Author's Note: The second book of TF: Lux Eterna. And yes, this is a completed fic, so don't ask when I'll be updating it, okay? ~_^
Warnings: Death, destruction, mayhem, telepathic teens, robo-yaoi, mostly OCs
Disclaimer: Transformers and it's canon characters belong to Hasbro/Takara. I claim all the OCs and take full responsibility for conjuring up the plotline of this fic. Lyrics quoted as listed.
Chapter 1: A Prayer for the Dying
But time is the space between me and you
There is a light through that window
Hold on, say 'yes' while people say 'no'
'Cause life carries on
- Seal, "Prayer For the Dying"
August 2001
Dead silence. As if no one else was left in all the world. And then pain. A burning, soul-wrenching pain. I hissed through clenched fists, determined not to give in to the pain. I would be strong, I would beat this. I had to beat this. I would not give in. I would be free, no matter the cost.Nayla awoke with a groan. She had known it would be difficult at best to break free, but this was beyond even her worst fears. Her whole body still tingled with remembered pain, but she was free. Such as it was. No food, no money, and, as she looked around, no idea just where she was. The moors stretched out around her, blanketed in a thick morning fog that washed out the colors of summer.
England. I thought we had gone to France. How is it I am in England?
Gingerly, she rose to her feet, taking stock of her condition. She ached abominally, from the soles of her feet to the base of her neck, but she wasn't injured beyond a few scrapes. In fact, if not for the fact that her dress and black flats were completely unsuited to cross country travel, an outsider might never think she had escaped from anything.
Lucky me. But first things first, Nayla. Freedom is not worth much when one is broke and on the run. And when they find out I have . . . left . . . they will surely search the whole country to find me. I do not have much time.
An embassy, that is what I need. Perhaps I can claim asylum with the Americans. But first, I must know where I am.
She could see a road a hundred paces north. Even better, she could see an elder gentleman leading a draft horse along the rutted dirt road. Sweeping her braided hair over her shoulders, she hurried forward.
"Excuse me, sir? Sir?"
"Eh?"
"Excuse me, sir, but I am afraid I have become a bit lost. Could you direct me towards London?"
"Aye, ya be lost all right. London's that way, 'bout 300 kilometers. You'll never make it on foot and, if you'll pardon my saying, ya don't look to have the fare for a rail pass. Get robbed, lass?"
"Something very much like that," she confessed with a sigh. Three hundred kilometers. So close and yet so far. Now what am I to do?
Nayla flinched as weapons fire erupted in the distance. She turned to see what was happening, but the fog made seeing any distance pointless. Flashes of color lit up the low-lying clouds, reds and oranges, purples and yellows. She stood transfixed, trying to make sense of what her eyes were telling her. Purple flashes.
The roar of automobile engines suddenly filled her ears as the farmer pulled her back from the road. Seemingly from nowhere, a convoy of vehicles - several sportscars lead by a Hummer - sailed past.
"Sorry about that!" an oddly mechanical voice called back. "You might want to get away from here though! The 'Cons aren't exactly known for playing fair!"
"Well I'll be. . . ."
"What . . . what just happened?"
"If I hadnae seen it with m'own eyes. . . . That, lass, was an Autobot convoy."
"Autobots. . . ."
They exist? They exist. . . . By the light, they exist, she thought to herself in disbelief.
"Best find a safe place away from here, lass."
"Thank you for your help, but I know what I must do," she replied firmly. With a parting pat to the horse's flank, Nayla turned down the road and followed the trail of the Autobot convoy. It was not, perhaps, her wisest course. But it was, in her opinion, her only option.
Geh. Fog. I hate fog. Only thing I hate more than fog is smog. And rain. Hate the rain.
Well, then aren't you in the right place, Neo, a familiar mental voice teased.
Ha. Ha. Ha. That was so funny, Morph, I almost forgot to laugh.
Morpheus's quiet mental laugh rolled through Neo's thoughts as they sped on towards battle. The Decepticons were attacking . . . were attacking something. They had been in such a hurry to get out of the Ark that details like just what the Decepticons were doing in Yorkshire had been quietly neglected in favor of getting a strike unit together and aboard Skyfire as swiftly as possible. They would have been better served sending Omega Supreme, but the Guardian took too long to summon. So instead they made do with Skyfire, having to drive the last twenty miles because the giant white jet quietly refused to be involved in any actual fighting unless it was absolutely necessary.
Frustrating as hell, that. If he doesn't want to fight, then he shouldn't be part of the army.
He isn't, Morpheus reminded quietly. Remember? He tried to resign completely, but Prime talked him into becoming a civilian contractor instead. We should be grateful he is willing to help us at all.
Yeah, yeah, Neo sighed, keeping his sensors alert for weapons fire. They had already passed a pair of humans, out and about early, particularly for a back country road. He could see the splashes of color that indicated laser fire, but long range scans detected nothing of particular value.
"I don't get it," he said to the whole unit over the commlink. "This is farming country. The closest thing to a major city is York, but they're not attacking that. Am I missing something?"
"Ours is not to question why," Sideswipe started, grunting as his low-slung body bottomed out again.
"Ours is but to do and die. Isn't that a human saying?" Sunstreaker continued, muttering a slew of choice words as he bottomed out after his brother.
"United States Marine Corp, I believe," Morpheus supplied.
Conversation cut off suddenly as laser fire slammed into the ground around them. Instantly, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker transformed, opening fire on the Decepticons above. Nails quickly followed suit, crouching behind the warrior brothers with his sniper rifle.
"Give it up, Starscream! You're not going to win!"
"You fools! Did you really think we would come all the way to England to destroy a few farms?" Starscream gloated, his hand raised to stop the hail of laser fire from his Seeker companions. Sunstreaker raised his own hand, halting their own fire.
"What are you talking about, Starscream?" he demanded coldly.
"Do you really think we didn't know Optimus would send someone out here? Do you really think we care about a thing these fleshlings do?"
"Either get to the point or get blown away," the yellow warrior growled darkly.
"And like an idiot, Optimus sends his best warriors to chase after the Decepticon elite. Only we aren't doing anything."
Neo clenched his rifle tightly. This whole thing had felt like a set-up from the minute they had touched down. But it was out of character for Starscream to gloat over the fact without firing. Not that it was any more in character for Sunstreaker to order a halt for civilized discourse.
"While you stand there wasting time, Decepticon warriors are striking other targets around the world. The humans are about to learn the wages of resistance are very high indeed. And there's nothing you fools can do about it!"
"Morpheus?"
"He's right. Teletran reports strikes in Saudi Arabia, Russia, Japan, Australia, India, Greece, Texas, and Cuba. And those are just the first reports."
"By the Matrix. . . ."
Starscream laughed as he transformed.
"The humans will blame you for failing to protect them. Perhaps now you will see that the Empire is the only way."
Neo pushed back the urge to open fire on Starscream's retreating form. As much as it would please him to blow the arrogant prat out of the skies, it wouldn't accomplish anything.
"What now, Sunstreaker?"
"We get moving. Morpheus, get us an update on the closest combat zone. Nails, scope the area, take stock of how much damage those creeps did before we got here. Neo, go--"
Sunstreaker cut off suddenly as something behind them caught his attention. Neo turned around - as did most of the rest of the team - and was duly surprised to see a young woman cresting a low rise and walking towards them. Even more perplexing, it appeared to be the same woman they had passed earlier.
"Stop me if I'm wrong," Sideswipe murmured, "but don't humans usually run away from a Decepticon attack?"
"She is certain to have reason for this behavior," Morpheus murmured.
"Must be some amazing reason," Neo mumbled as he subspaced his rifle. "I'll see what she says. Maybe she really is just trying to get home or something like that. But I'm not betting on it."
Be careful, Neo, Morpheus sent silently.
What are you worried about? She's just a human.
No one is ever "just" anything, Neo, the telepath responded silently. Neo gave his partner a confused glance before approaching the young female.
She was small, even for a human, what Neo had heard described as slender. Deep, dark eyes gazed out onto the world seemingly unafraid, her dark hair gathered in thin braids that framed her bronzed face. Her clothing did not appear very suited to country living, and she carried nothing with her, not even a purse.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought to himself.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but this isn't exactly a secure area. Unless you have business here, you'd be better off going back."
"If you knew where I was coming from, I doubt very much that you would say that," she said quietly, her words spoken with the measured propriety Neo had come to associate with humans who had learned English as a second language. "And too, what I seek is here."
"And what might that be?"
"Sanctuary."
Nayla was quietly amazed at the size of these robot warriors. Even the shortest among them was still five times her size. The one before her was frowning down at her, as if perplexed by her words, his charcoal exterior glistening slightly as the fog condensed on his outer plating. The other four were talking quietly between themselves in what she could only assume was their native language. The yellow one was scowling fiercely, while the red one tried to comfort him. The other two, both black and boxy, were on edge, from what she could read of their gestures. The scene gave her a sense of frustration barely held in check.
"Sanctuary? Miss, I don't know what you've heard about the Autobots. . . ."
"Legendary warriors from another world, fighting for the right of all beings to be free. Who better, then, for me to seek, in trying to gain and keep my own freedom?"
"Miss. . . ?"
"Nayla. Nayla M'benga."
"Miss M'benga, this really isn't the best time for this discussion. We're here on assignment. Now, I'm sure there are proper channels and what not that you cou--"
"No! You do not understand, I have not the time! Please, you must help me!"
The robot before her faced the others and for a moment the air crackled with unspoken words. She could feel a tingle between her shoulder blades, as though some great argument was being fought before her, unheard but no less real. Then the Autobot before her snorted and transformed, as did three of the other four. The remaining Autobot, one of the two boxy black robots, sat on the ground and held his hand out to her.
"I am Morpheus. I will remain here with you until Skyfire is free," he explained while his four comrades raced off to the south. She nodded, but kept her distance, wary of these strange beings. As much as she wanted their help, she felt nervous around them. It would be so easy for them to hurt or kill her.
"You need not fear us, Nayla. I mean you no harm."
"I just . . . I am tired of being afraid. More, I am tired of being used. I wish only to be free. But when my father finds that I have left . . . he will not be pleased."
"You said you sought freedom for yourself. Your mind is filled with chaotic imagery, not unlike what I might expect to see in an abuse victim."
"My . . . my mind?"
She flinched as his optics darkened slightly, a frown touching his aristocratic features. Then a gentle smile lit his face, his voice echoing through her thoughts.
"I am sorry, child; I did not mean to pry. You were broadcasting your distress enough to unsettle my partner, Neo, so I thought it prudent to see why. We telepaths take privacy very seriously. I will tell no one of what I saw if you do not wish it."
"Telepath?"
"And a priest," he confirmed, nodding slightly. "So you see, you have no reason to fear me, child."
"A priest . . . and a warrior. Is that common for your people?"
"More and more," he sighed. "Our war has slowly pervaded every aspect of our lives. There are still some number that are civilians, on both sides, but fewer and fewer. But then our religions tend to be quite different from yours. I see in the Terran religions a greater tendency for the priesthood to be viewed as the ultimate pacifist vocation. Even the notion of the human paladin seems outmoded in the modern era."
"Perhaps because we have not spent so many millennia steeped in war," she offered, working up her courage to approach him. He seemed nice enough, friendly and courteous. In fact, he almost exuded a sense of paternal warmth she had rarely encountered in her life. Not even her own father was as genuinely concerned for her welfare.
But why should he care for me, a stranger to him? It must be my imagination, wishful thinking that someone would want to care for me. I am certain he has his reasons . . . and equally certain that they have nothing to do with my welfare.
"Will you help me keep my freedom? Or am I wasting my time with you Autobots?"
"That is not for me to decide, child," he replied quietly. His gazed turned up at the sound of approaching jet engines, a sad frown touching his face for a moment.
"Come, child," he said quietly, transforming into his vehicle mode and opening the left-hand door. She hesitated for a moment, then slid behind the wheel. She was quietly surprised at the normalness of the interior. Somehow, she had expected his passenger cabin to look like something out of a science fiction movie. Instead, the console and dashboard looked like any other vehicle, albeit oriented in the American fashion instead of the English one to which she was accustomed. Leather seating adjusted seemingly automatically to her height, though she half suspected that was Morpheus's doing. Nayla watched in quiet amusement as the steering wheel and gear shift moved on their own, Morpheus's engine purring as he followed the rough road southward.
Within moments, a giant white jet flew into view, landing a few dozen meters ahead of them. Nayla could hardly believe her own eyes as she took in the sheer size of the airplane ahead of them. Unfazed, Morpheus drove straight up and into the plane. He called out something, then opened his side door.
"Ordinarily, I would let you remain within me, but the return trip will be made at subsonic speeds to ease Skyfire's power usage."
"In simpler terms," another voice said, the tone touched with amusement, "I am too tired to make the return trip in anything less than eight hours. I have no supplies aboard, however, I can make a mid-air transfer in about an hour."
"Can you not also refuel in mid-air?"
"In theory, yes. But even that will still be an hour or more, as all aerial combat units are currently otherwise occupied."
"I did not think you were in such a hurry, Miss M'benga," Morpheus commented, transforming once she was a safe distance from him.
"I . . . am worried for what will happen when my father finds that I am no longer where he expects me. I fear the Autobots will be less willing to help when he forwards his case."
"And why would you fear that?"
"Because I am only 17," she sighed, seating herself and staring down at her hands. The relative silence that followed scuttled her hopes. She was a minor according to both English and American law; in the eyes of the law, Skyfire and Morpheus had kidnapped her, even though she had sought them out. Not for the first time, Nayla wished she had never been born a telekinetic.
"Never wish that, child," Morpheus murmured. She felt a touch on her arm, her surprise growing as she saw a thin sheet of plastic rise off the deck and fold into a chair, seemingly of its own accord.
"I did actually have a reason for carrying those sheets around, Morpheus. Grapple isn't going to be happy with you."
"He will understand," the warrior priest murmured. "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, Nayla. Your age is no excuse for abuse. Do not underestimate us."
"Thank you, Morpheus, but you will understand if I am reluctant to be reassured."
"Of course, child."
"I'm afraid I don't have much to offer in the way of entertainment, but if you would like to watch a movie, I could arrange for that."
"Thank you, Skyfire. I would like that very much."
With a start, Nayla realized early morning in England meant midnight in western America. Or earlier. A long day indeed, she thought to herself. Sighing, she tried to make herself comfortable.
Nayla started upright, surprised to find she had not only fallen asleep, but that she was resting in the passenger seat of a PT Cruiser that had no driver. She was being driven through a light mist, tall trees close to the road making it impossible to tell what time of day it was.
"Ah, welcome back to the world of the conscious, Nayla. Do you remember where you are?"
"I . . . woke up in England. Then you came. I was watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon . . . I believe the movie was nearly finished, and then . . . I awoke here. Are we in America now?"
"I suppose you would find those the salient points. And yes, we are in America now, northern Oregon at the moment, though we will be crossing back over the Columbia River again soon."
"Why?"
"For the same reason I put you to sleep: it would not be appropriate for you to be at the Ark at the moment."
"I do not understand."
"Of course you don't, child. But be assured, I know of what I speak. Later, when debriefings are complete, losses tabulated, and governments soothed, then you will be welcomed. Until then, you will have to settle for my poor company."
"You are hardly 'poor' company," she murmured, adjusting her seat to it's upright position. "But I am a bit confused what it is you intend us to do while we wait."
"If there is someplace you wish to go, I will take you there. Otherwise, we will simply drive around until. . . ."
He trailed off suddenly as his radio crackled to life, a sharp tenor barking out. Morpheus replied with stern phrases, the words sounding harsh and irritated.
"What is happening?" she asked quietly, afraid his anger would be directed at her next.
"The British military has posted a reward for your return or any clues to your kidnapping. Teletran-1 has already traced your identity; Prowl was not pleased to find we had technically kidnapped a general's daughter. You should have said something."
"I did say something, Morpheus. You said you saw my thoughts. . . ."
"Only the uppermost thoughts. I would never scan your mind without permission."
"I am sorry, then. I thought you knew. My father . . . as a warrior, surely you can see the value of someone who can move things with her mind. Destroy things at a distance without the use of explosives. My skills are not particularly strong, but then I am untrained. They intended to train me to help them in combat. I have no desire to be used to kill."
"If you will let me scan your thoughts, then I will be better able to make my report. Is this acceptable to you?"
"If it will assure that you will not return me to my father, then yes."
"I cannot promise that, but I will present your case truthfully to the High Command."
"I understand," Nayla replied with a quiet sigh. It was, she supposed, the best she was going to achieve. She would have to hope that her ordeal spoke for itself.
". . . find that she was repeatedly abused, mentally and emotionally more than physically, because she refused to do as they wished. While a claim can be made that we have a responsibility to return her to her family, we would be negligent to return her to those conditions."
"There are times when I wonder why we fight so hard to protect a society that will do that to it's own members."
"All species are entitled to the freedom to make their own way in the universe, Jazz," Prowl replied gently.
"I know, I know . . . but this is really too much. What're ya gonna tell Prime?"
"What can we tell him? To deny her request for asylum would be . . . unthinkable."
"And the mess with her family?"
"Morpheus?"
"She will be eighteen in a few weeks. Perhaps stalling tactics would be our best posture? If we can delay her family until after her birthday, it will become a moot point."
"The Americans will have a field day with this," Jazz pointed out, toying with a comppad. "I can just see the headlines now: Autobots kidnap foreign national. You gents just love making my life more difficult, don't you?"
"Unfortunately, I believe the American media will be too busy reporting on our utter failure to protect the world from the Decepticon attacks today."
"Why do you think I'm down here instead of up in the command center? I have no desire to face Optimus until I absolutely have to, never mind the press. Or Red Alert."
Prowl visibly winced, his doors flexing. Morpheus could sympathize. He knew they were all here, in Prowl's quarters, for the same reason: to hide. Optimus was locked in his office, in a funk over the day's events. Red Alert was very nearly driving the entire base crazy, ranting to anyone he could pin down for more than two seconds. Which was probably why more than half the base's compliment of Autobots were either out of the base or locked away.
"Should probably call her in, talk to her or something," Jazz said after a moment.
"The Ark does not have the facilities to properly board a human guest for more than a few days."
"Not yet, but it could. An architectural challenge for Grapple."
"We should consult with Optimus," Prowl ventured.
"You know he'll go along with whatever you recommend, Prowl. So make a decision already."
"It's not my place to decide, Jazz."
"Please, do not send me away."
All three Mechs turned sharply, surprised at the interruption. Nayla stood just inside the doorway, looking all the more frail and vulnerable next to Neo. Dark eyes looked up at them, filled with pleading.
"How in the. . . ?"
"Sorry to interrupt, but she was getting worried. There wasn't an answer to the chime, so. . . ."
Prowl cast an inquisitive look at Jazz.
"Oops. Sorry. Guess I turned it off. . . ."
"Please . . . please do not send me away. I have come so far. . . ."
"And broken so many laws. . . ."
"Jazz, please," Prowl admonished. "Miss M'benga, I don't have the authority to grant you refuge with us. Worse, your actions have placed our relations with the nations of Earth in danger. If you leave Autobot land, the Americans will consider you an illegal alien and have you deported. The British are demanding your return on behalf of your father. Your timing could not have been worse."
"I am sorry but please, I cannot return to my father."
"Do you understand that if you are deported you will be sent back to Senegal and denied any form of visa to re-enter the United States?"
"Better that than returned to my father."
"Very well," Prowl sighed heavily. "Neo, find some form of quarters for Miss M'benga. When the situation is appropriate, I will speak with Optimus and recommend that you be granted temporary asylum pending a full investigation."
"Thank you, sir," the young woman replied formally.
"Don't thank me yet. Though it may sound that I have ruled in your favor, you may find yourself with more than you bargained for."
"I will gladly take on whatever duties you would assign, so long as I am no longer forced to use my talents to hurt or kill people. I am not a warrior. I do not wish to become a warrior."
"Then welcome to the Ark, Nayla."