Alien 6

[dream_it_all]

Alien
Chapter 6

[Transformers, 2007 movie] The defeat of Megatron and the defense of earth has left everyone the chance to relax a little. Now, if only that was all that was out there...

Characters/Pairings: Sam, Mikaela and Autobots, OCs. Gen, but features a little Sam/Mikaela for canon reasons.
Ratings and Warnings: OC-heavy, a very little violence and language, psuedoscience, PG-13/T for safety.

Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
FFnet Link

Alien: Chapter 6
Author's Notes: Thanks go to Cavaranka for being a general inspiration in more ways than I can count. Further thanks to Kyarorin for giving me the encouragement to put in more Nimbus, although we won’t see that until next chapter. Thanks to Cazcatharsis on LJ for an offer to help me with fight scenes, which I will need. Thanks to Riana1, for being a truly dedicated reviewer and PMing me. Yaaay, contact! Thanks to Attaya (the Anonymouse) for one of the best reviews I have ever received, hands-down. General thank-yous to everyone who reviewed, favorited, alerted, C2’d, recced, archived or even just read at all. You guys all rock!

oOoOoOo

When Sam and Mikaela walked into the Autobots’ room the next morning, Landslide’s corner had been vacated and replaced with a series of clear prisms and cubes, all filled with leaves, branches, greenery and dirt; some of them were hooked up to containers of gas, and some had complicated-looking trap doors, or connections to other cubes.

“Hey, Bee! What’s going on?” Sam said, heading in the direction of the Autobot

The door swung open and shut behind the two humans as they started walking away, making them jump. Bumblebee looked faintly amused.

“Toni’s dissecting dead animals, and it wasn’t making a work environment conducive to experimentation,” said Irene, as Sam and Mikaela turned to look at her.

“Uhh…”

“So I moved. This place has the added bonus of having less William. Stuffy old fart…” The door re-opened again, a few more people stepping in-again. “Hello there, Professor William! Fancy meeting you here. Hello, Mr. Secretary. Kristine.”

“You’re too kind, Irene.”

“Mind showing us around, Irene?” said Keller, looking slightly sour. “I want a sense of what you’re looking at, and what your preliminary data shows, if anything. And keep your bickering in control, Curtis and Gray. I was up half the night talking my security detail into letting me stay here-I think I’m of most use here at the frontlines, so to speak, but my head guard disagrees.”

“Respectfully speaking, Mr. Secretary, sir,” drawled Irene, “I got four hours of sleep last night-between two and six in the morning-because I was designing and then assembling controlled experiments. I don’t think you have much room to talk about how much sleep you did or didn’t get.”

“Good point. My apologies.”

“How much sleep do humans need to function?” interjected Solarity brightly from overhead.

“Depends!” said Irene, voice equally chipper. “I can run on two hours but not for any longer than two days in a row-three tops. On four hours I’m good for a week, but I’m told that my personality ends up shot to hell.”

William snorted expressively. “And she’s more than enough as things are.”

“What did I tell you two?”

“Ah ah ah! I disproved your point. You have no room to talk!”

“The order still stands. It’s one of the perks of being Secretary of Defense.”

Irene opened her mouth as if to say something and paused for a second before shutting it and then opening it to speak again. “You know, that… That’s a really good point. Damn.”

“We were going to look at the experiments?” prompted Kristine, smothering a yawn. “Because I was in bed at three this morning, and I can feel it. Also, people start hallucinating after-I think it’s 48 hours without sleep.”

“Why are you even here?” said Irene with a frown.

“I’m your new lab assistant. There’s not much else I can do… Toni’s covering the animals, and I don’t have enough of a basing in working with plants to be much help elsewhere, and Louise and George are painfully overworked.”

“Ah. That makes sense… Okay, I’m over here. Well, my experiments are. Kind of obviously so, but still…”

“Can we come, too?” asked Mikaela.

“Since you’re already this involved, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” said Keller with a sigh. “Not that I’m not regretting it. And you’d just have Bumblebee record it and play it back for you later, anyways.”

Bumblebee’s door-wings shook slightly with sheer hilarity.

“Over here,” said Irene pointedly from halfway across the room. The other humans-Sam, Mikaela, Keller, Kristine, William and Keller’s three guards-began to follow her, occasionally skirting an Autobot limb or two. Bee, in his alternate mode to make movement easier in the cramped space, followed them. A few other Autobot heads-Solarity’s, Gyro’s and Ratchet’s-turned with some interest to follow their progress.

“Where’s Landslide?” said Sam to Bee in a quiet aside, trying to keep from attracting the attention of the main group of humans, who were walking slightly ahead of him and Mikaela.

“Optimus sent him out on patrol,” said Bumblebee. “He wasn’t getting along well with Nimbus, even after Ratchet yelled at them both and restricted them to opposite sides of the building after Gyro got stepped on.”

“Has Nimbus been causing problems?” said Mikaela, looking slightly worried.

“Well, mostly Landslide’s been causing problems, and Nimbus’s been the focus of them all. He got sent out as well, but that was just because his rotation was up.”

“Do you think we can trust him?” asked Sam, frowning. He still had memories of Barricade tracking him down, way back before he had met Bumblebee properly. He still had nightmares about that meeting, actually…

Bumblebee’s engine revved quietly with frustration. “I… Don’t know. It’s hard to trust a Decepticon, after everything we’ve been through in the war, but I want to believe in redemption…”

“I know that feeling,” said Mikaela dryly. “You know what? It’s the truth when they say that a bad boyfriend won’t ever change. It’s taken me a few tries to realize that, though…”

Sam sighed.

The two humans stepped forward to rejoin the main group as they reached the designated lab area. Behind them, Bumblebee transformed again so he could look in over their heads.

“Basically,” Irene was saying, “I’m trying to ascertain how, exactly, this fungus-fig hybrid behaves. I’m not focusing on the why of things, just what it does-when does it move? What sets it off? When does it go after animals? How long is its lifecycle? What is its life cycle? Does it behave cooperatively-God I hope not-or does it work independently? Will it compete with itself? How does it spread? What happens when it dies? That sort of thing.”

“Ambitious,” muttered Kristine, although her tone sounded fairly neutral, neither approving nor disapproving.

“Each of this set of boxes is set up with varying numbers of live, infected fig cuttings. Some have been put into a box singly, others in sets of two, five or ten. This set has been put into container sets so that there’s an exchange of gasses between the two chambers, but the plants themselves are isolated from the other. These are basically the same as the first group but I can alter the ratio of carbon dioxide to oxygen in the chambers.

“And over here-” she gestured at the boxes with the complicated-looking extra array hanging off of the sides “-we have the boxes we can stick live prey into.”

“Why not just lift off the lid to stick one in?” said Sam. “That looks kind of pointlessly complicated…”

“Hah,” said Kristine indistinctly from behind him, sounding vaguely smug.

“We don’t want the possibility that this can spread any more than it already has,” explained Irene. “And we have eyewitness reports that this goes after people, making opening the boxes just plain a bad idea, huh? To demonstrate…”

Irene reached under the table and withdrew a small Tupperware container. She opened the lid on the smaller box sticking to the larger one-not the one with the fig plant in it-and dumped the contents in: a small mouse. She closed the door and locked it, a small seal activating as she finished entering the combination for it. She pressed a button, and the inner door rose, opening the two cubes up to each other. The mouse scurried out onto the dirt of the other cube.

Quickly-far faster than any plant should be able to move, Sam thought-a viny branch of fig snapped out to impale the mouse, making Keller jump a little and Mikaela stifle a startled scream. Sam instinctively jumped backwards at the sudden movement, but he shifted closer to look around the splash of obscenely red blood on the clear wall of the cube. The fig plant neighboring the one that had killed it joined in on the first plant’s attempts to lift the mouse carcass higher, then quickly covered it in vines. Within minutes, not a single scrap of hair could be seen. Even the splashed blood, rapidly drying, had a tendril reaching for it.

“Aaagh,” said Sam, shivering slightly.

“I’d use insects of some sort,” said Irene with a slight frown, “you know, to be less graphic, but there’s too much potential for contamination. Cordyceps is supposed to affect insects-and not like this-so we’ve been told to stick to mammal-only research subjects. We’re also using a special super-hard material-not sure what, just that it is-for the boxes, so that there’s no danger of them prying them open. And the seams are airtight and then some.”

“If it can jump from insects to plants, can’t it make the jump from plants to mammals just as easily?” said Mikaela with a frown.

“If it does do that, we’re fucked,” said Irene cheerfully. “Starting with all of us. Everyone in this building would probably come down with a case of raving plant crazy within a few days because of the level of exposure we’ve all had. There’s a fair chance that all of South America would end up entirely quarantined.”

“Stop dealing with stress via flippancy,” growled Curtis, frowning at her over the rims of his glasses.

“Hmph. Anyways, this set of boxes has varying combinations of infected and non-infected, and we’ll be looking at how that affects things. These set-ups over here should also help identify how, exactly, it spreads, not just if it spreads. I’ve got infected plants sharing airspace with uninfected samples but with a barrier between them in the dirt, and ones that can only touch below ground to look at the opposite. One set has air exchange between the two containers, but no way to form physical contact. These plants are getting irrigated with water that’s been run through the root system of an infected plant. I’m swapping little parasitic insects small enough to escape the plants’ notice between these sets. We’re trying a few different types of insects, including appropriate fig wasps, assuming I can get my hands on some. Louise is looking into it through a few suppliers. And of course there’s the controls-these are just figs and infected figs, respectively, nothing really altered from the jungle environment.

“I’ve got the same purpose with these over here, but this is more to see if the fungus spreads in the traditional Cordyceps manner: a fruiting body that extends from the host after it’s died from the infection. These plants have been cut off from their root system, to see how that affects things, and what it ends up looking like as it decomposes. The ones over there are just being kept in a variety of conditions, to see if we can find one that’s ideal, hopefully making it go through its lifecycle faster and fruit faster-assuming that’s the case.”

“It was easier when I just had to understand that giant robots wanted my grandfather’s glasses,” Sam whispered to Mikaela. She nudged him slightly with an arm, then pointed at the wall. Next to Irene’s old diagram of infected fig species was a new table, one that hadn’t been filled in.

“I guess she’s still writing on the wall, then,” Sam whispered again, earning a slightly dirty look from the guard closest to them. One of the others-he looked oddly familiar-gave them a slight grin behind the other soldiers’ back. Without looking behind him at all, the third soldier gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with his elbow.

Behind them, a slightly mechanical voice giggled. Sam and Mikaela both jumped a little, along with Kristine; the three twisted around to see Gyro, who seemed to be fighting to keep his laughter under control.

“But aren’t the Cordyceps fungus a species-specific organism?” he said, voice raised loud enough that the whole group could hear. Irene looked up from where she was discussing what sort of budget and supplies she needed with Keller and frowned a little at the Autobot.

“Yes, that’s another one of the problems. Because if it was just, say, strangler figs that were being infected, that would be one thing. But with this we think there’s a real danger that it won’t just stay with figs, since it’s become this infectious already-but I’m not the one looking at that. I think that’s what Evan’s doing, along with containment strategies if it does become more universally spread. And you’re looking at herbicides and fungicides, right, Professor?”

He nodded. “And Antonio is looking at the carcasses of the dead animals we’ve been able to retrieve. Kristine-as you know-and Keats Anders have been divvied up to help with those projects. I think Keats is scheduled to help with you with your projects this evening, Irene.”

“That wasn’t the best idea ever…” muttered Kristine softly.

“Why?” Mikaela asked. “Does he not get along well with Irene or something?”

“No, that’s fine. I think he’s actually the only one in this group-except maybe Evan-who doesn’t have difficulties getting along with anyone.”

“Kristine?” said Irene dryly. “I’ve seen the arguments you two get into. Don’t try to get away with that one.”

“Okay, it really is just Evan who gets along with everyone, unless Toni’s gotten over his problems with you, Irene. Of course, there’s still the chance Evan will develop some sort of antagonistic relationship once he gets over his hero-worship…”

“She’s really good at dodging questions,” said Gyro quietly, so just Sam, Mikaela-and, of course, the other Autobots-and maybe the guards could hear. His voice sounded nearly respectful, over the ever-present undercurrent of humor.

“Oh, well,” sighed Mikaela. “I guess we’ll find out eventually anyways.”

oOo

“We really should go on a road trip some day,” Sam said from where he was sitting, curled up with Mikaela on one of Bumblebee’s legs. The three of them were in the corner closest to the (human) door in the Autobot building, as it had been termed. “It would be fun! Just the three of us.”

“You know, I’ve never dated someone who’d suggest bringing his best friend on a trip with his girlfriend before,” said Mikaela with a smile.

“Yeah, but the best friend’s the ride. Anyways, you know what I’m talking about. And at least one of the guys you’ve dated before wouldn’t let you drive at all.”

“That’s it! I knew there was a reason I liked you. Your best friend is a kick-ass car and lets me drive him.”

There was a brief pause.

“…I really didn’t mean that to sound the way it sounded.”

“Mikaela-”

“Well, it’s not your arms or your brains, certainly. It has to be the car.”

“You mean it wasn’t convincing you to go save the world from giant evil alien robots? And what about my wonderful personality?”

“There is that. Trent hasn’t saved the world, to my knowledge.”

“I think it’s the car,” cut in Bumblebee cheerily.

“Yes, but you may be biased. Just a little. Slightly.”

“I also helped save the world.”

“My best friend who’s also my car’s going to end up stealing my girlfriend,” said Sam with a sigh, looking morose. “Miles is going to die of laughter.”

“Well, you’ve got one real advantage that I can think of,” said Mikaela, voice thoughtful.

“What?” said Sam.

“Bee, to my knowledge, can’t do this.” She leaned over and kissed him.

“Mmmm…”

They were interrupted by one large hand suddenly-and implacably-picking them up and setting them gently on the ground beside him. Sam sighed, head falling to rest against Mikaela’s shoulder. “Bee, we’ve been over this. No matter what the Internet tells you, me and Mikaela aren’t going to get ‘reproductive fluids’ all over you or anything-”

Bumblebee ignored them, rising fluidly to a standing position. “If you’ve got leavin’ on your mind,” (1) crooned his radio.

A few seconds later part of the wall across from them slid up. “Oh! So that’s how you guys get in and out of here!” said Mikaela softly, before falling quiet. Bumblebee’s mood was catching.

A silvery-gray car pulled in. ‘Nimbus?’ Mikaela mouthed at Sam. He nodded his agreement.

The door slid shut behind the ex-Decepticon, and it slowly shifted upwards into the bipedal form. Bumblebee carefully stepped in front of the two humans, his position defensive.

Almost subconsciously, the two humans entwined their hands. Neither of them had good memories when it came to Decepticons, reformed or otherwise. Well, they didn’t have any memories when it came to reformed Decepticons, and that said something.

In the silence of the room, the click of guns prepping could be clearly heard. “Ironhide,” said Optimus warningly.

“Just making sure everything’s in working order, sir.”

“Right.”

Again, that heavy silence fell. Nimbus seemed to be hesitant to move; when he finally did, the motions were hesitant and careful, like a human trying not to startle some animal they were observing. Or a predator stalking its prey, Sam’s mind whispered, half-forgotten memories of documentaries his mom had forced him to sit through with her flashing through his head.

“Bumblebee, stand down,” sighed Optimus when the mech continued to stand defensively above the two humans, pivoting slightly on his legs to follow the movements of Nimbus. “We’re all on the same side, here, remember?”

Slowly, gaze still fixed on the other Transformer, Bumblebee sat back down. Nimbus slunk to one of the back corners-the one unoccupied by Irene and her experiments. He sat down as well, his back to the corner so he was facing the room, his head down-turned so he was mostly looking at the swathe of concrete flooring immediately in front of him.

Cautiously, the two humans crept out from behind Bumblebee’s legs. “Huh,” said Sam.

oOo

Optimus Prime looked up as the privately-sent message registered. ‘May I have permission to offer assistance, sir?’ the brief note said. It was from Coldfront.

‘Help who?’ he replied, despite his gut instinct not to. It would only encourage this sort of behavior.

‘The scientist. Irene Gray,’ the terse response came, after a short pause. It seemed the mech had had some difficulty formulating the reply, or something to that affect.

‘Why are you asking me?’ he sent back.

‘As your inferior, it would be both impolite and possibly against orders to act in such a way. Especially when it is not my role to perform such assistance, and it is an alien species much more easily harmed. Discouraging contact is a valid choice of action, to prevent accidents, and I am unaware of your policies in many matters. Furthermore, we seem to cause distress to some of the humans, further complicating matters.’

‘That was a rhetorical question. You weren’t meant to take it seriously.’

‘My apologies, sir.’

‘Anyways, Coldfront, feel free to offer your assistance to whomever you want to, assuming that it doesn’t jeopardize our position here.’

The connection was cut off abruptly. After a few brief seconds, Coldfront made his way over to the improvised workstation.

“May I offer my assistance?” he said.

Irene jumped and shrieked. “Whoah,” she said, turning around to face him. “I totally didn’t hear you there. Or see you. Coldfront, right? I’m terrible with names, so sorry if I’ve got it wrong.”

“No, you are correct. You appear to be having difficulty carrying these; may I be of use?”

Irene looked at him, slightly puzzled-looking, for a few seconds before she responded. “Suuure,” she said, slowly. “Of course you can help. And you’re right-these boxes are a little on the heavy side. I can lift them, but I’m always afraid I’m going to drop them, probably onto one of my feet. I tend to be very good at managing to do things like that. Would you move all the ones with the red dots over to that new table? Thank you. This is very helpful of you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“But still! Those boxes are distinctly on the heavy side for me. And there was no real reason you needed to help.”

“I was not otherwise occupied, so I am not impacting anything else. It is a matter of courtesy on top of that, and offering help could potentially speed up your processes-if you were to drop an experimental set-up, it would set you back as well as have the potential to be dangerous.”

“Like I said-reasoning and logic behind it aside, it was sweet of you. You should learn how to take a compliment!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a brief pause. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is your speech so formal? None of the others seem to use it, from what I’ve seen…”

“It is partly the parallels between the forms I use in spoken Cybertronian and the forms I use in English; they are somewhat comparable. Mostly, it is because it is respectful.”

Again, that pause. “So… Why are you using it with me?”

“You are a scientist, yes? Isn’t that a highly-ranked position?”

“Not… particularly. Certainly not when it’s me. You really don’t have to, for the record.”

Again, there was that heavy silence, stretching on for a few interminable minutes.

“Aaargh,” said Irene finally. “I’ve got ants contaminating my experiments!”

oOo

Keats walked into the building around five in the afternoon, jerked visibly at the door and dithered for a few minutes before slowly, hesitantly, making his way over towards Irene. He tended to speed up when he was close to an Autobot.

He laid down the plates he was carrying on the table, jumping again when they clanged loudly against the metal, then walked over to where Irene was poking at her boxes.

“Hello,” he said softly, by way of greeting.

“Hello, there!”

“Which experimental set should I go look at? Is that still set C over there?”

“Nope. Coldfront got them all moved around for me-they weren’t easy to access, the way they were set up. It was very helpful.”

Keats winced. “And which one is Coldfront?”

Irene waved a hand in the appropriate direction. “He’s the black one over there. He also saved me when I fell off my ladder!”

“Why did you fall off your ladder?”

“I spilled hot coffee on myself.”

“Damn, you really are accident-prone,” said Kristine loudly, appearing from behind another set of fig-filled boxes as she straightened up.

“One of us here has caused three lab evacuations in a single day, and it’s not me. Just saying.”

“Your body chemicals indicate a high level of fear,” said a voice-one that sounded vaguely amused-above their heads. All three humans looked up at the Autobot looking down at them, his attention focused on the male scientist in particular. Keats ended up biting down hard on his tongue in his efforts not to squeal like a little girl. He was a nervous sort of person, he would admit that, but even he had his limits. Behaving like his sister’s kids was one of them.

“Ratchet, we told you that that’s really awkward and uncomfortable!” said Sam’s voice from behind Bumblebee, a short distance away. “Don’t worry, whoever he was talking to, we’ve had worse.”

“None of my research indicates that that isn’t allowed by human social customs. While I admit I was in error during our first meeting, Sam, this seems to be perfectly acceptable.”

“M-me?” Keats managed to finally squeak out.

Kristine bristled, glaring at Ratchet. “I can assure you, it’s outside social norms,” she snapped.

“I told you, it’s not addressed-”

“My guess is that it’s not covered because, historically, nobody’s going to be capable of measuring something to that extent without lots and lots of medical equipment and probably their consent, and even that’s a recent development,” said Irene with a grin.

Keats seemed to be trying to subtly back away from the Autobot closest to them, Ratchet, but an experiment-laden table was in his way.

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Irene under her breath. “Kristine! Finish up what you were doing, and then fill in your data on the chart. Keats, I want you to check the conditions on all the set-ups, and make sure they match the specifications written on the side. Most are supposed to be set for average rainforest conditions for around here, but there’s a few that differ, so double-check. Ratchet-that’s your name, right?-we need to concentrate on this, so go somewhere else if you’re going to be distracting. Kristine, the ladder’s right over there, against the base of the wall. Do you need some help with it?”

A few minutes later the door clanged open again, Toni entering the room and striding across it towards the science labs. He had two plates of food in his hands as well, although he was quieter as he set them down.

“Hey, Irene,” he said, with a charming smile. “I brought you some dinner.”

Irene arched a single eyebrow. “Keats beat you to it.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to make a pre-emptive strike-could I take you out for dinner sometime?”

“How’re the wife and kid?” Irene shot back.

“I divorced one of those, and have the other holidays and school breaks.”

“Well, that means you’re only out of the running on one count, now, instead of two.”

“Come on, Irene, dinner isn’t a commitment! Unless you only share meals with men when they’re proposing to you.”

“I told you, Antonio Miguel Martinez, I’m not looking for a relationship right now! Not with anyone, not at all!”

“Why do you know his middle name?” interjected Kristine; she was ignored.

“But you’re not looking-I’m the one who found you!”

A little ways away, Bumblebee muttered to Sam and Mikaela “Is this normal human behavior?”

“Pretty much. Which is kind of disturbing, actually…” Sam began.

“I think it might make more sense if we had more in terms of context,” said Mikaela.

The argument continued. “You’re infuriating! Why can’t you just take ‘no’ for an answer?”

“Well, I’m sorry for trying! Not everyone’s as bitter as you are.”

“As bitter as I may be, you seem to keep on coming after me, anyways! And it’s certainly not my beauty you’re going after!”

“This-might not be the r-right place for this,” managed Keats.

“Yeah. Does what we’re up against mean nothing to you?” snapped out Kristine.

“Please, for the love of God, just leave,” Irene ground out through gritted teeth. Toni glared, collected the two plates he’d brought, and stomped back out the door. Irene collapsed with a sigh.

“Welp, that answers my earlier question,” said Kristine with a bright grin. “You do still have your issue with Toni! Evan really is the only one of us who gets along with everybody.”

“Oh, just shut up and let me eat my dinner.”

“Yes, Irene.”

oOo

Nimbus pulled back in from a second ‘patrol’-granted at his request, simply because he needed to get out and move-to find a sprawled-out human lying halfway between his corner and the human lab area. Not that it truly was his corner. He hadn’t really been commanded to stay there or anything, he was just supposed to be in that half of the building-Landslide was relegated to the other half-and it was probably for the best, even though it hadn’t been anything more than a suggestion, not even a real order. Nimbus didn’t think that anyone (other than Landslide) would actually try to harm him, but his presence was definitely not welcome. That had been made more than clear-even Bumblebee had clearly thought he was a threat to the two organics who always seemed to be in the building, and he hadn’t even bothered to hide his distrust. They weren’t there at the moment; presumably, they had left to recharge-to sleep, that is. Even the other scientists had left, the two females. Irene Gray and Kristine Christopherson-that was their names.

So that just left this one human. Keats Anders. He’d been half-covered by a jacket, presumably to hold in warmth. Organics were startlingly fragile in that way. And these were the ones who were able to regulate their body temperature, to a certain extent. It was incredible. The only other organic life he’d met had been just as sensitive, but their stable environment had made up for that.

He settled into his corner, as far away from the human as he could get. Bumblebee, he had the feeling, was most protective of the two humans he knew best, but that didn’t necessarily mean much, and the other Autobots were also likely to view him as a possible threat to any human. Landslide, certainly, would leap at the chance to attack him, even if that ‘chance’ only translated to an unconscious human a little ways away.

oOo

Coldfront pulled into the building a few minutes later. He had to carefully pick his way through the other robots in recharge: they were scattered throughout the room, filling it fairly completely, and it was considered odd and culturally inappropriate to enter a sleep state too close to another. There weren’t many spots left large enough for him to settle in for the rest of the night.

In fact, he could only find one. It was, he noticed with some alarm, disturbingly close to the laid-out body of one of the human scientists. A quick scan showed that the organic wasn’t dead: there was a steady heartbeat and the lungs were working. Cross-referencing to the Internet showed that both were at acceptable speeds, and that nothing else seemed to be wrong with the man. The state was appropriate for sleep-much like recharge, adapted for an organic system. This would have to do. There wasn’t anywhere else, really, that was large enough to seem a comfortable space for him. It shouldn’t be a problem…

oOo

Keats woke up in a narrow space hemmed in by the walls of the building and one gigantic metal arm. He had to work hard to swallow his panic.

Now how to get out of this…?

oOo

Coldfront was only vaguely aware of the suddenly-increased pressure on his arm before he was lurching into wakefulness, sending the body on him crashing to the ground to be covered with one massive hand as the other flipped into a cannon, lowered at the creature he was holding down and powered up, whirring menacingly, before he finally managed to process the fact that he had just attacked one of the humans. There was another near-automatic flurry of movement: he was off of the scientist and pressed back against the wall in another few split-seconds.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sure what else there was to say. “I- I didn’t-”

Keats was shaking visibly, breath coming in gasps. Hyperventilation, research told the mech; when a human’s breathing speeds up too much. Coldfront’s hand, reaching out in an instinctive attempt to help, sent him lurching backwards, unbalancing him from his awkward position perched on his knees.

“O-oh God,” the panicking human muttered, muscles tight. All around the room, Transformers were awakening, alerted by the sudden movement and noise.

Ratchet pushed his way forward, activating scans even before he was fully sitting. “Get another human,” he snapped out, eyes still firmly fixed on the figure beneath him. “And a human medic, if there is one authorized to enter here.” His tone implied that there ought to be. “Just somebody please get in touch with whoever it is who’s our contact and get them over here, or get them to send people over here-”

For once, even Gyro seemed to know when to hold his tongue. Bumblebee looked worried, and Nimbus looked like he was trying, slightly desperately, to escape notice.

“Stay back, all of you,” said Ratchet, silently this time, in written Cybertronian messages. “He’s panicking. His fearful state has always been heightened compared to that of the other humans, and this just exacerbated it. We’re going to need to talk later, Coldfront. And put away your cannon. Actually, get going-go. Go! Run around the rainforest and look for changes or Decepticons or something like that. You’re just making this worse. The rest of you, back off. It’s us that’s making him have this reaction, and crowding around him isn’t going to help it.”

Kristine entered the room at a dead run, making straight for the human, ignoring the Autobots completely with her haste. She dropped to her knees as she reached Keats’ side, reaching out to him. He accepted it without hesitation, clutching at her almost painfully tight. The scientist ignored the tight grasp and the awkward position it forced her into, her voice low and soothing as she talked to her co-worker, not really saying anything of any importance.

The attention of every Autobot in the room was firmly riveted on the scene playing out in front of them.

A doctor entered a few minutes later, jumping slightly at the sight of the Autobots and the mechanical heads subtly following his entrance into the room. As he arrived at the two huddled scientists, Keats let go of Kristine, letting her fall back a little. He still looked a little shaky and nervous, but much better than he had been.

“I think everything should be okay,” Kristine said, voice still calm-much calmer than he had ever heard her sound, Sam thought, as he approached the cluster of humans with Mikaela.

“Nothing’s wrong with him, physically,” the doctor said. “It was just a panic attack. Still, it might be better if he stayed away from the, ah, causative agents.”

“But I’m working in here!” protested Keats, voice still a little faint.

“I’d really rather I didn’t move my lab stations,” said Irene from behind Sam and Mikaela. “What happened?”

“Keats fell asleep in the lab last night,” said Ratchet. “And when he woke up Coldfront had shifted so that he had entrapped him. He startled the-sleeping Autobot when he tried to crawl over him to get out, causing him to-”

“-freak out,” added Kristine helpfully.

“-fine, ‘freak out,’ going into attack mode before he had fully realized what was going on. He stopped once he recognized what had happened, of course, but the damage was done. And he was nervous to start with…”

“Agh. The world seems determined to keep me from my science,” said Irene with a sigh. “Where’s Coldfront now?”

“I sent him off,” said Ratchet. “He wasn’t helping Keats’ state-of-mind.”

“Well, this isn’t going to do. Keats, I want you to deal with your problem or get yourself assigned to a different lab. I’ll understand if that happens.”

“Also, as your senior and past mentor, work out whatever’s going on with you and Coldfront,” said Kristine. “I mean, he just almost killed you. You probably have something to talk over. I’d be amazed if you didn’t.”

“Kristine, that isn’t necessarily helping anything-”

“Yeah, whatever. You’re not the one who almost just got killed. Sometimes things need to be worked through.”

“Just because you insist on picking at your scabs-”

“I prefer to think of it more as lancing an infected wound so you can squeeze out the pus,” said Kristine.

“Urgh,” said Mikaela.

“And people ask why I think organics are disgusting,” said Landslide loudly from the corner. “They’re always oozing one thing or another. You know, I bet that damned Decepticon put him up to this.”

“Why isn’t anybody asking me what I want to do?” said Keats quietly, silently proud that he had managed to keep his voice steady.

“Shut up, flunky,” said Kristine cheerfully.

oOo

Coldfront hesitated before he pulled back into the building. He wasn’t sure of-several things. He didn’t know how long Ratchet’s orders had been for, so there was a chance that he was disobeying if he returned right now. He didn’t think that he had been ordered to just simply not return at all, although it was possible-he had just attacked a human, another sentient being, an act better suited to a Decepticon than even the most gray-area Autobot. On the other hand, he thought that any total dismissal would come from Optimus Prime.

And he didn’t know what sort of punishment his sentence would entail if he wasn’t being turned rogue. He didn’t know what the policies of any of his new superiors were, let alone which acts they found most unspeakable or how they assigned their disciplinary actions. He knew that Bumblebee, especially, seemed protective of the humans, but not much more than that.

He didn’t know how the humans would react to him, after what he had done. He assumed the human he had attacked-Keats Anders-was alive and in a safe condition, at the very least; he had seemed to be in a bad way, but he didn’t know enough about organics to make a very good guess at that, but he hadn’t been contacted, which he assumed he would have been if he had gone permanently off-line. Research had been inconclusive; he hadn’t run any in-depth scans during the event, so he could only guess at most of the symptoms. At least he hadn’t actually fired his cannon; that would have been an instant death sentence for an organic. He didn’t think he’d tossed him around too hard, either: there hadn’t been any obvious wounds on him. The information he’d found on internal wounds had been… chilling, though.

He guessed he’d find out.

oOo

Keats looked up sharply as he heard the slight whirring of the door the Autobots used opening. He flinched a little as Coldfront drove back in, black paint glistening through patches of caked-on mud.

The sections of the room furthest away from the corner where all the scientists-including Keats-were working were already filled with Autobots. That left only the areas closer to the scientists-and Keats-open. And he wasn’t little like Bumblebee, let alone Gyro; fitting into the smaller areas would be difficult, verging on impossible. And it would be… unprofessional to show, so obviously, his avoidance of the scientist. All the scientists, really, or all the humans, but especially Keats.

Carefully, he maneuvered his way to an empty spot as far away from the scientists as he could manage, trying to stay away from their corner as he did so. It left him next to Bumblebee-fortunately, the two humans that seemed to gravitate towards him were gone, although he had no idea how long that would last-and the door, but it would have to do.

On the opposite side of the room, Irene straightened with a sigh. “Ooof. These tables could not be a more inconvenient height if they tried. Hey, Keats!”

“Yes?”

“You’re done with set B for the moment, right? ‘Cause you’ve been on duty too long. Go get some food and catch some sleep-we’ll be experimenting with darkness tonight.”

“I think I’d like a break as well,” said Kristine. “If it’s alright, that is.”

“Sure! Just get that finished up. I’ll be fine here for a while.”

Coldfront watched the last remaining scientist in the room putter for a while, slowly slipping into recharge. The day had been-draining. He was almost fully under when a slightly uncertain voice spoke up near him.

“Excuse me?” asked Irene.

Coldfront was knocked back to consciousness with a jolt that, he was afraid, had manifested physically as well as mentally. He resisted the shameful urge to run from the inevitable confrontation that was coming, and merely sat there, utterly still. After a few brief seconds, he found his voice.

“Yes…?” he said, sounding far less sure of himself than he would have liked to.

“I was wondering, if it wasn’t too much trouble, if you’d be willing to help me lift boxes again.” There was a brief, stunned silence before the woman, looking nervous, started talking again. “You-are the one who helped me with the boxes, right? Coldfront? Because I was pretty sure, almost positive, that it was you but I’m new at telling giant robots apart-”

“No, no, it’s me.” Irene could hear the surprise in his voice, strong enough to override his normal near-tonelessness.

“Oh, good.” She hadn’t gotten that wrong, at least. “I mean, I’d love the help, assuming you’re willing, but really, don’t feel obligated, especially since you’ve already hugely helpful.”

There was a long, weighty silence.

“So, I’ll definitely understand if you don’t want to help… I’ll be fine without it, really, but I’d rather not risk blowing out my back in the middle of something like this. I’d rather not have to think with my mind all muddled with pain-”

“It’s really no trouble,” said Coldfront, voice a different form of enigmatic from his normal flat tones-it seemed to have too many indirect, confused and contradictory emotions, instead of none at all.

“Oh! Thank you,” Irene smiled happily. “It’s considerably more convenient, this way. I can’t say I’ve ever liked lugging around big, heavy boxes, too, and then there’s always the chance that I’ll drop something and end up breaking something, or invalidating the experiment, or breaking myself, or- Yep. You get the picture.”

Irene headed back towards the science counter at a brisk walk, Coldfront trailing behind her, walking almost painfully slowly to avoid crowding her.

The two worked in near-silence for about half an hour, after Irene explained what she wanted. “Just put them in a row, about half a foot between each box, with the feeding traps facing the back-towards the far wall will be good,” she had said.

After a while, Irene looked up. “Done?” said, turning away from the notes she had been frowning at, removing the pen she had been chewing on from her mouth so she could speak.

“Yes,” he said, dipping one should down and slightly back in a move that was unfamiliar to the scientist-it was vaguely like a shrug but not quite; she figured it must have been body language she wasn’t familiar with, and wondered how much of the conversation she was missing because of that sort of thing.

But now wasn’t the time to think about deciphering giant alien robot body language. She had data about killer fig trees to analyze.

…And a traumatized lab assistant. Irene sighed, sliding her reading glasses off and sticking them absent-mindedly into the pocket on her shirt. If she had wanted to deal with this sort of thing she would have majored in psychology and been a damned marriage counselor, for God’s sake.

Come to think of it, if she had majored in psychology, she probably would have learned to be diplomatic and subtle. Pity she hadn’t.

“Coldfront?” she said. Behind her, she could literally hear the robot snapping to attention. Well, she could hear him moving, at least. She could only assume that he was actually at attention-or the Autobot version of it, at least. Or the Autobot version when you were in a cramped (for them) building and you weren’t snapping to attention to another Autobot and, technically, the person you were focusing on wasn’t in the military-any military-and therefore couldn’t outrank you.

“Could you take this set over to Outbuilding Six? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes to let you in. In the meantime, I’m going to run over to the other building and get some tea… Oh, and if you could keep the boxes at the temperature they are now, that would be great.”

She looked back, and the mech nodded seriously in acceptance of her directions. “Only if it’s not too much of a bother,” she added, feeling a little guilty. She had the feeling that she was taking gross advantage of his near-creepy willingness to obey anyone he saw as in a position of power.

There was just something wrong with that. Not that it wasn’t helpful. And she was being kind of manipulative.

Oh well. It was all for the best. And also for the Good of the Nation and the Support of the American Way, complete with patriotic capitals.

A minute later she was ducking through the doorway to the cafeteria. Thankfully, Keats and Kristine were both there, Keats looking considerably calmer. “Hey! Keats!” she called out cheerfully over her shoulder as she walked towards the cabinet she’d hidden her tea in. Didn’t want everyone getting into her private stash, after all. She’d end up running out, and it was hard to get her hands on this stuff. “I’m getting tea and going to catch a nap. Would you mind heading over to Outbuilding Six for me and opening it up? I think it’ll be perfect for our set-up. No windows, no cracks, unused, video surveillance and a controllable temperature. Plus, it’ll be handy later on-if we get lights out there we can leave one or two. I want to do some playing around with chemical signals-I’ve got the eerie feeling that they’re all communicating, and those boxes are supposed to be entirely contained, but I’m kind of suspicious.”

“Sure,” said Keats, standing.

“You know, it’s a good thing he’s used to your random babbling Irene,” said Kristine, still seated. “Elsewise, he wouldn’t have gotten much out of that little speech you just spouted off.”

Irene looked affronted. “I do not babble,” she said affrontedly.

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do-”

“Now, now, children,” said Keats, grinning despite himself.

“Keats, my bright young scientist,” said Kristine with a drawl, “I’m closer in age to your mother than to you.”

“‘Now, children’ indeed,” said Irene. “I notice you are still remarkably far away from Outbuilding Six. Funny, that.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m going, ma’am, be back soon, ma’am,” prompted Kristine in a stage-whisper sing-song as Keats turned to go. Both the women caught his hurriedly-stifled laugh.

“Well, it looks like the storm’s blown over. Or the panic-attack, at least. I think things’ll work themselves out, don’t you?”

Irene had to cough to cover her wince. “Yeah… Right. Now, would you go over the data with me? I want to double-check before I send what I have out to the rest of the team.”

oOo

“So if the plants respond like this to anything living we’ve tried sticking in there, how did you get all these samples?” the recently arrived Charles Cleve asked, voice sounding honestly curious.

Evan swallowed nervously. “Um…”

“That’s where I come in,” cut in Defense Secretary Keller from behind the mycologist’s shoulder. “Mr. Cleve, I want you to fully understand that by agreeing to participate in this project that you are swearing yourself to the utmost secrecy, in everything you do, with no exceptions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary. I’m not given to revealing government secrets, though, sir.”

“Well, some secrets are easier to keep than this. Cahler, get back on guard duty and stop giving Irene ammunition. You two follow me, please.”

The two scientists fell into step behind Keller, the guards taking up the rear. They headed out of the building at a brisk walk, headed towards the largest building in the compound.

“So, do you do this kind of work regularly?” asked Charles after a few seconds of silence. Evan blushed and stammered.

“M-me? God, no. I’m still a grad student. This is my first time, and I’m… Kind of overwhelmed, I have to say. Of course, you still haven’t…”

“Haven’t what? Oh, I suppose it must be this big secret that we’re headed towards. I have to say, this is my first time doing something like this as well.”

“The rest of the team are all old pros by now. Actually, some of my heroes are here… Have you ever heard of William Curtis? He’s on the team. And Irene Gray-that’s the Irene we just passed-and Keats Anders. Kristine Christopherson. Antonio Martinez. The lab assistants are Louise Brant and George Tanaka-they both seem very capable. They’ve been extremely helpful so far.”

“And you’re-Evan Fitzgerald, right? I’m terrible with names, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, you’ve got it right. No need to worry. I’m good with names and faces, but I think it took Irene half a year to get my name straight. You’ll be in good company.”

“So, who’s working on what?”

“You read the background, right? Well, we’ve been split into three main groups, each headed by a botanist. I’m looking at the threat of infection, and the possibility of the fungus making a cross-genus jump, and containment strategies if that fails. I’ve got some background in epidemic control, so they gave it to me.

“William Curtis is looking at pesticides and herbicides, and what’s going to actually stop this-hopefully without destroying the whole rainforest along with it, but that might be a casualty we just need to accept. You’ll be working with him, for now, and consulting with everyone else as we need it.

“And Irene’s looking at behavior. The other scientists are all helping with those three main groups, except for Toni-he’s looking at what the plant does to its prey. He’s got the lab all covered in dead, half-decomposed animals because of it-I know that Irene, at least, has moved her base of operations for just that reason.”

Charles frowned a little. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay in one area? That seems a little… Irrational, something of an over-reaction.”

“It’s probably for the best. This is my first real assignment, and I haven’t spent much time with the team, but I think that we might all work better if we’re a little stretched out. It’s not that we all don’t get along, it’s just that there’s some, uh, intense personalities.

“Oh. Well. Whatever works, then.”

The small group paused outside a set of double doors set into the wall of a single large building, one with no windows whatsoever. The outside was a dull, patched brownish gray color, the pain peeling in several places. It was an unprepossessing building.

Keller hesitated. “Actually,” he began, “it might help if you started with some of the files your laptop’s been fitted with. I’d recommend starting under the section labeled ‘extra-terrestrials’ and go from there.”

“Is this a practical joke?” snapped out the mycologist, looking suddenly disgruntled. “I didn’t know the U.S. government would keep anything that stupid around. And you-someone in a position like yours shouldn’t mess around with that sort of stuff, it’s ridiculous!”

Keller’s brows furrowed. “Sir,” he said, “I am the Secretary of Defense for the United States of America. I’d thank you not to take that tone with me. You do not get into my position by being a deluded old man or a fool.”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary,” said Charles with a sigh.

“You’re dismissed,” continued Keller. “I’ll meet you in your quarters in half an hour; that should give you enough time to finish reading the documents you’ve been provided with.”

Silently, the scientist turned and left. “Should-should I go too?” said Evan, hesitantly.

“No, it’s fine,” sighed Keller. “There’s just something about that man that grates on my last nerve.”

Evan just stayed quiet. He hadn’t thought the mycologist had been too bad.

Keller really was in a mood, though.

oOo

“Oh my God,” said Charles Cleve, voice heavy with shock. “Robots. The United States enlists the help of giant fucking robots. From outer space. Jesus Christ.”

oOo

Keats wasn’t entirely surprised by Coldfront’s presence at the outbuilding. He had a little warning, at least. He was rather proud of how calm his reaction was, actually, as he came around the corner. He was hardly sweating at all.

“Uh, hello,” he said after a few long minutes stretched out. He was still a good ways away from the car, and he really didn’t want to go any further towards him.

“Hello,” said a clear voice, one coming from the direction of the vehicle. Keats repressed a shiver. It was eerie, hearing a voice like that coming from what could pass as an empty-well, not perfectly ordinary, not with him being the sort of car he was, doubtlessly one with a price tag to match-and inactive car. It sounded like someone was standing there, talking to him, a voice that could have belonged to anyone but for the slight distortion, the metallic taste to it.

The biologist was about fifteen seconds away from running away with his (metaphorical) tail between his legs when Coldfront spoke again.

“I am sorry,” he said, falling back on the more formal patterns. They were more comfortable to him, more respectful. And regardless of what the human woman-Irene Gray-had said, in a proper system, scientists should be given respect.

Keats squeaked a little. “You’ve said,” he managed, after swallowing a few times.

He looked down at his entwined hands, and consciously untwisted his fingers, dropping his arms stiffly to his side. The silence stretched on.

“It’s-not all your fault, really,” continued Keats. “You guys kind of freak me out. Um. I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did. Sorry. Er. It’s kind of an upset to my world view. And yeah, everyone’s heard about what happened in that big city battle by now, but nobody would have guessed about the alien thing, except for the real crazies, and the whole ‘transforming’ thing hadn’t come up and, well, I’d never have figured I would have met one of you, even if I had known you were sentient. Which I hadn’t.”

“It is understandable,” replied Coldfront. “It is logical that we would be-threatening.”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry for it… Because yeah, that was pretty terrifying, what happened earlier, but y’all have always made me nervous. And the panic attack was kind of an extreme reaction, even considering the circumstances.”

“A-panic attack? That is what happened to you? It is a… vivid term.” Quickly, he searched the term, then drew back a little. “It can be life-threatening?” Organics were so fragile. How had the species ever survived long enough to get this far?

“What? Well, kind of. It’s sort of like shock, right? Shock can be deadly. But we’ve got medics around here for that sort of thing, and Kristine’s stubborn enough to keep me from death by sheer force-of-will.”

There was another pause. “I am sorry I am here,” said Coldfront. “If I had known, I would have refused, after what I had done. I understand my presence is likely to be unsettling.”

“‘Unsettling’ is one word for it,” muttered Keats. Carefully, Coldfront moved a few inches further away from him. His face changed suddenly, and he looked up with a mixture of comprehension and extreme irritation on his face. “Irene,” he said, voice laden with anger. “She must have done this-”

“I would have refused her request, and found someone less threatening to do this if I had known,” said Coldfront again. “But you seem to be very calm. Do I not understand the situation fully?”

“I am nothing if not resilient,” said Keats, voice half-mocking. “And at some point blind panic runs its course, can’t keep it up any longer and transfers into a kind of Zen state. Plus, I could see you a little from around the corner.”

“Do you… Do you understand why Mrs. Gray would have done this? Arranged this meeting,” asked Coldfront, after another weighty pause.

“Not really, no,” said Keats. “I don’t think anyone ever fully understands Irene, actually. And it would be Ms. Gray, if you’re going to insist on formality with her. It’s likely to make her rail at you angrily, though. Even Evan only tried it once, and he’s got a serious case of hero-worship going on. Seriously, though, it’s probably because of the project. She’s very dedicated to her work, to completing an assignment and to doing her duty. She doesn’t always agree with the government-you should have heard her when she was approached about biological weapons-but she’s really big on saving people’s lives.”

“I don’t really understand Ms. Gra-Irene,” said Coldfront, sounding almost as if he was thinking out loud. “She should be more fearful.”

Keats stiffened.

“I would have expected her to react more like you. Not even you like you are now, but your-panic attack. Are you really alright? No internal leaks-no, that’s the wrong term. No internal bleeding?”

Keats relaxed. “Oh, you meant-of course. Irene’s kind of a law unto herself. I’ve seen her frightened before, I think, but I can’t recall what about. You certainly don’t seem to ruffle her, though. Although I think you made her a little skittish at first. Well, not you in particular, but your species. And yeah, I’m okay. I’m going to bruise spectacularly, but nothing worse than that. Moving tomorrow morning won’t be fun, but I’m a lab scientist. Running around isn’t in the job description. Although Kristine did make me do laps once. You really jump around when you’re talking. You know that, right?”

“‘Jump around’?”

“Your subject. It seems to change quickly and irrationally. So, for example, you were talking about how Irene should have reacted, and then you were asking about my physical state. I can kind of see how you got there, but it’s not a direct connection.”

“I was, and am, -concerned.” There’s that odd, stilted quality to his speech again. It was more than just how he didn’t use contractions regularly, Keats realized.

“Why don’t you use contractions?” he said. Anything to keep the conversation going-it helped.

“An absence indicates formality, yes? It is more respectful.”

“It’s pretty weird, to be honest,” said Keats, absent-mindedly. “But yeah, it’s used in formal writing-that’s basically only essays, though. I’ll use it for write-ups sometimes, but I’ve never really heard someone speak like that before. Sometimes non-native English speakers won’t use them, but that’s because they have trouble with the concept.”

“Scientists play an important role in society, and should be respected. Especially ones in a high position and such a vital role, as you are.”

“Huh. Weird to think of being a scientist-with a few notable exceptions-as a high-profile, important job. Speaking of which, do you have the experiments with you? Since that’s what I was sent to do here, and all. I don’t think even Irene has the guts to send me on a made-up errand just so I run into you. She’s got a certain level of deniability if it’s under the pretense of ‘work.’”

“Yes, I have them. They are inside the first door, but I cannot move them to the inner building without the key.”

“Well, then, I’ll go get that unlocked…”

--End chapter 6--

(1) “Leavin’ On Your Mind,” by Patsy Cline.