(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Sam slept for a long while, undisturbed by nightmares or the sounds of an unfamiliar place. When he finally awoke, slowly and reluctantly, it was to the feeling of Bumblebee's fingers carding through his hair. The touch was gentle and familiar, and Sam made a soft sound in response.
Bumblebee continued combing his fingers through Sam's short curls as he pressed a kiss against the crown of his head. "Good morning."
"We're in space." Sam grumbled, shifting forward to push his face into the crook of the holoform's neck, "There's no such thing as morning."
He could feel Bumblebee's amusement swelling across their bond. "The Ark operates on a two-shift cycle. The first shift just began."
Sam was warm and comfortable and half-asleep, which was the only reason why he asked, "How long is each shift?"
"Sixteen hours." Bumblebee replied, giving Sam's curls a gentle tug, "Cybertron's planetary rotation takes thirty-two hours."
The mention of Cybertron brought with it all the memories of the last three days. Sam's breath shuddered out of him as he finally lifted his head, staring around their quarters. The overhead lights had been turned off sometime during the night cycle, plunging the room into shadow. The only illumination came from an emergency light located above the door, which cast an orange-red glow across the room. Bumblebee was still parked beside the bed in his alt-mode, and he looked almost golden brown in the low light.
"How are you feeling?" Bumblebee asked, softly.
Sam settled his head back against the holoform's chest as he considered his response. He felt less raw and jagged—less like he was going to fall apart at any moment. Still, the rest had done nothing to alleviate the hallow ache inside his chest. It was as though homesickness and grief had carved him out and taken root behind his sternum.
"Alright, I guess." He murmured, "How long was I asleep?"
"Almost ten hours." Bumblebee replied, sliding his hand down to cup the side of Sam's face, "You needed it."
Sam snorted and batted his hand away. "I'm guessing I have Ratchet to thank for that."
The Creator bond was still and quiet, but he could distantly feel Ratchet's presence. The medic did not seem to be paying much attention to him, but Sam knew better than to underestimate Ratchet's ability to multitask.
Or stomp all over personal boundaries. He thought, snidely.
The thought did not garner any reaction from the wizened glow inside his mind, and Sam huffed in irritation. Ratchet rarely interfered with his sleeping, but he was unrepentant whenever he did so.
Bumblebee brushed a feather-soft kiss against his temple. "He only wanted to help."
"Yeah, I know." Sam grumbled, pulling the blankets up around his ears, "What's the temperature? It's freezing in here."
"It's nine degrees Celsius." Bumblebee replied apologetically, "The temperature will fluctuate between five and ten degrees, unless there's something wrong with the environmental unit."
Sam made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat. "I should have packed a space heater."
Bumblebee chuckled at him. "It wouldn't help. There's too little insulation."
Sam frowned faintly at that. The temperature onboard the Nemesis had been one of the worst parts of his captivity. He had been cold all the time, sometimes until his body ached from it. He wasn't looking forward to a repeat experience.
"You have plenty of cold-weather clothing." Bumblebee assured him, "You'll be comfortable."
Sam didn't trust himself to reply, and so he said nothing at all. He shifted forward, wrapping a leg over Bumblebee's thighs and pressing against him. The holoform didn't emit body heat like a human being, but he was warmer than the ambient temperature in the room, which was a definite plus.
He could feel the swell of Bumblebee's fond amusement across their bond-space. Evidentially, the scout had been following his train of thought.
"I'm serious." Sam murmured into simulated skin, "If it gets much colder, I'll be sleeping in your cab."
"Don't be dramatic. You're perfectly warm and you know it." Bumblebee chuckled.
It was warm beneath the blankets and comforters and fleece pajamas, Sam would concede, but the rest of the ship would be another matter entirely.
"I'm not being dramatic—I'm being organic." Sam grumbled in reply.
There was the sound of shifting metal and rotating components, and then Bumblebee was crouching down beside the bed in his bipedal mode.
"Yes Sam, I know." He said fondly, "And speaking of which, you haven't eaten in seventeen hours. You should get up."
Sam sighed softly. He hadn't noticed his hunger the night before, distracted as he was by his grief, but now his stomach was grumbling. He briefly considered lying back down and putting it off, but Bumblebee just quirked a brow ridge at the same time his holoform yanked the blankets aside. The rush of cold air was entirely unwelcome, and Sam shouted a protest as he reached for the covers.
"Get up." The holoform said, twitching the blankets further away, "The sooner you get dressed, the sooner you'll be warm again."
Recognizing the unyielding tone of his voice, Sam scrambled off the bed and pulled open the drawer beneath the mattress. He was met with tidy rows of clothing, including pants, short-sleeved shirts, long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, and underthings. The sight of the boxers, fresh out of the package and folded neatly in piles, gave him a strange turn, but he was too cold to comment on it. Instead, he grabbed the first warm things he could find and started getting undressed.
"Traitor." Sam grumbled through chattering teeth, "Sadist."
Sam yanked the nightshirt off over his head, before pulling on a long-sleeved Henley. He repeated the process with his pants, and then he slipped into a cable-knit, high-necked infantry sweater. The material was thick and woollen, and Sam fastened the buttons with a twist of his wrist. When he finished, Bumblebee handed him a pair of socks and his shoes. Sam sat on the edge of the bed long enough to pull them on, and then he combed his fingers through his hair.
"I'm getting you back for that." He promised.
Bumblebee whistled an approximation of Scooby-Doo's ruh-oh soundbite, and then he initiated his transformation sequence. Sam gave him a pointed look as he shifted from bipedal to alt mode, and when the transformation was complete, he slid off the bed. Bumblebee opened his driver's side door as he approached, and Sam climbed into the seat without hesitation. The vents on the dashboard were already on, blowing warm air into the cabin.
Sam's lips twitched up in a fond smile. "Yeah, alright, you're forgiven."
Bumblebee chirruped at him as he rolled towards the door, which slid open of its own accord. They made their way down the corridor, but rather than turning in the direction of the mess hall, as Sam had expected, Bumblebee pulled through a set of double-wide doors at the end of the hall. It only took Sam a second to realize where they were.
The wash racks.
The room was not dissimilar in design to the wash racks in North Quad. There were nozzles of varying heights and sizes set against one wall, and a broad cabinet bolted to another. Unlike the North Quad, however, there was a tall partition cordoning off one corner of the room. Bumblebee drove towards it, and Sam saw that it was outfitted with a human-sized entrance.
The Camaro pulled to a stop in front of the partition and popped open the driver's side door. "Go on."
Sam climbed out of the cabin and pushed open the door with his fingertips. The space within would not have looked out of place in a locker room. There was a bathroom stall in one corner and an open-air shower in the other. A sink stood between them, and a tall cabinet was affixed to the wall on his right.
Sam stared around the space in a mixture of surprise and disbelief, before he ambled over towards the cabinet. A cursory examination revealed an assortment of bath linens, toiletries, and toilet paper within. He stared at the items for a long time, before he asked, faintly, "Who bought all of this stuff?"
"Carter and I purchased your clothing and toiletries." Bumblebee's disembodied voice replied.
The clear, plastic bottles contained an assortment of gels and liquids identified only by a plain label. Sam reached out, pushing aside a bottle stamped shampoo and conditioner to look at the others. There was one bottle for body wash, another for body lotion, and a third for mouthwash.
"We have stored your toiletries in bulk." Bumblebee said, answering his unspoken question, "You can refill the bottles when they're empty."
Sam slowly shut the cabinet doors, and then he ambled across the space. The sink looked like something out of an airplane lavatory, complete with a paper towel dispenser affixed to the wall and a waste chute with a flap on the counter. He walked passed the sink towards the bathroom stall and, upon pushing open the door, found a standard two-piece toilet. The sight of the plumbing fixture hit Sam unexpectedly hard—he had been expecting the waste disposal system from the Nemesis or something equally alien.
Sam stared around the space for a long moment, feeling precariously unbalanced. Eventually, his physical needs made themselves felt, and Sam went about his morning ablutions as quickly as possible—the toilet seat and the tap water were positively frigid. When he finished, he left the makeshift bathroom and climbed back into Bumblebee's cabin.
"There are wash racks on the third and fourth decks that have also been outfitted with lavatory facilities, and there is a washroom in Ratchet's medical bay." Bumblebee helpfully supplied as they accelerated out of the room, "He insisted."
Sam was silent for the time it took them to drive back into the corridor, and then he asked, "How much water did you guys store?"
Bumblebee slowed as he turned down the T-junction in the direction of the mess hall. "Approximately 30,000 gallons."
Sam frowned faintly, trying to do the mental math, but Bumblebee answered his question before he could voice it. "The average person uses 100 gallons of water a day—most of it on bathing and waste elimination. The Ark has a filtration system that will recycle water in 1000-gallon intervals. The remaining volume accounts for perspiration, evaporation, and emergency supply."
Sam's brow furrowed as he took in the information. "I guess Ratchet wasn't exaggerating when he said you guys thought of everything."
Bumblebee chir-chir-chirred in laughter as he pulled into the mess hall. The room was largely the same as it had been the night before, with one significant exception—Hot Rod, Cliffjumper, Bluestreak, and two unfamiliar mechanoids were sitting at the trestle table in the center of the room. The five mechanoids turned as they entered, and Sam could see several containers of energon resting on the table between them.
Bumblebee rolled across the room and came to a stop near the kitchenette. Sam took a deep, fortifying breath, and then he opened the door and climbed out of the car.
"Good morning, Sam." Cliffjumper rumbled, inclining his head.
"Morning, Cliff." Sam replied with a half-smile as Bumblebee pulled the door shut behind him and initiated his transformation sequence.
"Hey, short-stack. How's it hanging?" Hot Rod asked, smirking at him over the rim of an energon container.
"I told you to stop calling me that." Sam grumbled without any heat. He had long since given up on dissuading Hot Rod from referring to him in diminutives.
Bumblebee gave Hot Rod a cool look, before crouching down beside Sam and gesturing towards the counter. "Take a look."
Sam was curious, despite himself, and he ambled over towards the kitchenette. It was similar in design to the kitchenette in Dave Carter's apartment. There was a long row of solid-looking cupboards arranged over a countertop, which included a deep sink and a dishwasher. Sam pulled open one cupboard and then another to reveal dry goods in airtight storage containers. As with the toiletries, each container was marked with a simple label denoting its contents. Sam scanned the labels, relief mounting with each one—there was an assortment of cereals, oatmeal, granola, crackers, and trail mix. None of it seemed to require anything other than a cup of water and a microwave.
"I thought I was going to be eating MREs and rations this entire time." Sam murmured.
"Of course not." Bumblebee replied, before gesturing towards a storage unit against the wall, "Open that."
The container looked like a blend between a refrigerator and a filing cabinet. Sam reached out, clasping the handle and pulling it open. He was met with the sight of tidy rows of cartons stacked on four different shelves. He leaned forward, pulling out a carton at random and read the label: Chicken Lo Mein.
Sam looked from the package to Bumblebee, a grin spreading across his face. "Are you serious?"
Bumblebee's antenna perked up in obvious pleasure. "Absolutely."
Sam turned back around and pulled another carton out of the fridge ("Beef fried rice") and another ("Chicken pot pie"). He grinned from ear to ear as he glanced at Bumblebee over his shoulder.
"I can't believe it." He laughed, "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. I love chicken pot pie."
Bumblebee's expression was very soft as he replied, "It's your grandmother's."
Sam stiffened from head to toe, his heart suddenly palpating in his chest. "…What?"
"The chicken pot pie—your grandmother made it." Bumblebee slowly replied, "She made a great deal of food for you."
Sam gripped the package so tightly that the tendons in his hands ached. "When?"
Bumblebee's expression sharpened with concern, and he shuffled forward a half-step into Sam's personal space.
"Ratchet told her that we could flash-freeze any food she made, and she's been preparing meals ever since." Bumblebee replied, his wing flaps fluttering with concern, "Are you alright? I can put them in storage, if you would prefer."
"No!" Sam choked out, clutching the container to his chest. His voice sounded strangled and pained, even to his own ears. He swallowed against the emotion thickening his throat, and tried again, "No thank-you. It was a surprise, that's all."
Bumblebee's expression was inscrutable but intense. "Are you sure?"
Sam nodded emphatically. "Yes, I'm sure. How do I cook this? I'll have it for breakfast."
Bumblebee stared at him for a moment longer, as though trying to determine whether he was actually all right, before he gestured towards the counter. "You just put it in the—"
The scout broke off, a perplexed expression on his faceplates. Sam followed his line of sight, looking first at the empty countertop and then up at Bumblebee's face.
"Put it in the what?" He asked, confusedly.
Bumblebee stared at the empty countertop in obvious bafflement. "We installed a microwave for you. It should be right there."
The moment stretched on for another beat, and then someone politely cleared their intakes behind them. Sam and Bumblebee turned around in unison to find the five mechanoids watching them with undisguised interest. The noise had come from one of the strangers, a green and black war-build with jagged-looking vambraces.
"Forgive my interruption." He rumbled in a smooth, cultured accent, "I believe I know the whereabouts of your equipment—it will be returned shortly. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Bumblebee canted his head at the same time Bluestreak leaned forward, eager energy in every line of his frame, "Sam, please allow me to introduce Crosshairs, our weapon's supervisor and target master. I told you about him once, do you remember? We haven't seen each other since the Ark-27, and I recently learned that he was selected for Sentinel Prime's excursion into Dark Space. Isn't that marvelous? Pinpointer was chosen to go with him—that's him, sitting there. They're partners. He's not particularly talkative, well, not like me, I mean. Crosshairs can pick-up your training where I left off. He's a gunner and a sniper in his own right, although he would rather maintain a weapon than fire one. I guess that's the biggest difference between Crosshairs and Ironhide."
Sam stared at him the entire time Bluestreak rambled, waiting for a chance to get a word in edge-wise. When he finally finished speaking, Sam gave a wan smile.
"It's nice to meet you both."
Crosshairs respectfully inclined his helm. "It is an honor to serve, Prime."
Sam flushed at the target master's formal tone and demeanor. He turned around, in an effort to disguise his discomfort, and opened the refrigeration unit. He placed the chicken pot pie back on the shelf, before pushing the door shut again.
"I guess I'll have some cereal." Sam muttered.
Bumblebee whistled at him softly, and Sam made his way over to the counter. He opened up one cupboard and then another as he took down a container and a bowl. When he went to put the cereal back in its place, he caught sight of a small canister on the bottom shelf. He reached out, pushing aside a jar of iodized salt and then grinning from ear to ear.
Veranda Blend Light Roast.
"Are you kidding me?" Sam asked, pulling down the container and turning to look at Bumblebee, "You brought me coffee?"
Bumblebee's optics brightened in amusement, but it was Hot Rod who answered him.
"Of course we did." He laughed, "Taking you half-way across the galaxy without caffeine would be cruel and unusual punishment."
Sam grinned appreciatively. "Thanks, guys."
"...For us." Hot Rod added with a shit-eating grin.
Sam rolled his eyes as he turned around, searching for a coffee maker. He found it in a cupboard beneath the counter and, after fiddling with the outlet adapter, he plugged it in and filled it up. He picked up his bowl and started eating while he waited for the water to boil. There wasn't any milk, so he had to eat the cereal dry, but it didn't matter to him either way.
He briefly glanced over his shoulder as he spooned up some more Cheerios, only to pause. Crosshairs and Pinpointer were watching him with a scrutiny that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"What?" He asked.
Crosshairs regarded him for a moment longer, before he inclined his helm. "It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. I have been informed that humans dislike prolonged observation."
"…What?" Sam repeated, dumbly.
"It's rude to stare." Hot Rod drawled, giving Crosshairs a pointed look.
"Yes, quite." He agreed, before turning to look at Sam, "Forgive my indiscretion."
Sam felt a flush spread across his face, pinkening his cheeks. "It's fine."
Crosshairs inclined his head in response, and although he was no longer staring, Sam could feel the weight of his scrutiny. He turned around, finishing the rest of his cereal just as the coffee started percolating. He pulled sugar and powdered creamer out of the cupboard, adding them both to his mug. It turned the steaming liquid a golden caramel color. He tidied up the kitchenette as the coffee finished percolating, and then he picked up the mug.
He turned around, blowing across the steaming liquid, only to realize that Crosshairs was studiously not looking at him. The fact served to irritate him and he asked, tartly, "Oh my god, what is it?"
The target master's optics found his in an instant, his expression one of shocked surprise. "You would blaspheme?"
Sam stared at him for a long moment, gobsmacked, before he shook his head. "Yeah, no, I'm not doing this. Bumblebee?"
His bonded was watching him with bright optics, and as soon as Sam turned towards him, he initiated his transformation sequence. Sam took a deep drink of his scalding coffee, pouring the rest down the drain and leaving the mug in the sink. He was in the process of climbing into Bumblebee's cabin when he heard Hot Rod ask, sarcastically, "Did you even decompress the data packet?"
Bumblebee accelerated out of the mess hall in silence. They were halfway down the corridor before he asked, tentatively, "Are you alright?"
Sam crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "I'm fine. I'd be even better if people would stop asking me that."
Bumblebee was silent for another hundred yards or so, and then he brushed against Sam's mind. "Would you like to see the bridge?"
Sam frowned faintly as he glanced down at the dashboard. "Why would I?"
Bumblebee's mental presence pressed close, brightening with encouragement and anticipation. "The bridge is the Ark's crowning glory. It's also where I'll be stationed while I'm on duty."
Sam canted his head in surprise. Bumblebee was usually stationed in the communications array whenever he wasn't on patrol or standing sentry. He had assumed the scout would be chained to a desk somewhere in the depths of the ship, not stationed on the bridge itself.
"Am I even allowed?" He asked, curiously.
His question was met with a swell of dry humor. "Yes, Prime, you are allowed on the bridge."
Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Thanks smart-ass."
Bumblebee chirruped something merry-sounding in Cybertronian as they continued down the corridor. Doors flashed by on either side of them, interspersed with the occasional work terminal or digital interface screen. They were almost to the atrium when Sam noticed an enormous hangar door that had been painted with a dark red "X" across its full width. He twisted in his seat, trying to get a better look as they passed, and his curiosity was met with Bumblebee's amusement.
"It's the science laboratory." He explained.
Sam turned back around to look at the dashboard. "Wheeljack's lab?"
"Yes and no." Bumblebee replied, slowing down as he rolled into the atrium, "As the Chief Science Officer, Wheeljack oversees a number of tasks assigned by the command crew, but it is not his lab. That's located on the fifth floor, near the shield generators."
There was something wry about his tone that told Sam the location wasn't a coincidence. His lips twitched in amusement as Bumblebee turned onto the first deck. Unlike the fourth and second decks, the first deck had walls of brushed gold, which contrasted against the Autobot-blue accents that ran from floor to ceiling in even intervals. The doors were different here as well—solid copper with long, geometric windows that provided a glimpse into each room they passed. Sam peered through the windshield, trying to take it all in. The color scheme, accents, and architectural design all combined to suggest an air of solemn dignity.
Sam could feel Bumblebee's answering swell of pride across their bond-space.
"The Ark is the crown jewel of Iacon's armada. She was built at the end of the last Golden Age, and they spared no expense." He murmured.
Sam smiled faintly and pressed a hand flat against the steering wheel. "It's very nice."
"You haven't seen anything yet." Bumblebee promised, slowing down to a stop about halfway down the corridor. The driver's side door swung open, and Sam obliged him by climbing out of the cab. There was a large door on one side of the corridor, in the same copper design as the others, and a deep red Autobot emblem emblazoned on the opposite wall. Bumblebee backed up several paces and then he transformed, a rapid-fire explosion of metal and moving parts. When he finished, the scout stepped up to the doors and activated the control panel. The smooth, copper barrier slid aside with an audible snickt, revealing a long ramp that angled upwards. The gold-colored metal was interspersed with glowing blue strips set at even intervals.
Sam slowly turned to look at Bumblebee. The scout was regarding him with a mixture of affection and encouragement, and he gestured inside with a wave of his servo. Sam turned his head to stare up the long ramp, before his curiosity spurred him forward. There was a narrow landing and a second door at the top of the ramp, which slid aside of its own accord as they approached. Sam hesitantly stepped through the doorway—and then he pulled up short.
The bridge was both breathtakingly beautiful and alien in design. The doorway opened onto the first of three levels. There was a large workstation on either side of the entryway—Kup sat at one, Ironhide at the other. Sam slowly walked into the room, eyes skipping across the glowing terminals, the gold-colored metal, and azure-blue accents. It seemed too much to take in, all at once.
There was a large chair at the edge of the landing, and it turned around as Sam approached. He tore his eyes away from the view-screen at the front of the bridge, which provided an unobstructed view of space, to look up into Optimus' face. The Supreme Commander was watching him with soft optics.
"Hello Sam." He murmured, pushing to his pedes, "Welcome to the bridge."
Sam huffed a shaky laugh in reply. "Hey Optimus. It's really something."
The former Autobot leader smiled at him, an affectionate twitch of his mouthplates, before gesturing around them, "May I escort you?"
Sam laughed again, a little livelier this time, "Yeah. That'd be great."
Optimus inclined his helm, before he half-turned and waved a servo towards the two workstations behind them. "This is the engineering node and this is tactical. We can operate all functions of the engine room, defensive systems, and internal security from these workstations."
Kup glanced down as Optimus was speaking, making eye contact with Sam. The old mechanoid spiraled one optic down to a point in a reasonable facsimile of a wink. The grin was on Sam's face before he could stop it.
"The second level is communications and navigation." Optimus rumbled as moved to stand on the edge of the landing, looking out over the lower portions of the bridge. He gestured towards the work terminal located on the right of the stairs, which was currently occupied by Arcee, "This is Bumblebee's station."
Sam turned, looking up at his bonded with a smile. "That's really cool, Bee. What do you do?"
Bumblebee chirred at him as he replied, "I monitor ship-wide communications, as well as all known external frequencies."
Sam tilted his head, curiously. "How many are there?"
"Tens of thousands." Bumblebee replied wryly, "There's good reason why I cannot utilize my holoform while I'm on duty."
Optimus extended his arm towards the second-level, and Sam started down the polished ramp at his urging. The sound of his footsteps was lost beneath the ringing of pedes against metal as Bumblebee and Optimus followed behind him. As he stepped onto the lower level, he realized there was another workstation directly beneath the Command Chair. Prowl was currently occupying the seat, and his servos were flying across the control panel in front of him.
"Operations." Optimus explained, "It is manned by Prowl or Jazz."
Sam craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of what Prowl was working on, when the third-in-command turned to look at him.
"You may observe, if you wish." Prowl rumbled, his servos darting over the control panel.
Sam gave the strategist a hesitant smile. "Thanks, Prowl, but I wouldn't want to disturb you."
The black and white mechanoid shook his helm. "It is not an imposition."
Bumblebee gave him an encouraging nod, and Sam slowly made his way around the curving partition to look up at the workstation. The monitors were scrolling through Cybertronian glyphs almost too quickly for Sam to see. There seemed to be dozens of different read-outs, but he couldn't make heads or tails of them.
"Looks complicated." He said.
"It is detailed, not complicated." Prowl corrected him.
Sam gave the third-in-command a dubious look. "Agree to disagree."
"You are inexperienced." Prowl replied, matter-of-factly, "Familiarity will come in time."
There was something easy and accepting about his tone, as though Sam's ability to become accustomed to life on the battleship was a foregone conclusion, that made him feel appreciative and resentful in equal measures. He stared at the read-outs a while longer, before murmuring his thanks and walking back to the main portion of the second level. The walkway provided a view of the lowest level, which contained a single workstation. Hound was sitting in front of it, but he had twisted in his seat to smile up at him.
"Hey Hound." Sam said, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth, "What're you doing?"
"Interstellar cartography." Hound replied, giving his console an affectionate pat, "Looking for hazards. You know how it is—anything that might ruin our day."
Sam's eyebrows drew up in surprised interest. "Really? That's so cool."
Hound grinned at him as he swung his chair aside. "Come and see."
Sam glanced up at Optimus, searching for permission, and when the older Prime inclined his helm, he made his way down into the lower level. Hound's workstation was large, and it was currently displaying a two-dimensional representation of space. Their position was denoted by a glowing red dot in the center of the screen, and there was all manner of symbols and hash marks surrounding it.
"What does that mean?" Sam asked, curiously.
"That is an asteroid belt." Hound replied, gesturing towards a long hatched line, "This is a radiation pocket and that little beauty—" He punctuated his words by jabbing at a glowing red glyph, "—is a gravity well."
Sam stepped forward, peering at the glyph, which was blinking in steady intervals. "Is it dangerous?"
"Oh, heavens yes." Hound agreed cheerfully, "We'd all be crushed to death if we came within a trillion kilometers of it."
Sam was barely paying attention to the neural-network, which is why he was taken by surprise by the directionless swell of exasperation and irritation as Hound finished speaking. The sentry twisted in his seat, staring at the other occupants of the bridge in confusion.
"What? It's true." As an afterthought, he angled his helm to look at Sam and said, as though to reassure him, "Don't worry. The gravitational forces would tear the ship apart before we got anywhere near the event horizon."
"Thank-you, Hound." Optimus rumbled dryly.
The sentry evidentially understood the words for the dismissal they were, for he clickety-blatted something respectful-sounding in Prime's direction, before turning back around in his chair.
Sam pushed his hands in his pockets, turning to look at the full expanse of the bridge. It was remarkably beautiful and alien—he was surprised to realize that he loved it.
"What do you think of the view?" Bumblebee asked, crouching down beside him.
Sam angled his head to look at the curved view-screen, which extended above and around them. The sky was inky blank, with only the occasional pinprick of light in the darkness.
"What view?" He asked dryly.
Bumblebee lifted his head to look at Optimus, who rumbled something to Prowl. A moment later, the lights on the bridge dimmed and then vanished. Sam reached out, steadying himself against Bumblebee, but it took only a few moments for his eyes to adjust. The view was [indescribable]—there was a glowing node directly in front of them, casting wan light across the bow of the ship. It was intersected by a ribbon of interstellar dust and debris from one end to the other. Sam's feet carried him forward of their own accord until he was standing directly in front of the view-screen.
"It's incredible." He whispered, unable to prevent the catch in his voice, "What is it?"
"Teletraan-One?" Optimus rumbled in reply.
Sam half-turned, opening to his mouth to ask whether that was an answer or a question, when a smooth, metallic voice interrupted him.
"ESO 510-G13 is an edge-on galaxy located over a half-a-trillion kilometers away in the Hydra Cluster. Its unusual warped disc structure is the result of a recent collision with a nearby galaxy."
Sam startled in surprise—the voice seemed to be coming from all around him.
"What the… What?" He spluttered.
Optimus rumbled at him in amusement as the lights came up to half-brightness.
"Sam, this is Teletraan-One, the artificial intelligence that runs the Ark's on-board operations."
Sam turned around, looking for a monitor or speaker or any indication of the voice's source, but he couldn't find anything. Optimus smiled down at him, evidentially understanding his confusion.
"Introduce yourself." He suggested.
Sam's throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then he hesitantly ventured, "Hello Teletraan-One."
There was an audible chiming sound, and then the smooth, metallic voice replied, "Voice identification confirmed—Samuel James Witwicky Prime."
Sam glanced over at Bumblebee, his brow furrowed in confusion, "What does it do?"
"Anything we require." His bonded replied amusedly, "It is a semi-sentient computer system that runs the Ark and its onboard operations, in addition to monitoring frequencies from deep space."
Sam gave his bonded a skeptical look. "Are you telling me that you guys invented JARVIS?"
Bumblebee's optics brightened in response as Hound chirruped with laughter.
"Ask it something." Bee urged.
Sam frowned faintly in response. "Like what?"
"Anything." He replied with a smile.
Sam hesitated for a long while, before he asked, "What's the nearest planet with organic life?"
There was a beat of silence, and then Teletraan-One was replying, "EP-21-220 is located less than three billion kilometers away. The planet contains a simple phylum of prokaryotic cells."
"That's unbelievable." Sam breathed in amazement.
"Teletraan-One can be accessed from anywhere on the ship." Optimus intoned solemnly, "You need only ask for him."
Sam turned, staring out the view-screen at the dark expanse of space. The side-on galaxy was harder to see with the lights at half-brightness, but the stars were easily visible. He raised a hand, pressing against the curved window—the transparent material was cool to the touch.
"Thank-you for showing me." He murmured.
"You are welcome here at any time, Sam." Optimus rumbled in reply. "Would you like to stay?"
Sam's mouth had gone dry at the sheer force of his emotions—wonder, disbelief, joy, and sorrow, all twisted up on one another—and he had to wet his lips before he could reply.
"Yeah, maybe." He managed, "For a little while."
Optimus' expression was understanding and fond as he inclined his helm, before turning and making his way back towards the Command Chair. Sam watched him go for a brief moment, and then he turned back towards the view-screen. Bumblebee crouched down by his side as he stared out into space, offering affection and support without ever saying a word.
Notes: The picture of the ESO galaxy in this chapter is one of the few unaltered pictures taken of space. Most photographs are infrared or they're color enhanced. That picture is, for all intents and purposes, exactly what Sam would have seen with his naked eye.