Chapter Eight: What Did You Do
This sucks slag.
Sideswipe hates using his holo-emitter. It's not the power drain. It's the way it makes his paneling tingle when it touches him, it's not the way it makes his joints itch. It's that he's not very good at it. He can create one. He can put all the right features in all the right places. What he doesn't do well is the details: getting it to move right. He forgets little things like blinking or those minute facial expressions that humans make all the time. That's one of the things Sunny is better at.
The parking lot outside his target building is empty. The employee cars are parked to the sides, all out of the way. Sideswipe pulls up, trying to ignore the tickling inside where the holo-form sits. The front and center of the building is made up entirely of windows. He can see inside the lobby; shiny, polished tile stretches all the way back to a far wall dotted with hanging pictures. Two stairways lead up to a second floor balcony and the first row of office doors.
Sideswipe mimics the sound of an engine turning off, waits a moment, and lifts his door. Tingles sweep over the side of his frame as the holo-form steps out. It's a human male with dark hair and light eyes. It's dressed in what Google had called, "business casual," whatever that means. He walks it over to one of the optical sensors hidden along his side and has it face him. He practices the expressions a few times.
How the slag does a smile have a temperature, anyway? he thinks.
Satisfied, he walks it up to the doors. Sideswipe has to concentrate to get its fingers to grab the handle. Then it's through.
Up front is a desk with a female sitting behind it. She looks up as the holo-form enters.
"Oh," she says. Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth again but no sound comes out. She blinks three times. "Oh, um, hi."
Here comes the tricky part. The holo-form is just an image. It has no vocalizer, no way to speak. Sideswipe, as it turns out, made the right decision by commandeering Jetfire's ship. Jetfire, being a scientist and having an occasional need to interact with alien life forms, had specialized equipment designed for this very problem.
From a miniaturized vocalizer held inside the holo-form, Sideswipe says, "Hello."
The woman's mouth flaps again and she says, "I'm sorry. It's just… does anyone ever tell you you look just like Patrick Dempsey?"
Considering it was photos of that human that Sideswipe had built this image from…
"All the time," he says, smiling in a way he hopes is "warm."
The woman grins and drops her gaze. The skin of her face changes colors, reddening along her cheeks and neck.
"I'm sorry," she says again.
"It's okay."
"Um, what can I do for you?"
Sideswipe leans the holo-form against the counter. "I'm here to see your boss."
"Mr. Clarke?"
"Yep," Sideswipe says, adding a silent, I hope.
"Hold on, I'll let him know you're here. What's your name?"
"Michael Bell."
The woman nods. She picks up the phone on her desk, glances at him, and punches in numbers. Sideswipe rips his attention from the holo-form to the front of the building. He scans the windows. Most are dark or empty. A few rooms, however, are occupied, and it's these he searches, looking for—
There. An older male picks up a phone and says something.
"Sir?" the woman downstairs says. She smiles again at the holo-form. "I have a Mr. Bell here to see you?"
The man's eyebrows scrunch together. His office is on the second floor, overlooking the parking lot.
Got you.
The holo-form winks out. The vocalizer clatters to the tile. The woman jumps. The 'form materializes right next to Mr Clarke. The man looks at it and freezes, mouth hanging open, skin turning a funny gray color. The holo-form waves. Right before it reaches across the desk and snatches the laptop sitting in front of the man.
"Wha—hey!" Mr. Clarke says.
Too late. The holo-form bolts across the room and hits the window. Glass shatters. Holo-form and laptop tumble through the air two stories and hit the ground. The 'form bursts in a spray of light; the laptop bounces once and skitters away.
Oops.
Sideswipe reactivates the 'form. It shimmers into existence right next to him. The woman in the lobby is standing, staring at him, her eyes wide, her skin pale. The holo-form smiles at her and she takes a few, shaky steps back and hits her chair. She flops down, hard.
The laptop is under a bush. Sideswipe retrieves it and tosses the thing inside as the first guards show up. He dismisses the image, pulls his door shut, and backs out of the parking space.
He floors it. Someone opens fire. An electrified canister clips his back. A nasty shock races through his frame. But it's not enough to stop him and he hits the street, finds a gap in traffic, and peals out, onto the road.
((Hunter?)) he comms.
Still no answer.
Sideswipe grumbles to himself. By the time he gets on the highway headed north, he's doing three times the posted speed limit.
Simmons has the courtesy to eat his breakfast outside the McDonald's. He's as close to Hunter as he can get, seated at an outside kiddie-booth. He squints in the early morning sunlight and takes a bite out of his breakfast biscuit. Two empty wrappers are crumpled in a pile next to his elbow, but he's still eating with gusto, stopping every now and then to take a swig of coffee. Hunter notices that he grimaces and kind of shakes his head every time he sets the cup down. It's nice to see him feeling better, even if part of Hunter's brain keeps telling him that a plucky captive is more likely to bolt than a tired, hungry, pain-hazed one.
He gives himself a mental slap.
"Ugh. Burned it," Simmons says. He tilts the cup up and shakes the last few drops into his mouth.
Hunter can't actually remember the last thing he ate.
Simmons wolfs down the rest of his food and adds the wrapper to the pile. He wipes his mouth and sighs. Hunter watches him watching cars. It's 7:28 a.m. Traffic is thinking about clearing up.
Simmons stands. He tosses the collected wad into the trash. The agent eyeballs the empty cup. Despite the grumbling, he still looks disappointed when he tosses it in, too. He shuffles over to the parking lot, hitches his pants up, and takes a seat on the curb next to Hunter's bumper.
"So, what now, kid?" he says.
Hunter lifts the driver's side door.
"I'm fine," Simmons says. He stretches his legs out.
Hunter wishes he could glare.
"Your friend gonna meet us here?"
This time, it's not the chance of someone overhearing him that keeps Hunter's mouth shut. For some reason, Simmons smirks.
"Though it'd probably help if he knew where we were, huh?"
Hunter's door twitches. The agent's smirk turns into a grin.
Ah shit, Hunter thinks.
Simmons cocks his head. "Running off with the prize? I guess you guys don't do the whole loyalty thing."
"I'm not—" Hunter says, pauses. Simmons lifts his eyebrows. "I'm not running off."
"Uh huh. And that's why we've spent the last two hours poking around in Dallas? Even though he told you to go to the park?"
The real question glitters in the man's eyes.
"It's not like that," Hunter says. "I thought you should get something to eat, is all."
"Mmm. So we'll be heading back, now?"
Despite himself, despite the way the man is staring at him with that knowing look, he hesitates. He should take him back. He should hand him over to Sideswipe. That would be the easiest thing to do; Sideswipe seems to know what he's doing. Hunter is just guessing.
"Don't say that name!"
He'd heard it in that transmission. Behind Sideswipe's voice, he'd heard people screaming. Hunter had left him all alone with that van and the people inside it, knowing what he was capable of. He remembers the look on Sideswipe's face as he'd loomed over Hunter and smashed his arm.
He's only here to get Sunstreaker, Hunter thinks. He doesn't care about anyone else. What will he do if Simmons doesn't cooperate? Or if he doesn't know anything? What will he do?
He can't take Simmons back. Even though he's rude and blunt—and right—Hunter can't just fork him over to Sideswipe.
"You seem to be having some trouble with that," Simmons says. "So let me rephrase myself: What are your plans, kid?"
Hunter doesn't have an engine to start. He's not really a car. The space where an engine would go is filled with the robotic shell and whatever bits of Hunter there are left. Still, the sound of an engine rumbling to life makes for a great cue.
Simmons stares at him for one, long moment. Hunter waits, hoping that he doesn't get up and start walking away because he really doesn't want to chase him down and he really doesn't want to get shot again.
But Simmons doesn't run. He stands and brushes himself off. He slides in. Hunter shuts the door and waits until the agent buckles himself in before he backs out.
The park is to the south. Hunter turns north. Simmons doesn't say anything, and Hunter can't see his face, but he doesn't have to know the man is grinning.
Ten minutes later Hunter pulls over into a shopping center and parks in front of a Radio Shack. He kills the sound of the engine and sits still and tries to gather his thoughts. He can feel a minute shift in Simmons's weight—he thinks he's turning his head.
"What, you need to pick up a cell phone?" Simmons says.
"No," Hunter says. He pauses. Then, "Listen, I'm… we're not going back. Sideswipe isn't the most, ah, stable of people."
"Oh. So you're trying to save me, then?"
He can hear the sneer in there. Hunter grinds his teeth.
"Call it whatever you want to," he says. "But I need to talk to you."
"About what?" Simmons says it calmly, but Hunter can still detect the tension in his body.
"Those guys who tried to kidnap you? I think they were Machination."
"You 'think?'"
"I've been trying to track them down for a week, ever since… anyway. Sideswipe and I saw footage of you and some other FBI at a car accident up in Chicago a few days ago."
"You're involved in that?" Simmons voice takes a slight edge to it.
"Sideswipe was. That was another Headmaster, one who worked for Machination. Sideswipe's been tracking them, too. Then, the next day, you were in Dallas at that… that building."
He can't say it. It's just two words. "Crash site." And he can't get them out of his mouth.
"That Sideswipe's handiwork, too?" Simmons says. A few seconds go by. Hunter scrambles for something to say. Simmons beats him to it with," That was you? Wow, kid. What'd you do? Launch a missile at it?"
He's laughing. He's actually laughing.
"You think it's funny?" Hunter says.
"Yeah," Simmons says. The answer is so blunt that it cuts right through Hunter's growing outrage. "You go on about this other NBE being so dangerous, but it's not him who wrecks a skyscraper and kills ten people. At least he had the decency to avoid civilians. But you? You, the morality pet? It's you who did more damage."
"I didn't mean to—"
"Doesn't matter. Ignorance can do more harm that outright malice, kid. Looks like you get to learn that one the hard way."
I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I never did it intentionally.
He only went in for information. Then those guys had attacked him. All he'd wanted to do was get out. That was it. He hadn't gone in looking for a fight. He hadn't gone in asking to get shot. He hadn't shot at anyone. And yet ten—ten?—people died. Ten people who would never go home, who would never get to see their families again.
I didn't torture anyone.
Sideswipe had. Sideswipe had hunted down the Headmasters in order to interrogate and kill them. So who the hell was this smug bastard to sit there and pass judgment on him? He knew nothing. He hadn't been there, he hadn't seen the focused fury in the mech's eyes. He hadn't had his arm crushed. He hadn't had his mind invaded.
Sideswipe fixed it.
Hunter's whirling thoughts slow. The 'bot had fixed his arm. He'd apologized and through Hunter's uneasy haze of pain and fear and sheer fatigue, it had sounded genuine.
All I've done is run away.
"Let me get this straight," Simmons says. "You're both going after this 'Machination,' correct? So you see a clip of my team on the news and you bust into my hotel room to kidnap me? Was that one your idea, too?"
"We didn't kidnap you."
"Which is why I'm sitting in a shopping center instead of, I don't know, doing my job."
"Machination kidnapped you first."
"Because that makes all the difference."
"Listen, you pompous ass, if it hadn't been for me, they'd have taken you and brainwashed you or killed you. But they didn't. And now you're sitting in a shopping center, in the air conditioning, with food in your stomach and some Tylenol in your pocket."
"Ibuprofen," Simmons says.
"I don't care. It could be worse for you, you know."
"Is that a threat?"
Simmons isn't sitting inside a car, he's sitting inside Hunter's robotic body. Hunter lurches the driver's seat forward. Simmons bangs into the steering wheel.
"Ah! Shit. Real mature, kid," Simmons says. He sniffs through his nose.
"What were you looking for?" Hunter says." What was your team investigating?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Hunter twitches the seat again.
"You know, you can really pull off a one-man 'good cop, bad cop' routine. You should think about a career in law enforcement. Oh, wait."
"Damn it, Simmons. They tried to take you for a reason. What were you investigating? What do you know? Why were you in Dallas?"
"I'm FBI. It's my job."
"Bullshit. You were following our trail. Why? It's not a coincidence that you were at Chicago and Epsilon Holdings. You people know something. And—"
He was following their trail. He wasn't afraid of Hunter. In the hotel room, for the few seconds that Hunter had really looked at him and not the gun pointed at his face, he'd seen not fear, not surprise. He'd looked… delighted.
"You're looking for the Autobots," Hunter says.
"The what?" Simmons says.
It all makes sense. Simmons had been glancing to the window in the hotel. Not the door, the window, as if he knew Sideswipe wasn't human-sized. The way he'd watched Hunter on that swing set, not with nervousness, but with curiosity. He'd been studying him.
"Hey, kid, you still with me?"
"You're not FBI, are you?" Hunter says.
"Excuse me?"
Hunter's sensors go dark. Suddenly, he can see things, but a part of him no longer recognizes them. No energy signatures, no nothing. According to his feedback, the shops, the people in them, they shouldn't be there. He's felt this once before, in Epsilon Holdings, right before armed gunmen stormed inside and everything went to shit.
Machination! But how—
Simmons thumps him on the steering wheel and says, "You alright? You didn't go and fry yourself, did you?"
Simmons. Oh god. Is he one of them? But why stage your own kidnapping unless… unless he's a Trojan horse. He's bait. Oh god.
The Walgreens. He'd been in there for a long time. Hunter had thought he was just being an ass. But if that wasn't it, if he was one of Machination, then he must have gotten a hold of them there. He must have contacted them.
"What did you do?" Hunter says.
"What?"
Hunter doesn't bother with sound effects. He throws himself out of the parking stall and almost takes out the front of a white van. It honks, Simmons shouts, and Hunter is already moving, his tires squealing as he peels out of there.
"What the hell!" Simmons says.
"Shut up and sit down," Hunter says. He tightens the seatbelt so the man can't move.
His eyes. He has to use his eyes. There: two silver sedans coming up the aisle at him, fast. A dark green SUV pulls out in front of him. Hunter wrenches himself to the side. He hits a median, his underside scrapes along concrete as he plows through a bush and thumps back onto the pavement.
"What the hell's going on?" Simmons says.
"You should know!"
"What does that mean?"
"Your friends are after us!" Hunter snarls.
"What?"
Shit. He's headed straight for a concrete wall. He twists left.
"Look out!"
A flash of pale blue and a woman screams. Hunter hits the brakes. His frame shudders as he skids to a stop two inches short of running her over. She falls back, her eyes huge.
The sedans are still coming. Hunter can see the barrels of some kind of weapon sticking out the windows.
"Sorry!" he says and takes off again. The shops flash past in a blur. He's going too fast. Part of him knows this. The other part of him is too busy noting that his pursuit is gaining to care.
He needs to turn left. There's a driveway to the street, an exit. But then a third sedan comes flying out of nowhere, racing parallel to him. It's going to get there before he does.
"Kid!" Simmons says.
They're rolling down their windows. They're leveling some kind of bazooka at him.
No!
His back half peels apart. It's the weirdest thing Hunter has ever felt. Panels slide away and something inside whirs and lifts out.
"What is that?" Simmons says.
A red crosshair blinks on the screen over Hunter's eyes.
Oh, he thinks. He's got Sunstreaker's body. Sunstreaker had missile launchers.
No time to think about it. The crosshairs follow his vision as he looks to the front of the car. He takes aim a few feet in front of them.
There's no trigger for him to squeeze. No button to push. This body doesn't work that way. Instead, Hunter focuses and thinks, fire.
A low rumbling builds through him. Something hisses. Then a blast of hot air washes over his roof. He catches a glimpse of something small and dark and fast streak through the air.
"Whoa!" Simmons says.
His optics cut out. He hears the huge, concussive bang! He actually feels the wave blast through him. Simmons clutches the seat; Hunter thinks the man shouts something. The next moment, the screen over his eyes is back on and he's bursting through a smoke cloud. The sedan spins away. Part of the front is gone. He sees people on the ground, people scurrying, more just standing and staring.
"Jesus," Simmons says.
They're at the driveway. The cars on the street beyond have stopped. He darts out, cuts a hard right onto the sidewalk, and floors it. Two seconds later and the other two cars screech out after him.
Oh shit! he thinks. Now what?
Neither of the humans are there. Sideswipe can tell that much before he even pulls into the park. He keeps going, hoping he's wrong, hoping his sensors lie, hoping they maybe left something behind, some kind of explanation for why Hunter and Simmons are not where they should be.
The park is full of humans now. Miniature ones run screaming, climbing things and digging in the dirt. The older ones watch over and talk amongst themselves. A few look over when he comes to a stop at the edge of the grass.
Slaggit, Hunter! You idiot!
Of cource, there could be a very good explanation for it: they could have been taken. But there's no sign of a struggle, no torn up earth, no small fires, no missile shrapnel. All of the buildings surrounding the area are still standing and Sideswipe doubts the human would go down without a fight.
He must have left on his own. Stupid species.
((Sideswipe!))
No one is looking over to see him jump.
((Hunter?)) he comms.
((Oh, thank god! You're there! Could you—)) the human breaks off with a curse. Sideswipe can here another voice, what has to be Agent Simmons, yelling.
((What's going on? Where are you?)) Sideswipe says.
((Running.))
He can hear other noises in the background: car horns and humans shouting, a sudden, sharp bam and Hunter's, ((Ah!))
((Hunter, what's going on?)) he says. He backs out, heading for the street.
((It's Machination! Simmons—he must have told them or something. They found us. I blew one up but there's still two more and I can't shake them!))
Sideswipe swears.
((Where are you?)) he says.
((Uh… I—damnit! I said to stop doing that!))
(('I wouldn't have to if you would stop driving like a maniac!')) Simmons voice comes over the comm line.
((Oh, I'm sorry. Am I being inconsiderate?))
This is followed by a sharp yelp and a rustle and a thump! Then Hunter says, ((Hey! Give me one reason I shouldn't toss you out the door right now, you irritating—))
((Whoa, whoa! Calm down,)) Sideswipe says. He makes a hard right and cuts off a large transport truck. Its horn blares. He's speeding under a bridge. Eight lanes of road whip past above. ((Simmons isn't part of Machination. Just calm down and tell me where you are.))
((Hi Line Drive and Oak Lawn Avenue.))
Sideswipe patches into the communications network and pulls up a map. Hunter is headed into the industrial district.
((Turn left,)) he says.
He's not picking the human up on a scan. He should be able to see him by now. He hits a cross street and turns left, his back end sliding out behind him.
((Keep your comm line open. Keep going down that road until you get to East Levee Street. Take a left and follow that.))
((Okay.))
((You have to stay on that road no matter what. I'm not picking you up on sensors so I won't be able to tell where you are.))
((They've got that, that black hole thing,)) Hunter says. ((I can't scan anything—oh shit!))
Simmons shouts. Sideswipe hears a hiss. A nano-klik later and the comm line fritzes out.
((Hunter?)) He waits. One nano-klik. Two. He takes another left onto another street. The intersection is full of cars. He goes up, onto the sidewalk to get past them and almost takes out a pole in the process. ((Hunter?))
((Jesus Christ!)) the human says. ((Goddamn bazooka!))
((Stay calm,)) Sideswipe says. ((I'm on my way. Follow my directions. Can you do that?))
((Oh yeah, Hunter. Don't get hit by the grenades. It's just like dodge ball! No problem!))
(('Incoming!')) Simmons says.
This time, Sideswipe hears the explosion himself. He's running parallel to the street the human is on. A few blocks up, he spots a puff of smoke. He puts on a burst of speed.
(('Go right! Go right!')) Simmons says.
((I can't!)) Hunter says.
Another explosion. This time, Sideswipe spots a crackling ball of energy. It's an ion cannon. The shops rush past. He glances down a street and catches a flash of yellow.
((I see you!)) Sideswipe says.
He takes the next right. Dirt sprays beneath his tires. He almost takes out a chunk of building. He floors it. A blur of yellow at the mouth of the alley. He's halfway there. Faster, faster, Sideswipe braces himself.
Silver! Sideswipe slams into the car so hard that his optics black out. They come on a nano-klik later and he finds himself under the thing. Then it's up, over his roof and smashing into the pavement behind. Another, terrific crash as the second vehicle plows into the first.
Sideswipe skids for a few metras, his back tires drifting to the side before he can catch himself. He screeches to a stop, facing the smoking, groaning wreckage.
"Go!" he says.
Hunter, stopped behind him, says, "Where?"
Sideswipe surveys the ruined cars one more time. There's no movement within. Over the comm line, he says, ((North. We're going back to the ship.))
The secretary stares. Jerri ignores her and returns her attention to the painting on the wall. It's a field of sunflowers. The yellows and the golds and the browns swirl together, reflecting the curls of blue in the sky. It's a very interesting design, and very out of place in an office like this.
"Ah, Ms. Stephens!"
She turns, spots the man coming through the door, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. For once, he isn't wearing his hat.
"Mr. Dante," she says with a nod.
Mr. Dante walks up, all smiles, and claps her on the shoulder. Jerri manages not to flinch.
"I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long," he says.
"Not at all."
"Good, good. We see you made it in one piece. Do you need any coffee? Those late night flights can be brutal."
"I'd like that," Jerri says. "Thank you."
Mr. Dante nods and sweeps past her, headed for the door on the far side of the room. Jerri follows. After she passes, she hears the secretary get up, listens to the double-thump of her heels on the carpet as she heads out of the room. Then they're through and into the man's office. Mr. Dante takes a seat behind his expansive desk.
Behind him, the wall is made from floor-to-ceiling windows. An over-extravagant touch; the room is on the second floor and the only view it offers is of the street and the bare lot beyond.
"You mentioned a job?" Jerri says, settling into her own chair.
Mr. Dante blinks. His eyebrows lift. Then the surprise is gone, replaced by that smile again.
"Right to the point, then," he says. "That's what we like about you."
Jerri sits still. No one speaks.
"Well," Mr. Dante says after a moment, "we've got a shipment coming in later, and we were wondering if you'd be willing to make sure it gets here."
"You want me to run security or take care of the delivery itself?"
"Both, if you wouldn't mind."
"My usual rate?"
"Of course."
She sighs. "Where and when?"
Mr. Dante's puppies-and-sunshine grin turns full-blown creepy. The hairs on the back of Jerri's neck stand up.
"We were hoping you'd say that."
I would say that the only reason I update is for you, Starfire201 and lildevchick. But that would be a lie. I would probably update even if I had no reviews (while weeping bitter, bitter tears into my booze). Knowing there are two people out there who like it, though, is the icing on the cake. So thank you. Hopefully, I won't disappoint. And thank you KayDeeBlu for making sure I don't sound like a total dumbass.
Next chapter: It's You