A World Jumper

Alexander dashed over to Bumblebee, who was waiting in his sleek Camaro form, polished and ready. Throwing open the door, Alexander hopped in, grinning as he settled into the seat. "Alright, Bee, let's go meet Mikaela."

With a low rumble, Bumblebee's engine roared to life, and in an instant, they shot down the road, weaving through traffic with effortless agility. The Camaro's yellow and black exterior gleamed under the sun as they sped toward Mikaela's father's custom shop.

Moments later, they arrived, the shop's exterior buzzing with the sounds of tools and engines. Alexander climbed out, his gaze drawn to Mikaela, who was perched on top of a custom motorcycle, deep in her work. She was leaning forward, one hand steadying herself as the other added the final touches to a detailed design on the bike's tank. Her expression was focused, her fingers precise as she painted a sleek pattern across the metallic surface.

Mikaela was dressed casually, yet with a rugged edge. A fitted dark tank top hugged her figure, and a pair of frayed denim shorts accentuated her toned legs. The look was completed with brown ankle boots, worn in from hard work yet giving her an effortlessly stylish vibe.

Alexander watched her for a moment, admiration flickering in his eyes. She was in her element, her concentration unwavering as she worked, oblivious to the world around her.

Alexander walked next to her and said."That's a very cool design."

Mikaela recognizing the voice, immediately stopped working and jumped off the bike and onto Alexander, who smiled and hugged her back.

Alexander saw Mikaela's father, he had the distinct impression that as long as her father was able to drift contentedly in a sea of grease, oil, and assorted mechanical lubricants while plying his chosen trade, his interest in the outside world, including that of his daughter's future, verged on the minimal.

While Alexander didn't approve of the indifference, he had to admit that it made dating a lot easier. "How's the old man holding up?"

"Y'mean my man-child father?" Mikaela's exasperation was unmistakable. "Fixing cars instead of stealing 'em, so that's a step up."

She looked back over a shoulder as she spoke. "Right now he's humming the proverbial happy tune. One time I heard him say he wasn't going to go to heaven if there were no cars or bikes to build."

Alexander pulled Mikaela closer, his hands settling firmly on her hips. His eyes met hers, a hint of playfulness dancing in his expression, but there was something deeper beneath it.

"They called," he whispered, his voice low and urgent. "The Autobots are gathering at the base. They want to talk about something serious. They want me there."

Mikaela's gaze sharpened, her lips pressing together in thought. She nodded slowly. "Okay... Do you want me to come?"

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers gently brushing against her skin, as if weighing his words carefully. "Maybe. It's best you know as much as possible. Better than being left in the dark."

A soft smile tugged at Mikaela's lips, her gaze steady as she met his. She knew this world, this chaos, would pull her in eventually. And with Alexander at the center of it all, there was no escaping it.

The single passenger in the Blackhawk paid no attention to the exquisite turquoise and green waters of the lagoon that were flashing past beneath him. He had not come to the remote Indian Ocean island base of Diego Garcia on vacation. His purpose was as distinct and sharply etched as his manner. The latter had served him well as he had risen through the ranks in Washington. He was neither inclined nor in the mood to relax now. The sooner he delivered himself of the reason for his presence in this godforsaken corner of the planet, the sooner he could return to civilization.

As befitted the importance of its commuter, the chopper set down carefully and gently. Aware of their passenger's reputation, neither pilot had any desire to incur his disapproval. They were delighted to see that another soldier was waiting to take him off their hands. The sooner they were rid of him, the quicker they could return to the other side of the lagoon and more agreeable duties. No one onboard the copter offered to help the passenger off, nor did he request any assistance. Stepping easily down the steep set of roll-up stairs, he acknowledged with a curt nod the solitary officer who was waiting for him on the tarmac. Lennox did not extend a hand in greeting. He did not have to, and he knew who the visitor was. "Director Galloway: honor to have you on site." He gestured to his left. "It's been a rough day."

Galloway turned slightly in the indicated direction. Three "transfer cases," as the metal caskets were euphemistically known, were being loaded aboard a waiting aircraft. Two were draped in American flags, the other in that of the United Kingdom. As he guided the visitor across the tarmac, Lennox snapped a crisp salute in the direction of the three coffins. "From Shanghai," he explained tersely. "I suppose you've seen the official report. Considering how bad it could have been, the general feeling is that the operation came off well." Once again he indicated the honor guard and its poignant cargo. "Except for those three guys." Galloway's gaze was fixed forward. "All due respect, Major, I'm here with a message from the president. And that message is for the Autobot leader."

Nothing in Lennox's expression betrayed what he was feeling. The national security advisor's response had been as correct as it had been cold. However, the man could have phrased his reply differently. It was not as if he had been prying. He hadn't been on Diego Garcia five minutes and already Lennox decided he didn't like the man.

Despite its size, the enormous hangar seemed hardly big enough to contain all the advanced electronic equipment and monitoring screens that had been crammed inside. Shunts and conduits crawled up walls like termite tunnels across wood paneling while operators fought for leg space beneath desks overflowing with instrumentation. The flashing of telltales, the flare of lights, and the subtle cacophony of electronic beeps and squeals would have been amusing save for the somber significance that lay behind them.

Just then, the familiar roar of a Camaro's engine broke the silence, pulling up outside the hangar. The sleek, yellow car skidded to a halt, its tires leaving a faint mark on the asphalt. The door swung open, and out stepped Alexander and Mikaela.

Epps was the first to spot them. He gave a nod in acknowledgment, his face serious but welcoming, as always.

"Guess the mission's done," Alexander said, his tone a mix of relief and curiosity. "How'd it go?"

Epps shrugged, a hint of frustration in his tone. "There were casualties, but with that big sci-fi gun of yours, we got them quickly." He wiped his brow, the weight of the mission still visible on his face.

Alexander's smile flickered, a rare moment of lightness in an otherwise tense atmosphere. "Glad I could help," he replied, his voice calm, though the edge of the mission still lingered in his eyes. "Just doing my part."

Noting the arrival of brass and bureaucrats as well as a cluster of driverless vehicles, Epps and Alexander ceased chatting with the operators of two monitoring stations and ambled over to join the conference.

Alexander recognized all of them, including the recently arrived Galloway.

Even Epps for a "mere" NCO, Ray Epps's security clearance lay somewhere between Quantico and the moon. As the high-hats gathered in one of the few open areas, the sergeant angled toward the national security advisor. Gathered around him were a couple of civilians in suits as severe as their expressions and several officers who between them boasted more stars than the average constellation. Epps settled in beside Galloway as his friend and superior Lennox greeted the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "Admiral." Lennox did not need to add anything else. The two officers, one battle-hardened and recently promoted, the other as senior as one could get in any service, had been working closely together for the past two years.