with visions of love and honor, he was also drawing the visitors into introspection, allowing them to enjoy the occasion through their own dreams and memories.

This was why Optimus Prime paid little attention to the reverend's words, and allowed them to fade to the back of his consciousness. Ideas of love and marriage were alien on Cybertron, but the ideas of devotion and friendship were not. And as he watched Carley and Spike, it was clear to Prime that they shared a special sort of bond, a clique of closeness that would never admit anyone but each other.

An image came to mind. Of himself, long before the war, a carefree young mechanoid called Orion. Of Elita-1, then named Ariel, graceful and lithe, a seemingly endless spring of happiness. He had been so proud of himself then -- Cybertronian females were relatively rare, and to have one for a companion was a good reason to boast.

But his initial, selfish feelings soon disappeared, as he discovered that beneath Ariel's jaunty exterior lurked a sharp mind and an empathic soul. Pride turned to surprise, then to awe, and then to respect; she was no longer a mere trophy, but a devoted friend through good times and bad. And his feelings for her were mutual. Each saw reflections of themselves in the other, and out of that came understanding and caring and closeness.

"...though we may be toss'd by the tempest..."

It was, of course, the war that finally separated them. The event was Operation Deadbolt, a massive Autobot attack on a secret munitions plant. Nine strike teams were involved, all coordinated by Elita-1 and her squad back at the command center. But the Decepticons struck first with a decapitating blow -- a missile barrage leveled the base as the mission started, and those within were presumed dead.

Prime did not learn otherwise until five million years later. In reality, the females were saved by Alpha Trion, the enigmatic Autobot inventor. He rebuilt them, trained them, and equipped them with new powers. Then, using their abilities and the inherent agility of their female forms, they became an elite commando team, a secret kept from enemies and allies, fighting the Decepticons from the shadows.

"...to seize the opportunities..."

Elita and Optimus were finally reunited a few years ago, when a crisis forced Alpha Trion to reveal his gambit to the Autobots. But their reunion, after a harrowing escape that left Elita-1 near death, was far too brief. And afterwards, Alpha Trion, for his own reasons, continued to keep the females isolated from the Autobots. Unable to reach her, Prime had bided his time, patiently waiting for a better moment to rebuild their former relationship.

But now, it will never arrive.

This realization burned him with a flood of questions. Why had he decided to wait? Why did he let the females remain hidden? Why hadn't he questioned or challenged Alpha Trion's actions? Why did he so easily accept the status quo? Why, with the resources and authority at his command, didn't he do more?

"...are always afraid of change..."

Perhaps, Prime considered ruefully, I was too used to believing she was dead. He had grieved for Elita in the wake of Operation Deadbolt, and for a long time, was not certain if he would ever accept her death. But the burdens of war refused to relent, and they had finally forced him to lay her memories to rest.

He realized then that she must have had a similar experience. In ironic parallel, the crash of the Ark and the disappearance of its crew must have convinced Elita-1 that Prime was dead. And her response must have mirrored his own: driven by duty, she would have had to accept his death and continued with her own life.

Thus their mutual silence. After an absence of four million years, neither one was truly ready for the other. Instead, they both decided to wait -- for a better time, a quieter time -- before trying to find each other again.

"Prime?"

Though the silent radio broadcast suddenly jarred the Autobot Leader out of his meditations, he gave no external sign that anything was amiss. Activating his built-in communicator, Prime replied, "Yes, Bluestreak?"

"I think we've got a situation here! Gears says he's spotted a suspicious- looking human in the park east of your position. He isn't sure, but thinks it might be Circuit Breaker. What should we do?"

Josie Beller lowered her high-powered binoculars with a deflated sigh. The binoculars were fine; her vision was blurred from the tears pooling in her eyes. After settling the glasses down, she leaned forward and cupped her face in her hands.

Why did I come here? This is a complete waste of time! Nothing will ever bring Alex back again! There's nothing left for me now, and I'm just torturing myself trying to pretend otherwise!

She sniffed loudly once, then wiped her nose on the sleeve of her dull brown overcoat. Blinking her eyes clear, she quickly looked around, relieved that her noises had not attracted anyone to her position behind the shrubs. Bad enough that her outfit was conspicuous beyond belief -- the day was too warm for heavy coats -- but she didn't want to compound the situation by trying to explain her presence, her actions, or her full-body metal mesh.

You've lost your mind! she berated herself. You should have ignored the stupid article, forgotten the whole thing, and buried yourself in lab work instead. Get out of here already!

But despite her own protests, Josie picked up the binoculars and resumed her spying. The wedding completely captivated her -- she was helpless before its hypnotic grandeur, both in the ceremony itself and the traditions behind it. Even the brilliant young girl of her youth had a romantic side, and those old fantasies of warm, lavender happiness refused to remain buried.

She focused on the groom, covered in his tuxedo, an immaculate prince whose face showed youthful confidence. Josie had met Spike before, in brief encounters during some of her battles against the Autobots. She tried to convince him of the danger that the robots presented, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. But she held no animosity towards him -- misguided or not, he was human, and her war was not against her own kind.

Josie racked the binoculars again, and, with a sigh, studied the woman kneeling next to him. The bride was unspeakably beautiful, and Carley's face was covered by a diaphanous veil, a flimsy affair of white lace that barely muted the unbridled enchantment in her face. The consummate fairy-tale princess, Carley waited patiently on the threshold of "happily ever after," and her bearing echoed the absolute faith she held in those words.

That could have been me...

Pain daggered through her heart. She was back in the hospital, looking up from her bed as Alex peered down at her. His revulsion at her -- the helpless invalid, condemned to a life of crippled disability -- was etched clear on his face. In less than five minutes, he had rescinded everything he had ever given her, ripped from her all of the dreams and hopes and love that she had held with him.

Josie had not regained her voice then, so she had not been able to plead with him. But it made no difference; she never saw Alex again after he left the hospital room.

The monstrous robots had taken everything away from Josie Beller: her friends, her body, her love, her life. And for that, she had sworn to claim her vengeance upon them all.

But not now. Not today, of all days.

Josie lowered the binoculars and closed her eyes, squeezing out fresh tears once more. With a soft sigh, she tossed her head skyward, half-dreaming of a God she no longer believed in, wishing for an omnipotent hand to return everything that she had lost with a mere gesture.

After a moment, she opened her eyes. Aside from a minuscule black speck, the crystal-blue sky held nothing in response. With familiar resignation, Josie raised the binoculars again.

Buzzsaw glided lazily in the high thermal drafts over Andrews, smiling with smug pride at himself. Soundwave might have been first to find out about the wedding, but the plan was his and his alone. Megatron had not agreed with it, surprisingly enough -- humans were usually beneath his notice, and the Decepticon Leader insisted that he had "better things to do" than to send his troops after a single, insignificant female.

But Buzzsaw refused to drop the issue, as the idea of desecrating the humans' ceremony had captured his fancy. Sure, the chaotic mayhem and large-scale destruction of war was fun, but it was the little touches like these that made life even more delicious. And then there was the matter of honor: the Autobots' human friends had interfered with the Decepticons many times before, so it was only proper to exact some payback.

He was particularly proud of how his scheme turned the Autobots' expectations against them. There would be no massive assault, no climactic disruption, no chaotic blasts to herald the Decepticons' arrival. Instead, it was only him, an invisible dot in the sky, who'd grab the female at an uneventful moment with a silent high-altitude dive. And when he returned to Deceptibase, Megatron was sure to reward him greatly for his initiative and daring.

Optics refocused smoothly, easily closing the 20,000 feet between Buzzsaw and his target, giving him a clear view of the scene below. The humans were beginning to stand, which obviously meant the ritual was over.

Wonderful, wonderful! The Autobots were now at their most lax, probably relieved that nothing had disrupted their precious little show. Angling himself for a sudden drop, Buzzsaw grinned even wider as he prepared to teach them a lesson on the dangers of assumption.

A blast of power knocked him away. Despite his panic and surprise, Buzzsaw quickly regained control and identified his attacker. Circuit Breaker's presence compounded his confusion; the human was enemy to both Autobot and Decepticon, and she was the last person he'd expect to appear today. But she was clearly a threat, and Buzzsaw reflexively swooped left and fired his mortar cannons.

Circuit Breaker smoothly pivoted away, flying on waves of magnetic repulsion, then raised an arm and effortlessly blasted the shells. Before Buzzsaw could attack again, she turned and countered with another blast that burned his left wing. Shrieking in agony, Buzzsaw arched away, to be chased by a shower of electric arcs.

He swiveled and banked and dove and climbed, all to no avail -- the human had the advantage, and mercilessly bombarded him with her energy bolts. To add insult to injury, she had apparently anticipated his plan. Circuit Breaker kept herself poised between Buzzsaw and the wedding, keeping him away from his objective below.

An especially powerful discharge sent Buzzsaw pinwheeling away. Swallowing his pride, he finally opted on the side of discretion, then fired his rockets and roared away from the scene.

The newlyweds leaned idyllically on the railing of the S.S. Aquarian, watching the orange sun settle softly into the Pacific. Carley smiled as Spike wrapped an arm around her, and she snuggled against him. In the back of her mind, she knew such intimacy wouldn't last. The bloom eventually fades, and it'd be foolish of her to expect such tenderness from him every day for the rest of her life.

But that didn't make Spike horrible. Rather, it merely made him human, which simply increased her desire for him. With a contented sigh, she wrapped her arm around him, and was pleased when he relaxed in response.

The sun sank lower.

Spike spoke first. "Well, we did it, Mrs. Witwicky."

She giggled at the name. "That we did, Mr. Witwicky."

"I'm glad nothing went wrong."

"Almost nothing," she corrected him. "The caterer forgot the baked salmon. But Mom caught it early, and they got it ready in time."

Spike chuckled softly. "So much for a flawless wedding."

She scritched him lightly in the ribs. "Oh, it wasn't so bad. But we'll have to thank the Autobots when we return."

He pulled away from her slightly, then looked down at her with a confused frown. "What do you mean?"

Carley giggled again, and pressed a fingertip against his lips. "Don't lie to me, Spike. I can tell when you're lying. And I know that you had some of the Autobots circling around the church today."

Spike hesitated for only a moment before relenting. "Okay, you got me," he confessed with a smile. "How'd you know?"

"I know you. When I heard about the blurb in 'People,' I knew you'd be worried about Decepticons. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw several driverless cars cruising the area during the reception."

"Oops." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "Luckily, nothing happened."

"You're lying again," admonished Carley. "Or are you going to tell me that little explosion I heard before you said 'I do' was a sign from above?"

Spike looked away and shook his head in bemusement. "I give up."

"Good for you." She smiled as she poked him. "Now talk."

He sighed quietly. "Circuit Breaker showed up. I'm not sure what happened exactly. But the Autobots said she was watching the wedding from nearby. Before they could find out what she wanted, she flew away. All she left behind were an old trenchcoat and a pair of binoculars."

"And the explosion?"

Spike shrugged. "Dunno. She flew over the wedding just before it happened, but after that..."

Carley watched him for several seconds. Then, smiling warmly, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Now you're telling the truth."

He nodded silently with a small frown. "I wish I could have talked to her."

"Why? So you could try to talk her out of her delusions?"

When he nodded, Carley continued, "I don't think you would have made a difference, Spike. Her beliefs run too deep. There are enough reports out there about all the good things that the Autobots have done. If she's still unconvinced, even with all of that evidence, a small chat from you isn't going to turn her around. That sort of cheap melodrama only works on television."

Spike smiled in spite of himself. "You're right--"

"Again," Carley added with a teasing grin.

"Again," he agreed. "I'm just thankful she didn't attack the Autobots."

"Me, too. So ... what should we do about it?"

Soon after the Autobots introduced themselves to the people of Earth, the United States Government had granted them residency status, and designated the area around the Ark as their private settlement. The northeastern part of the compound, a series of rolling hills dotted with scattered clusters of trees, offered a tranquil view of the Owyhee Mountains to the east.

Optimus Prime found a quiet clearing and sat down. Cosmos had returned from Cybertron just fifteen minutes ago. He had not asked any embarrassing questions about the package or its contents, for which Prime was grateful. Leadership left almost no room for privacy, and he had learned to cherish what little he had.

He had made sure he would not be disturbed tonight.

Metal fingers ran slowly over the box, delicately tracing the edges of the caldonite seal, still intact. The half moon gave a ruddy amber glow to the woods, which seemed appropriate somehow.

Prime studied the box with a false indifference, examining it haphazardly as he memorized every detail. There was little to note -- aside from a coat of red paint, the box was featureless -- but he took his time.

Finally, he stopped.

Prime pressed his thumb firmly on the seal. It dissolved almost immediately, leaving only a thin crust around the border to indicate where it had been. The lid popped with an almost-inaudible click.

With a steadiness that surprised himself, Prime opened the box and gingerly reached inside.

The tiara glittered innocently in the darkness. Small and unassertive, its beauty came not from overloaded gaudiness, but from the subtle whispering of its arrangement, a confident ordering of crystals and diamonds. It drew the dull moonlight into its multifaceted beauty, then released it in a purifying glimmer.

Prime recognized it immediately. It was his first gift to Elita, her favorite piece of jewelry, from a time now long gone.

Reluctantly, he placed it on the ground, then looked inside the box again. A small, dull sheet of foil was all that remained. He took it gently, surprised when it proved stronger than it looked. On it was a message:

The note and the tiara were tenderly returned to the box. Holding it in one hand, Optimus Prime, warrior and veteran, protector and sage, Leader of the Autobots, turned his gaze to the stars above...

...and remembered.

It seemed to Josie as if she would never fall asleep. The day's events had overwhelmed her, and after leaving Andrews, she had been unable to think of anything else except the wedding. She had returned to Vancouver in a daze, had walked the halls of the Nest in an oblivious stupor, and had spent most of the evening in quiet melancholy.

Then Josie woke up.

She didn't remember when she had fallen asleep, nor did she remember any dreams she may have had. For an instant, she wondered if this, too, was a dream. And when she realized it wasn't, she supressed a twinge of sadness.

Josie was now aware of the soft, steady knocking on her door. With a quick glance around the disheveled room, she quickly considered -- and abandoned -- the idea of cleaning it up.

"Come in," she croaked hoarsely.

The lock clicked, then the door swung silently open. Ladyhawke strode in gracefully, dressed as always in her all-blue ensemble. Directly behind her was Watson, her ever-present aide, a middle-aged man wearing an elegant black business suit.

He set a tray on the bed and lifted the lid, revealing a complete breakfast ensemble: two fried eggs, several slices of French toast, fresh sausages, milk and juice, warm maple syrup, butter, and a small bowl of fruit. Polished sterling silverware glittered to the side, and the seductive smell caused Josie's stomach to rumble softly.

"Good morning, dear," Ladyhawke said merrily. "Or should I say, 'good afternoon?'"

Josie blinked her eyes clear. "What time is it?"

"Not quite noon, but close enough. Because you didn't show up for dinner or breakfast, I concluded you had spent your entire evening here. So Watson and I decided to bring you some brunch. Starvation is not conductive to work, after all," she finished with a grin.

"Thanks," Josie mumbled. She hesitated for a moment, but after catching a nod from Ladyhawke, Josie picked up the cutlery and began to eat.

Ladyhawke chuckled softly while Watson headed out of the door. "I shan't bother you any longer, Josie. Though I think you'd be interested to learn that your little trip yesterday did not go unnoticed."

Josie suddenly stopped in mid-chew. While she was glad her hunch was correct -- the black speck she saw WAS a Decepticon troublemaker -- she had also wanted to remain unseen, and had abandoned her overcoat and binoculars rather than risk a confrontation with the Autobots. Swallowing her mouthful of food, she asked, "What do you mean?"

Ladyhawke removed a newspaper from beneath her left arm and flipped it open. "This appeared in the Sentinel today," she said, "as well as in every major newspaper in every major city around the world."

She tossed the paper onto the bed. The full-page ad was bare, except for large black letters that read

"That cost someone a pretty penny," Ladyhawke continued, "and I hear there's already some debate as to who 'C.B.' is. I thought you'd want to see it. Have a nice day, dear."

With that, Ladyhawke stepped out of the room, and softly closed the door.

Josie sat still, all thoughts of food forgotten. Instead, she stared intently at the newspaper, searching its meager words, looking for the unknown answers to her unknown questions.