Born of Risen Apes, not Fallen Angels

It was the body heat that woke Dahlia.

Scowling, Dahlia wrested the arm off of her middle and by her hip. "Your vice grips are cracking my ribs."

Beside her, David Graham barely stirred. Of course, his presence within her room at the Luxor Las Vegas only indicated that they had escaped Nellis just barely, but also with the potential ire of a certain Galloway to consider. The threat of deportation, on the bright side, no longer existed.

"I'm going out for a while," Dahlia said once she saw her cellphone. Six am thereabouts.

No response; the man was asleep.

Dahlia yawned, padding to the en-suite bathroom to perform her morning ablutions, before proceeding to don exercise equipment and head on a slow jog, with directions across Mandalay Bay Road. Las Vegas might be a city that never slept, but here was a lull in activity, in the relative peace of mornings that came with a desert sun.

"Should have brought more sunscreen," Dahlia commented, almost to herself as she finished her stretches and started on the basic forms in taiji. And continued. And continued.

She continued to ignore the eye-searing Peterbilt flame-painted semi pulled up next to the bit of greenery she was in until all forms were complete, and then she walked to the semi. "I hope you brought your own water."

The semi huffed. Perhaps it was her imagination... really?

Dahlia took a long drink out of the bottle she had set aside. Woman and alien considered each other for a long moment. Or a woman considered the garish paint job.

"You said that human fiction could have informed the American government's decisions about us," Optimus decided at last, breaking the tableau.

"Oh no," Dahlia answered. "Only some. Most of it would probably be informed by traditional human theories of international relations. And the rest of it would be simple paranoia or stupidity. Or... is there a reason they are acting like this?"

There was a vent of air. "I... cannot give you many details, but suffice it to say... your government-"

"The government," Dahlia clarified. "I did you the favour of addressing you as an autonomous robotic organism. You could do me the favour of not implying that I voted for the current government in power."

"The government," Optimus emphasised. "and our kind has met before. It was not well, since they met a rather hostile specimen of my people. The first and second scenario described in your Internet's surprisingly prescient guide described what happened."

"Erm..." Dahlia racked her brain. "Storing alien technology? Wait, the genocidal alien robot in the basement? Which monument got destroyed?"

"The one you call Hoover Dam."

"That means... Mission City," Dahlia nodded, looking around. "Look, can we proceed with this conversation where there are less people? I'd rather not have the local police on you or I."

The driver's side swung open, and Dahlia climbed in cautiously. It swung shut, and the Peterbilt began to roll along.

"I apologise for the destruction of your instrument," Optimus continued. "Captain Graham has explained the importance of that instrument to us. We will, of course, reimburse you where needed, but I realise that the sentimental value cannot be replaced."

"It's a present from my D&D group," Dahlia hand-waved, as much as she could when trapped with a seatbelt and being technically inside the other. "It's fine."

"D&D?"

"Dungeons and Dragons," she clarified. "It's a tabletop role-playing game set in a high fantasy background. There is a game master, who dictates the rules, and the other players, who form a team to take down the Game Master. Roles like melee warrior, supporters, logistics, scouts are played by the other players, who have to win against the Game Master."

"It does not sound like a complicated quest."

"A Game Master is like a ruling deity under the game's rules," Dahlia added. "Not only do they dictate the flow of events, they act as referees in a game, so the success and failure of a campaign, or whether a necessary item can be found in time, can depend on the Game Master."

"Then how does one win against such an entity?"

"It's a role-playing game," Dahlia gently persuaded, suddenly realising that, perhaps, she was talking to a complete newbie. "With dice."

"Excuse me?"

"It sounds like a war campaign," Optimus decided after a lengthy explanation on the history of D&D and its rules, "against a ruling deity of an imaginary world that not only controls the actions of most of the populace, but also the flow of events, the settings, the enemy troop strength, the resolution of conflict situations, and overall organisation, on top of enemy strength. It's very strange. It serves no practical purpose, takes almost no brain power, you gain nothing tangible, and yet, it sounds quite satisfying."

"Welcome to gaming," Dahlia was guzzling her water by this time. "In the game, I usually play a Bard character."

"But what does the ability to play music do in battle?"

"Depends," Dahlia shrugged. "But, under the rules of D&D, bards command the power of music under the principle of musica universalis to create a spell-like effect. Music itself has held a magic over humankind, such that in languages like Italian, the word for 'to sing' and 'to cast a spell' are synonymous."

"I agree," Optimus rumbled. "The fascination with music has spanned the length of Cybertronian civilisation too. It is relieving that another shares the same sentiment, even though we are far different."

"You agree too?" she asked. "That music is the universal language?"

"I am sure that, were one of my companions alive, he would agree with you. Jazz is a musician at heart."

"And he is dead in body," Dahlia reflected. "So I can only ask him through you."

"...I suppose."

"But why seek me?" she enquired. "I am sure that the threat of my piano subjugating your race has been taken care of. Unless you decided to do it for fun, and to offend Galloway, which I acknowledge might be worth it, but ultimately self-defeating."

"The luxury of leading a group of refugee extraterrestrials," Optimus gravely answered, "lies in the choice to deliberately ignore the less applicable advice given in the name of security one's own sources."

Dahlia hummed, but said nothing else. "Since we're still driving around a bit... what do you want to know?"

"Tell me what are those exercises you just did."

"Taijiquan?"

"I have found a solution to our problem," was Optimus's opening declaration upon returning to Nellis.

"You have?" Ratchet was reviewing screens upon screens of material; the full contents of the classified soon-to-be Alien/Autobot Cooperation Act. "Okay, so how are you going to stop some human from demanding weaponry again and again?"

"Give them what they want."

"Give them- Prime!" Ironhide snarled.

"Yet, what they want must be couched in such a way that the item is attainable, but that getting it would mean consequences," Optimus clarified. "Say, for example, the means of producing manufactured energon cheaply."

Ratchet stared at him. "But that's not a weapon."

"We have been isolated for so long, old friend, that we have forgotten how to negotiate with beings attached to an open economy," Optimus replied. "Much less a young, isolated species like humanity. All things have consequences attached, and they can only have those things should the consequences be acceptable..."

Galloway looked down from the box, up to Optimus Prime's flat expression. "You're... giving us this," he clarified. "Without strings attached."

The Prime leant forward, all the better for his blue optics to glimmer in Galloway's face. "Director Galloway, I have realised the fallacy of keeping helpful technology from my allies. Inside this is the means to create energon from solar power at a cheap, low-cost rate replicable in any appliance used in a human dwelling. Energon is almost liquefied energy, with little chemical signature and, indeed, cleaner than most fossil fuels. I give you this in the name of humanity."

"Well... thank you," Galloway finally said, looking from the box to Optimus in disbelief. "We will... use it. For humanity."

"Once the box is opened," Optimus continued. "a signal shall also be triggered, sharing this same knowledge with the rest of your world, through your World Wide Web. Attempts to remove the knowledge shall trigger a mirroring effect, creating a Streisand effect, at which the knowledge shall be further spread."

The director's complexion turned blotchy once more. "Hey! I thought you said that there were no strings attached!"

"I did," Optimus serenely replied. "No string was used to tie the box, as I understand some Earth cultures demand of gifts bequeathed. I also mentioned that I was giving you this technology in recognition of humanity's energy needs. Also in recognition of your slow bureaucratic needs for the information to be disseminated to the public, I have taken the means of information propagation upon myself to rectify, as well as provided protection against sabotage. You claimed to use it for humanity, surely this would only help you."

"But it would provide America's enemies with further knowledge against us!" Galloway retorted.

"The choice of spreading this information thus rests upon your decision to open the box," Optimus pleasantly rebutted. "Mastering the means of energon generation is, after all, the first step to replicating our weaponry, thus we have provided the foundational knowledge. Freedom is indeed, the right of all sentient beings. Yet, your Earth scholars have commented that no practical definition of freedom would be complete without the freedom to take the consequences for one's actions. Good day, Director."

"There is a perfectly rational reason why your flat denial won't work," Dahlia had explained, outlining the potential plan once the problem had been explained to her. "People, any rational actor, are naturally attracted to freedom – that is, having as many options open to them as possible. In the case of an option being closed off, your instinct is to open it back up; this is the root or contributing factor to the current situation. In general, the effect is greatly lessened if a good, valid and fair reason is given for not doing something. For the same reason, telling people what to do instead of what not to do usually avoids this problem."

"I have given the same explanation several times," Optimus groaned. "And they continue."

"I'm not sure if it's short man syndrome, or the fact that you're... well, an alien, telling an American no," Dahlia paused. "The problem is not telling the American government no; it's telling Galloway to take his pursuits elsewhere than pestering you. See, you detail to him all these reasons, and the information is processed in the human brain's executive centre, whose reason for existing lies to question assumptions and start arguments. A full argument from you based in logic could only be hand-waved by Galloway, who is probably convinced that you're keeping something from him, and so his reaction is to start again. However, if you place the information with Galloway, and also suggest all the consequences that comes of him attaining it, I can guarantee that Galloway would drop the Pandora's Box rather than take it to the White House."

"If you can guarantee that, you are truly Primus-sent."

The Peterbilt rolled up to where a woman and an acoustic guitar was playing at the guard station. At the first sight, he transformed, standing in his bipedal form. Metallic hands began to clap together in a round of applause as the strings were strummed.

A moment later, Optimus's optics twitched and immersive 3D projection took them back to the hangar, where Galloway was ashen-faced, dropping the box and running out as soon as possible, with the good-natured laughter of NEST soldiers lingering behind him. The other Autobots, inside the hangar with their vehicular forms, could not join in, though a certain Topkick was definitely vibrating with something resembling mirth.

"I salute you, Ms Su," the Autobot leader said as the projection switched off.

"Who dares, wins," Dahlia gently reminded. "I'm not sure if your kind would ever fall for it, or if it would be of use to your enemy, but we are talking about a human being, one subject to the same politicking and social hierarchy as I in the eyes of human society. Call it a small revenge on my part."

Optimus turned to the other occupant of the guard post. "A worthy mate you have found, Captain."

"Yes, I'm ridiculously lucky," Graham beamed back. "The gallows-man taken care of, then?"

"I fear it a temporary reprieve," Optimus sighed. "Though a comparatively long one. How is it that humans will continually wish for more when they have so much is beyond me."

Dahlia set down her guitar. "You're right and wrong there."

"It makes me wonder," Optimus mused. "Were a Decepticon to appear, and without our assistance, could you have convinced him otherwise without us?"

"...I never believed for a moment that you would have this sentiment of abandoning those who has chosen liberty," Dahlia replied blandly, neutrally, and yet her phrasing inspired some sentiment of guilt. "Should you have refused us your protection, we can do nothing about it. Should you leave us, it is my wish that you and your civilisation will find happiness somewhere in this universe. If I shall die here on the spot, it is too bad, because we are all born, and must die one day. Then, I shall have only committed the mistake of believing in you, Optimus Prime."

Graham stared at her. "What- Dahlia! That was rude!"

"Look up Sirik Matak," Dahlia told the giant robotic alien. "It is realistic that politicians cannot always live up to their promises."

"The fault is mine," Optimus tipped his head, leaning down to meet her blank features. "I sense that it is a complicated topic."

"...it's not," Dahlia replied, with a false smile of abashment. "I apologise. It's just... complicated."

"Yes," Optimus sounded pensive, yet grave. "As shall be my next proposal to you, Ms Su."

"But this is so sudden." The deadpan delivery caused Graham to fall out of his chair.

"You trusted me as a sentient being. Now I shall return the favour," Optimus answered. "Upon my next meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, I shall request for a cultural liaison. Captain Graham and Major Lennox shall submit your name. Would you do us the honour of accepting?"

Google Maps was terribly unhelpful in locating public parks in Las Vegas, especially near the Luxor. Then again, I've never heard of anyone visiting Las Vegas to exercise.

I am certain that any economic theory cited here can be complete and utter crap powered only by authorial ruling and my general knowledge, aided by TV Tropes. However, reviewing Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen made me wonder at Optimus's approach of basically denying trading weapons technology, when the fallacy of human curiosity is so well-known we created tropes about it. The point of couching the method to produce energon here was not to show anyone as manipulative, but to make it clear that Optimus is also a being who, now armed with the knowledge of the psychological effect of the forbidden fruit on humans, sets up a situation where a given action (i.e. the box) parallels human myth, but also sets up the individual (Galloway) to decide whether to open Pandora's metaphorical Box or not, in the given situation where opening the secret could scatter it to the whole of humanity, or keeping it closed would benefit him instead of painting him as the one who eroded the US de facto monopoly on Cybertronian technology. Again, the definition of weapons tech is fuzzy here; after all, the home computer and nuclear power used to be classed as weapons tech, why not this? It also highlights Galloway's self-serving bias by placing the onus of choice on him; share it/don't share it? The potential effects of leaking this new fuel might invite more controversy, or would invite a whole new political headache.

Sirik Matak has the distinction of being the guy for The Reason You Suck Speeches in 1975 when America was pulling out of Indochina following Vietnam, made all the more faultless for its politeness despite refusing the asylum offered to him.

Critiquez, s'il vous plaît!