The Camaro pulled out of the medical bay, before turning down the corridor in the direction opposite of the way they had arrived. The interior of the vehicle was more spacious and comfortable than Jazz's alt mode, but Sam was hardly in the mood to appreciate the difference. It galled him to know that Lennox was going into a debriefing with god-only-knows-who to discuss all that had happened over the last week. Sam bit the inside of his lip as unpleasant memories rose to the forefront of his mind — shivering in the bathtub while Jazz murmured nonsense to keep him grounded; waking later that night next to Lennox, close enough to feel the older man's breath on his face; Sam's breakdown in the restaurant bathroom and the altercation that followed. Sam hated the thought of his misery and degradation being reduced to bullet-points — carefully cataloged and filed away, before end-of-business.
In the driver's seat, Dave Carter politely cleared his throat, pulling Sam out of his thoughts. "I understand this is your first time on Diego Garcia. Have you read much about the island?"
Sam felt a flash of irritation, because of course he had. It was a part of the standard core curriculum for grade school students in most countries. Diego Garcia had been a narrow atoll before the Autobots had engineered it to its current state. Now, the island was much larger than it had been in the past, with a bustling urban area in the east and the Autobot's seat of government in the west.
Rather than say as much to Carter, who Sam trusted even less than Lennox, he turned his head and stared pointedly out the window.
There was hardly a beat of awkward silence, before Carter soldiered on. "Well then, let me give you the basics. This facility is called the Hive. Although its upper levels are visible from the surface, it's mostly below ground. We are currently on sub-level two, which is where the medical bay and intake rooms are located."
Sam struggled to maintain his veneer of indifference as Carter was speaking. Although information about the island's history, geography, demographics, and economy was readily available on the Internet, much less was known about the western portion of the island, which was where the Autobot's legislative buildings were located. It was separated from the downtown area by a long, narrow bay that could only be traversed by the tram in the north and a bridge in the south, both of which had security check-points on either side. Sam had spent long hours scouring the dark-web to find more information, but there wasn't much to be found.
Now, he knew that was by design.
As the Camaro slowed to turn down a narrow corridor, Carter continued his welcome speech. "The Hive is ten sub-levels deep. The third, fourth, and fifth sub-levels are the Autobot's primary residence. That's where you'll find their hab-suites and communal areas. The sixth and seventh floors are research and development." Carter offered him a wry half-smile. "Do you have any interest in R&D?" When Sam said nothing in reply, Carter shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, if you change your mind, there's a lot to see down there. They have laboratories, research space, work space — you might find it interesting."
The Camaro slowed to a stop just as Carter finished speaking. It took Sam a moment to realize just how much their surroundings had changed in the short time they had been driving. The walls were narrower and the ceiling was lower here, though not by much, and rather than smooth concrete, Sam found himself surrounded by metal — gleaming gray and dull charcoal, interspersed by curved bulkheads at even intervals. The combined effect was deeply unnerving — and undeniably alien.
The Camaro popped open both of its doors as Sam's seatbelt unlatched itself with an audible click.
"Come on," Carter said, offering him an encouraging smile as he climbed out of the driver's seat.
Sam's heart stuttered inside his chest, but knowing that his options were limited, he slowly extricated himself from the Camaro's interior.
"Thanks, Bumblebee," Carter said, giving the Camaro's hood a good-natured thump as he made his way around the front end of the car.
"I get by with a little help from my friends," burst from the Camaro's speakers, causing Sam to startle badly in surprise. He recognized the Beatles song immediately, but it took him a moment longer to parse its meaning.
Carter laughed lightly, either at the lyrics or Sam's reaction, before gesturing meaningfully to the wall behind them. "This way."
Sam half-turned, glancing around in confusion, only to realize that the space between the two nearest bulkheads was actually a doorway. Its outline was just visible against the gleaming off-white metal. There was an electronic reader set in the wall, but he couldn't see a handle or other means of opening the door.
Carter's lips twitched in a knowing smile. "It's motion activated."
As promised, the door slid open as they approached, revealing a short hallway. Sam hesitated on the threshold, but then — all too aware of Carter's presence at his back — he forced himself to step inside. The hallway led them to a spacious and comfortable living area. There was a sectional sofa in the middle of the room that faced a large flat screen television mounted on the wall. Sam slowly turned, taking in the reading nook in one corner, complete with a chaise fucking lounge, and an ornate chess table in another.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Sam managed.
The room looked like something out of an interior decorator's wet dream. There were prints on the walls and tasteful accent pieces, including — at Sam's quick glance — at least a dozen plants in different sized potters located around the room. There was a small kitchenette along the side wall, next to a row of floor-to-ceiling windows that would have provided an unobstructed view, were it not pitch black outside.
The realization made Sam frown. It had been early morning when they left Nevada.
"What time is it?" Sam asked, directing the question over his shoulder.
"It's just after midnight," a new voice answered him.
Sam jerked around, his heart suddenly in his throat, to find a man standing a short distance away. The stranger was younger than Carter but older than Sam, with olive toned skin and dark hair that curled around his ears. As soon as he saw Sam's reaction, he winced in apology.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." The stranger hesitated for a moment, before taking a step forward and thrusting out his hand. "Hi, I'm Noah. Noah Diaz. It's nice to meet you."
Sam stared at the hand distrustfully, before glancing up at the stranger's face. "Human or Autobot?"
Noah looked momentarily taken aback, and then his lips curled in a rueful smile. "Oh, I'm a companion. I was just brought onboard a few months ago."
Sam's frown returned, turning down the corners of his mouth. The timing seemed like one hell of a strange coincidence. "Brought onboard? Brought onboard for who?"
His suspicions were immediately confirmed when Noah glanced uncertainly at Carter, clearly looking for guidance. Sam bristled at the implication, but before he could say something scathing, Carter quickly intervened.
"The companions aren't assigned to anyone in particular, but we try to maintain an even ratio," Carter explained, nodding in Noah's direction. "Noah began the onboarding process when we started looking for you."
"I don't need a keeper," Sam bit out.
"Of course you don't," Carter replied, with the careful composure of someone trying to diffuse a potentially volatile situation. "Noah is here to ensure you have anything you may need."
"I don't need a servant, either," Sam snapped.
Noah, who had been watching the exchange with a furrowed brow, shook his head. "It's not like that, Sam. You're new here. You don't know your way around. And—" his mouth hooked up in a wry half-smile, "the Intake rooms are nice, but it can get real boring after a while. I'm just here to keep you company."
Flushing hotly, Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Buddy, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you really drew the short straw on this assignment."
Rather than throwing him off-balance, as Sam had intended, his words caused Noah to laugh lightly as he settled on the couch. "Noted."
Sam watched in growing irritation as Noah reached forward, picking the remote control off the coffee table and turning on the television. The sound of sports commentary immediately filled the room.
"Sam," Carter said, tipping his head back towards the hallway. "Come with me for a moment."
Since the alternative was standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room while Noah watched Sunday Night Football, Sam grudgingly trailed after him. Carter led them back into the hallway, before pulling open a sliding door. He leaned inside, snapping on the light, revealing a one-quarter bath with two sinks along the back wall separated by a tall wooden cabinet.
"The toilets are through here, the showers are through there," Carter said, gesturing first to a door set against one wall, and then a door set against the other. Next, he stepped forward to pull open the cabinet. "Towels, face cloths, toiletries. Do you have any allergies?"
Sam was so overwhelmed that he found himself answering honestly. "Not that I know of."
Carter nodded, before shutting off the light and stepping back into the hallway. He gestured next to three sliding doors spaced in even intervals across the hall. "Yours is the middle."
When Sam made no move to approach, Carter stepped around him to pull open the sliding door. Once again, he leaned forward, snapping on the overhead light. The room within was small — just large enough for a full bed, a writing desk, and a bedside table. Like the rest of the Intake Room, however, the space felt comfortable rather than confined.
"Do you need anything?" Carter asked. "Are you hungry?"
Sam shook his head faintly. "No."
Carter's expression turned faintly skeptical. "You sure?"
Sam didn't know whether Carter was playing the role of polite host, or whether he knew that Sam hadn't eaten anything yet that morning. Either way, the end result was the same.
"I'm sure," Sam replied flatly.
"Alright," Carter said, nodding in concession. "If you get hungry later, just let Noah know. There are some snacks in the kitchenette, but he can order out if you're in the mood for something more substantial."
Sam gave the older man a dubious look. "Order out?"
Carter smiled. "Yes, of course. There's a kitchen on the ground-level that's open 24/7, and there are a few restaurants on the island that stay open late."
Once again, Sam was left feeling overwhelmed and unmoored. "Oh. I see," he managed.
Carter's expression sharpened, missing nothing, and his voice was kind when he said, "I'll be right next door if you need anything, alright? Anything at all."
As though demonstrating his point, Carter slid open the door next to Sam's, revealing a virtually identical sleeping area. It didn't escape Sam's notice that his room was located closest to the exit. The knowledge hardened something inside him to stone.
"I don't need anything from you," Sam retorted, coldly.
Carter looked momentarily taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "Of course. I only meant—"
"I know what you meant," Sam interrupted. Carter's brow furrowed in consternation, but before he could do something infuriating — like apologize — Sam pushed past him into his assigned sleeping area, shutting the door behind him. He stood there for a long moment, half-expecting Carter to knock or call out, but then the older man's footsteps receded down the hall.
Sam shrugged off his hoodie, which he draped over the back of the chair, before sitting on the edge of the bed. To his irritation, the mattress was soft and comfortable. He was just about to turn on the lamp set into the headboard when the sound of approaching footsteps made him freeze. He sat there, one hand still on the lamp, as the footsteps continued past his room. A moment later, there was the sound of a door sliding shut. Sam strained to hear what was happening in the next room, but other than the occasional thump or rustle of movement, it was quiet.
Suddenly, it occurred to Sam that he never asked Carter about the eighth, ninth, and tenth sub-levels of the Hive facility.
The thought made Sam angle his head just far enough to stare at the wall that separated them. Why in the world was Prime's Chief Operations Officer playing tour-guide-turned-night-nanny? Sam might not have known the finer details of Carter's calendar, but he knew enough to recognize the absurdity of it. The thought occupied his mind until the sound of Carter's soft snoring could be heard through the wall.
Sam waited another couple of minutes to ensure Carter was down for the count, before he pushed to his feet and padded across the floor. He stood there for a long moment, head cocked, listening for Noah, but all he could hear was the sound of television down the hall. He slid open the door and stepped outside. The overhead lights had been turned off, leaving only the bathroom light to guide his way to the living room. When Sam rounded the corner, it was to find Noah reclined on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, watching television and drinking a soda.
Sam watched him for a moment or two before asking, dryly, "Still awake?"
Noah startled badly at the sound of his voice, spilling soda all down his front. He glanced over at Sam as he started wiping at his shirt. "Oh, hey. I thought you were asleep."
Sam suppressed a smile. "I'm not tired. I just woke up a few hours ago."
Noah grimaced as his efforts only served to spread the soft drink around. He shook off his hand as he set the can on the coffee table, before pushing to his feet. "Yeah, but you spent the night in a coupe. Believe me, I've been there — it sucks."
Sam watched as the other man made his way to the kitchenette. It was a small space, not much more than a counter, a sink, and a row of cabinetry. "You've driven with Jazz before?"
"Not Jazz, no," Noah replied, turning on the tap and wetting a hand towel. "Mirage."
Sam frowned faintly. The name wasn't familiar. "Mirage?"
"Sure," Noah agreed, turning around to lean against the counter as he wiped his shirt. "It's kind of a funny story, actually. I almost carjacked him."
The implication of those words broke over Sam in stages. "You carjacked him?" Sam asked, incredulously.
"Almost," Noah corrected, tossing the towel into the sink.
Despite himself, Sam was curious. "I mean… how?"
"How does anyone carjack a Porsche 911 Carrera?" Noah asked, lips twitching. "A slim jim and a pair of wire cutters."
Sam gave the older man an exasperated look. "You know what I mean."
Noah grinned as he crouched down, pulling open one of the cupboards beneath the counter, revealing a well-stocked mini-fridge. "Well, it's a long story. Do you want something to drink?"
Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm fine."
Noah glanced over his shoulder. "You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," Sam retorted.
Noah shrugged as he grabbed himself another can of soda and shut the fridge. "Well, it was about six years ago — no, seven. I was living in Brooklyn at the time, and I needed some quick cash." Noah cracked open the soda can as he made his way across the room, but rather than resume his spot in front of the television, he settled on the arm of the couch, facing Sam. "Long story short, I tried to carjack him — it didn't work."
Sam gave the older man a dubious look. "No shit."
Noah laughed lightly. "Yeah, no shit. As soon as I was in the driver's seat, he locked the doors and started driving. I almost had a heart attack."
"He must have been pissed," Sam supposed.
Noah laughed again, louder and more genuine this time. "Nah, not 'Raj. He thought it was hilarious. He drove me all the way to the embassy, before tossing me out on my ass. I was in lock-up for hours, sweating bullets the whole time."
"So, how'd you go from lock-up to here?" Sam asked, brow furrowing. He didn't know much about companions, but they seemed to have unfettered access to cassettes — and, by extension, the Autobots. He couldn't imagine they'd allow someone with a criminal record anywhere near their top-secret alien base.
Noah's lips twitched with the effort of repressing a smile. "Well, that's the thing about Spec Ops. They value gumption and audacity – Mirage's words, not mine. I guess they liked what they saw."
"And so they offered you a job?" Sam asked, skeptically.
"Yep," Noah nodded, taking a drink of his soda. "Well, I mean, eventually. Like I said, they let me sweat for a while first."
"And you just said yes?" Sam retorted.
"What else was I going to say?" Noah asked. "No? The federal minimum for grand larceny is two years, and that's not even considering the fact that I technically violated the National Security Act."
"Technically," Sam echoed dubiously.
"Technically," Noah agreed, taking another drink of soda.
Sam turned the knowledge over in his head, considering it, before he asked, "So, what'd you do between then and now?"
"I went wherever Mirage went," Noah replied. "We spent six months or so at the Canadian embassy, and then a couple years working Vice. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was also being vetted. 'Raj jokes it was the world's longest job interview."
"And I'm guessing you passed?" Sam asked dryly.
"Apparently so," Noah chuckled. "I was transferred to the island a couple years back, and then they started training me to be a companion."
Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "Training? Training for what?"
Noah seemed to consider him for a moment, as though weighing his response, before he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I mean, it's true that we provide companionship, but it's more than that. I've received training in emergency medical care, close quarters combat, hostage negotiation, non-violent crisis intervention — hell, I've even received training from a three star Michelin chef."
"What?" Sam asked, without thinking. "Why?"
"Why the Michelin training?" Noah asked. When Sam nodded, he explained, "Well, Miko really loves to cook."
The answer was so patently bizarre that Sam found himself shaking his head. "This is too weird. I can't wrap my brain around it."
"Believe me, I know the feeling," Noah grinned.
Sam huffed as he started pacing. "Did the other companions receive the same training?"
"Yeah," Noah replied, angling his head to watch Sam pace. "The onboarding process takes five years or so, but it can take longer. Have you met Harper? Elizabeth Harper?"
"I don't think so," Sam replied.
"Well, she was in training for almost seven years," Noah explained. "She spent two years at Johns Hopkins and another year studying horticulture."
Sam shot the older man a disbelieving look. "Horticulture?"
Noah shrugged again. "Charlie likes plants."
Sam huffed under his breath as he ambled over to the kitchenette and started opening drawers. There was plastic cutlery in one and dish towels in another, but the other drawers were empty. He opened the cupboards next, one by one, revealing plastic dishware and dried goods. Sam reached up and pushed the boxes aside. Cereal, granola bars, oatmeal, trail mix. Sam shut the cupboard, and began rummaging around under the counter. There was a box of garbage bags and some dish soap under the sink, but otherwise the cupboards were empty.
"What about you?" Sam asked distractedly, padding towards the reading nook.
"What about me?" Noah asked, bumping the heel of his foot against the couch. "I haven't specialized yet, if that's what you're asking."
The bookshelf seemed to be organized according to genre. There was some high fantasy and science fiction on the top shelf, but the rest of the bookshelf was dedicated to non-fiction. Philosophy, history, architecture, geography — there was even a well-worn paperback on musical theory. Sam ran his finger across the spines, reading authors and titles, before he dropped his hand.
"Not exactly light reading," Sam observed dryly.
"We weren't sure what you'd like," Noah explained, an undercurrent of apology in his tone.
The truth was that Sam was easily absorbed by literature, whatever the genre — his father had been the same way. They used to read together for hours in his father's study, each lost in their own private world. Sam grimaced faintly as he turned away from the bookshelf. He tried not to think about those golden afternoons.
Slowly, Sam made a circuit around the room, exploring as he went. He barely glanced at the table in the corner — chess had never been his game — but he spent some time poking around the entertainment center beneath the television. It was mostly empty, but there was a DVD player in one compartment and a modem in another. Eventually, though, Sam ran out of things to explore, and he turned to find Noah watching him.
"What?" Sam asked, a little defensively.
"Nothing," Noah replied, taking another drink of his soda. "If you're not tired, do you want to watch the game?"
Sam angled his head to look at the television. The game was at half-time, but it was Cowboys versus the Patriots.
"Football's not my sport," Sam replied dryly.
Noah made a thoughtful noise, tapping one finger against the outside of his soda can. "Lemme guess. Baseball?"
Sam couldn't prevent the half-smile that pulled at one corner of his mouth. "What can I say? Boston's been a bad influence on me."
"Only if you're a Red Sox fan," Noah snorted. "I was born and raised in Brooklyn."
Sam laughed softly as he pushed his hands into his pockets. He might have been totally out of his depth with the Autobots, but arguing with strangers over sports teams was a known quantity.
"Mets or Yankees?" Sam asked.
"Do you even need to ask?" Noah replied, smiling. "Yankees all the way."
Sam snorted expressively. "You have my sympathies."
Noah laughed good-naturedly as he finished his drink. "I'm sure we could find a game, if you wanted. We have all the sports channels."
The smile slowly slid off Sam's face. He was tempted — he really was — but he couldn't afford to become complacent. However Noah came to be here, and however friendly he might seem, he was still on the Autobot's payroll now.
"No, thank you," Sam replied, uncomfortably.
Noah's brow furrowed slightly. "Would you rather watch something else? I'm not picky."
"No, that's alright," Sam shook his head. "I think I'll go lie down. You're right. I didn't get much sleep last night."
"Sure," Noah said, easily. "I'm here if you need anything." As he spoke, he dropped back onto the couch, making himself comfortable.
Sam made his way back down the hall in silence. The sound of the television was muffled but audible after he had shut the door behind him. He spent a few moments poking around the room. The desk had some stationery and pens, but it was otherwise unremarkable. There was also a tall dresser between the foot of the bed and the wall, and upon inspection, Sam realized there were some generic clothing folded neatly in the drawers. Sam stared at the tidy rows for a long moment, before shutting the drawer without checking the sizes. When he finished poking around, he settled down on the edge of the bed. He briefly considered taking off his jeans, but he discarded the idea immediately. Instead, he laid back against the mattress, fully dressed, and folded his hands over his belly. The ceiling was paneled in the same warm chocolate-colored wood as the rest of the room. Sam stared up at it, tracing the whorls and imperfections with his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he lay there staring at the ceiling before he heard Noah getting ready for bed. There was the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut, the flush of a toilet, and then there was movement in the next room. Eventually, however, a hush fell over the Intake room.
Sam lay there for a few moments longer, before snapping off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
Sam had no intention of falling asleep, but he was suddenly being jerked awake by the sound of an argument outside his room.
"Miko, please keep your voice down," Noah urged. "He's still sleeping."
"But it's nine o'clock!" a feminine voice exclaimed. "Prowl promised we could take him on a tour at nine."
Sam blinked open bleary eyes to find that his room, which had been pitch black the night before, was bathed in rippling blue light. Sam slowly pushed up onto his elbows, staring in astonishment. The back wall was predominantly glass, but rather than a scenic view of the island, as Sam had expected to see come morning, he found himself staring out at an underwater vista. They couldn't be too deep, because the sunlight was still visible through the water column, but they were deep enough that coral reef was growing in abundance. Sam struggled up into a sitting position, before scooting over to peer through the glass. The reef was vibrant and healthy with corals and seagrasses and schools of multicolored fish as far as the eye could see.
In the hallway, the argument continued unimpeded by Sam's discovery.
"Maybe we should come back later…" another voice said, trailing off hesitantly.
"No, we shouldn't," the woman, Miko, dismissed airly. "We've been waiting for ages. Can't you just go check? He's gotta be awake by now!"
Grimacing deeply, Sam climbed off the bed, before stepping over to pull open the door. Noah was standing in the middle of the hallway, hands held up in front of him, clearly fending off the two strangers, a man and a woman, who were standing in the entryway. Carter was nowhere to be seen.
As soon as he appeared, the woman's eyes lit up in triumph. "Sam!" she cried, stepping around Noah. "やっと逢えたね! ずっと楽しみで楽しみでたまらなかったんだ!" She surged forward as though to hug him, but Sam jerked away before she could get her arms around him.
"Miko," Noah admonished.
At the same time, the unfamiliar man shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. "Miko, give him some space. He just met us."
Miko looked momentarily taken aback, but then her face broke out in a smile as brilliant as the sunrise. "Oh! Of course. Sorry! You haven't even had breakfast yet. It's the most important meal of the day. I like to cook, so, like, if there's anything you want to eat, just let me know. Or we can go out! Do you like แกงเผ็ด? There's a great spot in the promenade." She peered at him closely, before glancing down at his feet. "Did they take your shoes?"
Sam blinked. He was finding it difficult to follow Miko's train of thought. "What? No."
"Oh, that's good," Miko nodded, before adding expectantly, "Well? Go put them on! We've got a busy day ahead of us!"
Sam half-turned, giving Noah an incredulous look. The older man, who was still barefoot and wearing his nightclothes, visibly suppressed a grimace. "Sam, this is Miko Nakadai, and this is Raphael Esquival," he said, gesturing to each stranger in turn. "They've… been looking forward to meeting you."
Sam recognized the two names immediately. Lennox has mentioned the cassettes during their conversation the morning after their seizure. Sam peered at the two of them more closely. Although Miko's presence was larger than life, she was small in stature with chin-length black hair and fine facial features. Raf, by contrast, was physically taller than Miko, but there was something about the way he held himself that made him seem smaller.
"Oh," Sam managed. "It's, uh… hello."
Raf smiled at him apologetically. "Miko thought you might like a tour of the island, but, uh, we can come back later? If you'd prefer?"
"What? Of course he wouldn't!" Miko laughed. "It's morning. When else would he eat breakfast? In the middle of the night?" She paused, as though something just occurred to her, and then she added, "Though there's an IHOP on the east side that's open 24/7."
Sam briefly considered refusing — after all, he hadn't showered in a couple of days, and he was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing on the road. After a moment's consideration, however, he found himself slowly nodding in agreement. If his options were sitting by himself in the intake room or touring the island, then he was definitely going to tour the island.
"Uh, yeah, okay," he replied. "Just… let me use the bathroom first."
Less than fifteen minutes later, Sam found himself wedged into the back of a golf cart that Miko had commandeered as they zipped through the upper levels of the Hive. Noah sat beside him, close enough that their knees knocked together, while Miko and Raf occupied the front seat. To Sam's combined surprise and interest, Miko took them to Sub-level 1 first, which was the security level. The sub-level was expansive with training salons, offices, two gymnasiums, an armory, a gun range, a barracks, and a mess hall. The corridors were busier on this sub-level than they had been on the one below. They passed men and women in all manner of dress from business attire to combat gear to the pale blue uniforms of the Island Guard. Sam tried to take it all in, but Miko's driving wasn't helping matters. She didn't seem to be following any discernible route, as far as Sam could tell — she took random corners and doubled-back and braked suddenly, all depending on whatever caught her attention. Sam might have suspected that she was trying to keep him off-balance, were it not for the exasperated look that was etching itself into every line of Noah's face.
A moment later, Miko pulled into an elevator that would have been large enough to carry three vehicles side-by-side. It might have been a freight elevator, but its gleaming metal surfaces and glass walls gave the impression of luxury rather than utility. The doors opened seconds later onto an expansive lobby. The ceiling was easily eight or ten stories above them, and the walls along the front of the building were floor-to-ceiling glass, revealing a breath-taking view of the Indian Ocean. Sam twisted in his seat, craning his head to get a better look. The lobby was objectively impressive. The walls were made of some kind of dark natural stone, which contrasted against the white marble floors that had been polished to a shine. Miko zipped across the spacious room, beeping at anyone that looked as though they might get too close, before disappearing down a wide corridor near the reception desk.
"So, you've gotta be hungry, right?" Miko tossed over her shoulder.
Once again, Sam was feeling so overwhelmed that he answered candidly. "I could probably eat."
"Hell yeah! Food time!" Miko cried, before stomping the gas pedal hard enough to push Sam back against his seat.
"Miko!" Noah interjected, sharply. "Slow down. You know the speed limit's only 15."
"Don't be a kill-joy, Diaz," Miko laughed.
"I'm not being a kill-joy," Noah replied tightly. "Remember what Prowl said last time?"
Rather than argue back, as Sam fully expected, Miko sighed theatrically, before slowing to a more reasonable speed. "The companions are lovely, don't get me wrong, but they worry all the time ." She glanced over her shoulder at Noah and added, "We're not fragile, you know."
Noah snorted. "I would worry less if you were less reckless."
Miko laughed lightly as they turned the corner, causing Sam to sit up straighter in his seat. The gleaming marble halls of the embassy had opened onto a large and airy atrium. It only took Sam a moment to realize they had reached the western terminus of the tram line that connected the east and west sides of the atoll. The walls and ceiling of the atrium were made entirely of glass, providing an unobstructed view of the cloudless blue sky. The tram line occupied the left-hand side of the space, while a wide pedestrian walkway occupied the right-hand side. Miko continued through the atrium, which transitioned into a long tunnel that reminded Sam of the walkways that connected one airport terminal to another. They passed all manner of shops, cafes, restaurants, and sitting areas, all of which were full of people. Sam only caught snippets of conversation as they drove, but he recognized numerous different dialects — Cantonese, Spanish, Swedish, Portuguese, and Polish, among others.
Miko continued down the tunnel, pointing out interesting things as they drove, including a massive atrium jutting off to one side that, he was informed, held the ground bridge. Sam only caught a glimpse as they passed, but he recognized the large semi-circular archway that had transported him to the island the day before. They stopped briefly at a cafe to pick him up something to eat, with a side excursion for lattes at Miko's insistence, and then they continued on the tour. Sam was hungrier than he realized, and he made short work of his breakfast sandwich. By the time that Miko made her way down the tunnel, through the eastern atrium, and onto the road, Sam was feeling more like himself. As such, he started to pay attention as they drove. Although the Downtown area was beautiful, with ample green space and picturesque storefronts, Sam didn't miss the surveillance cameras mounted in pairs on every light pole or the uniformed men and women patrolling the sidewalks in pairs.
When they reached the Downtown proper, Raf started adding to Miko's running commentary.
"The Downtown area is organized by districts," he offered with a hesitant smile. "From north to south, there's the commercial and financial districts, then the tech-hub, then the tourist areas, and then the residential district. Residential extends almost all the way down to the southern bridge."
"How many people?" Sam found himself asking.
Raf's face lit up at the unprompted question. "The 2020 census had the human population at 31236, but there are an additional eight-to-nine thousand people on the island at any given time," Raf explained. "The tourist district is nice, but it can get really crowded, especially around the holidays." As an aside, he asked, a little tentatively, "Do you like museums? We have several."
Sam immediately recognized the olive branch he was offering. He might not have been keen to play nice with Autobot assets, but he wasn't a fool either — Raf had insider information, and he was clearly eager to answer Sam's questions.
"Sure," he replied easily. "What have you got?"
Raf twisted, hooking one arm over the back of his seat. "Well, there's the observatory, of course, but we also have the Science Museum, the nature conservatory, an aquarium, and the Museum of Civilizations." A flush pinkened the apples of Raf's cheeks as he added self-consciously, "I helped design a few exhibits in the MIC."
Sam resisted the urge to grimace. The Museum of Civilizations was world-famous — or perhaps infamous , depending on your perspective. It included over 70,000 meters of exhibition space dedicated to extolling the shared history between humans and Autobots. He had sat through a few of the digital exhibits when he was in high school, and even then, he had thought it was all unrepentant propaganda.
"I'd like to see it sometime," Sam lied through his teeth.
Raf's face broke out in a small but earnest smile. "I'd be happy to show you. We have exhibits you can't find anywhere else in the world."
Miko drove them through each district, pointing out landmarks of interest as they went, before circling back to the tram tunnel. To Sam's surprise, they slowed to a stop in front of the security check-point, waiting their turn like everyone else, before they made their way inside. This time, Sam noted the location of emergency exits and surveillance cameras and security offices as they drove.
By the time Miko pulled to a stop in front of a bustling Thai restaurant about halfway down the tunnel, Sam's stomach was panging with hunger again. They got a table on the promenade, before ordering their lunch. As Sam engaged in banal conversation with Miko and the others, he surreptitiously observed his surroundings. It didn't take long to realize that the Island Guard patrolled in pairs every fifteen minutes — one pair traveling west, and then the next pair traveling east. Sam glanced side-long at one pair as they passed their table, almost close enough to touch. Both men had a firearm and a taser holstered at their side, as well as a mobile radio affixed to their bullet-proof vests.
All and all, it didn't bode well for a potential escape attempt.
Sam was only half-listening to Miko as he picked at his pad thai, but the words "ground bridge" immediately caught his attention. Being careful not to sound too eager, Sam offered her a rueful half-smile. "Sorry, I was miles away. What was that?"
Miko wiped the red curry off her mouth with a napkin. Both she and Raf had gotten something spicy enough to make Sam's eyes water. "I was saying that the ground bridge schedule changes throughout the week. It's usually twelve times a day Monday through Friday, and four times a day on weekends and holidays."
"Oh?" Sam asked mildly.
"I know it's inconvenient," Miko said, like an acknowledgment, "but ground bridge technicians are few and far between, and they have families too."
Sam took another bite of food, following it with an unhurried drink of water, before he asked, casually, "I would have assumed the schedule accounted for peak travel hours."
"Well, I mean, sure," Miko agreed, "but it's not that simple. The ground bridge connects to twenty-seven different embassies — some of them have daily gates, some of them don't."
"Sounds complicated," Sam observed mildly.
"It's not that bad," Raf reassured quietly. "The lines are never very long."
"Oh?" Sam asked, setting down his fork. "How long's 'not long'?"
"We went to the Belgian embassy last year with Blaster, and I think it took a half-an-hour or so," Raf supplied helpfully. "The longest wait is the security check-point before travel. After that, it's pretty quick."
"You wonderin' about the ground bridge?" Jazz asked dryly from behind them. "I can show you around later this afternoon, if you like."
Sam startled so badly that he knocked over his glass. Heat blazed across his face as he blotted at the spilled water with his napkin. Raf and Noah moved plates and cutlery out of the way as they hurried to help him.
"Jazzy!" Miko squealed, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms around the holoform. Jazz chuckled lightly, wrapping one arm around her waist, before bending down to chirp-click something affectionate sounding in her ear. Miko laughed delightedly, giving a short whistle back, before leaning back to swat Jazz's chest with hand.
Jazz grinned down at her, and then he glanced over at Sam with a wry smile. "Sorry to interrupt your lunch date. Sam's needed at medical."
Sam stiffened up. "I'm not going back there."
"Not Ratchet," Jazz replied, shaking his head minutely. "I mean, not unless you want him. They have you booked at dental and ophthalmology this afternoon."
The clarification did nothing to settle Sam's nerves – he loathed the dentist. "Is that really necessary?" he asked stiffly.
Jazz shrugged. "It's them or Ratchet, kid. Take your pick."
Sam resisted the urge to narrow his eyes, knowing full well that any hostility would undo whatever good will he had garnered that morning.
"Fine," he replied tightly, tossing the dripping napkin onto the table. "Where is it?"
Rather than reply, Jazz motioned with his chin. Sam turned, his stomach flip-flopping at the sight of Jazz's alt mode parked a short distance away. The Pontiac Solstice looked entirely out of place in the middle of the promenade, but none of the pedestrians gave him so much as a second glance — evidentially, the sight of the flashy sports car was nothing out of the ordinary.
"You ready?" Jazz asked, good-naturedly.
"Let's just get this over with," Sam bit out, standing up.
Noah quickly pushed to his feet as well. "Do you want me to go with you?"
Sam shot him a hard look. "Why would I?"
"Don't worry about it, Diaz. I got him," Jazz interjected smoothly.
"You sure?" Noah asked softly, directing the question towards Sam.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Sam replied, stepping away from the table. He could practically feel Noah's gaze on his back as he made his way towards the coupe. Mercifully, Jazz didn't linger — as soon as Sam was settled in the passenger seat, he shifted into gear, before accelerating down the tunnel, leaving Noah and the others behind them.
Next chapter: Sam meets Blaster, and things go from bad to worse.
