Author's Note: Thanks to all those who read this and liked it. Here is the third chapter, and a warning that I might not get a chance to update again this week. It's a long weekend, and my grandfather doesn't have a computer.
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or Transformers. The only characters I do own are Ultra Rodimus and Falcon.
Metal and Neon
Chapter 3: Meeting
The Autobot shuttles descended through Earth's atmosphere far more discreetly than the Decepticons had, the pilots taking care not to let them be seen. They tracked the Decepticons' exhaust trail toward the United States, into a state Perceptor identified as Nevada. The trail led into the mountains near a rather distinctive city.
Ultra Rodimus crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't have to tell me which city this is. I can guess easily. Las Vegas."
"Those neon lights do tend to give it away," Silverbolt noted.
Spike Witwicky, standing beside the towering Autobot leader's leg, looked up at the young robot. "Ever been to Vegas?"
"No, never."
"We can't just barge in," Kup pointed out. "If what Perceptor's scans say is true, there are no Transformers in this universe. We need to lay low until we locate the Decepticons."
"That means someone has to go in and do some recon," Magnus finished.
"I've been to Vegas before," Spike announced. "I'll go."
"And I," Ultra Rodimus added.
"No gambling," Groove warned.
Ultra Rodimus turned an innocent look on the motorcycle Protectobot. "What makes you think I'd do such a thing?"
"'Cause you're the only one of us capable of becoming human at will."
The rest of the crew laughed. Ultra Rodimus looked mock-offended.
"Now we just need a ride," Spike mused, watching the young Prime morph from huge sentient robot to tall human.
"I'll take you," Jazz volunteered.
"Thanks, big guy."
Jazz transformed into his blue-striped white Porsche 926 form and opened his door to let his passengers in. Ultra Rodimus took the driver's seat, resting one hand on the wheel for appearances. Spike climbed into the passenger seat and looked over at the young Prime.
In his human form, Ultra Rodimus stood about six feet six inches in height, with golden skin and long silver hair. Emerald-green eyes stared out of a face women sighed over no matter which form he was in. He wore his long hair back in a ponytail. Sensing Spike's gaze, Ultra Rodimus glanced at him. The look of his eyes told the human that Ultra Rodimus hadn't gone fully human.
During the months since gaining the ability to turn human at will, Ultra Rodimus had learned to control the change. He could become fully human, remain partly organic and partly robotic, and even shrink his natural form down to human size. This time he'd chosen the 'cyborg' approach. He had the eyes of a robot. He could also control what his exo-armor turned into. Normally he went with a long-sleeved shirt and pants, but this time he'd chosen a sleeveless wide-necked shirt, shorts, and sandals. A band of cloth the same color as his skin wrapped his right forearm, hiding the skrill there from sight.
"Let's go," Spike said simply.
As they drove through the city, Jazz turned on his radio and tuned into the local radio stations, listening for any news. Ultra Rodimus's sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, ignoring the stares he got when people realized that his ears were pointed instead of rounded. Spike muffled a snicker. Then he noticed something.
"Jazz, pull over for a second."
The black and white Autobot complied. Spike got out and trotted into a convenience store to buy a newspaper. When he got back into the car, he showed Ultra Rodimus the front page.
"'Traffic accident kills seven, no suspects found,'" the Autobot leader read out. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the picture of the crushed vehicles. The pattern looked very familiar.
"And look at this." Spike turned the page. "'Jogger torn apart by unknown animal.'"
"I don't like the sound of this," Jazz commented.
"Nor do I." Ultra Rodimus read the rest of the article, then thought for a moment. "It says that metal was found in the wounds. I have a sneaking suspicion I may know what did that. I think it's time to get in touch with the local cops."
"I think we should talk to the crime scene investigators," Spike corrected. "We might get more out of them."
"Then let's go find them."
Evening barely lessened the heat of Las Vegas in the summer. Sweat rolled down Gil Grissom's face as he climbed out of his Tahoe and walked toward CSI HQ to begin his shift. Nick sped up a bit to catch up with him, falling into step beside him.
"Has Greg managed to identify those metal fragments?" Grissom asked.
Nick shook his head. "No. He can't find a record of anything like them anywhere. It's as if the metal doesn't even exist to us yet."
Grissom looked at him oddly. "Then where could it have come from?"
"I might be able to answer that," a new voice said from behind.
Both CSIs turned toward the voice.
Not far away a white Porsche 926 with a blue stripe on its hood and roof and a red symbol shaped like a face on the hood was parked in an empty parking space. Next to it were two men, both unfamiliar to the two CSIs.
The shorter of the two had brown hair and brown eyes and wore well-worn work clothes. He had the look of a construction worker around him. But it was the other man who caught their eyes.
The taller of the two men had gold-colored skin and silver hair tied back into a ponytail. Intense green eyes watched them closely. His arms were crossed over his chest. He wore a sleeveless shirt and shorts colored grey and patterned with tiger stripes alternating red and blue in color.
"Pardon?" Grissom asked.
The green-eyed man sighed. "I said I might be able to tell you where that metal comes from, if you'll let me see it." He had a bass voice that went well with his size, and seemed to radiate the aura of authority.
Grissom weighed his options carefully, his streak of curiosity screaming for him to agree. He finally gave in and led the two inside.
"Who're they?" Sara asked, giving the two a once-over.
"Possible sources," Nick replied, opening the door to the Trace lab. He brought out one of the bits of metal and pulled out the test results. The silver-haired man read them carefully, then looked closely at the fragment.
"Well?" the brown-haired man asked.
The taller man straightened, spitting a word Grissom couldn't understand, but the tone alone told him that it had not been nice. Then he turned his intense stare back to Grissom.
"I need to see the wounds," he stated bluntly.
"For what purpose?"
"To see if my hunch is correct."
"We don't even know you two. Why should we trust you?"
The look in those green eyes was chilling. "Because if I'm right, Las Vegas and everyone in the city is in more danger than you could possibly know."
The brown-haired man took a step forward. "I think you should listen to him."
"Who are you two?"
"My name is Spike. Spike Witwicky. And his name is Ultra Rodimus."
The three CSIs and one lab tech shot the tall man a strange look. He responded with a glare.
Finally, Nick sighed and looked away. "Alright, fine. Come on. This is almost as strange as cars that drive themselves."
"What?" Ultra Rodimus looked at him suddenly.
"Yesterday I saw a car without a driver. Driving itself through the city. Grissom saw one too."
"What kind of cars?"
"I saw a yellow dragster, and Gris saw a maroon Porsche 929."
Ultra Rodimus's eyes widened. Spike grabbed the paper and scanned the article about the car crash.
"Roddy, this says that witnesses saw a black semi trailer with a grey tailer plow through those cars." Spike looked the other man in the eye, hands gripping the paper so hard his knuckles were white. "A black semi with purple-tinted windows and a purple symbol on the sides."
"Oh, no," Ultra Rodimus breathed.
"What?" Grissom asked.
"Show me those wounds. Now."
A few minutes later, the entire team of CSIs watched the tall man inspect the wounds.
"Four teeth," he murmured absently. "Extremely powerful jaw. And claw marks." He straightened, hissing another curse, then pulled something that looked like a communicator of some kind from a pocket. "Guys, we've got big trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" was the response.
"Spike and I are in at CSI HQ, looking at some of the evidence they collected from the mauling, and at the crash reports. The metal in the wounds is plate steel battle armor, Cybertronian manufacture, and the wounds on the body are consistent with a certain pest. Two of the CSIs saw driverless vehicles, and the witnesses to the crash saw a black semi with a gret trailer and purple windows."
There was the hiss of indrawn breath. "Which vehicles?"
"A yellow dragster and a maroon Porsche 929. Drag Strip and Dead End. And the truck was Motormaster. The Stunticons are loose in the city. And where the Stunticons are, the rest of them can't be very far away."
The person on the other end of the line swore. "And the 'certain pest' you mentioned?"
"Four fangs, metal skin, claws, and a bad attitude. It's Ravage."
"What do we do?"
"Have Steeljaw start tracking Ravage. Start at the scene and work outward from there. Spike and I will see if we can track one of the Stunticons."
"Will do. Out."
Ultra Rodimus put the communicator away and looked at Spike. "We've got work to do."
Detective Brass blocked their path. "Not until you give us some answers."
The duo were herded to an interrogation room. All five CSIs filtered in, lining up along the wall. Grissom and Brass sat at the table facing the two.
"You seem to know an awful lot about what's happening here," Brass commented, eyeballing the two. "So start talking. Tell us why you're here and how you know so much."
"You wouldn't understand," Ultra Rodimus growled.
"Try me."
Spike placed a hand on Ultra Rodimus's arm and shot him a look warning him to keep his temper, then turned back to Brass and Grissom. "It's complicated."
"We'll decide that. Spill it."
"Okay." Spike sighed. "Here's a question for you: do you believe in extraterrestrials?"
To be continued...
And there's another chapter down. As I mentioned before, this might be the last update this week. And here are the reviewer responses:
Fenestrae: I think everyone forgot to mention it. And yes, it was funny. A good blow to Ultra Roddy's dignity. And the retype of Transformation is on the Lexicon site. The address is www.lexicon.tf and when you go there, up in the right corner is a sort of search engine. Type the name of the fic into the search box and hit enter. When you first get to Lexicon, you'll probably have to hit Refresh. That'll make it work right. And thanks for the compliments!
Gromia: Computer troubles again? I hope it gets fixed soon. And I've been wondering why nobody noticed it myself.
Simply Crisis: You like it? Great! You know what I find odd? There are so many authors who like Transformers and other shows but never try to cross them. I think I'm the only person who dares to try and combine Transformers with other shows like CSI.
Until the next chapter!