Author's Note: This is a companion fic to both "Kinship" and "The Tie That Binds." Mohammed al-Sharif is Sam's personal aide on the aircraft carrier the Autobots are sailing on back to Diego Garcia.

Also, I am not Muslim but my character is and his religion plays a significant part in his life. I've done some research, but it's not the same as participating in a culture, so I hope I have shown appropriate respect for the sacred beliefs of others. Even if this is a Transformers fanfic. :)

Admiral Black buzzed me into his office and handed me an envelope. "See that this gets delivered to Mr. Witwicky."

"Yes sir."

I could have assigned a courier to bring the note to Mr. Witwicky, but my own curiosity got the better of me. Everything I'd seen on the news, everything I'd heard as I worked, everything said in the corridors of the ship indicated that we were carrying in our cargo hold the deadliest beings the world had ever known. Everything, that is, except one Samuel James Witwicky. Just minutes ago, he had chewed out Ensign Park in Communications for calling the biggest of the Autobots 'it' instead of 'him.'

It was impossible to not compare the aliens' attack to September 11th – a cowardly assault on civilians. But unlike most of my fellow crewmen, the echoes of September 11th that haunted the airwaves and the halls also opened my mind toward these aliens. I was a Muslim and the son of Iranian immigrants who had escaped to the U.S. in the 1970's. I knew what it felt like to see the change on people's faces when they read my name on the checks I wrote at the store. I knew what it felt like to see the stained-glass windows of my mosque smashed by vandals. I knew what it felt like to be "randomly" screened every time I boarded a flight or entered a secured government building. In short, I knew what it felt like to be judged guilty by association.

Samuel Witwicky had insisted that the aliens onboard were not like the ones who attacked us. I didn't necessarily believe him, but I was curious. There are two sides to every story, and here was a man who could tell us the Autobots' side. So I took the message from Admiral Black down to the mess hall and personally delivered it to Mr. Witwicky, just to spend a little more time observing him.

He read the note and grinned, slapping his hand with it. "How long do we have until the meeting?"

I answered, "The British representative has been delayed, so we won't be starting until 15:30 hours."

With a frown, Mr. Witwicky demanded, "Then why did you come to get me so early?"

"I didn't. Admiral Black wanted me to bring the note to you."

He looked back at his friends and family still happily talking in the mess hall and then turned to me. "Then I need to go to the Autobot cargo bay."

I nodded, my heart suddenly in my throat. I'd only wanted to observe Mr. Witwicky, but I couldn't pass up an opportunity to get a look at the robots, too. "Right this way, sir."

In the silence of the elevator, I couldn't help but wonder what I'd see when we got down to the cargo hold. Would the robots be in their car shapes or the bipedal ones? Would they be quietly sitting at designated stations, analyzing data or awaiting orders? Would they be in stand-by mode? How do you 'wake up' alien robots, anyway?

Mr. Witwicky stepped off the elevator as confidently as if this were a shopping mall instead of the nest of a bunch of dangerous robots. I followed in his wake, knowing from years of experience just how far to hang back in order to remain invisible until my superior officer needed me to do something.

A yellow car careened toward Witwicky, and he smiled at his approaching death. "It's afternoon, bee," he inexplicably said. Then he held up the letter from Admiral Black. "Good news, guys! You're allowed to transform again."

The yellow car broke apart, shifting with whirs and clicks into the bipedal form I'd only heard about. I staggered back in alarm, heart racing, as vehicle after vehicle transformed from something mundane to something utterly alien. The largest of them – broad-shouldered and terrifying – knelt in front of us. In front of Mr. Witwicky, almost like a sign of respect. "Thank you, Sam." The alien spoke with the voice of power and authority, even as he was offering gratitude.

But Mr. Witwicky didn't seem to see it that way and answered off-handedly, "It was the least I could do, and I didn't do much. Just argued with the admiral."

I'd imagine a man having better luck arguing with a brick wall. And Mr. Witwicky had moved him?

"And sorry I didn't get down here this morning," the boy continued. "It's been a crazy day."

"I'm familiar with the phenomenon," the alien answered, and I realized this was the leader, the one called Optimus who Mr. Witwicky had so energetically defended.

"So yeah," Mr. Witwicky blithely said, as if he was conversing with a fellow human. "Just don't use your holoforms at all and don't wander out of the cargo bay without me, and we're good. First violation of that by anyone gets you all in lockdown again. Sorry you're still so restricted. You guys really shouldn't be treated like this at all."

"Convincing the world will take time," the alien answered patiently, again acting like the boy was…was the one in charge. Backwards, that's what it was. "Don't let it trouble you. We are content with this for now."

"Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime, though? Anything you need?"

"Something to shoot at?" a black alien rumbled, his enormous arm-mounted weapons glowing faintly. An icy prickle of terror made my hair stand on end.

"That's what Skids and Mudflap are for," another one – all sharp angles and vicious blades – retorted.

Two other aliens reacted at that, shouting and gesturing in what looked like anger, though I was having a hard time figuring out if they were speaking English or not.

A blue alien with a nasty-looking whip flicked it in their direction. "Permission to throw them overboard?"

He was asking Witwicky? The boy had so much power among them that his word would decide the fate of the two angry ones?

"Denied," my fellow human answered with a perfectly straight face. "We'd get hit for littering."

Guffaws broke out around me, with the yellow robot holding his arms across his midsection like he really was belly-laughing. Witwicky smiled, too.

Another large alien – about half as big as the red-and-blue one but still big enough to be frightening – placed his hand behind Mr. Witwicky's back and guided him toward a partitioned-off area. "If holoforms are not allowed, then I'd better dispense your pills now for the rest of the day."

Swallowing hard, I trailed behind Mr. Witwicky, careful to stay out of the way of the yellow robot, who was also following them.

I watched in awe as the taller one's hand transformed into a pen. A pen! I thought they had two forms – but seeing this, I realized that they had countless combinations of forms and tools that they could use. It was…it was like magic almost. If you needed something, *poof* it was there.

"Take this ibuprofen at 17:00 hours and the Lortab before bed. And I expect you to report to me in the morning before you go to any more meetings." This must be the robots' medic, I realized. An alien medic who also knew how to heal humans – it wasn't until this moment that I suddenly realized how inferior we mere mortals were. Of course this robot would know everything about medicine – he could remember and sift through information better than any human doctor.

"I'll do my best," Mr. Witwicky answered, again conducting himself with the air of someone who was at ease and not the least bit worried about the massive, bossy robot in front of him. "But it has been three days now, Ratchet. I'm sure I'll be fine even if I miss a dose."

The medic Ratchet huffed in annoyance. "Your fellow humans have shown a singular disregard for your wellbeing. Do not follow their example."

"Yeah, well, I told off the people who were overbooking me. It shouldn't be a problem in the future. Hopefully."

Ratchet straightened, folding his arms and looking both stubborn and disgruntled, but he said nothing. Again, he gave the impression of someone who knew there was a line of respect surrounding Mr. Witwicky and he refused to cross it.

The boy deftly changed the subject. "Have you made any progress with your research?"

They talked for a minute about it, with Mr. Witwicky warning – warning – the alien doctor that he wouldn't let him stall forever. And the doctor was actually defensive about it. What in the world was going on here? How…what was it about Samuel Witwicky that gave him such power over the aliens?

The yellow one was drooping – almost looking like he was sad – and Sam casually patted his leg as he followed Ratchet out to the main room of the cargo bay. "Come on, 'Bee."

Bee. That must be his name. And Bee did just what his…master? Friend? Commander? Ambassador? …what Sam told him to do.

Optimus, Ratchet, Bee, and Mr. Witwicky all paused in front of a tractor-trailer, and my fellow human read aloud the words painted on it. "Blackbird Weapons and Defense Systems. Doom Bringer."

They started talking about armor and things that I didn't understand, but one thing was crystal clear when he finished – Mr. Witwicky was the one in charge here. "Okay, Ratchet, you're off the hook. But keep me posted."

"Agreed."

Then, as if this was all as commonplace and normal as a human interaction, Mr. Witwicky turned to me, saying, "We probably need to get to the meeting, huh."

"Yes sir." And that 'sir' was much more than a courtesy now.

…

When I reported back to Captain Wilder, he gave me an appraising look. "Took you quite a while just to deliver a note."

"Mr. Witwicky wished to visit the Autobots, sir, so I escorted him there and then to his next meeting."

"I assigned Ramirez to be his personal aide, but she was less than enthusiastic about it."

"I volunteer," I instantly answered. I knew Captain Wilder, and he was offering me the job.

He nodded. "Good. Notify Ramirez and finish up your other assignments so you can begin first thing tomorrow morning."