Transformers, page 25
Standing away from the supportive finger, Sam summoned a smile from the depths of exhaustion. “Hey—no sacrifice, no victory,” he barely managed to mumble as he wrapped both arms tightly around the softly glowing Cube.
The ground shook as Megatron came flying around the nearest building to slam into Optimus, knocking the other robot backward.
“IT’S MINE! THE CUBE IS MINE!”
Shaky but aware that there were still legs under him, Sam whirled and half stumbled, half ran away from the renewed struggle.
Diving jets unloaded missiles at the unmissable target that was Megatron. Several punctured the layer of extreme outer armor. They slowed the giant but did not stop him as he reached for Sam. The human-inflicted wounds meant nothing to the huge mechanoid. All that mattered was the Cube, the Energon. The Source. Recover that and all else would follow inexorably and effortlessly. He bent forward, arm extending, fingers open and reaching …
Swinging around sharply in an arc parallel to the ground, Optimus’s leg screamed through the air above Sam’s head as he dove beneath it. The heavy metal limb hit Megatron hard, driving him back but not knocking him down. The blow was a diversion, not a killing strike.
“Aim the Cube at my spark!” Optimus yelled at Sam. “The merging will overwhelm both power sources and destroy it!”
Battling to stay on his feet, Sam looked across at the supine mechanoid. “But—what about you?”
“DO IT NOW!” the robot thundered.
Sam hesitated, then raised the Cube in one fist and advanced on the recumbent mechanical form, approaching Optimus’s chest. Seeing the movement, a shocked Megatron immediately divined the human’s intention. Gathering itself, the Decepticon lurched forward.
“NO!”
A massive hand descended as Sam thrust the Cube toward Optimus’s torso. He moved forward—and then darted to his left and took one, two, three steps up the inclining robot’s extended arm. Who could have guessed that all those boringly repetitive agility drills he had participated in on the football field would actually turn out to be worth something?
Insects can be easy to smash, but hard to catch.
As a startled Megatron reached with his other hand for the human who was unexpectedly running straight at him, Sam half closed his eyes. With no idea what to expect, he slammed the Energon Cube straight at the center of the Decepticon’s chest.
The blinding flash that resulted blew him backward as Megatron’s overloaded spark exploded. Tendrils of unconstrained energy erupted in all directions, lightning crackling from the disintegrating ventral armor. The giant straightened and stepped backward, clutching at his chest. Inclining downward, the awful head sought and found Sam where he lay helpless and dazed on the ground. A hand reached toward him—and halted. Megatron took a step forward, another backward, shuddered once—and fell.
In the sky nearby, the transformed Starscream let out a shriek of dismay, whirled, and fled. Not to any point of the terrestrial compass, but upward into the clouds and beyond, speeding toward a destination where the human-piloted F-22s that pursued him could not follow.
For the first time in a long while, quiet descended on the city’s southern suburbs.
With each of them supporting the injured secretary of defense under one arm, Maggie and Glen helped Keller stumble forward along the road that led from the base of the dam to a service area beside the river where a med-evac chopper was descending. Simmons walked alongside, his step almost jaunty as he tossed Frenzy’s severed head easily up and down, from one hand to the other.
“Little memento for my trophy case.” He winked at Maggie. “Nice workin’ with ya, Ace. Might have an opening in the Sector, if you’re interested. Our HQ is outside D.C., out in the country, and a long way from Langley. A lot quieter. Woods, deer, running stream, lots of perks.” He smiled encouragingly. “The work is always interesting.” He saw Glen eyeing him and shook his head curtly. “Not you—just her. You panic.”
Keller grimaced at him, smiling through his pain. “Get in line. She’s already on my staff.” He looked back at Maggie. “You wouldn’t object to a corner office? Nice views, close to the Pentagon and a brand-new Chevy Solstice.”
“Nossir,” she admitted truthfully. “A corner office would be swell. But if I could get a little advance on salary, I owe my landlord a lot of …”
His smile tightened, but only a little. “Don’t push it.”
“Yessir.”
Emerging from the copter, army medics relieved her and Glen of the secretary’s weight and helped him toward the waiting craft. Standing alongside Maggie, a hesitant but determined Glen did something far more difficult than rewiring an old computer or hacking restricted government websites: he took her hand in his. Her expression flat, she immediately shook off his grip—then smiled as she took his hand in hers.
Emerging from the wreckage that until that afternoon had been a bustling southside city street, Lennox searched the rubble until he found Epps. Officer and tech sergeant regarded each other for a long moment. Then hands rose up. The smack of a loud high five being exchanged echoed across the devastated street. Both men smiled.
Within an hour, Epps was complaining again.
Elsewhere, Ratchet and Ironhide came trundling up another street in search of their leader. The lifeless, sparkless Jazz lay cradled in Ironhide’s arms. Gently, he set his brave fellow robot down on the ruined pavement. Bending low, Optimus studied the metal corpse. Nothing was said. No words were spoken, no communication exchanged, not even electronically. It was not necessary. Each of them felt the appropriate words without having to speak them. The moment was shared.
Turning away, Optimus walked the few steps to where a deep crater had been gouged out of the main avenue. A shape lay in the bottom, crumpled, broken, inert. Megatron.
“You left me no choice … Brother. For the Energon to be dealt with, one of us had to die. I was willing for it to be me.” He pivoted. “Better it was you.”
A much smaller shape approached tentatively, leaned forward to peer into the crater, then straightened to consider the standing robot. “All I remember is a bright light and being picked up and dumped across the street. What happened to the Cube?” Sam inquired hesitantly.
“It is destroyed,” Optimus told him.
Sam looked up at the giant. “But you need it to go home and bring your world back to life.”
“Without the Cube there is no going back. That purpose is ended now. That home is closed to us.” The enormous, gleaming metal head tilted downward to meet his gaze. “Our home must be here now. Among your kind. Among humans.” And with that, he bowed, the entire immense upper body inclining in Sam’s direction until it was directly over him and parallel to the surface. To his considerable credit Sam held his ground as tons of metal hovered just over his head.
“I owe you my life,” Optimus Prime told him. “Humans do not always think rationally, but you can think fast. I did not anticipate what you did.” Straightening, he looked toward the crater. “Neither, thankfully for all, did Megatron. We are all of us in your debt.” Gathering around him, the surviving robots formed a towering circle of glistening metal. Emulating their leader, they, too, bowed toward Sam. Looking upward, he turned a slow circle to regard each of them in turn. The sight was impressive, inspiring, almost overwhelming.
“Ah, geez—you guys,” he muttered, unable to hide his embarrassment …
It was a normal morning on an ordinary day. Or maybe an ordinary morning on a normal day. Either way, it was comfortingly afterward. Subsequent to tragedy and confrontation, life goes on: across the planet, across the country, even in the town of Tranquility. Even in Tranquility High School. The hallways were filled with color and noise and subdued (according to regulation) music.
Sam and Miles were just one pair among the milling crowd that was busily engaged in walking and talking, laughing and gossiping. They stopped when Sam caught sight of Mikaela heading his way, surrounded by her usual retinue of friends. Glancing up, she looked in his direction, met his stare, and looked—past him. Turning, he saw Trent DeMarco standing with his buds from the football team. Inside, he slumped. Why should he be surprised? he told himself. Didn’t history, as he had learned in Mr. Dockweiller’s class, have this lousy stinking tendency to repeat itself?
Striding past him, she continued on down the hall and stopped next to DeMarco. Trent had the body, Trent had the money. Trent was a player, Sam realized. No matter what had transpired the previous week he, Sam Witwicky, was not. For once Miles didn’t offer up a wisecrack as the two friends headed for the main exit.
DeMarco saw Mikaela coming, grinned contentedly. “Apology accepted. I’ll take you back.”
“No.” She eyed him speculatively. “Just answer one question. What’s the fuel-injection rate of your daddy-bought Escalade when you’re going up a hill in second?”
He gaped at her, confused. “What’re you talking about?”
“Nothing you’d understand.” So saying, she resumed walking—right past him. DeMarco and his buddies followed her with their eyes. It was all they could do.
Out in the school parking lot Sam bid good-bye to Miles, who had finally managed to scrounge enough money to buy his own junker. It wasn’t much, but it was perfectly adequate for transporting crickets, and at least he was no longer beholden to Sam for a ride. Which was just as well with Miles. Sam was his best friend, sure, but—frankly, Sam’s ride scared him.
As Sam approached the Camaro—beautifully restored and refinished, gleaming like new thanks to the combined efforts of Lockheed Martin Corporation’s supersecret Skunk Works and Tranquility’s Zero-Gee Bob’s Racing and Custom Auto Body Shop—he was greeted with the words to “All by Myself” humming from the stereo.
He halted next to the driver’s-side door. “Hilarious. Really. Thanks so much for the moral support.” He reached for the handle.
A voice stopped him. “Hey, Ladiesman …” He whirled.
Mikaela. Coming across the lot, looking—spectacular. Coming—toward him. She stopped close. Real close. Grinning. Sam opened his mouth to say something but he never had the chance to get the words out. It was all her fault. Those damn lips, clamping down hard over his, not letting go. Barely letting him breathe.
Oh, well, he mused as all other incipient thoughts died aborning. He could complain later. He would really, really bawl her out. Let her know how he felt about her doing … about her … about … ab …
Music purred from the speakers of the shimmering yellow-and-black vehicle at his back—Aerosmith’s “Young Lust” …
It was a lovely clear day in the capital. Even the usual back-and-forth catcalls and name-calling of partisanship debate seemed softened by the weather. In a downtown office the secretary of defense of the United States stood at one end of a long conference table and regarded the individuals seated before him. Their expressions were expectant, their attention absolute.
“In an effort to limit awareness of the extent of the situation and its true import, the president has ordered Sector Seven to be dissolved and the remains of the deceased aliens to be secretly disposed of. He and his administration will take the heat for what will officially be called ‘a civilian-military experiment gone bad.’ There will be a storm of questions from the media. Given that ‘alien invasion’ is among the least likely explanations to be believed, we think it should be possible to manage the consequent fallout. Public relations–wise, containment will not be perfect, but I am assured that it can be spun.”
Turning, he indicated a wall screen. It showed the bow of a huge freighter surrounded by escort vessels. As the remote camera looked on, the twisted, gnarled remains of lifeless Decepticons were pushed through an open railing and over the side of the ship, to disappear beneath white-topped waves.
“To prevent any chance of unforeseeable environmental fallout resulting from possible degradation of the, uh, bodies, they are being dumped into the Laurentian Abyss. At the disposal point it is seven miles to the sea bottom—the deepest point in any of the oceans. The programmed detonation at the location will be buffered by the massive depth, pressure, and water column above it. Worldwide sensors will register it as nothing more than a small seismic disturbance, typical for an area where the seafloor is spreading. Additionally, the exact site that has been chosen lies within a sunken caldera. I am assured that sufficient kilotons are being employed to implode this geological feature, thus burying everything beneath the resultant rubble.”
The government officials and high-ranking officers exchanged looks around the table. When someone finally spoke, it was an assistant secretary from another department. Given the somberness of the occasion, his words could have been anticipated.
“Wonder what’s for lunch?”
The farm was set in rolling countryside. The old truck and battered sedan that were parked out in front of the house were joined by a gleaming black GMC pickup truck that pulled up and parked in the dirt. Lennox stayed behind the wheel for a long moment: staring at the house, drinking in the surrounding yard, the nearby barn and shed. Nothing new, nothing very special, but to him it was Xanadu. As he exited the truck and stepped down into the dirt, the front door of the house opened and a woman ran out, coming toward him with a baby in her arms. Her smile was as wide as the country that stretched off toward the sunset and as warm as the sun that was setting. They melted into each other’s arms. Then Lennox took the baby, holding her for the first time. The little girl stared up at him in wonderment, and burped. For once, a perfect day.
Unnoticed, the black pickup gave a little shake, doglike. All the dirt fell from its sides, right down to the dust that had accumulated in the multiple wheel wells …
The hill crest wasn’t exactly Everest, but it was the best one could do without driving a long way from Tranquility. Sam and Mikaela sat on Bumblebee’s hood gazing at the same sunset that was presently casting its magic over a small farm. Unoccupied by driver or passenger, an emergency vehicle sat parked nearby. It looked as out of place on the hillside as did the giant eighteen-wheeler that loomed over it.
As Mikaela rested her head on Sam’s shoulder and he fought hard not to slide off the slick hood and act cool at the same time, Optimus Prime mused to himself.
“For now, the Decepticon legions are vanquished, and fate has yielded its reward. A new world to call—home. We live among its people now, hiding in plain sight, but watching over them in secret. Waiting. Protecting. I have been witness to their capacity for courage and sacrifice. Though internally and in many other ways we are literally worlds apart, as with us there is more to them than meets the eye.”
Except for the two young humans, the odd assortment of vehicles was alone on the hill. Optimus felt safe in raising his hood—his head—slightly off the ground and aiming it skyward. With that look, and an undetectable burst of energy, a final message flashed outward toward the sky and the stars beyond.
“I am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to any survivors of my kind who may be taking refuge among other systems, other stars. You are not alone. You have a home here, among others of your kind.
“We are waiting.”
To Yuri Zhovnirovsky and Pam Kostka,
on the occasion of their marriage
and their somewhat unconventional honeymoon,
with gorillas and in friendship
By Alan Dean Foster
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
The Black Hole
Cachalot
Dark Star
The Metrognome and Other Stories
Midworld
Nor Crystal Tears
Sentenced to Prism
Splinter of the Mind’s Eye
Star Trek® Logs One–Ten
Voyage to the City of the Dead
… Who Needs Enemies?
With Friends Like These …
Mad Amos
The Howling Stones
Parallelities
Transformers: Ghosts of Yesterday
Transformers (tie-in novel)
THE ICERIGGER TRILOGY:
Icerigger
Mission to Moulokin
The Deluge Drivers
THE ADVENTURES OF FLINX OF THE COMMONWEALTH:
For Love of Mother-Not
The Tar-Aiym-Krang
Orphan Star
The End of the Matter
Bloodhype
Flinx in Flux
Mid-Flinx
Flinx’s Folly
Sliding Scales
Running from the Diety
Trouble Magnet
THE DAMNED:
Book One: A Call to Arms
Book Two: The False Mirror
Book Three: The Spoils of War
THE FOUNDING OF THE COMMONWEALTH:
Phylogenesis
Dirge
Diuturnity’s Dawn
THE TAKEN TRILOGY:
Lost and Found
The Light-Years Beneath My Feet
The Candle of Distant Earth
Alan Dean Foster, Transformers
