Transformers Dark of the Moon (24 page)

He was looking straight at Sam.

Sam couldn’t even get a word out. In fact, he could barely breathe as his throat closed up. He simply couldn’t fathom the level of betrayal that was being played out here. This would kill Optimus, simply crush him.

It was Lennox who spoke up. “We can’t.”

“You will not?” There was sadness in Sentinel’s reply, but it was tinged with danger.

“No. We cannot. The clearance to do so … the codes to open the vault without detonating the fail-safes … it’s above our pay grade.”

“Well, then,” said Sentinel, “it appears we have a problem.”

It is an impressive vehicle, this airplane they call
Air Force One
.
A pity it is inanimate. It would make a formidable Autobot
.

Their president has desired to meet with me for some time, but my coming to his domicile, his White House, offers some obvious logistical difficulties. So arranging a rendezvous at somewhere such as Andrews Air Force Base is the far more reasonable course
.

I will be intrigued to speak with him. If any human can comprehend the responsibilities that come with being a Prime, then it would be he
.

The main door to the airplane has opened, a stairway with the presidential seal rolled up to it. We have our iconography, and they have theirs. In this, at least, we are alike
.

Several men in black suits emerge. They have earpieces and are regarding me with what appears to be considerable trepidation. These men are bodyguards, and it is unlikely that they are happy to see me. This meeting has been long arranged and approved at the highest level, yet still they regard me as a potential threat. And they know that if I were indeed to present a threat—were I to attack them—they would be helpless to stop me. My presence hampers their ability to do their job
.

Even after all this time, they still do not understand
.
It is the solemn duty of the Autobots to protect humanity. They have nothing to fear from us. Nothing at all
.

The president emerges from
Air Force One
.
He looks up at me and salutes me. It is meaningless since I am not in the armed forces. No … it is not meaningless. It is a sign of respect, and much appreciated. I return it
.

He begins to thank me for my service. He makes a small joke of how he would present me with a medal, but there are none large enough to fit around my neck. And besides, he says, I am made of metal and thus have no need for more. It is a small jest, a play on the two words that sound alike. It seems to amuse him, and I nod in—

What …

 … is that?

A message … an electronic message … being transmitted to me by Ratchet …

It makes no sense
.

Sentinel? Has destroyed … …

Ironhide?

That is impossible. Impossible
.

I call out to Ironhide, expecting his immediate response. This must be some bizarre prank of the younger …

Nothing
.

And not just nothing. Nothingness. Emptiness. It is not that Ironhide is not replying. He is simply not there
.

He is gone
.

I listen closely to what Ratchet is saying. He is frantic, stunned, shocked. He is telling me that Sentinel has just slain Ironhide … that Bumblebee was next, but Skids intervened, laid down his life …

I send an immediate message to Ratchet, to Bumblebee, Mirage, and Mudflap, telling them to withdraw. They cannot stand against Sentinel. None can. They
must survive until we can determine what has happened
.

Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Mirage acknowledge my order
.

Mudflap does not. He is receiving it, but his mind is a screaming frenzy, too preoccupied to attend to me
.

There is only one conclusion to draw: He is attacking Sentinel. Which means he is dead and simply does not know it yet
.

The president sees that something is wrong. He questions me
.

“You must leave immediately,” I say to him. “You must refuel your vessel as quickly as possible and depart.”

His guardians are instantly alert to the threat of imminent danger they discern from my words. The president looks confused. “I … I don’t understand …”

“Something terrible is happening. Something that you need to be nowhere near. Take to the air and leave this area. Your country needs its leader.”

Instead of leaving, he approaches me, rife with concern. “And my family needs me as well. They’re at the White House. If they’re in danger …”

“You must help them by surviving. I will protect them. Leave now.”

The guardians believe me. “Mr. President, we have to leave. Now. We’ll get it sorted out in the air,” says one, and they are already hastening him back up the stairs
.

I switch to my alternative form and roll out of Andrews Air Force Base at top speed, and yet my thoughts are racing even faster
.

The explanation is clear to me: Sentinel has been taken over by the Decepticons in some manner. He is not in his right mind. This is entirely my fault; I should never have left him to his own devices. Obviously at some point he encountered Decepticons who brainwashed
him and turned him into an unwilling slave. Somewhere, buried deep within his consciousness, the true Sentinel must be recoiling in horror over everything that he has done. The true Sentinel must be screaming for release from the living trap of his own mind
.

The guards at the front exit barely manage to raise the gate before I speed through. Seconds later, Andrews Air Force Base is in my rearview as I speed toward the highway
.

As I go, additional messages are coming through. NEST is contacting me. Alerts are everywhere. Decepticons are converging upon Washington, D.C. I immediately send an electronic message to Ratchet, telling them to proceed to the National Mall, which seems to be where the Decepticons are heading. I will meet them there
.

We must save the humans from Sentinel
.

We must save Sentinel from himself
.

As Charlotte Mearing drove through the NEST complex from the back entrance, she was startled to hear explosions erupting from the area ahead.

Her driver slowed to a halt. “Why are you stopping? Get us over there!” Mearing said. “Lennox has stopped answering the phone, and I have to find out what the hell is going on!”

“Ma’am, your safety is—”

“You’re not worried about my safety, you’re worried about yours, and I’m not a … oh, forget it,” she said in disgust. Before the aide could take any action to prevent it, Mearing was out the door. She had already swapped out the hated heels for sneakers, and she sprinted toward the site of the detonations. This was her facility, and she was determined to protect it at all costs.

It was obvious that the Decepticons must have breached the perimeter, and her people were fighting, probably dying, as a result. There was simply no way she was going to be running in the other direction while that was happening.

She reached into her shoulder holster and pulled out her gun, chambering a round as she moved.

The closer she got, the more clearly she saw the damage that had been inflicted. She ran past smoking ruins of helicopters and various land vehicles. Hangar Bay One had been completely demolished, and then she
heard explosions coming from within Hangar Bay Two. She started toward it, uncertain of what she was going to see, but never had the chance to get close enough. There was a thunderous detonation that she belatedly realized came from a fuel storage area within, and then a massive fireball erupted from the bay. The concussive force of the explosion blew Mearing off her feet. She flew through the air, her glasses knocked off her face, and then hit the ground hard. If she hadn’t been wearing a pantsuit, her legs would have been lacerated. As it was, the skin on her hands was abraded and the fabric of her clothing torn up.

She lay on the ground, gasping, her ears ringing. Her hair had come undone and was hanging in her face. She shoved it out of her eyes, and her hand came away with even more blood, which she realized was seeping from a gash in her forehead.

Then she saw something that filled her with instant relief.

From the smoke, from the flames, Sentinel was emerging. He was moving slowly and steadily, even casually, if such a word could be applied to a being like him. To Mearing, there was only one possible interpretation of what she was seeing: There had been some sort of Decepticon assault, and Sentinel had just finished dispatching them.

Thank God these creatures are on our side
, she thought.
What would it be like if only the Decepticons had arrived here?

Mearing staggered to her feet. She picked up her glasses and saw that the right lens was shattered. Folding them up, she shoved them in her jacket and started toward Sentinel, treading lightly since her left ankle seemed tender. But it could have been worse, a lot worse. Torn clothing, busted glasses, a pulled muscle, perhaps. At least she was alive, so that was something.

“What’s happening?” she said to the Autobot. “Sentinel? Report!”

Sentinel looked down at her with as much disdain as his face could possibly convey. “I am a Prime from the great planet Cybertron. I do not take orders from you. But”—his voice softened slightly—“I regret all the harm that must come.”

Uncomprehending, Mearing drew closer, and suddenly she heard shouting from nearby. She turned and saw Lennox and Witwicky running toward her. They were gesturing wildly for her to get back, and now she could hear Lennox shouting, “No, ma’am! Stop!”

“Get away from him!” Sam Witwicky was calling to her.

Slowly, understanding dawned upon Mearing. She looked up at Sentinel. “Oh, my God,” she said.

“Your God is not here to help you, so you had best deal with me. Now”—he moved around toward Lennox and Witwicky—“return what belongs to me.”

“You mean the pillars in the vault.”

“Yes. I assume it is within your … ‘pay grade’ … to release them to me. Do so.”

“Go to hell,” she said defiantly.

Sentinel paused, considering her, and then, sounding insanely avuncular, said, “You do not want me for an enemy, Charlotte.”

The familiarity he was taking made her skin crawl. “It’s a little late for that. You destroyed half my base.”

“No. I am not your enemy yet. The destruction I have inflicted thus far is merely to prove a point. Yes, half your base is destroyed, but half remains intact. I have demonstrated restraint.”

“Seriously?”
Sam called. “You trash the place and you’re using the ‘glass is half full’ angle?” Lennox promptly told Sam to quiet down, for which Mearing was grateful.

“Thus far,” said Sentinel, “I have merely done what was necessary for the needs of myself and my race. I have stopped short of regarding you as hostile entities to be dealt with accordingly and have restrained myself whenever possible. For you are a young race and know not what you do. You have an opportunity—right here and right now—to maintain that status quo, to keep this war strictly between the two races that have been waging it. If you do that—if you cooperate—you will be saving untold millions, perhaps billions, of lives.”

“And if I don’t give you what you want, you’ll what? Kill me?” Mearing said.

“No. Because right now I require two things in this world: you and my property, locked away in your vault. And so I will simply carry you with me until you agree to do what I wish. And I will kill everyone that I encounter. Men, women, children … it makes no difference to me. And you will have to live with the knowledge that every one of those deaths are lives that you could have saved … beginning with these two.”

And with that pronouncement, he turned toward Lennox and Sam and raised his foot.

She should have let him do it. That was what she would tell herself later. She should have let Sentinel obliterate the two of them with one stamp of his foot. She should have sent him a message right then, right there, in the strongest and most unequivocal terms: The United States did not knuckle under to the demands of terrorists.

But instead she cried out,
“No! Don’t!”

Sam and Lennox had automatically raised their arms to shield themselves against the impact, even though it obviously would have done them no good.

Sentinel remained frozen in that position and then slowly lowered his foot to the side, clear of the two humans
hehad been about to crush. “That was your instinctive response, Charlotte,” he said. “One that was devoid of policy concerns and paperwork. It was your human response. The right response. Follow that instinct, for it will guide you to the proper course. A course that will lead to a destination that you already know. The only question is: How many lives will be ended under my foot before that destination is reached? How many lives will you save? Decide, Charlotte Mearing. Decide … now.”

Anyone who happened to be standing outside the building that purported to be Health and Human Services would not have found it at all surprising that a fire truck was rolling out through the main gates of the facility. With the reverberations of explosions echoing in the distance, it was obvious that there had been some sort of major conflagration going on. It was impressive that only one truck had been required to deal with it; from the sounds of it and the size of the fireballs that had been leaping skyward, it might well have been a two- or even three-alarmer.