The Becoming of Things


8: Infinite Hotel

"You're big," was Dahlia's opening comment.

My optics shifted. Being an existence outside of her body was disorienting, given how much I had adapted to seeing things in Dahlia's perspective in roughly three human months.

Dahlia smiled as I looked down at here, and I was struck by how fragile she looked, with the crow's feet in the corners of her eyes and her older appearance, stressed and careworn. No wonder Prowl kept fretting; if I was in that body I'd be worried a stiff breeze would break a bone. "And you're Dahlia."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dahlia smiled. "Let's go back to figuring out why we're in a Salvador Dalí painting."

I looked out to the landscape of melting mortal timepieces. "You figured it out just by looking?"

"It's a distinct painting," she replied. "We saw it in New York."

"I preferred the Van Goghs. And Balinese art."

"I preferred Goya, but this is not Goya," Dahlia rebutted. "How is it that our first face-to-face conversation involves a discussion of human art?"

"Well, you're the only species who could give Cybertron's premiere art form a new perspective of terror," I replied. "So this... is a dream."

"Maybe," Dahlia dragged the word out. "Try to picture something else."

I thought of another drawing I'd seen, but nothing happened. I looked at Dahlia, who was holding a glass of water. "What?"

"Behind the persistence of memory, there's its disintegration," Dahlia pointed, before walking forward. I followed her, my stride slower than normal despite that I now towered over Dahlia, and we jumped onto yellow bricks floating in space to get to an amphitheatre that resembled the inside of some of Cybertron's cities; gears upon gears upon the mechanics of giants.

Dahlia paused to look at a plaque, still balancing a now half-full glass in her palms. "2009?"

"But it's only December 2008!" I objected.

"It's a dream. Albeit a mysterious one," Dahlia looked around, before reading the plaque. "Tim Wetherell, The Clockwork Universe."

She stepped forward, a road of yellow bricks unfolding itself in a Möbius strip and loops, until it unfolded into spires and domes.

"This is..." I quietly looked around. "Cybertron."

"Created with the yellow brick road," Dahlia immediately spun around to absorb her surroundings, as Cybertron's spires petered out to tall data-banks, beeping LEDs and cable ports, datapads and visual interfaces just floating along the way.

"Well, how'd you explain the Iacon Hall of Records unfolding like this?!" I asked.

"I've never been here," Dahlia looked troubled as she glanced to me. "Okay... Sequence of events: we sent a message, got your friends to pick you up, moved to Diego Garcia for a bit- it's been a month. It's been a month, which meant that they were going to cut you out of my heart, so... we must be under anaesthetic for the operation."

"You mean those drugs humans use to enforce stasis?" I asked, pondering it. "That... makes sense."

"So if we're dreaming, we're in a shared dream?" Dahlia asked.

"Might be possible," I conceded. "But it means that I've integrated so far into your cerebral cortex, that Ratchet's gonna have to stagger operations just to get all of the Transformium out of your system."

"Transformium?"

"The metal that makes up our bodies, allows us to transform."

"The quintessence material," Dahlia realised.

I winced. "Quintessence?"

"It's an old human theory, that the world was composed of the four Hellenic elements and quintessence," Dahlia supplied, now wandering to consider the data-banks. "In English, it refers to the pure, concentrated essence of something abstract. Back to the situation at hand."

"We're sharing a dream?" I suggested.

"Go on," Dahlia answered. "That implies one important question. Such as, how many people are sharing this dream with us?"

A pause, and then a chuckle: "Oh, you are indeed first amongst equals."

The Hall of Records shifted, forming more of a museum walkway, airy with open ceilings and artefacts arranged on low pedestals of viewing, within...

"A basilica," Dahlia observed with me as the outlines of interlocked gears kept forming themselves.

"Used in its first meaning, of a public meeting with officials," boomed the great voice as the gears around us shifted. "Welcome."

I looked up. And way up. The Cybertronian wore armour of the same gears and springs motif, gears whirring behind clear material that was superimposed over his chassis. Parts of the armour plates were shaded, sometimes purple, sometimes gold, sometimes too hard to tell as his optics were directed towards us.

"Another Cybertronian thing?" Dahlia asked me.

"Dunno," I felt the cables of my neck tensing in preparation for a fight. "Who are you?"

"I am Vector Prime."

"...that's nice," Dahlia commented faintly once it was clear that I was too stumped to conveniently provide exposition. "This realm is of your creation, Vector Prime?"

"It is what it is," Vector Prime replied enigmatically.

"So it is the dream realm," Dahlia pondered.

"That could be said of it. You are very astute."

"And the reasons for our... displacement?"

"A necessary... deception." Vector Prime strode forward, one step collapsing parts of the grand Hall of Records. "Now you know my designation, but you have not introduced yourselves."

"I am Dahlia Su," Dahlia replied. "He's Jazz."

"And that is not your full designation," the great Cybertronian answered.

"The rest of my designation does not matter."

"It does," he answered. "The myth behind the name matters, especially to understand the nature of the deception."

"Enough of me. What about you?"

"I am a healer," he replied. "There is a concept amongst your kind, though I am not sure if you are familiar with it."

"A doctor?" Dahlia asked.

"Doctor Who?"

"What?" I asked.

Dahlia paused, before shaking her head. "Are you... joking? Why are you making that joke?"

"It amuses me, sooth. And you understood it."

"It's lame, is what it is," Dahlia rebutted. "You're a time traveller?"

"Close enough," I rasped.

"I am the guardian of space and time," Vector intoned as an explanation.

"Great, you're Sailor Pluto," Dahlia nodded blandly. "Let's ignore the difference between dreams and space-time continuum for the moment. What. Do. You. Want."

"Your full name," Vector Prime stated. "Dahlia Su Daji. It is an omen."

Dahlia shook her head. "My name, Dájǐ, is a... divination? A prophecy?"

"It is a deception," Vector Prime answered seriously. "Do you know of the story behind the name?"

"Dájǐ, the last concubine of the Shang dynasty," Dahlia recited. "Said to have been possessed by a nine-tailed thousand-year vixen spirit to bring about the dynasty's end in the Chinese novel Fengshen Yanyi, often translated as The Investiture of the Gods. She is a major antagonist and the first corrupter of the dynasty, though not necessarily the chief influence. Where is the deception?"

"A fox spirit masqueraded as a human in the court of the fatuous Emperor." A gear fell out and shattered on the stone floor. "Is that not deception?"

"You're saying that Megatron was corrupted?" she asked. "By a spirit masquerading as a Decepticon?"

"You of all people know how easy it is to fool the righteous," Vector Prime laid out his servos. "I applaud your intuitive leap, since it becomes easier to lead you on the correct path of reasoning. Now, let us depart from that segment of human civilisation, and move towards the branch commonly known as the Judeo-Christian myths."

"The fact that you are using human myths to lead me on this path is frankly disturbing and interesting, both," Dahlia dryly commented.

"Guarding space-time is a long proposition, and the planet of mud in the backwater galaxy of your planet is rife with the one thing of Cybertronix civilisation I truly missed, that passed with Prim," Vector Prime answered. "I admire literacy in all its forms, even if, ah, stodgy old mechs like Alpha Trion once drained the joy out of stories. The topic is as follows: there was a great teacher and his twelve apostles."

"I get it," I spoke out. "The Fallen."

The ancient Prime beamed. Another gear fell out, and with it the tinkle of glass.

"So, there were thirteen of you, one of you betrayed each other, and that traitor is... controlling the Decepticons?" Dahlia asked.

Vector Prime smiled.

"Okay..." Dahlia nodded as the ancient Prime continued nodding and smiling, a gesture that had me slightly worried that he was unhinged. "And you can't actually confirm or deny that, or tell me that, or you would have done so already. But, you are breaking the rules by telling us these things."

"Were we?" he asked. "We are discussing literature currently."

Dahlia snorted. "Aiyah. This is a timey-wimey ball."

"Spoilers," Vector Prime replied.

"You're a Whovian," Dahlia sighed. "Right. Aside from the utter irony of that fact you just implied but not really implied, you've been referencing human mythology and popular culture, what I know instead of your native myths. Which indicate that you've been in contact with human civilisation enough to at least understand their events and their written communications. It's a bit creepy, but I suppose anything is possible for the continued existence of space-time or its guardian."

"Many thanks for your foresight and restraint in the face of fridge logic," Vector Prime agreed.

"Could you stop that?"

"No." And he looked gleeful at saying it. "The final point I must submit to you for your consideration without my aid. The Cybertronian with the designation of Jazz; you have experienced human weakness in its purest and most crystallised form. It is possible for a Cybertronian spark to inhabit a human body. Is it possible for the reverse to become true? That is, a human soul in a Cybertronian body, particularly in one body that would go on to lead all of Cybertron from its past into its future?"

"...no?" I replied faintly, denying that slightly horrifying possibility. "A human... as Prime?"

"That sheer power..." Dahlia looked faint, for the first time I had seen. "I can't imagine it. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. The results would be horrifying."

"Yes," Vector Prime replied as the last gear fell. "The fallen will come for his revenge, which is, on hindsight, a truly human trait. Truly human."

He looked to Dahlia as the Hall of Records shattered, and lights came on.

"I'm sorry, Prima. This was the most I could do."


"You're huge."

"I'm pretty sure you've said that before," I eyed Dahlia, hours after the surgery and Dahlia had finally woken up a few hours after I got back to my own, fairly dented body.

The operation had gone... well, Dahlia had flat-lined twice on the operating table, and sent Ratchet into paroxysms of yelling about human fragility in general. Everything went fine, for a given value of fine that meant 'this human was still holding valuable technology that could change the fate of the human race.'

She was still tiny, but autocratic, like a model empress; yet the two operations had made its toll upon her, ageing her to something around the middle age of humans. She looked about as fragile as those china dolls somewhere in Chinatown's shops; long-lasting with proper care, but one wrong move... Not that I was much better; weld marks and staples were still apparent. At least I didn't look like I was going to die of disease any time soon.

My main gal now turned her head to regard Optimus Prime, eye to eye despite their difference in height, since she was on an elevated platform. "What will be done with me now?" she rasped, looking from Major Lennox to the Prime.

"We..." I had never really seen Optimus hesitate. "Ratchet has given me his assessment of the transformed pace-maker integration."

He switched on his projectors, bathing the platform in light as he displayed a diagram of the human heart, with pace-maker attached, except now the device was sprouting metal filaments that followed the entire body.

"It has still given you a spark-signature, thus you could still be marked by us. Ratchet has determined that, even should it prove possible to remove the Transformium permanently without an elemental reconstitution," Optimus started, "you would not survive the process. He has also expressed some concerns about the multiple surgeries that complete removal would necessitate, with little chance of success. And..."

"I can rearrange my schedule," Dahlia answered. "When is the next one?"

Optimus actually fidgeted, as if he would rather be anywhere but here. "It is... not about that."

Lennox took over, perplexed as he opened the file. "Well, according to Ratchet's analysis... the metallic pieces have begun to be absorbed into the human body somehow. They're causing the surrounding cells to limitlessly replicate, evade apoptosis and inducing metastasis in the body- erm, it forms malignant neoplasms that's undergone angiogenesis and begun to infiltrate the bloodstream... what does this mean?"

Dahlia had begun to shrink in on herself during Lennox's listing of symptoms, but at this she tiredly turned her head. She looked even more tired and careworn already. "So... that is the price of a miracle."

"Miss Su... I am so sorry," I had never heard Optimus sound this... guilty. "Ratchet will do everything in his power to ensure your comfort. If there is anything we could do..."

Dahlia sighed. "To answer your question, Major Lennox. He's saying that the remains of the pacemaker in my body is causing cancer of the blood. An incurable and terminal cancer."

Lennox dropped the file.

I looked up the term, and whatever good feelings I had from returning into my body immediately evaporated as the horrific truth sank in. We had lifted one death sentence, to replace it with another, even more horrifying one.

"Jazz's spark was apparently sending the neoplasms into apoptosis automatically," Optimus was saying. "Its removal precipitated the angiogenesis. Ratchet has included options for palliative care, and there remains limited communication between yourself and us that you can use to ameliorate treatment. We will do everything in our power to ensure-"

"Save it, please," Dahlia answered. "You still have the Decepticons to worry about."

"I'd like to stay," I volunteered.

A tear fell down one cheek. "Can I... can he?"

"Of course," Optimus then considered little Pizzicato. "Pizzicato, and our Chief Medical Officer, will remain at your disposal, for the remainder of our acquaintance. It is... the least we could do."

Dahlia sat down on the edge of the platform. Warily, Lennox and Optimus backed slightly, and I surged forward as she absently petted Pizzicato, standing by as she just... stared at me. My main gal seemed to have had all the life drained out of her. I don't blame her. Perhaps it had.

Then she started to cry.

This was the price of a miracle.

It wasn't worth it.


Cancers are treatable, and I know this since I had an aunt die of a breast cancer relapse.

What I'm trying to invoke here is how do Cybertronians handle disease, or even the concept. They're metallic-based beings; maybe they have their own diseases or health problems or whatnot, but it remains that they have a smaller range to worry about, and a lot of science. They also don't have to handle the fridge horror that any part of their body might suddenly give out on them due to a physical fault, since they can replace their limbs or body parts or even entire bodies. I pity Optimus, since I made him deliver the news: "Erm, right, you're going to die a slow, possibly painful and incurable death by your own body failing on you, and we caused that."

They're not going to take it well.

Critiquez, s'il vous plaît!