Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Sam sat staring at the television, only peripherally aware of the plot of the soap opera that was currently playing. It wouldn't be accurate to say that he was watching the show, because he wasn't, but he was looking in the direction of the screen to maintain appearances. All of his focus was on his mother, who sat beside him on the couch, holding his hand tightly in her lap.
Neither of them spoke.
Sam tried hard not to think about all of the times that his mother had hugged him, or kissed his forehead, or ran her fingers through his hair, and he had pulled away from her, complaining.
Such a child. He thought to himself, grimly, Didn't realize that she wouldn't be around forever.
It was a surprisingly long time before Williams and his father returned to the lounge. At the sound of his father's heavy footsteps, his mother turned around and pinned him with her trademark disapproving frown.
"Honestly, Ron, did you go piss off the side of the ship? What took you so long?"
His father shrugged.
"I had something I needed to do."
He sat down heavily in the armchair that he had occupied before he'd left, drumming his fingers on the upholstery for a minute or two, before he pinned them with a heavy look.
"The ship's going to dock in three hours." He said, grimly, "We need to be ready to go when it does."
His mother's grip tightened on his fingers. Sam lifted his bad hand and put it over hers, squeezing back gently.
"Do you guys know where you're going?" He asked, after a heavy pause.
Ron lifted one shoulder in a haphazard shrug.
"Somewhere in the United Kingdom, we've been told."
Sam frowned. It was one thing to be forced to go into hiding, it was another thing entirely to be expected to leave the country. He opened his mouth to inquire further, but his father headed him off.
"Don't know much more than that, Sam. We'll be moving around a lot over the next couple of months."
There was a distant look on his father's face that made Sam's insides twist with guilt. He knew how much his dad loved their house, and how much pride he took in maintaining his property. Sam had spent many hours with his father as he weeded, mowed, whippersnipped, and landscaped their small piece of California to his satisfaction.
The guilt in his stomach grew heavy, nauseating.
"I'm sorry you got caught up in all of this." He said quietly.
His father's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed sharply.
"No. Don't you dare apologize. None of this was your fault."
Sam's eyes fell to his lap. He knew in a detached sort of way that his father was right, but it didn't assuage the guilt that was twisting up his insides.
"Well, I'm sorry anyway. For how it all turned out." Sam paused, "Will you ever be able to go back home?"
The anger on his father's face softened into an expression of fond exasperation.
"Sam, don't worry about us. I'm three years away from retirement. You know that we were going to buy an RV and travel; we're just stepping up the timeline a bit." His father's voice became sardonic as he continued, "Besides, our vacation to Paris was cut short, and I'd like the chance to see Europe."
The corner of Sam's lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. His parents had been talking about their retirement plans for as long as he could remember—they'd probably been planning it since before he'd been born.
His mother carded her fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time in the last hour, and sighed in annoyance.
"I hope they have a barber on staff wherever you're going." She said, "I don't want you looking like some transient."
His father huffed a dry laugh.
"It's a military base, Judy. I promise you, they'll have a barber."
For some reason, the discussion about his hair reminded him of Mikaela. Keenly aware of how little time they had left, Sam looked over his shoulder at the clock hanging in the kitchenette. It had been almost two hours since his parents had finished their debriefing. What was taking her so long?
Sam stood up and walked over to Williams, who had resumed his position by the door. The solider smiled at him as he approached.
"Hey Sam. What do you need?"
"Robin, do you know when Mikaela will be finished her debriefing? It's been hours." He asked.
A small frown furrowed Robin's brow, "I told Richmond that we would either be in the officer's lounge or the conference room. I'm sure he'll bring her when she's free."
Anxiety was building in Sam's chest at the prospect of waiting any longer to speak with her. Time was rapidly running out.
"Could you go check to see how much longer it'll be? We have less than three hours." Sam asked, plaintively.
The soldier nodded slowly and got to his feet.
"Yeah, okay. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."
Sam nodded in relief, leaning against the wall as the solider stepped into the corridor. From behind him, his mother loudly announced, "You know what? I'm starving. Ron, do you want anything to eat?"
His father waved her off, shaking his head. His mother stood up and walked across the room to the kitchenette, opening the small fridge and rummaging around. She talked to herself quietly as she worked, pulling out condiments and foodstuff. Once she had retrieved what she wanted, she began opening and closing cupboards and pulling open drawers, retrieving plates and cutlery. She was halfway through making a sandwich when Williams returned. Sam looked at him in anxious anticipation, before he noticed the stymied look on the soldier's face. His heart sank.
"I'm sorry Sam. Mikaela's briefing ended forty-five minutes ago. She's not in the office or in the conference room."
It only took Sam the space of a heartbeat to realize what had happened.
When Sam had started applying to colleges, Mikaela had been enthusiastic and supportive. She had helped him prepare applications to Stanford, UCLA, and Berkeley without complaint. She even helped him price-check residences, search for apartments, and research potential programs. But once he had decided to apply to Princeton and MIT, she had become cagey and distant. Throughout the entire process, she carefully avoided discussion about the east coast schools, always directing conversation back to his top picks in California. When he had made the decision to accept Princeton's enrollment offer, she hadn't spoken to him for two days. When she finally accepted his calls, she had told him that she was breaking up with him. Sam had been completely blindsided, and they proceeded to have the worst fight of their relationship. It had taken hours for Sam to ferret out the root of the problem: Mikaela wasn't willing to move to the east coast with him, and she didn't want a long-distance relationship. They had eventually agreed on a compromise: he would fly home for every break, and she'd fly up on long weekends. Their relationship had gone on, but there was notable strain between them that hadn't been there before.
Sam's eyes closed in pain. He knew, instinctively knew, that she had made the decision to leave him. This avoidance was to protect them both from the pain of a protracted good-bye.
The first thought that crossed his mind was that he had to go and find her. He had to try to reason with her, to make her see that their relationship was something special—something worth the sacrifice, the distance, and the heartache. With great difficulty, he set that impulse aside. Sam was fully aware of Mikaela's feelings about long distance relationships, and he loved her too much to inflict a lifetime of loneliness and separation on her.
To his surprise, Sam felt a twist of anger. After everything that he had experienced over the last week, did she really need to do this right now? When he only had three hours left with his parents? But even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized that's exactly why she did it. Mikaela wanted him to spend his remaining time with his mom and dad, instead of fighting with her.
He sighed heavily. If Megatron could outdo the shittiness of the last few days, then Sam would be forced to applaud the Decepticon in sinister appreciation.
His morose thoughts were interrupted by his mother, who called over her shoulder towards them, "What do you want on your sandwich Robin? Tuna or turkey?"
Sam almost laughed at the surprised expression on the soldier's face.
"Uh, that's okay Mrs. Witwicky, I'm not hungry." He said, haltingly but politely.
"Oh nonsense! Look at the size of you. You need the calories if you're going to keep those muscles." She replied.
In the face of her persistence, Williams shrugged helplessly, "Tuna then, thank-you."
His mother hummed in acknowledgement, and went about fixing the solider a sandwich. In short order, she brought them each a small plate. Sam looked down and saw that she had made him a turkey sandwich, just the way he liked it. He was caught completely by surprise by the wave of emotion that rocked him at the sight. He had to turn around abruptly to hide his expression from his mother.
When he had composed himself a moment later, he settled down at the trestle table across from Williams and his mom. He ate his sandwich slowly, savoring every bite as he tried to burn into his mind the memory of the last meal she'd ever make him. When he had finished, Sam murmured thanks to his mother and stood up. He gathered their plates, pressing a kiss to the side of her head as he did so, and walked the dishes over to the sink.
Shortly thereafter, Sam found himself back on the couch with another one of his father's shows playing on the television. This time, however, none of them spoke. They sat in companionable silence, occasionally making eye contact with one another and exchanging faint smiles, as the episode rolled on. Then another, and another after that. In no time at all, there was a loud crackle as the PA system came to life and a voice was instructing all hands on board to prepare for arrival. Sam and his father exchanged a grim look as they got to their feet. Williams was there, then, with a serious expression on his face.
"Let me take you to your quarters to retrieve any of your personal effects, and then we need to head to the flight deck." He said.
"Alright," His mother said resolvedly, "Let's go."
Williams turned around and led them out of the officer's lounge. Sam tried to pay attention, he did, but his heart was starting to pound quickly and there was static building in his mind.
This was it. It was happening.
As though in a dream, Sam followed Williams as he led them through the ship. It seemed to be only a moment before he was standing in the small room that had been his quarters for the last three days—though he'd barely spent any time there. Sam grabbed the brown paper bag that Williams had given him outside of the brig, quickly sweeping up the pill bottles and the toiletries and the bottle of water that he'd laid out on the bedside table. He was in such a daze that he almost missed the note. It wasn't until he had turned on his heel to leave the room that the slip of white paper caught his eye, resting on his pillow.
Sam stared at it for a long moment, his heart tightening painfully as he recognized his name written in Mikaela's neat scrawl. He bent down and picked up the folded note with numb fingers. He knew exactly what this was, and he found that he had no desire to add to the emotional turmoil he was already feeling. Without opening the note, he slipped the piece of paper into his pocket and stepped back out into the corridor. His mother and father were waiting for him, both holding a small duffle bag. Williams looked at each of them in turn.
"All set?"
Ron nodded in response, "Ready as we'll ever be."
Williams nodded curtly and gestured for them to follow. Sam clutched at the paper bag reflexively as they walked, mildly distracted by the hubbub around him. The ship, which had been quiet over the last three days, had become a hive of activity. Soldiers were streaming through the halls, talking animatedly with one another as they took up posts, changed shifts, and prepared to finish docking. So it was that Sam stepped out onto the flight deck into a flurry of organized chaos. He weaved his way around officers and soldiers who were briskly moving back and forth across the deck. At last, Sam came to stand at the edge of the deck and stare out over the water at Camp Lemonnier. The naval base was visible in the distance, rows of white buildings situated in the dusty desert. Immediately in front of him was the dock, an enormous expanse of metal platforms that extended into the ocean up and down the shore. The USS Theodore Roosevelt was resting at the far end of the marina, its gangplank extended to the dock. There was a collection of soldiers and black SUVs and camo-colored military trucks assembled on the shore.
Sam's eyes swept the shoreline, taking it all in. He frowned as he noticed the Autobots further away, closer to the base's perimeter fence. Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide were in their bipedal forms, while the others were in their alt forms. After a moment, he looked purposefully away.
Williams coughed behind them politely, and Sam glanced at him over his shoulder.
"We have to head on down now." He said, an apology in his voice.
Ron nodded, and they slowly made their way across the ship. The entire journey passed as though it was a dream; Sam put one foot in front of the other until he was on dry ground again, standing in the semi-circle of identical black SUVs that he had seen from the flight deck.
Sam swallowed hard, closing his eyes as he braced himself.
Don't cry. He thought to himself, desperately.
Suddenly, Sam's mother was there, holding his face in her hands as her expression softened in affection.
"Sammy," She murmured, her eyes searching his face, "You'll be okay. This will be hard, but you'll come out of it stronger. I know it."
Don't cry. Don't you fucking do it.
Sam swallowed hard, his hands coming up to rest on her arms.
"I'll be fine." He confirmed softly, "You don't have to worry about me. I'll be okay."
His father grabbed him tight, holding him close for a heartbeat.
"Be good Sam." His father's rough voice puffed in his ear, "Be good and be safe. Be happy."
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.
His mother ran her hands through his hair, and then dropped them down to smooth over his shoulders.
"You'll be okay." She repeated, like an assurance. Like a plea.
Sam squeezed her arms in his hands.
"I'll be okay." He confirmed again, before he caught her gaze and said convincingly, "I'll be okay, ma."
Her expression wavered precariously for a fraction of a second, and then she took him in her arms. Sam leaned into her chest, his eyes closing in grief. He tried desperately to memorize the feel of her arms around him, the comforting warmth of her body. It was agony, and Sam's heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sensation.
Held tight by his mother as he was, Sam didn't see Ratchet stiffen abruptly and snap his head in Sam's direction.
His family stood there for an interminable time—moments or minutes, it was impossible to say—before Sam heard a polite cough behind them. He lifted his head to see that an unknown agent (soldier?) had stepped close to them. The man had neatly styled hair and a clean-shaven, friendly face. Sam noticed a small pin in the shape of the Autobot insignia affixed to the lapel of his suit.
His expression was quietly sympathetic, "Please, forgive me. Sam, Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, we have to go."
Sam felt panic flood him in an instant. It was too soon, he still had so much to say. Something on his face must have betrayed his feelings, because his father was there in an instant.
"It'll be fine Sam. We'll be okay."
"Dad." He tried, but his voice broke on the word.
His father didn't waver, "You'll be okay, Sam. You can do this." He paused, and ducked his head so that he could look Sam in the eye, "I love you."
"I love you too." Sam replied, his voice shaking so hard he could barely understand the words.
"I love you, Sammy." His mother murmured as she kissed the side of his head.
"Love you ma."
"Sam, if you would please come with me." The agent interrupted, firmly but gently, his arm raised towards an SUV that was sitting with its door open. Sam's eyes darted desperately between his mother and his father, before he squeezed his mother's arms one last time and turned around abruptly. He walked towards the SUV and climbed inside without a backwards glance. As soon as the door closed behind him, Sam dropped his head into his hands and gasped desperately for breath. He could hear muted talking outside of the car, and then he distantly heard a door slam once, twice, and then an engine rolled over. When Sam looked up again, his parents were gone.
Sam sat like that for a long while, his hands pressed against his mouth, staring sightlessly through the windshield. He had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually the door opposite to him opened and William Lennox climbed into the backseat beside him. He started in surprise, opening his mouth to greet the man when he took in the soldier's appearance. Will's posture was rigid, his jaw tight and his face stricken. When he pulled the door shut behind him, the older man turned his head and stared steadfastly out the window without a word.
Sam looked at the soldier for a moment before he asked simply, "They got you too, huh?"
A muscle jumped in Will's jaw, but he did not reply and Sam did not press him any further. The two of them sat in tense silence for several minutes, until both front doors of the SUV opened simultaneously. The agent from earlier climbed into the passenger seat and smiled at them from over his shoulder.
"Captain Lennox, Sam." The man greeted them, "My name is Dave Carter. It's nice to finally meet you both. I am Optimus Prime's personal assistant."
"His personal assistant?" Sam repeated in surprised disbelief, "Like an actual personal assistant? Or some Autobot version of the term?"
The corner of Dave's mouth turned up in a smile, "Like an actual personal assistant. I manage his calendar, arrange meetings, answer phone calls and e-mails, the whole nine yards. I am responsible for managing Optimus' daily business and his personal affairs."
As Carter spoke, the driver started the ignition and pulled away smoothly. The SUV trundled towards the perimeter fence and, after flashing his identification, the driver pulled through the gate and continued into the depths of the base. It was no time at all before the SUV pulled to a stop in front of a small private jet, its ramp extended to the tarmac. As soon as the car came to a stop, Dave was climbing out of the car and pulled open Sam's door.
"This way please, Sam." He said.
Sam climbed up the stairs towards the plane, following the agent closely. Inside was a small but upscale cabin, lined in white leather seats and gray carpeting. There was a glossy oak table on one side of the plane, with two seats on each side. Dave walked to the nearest of these and sat down, gesturing for Sam and Will to do the same. Will worked his jaw for a moment before he stepped forward and sat down across from the agent, taking the seat nearest to the window. Sam sat down beside him a moment later.
A flight attendant came out of the small galley in the back of the plane, approaching their table. She was dressed in a professional looking charcoal pantsuit, her hair in a tight bun at the nap of her neck.
"Good afternoon gentlemen, welcome aboard." She said, her voice smooth and pleasant.
"Hello again Tanya." Dave greeted. The flight attended nodded at him, and then turned her attention to Sam and Will.
"Captain Lennox, Mr. Witwicky, may I have your phones please?" She asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Will stiffen from head to toe. The flight attendant must have seen it too, for she continued apologetically, "I am sorry, but all civilian telecommunications equipment is vulnerable to Decepticon interference. I will need your phones before we can take off."
Sam frowned at her. His phone had all of his text messages with Mikaela and his parents, plus all of the pictures and videos he'd taken over the last two years. He was opening up his mouth to protest when Will reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, handing it to her without a word. Sam glanced at the soldier in surprise.
"Sam." Was all Will said, jerking his head towards the flight attendant.
Sam nodded slowly, pulling out his own phone and handing it to her quietly.
"Thank-you both. Do you care for any refreshments? Water? Tea?"
"Any chance you have Lagavulin?" Will asked dryly.
"Of course Captain Lennox." The flight attendant confirmed before turning her focus on Sam, "And yourself, Mr. Witwicky?"
Sam shrugged, and tried hopefully, "I'll have what he's having."
"Right away." The flight attended responded, pivoting on her heel and returning to the galley in the back of the plane. Sam's eyebrows raised to his hairline in surprise. He hadn't thought that would actually work.
The corners of Dave's mouth quirked in barely concealed amusement.
"Eighteen years is the age of consent on most military bases, Sam. Optimus has decided to adopt the same for Diego Garcia since it was acquired by the Autobots."
Sam nodded slowly in response, relieved to hear it. At least he wasn't going to be considered a minor, on top of everything else.
Then, a sudden thought occurred to him: he had no clue what Lagavulin even was. Was it whiskey? Scotch? He frowned briefly in consternation. His limited experience with alcohol had been mostly beer and hard cider. Once he had tried bourbon at Miles' house when his parents had been out of town, but he hadn't cared for it.
His train of thought was interrupted when Dave pulled out a briefcase and set it on the table, thumbing it open. He handed a thick manila folder to Sam, who placed it on the table in front of him, and then he was passing them each an identification badge on a black lanyard.
"Please keep these badges on your person at all times. They control what areas of the base you have access to, including the ranges, the labs, and your personal quarters."
Sam glanced down curiously. The badge was the size of a credit card. It had his picture in one corner, his name and identification number in the center. There was a long barcode at the bottom. In the top right-hand corner of the badge was printed "G2". Sam slipped the lanyard over his heard obediently, and then turned his attention to the folder in front of him. Before he could open the folder, however, the flight attendant was back. She set coasters down in front of him and Will, on which she placed identical tumblers filled with two fingers of a light amber-colored liquid. To Dave, she handed what appeared to be a glass of ice water.
"Please fasten your seatbelts in preparation for take-off. Is there anything else you require before we are in the air?"
"No, thank-you Tanya." Dave said politely, and she nodded once before returning to the aft of the plane. Sam dutifully fastened his seatbelt, tightening it more than strictly necessary. He had never been a fan of flying.
Will lifted his tumbler to his mouth and took a sip, staring resolutely out the window.
Sam glanced back at the folder, opening it to find a neat stack of papers staring back at him.
"This is the standard welcome docket that all the new recruits receive." Dave explained, "It contains information about the SOPs of the base, including information about shifts and duty rosters. It also contains information about the command structure of NEST."
Sam's curiosity was heightened, and he began to flip through the papers. The first sheet was a generic welcome letter, with the NEST insignia in one corner and the Autobot insignia in the other. He skimmed through it quickly. The next page was much more interesting. It was a simple flow chart entitled 'NEST Command Structure – Terrestrial'. At the top of the diagram was Optimus Prime's name, with the words Supreme Commander below his name in brackets. There was an arrow from his name down to a level titled Sub-Commanders, where he saw Ratchet (Chief Medical Officer), Ironhide (Weapons Specialist), Wheeljack (Chief Science Officer), and Jazz (Special Ops). Printed below Jazz's name in small letters was the word 'Incapacitated'. Beside Jazz's name was William Lennox (Special Ops).
There was another downward arrow and this level was labeled Commanders. On this line he saw Bumblebee (Scout), Arcee (Scout), Chromia (Infiltrator), Elita-One (Infiltrator), Jolt (Shock trooper), Mudflap (Theoretician), and Skids (Messenger).
There was another downward arrow and what Sam assumed to be the human command structure began. There was an arrow connecting this sub-tier directly to Will's name.
Sam turned the page and blinked in surprise. This was a far more complicated flow chart, titled 'NEST Command Structure – Complete'. A legend informed him that black names referred to Autobots on Earth, whereas grayed out names referred to Autobots whose location was unknown. This flowchart began with the grayed out name Sentinel Prime (Autobot Leader), who was connected to Optimus Prime. On this chart there was another tier below Optimus' name titled Secondary Commanders. A series of gray names were listed, including Prowl (Chief Military Strategist), Ultra Magnus (City Commander), and Kup (Elite Guard).
There were many more grayed out names on the Sub-Commanders line and the Commanders line, most of which Sam had never heard of before. He thought he recognized the names Hot Rod and Preceptor, and he remembered Bumblebee talking about the mech named Cliffjumper, who was listed on the Commanders line.
The lines connecting teams and officers on this flow chart were far more complicated, and Sam gave up trying to make sense of it after a few moments. When he looked up from the paper, he realized that the plane was already in the air.
"I had no idea the command structure at NEST was so complicated." He admitted, as he picked up his glass and brought it to his mouth. He was keenly aware of Lennox watching him out of the corner of his eye, so Sam schooled his face into a neutral expression and took a sip—the amber liquid burned all the way down.
Smooth. He thought, grimacing internally.
"It's very complicated." Dave agreed.
"Why are the NEST human soldiers automatically at the bottom of the hierarchy?" Sam asked curiously.
"It's a matter of practicality." Will replied, surprising him, "The Autobots share a tactical communications network that they utilize during battle. It allows them to share instantaneous information about situational updates, troop movements, enemy combatants, and more. The battlefield command structure can change battle-to-battle, even minute-to-minute, depending on who is engaged, who is injured, and who arrives to reinforce. Since humans don't have access to the tacnet, they are placed below Autobots in the command structure."
Sam nodded slowly and continued to leaf through the docket. There was information about non-disclosure clauses and confidentiality agreements that was all too familiar. There was also information about the different shops, services, and mess halls on base, including their location and hours of operation. By the time Sam had worked his way through the packet, his tumbler was empty.
Dave smiled at him as he looked up from the folder.
"Any questions?" Dave asked.
Only about a million. Sam thought to himself.
"What am I going to do all day?" He asked aloud instead.
"You are going to be attending university remotely." Dave replied, much to Sam's surprise, "You will be taking a combination of on-line and experiential learning courses. Although you are free to choose whatever major you wish, you will be required to take a minor in political science."
"I already told Optimus thanks but no thanks about the Ambassador position." He said frowning.
Dave only shrugged sympathetically, and Sam sat back with a huff. Honestly, the Autobot leader could be like a dog with a bone when he took a mind to it.
"Where am I going to be staying?" He asked, changing the subject.
"There have been quarters set aside for you in the officer's section of the main compound." Dave replied.
Sam nodded, relieved that he wouldn't have to share a room. He had had fears that he'd be stuck in a large communal barracks like the berthing compartment he had seen on the battleship.
"When will I get my stuff from my dorm room?" He asked next.
Dave's face softened sympathetically, "Unfortunately, your things have been confiscated by the American government. Although I am sure we will get them back eventually, your personal effects have been replaced in the interim."
Sam blinked at the man across the table, "Come again?"
"New clothing, toiletries, books, and other effects have been purchased on your behalf. If you need or want anything else, you will go through Procurement. You've been assigned a monthly stipend to cover your expenses."
"Assigned a monthly stipend? Assigned by who? For what?"
"Your stipend comes from Optimus' budget line. It has been set aside for your personal use; there are no stipulations attached."
The answer was so unbelievable that Sam hardly knew what part to address first.
"Wait, you're saying that Optimus is paying me an allowance?" He asked, torn between hilarity, disbelief, and irritation all at once.
Dave shrugged, "I guess you could think of it that way, but Prime has budget lines for all of the Cybertronians under his command. That includes you as well, Captain Lennox."
Will waved the man off, sipping at a second glass of whiskey. This was all old news to him, Sam knew.
Dave reached once again into his briefcase and pulled out two identical looking cellphones, handing them across the table first to Will and then to Sam.
"These phones are for your use. They have been calibrated to allow functionality within the main bunker, which (due to its construction as well as its security features) impairs the signal of regular cell phones."
Sam stared at the phone curiously, before powering it on with a press of his thumb. Expecting the logo of a popular consumer electronics developer, he was therefore surprised to see the Autobot symbol appear, stark black against the white loading screen. When the phone finished powering on, he saw it was relatively similar to the operating system of an iPhone, but with far fewer pre-loaded applications. He had a text icon, a phone icon, an e-mail icon, and a web browser. At the bottom of the screen there was a red icon with an exclamation mark. Out of curiosity, Sam opened the contacts list and was surprised to see the names of every Autobot on base listed, as well as a list of human contacts that included both Dave and Will. Sam closed out of the contacts list and stared again at the red icon at the bottom of the screen. He lifted his eyes to Dave, opening his mouth to voice the question when the agent cut him off.
"It's a panic button." He explained, "Press and hold for three seconds, and it will send an alert to the tacnet."
"Do these only work within the base?" Will asked, "Or can we also make international calls?"
Dave shook his head, "Wheeljack is working on it, but international calls require satellite connectivity, and it's too great of a risk with Soundwave still in orbit."
Sam opened his mouth to ask Dave to explain further, but the PA system cracked to life and a male voice announced, "Please prepare for arrival. We be will on the ground in five minutes."
He glanced down at his watch, surprised to see that they had been in the air for over three hours. Dave reached into his lap and fastened his seatbelt once again, and Sam quickly followed suit. The flight attendant appeared then, gathering up the glassware and cleaning off the table, before she took her seat in the aft of the plane.
Sam glanced out the window, and he had to admit that the view was beautiful. The late afternoon sun glinted off the vast expanse of cerulean water, which lapped at the white sand beaches of the atoll. When he craned his neck, he could see the military installation in the near distance, neat lines of white buildings and large hangars interspersed with open training areas and bordered by dense forest.
It was no time at all before the plane made a smooth landing, and taxied to a stop at the end of the runway. The speaker cracked to life once again.
"Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Diego Garcia. Local time is 4:14 PM and it is a balmy 32 degree Celsius. Enjoy your stay."
Notes: I apologize if I butchered the Autobot command structure too badly. I am trying to reconcile G1, Autobots: Prime, and Bayverse command structures, and it hasn't been easy. And yes, some familiar faces will be making an appearance in later chapters!