After I had escorted the last of the people out of the area, I went back for Ron. I had my old little Ixus camera out, taking pictures of everything I could. As I was doing so, I saw Ron crouch behind Betty (Betty was my pet name for my little Volkswagen beetle). The thing that was stalking Ron looked like a duplicate of the Venus de Milo statue in the Louvre (took me a bit of research later to confirm that association). Well, that is, if the statue was seven feet tall, had its hair down, wore a bikini and high-heeled boots, and had robotic metal arms and hands grafted in place of the statue's missing ones.
It stood about thirty feet away from Betty and held something up in the air and was telling Ron something, but I couldn’t hear it, or rather her, very well.
The fact that Ron was hiding made me hide, too. So I crouched behind what was left of the front wall. I peeked over the rubble and was just in time to see Ron being hit by what looked like bolts of electricity, like blue-white arcs from an electric generator or something, and coming from the Venus de Milo thing's hand. He was knocked back and he hit a little wooden shack – the kind you see on sidewalks where you buy newspapers or magazines. He hit it with such force that it collapsed around him.
The scene was oddly silent for a moment, except for the water gushing from a broken water main, the crackle of a few isolated fires, falling timber or cinderblocks, and a few car alarms in the far background.
I started creeping towards Ron and, fortunately, the thing didn’t see me. It was scanning the farther side of the ruined restaurant - maybe it heard something there. But I accidentally dislodged a pile of rubble. I froze as the lose blocks and bricks fell, making a racket I couldn't suppress.
“Is there a little mouse hiding?” the thing said. “Come out, come out, little mousie.” The sound of crunching gravel told me she was making her way towards me. “No need to hide, mousie. I won’t hurt you… much. Hahahaha!”
I saw a big piece of concrete fly overhead, and heard it crash against the broken wall to the left and to the rear of me. The thing was throwing rocks. I didn’t know why she wasn’t zapping me with lightning bolts instead. I risked a peek over the broken wall and saw the thing with rocks in both metal hands.
“There you are!” she said. “Are you the one that was hiding my little treasure?” I ducked back down as she threw the pieces of rubble at me. Just in time, too. One rock hit the upper edge of the concrete I was hiding behind, and caused pieces to crack and fly around me. The other one flew through the air where my head used to be. “Stupid,” I said to myself. Now that thing knew where I was. So I moved away from the spot as quickly as I could, and as quietly as I could.
As I crept towards Ron, I wondered about the “treasure” the thing was referring to. My hand snuck inside my shoulder bag and felt around for the envelope with the little piece of black volcanic glass that UPS messenger delivered to me yesterday. It was the only thing that could be it.
-----
The delivery girl (for it was a girl) that delivered it to me was too pretty to be just a messenger – she looked more suited to being a fashion model. With a too-tight, short-sleeved khaki shirt barely hiding small, perky incredibly sensuous-looking breasts, and very short khaki shorts that were not doing a good job of hiding her spectacular dimensions, she practically had all the males in the office drooling. Me, too, actually.
But she had a distinct smell, very faint, actually, but unmistakable. She smelled like… motor oil or something similar... I was sure no one else noticed but I did. Faint but very distinct. And as she walked away after handing the envelope to me and making me sign her form, I noticed her wrist. At first I thought it was like a very tight, wire-thin silver chain or bracelet, but now I think it was more like a seam in her wrist. In fact I thought I saw her hand swivel around slightly instead of her arm turning, as you would normally expect if someone were to hand something to someone else and the angle was a bit off. As if the bangle was indeed a seam or something where the wrist twisted. But that was impossible, so I assumed that I had just imagined it.
When Ron was in my office yesterday, briefing me about the latest case my TV station was covering, I told Ron about the girl in passing - the oil smell, the bracelet that I suspected was actually like a joint or seam, the supermodel-good-looks. I don’t know why I did except I wanted to tell someone about the weirdness of that encounter.
“A pretender,” he said under his breath, and pulled out his cellphone. He then called Sector Seven, whatever that was, and had a long, mumbled conversation with someone.
This morning, Ron came back to my TV station and asked about the thing the messenger gave me. I got the envelope and gave it to him. He peeked inside and fished out the little piece of black volcanic glass or rock. It was roughly the size and shape of a disposable pen's cap - black with iridescent structures running through it, but sharp and pointy at both ends.
After contemplating it for a moment, he slipped it back into the envelope, handed it back to me and hurriedly pulled me out of the office for lunch.
"We're having lunch, Suzy-baby," he said.
"What? I don't want to go on a date with a... I mean, dressed this way..."
"No date. We need to talk. Lemme make a call and I'll meet you in front. We'll use your car."
He was far too… masculine, and therefore unattractive, for me to date him, but he was also a good friend. And I was still feeling guilty after what I told him last week. So I nodded yes. Besides, he said it wasn’t a date, and I was hungry.
"I get to pick the place. I'll call ahead and see if I can get us a table," I said.
He waved as he rushed out. "Great. See you in a few, Suzy-baby."
"And stop calling me that!" I belatedly noticed all the people. "You ummm... know I don't like you calling me that... ummm..." But he was already gone and I was speaking to empty air. I looked around, smiled sheepishly at the people, went back in my office and started making some calls to see if there were any places where we could go for lunch.
He's the only one who calls me that. And he knows I don't like it. Grrr...
I ended up bringing him to my favorite place - the place where I had that last disastrous "real" date with him last week. I wasn't thinking - it was inconsiderate and in poor taste, and only realized my mistake when we parked.
And here we are.
-----
I was worried about losing my purse and therefore the little rock (since it seemed to be important), so I had taken it out of the envelope and dropped it into my blouse’s little front pocket that had a button-down flap. I've always thought that shirt pockets on girls' tops were more for getting guys' attention focused on us and our boobs. But apparently breast pockets can be useful for other things, too.
As I continued my slow crawl towards Ron, I heard little rocks like gravel pepper the concrete around me. God, the rocks were coming so rapidly, they were like big bullets from a semi-automatic rifle. How is that possible?
As the rocks continued to hit the ground, I heard a voice, a different one coming from behind me this time.
“Attention!” I heard a male voice call through a megaphone. “This is the police! Anyone there?”
Seems that thing that was responsible for the rocks heard, too, and stopped.
“Stay away!” I screamed. “There’s a thing here, it’s the one that destroyed the building! Stay away!”
This was greeted with silence.
“Are you Susan Blu from the TV station?”
“Yes!”
“Major Lennox got your message. Is Captain McKenzie with you?”
“I didn’t send any message! And, yeah, Ron McKenzie is here, but I think he’s hurt!”
I waited some more but the voice wasn’t saying anything else. Undoubtedly that statue-thing had heard everything we said, and, more importantly, it now knew where I was. I continued to creep forward with renewed urgency.
I heard some mumbling and the sound of movement. The police were up to something. I couldn’t help but worry as I slowly crept towards where Ron fell.
As I climbed over yet another pile of broken masonry, I looked up and saw the statue standing over me.
“Hello, little mouse,” it said.
I screamed in terror and scrambled backwards as the thing raised its arms, about to crush me with a big piece of broken concrete.
From behind my head, I heard the sound of machine gun fire. I saw the statue peppered with bullets, little pieces of marble (I assumed it was marble) being chipped from it. The statue fell backward, probably because it was off-balance on the loose rubble with the piece of concrete it was holding up, and not just from the bullets. As it fell, four SWAT officers leaped past me, pointed downwards at the fallen thing with their assault rifles and started firing.
After maybe ten seconds of firing, they stopped and looked around. The lead commando gestured and two of them left, to reconnoiter or something. “Get yourself and the captain out,” the lead commando said to me. “We’ll take it from here.”
I got up and looked at the statue. It looked like it was knocked out. The marble was broken in places, and some viscous reddish fluid was oozing out, like motor oil leaking from a car engine. Underneath the marble and the fluid, I saw metal chrome parts.
Thanks," I said to the lead guy. "How did you find out about this? I didn't…”
“Courtesy of Major Lennox and NEST, Ma'am. Captain McKenzie gave the Major a call, using your phone, I guess, and here we are.”
“Nest?”
“‘Nonbiological Extraterrestrial Species Treaty,’ Ma'am. We work with the Autobots.”
Later on, I would google NEST, and all I would find are references to the "Nuclear Emergency Support Team," sort of the government's version of SWAT, but for nuclear terrorist situations. This was the first time I ever heard of this version of NEST, and I couldn't find anything on the net about it. Then again, there's not much material out there about Autobots, either.
So Autobots aren’t just stories after all. Good God, there really are living aliens on Earth!
“Is that a - what do they call it again? A Decepticon?” I gestured to the fallen statue-thing.
“We don’t know, Miss. Ultra Magnus doesn’t know either.”
“Ultra Magnus?”
“He’s the leader of the Autobots, Ma'am. We've been in constant contact with him since we got here. We transmitted a picture of this thing just now," he indicated a small camera on his helmet, "and he said he doesn't recognize it. He’s actually at Fort Lewis, and is waiting to debrief you and the captain.”
“How do you know Ron?”
“Captain McKenzie was in the Marines, Miss, before he became a cop, and he’s also a friend of the major’s.”
“Can you tell me…”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Blu. No time. I don’t have the manpower to spare so you have to get the captain out of here yourself. Now.”
“But…”
We heard the sound of rubble scattering, which galvanized us into action.
“No time! Move!” The SWAT officer pointed at the statue with his gun again and opened fire. His companion did likewise. I stood up and ran as fast as I could towards Ron.
“Ronnie!” I yelled, but he didn’t respond. I looked around and saw my car. I got to my car which was, incredibly, completely intact except for some minor dings and scratches, and, using my car as a landmark, walked to where I recalled the news stand was. I found Ron covered in what looked like transparent goo shot through with red and pink splotches, and stripes that obscured most of his head and upper body. In fact, the only way I knew it was him was because of his clothes, and the fact that it couldn’t have been anyone else since Ron and I were able to get everyone in the area out in time. And the fact that the only six-foot-six person in the place was Ron.
New commandos came, this time in olive-green fatigues instead of dark blue. This time they looked military instead of SWAT. They ran past us and scrambled over the rubble.
With renewed machine gun fire in the background, I hunkered down and wiped the goo off him. “Ewww,” I sub-vocalized. What the fuck was it?
It wasn’t too… gooey, actually. It was chunkier, more like the consistency of thick jello than anything else, and I was able to scrape most of it away with my hand. It fell off from Ron in big chunks, leaving his skin strawberry-pink clear, clean and intact, though his clothes had become very thin and fragile, tearing off with the gelatin-like stuff in strips like wet tissue. Actually, the goo smelled nice, like vanilla, strawberries and peaches. I had half a mind to taste it but didn’t – if it was able to do that to Ron’s clothes, it must be capable of some kind of acid action. I was vaguely afraid of what it could do to me, but I had to help Ron.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I peeled away what looked like a half-melted porn magazine stuck to his face, and checked if he was breathing. I chanced to look down and I noticed that the gelatin that had fallen away from Ron in chunks was quickly melting away into a liquid, and afterwards drying up very quickly, leaving no residue at all.
I wiped him down and looked him over as best I could, and he seemed fine – no wounds or broken bones, arms or legs. I sat him up, hugging him against me as I checked to see if his back was also undamaged. His back seemed fine. I wiped his back clear of the gelatin as well, wiping away larger, mushy swathes of his clothes. When I was putting him back down, my blouse seemed to have gotten stuck to his chest: As I laid him down and sat back up, my blouse tore as if it got stuck on a pin on Ron's chest. I looked down at my blouse and checked, and was relieved that it was only the front pocket of my expensive designer blouse that tore. I can have that fixed easy. I also cursed myself for thinking of such trivialities at a time like this, pulled the scrap of cloth (my front pocket) from Ron's chest and sat up. I felt around Ron's chest but couldn't find a pin or any other thing that my blouse could have gotten stuck on. I never noticed before how soft and smooth Ron's skin was.
I wanted to check his pulse and lifted his right wrist. I was surprised at the heaviness of his arm and felt some odd lumps under the skin. He may have some broken bones. I checked his pulse using his left wrist instead. My amateur efforts showed he had a slow but strong pulse.
I tried to wake him up, patting his cheek gently and calling out his name. He moaned, like someone in a deep sleep that didn’t want to be woken up. But more than that, he sounded… different. Gunk in his nose and mouth?
New explosive gunshots echoed around the buildings and I heard the Venus statue scream out its anger.
Putting that temporarily out of my mind, I concentrated on the here-and-now. I tried pulling Ron towards the car, and the rest of his clothes tore off easily, half-melted by the goo, and his shoes slid off as well, made slippery by the goo. I tried to be mindful of the splintered wood and broken masonry cutting Ron's bare skin as I dragged him, but I was more concerned about getting us out of there quickly, like the guy said.
Wiping as much of the fruity-smelling gunk off and taking off the rest of his jello-covered clothes (more like scraping them off), I sat him up in the back seat and buckled him in. His right arm hit Betty's cabin wall and it made a loud clunk. I lifted his arm and put it on his lap. It felt heavy to me.
I cringed at the thought of my upholstery getting smeared with the goo, but it couldn’t be helped. With most of his clothes and the goo wiped away, he was completely naked. He looked somewhat sexy, though I still thought he was too… male.
I checked his back, arms and legs and, amazingly, there seemed to be no cuts from my moving him. I went to my car’s storage compartment and opened my emergency overnighter. I was glad that I always had several changes of clothes in my car for last-minute trips or emergencies, and, oh boy, was this ever an emergency.
I got a jacket and a couple of the blouses, and used the tops to wipe Ron (and me) of the remaining gunk. I didn’t like doing this to my blouses, but I had no choice. At least the thought of shopping for replacements cheered me up a bit. I gently wiped his face with the softest part of my spare cotton top. As I wiped away the remaining bits of gelatin-like chunks, I couldn’t help but notice Ron’s delicate features. The line of his jaw, high and well-defined cheekbones, and the delicateness of his nose - why didn’t I notice them before? Together, these delicate features made him quite attractive. Well, as attractive as any guy could be for me.
After I made sure he was sitting comfortably (he was a big guy and I had a hard time getting him in) and was as clean as I could make him, I threw my soiled blouses away, put the jacket around him and buckled him up in a way where he could lie down. The oversized (for me) trench coat-style snow jacket was long enough but clearly a little too small for him.
I went to the driver’s side and got in. Incredibly, I still had my purse. I fished inside it and got my car keys. “Start, start, start, please…”
My little Betty started right up. “All right, girl…” I maneuvered as best I could around the rubble and, when we were clear, I stepped on the gas, screeching out of the place, but I was brought up short by a roadblock.
A soldier came around.
“Ma'am?” he said, “are you Ms. Susan Blu?”
“Yes, I am. Listen, I have a friend who’s in a bad way. I need to get him to a hospital.”
The private peeked at the back seat and pulled out his radio. More soldiers ran past us. I guess the fight’s still going strong. “Sarge,” he said into the radio. “I have the subject. I’m here at the roadblock.”
“Which one of them do you have, soldier?”
“Umm, I think both of ‘em, Sarge. Though I’m not sure about Captain McKenzie.” He peered closer at Ron a little quizzically. “That is Captain McKenzie, right?” he asked me. I nodded. He clicked his radio again, “Yes, sir, it's the captain. Lady sez the captain’s injured.”
“I’ll be there in a second. Stay put, Private.”
The marine shrugged at me and put away his radio.
I looked back at Ron, and I was surprised at what I saw. The gunk had dried off and he was looking better. Lots better. Except that his hair was dry now, and was really shaggy, and was up to his shoulders. How come I didn't notice that before? Noticing how cramped he was in there, I decided to move the front seats forward and give him some more room.
“Miss?”
I turned back around and saw a sergeant had joined the soldier.
The sergeant had a black, leather-covered box with a strap, and he was pointing at Ron with it. The box emitted an electronic kind of whining, and I couldn’t help but giggle and think the thing was a bit Star Trek-y.
“So, Sergeant,” I said, giggling, “how are Ron’s ‘life signs?’”
The sarge decided to take the question seriously. “He actually seems fine, Miss, aside for a low metabolic rate and high-amplitude delta waves, which are indicative of fatigue and a sleeping state.”
“Huh?”
“He’s just tired, Miss, and he’s sleeping it off.”
I coulda told him that… But is he okay? What about getting zapped. And the goo? "I still think I should bring him to the hospital."
“No need for that, Ma’am. I assure you." The sarge wiggled his black box. "Actually, we have orders to take you and the captain to Fort Lewis for a debrief,” he said, “but all our assets are committed to containing that… thing.” He gestured towards where we had just come from. “They’ll be equipped to check out the captain more thoroughly over at HQ, you know. But can you make your way to the fort by yourself?”
I wanted to tell him about the hair, but I had second thoughts. Besides making me sound nuts, it would have been pointless since he didn’t have anything or anyone that could help us here anyway. And what if it was all in my mind. “Umm, I have my car, but I don’t know where Fort Lewis is.”
He snapped his fingers at the private. “Give me that phone, soldier.”
The soldier handed him a white iPhone, and the sergeant tapped some stuff on it.
“Here,” he said, handing over the phone to me. “When you’re clear of this area and are near the freeway, turn on the navigation app and locate Fort Lewis. Fort Lewis is all the way in Tacoma, Washington State. HQ nixed air transport, so it's the highway. Just follow the directions. Clear?”
That was all the way on the other side of the country. They expected me to drive? Jesus. The least they could do was get us a flight, but maybe they knew something we didn't. “'Clear, Sarge.” I didn't know how to get there. Thank God there's an app. I didn't know that app was even available on the iPhone.
“Good deal. Now go, lady.” He slapped Betty on the roof, and stepped away.
I waved a small farewell and started to pull out. “Drive slow and regular until you're on the highway, all right?” he said. “Don’t attract attention to yourself.”
I nodded and waved again. “Let’s go, Betty,” I mumbled, and goosed her accelerator. The sound of machine guns and explosions faded as we got further and further away.
I looked at the man sitting in my back seat. Yup, my jacket clearly was too small for him. It was just large enough that it fitted around him snugly, but the edge reached barely below his tushy when it was supposed to be below his knees, but at least the sleeves were loose on him, and would reach his knuckles when you unfold the folded-style cuffs (or would have if I had put his arms in them). I felt myself blush as I reached back and tugged the jacket down as it had ridden up quite a bit.
Something must be wrong with Ron. He couldn’t have taken being zapped like that and come away unhurt regardless of what that sergeant's magic box said.
As we drove towards the toll gate, we encountered more military vehicles, ambulances and a couple of rescue trucks going the opposite direction, obviously to help ‘contain’ that statue-thing and help whoever needs helping. But one military Humvee broke away, turned around and crossed the grassy median to follow us. A couple of other cars did the same - a gunmetal-gray Volkswagen CC and a blue Shelby GT500 with a white racing stripe trailed the Humvee.
The Humvee accelerated and pulled up to my window. The soldier in the Humvee gestured for me to lower it.
“Major Lennox sent us, Ma'am!” the soldier yelled through the window, above the sound of the traffic and wind. “We’re to escort you to Fort Lewis!”
I nodded. “Those two behind you!” I yelled, and gestured. “They’re with you?”
“Yes, Ma'am,” the soldier replied. “The Major thought that civilian cars would get less attention, so he sent over a couple of Autobots to help!” He leaned back to listen to his driver. He nodded and turned back to me. “We’ll pull back just enough to make us less conspicuous!”
“We can’t fly instead of drive to wherever?”
“I’m afraid not, Ma’am. Decepticon surveillance can pick out planes very easily.” Damn.
“Those are Autobots?” I said, gesturing behind us. The soldier nodded. Autobots really are real. “Wow!”
The soldier grinned. “We’ll be about fifty feet behind you, Ma'am,” he yelled. I nodded, and the Humvee pulled back. The VW CC, however, raced forward and "took point," as Ron might have said. As soon as I got to the highway and was past the tollbooths, I turned the iPhone on. I activated the navigation app and found it already set for Fort Lewis. I peeled the double-backed tape someone had thoughtfully stuck on the back of the phone and mounted it as best I could on Betty’s dash.
-----
Betty ran smoothly and impeccably. And with the smooth highway, I started losing track of time and was starting to get sleepy after what felt like days of driving. My leg was just on this side of cramping, and my butt felt like it was glued to the seat already.
Wanting to do something to keep me busy, I used Google on the iPhone and tried to locate this Fort Lewis, and found it just at the foot of Mt. Ranier. It was quite secluded as far as mountains went, judging by the map I was looking at. I clicked "directions" on the Google Maps-like app, and it said I could expect at least a travel time of between four to five more hours. I checked and I couldn't believe we'd been driving for twelve hours! And I was starting to feel bone tired. I might nod off or something. I could have gone to a hospital that was closer, but I thought it best to go to this Fort Lewis instead. Well, at least much of that was via the highway. “But five more hours? Damn… wish the travel time’s shorter.”
Suddenly, the car sped up. “Hey!” In surprise, I inadvertently caused the car to swerve a bit. I tapped the brake, but nothing happened. “What’s wrong with my brakes? This ain’t a Prius! Slow down!” And the car slowed down to its previous speed.
“What?” I couldn’t understand what was happening. Maybe it was me. Maybe I WAS tired.
The iPhone rang. I tapped the phone and switched to speakerphone. “Yes? Who is this?”
“Ms. Blu, this is Sergeant Boone. In the Humvee behind you? Thanks for turning on the phone. We noticed you suddenly speeded up. Anything wrong?”
If I said something was wrong, they might pull me over, and we’d lose more time.
“Umm, nothing. I made a mistake. I guess I'm feeling a bit tired and stepped on the gas a little too hard.”
“Well, there’s a rest stop coming up. Why don’t we pull over, rest up or grab a bite or something. Would you like someone to spell you?"
“I'd rather go on driving, but maybe we can at least top up Betty’s tank, and I can stretch my legs a bit.” (And have a bathroom break, too, I thought.)
“Betty?” the marine asked.
I giggled. “Sorry, that’s my pet name for my little car.”
“Oh. Right.” The Sergeant laughed. “Okay, right, Ms. Blu - pull up at any rest stop you want. We’ll hang back so no one will suspect we’re together.”
“Okay, thanks.”
After a few minutes, I saw a sign illuminated in the lamplight. “Ahhh! There's a rest stop coming up. Time to pull over.”
As I said that, the right-turn signal light started blinking, and the car slowly made its way to the right lane. "Acknowledged, Miss," a feminine-sounding voice said.
“What!” Where did that voice come from? I tried to move the steering wheel and get the car back onto the middle lanes, but the wheel wouldn’t budge.
“Well, Miss,” someone said, “you did say to pull over.”
“Huh?”
“You told me to pull over?”
“I said no such thing! Who are you, and how are you doing this?”
“But you did, Ms. Susan,” the voice said, and then I heard a recording of me saying, “Ahhh, there's a rest stop. Time to pull over.”
I looked around the inside of the car. There must be some kind of microphone and speaker, but I couldn’t find any.
“Miss, if you need something to focus on, perhaps you should look at the radio.”
I looked at the dash. Right below the two center vents for the AC was the radio. It was running, but I didn’t remember turning it on. On the digital display, it said, in little LED letters, “Hello there.”
I screamed and let go of the steering wheel. I belatedly realized that people wouldn't be able to hear me unless they were close because my windows were closed. I also belatedly realized that the car didn’t swerve or anything even though I was stepping on the brake the whole time. Even as I realized this, the car was smoothly pulling up and parking beside the hi-test gas pump. I frantically pulled at the door handle but the door wouldn't budge.
I took stock and tried to quell my panic. I realized I was at their mercy, so I decided not to cause a scene until I figured out what to do.
“You did say you wanted to top up my tank?” The cover to Betty's tank popped open.
It was one of those fancy, twenty-four hour, full-serve attended gas stations in the style of the old fifties service stations. A kid in uniform coveralls came over. Something automatically rolled down my window.
“Fill ‘er up, Miss?” I wanted to say something to the kid, even something as simple as "help!" but I didn't. I must have nodded since the kid unhooked the pump, went to the side and stuck in the pump's nozzle.
I heard the ding-ding-ding of the pump as the tank filled up. As it did so, I tried to calm down. Whoever was talking, she had a pretty voice. She sounded European, perhaps a touch of a German accent. Pretty sexy, actually.
The kid seemed to have finished up because he had hooked the hose back up. Still on automatic, I looked at the pump meter. I reached for my purse and, instead of reaching for my credit card, I took out enough cash to cover the gas. I handed it to the attendant and waited for my receipt. As soon as the boy handed me my change and receipt, and before I could even turn the wheel or step on the gas myself, my little bug pulled out and smoothly got back into traffic.
“I suppose we are headed for that place that's in your phone's map?”
“Yes,” I said, intimidated and scared at the same time.
“Sit back, then, Ms. Susan, and relax. I will get us there as quickly and safely as I can.”
“You’re kidding, right? How am I supposed to relax?”
The radio switched back on and started hunting for stations all on its own. It stopped at a nice easy-listening station playing a tune that I liked. The seat started reclining, making me jump again.
“Stop that!” I grabbed the steering wheel harder.
"I’m sorry, Miss. I just wanted to help you relax.”
“Well, stop it, okay?”
“Okay.” The seat went back up and the radio switched off.
After about a minute of silence, I decided to start a conversation.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” I said, without preamble, “you’re telling me that you’re my car?”
“Indeed, Miss.”
“How’s that even possible?”
“I do not know, Miss. All I know is that I… became aware the moment you and your companion got in and left that... scene of destruction.”
“But that was just hours ago! In that case, how do you know me? Where are you, really?”
“Again, Ms. Susan, I do not know. All I know is that I know you. Actually, I know a great deal about you.”
“I have to think about this,” I said, trying to play for time.
“That is all right, Miss. I will take care of the driving.”
“You do that.”
“Ummm, I will maintain control of the steering wheel, then?"
“Oh! Sorry…” It took an effort to let go of the steering wheel. And it felt real scary with no one holding the wheel and the car moving down the highway.
“Imagine yourself as a passenger, Miss, with someone else driving,” my car said. “I am sure you will feel better if you do. Think of me as someone else in the car. And you can still hold the wheel if you wish.”
“I’ll try. Though it’s difficult to do that. You’re my car, not a person, if that's even true. You don’t even have a name.”
“But I do, Miss.”
I thought a little bit. “Don’t tell me you really are named Betty.”
“It has been my name ever since you started calling me that.”
“Ummm. Okay.” After a moment, I asked, “do you like the name Betty?”
“I like it that you take care of me. I like it that you drive carefully. I like it that I am your car. Yes, Miss, I like it that my name is Betty. Just because it was you who gave it to me.”
That brought a smile to my face, but what she had implied was that she remembered the time before she became self-aware. It made me wonder how far back she remembered. Wait! Do I really believe I'm taking to my car?
I actually felt that my car was smiling, and somehow, I had started to think of the voice as my car Betty's voice. Or at least entertained the possibility that it could be. A friendly, polite sort of person, even. Though I was a little freaked out, still, I felt comfortable enough that I actually leaned the seat back a little and relaxed a bit. I did hold the wheel again, as... Betty suggested. I couldn’t budge it, but it did give me the feeling of being in control a little bit.
I thought back to all that had happened up to now. And if it's true, then what happened to give my little car a mind of its own? It was so preposterous, but with Autobots in the world…
And all throughout the long trip, in between naps, we sort of got to know each other. And I guess I started really believing.