Starve.Org White Noise Usenet Archive: "FANFIC: Milestones"

Hi, everybody! Yes, it's down to the wire for BotCon '96, and I'm
getting all packed up for the trip to Chicago. But before I leave, I managed
to finish my latest fanfic story, so here it is.

Notes:

1. The story is posted here in its entirety. If you find it too much to read
in one chunk, I apologize. I'd normally break this down into two or three
parts, but I can't find any good "stopping points." So, rather than
interrupt the story flow, I've decided to put it up in one huge post.
2. This story is available on my anonymous FTP site, along with all of the
other Transformers fanfic I've ever written (ftp.netcom.com, in
/pub/rj/rjung/Transformers).
3. While this story is set in my fanfic continuity, you don't need any
knowledge of it to read the story.

4. **BIG WARNING!**
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...

5. And finally, I want your comments! I want to hear anything and everything
you have to say about this story. It's only through your feedback that I
can keep myself humble and try to improve.

Okay, the lawyers are happy now, so here goes...

------------------------------ Cut Here ---- 8< ------------------------------

Milestones
Copyright 1996, Robert A. Jung (rjung@netcom.com)

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.

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.

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.

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:

Optimus,

If you're reading this, I must be gone. I cannot describe
how much I missed you, but I had wanted so much for a chance to
try. Even so, I believe that you already know how I feel, and
I will take that joy with me to whatever lies beyond.

Remember me,

Elita

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

C.B.,
Thank you.
The Witwickys

"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.

THE END

------------------------------ Cut Here ---- 8< ------------------------------

So, whaddaya think?

--R.J.
B-)

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"I write because I am personally amused by what I do, and if other people are
amused by it, then it's fine. If they're not, then that's also fine."
Send mail to rjung@netcom.com --Frank Zappa