Disclaimer: do not own Transformers
Family Business
3: The Net Tightens
In the cover of night, three vehicles met atop a hill, their passengers flickering out of existence almost as soon as the vehicles came to a halt. The hill overlooked a small neighbourhood, at the centre of which stood what looked to be an ordinary house. Scanners penetrated the house, pinpointing their charge and, for the moment, their elusive quarry. As they met one another, there was a pause as each scanned the other, checking one another for injuries. At length, they began to speak.
"Well that certainly went well," one said dryly.
In response, the other gave a dignified click. I don't understand it, he transmitted. It was all going so well…It was almost as if he knew that something was up.
"Can't have," said the third. "Most humans don't believe that aliens exist, and those that do…" The three gave a shudder as they remembered what the World Wide Web revealed to them about 'true believers.' From what they had researched, this "WeAreAlone217" had no such fantasies.
"I told you that the subtle way was far too useless in a situation like this," the first one said. "The fate of worlds is at stake here, and we take precious time to tiptoe around a human?"
"A human who knows more than what is good for him," said the third one gently, reminding his partner about the delicacy of their situation. "However, I do agree with you. Logically speaking, the subtle way has gained us nothing…if anything, it has made our charge more wary. Perhaps a more direct approach is in order."
The second 'speaker' gave an almost nervous shift of tires. Don't hurt him, you guys, he transmitted at length. The other two looked as surprised as supposedly insentient cars could look.
"Hurt him? Why would we do that?"
"Besides, we were ordered to respect all life on this planet."
Being ordered to do it is one thing. Doing it just because it is right to do so is something else.
"Young one, I assure you that no harm will come to the human at our hands," said the third speaker patiently.
Then I take you at your words.
"Besides," said the first. "It's either us or the Decepticons." There was a silence as each processed the truth of this statement.
X x X
Sam carefully cradled all ten of Sparkplug's selves as she shuddered at half-forgotten memories.
"So…are all your family…evil?" Sam asked tentatively, wondering whether or not she was ready to talk yet.
I don't know. Transferring myself from the Cube and into ten bodies came with a price—my memories. Not all, but many. And memories were still taken even when my attempts at escape were not successful.
"So…they could be good aliens, right?" Sam asked, still cradling her huddled forms. In response, Sparkplug sent him a wave of doubt and fear and…and anger. Accompanying it were images—images of a scarred metal planet, images of metal bodies, one piled carelessly atop the other as the remainder continued to fight purposelessly.
No. Even the benevolent ones, whether they wish it or not, will bring their war to your world. If not all, then there are at least some who would destroy this planet. Destroy it with me as their weapon.
"Like in Independence Day or War of the Worlds or something?"
Almost. But far worse.
"Right. What should we do?"
Hope that today was just a fluke. Perhaps they merely wished to gain entry into a human's abode to blend them in better. With me spread out in ten bodies, they can't track me properly. If they scan me, all they'll see is primitive human technology—no offence.
"None taken."
Sam went to school the next day, with Sparkplug-the-cell phone tucked in his jean pocket, Sparkplug-the-IPod hanging around his neck, and Sparkplug-the-camera safely inside his bag. Sparkplug had said that, though they couldn't track her while she was still split up in ten bodies, separating the bodies as an added precaution couldn't really hurt. And yet…he couldn't shake off the feeling of being…watched.
Sam idly watched outside the window, paying more attention to the passing cars than to the chatter around him as their teacher gave them time for some school work. His hands gave a tremor of fear when he noticed that the same police car had passed the school street five times in the past thirty minutes. They were getting close to what they were finding. Sam could feel the net tightening.
"…Don't you agree, Sam?" said a voice. Sam pulled himself back into the conversation.
"Huh? Miles? Sorry, what were we talking about?"
"I said that we could really use a study session sometime soon. Maybe work on all our projects together. Maybe at my place? You, me, and Mikaela?"
"Honestly, Sam," Mikaela said, blowing a strand of hair from her face. "Sometimes you just space out at the most inconvenient of times."
Sam felt a poke from his jeans, the only indication that Sparkplug was somewhat irritated. "Sorry," he muttered, and inwardly sighed. Miles was trying so hard to make a three-way relationship work, but the truth was, ever since Mikaela (whom Sparkplug had dubbed 'human football trophy') had dumped Trent for the talkative and unassuming Miles, Sam felt like a fifth wheel.
And it really didn't help either that Trent had started to vent his frustrations out on the best friend of the source of his aggravations. The still sore shoulder blades from a rough push down a small flight of stairs didn't really help Sam's mood with Mikaela.
Sure, Sam had had a crush on her for quite some time…but then disillusionment kicked in. It was kind of funny, really, the effect that disillusionment in friendlies 'out there' had in other parts of his life. Sam was amazed that he wasn't a full-blown pessimist.
Okay, admittedly, he went onto "let's discuss aliens" chat rooms under the username WeAreAlone217 and proceeded to vent his "if any alien life out there came here willingly, then I sure as hell can't call them intelligent" spiel just for kicks, but that didn't mean he was a pessimist. No sir, nuh-uh, no siree Bob.
…Okay, maybe he was a little pessimistic.
"So how about it?" Miles said, pressing. Under his friend's pleading eyes and his friend's girlfriend's vulture gaze, Sam yielded.
"Sure. Just call me with a time."
X x X
Sam was seated at his desk, idly looking out the window, listening as Sparkplug-the-IPod tried soothing him with some tunes and vaguely aware of Sparkplug-the-laptop trying to distract both him and herself with the strange world known as Youtube. But Sam could only notice that no unusual cars had passed by. That was always a good sign. His phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Sam?"
"Miles? You okay? You sound like you're coming down with a cold or something."
There was a cough on the other end. "Really? I don't hear anything."
"Oh…well…you sound better now."
"Probably just phone static."
"Yeah…sure. What's up?"
"You wanna come over to my place and study for that test next week?"
"Miles…are you sure you're feeling okay? That test just got announced today, man."
"Well…yeah, but Mikaela was really adamant about starting tonight."
"Okay, fine, whatever," Sam said. He was going to say that Miles and Mikaela could just spend a cozy study party with each other…but then remembered the puppy-dog eyes Miles had given him earlier that day. Why puppy-dog eyes? Why?! "Sure, I'll come. Just give me twenty minutes—wait, make that an hour. I have to ask my parents for a ride, and they'll say that I have to finish my homework first, and you know how long that takes."
There was a chuckle on the other end. "Still don't get why you didn't buy the car, Sam." Sam paused before he answered. Odd. When he told Miles that he didn't buy the car, Miles had been preoccupied with his upcoming date with Mikaela, and had drowned out Sam's words with his own. Sam had thought that Miles didn't register a thing that he said. In fact, Sam was sure that Miles didn't hear a thing that he said. And Miles' problem with "phone static" didn't seem to be getting any better.
"I don't know, dude…just got sick right in the middle of the car lot, and my dad didn't want to take me back," he lied.
"'Kay. I'll see you in an hour then."
"Yeah, sure," Sam said hollowly. They hung up.
Who was it? Sparkplug asked
Sam didn't say anything, but he got a piece of paper. He didn't want any highly-advanced technological being to overhear them. "Sparkplug, your family can't hack into phones, can they?" Sam wrote tentatively. He could feel Sparkplug-the-laptop's optics honing into the words on the page.
…They can manipulate all of Earth's technology.
"That'd be a yes then. Shit. They're onto us," Sam wrote despairingly, collapsing into his chair.
What should we do?
"Let's see…we can always take the 'wait and see' route, but somehow, I have a feeling that that's gonna end up with me as pancake. The other alternative is going to Uncle Reggie, but then you'd be degraded to an experiment…Shit, no matter what we do, we're screwed. And what happens if we just wait? What about Mom and Dad?"
There is another option.
Sam nodded. Running. It'd be a hell of a lot more dangerous—it would be much easier to make a runaway disappear than a normal teenager surrounded by friends and family. On the other hand…getting said friends and family squelched wasn't an option. And Sam was good at running, good at hiding. He'd been doing it for eleven years.
"It won't be for forever."
I'm sorry, Sparkplug said ashamedly. I shouldn't be asking you to do this.
"Don't be sorry for anything," Sam wrote firmly. "I promised to hide you, didn't I? Besides…I know a place where we can hide out for some time."
All ten of Sparkplug's heads nodded, then five scuttled off, retrieving Archibald Simmons' glasses. Sam bent down to pick them up, then went back to writing on his sheets of paper.
"What are these for?"
Those who are looking for me don't know that they're looking for me. They're looking for the Cube. The glasses will supposedly lead them to it.
"But the glasses have been used already. Sector Seven already found the Cube."
But my family members don't know that. If this is all that they are demanding, we can give it to them…and perhaps they will leave us be.
"True…but maybe they'll also squash us once we've given it to them."
It's an expendable bargaining chip, nevertheless. We cannot afford to be caught without them.
"We can't afford to be caught. Period."
With a heavy heart, Sam wrote a goodbye note to his parents. With Sparkplug's own miniature shields diverting any possible scans, the boy and the 'bot made their way out of Sam's house and into the darkness.
X x X
"Judy! Call the police!" Ron said, as he held up Sam's note with shaking hands. Judy dashed for the phone as Ron dashed outside to the car in an attempt to follow their son.
"Tranquility Police Department," said a calm voice on the other end.
"My son—Sam—he's gone!" Judy Witwicky babbled into the phone.
"Calm down, ma'am," said the voice on the other end. It almost sounded bored. "How old is your son, now?"
"Sam's sixteen," Judy said, trying to get herself together.
"Teenager, then…Could it be that he's just playing hooky for the night?"
"No! Sam would never do that—besides, he left a note!" There was a pause on the other end, as though the speaker was swallowing some astonishment.
"What did the note say?"
"Well, just something about 'It's not safe,' or some other nonsense—hello?" The line went dead.
At the outskirts of the Witwicky's neighbourhood, a Saleen Mustang police car made a small, almost inaudible click noise as he dropped the line he and his partner had hacked into.
The human brat's onto us, he transmitted to his partner. Then the police car rolled away quietly and noiselessly, ignoring the desperate calls of desperate parents, calling for their runaway son.