Release My Soul
I: Ad Hominem
Reader, here I must confess that the circumstances leading to our meeting are unknown to me. To that, end, I have included Nathan's account of how he had arrived in a newly revived Cybertron, following that, and after awakening in the medical repair bay with a medic dyed in chartreuse.
Right, where to start... Maybe from where the crazy alien ancestors decided to go blow up the home planet? Or when that shard alien artefact started bleeding all over the vault? Or maybe when we found out that yes, the Transformers (Cybertronians/Autobots/bots) could up and take refuge in computerised implants?
One thing for sure; it started when the 1LT – First Lieutenant, alright – designated Jazz AKA Meister – 'Also Known As', you know the acronym! – metaphorically 'came back' in August 2008 wrapped in a civilian's body, with intelligence burgled from known former Sector Seven Chief Field Agent Seymour Simmons in NY – New York, fine! – and having toppled Hotchkiss and Gould Securities after digging up evidence of a Decepticon fifth column- subversive group of human collaborators scattered all over the US and possibly the world. No, wait; we have evidence of Decepticon collaboration in the Serengeti area.
I'm getting off topic.
The real cause of this must be Autobot-civilian interaction case #03; the original owner of the body Jazz was in. After meeting her, the Autobots picked up Monopoly. She also gave the Autobots ideas about showing off their planet, and even stopped the alien civil war. We have no idea how, since all the 'bots clammed up about the details, but they gave her the credit and a 21-gun salute with full posthumous honours. The Autobots got the idea of showing off the planet, since we were apparently so nice to them. Hence the party of NEST operatives on the planet. Unfortunately, logistics were taking a while to administer... I just read what I wrote, and even I can't believe this is my life. Truth is really stranger than fiction sometimes.
...the old guy, Alpha Trion? He just chewed me out for not sticking to the point.
The problems we faced, not only with Decepticon opposition – whom we can't shoot – was gravity, the Cybertronian phenomenon called strongly acidic rain, and water. Transport was glaringly missing from the list, because they had a really smart guy who figured out some technology called a space bridge. The mechanics behind it were, and I quote from the old mech, 'to connect two points in space as to render them virtually next to each other, to cross vast distances between known points in space, the mechanics of which are not addressed within your human sciences.'
It was paraphrased, and originally insulting, but he held back. We had to give him some credit.
The strongly acidic rain apparently resolved itself, and we knew that as Jazz ran through the space bridge, shouting about how the rain managed to clear itself. Gravity had also seemed to change on the alien planet, if the excited chatter was anything to go by, gravity on Cybertron reasserted to around ten Newtons per second squared – ergo, only Decepticon opposition was in the way now. Only until the White House reported in with the news of a posthumous Presidential Medal of Freedom with Distinction and Congressional Gold Medal for Dahlia Su, did the Decepticons give in.
One way to net the highest posthumous civilian honours of America; when you find yourself with an alien guest, start compiling a diary and research on the cultural and life differences between humans and aliens. If you're dismantling intelligence, also include a metaphorical 'by the way, I got all that from the San Fran Library'. To rub it in further, bring a violin to string with your enemy's insides. Nowadays, NEST security officers open their lessons with 'a civilian managed to gather classified intel with a library card, kill two Decepticons – smaller ones – bare-handed, dismantle a Decepticon fifth column on American soil, and still get a valued operative to NEST on her terms. You guys better top her.' One of those things that just had to be seen to be believed; the twin medals being taken through an alien gateway to a planet across the universe to be interred with Dahlia Su, the greatest NEST security SNAFU and shame since inception.
The weirdest part is, when the Cybertronian neutral designated as Prima disappeared with the Fallen, and there was a hurried alliance and mad scramble to get back to Cybertron... and when the dust had settled, the civil war was over, peace negotiations were starting, and now Megatron awaited Optimus Prime and a small contingent of NEST soldiers bearing the precious honours. I never thought that sentence was possible.
"Did they have to come along?" the bucket-head sneered.
"She was human, too," Optimus answered neutrally. Both mechs turned to regard the sun that hung over Cybertron, lighting up the repairing ruins of a fallen city many times larger than I could imagine. Even ruined, the city was beautiful enough to make my lungs heave.
Wait, that was the gravity.
A vent, and Megatron stepped aside. "Fine."
"The ceremony is in Iacon," Optimus chipped in.
Megatron nodded, but said nothing.
"Are we missing something?" Major Lennox asked, muffled by the mask that was standard issue with the five-man team with the medals.
"There has been security concerns raised over bringing humans into Simfur," Optimus intoned. "The honours will thus be displayed in the de facto capital."
"Why are there two capitals on the planet?" Chief Master Sergeant Epps demanded.
A moment of silence. "Simfur lay buried under klicks of metal and metallic sand for millennia. Only recently had it been dug up, and by then to move all of Iacon's operations into Simfur would be a foolish endeavour. Simfur was thus designated a protected heritage zone and a religious capital, supposedly over which the Prime presided."
"Like Rome and the Vatican," Lennox picked up. "Did any of them pull a Prisoner of the Vatican thing?"
"That would not have been feasible, since the Dynasty fell into disarray following the demise of Nova Prime from overwork and Nominus Prime was supposedly assassinated."
"How come we never hear about those exciting stories?" Epps exclaimed.
Optimus Prime actually looked away. "Only P- Dahlia was interested in them."
"No point in it," Sideswipe muttered. "Boring old coots off-lining each other for a few shanix anyway..."
A foot nudged Sideswipe in his alt-mode, and Optimus Prime kept a straight face as he marched away. Lennox and Epps stared as the Autobot leader marched off. "Did he just..." the Major turned to me.
"Yes, sir."
"Fragger," Sideswipe scowled. "Great, we delivered the medals, now what?"
"It's actually a secret, since neither Optimus nor Megatron have released a signal yet," Major Lennox commented. "Since we have civilians dead and that mess with Dahlia Su, they thought that humans should be witnessing the procedure. Hence Ironhide's bad mood," he added as Ironhide seemingly stormed off suddenly.
"Come along already!" Ironhide yelled.
"Complicated," Epps and I nodded. What was it Grammy said? Creating was hard?
"I find myself in need of returning a datapad," Prowl, the rulebook-wielding Autobot XO, suddenly said. "I will be along shortly, Ironhide."
"Datapad? Here? Now?" Sideswipe complained. "Really? C'mon, Baby Face."
"What? Huh?" I was swept along as Sideswipe started to follow Prowl. "Return?"
"The Iacon Hall of Records," Prowl added, transforming with Sideswipe before the pair drove off. "If it was still standing..."
The Iacon Hall of Records, it turned out, was still standing. Which said a lot about it, if the library could survive a civil war and the planet's death. Prowl arrived at the relatively large – for a human – entrance, to push a datapad through what looked like a return slot.
Beside the slot, a screen opened with a few of the Cybertronian glyphs patterned on it. Sideswipe was the first to start laughing, rolling into the Hall. "Ten million shanix?! Prowl's a delinquent! Ha!"
I had no idea about the conversion of shanix to USD, but unless there was some real inflation going on, ten million for anything in library fines must be pretty astronomical. The Hall was pretty automated, and they didn't really have books as much as plates upon plates upon what looked like iPads in their size, stacked up and labelled with what was probably subjects and authors and dates. Yeah, it was a large... library.
Sideswipe dropped me off, rolling up what looked like a large movable staircase as Prowl's sirens echoed. "Right. You stay there."
"Side- Wait, Sides!" I called as Sideswipe transformed and doubled back to turn a sharp left and lead Prowl on. "Dammit..."
The movable stairs were the types which looked ridiculously small, for mechs in their size. Then again, the Decepticons had some downright tiny members, as their medic Scalpel proved. Maybe librarians were tiny too. The staircase was big, and probably heavy too, I thought as I climbed it to step-
-the staircase gave out, and I fell, clutching fruitlessly at the edge of the second floor. Who the hell forgot railings? And why did the- wait, did that staircase require locking? Damn you, Sideswipe!
I fell and blacked out.
"Your unexpected... guest aside," Ratchet declared when I awoke, "you're relatively healthy. A few of your bones broke, but you fell from the human equivalent of a three-storey fall. Just be lucky you're alive, alright?"
Wait? What? Huh?
It is I. My apologies for taking over your body, but there was no other method to summon help in time. The nanite infusion in your bloodstream provided a base through which I could transfer my consciousness when they came into contact with the Hall of Records.
"There's a voice in my head!"
"Yes, there is," Ratchet confirmed, producing a torchlight in his arm. "Can you keep your eyelids open to determine pupil response, or is Scalpel required for assistance?"
"I can keep it, no biggie." I squinted as the light came on. "And the voice?"
My name is Alpha Trion.
"The voice, as you call it, called for help," Ratchet explained. "Prowl got suspicious when he realised that your spinal cord was severed with your trachea."
"My trachea?"
"It's a long story, but Prowl theorises that the resident intelligence of the Iacon Hall of Records managed to transfer some self-repair protocols into the nanite inoculation we provided the team before arrival into Cybertron," Ratchet explained calmly. "What is the mech's designation, Private First Class Zimmerman?"
"Erm, Alpha Trion," I answered.
In answer, Ratchet smashed a hand- servo against the small table that held his tools. It trembled, and a dent was prominent in it.
"I'm calling Prime immediately," Ratchet said, turning to storm out of what I identified as a really large infirmary. "and we'll try to figure out how to get what should be a long-dead mech out. Don't worry, Private."
Don't worry? Don't worry?
There is truly nothing to worry about. I swear upon my name. What is your designation?
"Nathan... Zimmerman. Just... Who are you? Ratchet said you were long dead."
My name is Alpha Trion.
"...and that is supposed to mean something to me?"
Critiquez, s'il vous plaît!