Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.
Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB or whatever follows fic.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this but wish I could.
XxxX
Full Velocity: Finding Salvation
Chapter 27: Voices
XxxX
The darkness appeared absolute and impenetrable, then her eyes adjusted. Sira raised her hands and took a hesitant look, still metal. She inhaled deeply and corrected her thoughts; her eyes did not adjust to the darkness. She no longer possessed eyes; she had optics.
Rolling onto her side, Sira bent her arm as a pillow and laid quietly. She noticed how her body felt; the firmness of metal against the recharge bunk; the gaps and seams where air flowed; the stiffness of new joints; and the raw power pulsing through her circuits. She had yet to accept this transformation, but the turmoil of the previous day had lessened. The distress of shock and fear finally numbed, clearing and calming her thoughts. She bordered on resignation. Not acceptance, resignation. The cold, hollow comfort of futility, of knowing that no matter what you do, "X" was going to happen, so just accept it. She hated just accepting fate..No wonder she never prescribed to most religious beliefs.
Drawing lazy figure-eights with her free hand, she let the minutes gather, and within the shadows of the empty room, her mind wondered freely and of its own accord. Sira's thoughts drifted to an evening spent stretched languidly on Prime's forearm. Her organic body absorbed the radiant heat from his armor while the cool night wind played around them. In her mind's eye, she saw the flickering points of light that created the constellations of Orion and the great bull he eternally struggled against. In the past months, she found herself star gazing more and more, and the Hunter had become her favorite of all the heavenly formations. She could hear the deep melodious voice drift above her, "We did not understand the violence of brother against brother until the war. We knew violence came from those beyond our world, but not from our own. We were innocent to the misery and despair of death. Before the insurrection, I only knew of twenty Cybertronians who had died, their sparks permanently extinguished. Now there are too many to count."
Once, the Cybertronians were innocent. Tremendously advanced, incredibly intelligent aliens with the technology to travel the stars but naive to the turmoil, agony, and horror of civil war. What would that be like to know only peace and harmony? To not fear your own kind and only see "others" as a threat? Did humans ever have a time of innocence? They seemed to be born into violence and death; war, murder, torture, genocide, and rape, just to name a hand full of atrocities found here. Earth was a violent place where only the strong survive. Evolution at its finest.
But the mechanoids were truly innocent for a time.
Then, a viper came and poisoned the land. Violence, war, betrayal, and death grew from the bitter ground and wiped away the innocence of Cybertron. The Autobots longed to return to that innocence. You could see it drift behind their optics whenever they talked of home. Too late, they would never return; Optimus knew this, and he grieved.
The more she thought about it, the more incensed she became. Anger welled within her. This wasn't the dull sting of daily annoyances; this anger burned hotter. This was hate, and she had a name for it - Decepticon. She hated them for tearing apart a world she did not know. She hated them for the suffering they caused and for destroying the innocence of their own race. She hated them for their transgressions against her world.
Rolling on her back, Sira laid her hands on her abdomen and laced her fingers together. The ceiling hung above as a monotonous gray slab devoid of any details. She stared at the uninterrupted surface, not really seeing it.
A Decepticon had done this to her; he hunted her and killed her. He had done this, not for the need of food, or territory or self-defense; those reasons she understood. No, the Decepticon's only reason - opportunity. He attacked her because he could and then used her to hurt someone else.
Blinking her optic shutters, she pushed down the rage bubbling within her. The Autobots saved her life by giving her a new form. They pulled her soul from her body and stuck it in a metal frame. She did not want the metal body, but she did not want to die either.
Then a thought struck her. Did this mean the soul, consciousness, life force, or whatever - is measurable - quantifiable? Did that prove the existence of an afterlife, or did the soul dissipate without the body? Did the Cybertronians realize they cheated death, or did they view transference as a convenience? They replaced body parts with a nonchalant attitude; why not the entire body?
The more she thought about the concept, the more fascinating and disturbing she found it. Was this why the Cybertronians lived so long? Well, that and the fact that they were made from living metal. Did they choose their new body ahead of time, or was it first-come-first-served? Did the Cybertronians have something like a living will?
"I, Bigfuckinus Roboticus, of sound CPU and chassis, upon the termination of my current body request to be made into a ground vehicle and not a flier. The fliers are assholes." Even to her ears - audios her voice sounded harsh. She needed to stop talking to herself. If Ratchet heard her, he would question her sanity and want to poke around in her head. Literally.
She laughed mirthlessly. The noise echoed coldly, lacking warmth and amusement. Lying on a metal bed in an empty room, rattling around inside her own mind, rapidly lost its appeal. Boredom reared its bland head, and she grew restless. Time to get up and face the adventures of a new day.
A deep sigh broke the silence as her gears whirred with movement. She sat up; her legs stretched before her. Wiggling the digits on the end of her peds, she smirked. The little toes curled and uncurled, spread wide and closed tight together, they offered flexibility not fount on most of the mechs' peds.
Adjusting her position, Sira scooted to swing her legs over the edge of the recharge bunk. The room was intensely bare. Not just empty of any personal items, but totally devoid of anything. Not even an inconspicuous dust-bunny cowered in the corner. She leaned over the edge and checked, nothing, even Prime's office harbored a couple of dust-bunnies.
Slipping cautiously from the bunk, Sira tested her weight on new legs. They held. A couple of tentative steps, and she found success in remaining upright. Slow, hesitant steps took her to the door. Silently, she asked any deity listening, "Please, let the door open." She loathed the sterile room around her.
The door's control panel looked nothing like the human version she was accustomed to. Looking down, she did not find the smaller controls. "And why should they be there? That would make things easy," she huffed to the barren wall. Fortunately, everything was labeled. Unfortunately, it was all labeled in Cybertronian. Racking her brain - CPU - processor - do-hickey that made little thoughts in her head, she tried to recall which button she saw Optimus use when they entered his office.
Pushing her finger on the top right button, the entire panel lit up a pleasant blue. Sira squealed in delight as the door slid open.
Her excitement dissipated as the interior of the med bay came into view. Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. "Well, shit."
Beyond the door, Sideswipe sat on an examining table, enduring Ratchet's appraisal. "This is the third time. Maybe you should stop the judo let this heal before the damage is permanent."
Sira leaned her shoulder against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. "You practice judo? I figured you just talked the enemy into submission."
Both mechs snapped to attention. Sideswipe twisted to face her; his optics wide in surprise. Ratchet tossed a tool aside and grabbed the red Autobot by the chest plates.
"Out. You're fine. Get out!" the medic snapped as he pulled the other mech off the table and dragged him towards the medbay door.
Sideswipe struggled against the CMO. He bounced, trying to peer over the medic's shoulder. "But - but, "he stammered. "But, Raaaaaatchet? "
"No. Get out." With a final shove, the medic evicted the warrior and shut the door.
Sira watched the incident from her place on the wall. "What's that about?" she asked.
"You. Why couldn't you have waited a couple of minutes before coming out here?" Ratchet huffed as he walked towards Sira.
Straitening and widening her stance, Sira warmed as a flicker of anger grew within her. "Excuse me?" she replied with indignation. Her brow arches rose, and she lifted her chin.
If Rachet noticed her annoyance, he ignored it. Picking up his tools, he continued his mild rant. "Now that Sideswipe knows you are functioning, the whole base will know, and the greater chance of information being leaked. You could have waited until I completed my examination before coming in here." He shot her a pointed look.
"Wow. I just woke up, and I was supposed to know not to come in here. Got it. Hey, do you have a fucking manual or some SOPs I could read before you start ripping my ass?" She drummed her fingers on her upper arm while returning his glare.
Ratchet wiped down the examination table. "Sit here." He turned towards the array of medical instruments and collected several.
Sira stalked across the medbay, her arms still tightly wrapped around her. A weighted silence wedged between them. She silently dared the medic to say something but kept her own tongue in check. Standing beside the table, it took her a couple of tries to clamber onto the slick surface. Still trying to figure out her new body, she considered it a success she did not slip.
The CMO turned back to her. "Let's take a look and see how you are doing." He offered her a tight smile. "Just answer a couple of questions to start with," he instructed. "Any pain or discomfort?"
Taking the medic's cue, Sira decided to swallow her anger and be nice. "No."
"Can you see clearly?" He shone a light in her optics, temporarily blinding her.
"Yes." She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the reverse shadows the light left on her vision.
The light disappeared. "Can you hear me without feedback, humming, squealing, clicking?"
"Nothing but your voice." She smiled sweetly.
The CMO poked into every nook and crevice of her new body, and the medic's gentle hands unnerved her. She had never had a medical exam or check-up before. The couple of times she had required emergency treatment, the physician had been well paid and well threatened to forget about her.
As she submitted to Ratchet's professional scrutiny, she allowed her mind to travel. It did not go far. Only half-listening to his instructions, she wondered what it would be like to belong to a group, a society. Once, she secretly dreamed of being a part of the population around her, of being able to move openly, having close friends, and being just one of the masses. She dreamed of not being unique, different - of being average. Would being an Autobot allow her this dream, or should she tuck it back into the mental box she originally stored it in?
"I am finished," Ratchet stated simply, rocketing her back to the present.
Sitting up, she stretched her arms and back. The sensations were pleasant but not as enjoyable as loosening tight muscles. "Do I need an oil change, or my washer fluid topped off?"
Ratchet shot her a stern glare. "I hope that was a poor attempt at a joke."
She shrugged and stared at her feet. "Can I go now?"
"You may leave. I have notified Optimus that your exam is complete. He is expecting you in his office."
XxxX.
Optimus could hear the soft pedfalls outside his open door. The steady rhythm was a vast improvement to the stumbling shuffle of yesterday. He had received the results of Ratchet's exam. Both he and the medic had some lingering concerns, but Sira's adjustment was going better than expected.
A soft knock and he looked up from his datapad. He smiled as he waved the copper femme into his office. Quickly signing off on Ratchet's report, Optimus closed the file. No need to have Sira see what the CMO said about her.
She sat across from him with her hands tucked in her lap, and her head dropped slightly. He realized this was her "I-am-harmless-do-not-hurt-me" look. It bothered him when she became like this in his presence.
He sat a ration of energon in front of her.
Sira leaned forward and sniffed at the swirling pink liquid. Her nasal bridge wrinkled with disgust. She leaned back on her stool to put as much distance between herself and the life-sustaining liquid.
Optimus didn't push; the need to refuel would eventually overcome her hesitation. "How are you?" he asked.
She raised her head and smiled a little too brightly. "I'm fine."
He allowed his optics to show the concern he felt. Sira quickly looked away.
"Sira, be honest. How are you really doing?"
She sighed and fidgeted on her stool. "I'm better. Not as disoriented as before. I'm still not sure if I want to be one of you, but my options are a little limited. Like this or dead." He knew she was trying to make light of her situation, but his spark still tightened within his chest.
"I told you before we are going to help you. I only ask that you give yourself time. The more you learn, the easier it will become."
"You hope," she mumbled, her optics downcast.
"I know," he stated with certainty. "You are intelligent, capable, and don't like being told you cannot do something. I do not foresee you giving up." He smiled softly as she turned her focus toward him. "Would you like to know why you are here?" he asked.
"I am a little curious," she replied, tipping her head to the side and sitting straighter.
Optimus slid his hand across the table to her. Pulling back, he revealed a human-sized book he had concealed from her. He watched the play of emotions across her face, the press of brow arches, and the downturn of her mouth components. He motioned for her to take the book.
She turned the novel and read the title. "'A Stranger in A Strange Land.'" A tiny smile quirked the corner of her mouth as mischief danced in her optics. "Do you realize the irony here? An alien living on Earth reading a science fiction novel about a human raised by aliens, who are living on Earth," she commented. "The fact that you have begun reading sci-fi is - odd."
"Science fiction is humanity's dreams and aspirations for the future. Not that long ago, walking on the moon belonged to the realm of science fiction, and the species has accomplished that. It inspires humans to reach for what is seemingly impossible. Science fiction and fantasy tell more about the human psyche than all the research journals available, and it is more enjoyable to read. Also, I am not going to read this; you are going to read it to me."
Her bark of laughter echoed in his office. "You want me to read to you? I sound like shit. Are you sure you want to hear my voice for several hundred pages?"
Optimus kept his expression open but neutral before continuing. "I am fairly certain your statement about sounding like shit is inaccurate. Yes, you are going to read to me. It will be excellent practice for you. The pages are small, and it will improve your fine motor skills and your ability to focus your optics. The more you use your vocal processor, the better you will control the pitch and resonance. Page one, please."
She sat staring at him in total astonishment. He returned her gaze with a look of infinite patience. Finally, she shook her head and reached for the book. Opening the front cover, she didn't even look at the book and said, "' A Stranger in A Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein. Did you know there is a rumor that Heinlein made a bar bet about writing a book on religion? He wrote this, and L. Ron Hubbard wrote "Dianetics.' Hubbard made more money and won the bet."
"Interesting. Stop stalling."
In a defeated huff, Sira went back to her assigned task. Manipulating the thinner interior paper proved a little more difficult for her. Optimus could feel the corners of his mouth threaten to curl into a smile as he watched her try to lick her finger to aid in turning the pages. It was an entirely human gesture. He doubted people were aware they even carried out the action while reading. A futile gesture for Sira, she lacked salivary glands. After a small amount of fumbling and exasperated eye-rolling, she made it through the cover pages to the actual text of the story.
Sira sighed. "Are you ready?" she asked him.
He nodded and smiled at her in encouragement.
"Okay. Page one. 'Once upon a time, there was a Martian named Valentine Michael Smith. The first human expedition to Mars was selected on the theory that the greatest danger to man was man himself.' Well, no shit. Sorry, I'll continue. 'At that time, eight Terran years after the founding of …."
Sira read to him in a choppy, metallic voice that shouldn't belong to her. She struggled through the first chapter and stopped when she reached the second. Optimus could read her discomfort and embarrassment. It also let him know that he had chosen the correct course of action. He asked her to continue reading the next chapter, and she threw the book at him.
With great care, he retrieved the book off the floor and tossed it back to her. They stared at each other for several long minutes. Silently, Optimus weighed his options. If she made to leave, would he stop her? Yes. If need be, he would chase her down and drag her back, kicking and screaming. This was about more than reading a book; this was about her future survival. The small steps came first, and in many ways, they were the most important ones.
Finally, she dropped her gaze and opened the book again. The tension melted from his shoulders as Sira started reading. Halfway through the second chapter, he began instructing her. She listened to him and tried to do as he asked. Often, she failed, but he continued to encourage her, and she continued to try. At this rate, he estimated it would take half the book for him to reach his goal.
Without prompting, she started the third chapter. The base alarm screamed and drowned out her words. They both looked up, startled.
Ironhide rushed into the office without a preamble stated. "Decepticon attack. Sideswipe is seriously injured along with some humans."
"What? How? Autobots roll out!" Prime called over the general comm line.
XxxX.
Author's Notes: The rumors surrounding the bet between Heinlein and Hubbard is steeped in rumor and conjecture. Is it true? Don't know. Heinlein's widow says yes, Church of Scientology say absolutely not. Either way, it is an interesting read.
To d8rkforcen1ght7: I did not mention her digigrade stance in the original. Just one of the tiny details I wanted to fix. Thank you.
To KEZZ 1: Thank you.
And thank you everyone reading this fit of self-endulgence.