Chapter Two
...
It couldn't have been.
Perhaps his wounds kept him from thinking clearly, imagining things as memories flooded his mind. He'd been hit in the head extremely hard, he could've gone into some sort of stasis; unable to function properly; hearing voices and seeing images in the dark. But, the fact he saw the same place he'd been staying for months told him he was alive, coherent, and very much awake. He understood the conversation which had previously unfolded perfectly, heard the names, felt the prick of the past strike him dangerously close to affectionate remembrance.
Then he saw her, full one. A bit heavier than he remembered. Her eyes had also lost their sparkling sense of life, but retained their fierce, soul piercing capabilities. She'd looked at him and sent him-figuratively speaking-to his knees. Every nerve in his entire body shook, and his spark ignited in a pulse of glory. He also called out to her, but was silenced as he listened to his brass clatter to the floor in front of the small child.
All this time of trying to forget her, keep them away from her, and she'd found him. He knew as soon as he laid eyes on her she was still without Will; without the love of a strong arm beside her, helping her along the way. Her eyes were devoid of passion and she lacked the bubbly joy she had once had. Her powerful presence was now dark and cold, not like the peace and warmth she had once emanated. The young boy was no different, now a child and not a toddling infant.
She was exactly as he felt.
Then the man introduced as Cade Yeager had his fun exploring inside the cab of the top-over form. He muttered, either to himself or the truck depending on the statement, and began pulling apart fuse boxes. Pit, did it hurt, having this human digging in places Cybertronians would prefer otherwise. But, he realized the human cared and was careful, treating him with respect as he poked and prodded.
Then, he talked with the theatre owner, bargaining on a price over this useless heap of slag. he listened to them, first start at three hundred American dollars, until Cade Yeager finally low-balled at one fifty. The man agreed to the sale and handed over the truck, unable to provide any proof of title or ownership for the "grand state of Texas". Then later in the evening another semi came and hauled him out of the theatre through the hole he had ravaged into the building.
She, however, did not return.
...
Conner's mother had been appreciative of Merrick keeping her son busy as she had tended to a flower bed. Mira had kissed him on top the head, wished him a fun play date, and reminded him to brush his teeth and say his evening prayers before she was drug into the house by Conner's mother for a glass of sweet tea and a piece of watermelon.
Two hours later, Mira roared out of the driveway and back into town. She gased her truck and made her way to the outskirts of town, towards the abandoned rodeo arena. Parking her truck beneath a set of bleachers, she set up her weapons and changed her clothes. Only after she laced her left boot did a snazzy Corvette pull into the arena, followed by a cloud of dust and three other GMC SUV's. She straightened, grabbed her Baretta and chambered a round, making it more than evident to the strangers as they exited their car.
Two of the men carried gym bags, the other a rifle case. The man in front, a short little thing, pudgy from days of wealth and expensive food, led the pack and met her halfway between their points. He extended a hand to her, but she refused, only gestured for the men to set the bag and case down. They agreed only when their boss nodded.
Mira pointed the gun at the man's head, for collateral. She was far outnumbered and would not risk being fired at, and she trained it on him as she knelt and unzipped the bags. Both contained Baretta, AK47, and Barrett 50 ammo, along with grenades, smoke grenades, knives, first aide equiptment, surveillance cameras, and stun guns. The rifle case was the Barret 50; a special, military grade sniper designed especially for her. Nodding to herself, she rose and gestured towards her truck.
"Tell them to load them up, then you get your payment." She snarled.
Looking slightly over his shoulder, he nodded almost unnoticeably. "Do as she says."
She payed them what she had promised; a syringe filled with the cure-Ratchet's cure-for diabetes. There was only enough for one injection, which would surely make its way around the man's mob group. With the payment in hand, the cars evacuated, leaving Mira to her prizes and her thoughts.
It was a six hour drive to the coast, if she was going, now was the time. Loading the stuff into the bed, she drove out of the bleachers and headed towards the open road. She set the cruise at 70, cranked the radio, and drove. Afternoon drifted into evening with the color changes in the sky; an orangey-pink to a solid mango color, then evening leveled into total darkness. Heaven looked down on her through pinpricks of stars, familiar constellations forming above her. The hours ticked by as she remembered her mentor; her friend, who had promised her a trip through the stars and had delivered.
"When you think of yourself, think of the stars," Optimus had whispered in a hushed reverence filled with affection and honor, "and all the beauty they possess. Each are unique, no matter what size, shape, order, or purpose. Their uniqueness makes them beautiful...just as you are, Miriam." She had penned those words in her journal, where she wrote every tidbit of wisdom she learned. Her heart twisted at the realization it had been three long years since she'd seen or heard her best friend.
"You have no idea how I miss you," she whispered, rolling her thumb across the imprinted metal around her neck. She then looked out to the sky and saw a beautifully full moon, thinking of Will and all the fullness of life he'd given her, "and I miss you too, handsome."
...
It was midnight after Mira parked her truck four miles from the location of her rendezvous, a shabby dock abandoned long ago for a new location and snappier ports. The sniper, now draped over her shoulders and weighing heavy in her hands was electrifying new and weighty, causing her a windiness she forgot she had. Having a child had changed her body; she wasn't as fit as she had hoped.
It didn't matter, adrenaline and excitement pumped through her now. Something else brewed within her heart; hope, the shattering breakage of loneliness at the realization she would be seeing a comrade and a friend. It made her crazy with anxiety and sent gooseflesh up her arms.
They'd arranged this meeting, like all the others, six weeks after their original meeting. They waited six weeks for these rendezvous strictly out of precaution; if caution was to the wind she'd visit him every night. The six weeks gave them time to regroup and refocus, covering their tracks in case there were witnesses. He'd drive around the states awhile and meet her in their chosen location; always Texas, somewhere in Texas.
Checking her shoulder, she stopped to rest behind a repair building, now in need of the services it once provided to damaged ships off the water. She swirled some water around her mouth and dabbed at the sweat accumulating on her brow. Setting a location marker, she got up and moved her location a few more yards before stopping and slinging the 50 around to her back. Taking the metal around her neck, she reached for her knife and sliced her thumb, pressing the scarlet thread of liquid onto the lifeless stone shielded by metal.
Instantly, it recognized her and flashed to life. She confirmed the voice recognition-in Cybertronian-and it welcomed her. Replacing the chain around her neck, she reached into the pocket of her cargoes and situated an ear comm in her ear, listening as the emblem connected to the device. Instantly a connection was made and she tested the frequency.
"Halo, whiskey marker XYZ; this is Gravestone, copy?" The frequency emitted by the emblem was strictly Cybertronian, impossible for the government to decode. She waited a few moments before gazing over the docks. An abandoned river-boat, stationary and eerily resting on the water, caught her attention. She repeated. "Halo, whiskey marker XYZ; this is Gravestone..."
"Gravestone, this is Deadman, copy."
The familiarity flooded her like a rainstorm. Her stomach floated with relief and she sighed, letting off a chuckle and swinging the 50 back around into her hands. She moved quickly towards the water, expecting him to come up to the landing at any second. "Copy, Deadman, Gravestone reporting..."
"At your 8, Gravestone. Up...and over." She watched the riverboat, and found one of the torn drapes pulled up into the left corner. She took out a light and flashed it there, the beam catching a silver pendent in the shadows before it quickly vanished back into darkness. Replacing the light, she lifted the 50 and made her way into the water towards the back paddles, where she would board.
Once aboard, she made her way to fifth patio and slung the 50 back over her shoulder yet again. Pulling the glimmering emblem from beneath her shirt, she let it illuminate the darkness and draw the attention to herself. A Cybertronian greeting quietly floated on the breezing wind, and she chuckled.
"Obe de tenatzi," she announced, her Cybertronian worse than she remembered, "You can come out now, Ratchet. I'm alone."
Instantly, he appeared from nowhere, his glowing optics piercing the darkness like some sort of dweller. His weight made the riverboat sway on the water, and he approached her slowly. Relief emanated from him as he sighed, kneeling to a knee and staring at her in the face.
"You're late. I was worried," he said sternly, "I was about to leave when you commed."
She laughed, "Always the worry-wart, aren't you?" she approached him and touched his faceplates, "I missed you, Ratchet. Our talks are few and far between."
"Too few, and too far between, I'm afraid. Any news on Optimus?"
Mira let her hand drop from his faceplates and she looked away, "No." Her voice drifted, until she brought it back. "He escaped Mexico, alive."
"Thank Primus," he sighed gently.
She seated herself on an overturned crate and loosened her curls. There was a long pause between them, and she fingered the emblem in her hands, deciding to be blunt with her next statement. "Mirage and the Wreckers are dead, Ratchet."
His hulking form of neon yellow and orange stared at her a minute in shock, before fury and sorrow took hold of his optics. As the CMO, Mira couldn't understood the suffering he must've possessed inside of him, being unable to aide his comrades and take their pain away, if not lessen it. Having been standing bent at the shoulders due to height, he slumped more under the weightiness of her news.
"Did they go quickly?" he whispered.
She looked down. They hadn't. "They left honorably," she breathed, "like true Autobots."
Sorrow marred his next statement, "What...what has happened, Miriam?" he asked squarely, "what has happened to your people, who once would die beside us in battle, now fighting against us? What have we done but fight for you, to make your people hate us so?"
Mira got up, walking towards him slowly. Questioning was hardly Ratchet's forte, but she knew his grief; she shared it. Placing a gentle hand on top his own, she stroked what would be his knuckles with her fingertips. "I..." she began, "I'm not sure, Ratchet."
"It has to stop."
She looked away, "I know..."
Then, there was a licking of tires on gravel.
