FOUR: REUNIONS
Spike Witwicky had never been much of a fan of family reunions. He also had never been much of a fan of winter. So when it was decided that a family reunion would be held in the middle of January, he had tried everything he could to get out of it.
“Oh, I already promised Carly I would visit her parents with her.”
You just visited them during Christmas.
“Oh, something came up at work and I have to work overtime.”
Your dad works at the same salvaging depot as you and he said nothing of the sort.
“Oh, I’m not feeling so good today.”
Stevie, your Aunt Judy really wants you to come and everyone is expecting you—
Having used up everything in his arsenal, Spike gave in and agreed to come to the reunion, which was being hosted at his Aunt Judy and Uncle Ron’s place in Tranquility. Fortunately, his girlfriend Carly had agreed to go with him, so at least he wouldn’t be suffering alone.
It wasn’t that he hated his family. No, he could never bring himself to say that. He just found them to all be… weird.
Uncle Ron and Uncle Stan’s respective sides of the family represented two different extremes of the weirdness scale. On the one hand, you had Uncle Ron, who by himself wasn’t that strange on the surface, even if he was a bit of a cheapskate. But he also prided himself over being the head of the neighborhood watch, which made him awfully nosy about other people’s business; that had always rubbed Spike the wrong way. His wife Judy, meanwhile, was a bit of a nut. She was the type of person who knew exactly how to make a normal situation feel awkward and broadcast the awkwardness of it to everyone within earshot. The fact that she was a crazy dog lady and an overprotective gardener was merely icing on the cake.
Their son, Spike’s cousin Sam, seemed to be the culmination of Ron and Judy’s combined weirdness. Growing up, Spike had always seen him as the “strange redhead kid,” even though Sam didn’t have any red hair. After graduating high school and attending an admittedly prestigious college (Spike was never sure how that ended up happening), Sam had managed to land a job at Accuretta Systems, a pretty well-paying job that he most likely got due to the CEO being just as weird and eccentric as he was. The fact that his supermodel of a girlfriend Mikaela had stuck with him after all these years was also a miracle (although Spike had heard whispers here and there about her having an affair with the CEO of Hotchkiss Gould Investments… but that was certainly none of his business).
But if Ron’s side of the family represented the loose and easy-going style of weirdness, then Uncle Stan’s side represented the overly strict “military family” style. Spike had lost count of how many times Uncle Stan had tried to get him to enlist in the military like Buster had. Apparently he didn’t want Spike ending up like the mess Sam had been before getting hired by Accuretta, which had been fair enough, he supposed. Fortunately, Spike’s own dad had managed to pull through for him and had gotten him a job at the salvage depot he worked at, which apparently was important enough of a job that Uncle Stan had shut up about the topic.
Meanwhile, his son Buster was, in Spike’s honest opinion, a bit of a jackass. Even as kids he had always acted superior over him and his other cousins, espousing military and history knowledge like he was a walking textbook, and the jock-like behavior he demonstrated while he was in high school was only amplified when he joined the military. While he had mellowed out somewhat after marrying his high school sweetheart Jesse, he was still more than a bit abrasive and confrontational, with lingering traces of a superiority complex. If talk of him and Jesse starting a family was to be believed, then hopefully fatherhood would beat the rest of it out.
There were other relatives, of course, some whom Spike was even looking forward to seeing. Uncle Danny was always a hoot to be around, and Aunt Becky was perhaps the best cook in the family if not the entirety of Oregon (there was a reason People magazine had named her the Gordon Ramsay of the West Coast). And of course there were all the other cousins whom he never saw as much that he was hoping to catch up with, if only for an excuse to avoid his more eccentric relatives…
At the end of the day, he knew he was just going to have to grin and bear it. Besides, if nothing else, it would make for a decent litmus test for Carly; if she could put up with his wacky family for this reunion, then she was probably “the one” for him.
The whole family was gathered in the rather sizable backyard of Ron and Judy’s home. Thankfully, the weather wasn’t too cold to the point of being unbearable; Spike was able to make do with just his hoodie. Uncle Stan was cooking burgers on the grill, discussing conspiracy theories with Uncle Ron; Spike could smell them all the way from where he was standing with Carly, listening to Sam as he raved about some topic that Spike could barely wrap his head around. His girlfriend Mikaela, for her part, seemed to be just as lost as they both were.
“…And then Jerry, he corners me in the bathroom and—”
“Okay, where is this going, Sam?” Spike finally interjected, while Carly and Mikaela both winced in disgust. “Because the way this is sounding is—”
“No no no no, it’s not what you think!” Sam said defensively. “Anyway, he drops his pants and—”
“Are you sure it’s not what I’m thinking it is? Because it really, really sounds like it.”
“No! Get your head out of the gutter, man! Anyway—”
“Um, babe?” Mikaela hooked her arm around his and grinned cheekily at him. “Maybe you should go help your dad and uncle with the burgers.”
“But I—”
“Oh, Sammy!” Aunt Judy called from nearby. “Would you mind helping me setting the tables?”
Sam looked as if he was about to protest, but a pointed look from Mikaela caused him to drop his shoulders in defeat and walk over to help his mother. Once he was gone, Mikaela let out an exasperated huff as she turned back to Spike and Carly.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “Once he starts, it’s hard for him to stop and hear himself.”
“No need to apologize,” Spike said. “I’ve had nineteen years to deal with it.”
Clearing her throat, Carly said, “So, I hear you work for Hotchkiss Gould Investments. I think I’ve seen you on the covers for their magazines.”
Mikaela blushed, although Spike couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or flattery. “Oh, those. Dylan always insists on putting me into photo shoots for those, even though he has plenty of models willing to do it for him.”
“What do you normally do for Gould?” Spike asked.
“I’m his secretary.”
“Right.” Spike glanced at Carly, who was giving him the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “Well, uh, I’m sure it pays well.”
“Oh, it does. In fact, lately he’s been talking about—”
Mikaela was drowned out by a car laying on its horn, startling everyone at the party. Ron grimaced as he turned in the direction of the noise.
“Ah, I bet Davey’s having another one of its fits again. Don’t worry, he usually stops after about five minutes.”
Five minutes passed and the noise persisted. Frowning in both frustration and confusion, Ron left the grill and walked over to the fence, peering over to see whose car was causing the commotion. He then came back with a confused expression on his face.
“Does anyone here drive a yellow Mustang with black stripes?”
The description triggered a memory in Spike’s brain. While he had no recollection of a Mustang, he definitely remembered a yellow hatchback with black stripes. Surely there was no connection between the two; he had seen plenty of cars with that color scheme, both on the roads and at his dad’s workplace. Yet something prompted him to walk over to the fence and see the car for himself.
As soon as he saw the Mustang, it opened its door and its driver stepped out. The young dark-skinned man was dressed in all yellow and had a smile that felt plastered on and extremely uncanny… as if he wasn’t really human.
“Spike Witwicky?” the man asked. His voice sound unnatural yet also strangely familiar.
“Yes?” Spike said tentatively, conscious of the fact that everyone else had stopped what they were doing to join him at the fence.
“You may remember me from a few years ago. Does the name ‘Bumblebee’ ring a bell?”
Spike felt the color drain from his face as he swallowed. “Oh, crap.”
“I really hate to bother you… but there’s something we need to discuss. Something that involves your great-great-grandfather.”
“Oh, god,” Spike heard Uncle Ron whisper. “It’s the IRS.”
Spike sighed as he shook his head. “No, Uncle Ron. I kinda wish it was, ‘cos that’d be a lot easier to explain.” To Bumblebee, he said, “Go ahead and show your true self, if you want. I think it’d be best to just rip off the band aid.”
The faux driver nodded in agreement before dissolving away. Before Spike’s relatives could get over their shock, the yellow Mustang unfolded into a mess of parts, reshaping to take on the form of a bipedal robot that stood tall over the Witwickys.
Carly and Mikaela gasped. Aunt Judy shrieked. Uncle Ron swore in surprise. Sam swore with excitement. Uncle Stan and Buster seemed apprehensive. Perhaps the only person not fazed at all was Uncle Danny, who raised a near-empty beer bottle in salute to the giant robot.
“Hope ya made room at the table for one more, Jude! Looks like ya gonna need it!”
Mysterious island
Night had fallen over the island but the Dinobots did not stop for a moment in their trek through the jungle. Wheelie had managed to repair Swoop to a state where he could be functional, although his flight systems were still damaged. He remained on Sludge’s back while Slag and Snarl flanked the larger Dinobot, keeping an optical sensor out for any hostile forces.
It was in the wee hours of the night that Slash, at the forefront of the pack, came to an abrupt halt, a tiny arm raised to signal for the others to stop.
“What is it?” Grimlock asked.
“Dinosaurs,” Slash replied.
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
At that moment, the foliage around them rustled and the ground shook as several dinosaurs, all of various species, emerged from the forest and surrounded the Dinobots. Slag and Snarl quickly transformed to their robot modes, brandishing their swords, while Grimlock did the same, raising a hand to stay his comrades from making the first move.
“Could be real dinos,” the Dinobot leader said. “Or could be Predacons. Let’s make sure first.”
“We are not ‘real’ dinosaurs,” said one of the beasts, a red Tyrannosaurus with blue patterns on its hide. “But we are definitely not Predacons.”
Grimlock looked to the Tyrannosaurus, recognizing its appearance combined with the voice. “T-Wrecks? Is that you?”
The Tyrannosaurus bowed its head in acknowledgment. “It’s been a while, Grimlock. I’m glad to see you are still in the world of living parts… even if I wish the circumstances were different.”
Grimlock had met T-Wrecks when he and his Dinobots had joined the Maximals a few years ago, and the two had immediately clashed due to T-Wrecks leading his own team of so-called “Dinobots.” While their methods were slightly more brutal than the rest of the Maximals, T-Wrecks’ Dinobots were nowhere as extreme as Grimlock’s team and the two had frequently gotten into conflicts—physical and otherwise—over their differences. Still, Grimlock had some begrudging respect for the other Dinobot leader, as they probably had more in common than either of them cared to admit.
Grimlock returned to his beast mode, with Slag and Snarl reluctantly following suit, and he turned to face T-Wrecks. “What’s the deal here? What’s going on with this island?”
T-Wrecks seemed hesitant to answer his questions, instead saying, “It would be best if you followed us back to our camp. It will be safer there.”
“Why can’t you tell us here?” growled Slag. “How we know you not leading us into a trap?”
“The Predacons have eyes and ears everywhere. We are exposed enough here as it is. Please, trust me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Grimlock agreed and the Dinobots proceeded to follow T-Wrecks and his group through the jungle. Few words were exchanged until they reached a clearing, which opened up a path to some sort of stone temple. It was likely human-made as it did not seem large enough to fit any Cybertronian larger than Mini-Con size inside, although Wheelie and Slash may have found a way to squeeze in. Guarding the temple were a number of humans, all wearing scraps for clothing and wielding spears as they mounted large saber-toothed tigers. They regarded the Dinobots with apprehensive looks; likely they were not used to their metal exteriors, as T-Wrecks and his Maximals had more organic hides covering their exo-frames.
Also gathered around the clearing were a number of other animals, not just dinosaurs; Grimlock recognized several of them as members of the Maximals, including the nocturnal bat Sonar and the slumbering rhinoceros aptly named Rhinox.
That’s one objective achieved, Grimlock said to himself. Found the Maximals. Now just need to get off this island.
“So this is where you’re hiding,” he said aloud to T-Wrecks, hoping to prompt answers from the other Dinobot leader.
“Most of us, yes,” T-Wrecks said. “Some of the Maximals have been captured by the Predacons, who have taken residence in the central temple on the island.”
Grimlock grunted. “Hrn. What can you tell us about this island?”
“Some of the humans here call it the Savage Land. Others have also referred to it as Brigadoon.” T-Wrecks glanced over at Rhinox. “Perhaps our resident scientist can explain things better.”
When the rhinoceros still did not stir from sleep, Sonar let out a small sonic shriek which jolted him awake. He immediately noticed the Dinobots and, after being caught up on everything, rose up onto his stubby legs.
“From my understanding, this island somehow transcends time and space, essentially serving as an active time capsule. The humans you see here come from various eras; some are from as far back as two hundred years ago, if not more, yet they have hardly aged a day. I’ll admit, I haven’t figured out the science behind it; someone like Perceptor or Brainstorm would be more likely to come up with a reasonable explanation.”
“Don’t really care about any of that,” said Slag. “Just need a way to get you guys off this blasted patch of dirt. And maybe crush the Predacons while we’re at it.”
Rhinox sighed. “Easier said than done, I’m afraid. The temple that the Predacon have taken control of must have some sort of device that causes the island to teleport it to a different location. I can tell because while time does not pass, the stars are always changing in the sky, meaning that they’ve found some way to move it.”
“Who’s leading the Predacons?” Grimlock asked. “Still that Megatron-wannabe, Gnashteeth?”
Rhinox shook his head. “No, they’ve fallen under the leadership of the Tripredacus Council, a trio of Predacons that were quick to claim power in Gnashteeth’s absence.”
“What about you? Leo Prime calling the shots again, or is Primal still?”
“Unfortunately, Leo Prime—although he now goes by Lio Convoy these days—was among those captured by the Predacons. He was trying to lead a rescue attempt for those that had already been lost. Primal leads us now, although he’s shut himself in our temple, plotting our next move… whatever that may be.”
Grimlock snorted in response. He had never been able to get much of a read on Primal; sometimes he reminded him of Optimus Prime—a bit too much so, for his liking—while other times he seemed more willing to take measures that were a bit more… unorthodox than what the likes of Prime would do.
“Why do you even still follow him?” he asked. He lowered his saurian head to look down at the rhinoceros Maximal, eyes narrowed. He kept his tone low as he spoke, so that none of the others overheard. “You’ve been around for a lot longer than him. Or anyone here, for that matter. Me know that for fact.”
Rhinox averted his gaze, sighing as he closed his eyes. “I am not leader material. Besides, out of all the leaders I have served under—from Onyx Prime to Nova Prime to even Optimus Prime—I find Primal and Leo Prime to be… a breath of fresh air. They’re more willing to get things done.”
“You don’t think Optimus is?”
“He is, but he is limited by the resources he has at his disposal—and the numbers. There are far more Autobots than there are Maximals, but I know Optimus Prime is not the one who wants to throw lives away recklessly. That makes him better than Megatron—that can never be disputed. But I feel that he’s a bit too… cautious, even naive, for a war leader. If someone like Primal or even Leo Prime were in command… perhaps the war would’ve been over long ago.”
Grimlock grunted in agreement. His reservations about Optimus’ leadership was no secret, but he was in no mood to go on another rant about it again. There were still more pressing matters to attend to.
Looking around the Maximal camp, he couldn’t help but feel an air of apprehension—not just from the humans but from the Maximals that were alert and present. While he knew he had a presence that was more commanding than some, Grimlock had been around the Maximals for long enough to be accepted into their ranks, albeit unofficially—he and his fellow Dinobots had kept their Autobots badges, never exchanging them for Maximal insignia. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that there was a feeling of… nervousness going around the camp.
Turning back to Rhinox, Grimlock said, “All right. Out with it then. What else aren’t you telling me?”
To his credit, Rhinox was not one to beat around the bush. He immediately picked up on what Grimlock was asking and why, and the rhinoceros tilted his head towards T-Wrecks. “We might as well tell him. He’s going to find out eventually.”
T-Wrecks nodded and beckoned for one of the organic Dinobots to step forward. This one, a white Velociraptor with black stripes, was not one Grimlock recognized from his time with the Maximals. As they approached the Dinobot leader, the Velociraptor transformed, their beast mode head tucking in to form their head while their robot mode head emerged… and as soon as Grimlock saw it, his spark skipped a pulse.
Because their face had a dead-on resemblance to Grimlock’s own.
“Grimlock,” Rhinox said carefully, “I would like you to meet Grimlock.”
Grimlock couldn’t help but notice a hint of humor in the Maximal’s tone.
But he wasn’t laughing.
