What Some People Won't Do for a Story

Who: Amber MacKenzie, Jetfire
IC Year: 2029
Location: EDC HQ Alameda - Earth
TP: Non-TP



Alameda, formerly the site of the Naval Air Station and the associated Marine base, is now home to the newly formed EDC and its massive launching, recovery and repair facilities. The city seems to have adapted to the change rather well. The carriers, cruisers and destroyers formerly tied up alongside the piers have been replaced with hyper-sonic fighter craft, interplanetary interceptors and shuttles of all varieties, but the servicemen never change. The towers and hangars of the EDC shine brightly in the sun.

Amber MacKenzie exits EDC HQ after a nice visit with her father. She's shaking her head, though, at how tight security's gotten these days. Pausing by the pier, she puts away her BlackBerry and camcorder, both of which were confiscated at the entrance. After a quick glance around, she bends down to touch her toes, then gracefully arches backward until her fingers almost touch the ground. Completing the movement, she falls back into a handstand, and then launches herself back to her feet. Time to find lunch.

Jetfire is actually standing outside of the EDC complex and tapping away at his datapad. he happened to look down and sees Amber. "Hello Miss Mackenzie." Yup....He's been informed of who Amber is by Turntail.

Funny how one can miss such large pieces of the landscape. Amber is briefly startled by the sudden voice and looks up, green eyes narrowing. Oh. An Autobot. Belatedly processing his words, she smiles up at the mech. "My fame precedes me. It looks like I'm on The List now, Jetfire," she responds cheerfully.

Jetfire blinks over to her. "The List? I don't understand." he probably DOES understand but he's playing dumb for the moment. In the meantime, he still seems to be processing data from the datapad.

"The list of pesky humans," Amber informs him. "I interfered with Silverbolt's harassment of a Russian refugee at LAX yesterday. He's obviously reported the incident, since you were able to greet me by name. So... what can I do for you, Jetfire?"


A Towering white robot, with a blue visor and black antennae on his helmet. On his chest is a blue canopy with red stripes behind the 'glass'. On his forearms are black arm guards with red openings. On his upswept wings, the upper edges of them are bright red, with the autobot symbol showing over top of them. On his back are a pair of engine nacelles, with the upper most currently closed, but it's obviously where he keeps another pair of weapons. He's usually carrying his dual barred rifle, if it's not strapped to his shoulder.

Jetfire chuckles lightly at that. "Actually Silverbolt DID report that incident...but you weren't the pesky terran he was upset with. he was more upset at Nathan Briar. As for Silverbolt's was on my orders. And no, before you ask......if I'm right...that wasn't a russian." He then chuckles lightly. "If Silverbolt was right, you're a reporter. Correct Miss Mackenzie?"

Amber MacKenzie checks her watch, which gives her an hour before lunch, and then makes herself comfortable leaning against a wall. That also helps when she has to look so far, far up at the Autobot. "I work for Earthwatch News, yes. Now, there's usually one of two reasons why people are interested in my profession. 1) You have something to hide, and 2) you have something you want known. So, which is it? And getting back to Comrade Nabokov, why are you so certain that he was not a Russian? Why are you sending Autobots to search for strangely-acting Terrans?"

Jetfire says, "Would you rather have part of the story now, or ALL of it once I find out what's going on?" He then chuckles at that. "Because of an incident a few days ago. Once again, I'm not telling you the whole story because, if you want this'll have to keep it under wraps until it's over. It'd be like hearing a scientist saying he might have a cure for the AIDS virus....and a couple of months later, you do a follow-up and learn it's....only a certain strain."

Amber MacKenzie arches an elegant brow, though her green eyes darken with annoyance. "Ah, so it's reason 1. You know, the answer is obvious, Jetfire. You can tell me about it and let me decide whether or not to hold it for later, since I really don't like having a carrot dangled in front of me so that I'll jump for it when you jerk it around."

Jetfire shakes his head, then slides up the face plate on his helmet and tugs it off before setting it on the ground near the barrier. "This isn't a carrot, Miss Mackenzie. It's keeping Terran lives safe. You know how close the Witwicky family is to me, correct?"

"No," Amber answers baldly. "I may be an EDC brat, but I never met either the Secretary-General or his family." She stares at him still, her face unreadable now. "How does their welfare relate to any of this? I would expect Mr. Witwicky et al to be well protected from mere Terrans."

Jetfire nods. "Well.....I'll tell you under one well as exclusive media right to this, all fall under this condition. Your network does NOT get a whisper or a HINT of this until it's resolved. The less they know, the better."

Amber MacKenzie's expression only gets more and more cold. "Let's get something straight, Jetfire. Your carrots don't work with me. I don't do this for money or fame; I don't need either. If I think that this top secret plot needs to be kept quiet, then I'll keep it quiet. You're an Autobot, not a Terran, so why are you making these decisions instead of the EDC?" She's interrupted in her rant by a buzzing from her BlackBerry. With an expression of annoyance at the interruption, she pauses to take the call. "Yes?"

Spike Witwicky: "Is this a Miss Amber MacKenzie?"

Amber MacKenzie: "It is. May I ask who's calling?"

Jetfire stands back up and goes back to his datapad. He doesn't let Amber know anything quite yet....until she's done with her call.

Spike Witwicky: "This is General Witwicky of the EDC - I believe you put in a request for an interview?"

Amber MacKenzie's eyes widen, and she mutters, "Speak of the Devil. So that's how he got my number."

Amber MacKenzie: "Yes sir, I did."

Jetfire flicks his optics over towards Amber and keeps quiet, but he does listen quite closely.

Spike Witwicky: "Well, did you have a timeframe in mind in which you'd like to sit down for that interview? My time's a little squeezed these days, but I can always shuffle something around."

Amber MacKenzie makes no attempt to lower her voice, so Jetfire might hear her. "If it's convenient for you, now would be a good time, since I was just about to leave Alameda." She spares an ironic glance for Jetfire. He can bet what she's going to be asking the Secretary-General.

Spike Witwicky: "I just finished a few things and have some time free, so that'd be great. Any place in particular you'd like to meet?"

Poor Jetfire. It must be difficult to be so large, even compared to other Transformers. Amber is still mostly concentrating on her call. "How about the EDC cafeteria, sir? The chicken caesar salad isn't bad." And this conversation may stray into classified information, yes. She glances up again at Jetfire.

Spike Witwicky: "Oh, it /is/ chicken ceasar today, isn't? I was dreading that it was meatloaf. Meet you in say, ten minutes?"

Amber MacKenzie: "Works for me, sir."

Spike Witwicky: "See you there, and please - call me Spike. I don't put on the sir pants unless I have to."

"Well, Jetfire," Amber begins, putting her BlackBerry away. "I'm afraid we'll have to postpone this charming conversation. I'm sorry for coming down so hard on you, but you pushed the wrong buttons with me. Maybe it'll work on the next journalist."

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