Born of Risen Apes, not Fallen Angels
"Cultural liaison," Dahlia mused over the sudden offer from the sovereign head of state of an alien race.
"You have official liaisons for that," she continued, phrased more of a question than a statement.
The Autobot leader made a noise like clanking metal pieces, or crude wind-chimes. It sounded suspiciously like a snort, yet the great Prime surely could not have lowered himself to such platitudes to communicate his opinion of Galloway as an effective liaison of anything other than entitled bigotry. "Director Galloway is far too occupied to educate us about the finer points of human culture. Whatever civilian contacts we have are, I realise, limited to a small segment of the human civilian population."
Dahlia exchanged a look with the British captain. "I think," she slowly began, "what you mean is that you're exposed to so many soldiers, but you've no idea how to deal with a civilian government?"
"I have dealt with civilian governments," Optimus stoically answered. "The time horizon of the politicians upon this continent continually surprises me. However, the problem lies in that... we have learned many things through the information network you call the World Wide Web, and yet the context is rather lacking."
"Oh, that bit," Dahlia realised. "Still, back to the subject. I... it's rather sudden, and I need some time."
"A rational decision." Optimus conceded. "Take all the time you need, all the arrangements you must make."
Dahlia usually carried notebooks on her person. They were usually music notebooks with pre-lined staffs, but there was a blank notebook that she used occasionally. The blank notebook was currently giving up half its pages towards sketching out the Autobot-Decepticon issue and underlying premises onboard a plane headed for San Francisco the next day.
Of course, most of it was coded. She was a lot of things, but stupid was not included.
"My keyboard-" Dahlia realised after a pause, and sighed. "I'll get another. But... how did that technology get into my keyboard? How did they know? They must have been exposed to my keyboard, but why wait... no, they've been here for a year, and David and I were dating for years before that. And, before that... they were vehicles. What defines a vehicle? A thing with wheels... a ship that floats, an airplane..."
Slowly, Dahlia considered the port-windows around her, the slightly lumpy seats of the airplane, and the dim lights. Also, the fact that they were currently thirty thousand feet above sea level. The Chinese-American remained at her position, and was first off the plane extremely quickly.
"That was close," Dahlia sighed once she had gone through customs and was waiting for a taxi. "I should... refuse... wait, David..."
The dial tone rang once, before it was picked up, a breathless voice answering quickly. "Dahlia, hi."
"I made it," Dahlia spoke into it. "I had... a supposition, you know. It was terrifying."
"Oh?" the soldier asked.
"I thought the plane I was on was... like the others," Dahlia obliquely said.
"Oh." There was a pause. "Well, that's... rather terrifying."
Even the warm Californian sunlight did nothing for her relief. "It is."
"I will try," David promised.
"I..." Dahlia swallowed, looking out of the large glass panelled walls over the airport, watching planes land and take off. "I... when you said that you were going to be here more often, I was so happy. I missed you so much."
"Uh huh..."
"And when the job was offered, my first thought was: oh, finally I could work with you," Dahlia continued quietly. "It's a foolish thought, but I... I realised then, on the plane, what you fight for us, for me. I was so lucky... I was so foolish."
"Hey, hey," David answered, concerned. "I'll... the big guy would understand, really. You can choose. Not everyone's cut out for a life with giant alien transforming robots in the background. I'll be with you, no matter what you choose. It's... really the safer option."
"I'm not afraid of dying," Dahlia answered sharply, walking to see a set of train tracks, and a road passing through it along with a flimsy striped barrier across the crossing. "I just... I'm afraid that I have no faith in humanity. If I screwed this up... you might die."
"You're right," David finally decided. "It's... well, reasonable. Just... going to be interesting to explain. And arrogant, to think that your opinion could sway them."
"I persuaded the leader of an alien race to fundamentally blackmail the US government into submission," she reminded him, walking with only her fanny pack and backpack to stand beside the barrier. "The big guy... he didn't want to. Somehow, I could sense it, that he didn't want to. That he held the ideal of truth far above even humanity could ever dream of. Don't tell him, but I felt like... like I had cheated the world- like I kept something back from all of you."
David's answer was drowned by a burst of static, and a rumbling that caused Dahlia to clutch her phone close. "David? David...?"
The train is rumbling at me, she wanted to say.
The caboose just transformed, she wanted to add.
Crates are scattering around, and people are shouting.
It's coming, it's coming here-
Hard rails jabbed into her midriff as she threw herself onto the tracks and rolled with the swipes, leaving the giant alien autonomous robotic organism to continue its rampage. Dahlia blinked, stars dancing in her vision as she was knocked into a pillar by the side of the tracks.
The pillar...
Gingerly, Dahlia got up and checked the unlit fusee she had knocked against. She then turned her head to consider the rail-side sheds.
A smile graced her features.
Hours later, Dahlia wiped stray pieces of gravel and pebbles from her jeans, carefully checking her fanny pack, the burnt gloves she had used in handling the flares and explosives, and ensured that all bloody pieces of gravel and stone, plus the prize stolen from the giant alien robot, were hidden in her pack.
Her breath was laboured, her skin cut by debris, scorched by fire and scratched by the metal monster, and yet...
She smiled.
A passing man, clad in slightly rumpled and filthy clothing and looking rather dangerous, took one look, and walked in the opposite direction. That look was common, amongst people high on something undefinable, and temporary, and hardly relevant, but in that moment the chink woman had a certain air of... either she was high on LSD, he thought, or she killed someone.
When the NEST soldiers came later to the railways of San Francisco, and saw the fallen Decepticon with burns down its chassis and armour, the butt of an expended road flare sticking out of its spark chamber and optics dying red, several soldiers gaped. Ironhide aimed his cannons.
The Decepticon rumbled. "Humans... terrifying."
"Who did this to you?" Ironhide quietly remonstrated.
The red optics blacked and flickered. "... human..."
They blacked out permanently.
Warily, the NEST soldiers exchanged looks, then looked to the abandoned, spent fusee and smoking road flares embedded into the legs, sensors, guns, and spark chamber. No human could be reckless, or skilled, or crazy enough... right?
"The last time, we needed high-heat, armour piercing sabot shells and a full team," Will groaned. "Now, someone took out the threat with det-cord, road flares and fusees. I would be so impressed if I weren't also seriously freaked out at the same time."
"It should be impossible," Ironhide commented.
"Two years ago, Mikaela versus Frenzy. Mikaela won," Epps reminded the big Cybertronian warrior. "Not impossible. Just... very improbable."
"So improbable that the chance should be zero," Ratchet agreed, picking up a stray fin, broken with heat. "Road flares that burn at a maximum temperature of one thousand six hundred degrees Celsius, in your human language. Enough to theoretically get through light armour."
He dropped the fin into a pile, picking out the plastic handle of a burnt flare. "This assault was not premeditated, simply improvised."
"Really?" Will asked. "How can you tell?"
"Road flares, fusees, and detonation cord," Ratchet pointed towards a nearby shed. "All present. Unless humans are in the habit of carrying demolition materials about, your mysterious Decepticon-killer raided that shed first."
"...okay, I'll buy that," Will nodded. "And our Decepticon-killer got lucky, 'cause this bugger was in light armour, and more focused on other things. So he hit between the eyes- optics, sorry, and..."
Ratchet knelt beside the vaguely humanoid shape of the fallen Decepticon. "I am unable to form much of a hypothesis. I do, however, believe that the legs were taken out first with the detonation cord, followed by a flare to the hydraulics in each leg, and then the optics attacked with the fusee. The Decepticon struggled, and he stumbled, and the fusee fell into the spark chamber, burning through and ending the spark right there."
"Uh huh," Epps nodded, still not taking his eyes of the hunk of metal that used to be a hunk of metallic malice. "Nice forensic job there."
"I have been... persuaded... to do some reading," Ratchet admitted with the kind of tone that indicated dire consequences. "When the impossible has been eliminated, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Hence, if we are still with the hypothesis that the assailant performed according to the scenario I have laid out, there should be some form of automated locomotion nearby. Even a human running at top speed would not keep up with a Cybertronian."
"Give the lad a deerstalker," Will whistled as an engine gunned, and an old Jeep trundled out of the wreckage, manned by a NEST soldier. "See if we can lift prints off of that."
"Unrelated," Ironhide grumbled, stumbling towards them while carefully picking his way through the wreckage. "And impossible."
"Not impossible," Ratchet corrected. "Just very improbable. Which seems to happen on this planet every single day."
"Back in Fog City in barely a month," Will exhaled deeply. "And Graham's got leave. He's going to be gaming with his girlfriend."
"Why do humans insist on such simulations of tactics when they play no real benefit?" Ironhide asked the newly appointed Major.
"Oh," Will shrugged. "It's fun. Epps, we should have a Capture the Flag session next time."
"You're on."
Themes to be explored in this fic here include: misogyny, the fantasy-scifi debate, and the faculty of imagination.
Critiquez, s'il vous plaît!