The Becoming of Things

12: Doublethink

Dahlia met Soundwave once. By each other's request; Dahlia to see a Decepticon, Soundwave to witness the miracle-bringer.

"Confirm: You are Dahlia Su Daji," Soundwave stated.

"And you are Soundwave," Dahlia held up the loosened string. "I am told that Lazerbeak was your... dependent."

"Reply: Yes."

"Then I am sorry to tell you that he died." Dahlia held up the string, now encased in a resin box. "I understand that you are the main mastermind of Hotchkiss Gould and the manipulation of Jerry Wang. I can say that I ended him in defence of my kind, and I will not apologise for it."

"...Question: why do you tell me this?"

"I believed you would prefer to keep this, rather than not know his fate."

The large, and dangerous, Decepticon looked from the spark-string to Dahlia. "I know now that you are responsible. Are you not afraid of revenge?"

"Revenge is a losing game," Dahlia related. "You are merely doing your duty for your planet. I would do the same were I in your position, with that power all of you have and not know. For that alone, I can bear no enmity against you. For Hotchkiss Gould, and others, I can bear no enmity, since this is the way of war. I have wrought vengeance for Jerry Wang, and that is enough."

"Reply: I attempted to kill you."

"And you failed," Dahlia shrugged weakly. "Does it matter now?"

"For the Decepticons? Yes."

"Things fall apart, and the centre cannot hold," Dahlia answered. "I think you might wish to reconsider your priorities."

Soundwave looked to the string, and to Dahlia. The communication specialist leant back in his binds. "Answer: Keep it. The Fallen will kill you soon enough."

"Jazz," Dahlia whispered as an exaltation of Autobots set out from the nearest air base towards Washington, D.C. "Recap."

"We know that Cybertronians like this planet like their own personal resort away from home, from those records we stole in New York," I duly recounted en route with everyone. "We got the records of old Seekers mired on the planet, to look for stars in planetary systems without sentient life. Bit of a double standard there, but oh well. And they were doing it while led by the seven leading Primes, including Prima and the one later called the Fallen. Six Primes stayed behind on Cybertron, slowly off-lined to build the Golden Age, and then... well, the war blew up on us. So now we're en route to..."

"The National Air and Space Museum," Dahlia replied. "I'm fairly sure that the new Night at the Museum is shot here."

This invited a collective wave of shudders and disgust from the others.

"Guys," Dahlia chided over the improvised radio. "Sturgeon's Law, remember? It applies to everything. Or do we need to sit through 'Midnight' again?"

'Hell no,' I sighed as one of the idiot-twins started talking. 'We're not sitting throu' that again, it gave me the creeps!'

"That would be the day. I don't understand how you guys managed to learn the distinction between good and evil without a strong storytelling culture," Dahlia stopped and coughed discreetly.

"Did we have to leave Ironhide behind to guard him?" Lennox complained over Mudflap's comm.

"Prowl and Ironhide are the best guards, and Prowl must be on hand to coordinate the assault should one happen," Optimus relayed. "I am keen to find this Seeker as well, despite risking the Allspark shard."

"Because your civilisation and ours have been tied for so long," Dahlia answered, "that this could not have been the only accident of fate. Before Jazz and I met, before Mission City, before you met Samuel Witwicky, before an old man found your enemy frozen in the Arctic Circle. Human civilisation itself has hosted your kind since the beginning. There are so many implications of identity, it remains to be seen if our planet could ever have escaped this war. I still love this world, no matter what, yet I wish... I wish your world was not lost to war."

We finally stopped in front of the museum, and then I heard Prime's engine roar as Lennox and Dahlia got out.

Dahlia got a coughing fit bending over. She stopped, holding her hand before discreetly putting it by her side, carefully edging behind Lennox as the pair walked into the building, Allspark shard readied.

It took a while. Lights flashed, metal rumbled within, and we circled the museum to see its airfield and the Seeker crash out of it. Even bent double, the guy had height on Prime. I charged forward, seeing only Lennox alone.

"He's got her!" Lennox yelled. "He's got Dahlia!"

My spark froze, and I sped faster towards the old mech, transforming on one servo to kick the Seeker's cane.

"Begone, or face the fury of Jetfire!" the old Seeker bellowed, rust flaking off of his aft. "Madam, if you would hold on!"

"Jazz, stand down!" Dahlia's voice made me pause, as I sighted my main gal hanging onto Jetfire's servo. "Jetfire, a boost. Please."

Jetfire held out one servo for Dahlia to drop onto. "They don't make frames like that anymore, do they?"

"This is an authentic human body," Dahlia replied, dusting herself. "I'm using it for certain reasons. Now, set me onto the ground. Gently."

"As you wish," He did so, watching as Optimus transformed. "He's not a very good descendant, is he?"

"He tries," Dahlia turned to me. "Jazz, Jetfire. Jetfire, Jazz. Jetfire, Optimus Prime. Optimus, the Seeker Jetfire. Guys, Jetfire. Jetfire, guys. And Lennox, you already know."

"An honour, sirs," Jetfire chuckled. "I'm in a bit of a hurry-"

"To explain your mission statement to us," Dahlia stipulated. "And that's why you were hurrying out. Aren't you?"

"Of course, Madam Prima," Jetfire agreed. "Despite being in a spinal-cord-based life form, do you know if the civil war is still going on? Who is winning?"

Dahlia made a face to me, which basically communicated that she was using an Indy Ploy. "To answer, the Autobots."

"Then I am glad, that I changed sides to the Autobots, Madam Prima. So much negativity. Who wants to live a life of hate?"

"You served... my fallen brother," Dahlia spoke in stilted tones, a simple lie.

"I did, Madam Prima. He trusted me as his lieutenant once, but he left me here to rust," Jetfire confessed. "The original Decepticon, and your betrayer. Always an apocalypse, chaos, crisis. Terrible to work for. I remember now, my mission for the dagger's tip, and the key!"

"So you do remember," Dahlia pronounced. "And this mission?"

"To search for new sources of energon, by destroying suns," Jetfire pronounced. "We were produced for that purpose, we Seekers. Seven Primes, including the Fallen and yourself arrived, each with a Seeker contingent. You built a machine to make energon by destroying the sun, but discovered the local sentient life before it could be activated. Somehow, though... when I found out, the other Seekers and I had been cast into orbit, leaving me with the sight of watching your off-lining. You have survived in these spinal-corded-beings for so long, Madam Prima, it is a testament to the strength of your spark."

Optimus knelt down low towards Dahlia. "He believes you to be my ancestor?"

"I don't think he aged that well," Dahlia answered quietly. "It gives him... normalcy, I think. Something about my spark-signature. It's more believable than the idea that a learned society such as yours did not extensively replicate written records about the history of your species."

"History had been an art long lost when the Senate took power," Optimus murmured, but he looked slightly awkward at the jab. Dahlia hadn't taken the lack of even an oral history well. "Its sole remaining practitioner, Alpha Trion, was my mentor. I was more interested in the physical sciences than the... musical sciences."

"You should have listened to him," Dahlia coldly answered, before turning back to Jetfire. "So, we must locate or possess the machine before the Fallen does, then?"

"Of course. It is located- Which planet am I on?" Jetfire abruptly swayed. "The Matrix of Leadership is the key the Fallen would need, the key the six ancient Primes sealed with their bodies."

"Do you still have contact with your former master?" Dahlia pointedly ignored the question.

"I... may have," Jetfire hedged.

"I must speak to him. It is essential to our plans."

Optimus and I exchanged comms with the rest so fast that it would be impossible to write on them, but the fact of the matter was that Jetfire sounded a lot more like a dial-tone as he contacted the Fallen in the end.

Then it picked up.

"You have some gall to contact me now, Jetfire," The threat was cold and deep and slightly worse than Megatron's booming.

Dahlia inhaled through her mouth, still wiping her nose discreetly, or as discreetly as her face allowed. "Hello."

"...Who is this?"

"My name is Dahlia. Jetfire tells me that I am Prima, dwelling in this earthly shell of a human being," Dahlia answered. "I bear no memory of the encounter, save that you are the only soul I know can help me."

There was a long stretch of awkward silence. The kind of horrified silence everyone had when one of us was calling the legendary monster short of an eldritch abomination.

"I am trapped," Dahlia answered. "So everyone says. I live upon this blue planet, this planet of unchecked life and death. I am here. I am waiting."

"You will continue to defend the blue planet, Prima?"

"I must. It is my home now. Your Decepticons have fallen. Stand down."

The Fallen laughed, cutting a burst of static across the lines. "I will meet you soon, dearest. Jetfire will protect you with his spark. Better than the other faithless curs."

The call ended, and Jetfire sank down to his strut joints, shaking.

"That... did not sound like what the Fallen should be," I objected at last.

"The Fallen is your fairy tale," Dahlia rebutted, hiding her hand. "He can be as affable or menacing as he likes, but he is still dangerous. It reminds me of a human story, sometimes."

"In a way that means that good wins?" Sideswipe asked. No one answered.

Dahlia lifted her head to find the old Seeker discreetly scratching his aft. "Jetfire."

"Itchy, wretched rust-" Jetfire about-switched so fast I would have thought it an illusion. "Madam?"

"Teleport us to the tomb," Dahlia replied. "Please."

"I have my own issues, I don't have time for this!" Jetfire complained. "Earth, terrible name for a planet, might as well call it 'Dirt'. Planet 'Dirt'."

Dahlia coughed, and this time I could see the blood spattered on her hand as her nose dribbled some more.

"Jetfire," Dahlia rasped as the ancient Seeker looked down and gasped. "I understand that you have sacrificed much. I need you to sacrifice a bit more for me, very well. Then... take us to the machine."

"Madam Prima!" Jetfire insisted, horrified at the blood.

"This body was not meant to contain the soul of a Cybertronian," Dahlia softly whispered, with the sorrowful sadness that came with lethargy. "The human philosopher Confucius once said that wisdom can be contained by three forms: the noblest method of self-reflection, the simplest method of imitation, and the bitterest method of experience. It is from the last that I have learned how to be human."

"On the Allspark it be, I will take you to your lost brothers," Jetfire quietly promised. "Come, Primes, there is no time to waste!"

"What, wait-!" I threw myself, tagging along as ozone burned and electricity crackled-

The space bridge activated.

Earth has seven continents, hosting just under two hundred states, with an estimated five thousand ethnicities, with even more thousands of different languages and their varied dialects. There is no reason to suspect that alien planets should be any less varied. Yet Cybertron was plainly a hunk of rock, mainly urban with a smattering of mountains reserved for military guard training in harsh terrains.

It is very odd, how Cybertron's mastery of distance also led to its limit in terrain variety. For example, we landed in mountainous desert terrain, directly before a mausoleum built into the stone and framed by funky statues and jackal heads. It felt a lot like back home.

Optimus landed with a crouch to cradle Dahlia in his servos.

"I once was lost, but now am found..." Dahlia sang softly under her breath as she clambered down from the Boss's lowered servo. "Thanks, Optimus. Jetfire? Are we in the right place?"

"Certainly. Why?"

'Cause it's from a Grandpa Blackbird who couldn't even figure out what planet he's on? But I heroically restrained myself.

"If the Matrix is here, then it will take forever to search for it," Optimus pondered.

"We got a limit to digging through solid rock," I whistled, walking in after Dahlia and Jetfire. "In defence of Grandpa Blackbird, though, this is a big doorway."

Jetfire discreetly kneed me with his cane. Fraggard.

Dahlia pulled her pack and violin close, extracting a small water bottle. She took a long swallow, before dribbling some onto the dry stone. "Should water be flowing at a tangent of the apparent incline?"

"What?"

Dahlia rapped on each of the walls. "Say I'm an Egyptian contractor. I'm cutting into the rock face, bringing stone to shape for the tomb of Pharaoh. You guys are about three tonnes each at minimum to be an effective fighter, and six of you guys together are going to be noticeable on rock, even assuming that this area is geologically constant. So, if I'm right, I'm going to be an angry contractor because... Jazz, shoot that wall, please."

"Huh? Oh, right?" I fired at the far wall Dahlia was pointed at, which blew up predictably, cracking to reveal glyphs of Cybertronian written on...

A cold breeze blew through, sending Dahlia into a fit of coughing that caused blood to spatter on wet stone. And tempered support metal.

"Oops." Dahlia shakily wiped at her face, smearing blood dripping from her nose all over the skin.

"Dahlia?" I asked as she dropped her pack.

She drew out her cellphone, switching it to a miniature light onto the spattered... metal. "What... happened?"

"They stood here, wasting away of energon starvation to perish, oxidise and rust, like my wretched self," Jetfire growled. "To protect the key and this planet."

Dahlia frowned, peering towards some more of the ancient Primes' structural frames. "Does energon stain?"

"Yes. Blue," Optimus supplied.

"Any chance of a..." Dahlia paused, considering. "When you guys get stabbed, do you bleed through multiple points, or is there just one point, at the puncture?"

"One point. But protocols usually kick in to stop the flow of energon temporarily," I tucked my head to glance as Dahlia ventured within the tomb carefully. "Why?"

"I don't really want to know how much energon one must lose to paint all these bones copper blue," Dahlia shuddered, coughing from within the large hole. "Who would have thought that the old man would have so much blood in him?"

"T- That's creepy, don't channel the Lady Macbeth now, please." I shuddered once my optics picked up the signs and minor radiation of spent energon spatter. "And... odd. Why would the Primes deliberately bleed energon if they were hiding the Matrix with their own bodies?"

We sharpened our optics, peering closer before Optimus set to work carefully removing the large stones placed by humans of millennia past, uncovering more structural frames. "This Prime... the struts in the digits are broken. And these scratches along the chassis could be pre-mortem wounds, though Ratchet would have to conduct an analysis. The black patina is from magnetite."

"I need some more light," Dahlia called. I obliged with a floodlight into it. "Thank you. This Prime... this can't be right. If they willingly gave up their lives, why are they terrified?"

"Got proof?" I asked. In answer, I received a ping of night-vision cameras. From Optimus's pause, he received the same ping. And I opened the files to peer at them. Well... they weren't going to win photography competitions, but Dahlia was right. The terror was clear, even in the stark lighting.

"Unless they didn't," Optimus related quietly. "There are more mysteries to the case of the Fallen now."

"But why such terror?" I asked.

"Immurement," Dahlia answered loudly. "There's probably still half a foot of stone between the mausoleum and the tomb, so the original part of this place was probably much thicker. From the tight fit, I'm thinking..."

"Well, then!" Jetfire snapped, the space bridge crackling around him. "Do you have the Matrix, Madam?"

"Jetfire... how does the space-bridge work?" Dahlia's voice drifted from inside the tomb.

"That's an excellent question," Jetfire beamed, cheerful for a former Decepticon. "It sends matter from one point to another, displacing the matter in the old space, if any."

"Can someone use it on people beside themselves?"

"Why, certainly!"

"Why?" I demanded as Dahlia stumbled back from the inside of the cave, carrying something wrapped in her jacket.

"I'm thinking..." Dahlia swallowed, wiping the blood from her face as she spoke, "...someone teleported the Primes into the mountain, leaving them to die of starvation via extreme immurement, and locked the Matrix with the last Prime surrounded by the bodies."

Optimus made a noise of horror through his dentæ. "That is... that is..."

"Can the Fallen use space bridges?" Dahlia asked Jetfire.

"...Yes."

"Jetfire," Dahlia ordered. "Go back to the museum- mausoleum. The mausoleum I dug you out of. Get the yellow-green Cybertronian, Ratchet, he's a medic. Optimus, send notice, please."

"They have received notice," Optimus neutrally answered as Jetfire winked out of existence with a crack.

"Great." Dahlia frowned. "There's several discrepancies with the stories here. For one, too much bleeding... er, energon bleeding. For another, it's too tight a fit in the natural rock, even assuming that all the Primes packed themselves into a really large cave. Lastly, the terror."

Another ping, and I reviewed the faces of the Primes. Five of them were screaming in terror, and the sixth, the one holding the Matrix, had his optics closed an at peace. The serenity was both inconsistent and suspicious.

"One thing I don't understand," Dahlia commented, holding up the Matrix of Leadership. The Matrix took the form of a boxy, glowing thing that floated in her palm. "The only one with a peaceful expression was holding this. If the Fallen was after the Matrix... then why leave it here?"

Interesting question: how do civilisations form? Specifically, how do Cybertronian civilisations form?

'Midnight' is referring to the Doctor Who episode. It's got the Doctor, stuck in a bus with a race of stupid apes who abandon morality and reason in favour of their own selfish desires for survival... that's us.

Also note that in this case, 'musical sciences' is their equivalent of the humanities and social sciences. It replaces the 'human' root word with 'muse' as the root word, and since the Muses are regarded as the source of knowledge in classical mythology (the source word of 'muse' being the Greek word for 'to think'), it also encompasses all forms of civilisation-based knowledge like sociology, history, music, theology etc.

Also, tele-fragging has been weaponised before, in Transformers: Prime. I'm surprised that the Fallen didn't weaponise it in ROTF.

Critiquez, s'il vous plaît!