The Becoming of Things

Prologue: Schroedinger's Cat

Nothing stays dead on that planet.

The curious thing about the bloody planet was, I discovered, this bugger called the cycle of life. See, on Cybertron when you're dead you tend to go to the Well of All Sparks. Or the Pit; we're not picky about either. Humans, they got a lot of religious concepts, but the oddest one that none of us really found time to comprehend was reincarnation. I mean, why recycle a perfectly good spark? Death comes to all in the end, and the Well could be way more interesting than orn-ly life anywhere in the living universe.

Well, I was ripped apart in battle. It was Megatron, but still... on hindsight, the war had been terrible on everyone concerned. He let go of me, I fell, and I heard a scream-

We won, or else the giant med-bay I awoke in would not be standing still. And, when I realised that I was somehow fitting in a med-bay meant for humans... I raised my servos, to be greeted with the fleshy stubs of human fingers and be smacked in the face with my current state of mortality.

"Oh, you're awake," a femme human in a baggy dress of some white textile and the hair on her head done up neatly poked her head in. "Quite terrible, was it? How are you, girl? Do you have medical insurance?"

"I'm fine," I automatically replied, and for the first time I realised that I was watching this remotely; there was no way to interrupt this, as if I was a program in the background of this human's processing system.

Wait, what was I doing in this human? A female, at that? Slag! What happened?!

"Yes, I have medical insurance," the... host, I guess, was saying. "Excuse me, but did I come in with a violin case?"

"Oh, yes," the nurse nodded, pointing to the bedside. "It's right there. I'll call the doctor."

"Please, no need," I felt the muscles in the face- my face stretch, which by the way is odd. "I feel fine, just a bit of rest is needed. I'm sure the doctors are busy with the rest in the ER."

"Oh, um..." the nurse stared, blinking before nodding. "I'll just... bring you some painkillers?"

"Thank you," the other intelligence replied, grabbing the green textile-covered case before flicking a couple of clasps to take out an hourglass-shaped piece of wood with strings, and a flat stick. Inside the case lining revealed a bunch of white hair that the hands on the organic pulled out. She then picked up the wood, and I realised then that there were strings on it, that she plucked at to make sounds.

"What is that?" I spoke. Well, not really spoke as much as mouthed, without hearing anything.

She stopped. Could she...?

'Hi, whazzup?' I tested.

After a while, she plucked a string. She said nothing, but she plucked another string, before twisting a knob to tighten it and plucked it again for a higher note.

Here there is a Cybertronian word meaning stuck between the Pit and open space without armour. First I was in a ridiculously fragile organic shell, next I had no idea where was my body, or if it was viable after what happened to it. Why me? Wait, I dropped on her, and-

She was fiddling with a small bead on the steel string as I cursed the Decepticreeps again. She strung the white hair onto the bow, and applied some dry stuff onto the stick in long strokes. Her- no, my hands lifted the bowed wood to the stringed instruments. Somehow, the music produced made me pause, made me listen, and made me dream.

Patiently, slowly, from the heart of the strings itself came the most silvery of sounds, along with a gentle hum from her- my- our larynx. Lacrimosa dies illa...

The song reminded me of the Autobot SIC. Prowl was dependable, if anything else could be expected of the mech responsible for some of the more colourful personalities amongst the Autobots. A lot like him...

Lacrimosa dies illa,
Qua resurget ex favilla...
Judicandus homo reus...
Huic ergo parce, Deus.
Pie Jesu Domine...
Dona eis requiem...
Amen.

I wonder if he's still alive, somewhere amongst the stars.

'Hello? Oi, human!'

She ignored me. Maybe humans were versed in ignoring their comms systems? Wait, organic humans did not have any internal comms-

"Okay," she huffed. "I presume you're the giant that fell on me about... two hours ago. Also, from your current state, you're clearly not in a position to demand anything, and you haven't found out my name, if you're not searching through my memories, which indicate a separation of identity. Since we're technically sharing the same body currently, and nothing short of divine prayer or an intervention out of science fiction could separate us, I would require a name, appellation, designation, or anything you call yourself before we hash out the situation."

Definitely the Autobot SIC. 'Erm... Jazz, first lieutenant. I am an autonomous robotic organism from the planet Cybertron. Call me an Autobot for short.'

Actually... am I Jazz of the Autobots, or am I a human being? Did it matter, as long as I could hear the music again?

"Jazz," she sighed. "My name is Dahlia Su. The moment we are out of this hospital, you are going to give me a very long explanation."

'Right... play some more music, will ya? I won' do anything.'

My... host, Dahlia, snorted; it was a weird feeling of en-venting and ex-venting through the olfactory sensor on her face. She did pick the instrument back up, and played another ditty that she would later call 'Amazing Grace'. I swooned in her head; the experience was somewhat near religious.

"If this is your reaction to a violin, I wonder how you'll react to a piano," she commented once she set the violin down, and I felt a touch of regret. My love of the violin must run second to how I felt for... many things.

Until she found it in the hospital, and started playing, and I started a long affair with the Earth instrument called the pianoforte.

Prime and Prowl would just have to understand if I delayed a bit. After all, I was stuck here, right?

Critiquez, s'il vous plaît!