Transformers: Prometheus

CHAPTER 10

All missions had snags. As the saying went, no problem survived contact with the enemy—or, in this case, a reinforced chain link gate with barbed wire atop and a heavy chain and lock keeping the whole thing closed. Whoever had been the last one out of the Rivera & Sons Landscaping Inc. premises hadn’t been lax in their employee duties. It would’ve been a real pain in the ass, Jack thought, if their mission had gone askew because he hadn’t thought to bring a bolt cutter. Or, in this case, a car.

“Bee,” Jack said, and pointed to the gate. “Knock it down.”

Bumblebee fired up his engine, and punched through the gate like a spear through tinfoil. The chain link pair clanged and rattled against the sheet metal fencing as Bumblebee streaked into the parking lot and got his tires screeching, spinning around like a dog who’d nailed a new trick.

“Is he always like this?” Jack asked.

“Something like that,” Arcee remarked, rolling through the gate and across the empty parking lot. Bumblebee fell back into formation behind her, their headlights illuminating nothing but asphalt that’d been shifted from black to ashy brown by countless hauler trucks. Jack glanced at the main building on the other side of another set of fences. The whole place was dark and silent.

“Think this place might be alarmed?” Arcee asked.

“You didn’t mention this before?”

A slight tilt of her mirrors. “Oh, you seemed to have it all under control.”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about that—but now I am.”

It’d be one hell of a snag if he had to explain everything to private security or, worse, the LAPD. Hey, I’m just a man out to buy some landscaping material, just out for a late night browse with a seemingly stolen motorcycle and a vintage couple—nothing to see here, nothing to worry about. Two counts of grand theft auto, breaking and entering, trespassing, defrauding a pizza delivery guy... Somehow, he didn't think anyone would take his claims about the fate of the galaxy seriously enough to let him off with a warning.

They continued down through the entrance on the far side of the parking lot, where the asphalt gave way to dirt. They rolled past bays filled with half a dozen types of soil, and then a dozen more that were filled with any kind of rock Jack could imagine anyone ever wanting.

“So, wait,” Arcee said, sounding confused. It might’ve been a first for her. “They sell dirt here?”

“Not dirt,” Jack said. “Soil.”

“Spare me the particulars,” she spat. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Your planet is called dirt.”

“Earth. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever.”

"What, you think it's a better name than Cybertron?"

"We're on a mission, soldier boy—focus."

"You really are a sore loser, wow," he said, grinning.

The sound from her engine might've been a stubborn huff.

There were a number of heavy dump trucks assembled in a line, all emblazoned with the company name and logo. Arcee turned left and took a circle around them, like she was assessing them. “Clear,” she remarked.

“I could’ve told you that,” Jack said. “Main building seems clear, too.”

“The terrain on the north side of the yard looks best suited for our purposes,” Arcee said, turning right. “High ground, and there’s only one route in or out. We’ll see them coming. Bee, I want you to remain on the far side of the main structure. Engine off, but stay alert. Only engage if absolutely necessary.”

Bumblebee warbled something, and peeled left. Jack watched him reverse into position from where he’d be able to see anyone heading toward the high ground Arcee had noted as their AO—but, hidden by the main building, no one would be able to see him until he’d hit them from behind.

“Good thinking, Arcee,” Jack said. “But if there’s only one way in or out, then we might get trapped if things go bad.”

“Simple solution to that, soldier boy—don’t let them go bad.”

Jack snorted, shaking his head, as Arcee ramped up her engine and headed up the dirt ramp. A wheeled loader sat to their right, quiet and somnolent. Here, Jack had no idea what the Rivera and his sons might’ve been working on. Just huge heaps of dirt and a winding, sinuous path between them.

“Makes me think of an off-road motorcycle track.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Arcee remarked.

“I wasn’t,” Jack replied, frowning—but, perhaps, he had been.

Arcee came to a stop, engine idling. “Alright, here’s your stop.”

Jack nodded, hopping off, and then removing his helmet. “Works for me. What’s the plan?”

“The other side of this stockpile should allow me to transmit the signal without being seen. Keep an eye on the entrance. If I’m not back before anything arrives—and I do mean anything—start shouting.”

“What should I be looking for, ‘Cee?”

“You know Ravage. I’ve never known him to take any other form, nor Laserbeak. Rumble and Frenzy tend to operate in pairs. You might call them twins. Soundwave is of a similar mass to Bumblebee, so, expect a similar-sized vehicle. But I can’t imagine he’ll come down from orbit.”

“Got it.”

Arcee’s only answer was to kick up her engine into a throaty roar, and charge straight up the little mountain of dirt, shifting forms as she went flying off the top of it, tumbling through the air in a twisting somersault move—arms spread, legs straight—that left Jack’s head spinning just watching it. He didn’t see her land, but he sure as hell heard it.

“Show off!”

How did a process like that even work? He’d seen her alter her form maybe half a dozen times, and the mechanical process of it struck him as being wholly unique each time. Perhaps Glen and Maggie might’ve been able to take a guess. But to turn your body from robot to motorcycle while launching yourself into the air at speed, leaving the Earth on two wheels and returning to it on two feet without landing in a heap?

Jack wasn’t sure if it was mechanical appreciation, or awe at her agility. Maybe both. He couldn’t rub his belly and pat his head at the same time, after all.

And more than that—what was it even like to be a motorcycle, or a sedan, or a helicopter? He pondered it as he studied the entrance. No sign of anything yet. There didn’t appear to be a difference between Arcee’s personality or awareness whether she was in either form, but it also didn’t seem like she remained in her—what’d she called it, her infiltration form?—any longer than she had to. Yet, he had the odd feeling that remaining in her vehicle mode was something like resting...

A bright light burst into view behind him, hurling his shadow before him. Jack turned, fighting down the urge to raise his arm against the shaft of dazzling light that streamed toward the heavens. It made any searchlight he’d ever seen feel like a flashlight. A cloud passed through the beam, and Jack swore he saw a symbol there.

In spite of the plan, Jack headed around the pile of dirt. Arcee was there, maybe fifty meters away, a solitary presence in the man-made valley, dwarfed by the two heapings of earth. Her back was to him, but her elbows were out and angled down, like she was clasping at something at her collar or sternum—and the light, Jack realized...

The light was coming from somewhere inside of her.

He stared, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. But, after another moment, he had the creeping awareness that he’d seen something he shouldn’t (“the exact specifics aren’t necessary for you to know,” she had said, and there had to be a reason), so, Jack backed away, went back around the mound, and resumed his post.

No, he had no idea what to make of Arcee. None at all.

She returned before too long, her footsteps distinctive even in the dirt. “You see anything, soldier boy?”

For some reason, Jack’s cheeks heated, like he’d been caught—and he coughed. “No. Uh, nothing. Area’s clear.”

“For now.”

“Maybe they’re not coming.”

“No,” Arcee said, gaze somewhere above the horizon, looking back toward Los Angeles. “They are coming. I can sense it.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Are you nervous?”

“No. Are you?”

Jack considered his thoughts, the slow pace of his heart.

“No.”

“Hm,” Arcee remarked, and it almost sounded like a compliment.

Jack took a breath, and looked up at the stars. The few he could see through the aura of Los Angeles’ nightlife.

“Feels a little like high noon.”

She glanced down at him. “It’s almost midnight.”

Jack chuckled. “It’s an expression. In these old cowboy films, they’d always have the big shootout at high noon. Y’know, the good guy, the bad guy, and the tumbleweeds.” He glanced left and right. “Or, in our case, huge piles of dirt.”

Arcee rolled her shoulders—right, then left. “I’m going to prepare myself.”

“Alright. But what if they don’t show?”

“They will,” she said, stepping past him. She moved with a languid grace, like a big cat on the prowl. The difference between her and Bumblebee was striking. The yellow Autobot was clearly the younger of the pair. Was that why she had called him B-127? He didn’t have a real name before arriving on Earth? Or was it like Maggie said, that her name was RC and a bunch of numbers?

Arcee stopped just a few paces back from the crest of the ramp and took a knee, bowing her head. “Oh, Primus,” she murmured. “Hear your daughter, and guide her spark, even until stillness.” Jack had no idea who Primus was, but he recognized a prayer when he heard it. He tried not to focus on it.

They didn’t have to wait long. Jack heard the sound first—a pair of humming engines, like two motorcycles, and then he saw them come charging across the parking lot and barreling down through the rest of the yard with reckless ease. A pair of four-wheeled utility ATVs—one black and red, the other purple and blue. The pair of quad bikes were bearing down on them.

“Arcee,” Jack called. “I think I’m shouting.”

She rose to her full height—slowly, quietly—and let the Decepticons come to her. The two quad bikes came roaring up the ramp, and they were the meanest, heaviest quad bikes Jack had ever seen. Blue broke left and Red broke right, circling around Arcee and kicking up a great plume of dust. She turned her head left and then right, watching each of them. Jack noticed her facial plating twisting in distaste—or contempt.

As one, Frenzy and Rumble (and who was who, Jack wondered) threw off their disguises, riders flickering out of existence, bodies kicking up dirt as their momentum left them tumbling through the dirt. As the dust settled, Jack got a sense for their forms: about as tall as Arcee but blocker, more angular, heavier. What had Arcee called them—Constructicons? Their broad shoulders certainly brought to mind something built for hard labor, as did the crimson visors where their optics should’ve been. It brought to mind, of all things, sunglasses.

He didn’t see any weapons. But he hadn’t seen any on other other Cybertronians, either.

“Isn’t this our lucky day, Rumble,” said the red one, which made him Frenzy. “A single Autobot warrior! Here! Alone! And calling for help!” They prowled a slow circle around Arcee, keeping her between them. Arcee held her ground, still casting her gaze between them. Jack felt his hand sliding toward his handgun. She’d need to expose her back to one of them.

Rumble banged his fists together. “Yeah! Prepare yourself for anniguhlation, Arcee! This has been a long time coming. You thought you could hide? Ain’t no one able to hide from Soundwave.”

Frenzy nodded, still stalking around her, dragging a finger across his neck. “And the best part? There’s no Cliffjumper to save you this time! Do you remember that, Rumble?”

"Oh, I remember it—Shatter cut that little scraplet in half, right down the middle! Hah!"

With a vehement snarl, Arcee pumped her right arm and a blade popped through the other edge of her limb. A long blade running along the medial side of her arm, like a tonfa, long enough to extend past her elbow and hand. The edge of her arm-blade was a bright orange gold, like it was practically molten. So hot that, even in the middle of the night, Jack could glimpse the heat shimmer.

“Hey, Frenzy,” called Rumble. “I think we just made her mad!” The pair of Decepticons paused, setting their stances. No weapons. Either they didn’t have them, or they didn’t need them. Or, Jack figured, they wanted to take her alive.

“Fitting words,” Arcee said, seething. “For your epitaphs.” He’d seen a few sides of Arcee this evening, Jack thought—but that tone of her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand right up.

She'd already leapt to the attack. Her fist struck Frenzy across the face and she spun in, arm-blade raised—and the Decepticon caught her before her edge found him, headbutted her with a vicious growl. She threw her shoulder into Frenzy, shouting, and pushed off with all of her might. They fell together, grappling for supremacy, rolling and snarling and fighting—and went tumbling over the edge of the cliff, down the ten-meter drop to the floor of the landscaping yard below.

Laughing, Rumble slid down the slope, and followed. "Hey!" the second Decepticon called, "Leave some for me!"

How did it end for the heroic gunslinger at high noon? Sometimes the good guy won, and sometimes he didn't. Sometimes everyone died. And sometimes he went into the fight with no expectation, no hope, beyond taking as many of the bad guys with him as he went out.

For a brief, chilling moment, as the sounds of battle resumed, Jack had a thought. The prayer, the anger, the name of a murdered comrade...

She'd be okay with any of those outcomes.

Swearing, Jack drew his handgun.