Sidhe Chronicles 8 – A Year in the Life of Optimus Prime: Six
Part Twelve
(Disclaimers in Part One)
-Sidhe Chronicles-
The next morning, Diarwen sipped peppermint tea as she waited outside Optimus' office, where the senior staff was having their morning meeting. Their time together was limited. They tried not to let their duties intrude when they managed to find a little time and privacy. But, last night, Optimus had been troubled by his meeting with the protest leaders...
"Acushla, what has happened?"
"Nothing has happened, precisely. I am sorry to be a...what did Will call it? A wet blanket?"
"You are no such thing," she said, and got up from where she had been sitting crosslegged on her futon to lean against him. "Up," she said.
Moving slowly, he curled his digits around her so that she could sit on his servo, and lifted her to his chest plates, where she sat cross-legged, aligning her chakras over his spark in a way that created a deeper connection between them.
"Now, tell me what troubles you."
"That preacher, Reverend Dowling. When I left him, I wanted to go straight to the washracks, and remove every trace of evidence that I had ever been in his presence. Diarwen, I wanted to wash my very spark. There is something in his energy fields that I have only seen before in empties, and the dying, and worse: streaks of black."
"Is he dying?"
Optimus' optics went far away for a moment as he processed the answer to that question. "I think not," he said finally, his attention returning to her. "His field was as strong as any other human's. And...this was different from the dying. Primus knows I have seen enough sparks gutter. If he were Cybertronian, I would say that he had embraced the Unmaker. Not even Megatron and Sentinel did such, though they certainly followed the Fallen in the worship of Unicron. In my experience, only the Fallen himself was similar, until we battled Sufri."
"Goddess. I know of what you speak. Did he say anything to lead you to believe that he has turned to the worship of the Christians' Devil?"
"No, he spoke of their God as if he were still a follower of that faith. But that cannot be," Optimus said, sounding somewhat puzzled, "not if I am right about what I saw."
Diarwen sighed for her beloved's experience. "It would not be the first time people who deluded themselves they were doing the will of their God were actually following quite a different path. I met a fair few on both sides during the wars of the Reformation. Extreme times, and extreme positions, seem to breed them."
"I have discovered that the humans apparently produce such individuals with a distressing regularity. David Koresh and Jim Jones both led their flocks to mass suicide. In and of himself, Dowling is no threat to anyone. But if his people follow him as blindly as history shows such groups can, I fear for them." Optimus' voice dropped to a low rumble. "There are many children among them."
Diarwen's heart broke at the thought of her gentle beloved forced to watch another settlement destroyed, either by war or by the settlers' own hands. "Would you have me investigate?"
But he shook his helm. "I would not risk putting you on the front lines of yet another religious war—and at that, a war that our interference could start. Yet, I think it would be better to have your opinion as well as my own, were it possible for you to be in Dowling's presence. You are far more experienced than I."
Diarwen nodded. "To see that in someone's aura is no small thing, Optimus. I understand why his company upset you. If he fails to do as much damage as the Fallen, it would be lack of opportunity, not motive. I trust your Sight, trust that you have become skilled enough to read such an extreme aura correctly. But I shall go and see what is to be seen, and they will not know that I have been among them."
He exvented. "I am at a loss. What am I to do about an evil glitch who happens to be human?"
"Perhaps you are not the one meant to deal with the situation. He is human, after all."
"We are all responsible, beloved."
And there, she knew, was the crux of the matter. "I know. Let the camp settle, and I will explore when most of them are sleeping."
"Diarwen, be careful. I can be there in minutes, but much can happen in that time."
"I know, acushla. I shall."
Two hours later, Diarwen had dressed in black and slipped across the interstate at the main gate. After leaving the lights of Mr. Najantdahl's store behind, the dark desert night had swallowed her up.
Quite a few people were still up and about in the protesters' area, but they stayed close to their camps. The Eastlanders were camped at the north end of the group, a small collection of tents and campers around a central cooking fire. Two men with rifles were on guard duty.
Thin camper walls and canvas tents did not prevent her from seeing the auras within. Most adults' were some pale shade of gray, sickly green, or brown. But among them, among their children's bright pastels, Dowling stood out like a foul stain: oil on water, poisoning everything around it.
She wanted to vomit, but she had spent several centuries developing the bodily control to prevent that wish from becoming father to the deed. She slipped away into the surrounding desert and returned to the base, a place she thought of as "home."
And then she skinnied up the wall to enter Prime's quarters by the window: the heart of that home, for her, where dwelt something she had thought never to have again.
Optimus' optics unshuttered as she entered. "Diarwen?"
The Sidhe took off her jacket and the stocking cap which had concealed her silver braid. "You were right, acushla, and that comes as no surprise to me at all. That man is either evil by choice, or very, very sick."
Optimus exvented. "Tomorrow, after the senior staff meeting, I would like for you to explain what we have seen. They will have questions, and I may not be advanced enough in my studies to answer them all."
"Of course. With your permission, I will bring Dr. Boggs along as well. It is her business to understand when things go awry with human minds." She shuddered. "And now, I want a very long, hot shower."
Optimus had allowed the installation of very few of the amenities due a mech of his rank, but a private place to wash up was one of them. That consisted of a drain in the floor, a hose that ran both hot and cold water, and a huge bucket the size of a large tub. Diarwen found this last item quite satisfactory for either bathing or showering. Optimus had fully realized for the first time exactly how much smaller than he his beloved was when he had found her happily soaking in hot water up to her chin in his rinse bucket.
There was nothing happy about that night. She took her basket from the back of his supply cabinet and assembled from it a cotton washcloth, homemade soap from the farmers' market, and a jar of Epsom salts scented with rosemary and sage; last, she went to the cabinet where she kept a hotplate and a few cooking things, and added the pitcher in which she sometimes brewed sun tea. He adjusted the flow from the hose to a gentle spray and held it for her while she scrubbed. She shifted her focus inward, and the darkness which had touched her aura and clung to her flowed out through her pores, to be carried away by the herb-scented water.
"What?" she said, on seeing his face she stepped out from under the flow. "You have helped me to shower before."
"Yes," he said, "but I did not realize before that the simple act of bathing in water could be spiritually cleansing."
"Oh aye. Water will do it, all by itself, but Epsom salts are wonderfully purifying as well, and the rosemary and sage I mixed into them have that energy too."
True enough, Diarwen did not feel the last tentacles of Dowling's foulness leave her until she poured the pitcher of salts dissolved into warm water over her head. Then and only then was she free of him; then and only did she fully return to Optimus, and lay her head over his spark.
Dr. Bogg's arrival shook Diarwen out of her memories; she'd sent a brief email to the psychiatrist, outlining what she perceived. The doctor asked, "Is everything OK, Diarwen? You, yourself, I mean?"
"Yes, of course. I was shaken by what I saw last night, that is all."
"I understand. It's always difficult to be around the…impaired, and more so if you are not prepared for the encounter."
Diarwen forewent a reply when Sideswipe opened the door. "We're ready for you now."
"Thank you, Sides," Diarwen said, and she and Boggs climbed the stairs to the top of Prime's desk to join Lennox and Graham.
Optimus said, "As you all know, I spoke yesterday with the leaders of the protest. There are four very distinct groups out there, and it seems that their only point of agreement is that our presence here is unwelcome.
"I do not believe that George Ross' faction will be a problem, now that he and I have spoken. He understands that there is still a danger from the remaining Decepticons, and that, unlike them, we have no intention of conquering this planet." He saw Will, who reminded him most of Ross among those present, nod in agreement.
"The neo-Nazis are criminals of the worst sort, but their criminal enterprises are their first priority. They hate us and do not want us here, and any of our people who leave the base alone should be aware of the danger that a large group of them could present. They travel in armed gangs, and I would not be at all surprised to learn that they possess weapons which could be a serious danger to us."
"'S unusual," Ironhide rumbled.
Prowl stirred, and said, "They may have shoulder-fired rockets. They do have rifles capable of throwing a shell that could penetrate the chestplates of anybot smaller than, say, Jazz. I wouldn't want to be hit by one."
Ratchet growled.
Optimus let everyone's fields, not only the bots', settle for a moment before he continued. Lennox, for one, was as angry as Optimus had ever seen Diarwen's brother-by-choice, and Graham was white about the mouth. "The Tea Party sees our presence, like that of any other minority, as a rallying point to consolidate their base. If they can inflame those likely to vote for them to the point that they will turn out to vote, then they can concentrate on the undecided voters who are likely to determine many elections. This is simple campaign strategy on their part. The leadership does not necessarily hate us, or care one way or the other if we remain, as long as we do not cost them money. But they also do not care if they spread hatred among their followers, or what the result of that hatred might be for us. The danger they present is that their rhetoric could incite violent action on the part of some of their more fanatical followers. Those are a minority among them."
Jazz initiated a websearch that would tell him who those followers were and reveal their natures to him, so far as their past history showed it, because past history was the best predictor of future behavior in humans. He would show Prowl the results of that if they warranted it…
This required only a nanoklik, and the spec ops mech turned his full attention back to Optimus as the Prime continued, "Dowling is another grade of energon entirely. That man is insane, and what is more, there is that about him which leads me to believe he has been compromised by dark powers, whether those of his own religion, or something else." He saw Lennox and Graham exchange a skeptical glance. "Please, bear with me for a moment. I understand your skepticism, though, Will, I do think you, at least, have known Diarwen and Betony well enough to continue to receive the datastream, at the least."
Lennox gave Diarwen a sheepish look. "Hey, until I saw what you did in Chicago, all I saw was herbs and crystals and floofy girl stuff. I saw you light the stove burners without matches, small things like that. Or, I saw you in desert camo with all kinds of comic-book arrowheads for your bow. You were overseas a lot, and we never served in the same places. How was I supposed to know how badass you really are?"
Diarwen popped her de facto brother on the back of the head, to the amusement of all present. Optimus was unsure whether she had done it deliberately to bring some much-needed lightness into the room, but it had that effect.
Optimus continued, "I became an acolyte of Primus when I was first upgraded to my youngling frame many vorn ago. For those of you who may not know this, all Primes are priests; achieving the priesthood is part of our training. As one of the ordeals on the path to becoming a priest, every acolyte descended into the very center of Cybertron, to the oldest structures built on the rock core of our planet. This descent through the temple undercroft took us back through the history of our faith, for, as our civilization progressed, new temple structures were built atop the old. The very core of that temple was a tomb, where the actual frame which Primus inhabited when He sealed Unicron rested. I have touched that frame and sensed the field patterns still detectable within it."
There was a stir in the room among the bots.
"Every candidate for the priesthood must visit His tomb to ensure that any priest and every Prime knows, need not take on faith, that Primus did and does exist. Because I undertook that journey, I have direct experience of what the sacred is.
"I have also encountered the profane. The best examples of that, which most of you have also seen, were the Fallen, and the creature Sufri. Those of us who are Cybertronian may have encountered empties who consumed dark energon; those field patterns are not only distinct but once seen, never forgotten.
"Yesterday, I saw those patterns once more, this time in Horton Dowling's aura."
Silence followed. Then Sideswipe's and Boggs' fields showed a tiny uncertainty, and the Prime realized he needed to clarify something: "'Field pattern' and 'aura' are, to the best of my knowledge, synonyms for the same thing," he said, and their puzzlement vanished.
"Last night, at my request, Diarwen went to the Eastlanders' camp site to confirm what I saw. As she is much more experienced than I with this aspect of field interpretation, I will yield the floor to her now, in order that she might explain this to us all."
Diarwen said, "I concur with Optimus' conclusions. The man is a dangerous psychopath, and the darkness in his aura was visible to me all the way across the camp. I have been doing some thinking since I saw him, and I believe that Dowling has deteriorated since last Litha—late June," she added, as confusion spread across some human faces. "I saw him at their protest from approximately the same distance, and did not see then what I perceived last night."
"So whatever this is," Boggs said, "it's of recent onset."
"Yes. His followers are...affected. Their auras are dimmed, and muddied, but still normal. That of Dowling is not. I join Optimus in his concern for the other Eastlanders. It is my honest belief that Dowling is quite capable of leading them all to take their own lives, and that the adults are caught up enough in the cult to do so. I cannot begin to express how concerned I am for the children of the cult. I believe society is as good as leaving them in a tinderbox and allowing them to play with matches."
Jazz said, troubled, "Can't lock 'em up for what they might do. Can we?"
Dr. Boggs shook her head. "None of this is admissible in court. And even if it were, it's only an educated guess about what they might do. No court will take action against them based on that." She paused, then continued, choosing her words very carefully. "When I was asked to attend this meeting, I went to YouTube to watch some of Dowling's speeches. Understand, he is not my patient and I cannot make a diagnosis. Also, I don't know enough about him to speculate about his future actions. I found that his public speeches have changed over time: they are more rambling and appear to be less solidly based in reality. The level of vitriol has increased. Based only on those observations, I can't rule out the possibility that he could be a danger to himself and others. But again, I cannot be more specific than 'could be.'"
Lennox asked, "So what are we supposed to do? Nothing?"
"Colonel," Boggs said, "you need to ask an FBI-trained profiler to have a good look at Dowling. They're taught to predict a subject's actions based on a profile which is built from evidence that's often a lot scantier than the information publicly available on Dowling. A profiler's educated guess would carry a lot more weight than mine, sir."
"I see," Lennox replied.
Diarwen asked, "Have we anyone with those skills within the Sectors?"
Prowl said, "Olivia Hunt of Sector 11 was formerly a CIA psychologist. Could she provide us with the necessary report?"
Optimus said, "I will speak to Director Mearing about it. Right now, that is all we can do; we will see."
With that, the meeting broke up, and a troubled group of people went on their way. Lennox and Ironhide left together, talking about base security in light of the new information. Boggs had patients. Jazz and Prowl went to their den to work their information-gathering sorcery.
Hot Rod, who had kept his vocalizer off and his audials on during the meeting, now asked if the bikers really could threaten them, and Drift explained rocket launchers to him.
Then Drift excused himself to Optimus and returned to Excellion to further educate himself about biker gangs, mad preachers, and the wild world of American politics. His 3iC remained behind, anxious to speak to Optimus, barely containing himself while the room cleared.
Graham departed to get busy with the administrative work that filled most of a 2iC's workday. Sides reported to Optimus, saying, "I'm scheduled to train with NEST troops the rest of the joor. Do you have any additional duties for me today, sir?"
"I do not believe so. If you have the fuel reserves, then the Wreckers would appreciate volunteers up at the work site," Optimus said.
"I can do that," Sides replied with his easy grin. He sent a glyph requesting permission to leave, and Optimus replied with another granting it.
Optimus turned to Hot Rod and smiled. "You have a question, Rodi?"
"Yes, sir. You said that you saw the frame of Primus. None of the priests I saw as a youngling ever talked about that."
Optimus ex-vented, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He said, "I find that extraordinary, a true failure on their parts, and I have no explanation for it. Even the smallest sparklings were to be told what they could comprehend at their age."
"Sir, I wasn't very big when there were still temples and priests, but Wrecker clans never had temples of our own. We moved around, wherever the work was. Whichever temple was closest, that priest would come every three or four orn, and hold a service, and say whatever blessings we needed said. The only other time they came out was to pray over the dead, whenever someone got caught in a collapse or something like that. We didn't usually see the same priest twice in a row. And then the war started, and, well, we didn't have priests after that."
Optimus said, "Perhaps that explains the priests' shortcomings, but Cybertron itself failed you, Hot Rod. Nobot is beneath Primus' notice. We are all His creations."
"Does this mean I need to study to be a priest?"
"Study, yes. I never took my final vows, and have never felt led by Primus to do so. Among the priesthood, I am a senior acolyte. Burnout is two levels above me. Learn all that you can, and leave the rest to Primus."
"What is His tomb like?"
"It is constructed of the natural stone of Cybertron, rough-dressed. The tomb was massive. Do you remember the modern Temple of Iacon, or the government buildings?" At Hot Rod's nod, he went on. "Those buildings were clearly influenced by it. I was guided on my pilgrimage by Lio Prime, who told me that we know almost nothing of those levels. They may have been built by our earliest forebears, or possibly by the Quintessons before they discovered how to call sparks from the All-Spark to give us life. This building had been used as a temple since the earliest joor of our civilization, however. The natural bedrock of the planet made up its floor." The Prime paused, and both Rodi and Diarwen felt a wash of deep stillness move through him. "But more important than anything I could tell you about what I saw there was the incredible sense of peace. I knew then what the word 'holy' meant."
Hot Rod's optics grew bright with wonder.
Optimus said, "The frame that Primus was using at that time was very large, at least three times my height, but that was not excessively tall for the bots of that age. Several of the original Primes were twice my height, and Prima may have been taller than Primus. We have engineered our frames to be smaller and more efficient since that time. Lio said that when Primus left that frame, Cybertron itself became his new frame, and I believe that could have been true."
"So—did Primus not come into existence until after the Quintessons forged our first ancestors? Was He once one of us?"
"No. Primus existed long before any civilization arose in the galaxy. But He was not confined to a frame. He chose to manifest in physical form in order to prevent Unicron from destroying the galaxy, and perhaps eventually, all life in the universe. All that we know is that He succeeded in sealing His brother—we do not know what that means. But He was badly injured, and came to Cybertron to lay aside that frame. Lio said it was because the All-Spark was there. Within the vorn, Prima was sparked, and soon after that, the rest of the original Primes."
"Then how...how could there have been dark energon on Cybertron?"
"That is a perceptive question. I did not think to ask it until much later, and I have only Sentinel's word for it—but, given his association with the Fallen, he may have been in a better position than any to know. He said that Primus' frame was contaminated with it after His battle with Unicron, and that He cleansed Himself in an energon pool before entering the temple. That contaminated pool was the source of all the dark energon on our homeworld."
Hot Rod said, "Were only acolytes permitted to go there?"
Prime shook his helm. "No, certainly not. The journey was long, arduous and dangerous, as you can imagine—I do not need to tell a Wrecker what lurked below our cities and the commonly-traversed layers just under them. It was one thing for a well-armed company of priests and acolytes to travel in the company of a Prime and his Protector, but quite another for ordinary pilgrims. They were encouraged to wait until they could travel under the protection of such an organized party from the temple. But no one was ever barred from making the attempt. Should misfortune strike, there are worse ways to deactivate than in a search for Primus. A very old and devout mech who had lived in the Temple for as long as I can recall chose to travel with us. After our visit to the Tomb, we made camp nearby to recharge before beginning the long climb to the surface. When we awakened, the old mech had deactivated during the night. He was smiling. I believe he went from Lio's arms to those of Primus. We found catacombs near the temple where generations of mecha had been interred, and we entombed him there, on holy ground."
"And now...it's lost to us...because Megatron and Sentinel..."
Diarwen said, "It was my hand―"
Her guilt and pain caused both of them to turn to her. While Optimus reached out to enfold her in his fields, Hot Rod said, "No, my Lady. Sentinel and Megatron committed sacrilege. They would have destroyed both worlds. You never saw Cybertron. When we left, it was already a dying planet. I don't see how Primus could still have been there—or anywhere near it, for that matter. When you're in a deactivating frame, and you have a chance to leave it, you reformat. I think if Primus wasn't here any more—if He left the Universe entirely—we'd know, somehow. But, whatever happened, I don't think He was on Cybertron anymore when it was—when whatever happened at the Battle of Chicago happened."
Optimus said, "You have a Prime's instincts, Rodi. You are right. Primus still is among us. I have drawn Him down in ritual since Cybertron was pulled into the vortex. But where He resides now? I do not know that. No one does. Perhaps He is here on Earth."
Hot Rod looked at him, doubt writ large in the blue optics. "An organic planet? How could that be?"
"Organics do not have sparks, yet they have spirits as immortal as ours. Who can say what is possible for a god? Diarwen, you did what was needful. Hot Rod is right. Primus would not have had you sacrifice billions of innocent lives for a barren wasteland, nor, indeed, for a frame that He had long ago discarded. Sentinel and Megatron alone bear the blame for the loss of our history, our past. We owe you, and Earth's Goddess, our future."
Prime's glance had not wavered from Diarwen, and Hot Rod realized that he was intruding. "I—with your permission, Prime, Drift or Bulkhead will be looking for me to get to work. May I be excused?"
"Yes, you may. Good joor, Rodi."
"Good joor, sir."
That left Diarwen and Optimus. He said, "Beloved, you have done what you can for the Eastlanders. just as you did for your planet and our own. Now, have faith that our companions will do their best as well."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Optimus. If only we could get those children out of there."
He sent a glyph to close his office door behind Hot Rod, then offered her his hand, and lifted her to his spark. "We cannot simply take it upon ourselves to remove someone's offspring from their home. There are procedures for such things, and we must follow them."
She said, head against his chestplates, "I know. But they are little ones, acushla. They are innocent little ones."
"And there is a place in the Pit for anyone who harms them."
"There was a time I would have sent those people to find it." Diarwen straightened, and wiped her eyes.
"My fierce Sidhe. Your solutions are more direct, and at times, might be more sensible. But we are bound by the laws here."
"Aye. That works for the best…except when it does not. Brigit grant that this is not one such."
Deliberately, he lightened the conversation. "Do you have a busy day planned today?"
"We are still working on the translations. Milestrina has provided us with a treasure trove of children's literature, which is wonderful, but we are working madly to translate them at the same rate that the little ones are reading them. Raf Esquivel has been a great help, but his time is limited by his school work. I think it is good for D'andre to have Raf as a role model."
Optimus asked, "Is Raf also autistic?"
"Not autistic per se. He has been diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, which is related to autism: serious, but not as catastrophic. The child is absolutely brilliant. In his case, the condition is far less limiting. Many, many people such as Raf go on to live highly successful lives, but they still deal with social challenges as a result of Asperger's. Raf has an innate understanding of D'andre, perhaps moreso than any of us. He can reach D'andre, and when he does so, they speak the same language. And being able to help D'andre has helped Raf develop more confidence. Given his background—his parents pushed him off on the Figueroas when they got a divorce because neither wished to deal with him—the situation has worked out well for all concerned. I have been trying to keep him busy, for with both his uncle and Bumblebee on a mission, the lad is under a great deal of stress."
"He has grown close to Bumblebee?"
"Bumblebee has been helping us with the translations as well. He and Raf both enjoy computer games. I think with Raf, Bumblebee feels secure enough to act his age."
"Then I am greatly indebted to Raf."
She smiled at that, and he felt her gather herself together. "Shall I bring lunch here?"
"I will look forward to it."
When she had gone, Optimus sat at his desk for a moment, before putting a call through to Director Mearing.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Charlotte Mearing was just getting back from lunch, DC time, when her secretary informed her that she had a call from Optimus Prime. She turned on her vidphone screen and made sure that she didn't have mustard on her blouse before asking her to put the call through.
She had just finished a long lunchtime call with Simmons. They were beginning their search, and so far had run into nothing more dangerous than the tropical heat. She was happy to hear that, but at the same time, not particularly reassured by it. Things could change very quickly. Not for the first time, she dearly wished she could unchain herself from her desk and join them in the field.
Mearing could read Optimus fairly well in person, but not so much over the vid phone. Therefore they got the pleasantries out of the way, and Jazz flashed a green light in the lower left corner of their screens to indicate that their connection was secure, before she realized the Prime was concerned.
Mearing asked, "What is it, Optimus?"
"I met with the protest leaders yesterday to determine if there is anything that we can do to defuse that situation. I believe I did make some headway. Mr. Ross and his contingent have abandoned the protest. The situation with the Tea Party and the racially-motivated gangs is as we thought it to be; they are there for reasons of gain. Each defines that differently. But I believe that we have stumbled onto what may be a serious problem in the offing with the Eastland Church."
"Do you believe that they present a credible threat?"
"To us? No. But, to themselves and to any law enforcement officers who might become involved with them? Definitely. It is my personal belief that, if we do nothing, we will eventually see tragic headlines about that compound. Dr. Boggs told me that she could not rule out the possibility that Dowling is dangerous. She has made the suggestion that we ask Dr. Hunt to review publicly available recordings of Reverend Dowling's diatribes, comparing them over time. Given Dr. Hunt's training as a profiler, we both feel that her assessment of the situation will be more reliable than our own."
Mearing's chair squeaked as she leaned back. "Have Prowl brief her. I'll find out from my contacts at Homeland Security if there's already a dossier on them, and if anyone currently has them under surveillance. I trust your hunches, but if you have some hard evidence that we're looking at another Waco here, it would go a long way towards getting people off their asses before we have a disaster on our hands."
"Unfortunately, I have none."
"Of course not. That would make our jobs too easy."
"Indeed."
"I've been authorized to assign additional troops if you need them to secure the base."
"With the protestors' numbers reduced following the hawks' departure, I believe that the civilian law enforcement can deal with threat of a mob forming. If they were to attempt to storm the base with NEST securing it, the outcome would be in no doubt, but Primus forbid such a thing should happen. If they see large numbers of reinforcements arrive, that could be enough to touch off the very problems we hope to avoid."
Mearing nodded. "Let's hope that their organization fragmented when Ross jumped ship."
"I suspect that the Tea Party will stay until something else distracts the media, and that will happen sooner or later. As for the gangs, I cannot see them neglecting their illegal enterprises for long. That will at least reduce their numbers."
"Might be a good time for a few police raids in the gangs' home territories to draw their attention. And we've arranged things to occupy the media before. I'll work on it."
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Olivia Hunt entered the New York NEST HQ and stopped at the OD's desk for the final security check before continuing to the admin area. With none of the bots in residence, the building echoed hollowly with her footsteps as she trekked its length and climbed the metal stairs to the admin catwalk. This area had been designed to allow humans and Cybertronians to converse at eye level, and several human-sized communications stations were located up here. This was one of the few places that secure communications with the Autobots was possible.
A strawberry blond young man with blue eyes behind silver aviator frames, the name Warner on his ID tag, and a tech sergeant's insignia on the sleeve of his uniform assisted her with the comms station, then returned to his duties.
Hunt dialed the Mission City base and requested a secure line. There was a thirty second delay before Prowl appeared on the screen, and she knew that her call had been thoroughly screened for security issues before the connection was made.
"Good morning, Dr. Hunt."
"Good morning, Prowl. I'm at the NEST HQ, and they tell me that this line is secure. How can I assist you?"
"We have a name, and that person has a very large media-clip file. We need this ASAP, and I'm sure you'll see why when you open up that file. Once your report is submitted we'll need to have you attend the next day's staff meeting by telepresence, which will occur at one PM your time," Prowl said.
"Very well," Olivia Hunt said. She looked at the size of the file Prowl sent her, got out her phone, and had her secretary cancel all of her private sessions for the week. Then she called her daughters: they'd be on their own for at least the next couple of days.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
The Reverend Horton Hanford Dowling scowled at the four demons.
The four demons, all dressed in the uniform of the Clark County Sheriff's Office, did not scowl back, and in fact only two of them were facing him. These two maintained a neutral expression, watching the tiny little old man strut up to them.
One said, "May we help you, sir?"
"You can tell me why you are here."
"For your protection, sir."
The demon-deputy stood four-square in the dust beside the road that ran to the other demons' base, where the robots…lived? Surely not. "I need no protection but the Lord's," Dowling said, drawing himself proudly to his full height: he looked the deputy right in the collarbone.
The deputy actually smiled down at him. "Yes, sir. Consider me His deputy in this matter."
Dowling gave the man an extremely odd look, and turned his back on the three men, one woman (dressed like a man anathema…ignore the hardness in my flesh anathema it is the whore beside him it must be that whore ...I obey the Lord but the unruly flesh does not I must fast and purify myself as I am unworthy no the Lord has chosen me and only me to know the truth) and their two cars, parked behind one another along the highway that lead to the desert.
Dowling told himself he wasn't fooled: the demons were there to prevent the Eastland Church from doing the work of the Lord. He returned to his camp, brushing off the followers who approached him.
He had entirely ignored the fact that only two of the deputies faced his camp, while the other two faced the rest of the protesters.
"This sure is the middle of nowhere," said the woman.
"'S true of everywhere in Nevada but Reno and Vegas," snorted God's deputy.
They resumed their surveillance. Several very young teenage boys were helping the men break down the tents, while wives and children old enough to help got lunch spread out on several long tables. Some of the older children read to the younger ones; Bible tales, so far as God's deputy could make out.
The women wore long dresses with long sleeves, a few with sweaters over them. It wasn't warm in January in Nevada, not even in the pale noonday sun.
"You ever consider joinin' one'a these little parties?" he said to his partner.
She snorted. "No. Look around you. The boys get to play frontiersmen breaking camp. What do the women get to do? Make lunch. Women's work. After they've eaten, and you wait, the men'll eat first, I'll bet, the women get to heat the water to wash the dishes, and then they get to pack 'em all up to leave. No, this's a man's world, and the men're all nuts. I'll pass, thanks." She looked out over the camp, a circle of pickups defining the edge, and nothing really inside it but sand and tents. She said, "You?"
"Nah. They think God's an asshole, basically, and I don't, not since He got me out of Afghanistan with all the parts in working order."
"Somethin' to be said for that.-You know the other thing that's always struck me about these folks, there's nobody at all laughing or having a good time."
For answer, God's deputy pointed a thick finger at two young teenage boys, who smiled and joked with one another as they took down a tent. Then one of the men (had a beard a goat could camp out in, Coke-bottle glasses, and a very expensive watch, the deputy noted) snarled at them, and they dropped their heads to their work.
"Makes my point," the woman said. "They were laughin', and they might have been enjoyin' themselves, so old beardly-weirdly shut 'em down."
The two boys who had been laughing exchanged glances. One said, "Shad, you seen that Transformer who rescued you in Illinois?"
"Just through the gates," the other boy said. "Here he comes again."
Old Weirdly-Beardly approached. They fell silent, keeping at their work.
(End Part Twelve)