Sam Witwicky lounged on his back atop the roof of his car, feet carefully resting on the windshield as he soaked up the sun as well as the feeling of freedom every teenager feels when summer break arrives. The difference between him and the majority of high schoolers that summer was that he had graduated and did not have to return to the same imprisoning walls in September.

From the car's open windows came the chorus from Alice Cooper's School's Out, one of numerous anti-school, pro-summer songs Bumblebee had queued up for the occasion. Despite how Sam had been taking the day to relax, he couldn't help thinking of weighty matters, including ones that would be affect his choice of college majors.

"Hey, 'Bee?"

The music lowered. "Yes?"

"I noticed Ironhide's been really quiet since he got back from the Ark."

"Has he? He seemed fine to me."

"Well, you haven't been to Autobase that much." Sam reconsidered. "But I only go there when you do... Um... I dunno. He just seems that way to me. You think something's up?"

"Should I ask him for you?"

"No, no. I was just wondering if anyone else noticed."

"Sorry. He appears to be Ironhide-like to me. How would you describe the difference?"

"He reminds me of my dad when he's thinking about something but doesn't want to share it with anybody, even my mom."

"So we would not get any clues from Chromia?"

"Probably not."

"Where did this line of thought come from?"

"Mm, I dunno. Just thinking."

"About alien robots when you just got out of school?"

Sam sat up and slid down off the roof to sit on the hood, acting as if he was talking to someone sitting next to him. "Well, I was thinking of becoming a mechanic so I could help fix you guys when you got hurt. Then I realized I would need electrical engineering knowledge, too. Then I started thinking about how that defines you guys as machines, but you're more than that. I thought of Ironhide as an example, since he's not acting as machine-like as usual."

"So...then...usually you think Ironhide is just a machine?"

"Well, no. He's just... not really all that emotional. Unless the topic is about battle." He leaned back against the Camaro's windshield.

"He was programmed for battle, Sam. Sometimes he can't help it."

"That's gotta be weird. Waking up in the morning and instead of saying 'Wow, it's nice out today', it would be, 'Wow, I wonder how many targets I can destroy today'."

"Sam."

"Sorry!" The boy sat up again. "But doesn't that sum it up? What do you think about when you first wake up?"

"Arcee."

"Wait, what?" Sam nearly slid off the hood. "Seriously? Heh! Ahem, I mean, very cool. I hope that works out for you."

"It is, thank you." Bumblebee kept the amusement out of his voice. He had hoped to derail Sam's train of thought and had succeeded. Meanwhile, he transmitted the conversation to Ratchet in case there was something more behind Sam's comments than just human curiosity. He was always alert for signs indicating side effects from handling the Allspark. If reading more into one Autobot than what other mechs saw in that same one was an indication, it was worth noting.

~*~

The top level of Autobase was filled with a thumping bass beat and vibrant guitars. Tracks shirked his turn at guard duty in order to watch Broadcast twist, jump, flip, and spin to the music. The larger mech kept tapping his foot in time, smiling at Broadcast's acrobatic fervor. "I say, Broadcast, you almost look like you are preparing for a competition."

"Might be." The comms officer flipped backward and stood on his hands, grinning at Tracks upside-down. "As soon as Prime allows us to interact daily with humans, I'm hittin' the clubs!"

"I might have to join you. It seems like it could be fun."

Broadcast pushed off the floor and twisted in the air, landing on his feet. "Just wish Jazz coulda had more time to experience this stuff. He woulda loved this." He spun then did a split, only to move back up to his feet again in the next moment.

"Yes, he would." Tracks nodded in agreement. He leaned against the wall, taking a lazy glance out at the junkyard.

Broadcast went on to a complicated series of moves while standing on his hands again. "Tracks, do you believe in ghosts?"

"Refresh my memory on the term, please." After the small mech did so, Tracks clasped his chin in thought. "I am honestly not sure. I think I would need to experience an encounter first."

"Guess so. I was rememberin' that time I went trick-or-treatin' with Sam an' Mikaela. We didn't have any proof, but it would be pretty amazin' if that's where our rescue came from."

"Indeed." Tracks felt a shiver pass up his frame, and started to scowl at the timing. Then he glanced outside again. "Hmm..."

"Hmm, what?" The comms officer flipped back to his feet. The LED screen in his chest displayed numbers as he turned down his volume. He then walked over to see what had caught Tracks' attention.

"I thought I saw something move by the east floor gate." Tracks nodded in a subtle motion toward one of two disguised platforms that lowered into the base. The piles of junk over it appeared the same as always. He continued to stare at the spot while Broadcast turned with his right side to the junkyard, seeking to localize any unusual sounds.

"Don't hear anythin'," he whispered. "No, wait. There's a difference in the wind over there. Extra disruption by somethin' solid. I haven't heard'a anyone addin' to the camo."

"Me, either." Tracks sent a secure message to Arcee. Seconds later, a hot pink motorcycle with a holographic driver drove out of the garage below to their right. They both remained focused on the spot. Nothing moved, and when Arcee circled the spot, she sent back a message signaling an all clear.

Broadcast peered at the location for a few moments longer. "Makin' me paranoid that the 'Cons could be disguisin' themselves as burnt-out toaster ovens."

"I fail to see the tactical advantage."

"There ain't one, other than spyin' on us. We been on the lookout for bugs, so it wouldn't surprise me if they tried somethin' weird. Did you see that flyswatter Ratchet made?"

"The one that has a jet pack and transforms in record time?"

"Yep."

"I try to stay away from it."

"Heheh, don't have to tell me. Thing goes after R an' B all the time. I told Ratchet to fix the parameters on it. He said he'd match it to my frequency. Har-har." He rolled his optical cameras.

Tracks chuckled. "Perhaps we should be glad it hasn't found any Insecticons yet."

"True, true." Broadcast suddenly darted a glance outside again, one hand going up to adjust the dial on the left side of his head. After a few seconds he relaxed. "Paranoia. Gonna keep me on my toes more'n the music."

~*~

ARROW agent William Lennox regarded the round-ended MP3 player in his hand thoughtfully as he fitted the earpieces into place. He then pressed the play button. A nostalgia-invoking rendition of White Christmas sung by Bing Crosby started to play. He chuckled. "Wrong season." The song stopped and Don Henley's Boys of Summer took its place. "Close enough." He smiled and listened contently.

A large shadow fell over him and he leaned back, looking up at Powerglide. The mech had his battle mask withdrawn to show his frown. "Are you sure that one is safe?"

"I wouldn't be handling it if I wasn't."

Powerglide made a sound of distrust. The little device beeped musically in response. Powerglide shook his head. "You and I were created by the same force, regardless of differing situations, so don't try those 'Yo momma' jokes on me!"

The MP3 player blooped apologetically. Will chuckled again. "Come on, Powerglide, you gotta admit he's kinda cute."

"Ehn. If I hadn't seen so many of them go psychotic in the test videos, maybe. I still doubt that human technology can hold up to being sparked. It might have been reverse-engineered from a Cybertronian, but humans do not have Cybertronian materials. We can emulate your metals but there are still some things that can't be duplicated on this planet."

"Yeah, I've seen the list. I hear someone recently tried to coax you into telling them how you avoid detection."

Powerglide grinned. "And I reminded them I was part of covert ops for a reason."

"So, how does it work, without giving away secrets?"

"My armor was specially created to deflect -- and contain -- traces of my Cybertronian nature. Anyone scanning me would register a common vehicle."

"Which is why Sector Seven didn't know you were an alien."

"Exactly."

The MP3 player beeped repeatedly. Powerglide gave it a doubting look. A tell-tale chk-chk-CHACK noise came from it, then Lennox was suddenly leaping to his feet, yanking the earpieces from his head. They immediately whipped around his wrist as he tried to drop the player itself. It transformed as it swung from his wrist, momentum carrying it into an arc that was increased by Will dancing backward. The MP3 player-turned-robot emitted a close approximation of Cybertronian words as its four grasping limbs reached to grab Will's hair.

He slapped it away but it hung on by the wires and snapped right back toward his head again. Scowling in annoyance Will flicked his wrist, sending the wires into a circular spiral winding toward him. He took out his badge as the spiral tightened and put it in the mechanoid's path before it could grab his skin. It smacked into the metal badge with a tame clink then fell like a spent yo-yo suspended from the wires.

Will sighed. "I actually thought it was safe."

Powerglide shook his head. "I told you."

The MP3 player was among a collection of random small electronics Sector Seven had experimented with. These were the few that didn't immediately "go bonkers", as Banachek had put it, although they had been kept under careful supervision as a precaution. Lennox had been given the MP3 player in an attempt to see if the small creature would be receptive to the Engilsh language. For a day and a half it had been fine.

Will carefully folded the unconscious creature's limbs so he could hold it in one fist, then he headed across the floor of the hangar toward an office, Powerglide following him. He asked the mech, "What do you think set it off?"

"The fact that it's inferior technology, just as I said before? Or maybe it didn't like being called 'cute'."

Will shook his head, not amused. He walked into the office, leaving Powerglide to lean over and peer through the doorway. "Eugene, got another dud for you."

Eugene Breckstein sat up straight at his desk, looking away from his computer. He had finally broken the habit of saluting his former captain, but showing respect was ingrained into him. "Which one is it this time?"

Lennox presented the mp3 player. It was awake and had transformed back to its alt mode. It emitted tiny beeps, almost sounding afraid. Powerglide heard it and called from the doorway, "Sorry, pal, you blew it." He cocked his head as it beeped in different tones. "It's saying it doesn't know what came over it. It heard something that said Will was an enemy, then it lost its self control."

Breckstein scowled. "There's no way a subliminal message could penetrate these walls, they're built even more defensively than Hoover Dam."

"Unless something got in," Powerglide suggested, thinking of a warning he had recently received from Ratchet.

Eugene moved to stand up. "But we have extra sensors--"

"Sensors, shmensors." Powerglide waved a hand past the door. "Sector Seven brought me in here and that did them no good. Human technology is now going to be toy puzzles for the Decepticons. If you--"

"Hey," Eugene interrupted sharply. "That's why one of your guys is helping not just ARROW but the whole government fortify our systems."

Powerglide tilted his head again. "So I heard, but I don't know the mech personally. I'm sure he can help, but you can't count on it to hold up alone."

Will threw a glare toward the doorway and said sharply, "Powerglide, if you have suggestions for augmenting our security, go ahead and tell us. If not, interview our poor friend here to see if he can give us more clues." He walked over and placed the mp3 player into Powerglide's outstretched hand. "Eugene--"

Breckstein shot to his feet, standing at attention. Will sighed. "At ease. I'd like to talk to Tom about the rest of the sparked machines. We can't keep waiting for something to go wrong. We have to help them." He cast a pointed glance toward the doorway.

Eugene slid back into his seat. "As it so happens, he wanted to speak with you, too -- well, several of us, but he named you team leader. The message is here if you want to look. Meeting's at three o'clock."

Will checked his watch. "One hour. Maybe he'll have it free. Thanks." He walked out of the office and headed for the elevator. Powerglide had taken a seat beside the doorway and was regarding the mp3 player with new consideration.

After reaching the next level of the facility where Tom's office was located, Lennox ended up waiting in the hall until a few minutes before the meeting started. When Tom emerged from his office, Will followed him and explained about the mp3 player. As they entered the conference room, Banachek said, "I'll see what can be done about the ones that are left. Personally, I think we should send them all to Autobase where they will be better understood." Lennox nodded at the double indication. On one level, the Autobots knew how the devices functioned as robots. On another, they knew about being sentient robots.

The team Will was to lead was small. It included himself, Breckstein, an agent from New York named Lawrence Wrunker and another from Oklahoma, Steven Markhail. Banachek sat at the head of the table and patiently waited for them to be seated. "All right, everyone," he said as the lights dimmed and a large screen on the wall behind him lit up. "You are all familiar with the target so hopefully this will go smoothly." Will raised a questioning eyebrow but then the profile and full face photographs of a man with thick brows, dark curly hair, and a bored look came up on the screen.

"Simmons?!" Will burst out, unable to help himself. He managed to hold in his laughter and judging from the grins around the table, everyone else was amused -- except Banachek. Will cleared his throat and reined in his amusement. "Sorry, sir. I assume this is due to his continued MIA status?"

"Yes," Tom replied. "It's become a matter of security. There have been no signals from his badge and there is concern that he might have been found by the Decepticons. While we all know how little a threat Reginald poses, they might have ways of getting Sector Seven information out of his head." There was no humor in Tom's tone despite his words. Every member of ARROW knew well that science fiction was far too close to the truth than anyone ever expected.

"You'll start your search in the area surrounding his home." A map replaced the photos and Tom traced a circle with a laser pointer. "Check at the grocery store where we've had hits from his badge. If you find any evidence that he unwillingly -- or willingly -- had contact with Decepticons, report in. If he has, we pass this on to the Autobots."

A general round of "Understood, sir" went up. Lennox studied the map as the other three left.

"Questions, Will?" Tom asked.

"No," Lennox replied with a sigh. "I just wish that knucklehead would realize he's not invincible. But I don't think he would be careless enough to get involved with the 'Cons. Maybe he has his own plan to hide from them."

"Maybe." Tom seemed to chew on that thought for a moment. "Either way, we still need to find him."

"May I have permission to contact the Autobots directly if we find unquestionable evidence of Decepticon involvement?"

Banachek hesitated, studying Will, then he nodded. "Yes. If the situation turns out to be critical, the sooner they're on the scene the better." He shook his head. "But I'm sure they have other things to do than extract Reggie's sorry backside from trouble, like figurin' out where the Decepticons disappeared to. Some people are takin' the quiet as a sign that they accepted their defeat and slipped off the planet to cower elsewhere in the universe. Me, I'm just waitin' for the shoe to drop."

Lennox nodded solemnly. "At least we're better prepared for them now. But I hope they realized we're not pushovers and will just not mess with us."

"Yes, we can always hope so."

~*~

The message came up labeled as low priority, may view later, but Optimus accessed it right away. Things were quiet at the Ark and all he had to do that morning was wait for Prowl to confirm that his team had arrived at their destination. The message was from Ironhide and asked for a video conference, again stating that it could wait until Prime had free time. Given that he was currently just sitting in his office reviewing overhead patrol reports from the SkySpies, he had the time.

"Huh," Prime uttered out loud, sending back a notice that he would be ready any time. He closed the SkySpy feeds and waited for an incoming line from Autobase. Within a few seconds a window came up displaying Ironhide's face, his optics dimmed.

Optimus felt himself grow wary at that look. "Good morning, Ironhide. What is it you wish to discuss?"

The warrior appeared to shuffle from side to side. "I would like to take leave, sir."

Prime's optics brightened in surprise. "Really, now?" He sank back against his seat. "Just you, or you and Chromia?"

"Just me, sir."

Optimus didn't chide him about being too formal, knowing this request was difficult for the warrior. "For as long as I have known you, you have never once taken leave."

Ironhide grunted an affirmative.

Optimus held his gaze for several moments, watching Ironhide shuffle again. He knew what his answer would be but he automatically weighed consequences and processed contingency plans. Finally he spoke with warm sincerity, "You have earned as much time as you need, old friend. You are free to depart when you see fit and return at your own choosing. We'll be waiting when you get back." He didn't feel that he needed to ask for details, nor did he want to. Wherever Ironhide decided to go was his business. "And we will be here if you need us."

Ironhide saluted. "Thank you, si-- thank you, Optimus."

~*~

Robert Epps watched the lines of protesters who paced the sidewalk beyond the tinted windows of his Buick Enclave, his hands tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. There were dozens of police officers scattered throughout the area but it wasn't a fear of violence breaking out that worried him most, it was what they were protesting. Most carried signs with the word Autobot on it, some circled in red with a diagonal line through it, others with extra words such as "Go Home", "Are Not Wanted" and more. One had a large boxy figure standing on a smaller stick figure accompanied by the phrase "Don't Tread On Me". Another one, which had caused him to choke on bitter laughter, read, "These aliens are definitely not wanted!" Then there was the "America for HUMANS" sign.

He sighed and picked up the handheld radio. "Tailor Ten, this is Walker One. All quiet in the East Lane. What's your status?"

The agent watching from the other end of the street beyond the crowd answered calmly, "This is Tailor Ten. Ditto on West. We have kids on skateboards, but they've been out for ten."

Epps translated the message to mean some not-so-peaceful-looking protesters had shown up but were sitting away from the other group, and had been doing nothing for ten minutes. He hoped they stayed that way, but he braced himself for a confrontation. "Roger, Tailor Ten. Walker One out." He put the receiver down and sighed again.

"Troubled, Bobby?" came a different voice from the radio.

"I keep thinking this will be the one time, T.B., the one where it all hits the fan. Screaming, cursing, shooting, burning...I'm expecting a warzone. And, y'know, that scares me. I've seen war. These people have no idea."

"I have to agree," Trailbreaker replied softly. "And I'm not saying that from a Cybertronian point of view, but as someone who was accustomed to being a civilian."

"Mm-hm." Epps nodded, staring out the window. "I don't wish the details of combat on them, but they need their eyes opened to real fear."

"But they are afraid. Of what's different."

"Well, they got no idea how alike you guys and us really are." Bobby sat up straight when he saw two young men roughly shoulder through the line. They didn't carry signs, but one of them was holding something red in his hands. Epps grabbed the handheld. "Tailor Ten, Finance Five, this is Walker One. Suspicious activity on East Lane. Keep your heads down. Walker One, out." He lowered the speaker and glanced out his side window before opening the door, gaze immediately going to the two young men. They were milling amongst the line now, receiving the occasional irritated look from the protesters who walked past them. "Can't even get along with each other," Bobby muttered as he got out of the car. He carefully closed the door so it wouldn't make any noise then he stepped up onto the sidewalk, giving his suit jacket a tug.

One of the young men looked right at him and elbowed the other, who pressed a button on the red object. It emitted a piercing sound that made Bobby shudder. It reminded him of the noises Scorponok had made.

Everyone in the area either went still in surprise or turned toward the source, except for one woman who screamed and broke away from the line. A police officer quickly went to her aid. The young man holding the red tape player intoned, "And that is what you will hear only a second before they get you. They sneak among us and we don't know where they are or when they will strike."

Bobby came to a halt in front of the young men and held up his badge, turning to show the nearby protesters. "Robert Epps, of the Cybertronian Ambassador program. You two do understand that this is an authorized peaceful march, and your actions are infringing on the law-abiding protesters here."

The second man sneered. "Ambassador? Are you in league with them?" He backed up and spread his arms. "They use such weird sounds, they could be brainwashing us! They are alien technology, they could be implanting devices to keep us malleable to their cause!"

The one with the recorder started to turn, waving the device. "Even THIS could be one of them."

Epps gave a signal to the police, two officers slowly making their way around to the back of the lines in case the two men became any more rowdy. Bobby had guessed their game, however, when a man carrying a sign lightly tapped his arm. "Is it true that they eat metal and will devour our cell phones?"

A woman near him called out, "I hear they can make other vehicles transform. Will all of our cars be taken over?" Others crowded closer to ask questions, separating Epps from the instigators. He left it to the officers to catch them; it was his job to answer the questions, which he did calmly.

"No, they don't eat metal and they have no interest in your phone. Only the artifact they came here to retrieve could animate machines, and it has been decommissioned. They only scan a vehicle's form, they don't actually become the exact vehicle they see." On it went, with the majority of people being reasonable and even drifting back into their organized line. Their questions may have been answered, but that didn't mean it changed their minds.

After several minutes Bobby was feeling positive about the incident, glad to have cleared things up for some of the people. Yet then a man near the edge of the group yelled out, "They're huge! How many of our natural resources will they need before they simply take them all and use everything up?!"

Epps sighed, disappointed that the inevitable disruption had come. He turned in the direction of the voice. Something in his stance -- or the air of military precision he gave off -- made the people nearest to him give him some space. He spoke calmly. "They understand more about energy efficiency then we've learned in thirty years. They already operate on renewable energy sources."

"Yeah?" the guy shot back, "And which would those be?"

"Solar, for one example. They can--"

He was cut off by the same man before he could explain. "But if they copy our vehicles, they would need to power themselves with our fuel! Our gas shortage is bad enough!!"

Bobby made a subtle sign to another officer. "They borrow the image of our vehicles. They still run on their own power sources."

"What if we want to harness their energy sources for our usage?" the man demanded. "What would they say to that?!"

Epps took a breath, exhaling through his nose as he thought over his response. The fact that the Cybertronians were alive due to their sparks was not meant to become general knowledge. The man's words brought an image to his mind of an Autobot hooked up to a power station -- a prisoner. He had to dismiss his initial reply, realizing it could be used as anti-Autobot propaganda. He slid into military mode again, now seeing that this had been exactly that type of verbal trap from the start. "Then we would talk with them and cooperate on an answer."

"How are they paying for the resources they're using?!"

The rest of the protesters were moving away from the man, having the sense to know he was pusheing the limits of their march. Epps now faced down a tall but stout balding man in a tan coat whose round face was red from his exclamations. Bobby remained where he was, standing at rest while he planned to button hole the situation. "There are talks for them to teach us about energy efficiency."

The man snorted. "A way for them to control us."

Bobby adjusted his stance slightly, hands remaining behind his back. He longed to put the man in his place but knew the choice words and actions he wanted to use would be frowned upon by the higher-ups...not to mention damage the entire point of the protest.

"So is your vehicle one of them?!" The man suddenly pointed at the Buick.

"No," Epps lied without hesitation. Trailbreaker was his assigned partner and he needed to protect him. The Autobot would switch car types yet again when the time came to reveal himself. This protest was not the time, and this man was only instigating -- and failing.

"Prove it," the man taunted. "I bet you would stop anyone who tried to smash it."

Bobby gave a tight smile. "Sir, I would do so to prevent a waste of government property. Which would be a federal offense. Are you implying you would do such a thing, to either my property or any other citizen's property? That encroaches on this march, too."

Two officers came up beside the man. He cast them dirty looks, then put his hands in his pockets and stomped off down the street. Epps nodded and the officers followed him, acting as escorts away from the protest area.

Bobby waited several minutes to see if anyone else would have questions, but the march went on quietly. He returned to the Buick and sat down with a sigh, closing the door then muttering, "I miss fightin' battles with guns and tanks."

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(c) 2008 S. Loweck. This work may not be copied, distributed, or reprinted without the author's permission. Transformers are copyright Hasbro/Paramount/Dreamworks.