Dim Today, Bright Tomorrow

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Summary: A famous billionare kidnaps the Twins and demands for the U.S. government to go public with the truth in exchange for their safe return. Galloway spins the wheel of the blame game instead.. And Ironhide is up to his optics with his own problems.

Author's Note: I love the Transformers movies. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed it until I wrote that massive Stargate/Transformers crossover that I did. It's complete; go on, read it. You know you wanna. I elected to not write a sequel, because I can't write two back-to-back, crazy-ass plots with life-sucking aliens, back-stabbing robots and too many hyphenated words to boot.

Where was I?

This fanfiction is largely based around the characters Skids, Mudflap and Ironhide. Optimus, Bumblebee, Lennox, Ratchet...they're all in here, but I'd label them as 'recurring'. The most important thing to remember is this: this is a novella, not fan service. I like plot! Too much. And this is the longest Author's Note you'll have to read.

Action starts next chapter. Promise. Now stop pestering me.

Chapter One: Big, Big Plans

Scientific progress was a joke.

Lennox threw the remote down on the table with such force that the antenna snapped off, and knocked over a slouching pile of papers to boot. The metallic click of the device breaking did not disturb the other occupant of the warehouse: Optimus. They were waiting for Ironhide to return so they could get this ridiculously short briefing over with. Now Lennox's stereo was broken, which made him feel twice as tired than he usually did.

The world was on the verge of public uproar. Thanks to the Decepticons, every country on the planet was on the outlook for 'giant, declassified military robots', some believing they were the U.S. government's new line of war toys, others convinced they were a hoax created either by an underground terrorist organization, or the United States of America herself in order to scare her citizens into paying their taxes.

Only a small sliver of the public eye pie was reserved for those who believed there were real aliens threatening planet Earth. The fact that the Fallen and his parade of minions hadn't followed through on their threat of global destruction aided immensely in convincing even the most skeptical that there were no robotic aliens trying to destroy humanity. On one hand, the United States had a field day with the UN, officially becoming number one of everybody's 'jerk' list. On the other, they had averted a collapse of the world economy as a whole, preventing hundreds of millions from stifling themselves in their basements with shotguns and CB radios.

For all the 'convincing' that went on the past three months, Lennox just wished he could start believing it himself. But the fact of the matter was, the world was in danger of becoming a war zone between two factions of a mechanical species from outer space. The only way to stop this from happening was to either kill or chase off the cloud of Decepticons swarming over their heads. And to do this, they needed the Autobots' help.

He couldn't ask Optimus for more than he was already giving. Today's events, however they went from here, was just the first step on a straw ladder that lead to rebuilding NEST and its group morale.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, the large black pick-up truck finally rolled into the warehouse, followed closely by two cars: one green and the other red. It was just breaking dawn, a good sign that Lennox had been awake for just about all night without so much as a cup of coffee. He watched the Autobots gather with half-lidded eyes, trying not to look as beaten as he felt. NEST commanders didn't get tired. Optimus didn't get tired; not that he knew how often the big guy had to recharge. Quite frankly, the major didn't spend enough off-duty time with his co-commander of the NEST alliance to know such petty details.

As the trio transformed into their natural forms, Lennox glanced over at Optimus Prime. He stood next to the towering Autobot's foot, a position he was getting way too accustomed to since he began working with the autonomous robots two years and some months ago. The fear of getting stepped on never completely went away.

"Thank you for finding them, Ironhide," said the leader of the Autobots, speaking to his weapons' specialist. The black Autobot twisted his head around to look at the twins, whom Optimus had been referring to.

"It was easy," Ironhide grunted, flexing his arm out of its stiffness. He had a lot of time terrestrial disguise today. A very long time. "They make enough noise to alert Decepticons of their presence from hundreds of miles away."

"That hurts, man; we was just doin' what 'Swipe told us," Mudflap protested. The smaller red Autobot dodged a fist from his brother. "Tha's honest!"

"Twins," Optimus said, and that was all he needed to say. They stopped quarreling. "Ironhide, I have just informed Major Lennox and the rest of his team that we are ready to go ahead with the training exercise. Are the three of you prepared to leave for the mainland?"

"Optimus, why's you makin' Ironhide go with us? We ain't scared of no pretend Decepticon rim-lickas," Skids complained, looking genuinely disgruntled.

"Yeah," the other twin chimed in. "He's jes' grumpy all the tahm. Tha's bad for our morale, ain't it?"

"The purpose of this exercise is to coordinate your efforts with other Autobots during anti-Decepticon operations," Optimus explained—for the third time, Lennox noted. If he was anything, the leader of all Autobots was patient. Lennox had a feeling he might also have a soft spot for 'young' Autobots like the Twins, despite the fact that in terms of Earth years, the wily pair of brothers had already outlived the major's grandparents. "You proved to be capable of defending our human allies during the unexpected confrontation with Devastator; however, the Shanghai operation is another thing."

That mollified the loud-speaking duo. With a few, barely audible complaints, they transformed into their vehicle modes and rolled away, having taken the silent cue for dismissal from their commanding officer. Once they were gone, Ironhide huffed.

"It will be a warm day on Cybertron when those two are fit for a real battle with the Decepticons," he pointed out. "My systems are ready to handle whatever the human military can throw at us. Do me a favor and tell your commanders to hold nothing back," he added, addressing Lennox for the last part. "Shall I herd the young miscreants onto the transport aircraft as well, Prime?"

"Just make sure they remember the guidelines for the exercise," said the commander of the Autobots. He nodded, also dismissing his weapons' specialist. As the engines of the carrier outside whined to life in the background, Optimus took a step back to look down at Major Lennox.

"The Decepticons are increasing in numbers far quicker than I ever imagined," he admitted, whilst a stream of heavily armed trucks and cargo vans packed with ammunition pulled away and began to line up for loading on the Autobot's transport. "It is possible they outnumber us by a ratio greater than three to one. Even with training, many of the Autobots who have reached Earth are not ready for this war."

"Hey, we're not ready for this war, and there's six billion of us on this planet," Lennox reassured him. "Whatever you lack in numbers right now, we'll fix that. Remember, this exercise is just as much for my people as it is yours—we lost a lot of veterans during the Egypt incident."

It was a sad truth; many current members of NEST, low or high ranking, were new to the fold. With the Decepticons on the rise and the Fallen's broadcast to the public three months prior, distrust was spreading like a disease. And the United States government happened to have a serious case of said illness.

But no one had to say it out loud. If there was a cure, it wasn't going to bring Lennox' stereo back to life or get him home to his wife and daughter any sooner. He bit his mental lip, tongue, cheek and every other metaphor for patience that came to mind, and went to prepare his men for a long day of training.

-

Dr. Madrick switched off his iPod as a jeep rushed past him. Soldiers weren't allowed personal devices like this while on active duty in Diego Garcia. He was a scientist, however, and a liaison to the Autobots; the interspecial technology specialist, to be exact. It was his sworn duty to report between the aliens and the United States military, sometimes contacting the Secretary of Defense himself to advise him on something their allies had decided the night before. Being the peacekeeper of shared resources wasn't easy, especially since one party he was responsible for scared him half to death every time he arranged a meeting.

Optimus Prime was discussing something private in nature with Ironhide, leaving the two most senior Autobots out of his reach. He knew he was being impromptu, a particular human trait that their robotic friends didn't appreciate, but what could a PhD in strategic technology do when the fragile ego of the bureaucrats were at stake? He had to speak to them before his plane left for D.C.

The airman standing guard outside the Autobot residence directed him with a silent nod to Ratchet's location. It was his job to know where each Autobot was at all times, a fact little known by the majority of NEST personnel. Madrick knew it, because he was one of the few non-military personnel given full access to their allies around the clock, and without supervision. Come to think about it, he had about as much freedom around the base as the Autobots had, and that was plenty to consider.

"Ah, there you are," he proclaimed, spotting the Transformers' medical officer not far inside the clinic, an area set aside for the robots' numerous repair sessions. Ratchet was almost always on duty, and presently he happened to be assisting Sideswipe by extracting a large piece of shrapnel from his shoulder joint. Somehow the scrap metal and Sideswipe had become entwined on the battlefield, leaving him unable to transform. If Madrick recalled, this would be the third day in a row Ratchet had been working on this particular procedure.

Even though he was busy, Ratchet greeted the familiar human with a nod. Dr. Madrick's comings and going were not uncommon anymore; in fact, he seemed to present much more interest in Autobot medical ongoings than his predescesor, which was a welcome change from cold indifference. "Dr. Madrick, is there something I can do for you?"

"Just official business, unfortunately, though I could come back when you're not busy," the scientist replied. They both knew that would never happen, because 'busy' was a relative state of being for the old mech.

"Now is as good a time as any," replied the Autobot. "Sideswipe, if you flinch again like that, I will end up severing an oil conduit."

"That wasn't a flinch; my back was tingly," defended the other mech, rolling his free shoulder in circles. "C'mon, Ratchet. It's small enough now, so I don't understand why I'm still here."

"Because between explaining to Optimus why I listened to your reckless advice and doing a proper job, I would choose the latter. Every time," said Ratchet. He carved off another delicate piece of the metal wedge and extracted it with expert precision. "I believe Dr. Madrick is waiting for an opportunity to speak his mind. Go ahead, doctor."

Madrick had taken a seat on one of the folding chairs that were stacked against the wall. "I had a thought the other day, and I want your input before I bring it to Optimus' attention. Humans and Autobots have been working side-by-side on the front line to fight the Decepticons for two and a half years now, and I don't understand why we don't have a system set up to monitor your conditions during battle."

Ratchet made a pause before turning his cutting laser back on the operation at hand, making a grunt-like sound that was incredibly neutral. "We are able to monitor our own systems on the battlefield, Dr. Madrick. Our sensory capabilities make it possible to keep track of our human allies' biological status during combat as well. I don't see why it would be necessary."

"But then, most of the time, our military directors have no idea which Autobot needs reinforcements in the heat of battle. Hypothetically, let's say Ironhide had been cut off from the rest of the Autobots and is in critical condition. A little intervention on our part could potentially save his life, and knowing the full extent of his injuries could be instrumental in rending that kind of assistance."

"I will admit, I see your point," the medical officer agreed. He dropped another sliver of the intruding debris into the bin he had been using to deposit the waste. "If we are being completely open about the issue, Dr. Madrick, then I caution you about taking such a suggestion lightly. Tagging us with some kind of electronic advice in order to better understand our physiology is not a good way to polish this alliance. On a more personal note, thank you for your concern."

Of course, Madrick did care, but having his idea shot down after he had only just proposed it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Oh, well. "I see," he said. "I'll get out of your way, then. I don't suppose you know anything about the training exercise happening later this afternoon?"

"Only that one of us will have to endure it, and I plan on being preoccupied when Optimus asks for volunteers," Sideswipe replied for the medic, and flinched again. "That was your fault," he told Ratchet defensively.

"Well, good luck with the procedure," said Madrick. He stood up and left the residence, feeling as though he were getting nowhere at all. Now he had an issue to pull through with Ironhide. It was no wonder his predecessor had quit after three weeks of this job.

-

James Cheilwender, Chief Executive Officer of UnityTech, sat with his perfectly manicured hands creased together under his chin as his pale umber eyes scanned the face of his eighteen thousand dollar laptop. The old grandfather clock against the wall of his office ticked away, giving a sense of rhythm to the silent video playing on the screen before him. Once the staticky recording froze at the end of its session, Cheilwender sat back in his chair, the leather groaning slightly under his weight. His eyes flickered towards his personal aide, Mr. Warrington, who on the opposite side of his mahogany desk. "Where did you find this?"

"That MIT graduate we just added to the payroll, Sandry, hacked the waterway surveillance system and found traces of data left over after the CIA deleted the evidence. He managed to piece this together with the fragments of visual imagery, though we lost audio."

After a lengthy moment, the older corporate owner cleared his throat and asked, "What is that they're using to subdue it?"

"As far as we can tell, carbon dioxide, otherwise known as 'dry ice'. They're freezing the alien's circuitry to impede its movement and keep it from retaliating."

Cheilwender shut the laptop, locking it with a soft click. "And you still have no idea where they took it, even after two and a half years of cold, hard research?"

"Based on what we know now, sir, that information is irrelevant. The government is obviously working in tandem with these alien organisms off the coast of India in Diego Garcia; our satellites confirmed that last month. You've seen the pictures."

"Yes, I have seen the pictures," the CEO growled softly. "Ten points down in just three weeks in our latest development stocks. In the time it takes me to pick my nose, I lose half a million dollars. I pay you twice as much money each month than I make in twelve hours, and you're not even the highest-paid member of my personal staff. Do you know how strongly that affects our annual budget?"

"Yes I do, sir. That's why I proposed we move ahead with the contingency plan today."

"Bull crap. If we jump into something this serious without our bathing suits on, we'll get laughed at and then arrested buck naked." Not a strong performer of analogies, Cheilwender went on to make his point. Indecisively, he leaned further back into his seat and deliberated. "You said it was best to wait until we could confront one of these things alone. And you're sure that will happen today?"

"Our inside resources indicate that three of the aliens will be isolated during a classified, top secret mission on the southern tip of India. Two of them we perceive are untrained non-combatants and we have devised a distraction for the third."

"Phil, 'classified' and 'top secret' mean the same thing. And then what?"

"We will have men standing by to instigate the procedure should the opportunity arise. If we fail for some reason, we still have that ace up our sleeve."

Cheilwender grunted unhappily. "You mean releasing all this sensitive information to the media, hoping for a stock market miracle. These are aliens, Phil, not politicians. I still don't believe letting the general population know that their government is hiding the existence of extraterrestrials will have the same impact as uncovering a sex scandal in the White House. Am I also the only one worried about how illegal this is?"

"Actually, the only law we would be breaking is obstruction of an ongoing military operation. One that can't be proved in court without they themselves admitting their affiliation with extraterrestrials."

"Or they could just fabricate the details of whatever classified mission they think we're messing with," Cheilwender argued, sitting forward again. His chair squeaked; he would have to remind Donna to get it fixed before he met with one of his shareholders. "I don't want you to take this lightly, Phil. UnityTech needs a buffer to keep the Federal agenecies from dropping a helicopter filled with S.W.A.T. people on my roof; I'm their prime target the minute they find out we're involved."

"They won't, Mr. Cheilwender. That you have my word on."

The CEO of UnityTech reached into the left drawer on his desk and opened a case of Aristoff cigars. After clipping it, putting it between his teeth and lighting the end with a 1908 cigar lighter he won in an auction last June, he let out a long trail of smoke and expressed his innermost thoughts. "Your word is not going to keep me out of jail, Phil. If we can't endorse something new in today's market, the shareholders will keep dropping like flies. All it takes is one unhappy employee and a photograph, and my reputation's gone. Ffft," he said, making a fluttering motion with his free hand. "Just like that. If this goes wrong, for any reason, it's not going to be my face on the front page of tomorrow's newspaper."

"No, sir. That would be my face."

"Good; so we have an understanding. I want regular updates on the status of this operation you've got planned. I don't care if I'm in the middle of a meeting with the Prince of Wales; you tell me what I need to know."

"I'll do that, Mr. Cheilwender. Your jet will arive in about forty-five minutes, sir. Also, your wife wanted to know if you'll be joining the dinner with Charles MacIntosh tonight."

"Absolutley not." Cheilwender stood up, straightening his tie as another puff of smoke slipped out of his mouth. "I've got plans for tonight, remember? Big, big plans."

-

TBC