"Murder on the Dashboard"

[grahamthomson]

MURDER ON THE DASHBOARD (Part 1)
Written by Graham Thomson

Ethan Zachary hurried out of the main entrance, fumbling with his car
keys, security tag and overcoat. He stopped suddenly, negotiating the
coat over his shoulders as he bent his elbows awkwardly and craned his
neck.

As he stepped outside into the cool morning air the doors slid shut
behind him and locked themselves automatically. The offices of Energy
Futures Industries were leading edge, equipped with the highest
caliber of automated security systems.

The sun had risen just moments ago and checking his watch, Ethan
realised that, yet again, his computer had stolen his night. He
shrugged his shoulders and fastened up his coat. A chilled wind
whistled around the side of the building. The sky was pink, cloudless.

Ethan quickened his pace as he made his way to his car. He was due
back at work in three hours, but decided he should go home at least
once this week. His red eyes matched the sunrise and he and his pillow
were due some quality time.

Normality was optional for Ethan.

As he spun around the corner towards the staff car park, Ethan
stopped. A delivery truck, as grey and characterless as the others
that normally serviced the company, had been parked thoughtlessly
behind his car, blocking him in.

Ethan marched around the back of the trailer, furiously shaking his
head at the "How's my driving? Call 1-800-555-2000" bumper sticker. As
he reached the cab, he stretched up and slammed the palm of his hand
against the door several times. There was no answer.

The sound echoed around the car park. No one was around.

"Deliveries are on the other side!" he shouted, using the step to
climb up to the cab's side window.

He knocked at the window but there was no one inside. Instinctively,
Ethan tried the door. It opened. He shrugged and climbed inside. "I'll
just back it up a bit," he whispered to himself. "And then I can get
out of here."

Ethan bounced onto the driver's seat, smoothing his hands around the
steering wheel. "Keys, keys, keys," he said. He checked the sun visor
first, flipping it down.

A set of keys dropped down into his lap. Ethan laughed to himself and
then inserted one of the keys into the ignition. A small red light
blinked on the dashboard and a polite, innocuous tone matched its
rhythm. Ethan peered down at the light, realising it was asking him to
put on the seat belt.

"Safety first," he said to himself.

After pulling down the seat belt across his chest and securing its
buckle in the lock, Ethan tried the ignition again. The cab shuddered
and the engine roared into life. The radio turned itself on and music
poured out of the speakers mounted in the doors. The song sounded
tinny but recognisable regardless. He hummed along to the lyrics.

#Ah, but... two hours of pushin' broom#

Ethan pushed his foot down into the clutch and grasped at the
gearstick, wrestling the truck into gear. As the radio continued its
song, the doors to the cab locked themselves. Ethan was too busy
concentrating to notice.

#Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room#

The cab shuddered again and the gearbox groaned, refusing Ethan's
movements. "Come on!" he shouted.

His seat belt tightened slightly.

#I'm a man of means by no means#

Ethan reached over, placing both hands on the gearstick, grappling
with its tenacity. He pushed down hard. The seat belt continued to
tighten, cutting unnoticeably into his neck.

Ethan was getting breathless. He forced the gearstick down with such
might, he wondered if he might dislocate his shoulder.

The cab lurched. The radio fell silent.

#King of th—

Ethan pushed himself back into the seat. There was a sudden tightness
across his chest. He slid his thumb under the seat belt in an attempt
to loosen it. He reached down to release the buckle. It wouldn't move.

He felt a sudden tug and then gasped for breath as the seat belt
tightened further. He thumped down on the steering wheel with both
hands. He was trapped inside the cab.

White noise hissed suddenly from the cab's speakers and then a voice
boomed out. Ethan froze with fear. The voice was sharp, cold and
inhuman. A chill ran up his spine then down his arms and into his
trembling fingers. The seat belt squeezed across his throat, lancing
his skin.

"Fleshling," the voice growled, reverberating around the cab. "My
fellow Decepticons call me Motormaster, but to you it's just `master'."

To be continued.

[grahamthomson]

MURDER ON THE DASHBOARD (Part 2)
Written by Graham Thomson

It was the news of Optimus Prime's death that stirred Prowl back to life.

Prowl slowly pulled himself into a sitting position as the lid of the
stasis capsule raised itself. While he waited for his optical sensors
to warm up, he fumbled at the slim wire that connected the red crested
forward sensor array on his forehead to the capsule's status monitors.
He stopped himself suddenly, realising that he'd been moving too fast.
His head was still swimming.

Prowl heard the news via Jazz's "stasis podcast". Just because an
Autobot was offline, Jazz had argued, didn't mean he should be denied
continuous updates on current affairs.

Up until now, Prowl was happy to let the stasis pod recharge his body,
allowing Ratchet's repairs and polymer-soaked circuit grafts to fully
heal his wounds. The running joke in the medbay was that it was just
easier to build a new Transformer from scratch than repair and replace
damaged components of an existing one. And anyway, it didn't matter
what injuries the body could endure, it was the mind that took the
longest to heal.

With his optical sensors fully warmed up and operational, Prowl made
the effort to stand. He took it slowly. But before he could stretch
into a fully upright stance his mind began processing and analysing
the Protectobot's field reports.

Prowl was disgusted at what had happened. Who were these oxymoronic
"Protectobots" who stood by and did nothing as Optimus died?

As Prowl stepped away from the stasis capsule several internal
warnings sounded inside his head. He knew too well that he wasn't yet
fully operational. But he also knew he had to do something.

Prowl's mind retreated to the safe bastions of logic and calculated
his next course of action. Without a leader to confer with and friends
overburdened with distasteful responsibilities, Prowl decided to slip
out of the Ark and follow his instincts.

Of course, with Prowl, following instincts was no different to
following official procedure.

* * *

In police patrol car mode, Prowl sped along the Wilson River highway
towards Tillamook. The air was clear and the road was dry. Earth was
such an unpredictable planet. It comforted Prowl that, for once, the
weather was following procedures as well.

As he motored past a roadside cafe, Prowl caught a snippet of
conversation between two humans who had watched him pass.

"Look at that, Earl!" the red-haired woman commented. "A police patrol
car with its emergency light bar missing! How are they supposed to
protect and serve when they're in such a state of disrepair?"

The woman's husband replied with a dry: "Just mind your business and
eat your clams."

* * *

Motormaster relished the thought of torturing Ethan Zachary. The human
had begged for mercy, pleaded to be released, but Motormaster had
other ideas. He squeezed Ethan's weakened body between his cold steel
fingers, feeling the bone beneath the flesh with his pressure sensors.
Ethan kept his eyes shut tight, wondering how many more seconds he'd
be allowed to live.

Motormaster stopped squeezing and dropped Ethan to the ground. Barking
for the cold air to flood back into his collapsed lungs, Ethan started
to crawl towards his car. He stared down through watery eyes at the
blood stains on the tarmac.

The Decepticon swooped down and scooped Ethan's car with his arm, then
swatted it away. Motormaster then transformed back into truck mode,
facing away from the human. Ethan tried to crawl faster, but
Motormaster was already reversing towards him. A repeating alarm
sounded from Motormaster's trailer, beeping at anyone who might be
listening to take caution as this vehicle was, indeed, reversing.

Ethan dug his fingers into the road's surface and tried to pull
himself away. But Motormaster was upon him too fast. His rear-most
wheels found Ethan's feet and began to run over them, crushing his ankles.

Ethan screamed.

Motormaster laughed. It was a bitter, accelerating cackle that rose up
from the deepest recesses of the darkest evil Ethan had ever
encountered. Through the laughter, Motormaster hissed: "These wheels
were made for crushing."

"Stop!" Prowl shouted, as he transformed into robot mode. He aimed his
rifle at Motormaster's tyres and fired. A short stream of acid pellets
gnawed into the rubber and burst the tyre.

In one fluid movement Motormaster transformed to robot mode and
stretched his arm out towards Ethan.

Prowl fired again. "I said stop."

Motormaster obliged the Autobot. "What's this?" he spat. "A daring
Autobot rescue? The state you're in?"

Ethan struggled to keep his breath. His ankle had been shattered. The
pain was relentless.

Prowl kept his rifle trained on Motormaster. Though his internal pumps
were driving fuel through his systems at an accelerated rate, he kept
his thoughts clear and his voice calm. He was following procedure
after all. "This human is under arrest under directive
twelve-point-eight of the Autobot Code."

Motormaster laughed. "Your stupid Code can't possibly be applied to
humans!"

"Irrelevant," Prowl replied. "The punishment is the same for all those
who are charged with the premeditated death of an Autobot."

Prowl stepped towards Ethan. "His cerebral processor will be removed
from its casing and put into permanent stasis."

To be continued.

[Andy Turnbull]

Intriguing first installment there and it's nice to see Ethan Zachary again. A welcome use of intimidation and his vehicle mode from Motormaster.

Good lord now I did not see that coming at all!

I liked the "stasis podcast" idea, a similar idea was used in Revelation of the Daleks during Colin Baker's run on Doctor Who. While it was creepy there it makes emiment sense when dealing with mechanical lifeforms.

The attention to detail was pretty good, Prowl missing his emergency lights (which Ratchet would source for him later on). I wonder what Motormaster's motive is for his assault on Ethan Zachary, I trust we will find out in later installments.

Prowl's attitude to Ethan is interesting and would be quite contrary to what Optimus would have him do, but he is disoriented from his period in stasis. I imagine this incident will go a long way towards explaining why Ethan Zachary didn't immediately tell the Autobots about Optimus Prime's mind being preserved on floppy disc.

Excellent work G, now where is part 3?

Andy

[legios]

Firstly I have to say I do like what you are doing in terms of characterisation. You have given Motormaster a bit of an edge as a very dangerous bully, which fits with what little we know about him. You have certainly established him rather well as a threat. You also made me wince audibly when he drove over Ethan Zachary's ankles.... What you are doing with Prowl is interesting as well. It has a certain ring of truth to me that whilst traumatised Prowl might fall back on the things he understands - rules, procedures and systems. Nice use made of his capacity to be ruthless when he feels it is necessary as well. I have not the slightest clue where the story might go from here - which pleases me as it suggests that whatever comes next will likely be a surprise. Good stuff and I look forward to future installments.

Karl

[grahamthomson]

I have responded to both your comments on the eGroup. I got confused for a moment there.

Thanks for the feedback, chaps!

[karla]

"...eat your clams"

[grahamthomson]

Earl and Edna (I think that's what she was called) were my favourite couple written by Budiansky.

And at least they weren't called Charlene and Jake like most of the other human characters wrote into Transformers!

[grahamthomson]

MURDER ON THE DASHBOARD (Part 3)
Written by Graham Thomson

“This fleshing is mine,” said Motormaster. He spat his words in contempt at the Autobot.

Prowl kept his rifle aimed at the Decepticon. His out-stretched arm felt loose and unsteady as if not his own.

Flat on the cold ground, Ethan Zachary furiously wrestled himself out his coat and ripped off the arms. He gasped for air and wiped the tears from his swollen red eyes. The pain in his ankles burned and throbbed. He bound each foot with a coat arm, tying the clumsy knot as tight as he could without passing out.

He glanced up, realising the robots were distracted. He looked for his car, and wondered if he could crawl to it and make a bid for freedom. He gripped his car keys with white knuckles.

“Why this particular human?” Prowl asked. “What’s he got to do with you?”

Motormaster poised himself, reaching for the cyclone rifle magnetically holstered on his thigh. “I need to take its life to free myself.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I need to peel the flesh from its bones, make it suffer like I have.”

Prowl’s back stiffened and his arm suddenly felt like his own again. “That’s not going to happen,” he said tenaciously. “He’s under my jurisdiction now and no matter what punishment he’s due under Autobot law, he doesn’t deserve to be tortured.”

Unnoticed, Ethan had made it to his car. Despite the damage, he was confident it would whisk him to safety.

“I will do precisely what I want with the fleshing,” Motormaster hissed, removing the rifle from his leg. He squeezed the trigger. “And you.”

A barrage of high-energy protons spewed from the barrel of Motormaster’s rifle and hit Prowl in the stomach, punching a hole straight through. Shards of raw circuitry sparked across the edges of the wound. Prowl fell backwards onto the ground.

Motormaster flicked his neck to the side, looking for Ethan. He spotted the human frantically trying to open his car door. Within a single step, Motormaster was already at the car. Ethan squealed.

Lifting his upper body, Prowl craned his neck forwards. As soon as he saw the human, he quickly calculated his next course of action. He transformed.

Motormaster’s fingers were about to close around the human’s chest when, in police patrol car mode, Prowl smashed into his legs. Motormaster fell to the side.

Prowl skidded to a halt and opened his driver door. “Get in!” he yelled.

Without a second’s hesitation, Ethan grappled at the driver’s seat and pulled himself inside. Prowl slammed the door shut and sped away.

Ethan grabbed onto the sides of the seat but thought twice about using the seat belt. “Th-thanks,” he said.

“I’m Prowl.”

“Ethan.”

“I know.”

Motormaster climbed back to his feet, realised what Prowl had done, then transformed into truck mode and gave chase.

“Our friend there has me out-matched in almost every way,” commented Prowl. “Except in vehicle mode.”

“Left here!” Ethan shouted. “Take the One-oh-one Northbound, it’ll take us along the cliff's edge.”

“Perfect.”

Ethan swung around to get a look through Prowl’s rear windscreen. He could see Motormaster in pursuit but falling behind. Ethan let his shoulders relax in relief. He stretched his hand and made a ring shape with his thumb and index finger. He then shook his wrist up and down.

“Please don’t antagonise him with obscene gestures,” Prowl said dryly.

Ethan returned to a sitting position. “You’re an alien robot. How do you know what that means?”

“My friend Jazz told me.”

Motormaster charged after Prowl and Ethan. The road ahead was barely wide enough to accommodate his oppressive, juggernaut form.

“Am I still under arrest?” Ethan asked Prowl.

“Yes.”

“But you’re in the process of saving my life.”

“I know.”

“Not very logical.”

“You’re a prisoner now,” Prowl explained. “Once I’ve dealt with Motormaster, I will ferry you back to our base where your punishment will be carried out.”

If not for the pain, Ethan would have kicked Prowl’s dashboard. “Don’t I get a fair trial?”

“Of course you will, but the evidence already gathered is conclusive.”

“What about my own testimony?”

“According to Autobot laws, you have committed the equivalent of what you humans call murder. What would be your punishment under your own laws?”

“Here in Oregon? Well thanks to Measure 6 we still have the death penalty here. But I would never, ever commit murder!”

“But you killed Optimus Prime.”

“Yes, but it’s not the same!”

“You mean to say if another human being was attached to that computer system you wouldn’t have pushed that button quite so readily?”

Prowl’s question hung in the air. Ethan bowed his head. “No,” he admitted.

Prowl applied his brakes and came to a halt in the middle of the road.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Ethan protested. “He’s gonna catch up with us!”

Prowl paused his thoughts for a moment. A white-hot fist of anger pounded within his brain, its fingers peeling out and tugging at his logic circuits. His commander had been killed by a civilian. His friend had lost his life because of this human. Optimus was dead and Ethan was to blame.

It was so very tempting to give the human to Motormaster, but it was a choice Prowl simply couldn’t make on his own. He needed advice, but there was no one around to offer it.

Prowl started his engine and slowly swung around half circle. He faced the oncoming traffic: Motormaster.

Ethan thumped his fist against Prowl’s side window. “Please!” he begged.

Prowl revved his engines, released his brakes and sped towards Motormaster. Motormaster, blind to his fixation with Ethan, almost missed Prowl accelerate past him at seventy-three miles per hour. Motormaster forced his brakes and veered into a U-turn. Misjudging the width of the road, Motormaster suddenly found himself hanging half over the dizzying edge of the cliff. The ocean below dared him to fall.

Prowl turned one-eighty degrees again and drove up to Motormaster’s tail end. He wound down his driver’s window and said to Ethan: “If I’ve calculated this correctly, the slightest nudge will send him over.”

Helpless, Motormaster pleaded with Prowl. “Don’t.”

Ethan Zachary reached out of the window and touched Motormaster’s tailgate. “Let’s see if those wheels are made for floating.” Ethan pushed, tipping Motormaster’s centre of gravity.

The Stunticon slid sideways over the cliff edge, transforming as he fell. He desperately stabbed outwards with all four limbs hoping to connect with the cliff and grab on to something, anything.

Prowl didn’t stop to check Motormaster’s fate. “That probably won’t stop him, but it’ll buy me enough time to get you back to the Ark.”

“I thought for sure you were going to hand me back to that monster.”

“I very nearly did,” admitted Prowl. “But I will always have protocol to fall back on whenever I’m not sure what to do.”

“Look,” said Ethan with throaty desperation in his voice. “There’s something I need to show you. It’s back at work.”

“What is it?”

“Evidence.”

* * *

Using an old broomstick found in reception as a makeshift crutch, Ethan Zachary hobbled into Energy Futures Industries’ main delivery bay. With every step he sucked air through his teeth, wincing. Though both ankles were crushed, he still had some strength in his right foot. Once reaching the shutters, he pressed a red button to open them automatically.

Prowl, clutching the wound in his stomach, walked into the delivery bay. He glanced around, recognising the vast space from Hot Spot’s datatracks. “This is where he died,” he said quietly.

“Just give me a minute to get to my computer,” Ethan pleaded.

Prowl stepped into the middle of the room and knelt down in the centre of a blackened scorch pattern etched on the concrete floor. He bowed his head.

Ethan slowly, painfully, shuffled along the wall and into his office.

“Where is everyone?” Prowl asked loudly.

“Since the Decepticons stole our Hydrothermacline, the company’s gone into administration. Most of the staff were laid off,” Ethan explained, shouting from his office. “Most of the computer equipment has been sold off, including the Spectramax 1000.”

“Is that what ran the simulation?”

“Yes,” said Ethan. “I’ve been here day-and-night salvaging all my backups.”

“Backups?”

Ethan returned from his office clutching a small plastic box. Sweat was pouring down his face. He was out of breath. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

Prowl stepped across to Ethan and knelt down, opening his palm. “What is it?”

Ethan opened the box and handed Prowl a computer disk.

Prowl held the disk up to his optic sensors and magnified his view on the English written on its label. “Optimus Prime,” he whispered.

To be concluded.

[Andy Turnbull]

Another splendid installment Graham. I'm still confused as to why Motormaster has fixated on Ethan Zachary. Did Megatron at some point attack him thinking Motormaster was Optimus Prime when in vehicle mode or is there something else to be revealed in the final installment.

The confrontation between Prowl and Motormaster was quite fun to read and a nice elegant way of ending things.

Oooh Prowl knows about the disc with Optimus Prime's personality on it? How is that going to resolve itself I wonder?

Can't wait for part 4 to find out.

Andy

[Dark Stranger]

Really enjoying this story, great characterisation for Prowl, but the nice reference to Jazz's Earth expertise was pure comedy gold.

[grahamthomson]

Cheers, Donal! Glad you're enjoying the story.

[legios]

Only just had a chance to catch up with this installment Graham. Good stuff, good stuff indeed. I am fascinated as to where the plot is going, as you have managed to once again wrong-foot me as to what I thought might happen. I do like your portrayal of Prowl here - I have always been of the opinion that Prowl's greatest weapon is his mind, and that comes out quite well here. Looking forward to finding out how he is going to assimilate the new information he learns here and where that takes the story next.

Karl

[Shockprowl]

I'm loving this story! Tomo, you'e got a wonderfull way of portraying Prowl, as a Prowl fan (you may or may not be aware), I salute you! That excellent characterisation is also evident in the fantastic Timecode Interlude, in which I also enjoy Prowl's relationship with Jazz.

MORE MORE MORE!!!!!

[grahamthomson]

Pleased I can please a Prowl devotee!