Lessons in Exile
Chapter 1
The car pulled out of the mountain pass and cleared the ridge into the desert. The air was still warm and the moon made the sand glow like pearl. Samuel James Witwicky blinked slowly to adjust his pupils and settled back into the warm leather seats.
"This is it, huh?"
The engine revved to make it up a small hill, then settled in to a coasting purr. "Yes. This is New Tyger Pax, or Autobot City if you like. You will be safe here."
Sam smiled wryly. "It's not me they're after this time." His car was silent, turning the matter over in his processors as he'd been doing lately. Sensing that the conversation was over, Sam turned his head to the left and watched the scenery down below. From the mountain ledge he could see little more in this giant crater of desert than what appeared to be a few satellite towers situated sporadically across the sparse, rocky soil. As he peered at their blinking antennae, the air around them shimmered and he saw – fleeting, ghost-like – glittering skyscrapers and metal walls. As soon as he saw it, it was gone.
"Bumblebee, what-"
"A cloaking device. Just another precaution." Sam looked intrigued and opened his mouth to ask another question, but Bumblebee stemmed that tide.
"Everything will be explained to your heart's content at the base, Sam. Right now, it would be best for your body to sleep. Your vitals are somewhat less than optimal."
"I'm fine. What do those towers do?" As he spoke, the chair he was in reclined and the radio tuned in to an easy listening station.
"They blink."
"Bee," Sam said warningly. The climate regulated itself to perfect sleeping conditions.
"Go to sleep, Sam."
"Pushy, smart-assed car," he mumbled, but his eyelids were already falling closed. His car chuckled over the sound of the music then grew quiet.
In this way they passed into the unmarked parts of Nevada. The Camaro zipped around a corner, lights growing smaller as they began their descent, leaving Tranquility, as Sam thought, forever.
Three Months Ago
It had been, for Gerard Carrefour, an enormously bizarre week. He'd taken the train from Paris to Nice and from Nice down into this backwater coastal town where his client insisted that they meet. For Gerard, used to the greyscale bustle of the city, this town of surfers and street markets gave him a headache. He burrowed deeper into his leather jacket and kept his eyes peeled for the innocuous discothèque where the meeting would take place.
Prior to this, a day or so ago, he'd gotten the phone call from his middleman. Rèmy was convinced they'd hit the payload with this one and Gerard, at his insistence, left the warm bed with the naked, nameless girl to go tromping into the cold night and the local bar.
There, at about 1 AM, Rèmy had slid a folder to him across the table. Gerard had opened it, looked at the picture, then back at Rèmy.
"Nice car. What is it, a Mustang?"
Rèmy rolled his eyes. "A Camaro. A Chevrolet Camaro. Not even on the market yet, even in Europe."
Gerard lit a cigarette and exhaled. "So?"
Rèmy quirked a grin. "Well…that's what it looks like, at least. Actually, it's a robot."
Gerard gave him a dry look. "A robot."
"Uh-huh. Got the job from some politician based in Lyons, who got the tip from one of our signal analysts working in the US."
He looked at the car again. "Why would some politician need a robot that looks like a car?"
"Who the hell cares, Carrefour? It's a huge check in your pocket for a simple grab-and-run. You gonna take it, or not?"
He looked at Rèmy who was practically vibrating. "What's in it for you, Rèmy?"
"A premium. Fifteen percent cut of your check."
"Ten. And I get full access to your arsenal of gadgets."
"Done." Gerard blinked, surprised it hadn't taken more haggling than that. This politician must be promising an enormous amount of money for Rèmy to settle for ten percent. "This is the guy's number. Meet him in three days in St. Raphael."
"Where the hell is that?"
"On the coast, I think. Just do it."
Gerard watched Rèmy grin at him, his rat-like face sweating in the bar's dim lights. Repulsed, he stood and shrugged on his coat, tucking the folder in an inside pocket.
"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Rèmy. By all means keep in touch, you greasy little rat bastard."
Rèmy grinned with too many yellow teeth. "You always did have a gift with words."
So now here he was, tired, grouchy and thinking wistfully of the nice bottle of Scotch he'd left back in his Paris flat. He settled instead for the tall beer the cute, completely underage waitress brought him. He nursed it slowly, peering through the haze of smoke and flashing colored lights to find anyone who might be approaching him.
It happened not ten minutes later. A tall man in his mid fifties with tan skin and a handsome face slid into his booth, smiling coolly at him. "Monsieur Carrefour, a pleasure. I am Frederic Duquesne. We spoke on the phone."
Gerard accepted the handshake carefully. This was a man of means, definitely. His breezy shirt was tailored, expensive, and the sunglasses hanging from his undershirt must have cost about what Gerard normally made in a month. "Nice to meet you. So…you wanna tell me what this is all about?"
Duquesne signaled to the barmaid to bring him the same thing Gerard was drinking before turning back to him with a smile. "Of course. No beating around the bush, as they say, for you. What I'm interested in, primarily, is that car, M. Carrefour. I know it means little to you, but I imagine your associate filled you in on the details."
Snorting, Gerard leaned back in the seat. "Detail, singular. That it's a robot."
Duquesne's smile was wry. "We'll leave it at that. Yes, it's a robot. A highly-advanced one. It is currently situated in the United States, in a small town in Nevada. I ask that you go in, take it, and get it back to me in France in one piece."
Gerard nodded. "I can do that. Just two things, though. If it's a robot, won't it have a defense system? Or two, why do you want this thing anyway?"
The barmaid bent further down than she should to deposit Duquesne's beer on the table and flashed him a quick smile. He chuckled and tucked a pink Euro into her shirt. "Merci, Amélie," he said and she laughed. When he turned back to Gerard, his eyes were still amused.
"Monsieur Carrefour, we are both men of business are we not? I can assure you that I will outfit you with everything you need to bring both you and that car back safely. My business I prefer to keep my own. Shall we leave it at that?" He passed Gerard a business card with two fingers. Gerard took it. "Meet me at that address tomorrow morning for your flight plan and introduction to your team."
"My team? I think you misunderstand. I work alone."
Duquesne's eyes glittered. "Not on this mission, I'm afraid. Believe me, you'll be thankful."
Gerard frowned. "You are making this sound more and more dangerous, M. Duquesne."
"Does that bother you?"
"Not as long as the odds aren't impossible."
"They're not. Just…stacked unevenly against us." He stood and tossed some money on the table, enough to cover a round for four. "Tomorrow morning, then."
Gerard nodded, turning back in his seat to stare at the business card and wonder what the fuck he'd gotten himself in to this time.
Five Days Ago
It was a dark and stormy night. The atmosphere was thick with adjectives.
So Sam thought as he lay on his back in his bed, tossing a basketball into the air and catching it coolly as if he were actually good at sports. When he tried to make a shot into the basket hanging on his wall, the ball bounced off of the rim and landed in his laundry hamper. Sam pretended that it had not.
The rain was really coming down; rare for this time of year in Nevada. Not really being used to it, Sam didn't have the slightest clue as to how to entertain himself all night. His parents were at the neighbors playing Bridge like old people should (though Sam often wondered what kind of Bridge resulted in tipsy mothers) and Miles was on vacation in the mountains. Even Mikaela had laughed apologetically over the phone when she told Sam she had to baby-sit. That left Sam with his usual alternative.
He logged online and double clicked 'Bumblebee' on his MSN buddy list.
-I'm bored-, he typed. Almost instantaneously, the response flashed on his screen.
-That is certainly understandable, Sam. What can I do to help?-
-What's it like out there?-
-It is very wet.-
Sam smiled. –Aside from that.-
-Not terrible, traction is acceptable. Visibility suboptimal but not impossible. Did you need to go somewhere?-
-Not really. Nowhere to go. Wanna play chess?-
-It is unlikely that you will win. I am a highly advanced cybertronic being capable of anticipating all moves, and you are terrible at chess.-
-Dream the impossible dream, buddy.-
The chess window popped open. Bumblebee waited, allowing Sam the first move. He moved his pawn, and before he could blink Bumblebee had countered.
-How come we haven't heard from the others in a while?- Sam asked conversationally in the box provided for in-game chats.
-Actually, I have been meaning to tell you about that. You are aware of the land the American government granted us in gratitude for our service to Earth?-
-Yeah, what about it?-
-We have been building a new city there, a home base for us and the new Autobot arrivals.-
-Whoa. There are more of you now?-
There was a slight delay as Bumblebee captured Sam's Knight. –A few. None that I have seen yet, but hopefully there will be more soon.-
-Crazy. Can I visit?-
-Yes. When it is deemed safe, you will be more than welcome. In reality, I am needed there the day after tomorrow to perform a few duties. I am loathe to leave you unguarded, but my assumption is that they will send someone to replace me during that time. Will you be alright?-
Sam laughed, abandoning the doomed game altogether. –Duh. There haven't been Decepticon attacks in forever, and I'm not just gonna drop dead.-
A pause. -Please don't say such things.-
Fondness swelled in Sam at his guardian's concern. –Screw chess. Wanna go get a burger?-
-Do not drop French fries in me again.-
-Pinky swear.-
Sam relaxed back into Bumblebee's seats, happy and full. Bee kept the temperature perfect – not too cold, no humidity. The rain falling cast shadows on Sam's skin, dappling the dim light on his clothes.
"What are you gonna do on the base, Bee? I mean…you have to have a job other than being my babysitter."
There was an amused ripple of static through the radio. "I am the Autobot's foremost reconnaissance expert," Bumblebee said with no small amount of pride.
Sam grinned, looking at the dashboard. "You're a spy?"
"Something like that. A gatherer of information."
"That's totally bitchin'. I never guessed."
"I'm afraid the meaning of this word escapes me."
"It's awesome."
"Oh. I suppose." They were quiet for a few minutes, Sam sipping on the remnants of his strawberry shake. Watching the rain made Sam feel strange, more sober or thoughtful than usual. He thought back over the past few months, about how his life had changed. He certainly didn't feel as awkward at school anymore – having a giant robot with GUNS as your best friend certainly did wonders for one's self esteem. He had the girl, he had the car…he drew idle circles on the gear shift, enjoying the feel of the leather.
"…Sam."
Speaking of the girl, things with Mikaela were going better than he'd expected. He'd thought she'd change her mind as soon as the shell-shock wore off. Instead, they'd become even closer, hanging out and playing video games just like he and Miles did. It was when she wanted to do more than those things that the trouble started. It wasn't that he was nervous, per se –
"Sam."
-It was more that he didn't like it when tough, boyish, sarcastic Mikaela turned into predatory, girlish Mikaela. It was like he was getting a glimpse of what Trent used to see – and he felt great about having what Trent wanted of course – but it was alien and awkward and –
"Sam!"
Sam blinked and drew his hand back. "Uh…oh, sorry, spaced out. What's up?"
There was static, then: "Your curfew is almost here."
"Oh. Yeah, okay. Let's go back." As Bee pulled out of the parking lot, Sam forced his thoughts away from Mikaela, vowing to analyze it when he was more inclined.
Another car in the lot, a black Sentra with innocuous-looking plates, flicked on its headlights. In the driver's seat a man with a handsome face and a bomber jacket spoke quietly into his cell phone.
"This is Carrefour. They've just left and I am in pursuit. More as things develop."
The only other witness to the departure of the Sentra was a police car tucked into an alley beside the Sonic, the engine rumbling to life with no driver to pilot it.