Disclaimers in Part 1
Mikaela parted with Diarwen at the entrance to building C, where the Sidhe went towards Barricade's apartment for her sparkling-sitting shift. Kaela continued to the center building, and grabbed a bottle of cold water before entering medbay. After one of the S11 twins had keeled over from heat exhaustion during PT the other day, both Parker and Ratchet were on a hydration kick. For once, Lennox was backing the nannying—their guests needed to get it through their heads how vital it was to get plenty of water in this environment, particularly for those who were active outdoors during the day.
Medbay was quiet, so Ratchet sent Mikaela to help Wheeljack work on the protoforms. She would learn more about Cybertronian anatomy and physiology from that than she ever could from datapads.
Wheeljack saw her take her ring from her chain and put it on, since it wasn't dangerous for the fine assembly work she was doing. She gave it a thoughtful look, then asked, "Que, would an epoxy resin be likely to interact with anything in here?"
"That depends on which epoxy. Some of them are quite flammable in a liquid state, but once cured, most are relatively safe. Why?"
"This is my Engineer's ring. It symbolizes my professional commitment to my craft, and I wear it on the pinky finger of my dominant hand, the one I write with, to keep myself reminded of the Engineer's Oath I took." She paused, as the Cybertronian had that slightly abstracted look which meant he was Web-surfing. When he came back, she said, "The problem is, it's steel, and Diarwen's sensitive to iron."
"And you had thought of encasing it in epoxy?"
"Yeah, I took a jewelrymaking course one semester for an elective and we made a steampunk necklace by setting little watch parts and stuff in epoxy."
"I may have a better idea. You know that the transparent parts of our alts are not glass but a more durable substance which can be worked like metal. I have seen Diarwen handle it many times without protective gloves. She is in fact considering it as a possible substitute for the metal used in her armor and blade weapons. How tightly does the ring fit your finger?"
She positioned the ring at her largest knuckle. "There isn't a lot of room."
"We might have to size the ring in order to leave clearance."
"I can do that, considering that we have the equipment to work with steel here. And I still have my jewelry-making tools from that class. It's an interesting hobby, and I made a little spending money at flea markets when I was in school."
Wheeljack gave her a scrap of the transparent material to work with. "Get a feel for its properties with that. I have some small bits of higher quality that would be perfect for your ring, once you are comfortable working with it. Be careful to wear goggles. It does have a shear plane. It doesn't shatter as easily as glass, but if you hit it at the wrong angle, bits can fly more easily than other materials that we usually hammer."
"Thanks, Que!"
"Do not mention this to Ratchet—at least, do not tell him why you are working with it. We will be working with it for the protoforms, specifically Jazz' visor, which will require some custom fabrication."
"What's up with Ratchet and Diarwen?"
"I have no desire to get in the middle of that. I would advise you to stay out of it as well, as much as you can. Perhaps you should ask Diarwen about it, though, so that you will know what to avoid."
"OK. Thanks for the heads-up." Mikaela put her safety goggles on and began to play (she didn't think of it as "work") with the material. She took to it so quickly that Que started her fabricating the screen of Jazz' visor while he constructed the HUD components. They spent a quiet second joor on that, and had the visor completed by lunch break.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Bobby Epps stepped out of the air-conditioned terminal into the sauna-like heat of a humid Florida afternoon. He didn't like flying commercial—too many crying kids. He got enough of that at home. And your own squalling baby was less annoying than someone else's. Particularly when the baby had a bratty sister who threw peanuts all over the cabin—and neither the mother nor the flight attendant cared.
After a guy in a suit got tired of the annoyance and asked the mother to do something about her kids, and got screamed at, no one else had dared say anything.
Sam honked the horn of a government SUV when he saw Epps. Bobby broke into a trot to get out of the heat faster. He started to pitch his bag in the back, but thought better of it. "This isn't, um, one of ours, is it?"
Sam grinned. "No, just a rental. I wish it could drive itself, in this traffic!"
Epps got in and closed the door, sighing in relief at the air conditioning. "Where are we going?"
"I already checked us in the motel, it's that Days Inn over there. Remind me to give you your keycard when we get where I can dig my wallet out. You want to go over there first and drop your bag off?"
"What kind of restaurant do they have?"
"Just a breakfast buffet, but there's a fish place next door that looked pretty good."
"That'll do," Epps said. Anywhere with food and coffee, hold the roaches, would do. "What's this all about, anyway? The colonel said you'd brief me when I got here."
"Simmons found this retired guy that the director of S10 reported to back in the eighties. All we know about the director is his code name, Helix."
"What about the guy?"
"His name's Lucien Darnell; he was an assistant CIA director at the time. He's sixty-eight now. He and his wife live in a CIA retirement community—it's one of those gated places, and you have to be a retired CIA agent to live there. They provide security for each other, and I'll bet they spy on each other too—to make sure nobody sells us out to the Russians or anything."
"Makes sense. They're not gonna shut us up for knowing where it is, are they?"
Sam said, "All I know is, Mearing said mention her name if anyone asks questions."
"Are you serious?"
"As a heart attack. I'm not a hundred percent sure she was...she's Mearing."
"Yeah." Epps was silent a moment. "She and Simmons are probably having a good laugh about it right now."
-Sidhe Chronicles-
The lunch was good, the roaches absent, and the fish fresh and local. Afterward, they got back in the car, suffered until the A/C could take the edge off, and drove to Lucien Darnell's gated, walled retirement community, a few miles out of town.
At first glance, it differed from any other such communities all over the Sunbelt only in its proximity to Hurlburt Field, the home of U.S. Spec Ops.
A guard at the gate gave them a good once-over before tapping on Sam's window glass. He rolled it down. "State your names and your business."
"I'm Sam Witwicky, this is Robert Epps. I'm going to get my ID out."
The guard nodded permission, and Sam showed him his government ID.
"We're here to see Mr. Darnell, at 108 Orange Blossom Road."
"Is he expecting you?"
"No, sir."
Epps slowly got out his own ID, which boasted a higher clearance level than Sam's. "This is official NEST business, sir."
The guard checked the ID carefully, and gave the SUV a narrow-eyed look. "Is this two visitors or three?"
"Just two," Sam replied.
"All right, you may proceed. It's just ahead on your right."
"Thank you, sir." Sam put the window up as he watched the house numbers. An old lady walking a large black lab gave them the hairy eyeball as they passed, and Epps noticed curtains moving. Strangers were definitely tracked inside this little slice of Florida.
He wondered if someday the base would have a street of houses full of retired NEST agents.
"One-oh-eight, there it is, Sam, the one with the blue Chevy out front."
Sam parked and they went up to the door, tucking their sunglasses in their shirt pockets as they went up the front walk.
Mr. Darnell opened the door to Sam's knock. He was bald. He had once been tall but arthritis had bent his back, though he was still much more trim than most men half his age. "What can I do for you fellas?"
They once again produced their identification. "If you have a minute, we'd like to talk to you."
"Come on in. NEST, is it? You boys had some excitement up in Chicago."
Epps laughed without humor. "Yes, sir, some people might call it that." They followed him through the living room to a breezeway between the house and the garage.
Mrs. Darnell, a frail lady who trembled when she moved but whose eyes were sharp with intelligence, was sitting in a wicker chair on the breezeway. "Lucien? You didn't tell me we were expecting guests today."
"They're from another agency, dear. They need to ask me a few questions. Gentlemen, please sit down."
Mrs Darnell got up carefully, using a cane with four little legs at its end. "Would you boys like some iced tea?"
Epps replied, "Thank you, ma'am, but we just came from lunch."
Sam also politely declined. The elderly lady smiled. "If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to your conversation." She went back into the house. Presently they heard glassware clink softly; apparently she had decided to have some of the tea.
Darnell asked, "What's all this about?"
"The Sectors have all been placed under NEST jurisdiction, but S10 seems to have been... misplaced...somehow. According to our records, you were the last contact that anyone had with Helix, almost thirty years ago. The Director hoped you would be able to help us locate him."
"What did you say your security clearance was again?"
They allowed Darnell to study their ID again. "I'm sorry, but that information is above your clearance level. I'm afraid you'll have to get the Director to cut me an order before I can read you in."
Epps said, "Wait, are you kidding? This is thirty-year-old information, and you know that we're here on Director Mearing's orders."
The old man replied, "Young man, I wasn't aware that the non-disclosure forms I signed when I retired had a statute of limitations on them. Get me that authorization, and I'll be glad to tell you everything I know. But until then, I'm sorry, I can't help you."
Out in the car, they called Mearing, who said that she could have the necessary authorization faxed to their hotel. Sam shrugged, and put the SUV in gear. "Yet another paper chase," he said.
Epps laughed, and dug out his cell phone to call the boss.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
The proving ground was busy that day. Lennox and one of the new fire teams had been sparring with Barricade, who was giving them the best look at 'Con tactics that they'd ever had, while the fact that they were using nothing more lethal than paintballs gave him a chance to get out and move in spite of his weakened condition.
Ratchet encouraged that. The micro-injuries that resulted from use encouraged healing nanites to do their thing, building up the exercised parts of the frame so that it was stronger than before. He had been extremely startled to find out that the exact same process occurred in humans, who lifted weights to break down muscle fiber, with the result that it rebuilt itself and increased its strength.
Sideswipe was keeping an eye on them as he and his brother sparred. Barricade was learning a new style, closer to Sides' own, depending more on speed and agility than the strength he no longer possessed. Occasionally, Sides pinged the former 'Con to correct his technique—all the while holding Sunstreaker at bay. Barricade was practicing with holographic blades, in order to eliminate any chance of a training accident that could easily kill one of the humans. Sideswipe, an acknowledged master of the dual-blade style, and Optimus were the only ones who sparred with live steel in the mix—and then only when their opponents themselves were experienced enough to be trusted at that level.
Outside of the other Cybertronians at the base, that list included only Diarwen, and about a quarter of the NEST troops.
Tyler was running the obstacle course with another group of NEST agents. A few hundred feet away, S5 was on the firing line. No one was really watching them, because all of them except Alan Winters were experienced shooters, and they were capable of bringing him along.
Behind them, Arag was teaching Marine Corps unarmed combat to several women, including Hunt, Delano and the Ellsworth twins from S11, Arag's S13 teammate Adele Hempstead, Dr. Steele and Major Skylar from S8, and S9's Stansfield and Wilcox. Skylar had reported as ordered, and quickly graduated to assisting Arag in teaching the class. The others were of widely varying ages and fitness levels. In fact, the only female not out there was Baker from S5, who remained with her own team.
Arag was big enough to intimidate almost anyone, but Skylar had quickly shown the rest that it was very possible for a 5'6" woman to take down a man almost twice her height—in fact, that great a difference in height could be an advantage for the smaller combatant who knew how to make proper use of it.
But that wasn't precisely what Arag was teaching them. He was showing them how to fight off and escape from a mugger or rapist. Skylar was closer to the right size for that.
When Baker shot her second perfect score while Lennox' team was taking a break for some water, Lennox tapped her shoulder. "You can't do any better than two perfect scores in a row. Go over there and help Arag and Skylar with some of those greenhorns."
Not happy about being split up from her teammates, Baker frowned at him, but said, "Yes, sir," and sprinted over to the self-defense class to offer her services.
In the shade of the ammo shed, Braithwaite was giving an impromptu lecture to Collins, Emory, Millhouse, Young, and Schuster about some of the signs they might find at the scene of a real occult crime, as opposed to a murder committed by amateurs or wannabees with no real ability.
Lennox figured it was a good thing that Braithwaite seemed to attract mostly the eggheads. He wasn't sure how the Englishman had managed to make a discussion of ritual murder dry and boring, but he had.
Nathan was watching the self-defense class, with special regard for the Ellsworth twins. Lennox had noticed them, as well. It would have been difficult not to: they were a couple of barely-legal blonde twins whose military-issue PT tees and shorts were at least a couple of sizes too small. And he was pretty sure that staring at them would get a man arrested anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line.
He sternly reminded himself that he was too old and too married to be noticing leggy coeds, and started to collect his fire team and get back to their sparring session. Fig was cursing a jammed paintball gun, he stopped to see if he could help clear the jam.
As a result, he had his back turned when some kind of kerfuffle got started at the self-defense class. Baker let out an outraged yell, and there was some kind of muffled boom. Nathan yelled in pain. There was a crack of energy, accompanied by a louder boom, and Baker was knocked several feet through the air to land on her ass between Lennox and the rest of her team.
That cleared the benches. Tyler climbed the obstacle course fence and hit the ground running, tackled Treadwell before he could jump Braithwaite. Arag blocked Darlington and Pritchart while Adele saw to Nathan, and Winters helped Baker up.
Lennox bellowed, "All of you, stand down! I SAID STAND DOWN! What the hell was that all about?"
That started a schoolyard squabble in which Baker accused Nathan of improperly staring at her.
Nathan rubbed his head. "My dear woman, I most certainly was not looking at you at all. My attention was entirely elsewhere."
The Ellsworth twins giggled. Then Lennox glared at them, whereupon their levity died a swift and unnatural death.
Will demanded, "Is anyone hurt?"
Nathan said, "Only my dignity, Colonel."
"Baker?"
She glared at Braithwaite. "My granny hits harder than that old man," she said.
"The next time you people decide to get in a brawl, I'll give you something to fight about! Now get back to work! Stoughton, find something to do before I get you a job! Baker, report to medbay and get a release from Parker; you must have flown ten feet. Then I need a written report from you. Braithwaite, you too."
They all scrambled to obey.
Lennox told Hunt quietly, "Those Ellsworth kids are causing a disruption. I want you to have a talk with them about professional dress and behavior. I don't know how their PT uniforms turned out two sizes smaller than everyone else's but I want that corrected by tomorrow."
Hunt bristled at the implied accusation—she had adopted the twins after their father had been killed on a mission—but she bit out an angry, "Yes, sir."
Lennox growled under his breath about babysittin' fraggin' civilians.
Two hours later, on the firing range, Ironhide laughed at him.
Lennox said, "Don't you start on me. You got the Little Twins. Hell, both set of twins."
"You're just lucky Skids and Mudflap were out at the other end of the proving grounds when the fight started," Ironhide told him.
"Yeah, thank the Lord for small favors," he said. "I'm one more screw-up away from sending S5 home. It's either them or S13, and we know we can work with S13."
Ironhide made a noise of agreement. He hadn't been there to see the fight break out, but he had been military long enough to know that when two close-knit teams like that started a feud, you usually did have to send one of them elsewhere before the rest of the garrison started choosing sides. It was one reason why the Wreckers kept to themselves. He could work with them, but if they were around too much, they'd be into it with Sides and Sunstreaker before too long. Now, if Kup were still here, it would be different. He always had been able to keep them in line.
Too bad, mused 'Hide, that he couldn't sic Kup onto the two human teams. Now that would be a sight to see.
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Late that evening, Jazz was studying some web pages that Diarwen had recommended when Mirage reported in.
::How's it goin'?::
::We have the medical examiner's report. I have scanned it all. May I send you the file?::
::Shoot.::
Jazz copied the file, and, when the file both scanned clean and matched the check-sum that Mirage gave him, opened it. They took no chances, not after the time Soundwave had intercepted a transmitted file and inserted a virus into it.
Jazz was a decent field medic—any scout had to be—but he didn't know what he was reading, especially since it concerned humans. ::Thanks, Raj. Ah'll get Ratchet and Parker to take a look at this, maybe they can make sense out of it.::
::Si, paisan. The humans need to rest. They have been canvassing all the surrounding businesses in the industrial park all day today.::
::Got anything?::
::No one noticed anything odd, at least not that they will admit to,:: Mirage replied. ::I was not able to ask any questions myself—that would have been a circus—but I was able to scan a few of the people that the humans were speaking to. Nothing indicated to me that they were lying, so it seems there truly was nothing out of the ordinary at Premium Software until the murders took place.::
::This is a weird one,:: Jazz said. ::Let me know if anything else comes up."
::I will. Tell me if Ratchet or Dr. Parker have any theories.::
::Sure thing. Catch ya later.::
Mirage laughed, ::Not if I catch you first!:: And dropped the connection. Jazz grinned, then pinged Ratchet and messaged Dr. Parker's phone.
Parker was busy examining Baker, who was fine except for a bruised behind. Humiliated, she pulled up her PT shorts and escaped medbay to write her report of the incident.
Parker shook her head and laughed a little at these stupid kids who thought if they started a fight and got knocked on their butt, it somehow shouldn't bruise just like any other body part. She picked up her data pad and coffee cup, and went to spec ops to find out what Jazz needed.
Ratchet was already there. He bent over to offer his servo to his counterpart and lifted her to the tabletop. She said, "Sorry to keep you waiting, I had a patient."
"No problemo," Jazz replied.
"What have you got?"
"Raj sent the ME's report."
"May I have a copy, please?"
Jazz sent it to her datapad and she flipped through it to get to the examination of the first victim's skull. They were all interested in what the forehead burns might signify.
Ratchet was looking at it too, but he wasn't sure what he was seeing. Oh, the burnt-out neurons were obvious enough, but what could have caused such a thing- "Jazz, do you know if they examined the room where these victims were found? Was there any evidence of fire or electrical damage anywhere?"
Jazz said, "None was reported, though I'm assumin' that it would have been. But the contact pads were never found. The killer must have taken them with him."
Parker said, "That makes sense. It's pretty dumb to leave a murder weapon lying around. You know, I thought I'd seen every kind of head trauma there was when I was in Iraq, but this has me stumped. All I can tell you is that it looks electrical—but if they were electrocuted, we should see more evidence of that, and I'm not. Electrocution usually kills by stopping the heart. That isn't what happened here."
Ratchet said, "No, there doesn't seem to be any physical damage anywhere other than the head itself—but that is quite severe."
"Wait," Jazz said. "Look at th' secretary's autopsy report, th' one fer Tabitha Pierson. There are bruises on her arms and shoulders, an' the ME says it's consistent with bein' forced into a chair."
They read through the other reports. Parker said, "The same thing is true of the maintenance man, McInerney."
Ratchet said, "Yet there was little disturbance around the programmers—nothing that cannot be explained by a dead body falling."
Jazz said, "So they were workin' at their stations and somethin' got 'em by surprise. Nobody got up and tried to run or fight. Then somebody went and got the maintenance man and the secretary, forced 'em into their chairs—an' killed them to get rid of witnesses?" It wouldn't be the first time he had seen people fall over dead, never having known what hit them, but none of those situations seemed to fit the evidence in this case.
Parker said, "I concur, that seems to be the most likely scenario right now. Ratchet, if we consider all the post-mortems, what do the bodies have in common?"
"The burn damage is more extensive below the surface of the skin. The point of damage was not the contact pads themselves, but within the brain. The heat that caused this originated within the nerve fibers. Brain damage is consistent and death was likely instantaneous." The medic flipped through the report, added, "The skulls are all spiderweb-cracked from a steep heat gradient, so the heat was both sudden and intense. There are no other indications of physical trauma on any of the eight technicians."
Jazz said, "Look at those people's faces, Ratch. Whatever killed them wasn't instantaneous, they look terrified."
Ratchet said, "I can accept that they were aware that they were in danger, but the death blow itself was sudden and catastrophic. They would have died before they had time to process nerve signals as pain."
Parker shook her head. "I have no idea what could have done this. Why don't we set up a meeting for tomorrow morning and pull Sector 8 in on it? Solving medical mysteries is what they do."
-Sidhe Chronicles-
Sam and Epps collected the fax containing the orders for Darnell to talk to them "about the matter in question."
As they left the motel office and started to cross the lot to the SUV, Sam suddenly felt a sharp pain in his head, and became quite dizzy. He caught himself on the wrought-iron post that held up the second floor walkway.
"What's the matter?" Epps asked.
"I don't know. It must be the heat, I guess. Felt like something hit me right in the head."
"You OK now?"
"Yeah. It's gone now. Weird."
"Get yourself checked out. You got knocked around a lot in that fight with Screamer, and you hit your head a couple of times. Head injuries are funny, you can think you're fine but problems can turn up months later."
"I'll do that," Sam said.
They drove back to the community, went through the same rigamarole with a different, equally suspicious gate guard, and parked in front of 108 Orange Blossom Road.
Everything was quiet. They knocked a couple of times, and got no answer.
They went around to the breezeway. Epps banged harder and called, "Mr. Darnell! We have that authorization. Open the door, please."
Sam shook the screen door to the breezeway and found it securely locked. "The car's still here. I guess they could have gone out for a walk or something."
"They wouldn't do that right now. Not until it cools off," Epps said.
While Sam got out his phone to call Darnell, Epps looked through the window.
"Sam."
"What?"
"Sam, I see them, they're in the living room."
Sam looked. Judging from the bloodstains, both had been shot.
By the time Sam reached that conclusion, Epps had kicked in the front door. Both the Darnells were dead, and the scene looked like a classic murder-suicide. The weapon? A silenced pistol that was still in Darnell's hand.
Sam picked up a cell phone that was lying near Darnell.
Epps started to check the nearby writing desk for a suicide note, but there was nothing on top. An instinct honed in Iraq caused him to look under it before opening any of the drawers, and what he found there made him shout, "Sam, run!"
He gave the kid a shove and they ran for the front door.
They had barely cleared the front step when the house exploded.
Stunned by the blast, they were thrown another few feet from the house, and were still lying on the grass when the neighbors rushed in. They couldn't hear the people who asked anxiously, helping them up, "Are you all right?"
The fire department arrived a very few minutes later, and not long after that the county sheriff, then almost immediately the place was full of no-nonsense people in dark suits and sunglasses.
By then, Sam and Epps' hearing was coming back. The paramedics wanted to take the two to the emergency room, but when they refused, one of the retirees identified himself as a doctor and brought them to his house.
Sam called Mearing on his cell phone, and she asked to talk to the agent in charge. When the agent returned the phone, Mearing told Sam to give him a statement, ordering Sam and Epps to tell him everything they saw from the time they arrived at the house until the explosion. It was unspoken but clear that they were not to mention Helix.
The agent seemed to understand that, and did not question them about the nature of their investigation. There would be calls made later among people with higher pay grades than their own or the agent's. Right now, it was this particular agent's job to ensure that Darnell had in fact shot his wife and then himself, and that nothing more, either involving these two or without them, had gone down.
"You say the gun was there?"
"It was in Darnell's left hand," Sam replied. "They were holding each other's right."
"He was a lefty," the doctor confirmed. "Agent, could I speak to you in private on a matter of patient confidentiality? Excuse us, fellas."
They sat still while the doctor and the agent went in the kitchen and shut the door, holding a brief conversation behind it before they returned.
"OK, you're staying at the airport Days Inn, right?" the agent asked.
"Yes, sir," Sam answered.
"You both refused medical care? It's safer to get yourselves checked out."
The doctor said, "I have to agree with that, boys. I saw you go flying off the front step."
Epps said, "We hit the grass, so I don't think it was that bad, but if either of us takes a turn for the worse during the night, we'll go to the ER."
"I'll have to ask you to stay here for a few days."
"We can do that unless our director orders us to leave. If that happens you'll have to take it up with her," Sam replied.
"Who is that?"
"Charlotte Mearing, sir."
"Oh, OK. You'd better report to her if you haven't already."
"We have," Epps assured him. He wouldn't admit being afraid of these people—but he and Sam were on their own a long way from home. It was best that the local Powers That Be were aware that Mearing was in the loop.
They drove back to the hotel. Showers and clean clothes quickly followed; while Bobby was taking his turn in the bathroom Sam got out his phone to call Mearing and let her know what had happened with the agent who had questioned them. In doing so he found the phone he had picked up at the Darnells' right before the explosion.
He switched it on, but it had locked. He turned it back off, Bumblebee or Jazz could crack a cell phone easily but he had no idea how to do that. Too many wrong guesses would probably erase the phone.
Mearing first wanted to ascertain that they were unharmed, then for each of them to make a full verbal report. Next she ordered them to the ER to get checked out, after telling them in no uncertain terms that they were idiots not to go in the ambulance in the first place. Sam begged her not to let Carly find out about the explosion, then they looked longingly at their beds and drove to the nearest hospital to spend the evening and late into the night among the drunks, druggies, and squalling kids who made up the usual clientele.
End Part 6