Chapter 17: The Hub
Notes: Author's Note:: Apologies to everyone who was expecting shit to go down this chapter. Unfortunately, exposition took a lot longer than we expected, so we opted to split the chapter up. Keep an eye out for the next chapter!
Several days later, Sam and Noah were eating breakfast at the kitchen table when a polite knock came at the front door. They looked towards the entryway in unison, before Noah pushed to his feet and padded down the hallway. Sam leaned back in his chair, watching as the companion answered the door.
"Good morning, Noah," Raf greeted politely. "Is Sam ready?"
Noah half-turned, glancing over his shoulder and making eye contact with Sam, who was still in his rumpled sleepwear, before turning around again. "I'm sorry, what now?"
There was an audible pause, before Raf replied, a little hesitantly, "Blaster mentioned that Sam would be working at the communications array today. I thought I'd offer him a drive."
Sam set his spoon into his bowl of cereal, which was mostly just milk by now, before making his way down the hall. As he drew nearer to the door, he could see Rafael standing in the corridor.
Noah shifted aside as he approached. "You never mentioned anything about the communications array," he said, sounding surprised.
Sam twitched one shoulder in a shrug. "I didn't think anything would come of it," he replied, before giving Raf a searching look. "Blaster really said that?"
Raf nodded his head slowly. "He mentioned it this morning, yes."
At the same time, there was a distinctive ding sound. Noah reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone and peering at the screen. "Oh. Yeah. He's right. Communications array, 0900 to 1700 hours."
Sam stared at the device in consternation, before glancing up at Rafael, who was beginning to look a little uncomfortable. "I don't know what to say. I never thought Jazz would agree to it — or at least, not so soon."
Rafael offered him a hesitant smile. "Oh, well, Blaster's in charge of communications. He doesn't need Jazz's permission to bring you on." Something seemed to occur to him, for then he added with a laugh, "Well, not unless he wanted you in the signal corps or infosec, obviously."
Sam gave him a skeptical look, but he kept his doubts to himself. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Well, I mean, if Blaster's offering, then yeah, I'll go." He looked down at his sleepwear with a little frown. "But I'm not dressed yet."
"That's okay.," Raf replied earnestly. "We can wait for you to get ready."
"We?" Sam echoed confusedly.
Raf nodded and gestured meaningfully down the hall. Sam leaned forward just far enough to catch sight of the gleaming yellow Camaro, who was waiting at the junction. As soon as Sam laid eyes on him, Bumblebee flashed his high beams in greeting.
Sam leaned back and gave Raf a look. "Are you sure? I still need to shower."
Raf's answering smile warmed his whole face. "Of course! I don't mind."
"Oh, okay. Thanks," Sam replied, before taking a step backwards and jerking a thumb towards his room. "I'll be quick about it, alright?"
"Take your time," Noah replied, a wry smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Raf and I'll be in the living room."
Sam nodded, before turning on his heel and hurrying into his bedroom. He pulled open drawers, rummaging around inside until he found a change of clothing he liked, and then he made his way into the bathroom. He was quick about his morning ablutions, which resulted in him dropping the slippery shampoo bottle on his foot, but it was no time at all before he was washed, dressed, and hurrying into the living room. Raf was sitting on the couch, elbow propped on the sofa-arm and head resting on his fist, as the television droned on in front of him. Noah was puttering around the kitchen, cleaning away their mess from breakfast.
"Okay," Sam announced, causing both men to look at him. "I'm ready."
"Great," Raf smiled, pushing to his feet. "Let's go."
"I'll see you later tonight, Sam," Noah said, turning on the faucet and filling the kitchen sink.
Sam gave him a surprised look. "You aren't coming?"
"Nah," Noah replied with a half-smile. "It's my half-day."
"Half-day?" Sam repeated.
"Sure," Noah laughed lightly. "You didn't think the companions were on the clock 24/7/365, did you?"
In fact, Sam had thought that, but he shook his head anyway. "Oh, no. Of course not. I'll see you later, then."
Noah waved his shoulder, causing suds to splatter against the countertop, before he resumed washing the dishes. Raf ambled closer, hands in his pockets, before nodding towards the doorway. "Shall we?"
Together, Sam and Raf made their way down the hall and out into the corridor. The Camaro was waiting for them at the junction, and as soon as they approached, he popped open both of his doors. Raf slid into the driver's seat with an ease born of long familiarity. Sam only stared at the passenger seat for a moment, before carefully climbing inside. The doors clicked shut behind them as soon as their limbs were out of the way, and then the Camaro started driving.
"So, have you seen the communications array yet?" Raf asked, settling into his seat.
Sam shook his head. "No, not yet. Which sub-level is it on?"
"Oh, no, the communication array isn't a part of the Hive," Raf explained with a little smile. "It's a stand-alone complex located about half-a-kilometer south of the embassy. It can be accessed through the maintenance tunnel or an access road on the surface." Something seemed to occur to him, for he hastily added, "We usually take the maintenance tunnel, but we can go top-side if you'd rather."
"Oh," Sam replied. "I don't really have a preference."
Raf made a thoughtful sound. "Well then, let's take the maintenance tunnel," he said, directing his comment towards the dashboard. The Camaro's engine revved in acknowledgement. To Sam, he added, "We can take the surface road tomorrow, if you like. It's a nice drive, but it's a bit out of the way."
Sam just nodded, before leaning back in his seat. The Camaro made his way down the corridor, past the medical bay, and through the thick blast doors that led to the maintenance tunnel. Rather than continuing straight, however, the Camaro followed the orange wayfinding line that led south. Lights flashed by overhead as they picked up speed, topping out around thirty miles per hour, and it was no time at all before another blast door appeared at the terminus of the tunnel. Bumblebee slowed down just long enough for the doors to rumble apart, revealing yet another corridor, before starting forward again.
Sam sat up a little straighter in his seat. They were clearly in a basement of some kind as the walls were made of unfinished cinder blocks and the floors were poured concrete. It was mostly empty — they only passed the occasional door or junction, before a large freight elevator came into view at the end of the hall. It was smaller than the elevator at the embassy, but it was more than large enough for Bumblebee to pull inside.
As the doors slid shut behind them, Raf took a page out of Miko's book and started tour-guiding. "So, the communications array is a complex of three interconnected buildings. This is the primary facility, where a lot of the administrative work is done. Marketing, sales, and finance are on the second floor; the production studios, control rooms, and videography are on the third floor; the creative department's on the fourth floor; and public relations, external press, and consulting are on the fifth floor."
"Sounds like a lot," Sam commented.
"It is," Raf laughed. "But you'll get used to it pretty quickly. Blaster's the site supervisor, of course, but he's also involved in infosec, so he splits his time between here and there."
"Infosec?" Sam echoed. It was the second time Raf had mentioned the unfamiliar term.
"Information security," Raf explained. "It's accessible through the security check-point on the first floor. They're responsible for security for the whole network — hardware, software, and comms."
"Sounds complicated," Sam replied, slowly.
"It can be, yeah, but it's really fascinating too," Raf agreed. "You should ask Oliver about it sometime, if you're interested. That's his department."
Sam immediately recognized the name of the older cassette, but before he could press Raf for more information, the elevator doors slid open, revealing a bustling workspace. Sam stared through the windshield in naked surprise. The room (floor? atrium?) was massive — the ceiling was easily thirty or forty feet above them, and although the floor space was filled with workstations and cubicles and people, it was so large that Bumblebee navigated through the bustle with little issue. It wasn't until they were almost halfway across the room that Sam spied Blaster towering over the crowd. The carrier was standing at an Cybertronian-sized table, which was cram-full of monitors and equipment.
As Bumblebee drew nearer, Blaster glanced down at them, his optics brightening in recognition, before he stepped away from his desk and lowered into a loose crouch. The carrier was taller than Jazz but shorter than Perceptor, putting him at something of a height with Ratchet. Bumblebee pulled to a stop a short distance away. Raf was unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the vehicle almost before they had come to a complete stop.
"Morning, Blaster," Raf greeted, cheerfully.
"Good morning, Rafael," Blaster rumbled in greeting, before offering Sam a welcoming smile in turn. "And good morning to you as well, Sam."
"Hey, Blaster," Sam murmured in reply, coming around to stand by the Camaro's front bumper. "Quite the place you have here."
Blaster chuckled good-naturedly. "Well, thank you, Sam. It's a little chaotic at times, but I do my best to ensure it's a controlled sort of chaos."
Sam's lips twitched, despite himself, because controlled chaos seemed like the right term for it. The room was filled with the sound of people conversing with one another, some at a louder volume than others, the clickety-clack of keyboards, the low hum of machinery, and the distant drone of television. Sam was able to pinpoint the source of the last easily enough. The back wall was filled with wall-mounted monitors, each displaying a different news feed from around the world. Sam could make out the familiar logos of Reuters, the Associated Press, BBC, and Al Jazeera, even from a distance.
"Would you like the grand tour?" Blaster asked, tipping his head.
Sam's gaze slid back to the carrier. "Uh, sure. I mean, if you're offering."
Blaster's mouth plates twitched up in a smile, and then his holoform slowly materialized in front of them. The hard light projection looked just the same as the last time Sam had seen him. The carrier turned to look at Raf, in both holoform and physical form. "Would you like to join us, Rafael?"
Raf looked a little surprised by the question, but his lips turned up in a tentative smile all the same. "I'd like that. Thank you, Blaster."
Blaster chuckled good-naturedly, before folding down into his alt mode. Sam took a hasty step backwards as panels split apart, struts twisted, and gears rotated into place. He had seen the process once before in the menagerie, but it was no less jarring up close.
"All aboard," Blaster joked, popping open his two front doors.
Rafael and Sam climbed inside — Raf, into the driver's seat, and Sam into the passenger's. The doors clicked shut behind them as soon as they were settled.
The tour of the communications array proved to be more interesting than Sam was expecting. The entire building was constructed for mixed occupation. Although the first floor was the only one large enough to allow Cybertronians to move about in their bipedal modes, the other floors were fully accessible by both alt mode and holoform. Blaster took them to the fifth floor first, where he did a circuit in his alt mode, before popping his doors and leading them on a foot tour. Sam was quiet as they walked, taking in the different offices and press rooms. It was very polished, very impressive — even for the uninitiated, like Sam.
Blaster took them to the fourth floor next, where Sam got to see the different creative departments. He tried to keep his expression neutral as they drove, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. There was a production department, a sound department, and an art department. The latter included offices and studios for set design, graphic design and illustration.
They were driving past the graphic design studio when Sam muttered, almost in consternation, "What does Prime need with a visual effects department?"
"Well, that's a good question," Blaster replied, because of course the carrier had heard him. "The creative departments have their fingers in a lot of pies. They work on signage, posters, logos, billboards, advertisements… whatever we need. And not just for the island, either — they're responsible for designing all visual media, whether physical or digital, for the island and all of its embassies."
The answer made Sam feel a little chasented, though he wasn't sure why, exactly. He nodded just far enough to show Blaster that he had heard him, and then he fell quiet.
They went to the third floor next, which included the production studios, control rooms, and videography. Sam, Blaster, and Raf stood in the wings of the Production Studio B and watched a live segment on the eruption of the Eyjafjallajökul volcano in iceland. When the news segment cut to commercials, the two newscasters were descended upon by a flock of production assistants, who touched up cosmetics, smoothed flyaway hairs, and provided updated materials. Sam watched them for a moment longer, and then he and Raf followed Blaster back to his alt mode.
The tour ended on the second floor, which proved to be far less interesting than the other three. The entire level looked as though it could have been featured in a Forbes issue on White Collar business practices. There was nothing but offices, and conference rooms, and cubicles, and break-out spaces from one end of the floor to the other.
It was very…. Corporate America.
Sam soon found himself sitting in one of the nondescript offices located near the elevators. Blaster explained, almost apologetically, that before they could officially onboard him, Sam had to undergo the mandatory HR training. Sam glanced at the computer monitor, which already had the first of the fifteen training modules that Sam had to complete loaded up and ready to go, before looking at Blaster in sinking dismay.
"Are you serious?" he asked.
Blaster offered him a sympathetic smile. "As a heart attack, unfortunately. It's a non-negotiable condition of your employment."
Sam wasn't sure which part of Blaster's answer baffled him more — that the HR training was non-negotiable, or that he was going to be employed. The whole thing was beyond bizarre, which is why Sam asked, a little more tetchily than he intended, "Whose condition?"
"Mine," Blaster replied. "It's a requirement for all new hires, regardless of whether they're human, cassette, or otherwise."
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I didn't think… I mean, I wasn't expecting to be working. I thought… well, I'm not sure what I thought, but—"
As he stammered on, Blaster's face creased in a fond, understanding smile. "Let's get the HR training out of the way, and then we can discuss what you'd like to do here. I have a few ideas where I think you could excel, but the decision is yours."
Sam half-turned, glancing at the computer monitor. The loading screen of the first module had the words "Welcome to Diego Garcia" on one side of the screen, and the visage of a handsome looking man in corporate attire on the other side.
"Alright," Sam said slowly, before looking across the desk at Blaster. "How long is this gonna take?"
"It takes as long as it takes," Blaster replied good-naturedly.
Behind him, Raf offered Sam a wry smile. The older cassette was standing in the doorway to the office with a knowing look on his face. "Each module has a time stamp. I think it took me six or seven hours to get through them all." Almost as an afterthought, Raf warned dryly, "And don't try to skip through the modules just to get to the tests. Ultra Magnus will be timing you."
"Who?" Sam asked, confusedly.
"You'll see," Raf replied, his mouth curving up in a smile.
As it turned out, Ultra Magnus was the name of the man on the loading screen. It didn't take Sam long to figure out that he was another holoform projection. The Autobot introduced himself as the City Commander, whatever in the hell that meant, and explained that he would serve as a guide through the training process. Eager to get things over with, Sam leaned back in his seat and hit the 'play' button.
The first module wasn't so bad. It provided an overview of the island, including its geography, districts, and amenities, as well as a list of relevant departments any new hire might need to contact — human resources, finances, security, and legal. Sam only listened with half an ear. The test at the end of the first module was a mixture of questions that were so obvious as to be insulting, and so random that they were clearly intended to gauge whether the listener was actually paying attention.
After that, things went downhill from there.
The next module was Sexual Harassment and Discrimination Prevention. After that, there was Cultural Sensitivity, then Preventing Bullying & Workplace Violence, and then Promoting a Substance-Free Workspace.
Sam was slouched down in his seat, listening to Ultra Magnus' smooth baritone explain the warning signs of a substance addiction, when there was a polite knock at the door. Sam's head came up in surprise to find a youngish man, perhaps early thirties, with dark hair and an olive complexion standing in the doorway.
"Hey, Sam," the stranger greeted with a friendly smile. "It's nice to finally meet you. My name's Luis."
"Uh, hello," Sam managed, pushing himself up straighter in his seat. "Can I help you?"
"I thought you might be hungry," Luis said, raising his hands to show the drink tray and take-out bag he was holding. "It's almost noon."
"Oh," Sam replied dumbly, before glancing down at the time. 11:52 AM. It had felt like he'd been stuck in the office for a lot longer. "Uh, thanks."
"De nada," Luis replied, before stepping into the office and pulling out the chair on the other side of the desk. He took a seat, before placing the drink tray on the desk and opening the take-out bag. He handed Sam a thick sub wrapped in white deli paper. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I improvised."
Sam accepted the sub, before glancing down at the deli paper, which had 'Philly, P, O' written on it in black marker. Sam unwrapped the paper to reveal a Philly Cheesesteak sub on a thick-cut toasted bun. The smell of roast meat and provolone cheese hit him full in the face a second later.
Sam couldn't help it — he groaned in appreciation.
Luis laughed lightly. "A man after my own heart."
"Thanks," Sam acknowledged, gesturing meaningfully with the sub, before taking a bite. He grunted at the taste of roasted beef, peppers, and onions. It was easily one of the best Philly Cheesesteaks that Sam had ever eaten in his life.
"No problem," Luis replied, pulling another sub out of the bag. Sam watched in surprise as the other man unwrapped the white deli paper, revealing another Philly Cheesesteak, before he started eating.
It only took Sam a few seconds to put two-and-two together.
"You're a companion?" he guessed.
Luis glanced up at him, as though in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Yes, I'm a companion. I spend most of my time at Communications with Raf and the others." A peculiar look crossed Luis' face, and then he asked wryly, "Do you usually accept food from random strangers?"
Sam huffed a laugh. "What's the worst you could do? Poison me? Considering how many of these trainings I still need to get through, I think you'd be doing me a favor."
Luis threw back his head and laughed — it was a deep, warm laugh. "Okay, fair point. Which one are you on now?"
"Promoting a Substance-free Workspace," Sam replied wryly, before taking another bite of his sandwich.
Luis pulled a face. "Oof. Yeah, that's a dry one."
"Tell me about it," Sam mumbled, hiding his mouth behind his hand. "Are they all this bad?"
Luis tipped his head to the side and seemed to consider the question seriously. "The HR ones are pretty brutal, yeah, but the Comms ones aren't so bad. There's a training on Comms policies and procedures, and another one on compartmentally sensitive information that're at least relevant to what you'll be doing." Luis gave him a curious look. "What are you going to be doing?"
"I don't know," Sam admitted with a shrug. "Blaster never told me."
"That's not really how it works with cassettes," Luis replied with a laugh. "You guys kinda write your own job descriptions."
Sam frowned faintly. "Well then, I really don't know." It's not like he had any marketable skills, and even if he did, he wasn't about to employ them to the benefit of Prime and his agenda.
Luis made a noncommittal noise. "Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out. There's lots to do."
Sam mulled Luis' words over as he ate. "What do you do?"
"A little bit of everything," Luis replied with an easygoing shrug. "I'm mostly in Infosec with Oliver, but I've rotated to external press and marketing, too." Luis took another bite of his sandwich and washed it down with a mouthful of soda. "I pretty much go wherever I'm needed."
They ate the rest of their meal in silence, but it was a companionable sort of silence. Unlike the other people Sam interacted with on a regular basis, Luis didn't seem particularly interested in drawing him into a conversation or offering reassurances. Instead, Luis was reserved, almost taciturn. If Sam was quiet, then Luis was quiet too.
It was a welcome change of pace.
After they had finished eating, Luis showed Sam where the washrooms were, and then he said good-bye. As Sam stood outside the men's room door, watching Luis make his way towards the elevators, he glanced surreptitiously at the people milling around him. There were probably two dozen people in his immediate vicinity — working at their desks, chatting near the watercooler, standing at the photocopier — and none of them were so much as looking in his direction. Sam's heart started beating a little faster. It was the first time that Sam had been alone, or at least, unsupervised, in almost two weeks. The thought made something clench uncomfortably inside his chest.
The bathroom door swung open, and a man pulled up short at the sight of him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you standing there."
Sam flushed in embarrassment and stepped out of the way. "No, I'm sorry. It was my fault."
The man stepped around Sam, before heading towards the row of cubicles against the back wall. Embarrassed, Sam ducked into the bathroom and finished his business as quickly as he could. Afterwards, he made his way back to the little office where the next training was already loaded and waiting. Sam sat down heavily in his seat, and then he clicked the "Play" button in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. Immediately, Ultra Magnus' familiar voice started droning on about Fire Safety and Prevention.
Sam leaned back in his chair, head lolling against the headrest, when the glint of the webcam caught his eye. It looked innocuous enough — the little camera was mounted atop the flat screen monitor with 'Logitech' stamped below the curved lens. But the sight of it made Sam's heart skip a beat, and then start to race. All at once, he remembered Rafael's warning that Ultra Magnus would be timing him throughout the training, and suddenly, the lack of supervision made a lot more sense.
Sam felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. The little indicator light on the webcam was dark, but that didn't necessarily mean anything — nothing was guaranteed where the Autobots and technology were concerned. The feeling of being watched suddenly settled over Sam like a leaden weight — heavy, suffocating, inescapable. Sam lurched into an upright position, before he started pulling open the desk drawers with unsteady hands. The first two drawers were empty except for a few scattered paper clips and ballpoint pens, but the third drawer bore fruit. Sam grabbed the pad of yellow sticky notes, before peeling one off and sticking it over the camera lens. The paper had faded and curled with time, but it obscured the lens all the same.
Sam leaned back in his chair with an unsteady breath. On the screen, Ultra Magnus gestured meaningfully to four different kinds of extinguishers as he began to explain the differences between them. The holoform's usually reserved demeanor seemed almost… disapproving as he described the purpose of a Class A extinguisher. Sam's gaze flicked from the screen to the camera, and back again. Ultra Magnus stared back at him — implacable, unreadable. Stern.
Sam did his best to ignore the feeling of being watched as the modules progressed one after the other, but the sticky note stayed in place for the rest of the afternoon.
Almost as soon as Sam submitted his answers to the final module test, there was a polite knock at the door. Sam's head came up in surprise to find Blaster's holoform standing in the doorway. The carrier's expression was creased with sympathetic amusement, and the sight made something wound tight insight Sam's chest relax, all at once.
"Ready to go?" Blaster asked good-naturedly.
Sam hastily pushed to his feet, before thumbing the power button on the monitor. Ultra Magnus' visage abruptly disappeared as the screen blinked to black.
"You have no idea," Sam muttered, coming out from behind the desk.
Blaster chuckled as he stepped aside, gesturing with one hand towards the elevators. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that that's the last of them." Blaster gave him a sidelong look as Sam fell into step beside him. "Are you hungry? I thought you might like to join us for supper."
Sam hesitated. On one hand, he was hungry — and he could admit, at least to himself, that he was relieved to see Blaster after hours spent languishing in the seventh circle of Skillsoft hell. But on the other hand, Sam was also wary of the invitation. He wasn't sure who Blaster meant by "us", but he had a pretty good idea.
"Miko and I aren't really on speaking terms," Sam replied, a little stiffly.
A ripple of emotion passed over Blaster's face. "Forgive me. I assumed you knew — Miko's in Tokyo."
Sam frowned. "She's in Tokyo?"
"Yes, she bridged over a few days ago," Blaster replied, stopping in front of the elevator. The doors immediately slid open with a cheerful sounding ding to reveal Blaster's alt mode parked in the otherwise empty compartment. Sam immediately spied Rafael sitting in the driver's seat; the older cassette waved as soon as they made eye contact through the windshield. At the same time, the passenger side door popped open invitingly.
Sam's frown deepened, and he made no move to step into the elevator. "Why?"
"Miko requested it," Blaster replied simply. "She felt her presence would make things more difficult for you, in light of all that happened."
Sam stared at the media van, which was parked innocuously in the elevator compartment. Blaster's holoform stood at his side, hands in his pockets, seemingly content to wait Sam out.
"When's she coming back?" Sam asked, feeling a little wrongfooted.
"Whenever you extend an invitation, I'd imagine," Blaster replied.
Sam half-turned to look at the holoform. "Well, I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were her."
Blaster's eyebrows drew together in consternation. "Sam, although Miko may not look like it, she is, in fact, over seventy years old. She was deeply shamed by her actions, once she was capable of reflecting on them." The holoform shook his head slightly. "Miko won't return to Diego Garcia until she's certain you're comfortable with her presence."
An unwelcome sliver of guilt niggled at Sam's conscience. He shifted his weight and asked, uncomfortably, "What's she going to do there all by herself?"
"Miko isn't by herself," Blaster replied, shaking his head. "She was accompanied by Drift and Elizabeth Harper, another companion." The holoform's lips twitched in a small smile as he added, a little dryly, "And Miko's responsible for translating all the communiques from the Asian embassies. Believe me — there's plenty to keep her busy in the interim."
Despite what Miko had done, Sam was relieved to learn that she wasn't being forced out of her home on his behalf. He wasn't that spiteful. Sam stepped into the elevator, before making his way towards the passenger side of the media van. "Who's all going to be there?" he asked.
If Blaster was thrown by the abrupt topic change, he didn't show it. "Rafael, Oliver, and myself, of course, but I thought we might invite Noah and Luis as well."
Sam climbed into the passenger seat, before pulling the door shut behind him. Blaster's holoform fizzled and disappeared as soon as he was settled.
"Hey, Sam," Raf greeted with a hesitant smile. "How was your day?"
"Long," Sam grumbled as he buckled his seatbelt.
Raf laughed lightly as the elevator doors slid shut in front of them. "Believe me, I get it. We all have to do a refresher course every year — it's not as long, but I think it's just as tedious."
Sam grimaced deeply. "Sounds like fun."
"Then I'm not explaining it properly," Raf returned dryly.
Despite himself, Sam laughed. The elevator doors slid open a few moments later, revealing the drab basement corridor they had taken earlier that morning. Blaster rolled forward until he was clear of the elevator compartment, and then he accelerated towards the left-hand turn in the distance.
"So, how about supper?" Blaster prodded, politely.
Sam glanced down at the dashboard in consideration. He was feeling hungry, and if Miko wasn't there, it might not be so bad. "I could probably eat."
Blaster's engines practically purred in response.
Somehow, the menagerie was even larger than Sam remembered.
Blaster pulled to a stop near the staircase that led to the main portion of the human-purposed living area. Sam and Raf climbed out of the vehicle, pushing the doors shut behind them, before making their way up the steps. To Sam's surprise, the kitchen was already occupied. Noah was standing at the stove, tending an assortment of pots and pans that were merrily simmering away, while Oliver and Luis sat at the large kitchen island, chatting with one another. The flatscreen television in the living space was on low, and Sam saw they were watching a re-cap of the Dodgers versus the Padres game.
Noah half-turned and waved as soon as he spotted them. "Hey! How was your first day, Sam?"
The question was so mundane that it seemed incongruous in the extreme. Sam pushed his hands into his pockets as he ambled closer. "It was fine. Monotonous, but fine."
Noah laughed lightly, before flipping a dish towel over one shoulder and using a wooden spoon to stir whatever was simmering in the wok. "Consider it a rite of passage."
As Sam approached the kitchen island, both Oliver and Luis turned in their seats to regard him. Sam's gaze flicked first to one, and then the other. Luis looked much the same as he had earlier that afternoon, but Oliver was dressed less formally than he had been the first time they met. The tweed jacket and dark tie had been exchanged for a thick cardigan and slacks. It gave the older cassette an almost grandfatherly appearance.
"Sam," Oliver greeted politely. His voice was deep and smooth.
"Hey, Oliver," Sam replied, before looking at Luis. "And hello again to you too, Luis."
Luis raised his glass in greeting. "You survived, I see."
Sam twitched his shoulders in a shrug, causing Luis to laugh and take another sip of his drink.
"Can I get you anything?" Raf asked, tossing the question over his shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen.
It took Sam a moment to realize the question had been directed towards him. "Oh. Uh. I could use a glass of water, I guess. Please."
"You sure you don't want something stronger?" Luis asked, swirling the amber colored liquid in his glass. "After the day you just had?"
Sam glanced over at him in surprise. For some reason, the thought of alcohol as an option hadn't even crossed his mind. "What do you have?" he asked, suddenly curious, despite himself.
"See for yourself," Raf replied, nodding his head towards the alcove beneath the staircase.
Sam only hesitated for a moment or two, before making his way across the kitchen. He knew from his earlier tour of the menagerie that the area was a small reading room, but as soon as he stepped over the threshold, he realized that someone had made some changes since last he'd visited. A well-stocked dry bar now stood in the corner, adorned with all manner of liquor bottles and glassware.
Sam's feet carried him forward of their own accord. His eyes skipped over the labels with a counting mounting sense of disbelief. Three different bottles of Macallan Single Malt Scotch Whiskey, a bottle of Glenfiddich, a 40-year-old Balvenie, a sixteen-year-old Lagavulin, a bottle of Pinnacle vodka, a bottle of Suntory Roku Gin, a Don Julio tequila, a bottle of Disaronno amaretto, and a few bottles labeled in, what Sam assumed, was Japanese script.
"Jesus," Sam murmured.
He crouched down, pulling open the cabinet doors to reveal an assortment of mixers and wines, each stored in the proper manner. Sam huffed a breath. It was like someone had reached into his head and plucked out a list of his favorite liquors, and then made that list into a reality.
"What do you think?" Raf asked, quietly eager.
Sam twisted his neck to look at him. "This is insane. Who stocked this?"
Raf visibly hesitated, which told Sam all he needed to know. Sam's fingers curled and uncurled around the edges of the cabinet doors. "Why?"
"She thought you'd like it," Raf replied uncomfortably. "On account of, well… you know."
Sam turned to survey the bottles of high-end liquor with a complicated mixture of feelings twisting behind his sternum. He had enjoyed his work at Macaddams, but more than that, he had enjoyed his place there. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Bill, slinging drinks and talking shit, and then sharing a drink or two with the other waitstaff once the doors were locked and the till was balanced. Occasionally, Bill would join them too. The bar's owner and namesake was gruff by nature, but after the customers were gone and the lights were down, he'd get quiet. Pensive. For some reason, Sam had enjoyed those nights the most.
"Well, she has some good taste," Sam managed eventually, before pushing the cabinet doors shut with a gentle click and straightening up. He took a rocks glass off of the shelf, glancing inside to make sure it was dust-free — it was, of course — and then he opened the Macallan sherry oak with a twist of his wrist and poured two fingers into the glass.
"Can I get you anything?" Sam asked, echoing Raf's earlier question.
"Um, sure," Raf agreed, padding a little closer. "What do you recommend?"
Sam made a thoughtful sound as he considered the options. "What kind of liquor do you prefer?"
Raf shrugged slightly. "I'm not really a big drinker."
A wry half-smile turned up the corner of Sam's mouth. He had had this conversation more times than he could count. "You like lemonade?" At Raf's puzzled nod, Sam's smile curled into a grin. "Lemme make you a Tom Collins."
Raf shrugged in acquiescence, and so Sam started gathering the necessary ingredients. Gin, lemon juice, sugar, carbonated water. The motions were so familiar they were almost automatic, subconscious — measure, pour, measure, pour, stir.
"Here," Sam said, offering the tall glass to Rafael. "I left room for ice if you want it, which you probably do, if you're not a drinker."
Raf took a tentative sip, before something like surprise played across his face. "It's good, thank you."
"No problem," Sam replied, picking up his glass and following Raf back into the kitchen. He was immediately met by the smell of something rich and savory. Noah was bustling back and forth between the stove and the counter, and Sam found himself making his way over without giving it conscious thought.
Noah glanced over as he neared. "Hey. Hope you like stir fry."
"Sure," Sam agreed easily, leaning forward to stare into the wok. There was an assortment of chopped vegetables shimmering in a dark looking sauce. "What is it?"
"Beef and broccoli," Noah replied easily.
"Is this something your three star Michelin chef taught you?" Sam asked, and it wasn't until the question had already left his mouth that he realized he was teasing the older man.
Noah laughed. "Nah, this is straight outta my mom's kitchen. She used to make it for me and my little brother a few times a month. It's the only thing I can cook that doesn't come from a box."
"Smells good," Sam offered, taking a sip of his whiskey. His eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. A little smokey, a little spicy, with an undercurrent of vanilla and caramel. Just like he remembered.
"Well, here's hoping it tastes as good as it smells," Noah chuckled. "I haven't cooked in ages."
As it turned out, Noah's concern was unwarranted. The beef and broccoli was delicious, though it was Sam's first time having it with baby corn, carrots, and red peppers. They ate together at the long dining room table, which someone had set prior to their arrival, rising only to get refills of drinks or additional napkins, as necessary. Their dinner conversation was surprisingly easy, surprisingly normal. Sam didn't contribute much himself, but no one seemed to mind.
After they finished eating, Sam eventually found himself parked between Noah and Luis on the large sofa while the Dodgers versus the Padres game played on the flat screen television. To Sam's genuine surprise, Raf turned out to be an avid Dodgers fan. The older cassette watched the game with intent focus, grimacing or grinning depending on which team was in the lead. Oliver, by contrast, stayed only until the bottom of the second inning, and then he politely excused himself and went upstairs.
Sam was on his third drink, feeling loose-limbed and comfortable, when Blaster's holoform ambled into the living space. The hard light projection stood off to one side, hands in his pockets, watching the television with an interested look on his face. Sam half-turned in his seat, glancing behind him — Blaster's physical form was sitting at the large desk against the back wall, actively working.
"Sorry," Blaster's holoform apologized with a rueful half-smile. "I don't mean to be discourteous."
Sam turned back around in his seat. "It's fine," he replied with a shrug.
"Blaster's always working," Raf offered by way of explanation. "It's not his fault — there's lots to do, and we only have two communications specialists planet-side."
"Oh?" Sam asked, neutrally.
"Bumblebee isn't a communications specialist," Blaster interjected wryly.
"He's close enough," Raf defended, with a little more heat than Sam would have expected.
Blaster's expression softened perceptibly. "He's very skilled at what he does," he murmured.
Sam's brow furrowed slightly. It was obvious, even to him, that this was a conversation the two of them had had before. Raf huffed a little and turned back towards the television screen, but his posture wasn't standoffish or defensive.
Blaster watched Raf for a moment, and then he turned to look at Sam. "So, have you given any thought about what you'd like to do?" he asked, interestedly.
Sam shifted in his seat. "Not really," he evaded.
In truth, the topic of Sam's employment had been on the forefront of his mind all day. His personal circumstances might have necessitated Sam's cooperation with Blaster and Ratchet, but they did not necessitate his cooperation with Prime. Regardless of the Allspark energy fucking his up nervous system or the interstellar war on their proverbial doorstep, Sam was a separatist to his core. Humans deserved the right to self-govern without the undue (and uncompromising) influence of the Prime and his government. The thought had weighed heavily on his mind throughout the tour of the communications array, and then again during the HR trainings. What could he possibly do that wouldn't benefit Prime in some way? His first thought was something with illustration or graphic design, but he knew that media could be easily manipulated — agenda setting, milieu control, framing, conditioning… it all started with design. His next thought was something monotonous, like a mailroom clerk or a production assistant, but he would still be a necessary cog in the system.
The end result was that Sam had no idea what he wanted to do.
"I have some ideas, if you're interested," Blaster offered.
Sam fingered his half-empty glass. "Sure."
"Well, I think you'd do well as a graphic artist," Blaster began, making Sam's stomach sink. "But if that doesn't appeal to you, there are other options. The sound department's looking for a key grip and a sound editor, Marketing's been asking for an events assistant, Studio production is looking for an executive assistant—"
Mention of the studio brought with it the memory of standing in the wings of Production Studio B while the newscasters had shared breaking news about the Iceland eruption. Sam's heart skipped a beat, and then it started racing as an idea took root inside his mind.
"Can I do whatever I want?" Sam asked, interrupting Blaster.
The holoform paused mid-sentence, before canting his head in consideration. "Well, there are some limitations on the roles you could fulfill, by necessity. Infosec and the signal corps would require—"
Sam waved his hand impatiently. As much as he didn't want his work to benefit Prime, he wanted it to benefit Jazz even less. "Not that," Sam replied. "I want to do the weather."
Blaster's brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and surprise. "You want to do… the weather?"
When Sam had been standing in the wings, watching the newscasters discuss the volcano's impacts on international travel and air quality, he could see the weather set from his vantage point. It was a small set — just a desk, a few flat screen monitors, and a large greenscreen — but it would be perfect. Objective. Helpful. Difficult to spin.
"Yeah," Sam agreed, warming to the idea now that it had taken root. "I want to help at the weather desk."
Luis snorted expressively. "Sam, we live in the tropics. The forecast's the same every day."
"I don't care," Sam replied stubbornly.
Blaster's expression was thoughtful, if reserved. "I didn't realize you were interested in meteorology."
Sam wasn't, not really — or at least, not any more interested than a Bostonian had cause to be. "I mean, sure. Who doesn't like the weather?" he bullshitted, right to Blaster's face.
The holoform's eyebrows drew together, as though in deep thought. "Generally, the weather service requires its new hires to have at least a Bachelor's degree in atmospheric science or a related discipline." Blaster's expression did something complicated. "I'd have to code the budget line as an internship, but we could get creative with the job description."
Sam felt a rush of triumph. "That would be great."
The holoform's face warmed with something like approval. "I'll take care of it."
"Thanks, Blaster," Sam replied, and he was surprised to realize he meant it.
Blaster opened his mouth to reply when an odd chiming noise interrupted the conversation. Raf, Luis, and Novo turned almost in perfect unison to look at the door. Blaster's holoform frowned faintly, before it fizzled and disappeared. At the same time, Blaster-the-mech pushed to his feet as the doors to the menagerie slid open, revealing a familiar looking silver Solstice. Sam pulled a face as Jazz rolled inside and pulled to a stop in the middle of the room.
"C'mon, kid. You're late for your appointment," Jazz's disembodied voice called out, flashing his high beams twice in quick succession.
Sam gripped his glass until his knuckles turned white. He was briefly tempted to refuse out of spite, but he wasn't in the mood to get into an argument. Instead, he knocked back the last of his liquor and stood up.
"Fine," Sam grimaced. "Give me a minute."
He brought the glass over to the sink, before carefully rinsing it under the running water and setting it on the counter. It was heavy, and in Sam's experience, heavy glassware was usually expensive. When he finished, he made his way down the steps towards the main level. Jazz was still parked in the middle of the floor, and he popped open the driver's side door as Sam approached.
"Oh, I get to sit in the driver's side today?" Sam asked, a little pissily.
"You can ride in the trunk, if you'd rather," Jazz shot right back.
Sam rolled his eyes, before turning to look at Blaster. The mech was staring down at them with an unreadable expression on his face plates. "Thanks for supper, Blaster."
"You're welcome, Sam," Blaster replied, and although his voice was scrupulously polite, Sam was certain that he wasn't imagining the undercurrent of tension in his tone. "I'll inform the weather service about your new role in the morning. It shouldn't take long to make the necessary arrangements."
"Thanks," Sam murmured.
Blaster inclined his head in valediction as Sam climbed into the driver's seat. As soon as he was settled, Jazz pulled the door shut behind him, and then the Solstice executed an impossibly tight three-point turn in reverse, before accelerating into the hall.
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