Generation Breakers
By Sinead
Chapter Three
Relevant Song: Imogen Heap "Headlock"
.o.O.o.
Raevyn just stared, golden eyes unblinking for almost a full minute. Shaking her head, she returned to finishing buffing her Camaro. "Nuh-uh. It's gotta be another hoax. You get them all the time, right? I mean, I'd assume that you'd get them all the time."
"Not legitimate ones. Not ones that spoke back to us when we spoke to them."
"So then how are these aliens 'among' us?"
Something in the car caught her mother's eye, and she leaned forward, staring at the dashboard and the steering column intently. After a moment, she gave a small "hunh," and shook her head. "They're cars. Vehicles of all sorts. Some good, some not-so-good. Remember that 'civilian-military experiment gone bad' in Las Vegas almost seven months back?" Luna's green-hazel eyes bored into her daughter's unique tawny gaze. "That really wasn't anything of the sort. It was the two factions of this unique race . . . fighting for control of what translates into our understanding to be called the All-Spark. Whether the event was fortunate or unfortunate, it was destroyed in that battle . . ." Luna's voice lowered a bit more in her sadness. "It was what had given their race life as we might perceive it."
Reavyn's hands slowed as she finished buffing the almost-sun-gold of the – of her Camaro. Her baby. She took a deep breath and looked at her mother, the expressions upon her face registering as disappointment, disbelief, and a healthy amount of anger. "Mom . . . how can you honestly expect me to believe this? Aliens? Seriously."
"I know that it's hard to accept–"
"Oh do you, now? I wasn't aware that you took much notice in what I might or might not find believable. And after all the years that you've ignored me in favor of Gloria, of her obvious perfect stature as the child you've always wanted." Raevyn spat the words out, her tone clipped and sharp in the anger and pain that she normally hid from her mother's sight. "Because Gloria acts more like a real girl?"
"Honey–"
"No! Don't try to placate me!"
"But your cars are–"
"I don't care! I've never had anything close to what I wished to drive! The closest thing had been the go-cart that you yelled at Dad about because he got it for me without you knowing! And then he had to bring it back to the store, didn't he? It wasn't stolen like you said it had been, had it?" The same truthfully hurt tone was used, and Luna was finally shown what her closed mind would not accept before now.
Raevyn wasn't anyone to be told how to fit into the cookie-cutter world.
They had known her daughter better than she had . . . no wonder that . . . those ones . . . had sent a scout to test her. A scout that was in this very room, listening, judging, and from the faint ticking noises starting to come from the engine, was getting agitated about something.
"Cars are dangerous, hun." More dangerous than you'll ever know, was the thought that had followed the statement.
"So can horses be!" Raevyn had taken enough, and her grammar indicated it. "Forget it! I'm going to Randall's tonight." Storming out of the garage, she took the outside stairs two at a time up to the second floor. It had originally been a two-family house, with separate entrances for each floor. It was a helpful thing to have when one was off with friends for a late night. Since her father was still chewing Gloria out about how she reacted and how she needed to rethink a lot of her views upon both her sister and life in itself, it meant that Raevyn was able to get a bag of clothes and essentials and a bag with her laptop and some small drafting materials in relative peace.
.o.O.o.
Down below, still in the garage, Luna sighed and rested her hand upon the car's yellow hood. "You'll take care of her, won't you? Help her see that she's one of the few who could help your kind?"
Before a reply of any kind could be made, the daughter had returned, threw the bag of clothes into the backseat, and placed her laptop bag into the passenger seat. She sat in the driver's seat and slammed the door closed, comfortable in her anger, and comfortable with the attitudes that lay between herself and her mother. They would never see eye-to-eye. On anything. Why change it now?
She was shocked when her mother spoke. Usually when Raevyn took off Luna just stared after her as if the younger woman mystified and confused her, not as if she was filled with motherly indignation and anger. It was more as if she were puzzled by her daughter's behavior than anything else.
"When will you be back?"
Raevyn paused, then replied in a dark tone, "Couple days."
"I'll need you home no later than four days from now, please."
The two stared at each other for a long moment. Then Raevyn turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine before answering, "I'll be home by then." Staring straight ahead, she pulled out quickly, but not burning rubber as she had originally intended to. There was, however, a screech as she pulled out of the driveway and into the street, leaving faint marks behind.
Driving into the night, she decided to not head towards the highway, but took a detour completely out of the way to look at the ocean. There was a parking lot right behind some breakers, and as she pulled into it, she saw that thankfully, it was empty. Parking up close to the very low seawall, she looked out over the moonlit whitecaps, thinking about the entire conversation. Finally, in a soft whisper, she asked, "Can they be real?"
The roar of a downshifting rig caused her to glance into mirrors that were perfectly placed to reflect the sight of a flame-detailed blue rig to pull into the parking lot and moved so that it was parked a little out of the way, giving her enough room to pull out if she wished to. Not five minutes later, a small silver-white sportster pulled in, parking between Raevyn and the rig. She looked back over the waves, leaning forward to rest her cheek against the wheel, sighing and wondering a little more. She heard a third car pull in, and then sat up, shaking her head. "C'mon, boy, it's too crowded here."
The engine's purr seemed to agree as they took off towards the highway.
.o.O.o.
"You know, we just passed up a fantastic opportunity tonight . . ."
Optimus Prime watched Jazz pace and grumble with a kind, understanding gaze. He knew that Jazz liked to get things done fast and quick, and to the Smelter with the details. As long as it got the desired results and had at least some amusement factor, it was good by him. After another couple minutes of watching the younger bot gripe and complain about how he had wanted to get to know the human girl too, and how Bumblebee always got to have the fun in this company, Optimus finally spoke. "Jazz, would you, if you had any offspring, wish to warn them about a legitimate threat, if only to have said threat turn up in the middle of nowhere and frighten them almost to the point of persishing?"
Rachet chuckled, answering before Jazz. "I would."
"That's because you're a sadistic freak," Jazz shot back without even seeming to think about the comeback. He looked at Optimus pleadingly. "C'mon, boss, I want Bumblebee back for a while. Can't we have 'im traded for someone?"
"He is doing his mission. While Sam is on vacation with his parents out of this country, we cannot protect him to the same degree. He has his human bodyguards, and we must trust in them to do what we know to be a duty and a trust that is not placed into incompetent hands. We have amnesty with this government; other countries are not be so lenient, and I well understand that. We will respect their wishes." He straightened a touch, resting his weight upon his heels for a second before placing his considerable bulk evenly upon each foot. It was taking a lot of care upon his behalf so that he remembered to use words that were not so technical and precise. The more that he learned how to speak the modern English language, the easier it would be to communicate.
Ironhide blinked once, then sat carefully upon the seawall, looking out over the ocean in the direction that Sam was in– east, in Europe. He sighed, wondering what to do with himself now that there was no conflict anymore. But he would never admit to be at a loss for purpose to anyone . . . unless maybe to Sam. The boy would understand him; he understood Bumblebee at his most cryptic moments, after all. "So. That boy's gonna be the sane one in this venture. Interesting."
"For now, until Raevyn proves herself to be stable and subtle enough. I do not wish to tell her of our existance until Sam is back."
"So that is why you have Bumblebee at her side." Rachet smirked and stretched, moving his neck in a way that loosened a few tight seals. He aimed his deadpan gaze at the smallest Autobot in their wave. "He would have scared her by talking at the wrong moment. Thankfully, Bumblebee has learned from experience with Sam that discretion is a firm way to win humans over."
Jazz huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He was the best at human mannerisms and vocabulary. "Ain't fair. I just think that we should tell 'er who she's drivin'." He moved restlessly, wanting to roam and speed along the highways for a while. There was so much to learn about this culture . . . so much that just fascinated him. Ever since coming back from . . . from . . . Well. He didn't want to miss a thing before it was time for him to join those whom had gone before him . . . And thus had perished before him.
Optimus watched his warriors for a long moment more, logging and ignoring their vocalizations, preferring to concentrate upon how the three were holding themselves, how they reacted to each other. They were moving and responding smoother than even three human months before, and were manipulating their gestures more fluidly than in all the thousands of years they had known one another before landing upon Earth. It gave him cause to relax marginally, sure that they had begun recuperating from their last battle and the eons-long fight that had led up to it.
The humans had a marvelous and noticeable effect upon them all.
Accessing the file containing the audio of what his compatriots had been discussing (Raevyn), Optimus made a snap decision and broke into the conversation. "Jazz, trail after Bumblebee, make sure he knows that you're with him, but don't let him know what you're up to."
"What he's up to?" Rachet asked in shock. Then it hit him, seemingly in the gut with the look of complete lack of emotion he showed upon his face. "Surely not, Prime!"
Yet he was drowned out by the centuries-younger Jazz. "Why the change in plans?" The white bot was befuddled for once. Wasn't he just denied permission to go?
"Call it a premonition. Don't dent anyone on your way to him."
"Damn! Gone, boss!" Transforming, the quick-witted bot was gone in a flash, the smell of burnt rubber lingering. So Optimus was going to let him tell the girl who they were when the time came. That was cool. Of course, it would have to be done in his style.
The medic sighed and watched after the disappearing form of the sportster. "Why'd you let him go and do that? She'll be traumatized."
"I have faith in Jazz. He understands humans better than you or I do at the moment." Optimus looked up at the night sky, clouds drifting between him and the stars.
"Humph. Back from the dead, and he's more irrepressible than before."
Chuckling to himself, the Autobot leader moved his gaze down to the ocean, then over at Ironhide and Rachet. The two old, dour wardogs, while not truly pessimistic, were without doubt very tired and jaded about those around him. Jazz and Bumblebee were quite a bit younger, and now that the war was over, were enjoying themselves to the fullest. They were acting at the age their young friend Sam Witwickey was at . . . only in a Cybertronian equivalent. They acted out; and were truly living every moment to its greatest capacity.
"Optimus, do you really enjoy our pain?"
The largest of Autobots blinked his blue optic sensors at his weapons specialist. "Ironhide? Why ask that?"
Ironhide made an electronic noise of disapproval, as if he were a human sniffing his aloof distaste for a young person of "lower" status. "Well, ah, those younglin's aren't makin' it any easier f'r us to keep discipline firm."
"You speak truthfully, and I am in full agreement with your observation.." Optimus expressed his mirth in the human way– with a chuckle. "And I am well sure that they will, without a doubt, revert to battle subroutines if the need arises. Until that point, I am willing to let them enjoy themselves." He turned a stern eye upon his peers. "As I will recommend the same to you two. I, personally, have had enough of war."
Rachet sighed, shaking his head. "Very well. This . . . 'enjoying ourselves' . . . how would you propose we do that?"
Transforming and turning towards the road, the semi made a small, decidedly electronic noise of dual happy contentedness as he received a burst transmission from Jazz that he found something interesting and wanted his leader to come take a look at it. "That's up to you two 'old men' to find out for yourselves. I'm off to explore."
Ironhide watched the leader roll away, disapproving of the whole idea of relaxation. He was a warrior. A fighter. And the war and the fight were over . . . hopefully. Optimus didn't believe that the Decepticons left out in the vastness of the universe would cause any trouble in the next few centuries. But that didn't mean that he, Ironhide, would want to go and let his battle edge dull in that time.
But what to do?
"You know, Rachet, I just have t' wonder at his logic, sometimes."
"You and I both," the medic grouched. "Now what?"
"I . . . don't know."
.o.O.o.
Bumblebee was cruising, going decidedly faster than the local speed limits for the highway. But he didn't mind. He wasn't going to get caught, and truth be told, the speeding was exactly what he needed. In the more responsible part of his mind, he knew that at any time, he could control his motions with infinitely more ease and grace than this human female was capable of. Yet at the same time, he enjoyed bearing witness to how Raevyn drove with skill and confidence, cursing if she thought that she had been cutting it too close to another car or immovable objects. There had been a few, but not too many, instances that had she been driving a normal Camaro, it would have been scratched up something horrible. Bumblebee liked his paint job, thank-you-very-much, and he liked showing it off. Which meant driving fast. And jamming the local law enforcement's scanners and speedtraps.
That had been something that flickered across Raevyn's mind. She was almost at ninety miles an hour in some places, sometimes faster. It was more than odd that no sirens had begun to follow her around. She had already passed several speed traps that the locals knew of and that held up traffic during rush hours. Finally, she could take no more of simple speed. She took off up an off-ramp, planning to turn to her right to head into the perpetually-unlocked-if-unlawful-after-a-certain-time Blue Hills Reservation, which housed conservation land and a few old and historic buildings.
But the timing was unfortunate. A driver, considerably inebriated enough to think that he was driving safely, was turning to get onto the highway, unaware that the on ramp was two hundred feet further down upon his left. He wished to go north on the southbound side. He was heading directly for Raevyn and the alt-moded Bumblebee.
Seeing the lights, Raevyn didn't waste her breath or time in cursing her luck. Instinct to avoid the oncoming car kicked in, and she wrenched the steering wheel to her right, succeeding in avoiding the oncoming drunk and going onto the thin lane of grass between the ramp and the trees. However, her action caused the car to start to tip slightly onto its driver-side wheels.
The wheel jerked out of her grip, turning a tighter circle, the passenger-side door flinging itself open to add mass to the inner side of the half-circle that had been made by the Camaro. They were now facing the wrong way on the off-ramp, looking back the way that they had come.
Raevyn stared through the windshield in mute shock. But this shock wasn't of how her car had moved on its own. It was because of what she was looking at. The drunk hadn't gotten too far. In fact . . . the car he had been driving had been . . . had been stopped.
Jazz stared right back at Raevyn from his crouched position of catching the car and disabling its ignition and engine with simple acoustics. The position of how he held his arms and legs were that of one who knew they had been caught and knew that some gentle explanation should be made. Nodding once, he sent a burst transmission to Optimus, not telling the leader that Raevyn just found them out, but that he had found a situation interesting.
Bumblebee turned himself around and took off, knowing full well that Jazz would be able to effortlessly follow his energy signature. There was also a high chance of Prime showing up. That wouldn't be much of a problem, since it would probably be a good thing that someone who had such a great talent for not only leading well, but for understanding emotions and simply being able to help humans override their own emotions with a logical, yet kind, and different outlook to any given situation.
If Jazz didn't tease them into that way of thinking first.
The Camaro went deeper into the conservation land, keeping a tight look upon the vitals of the human sitting in his drivers' seat. She was in a state of semi-shock, but otherwise doing very well, given the circumstance. He ended up in a small parking lot that overlooked much of the South Shore, which were the suburban cities and towns that lay south of Boston, the state capital of Massachusetts.
Pulling into a parking space and cutting his engine, he moved his sideview mirrors so that they were perfect for the young woman sitting in him to see the white sportster roll quietly into view, hesitate, then come up to Bumblebee's left. He transformed and sat, sighing and watching Raevyn.
Would she let him be what Bumblebee was to Sam?
