Chapter 7: The Devil's Parley
Coldstone pulled the car door shut, the sound unusually loud within the calm night. Beside him Alexis took a deep breath, appreciating the depth and fullness of an automatic action she had taken for granted one too many times. She glanced over to Coldstone, noting how his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly and yet the vehicle remained off, the engine silent.
"Now what?"
She heard him ask, more to himself then actually inducing a conversation. She directed her stare out the passenger window and back toward the hangar unsure of how to reply given the same question had been rolling around in her head since they entered the car.
"I have no idea," Alexis finally responded. She turned back around and faced him. "What can we do? Because right now I'm not seeing very many choices on the table that don't hospitalize us."
"We can't just let this thing roam free, Spades. For Christ's sake it's a fucking Decepticon!"
"I know, Coldstone! I know!" she replied in exasperation. "But again! What can we actually do!? If we say anything he'll kill me, probably kill you, and or kill someone else."
"And if we don't, we are aiding and abetting an evil, robotic alien that was hell-bent on killing us all from the beginning!" Coldstone countered harshly; however, he took a deep breath and slumped back into his seat. "An alien whose faction killed my Dad." The words were whisper-soft and pained. His eyes locked with hers. "An alien that tried to kill you."
Alexis moved her hand to his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Well, he or it hasn't killed me yet. But nor will I be responsible for anymore deaths." She sighed. "I'm not entirely convinced it's even a Transformer at this point."
"What makes you think that?"
"Well, for starters if it was a Transformer and an evil one at that, why hasn't it transformed and wrecked the base? I saw the historical photos. Even just one by itself was incredibly powerful. It could have easily made short work of this base by itself. And besides, I've been flying that jet for almost three years. I would like to think I would have noticed if it was sentient before. This craziness just started only a month ago."
Coldstone mulled over her words, his forehead creased in thought. "Maybe it was undercover?" he offered, but even as he said it, he knew his rationale didn't quite fit.
"No," Alexis replied, "if that's the case then why even reveal itself to me, us, or kill Scotty. It doesn't add up." Her green eyes brightened. "And what about its responses to our questions?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, just after you tried," she paused, chuckling a little, "to punch a ghost—"
"It was a hologram!"
"—whatever it was—" she continued, "you accused it of being a Decepticon, remember?"
"Vividly…" Stoner replied sarcastically. "So—"
"So, it said 'in a past life you would have been correct,'" she quoted. "What did it mean by that?" she said, letting the question hang in the air. "How many lives would a Transformer even have?"
"One too many."
Alexis rolled her eyes. "Seriously though. And then it said that it was 'but a shadow' of its former self. What does that even mean?"
"Maybe it's lost its power. Maybe it's not as powerful as it wants us to think. In any case, we should definitely report it!"
"I don't know, maybe." Alexis shrugged her shoulders. "It's just everything feels off and I want to know why."
"I don't know that I like where this is going, Spades." Coldstone gave his flight leader a long, sideways glance.
Alexis gave a noncommittal shrug as she responded. "We have training flights all this week. Let's see how they shake out."
"Absolutely NOT! Are you insane? Whatever that thing is tried to kill you! It did kill Scotty!"
"I know!" Alexis barked back with equal fervor, green eyes flashing angrily. "You don't think I know my own jet killed someone!? It was because of me it killed Scotty! I got impetuous and angry and confronted it. Ok? I didn't think it was actually real…I didn't know…I didn't…" she paused, anger quickly fading to grief as she relived the moments that had—in her mind—created the chain reaction of events leading to Scotty's untimely death. She recalled vividly the ghost grabbing her arm and making it exceptionally clear that more people would get hurt if she went against its wishes. And now Stoner was involved too.
"Alexis." She glanced up tears streaming from her eyes.
"Listen to me," Coldstone spoke slowly, gently taking her hands in his. "It is not your fault. Don't you even for a second believe that it is."
Alexis pursed her lower lip tightly, hearing his words but not quite believing them. She nodded her head slowly but couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "Just let me do this…please. For Scotty. For you. Of the two of us, you're in the most precarious position. You know of it and now it knows you. For your sake and everyone else's, please don't say anything to anyone—yet. If there's even a slim chance I can figure out who or what this thing is during these flights, I need to take it."
The pain in her voice was evident, but he couldn't bring himself to agree…or disagree. The entire fiasco made his head hurt and that shocking jolt he had received did little to help. Stoner shook his head and closed his eyes. "It's getting late, Spades. It's been a hell of a night. Let's get you back home and we can figure this shit out tomorrow."
"Does this mean you're not going to tell anyone?"
Coldstone gave her a long, drawn-out stare before keying the ignition, punching the clutch, and peeling out of the parking lot.
Electric current sizzled through the circuitry of Capt. Spades O'Conner's jet. Had anyone been within the hangar, they would have surely rustled old Crowbar from his warm bed to inspect the war bird for an obvious malfunction. But the funny thing was, there was no actual malfunction.
The meeting with the two humans had left him feeling irritable and restless. It was bad enough one putrid flesh creature knew of his existence, but now two? And to compound matters, they both knew he was masquerading as a deceased human pilot. The male…he had been quite adamant.
Despite the predicament, Starscream knew it was partially his own doing for being discovered so early in this game; however, the thought of being constantly "piloted" by a human every time they took wing absolutely disgusted him. It was bad enough he was forced to share the same machine with such an insignificant lifeform, but to also tolerate it controlling the entire flight? It was maddening and he could not—would not—let it happen. But alas, such hubris is what led to his discovery and damn near revealed his identity, an occurrence he was not quite ready to reveal.
No, to reveal his identity now would mean losing what precious "freedom" he had. No doubt the Americans (and every other military on this planet) would place their fleet on a high alert, he would lose his—home—for lack of a better comparison, and no doubt Autobots and humans both would attempt to contain his essence if he did not leave abruptly. Regardless, all paths of discovery would force him to move on, an aimless speck once more floating on the whims of the universe. And he was so tired of the endless reaches of space. The entire mental exercise had revealed one ugly, irritating truth: aside from intimidating and instigating fear in the humans, he realized that being a ghost made him essentially powerless. Sure, he could phase through walls, inhabit machinery, and manipulate objects when enough energy was present, but that was all limited. He was most reliant upon energy sources to execute any of those more advanced actions. And with that reliance came the most hated and loathe attachment yet—the jet itself.
It represented everything he loved and everything he hated all at once. An object of familiarity, yet he could not fully integrate with it. A sleek war machine designed to dominate the skies, but he had to wrest control from a human to do so. A place of solitude, familiarity, and a connection, but a place that constantly remined him of human presence, design, and ingenuity.
Back to the problem at hand. He couldn't kill either of the pilots—not yet. The male had been right in that aspect; their deaths would draw too much attention to the current situation, even if they were "accidental." One death had been one too many and despite threatening the female with harm, he knew there was a strong chance the humans could report his existence anyway. On the bright side, they really had no hard-core evidence of his presence. The bumbling mechanic couldn't detect him despite being under his nose and all electronical video evidence had already been destroyed. However, despite these reassurances, Starscream was still concerned. The human male had nearly outed him on the spot. While he had anticipated the female's reaction to his presence, the fact her male wingmate had caught on so quickly had thrown him off-guard. It was almost as if he had privileged information. If he did, what kind of information had that been?
And so Starscream found himself in a most hateful, yet necessary predicament. Unable to efficiently overpower or overthrow his human counterparts, Starscream realized with grudging clarity, that if he were going to remain on this planet, he would have to endure his human pilot.
Dawn streaked the horizon with blazing pinks, reds, and gradual oranges. The day promised to be clear and blue. Out on the ramp, the large concrete pad where several jets were parked under shaded awnings, maintenance crews were busy removing covers and plugs in preparation for that day's flights. As the sun crept up into the sky, the ramp came alive as more and more crews arrived to prepare for upcoming flights. On the far end of the fighter ramp, the last jet was towed onto the line, 84-09017.
The golden canopy glinted in the early dawn light as the tug came to a stop and the crew nervously disconnected their tug from the jet's landing gear. Traces of deeply rooted suspicion were plainly visible in the crew's actions and mannerisms. Alexis approached her aircraft with the same foreboding that possessed her crew. Just next abeam of the canopy, she caught a glimpse of Crowbar finalizing the logbook on top of a roll-away toolbox. He glanced up at the sound of her approaching footsteps, a terse expression crimping his face.
"If anything, and I mean anything feels funny to you, don't hesitate to call off the flight, Spades."
Alexis grimaced, knowing all too well just how funny things could potentially get. "Got it. No worries, Crow."
Her crewchief gently grabbed her forearm as she prepared to scale the ladder. "I mean it, Spades. At this point, you could eject and let this metal casket punch it into the ground and it wouldn't hurt my feelings any just so long as you and everyone else remains ok."
"Everything is going to be fine, Crow. I promise." She gave her crewchief a firm hug and then continued her climb. Once settled into the cockpit, Crow handed her helmet and then stepped back down the ladder.
The flightline slowly roared to life as the sound of turbine engines filled the morning air. Already several jets were taxiing down the line to prepare for take-off. As Alexis began her pre-flight checklist, her thoughts continuously strayed to the entity inhabiting her aircraft. It was so much harder to focus on her procedures knowing that a sentient non-human was more than likely scrutinizing her every move. With considerable effort, she powered through her preflight and fired the engines.
Today's flight was nothing strenuous. It was as simple and basic as could be—an overland flight of three-and-a-half hours with an aerial refuel at the half-way point. After refueling she would engage in some basic maneuvers and then return to base. Simple, easy. A flight plan she had done hundreds of times. Yet, today felt as if she had never done it at all. Movement down and to the left of her cockpit drew her eye. Crowbar stood ramrod straight and snapped a salute. She returned his salute and steeled her nerves. It was time.
During the entire first half of the flight nothing occurred. Absolutely nothing at all. In fact, things had gone so smoothly—so normal—Alexis had almost convinced herself she was in an alternate reality. It wasn't as if she had ignored her ghostly interloper. On the contrary she had tried to strike up a conversion several times only to be met with silence. The prolonged quiet did nothing to alleviate her anxiety; if anything, it intensified it, but as the silence dragged on and the flight neared completion, she couldn't help but wonder if—and it was a big IF—the ghost had moved on. It wasn't until she began practicing her aerial maneuvers that Alexis felt that her aircraft was off. It started with the banking turns. As she banked the aircraft left, she could feel resistance, an ever so slight binding in the flight controls. It occurred in each direction, never increasing but a constant presence, nonetheless. As she moved on to practicing her rolls the binding returned, noticeably. She reorientated the Eagle to straight and level flight. The resistance disappeared. Now truly puzzled, Alexis repeated her rolling maneuvers. Once more the binding returned but with significant resistance. By the time Alexis completed her combat rolls she was panting from exertion.
"What is your fucking problem!?" she finally blurted aloud, anger and frustration roiling over her voice. It was bad enough she had been on pins and needles for most of the flight, but this? It was too much. Much like before Alexis expected her angry outburst to be more of a rhetorical question, but after several long, drawn out seconds a voice drifted into the cockpit.
"You. You are my problem." the voice responded.
"Now you decide to speak with me?" Alexis replied exasperated. She threw her hands up in mock defeat.
"There was absolutely nothing you said earlier that was worth my response."
She sat there flabbergasted for the moment. Before she could muster a retort, the ghost spoke again.
"While I was fully content completely ignoring your disgusting attempts of civility, there is but one thing that I cannot overlook any longer and that is—" he paused for a moment, "—your appalling flight skills."
"My WHAT!?" she responded incredulously. "You are judging my flying!?" Alexis didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or get angry. The surreal alternate reality she thought she was participating in just got a little weirder. She finally collected herself and decided to settle on the emotion of anger. It seemed fitting enough. "Just who do you think you are? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in flight school."
The ghost laughed out loud. The laughing was so boisterous and deafening within the close confines of the cockpit, that Alexis thought her ears would start bleeding. Fortunately, it was as short-lived as it was obnoxious.
"You? Top of the class!?" the ghost replied derisively, "No wonder your race relied so heavily upon Autobot intervention! If you are representative of the best your species has to offer in aerial defense, then it is only a matter of time before you fall to a superior force!"
Now she felt truly insulted. "Just who the fuck are you to make such grandiose declarations on humanity's capabilities, huh?"
The reply was not immediate, and it was not lost on Alexis that the tone of the response distinctly changed. "Let's just say I am a ghost with more experience in aerial combat than the combined lifespans of your entire planet's aerial-based military forces."
"So Coldstone was right…You are a Transformer. A Decepticon!" She had suspected it ever since their last encounter, thought on it, mulled on it even dreamt about it, but Alexis needed that verbal confirmation. She needed to hear it.
The aircraft didn't respond for a moment and Alexis feared that perhaps it had terminated their conversation once more, but then that same caustic, contemptuous tone returned. "Your listening skills are about as on par as your flying." But before she could respond to that additional insult, he continued, "I am…a ghost. Whatever I was in my previous capacity is lost. There is no going back. I am cursed with this wretched half-life now. I have not joined the Well of All Sparks, nor does it appear that I can return to the land of the living. I am trapped as this ethereal manifestation and my only way to interact with anything or anyone in this world is through your machinery," the ghost replied bitterly. "I have come to the conclusion that—as much as it pains me to say it—if I am to have any semblance of a continued existence at all, I should at least tolerate your continued presence."
Alexis remained silent as she processed what she just heard. An actual ghost? But not just any ghost—a ghost of a Transformer. She and Coldstone had both been correct in their surmises; however, this revelation both clarified many issues and complicated so many more, the largest question being what now?
"So does this mean you aren't going to kill me?" Or anyone else for that matter? Alexis asked tentatively, simultaneously curious, and apprehensive to his response.
"It is currently not in my best interest." He paused. "However, if you or anyone else even contemplates removing me from this structure—there will be severe consequences. I may be but a shadow of who I was, but as you and your ilk have borne witness, know that I can still inflict great harm when I so chose to do so."
A reassurance and a threat. It wasn't much, but it was a start. It was something to build on. She was at least getting somewhere and developing an understanding of who and what they were dealing with. In any case, it was better than the stony silence she had dealt with over the first half of the flight. She inhaled deeply and then released her breath slowly, using the time to construct her next question.
"So, are you offering a parley of sorts? You won't injure or kill anyone else in exchange for us not—"
"I want your silence. Unequivocal and absolute. Both of you. In exchange I will impart my knowledge of aerial combat techniques to you. You say were the top of your class, Alexis O'Conner, but, you have not even scratched the surface of what it means to be a truly great aerialist."
Another dig, but this time Alexis kept her temper in check and attempted to tease out additional information.
"So, you're telling me that you—a ghost of God-only-knows-who—is offering to teach me how to be a better combat pilot in exchange for not ratting you out, especially after all that you have done?"
"I will not be repentant for my previous actions. They were a necessary course to preserve my existence; however, I shall not resort to such forcible measures in the future, so long as you and your—wingmate—preserve my presence. But I am not so much a fool as to expect such a request to be fulfilled without something given in return. As such, you and the others will not befall any more 'mishaps' of my design so long as you swear on your honor to keep my existence a secret. Additionally, so long as I remain on this planet tethered to humanity's putrid existence, the human of my machine should at least have a basic understanding of aerial combat techniques. Improving your maneuvers is genuinely the only way I can tolerate being within the same machine as you."
Alexis slowly digested all that the ghost had said. Never had she encountered someone so arrogant, unforgiving, and contemptuous. Well, there was one other exception. A wry smile pulled at her lips from under her oxygen mask. Stoner had come close, but even he couldn't hold a candle to this malevolence. Not to mention she had learned that Stoner's motivations for such attitudes were completely different from this…entity. Nonetheless, a choice needed to be made. It truly felt as if she were making a deal with the Devil himself. She had no guarantee that he would honor his end of the bargain and not injure or murder anyone else, yet she knew if she didn't agree, this thing would, no could, do just that. To her, to Stoner, or anyone else. Speaking of Stoner…her breath hitched as she thought what would her wingmate think if she were to go through with this? How would he react to her decision to keep this ghoul a secret and in exchange for what? Training? Living? Her heart clenched at the thought of knowingly working with an entity whose allegiances had killed her wingmate's father. But it wasn't just the training, was it? Was it so much a choice if she chose to keep this secret so that others would not meet the same fate as Scotty? Keeping the ghost a secret to ensure others would not be harmed seemed like a no-brainer. The entity seemed to desire secrecy and if that were the case, perhaps it wouldn't go out of its way to draw attention to itself? It felt far-fetched, but what other options were on the table? Reveal it only to stir its ire up even more and guarantee more casualties? Even without that added training incentive, she knew what she needed to do. However, a deeper, darker part of herself was immensely curious. A part of her she felt ashamed even acknowledging its existence, yet the question remained: could it really teach her to be an even better pilot? Just who or what was this being to make such grandiose claims of prominent skill and experience? A former Decepticon of that she had no doubt. How incredibly cruel it was to be taught new techniques by the very enemy that had no doubt killed so many. But which one? Who was this ghost asking for a Devil's parley? What would that make her if she agreed?
As if reading her mind, the ghost spoke once more. "Well, human, what say you?"
She would have to deliberate on the ghost's origins later. A decision needed to be made. This was a threshold—a turning point. Whatever she decided there would be consequences. Absolute and severe consequences. But in her mind there truly ever was only one choice.
"When do we start?"
A wicked chuckle filled the cockpit in response to her question. "I am so glad you asked."
Suddenly, her instrument panel glowed with a deathly green light and the stick was yanked from her grip.
"Here is your first lesson!"
And then Alexis felt her soul leave her body as the aircraft abruptly dived.