Chapter Eighteen: Trust Me
"Do these things cry?" Simmons says.
Hunter glares. Simmons doesn't even look up; he stares at Sideswipe and Hunter can't really blame him. The Autobot himself stares at the small, metal sphere with an expression Hunter can't even begin to decipher.
We shouldn't be seeing this, he thinks.
It's too personal. He feels like a voyeur, watching the raw emotion on Sideswipe's battered face. The way he's holding the spark container… Hunter is intruding on something he's not meant to see.
"Simmons," he says as quietly as he can. The agent tears his gaze away. Hunter nods to the truck. To his credit, the man nods and turns without a word. Hunter starts to follow.
"Thank you."
The words are so soft that Hunter isn't even sure he heard it. He stops and turns and finds Sideswipe looking at him.
"Oh," Hunter says. "No, Simmons was the one to grab…" he's not sure whether to say "him" or "that" or "it."
"Then thank you both," Sideswipe says.
Simmons stops next to Hunter. He studies the Autobot for a moment and then sighs.
"Egh, fine," he says. "You can keep it. Wouldn't do me much good, anyway."
Inside the shell, Hunter's jaw drops. But Sideswipe lets out one of the odd, chuffing rumbles that Hunter thinks might be laughter.
"No," Sideswipe says. "Sunny's a real pain in the aft."
"Yeah, well, better you than me, pal."
Simmons starts back toward the truck. Hunter watches him go and then says, "So he's really in there?"
It's hard to tell through all the damage, but he thinks Sideswipe smiles.
"Yeah," he says.
Hunter has never seen a spark container. Patches of dark gray cover a lighter, more reflective surface. The dark splotches are the exact color as the gray parts on Sideswipe's armor. He can't help but think that the slightest touch will make it crumble.
"Is it supposed to look like that?" he says.
"No," Sideswipe says. "It's… Sunny's really weak right now. He's alive, but we need to get him back to the ship."
"Yeah," Hunter says. He has no idea how bad it must look to Sideswipe, who knows what he's looking at. "He's not gonna, you know…?"
Sideswipe pauses. Then, "We need to hurry."
"Got it."
"Once we get back to the ship, you're gonna need—" Sideswipe stops. His eye moves, looking past Hunter. Hunter turns to find Simmons storming over with Stephens not far behind.
"What?" Hunter says.
"The quiet," Sideswipe says. He's tilted his head to stare toward the highway.
The engine of the semi ticks as it cools. Crickets chirp. Cicadas hum. The fluorescent lights over the rest area bathrooms buzz. What Hunter doesn't hear, what he realizes he hasn't heard in a few minutes, is traffic. The highway is dark and silent. The drumming of helicopters has vanished.
"Kid," Simmons says, trotting the last few feet. "Hey, I need you to listen up for a second."
"What's going on?" Hunter says.
Simmons lifts both his hands in a placating gesture. "Calm down. I got everything under control, alright? Just promise me you're gonna listen to what I say before you go flying off the handle—"
"What did you do now?"
"Like that," Simmons says. "Take a deep breath and can it, okay? Let me explain."
Explain?
He's already on his feet, head swiveling, scanning for whatever—
Oh god, no.
Two blips on the visor. They're maybe a hundred feet in the air and closing in fast. And there are more on the ground, in both directions on the highway. He picks up the distinct signature of energy weapons.
"Simmons, what the hell?" he says.
"It's alright," Simmons says. "These are my people, okay?"
"Okay? This is not okay! What the—how the hell did they—"
Simmons stands there. He doesn't look surprised or anything, just kind of nervous.
"You," Hunter says.
"Listen," Simmons says. "Both of you. I can get the both of you out of here and back to your ship but you have got to trust me, alright? You're gonna have to do what I say, when I say it."
Hunter's right hand twitches. The machinery is there; he could be armed and shooting in less than two seconds. The moment the thought flashes through his mind, Simmons looks at him.
"Kid, the entire country is looking for you. And I'm not talking about the media vultures. Right now, the Pentagon is scrambling fighters to come after you. They've got high-altitude drones scouring the city to find you. There is no way in hell you or Red are going to make it to your ship without someone spotting you. Not on your own. Do you understand?"
"So what, we let you haul us off to some government lab?"
"We've got a small window of opportunity here," Simmons says. "The bureaucrats are too busy squabbling over whose jurisdiction is entitled to what. If we can get you to where you need to go before they decide on anything…"
"While the politicians argue, you sneak off with the prize," Hunter says.
Simmons shrugs.
"Who the hell are you, Simmons?" Hunter says.
"You're running out of time," Simmons says.
Hunter can hear helicopters. Three of them. Headlights appear on the horizon.
Shit, he thinks.
((Sideswipe?)) he comms.
A crackle. Then Sideswipe says, ((Yeah.))
((What do you want to do?))
Sunstreaker's spark container is dying. Sunstreaker is dying. Sideswipe can barely move, let alone fight his way the two-hundred-fifty miles to the ship and Hunter's not sure he can hold off the entire army.
((Frag,)) Sideswipe says. ((I don't think we've got much of a choice.))
Simmons watches them, his face unreadable. Stephens slowly lowers herself to the ground. She's pale. He can see dark circles under eyes. Behind him, Sideswipes insides gurgle in a way he really doesn't like.
"Shit," he says.
Simmons grins.
"Let's get one thing straight," Hunter says. "If it looks, even for a second, like you're gonna double cross us, I swear to god I will end you."
"Yeah yeah," Simmons says. "You know, kid, for being such a moralist, you resort to violence pretty quickly."
Hunter clenches his jaw. He looks to Sideswipe. Then he says, "What do we do?"
Three helicopters are inbound. He's got a ground team on the way, coming from the east and the west on highway ninety-four. Simmons has minutes until the first wave reaches them.
"I need both of you to promise me that you will not fight back," Simmons says. "I mean it. The first sign of hostility and I'm not going to be able to stop my team from taking you down. We clear?"
He can see the hostility rippling in the air above the two NBE's. The kid looks like he's about four seconds from tearing across the landscape and opening fire.
"Kid," he says.
Two very long seconds tick by. Finally, the kid lets out a growling sigh. He visibly forces himself to relax.
The sound of helicopter rotors thump in the distance. Simmons can see their spotlights waving above the trees. Simmons looks from the sky to the kid and to Red.
"Okay," he says. "Red, you stay right where you are. Kid, I need you on the ground, hands on the back of your head. And I mean right now."
Hunter grumbles under his breath and starts to lower himself to the ground. Simmons watches him for a moment and switches his attention to the sky. The first helicopter roars over head. The wind blasts the trees. His clothes flap around him. Then it's gone, banking to the left to circle around. Another one comes in, this one slower. Simmons is forced to shield his face with one hand as the backwash kicks up dirt and loose gravel. He lifts one arm and waves.
"Simmons!" Red says. He's got that metal ball tucked practically into the incision in his chest.
"Stay cool!" Simmons shouts over the incredible noise. "Don't move!"
The third helicopter comes to a stop hovering at the edge of the rest area. He watches as lines drop out, as armored agents begin to rope down. A flurry of movement towards the road as four SUV's screech to a stop, doors flinging open, more agents spilling out. The first chopper comes around and stops, hovering, facing them, and Simmons knows that the door guns are trained right on their clearing. One wrong move and they'll open fire and while it may not outright kill either NBE, he and Stephens will be blown to steaming pieces of meat.
"Hunter, keep your head down!" Simmons says.
The kid peeks up. He shoots a glance at Simmons and then lowers his face into the grass.
His people swarm down the rise, toward them. Simmons steps forward, still waving. The helicopter agents fan out, surrounding the kid and Red. Simmons spots one of them with a cryogenic tank.
"Hey!" he says. "Hey!"
The SUV group breaks up, most of them joining the ring forming around the downed NBE's. Another, smaller group hustles over to him.
"Agent Simmons!" someone says.
I know that voice, he thinks.
"Cantrell!" he says.
Agent Liz Cantrell, her short brown hair hidden under a helmet, steps forward. She stays down; they all do. She reaches out her hand to him but he ignores it, leaning in close.
"I need you to tell your team to back off!" he says.
"What?"
"Back off! Do not engage! They're friendlies!"
Her brows furrow.
"I'm sorry, I can't do that!" she says.
Any second now someone is going to do something stupid. Someone is going to open fire or his team is going to start hosing Hunter and Red down. And when they do, promises or no, he doubts they'll lay there and take it.
"Cantrell! I need you to listen to me! I will explain everything in a minute but right now, I need you to tell your team to stand down before things get ugly!"
She looks at him for a long moment. She could very well ignore him. Red is in no condition to defend himself. The kid will never be able to drag him out alone. One way or another, they'll be taken down. He's in no position to issue orders. He knows he looks like shit, he knows procedure. In their shoes, he'd have both NBE's tagged and bagged and on ice in a truck in a heartbeat. And he can see that she's thinking it.
"They're helping us," he says. "They have information. Something big is going on and those two are our best chance at stopping it. So unless you feel like handing civilization itself over to an incoming alien invasion, I suggest you stand down."
Cantrell stares for a few seconds. Then she lifts her wrist and shouts, "All units, hold your fire! Repeat: all units, do not fire. Stand down!"
"Thank you," Simmons says.
Cantrell nods. She turns and makes a whirling gesture at the helicopters. Simmons is careful not to let his relief show.
Agents in dark body armor swarm all over the clearing. Hunter stays right where he is, lying on his belly on the grass, Sideswipe next to him. The helicopters circle a few hundred feet away. Simmons is in some kind of intense, huddled discussion with other, armored agents. Hunter sees the glow of a cell phone being passed around.
((Sideswipe,)) he says. ((Is Sunstreaker still okay?))
((Yeah,)) Sideswipe says. ((What the frag is taking them so long?))
They've been there for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes on the ground with his hands behind his head, with twelve guys with very big guns and very twitchy fingers standing over him.
There are four SUV's next to the grass. In addition to the twelve guys around him, there are nine more by Sideswipe, another five next to Simmons, and one guy standing with Stephens. If something goes wrong, if one of them starts to shoot, Hunter can be up in half a second. One missile to each car and a few to spare for the helicopters. The trouble would be getting Sideswipe. The stolen truck is still right there, but Hunter would need someone to drive it—
Simmons breaks away from the cluster. He comes sauntering over and crouches next to Hunter's head.
"Okay kid," he says. "I've talked to my superiors and they agree that you're a better asset alive and in one piece."
"Oh, goodie," Hunter says.
"They've agreed to let this team escort you back to your ship where you can get Red and the silver ball patched up."
"And in exchange?" Sideswipe says.
Simmons mouth pulls into a faint smirk.
"In exchange for cooperation," he says.
"What kind of cooperation?" Hunter says.
Simmons shrugs. "We don't know enough to make that assessment just yet."
"So we'll owe you," Sideswipe says. "Are your superiors looking for a favor, or looking for weapons? Because my superiors aren't going to hand over any of our technology, no matter what kind of agreement I make."
"I'm sure we can all work something out."
"Oh yeah, this is gonna turn out great," Hunter says.
"Okay, young man," Simmons says. "I just saved your ass. Both of you. Is it too much to ask that you keep the sarcasm to a minimal? I know it's hard, but could you try?"
Hunter rolls his eyes. "Fine. Can I get up now?"
"Yeah. Give me a minute to warn everyone, alright?" Simmons stands and heads back toward the smaller group of agents.
He has Sunny. He's right there, right with him, weakened but still so alive. Sideswipe's body is light. He holds his brother's spark container as close to him as he can, sheltering it as best he can. The humans have managed to rig up a cover over him. A stiff, blue cloth Hunter had called a "tarp" is draped over his frame and secured to the sides of the trailer bed. Every time he moves it rustles. The wind sneaks in through the gaps the edges.
He doesn't mind. Because he has Sunny.
((Sideswipe?))
And Hunter. The human who, despite everything, had hauled Sideswipe's aft out of a burning building. The human who had helped get Sunny's spark out.
((Sideswipe? You awake?))
((Yeah,)) he comms.
((Oh,)) Hunter says. ((Just making sure you're, you know. How are you holding up? Aside from the obvious.))
The truck sways back and forth. The trailer rattles. He's lost too much energon. He doesn't have the energy to lift his legs anymore. The gash in his chest throbs and burns. He can feel air where there shouldn't be any.
((Peachy,)) he says.
((Sunstreaker?))
This takes longer.
((Still here,)) he says.
Hunter doesn't say anything else for a few minutes. Sideswipe listens to the tires on the road, to the creaking of the trailer, to the engine of the transport and the cars in front and behind them. He listens to his own insides shift around.
You'll be okay, Sunshine, he thinks. You're too much of a mean fragger to go and die now and I'm too much of a slag-head to let you.
Sunny gives no response.
((Do you…)) Hunter says. Sideswipe waits for him to finish only he doesn't.
((Do I what?)) he says.
((Why hasn't Machination attacked us, yet?))
((Their base was pretty fragged. It'll probably be a while before they can get their slag together.))
((Oh.))
((Nice job, by the way. What'd you do? Blow an armory?))
((Me and Simmons found where they stored the energon. We set it on fire.))
Sideswipe tries to piece these words together in a way that makes logical sense. He fails.
((Come again?)) he says.
((The energon,)) Hunter says. ((They were keeping all these cubes down in the lower basement. We sloshed it all over the room and set it on fire and ran like hell. I woke up in an elevator shaft with a nasty headache.))
((You set energon on fire,)) Sideswipe says.
((Yeah.))
((A lot of it.))
((Yeah?))
((All at once? With you inside the building?))
((Where are you going with this?))
((Hunter, energon is really unstable.))
((Hence the giant explosion and the building collapse.))
Sideswipe spends the next minute trying to find a polite way to phrase the question, "Are you glitched?"
((Are you glitched?)) he finally says.
((We didn't know it would be that bad,)) Hunter says.
And yet they did it anyway. A bunch of organics, setting energon on fire just because it sounded like a good idea.
He wonders if the Decepticons know what they're getting into.
((And anyway, it worked, right?)) Hunter says.
((You're lucky you aren't dead,)) Sideswipe says. ((You're lucky I'm not dead.))
((Well, what else was I supposed to do? It was just me and Simmons against an entire building of people with guns and bazookas and crap. Where were you during all of this?))
Getting my aft handed to me, he thinks. A faint brush against his mind. Sideswipe looks at the spark case. Sunny?
((I got caught,)) Sideswipe says.
((That scorpion thing,)) Hunter says.
((Yeah,)) Sideswipe says. ((Goes by the name Scorpinok.))
((I met him. Before. Only it was just his head. How did…he's a Headmaster, isn't he?))
Silence. Hunter swears.
((Is that what this whole thing was about? He needed someone to experiment on? Is that why he took me? Why he…))
((I don't know,)) Sideswipe says.
((But then why would he make so many copies of Sunstreaker? If he was going to do that to himself… I saw what it did to Sunstreaker. Why the hell would anyone do that to themselves? Why would he need to?))
Sideswipe lays there. Sunny's spark gives off a small flare of energy.
((Shit, I'm sorry,)) Hunter says. ((I didn't mean—))
((It's okay,)) Sideswipe says.
I've got you, Sunny. You're safe.
((You don't think he died back there, do you?)) Hunter says.
((I don't think we're that lucky.))
((So what happens when he comes after us?))
Sideswipe knows what he needs to do. He's known it for a while. By doing it, he will save Sunstreaker. By doing it, he will doom himself.
((We're calling for back-up,)) he says.
Backup. Other Autobots.
On one hand, this makes Hunter feel better—more Autobots means less chance of Sideswipe and him being slaughtered if or when Scorpinok shows up. It means he might be able to find out what happened to Verity and Jimmy. Might even get to see them again.
On the other hand…
I'm a cyborg freak walking around in a cloned body of one of their people who was tortured and hacked apart. Oh yeah. They're gonna love that.
And for what? Because Scorpinok needed a guinea pig. He needed someone to test his process on. Needed to make sure it would work before doing it to himself.
Someone is his Headmaster. Someone worked with him.
Scorpinok made an army. And Hunter has no idea why.
Sideswipe falls silent. Hunter doesn't bug him again. To the east, the sky begins to change color, fading to a deep blue as dawn approaches. Birds chirp. It's light enough for him to see the outline of the treetops beyond the reach of his own headlights.
They're the only cars on the road. Hunter assumes they have Simmons to thank for that. Every couple of minutes he catches the drone of helicopters in the distance.
It's been the longest stretch of time in the last three days that someone hasn't been trying to kill him.
Out in front, the lead vehicle makes a right turn, off the road, and onto an unmarked, dirt path. There are no lights. Branches scrape his frame on both sides. The truck carrying Sideswipe has to slow way down. The air smells of dampness and rotted leaves.
A few minutes later and they're through.
Hunter has never seen where Sideswipe had stashed his ship, not in daylight, anyway. When he'd been brought in, he'd been unconscious. When he left, it had been too dark to see anything but the sand dunes and the trees.
His first sight is water. Hunter knows lakes; he grew up in Oklahoma. He's been on lakes that twist and turn and go on for miles. That is nothing compared to Lake Michigan. Lake Michigan isn't a lake, it's an ocean. It's just water, as far as he can see, inky blackness going on and on and merging with the sky.
"Whoa," he says.
A gust of wind sweeps in and rocks him on his tires. He smells the cool moisture in the air. They keep going, his tires sinking into the sand. Finally, about twenty feet from the mild surf, the convoy stops. Doors open. Armed agents drop out and take up positions around the vehicles.
Simmons comes striding up, a black jacket flapping in the breeze, radio in one hand. He walks with a limp.
"You okay?" Hunter says.
Simmons nods.
"How about you?" he says. "Hey Red, you still alive?"
Sideswipe makes a strange noise that Hunter recognizes as a curse. Then, "Hurry up and get me off this thing."
"I will as soon as you tell me where this ship of yours is. 'Cause I'm not seeing it."
"It's underwater," Hunter says.
"Like…" Simmons gestures to the waves hissing along the beach. "Out there?"
Simmons stares at the shape under the tarp. He looks at the water. He looks at Hunter. "How the hell do you plan on getting it?"
((Hunter,)) Sideswipe comms, ((I'm too fragged to get up and I won't risk 'jumping Sunny. You're going to have to go down there and bring the ship up to the shore.))
((Wait, what? You can't, I don't know, remote fly the thing?))
((I can walk you right through it. It'll be fine.))
((Sideswipe…))
((Come on, you've done worse.))
"Hello?" Simmons says. "Someone gonna answer me?"
"Hang on," Hunter says. "I'm gonna transform. Can you make sure no one freaks out and shoots me or anything?"
He barely has to think about it, now. Seconds later he picks himself up onto two legs. Presto, instant robot. And the heart rate of every single human—except one—in the vicinity sky rockets. He kneels next to Simmons.
"I've gotta go in there," he says, pointing to the water. "I'll get the ship and fly it up here."
"Are you qualified for that?" Simmons says.
No, he thinks.
"Sideswipe's gonna be monitoring me," he says. "He says it's practically on autopilot."
Simmons stares at him for exactly four seconds. Then he lifts his radio and says, "All units, back to vehicles. Repeat: all units, get back to your vehicles. Get off the beach."
Sideswipe starts to laugh.
((Shut up, Sideswipe,)) Hunter says. ((Let's just get this over with.))
((You're going to have to come over here.))
Simmons scurries back to his own SUV along with the rest of his agents. The engine of the semi coughs to life. Hunter leans down to peer through the driver's window.
"Hey, could you hold on a minute?" he says.
The two men inside go pale. The driver nods. Hunter moves to the back.
((I'm here,)) he says.
((You're going to have to get this thing off of me,)) Sideswipe says.
Hunter rolls his eyes. The clasps are too small for him to undo. Another quick word with the driver and both agents get outside and start to pull the tarp away.
The sun thinks about rising. The waves, at first a deep black, turn gray. It's still too dark to pick out details, but it's not dark enough to hide all the damage to Sideswipe. Hunter has seen it before, of course: the mess of mangled metal in the gloom of that stinking hole and later, under the green of the fluorescent lights at the rest area. In the dim, gray of pre-dawn, it's somehow worse.
"Jesus," he says.
Sideswipe is leaking. There are smears all underneath him. The 'bot lies on his back with what's left of Sunstreaker's head in the crook of his ruined left arm. The right holds Sunstreaker's spark container against his chest, tucked beneath his chin.
"That bad, huh?" Sideswipe says. He makes a buzzing noise that Hunter can't identify and crooks a finger in a "come here" gesture. Hunter leans in.
"You know that interface I did with you?" he says. "When I went into your memories?"
"Yeah?" Hunter says, his non-existent stomach churning.
"We're gonna have to do that again."
Hunter jerks back. "What? Why?"
"Because it'll take me a lot longer to explain what you need to do and we don't have that kind of time."
"But…"
The rattle in the 'bot's chest has turned into a rough grind. Hunter can only see a small curve of Sunstreaker's spark container, but he thinks the dark patches have spread. His gaze falls on the charred head lying on the other arm.
"Goddamnit," he says. "What do I do?"
"You need to format your hand into a jack," Sideswipe says. "It's a subroutine of the transformation command. You should have it."
Lots of things I should have and a robot body isn't one of them, he thinks. He finds the code. His right arm whirs and his fingers sort of fold back as a weird, tri-cornered headphone jack assembles where his palm meets his wrist.
"There you go," Sideswipe says. "There's a port on the back of my head, right beneath the helm. Just plug in and I can transfer the files over to you."
He makes it sound so easy. Hunter remembers, though, what it felt like to have Sideswipe digging through his head.
"Is this going to hurt?" he says.
An expression crosses Sideswipe's face too fast for Hunter to identify.
"It shouldn't be as bad," Sideswipe says. "I've got them ready to go. It won't take long."
Hunter wonders if that look had been Sideswipe-ese for "lying through my robot teeth."
He sighs. "Let's do this."
Sideswipe twists his head to the side. Hunter squints. There, hidden halfway under the thick, black plating that covers his head, is a silver disc about the size of his thumb. He can make out a slot in the center of it. He looks at his wrist.
There is no way for this not to be weird.
The wind gusts. Sideswipe's guts let out another coughing grumble. Seconds tick by.
"Problem?" Sideswipe says.
"No. I just…"
"Come on, Hunter. You need to hurry."
Hunter lifts his hand. He lines the jack up and hesitates. Even torn up and barely able to move, Sideswipe still radiates an air of… it's not menace. It's nothing so sinister. It's something alien. Something old and strange.
"Hunter—"
He plugs in.
The world drops away in a rush and time slows and stops and he doesn't even know who he is anymore. Around him is something vast and it's moving. Shimmering lines weave into intricate patterns around jigsaw pieces and it's old; it's so old. Here and there are patches of grating, ugly rot. It hurts to see those. He wants to make it stop, make them go away, replace them with the glowing strands and—
Something hits him. He staggers, falls—
He opens his eyes. His cheeks are wet.
"—er!"
"NBE is down, repeat—"
A radio squawks.
He's staring at a dirty tire. One arm is pinned beneath him. His legs are all twisted up. He's on the ground. He hears feet moving around him.
"Hunter?" the faint buzz beneath the voice marks it as Sideswipe.
Names. He knows names. He knows the faces they're attached to. And the one everyone keeps saying: Hunter. He knows that one, too. He's heard it a lot.
Brakes squeal. A door opens and more feet bite into the sand. The swish of pants; someone walking, fast.
"Kid? Hey, kid?" Simmons says. He bends down to look into his eyes. Then he lifts back up and his head disappears from sight. "What the hell did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," Sideswipe says. "Give him a klik. He'll snap out of it."
"Snap out of what? You listen to me, pal, if you—"
"It was a memory transfer. He's a little disoriented—"
"You call that disoriented? He dropped like a goddamn dead elephant."
Hunter. It's his name. He's Hunter.
"Ow," he says.
The bickering cuts off. He lifts his head, finds the two agents from the truck standing over him. Sideswipe has managed to lever himself up to peer over the edge of the trailer. As soon as Hunter makes eye contact, he gives a half-smile and flops back down.
Hunter smells something burning. His forehead hurts. He lifts a hand and feels a dent in his helmet.
"What happened?" he says.
"You and Dumbo there—" Simmons says.
"Hey!" Sideswipe says.
"—did some sort of weird, robot thing, and then you collapsed. You cracked your head pretty good on the way down. You alright?"
His skull pounds. His face tingles. A terrible emptiness echoes through him.
Is that…? he thinks. He looks at the trailer.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm fine."
Jesus, Sideswipe, is that what you've been carrying around all this time?
He pushes himself up into a sitting position only to find Sideswipe staring at him. Sunstreaker. That awful, crawling emptiness is Sideswipe's connection to Sunstreaker. Sideswipe doesn't say anything. Neither does Hunter.
"Are we doing this or not?" Simmons says.
Sorry about that delay. Work got crazy.
Next chapter: The Hard Part