Disclaimers in Part 1
"What? Why aren't you coming?"
Mikaela smiled at Jen Wright, with whom she was having some Tex-Mex.
College Station, Texas, was not a large city – mostly a town-and-gown place. Jen and Mikaela, both seniors at Texas A&M's engineering school, were gownies, not townies
The two women lived off-campus, sharing a house with six other Engineering students, four guys, two more women. After graduation, the housemates would paint the town a vivid shade of carmine before departing to, as Jen put it, "pretend to be grownups." (Or a town, anyway; College Station already had a dispiriting number of coats of paint. Currently, debate was tilting toward Austin for the site of this art project.)
"My dad's in Nevada. He just got out of prison, can't travel out of state. And I don't have any other relatives I'd ask. I thought I'd just skip the grad ceremony. Get right to the fun part."
"Kaela, no! You've gotta do it! We want pictures, and you've got to be in them!"
Mikaela smiled at her, and had a mouthful of her Hashbrowns from Hell. Jen followed suit, and so there was no further conversation until the potatoes had been washed down with milk, which put the Tex-Mex fire out.
"I'll miss this," Mikaela said, looking around at the dive eatery. "Good Eats for Not Much" was its name, hand-painted on the door with dribbly enamel.
"This place? Places like this are a dime a dozen, Kaela. And you have a job waiting. Start eating at better places."
"Even if I do, it won't be with you and Mark and Mary and Tabs and the teenagers," Mikaela said. "And that makes all the difference."
"But you'll come to graduation? Please! You have to!"
"Okay, okay. I'll order the cap and gown tomorrow."
"Good!" Jen jumped up and hugged Mikaela, right there in front of Tex and Mex, which they had long ago named the two sweaty fry cooks who ran the place.
"So what's the plan afterward?" Mikaela said, forking into a breakfast tamale.
"Austin first, then Houston for the Order induction. A lot of us are flying out of Houston afterward."
"Sounds good to me," said Mikaela, whose car would take her from Houston to Nevada, the place she was prepared to call "home." And she'd have to drive it. That was the sucky part.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Mikaela waited in the hallway outside the auditorium with her classmates. The corridor was a river of cadet gray uniforms and black robes, here and there with a sash or cord draped around a soon-to-be-graduate's neck as a symbol of achievement.
The first chords of "Pomp and Circumstance" resounded. The procession was led by a professor emeritus in his full regalia carrying the mace, followed by the long stream of graduates, a few doctoral candidates, and professors.
Mikaela had not attended her high school graduation. In the panic following the Battle of Mission City, it had been decided there was too much of a risk any Decepticons still on the loose might attack the school in an attempt to avenge Megatron—though, of course, the government had told the school they feared an attack by human terrorists. She and Sam had received their diplomas in a private ceremony in the principal's office. Sam's parents had been there. Mikaela didn't remember why her father had blown it off—he'd been out of jail at the time, but he hadn't shown up.
She wasn't prepared for the cheering crowd or the continual flash of cameras. It seemed like every graduate had someone in the crowd—some had several.
The ceremony took a long time, most of it a long-winded, stultifying speech by a former senator who was an alumnus of the school. Mikaela tried not to squirm. Even if the air conditioning had been working, it would have been no match for the triple-digit temperatures outside and the capacity crowd inside. Her black polyester gown did not help. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, and her hard folding chair grew less comfortable by the minute.
Eventually, however, the speaker ran out of things to say, and the rest of the ceremony got under way. Finally, the last name was called, the Alma Mater sung for the last time, and the summer 2011 graduating class spilled out into the sun. Mikaela joined her classmates in throwing her mortarboard high into the cloudless blue sky.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Chip Chase reached over to slap his alarm clock, an hour before anyone else woke up. He reached for the trapeze bar over his head and hauled himself up in the bed, then checked his fasting blood sugar. He was on steroids, which could cause a potential case of Type II diabetes to become active, so once a week he did a finger stick. Since his result was still normal, he zipped up the test kit and dropped his trash in a paper bag taped to his night stand. Then he took a pill that could not be taken with food.
He reached for a small datapad and logged the blood glucose result directly into his medical records with a couple taps on the screen.
Fifteen minutes later his assistant, Jack Binns, arrived. They went through his usual morning routine in a businesslike manner. They ordinarily got him washed, shaved, dressed and in his chair ready to go by the time he was ready to take his "with food" pills and head to the mess for breakfast.
Today, however, Jack inspected Chip's back as he helped his patient shower. "Hey, man, how long were you in your chair after I went home?"
"I don't know, last night was movie night then I had to wait for Kerrie to get finished with a patient to take off my electrode pads. Why?"
"Because you've got a rash where the pads were. Can we adjust the positioning at all?"
"Not really, that's where the nerves are. How bad is it?"
"Not bad, but if you don't let it heal, you'll end up with sores. You're back on hand controls for a day or two, bud."
"Shit," Chip replied.
"At least we caught it before it got bad," Jack said, looking on the bright side.
"Was it the electrical stimulation? The contacts ain't causing actual pressure sores, are they?"
"You'll have to ask the doctor. I've seen this before with TENS unit pads, which are essentially the same thing, right? But I can't diagnose a problem."
"OK, sorry. Do me a favor, ask the Doc if she can take a look. I need to know, it has a big bearing on my project. Civilians don't always have your quality of help available to them. I'd rather design out all the potential problems before this goes gold."
"Will do. Use your datapad?"
"Sure."
Binns set up the appointment, and he and Chip finished the morning ritual, then went to breakfast.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Optimus and Diarwen had found that the best time to squeeze out a few moments for his lessons was late in the first joor, when the base was quiet and there were unlikely to be competing demands for his time. Today, they were discussing the Wheel of the Year again. He had little trouble finding and memorizing a great deal of information about the quarter and cross-quarter days. "It isn't so much a question of 'when is Mabon,'" he said, having a rather good understanding of the Earth's rotation around her star and what her axial tilt meant for areas not on the equator, "but rather 'what is Mabon.' I understand the reason for harvest festivals, to give thanks for the bounty of nature. But why so many of them?"
A half-empty water bottle rested on a rock beside Diarwen. The Sidhe warrior had done her morning sword dance in the last starlight before dawn, just before he had met her at their usual spot near Buzzard Rock.
She polished her sword blade as she answered. "There are three harvest festivals because the ripening of plants happens that way. First you get the 'soft' fruits and early vegetables at Lammas, along with the first grain harvest. Then the slow-maturing fruits and grains are harvested at Mabon. That gave our ancestors enough information to know what would be available to take them through winter, and to set the maximum time for animals to fatten. Then a last harvest, that of the animals and the second plantings of grain and vegetables, is held at Samhain."
She sat, uninvited but always welcome, next to him, leaning into his fields a bit. "It comes back to our discussion of the modern pagan calendar. In the Celtic system, Lughnasadh is the first fruits celebration, while Samhain marks the end of the harvest season, the turning of the year and the beginning of winter. In the Germanic system, Mabon was the harvest festival. It marks the autumn equinox, a time of balance. The leaves are all turning, and in the temperate regions where these religions originated, that's often spectacularly beautiful. The Oktoberfests – it's spelled with a 'k'," she said, as he got the abstracted look that meant he was surfing the Web "– which are a Christianized survival of Samhain celebrations, will start soon. Modern Pagans combine those systems. They honor the aging gods at this time, the Goddess as She transitions from Mother to Crone, and the God as He prepares for His death and rebirth. That's why many people choose to hold their croning and saging rituals at this time."
"Is that what humans call retirement?"
"Oh, no. It's a transition from one stage of life to another, but in pagan societies it did not imply that the person was no longer of use. In modern society, sadly, that is often the case. In the past, crones, no longer tied to the responsibilities of raising young children, and sages, no longer expected to bear the responsibilities of hunting for the village or fighting on the front lines, became the teachers of the young—indeed, the sole repositories of knowledge and wisdom in pre-literate societies. It's still true that an old, wise, experienced witch is likely to be a more dangerous witch. The elderly were venerated and treasured, especially in a time when so many died young. It was known to be a time of power, not weakness."
"I see."
Diarwen sheathed her sword. "Were there similar transitions in your ways?"
"Not exactly. After we gain our adult frames, we go through several cycles of aging in a lifetime. An adult frame lasts around 30,000 years, with good care, but eventually it wears out and we require a reformat. There were religious rituals surrounding that, as you can imagine: having one's spark and processor removed to a new frame is no minor procedure. Those undergoing it wanted the support and comfort of the clergy. Now, none of us here are near that point—all the survivors are well short of that limit, even Chromia, Ironhide and Ratchet."
She looked up in shock. "None of your race's elders have survived? I had thought that Ironhide, perhaps Ratchet..."
"No. They are the oldest among us, sparked during the last days of the Golden Age," he replied. "But no one now on Earth is truly a carrier of the wisdom of the ancients. When I was a youngling, I knew mecha who were sparked under the Quintessons and fought in that war for independence. But then, my clan was always in the worst of the fighting, and our most experienced warriors put themselves at greatest risk—often to save our lives. I hope that there may be elders among the survivors of the diaspora, and that we might find them one day. With the loss of our great libraries and temples and centers of learning, we find ourselves in the position of your pre-literate peoples: much of our cultural legacy is lost forever, unless we can find those who remember. I think that my people will be happy to share in a festival which honors those who guard what remains of our heritage."
"Now I begin to understand what an enormous responsibility Gaia carries. She bears not only the future lives of your people, but the culture into which they will come."
"Exactly," he said.
His internal chronometer flashed a message on his HUD that it was nearly shift change, when he would be expected in the command center to prepare for a video conference with General Morshower. "I have to get back, Diarwen. Would you like a ride back to camp?"
"I think I'd like to take a walk before it gets too hot. I'll be back in plenty of time to watch the sparklings."
Optimus smiled. "Enjoy your hike, my love."
Her energy field lit up like a sunrise—and now that he understood those frequencies, she did not need to say "I love you too" aloud—though she did, now and every chance she got. They parted reluctantly, Diarwen up into the canyons, Optimus back to base, but the warmth of that exchange stayed with them both.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Because Mikaela had a car that she kept running perfectly, old though it may be, she had been chosen as driver of their celebratory road trip by default. A couple of days in Austin had left them with hangovers and suitcases full of memories, Mikaela and Jen and their other newly-graduated roommates, Tabitha "Tabs" Duvall and the twins, Mark and Mary Cantrell. They had dropped the twins off at home—they were from Austin, and would be travelling down to Houston with their family for the induction ceremony. Tabs yelled shotgun, so Jen clambered into the back with the suitcases.
They pulled out of the long driveway of the modest Cantrell ranch. It was a four-hour drive from there to Houston, and they passed back through College Station on the way.
Mikaela drove slowly enough to take in all the familiar sights of campus. Neither of her companions complained; they were looking out the windows too. Jen started the reminiscing when they passed the stadium, talking about the football homecoming game last fall, and the memorable house party which had followed. They laughed about the equally memorable cleanup which had followed that.
Kaela said, "Yeah, but we won the trebuchet build!"
Tab laughed. "I knew we were going to, when that guy from California made that remark about our powderpuff team."
Kaela replied, "I knew we were going to when we designed the damn thing."
Jen said, "Yeah, you spent more time in the campus library designing that trebuchet than for any other project the whole time you were here!"
Tab said, "Yeah, that's right, you transferred in two years ago. Oh, God, I forgot you weren't here until junior year!"
"Yeah, I was going to school back east, but I busted up with my boyfriend and I decided to move closer to home. I hoped it would help work things out with my dad if I was close enough to visit him now and then, but...well, you know how that went."
Tab said, "Kaela, when you were just a kid he thought he could babysit you while he was stealing cars! He could have ruined your life if you hadn't got your record expunged. I-I know he's your dad and all, but he's bad news, girlfriend."
Kaela knew that. "Yeah, but, he is my dad. And he's the only blood family I have left."
Tab patted her arm. "I know. I hope he sees what he's got before it's too late."
"It almost is, Tab. He wants me to move in with him when I get home, and it will save me some money, but I'm done with his drinking and shit. If he can't stay on the wagon this time, that's it, I'm through. I have a security clearance to think about now."
She signaled and turned to their house. They loaded the last of Tab's and Jen's things into the car. They weren't taking much but their clothes, leaving most of their furniture and books for their younger roommates, since they had jobs and were staying over the summer. Mikaela had packed what she intended to take, but would be picking those things up on her way back. Jen and Tab were saying their final goodbyes, and there were a lot of tears.
Tab said, "Cheer up! It won't be too long till we'll all start getting married, and we'll all get to be in each other's weddings and everything. Y'know, bachelorette parties and ugly bridesmaid dresses-"
Mikaela wasn't at all sure that any such thing was in her future, but she went along with the laughter.
There was another round of picture taking, then long, tearful hugs. Finally, they got back into the car, much more crowded now, and headed southeast to Houston.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Diarwen finished her walk at the back entrance of Building B. It was the same size as building C, but the bots had subdivided it along more or less the same plan as building A, where the human-sized apartments were located. A corridor down the center was just large enough for two bots to pass. Eight bot-sized doors opened into this corridor, each an apartment. Diarwen pulled on her gloves before going inside, and knocked on one of the doors. It rattled up to reveal Barricade, and past him, the sparklings. Barricade had them watching Sesame Street, which was just as educational and entertaining for sparklings as for human children.
She plopped down on the floor between Skysong and Starskimmer, as Stormwing was watching TV while hanging upside down from the rafters. Barricade lowered the door behind him as he went out to join Flareup on patrol.
Skysong rustled her wings. "Itchy!" she complained.
Diarwen got a tub of wax and a soft cloth, and polished her to a mirror-like shine while they watched Elmo, Grover, Cookie Monster, and the rest. Skysong began to purr and hum along with the silly song the Muppets were singing. Diarwen encouraged them to use their language upgrades by pretending not to know about Muppets, and asking the sparklings all sorts of questions about them.
Of course, after she finished polishing Skysong, the mechlings had to have their turn, and then it was time for their lunch.
Parker came by to get them for their daily flight. Diarwen walked over to the main hangar and went inside with them, intending to help push the ultralights out onto the runway.
Optimus and Ironhide came up to watch them take off, the mechlings flying rings around the two ultralights. Parker quickly took them out over the desert, well away from the dangers of traffic around the base itself or the surrounding roads.
Ironhide said, "If you don't need me here, Prime, I'm gonna go help the Tractor Crew clear some of those big rocks away from where they want to put the human kids' playground equipment, then I'll be at the housing site."
They hoped to get real Cybertronian living and working quarters built there for everyone, eventually, and use the miserably hot Quonset huts for other things. Ironhide had never been a construction bot like Crossfire and his brothers, but he had been a laborer, and knew his way around a work site.
"That's fine, 'Hide." They watched him transform and speed away. Diarwen asked, "What would you have me do this afternoon?"
"I believe Jazz has a few questions for you."
"Of course."
Optimus offered his servo to give her a ride to spec-ops. They found Chip already there, studying some code with Jazz' holoform looking over his shoulder.
As they arrived, Binns greeted them courteously then ran some paperwork over to med-sci for Chip.
Diarwen looked at the screen, but the mix of Cybertronian glyphs and text boxes which contained something that was (at least arguably) English baffled her. "What are you doing there?"
"We're trying to figure out how Jazz is using the wiring to travel all over the base just fine, but if he cuts across country where there ain't any wiring, well...bad things happen," Chip summarized.
"Many spirits attach to a thing in the physical world to anchor them," she replied. "What that 'thing' might be varies by individual. I once knew a ghost, a money-lender in his previous life, who attached to coins. Jazz, my friend, you have the good sense or good fortune to attach to the wiring, which has the additional benefit of allowing you to draw energy. I do not know how you are doing this, as electricity and mana are not the same thing."
Chip shook his head. "That's gotta be wrong, Diarwen. Unified field theory. Energy is energy, it's just on a different frequency. If mana exists—and you're proof that it does—it's gotta fit on the spectrum somewhere."
"Ach! You alchemist, you!" she grinned, and quoted, "'Magic and science are the same thing, but we do not yet comprehend their intersection.'"
Chip laughed, "Or, as Clarke put it, 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.'"
Diarwen had not read any of Arthur C. Clarke's science fiction, and so she smiled and said, "Jazz, may I guess that these 'bad things' can be described as a low-level energy drain?"
"Ya got it in one."
"That is normal. You are not of this plane, my friend, and you must expend energy to keep yourself here. In time, and with practice, it will require less energy. You will not get that practice while attaching yourself to the power grid and soaking up as much energy as you use."
Chip said, "Yeah, man, and copper, you know, it's pretty loosely attached to its outermost electron. It's easy for you to borrow a bit of its power while you're travelin'."
"I also ain't a hazard to anyone who happens to bump into me. Or walk through me. Whatever."
"You are no hazard to anyone who happens to bump into you. Such a casual contact is harmless. Startling, yes, like an unexpected cold blast of air, but essentially harmless. Now for some untrained fool to stand there for hours at a time, that could be quite harmful. But to cause a truly dangerous drain on mere contact? You would have to do that quite deliberately, my friend. And I suggest that you learn how. It is an effective weapon, quite capable of rendering an opponent unconscious."
"I'm more worried about renderin' 'em dead without meanin' to."
"That is more likely to result from a novice with an unfamiliar weapon in hand, than the actions of a trained warrior," she replied.
Jazz was quiet for a moment. "…What do I have to do?"
"When it cools off this evening, we will go out into the desert, and I will show you."
"Now wait a minute, ya got yourself in trouble using too much energy healin' Song, right? So couldn't this be dangerous for ya also?"
"Indeed it could. I also teach the sword, and I know of little more dangerous than a novice swordsman. It is the same thing. You, my friend, have been a master so long that you have forgotten how to be a student."
"Ya could be right, at that," Jazz admitted. "Okay, let's give it a try—but, boss, I'd rather you were there to keep an optic on us."
"Certainly."
Chip's aura showed a profound discomfort, something that he was trying very hard to ignore, but it was serious enough to be a true concern.
"Chip, is something wrong?"
"You can tell that? Cool. It's really nothin', got a rash from my contact pads. Either I had 'em on too long yesterday, or it might be this new conductive gel. You got some kind of herbal stuff to heal it up fast?"
"I do not want my hand slapped for treading on the healers' territory. But it would harm nothing to look."
He pulled up the back of his shirt, revealing a pair of quarter-sized red spots. Diarwen said, "There are no blisters. Honestly I think it would be sufficient to cool it somehow. Letting the air conditioner blow on it may be enough. Stop wriggling and scratching it on the back of your chair, or you will soon have blisters."
Jazz said, "Those are nice little red places, though."
"They tell ya not to use them contact pads too long," Chip said. "That's probably what it was."
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Jen and Kaela met Mark and Mary and their family outside the hall where the induction ceremony was being held. Several other friends of theirs from Texas A&M were there, along with recent graduates from other schools all over the state. They hurried into the building to get out of the early evening heat.
There was a table set up with punch and desserts. The ice-cold punch was more than welcome. Kaela thought about her waistline—but someone had brought cheese straws, crunchy delectable sticks of Southern heaven. And probably not as fattening as the brownies, or at least she would tell herself that.
Mark introduced her to his uncle Jose, an oil company engineer. That was a different field, but she had a professional interest in fluid dynamics—as anyone who expected to have to deal with energon lines under pressure had better have, although she didn't mention that.
They entered the hall and found seats. This was a professional gathering, not a school function. Many of the people here had been working in their field for years.
I am an engineer, in my profession I take deep pride.
To it I owe solemn obligations.
Classwork was over. People's lives would depend on the choices this crop of young engineers would make. Mikaela was going to be a medic, so she was exceptionally aware of that. But it was no less true for builders of bridges and designers of pipelines.
She watched her peers, one by one, come to the front of the hall, put their hand through a large ring, and accept the Obligation of the Engineer.
Since the stone age, human progress has been spurred by the engineering genius.
Engineers have made usable nature's vast resources of material and energy for humanity's benefit.
When her turn came, she silently added "and everyone else's" to that. Humanity was not alone. It never had been—certainly never would be again. Being part of the whole rather than standing at the top of the heap had always been a paradigm shift for her people, but now, it was more vital than ever that they figure it out.
Engineers have vitalized and turned to practical use the principles of science and the means of technology.
Were it not for this heritage of accumulated experience, my efforts would be feeble.
As an engineer, I pledge to practice integrity and fair dealing, tolerance, and respect, and to uphold devotion to the standards and the dignity of my profession, conscious always that my skill carries with it the obligation to serve humanity by making the best use of Earth's precious wealth.
As an engineer, I shall participate in none but honest enterprises.
When needed, my skill and knowledge shall be given without reservation for the public good.
In the performance of duty and in fidelity to my profession, I shall give the utmost.
- The Obligation of the Engineer
Standing with friends and strangers, colleagues, perhaps, who had come to accept the Obligation, she made that pledge with a clear conscience. For Mikaela Banes, it was taking an oath she'd already sworn.
Integrity. Fair dealing. Tolerance. Respect. Service. She hadn't learned those things from a textbook.
She'd learned them on the shattered streets of Mission City, looking into the optics of a wounded warrior, down but never out, and answered that silent challenge straight from the heart: "I'll drive. You shoot."
Everything she would ever do, and much of what she had already accomplished, began that day.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
She got back to College Station in the middle of the night, spent her last night in the house there, got her things together, and drove straight through to Albuquerque. She found a motel and got a night's sleep, and a hearty truck stop diner breakfast the next morning, before she crossed the mountains the next day.
It was again the middle of the night when she finally rolled into Tranquility and pulled up in front of her dad's trailer, low on gas. The lights were all off and the door was locked. She fished the spare key out of an empty motor oil can and let herself in.
Her dad wasn't home. Her room was full of junk. Too tired to worry about it, she threw some newspapers and a pizza box off the couch and fell asleep.
The neighbor's barking dog woke her up at the crack of dawn. Rubbing her eyes, she hauled herself off the couch, and discovered a protruding spring by setting the heel of her hand down on it.
"Ouch! Fuckin' hell!"
She went to the sink to wash it off, but a week of dishes were in there. Still cursing, she made her way to the bathroom and used some toilet paper to turn the faucet. "This place is a damn pigpen!"
Her wounded hand taken care of, it penetrated her skull that her old man still was not home. She threw her suitcase back in the car and drove to the garage.
It wasn't much, but she'd had some good times here. Learned a lot from her dad—when he was sober, when he didn't have his head in the clouds over his next foolproof job.
The sign on the door still said "closed." She went around to the garage door and shoved it up.
Her dad was lying in the middle of the first bay.
Mikaela's first thought was that someone had got in while he was working late, robbed him, and left him lying dead. She screamed and ran to him, cracking her knees on the concrete in her haste to check on him.
He was breathing. Snoring, actually. And when she turned him over, the smell of alcohol about knocked her over.
Still kneeling on the oily concrete floor, she ran her hands through her hair as tears started.
Couldn't greet his daughter who was just home from college because he was passed out fucked up drunk.
He wasn't going to change.
She turned him over on his side, leaving him in the recovery position so that if he threw up, he wouldn't choke. Then she locked up the garage, got back in her car, and drove to base without looking back.
Today was the start of a whole new life, and Deke Banes wasn't part of it.
End Part 3