Click.

"Another wonderful spring morning in Brockton Bay, ladies and gentlemen! High of 63, with a possible slight shower in the afternoon-"

I slapped a limp hand over the snooze button, and simply laid there for a few minutes, refusing to leave my warm and comfortable bed. After all, why should I? Bed was good. Outside bad. Outside had giant alien robots asking for my help.

Oh yeah, that.

Reluctantly, I sat upright in bed, rubbing a hand over my face. Then I just stared at the wall for a few minutes, as if hoping that would make it any less real.

In my sleep-addled mind, I was hoping that it was just a surreal dream, that I'd just had a close call with Lung and made up everything else when I'd tucked in for the night. It was certainly better than acknowledging that the events of last night were true, because therein lay madness.

A few moments passed, and I groaned to myself. It wasn't a dream, even if I wanted it to be the case; the memories were too clear, too vivid. Even now I could recall the conversation we'd had.


T


"W-what?" I'd asked, mouth suddenly feeling dry. "What are you?"

Optimus stared down at me for a moment, as if thinking of a response. There was no gaging the emotion behind those alien eyes, glowing a soft blue. No twitches, no slight eye movements that could give me even a clue. His face was completely unreadable, and that made me more nervous than I cared to admit.

"I am an autonomous robotic organism from the planet Cybertron," he finally replied. "A world far from this one."

For a few moments, I simply stared, not processing the revelation he'd just dropped on me. In that instant, as I slowly grasped the meaning of his words, I felt small. Not just because he was more than five times my height... I felt tiny in every sense of the word. It was like the sky had cracked open and shown me just how much bigger than my own little world it was.

"You're... you're an alien?" I finally managed to ask. "As in, something from outer space?"

"Yes," he replied bluntly.


T


I finally got out of bed, and padded over to the bathroom. While I brushed my teeth, I studied my face in the mirror, checking for anything that might prompt a question out of Mom. Cuts, bruises, scrapes, any signs that I'd been out for the night. Thankfully, aside from some bags under my eyes, I was unscathed.

Well, at least I was physically unscathed. Looking down at my hand, I realized it was actually trembling slightly, like someone who'd been out in the cold for too long. I clenched it into a fist, and took a deep breath. I could keep a handle on it, at least until Mom left for work.

Pulling on my sweatshirt, I headed downstairs. Mom was there, reading the newspaper as she nibbled on some toast. She glanced my way as I walked over to the fridge for some milk.

"Morning, hon."

"Morning," I mumbled back.

"Did you sleep well? You look exhausted, sweetie."

I poured myself some cereal, and sat down at the table. "Just a bit tired. I was up doing some studying for the algebra test on Monday."

Mom pursed her lips, in that familiar 'reaaaally' look, but didn't comment. I breathed an inward sigh of relief, and started eating my cereal.

"So, how's school going? Grades still holding up?"

I nodded, mouth full. Mom frowned a little, and chewed absentmindedly on her toast as she read the paper. I glanced at the headlines, seeing if there was anything related last night, then continued eating when I saw there wasn't.

"I know a mid-year transfer can be tough, honey," Mom continued. "I certainly thought so, back when I was just a year old than you. Adjusting to even little things can be difficult."

"I'm managing," I replied.

"Doing anything while I'm gone? I used to do tons of stuff on Saturdays. Movies, sleepovers, dates... made any new friends?"

I wouldn't call him a friend, I thought.

"I'll probably head to the library later," I said.

Mom sighed. "You do that every Saturday. Why not try something new? Come out of your shell a little, sweetie, explore new opportunities and all that good jazz."

I closed my eyes. "Please, not this conversation again."

"Yes, this conversation again. For goodness sakes, you've been in this routine for nearly two months now, and I'm just worried for you, hon. I know... I know that something like that can be hard, but it's not going to get better if you don't do something."

I am trying something, Mom, I thought to myself, but you wouldn't like it. Would you really want to hear me say, "Oh, I've been fighting crime for two days as a wannabe hero, and get this: I just met a thirty-foot tall alien robot that can transform into a fire truck! Isn't making first contact a way to get out of my shell, Mom?"

Of course, I didn't say that. I didn't say anything, actually; I just looked down and focused on my cereal. I heard Mom sigh, then get up from her chair.

"I gotta go, sweetie." She kissed me on the forehead, squeezing my shoulder. "I'm sorry for upsetting you. Let's try to forget this when I get back and have some fun, okay?"

"Okay," I said. "Love you, Mom. Bye."

"Bye, hon."

I waited until she left the house and pulled out of the driveway to get up. I finished the last dregs of my cereal, then put the bowl in the sink. I considered just going on a run to try and ease the tension a little, but there was stuff I needed to do.

With that in mind, I headed outside, taking a deep breath. The sun was already out, shining brightly, and the sight of it brought my mind back to last night, in the Boat Graveyard.

"Cybertron is not a typical planet," Optimus Prime had said. A hologram coalesced in front of me, glittering blue as I saw something enclose around a bright light. "It is what your people call a Dyson Sphere, an object that envelops a star to collect all of its energy, though it was far from complete when I left."

I tried to imagine something like that, closing around our own sun, and I realized just how terrifying the scale was.

I dismissed the thought from my mind, and started walking to the library.


T


The Central Library was one of the nicer places in Brockton Bay. High ceiling supported by pillars, artworks on the wall, nice furniture... it felt as much like an art gallery as a library.

There were a few free computers on the second floor, and I plopped down in front of a relatively secluded one. Cracking my knuckles, I set about typing, ready to do some research.

I went on PHO first, to see if there was any mention of the incident. Despite what some liked to say about the site, it was actually pretty good for keeping up with cape-related news, especially compared to TV. I checked the Brockton Bay forum, seeing if there was any mention of Lung fighting a bug girl or getting hit by a firetruck.

There was nothing about the incident yesterday. Hell, there was only a single thread about me, and not a very big one. Not surprising, considering that'd I'd only been out for two days and apprehended a few muggers, but it was still a little humbling. Superpowers didn't immediately make you a celebrity, not in this day and age.

That wasn't to say there weren't some things that'd rock our little world. Speaking of...

I thought for a few moments, considering what I'd research. I hadn't ruled out the possibility of just some self-aware piece of tinkertech, or a remote-controlled drone giving me an elaborate lie of a backstory, but there was no harm in being sure.

I first searched for Optimus Prime.

No results, save for some Latin translators. I frowned, then searched for Cybertron. Same as before, even when I looked it up in various spellings. I decided to look up Dyson Spheres, and was surprised to find out they were actual concepts made by a few scientists, with some variations. I looked up each one, trying to see if there was anything that could even be a slight lead, but I found nothing.

Well, at least I had some new books for my reading list.

I decided to shy away from the names Optimus had used for the time being, and tried more mundane search terms. I got a few pings for tinkers that made large machines, but none of them matched the towering robot I'd seen. Dragon was the closest, but her suits were definitely not in that aesthetic, and none of them could turn into firetrucks, as far as I knew.

Sighing, I went back to the more alien terms I'd heard. Even if I found nothing, the absence would be telling enough.

Autonomous robotic organisms got me nothing. Metal aliens produced some articles about hypothetical silicon-based life, but I could tell that Optimus didn't meet that description. Robot aliens also got me nothing.

I thought back to last night, recalling some of the terms he'd thrown around in our rather short conversation.

"-the war raged for millions of your years, until I gathered our best and brightest in an attempt to find either a potential new home, or allies in the fight." The hologram showed a battlefield, unparalleled in its intensity, and a massive spaceship flying upwards. "As we entered your stellar cluster, we were boarded..."

Hesitantly, I typed out Decepticon.

Nothing.

There was no way a tinker of that scale could stay under the radar like that, not in this world. There would've been rumors, at the very least. Missing supplies, junkyard raids, reports of strange sounds coming from warehouses, the like. Which meant...

It had to be true.

I slumped back in my chair, mouth hanging open. All at the same time, I felt giddy, hopeful, awestruck, and terrified to the core.

Aliens existed. Not only that, but they were a Type III civilization, so much more advanced than us it wasn't even funny; so different on a biological level that it was absurd.

I couldn't believe. I, Taylor Hebert, was the first person ever to meet an alien. If this got out, I'd go down in history books for centuries as the one who made first contact, a position many would be willing to kill for.

And the aliens needed my help.

That still baffled me. What the hell could I do to help them? I wasn't a scientist, or even a mechanic. I had powers, sure, but they were plenty of capes more powerful than me. If anyone could help them, it'd be Eidolon, or Alexandria. Not a fifteen-year-old girl that could control bugs.

And yet, here I was.

The trembling was returning. I clenched my fists tightly, until my nails threatened to cut my palms, and I began to breathe in and out, in and out. There was no need to panic, not over this. If I could keep it cool when Lung was bearing down on me, then I could handle this.

A ping on the screen told me I'd gotten a message on my PHO account. Exhaling, I opened it up. It was probably someone I'd gotten in an argument about on the VS forums, but I might as well just check it while I was here.

To: thebert
From: optimusprime

Subject: Meeting

Dear thebert,

I wish to begin discussing how you could assist me with my situation.

Sincerely,
Your acquaintance

Vaguely, I recalled hearing Optimus say that he'd learnt English via the net. It seemed he'd figured out how to do more than passively gather information, though he still didn't seem to know the difference between email and regular mail. Who the hell began a PM with Dear?

Another thought struck me. He'd figured out my identity in less than twelve hours. I had him drop me off a few blocks from home, but I guess that was enough to pinpoint my location and do the rest.

Was there malice behind that, or just ignorance? He was from another star system, after all; I wouldn't be surprised if cape politics largely flew over his tin head. Or, it was possible he simply didn't care about the rules set up by some above-average individuals, in a galactic backwater of a civilization younger than he was.

With shaky fingers, I typed out a reply.

To: optimusprime
From: thebert

Subject: Re: Meeting

When can we start? Can we do this over the PM system?

To: thebert
From: optimusprime

Subject: Re: Meeting

Dear thebert,

We can start now. I am waiting for you outside the library.

Sincerely,
Your acquaintance

I slowly got up, searching the outside with my bugs, like a million little fingertips. There were a few cars parked outside, and an eighteen-wheeler, but no firetruck. Was he parked elsewhere? Or would he swing by to pick me up?

I almost considered just booking it, but I quickly dismissed that. If he wanted to hurt me, he could've let Lung rip my limbs off.

Grabbing my backpack, I walked downstairs and hurried outside, scanning my surroundings. There was no sign of a firetruck nearby, or even a few blocks down, if my bugs were giving me valid information. So where could he be?

Then, right next to me, I saw the door of the eighteen-wheeler open up.

"Hop in," Optimus said.

I swallowed dryly, then got into the passenger seat. Before I could grab the handle, he shut the door on his own, and started driving, heading towards the Graveyard.

Well, I thought to myself, there's no turning back.