The Beginning

“I can’t believe you forgot the component, Dad,” Spike joked, jabbing his father in the side. “Now we have to travel all the way back to the Ark …”

“Oh well, does me good,” Hound said, dashboard lights blinking in time to his vocalizer. “I haven’t been out much, and I’m afraid that if I were human, I’d be quite … what is it -- fat?” To prove his lack of exercise, the green Jeep revved his engine; the usual smoothness was replaced by a distinct splutter. “See?”

And then he backfired.

“WHOA!” Spike and Sparkplug exclaimed in unison, bouncing in their seats, thankful for the seatbelts Hound had snapped around then.

“Oops.” Hound gave an embarrassed laugh. “Must’ve been that last cup of oil I had before we left this morning. Guess it didn’t agree with me.”

Sparkplug rolled his eyes and leaned his forearm on the edge of Hound’s door. As they passed the bus station, something caught his eye. “Hey, Hound, pull over.”

“Huh? Where?”

“There -- the station. I think I see someone I know.”

“Oh, okay.” Quite conciliatory, the Jeep waited at the light before making a U-turn, pulling up beside the entrance to the bus station.

“Wait here,” Sparkplug said, unbuckling himself and making his way towards a slight figure sitting on a bench.

Spike watched as his father approached the woman and started talking animatedly with her. “Know her?” Hound asked, his engine rumbling as the bad oil worked its way through his system. His frame shuddered and he expelled a cloud of bluish gas out his muffler. “Oh, dear.”

Coughing, Spike fanned the air in front of his face. “Hound!” People were turning to look at them now, making sounds of disgust as they passed.

The lights on Hound’s dashboard went a curious shade of pink. “Sorry,” his vocalizer replied, sounding faint. “I think that was it.”

Still coughing, Spike shook his head. “Hopefully. Man, Hound, what was in that?”

“Er, oil, that’s all. Unless … the twins put something in it.”

“Wouldn’t put it passed them,” Sparkplug said, coming up to the side of the Jeep. The young woman was by his side, her face contorted into a mask of politeness in the face of Hound’s expulsions. “Spike, you remember Alina, don’t you?”

Still fanning the air, Spike’s face suddenly lit up. “Alina? Is that really you?” When she nodded, he continued, “Man, it’s been years! What’re you doing here?”

The woman was slight, with long dark hair; her features weren’t overtly attractive, but very pleasant. When she smiled, her large blue eyes simply lit up. Clutching a satchel in one hand, she reached out and ruffled Spike’s hair. “Getting my car fixed; had to take the bus home.”

“You live here now? We can take her home, right, Dad?”

The elder Witwicky nodded. “Of course we can. But I hope you won’t mind a small detour, Alina.”

“Of course not,” she replied, smiling. Pausing with her hand hovering above Hound’s door, she looked down at the Jeep. “Hello.”

The Witwickys shot each other startled glances; but Hound was pleased. “Hello there, young lady,” he said, lights beaming. His steering wheel moved back and forth, causing Alina to giggle. “I’m Hound, pleasure to meet you.”

“H-how did you know?” Spike spluttered, moving as Hound swung his door open and Alina clambered over the seat to perch in the back.

“In this day and age?” she chuckled, thanking Hound for the seatbelt. “I saw the logo on his hood.”

“Smart,” Hound noted, swinging his door shut after Sparkplug settled himself in the driver’s seat. “Most humans seem to overlook that.”

The drive up to the Ark was a revealing one; Alina spent the time in conversation with Hound, with a few inserts by Spike and Sparkplug, who were surprised by some of the information the Jeep was telling her. They’d thought they had known all there was to the scout, but it seemed that they didn’t.

“Guess it’s a girl thing, huh, Dad?” Spike whispered. The older Witwicky merely smiled, his hands barely touching Hound’s steering wheel. He’d figure that one out soon enough, if he kept spending time with Carly.

Hound stopped just outside the Ark’s entrance. “You can stay right here, Alina,” Sparkplug said, waving to her as he and Spike walked in. “We’ll be right back.”

The young woman watched them go, then turned to Hound. “Would you like me to get out? I’m sure you don’t want me sitting here the entire time.”

Hound chuckled, lights dancing up and down his complex dashboard. “Naw, you stay put. You’ve been pleasant company, I’ll tell you that.”

“Too long with the boys?”

“You could say that,” Hound affirmed, front seats moving back and forth.

“Do you have … how do I put it … female Autobots … on Cybertron?”

“Oh yes. Not that many left, I’m afraid,” Hound replied, his vocalizer’s tone dropping slightly. “They had to go into hiding to avoid the Decepticon purge when the war started.”

The conversation was cut short when Spike and Sparkplug returned, the former carrying a slim metal object in his hands. This he carefully loaded into Hound’s trunk before climbing into the front.

The drive to Alina’s house was not as animated as it had been on the drive to the Ark, the Witwickys doing most of the talking this time. “Alina,” the Jeep began as she started walking up the sidewalk, “mind if I pick you up tomorrow? We can finish our chat then.”

A slow smile began to wreath the young woman’s face. “Of course! Good night, Hound. Spike, Sparkplug. It was good to see you both again.” And then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

Hound started his engine and they pulled away, heading back towards the inner city and Wheeljack’s underground secondary lab.

Spike leaned forward, so very curious. “What was that all about, Hound?”

“Hm?”

Sparkplug laughed. “I think Hound’s getting sweet on Alina.”

The dashboard suddenly lit up in the Jeep’s way of eye rolling while in carmode. “Oh, please,” he said, quite put-off. “You humans and your biology. She’s a very interesting person.”

Sparkplug let loose a deep chuckle. “That she is. Always was, ever since she was young. Alina used to live next to us, way back when. She’d always be asking questions -- nothing personal or rude, but thoughtful ones. We had her pegged as a psychiatrist, but she went and got a Masters in English up at the University of Portland.”

Spike eyed the dashboard. “Hound, can Transformers …”

Sparkplug pinched him warningly.

“I think that can wait a while, Spike,” Hound replied, his engine rumbling congenially. “We’re almost to the lab.”

Alina sat on her bed, looking out her window at the stars. It occurred to her that she’d stepped onto a different path, one that was already deviating drastically from her previous course. From what she’d seen and read, a few select humans were allowed into Autobot confidentiality. Spike and Sparkplug were obvious; she’d watched the 11 o’clock news once to see Astoria Carlton-Ritz, a highly influential business chair, in the company of a red jet Autobot, who, from the look on his face, didn’t seem too thrilled.

Propping her elbow on the sill, Alina sighed softly. Who couldn’t be intrigued by these giant sentient robots? Sure, they and their enemies caused untold damage over the years, but the Autobots were gracious enough to repair what they could. She wondered what her parents would think of this latest development and chuckled to herself. “Always surprising us, Allie,” her mother would say, shaking her head, but grinning at the same time. “Those giant robots!?” her father would exclaim, mustache puffing out. “You’re out of your mind!” Then he’d lean forward and say, “Can we meet them too?”

Reaching up, Alina closed the curtain. Settling herself under the covers, she was just drifting off when the phone rang. Muttering some choice curses under her breath, she flailed for the receiver. “Hello?” she croaked.

“Ah, Alina? This is Hound. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, but I forgot to ask you the time.”

The question went completely over her head. “You can use the phone?” she spluttered, then knocked herself in the temple for the baseless query.

“Wonders of technology,” he replied, still genial.

Did anything faze this Autobot? “Uh, yes,” she mumbled. “Uhm, nine would be fine.”

“Nine it is!” With Hound’s merry voice ringing in her ears, Alina slipped the phone back into its cradle and drifted off to sleep.

“Welcome to the Ark, Autobot base of operations.” Hound looked down at her, smiling. Gesturing with one hand, he indicated that they move forward.

Hound had driven her to the mechanic’s shop, followed her home, and then surprised her by offering her a tour of the Ark. Unprepared for the sheer enormity, Alina couldn’t stop her eyes from roving. The Ark was a massive orange starship, buried almost up to its giant boosters in Mt. St. Hillary. The landing ramp served as the entranceway; as they passed through, the whine of security cameras followed their movements.

“Hound!” came a sharp, perturbed voice that seemed to echo within the chamber. “What do you think you’re doing bringing an unauthorized human here?”

Alina stared at the Jeep, who twitched his black fingers at her. Lifting the other hand, he waved negligently at the nearest camera. “I got clearance, Red Alert. Ask Optimus.”

“This is not a hotel!” the other shot back, vocalizer rising. “I’ve had enough with your constant chorus line of humans, Hound. This is a base, not a tourist attraction --”

“Stuff it, Red,” a deeper voice drawled. “Bring ’er in, Hound.”

Putting his hand on Alina’s shoulders, Hound guided her in, through the long tunnel. “Don’t mind Red, he’s paranoid.”

“Got any more in the closet?” she replied, grinning.

“Oh, we certainly have a variety. I’m sure some of the others will be off-duty, so you can meet them.”

They didn’t get far when Red Alert came pounding up, his face flushed -- if a metallic surface could ever change color. But it was in his optics: a reddish tint that went along with his animated way of moving. “I’m moving for a hearing with Prime, Hound,” he said, sliding up to them. “Spike, Sparkplug, fine. Carly, fine. Chip, fine. They’re of value to us; but the others? No more!”

Alina looked around, feeling clearly uncomfortable. She started backing up, running her hand along the smoothness of the ship’s interior, sliding into a small alcove that was just her size. The scout didn’t seem flustered; he stood with his hands resting on his hip plates, head cocked to the side. “Sure, Red.”

From where she hid, Alina could almost see the smoke pouring out of either side of the security director’s head. Then again, they were robots -- that was quite possible.

Clenching his fists, Red Alert shook one at Hound. “You keep undermining my authority, Hound --”

“Didn’t I say ‘Stuff it’, Red?”

Red Alert didn’t turn around when Ironhide came swaggering up. Laying one black hand on Red’s shoulder, the veteran began to slowly drag him backwards. “You got bees in your buzzer, man? I told you, Prime gave the okay. It’s him who makes the rules ’round here, not you.” Spinning the director around, Ironhide gave him a boot in the skidplate, sending Red Alert staggering forward, arms pin-wheeling as he sought to stay upright. “Get back to yer post!”

Still fuming, Red stomped off. The rusty veteran and green scout had a hearty laugh; then Ironhide looked around. “Where’s the little lady? She was here a minute ago.”

A hand emerged, then the rest of Alina. “Right here,” she said, her normally calm voice a little shaky. “Perhaps I should leave.” Sliding around the corner, she glanced down the hall, then craned her neck up at the two Transformers.

Ironhide waved his hand from side to side in a negating gesture. “Don’t let ol’ Red scare you off, miss. He’s good at his job, sometimes too good …” He shrugged. “I’ll see you around, Hound. Gotta get back ter Red, make sure he doesn’t go sticking his head in the console again.” Joints creaking slightly, Ironhide bent down and patted Alina on the shoulder. “Nice t’meetcha.” And with that, he straightened and ambled off.

Alina sighed, running her hand over her upper arm as she glanced around, unsure. A part of her was regretting coming. “Listen,” Hound said, getting down to her level and spreading out his hands. “I can take you back, if you want. I do apologize.”

She thought about it for a moment, looking up into his wide blue optics. This close, she could see some mechanism behind the colored glasslike substance flicking back and forth like a human eye. Not many people were allowed this far, she reasoned; with Hound by her side, it seemed that she’d be left pretty much alone. Then again … there was a plethora of stories just waiting to be uncovered in this alien hold. The thought of writing about this experience lit up her face. “No, it’s ok. I want to see the rest.”

“Excellent!”

Hound took her on a sweeping tour of the Ark, covering everything from the weapons’ locker to the sick bay, where Ratchet reigned supreme. The Chief Medical Officer was in residence, but quite cranky, so they didn’t stay long. Hound made sure they dashed past Wheeljack’s domain, citing the last time he’d brought a visitor, the inventor had propagated him and nearly caused the loss of a limb. The barracks was the next stop, where Hound walked her down a long hall where he lived, and then the officer quarters, where Jazz, Prowl and Optimus called home.

As they were heading towards the rec room, a door suddenly slid open, admitting Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, the former giving the latter a solid shove and laughing. Sideswipe caromed off the opposite wall, almost stepping on Alina. A muffled squeal escaped her lips as she furiously backpedaled out of the way.

“Hey, you two, watch it,” Hound admonished, a harsh edge to his normally-calm vocalizer. He looked around his ankle joints only to find Alina plastered up against the wall, blue eyes enormous and clutching her chest.

Sideswipe did an impromptu pirouette and clapped Sunstreaker on the shoulder. “Gotta let us know when you’re bringing visitors, Hound,” he chuckled. “Then we’d be careful to look around our feet.”

Sunstreaker gave a peculiar snort and folded his arms across his chest. “Not another one, Hound. Come on, man, don’t you get tired of playing tour guide?” He leaned forward, flicking out a large, bulky black digit at Alina. “She’s not much to look at, after all.”

Alina suddenly found her field of vision filled with nothing but black Autobot finger. Hound stood there, clearly at odds with himself over ripping Sunstreaker’s arm off and stuffing it down his processor or playing Mr. Nice Scout.

“Get … out of my face,” she whispered, rage starting to boil up inside her chest, shoving herself away from the wall. Sunstreaker’s finger disappeared and he put his hands on his hips, laughing. Clapping Sideswipe on the shoulder, the twins took off in the opposite direction.

“Spunky one,” Sunstreaker boomed heartily over his shoulder. “She can stay. I like her.”

Still clutching her chest, Alina looked up at the scout. He was tapping his foot, watching them go. Clearly, this was not a situation he’d anticipated. “That,” he said at long last, shaking his head, “was unexpected.”

“Tell me you’ve never lost anyone to him.”

“Sunstreaker?” Hound sat down beside her. “No, he’s never harmed anyone I brought by. Scared a few, yes, but harmed? Never.” He paused. “Come to think of it, you’re the first one he said anything like that to.”

Alina gave a wry laugh. “Lucky me, huh?”

“Apparently so. Still up for going to the rec? I think Bluestreak and Prowl are in there, Tracks too. He’s got a human friend. Much more pleasant company than Red or Sunny.”

“Might as well,” she replied, accepting the hand up and perching on Hound’s broad, flat shoulder.

An hour later found her perched on a table in the rec room, laughing and joking with several of the Autobots. Hound excused himself to check on something, leaving her there; at first, she was a little uncomfortable, but the geniality of Tracks, Prowl, Bluestreak, Bumblebee and Skyfire set her mind at ease. It was almost as if she was back in college, on a weekend, just hanging out and having a good time. Soon, she stopped looking at them as aliens and started seeing them as people -- individual people. Though, it was hard to push aside the fact that most of them were well over twenty feet tall and made of metal.

“So,” Bluestreak chuckled, “Sunny just up and sauntered out of there? I find that a little hard to synthesize.”

“That’s the unpredictability of the twins,” Skyfire reminded him. And they all launched into a debate about how stable the twins really were. Alina sat back, a warm mug of tea in her hands. She’d been surprised when they offered her something to drink; she was embarrassed to admit that she had thought it might be some sort of motor fluid, but they assured her that they were well aware that humans didn’t take oil. And besides, Hound had noted, Sparkplug and Spike practically lived here most of the time, so the Autobots had a supply of various human foodstuffs hanging around.

While the others traded opinions, she looked around, noticing for the first time a mech leaning up against the counter behind her. A square mug dangled from one slim black hand, empty. He was eying her with a small frown creasing his grey face, brow ridge lowered over sky blue optics. Pushing himself away from the counter, he stuck the mug into a recycling receptacle and walked out of the room.

“Lookin’ at Mirage?” Bumblebee’s quite voice said in her ear. She jumped at the suddenness, sloshing a little of her tea over onto her lap. Dabbing furiously with an over-large rag the small Minibot offered her, she nodded. “Is that his name?”

“Yeah, don’t mind him though. He tends to come and go; he can turn invisible, so don’t be alarmed if he just pops out of nowhere.”

“Funny guy, huh?”

“Actually, no.” Bumblebee took the rag and tossed it into a small bin. There was a sharp intake of air and the roar of a small inferno as the rag was burned. “He’s our resident spy. A loner.”

“Bah, enough of Mirage,” Bluestreak said, leaning his elbows on the table. “Let me tell you what the twins did to me last week …”

Things got pretty wild after a while. When her company got wind of Alina’s exclusive visits to the Ark, they tried to get her to take a few promotional items over with a cameraman in tow. A few rounds with Red Alert on the phone convinced them that their cups, mugs and mouse pads were really bombs in disguise and would blow up the minute they got within 500 yards of the mountain-locked orange cruiser. A sparsely-veiled threat to terminate her job as an editor brought not only Hound but Prowl as well to their door.

Pretty soon, her coworkers were convinced that she had the Autobots’ favor and could command their presence whenever she chose. Signs were stuck up all around her desk touting the untruth, and some ingenious folk actually took one whole night to paint her office orange.

Alina soon became convinced that people were following her to and from work, to home and around Portland, trying to get her in an off-moment so that they could spring questions about the Autobots. While she never saw anyone, the eerie presence remained. Nothing was published, and that made things even stranger.

“How come you don’t have this problem?” she bemoaned to Sparkplug one evening over a casual dinner. The matre d’ hustled over and shooed another inquisitive soul away from their table.

Sparkplug smiled and lifted his glass in an age-old gesture. “The thing with Spike and me is that we were simple oil riggers, nothing special. People don’t see us all that much, and when they do, they don’t automatically connect us with the Autobots. Face it, Allie,” he said, using her childhood nickname, “you have the pretty face, the high-paying job. They’re more interested in you because of that.”

She sighed, poking at her garlic potatoes. “I was afraid of that,” she admitted. Looking up, she set her fork aside and folded her arms on the table edge. “I think someone’s been following me.”

The older man paused with his food half-way to his mouth. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I haven’t seen anybody. I just feel … this presence. Sometimes it’s hovering by my car when I leave for work, when I leave work, sometimes when I sit out in my garden.”

“This is serious, Alina.” Sparkplug reached into his inner jacket pocket for a small transmitter. “I’m calling the Ark, we’ll have someone pace you for a few days, see what they come up with.”

Alina’s blue eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, Sparkplug, that’s not necessary.”

He pulled the transmitter out of reach. “Yes, it is. Could be a Decepticon plot, have you thought of that?”

“I --” She sat back, deflated. It never occurred to her that the other faction of Transformers would be interested in her. “No, I didn’t. But what would they want with me?”

“What they usually want -- the death of the Autobots. They’ve tried to kill Spike and me a couple of times; if they’ve found out that you’ve been frequenting the Ark, ol’ Megs might try to use you to get in.”

Ice slowly started to creep up into her stomach, and suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. Reaching for her wine, she downed the glass, trying to warm her core again. “I’ll … take the protective detail,” she finally said, the enormity of it all dawning on her.

“Good.” Flicking the transmitter open, Sparkplug began to speak low and fast.

Alina wandered through her house, stopping by her counter to pick up her laptop. Sparkplug said that Brawn would provide escort to and from work in the morning, and wherever she needed to go that day. If he sensed anything, Windcharger would join him on the next day. The evening’s developments scared her more than she let Sparkplug know, more than she would tell Optimus himself when he took over the comm screen from Jazz. What had she stepped into, where she was getting hounded for just associating with -- oh, that’s right, they were giant alien robots.

Pushing her screen door open, she stepped out into the quiet tranquility of her tiny garden. Swinging her legs into her lounge chair, she powered the laptop and got to work. She looked up a moment later when one of her ferns rustled, but there was no wind. Huh, odd, she thought. Probably the neighbor’s cat. And bent back down to her work.

A few minutes passed by when she heard a peculiar whine; heart pounding, she peered over the edge of her laptop’s screen to see a pair of blue legs standing right in front of her. The computer went right over the end of the chair as she jumped in surprise, eyes automatically traveling up the legs, past the blue lower torso, up to the white chest -- where the distinctive red Autobot symbol lay. Her eyes traveled further up to meet a pair of cold blue optics. A memory tugged at her conscious, but she couldn’t quite place him.

“Hello, there,” she said, fumbling over the side of her chair for her laptop. “You are?”

The blue and white mech looked around almost disdainfully before folding himself up on the ground. “Mirage,” came his terse reply. “I’m not here on a courtesy call; I want to know what the big deal is.”

Alina was quite taken aback. Mirage. The name tugged at her memory, pulling up a half-remembered wisp of a conversation her first day at the Ark. The invisible one. His query caught her completely off-guard. “Excuse me?”

It wasn’t exactly a diatribe, but he started describing events at the Ark, his comrades’ strange behavior concerning her safety. Alina just stared at him, at his sculpted grey face with its surrounding blue headgear, at those blue optics. When he finally stopped, she had no real way of responding. It sounded like he was just short of calling her a Decepticon spy.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked after a moment. There was a clank as his hands dropped from where they rested on his grey kneecaps. Now he stared at her.

“What?”

Alina set the laptop safely aside, curling her legs up under her. It was all making sense now. “You’re the one who’s been following me,” she said softly. “I think I’m due some answers myself.” Mirage had the presence of cortex to dip his head in embarrassment.

“Yes,” he admitted. His head came back up. “But you understand where I’m coming from, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question, it was more of a fact, a fact that she didn’t quite agree with.

“No, I don’t, I’m afraid,” she countered, sitting up. Now that the fear had passed, she felt more confident. “You almost had me scared out of my wits. Sparkplug called up and asked for a protective detail.”

Mirage waved a slim black hand. “I told them that was me after the call ended.” He paused, eying her surprised expression. “You still haven’t answered me.”

“I’m not going to,” she countered, folding her arms. “I haven’t done anything wrong. You have no idea how much shit I’ve gone through these past couple weeks, what with you playing spy on me and my company pressing me for information on you guys.”

Mirage merely grunted, looking around at his surroundings and made himself more comfortable. “Fine, you want to talk. I’ll talk.” Alina settled back in her chair and listened. “I come from the Iacon Towers on Cybertron …”