Chapter 5: Spectral Secrets

"Uuugggghhh," Alexis groaned weakly as consciousness slowly washed over her. She raised her hand to her head and gently messaged her temples. "What in the hell happened?" she asked no one in particular.

A raspy voice from out of nowhere answered her query. "You lost consciousness due to an overload of emotional stress on your systems."

She froze as the hoarse, whispery voice faded into silence. Her emerald eyes widened and she pressed her back against a solid, if uncomfortable object. Wait a minute. She turned her head and vaguely saw what her back was leaning against. The nose gear of a jet—her jet. Her breath caught within her throat. How did I get here? Her eyes darted back forward and she squirmed uncomfortably against her rest.

"Wh-Where are you?" she asked hesitantly, eyes searching the area of the hangar. She faintly remembered the events prior to her spell, but they sent chilling tremors down her spine and goosebumbs trailing down her arms once more.

At first nothing happened and Alexis was preparing to voice her question again when she heard a very soft click. Her head whirled around trying to catch the culprit of the noise, but there was nothing there. She slowly turned her head back forward and nearly leaped from her skin in fright.

"Aaaahhh!" she shouted, banging the back of her head against the landing strut. She tenderly reached a hand to the back of her of her scalp and fingered the bruised area. Then she raised frightened eyes to behold the crouching figure before her.

Smoldering red eyes bored into her countenance. It almost felt as if he were staring straight into her soul, as if he were trying to set her afire from within. She cringed under his intense gaze. The figure before her appeared to be close to her own age, with dark, short-cropped hair and dare she say a deceptively handsome visage. Even crouched before her inches from her face, she could tell he was a large man or rather, used to be a large man. She could clearly see the next jet straight through the entity. Her eyes drifted across the patching on his flight suit and she withheld a silent gasp. Those patches…

"Wh-What do you want from me?" she almost whispered, finally gaining the courage to meet his gaze.

His lips curved ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed and Alexis could have sworn she saw a flash of amusement. "What could I possibly want from a miserable human being like you?" voice laden with sarcasm.

"Well…obviously you want something. What is it?" Alexis countered; her eyes still fixated on his.

He chuckled softly, a dangerous whisper of sound that caused her to shiver involuntarily. This…this thing had already killed one person. What was there to keep him from hurting her?

"Your obedience."

Her eyes widened briefly, confusion riddling her voice. "I don't understand. What do I have to do with you? With this? Why did you kill him!?"

This time his eyes flared angrily. "No, you wouldn't understand. How could you with your feeble grasp of what you deem a reality and a memory so short, it's measured in microns!" He savored the sweet look of fear on her countenance. It pleased him deeply that even though he was only a shadow of his former, glorious self, he could still inculcate great trepidation in his victims; it was one of the few sweet nectars he could indulge himself with. He continued. "Have you forgotten so quickly that it was you whom challenged me? It was you that declared, and I quote, 'ghosts can't seriously hurt people'." A deep satisfaction filled his soul as he watched the remaining color drain from her face.

"You didn't want to listen, Alexis. You had to assume that you had things under control. Did you honestly think that I, an ethereal being, could be summoned at your beck and call?" He scoffed.

"I can't hurt you. Not now. It would draw so much unwanted attention. But the others?" An evil, knowing smile tugged at his lips. "There are many others in this vicinity that could also have—how shall we say—an unfortunate accident on your behalf. Now that you've seen what I'm capable of, do you not agree it would be most unwise of you to not obey?"

She nodded her head meekly.

His smirk broadened. "Good. Now listen up, human, for I will not repeat myself. From this moment on, I am the one in control, of your machine and of your life. You will not even think of disobeying me, for if you do," suddenly his smirk vanished. "Someone. Will. Die. Your job is simple—just do as I command, when I command it and no one else will suffer a life-ending experience, so to speak. Am I clear?"

Alexis nodded her head once more, her mouth set in a grim line.

"Good," he whispered. Then the ghost reached out a pale, translucent hand towards her. Alexis cringed back as far as she could and even yanked her body away from the ghostly appendage, but to no avail. The hand struck like a coiled viper, its ashen translucence suddenly turning solid against her flesh as he gripped her arm in a vice-like grip. His touch lingered, holding her forearm as something unfathomable crossed his face. She struggled briefly, before realizing it was a futile effort. "Tell me, O'Conner, how does it feel to be mortal? How does it feel to know your life could end in the blink of an eye?"

Alexis jerked her arm free with a solid yank, although deep down she felt that this being had let her get away with it; it only added insult to injury. "I don't know," she replied flatly, her green eyes flashing. "How does it feel being dead?" she spat bitterly.

An inhuman snarl escaped his lips and he lunged at her. Alexis threw up her forearms to block the attack, but it never came. She lowered her guard just a fraction and saw that the entity was passing straight through her arms! His face was inches from her and yet this time—for some reason—he couldn't make physical contact. The ghost's eyes flashed angrily, but then oddly enough he smirked. "This isn't over, fleshling. Expect that we will be getting acquainted with each other soon enough." His eyes glanced upwards before he quickly faded into nothingness. Alexis's eyes followed where the ghost had been looking, and she swallowed hard. Her cockpit.

Over the next two weeks, operations ground to a crawl. The impact of Scotty's accident affected everyone deeply. Arrangements were made, a memorial ceremony held, and then an angel flight to take the young airman home. An atmosphere once buzzing with life, laughter, and good nature became withheld, hushed, and withdrawn. Nowhere was this more apparent than the hangar bay in which aircraft 84-09017 resided. Since the accident, the aircraft had sat idle with only the minimal inspections required. The gaping hole under the canopy glass was a stark, bitter reminder of all that had come to pass.

Inside the accursed aircraft, it was taking all Starscream's ethereal, if nonexistent self-restraint to not tear the place apart rivet by rivet. Had he been mortal and had a proper body, mass destruction on a grand scale would have probably already occurred. Like a caged animal, he paced the center aisle of the hangar in his human shape; his footsteps made no sound, and had anyone been around to see, they could have easily seen straight through his body as if he were a projection. Forcing solidity took a massive amount of energy and he had yet to master its more enduring properties. As it were, he could only handle a solid, physical state for only minutes at a time. Besides it wasn't as if he lacked time practicing and refining the energy consumption necessary to produce a solid state.

He had been sitting for weeks after all, but there was little he could do other than continue to wait. Despite the waiting, Starscream had discovered more and more about his ethereal state of being. He found that he could, indeed, manifest a human likeness. At first, the image had been hazy, ill-defined, and nearly impossible to hold together for longer than a few seconds. Additionally, it sapped his energy, at first forcing him to remain near the jet and draw power from its auxiliary battery backup system. As the days crept by, he discovered that with practice, he could hold the image longer, give it more depth, detail, and in increasing increments-substance. However, he soon learned that despite his best efforts no amount of refinement could extend his distance.

His tether to the jet was annoying but manageable. If he desired to leave his "home" he realized it had to be as an orb. It was the only manifestation that could travel. When the nights were quiet and the hangars were dim, Starscream found himself aimlessly floating from one building to another, casually investigating his realm. It was much easier to remain undetected as an orb, floating like a dust moat on the wind, phasing in and out of rooms, walls, and hallways. He learned the location of many places—particularly those that Alexis liked to frequent herself. During these forays, Starscream learned additional things—about himself and Alexis. As an ethereal orb, he soon learned that he could draw energy from nearly all things electronic. Some items, like cellular phones were not powerful enough to even bother with; the best he could do was drain the battery. Others, like laptops, gave him the ability to infiltrate their Intranet and wreak havoc on their firmware (he particularly enjoyed by-passing all the security protocols). On one of these Internet raids, he hacked into the personnel systems and not by accident. Within he learned former and current addresses of Alexis and all her squadron, her military record, her medical history, even her educational background, nothing was left uncovered about her or anyone else she had close dealings. Information could be one's best friend or their worst enemy. Information had changed the tides of battle.

However, the most illuminating discovery came when he realized that hardlined electrical outlets could provide enough energy to manifest a physical form—albeit distance and amperage still affected the quality of his manifestation. Despite these shortcomings he was exceptionally pleased by the discovery, for it meant that even if he floated away from the jet, he needed only to find a suitable power source from which to draw energy from. It also meant he could travel abroad more widely; however, Starscream found that despite these rather fortuitous discoveries, he preferred staying near the familiar. Thus every night, he would always return to aircraft 84-09017. Perhaps it was the longing familiarity of the airframe, or the pretense that it was the only object he could control in its entirety. Or maybe it was all these things giving him the only form of connection to a life already passed and a concept for one that loomed eternally questionable. It was an anchor, a stable foundation. The only remnant from his past life that still, in a way, endured.

And so, Starscream found himself back at Alexis's aircraft waiting, day after day, night after night. Waiting for the opportunity he had promised her. Waiting for the day she would have to fly again. Waiting for the day he could test her limits (and his) with the amount of control he could wield over the one thing he had claimed as his.

She would return. She would have to.

Then on the first morning of the third week, something changed. Two airframe repairers came to the side of 017.

It would not be long now.

Over the course of the last several days, Alexis had tried to get back into a routine, or rather establish one to the best of her ability. Scotty's death had rattled her to her core. Guilt, anguish, and grief swirled within like a raging, winter maelstrom, each taking its turn at the forefront of her thoughts.

Once the ceremony had concluded, Alexis tried to focus and regroup. There had been no more threats and no more ghostly visits. In fact, she had stopped by the hangar on a few occasions to see that nothing out of the ordinary had taken place; however, the morning of the third week she received word that the safety investigation had concluded, and her jet would be airworthy by week's end.

Her heart clenched within her chest.

It was now or never.

Today she traded in her uniform for a more casual pair of faded blue jeans and a T-shirt. Nearly three weeks ago, when the ghost had her pinned under her jet, Alexis had noticed the peculiar patching of his uniform, as well as his nameplate. The image of that patch had stuck with her ever since and she hadn't had the heart to research it until now. She had seen that patch before, but she couldn't exactly place her finger on where.

She filled a small knapsack with water, snacks and a book she had been reading off and on and then headed off to find one of the many computer labs. She found one not far from the picnic area she wanted to visit and began to scan for a suitable seat. She picked the far corner of the lab mainly so snoopers couldn't see what she was doing and also so she could keep an eye on the door in the event someone unwanted turned up.

She quickly accessed the Internet and went to one of her favorite military archival search engines. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed the name on the ghost's name badge: Maj. Jake Stillwell. A host of information popped up on her screen. She clicked the first link and Alexis smiled as she saw the familiar patch proudly being displayed at the top of the screen, but her smile dropped just a fraction as she saw the words composed in a neat, fluid font just to the side—"In Remembrance of…"

The circular patch displayed a large, cartoonish brown hawk in the center. It was winking to all its viewers and its wings cradled a nondescript rifle pointing off towards the right. The hawk was perched on a horizontal AIM-9 Sidewinder missile on a deep, royal blue background. Gold thread ringed the patch and the squadron's name was embroidered on the bottom, just below the missile—The Fighting Hawkeyes.

She read further:

The 607th Fighter Squadron, better known as the "Fighting Hawkeyes" were the best of the best. Only the best pilots were chosen by their unit commanders to try-out for the squadron. After passing numerous physical and mental challenges as well as having accumulated at least 1,000 hours of actual flight time, only then was a pilot allowed into the privileged ranks of the Hawkeyes. Many considered the squadron the 'Special Forces' of the fighter world, so renowned was their skill. However, the Hawkeyes were formed for one purpose, national defense, and on July 12, 1979, the Hawkeyes were put to the ultimate test.

Alexis then read a quick paraphrase on the Autobot/Decepticon conflict that occurred roughly 30 years prior. She was just a baby when the hottest part of the conflict was raging on her world. She had heard the stories, like everyone else, but by the time she was old enough to truly understand the impact of what had occurred, the horrible conflict had been pushed to the side in a valiant attempt by the world leaders to try and pick up the pieces of what once was and never could be again. It was the world's dismal effort to try and forget the alien's war and pretend as if it never happened, just like a bad dream. But what was even more dismal, was the fact it had worked. Time and petty worries had slowly erased the concern and vigilance that was desperately needed to prevent another hostile invasion from occurring. Only the highest parts of government authority, military rank, and the veterans of those battles fought really remembered "The Great Universal War."

Now she was truly fascinated. So, aliens had been on her planet at one time. Not only that, but her world had been a stage for many of their battles, and in fact, their final battle had been fought here. How interesting. She continued on:

On July 12, 1979, Major Jake "Sniper" Stillwell led his squadron of 18 F-15A Eagles into aerial combat against the alien aggressors, a subset of Decepticons known as the Seekers. These robotic, alien beings also adopted the form of the F-15 Eagle fighter jet and were quickly identified by their vibrant paint schemes and the Decepticon sigil painted on their wings.

Alexis studied the images of the three different jets marked as Decepticons. Vibrant paint schemes indeed. This also warranted more research at a later date.

Maj. Stillwell and his elite squadron fought the Seekers in an aerial battle that lasted only five minutes and 45 seconds. Of the eighteen pilots to engage the Decepticons, only two survived: Capt. Mark "O" Prescott and Maj. Linden "Smokes" McCleary. Both pilots had been forced to eject from their planes as they were shot from the sky. Only the rapid intervention of the Autobot aerial force known as the Aerialbots prevented Prescott and McCleary from being shot while parachuting to safety. The brave and ultimate sacrifice given by Stillwell and his squadron helped save hundreds of thousands of lives that day. It was believed the Decepticons were targeting the nuclear facility of Three Mile Island, although their ultimate intention was unknown. Without a doubt, had not the Hawkeyes delayed the Decepticons in achieving their objective and allowed the Autobots time to intervene, the United States would have faced the worst nuclear disaster in history.

Alexis stopped reading the article there. She had read enough information to garner an idea about whom she was dealing with. Obviously, it was Maj. Stillwell's ghost, but the man she had read about in the article didn't sound like anything she was having to deal with in the here and now. He was a highly decorated pilot that had given his life selflessly so that others could live. Why would a person like that come back to haunt a jet? Why come back at all? And why bully and intimidate her in the process or even kill? Something wasn't adding up right.

Grabbing a pen and a sheet of paper, Alexis quickly jotted down the names of the survivors of the "Battle of Three Mile Island." She stuffed the note into her knapsack and prepared to shutdown her computer. She suddenly paused and as an afterthought quickly printed a copy of the Hawkeye's squadron patch and the images of the three Decepticon jets. She stuffed those into the knapsack as well, shutdown her computer and left the lab.