Drops of Jupiter

**Part One: All The Small Things**

In the years after the fall of the veil, the age of heroes did not end. Many of the good-hearted souls of Garrett Maryland took up the mantle of hero. From facing one's fears to facing the darkness within. The Autobots and the Keystones were capable of many awe-inspiring acts of heroism. One of their number took heroics partially seriously and became one of the amazing heroes that can be read about in the pages of *The Paperback Exchange’s* comic books. Mild-mannered Journalist George Butts by day. Ultra by night a masked hero taking on those who think they are above the law. Often the very people who elude him as an investigative journalist.

It was a fine spring day in the Nation's Capital Washington DC. Loyce Street looked at a twenty-six-year-old Geroge Butts across the conference room table like he was some sort of simpleton. Her violet eyes as if boring into his very data banks. She often viewed him as some sort of hick. The story goes that Loyce had developed an interest in politics before she could walk. Had taken down sleazy politicians as the editor of her high school newspaper. This slick New Yorker was born to become a political journalist. To be rightly feared in the corridors of power. Loyce or just Lo to some was indeed a powerhouse. Unfortunately around her, George Butts couldn’t be his usual debonair man about town self. He had to act like a loveable doofus. Just like his beloved old man, Eugene. It was the only way. His knowledgeable friends had assured him of the *Clark Kent* effect. No one will possibly believe that you’re a Superhero Ro-Butt, just a hardworking if somewhat bumbling Journalist who can turn on the charisma when he's on air. For Butts that was a pretty literal button, on his heads up display.

George’s Eidetic memory as he’d come to refer to it around most humans had found him a place on every investigative news team, every major story, despite now being the junior anchor. He could recall or connect details that others would overlook or miss. If it meant more injustices were highlighted, well he couldn’t think of a better use of his time. He would never be content to just read the news, he wanted to help shape the story from the very beginning. It’s why he worked for one of the last few truly independent media conglomerates *TNNN Trans National News Network*. Papers, Radio TV. For the people, by the people. You wouldn't find Loyce Street working for anyone else. Well, Maybe *The Washington Post* or *New York Times*.

How could his attraction subroutine not be set off by Loyce? The old him would have made some grand romantic gesture or just straight up asked her out on a date. Even if she scared him. The new Butts had to act more like a shy awkward nerd. Follow the advice Heather had given him. He had a huge secret and he spent the majority of his life around someone who had an amazing track record at revealing secrets. He needed to stick to the profile the genius criminal profiler Heather Jones had worked up. Avoid detection. Keep his identity as Ultra a secret. Known only to the few. Protect the civilians in his life. Even if that got in the way of any mutual romantic interest. Even humans who missed so much could see there was something between the two of them. So it must be blatantly obvious.

Loyce looked good. That morning as every other, in the time he’d known her. She didn’t exactly dress like a journalist. Short auburn hair in an undercut. Pretty obvious tattoos, that she refused to have covered on air by the make-up artists. Ripped jeans, a Punk T-shirt, and a bandanna, under a leather blazer that she kept, hung up in the office. She had bags under her eyes from staying up all night trying to talk a cagy source into meeting with her. Something about a major threat to national security. She was incredibly dedicated. Her look reminded him far too much of his friend Shannon sometimes. Well, the old Shannon, the off duty one not the Air Force Major.

All his Mortal Humans friends had begun pairing off, for the most part, they’d done the college thing, some more than others. Then found a career. Both things George could do. It was nice to learn things and to have a purpose in the world. Learning had become so much easier for him after the truth about his cybernetic brain had been revealed. Work was good too, you needed a reason to unplug yourself from trickle charge in the morning, his reason was Journalism. Doggedly pursuing the truth.

Then his friends had gone from pairing off to procreating or at least planning to. High school sweethearts had become husband and wife. George had found himself at the spinster's table for functions with Miss Maggie and Susan MacLoud. Not that he disliked their company, quite the opposite. It was hard to be in the business of journalism and not find Susan an inspiration. As the greatest automotive writer of the post-war years. Maggie was so insightful and spiritual. So it made for a fasting conversational mix.

Still, it was better to be around his humans as much as possible while they were here. Their lifetimes were so short. Yet George’s father had told him that with upgrades and maintenance to his power system he could continue living for near enough ever. An eternity seemed so long, without his friends. The people he trusted with his secret. Hopefully, Shannon’s work at NASA and the IASA would find him some long-living aliens to hang out with one day.

Mitch had threatened to build a Kang Style cyborg body so that his brain could live on. It was a very kind offer. Then he and Charlie had finally admitted their feelings for each other. With a little prod in the right direction. It was nice for Mitch, he spent so much time in the early nineties blaming himself for the fate of the multiverse. So that idea of company for eternity might be off the table. As Mitch would be spending his human equivalent of eternity with Charlie.

It was a lot to ask of a human. For you to go and outlive them. To be unable to make little humans with them. To one day have to watch them die and then somehow for him to find a way to move on. Maybe that’s why he thought of Susan. She’d lost her whole family. Her beloved husband, and had found the resilience somehow to continue. Still, George had all the time in the world and didn’t want to take that risk right now. His friends had always known what he did after hours. They’d always supported him. By any means necessary. This included being called on as backup.

He returned to her, Loyce Street, in the conference room. Having to playback the file of what she had just said which made him appear even more of a rube.

“So what do you think? It’s evidence of DART and other agencies spiriting away the Loop scientist with more spicy resumes, it’s like O*peration Paperclip* all over again.”

Loyce spoke passionately

“It could be, maybe we should drive out to Quantico and see what the FBI has to say. A couple of these names are on their most wanted list.”

She still looked a bit shocked. Very few Journalists could just drive out to FBI headquarters and expect an audience. Butts wasn’t most journalists. He had connections.

George drew his Nokia 5150 phone from his pocket and began firing off texts to various friends.

“You want to ride with me?”

George offered, Loyce looked exhausted from her all-nighter.

“I slept a few hours before dawn. I’ll be fine.”

She flat out denied his chivalrous offer.

“Go out there and give me details. I want facts”

Perry, their Editor in Chief, who had been quietly listening to his best reporters, shooed them out of the conference room and into the open-plan bullpen.

“Call me when you know something. Then be back before the evening bulletin. I’ve got the outside broadcast crew on standby. You better get me some real news. Something better than human interests crapola! ”

The white-haired, self-professed old-timer yelled after them. His voice shook the glass walls of the modernist office.

George knew that Loyce would never turn down an opportunity to ride her tricked out Ducati Monster on the open roads out to Quantico.

In the parking structure, beyond all the huge TNN liveried outside broadcast trucks, George found his Maroon Saab 99 Turbo. He got in, and Teletraan 2’s AI scanned the cabin. Booting into life.

“Teletraan, please plot the quickest course to FBI Headquarters in Quantico.”

George asked as he put his key into the ignition.

Teletraan’s AI could downlink to multiple locations at once. One of them being Butt’s daily driver. Mitch had created Teletraan with the help of Eugene and one true Holter Arkeville so that Butts always had someone to talk to. An AI-based in part on Eugene Butts' research. Teletraan could connect all the Autobots, the Keystones, ALTA and the new Garrett Maryland civil defence corps volunteers, together. It formed part of the new legacy Mitch was trying to build.

“Processing”

Teltetraan’s synthesised voice announced.

“Estimated time of arrival is fifty minutes if current traffic patterns remain unchanged, and local speed limits are obeyed.”

Locye walked out of the elevator. She’d changed into riding jeans without rips and an armoured leather jacket. She mounted her customised Ducati, putting on her gloves and helmet. She fired up the powerful V twin engine and signalled for Butts to at least attempt to keep up with her. Then howling out of the parking structure. Toward the Capital Beltway.

“Afraid we won’t be keeping to the posted speed limit”

George pulled out of his reserved parking space and followed the figure of Locye about eight car lengths ahead of him.

“I do wish you would drive the NSX more.”

The AI chided. It didn't quite share its creators' passion for old cars. Even if it was programmed to maintain his cover at all costs.

“Shush you, or I’ll start borrowing Dad’s VW Bug“

Of course who else but his Father and Dr Casey Mitchell would program an AI with opinions and attitudes. As if to placet him the little LCD screen in the dash switched to Album art and began playing the new *Daft Punk* Album *Discovery*.

After about thirty-five minutes at breakneck speeds through the metropolis of Washington, its surrounding suburbs, then fields and forests of Virginia. The Motorcycle and the red sports car behind giving chance arrived at the checkpoint for the FBI’s Quantico campus. It was fortunate Perry hadn’t sent an outside broadcast truck, It would never have kept up.

“Hi. It’s George Butts, and Loye Street with TNN. We’re here to see the Behavioural Sciences Unit, Either Director Tyler, Section Chief Bozzio or Agent Jones, will see us. They're expecting us.”

George explained to the gate guard.

Not long after the journalistic team of Loyce and Butts, were ushered into a basement conference room dominated by a board along one wall of all the scientists who had gone to ground after the Loop Incident of 1989. Not quite the same interior decorator they’d used at the Loop but a similar impregnable bunker vibe blended with a sixties concrete almost brutalist office building. Though it had more soft furnishings and potted plants. Plenty of glass picture windows to let what little light there was flow through the basement.

“It’s that charmer Delhila Darrow, known to most as *Dockor Dredd*”

Loyce indicated a photo of a woman with pure white hair and a black streak at the top of the board. She looked like Doctor Blight from Captain Planet. George resisted smiling at the thought. Or cracking a joke.

“She was part of the advanced Robotics division but she reported directly to Arkevlille, as part of the advanced warfare division, not my father.”

George explained. His father was always interested in robots that could help humanity. Himself included.

Mads Bozzio walked into the room, A youthful-looking tall broad woman, with wayward blonde hair tied back. She placed a rugged-looking rubberised Panasonic laptop on the boardroom table and a large FBI file folder.

“Hey, George. Your Uncle is teaching a class. Though as usual, we’re open to collaborating and letting you cover the story if you can help us apprehend another from the wall.”

Bozzio shook George firmly by the hand, slapping him on the back warmly. Almost knocking him clean off his gyroscopically stabilised feet. She nodded curtly to Street who returned the greeting.

“Miss Street, welcome to Quantico. Thank you for your previous assistance. I know we have a different relationship than most journalists and law enforcement agencies.”

Here there was no press and communications liaison agent. Just them and the Section Chief.

Mads gestured for them to sit and offered them coffee in FBI mugs, and a box of doughnuts.

“It is an odd arrangement.”

Loyce admitted

“You have a certain set of skills, and the remit of our unit has always been to consult with the top people in their respective fields when their goals are in line with our own.”

Mads explained warmly.

“It would be better if we didn't have military-grade robots running around.”

Mads stifled a smile at Loyce’s word choice. There was one running around DC most nights and he was trying not to choke on a doughnut at the table next to her.

“I agree, we lost track of Darrow in Alaska some months ago. She’s been on the lam for some twelve years. We believe that the Soviets spirited her away in 1989. To work at one of their Siberian research bases. That is until the Berlin wall fell, and communism along with it. Her research was seemingly incomplete, she served as basically a gun for hire for any hostile foreign nation, group or organisation willing to pay her. Doing drone research and development.”

Mads explained from memory. Not touching the file or laptop in front of her.

“My informant at the Department of Defence seems to believe that there is a black ops robotics project underway. That Darrow has been recruited for it in exchange for immunity from prosecution. They’re building Robots that are indistinguishable from humans.”

Street contained and Mads nodded

“*Replicants* like *Bladerunner,* we've been expecting as much for a number of years.”

Mads was not kidding. Before she had become an FBI agent she had been a computer scientist wanting to replicate the human brain. She was eminently qualified to deliver this briefing.

“Then whoever pulls the strings can use these robots for political assassinations, you name it, they can destabilise nations. The possibilities are numerous, and all equally terrifying. Naturally, the Department of Defence denies all knowledge.”

That did not make George comfortable at all. He could share the same systems and architecture as a killbot. It was common practice for the other Arkeville to have parallel development programmes doing the same work, and then upon his orders, they would use each other's research to fill in the blanks. His Dad was not going to be happy, it had been twelve years since the Loop as they had known it had been dissolved, yet things like this came up all the time.

George fiddled seemingly nervously at his Omega Watch. In reality, he was using his transceiver to send a coded signal via the Talletraan AI *Autobots Assemble*. He didn’t have to fight this battle alone. Loyce could not know, yet there were other people who did. People who had vowed to be ready for the call to action at a moment's notice. George needed his friends. If he was to protect Loyce and bring this mad scientist to justice.

**Part Two: Til the day that I die.**

All the research, all the careful planning and knowing your enemy proved to be for nought. On the road back to DC the unimaginable happened. A streak from the sky began boring down on Loyce on her Ducati Monster ahead of George in his Saab. It was all he could do to trigger the Autobot emergency frequency. Then try to get himself and his Saab in between the airborne and earthbound moving objects. It was a Decepticon or at least of a similar design to the ones they had fought in the eighties.

Then it happened the aerodynamic missile extended an arm and grabbed the motorcycle straight out from under its rider, throwing Loyce from it as if she were a ragdoll. Crumbled at the roadside. George could feel what passed for his heart in his throat. He couldn’t lose her. Not this way. In the milliseconds before the objects made contact again. Metallic fist to face George feared. The Saab skidded to an impressive stop like the rally car it was in a cloud of tyre smoke. George was out of his seatbelt, and out of the car before his processors could quite comprehend what he was doing. He had not transformed, there was no time. He stood there in a blazer and tie. Between the missile-like military killbot, what was clearly a Deceptacon knock off and Loyce.

The bot was going to fire. *Deploy Energon Shield appeared on his HUD.* George didn't hesitate. As the military Decepticon fired he activated the blue shield, and his own energy reserve took a knock. In the heat of the laser weapon, he could feel the asphalt of the road melting. The laser refracted from his shield like a double rainbow. Literal scorched earth was on all sides of him. He only hoped that *The Blackbird* and his allies could get here in time. Get here before his energy was depleted.

Locye just critically examined him from her prone position; she did not say a word. Sheltered behind him at what should be the roadside of the interstate. Which was melting around her like a surrealist Salvador Dali painting.

Butts reached out a hand for her. His medical subsystems began to give him information on her condition. It didn’t matter that she was wearing gloves. She was in shock but mercifully only had a few bruises. Her armour had taken the hit. She was fine, she was still breathing rapidly.

Then on the grass verge, his keen robotic eyes saw the shadow of *The Blackbird* as the VITOL Jet circled for landing. Loyce had seen it before in the skies above DC. Then two missiles shot out from the jet's sleek undercarriage. Distracting the killbot, and throwing it flying. If you had seen this experimental Jet land under AI control before you would say it landed now with a certain style and aplomb. Only one pilot could be at the controls. Major Shannon “Grimlock” Locke USAF. Arguably the finest fighter pilot of her generation.

This was the replacement for the Battle Wagon. A supersonic Jet capable of sub-orbital travel. Borth a transport plane and also armed to the teeth. With the landing zone cleared, for now, the jet came into land on its near-silent engines.

George sighed a sigh of relief. Far faster than predicted. He wouldn’t admit to her that she was the best backup a Superhero could ever ask for. Shannon knew. He was sure.

The ramp for the blackbird deployed from beneath the fuselage. Like the Millennium Falcon in Star Wars. Then bolts of lightning began to be fired on the fleeing form of the killbot as the Fabulous McKenzie Baker Brothers Ironhide and Bumblebee took on the fleeing foe. Taking to the skies in pursuit. Geroge was certain that between them they could destroy the killbots power cell.

George Dropped his Energon shield. Picking Loyce up. Though she seemed to protest. Bounding off the plane just behind Jerry and Ben was Scarlett, with the same energy she ran on the pitch to support an injured player or into a burning building as a volunteer firefighter. She was resplendent in her full *GridIron* armour. Still giving Butts a look that enquired if he’d gone quite mad revealing his identity to a civilian.

“Are you okay?”

Scarlett asked

“Fine, I still have sixty per cent power. I’ll go help our boys.”

He grasped Loyce’s hand then turned and transformed into Ultra. Then took flight, giving Loyce a wink.

“Hi, It’s Loyce, isn’t it? Are you okay?”

Scarlett began to escort Loyce back to the safety of The Blackbird

“I’ll be fine, my Bike not as much.”

Locye looked to see that her Ducati was upside down in the ditch to the side of the carriageway.

“I’m Gridiron, Grimlock is flying the plane, and you know Ultra. He’s with Ironhide and Bumblebee.”

Inside the plane looked like one of the ships from that *Starship Troopers* movie. This Gridiron woman helped Loyce off with her helmet, and took some Star Trek-style scanner and passed it over her.

Loyce had researched rumours of these people who just turned up to help Ulta save the day, there was nothing to them just urban legends, and rumours originating perhaps in upstate Maryland. There was no record with the Federal Aviation Administration of this hybrid combat and transport plane she was on. She felt a lot like Alice on the other side of the looking glass. You’ve taken the ideals of New Journalism a bit too far now, Lo. You’ve become the fucking damsel in distress in this story.

“I think I know who you are. It’s okay. You’re secret's safe with me.”

There she was turning her back on the story of the century. Because like her journalistic idols she’d rather be part of it. Butts was a far better actor than she had ever given him credit for. Whatever had happened in his home town all those years ago had turned him and his friends into heroes. Yes, she was a little offended that she hadn’t been invited to join. Despite owning a dog, she had a huge Catwoman energy that she felt was being underutilised.

“I’m sure he’ll explain it to you himself.”

Gridiron assured her.

Outside the Jet, Ultra, Ironhide and Bumblebee were tag-teaming the damaged faux Decepticon. Limiting its avenues for escape. Ultra had torn at its wiring beneath the armour damaged by the missile salvo. Trying to leave something for Mitch to analyse back home in Garrett.

With precision and well-honed teamwork, the goliath kill bot crumbled into an orderly pile of scrap alongside what was left of the interstate. As the vehicles of the FBI arrived to seal down the area and have the Robot shipped out for examination. Our awesome heroes were observed from a big screen in a command bunker deep beneath a familiar old mansion house outside Garrett Maryland. An older Casey Mitchell jumped from his seat fist-pumping the air, then high fiving, and hugging Charlie Thrice to his immediate right. This made Mitch feel like Professor X, in X Men. if the Decepticons ever came back they’d be ready.

“Will you be staying for tea then?”

An older woman in equestrian garb stepped into the illumination of the two-story-high display screen. Joining the happy couple.

“Of course Susan, thank you. Sorry about running though you’re home with no warning.”

Charlie explained

“It’s not an imposition at all my dear”

Susan smiled a knowing smile. Why have a house with a built-in bunker and not use it? Every superhero team needed a headquarters.

“Would you be able to help us debrief Loyce Street?”

Mitch asked

“If you think I might provide some small assistance.”

Was the humble reply. She was very good with people. Not to mention invaluable in a crisis.

“We’d be appreciative. For the tea, and the help”

Charlie says. She might be a legendary spy in the GI Joe universe but Susan MacLoud was the real deal. She had much still to show the younger generation. Of this, Charlie was certain.

“It looks like we’re having another investigator join the team.”

Mitch admitted. Some people refused to be kept safe. It was a wonder that Butt’s journalistic partner hadn’t called him out sooner.

Back in Virginian Locye sat wrapped in a tin foil blanket on the tailgate of an FBI Truck.

“I kept coming into the office every day expecting you to have seen through my disguise.”

The slightly tousled looking Georgie Butts admitted

“You’re not a bad actor.”

Loyce admitted

“Sure I was suspicious, you're never far behind Ultra, and never with me when I see him. I had to trust you to tell me eventually.”

He put his arm around her

“I’m really sorry it ended up being this way.”

He signed and looked bashful.

“I’ve had worse and we’re going to catch Doctor Dread. All of us working together.”

George lifted an eyebrow and looked impressed

“We’ll talk it over after I’m out of the hospital. Dinner after the evening bulletin?”

Was this happening?

“I mean I’ve seen you eat before even if you probably don’t need to.”

Loyce filled the silence, which was odd coming from her.

“Yes, I enjoy eating. No, I don’t technically need to.”

It was nice, to be honest with someone outside his immediate circle of friends.

“A friend of mine will pick you up from the hospital. I don’t want you to be alone if Darrow is still gunning for you.”

With that, an ambulance arrived as the FBI had finished putting screens in front of the robot wreck and the curious direction along the road.

“I need to work out what our top story is going to be tonight.”

Some things never changed

Further along the road A large Semi Truck an eighties Freightliner arrived with *Holland Trucking and Carting of Garrett Maryland* written upon the cab doors. To remove the wrecked robot and take the Faux-ceptaton back where it all began to Garrett for examination.

The clock was ticking and Butts still needed to find a way to tell his lead story. As much as he wanted to tell the truth, this wasn’t the time. The Doctor had wanted to shut up a couple of nosey reporters and make it look like an unfortunate traffic accident. Soon Delihla Darrow would find there was no place left to hide. She would be brought to justice.

George went to work to prepare the lead story for the evening, but the memory of a conversation he’d had with his father was at the forefront of his well what passed for a mind.

They’d been sitting out on the roof terrace at Geroge’s apartment. It was what Loyce would call a penthouse for the ostentatious rich. The lifestyles of the rich and shameless.

They took in the view of the capitol over to one side, as the sun dipped down behind the Washington monument. They sat surrounded by George’s prized topiary. Between the lush foliage was a chalk circle for marbles.

“Place looks good Georgie”

The elder Butts broke the comfortable silence. His face more wrinkled than we recall it being twelve years ago. A few more grey hairs.

“You seem settled here in the big city. Could use a woman's touch though, as they say.”

George shrugged

“You know what it’s like Dad”

Eugene Butts indeed knew what it was like, yet he looked a little perturbed.

“I understand you’re reluctance son, to meet a girl. Settle down.”

He paused. Flesh and blood son or otherwise all Eugene wanted was for his son to be happy.

“I’m sorry I couldn't give you the power you needed to save us and the people you love any other way … I never meant to burden you with immortality. Unfortunately, I'm a roboticist, not a philosopher.”

Eugene now had a grave look on his kind face.

“I made my decision long ago Dad. Without you, I wouldn’t be truly alive. I don’t have any regrets.”

George blew a smoke ring from the cigar he was smoking into the cool night air.

“You didn’t know you’re Mz Street from work existed then, Georgie. A girl like her can turn a young man's head. Make him reconsider a lot of things.”

Geroge didn’t suppress his blushing reflexes. He looked a little wistful. If you knew DC well he looked for a second to the North towards the old industrial district of Ivy City. To the warehouse owned by an artists collective where Loyce lives.

“Love is a many splendid thing son, moves in mysterious ways.”

Eugene continued

“So I’d spin the planet on its axis back in time to save her, even knowing what I know about time and dimensions I’d still try… For her. Just to have one more day.”

This was almost a low whisper

“There's one woman in the world I’d do that for son, did do that, and that’s you’re Mother.”

The old man was right. He often was. Even if you could suppress your feelings it was no way to live. Humanity was to be cherished as where human feelings. He had to work out a way to tell Loyce how he felt, how he had always felt and soon.