Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

Title: Schism

Summary: Sparkbearer Saga: Part II. Alien invasions, possessed vehicles, language barriers, government conspiracies, family drama, supermarket tabloids, and tomato wars... Welcome to Earth.

Rating: T

Warnings: mild cursing, mild gore

Author Notes: Belated Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you enjoy the ongoing insanity that is Evelyn's life. :3

Also, if you have the time, visit my profile and check out the poll at the top. I'd appreciate it! If you'd like to comment, visit my Deviant Art journal (screenname: mythical-darkener).

Transformers: Schism

Chapter Two

Lutan: I find it odd, Captain, that a man of your experience has such difficulty in understanding ordinary politeness.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard: Such as the politeness of saying 'please' before abducting someone?
- Star Trek: The Next Generation

Evelyn's second trip to the Cybertronian ship Metellus Cursor was completely unlike the first – except for the whole 'involuntarily abducted by the being known as Sideswipe' part.

Wriggling futily within the red mech's grip, Evelyn reflected that this could rapidly become a Very Bad Habit.

"You are dead," she snarled. "Deader than dead. I'll have you recommissioned as a garbage truck, just you wait!"

"I told you Prowl wanted to see you."

"And I told you that I had a job interview to deal with first!"

The mech didn't even glance at her, more concerned with brushing aside the bare, clawlike branches that might pose a threat to his paintjob. Here, deep within the Tagwahi National Forest, the only noise came from the grinding, crunching, moaning clashes between Cybertronian feet and Mother Earth. The feet were winning.

"Hey, you're the one who said I needed to start following directions."

Evelyn glared. She was dressed in a very fashionable – and therefore, very uncomfortable – ensemble courtesy of Jamie's extensive wardrobe: silk blouse, tailored red jacket, long-enough-for-decency-but-short-enough-for-fashion skirt, dark hose, and high-heels that more than proved the old maxim that 'beauty is pain.' It was an outfit meant to convey professionalism, not to conserve body heat, and if she were not so angry, she would probably have been freezing.

"Do you have the slightest, most infinitesimal idea of how long it took me to get dressed this morning?"

"Um, yes. Nearly half a joor, thank you. I thought I was going to rust before you let us get on the road."

She squirmed again, but she might as well have been a gerbil in the hands of some over-affectionate kindergartner. She subsided, huffing, and moaned, "… This is passive-aggressiveness, isn't it? You're still mad about me kicking you, and this is you getting me back."

"You really think I'm that petty?"

"Yes."

Sideswipe walked onwards. Evelyn muttered uncomplimentary things about his programming, his manufacturer, and his paintjob.

She knew they were approaching their destination when the ever-present ringing in her ears, a constant plague in the company of mechs, reached a new pitch. They were walking along the base of a ridge that towered over even the thirty-foot mech's head, but out of the corner of her eye, Evelyn could see it flicker strangely, and then:

"Heya, Evy!"

Her head whipped around with enough speed and force to inflict whiplash, but she didn't care. There, standing in a massive, square hole that cut into the ridge like a doorway standing in midair, were Prowl and Jazz. It was like seeing salvation in mechanical form.

"Jazz!" Evelyn redoubled her struggles. "Get me away from this idiot, and then kill him."

The saboteur's ever-present smile dwindled away.

"'Sides, mech, what're ya doin'?"

Jazz looked purely perplexed. Prowl looked like he had a migraine.

"Sideswipe, you were supposed to escort her, not abduct her."

The red mech huffed moodily and passed Evelyn over to Jazz's hands. "She's here, isn't she?"

Jazz cradled Evelyn gently, and the woman curled against his fingers in a fruitless effort to conserve body-heat.

"Yeah, man, but snatchin' an' grabbin'? Not cool."

"She wouldn't stay still."

"You think?" Evelyn seriously considered lobbing one of those godforsaken high heels at the warrior's face, but they were made of Italian leather and dearer to Jamie than anything less than her firstborn. She settled for sitting, and shivering, and fuming. "I can't believe I'm missing a job interview with a very prestigious firm for the Monty Python version of E.T.!"

Jazz snickered and began to rub one of his fingers between her shoulderblades and up and down her spine. Evelyn sent a narrow-eyed glance up at the saboteur, considered being insulted, and finally gave in to the comfort of the impromptu massage.

At some point – she wasn't certain quite when – her status had morphed from 'little critter with a weird energy reading' to a bizarre mix of 'honored colleague' and 'beloved pet.'

She guessed it was only fair, though, since she was still having trouble reconciling 'giant alien warrior-mechs' with 'convenient taxi-service.'

Next thing you know, they'll be trying to get me chipped.

"I am very sorry, Evelyn," said Prowl. The tactician was eyeing the unrepentant (and now sulking) form of Sideswipe, his expression implying that there were unpleasant assignments that needed to be completed and that Sideswipe had just volunteered. "The necessary preparations have been completed for Optimus to depart for the Hub, and Ratchet needs to see you."

"Oh." She perked up slightly. She had not seen the grouchy medic since arriving home, and she had found herself missing his constant, snarky presence. "Ratchet's here?"

"No. He's overseeing the last examinations on the away team. We're to bring you to Metellus."

"… come again?"

Jazz seemed to sense her abrupt switch from almost relaxed to barely restrained panic, because he cupped one hand around her back and said, voice low and soothing, "Hey, hey, don't grind your gears – it won't even take half a joor. We gotta' take the shuttle up anyway t' pick up th' rest o' th' team an' bring 'em back down. Ratch jus' wanted t' see ya along with th' others. You'll be back before th' sun sets."

Deep breath. In. Out.

"You swear?"

"Cross my spark an' hope ta rust."

The bizarre looks that both Prowl and Sideswipe directed their way at that comment almost made the wreck of a day worthwhile.

It was quite a different experience. She was not alone in the shuttle – Jazz kept her company the entire way, and they chatted about nonsensical nothings until they reached Metellus. The docking bay was chilly and echoingly empty, but she had just come from the Georgian equivalent of deep winter, so the temperature was not terribly uncomfortable. She was conscious and clean and well-dressed instead of unconscious and filthy and harried beyond bearing.

Most importantly, there was only one consciousness in her skull, and that was her own.

How things change.

There were familiar faces in the hallways, and she happily chatted with them as she was able. Brawn was especially friendly, genially inquiring after her home and health as though he were her uncle instead of a giant robotic alien organism from another galaxy. Prowl hurried Jazz along, though, reminding the music-loving mech that "keeping Ratchet waiting is never a wise idea," and Sideswipe sulked along behind them, engine grumbling quietly.

In the medbay were several familiar faces – Bluestreak, seated upon one of the massive tables and kicking his feet like an oversized schoolboy, Hound leaning against a table a little farther back, Sunstreaker standing sullenly in one of the back corners, arms crossed over his chest… and no sign of Ratchet.

Prowl sighed. "Of course, he wouldn't be here."

"An' you were worried we'd keep him waitin'."

Sideswipe stepped around the pair and went to join his brother in the corner, still glowering sullenly. Evelyn suspected that his time in the shuttle with Prowl had been less than fun, and now he leaned against the wall beside Sunstreaker with his arms crossed and a dark scowl firmly in place.

Now they really look like twins.

Prowl, stoic as ever, merely turned to Jazz and said, "I'll speak with Optimus. You find Ratchet. He's probably in the lab with Wheeljack."

"Aye, aye, Prowler."

And the white mech was gone, striding out of the 'bay. Jazz snickered quietly to himself.

"Well, Evy, you okay waitin' here while I go hunt down our good doc?"

"Absolutely. I haven't seen Blue in ages."

"Blue it is, then."

"Evy!" Bluestreak beamed at her as Jazz set her gently beside him on the table. She waved to the black and white mech as he left the 'bay, following in Prowl's footsteps. "I missed you! You look… different." The brilliant grin dwindled to a curious frown, and he leaned down nearer to her. "Is that paint on your face?"

Torn between laughter and blushing (she managed a little of both), she tilted her head back and allowed him a better look. "It's called makeup. We, ah… we 'paint' our faces, sometimes, to make ourselves more attractive."

"Oh. That's, um, neat – it sounds like when one of us gets a new paintjob or something. Is it permanent? Does it hurt?"

"No, and no." She tucked her skirt close to the back of her legs and eased into a kneeling position and from there to a sitting position, her legs tucked beneath her. After a moment of internal debate, she slid off the high heels and set them to one side. "You'd be amazed, Blue, at some of the bizarre stuff humans do to look good. Those, for example." She gestured at the shoes. "They ruin your balance, they slow you down, and they make your feet hurt if you wear them too long – but here I am, because they make me look good. It's crazy."

Bluestreak actually picked up one of the heels for a closer look, pinching it delicately between a thumb and forefinger.

"Is it a weapon of some sort? This sharp bit here?"

"Nope. Absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever – just that it makes me look attractive."

"Oh."

For once, the loquacious mech seemed to have no words. Evelyn grinned at him.

"I know. Humans are weird."

"Huh. Looks a bit like a seeker's heel-turbine, don't it?"

Evelyn craned her head back, catching sight of a swathe of green and grey that was Hound. The tracker was peering at the shoe as well, expression pensive.

"A what of a who?" she asked, but Bluestreak suddenly looked as though he were holding something more akin to a pit viper than an Italian leather high heel.

"You're right," breathed the younger mech, optics round. "It does!"

Evelyn tried again. "It looks like a what?"

Bluestreak set the shoe down next to its sibling. "It looks like a seeker's foot – pointy heel and all. That's so strange. Why in the world would a human foot-covering look like a seeker jet-engine? Do you think humans have met seekers before? Maybe they came to scout the planet before and someone saw them. What do you think, Hound?"

"I think it's a funny coincidence, Blue. Don't rev yourself up over it." Hound grinned at Evelyn. "How are you, then, Evy?"

"I'm a little bit confused. Why the sudden interest in my footwear, and what's a seeker?"

"They're a certain model of Cybertronian, like Prowl and Bluestreak or Cliffjumper and Bee. They're… bad news, to be brief. They're the main part of the Decepticon's elite warriors – flyers that have the ability to travel through space. When they transform, their engines are on the bottoms of their feet, like your foot-covering."

Evelyn could not help but grin. "Are you telling me that evil, elite Decepticon warriors wear high-heels?"

"Is that funny?"

She laughed. "Let's just say it's a girl thing."

The 'bay doors hissed open.

"Alright, alright, everyone in line! Cranial uplink ports open, firewalls disabled – let's get this over and done with. You too, Mirage! I know you're in here – turn off that rat-fragged cloak and line up with everyone else. Hello, Evelyn."

"I missed you too, Ratchet."

The medic stalked past, a metal box in his hands. Wheeljack waved to her as he followed the medic. Jazz sauntered in at their heels and fell in line with the rest of the mechs as they assembled in front of Ratchet. Evelyn watched with interest – Jazz had said something about 'inoculations for th' away team.'

The medic hooked up wires from the back of his helm to the metal box. One by one, each mech stood with Ratchet, and the medic hooked up wires from the metal box to the back of each mech's helm. She could see various ports, like those on the back of a computer, there beneath the armor, previously hidden beneath various protective panels. There was a moment of stillness, the patient would twitch, and Ratchet would detach the wires, and the next mech in line would move up.

Inoculations? she wondered. Like… anti-virus software?

It made a bizarre kind of sense. She knew all-too-well from her experiences with the few mechs who had already been to earth that they enjoyed browsing the internet, and since their computers and their brains were one and the same, downloading a virus was potentially a very dangerous situation.

Things went fairly quickly. Soon, all of the mechs had been through the process: Hound, Bluestreak, Mirage, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Jazz.

As Ratchet unhooked the wires from his helm, Jazz said, "Slippin' a bit there, doc? It took ya nearly four orns t' come up with a bunch of antivirus protocols?"

"Don't be any more of a pain in my aft than you normally are, you glitch-ridden fragger." The medic yanked the last wire out with slightly more force than the others. "It took me about two joors to make those protocols. It took Wheeljack and me four orns to cobble something to keep Evelyn off the sensor grid."

Jazz rubbed the back of his helm. "She is kinda' noticeable."

"If by 'noticeable' you mean 'glows like a mini-nova in deep space,'" grumbled Sunstreaker.

"Precisely. Wheeljack?"

The engineer beamed – or, at least, his headfins did – as he approached Evelyn.

"Alright, then, let's try these on for size, shall we?" He flicked one hand the way she had seen mechs do when they pulled something from thin air – subspace, Sideswipe had called it – and there were suddenly several gleaming metallic objects atop his palm: two identical rings, brilliant silver, slightly larger around than human-sized bangle bracelets, and one item that was clearly a necklace of some sort, a tiny pendant on a thin chain.

She picked up the necklace first. The pendant was a simple metal circle, roughly the size of a quarter, and the 'chain' was actually thin metal filament, the kind that Wheeljack had laying around his lab from his tiniest and most delicate wiring projects. There was no clasp, just a clean loop.

"It's an emergency beacon and comm-unit," explained Wheeljack. "If you want to activate it, just press it until you hear a click. It will activate an open comm line that any Autobot in range will be able to hear. We couldn't fit in a speaker, though, I'm afraid, so it's strictly one-way."

"And emphasis on the word 'emergency,'" said Ratchet. "Otherwise the other device is fair useless."

"Oh, yes." The inventor's headfins blinked blindingly bright with his enthusiasm, and he nudged at the two tiny rings still upon his palm. "This is the real prize. Try them on, go on."

Evelyn slipped the loop of filament over her head, the pendant hanging to just above her breasts. She picked up one of the rings, a flat metal band bent into a circle, polished and unadorned on the outside but bearing intricate circuit-esque designs within.

"What am I looking at here?"

"I call them 'miniaturized, portable anti-wave energy-signature identification and nulli—"

"Jamming devices," said Ratchet. "It's a linked set of jamming devices, designed to nullify any bio-electric signals that may emanate from your body, including the Key's energy signature. One on each arm. They run from excess bio-electric energy from your body – the interior circuitry of both bands has to be in contact with your skin at all times in order for them to work correctly. They'll hide you from most Cybertronian sensors."

Evelyn considered the simple metal ring. "Huh."

She set the ring on the table beside her long enough to shuck off her jacket and roll up her sleeves. The metal of the ring was oddly warm as she slid it over her hand and up her arm until it rested snugly around her bicep. She repeated the process with the second one, and as she settled it firmly into place, a faint tingle ran over her skin, standing the hair along her arms and neck on end, and she was abruptly the center of attention of every mech in the room.

"Whoa," said Bluestreak.

The corners of Wheeljack's optics crinkled happily and his headfins flashed as he turned to the medic. "I'd count that as a success, wouldn't you, Ratchet?"

"I've still got her on thermal, visual, and sonic," said Ratchet.

"Yes, but you can't cloak those – not unless you want to figure out how to miniaturize Mirage's stealth generator, and I don't even know where I'd begin with trying to make that compatible with an organic." Suddenly pensive, he murmured, "Though… that is a fascinating idea…"

"No, 'Jack. And where the frag is Prowl?"

"Last minute check with Optimus," said Jazz.

"If he thinks he's going down there again without updated virus protocols, he's got some serious wires crossed."

"He'll be down. We'll finish loadin' up the shuttle. Promised Evy we'd have her back by midday refueling."

"Right." The medic sighed the sigh of the terminally annoyed. "Hope you enjoy your little vacation – you do realize that with you and Prowl leaving, that leaves me as second-in-command? Do you have the faintest clue how much paperwork Prowl goes through in one rotation?"

"Why d'ya think I never pushed for a promotion?" Jazz grinned and patted Ratchet on the shoulder as he walked past, prompting a loud snarl of the medic's systems. "Come on, Evy. We'll have you back planetside in no time flat. Let's move out, mechs – everybody on th' shuttle an' ready t' go in th' next breem, or ya can join Sides on th' imminent weather patrol roster."

"Already?" asked Bluestreak. "That's a new record, isn't it, Jazz?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were the first to leave the 'bay. Bluestreak followed, urged along by Hound. Mirage had vanished, and Jazz paused to let Evelyn scoop up her shoes and scramble onto his palm before he headed for the door.

"Kinda' weird, seein' ya but not seein' ya. I got used t' knowin' where you were on my sensor grid."

"It doesn't feel any different to me at all."

As the doors opened for them, memory struck her.

"Oh, yeah." She patted Jazz's palm to catch his attention. "Hang on a sec, Jazz. I forgot something. Ratchet?" She swiveled. The medic had turned to face her, his expression almost-but-not-quite annoyed. "I meant to tell you earlier. Sideswipe kidnapped me. Again."

Almost-but-not-quite morphed instantly to thoroughly.

"I'll take care of it."

She beamed. "You're the best."

End Chapter Two