Part 10
Disclaimers in Part 1
Optimus and Ratchet rolled onto the tarmac at O'Hare International Airport into a heavy downpour. They, and Charlotte and Diarwen, had been on the plane closer to five hours than the four they had expected, thanks to the weather. The Sidhe figured it had to be going on five o'clock in the morning in Chicago, since they had crossed a time zone or two, but she was too tired to dig her phone out of her pocket to look.
O'Hare had been the busiest airport in the country before the attack. It still was, having been reopened to those just changing planes here, but aid flights and military traffic had made up for a lot of the civilian traffic that the wounded city was not generating now.
They passed a bus full of evacuees who were returning to some of the least damaged areas. The bus driver recognized them and blasted the horn, and the windows were crowded with waving, cheering passengers. Optimus returned the salute.
He and Ratchet joined a line of snarled traffic headed for Chicago. By the time they finally got back to the hotel, the sun was coming up over Lake Michigan.
Sadly, the Governor had declared that the rescue phase was over, and moved the city on to recovery: no one not found alive at this point could be expected to survive. Those whose loved ones were still within the city's wounds had themselves to go unwilling from hope into mourning.
But now the constant roar of heavy engines brought the city back to life as the long job of removing the rubble began. Engineers were examining the buildings that were left standing to determine which could be repaired and which would have to be condemned. There was already a wrangle starting about which structures should be rebuilt first, and how, although nothing would happen until after all recoverable remains had been removed from the battleground.
Sunstreaker was up and around, but still confined to the compound. Jolt had yet to allow Brains to leave Optimus' trailer, where the little bot had been recovering out of the weather. He and Wheelie had the door open so they could watch the goings-on, but they were sitting far enough back not to get rained on.
Ironhide, Wheeljack and Mirage stopped to greet Prime and Ratchet on their way out to begin their day's work. Ironhide told the other two, "Go ahead, I'll catch up."
They waved and headed south to their assigned job. Ironhide waited with Optimus as he stopped near the side entrance of the hotel to let Diarwen out, then the Prime transformed and the two of them went over to the gravel lot where Sideswipe was waiting to report. Ratchet decanted Mearing, then joined them. The medic checked in with Jolt, gave Optimus a few last-minute medical orders, then went south to the stadium to meet the CH-53 that would take him back to his patients in DC.
Mearing shook rain from her hair: they had gotten soaked just dashing the few feet to the hotel lobby. "Welcome to Chicago," she said wryly. "Did you get any sleep on the plane?"
"Ach, no. I hate flying in bad weather. I always tell myself I shall never go up in one of those things again, and then I end up doing it anyway."
"Goes with the territory, I'm afraid."
"I shall get something to eat and then try to sleep for a few hours, unless I am needed immediately. And yourself?"
"I slept a little. I meant to catch up on some work, but the flight crew asked me to turn my laptop off. Ratchet was recharging, so I had no one to talk to. I just took a nap."
"Well, you have my admiration for being able to do that."
They put their things in their rooms. By the time they got to the mess, the serving line had closed, as most of the soldiers were already at work. Mearing had changed clothing, leaving her hair still damp.
They were too late for a hot breakfast. After milk and cereal, Diarwen was so tired when she got up the long, steep stairs to her room that she was tempted to leave off caring for her burn until later, but her warrior's conscience chided her that such would have been stupid. She sighed and got out her supplies, then unbuttoned her damp jacket and eased her mail shirt over her head.
The rain had not soaked through to the gambeson that she wore beneath it, so once she had hung both items over chairs, she finally peeled off the cotton tee that she wore next to her skin and tossed that into the laundry. Her bandages went into a trash bag.
A good washing felt wonderful, after the desert heat of the day before. She had been spoiled by the ready availability of water for showers in DC.
The iron burn was healed enough now that tending it was a painful process, yet the dead skin must be removed so that the new could grow. Once she had that chore out of the way, she finally fell into bed.
A nightmare about the crash woke her sooner than she would have liked. She tried to go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning for a while she realized that she was up for the day.
She looked out the window. Only Jolt and Sunstreaker were still in the lot. Jolt was under the large tent that the medics had set up, helping out the NEST CMO. Sunstreaker was outside, in alt form to shed the rain better. Boredom fairly radiated off him as he lazed near the river's edge watching some large helicopters hovering over the wrecked Decepticon ship.
She collected her rain poncho and went downstairs. Graham was in charge of the command post. He smiled and greeted her with a cheerful, "Good morning, Lady Diarwen."
A British soldier did not hesitate over her title. She smiled in return. "Good morning, Leftenant. What have you for me to do today?"
"Perhaps you saw the Corps of Engineers working at the crash site of the Decepticon carrier? They would like to clear it from the river today so that barges can be brought in to remove some of the debris. They've requested your assistance in making certain the thing is quite safe to move."
"Of course. Where shall I meet their boat?"
"They are using a landing just down here, between the State Street and Wabash Avenue Bridges, on this side of the river."
"I see. Thank you. I'll go down there immediately."
The landing was only a couple of blocks from the hotel, but thanks to a large water-filled hole between the Marina towers, people were being asked to cross the Dearborne Street Bridge to Wacker Drive and then come back north across the Wabash Avenue bridge.
As she was going west on Wacker Drive, where some of the fiercest fighting had been, several construction workers stopped what they were doing at the sound of a loud whistle. Diarwen asked one of them, "What's happening?"
He pointed to where several police officers and firefighters were gathering. A number of wrecked vehicles had been removed, and the last of these was a police car. Diarwen needed no more explanation. "Oh, I see."
After a while, an ambulance arrived, and everyone nearby stood at attention while two flag-draped stretchers were carried out, escorted by an honor guard of police officers. In the distance, heavy engines growled as the work continued, but here, all was silence except for the CPD officers' measured steps, and the gentle fall of the rain on the shattered concrete, Mother Nature's tears washing the city clean. A few of Diarwen's own fell to join them.
Diarwen sheathed her sword. The construction workers put their hardhats back on, and, subdued, went back to work when the whistle sounded again.
When those two officers had reported for duty that morning, they expected to return to their families at the end of the shift. They could have had no idea they would become names on the memorial that the city was planning.
And if they had? They would have done their duty, notwithstanding.
She crossed the river, and made her way down to a boat dock where several Corps of Engineers soldiers were gathered around a computer.
"Excuse me, may I ask who is in charge here?"
"That'd be me," a tall African-American woman whose name tag and insignia pronounced her to be Lieutenant Colonel Hawthorne said.
"Colonel. I am Diarwen ni Gilthanel. Lt. Graham said you had need of me."
"Yeah, if you don't mind—we're getting ready to bring in the Mi-26 and haul that wrecked cruiser out of here. But first we need to make sure it's safe to move it. If there are hostiles hiding out on it, I'd like to be aware of that before before anyone goes inside—my people or the bots. Optimus Prime and Colonel Lennox both say that you'd know."
Diarwen nodded. "It does not seem so from here. Can you get me nearer?"
Hawthorne gestured to a boat. "Can you tell the difference between a dead one and one that's just—sleeping? Unconscious?"
"Yes, most likely, though a gravely injured one who wished to appear dead may very well be able to play 'possum, as you say," Diarwen said.
They boarded, and with a soldier wielding a boat hook in the prow to fend off large pieces of debris, arrived safely at the hulk.
The Sidhe carefully examined the wrecked flier. "Colonel, I do not perceive any evidence of live Decepticons aboard this ship."
Optimus jumped into the water and crossed to them, standing waist deep in the river channel. Up close, the 'Con flier was much bigger than Diarwen had thought it was from the shore, big enough that he would be able to walk inside it—once they got the hatch open.
When that had been accomplished, the crashed craft was revealed to be half-full of water and dead Decepticons. Optimus asked Hawthorne, "What are you going to do with the flier once we get it out of here?"
"It's going to 51, along with all the other enemy vehicles that we've recovered. What did you think we'd do with them?" she asked.
"I suppose there is nothing to be done about that," Prime said, "But I would hate to lose the scrap metal after your people have finished studying them. We can put it to good use."
"If it were up to me—these carriers are all alike, I don't know how many of them they think the eggheads need to tinker with."
Optimus thought of Wheeljack, and supposed that problems with "the eggheads" were universal. He rumbled agreement.
"You'll have to talk to someone over my pay grade about salvaging them, though," Hawthorne said. "Let's get the remains out, then we'll get this thing out of here."
Ironhide swam across and climbed in. "Those slaggin' mini-bots really made a mess of this thing," he commented, with a great deal of admiration.
Optimus agreed, "So they did. Help me get the casualties out."
Hawthorne ordered the boat's pilot, "Back it up, give them some room."
Diarwen watched Optimus and Ironhide remove the dead, treating enemy soldiers with what respect and dignity they could, given the need to carry them across the river. When all were laid out side by side on the bank, Optimus traced a glyph on each one's servo, and said a quiet prayer.
Diarwen realized she knew nothing of the Cybertronians' burial customs. Once again it was clear to her just how much an outsider she was, not just to one culture, but to two.
Another boat came up, this one carrying a large tank. Ironhide supervised draining the energon—aviation grade was far too flammable to try moving the hulk with it aboard. Hawthorne asked Optimus, "Do you want that or do I give it to the hazmat people?"
"We can use it," Optimus replied, "for weapons loads if nothing else."
Ironhide told the soldiers, "I'll go with you to help unload that tank off the boat."
Hawthorne spoke into her radio, "Tell the Russians to bring up Catherine the Great!"
After a few minutes, they heard the distant roar of huge rotors. A gigantic helicopter eventually came over the buildings. Hawthorne's boat bobbed in its downdraft, and Optimus turned down his audials to deal with the thunderous racket. He scanned it and compared it to his IFF file—the helo was a Mil Mi-26, the largest helicopter in production in the world. On second thought, he made a full transscan of the behemoth. He didn't particularly want one for an alt—but one never knew. For that matter, Wheeljack loved getting transscans of new vehicles to analyze.
Ports on the underside of the Mi-26 opened and several very heavy cables descended. Hawthorne and her crew scrambled all over the flier, attaching the cables.
She asked Optimus, "Can you get down there safely to open some of those seeker bays under the waterline? The faster the water drains out, the easier she'll be to fly out of here."
He went back in and ducked into the wells to open a few hatches, then got clear.
At first, Catherine the Great strained against the combined load of wrecked carrier and water, but then the hulk shifted and inched upward as water cascaded from the opened hatches. As the load lightened, it rose faster.
The construction crews who had stopped to stare at the enormous machine cheered and blasted steam whistles as the wreck came free of the river and slowly rose above the rooftops.
Optimus ducked under the surface of the river to make sure there was nothing dangerous, like unexploded ordnance that might have fallen from the flier, still lying at the bottom of the channel. Visibility was so poor down there he took extra time with the task before he was confident enough to tell Hawthorne it was clear.
She passed the word, and a tug pushing a raft of empty barges started the process of passing through the lock from Lake Michigan.
Optimus offered Diarwen a lift to shore, and she climbed confidently to his shoulder, as graceful as a cat on his wet armor plating. Remembering the incident when they had nearly been hit by the drunk, she got a firm hold on his collar strut before he climbed onto the bank.
Optimus asked Hawthorne, "May I be of more assistance?"
"No, thanks! Sure do appreciate all your help!"
"Any time, Colonel."
Optimus lowered Diarwen to the sidewalk.
"What is to be done now?" She asked.
"We are making a last pass through some of the areas where the workers have not yet brought in heavy equipment. I know that it's unlikely we will find more survivors, but there is no harm in making certain. You are welcome to come with me."
Diarwen said, "Of course."
The center of the Loop had seen less actual battle damage, but there was a great deal of what she could describe only as vandalism, wanton destruction. Diarwen expected a victorious army to sack a conquered city; such had been the way of things for most of her existence. But this had not been robbery—it was murder for sport, laying waste for entertainment. Madness.
Workers with a large truck were busy gathering bones and whatever lay around them into body bags. The weapon that had reduced a living person to bleached bones in a split second often left DNA too degraded to identify.
Diarwen bowed her head. "This...so many families will never know for sure what happened to their loved ones. And there is nothing more that we can do."
Optimus said, "It's true that there is no more we can do. We must accept that."
She nodded. "Yes."
They found no one else trapped alive in the structures, and eventually worked their way far enough south that the buildings were undamaged—or at least sound enough that no one would have been trapped inside. Groups of volunteers, ordinary people, were going door to door knocking and shouting.
They went back to the hotel, where Optimus found Ironhide and Will. Optimus asked, "Will, is our presence here going to be useful from now on?"
Will said, "Not according to Morshower. He wants us to get Mission City operational in case the remaining 'Cons get their act together."
"I agree. If we had non-combatants then they could be of a great deal of assistance. Possibly others will arrive in time. But we will better serve by preparing for any mop-up operations that become necessary."
Will nodded. "We need to rebuild. I need to recruit troops and train them. That'll take time. How soon can Sunstreaker travel?"
Optimus checked with Jolt on a private channel, then said, "A few more days. Some of us could go on ahead and begin getting things ready. Ironhide, do you think you can keep the Wreckers and the Little Twins in line?"
Ironhide glared at Optimus' teasing tone. "Slag, yeah. We'll drive down there, it might lure some 'Cons out. Lots of wide open spaces to take 'em on."
Optimus said, "I doubt they'll take the bait with such a large group, but there's nothing to stop you from trying."
Ironhide grinned.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
A few days later, Betony and Jaime returned. Lennox had arranged for them to haul a flatbed carrying Sunny to Mission City as soon as Jolt cleared him to travel, and after that they would be picking up a load of relief supplies in Las Vegas. According to Jolt, they still had another day or two here, which meant that Diarwen and her friends could celebrate Litha together.
They discovered on the Internet that many Chicago-area pagans and Wiccans were having a public ritual in a park north of the city, and planned to go.
Optimus asked Diarwen, "What is this festival?"
"It is a modern version of the ancient Midsummer's Day celebrations. The Internet page that I sent you about the Wheel of the Year probably called it that. Litha is another name for it, which modern Pagans have been using for a few decades. This celebration marks the high point of the God's power, the power of the male principal. This is the day when the sun begins to wane and the harvest approaches."
"I find the symbolism of an Earth-based religion both intriguing and beautiful."
"What sort of festivals do your people celebrate?"
"There were more of them, but they were less frequent, being celebrated every vorn instead of every year. The most important was the Festival of Liberation, which celebrated our independence from Quintesson slavery. Before the war, it lasted an orn—nearly two Earth weeks—and it was a time like the American Thanksgiving and Fourth of July combined. It was traditional to return to one's birth family or cohort during that time. Each city had its own customs, but nearly all included fireworks, as well as races and other games. None have truly been held since the war began."
"I am sorry."
"No, don't be. We will be creating new traditions now, but I hope we don't forget the best of the old. One of the sites that you listed says that Midsummer's, or Litha, was not traditionally Celtic."
"Well, yes and no. We had four major festivals before the Christians came, the fire festivals which were held on the cross-quarter days—Samhain, which was the beginning of winter and our New Year's Day; Imbolc, or Brigit's Day; Beltane, the beginning of summer and the celebration of the marriage of the Lady and the Lord; and Lughnasadh, the first harvest. The equinox and solstice festivals were Germanic in origin. We did mark those days, but they were relatively minor in our calendar, when compared to the fire festivals. Modern paganism combines the two cycles. There is certainly nothing against Sidhe custom in adopting a new reason for a celebration!" she smiled. "We live in this culture, not the ones that originated the names for the festivals. As you say, new traditions that, we hope, preserve the best of the old."
"Tell me about this minor celebration of the Sidhe."
Diarwen smiled. "When I was a young girl, we began to gather at Cathair Crofhind, which is now called the Hill of Tara. It was our legendary center of the world, and the ancient site of the gateway to Tir nan Og, in the days before the Great Ice. According to the Elders who remembered, there was not a hill there in those times; the Great Ice completely changed the geography. The gateway had long been moved to an area in the south which remained ice-free, but when the glaciers began to retreat, Cathair Crofhind was open to us once again. As with most of our celebrations, there was feasting and music and dancing. When the sun was at its highest point, a bonfire would be lit, and the young warriors would make a game of jumping over it. Remember in those days it was much colder; even at Midsummer a fire was welcome during the day. Once humans returned to Ireland after the Ice, for a long while, the Fae people and the Celts often celebrated various holidays together there. But our star dimmed as theirs rose to prominence. There came a time when it was no longer wise for us to venture near Cathair Crofhind. After that, the celebrations were held at court."
"Jumping over bonfires?"
"Pagans still do that. I doubt they will be jumping over any bonfires in the park tomorrow, though, the fire department might object. You should come and see the ritual."
"I would, gladly, but my alt form has been on the news often enough that I'm afraid I'd attract reporters. I doubt that kind of commotion would be appreciated."
Diarwen had not thought of that. "Yes, that would prove inconvenient. There will be another time, somewhere more private, such as the celebrations hosted by Moonsilver and Michael."
Optimus said, "I'll look forward to that."
-Sidhe Chronicles-
The next morning, they went out to the lot, planning to take Jaime's truck to the park where the Litha celebration was going to be. Nobody had robes. Diarwen was wearing a black tee-shirt and BDU pants; the two truckers were dressed similarly except that they wore denim instead of camo.
Ordinarily, only the priesthood conducting the ceremony brought swords or athames to a public circle, but Diarwen was not going anywhere unarmed with Decepticons still on the loose. She carried her sword in hand, its belt wrapped around the scabbard, since she intended to lock it in the truck. She had her dagger hidden in her boot. This was not a compromise that she liked, but she did not want to glamour her sword in the circle, where the energies of the spell might interfere with any working that the host coven had planned.
When they got outside, however, Jolt was there. "Diarwen, I've got a few hours to myself. Would you like me to give you a ride? I'd sort of like to see the festival, if that's all right with you."
"It is fine with me. Sunstreaker and Brains are feeling better, then?"
"Much better. I can be away for a joor or so at a time without a problem."
"Oh, good. Is that all right with you, Betony, Jaime?"
"Sure. Let us get our things from the truck." The two of them got their musical instruments from the sleeper, and Jaime threw the keys to Lennox in case they needed to move it.
Diarwen gave her sword to Jolt to subspace for her, then climbed in the back with Betony, who asked, "What are we supposed to bring?"
"It just said, a covered dish. We will have to find a deli when we get far enough north for the stores to be open."
Jaime said from the front seat, "Nobody's going to fuss about that. We could bring a bucket of chicken or something."
"You're just wanting chicken and biscuits," Betony teased.
"And what's wrong with that?" he grinned.
"Not a thing," his girlfriend laughed.
Diarwen was pleased to see her friend so happy with her new boyfriend. Given that not so long ago Diarwen had been terrified that she would never see Betony again, it was doubly sweet.
She thought of their bandmate, Justin, at home in Daytona Beach with his sick mother. The three musketeers were going separate directions, it seemed—Nevada was a long way from Maryland or Florida, either one. That was the problem with pretending to be twenty-two years old. The friends of twenty-somethings got jobs, got responsibilities, got married—got lives, and moved on. For a moment she felt like Peter Pan. At least it would not be necessary this time to move on to another college town and once again pretend to be an eighteen-year-old freshman. It would be good to join the adult world for a while. Her current identity would be good for another fifty or sixty years, if she aged her appearance. After that...ah, well, "after that" could tend to itself.
Not far north of the loop, things were by all appearances back to normal. People who had evacuated were moving back home, businesses were reopening, the damage (most of which was minor) was being repaired. They found a grocery store with a deli and bought several things for the potluck.
When they reached the park, they found the lot already full, and there were a number of cars with Indiana plates. "What's that all about?" Jaime asked.
"I don't know..." Diarwen said, noticing a lot of men in business suits and women with their hair pinned up, wearing below-the-knee skirts, all gathered on the opposite side of the street from the park where the ritual was going to take place.
"Oh, no," Betony groaned, as she noticed the crowd getting picket signs from the back of a truck. "They're from that Eastland Church—you know the ones who picket funerals?"
Jaime advised, "Just ignore them. All they can do is march around and yell. Wait till we get the drum circle going later, I wish them luck with anybody hearing them then."
Jolt said, "Wait, what's going on?"
"Google Eastland Church, but stay off their page. They're those crazy people who picket soldiers' funerals because they hate gays," Betony said. "Better not park close to them. You might get egged or they might try to slash your tires."
Jaime said, "Over there under those trees should be OK. You'll have some shade, and you'll be able to see what's going on."
On this side of the street, there were all sorts of people in robes and other ritual wear, some of it quite brief and gauzy in the case of some of the younger people. A group of young people carrying ice chests went past them on the way to a line of tents.
Diarwen's group dropped off their food at one of these, then strolled around the crowd to see who was there.
The coven hosting the celebration seemed to be mostly middle-aged people. The High Priestess, a slender lady wearing a circlet bearing the triple-goddess symbol of the waxing, full, and waning moons around her salt-and-pepper hair, was talking to the Summoner, a big man carrying an oak quarterstaff. The antenna of a radio poked out of his belt pouch. As Diarwen walked by, he was saying, "There shouldn't be a problem, Raven, they're staying on the other side of the street. I'll have my eye on them, and some of the kids from the college circle are going to stay in the back of the crowd and help me keep an eye out while the ritual is going on."
"I just have a bad feeling about this, Kevin."
"And I take your bad feelings very seriously. If anything happens, I'll have the police here before you know it."
"All right," she said, and went back to setting up the candles on the altar.
There was a large cauldron of water set up in front of it, and some more ladies from the coven brought flowers to arrange around it.
A crowd had gathered around the booths, and Diarwen stopped to look at a jewelry display. Some young girls, only teenagers, were ooh-ing and aah-ing over the religious pendants; one of them really wanted a goddess necklace but reluctantly decided that her mother was too likely to find it.
Diarwen shook her head. The foolish things people argued about. She wanted to crack that mother and daughter's heads together and point out to them the number of mothers who had just buried their daughters, and the daughters who were still waiting for their mothers' bodies to be found—if those people had the chance to hug each other just one more time, which religion they chose to follow would be the last thing on their minds.
She turned away from the crowd for a while, seeking calm. That shattering grief was not the energy that she wanted to bring to the Circle. But she wasn't alone.
Under the bright-colored clothes and the laughter and gossip, Diarwen, taking a good look around, found a deep undertone of anguish. There was a man wearing a pentacle necklace and a Chicago Fire Department tee-shirt. There was a lady with a fading black eye and a bandaged arm. Nearby a young mother held her baby, walking still as if she were accompanied by her mate, turning as if to talk to him, and fresh, raw grief crossing her face as she realized once more that his space was empty, and always would be.
The ambient aura was stained with the dark gray of their shared grief. It swirled around and through the crowd like a cold mist.
Diarwen became aware of someone studying her, and looked up to meet the eyes of the High Priestess.
The woman walked over and said formally, "Hail and welcome."
Diarwen bobbed a short curtsey. "Thank you, my lady."
"You are the one who closed that portal, aren't you?"
"I—yes."
"I thought your aura felt familiar. I'm glad that you could join us today. My name is Raven Hollis."
The Sidhe said politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Raven. I've read many of your books. I am Diarwen ni Gilthanel."
"Are you all right, Diarwen?"
"Yes, I—I'm...the energy is...there are so many wounded people here..."
The High Priestess advised, "Go into the trees for a few moments and ground yourself. Let the Mother comfort you. There's time before the ritual starts."
"Thank you. I think I should do that."
Raven took a business card from her belt pouch. "My numbers are on that. If you need to talk, please, call. If you don't get me, you'll get my voice mail, and I return calls fairly quickly."
Diarwen tucked the card into her pocket. "My thanks," she said again.
As Raven had suggested, a path led into a stand of trees. Leaves rustled in a light breeze. She knelt and laid her hand on the cool, damp earth, and centered and grounded herself, and let the deep slow pulse of Mother Earth surround her.
A young couple walked by, but did not disturb her meditation. They reminded her that there was still love and light in the world, and she brought that thought into her consciousness, and kept it there.
After a time she stood and started back to the circle, as it was nearly time for the ritual to start. But when she left the trees, she saw a group of people at the edge of the park, watching the protesters on the other side of the street. Her eyes widened as she recognized several of them as NEST troops—there were sixteen of them altogether, about a third as many as there were protesters. All of them were in civilian clothes, apparently just enjoying a sunlit morning in the park—but there was no hiding their cool, confident, professionalism as they spaced themselves out to prevent any of the protesters from getting into the park if they crossed the street.
Betony and Jaime joined her. "What's—oh, Will is going to skin them!"
"Which ones, our people or the protesters?"
Betony hesitated. "That's a good question. All of them, if they start fighting."
At that moment, a young man driving a blue pickup with a "Rangers Lead the Way" bumper sticker pulled up. Like the others, he was in mufti, but his flattop haircut and general bearing fairly screamed military, and the protesters finally picked up on it.
They started a chant about God hating the US Army.
The aura around the soldiers blazed bright red.
Betony gulped and whipped out her cell phone, speed-dialing her brother.
The coven's Summoner pulled out his radio and spoke calmly into it. "Police dispatch, this is Kevin Cavell. I'm at the festival in Kerbets Park, and we have a situation getting started near the Wilson Street parking lot. Quite a bit of shouting and sign-waving."
Diarwen couldn't hear the dispatcher's reply, but whatever it was, the Summoner said, "Yes, ma'am" and put his radio away, then stood keeping an eye on the situation.
Diarwen saw one of the NEST troops, Antonio Molinero, leave the restroom and start back toward his buddies, but he got cut off by half-a-dozen young men from the Eastland crowd.
He got the brick wall of the restroom building at his back and gave them a level look. "You know, it really would be better if you just went back over there with your friends about now."
Diarwen told Jaime and Betony, "Stay here, if those fools start a panic people could get hurt. I am going to see if Tony needs any help."
Jaime indicated a skirmish line that was forming under the Summoner's direction, and the two of them joined that group. If the protesters came this way, they meant to link arms and block them from going any further.
The Eastland boys didn't pay any attention to Diarwen until she walked over beside Tony, but then they cut both of them off.
Jolt had been watching the colorful crowd around the circle and not really paying attention to the protest, which was both unpleasant and rather repetitive. Suddenly, though, he recognized some of the NEST people, and realized there was about to be a riot beside him.
Ironhide was probably already going to give him a long lecture in which the terms "situational awareness" and "fraggin' idiot" featured prominently. But that was nothing compared to the trouble he was going to be in if he got mixed up in a human fight!
Hoping no one was paying any attention to him, he turned on his hologram and drove around the corner, behind the bathroom building. He was still close enough to get involved if it looked like someone might get killed—but otherwise, he figured it was best if he just stayed out of it.
A teenage boy from the church decided the same thing and hid behind the building too—just as Jolt turned off his hologram.
The kid's eyes got big as saucers. "You're an Autobot! I remember now, I saw you on TV, you're Jolt!"
"Shh!" Jolt looked around, and opened his passenger door. "Here, get in, you'll be safe if they start throwing things."
"Well—Uncle Pete has a slingshot and some nuts and bolts, but his aim isn't very good!" The kid scrambled in and ducked—he was so small that, when Jolt shut the door, someone would have to be standing right next to the window to see him.
Jolt asked, "Why are you here? Why would you want to start a fight?"
"They're witches. Look, you're from outer space so you might not know." The boy gulped, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "They worship the Devil. On Halloween they sacrifice babies!"
"Oh, that's just silly," Jolt told him.
"Well, if you don't believe me, it's on the Internet." The kid fumbled in his pocket for a tract. "This has our web site on the back."
"My friends told me not to open that site."
"Well, they don't want you to know the truth, do they?"
Jolt wasn't sure what to say to that. After all, Optimus had told him there was nothing wrong with learning even unpopular things because it was impossible to make a rational decision until you examined all sides of a problem. How could he understand these people if he wasn't willing to listen to their side? "Put it in my glove box so that I don't lose it. I'll scan it later."
"OK."
The shouting rose to a crescendo, and they heard a siren. Jolt said, "Oh, my."
The kid curled up on the floorboard.
Meanwhile, Diarwen studied Molinero's collection of hooligans. "An interesting lot of friends you have here, Tony." It would have been so easy to take them all on. They were so like the zealots who had driven her people into exile...so like those who had killed her husband.
They were oblivious to the danger that they were in. "What's the matter, now you're going to hide behind a girl?" jeered one of them.
Tony just shrugged. "My mama raised me to share."
Diarwen told them, "Oh, I'm here for him, but that's just my excuse. I'm here because I don't like you, or people like you, of whom I have known far too many." With that, she let her glamour fade, rather than dropping it abruptly.
It really changed very little about her appearance. Her ears were slightly pointed, but they were concealed under her hair. Her brows were more upswept at the outer ends than the average human's. There was a slight sparkle of silver in her gray eyes.
But there was something else, something different about her that most people could never put their fingers on. It was just enough for the boys to realize that they were in the presence of something unalterably Other. In their frame of reference, that had to be the Devil.
Five of them turned and ran; if asked, they'd have said they thought the sixth kid was with them. But he reacted to sheer terror by taking a wild roundhouse swing at Diarwen.
She leaned back out of range, letting his momentum carry him around in an ungainly spin. Then she applied her toe to the seat of his pants—more of a push than a kick. Already unbalanced, he sprawled on the blacktop.
The NEST troops roared with laughter.
The sound of approaching sirens cut through the confusion. That attracted attention from the pagan crowd.
The young hooligan got up and gave Diarwen a murderous look, but headed back to his own side before the police got there.
Two police cars pulled up and four officers got out. While one of them went over to talk to the Eastland group, another crossed to the NEST troops to get their side of it.
And that was when Ironhide rolled up.
The Eastland crowd might not have recognized Jolt, but anyone who had a TV recognized Ironhide. Though Lennox hadn't gotten as much TV coverage as Hide had after the parking garage rescue, once they recognized Ironhide a few people remembered who Lennox was.
The colonel ignored the whispering church crowd and approached the most senior soldier, one Sgt. Lowell. "Report."
Lowell snapped to, without even thinking about it. "Just enjoying the park, sir!"
"Well, enjoy it fifty yards back!"
"Sir, yes sir!"
Diarwen went with them, and continued to the circle, where the ritual was about to start.
End Part 10