CHAPTER 22

Eventually, the unmarked black cars peeled off, but Bumblebee still kept hauling ass like he had half the world’s best stunt drivers on his tail. Buckled into the shotgun seat, clinging to Bee’s dashboard with the edges of her fingernails, Samantha Witwicky could only think, over and over again: Dad’s gonna freak if the CIA gets their hands on me.

But they didn’t. Once they were alone again, and Sam felt like she could catch her breath, Bumblebee drove for a time, then turned off the asphalt and onto an unmarked track. He braked gently and rolled to a stop. There, like a giant, Optimus loomed atop a rocky outcropping, optics closed, one fist at his chin. He looked a lot like that thinking man statue from art class.

“‘Here’s your stop,’” Bumblebee quoted, and Sam unbuckled and hopped out. She waved to Optimus, but he didn’t move. Didn’t even open his optics. Wherever his mind was, it was far away from this little spot of California. If they were still even in California. It occurred to Sam that she had no idea where they were.

Bumblebee went from car to robot, and Sam looked up at him, indicated Optimus. “Is he—”

Bumblebee raised a finger to his—well, it wasn’t a mouth. Still, Sam got the message. Even across light years, there was an intergalactic symbol for ‘hush.’ So, she stayed quiet. The sun rose slowly over the horizon. Sam fished her phone out of her jeans. Out of charge, great.

It was the end of the craziest Sunday night of her life, which meant it was Monday morning. Which meant she had to get to school. Not just because having the flashiest car in the parking lot would do wonders for her social life, but because, if she didn’t attend, she’d need an alibi, or she’d have to try and explain all of this to her father. And, somehow, she didn’t think the facts of the matter would be remotely believable to someone whose life seeming began and ended with the exact measurements of his lawn and garden path.

The other Autobots turned up, one by one. First, Ratchet, then Jazz, and then Ironhide. Each one of them took a moment to study Optimus, brooding on his massive crag, and all of them seemed to decide that it was best not to disturb him. Only then, surrounded by giant robots, did Sam realize that there was no sign of Jack and Arcee. She waited, listened. Didn’t hear any motorcycles on the wind.

“Hey, Bee?” she asked.

He tilted his head, listening.

“Where’s Jack and Arcee?”

Bumblebee glanced away. That, Sam thought, was not good. Then, he warbled one of those electronic tones he made. It was a bit like listening to a bird—Sam felt she could understand the vibe even if she couldn’t understand the meaning.

And this time, the vibe was not copacetic.

So, she asked someone else: “Jazz?”

“Yo.”

“We’re missing someone. Well, two someones,” Sam said.

The silver Autobot nodded. “That we are,” he said. “No stress, I’ll sort this out.” He stepped towards Optimus, raising his visor. Sam got the distinct impression that none of the other Autobots had a license to interrupt Optimus when he was doing—well, whatever this was.

“Optimus,” Jazz began. “We have to do something. The humans—”

“Archibald Witwicky’s journal indicates that Megatron’s objective lies two hundred and ten miles from here,” Optimus said, opening his eyes, and not looking at Jazz.

For a long moment, no one said anything. Ironhide broke the silence, rumbling: “Then it’s here.”

Optimus nodded slightly, as if to himself. “It is.”

“The AllSpark,” Ratchet murmured, shaking his head. “On this world. Such a thing is difficult to believe. But how strange. Surely, we should have detected its energy signature, just as Megatron did.”

“Unless the humans have secured it,” Ironhide said.

“They would not know what they possess. They can not know.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Be that as it may, that the humans have secured the AllSpark is my estimation, as well,” Optimus replied, voice grim. “Which means we may be forced into conflict with them, in order to secure it, and with it, the fate of our world.”

Ratchet stepped forward. “The humans have no right to it.”

How did the AllSpark even end up on Earth? Okay, Megatron had found it and crash-landed in the ice or whatever, and there’d been a war like a thousand years before that, but Sam felt as if there were a few pages missing in the history book. ‘The AllSpark was lost’, but what did that mean, really?

“Optimus,” Jazz said, “What about Arcee? The humans took her, and Jack.”

“They what?” Sam asked, blinking.

Jazz continued: “We can’t just leave her to die and become some human experiment. We are honorbound to rescue her. To rescue them both.”

Optimus did not reply immediately. He turned his optics toward the horizon and the rising sun. “She will die in vain if we don’t accomplish our mission. Arcee is a brave soldier. This is what she would want."

It took all of Sam’s willpower not to say anything. Okay, sure, there was a whole planet at stake. Maybe even two planets. Maybe even a whole galaxy. But to throw someone away, just like that? If not for her and Jack, they wouldn’t even—

Ironhide, his arms crossed, asked: “Why do you care so much about these humans, Prime? They’re a primitive and violent species.”

Optimus turned to look at Ironhide. His facial plates shifted in what could have been a forlorn smile.

“Were we so different?” he asked. “They’re a young species. They have much to learn. But I’ve seen goodness in them. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, and the humans must not pay for our mistakes.”

“And if the Decepticons are already here? Soundwave is no fool.”

Ratchet sniffed the air, optics narrowing. “I sense they are ready to mobilize. And that there are more of them than it appears.”

“Then the humans will need our help,” Optimus replied. “The one advantage we have is that we are aware of the AllSpark’s location, and the Decepticons are not. For the first time since the fall of Cybertron, we have the initiative.”

But Optimus’ shoulders fell, and no one said anything.

Optimus spoke: “Before the last days of the war, at Tyger Pax, I told you all that our sacred duty as Autobots was to stop Megatron, no matter the cost. But now, on this world, I fear we are faced with the true understanding of what that will entail.”

“You must face him, Optimus,” Ratchet said. “If the crash put him in stasis lock, then taking his life would be a simple resolution to this senseless war.”

“It would not. The icy conditions that froze Megatron would do the same to us, and searching for him would only risk alerting the Decepticons to his location. And even in death, Megatron’s followers would seek to obtain the same power he was denied, to vindicate him and ensure his eternal legacy.”

Ratchet nodded. “They’d turn him into a martyr.”

“Precisely, old friend. And the war will never end.”

No wonder Optimus had been brooding. This was heavy. Too heavy for a Monday morning.

Then, the sound of shifting mechanics, of a titan rising, and Optimus stood up and took a step, looking at none of the Autobots, not even at her. His gaze was somewhere on the ground, to his left, looking away from them all.

“You all know there’s only one way to end this war,” he said, reaching toward his chest. He tugged his windshield-cab-pectorals open with a distinct click, like opening a heavy car door.

“We must destroy the AllSpark. If all else fails, I will unite it with the spark in my chest.”

There was something there, glimmering electric blue and so very bright. Ratchet stepped forward, swiping his arm. “That’s suicide! The AllSpark is raw power. It could destroy you both!”

Solemnly, Optimus closed his chest plates, and his expression did not shift. “A necessary sacrifice to bring peace to this planet,” he said softly, and then louder, and set a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder: “I do not make this decision lightly, old friend. The needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few. Even for us.”

Optimus drew himself up to his full height, and turned to regard them in turn. Ratchet, Ironhide, Jazz, Bumblebee—and then, finally, he looked down at Sam. “Whatever comes next, let it be known that it has been an honor serving with you all. Autobots, roll out!”

In seconds, the five Autobots were vehicles again. Bumblebee popped his shotgun door open and Sam, aware that she was way over her head, that she really had to get back to school, to her dad, to her regular life, sighed and hopped in. She buckled up and couldn’t shake the feeling that she was on this ride until it came to a full and complete stop—and she had no idea how intense it was going to get. But it was that, or remain in the middle of nowhere without a working phone.

Not much of a choice.

They hit the open road. Two-hundred miles to the AllSpark. Sam eyed Bumblebee’s speedometer. So, two hours or so until humanity and the Autobots confronted each other again—and this time, Sam figured, Optimus wasn’t going to be so keen on being the kind of truck who talked things out.

And what about Jack and Arcee? Okay, sure, she had the general disposition of a moody cactus, but they couldn’t let her remain a prisoner of the government—or, worse, a science experiment. The only reason Optimus even knew the AllSpark was here was because of her. The way Sam saw it, he owed her.

And Jack? The guy was like a golden retriever. Sam was pretty sure there was something going on between those two—one of those they’ll-be-the-last-to-realize-it Lee-and-Starbuck things—which was weird, because Arcee was an alien robot, but she wasn’t going to judge. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had half a dozen past-midnight garage DnMs with Bee, either.

“We have to find them, Bee,” Sam said, looking at his radio, like she was looking him in the eye. “Jack and Arcee. We have to rescue them. No matter what Optimus says. After all this. Me and you.”

He didn’t reply.