A Timeline of Human Evolution, Exemplified by the Case Study of Dylan Gould

Chapter 2

That one meeting affected Dylan more deeply than he would have thought possible. Or maybe he'd always been fated to turn out the way he did, but would never have had words for it, would never have understood it, if not for the Decepticons.

Decepticons. That was a new and strange word, and he didn't learn it from any of them. His dad finally explained things, maybe not everything or even everything he knew, but enough that Dylan wasn't totally in the dark, maybe three days after the meeting, in his study, while Dylan still smelled faintly of Ravage's gasoline-spit bath.

They were the Decepticons, and they were in the middle of a war with a group called the Autobots. That war was going to come here to Earth, eventually. Something very important of theirs was on Earth's moon, and so they needed a few humans to make sure that no one at NASA ever found it. And the most important human in this project, as their official liaison, was Daniel Gould.

Dylan's father stated this fact with a mixture of pride and nerves. Dylan would remember that years, decades later, when he was the Decepticons' liaison, when he felt he understood what his father had been feeling all those years ago.

When he was a kid, of course, he didn't exactly get it. The relationship Dylan's father had with the Decepticons, and was very clearly intending to pass onto his son, was the one thing in years that had made Dylan think his dad was kind of cool. And, to his surprise, he wasn't the only one who knew about it. A few of his father's business partners, and a few old, rich family friends, were also in on it, and even at eleven Dylan found himself wondering if they'd been rich before the Decepticons.

Dylan wasn't excited for the riches, though. That was pretty cool, yeah; he liked nice things already, and he had been taught for the past few years to respect and be careful with good craftsmanship. But the Decepticons themselves, these... completely alien mechanical beings, not just from another planet but living technological creatures that could disguise themselves, shift the parts of their bodies around like puzzle pieces, take other forms, they were the most amazing thing about all this.

And it didn't take him long to realize, though he almost couldn't believe it, that no one else seemed to think that way.

So Dylan was, against all odds, the only person he knew who kept thinking back on the aliens in fascination, even though he'd found out that a lot of people knew about the aliens. Was it because they were adults? Like adulthood hadn't already seemed boring! The only thing making him look forward to it was the new, enticing promise that he'd get to work with the Decepticons too.

For a while, though, he didn't even see any of them. Life, disappointingly, settled back to normal, though he never forgot -- how could he? 'Normal life', though he had to live it, seemed impossible to him now; he felt a rift between himself and his classmates, and mostly only 'hung out' with a few children of the men and women who were in on the secret, and even then only by their parents' arrangements.

Puberty was... weird, for him. Oh, he went through all the normal changes, except he never actually found himself interested in any girls. He could tell when a girl was pretty, even beautiful, but it was all in the abstract. He was fourteen when he started wondering if he was gay and just hadn't noticed it, but when he tried to look at his guy classmates, they didn't hold any more appeal for him than the girls did.

At fifteen, he tried dating a classmate anyway, a girl named Diane that he'd been having play-dates with since he was eleven and his entire world had changed, whose father was in on the secret and was close friends with his own. It was nice, he guess. She was nice. He enjoyed her company.

His father gave him a car for his sixteenth birthday. He broke up with Diane.

It probably wasn't a good thing that the first time he really understood all that talk about curves, noticed them and found himself drawn to them, was when the curves belonged to a Ford Thunderbird. And he probably shouldn't have dumped his girlfriend in response to that particular epiphany, but he panicked.

In truth, though, it didn't take him all that long to calm down. It might have been weird, but there was no changing it, so he had to deal with it. He wasn't into human girls or human guys, but alien robots -- all right, now that he knew they existed, obviously some part of his brain was really happy that they were an option. And because of Soundwave, he associated them with cars, so he saw a beauty in cars that he just didn't pick up on in humans.

Understanding all that really didn't help his love life any. He might as well have just stayed not attracted to anyone, except that with this sudden understanding, he now felt even weirder dating someone he knew he wasn't interested in, and he decided he wasn't going to try that again. He might as well just buy subscriptions to Car and Driver and Autoweek. It wasn't like he was never going to see the Decepticons again -- he hoped -- but he'd be having a business relationship with whoever he ended up working with, and he already knew that it'd be unprofessional as hell to flirt with a client.

Besides, it might be Soundwave, and he couldn't really imagine flirting with Soundwave.

All of this definitely affected him. But none of it ended up being any use to him at all for more years than he'd been expecting -- many more than he'd been hoping. He graduated at eighteen and went to college while working as a part-time intern at his father's firm. He wasn't, embarrassingly enough, any good at investing, but his father pulled him aside one day and confided that that was okay, as long as he had a good looking degree, it didn't actually matter if Dylan was good at his job. Even from this long distance, Daniel Gould was getting fed information and advice on the human stock market by Soundwave, or at least by someone associated with Soundwave.

Dylan honestly felt kind of offended that he'd never known about this. The Decepticons were keeping in touch with his father that easily, and he'd thought for years that there'd been no word from them? But he didn't say anything about it; it was a weird jealous feeling, it wasn't rational, and he knew it was just one more thing that he should probably keep to himself.

He kept his head down, and he graduated with a four-year BBA specializing in finance. He wasn't any good at finance, but with a little help -- and, admittedly, a good show of confidence and some bullshitting, because he was good at bullshitting -- he made it through and started on his master's, still working part time but no longer an intern. He was moving up in the world, and it was only a little frustrating that it was mostly happening because it had been decided that he would when he was still a kid. Mostly, things were... kind of exciting. It was the start of the 90's, and at the age of twenty-two he considered himself a wise and mature adult; it still wasn't working with aliens, yet, but it felt pretty good anyway.

He was making coffee one morning at Hotchkiss Gould Investments, leaning against the counter and enjoying the smell and the quiet before the busy day started, and nearly jumped out of his skin as the fax machine across from him suddenly shifted and transformed.

"Jesus!" Dylan yelped, and then realized what was happening, catching his balance on the counter and staring at the... bird? Winged snake? Was this another of Soundwave's pets? "Oh-- fuck."

"Dylan?" His father entered, and, unexpectedly, paled when he saw the bird.

More unexpected, the bird spoke, lifting off from its perch and flying closer to Dylan's father without bothering to flap. "Hello, Daniel," it cooed, in oddly light, silken tones but with a slightly raspy voice. "Is this your son?"

Dylan had forgotten how much he'd been at a loss for words the first time he'd met these beings, but he was right back there now. Probably that was why the first thing he blurted out was, "How long has a bird been our fax machine?"

"Charming." Laserbeak sounded amused, and maybe that or the question Dylan had aimed at him snapped Dylan's father out of it, but he finally spoke up himself -- sounding pretty shaky, still.

"Laserbeak... Dylan, this is Laserbeak, he's... He's one of Soundwave's... associates."

Then why do you sound so frightened? Dylan's dad was practically stumbling over his words, he couldn't help but wonder.

He didn't ask that. Instead, he tried to calm himself down, easier now that he was older and more practiced, and easier still when the shock was giving way to a frisson of excitement at the idea that Soundwave was contacting them again in a more personal way than those long-distance communications.

He smiled at Laserbeak with honest enthusiasm, hand barely twitching up in an aborted attempt at offering a handshake before resting his hands on the counter behind him instead, a relaxed posture. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting it after so long," he apologized. "It's an honor to meet you, Laserbeak."

Laserbeak cocked his head, entire long neck swaying to that side as he did so, eyes quizzically on Dylan. Then he gave an apparently-unnecessary flap of his wings, and curved in the air around Dylan's father, refocusing on him instead.

"Don't worry." What was with the way he talked? It was amused and faux-friendly and wicked and a little overly-familiar, and it made Dylan's skin crawl, but not in a bad way, necessarily. Little shivery feelings. "I'm here as a messenger."

"As opposed to what?" Maybe he shouldn't be asking that, because those red eyes shone in his direction again, but Laserbeak didn't seem offended.

"A reminder."

His father shuddered. Dylan could only imagine what 'reminder' actually meant. A threat? Probably; Laserbeak looked like he could be very dangerous. "Something he couldn't share with us over satellite?" his father asked, apprehensive.

"That isn't for anything important," Laserbeak dismissed. When he spoke again, he clearly enunciated every word; Dylan wasn't sure if he was exaggerating patience, trying to make sure his father understood, pretending his father was too slow to understand otherwise, or making sure it was clear that this was an order. Maybe something else entirely? Dylan grabbed the coffee pot and his mug, absently pouring himself a cup as he kept his eyes on Laserbeak and his father, fascinated. "We want you to make certain the Hubble Telescope's imaging problems are fixed by its first servicing mission."

More smoothly again, he continued, "The funding will be there. Be sure that it goes where we need it to go."

Dylan's father seemed unnerved. "What use could the Hubble Telescope have to you?"

"That isn't important, Daniel." Laserbeak's voice was wheedling, exaggerated reassurance without actually being reassuring.

His father hesitated, then nodded. "We'll make sure they get everything fixed."

"I know you will," Laserbeak cooed again, then -- suddenly swung around to Dylan, a wide swoop around back of his father and over near his side as he was taking a sip from his coffee cup, and he almost fumbled and spilled it. "You don't have any questions?"

Was he teasing or trying to be intimidating? Either way, Dylan was kind of intimidated, and nervous, and, to his own horror, a little bit turned on. Fuck. "No," he said, trying to sound professional and with it, summoning up another smile. "No, I don't see any need to ask questions. If your people want this done, we'll make sure that it's done."

Laserbeak's birdy face looked almost intrigued, and certainly amused, and he snickered, backing away from Dylan. "Daniel," he sing-songed over his shoulder. "Your son is a much faster learner than you."

Orders given, Dylan had kind of been expecting Laserbeak to leave at that point. From his father's obvious disappointment when Laserbeak flew back over to the fax's stand and transformed back into hiding, he had been expecting so, too, or at least hoping it. Dylan smiled again in the direction of the fax machine, and vaguely raised his coffee mug towards it, almost a toasting gesture, and asked, "Would you excuse us? Dad, can we talk a minute?"

He walked out of the room with his dad quick on his heels, noticing his relief at getting out of the room, and when they were out in the hall he started, voice low, "Look, why are you--" He paused. "How good is his hearing?"

His father looked nervous. "Let's talk in my office," he muttered.

It was only after the he'd closed and locked the door behind them both that his dad seemed to relax any, and even then he kept his voice down. "We should be safe in here."

'Safe', Dylan noticed. "Why are you so nervous about this one? You didn't seem to mind Soundwave, or even Ravage." And Ravage was a big needle-mouthed cat, though admittedly one that Dylan felt a strong remembered fondness for. He honestly missed her more than Soundwave.

"Soundwave can be intimidating, but he's a professional." Dylan's dad fussed nervously with the pens on his desk, straightened the picture frame there. "And Ravage, as near as I can tell, she's just an animal. Possibly dangerous, like a tiger, but she seemed trained. Laserbeak is..."

"Not trained?" Dylan quip-guessed, when his father just trailed off, and his father gave him a baleful look.

"Don't get smart. Laserbeak isn't an animal. I know you noticed that. But he's still a predator, through and through. I figured that out by watching his face, he's always... gauging people, like prey." Was he? He'd definitely been keeping a close, intent eye on the both of them, Dylan had noticed that. "And I know for a fact he's who Soundwave sends when he wants to make a few threats... And I suspect that he's responsible for a few-- disappearances."

"You mean deaths," Dylan said flatly. "That's why you're jumpy -- he kills people? If they mess up or try to go public, or--?" Or outlive their usefulness? A suspicion trickled through him for the first time, and he lowered his voice, not to keep from being heard but to resist the urge to shout at his father. "This job. When they don't have any use for us anymore, are they going to kill us?"

His father had turned red. "Don't talk to me like that," he said, his own voice quiet but forceful.

"Are they?"

His father must have picked up on the panic in his voice, or maybe his own fear had finally won out. He sat heavily in his chair, slumping down in it, and putting his face in his hands. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've suspected..."

"And when did you start suspecting, huh?" Dylan asked hotly. "Dad? Before or after you got me involved in all this?"

His father scrubbed at his face. "Bud..."

"Don't call me that -- you've always been full of shit when you call me that." Not exactly the wittiest, most stinging retort in the world, but it would have to do. Dylan slammed the door on his way out, and while he wasn't about to wait to see if his dad was going to follow him out of his office, he couldn't help noticing that, from the sound of it, the door wasn't opening again behind him.

His heart was hammering. He holed himself up in his own office until it was time for him to leave for class. He didn't go to any of his classes, though; he went home, restless, scared and even more than that, angry. He contemplated quitting the company, getting himself out of all this, decided he was going to and worked himself up to do it as soon as his father got home that night, riding on that determined high for a few hours.

By the time the sun was starting to set, though, all that was quickly starting to fade. Well, not the anger; he was pretty sure he was going to be angry at his father for a long time. But the determination to quit, that certainty that he should extract himself from this business with the Decepticons...

He hadn't ever cared about taking over his father's business. He'd never been interested in the investment firm itself; it had just been a means to an end, and that end had always been the Decepticons. Working with them, for them... He'd wanted to do that since he was eleven. Literally half his life had been spent yearning for this opportunity. If he threw it away now, what would he even do? What goals would he have for his life anymore?

Don't be short-sighted, he told himself, but unconvincingly. You can make new goals. You can't do that if you're dead.

You don't even know that the Decepticons are planning on killing you. All you have are dad's suspicions and fears. How do you know Laserbeak had anything to do with those people's deaths, or if he killed them for anything other than trying to betray his people?

If you run from this, they might think you're a danger to them. They could just kill you for that.

...Wow. Thanks, self.

Before his dad got home, he ordered in dinner, then closed himself in his room and went to bed early. It might not have been mature to be completely avoiding his father like that, but he didn't care; he might have decided against quitting, but he still didn't want to talk to him just yet. He left for the company building even earlier than usual the next morning, and was the first one there by far -- he and his father were always the first ones, so they could talk business and do a few things privately if need be -- turning on the lights and hesitating in the halls. He wasn't sure if he wanted to head straight to his office or risk getting coffee; he'd have to pass near the alien "fax machine" that he assumed would still be there if he did. He wished he'd just picked up some Starbucks on the drive over or something.

He didn't have to make the decision. Laserbeak flew out into the hall, and Dylan froze, surprised.

"Dylan." There was an almost coaxing warmth, or faux-warmth, to the tone, his name stretched out pleasantly in this alien's mouth, and he shivered, not entirely from fear. "You haven't ordered a new fax machine."

"Huh?" he said, intelligently. Then the penny dropped. "Oh. ...What happened to our first one?"

"I destroyed it." Laserbeak drifted a little closer, tilting his head. "It was bought with our funds." As was all their state-of-the-art technology; the new one would be too, Dylan knew, so he didn't feel any inclination to complain. The Decepticons did pretty much own the building.

"Fair enough," he agreed. He wasn't sure if he should try to edge around the bird or not; the way he was drifting lazily back and forth in the air, Laserbeak could effortlessly shift to block Dylan's path and make it look like an accident, and Dylan didn't exactly want to do that awkward little dance with an alien bird robot. That would be even more embarrassing than doing it with another human being.

A thought occurred: "Is that why you stuck around? Waiting until we replace the fax machine?" That was actually... surprisingly thoughtful.

"No." Laserbeak shot that down pretty quick. "I'll be keeping an eye on your company for a few days... Seeing how everything runs."

"It's my dad's company." That was almost automatic, and Dylan wondered why he'd said it. Laserbeak made him nervous, antsy. Both because of his father's suspicions, and just in general.

"Of course," Laserbeak soothed, as he curved in the air to circle around behind him, and it almost sounded sincere. Dylan tried not to look surprised. "But it will be yours. Isn't that what you want, Dylan?"

"I don't know." Oh, God, stop talking. "I never cared about this company," he explained quickly, starting to walk towards his office, with Laserbeak trailing behind him. "And I'm no good at finance. But it was a package deal: Become CEO of Hotchkiss Gould Investments, become-- human liaison for the Decepticons. So I'm doing what I have to."

Was it just him, or was Laserbeak surprised? His eyes couldn't widen, but he was open-mouthed, a strange, almost unsettling three-part split to his beak that revealed teeth, for some reason. Incredibly sharp-looking teeth. Good grief. He was like the unholy metal lovechild of a buzzard and a snake. Why didn't noticing these things stop Dylan from feeling attracted to him? He supposed if the worry that Laserbeak might murder him someday wasn't going to douse his libido, nothing would.

"So that's what Soundwave meant." If Laserbeak had been surprised, he recovered with amusement. Dylan stopped at the door to his office, hand on the doorknob, caught off guard.

"Soundwave?"

Laserbeak seemed to ignore him. "You've been wanting to work with us... So unlike your father. He's very tiresome," he confided, and Dylan felt slight worry for the man, even as upset as he was with him. Laserbeak somehow noticed that, and he added, "Don't worry, Dylan. We're not going to kill him. Not just for being a shortsighted, selfish little insect."

"That's reassuring." Dylan opened the door to his office, pausing inside as Laserbeak insinuated himself after him, going to sit without shutting the door behind them. He didn't exactly feel any more afraid being alone, closed in his office with the bird, since he'd been alone and closed in the building as a whole; this wasn't any less safe. Besides, Laserbeak hadn't done anything to him yet. He just didn't want to have to go open the door again when Laserbeak wanted to leave.

"Your father wants money, prestige. To be among the human elite. This company is a bauble for him, to show off to the easily-impressed."

"Then why are you paying for it?"

"Dylan," Laserbeak chided. Jesus, he really liked using people's names, didn't he? That was a problem, the way he said Dylan's name was not doing him any favors. "Your father is our liaison, and our greatest example."

That seemed to be all the explanation he'd be getting. Dylan paused as he waited for his computer to boot up, running those words through his head again. Our greatest example...

"He's one of your baubles," Dylan said slowly. "To show off. To show people what they can get if they choose to work for you." The carrot part of the carrot and stick equation.

Laserbeak hissed, but it almost sounded like a pleased sort of hiss. He didn't seem irritated, anyway. "A much faster learner than your father," he repeated, and flew back out of Dylan's office, the sounds of his engines disappearing back down the hall.

Dylan waited a few moments, then stood, to finally close his door. Then he sat back down at his desk, ignoring his computer for the moment in favor of pulling a phone book out of its drawer. He was going to have to call down and order a new fax machine, after all.