Author's Note: Alaska's Dalton Highway is worth a Google.
Ratchet was boring as the Pit. I mean, he's a good mech to have around and all, but he went way deeper than necessary into what all the sensory equipment we were picking up from Diego Garcia was supposed to do. I was kind of grateful when RadioFlyer distracted me with a comm. /Bumblebee, guess where we are./
/In the United States?/ I snarkily answered. I could have looked up her GPS transmitter, but clearly she was in a mood to talk instead of just making a report. That wasn't typical of her, so I curiously played along.
/Tower of Jewels./
I snorted at that. /Iacon?/
/Nope, Las Vegas./
My engine revved in surprise and, in his alt-form next to me, Ratchet paused his scientific exegesis. /Sorry, I'm receiving a report from RaFly,/ I sent to him.
Quinn looked up from the card game he was playing with some of the Air Force personnel to glance my way.
To RaFly, I sent, /NO WAY! NO FRAGGING WAY!/
/Yep. They've been talking about Mikaela's ring preferences all morning./
/You can't let them elope, RaFly! That's an order!/ I rocked slightly on my axles in frustration, and Quinn started working his way across the plane's hold toward me. We were flying with the Air Force but weren't on a NEST plane, so both Ratchet and I were supposed to be keeping a low profile.
/Firstly, I don't think you're in a position to issue orders right now. Secondly, I'm not sure that's something any of us can order./
/But...but...they can't get married without me!/ This time I held perfectly still.
/I think, technically, they can./
/Gah!/
She sent laughter back in response.
A thought occurred to me. RaFly wasn't prone to pranking, but maybe she was yanking my timing chain. /If you're just saying this because I left that playlist with you for good luck and you're annoyed about being stuck human-sitting, I will find a way to tar your finish./
/Ha! I'm not a twin or your flirty femme, so dings and dents are a treat, not a threat. I don't mind the human-sitting or the playlist. I just thought you should know. And the name of the jewelry shop is funny – admit it./
As Quinn approached, I rolled down my driver's side window, and he poked his head into my cab. "Problem?"
Caught somewhere between elated and despairing, I played, "It's a beautiful night/we're looking for something dumb to do…"
He smirked. "Sorry, mech, but you're not my type."
"Not me...the kid."
"Oh." He blinked and then looked at me with sudden understanding. "Ooooh. Sorry. Bad luck, that."
It wasn't bad luck, it was bad choices. I had gone against orders and killed a Decepticon designated Reverb. I'd had good reason to – the 'con had killed half of the squad under my command once and had tortured Arcee in front of me. He was threatening her again and I wasn't about to allow him that opportunity. Unfortunately, it had resulted in ...drama. And caused injury to Sam. And got him sent to jail. And accidentally insulted Arcee. And put us on the radar of the human authorities in Mission City. And landed me in trouble with the chain of command, Autobot and human. And disappointed Optimus.
I deserved this assignment, and I knew it. For the next six months, I was going to be gathering data from both the Arctic and the Antarctic in the hopes of figuring out how Reverb had slipped past our defenses to make it to Earth. I'd known I would land in hot water before I even killed the 'con, and I was willing to accept the consequences.
I wasn't sure if I'd been out of line enough to deserve this kind of karma, though.
I sunk lower on my axles and Quinn patted my roof in camaraderie. "You're worrying for nothing, Bumblebee. A wedding usually takes at least a year to plan."
"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," I quoted.
"Slag," he agreed. With nothing better to do, he returned to his card game.
…
I kept an optic on RaFly's position after that, but thankfully they didn't go to any drive-thru wedding chapels or anything. When I saw they were on their way back toward Ron's and Judy's campground, I vented a sigh of relief and commed RaFly again. /Tell me they escaped Vegas without tying the knot./
/Their tax status is still "Single," but judging by their pheromone levels, that's not guaranteed to last./
I laughed to myself in relief, my cab shimmying. /Keep me looped in./
/Of course! I'll live-stream to you any moments that look like they might be significant./
…
RaFly didn't have a reputation as a prankster, but after 48 hours of her making me jump by live-streaming at completely random times, I was going to have to talk her up a bit more to the others. It sure made it difficult to focus on packing up Ratchet's equipment and on stocking everything my human counterpart Quinn might need on a three-month tour of backwoods Alaska.
Every time Sam and Mikaela kissed, she'd ping me. Every time they held hands – ping! If Mikaela blew Sam a kiss – ping! If she winked, if he paid for her meal, if they smelled attracted to each other – ping! And then I'd have to watch long enough to see if it was another fake-out or if my favorite humans were actually going to go through with it and make me the proudest intergalactic matchmaker ever.
I was going more than a little crazy.
We were still hours away from Eielson Air Force Base near Fairbanks when RaFly pinged me yet again. This time, she took great delight in sending me a feed of her letting the air out of the Winnabago's tires, especially since she'd used the holoform of a gleeful six-year-old in curly pigtails to pull it off without raising suspicion.
When we finally disembarked at Eielson, I took in the surroundings in surprise. I hadn't been expecting much (Pit, I'd been too busy 'shipping Sam and Mikaela to think much about the Arctic other than that Megatron got imprisoned in ice there), but there were more trees here than in Sam's hometown back in California. Instead of glaciers, we were surrounded by a mix of deciduous and evergreen forests.
Quinn was rummaging in my trunk, doing a final check on the supplies we'd brought, when one of the Air Force guys asked, "Which officer is getting this beauty of a Camaro?"
"Oh, we're headed for Barrow," Quinn said offhandedly.
"Barrow? You're taking this shiny, new car on Dalton Highway?!"
Quinn shrugged. "Among other places."
"You ever driven the Dalton? It'll beat the hell out of that car. I mean, the stories I could tell you…"
Quinn closed my trunk harder than strictly necessary. "Oh, he deserves every ding he gets."
Yep, that's why Prowl had sent me out here.
"He?" the Air Force guy said, laughing.
Quinn just shrugged again and climbed in. I went from zero to 60 in record time as payback for the ding comment.
...
We stopped in Fairbanks long enough for Quinn to buy a fishing license and a few other essentials (on my tab), and then we headed north, leaving civilization behind. We were almost to the junction where Dalton Highway began when RaFly pinged me again with a livestream. Mikaela and Sam were returning from a hike, and on her finger was a traditional engagement ring.
Sensing no other vehicles near, I skidded to a halt, popping my doors open. Quinn leaped from the driver's seat, swearing under his breath and reaching for his side-arm.
As soon as he was clear, I transformed and started dancing for joy.
Quinn watched me for a second and threw a rock at my helm. "What the frag, 'Bee! I thought we were under attack by Decepticons."
In answer, I played RaFly's livestream audio, "Going to the chapel and we're gonna get married!"
He stood up, dusted himself off, and grumbled under his breath about how he didn't do anything worthy of getting banished to the Arctic with a malfunction like me.
With one last punch of the air, I collapsed back into my alt and played, "I'm sorry, so sorry…"
"Yeah, whatever, let's just go."
RaFly was continuing her livestream, so I eagerly listened in. Sam and Mikaela had agreed that I should be the D.J. for their wedding, and RaFly asked permission to let me know.
Sam said, "No, that's something he deserves to hear from me. I'll Skype him later."
/Oops,/ RaFly sent. /I trust you can pretend shock and awe./
/Only if you promise to keep me looped in, no matter what they say./
She laughed on her end. /The femme commander's orders supercede yours./
...
Nights were non-existent this far north in early July, but taking pity on Quinn, I stopped for what should have been the night in an improvised campsite beyond the view of the highway. Sam didn't reach out to me before bedtime, but considering he was newly engaged, I couldn't blame him.
"Hey, 'Bee," Quinn said from his sleeping bag, "did you know Dalton Highway is 666 kilometers long?"
My antennas raised in curiosity, and he said, "You know? Mark of the Beast and all that?"
I Googled the phrases and then snorted in amusement. "I'm on the highway to hell!"
Quinn chuckled, too. "Think Prowl knew that when he chose this assignment for you?"
"It wouldn't surprise me," I quoted.
He huffed and then pulled a sleep mask over his eyes. "G'night."
In the "morning," we drove for another couple of hours before we arrived at the first set of coordinates Ratchet had selected. Again, we headed into the woods and out of sight for unsuspecting humans. I pulled Ratchet's equipment out of subspace, Quinn set it up, I provided the power for it, and basically we sat around while the sensors collected enough data to satisfy Ratchet.
Still no word from Sam.
Quinn got out the fishing rod and tackle I'd smuggled onto this trip for him and started casting on a nearby stream.
Still no word from Sam.
Quinn and I talked about the more technical aspects of the data we were gathering, about where our next campsite would be, about what life was like for him growing up in rural Texas.
Still no word from Sam.
Quinn broiled the fish he caught for lunch, I found some interesting burrowing bugs to watch for a while, and an eagle flew overhead.
Still no word from Sam.
Ratchet contacted us saying that we'd gathered enough data for this location and directed us to continue another twenty kilometers to the north. So we packed up the gear and headed out.
Still no word from Sam.
At the new location, Quinn prepared some dinner and we started setting up the sensory equipment again.
/Hey 'Bee,/ Sam finally sent, and I perked up. /Got a minute to Skype?/
I didn't drop what I was doing – I did not want to catch an audial-full from Ratchet if I accidentally broke something or got us off schedule – but I finished my task hastily before replying. /Sure! Give me just a minute.../
Quinn glanced up at my sudden efficiency. "Word from Sam?"
"Phone's ringing, oh my god," I quoted the Beastie Boys.
"Take all the time you need," he said, "and tell the kid congrats."
I activated the holo-projector on my wrist and linked it into Sam's connection. His new cell phone was just as secure as Autobot comms (and I couldn't quite manage to forget the reason for that particular upgrade).
"Well hello there!" I quoted to his projection.
He grinned in answer. "Hey, big guy! You doing okay? Not frozen stiff yet?"
It was all I could do to hide my impatience. "It's a balmy...seventy degrees. Quinn...is happy that there aren't...many mosquitos. It's so boring...out here. What about you? How's 'Kaela?"
Sam nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, about her...well, we're keeping it on the down-low for right now, so don't tell anyone else, but...I finally proposed and she accepted. We're going to get married." He sounded like he couldn't quite believe it himself. "But we've already agreed we won't tie the knot until you're back from your current assignment. And we'd like you to be the D.J., if you're okay with that?"
"Okay with that?" I echoed him. "Are you kidding?!" I practically was jumping up and down in excitement, "I'm thrilled for you guys! I'd love to...D.J. for you!"
His eyebrows moved 3.27 mm towards his hairline. "You mean it?"
I knew my trusty counterpart had already used some of my nuptial playlist, but I cued up a personal favorite:
"From this moment,
As long as I live,
I will love you.
I promise you this…"
The eyebrows lowered to their normal position and he grinned in a way that suggested both affection and nostalgia. "Thanks, 'Bee. Knew I could count on you."
…
Sam and I texted back and forth daily, but we only talked every few days. RaFly kept doing what she does best and gathered intel on the wedding plans for me. I half-wondered if she was on Prowl's payroll, though, because the "intel" was often more cryptic than helpful. Like on July 8th, she texted, /In an urban shoot-out, if you have to pick between the human Prime and our new femme commander, pick the femme commander./
I snorted in amusement. /You're a bit behind the times, rookie. She's been my femme commander since the days she dragged me and my cannons through a war zone. She and I took down Brawl, and he wasn't even her only Decepticon kill./
After that, she wouldn't say anything more about what prompted her first text no matter how much I wheedled her.
In the meantime, Quinn and I wandered farther and farther north, taking readings at the coordinates Ratchet thought could be helpful.
"Ya know, I'm one lucky son of a gun," Quinn declared when we'd been camping out for about a week and a half. "By rights, nobody should get the internet signal I'm enjoying out here, much less be paid by Uncle Sam to fish and binge-watch Netflix."
"Whatcha gonna do?" I quoted to him, adding the wrappers from his dinner MRE to the day's garbage bag and subspacing it. But I grinned to know I'd finally won him over.
While I was at it, I pulled out the not-military-issue microwavable popcorn and the microwave we'd picked up in Fairbanks. It was on his list of top 10 civilian snacks he would miss while on deployment. If any innocent human had to suffer the same punishment as I did, the least I could do was offer some creature comforts.
I held up the popcorn bag and his eyes lit up. "Ya read my mind. Let's see if we can't get through a couple episodes of Orange is the New Black. Just the thought of Captain Janeway as a Russian psychopath kind of blows my mind."
Laughing, I transformed a finger into an electrical outlet and powered up the microwave for him.
…
The next day, Sam texted me, /Wish me luck! We're letting my side of the family know about the engagement today. Mom might explode from the excitement./
I sent him a clover emoji in answer, followed by a firework.
/Not funny./
I sent him a laughing face.
…
It was a couple of days later that we met her. The coordinates Ratchet sent us to that day were on a meander of the Koyukuk River. She was down by the water, teaching her cubs to catch fish, and I watched in fascination.
"Uh, 'Bee?" Quinn whispered, sounding nervous. "That's a mama bear with her cubs. Probably a grizzly, judging by her size and shoulder hump."
"Uh-huh!" I quoted. "So cool!"
"I mean, an actual, literal mama bear…"
I crept a little closer.
"That's not such a good idea. Ya know what that phrase means, right?"
"Uh-huh. Protective."
"And we're a long way from help if I get mauled."
I paused and then transformed into my alt-form, opening the driver's door for him. "Better?"
"Much," he answered as he climbed in.
I closed my door, locking him in safe and snug. "Let's get a closer look."
Quinn tilted his head. "Tell me you didn't just quote the Crocodile Hunter?"
"Crikey, mate!"
He snorted in amusement. "It's your paint job on the line, mech."
Like anything organic on this planet would be dangerous to a Cybertronian! I rolled down the slope toward the bear and her cubs, slowly so I wouldn't scare them.
We were maybe twenty meters away when we crossed onto a patch of lingering snow, and it crunched under my tires. That's when the mama bear noticed us. She perked up, sniffing the wind, and then rose up on her hind legs. In that pose, she was as tall as Arcee! Not too bad for a mere mammal.
Then the mama bear dropped to all fours and bellowed a roar. Quinn swore under his breath and shouted, "Get us out of here, 'Bee!"
"Nothing to worry about," I reassured him as she charged toward us. "We're perfectly safe."
She bore down on us and jumped on my hood, making us sink even deeper into the snow.
"Don't move!" Quinn hissed. "Play dead!"
Figuring he would know better than me, I stayed still as her paws tore at the parts of me she could grip: my wiper blades and the seams around my hood. She snarled and dug in her claws, and while her attack didn't do any significant damage, it didn't exactly feel good either.
After a minute or so, she backed off the hood, still huffing from exertion, and circled me, growling softly. Quinn reeked of fear, but I knew better than to comment on it. She went all the way around to my driver's side door and threw her shoulder into the panel, making Quinn yelp and making me rock on my axles. After another couple times charging my side-panel, she gave up and stood on her hind legs again. She dug her claws into the seam where my roof-armor met the door and yanked, trying to tear me open.
My engine whined in protest at the pinching sensation, but I firmly kept the door closed.
By this point Quinn had scrambled as far away as he could get from the mama bear, which was the back seat's passenger side. Giving up on prying me open, she dropped down to all fours again and bit at my side-mirror.
She wasn't breaking anything, but I turned down the pain sensors in that area, because ow!
After nomming on me a few more times, she paced around to my trunk and again tried to pry open the seam, this time near the rear window. Quinn scrambled back into the driver's seat, but the mama bear seemed to be ignoring him at this point. Instead, she remained focused on tearing open my trunk.
"Did you subspace today's garbage already?" Quinn whispered.
"No, it's still...junk in the trunk."
"She can smell it," he pointed out, and I frowned at myself. I needed the bag in my hands to subspace it, which meant I had to transform, but I couldn't easily do that with a human inside me and an enraged and hungry grizzly bear outside. One or the other, sure, but not both at the same time.
"Do you trust me?" I quoted to him.
"I'm not your Jasmine, Aladdin!"
"...a magic carpet ride…" I tried to explain.
"No! No, no, no, no…!"
I transformed around him and up, launching him and the garbage sack into the air, and side-stepped away from the mama bear. I caught Quinn and the sack about the same astrosecond that the bear decided she was more interested in attacking me again. She reared up and dug her claws into my knee.
Quinn's enthusiastic swearing spoke for us both.
I subspaced the garbage bag, shook off the mama bear as gently as I could, and started running. The soft earth gave way under pede, and I decided I needed to get back on treads. Unfortunately, she was back on all fours and charging after us.
"...soaring, tumbling, free-wheeling…" I quoted again.
"Frag it, 'Bee!" Quinn growled, but he curled up into a ball and clenched his eyes closed.
I only had to give him a little toss before I was transformed enough for my back seat to catch him (so he was cushioned all the way around) and sped off not caring where we were headed.
We drove for about ten minutes, Quinn obsessively looking out the back window and me trying to figure out what the frag had just happened. I mean, the memory was clear (as was the damage report that kept popping up on my HUD), but I'd been run off by an organic. Thoroughly beat.
I started to screech to a halt with a sudden realization, then remembered Quinn's reaction to that last time, and drifted to a stop instead. Tilting my seat forward and opening the door, I invited him out.
He crawled out, his heart rate still elevated and smelling of adrenaline. But he started laughing. "The guys are never going to believe this!"
I transformed, nervously glancing back to get visual confirmation for what my other sensors were telling me: that the mama bear was remaining by the river.
"We left all our… gear… behind," I pointed out, and his smile faded.
"Slag."
….
We waited until the mama bear and her cubs had moved a kilometer upstream before circling back to our campsite. We packed up the equipment as quickly and quietly as we could. She had left it mostly intact, and all the damage was cosmetic except for one receiver's stand, which had been snapped in half.
I sheepishly transmitted my damage report to Ratchet as an explanation for why we didn't get any readings that day.
Ratchet sent back to both me and Quinn a clinically efficient list of recommended repairs.
Prowl was less forgiving. /We did not send you up there to have fun./
"Dude has a strange definition of fun," Quinn snorted. "Let's see about those repairs."
...
The next day, I called Sam to tell him about her, but before I could say anything, he launched into a tirade about his dad. Apparently he'd said some things at a dinner with Mikaela's dad and grandma last night that were pretty offensive.
I decided that my story about the bear could wait until a better time.
"And that's not even the half of it!" he ranted. "I won't even repeat what he said about Mikaela after everyone went home."
I cringed and listened closely. My spark broke a little that I wasn't there for him in person, but I was grateful we could at least talk this way. One thing I could do for him from afar was to message RaFly. /Classify everything about the dinner last night, including anything Ron said about it afterward./
/Affirmative. Already done./
As an afterthought, I added, /And I'll want your take on all this later./
…
With more than two months still ahead of us on this mission, I worried about Quinn being kind of traumatized after we met her. I'd taken an unexpectedly bad beating, but he was the one who was on the lunch menu as far as she'd been concerned.
Instead, he seemed even more confident whenever we encountered wildlife. He started recording it on his phone and posting the videos on a YouTube channel he created specifically for documenting any animals that crossed our path. After a couple of days, I told him I'd only stop driving once every hour for him to play National Geographic explorer. Once we had a camp set up, he was free to record all he wanted.
It was good he had other entertainment, though, as I was a little preoccupied over the next couple of weeks. I had RaFly send me everything about what happened at that dinner with Mikaela's dad and grandma, and I reviewed it over and over. I just couldn't make sense of what Ron was upset about. He was judging Mikaela by her background – by her dad's background, even – and I honestly had expected a lot more from him.
RaFly wasn't under any strict guidelines about sending out "relevant intel" as she put it, but she worked on the issue by keeping me in the loop. It was Judy who finally helped me understand, one night when it was just her and Ron talking. He loved his son and so he was worried about Sam and his future happiness. That was one insight worth relaying. I couldn't fix the problem from here (and honestly probably couldn't have fixed it even if I was there), but Sam knew RaFly and I were both doing everything we could to help.
As Quinn and I continued to climb higher in the Brooks Range, the trees thinned, making it harder to find secluded camping spots. Eventually, all we had was scrubland, the road, and the pipeline. We'd have to wait for a break in the long-haul truck traffic and then I'd transform and carry Quinn uphill until we found ourselves in a ravine or something that hid us from the road below.
As we crested Atigun Pass, though I couldn't help but quote, "There isn't enough life on this ice cube to fill a space cruiser."
Quinn snorted. "Some people see that as a good thing, nerf-herder."
My frame shimmied in a laugh. "I don't know where you get your delusions, laser-brain."
He shook his head at me, grinning. "As for finding life on this ice cube called the North Slope, challenge accepted. I bet I still get at least one video per day."
And oddly enough, he was right.
Before we left the Brooks Range, we headed west on foot for a bit, taking us closer to the Colville River. Between us and the boat waiting for us at the river's delta were a couple hundred miles of flat, treeless tundra. While there was a lot of human traffic on the river (relatively), it was mostly below the level of the riverbank. That meant humans traveling via the river would have a harder time seeing me and Quinn sitting around taking readings than truckers would along the Dalton Highway. I was stuck walking or driving us cross-country across the North Slope.
You'd think my engine would drive off all the animals, but we saw a surprising amount of wildlife. Rodents were the most common critters, and we saw a lot of arctic foxes, too. Maybe every other day we'd hear wolves in the distance, but they never bothered us. We even came across a wolverine. But Quinn's crowning achievement was when he managed to record a snowy owl catching a hare. We both geeked out like a couple of Potterheads over that one.
The herds of caribou were impressive, and a couple of times, we had to stand guard in front of Ratchet's equipment so it wouldn't get trampled.
Since polar bears were known to roam the North Slope, I had my sensors set to a proximity alert for any mammal bigger than a caribou, and it was a good thing. No less than three times in the first four days, a polar bear wandered through camp. They were solitary animals – no cubs – and after a cursory sniff or two, they ambled on. I usually had several minutes' notice, so I could transform if necessary and Quinn could shelter in my cab.
We were five days out when a proximity alert went off and Quinn abandoned his recording-in-progress to dive for my cab. This time, it was a mammal we hadn't seen yet. It stood probably two feet taller at the shoulder than a caribou, and its antlers were enormous.
A bull moose.
"'Bee?" Quinn said, shifting nervously in the driver's seat. "You might want to start backing away."
The moose wandered closer. "It's an...herbivore. No sweat!"
"No, seriously! He's tossing his antlers…"
And sure enough, the majestic beast was moving his head around, showing off his impressive rack. He made a funny noise – like a cow trying to imitate a lion's roar – and, amused, I played the sound back to him.
"He's gonna charge!" Quinn shouted and fumbled for the seatbelt.
I was a being of metal. We didn't pose any threat to him. Quinn was safely hidden away in my cab, and besides, this creature didn't eat humans, or any meat. He didn't have a reason to charge me. "Naw…"
He lowered his antlers and charged.
And he hit with enough force to crack the lens on my headlight.
Ow! "What…? Why?" I demanded as much from the moose as from Quinn. "I...didn't do anything!"
"He's a moose during the rut!" Quinn said, clenching his grip on my armrests. "He doesn't need a reason!"
The moose hit me again on the cracked headlight, and this time he left some dings on the front side-panel in addition to shattering the lens even more. Again and again, he battered that same spot, and I started to roll back with the impacts, trying to prevent more damage.
Mr. Moose didn't like that. Roaring again, he dipped his head even lower and lifted my front driver's side tire off the ground.
"Oh slag! Oh slag! Oh slag!" Quinn muttered.
I retreated more quickly, trying to get away enough to turn around and high-tailpipe it out of there, but as I started to turn, the moose caught me broadside and, unfortunately, at the top of a slight downward slope. It gave him enough leverage that he actually flipped me over onto my roof.
He charged again, smashing my driver's side door several times and then roared in triumph before trotting off.
For several seconds, we both sat there, stunned. I finally quoted Judy from that day I blew up Sam's bedroom. "Holy mother!"
Quinn shakily laughed from where he was suspended upside down in the driver's seat. "Now you know how a magic carpet ride feels. Get me out of here, 'Bee. All the blood is rushing to my head."
I transformed around him and up, so that he and I ended up sitting side-by-side. Still chortling, he said, "That'll be something to tell Sam about!"
I slumped a little lower – my HUD was reporting worse damage than from the grizzly bear attack. "And Ratchet."