SunWeaver

Copyright 1994, Robert A. Jung
Originally published July 26, 1994

All characters depicted or mentioned in this story are the trademarks and/or copyrights of their respective holders, except for those that aren't. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, is coincidental, etc., etc. Geez, it's just a story, guys. Don't get too uptight over it...

By the local reckoning, the place was called Andrews, Oregon. The time was 9:00pm, also by the local reckoning. The day was Friday, which meant the end of the work week, which meant an excuse for plenty of the locals to go and indulge in all manners of entertainment. Though the town was not on the grand scale of major metropoli like New York, Los Angeles, or Seattle, there were more than enough facilities to do the job.

One of the hotter night spots in Andrews (though, its owner would admit reluctantly, not the hottest) was "The Auto Shop." It was a dance club with lots of loud music and dim lighting. Patrons would come and dine, mingle, dance, meet old friends and perhaps make some new ones. In that regard it was no different than any other club.

What gave The Auto Shop its edge was that it was patronized by the Autobots. Sentient mechanical beings from the planet Cybertron, they had crashed on Earth over four million years ago and fell inactive. Recent geological activity had reawakened them to a world filled with life evolved during their sleep.

After the Autobots had announced their presence to the world and were granted residency status, certain bold proprietors in nearby Andrews embraced their new neighbors. For Crazy Eddy's Electronics Hut, that meant stocking and ordering exotic components and opening a loading zone for larger customers. For the Stardome Drive-In, that meant extra-large seats in the back of the lot and offering assorted lubricants in addition to conventional refreshments.

For The Auto Shop, that meant thirty-foot doors, a fifty-foot ceiling, lots of expansion, and a heavily reinforced dance floor. When Autobots had recreation leave and wanted to get away from home -- the "Ark" -- The Auto Shop was the most exciting outlet around. And having giant robots twisting and gyrating to Madonna, Michael, M.C., et al was an attraction that drew in the crowds. This translated into more publicity and profit than the owner of The Shop could believe.

Even now, a dozen young ladies were cooing in delight as a red/yellow/gray robot twirled on one arm and collapsed into a backbreaking spin that would have taxed all but the most agile humans. Nearby, a white Porsche spun madly, transformed into humanoid form in mid-twirl, then landed in a leg split, all to the heady tempo of "Electric Death." The line at the entrance stretched halfway around the block.

But our story does not take place in Andrews.

Forty-five miles away, south-by-southwest, a single vehicle drove through the northern Nevada desert. The area was almost completely dark; aside from the car's headlights, the only lighting came from the hundreds of stars in the sky and the gentle glow of the crescent Moon. Human senses would be pressed to see the horizon.

The car drove and drove.

By and large it reached a small mesa, one of many in the desert. A winding trail led it to the top, bare except for a smoldering bonfire and a solitary figure.

The olive-green Army jeep pulled up to the fire. The human, dressed in cow- hide boots, faded blue jeans, and a striped long-sleeve shirt, did not react.

The jeep transformed into a boxy robot, fourteen feet tall. He sat down and addressed the human. "Hello, Mary."

Mary Alexie looked up. She was at the precise midpoint between young and old: too late to go dating and dancing all night, not yet ready for food stamps and social aid. Her hair was raven black, softly laced with a few strands of gray. They were tied in twin tails that hung halfway down her back. Against her will, her face was slowly breeding the soft lines of time. Piercing black eyes and dark red skin identified her as an American indian ("native American" was an insult to her). What tribe she belonged to was a secret.

She grunted in acknowledgment to Hound.

They met several months ago. He was spending yet another night of leave by aimlessly cruising the desert, as was his wont. She amazed him merely by being present. Though technically an alien, Hound knew that sitting alone in the middle of the desert in the dead of night was not normal behavior for humans.

She was not surprised to talk to a driverless jeep. She was even less impressed when he had turned into his robot form, nor when he identified himself as a robot from beyond the stars.

He had asked her about her background. "Alexie? That doesn't sound like an indian name."

"What, you were expecting some shit like 'Runs-with-Deer' or 'Rising Moon'?"

Hound had apologized profusely until Mary tersely told him that she wasn't offended. Nothing ever offended her. "No," she explained, "not all indians have fancy names. Lot of that's just Hollywood bullshit. Though my grandma wanted my folks to call me 'Weaves-the-Sun,' if that makes you happy."

Since then, Hound had spent all of his leaves at the mesa with Mary. Or tried to. There were times when he arrived and she wasn't present. He didn't know how often she missed him. He knew where she lived, but decided it would be rude to bother her at the reservation. Mary talked occasionally about her husband and three children, two girls and a boy. "He's the center for the basketball team," she once said, the only maternal pride she ever displayed.

Innocuous questions often led to a variety of topics. He once asked, "Mary, why do you spend your free time here, instead of with your family?"

"What makes you think this is my free time?"

Hound stopped in surprise, then finally asked, "Well, then, Mary, why do you come here?"

"Because I have to. Because there are things that need doing."

"Such as?"

She paused for a very long time. "...There aren't words for it. There are things beyond our senses and understanding."

Hound laughed politely. "Now you're sounding like a Hollywood stereotype."

She smiled back. "Well ... Not everything from La-La Land is crap. Hell, even I liked Terminator 2." Mary had then spent the next twenty minutes summarizing the movie after Hound confessed that he had never seen it. This was followed by another hour discussing human attitudes towards robots and technology, then two more hours on philosophy in general. Such conversations were often the high points of his evenings.

Tonight she was idly poking the faint embers of the fire with a gnarled branch. Hound didn't move, waiting instead for her to speak further. At her insistence, he had long ago stopped worrying about the effects of the chilling night air on her.

Mary sudden looked up at him. "Hound, why do you come here?"

Hound smiled. Their meetings always started this way. His reply was smooth with familiarity. "To appreciate the desert."

Her brow furrowed as she glared at him. "No, Hound. Why are you here?"

His smile faded in surprise at her break from tradition. She elaborated, "There's a shitload of desert out there. If you wanted to, you could get lost for weeks. Yet you always come here. Why?"

Hound stammered, embarrassed and uncertain of how to respond. He finally coughed out, "Why, I, ah, I enjoy your company, Mary."

She smiled faintly. She never smiled any more than that, as if the passage of time had diluted her capacity for humor. "You better not be falling in love with me, Hound. My kids won't like that much."

The wind whistled softly to fill the moment. Sober again, she continued, "Don't you have friends like yourself?"

Hound squirmed in discomfort. "Mary, are you saying that you don't want to see me?"

She snorted. "If I meant that, I would have said it."

"I wasn't sure. I thought that maybe I was making you feel uncomfortable, by associating with a machine."

"What's that, some Hollywood bullshit? I'm an indian, so I'm a nature freak and I have to hate machines? You know I'll die without my TV. And nobody's more pissed than me when the dogs take a crap on my lawn."

She poked the fire and continued, "What bothers indians is when nature gets kicked around. When entire fields are paved for parking lots, when the smog's so bad that you can't breathe outside. But that shit gets to a lot of people, not just indians."

They sat in silence, watching the fire. Flames lapped mildly into the sky in a feeble effort to drive back the darkness.

After a few minutes, Mary spoke again. "You still haven't answered me. Why don't you hang out with your friends some time?"

Hound pondered, but could not find a suitable answer.

"You know," she injected suddenly, "sometimes I wonder if you're ashamed of being a robot."

"Ashamed?"

"Yeah. You prefer Earth and humans, instead of your home planet--"

"Cybertron."

"--and your pals. Don't think I didn't notice how bad you feel whenever I ask about them."

"..." Hound's initial reply died quickly.

He composed himself and tried again. "Well ... that's not a fair comparison. There's so much more beauty to Earth, that's all. You've got a planet that's pristine and untouched, and people who aren't locked in a never-ending war. We've been fighting for millions and millions of years, and our planet's been stripped of its resources."

"Hrmph." Mary spat, her saliva darkening the sand. "We're no better. Look at how long humans have been fucking each other over. Christians and Romans, indians and whites, Jews and Germans, everybody in the Middle East. And I don't have to tell you about strip-mining or oil spills or toxic waste. Hey, I've seen Cybertron before, remember?"

Her words reminded him of the time he showed her Cybertron. It was trivially easy, as Hound was equipped with holographic projectors that produced lifelike illusions of anything he wanted. They had frowned at the dark sky and the shattered spires, and shared a longing when he displayed the polished, golden beauty of Cybertron before the war.

"Yes," he conceded. "But..." Hesitation. "...I guess I just find Earth and its people more beautiful. Especially people like you."

She smiled. "Flatterer. Lucky for you I'm too old for that romantic bull. I don't buy that 'more beautiful people' shit, though."

He shook his head slightly. "I don't know. The Ark can get so dreary after a while. Compared to you, we're all so ... sterile."

Mary decided not to press the point. She glanced around the mesa as if seeing it for the first time, then conceded, "Yeah, I guess you're right. This is a great way to relax."

"Exactly." He smiled at her understanding.

"It's pretty nice out here. But I've seen much better."

Another nod. "I'm sure there are more beautiful places on Earth. I would like to see them someday."

Mary didn't say anything but sat still, lost in thought. Almost suddenly, the fire flickered and died, red ashes quickly fading to black. Even the light of the Moon seemed to pale in the void.

There was a long moment of silence, as if the two of them were stunned by the darkness. She finally spoke. "Hound?"

"Yes, Mary." Little remained of them but their voices.

"Can you do something for me?"

"Certainly."

He heard her shuffling. Something went whoosh, and the fire suddenly flared to life again. She reached into her shirt and pulled out a small sack, then unceremoniously tossed it into the flames. A billowing gray cloud of smoke emerged, quickly engulfing them.

"Breathe the smoke," she said. "Smell it. Take it deep into your lungs."

He blinked in confusion. "Mary, you know my physiology doesn't--"

"Do whatever it is you do, then. Don't argue, just do it."

Hound nodded. Internal systems adjusted, absorbing more of the fumes into his olfactory sensors, and began to analyze its composition. A thought struck him, and he asked, "Is this some sort of hallucinogen?"

She laughed. "You're watching too much television again. Does it matter?"

"Only if you're trying to alter my consciousness. Since my biology is much different from yours, what affects you will not--"

Reality changed.

There was no blinding flash, no piercing shriek. One moment, he was on top of the mesa with Mary. The next instant, he was on top of the mesa with Mary. Only everything was different.

It was as if his optics had gone unfocused; sharp edges disappeared, leaving only general shapes of color. The intangibility aspect was enforced by the semi-transparent nature of everything. Hound looked at his feet, saw the stone mesa beneath him, saw the various layers of rock beneath that, and wondered if he could see all the way to the Earth's core.

He looked up and around. The night sky was awash with colors -- faint, dim, and translucent, but colors all the same. Against the darkness of the sky, they seemed incredibly bright by comparison. The lights waved in a slow harmony, forming a mesmerizing display that would have inspired artists and poets. On the desert floor, brighter lights gleamed, twinkling against the dullness of the ground like diamond dust on velvet. The overall image of dancing sky and glittering ground was one which seized the mind and stretched it to infinity. Hound fought the hypnotic urge to stare.

Mary stood now and walked towards him. He reminded himself not to focus, knowing reluctantly that it would not improve the image. She was a collection of blurs, blue and red and black, shimmering with each step. "Ah, good. You're here," she said.

"Where ... is here?"

"If you want to use Hollywood bullshit again, call it the 'spirit plane'."

"An alternate reality?" As an Autobot, he had some knowledge of physics that were beyond human understanding. He wondered if Mary understood the term.

"No, no, that's Star Trek," she chided. "You haven't gone anywhere; everything here is out there in the 'real world.' It's just your perceptions that've changed. Along with a few other things."

Hound puzzled over her words and decided to simply trust her guidance. "All right, then. Why have you brought me here?"

"You wanted to see something beautiful. You like?"

Another long, admiring gaze. Hound's reply was breathless. "...terrific..."

"You sound scared."

"I ... I don't know. I don't think you brought me here just to sightsee."

She snorted again. "Would you feel more comfortable if this was some cheap adventure novel? Like I brought you here because I needed you to save the poor spirits from some evil invaders? Like the Decepticons?"

"Well..."

"I'll tell you this much. The one thing you learn here is that nothing -- nothing -- is what it seems. All is illusion, except these illusions can kill."

With that, Mary suddenly swirled and glowed and grew. Outstretched arms blossomed, forming a wingspan eighty feet long. Legs melted together and twirled into a reptilian tail. Head bent, her features elongated to a canine muzzle, pointed ears flickering rapidly. From beneath her belly grew three gigantic pairs of legs, each close to the body and ending in a four-taloned claw. A soft golden color covered her, amber fur and amber feathers and amber scales seamlessly blending as one.

Horrible pain wracked Hound as she swooped and snatched him. His metal body, forged to withstand conditions harsher than most humans could inflict, crumpled in her grasp. Unyielding claws punctured his skin and drove deep grooves where they dragged. Internal fluids drained from numerous holes and stained the mesa stone.

Another jolt of pain came as she bent down, her jaws clamping down to gnarl at his head. Wings thundered in the cold desert night and they were airborne. She rolled his head between her incisors, trying to tear it off and hideously marring his face in the process. Flakes of paint and metal fluttered to the earth below. As they climbed higher, she stopped chewing at him even as she continued to crush his body.

"Mary!" he cried. "Stop!"

"Make me," she replied, in a mocking tone he had never heard from her before.

A chill ran through Hound's body -- was it fear, or the temperature? He grasped a talon in each hand and tried to pry open her grip. She redoubled her efforts, her claws digging deeper into his body. He strained again, harder now.

"Mary! I don't ... want ... to hurt you!"

She howled in laughter.

Hound pushed, feeling the air whistling by and lubricants running out of his wounds as they climbed even higher. He strained, and seeing her grasp open slightly, strained even harder. Servos whined, metal buckled, hydraulics pushed. A talon snapped.

Mary screamed.

She released Hound and flew away. The Autobot tumbled as he fell, the world a spinning kaleidoscope of brown and black. For a moment he wondered if this was all an illusion, but the sickeningly fast sense of falling and the pain and injuries that racked his body formed a convincing argument otherwise. He wondered how much the impact would hurt, then wondered if he would even survive it.

Dust started to whirl around him, growing thicker with each instant. In seconds it all but completely obscured his vision, and the wind was strong enough to change his tumbling from end-over-end to around-and-around. He felt his descent start to slow; an instant later, he clattered to the ground, spinning like a child's top across a newly-waxed table.

As Hound reoriented himself, he found that he was back on top of the mesa, albeit not where he had started from. The dust cloud twirled away from him and coalesced into Mary, ten feet away. Unlike himself, she appeared no worse from their experience; nothing was out of place. Her response was not what he would have expected, being only idle curiosity at his behavior.

Hound struggled to his feet. Any hope that his injuries were imaginary were dispelled by the fatigue that pulled at his crushed body. He could sense the damage to his internal mechanisms and the damaged structures. Even the worst Decepticon attacks he had braved were not this devastating.

"M-M-Mary," he choked. "Why ... why did you ... do that?"

She was not apologetic in the least. "To prove my point."

"Must ... make repairs." He staggered forward one step, then stopped from the excruciating effort. Returning to the Ark would be impossible, and he would be amazed if his communicators still worked. What was he going to do now?

Mary pouted, then made a decision. "Oh, hell." She walked forward, pressed her palms against his body, then leaned forward as if trying to keep him from falling over. As Hound watched, his pain vanished, his injuries healed, and all of the wounds he had taken evaporated into the night.

He looked at her warily as he consulted internal diagnostics. Nothing was wrong, if they could be trusted. He wondered how much he could trust her.

They stood in stoic silence for several minutes. Finally, he asked, "What happened?"

She shrugged. "A demonstration. Of what's different between here and there."

"Well, you could have been friendlier about it!" he snapped. Instantly he regretted it; it was not his nature.

Mary remain unfazed. She waited several more minutes before speaking again. "Feeling better?"

"...Yes."

A touch of sorrow crossed her face for a moment. "I know I'm asking a lot, but you'll have to trust me." The mask of indifference reappeared again. "There are things you just don't know about. Transform."

"What?"

"Transform! You know, that trick you do."

Hound concentrated and leaned forward. Wheels protruded, components shifted, and an instant later he was back in his jeep mode. Without a word, Mary climbed in the driver's seat.

She looked around, as if surveying the decor. "You didn't always look like this, did you?"

"No, of course not," he replied. "This is actually the fifth time I was redesigned."

"Which one was your favorite?"

"I'll show you." His rear-mounted turret gun swiveled and projected a hologram of a futuristic vehicle, vaguely related to a motorized trike. It was mostly blue with red trim, had three oversized knobby tires, and held a complex series of tubes, sensors, and antennas along the rear. An oversized padded seat and giant handlebars allowed Hound to carry a large human -- or a small Transformer.

"Turn that off," she said, slapping the dashboard. "Picture it in your mind instead."

The hologram disappeared as he complied, and Hound immediately sensed that his form had changed. He examined himself -- he was back in his trike design, inside and out. Components, arrays, and senses that had been missing for thousands of years were back, familiar as ever. He scanned himself, Mary, the mesa, and the horizon with everything from electron pulses to geo-thermal to X-ray. He had forgotten how much he missed this form, the combination of speed and durability, the wide range of sensory information available.

Hound focused again, changing to his other forms. A six-wheeled armored carrier. An all-terrain treaded tank with dual turrets. An air-propelled courier design, low to the ground with sweeping round fins and speed boosters. His Earth jeep mode. And back to the trike.

Mary remained nonchalant. "Having fun?"

"This ... this is amazing!"

"Tell me, Hound. How hard is it for you Autobots to get a new form?"

"Not too difficult, actually. Once the design is made, it can be done in a few days, easily."

"Mmm," she nodded. "Drive off the cliff."

"What?!"

"Drive!"

Hound's engine growled to life. He brought himself up to full speed, slamming Mary into her seat. She clutched the oversized handlebars as he headed for the mesa's edge. Hound plowed over the rim, ready to drive through the air as effortlessly as he would on a highway.

They fell.

Hound screamed. Mary didn't.

"What's wrong?" he shouted.

"Nothing! Change form!"

It took a second for him to understand, then Hound focused on the first aerial Transformers that came to mind -- Decepticons. Mary didn't react as Hound morphed into a flying triangular wedge, and didn't grunt even as he applied thrust, pulling away from the desert floor at three G's of force. Curving wings and tail sliced through the air, and Hound raised himself to a slow banking turn.

She slapped the seat beneath her. "Is this the best you can do?"

Hound almost didn't hear, deeply absorbed in the heady sensation of flight. "What do you mean?"

"Stop thinking about machines!"

Hound flipped through what he knew of human culture and Earth life. A moment later, the flying wedge flowed into a pegasus. Snow-white feathered wings beat the air as he galloped through the sky, kicking stardust with each step. Hound marveled at how natural it was: he could feel his heart pounding, his legs thrusting, his tail swishing. It was as if he was born into this body and he always knew how to do this. On his back, Mary leaned and clutched his mane, her ponytails bobbing behind her.

Another moment, another shape. A gigantic falcon, wings blotting out the pale Moon. Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent, ancient god of the Aztecs. A flying pig, orange with green polka dots. A one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eater. An atmosphere-skimming manta ray, gliding through the atmosphere instead of the ocean. And finally, a gigantic green bloodhound, running effortlessly through the air, tail wagging and tongue panting eagerly.

Mary had her arms wrapped around the dog's neck. She had to shout to be heard above the rushing wind. "Take us down!"

With great reluctance, he did. Paws thundered over the mesa sands, slowing to a halt before the dead ashes of the fire. Mary climbed off, one hand idly stroking his neck as she moved in front of him.

"Having fun?" she asked again. Her breathing was a little labored, but she quickly got it under control.

"I ... That was just ... Incredible!"

"Mmm," she nodded. "Well, I hope you learned something from all of this. You were right; I didn't bring you here just to go joyriding."

"What do you mean?" Hound's form swirled and coalesced back into his robot shape once again. He sat down.

"Okay, bright boy, what've you learned about the dreamscape?" Mary paced, like a schoolteacher reciting a lesson.

"That my form is controlled by my imagination."

"Close enough. All is illusion. So what's the constant in a world full of change?"

Hound pondered for a moment. "Nothing?"

"Wrong! The only constant is the spirit. Your spirit controls your shape, not the other way around. No matter what form you take, the spirit always remains the same. You didn't start thinking about humping legs and sniffing other dogs' butts when you were a dog, did you?"

"No." He chuckled at the imagery.

"So when everything's an illusion, where's the beauty?"

He tried the obvious. "The spirit?"

"Right," Mary smiled slightly. "Hound, the only reason you can't enjoy your own planet and your pals is because you're obsessed with the exterior. Stop that! Start looking at the beauty IN things."

"But this is the spirit plane. Back there, I can't see--"

"Bullshit! Everything here is there, remember? Everything alive has a spirit, even if you can't see it. You, me, Elvis, Letterman, your Autobots, the trees, the birds, even that stupid mutt that craps on my yard every night.

"Dammit, Hound, as a Transformer, you should know better! You can change your looks almost as easily as most folks change clothes. Hell, you've got those holograms that make people see anything you want them to! You of all people should know that looks mean shit! There's beauty at the Ark, with your friends, on Cybertron. Don't ignore all of that!"

Hound stammered. "But ... but not everyone is beautiful--"

"I never said they were. I'm not some drugged-out hippie saying 'make love, not war'. There's creeps and assholes out there, sure, and they'll try to fuck you over. Sometimes the worst ones look absolutely harmless on the outside. Hell, I tried to chew your head off, remember?"

He nodded in sharp remembrance.

"So stop avoiding your folks because they seem 'sterile' to you. That's all just crap you've built up in your head."

Minutes passed as Hound was lost in thought. Finally he spoke again. "I think ... I think I understand what you're saying..."

"Good. It's nice to look at trees and deserts and rivers and stuff, sure. But remember that those are just the outside of things. It's not as important as what's inside. Like Yoda said, 'Luminous beings we are, not this crude matter.'"

"Who's Yoda?"

Mary dismissed the question with a wave. "Now, if you're done playing, let's get back."

"How do I do that?"

"You know how," she said, and winked out of sight.

And he did.

Reality returned. Colors were bright, edges sharp, objects solid. Hound glanced at his hands and was mildly surprised that he could no longer see through them. The night seemed colder now, noises louder, smells sharper. And there was something else that differed, something undefinable. Something lost...

Mary was standing where she was a moment ago, still appearing like a perfectly harmless human. But he knew different, and he finally understood why, when they first met, she was not surprised at a talking, driverless jeep.

Hound slowly asked, "Mary ... what are you?"

"Fucking tired," she replied with a yawn and a stretch. She looked at her watch. "Jesus, it's almost three A.M. I've got to get home."

Hound transformed back into a jeep. "Let me take you." She didn't object, but slipped quietly behind the wheel.

No one said a word during the journey. Thirty-seven minutes later, Hound slipped through the gates of the Summit Lake Indian Reservation. He headed down the main street, rounded a corner, swung a left, then drove to the weather-beaten white house that was hers. Mary stepped out. In the distance, a cat yowled quietly.

"Good night, Hound," she said.

"Mary?"

She turned. "Yes?"

"When you attacked-- ... when I was injured ... How did you heal me?"

She smiled softly. "Sorry, me no talkie. I've got to keep SOME secrets for myself." She started to walk away, then addressed him again. "I'll tell you something, though."

"Yes?"

"You know the things you saw tonight? The stuff I talked about? The smoke, the spirit plane, inner beauty, all that?"

"Yes?"

She flashed the biggest grin he ever saw from her. "Some of that was just Hollywood bullshit."

Hound's headlights winked in surprise. Finally he asked, "Which ones?"

"You figure it out. Good night." She walked across the weed-infested lawn, dodged a pile of dog manure, then entered the house. The battered screen door bounced twice before creaking to a stop. A deadbolt turned.

Hound drove out of the reservation and plotted a course for the Ark. As he headed home, he thought about his next leave, and if he could join the other Autobots for a night on the town. Maybe catch a movie, or see what this "Auto Shop" is about. Or arrange a wilderness hike. Beachcomber and Seaspray would like that.

And once -- just once -- he tried to soar...