Fic: That Still Small Voice: Chapter Four
Why, yes. This chapter is awful. But I'm sick of fighting with it and wish to move on to the rest of the story. However, if any of you have any ideas on how to improve it, please let me know. If I can revise it to my satisfaction, I will repost it later. Also, much thanks to lawrencered for giving me some feedback on this chapter
Title: That Still Small Voice
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Sam has been pulled deeper into the conflict than anyone realized.
Author’s Note: I truly believe Sam would say it, and I can only hope that at least one of you will get the joke in here. If needed, I will explain it. ~_^
Chapter One : Chapter Two : Chapter Three
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Chapter Four
“All Ravens are Black”
Is the answer to this question “no”?
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“It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring.”
The song came softly, almost tunelessly, barely heard through the thrum of raindrops on Bumblebee’s frame. Sam tapped idly on the bottom curve of the steering wheel, watching out through the windshield at the blurred shapes of the people hurrying by, all huddling somewhat uselessly under their umbrellas. It was like the world had been splashed with runny watercolors, the setting of a newborn’s dream. A sweep of the windshield wipers brought the world momentarily into focus before the trails of rain swirled their way back down the curve of the glass. It was dark outside, with the metal-gray clouds low and heavy in the sky, blocking out the already dissipating light of the late afternoon. Every so often Sam could hear the faint rumbling of thunder. He looked at the clock, its electric green numbers glowing in the gray palette of the world. 6:48, and it was getting late. He looked out to the cafe, but there was nothing to see. Puddles rippled with each drop, and little bits of trash were being washed down along the gutters, building up on the slats of the storm drains. Sam took a shallow breath and continued to sing.
“He went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morning.”
Another sweep of the windshield wipers, and Sam started again.
“It’s raining, it’s pouring-“
“Sam.”
Bumblebee’s voice was low and quiet, as naturally muted by the rain as the engines of passing cars were. Sam figured that even alien robots were quieted by rain, however subconsciously.
“Yeah?” Sam asked as he watched a woman hail a taxi, its service light glowing brightly even through the downpour.
“What is the point of that song?”
Sam frowned and looked down at the dashboard. He did not know exactly where Bee’s “eyes” were, but it just seemed the most natural place to look when he addressed his companion directly.
“Huh?”
“That song,” Bumblebee clarified, the slight accent in his voice painted with curiosity. “What is the meaning in it?”
“Oh. Well…um, I don’t know. I’m not really sure it has a meaning,” Sam answered, shifting in his seat so that his elbow rested on the edge of the door, and he raised his hand up so that he could rest his head against his palm. The rain was making him sleepy. “I think it’s just a song. You learn it when you’re really little.”
“I see. You’ve repeated it ten times now, so I wondered if there was a particular significance in the lyrics.”
Sam chuckled and rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear away the drowsiness. He looked back out the driver’s side window at the line of cars waiting at a red light, the rain drops continuously breaking and coming together as they rolled to the tiny sill where the metal half of the door met the glass.
“Sorry,” Sam apologized. “I imagine that was annoying. It’s just stuck in my head a little bit.”
“It seems sad. Rain often has negative connotations in human music, and not being able to ‘get up in the morning’ suggests an incapacitated state, such as severe illness or even death.”
“Well, the old man did hit his head. But like I said, Bee. I think it’s just a song. Helps kids recognize and remember words through rhyming, or something.”
Bumblebee did not respond, and Sam laid his hand against the window, the glass wonderfully chilled and hard against his skin. When he pulled back, a pale gray print of his hand was left, disjointed and ghost like, and within seconds it faded away. “Hey, Bee. Did you have nursery rhymes? You know, back on your planet?”
“No,” came the answer after a rain-filled pause.
“Hmm,” Sam hummed. “That seems sad.”
Sam looked back towards the café, the warm light casting fuzzy halos on the soaked sidewalk. Through the windows, he could see the crowd of people gathered around the tables and counters, all drying off and warming up, surrounded by the aromas of mocha lattes and freshly baked biscotti. Feeling his stomach clench at the thought of food, Sam shifted in his seat. He had not eaten since before noon, and even a criminally small, overpriced turkey sandwich sounded like heaven. He hated to leave Bumblebee alone in the rain, though, and it would admittedly be easier for Will to find him if he were sitting in a distinctly colored car rather than stuffed away in the crowd. Bumblebee did not seem all that eager to let him go, either, since the doors remained firmly locked. Of course, Bumblebee was always like that. Sam knew that if he so much as mentioned that he was the slightest bit hungry, the door would open and Sam could venture out as he pleased. But always Sam had to ask to be let go. He knew that there was something in that, but he was too hungry to bother analyzing it.
Plus, it was raining. And the rain always made him think weird thoughts that had no place on normal, sunny days, so he always let them go.
“Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day,” Sam hummed, his melodic plea almost whispered, but it did nothing to convince the rainstorm to dissipate. But then, why should the rain go away? Even if it did comply, it would just return, albeit at an unknown date. Sam had wondered that when he was little-when he sang the song in an endless loop as he splashed through the puddles on the sidewalk. Sending the rain away only to ask it to come again seemed strange, and hypocritical. When it returned, it would inevitably be sent away again, only to be invited back when the day was more “convenient.” Perhaps if it was a washing day, or a wedding day, or a homework day, then the rain could stay for as long as it wished. Sam, on the other hand, had not cared either way. He just sang the song because that was what a child was supposed to do, and his mother would sing it with him.
As well, things were good after it rained. The grass was green, the thick dust that had blown in on the Santa Ana winds was washed away, and all the worms came crawling out onto the pavement. Sam would spend all afternoon picking these worms up and throwing them back into the grass, convinced he was ‘saving’ them from when the sun came out.
--and dried up all the rain.
So why should the rain go away, when it made things so pretty afterwards? Sam supposed it made outdoor activities-aside from worm rescuing-difficult, but everyone dismissed it so casually. It was not really too surprising, though, as humans were good at sending stuff away, from ladybugs to letters. For all that they held materialistic items close, it was all too easy to say goodbye to friends and family, going without communication for months or even years at a time. Perhaps it was a survival mechanism, ingrained deep inside-how else would living in a world of death be so possible, were it not for the ability to say goodbye? Maybe that was the reason why Bumblebee would not open the door for Sam unless asked. As a being that lived for hundreds of thousands to millions of years, it was quite possible that he simply did not know how to let things go.
Sam shook his head, trying to clear the foggy thoughts from his mind. It was the damn rain doing it to him again.
“Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a memory.” Bee’s attempt at joining in the repartee of rainy-day songs caused Sam to chuckle.
“Now you got it, Bee,” and the Eurythmics fizzled out, the radio falling quiet once more.
“Why do humans write songs about things that they hate?”
“It’s not that we hate it, Bee, it’s just that-“ Sam stopped and reconsidered. “Well, no. I guess that sounds about right,” he finished and reclined the seat a bit so he could lean back and close his eyes. Ever since he had been little, rain and thunderstorms put him to sleep, and he had yet to find if he would grow out of the trait.
“Shouldn’t music be for things that you love?” Bee asked, and Sam wondered at the strange timidity in his guardian’s voice, but only shook his head.
“That’s what poetry is for,” Sam replied. “And books are for the things that you fear.”
“But isn’t music a form of poetry, and vice versa? As well, poetry is found throughout books-“
“Ah,” Sam cut in. He smiled at the dashboard, but it felt heavy, sad. “Well, Bee, you just found the catch in it.”
Outside, the traffic light turned green, strikingly bright against the cloudy sky, and the cars cleared up from around them. That the rain seemed to come down harder Sam knew could be his imagination or boredom, but thunder rolled across the sky, flowing in between the skyscrapers down to the pavement, where Sam could feel the low vibrations of it in his chest.
“Sam, I-“ Whatever Bumblebee was going to say was lost as he cut himself off and shifted on his shocks, straightening up slightly. “They’re here.”
Sam also sat up, grabbing the steering wheel as he leaned forward to look out through the windshield. The wipers cleared away the thin sheet of water, and sure enough, the bright headlights of a monstrous GMC Topkick were approaching. Water fountained up along the sides of the vehicle as it charged through the large puddles through which even other pickup trucks had to move slowly. Sam waited until Ironhide had parallel-parked using steering methods that were probably impossible in non-sentient vehicles and was perfectly aligned with Bumblebee so that they were facing each other, bumper to bumper. Ironhide was facing the wrong way, technically speaking, but Sam pitied the police officer that tried to give him a parking ticket.
As soon as Ironhide switched off his headlights, Sam reached for the door handle, the locks clicking open even before he had touched it. The rain pelted him the moment he set one foot outside, and he pulled his jacked up over his head to at least shield him a little bit from the deluge. Sam got out, shutting the door behind him, and walked up Ironhide where Will was making the huge leap down.
“Hey, Ironhide,” Sam greeted, laying his hand against the front fender. Ironhide flashed his headlights in response before relaxing down on his tires to communicate silently with Bumblebee. Will came around the front, his own jacket over his head, and grinned at Sam.
“Hi, kiddo. Great weather we’re having.”
“Maybe if it keeps up, I’ll get to see if Bumblebee can transform into a boat.”
Will laughed and wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder, turning him towards the café.
“As this rate, we’ll need Optimus to turn into an ark. Now come on, I’m absolutely starving.”
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Will quickly abandoned Sam once they stepped inside, venturing off to find a table and fend off interlopers while Sam waited in line to order food. Will had made it clear that he did not care what Sam ordered, as long as it was “edible.” Apparently living as a soldier had lowered his pickiness when it came to food. So Sam stood obediently in line, waiting as those in front of him wondered between grande caramel latte machiatos and doppio espressos while he wondered what happened to coffee. Probably ousted by the same force that decimated a normal phone ring for mobiles and good television. Seriously. If they wanted to really show the “real world,” they would simply film a bunch of college kids sitting on the couch and watching “The Real World.”
“Hi! How can I help you?”
Sam blinked, drawn out of his thoughts by an unnaturally happy barista. Must be all the espresso.
“Yeah, I’ll have two club sandwiches, two things of potato chips, and two coffees.”
“Tall, grande, or twenty ounce?”
“Grande.”
“Decaf, regular, or flavor of the day?”
“Regular.” Before leaving Sam, Will had also made it quite clear that any sort of decaffeinated drink would result in Painful Happenings.
“Any flavor shots?”
“No.”
The barista turned away to make the pitifully dull drinks, and Sam sighed. “Just want something to drink and they have me take my SATs.” A wire bowl that someone somewhere had probably deemed artistic sat on the counter, and Sam eyed the dark red apples that were piled high in it. They were shiny and almost too perfect, but an apple did sound good. Whatever it was about the rain made him feel kid-like, from wanting a nap to splashing in puddles, and an apple seemed a perfect addition to it. He reached for one and lifted it out, feeling its weight in his hand.
“There’s another black raven in the world now,” a voice said from behind Sam. Brows furrowing, Sam turned slightly, looking back over his shoulder at the man who stood there. He was older, skin that was black as pitch crossed with deep lines that looked almost painfully cracked. He was thin, but seemed comfortable enough under a black leather jacket that had beads of water resting on the seams of the shoulders. A newsboy cap that had obviously seen better days was pulled down low across his forehead, keeping already dark eyes in a crescent moon shadow.
One misty, moisty morning, when cloudy was the weather, I chanced to meet an old man clothed all in leather….
…Leather made sense, on bad-weather days. It was warm, comfortable, and kept the wearer quite dry. Men wore it often-so what is the symbolism in that? That a man can so easily wear another’s skin?
“What?” Sam asked once he managed to fully process what the man had said to him. The man reached out around Sam, who could smell the thick, distinct fragrance of good, well-made leather, and pulled an apple out of the bowl.
“Your apple is red. So there is another black raven in the world.” The man held his apple up, running a dark thumb across the curves of it. “And now there are two.”
“Right,” Sam replied and turned back to the counter, where the barista was starting to ring up the order. Fourteen dollars poorer, he quickly gathered up the items and made his way to a table that Will had managed to claim, making sure to not look back.
“Thanks, Sam,” Will said as Sam sat down across from him and both dug into their sandwiches. Hunger being the main reason, but Sam could also sense the uneasiness between them that both were unsure about how to breach, and food provided a valid stalling mechanism. Neither really knew how to act around the other. Sam’s first impression of Will had been good, but to be perfectly honest, that first impression had also been made in the middle of a life-or-death situation. The second problem was that that had been the majority of their contact, aside from third party communications through Bumblebee and Ironhide or Mikaela. Both of them had been thrown together by chance, and while Will was likable enough-and Sam liked to think of himself as the same-there was still an age barrier, a difference in personalities. A difficult situation in which to make friends, which could have been possible if it did not seem like they should already be as such.
That was the real snag in it, really. Life debts and soldier bonds had tied them together before a good base relationship had formed, and they were closer than friends while barely knowing the other. Awkward. But Sam supposed that there was only one way to fix that, and conversation was a good start.
“How’s Annabelle?” he asked, vaguely remembering the name from when Mikaela told him a while back and hoping that it was right. He would have asked about Will’s wife as well, but he could not remember if her name had ever been mentioned to him, and asking about Will’s daughter had a good chance of his wife’s name being brought in by default. Will smiled at him, relief plain in having the ice broken by a harmless, simple topic.
“She’s good. I swear she doubles in size every day. It seems like Sarah and I are constantly buying new clothes for her-she keeps outgrowing hers.”
Ah, Sam had been right. Sarah. He needed to remember that.
“How about you?” Will asked, giving his own attempt at friendly conversation. “How are things with Mikaela?”
“Good,” Sam answered automatically, but then took a second to think about it. He knew that the answer had not sounded particularly enthusiastic-it had the same resonance as someone answering ‘fine’ to a grocery store cashier’s ‘how are you, today?’ even if they were feeling anything but fine. ‘Fine’ was the only real acceptable answer in that sort of situation, since any other answer would invite too much involvement, instead of the distant courtesy it was supposed to be. But anyway, it was still the truth, as things were good with Mikaela since they technically were not bad. Sam knew he wanted to talk more about it with Will, but their friendship was still just starting. “She told me to tell you she was sorry that she couldn’t come today. She’s keeping a friend company while they visit a college.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’m here for the rest of the week, so I’m sure I can catch up with both of you. College, huh? You almost done with school?”
Will was not even sure of how old he was. And really, how old was Will?
“Yeah. This is the last real week of school, then next week is finals, and then I am free,” Sam answered. He almost stopped there, but decided to go easy on Will and clarify. “Free from high school for the rest of forever.”
“Wow, a senior. I remember the summer after my senior year. It was epic. There are stories still being told about it,” Will said with a smile. It was not completely relaxed, but easier than before, and Sam felt himself smiling in return. Will took another bite of his sandwich before continuing. “Do you have a college picked out?”
Sam shook his head.
“No. Mom and dad have been bugging me about it all year, but…I think I’m just going to take a year off, you know? I don’t really know what I want to do yet.”
In complete opposite reaction to his parents, Will nodded as though this answer made absolute, perfect sense.
“Nothing wrong with that. Take a break from school, get some money. A couple of my friends did that, and they’re glad they did.”
“I suppose I could always join the Army,” Sam said, a teasing grin curling around the rim of his coffee cup. It was Will’s turn to shake his head, and he did so vigorously while he swallowed.
“Listen, Sam, don’t tell my commanding officers, because I’m supposed to also help as a recruiting officer, but…don’t join. It sucks. Big time. Especially when you get stuck out in the middle of the desert and have to fight big-ass robot scorpions.”
“They probably don’t mention that in the recruiting packet,” Sam mused.
“No, not really. That sort of stuff is saved as a surprise.”
“I guess you’re right. I probably wouldn’t make a good soldier anyway.”
Both Will and Sam went quiet at that, and Sam looked back down at his almost empty plate, picking at the few remaining bits of potato chip that were left in the bag. The conversation had started off well, but then Sam had made a mistake. He had stumbled, and clumsily brought them into a corner, the walls of that corner involving the intimidating topic that had brought them together in the first place. It needed to be addressed, but also it was still a little too intimate for the infantile friendship they had started. Sam worked to summon his courage, but Will got there first.
“Listen, Sam,” he began, carefully setting down his drink. Will ran a palm down his face, rubbing at his eyes before looking straight at Sam, who stared back. “I…I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“It wasn’t fair of me, to ask so much of you in Mission City. So much was going on at the time-I wasn’t thinking it through properly. I shouldn’t have demanded it of you the way I did.”
You do not debate what you asked of me, Sam thought. Just the way you did so.
“It’s all right,” Sam answered, and put as much conviction as he could fit into it, since he meant it. “I’m glad you did. There was a lot going on, and I was starting to panic. You helped me clear my head.”
“Maybe so,” Will conceded. “But that doesn’t stop me from feeling officer’s guilt, magnified ten times by the fact that you’re not even an official soldier. And I-Sam, are you okay?”
Sam frowned at Will’s jump in conversation, and followed the older man’s concerned gaze down to where his hands were clasped on the table. Against the dark, scuffed wood, the fingers of both hands were curled against the opposite’s palm, and his nails were digging slowly and viciously into the soft skin. The muscles in Sam’s shoulders tightened as he separated his hands, turning them so that he could examine the web of red raked trails, all of them dotted with purple crescent marks where the nails had jabbed in particularly deep. As he stared at his abused hands, Sam realized through a sluggish, rainy haze in his brain how much they were stinging, burning, but he could not quite discern whether that was from the cause of his scratching, or was the reason why he was scratching at them in the first place.
And why had he not realized that he was doing it…?
“Sam? Sam, are you okay?” Will repeated, reaching out as if to grab at Sam’s wrist, but stopped before contact was made and slowly pulled back, as though he were unsure of even that motion. Sam raised his gaze to look at Will.
I don’t know, Sam wanted to say, but for some reason the words were syrupy and would not rise from his throat, staying heavy and nearly choking. I don’t know if I’m okay. I’ve been feeling weird, Will. Out of my head, but that sounds silly without even voicing it aloud. I’ve been feeling strange, having weird thoughts. Can you he-
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam answered. He pulled his hands back towards himself, folding his arms so that they were tucked well away from each other. “It’s just a bad habit of mine. I’ve done it ever since I was little.”
Fine. Everyone is always fine. Think about it. Has the question ever been answered differently?
Will looked as though he wanted to question further, but really, their friendship was too new, and he had to be cautious. The tension was broken by a loud chirp from Will’s back pocket, and Sam waited curiously as the older man pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. A crease immediately appeared across Will’s forehead, causing Sam to lean forward in worry.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ironhide just sent me a text message,” Will answered. “He says that you and I need to go back out there.”
Almost before he finished talking, both Will and Sam were standing and on their way out the café. The rain was coming down in sheets, the pavement slicked with water that soaked through Sam’s shoes and drenched his socks. He would be uncomfortable later, and it was dangerous weather for landslides, but all that was secondary to getting to Bumblebee, who popped the door open as Sam approached. Sam quickly got in, dripping on the leather, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Will disappear into Ironhide.
“Is anything wrong, Bee?” Sam asked worriedly, hands coming up to grip the steering well.
“No, everything’s fine-“
See?
“But buckle your seatbelt. We need to go, Optimus has summoned all of us to meet right away.”
Within seconds, both Bumblebee and Ironhide peeled out of their parking spaces, headlights flashing on and cutting off a few other drivers to make the green light. The drive out of the city was quick and probably illegal in some respects, but they made it to the highway with only minor incidents left behind them. Once on the long stretch of soaked blacktop, Sam let himself relax slightly. He took his hands off the wheel and looked down at the dash.
“What’s going on, Bee?”
“You’ll see,” was the response, and Sam could hear the synthesized tones threaded through with amusement and anticipation, as though he were waiting for Sam to open a particularly cool present he had bought. Sam pouted, wanting to question Bee further, but he knew it would get nowhere. He checked out the window to where Ironhide was driving next to them and could just barely see Will through the tinted glass. He caught Will’s eye and held his hands up in a gesture of confusion, and Will returned it before turning to face the dash and start speaking to Ironhide in what seemed like….colorful ways. Sam chuckled, facing forward again.
“We’re not going to the lookout?” Sam asked as they approached the exit and continued right past it.
“No. We’re meeting elsewhere today.”
“And you’re not going to tell me-“
“No.”
Sighing heavily, Sam sank deeper into the seat and folded his arms so that his “scowling-angsty-hate-the-world-teenager” look would be complete. Unfortunately, it did not seem that alien robots were affected by it. All he could do, then, was sit and wait to see whatever surprise that both Bumblebee and Ironhide wanted to inflict on him. He did not imagine the drive lasting too long, since otherwise Bumblebee would have taken him home first to get his overnight bag together, but he did wish he had had remembered to bring that apple with him. He had left it on the table back at the café in his rush, and it had sounded so good--
“Hey, Bee, you’re connected to the internet, right?”
“I am.”
“I was just wondering if there was any reference on it to…to apples and ravens. Referenced together, that is.”
Sam felt foolish for asking, but the comment made by the man in line had lodged itself into his brain, and with nothing else to do but sit and stare at rain, he felt it tickling at him. He wanted to believe that it was just the crazy rambling of someone who perhaps had had a bit too much to drink-the guy had been in there to buy coffee, after all-but it sounded too structured for it to have simply been pulled from the air. He supposed there was no harm in asking.
“Are you talking about the Raven Paradox?” Bee asked after a few seconds of searching. Sam started, not having expected an affirmative response.
“What’s that?”
“According to this website, the Raven Paradox states that ‘seeing a red apple increases the likelihood that all ravens are black.’”
That made even less sense than the man in line.
“I don’t get it. What does it mean?”
“Apparently, it’s an exercise in logic. The phrase ‘all ravens are black’ takes the form of a conditional statement: if it is a raven, then it is black. This must mean, of course, that the contrapositive to that statement is also true: if it is not black, then it is not a raven.”
“So, seeing a red apple…” Sam said, trying to turn the riddle over in his head.
“Which is not black and not a raven,” Bee elaborated helpfully.
“Increases the likelihood that all ravens are black.”
“It is also an example of the ‘scientific method’ that I have seen described so often,” Bumblebee cut in. “It would be quite impossible to examine each and every single raven, even in theory, since there have been many ravens that have died and many ravens that have not yet been born. That is why the Paradox states that the likelihood is increased, rather than the fact being proven. Humans have an odd way of phrasing such logical arguments, but I believe I understand it. The same format of equivalent contrapositives is used quite often, I am seeing. There are many examples listed throughout literature, mostly concerned with a character’s identity. For example, when you say, ‘I am Sam,’ you are also saying ‘I am not Will.’ ‘I am not Mikaela.’ Do you understand?”
Sam bit his lip as the echo of the Devil resounded through his head: I. AM. MEGATRON!
I am *not*--
“Yeah. I think I do.”
“Your way of presenting logic arguments is indeed quite unusual. I will point it out to Ratchet-I think he will enjoy it very much. But for now…”
Bee trailed off, and Sam refocused his attention to the front. At some point, Bumblebee had exited the highway into the industrial part of town. And, from the look of it, into the most run-down, horror-movie setting part of the industrial park. This was not helped by the fact that it was still raining, though it had lightened up considerably, and that Bumblebee came to a stop inside the train yard where more than half of the cars were most assuredly out of commission. Bee remained silent, so Sam stepped out of the car and moved away so that Bee could transform. Once in his ‘natural’ state, Bumblebee shifted so that he stood directly over Sam, to shield him somewhat from the now misty drizzle. Will walked up to Sam, just as Ironhide approached Bee, and gave Sam a crooked smile.
“So. When do you think Jigsaw shows up?” he asked, looking around him at the twisted, red metal that rang with the sound of raindrops and formed dark monoliths on the gravelly ground. Above them, Ironhide and Bumblebee were conversing in the strange, guttural sounds of their language, obviously excited about something. Sam grinned back at Will, mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“Right after Alien, of course,” he said, earning a hearty laugh from Will.
“Geez. And no Sigourney to be found. Just our luck.”
All four went silent at the sound of heavy footsteps, the hum of turning gears and hiss of hydraulics, and both Sam and Will spun around to see both Optimus and Ratchet approaching their group. Both had their shapes broken up by the piles of metal surrounding them, but Sam could make out the distinct flame paintjob and blue glow of Optimus’ eyes. As he had since he first saw the Autobot leader, Sam felt his stomach turn leaden at the sight, filled with both desires of hiding behind Bumblebee’s leg and to run up to Optimus in delight.
“Sam, Captain Lennox,” Optimus greeted, his deep voice moving warmly across the greeting. He got down on one knee so that he was closer to their level, but not coming so low that it would seem condescending. “I deeply apologize for the short notice and late hour, but I am very grateful that you were able to join us this evening.”
“Are you going to tell us what this is all about? These two bums have been keeping it secret,” Will said, pointing up at Ironhide and Bumblebee. Optimus chuckled.
“As we will all continue to do so, Captain. We wish for it to be a ‘surprise.’”
Bumblebee began speaking to Optimus in hurried clicks, while Will turned to Sam and gave him a look that said, ‘They’re your robots. You deal with them.’ Ratchet turned from Bumblebee’s and Optimus’ conversation and looked down at Sam.
“I agree,” he said. “Since we will be here for a little while longer, I suggest that you both take shelter in one of the boxcars. I have read that prolonged exposure to precipitation may encourage viral and bacterial infections.”
“I think he means that we’ll get sick if we stay in the rain,” Sam said in a stage-whisper to Will, who widened his eyes in appropriate mock-astonishment.
“Why didn’t he just say so?”
Yes. Perhaps becoming friends would not be as impossible as they both had first thought.
Bumblebee obligingly tore open the door to one of the few boxcars that had remained upright, lowering his hand to the ground so that Sam and Will could use it as a step up before sitting down next to the car.
“Captain Lennox, I wished to tell you how impressed and thankful I am with your government’s hospitality towards us. Though I am aware of the hesitation and wariness in trusting us, the generosity has greatly exceeded our expectations and hopes,” Optimus said, also coming to a rest in front of the boxcar.
“We get things right once in a while,” Will replied with a weary smile. “And we do owe you a lot. For saving us from the Decepticons.”
Optimus shook his head.
“That was our fault to begin with. I cannot express how sorry I am for dragging Earth into our war. Allowing us to remain is a great honor, and I can assure you that we will do our best to serve mankind in repayment.”
“You can’t fool me, Optimus,” Sam called out, trying to break the somber mood with an entirely irreverent joke. “I know it’s a cookbook.”
Next to him, Will practically folded in half as he tried to hide a sharp bark of laughter, tucking his face into the fabric of his jeans. All around them was only the sound breeze whistling across the plates of metal as the Autobots stared at Sam, trying to process what he meant. Sam stared innocently back.
“What do you mean by-“ Ironhide began, but Will had managed to catch his breath by then and cut him off.
“I’ll explain it later, Ironhide, when we have more time.”
“That would be best,” Optimus said as he quickly stood, ground shivering under the movement. Bumblebee also stood, and all four Autobots turned their gazes skyward. “Since we do not have time for it now.”
Almost on cue, a roar of sound-one that could be mistaken for residual thunder by those farther away-sent minor shockwaves through the train graveyard, and Sam raised his hands to cover his ears. With each second it got louder, as though a massive jet were hurtling towards the ground, and Sam could feel the metal beneath his feet begin to vibrate wildly. He felt Will grab a hold of his arm to keep him steady, and Bumblebee quickly moved so that he was standing protectively in front of them, ready to shield the two humans from whatever fire was falling from heaven. It also blocked Sam’s view, but he could see that Bumblebee’s body was outlined in the bright, orange light of immense heat, and that light seemed to fill his world before a resounding crash shook the earth beneath him. The top of the boxcar bent under Bumblebee’s grip, an attempt to keep it steady, but both Will and Sam tumbled to the floor, scrambling for purchase in the large rust flakes.
As soon as the jolting stopped, both Will and Sam scrambled out of the car with Will hissing, “I knew it!” and ran to where the Autobots were gathering: a large crater, just on the outside edge of the train yard, with dirt and gravel thrown in a high ring around it. Bumblebee stayed close by Sam, also staying back when Sam halted several yards behind the group. Small fires littered the ground, eating at already decayed bits of trash and wood, and cast the entire area in a dusty orange light, filled with dark, sharp shadows. The fires were small, dying under the sheer amount of water in the air, and most had fizzled out by the time whatever was in the crater unfolded itself. Like Will, Sam had a pretty good idea as to what was happening, and he watched with such eager anticipation that he did not notice when the tips of his fingers began to rake slowly and deeply across his palms.
What stood up out of the crater was so distinctly alien that it made Sam’s breath catch in his throat. Bumblebee had told him about their protoforms, of course, and how it was a Cybertronian’s most basic form until they had scanned some sort of mechanical object to mimic. Sam had thought he had it pictured, but it was something else entirely to see it just yards away. All of the Autobots began speaking, and it was nothing but a jumbled mess of static and clicks to Sam, so he waited in the shadow of Bee’s leg until the new Autobot’s optics briefly glanced at Will before they locked on him.
“Sam, Captain Lennox,” Optimus began, and Sam could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “I’d like you to meet a very good friend of mine. This is Wheeljack.”
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TBC.
Title: That Still Small Voice
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Sam has been pulled deeper into the conflict than anyone realized.
Author’s Note: I truly believe Sam would say it, and I can only hope that at least one of you will get the joke in here. If needed, I will explain it. ~_^
Chapter One : Chapter Two : Chapter Three
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Chapter Four
“All Ravens are Black”
Is the answer to this question “no”?
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“It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring.”
The song came softly, almost tunelessly, barely heard through the thrum of raindrops on Bumblebee’s frame. Sam tapped idly on the bottom curve of the steering wheel, watching out through the windshield at the blurred shapes of the people hurrying by, all huddling somewhat uselessly under their umbrellas. It was like the world had been splashed with runny watercolors, the setting of a newborn’s dream. A sweep of the windshield wipers brought the world momentarily into focus before the trails of rain swirled their way back down the curve of the glass. It was dark outside, with the metal-gray clouds low and heavy in the sky, blocking out the already dissipating light of the late afternoon. Every so often Sam could hear the faint rumbling of thunder. He looked at the clock, its electric green numbers glowing in the gray palette of the world. 6:48, and it was getting late. He looked out to the cafe, but there was nothing to see. Puddles rippled with each drop, and little bits of trash were being washed down along the gutters, building up on the slats of the storm drains. Sam took a shallow breath and continued to sing.
“He went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morning.”
Another sweep of the windshield wipers, and Sam started again.
“It’s raining, it’s pouring-“
“Sam.”
Bumblebee’s voice was low and quiet, as naturally muted by the rain as the engines of passing cars were. Sam figured that even alien robots were quieted by rain, however subconsciously.
“Yeah?” Sam asked as he watched a woman hail a taxi, its service light glowing brightly even through the downpour.
“What is the point of that song?”
Sam frowned and looked down at the dashboard. He did not know exactly where Bee’s “eyes” were, but it just seemed the most natural place to look when he addressed his companion directly.
“Huh?”
“That song,” Bumblebee clarified, the slight accent in his voice painted with curiosity. “What is the meaning in it?”
“Oh. Well…um, I don’t know. I’m not really sure it has a meaning,” Sam answered, shifting in his seat so that his elbow rested on the edge of the door, and he raised his hand up so that he could rest his head against his palm. The rain was making him sleepy. “I think it’s just a song. You learn it when you’re really little.”
“I see. You’ve repeated it ten times now, so I wondered if there was a particular significance in the lyrics.”
Sam chuckled and rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear away the drowsiness. He looked back out the driver’s side window at the line of cars waiting at a red light, the rain drops continuously breaking and coming together as they rolled to the tiny sill where the metal half of the door met the glass.
“Sorry,” Sam apologized. “I imagine that was annoying. It’s just stuck in my head a little bit.”
“It seems sad. Rain often has negative connotations in human music, and not being able to ‘get up in the morning’ suggests an incapacitated state, such as severe illness or even death.”
“Well, the old man did hit his head. But like I said, Bee. I think it’s just a song. Helps kids recognize and remember words through rhyming, or something.”
Bumblebee did not respond, and Sam laid his hand against the window, the glass wonderfully chilled and hard against his skin. When he pulled back, a pale gray print of his hand was left, disjointed and ghost like, and within seconds it faded away. “Hey, Bee. Did you have nursery rhymes? You know, back on your planet?”
“No,” came the answer after a rain-filled pause.
“Hmm,” Sam hummed. “That seems sad.”
Sam looked back towards the café, the warm light casting fuzzy halos on the soaked sidewalk. Through the windows, he could see the crowd of people gathered around the tables and counters, all drying off and warming up, surrounded by the aromas of mocha lattes and freshly baked biscotti. Feeling his stomach clench at the thought of food, Sam shifted in his seat. He had not eaten since before noon, and even a criminally small, overpriced turkey sandwich sounded like heaven. He hated to leave Bumblebee alone in the rain, though, and it would admittedly be easier for Will to find him if he were sitting in a distinctly colored car rather than stuffed away in the crowd. Bumblebee did not seem all that eager to let him go, either, since the doors remained firmly locked. Of course, Bumblebee was always like that. Sam knew that if he so much as mentioned that he was the slightest bit hungry, the door would open and Sam could venture out as he pleased. But always Sam had to ask to be let go. He knew that there was something in that, but he was too hungry to bother analyzing it.
Plus, it was raining. And the rain always made him think weird thoughts that had no place on normal, sunny days, so he always let them go.
“Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day,” Sam hummed, his melodic plea almost whispered, but it did nothing to convince the rainstorm to dissipate. But then, why should the rain go away? Even if it did comply, it would just return, albeit at an unknown date. Sam had wondered that when he was little-when he sang the song in an endless loop as he splashed through the puddles on the sidewalk. Sending the rain away only to ask it to come again seemed strange, and hypocritical. When it returned, it would inevitably be sent away again, only to be invited back when the day was more “convenient.” Perhaps if it was a washing day, or a wedding day, or a homework day, then the rain could stay for as long as it wished. Sam, on the other hand, had not cared either way. He just sang the song because that was what a child was supposed to do, and his mother would sing it with him.
As well, things were good after it rained. The grass was green, the thick dust that had blown in on the Santa Ana winds was washed away, and all the worms came crawling out onto the pavement. Sam would spend all afternoon picking these worms up and throwing them back into the grass, convinced he was ‘saving’ them from when the sun came out.
--and dried up all the rain.
So why should the rain go away, when it made things so pretty afterwards? Sam supposed it made outdoor activities-aside from worm rescuing-difficult, but everyone dismissed it so casually. It was not really too surprising, though, as humans were good at sending stuff away, from ladybugs to letters. For all that they held materialistic items close, it was all too easy to say goodbye to friends and family, going without communication for months or even years at a time. Perhaps it was a survival mechanism, ingrained deep inside-how else would living in a world of death be so possible, were it not for the ability to say goodbye? Maybe that was the reason why Bumblebee would not open the door for Sam unless asked. As a being that lived for hundreds of thousands to millions of years, it was quite possible that he simply did not know how to let things go.
Sam shook his head, trying to clear the foggy thoughts from his mind. It was the damn rain doing it to him again.
“Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a memory.” Bee’s attempt at joining in the repartee of rainy-day songs caused Sam to chuckle.
“Now you got it, Bee,” and the Eurythmics fizzled out, the radio falling quiet once more.
“Why do humans write songs about things that they hate?”
“It’s not that we hate it, Bee, it’s just that-“ Sam stopped and reconsidered. “Well, no. I guess that sounds about right,” he finished and reclined the seat a bit so he could lean back and close his eyes. Ever since he had been little, rain and thunderstorms put him to sleep, and he had yet to find if he would grow out of the trait.
“Shouldn’t music be for things that you love?” Bee asked, and Sam wondered at the strange timidity in his guardian’s voice, but only shook his head.
“That’s what poetry is for,” Sam replied. “And books are for the things that you fear.”
“But isn’t music a form of poetry, and vice versa? As well, poetry is found throughout books-“
“Ah,” Sam cut in. He smiled at the dashboard, but it felt heavy, sad. “Well, Bee, you just found the catch in it.”
Outside, the traffic light turned green, strikingly bright against the cloudy sky, and the cars cleared up from around them. That the rain seemed to come down harder Sam knew could be his imagination or boredom, but thunder rolled across the sky, flowing in between the skyscrapers down to the pavement, where Sam could feel the low vibrations of it in his chest.
“Sam, I-“ Whatever Bumblebee was going to say was lost as he cut himself off and shifted on his shocks, straightening up slightly. “They’re here.”
Sam also sat up, grabbing the steering wheel as he leaned forward to look out through the windshield. The wipers cleared away the thin sheet of water, and sure enough, the bright headlights of a monstrous GMC Topkick were approaching. Water fountained up along the sides of the vehicle as it charged through the large puddles through which even other pickup trucks had to move slowly. Sam waited until Ironhide had parallel-parked using steering methods that were probably impossible in non-sentient vehicles and was perfectly aligned with Bumblebee so that they were facing each other, bumper to bumper. Ironhide was facing the wrong way, technically speaking, but Sam pitied the police officer that tried to give him a parking ticket.
As soon as Ironhide switched off his headlights, Sam reached for the door handle, the locks clicking open even before he had touched it. The rain pelted him the moment he set one foot outside, and he pulled his jacked up over his head to at least shield him a little bit from the deluge. Sam got out, shutting the door behind him, and walked up Ironhide where Will was making the huge leap down.
“Hey, Ironhide,” Sam greeted, laying his hand against the front fender. Ironhide flashed his headlights in response before relaxing down on his tires to communicate silently with Bumblebee. Will came around the front, his own jacket over his head, and grinned at Sam.
“Hi, kiddo. Great weather we’re having.”
“Maybe if it keeps up, I’ll get to see if Bumblebee can transform into a boat.”
Will laughed and wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder, turning him towards the café.
“As this rate, we’ll need Optimus to turn into an ark. Now come on, I’m absolutely starving.”
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Will quickly abandoned Sam once they stepped inside, venturing off to find a table and fend off interlopers while Sam waited in line to order food. Will had made it clear that he did not care what Sam ordered, as long as it was “edible.” Apparently living as a soldier had lowered his pickiness when it came to food. So Sam stood obediently in line, waiting as those in front of him wondered between grande caramel latte machiatos and doppio espressos while he wondered what happened to coffee. Probably ousted by the same force that decimated a normal phone ring for mobiles and good television. Seriously. If they wanted to really show the “real world,” they would simply film a bunch of college kids sitting on the couch and watching “The Real World.”
“Hi! How can I help you?”
Sam blinked, drawn out of his thoughts by an unnaturally happy barista. Must be all the espresso.
“Yeah, I’ll have two club sandwiches, two things of potato chips, and two coffees.”
“Tall, grande, or twenty ounce?”
“Grande.”
“Decaf, regular, or flavor of the day?”
“Regular.” Before leaving Sam, Will had also made it quite clear that any sort of decaffeinated drink would result in Painful Happenings.
“Any flavor shots?”
“No.”
The barista turned away to make the pitifully dull drinks, and Sam sighed. “Just want something to drink and they have me take my SATs.” A wire bowl that someone somewhere had probably deemed artistic sat on the counter, and Sam eyed the dark red apples that were piled high in it. They were shiny and almost too perfect, but an apple did sound good. Whatever it was about the rain made him feel kid-like, from wanting a nap to splashing in puddles, and an apple seemed a perfect addition to it. He reached for one and lifted it out, feeling its weight in his hand.
“There’s another black raven in the world now,” a voice said from behind Sam. Brows furrowing, Sam turned slightly, looking back over his shoulder at the man who stood there. He was older, skin that was black as pitch crossed with deep lines that looked almost painfully cracked. He was thin, but seemed comfortable enough under a black leather jacket that had beads of water resting on the seams of the shoulders. A newsboy cap that had obviously seen better days was pulled down low across his forehead, keeping already dark eyes in a crescent moon shadow.
One misty, moisty morning, when cloudy was the weather, I chanced to meet an old man clothed all in leather….
…Leather made sense, on bad-weather days. It was warm, comfortable, and kept the wearer quite dry. Men wore it often-so what is the symbolism in that? That a man can so easily wear another’s skin?
“What?” Sam asked once he managed to fully process what the man had said to him. The man reached out around Sam, who could smell the thick, distinct fragrance of good, well-made leather, and pulled an apple out of the bowl.
“Your apple is red. So there is another black raven in the world.” The man held his apple up, running a dark thumb across the curves of it. “And now there are two.”
“Right,” Sam replied and turned back to the counter, where the barista was starting to ring up the order. Fourteen dollars poorer, he quickly gathered up the items and made his way to a table that Will had managed to claim, making sure to not look back.
“Thanks, Sam,” Will said as Sam sat down across from him and both dug into their sandwiches. Hunger being the main reason, but Sam could also sense the uneasiness between them that both were unsure about how to breach, and food provided a valid stalling mechanism. Neither really knew how to act around the other. Sam’s first impression of Will had been good, but to be perfectly honest, that first impression had also been made in the middle of a life-or-death situation. The second problem was that that had been the majority of their contact, aside from third party communications through Bumblebee and Ironhide or Mikaela. Both of them had been thrown together by chance, and while Will was likable enough-and Sam liked to think of himself as the same-there was still an age barrier, a difference in personalities. A difficult situation in which to make friends, which could have been possible if it did not seem like they should already be as such.
That was the real snag in it, really. Life debts and soldier bonds had tied them together before a good base relationship had formed, and they were closer than friends while barely knowing the other. Awkward. But Sam supposed that there was only one way to fix that, and conversation was a good start.
“How’s Annabelle?” he asked, vaguely remembering the name from when Mikaela told him a while back and hoping that it was right. He would have asked about Will’s wife as well, but he could not remember if her name had ever been mentioned to him, and asking about Will’s daughter had a good chance of his wife’s name being brought in by default. Will smiled at him, relief plain in having the ice broken by a harmless, simple topic.
“She’s good. I swear she doubles in size every day. It seems like Sarah and I are constantly buying new clothes for her-she keeps outgrowing hers.”
Ah, Sam had been right. Sarah. He needed to remember that.
“How about you?” Will asked, giving his own attempt at friendly conversation. “How are things with Mikaela?”
“Good,” Sam answered automatically, but then took a second to think about it. He knew that the answer had not sounded particularly enthusiastic-it had the same resonance as someone answering ‘fine’ to a grocery store cashier’s ‘how are you, today?’ even if they were feeling anything but fine. ‘Fine’ was the only real acceptable answer in that sort of situation, since any other answer would invite too much involvement, instead of the distant courtesy it was supposed to be. But anyway, it was still the truth, as things were good with Mikaela since they technically were not bad. Sam knew he wanted to talk more about it with Will, but their friendship was still just starting. “She told me to tell you she was sorry that she couldn’t come today. She’s keeping a friend company while they visit a college.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’m here for the rest of the week, so I’m sure I can catch up with both of you. College, huh? You almost done with school?”
Will was not even sure of how old he was. And really, how old was Will?
“Yeah. This is the last real week of school, then next week is finals, and then I am free,” Sam answered. He almost stopped there, but decided to go easy on Will and clarify. “Free from high school for the rest of forever.”
“Wow, a senior. I remember the summer after my senior year. It was epic. There are stories still being told about it,” Will said with a smile. It was not completely relaxed, but easier than before, and Sam felt himself smiling in return. Will took another bite of his sandwich before continuing. “Do you have a college picked out?”
Sam shook his head.
“No. Mom and dad have been bugging me about it all year, but…I think I’m just going to take a year off, you know? I don’t really know what I want to do yet.”
In complete opposite reaction to his parents, Will nodded as though this answer made absolute, perfect sense.
“Nothing wrong with that. Take a break from school, get some money. A couple of my friends did that, and they’re glad they did.”
“I suppose I could always join the Army,” Sam said, a teasing grin curling around the rim of his coffee cup. It was Will’s turn to shake his head, and he did so vigorously while he swallowed.
“Listen, Sam, don’t tell my commanding officers, because I’m supposed to also help as a recruiting officer, but…don’t join. It sucks. Big time. Especially when you get stuck out in the middle of the desert and have to fight big-ass robot scorpions.”
“They probably don’t mention that in the recruiting packet,” Sam mused.
“No, not really. That sort of stuff is saved as a surprise.”
“I guess you’re right. I probably wouldn’t make a good soldier anyway.”
Both Will and Sam went quiet at that, and Sam looked back down at his almost empty plate, picking at the few remaining bits of potato chip that were left in the bag. The conversation had started off well, but then Sam had made a mistake. He had stumbled, and clumsily brought them into a corner, the walls of that corner involving the intimidating topic that had brought them together in the first place. It needed to be addressed, but also it was still a little too intimate for the infantile friendship they had started. Sam worked to summon his courage, but Will got there first.
“Listen, Sam,” he began, carefully setting down his drink. Will ran a palm down his face, rubbing at his eyes before looking straight at Sam, who stared back. “I…I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“It wasn’t fair of me, to ask so much of you in Mission City. So much was going on at the time-I wasn’t thinking it through properly. I shouldn’t have demanded it of you the way I did.”
You do not debate what you asked of me, Sam thought. Just the way you did so.
“It’s all right,” Sam answered, and put as much conviction as he could fit into it, since he meant it. “I’m glad you did. There was a lot going on, and I was starting to panic. You helped me clear my head.”
“Maybe so,” Will conceded. “But that doesn’t stop me from feeling officer’s guilt, magnified ten times by the fact that you’re not even an official soldier. And I-Sam, are you okay?”
Sam frowned at Will’s jump in conversation, and followed the older man’s concerned gaze down to where his hands were clasped on the table. Against the dark, scuffed wood, the fingers of both hands were curled against the opposite’s palm, and his nails were digging slowly and viciously into the soft skin. The muscles in Sam’s shoulders tightened as he separated his hands, turning them so that he could examine the web of red raked trails, all of them dotted with purple crescent marks where the nails had jabbed in particularly deep. As he stared at his abused hands, Sam realized through a sluggish, rainy haze in his brain how much they were stinging, burning, but he could not quite discern whether that was from the cause of his scratching, or was the reason why he was scratching at them in the first place.
And why had he not realized that he was doing it…?
“Sam? Sam, are you okay?” Will repeated, reaching out as if to grab at Sam’s wrist, but stopped before contact was made and slowly pulled back, as though he were unsure of even that motion. Sam raised his gaze to look at Will.
I don’t know, Sam wanted to say, but for some reason the words were syrupy and would not rise from his throat, staying heavy and nearly choking. I don’t know if I’m okay. I’ve been feeling weird, Will. Out of my head, but that sounds silly without even voicing it aloud. I’ve been feeling strange, having weird thoughts. Can you he-
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam answered. He pulled his hands back towards himself, folding his arms so that they were tucked well away from each other. “It’s just a bad habit of mine. I’ve done it ever since I was little.”
Fine. Everyone is always fine. Think about it. Has the question ever been answered differently?
Will looked as though he wanted to question further, but really, their friendship was too new, and he had to be cautious. The tension was broken by a loud chirp from Will’s back pocket, and Sam waited curiously as the older man pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. A crease immediately appeared across Will’s forehead, causing Sam to lean forward in worry.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ironhide just sent me a text message,” Will answered. “He says that you and I need to go back out there.”
Almost before he finished talking, both Will and Sam were standing and on their way out the café. The rain was coming down in sheets, the pavement slicked with water that soaked through Sam’s shoes and drenched his socks. He would be uncomfortable later, and it was dangerous weather for landslides, but all that was secondary to getting to Bumblebee, who popped the door open as Sam approached. Sam quickly got in, dripping on the leather, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Will disappear into Ironhide.
“Is anything wrong, Bee?” Sam asked worriedly, hands coming up to grip the steering well.
“No, everything’s fine-“
See?
“But buckle your seatbelt. We need to go, Optimus has summoned all of us to meet right away.”
Within seconds, both Bumblebee and Ironhide peeled out of their parking spaces, headlights flashing on and cutting off a few other drivers to make the green light. The drive out of the city was quick and probably illegal in some respects, but they made it to the highway with only minor incidents left behind them. Once on the long stretch of soaked blacktop, Sam let himself relax slightly. He took his hands off the wheel and looked down at the dash.
“What’s going on, Bee?”
“You’ll see,” was the response, and Sam could hear the synthesized tones threaded through with amusement and anticipation, as though he were waiting for Sam to open a particularly cool present he had bought. Sam pouted, wanting to question Bee further, but he knew it would get nowhere. He checked out the window to where Ironhide was driving next to them and could just barely see Will through the tinted glass. He caught Will’s eye and held his hands up in a gesture of confusion, and Will returned it before turning to face the dash and start speaking to Ironhide in what seemed like….colorful ways. Sam chuckled, facing forward again.
“We’re not going to the lookout?” Sam asked as they approached the exit and continued right past it.
“No. We’re meeting elsewhere today.”
“And you’re not going to tell me-“
“No.”
Sighing heavily, Sam sank deeper into the seat and folded his arms so that his “scowling-angsty-hate-the-world-teenager” look would be complete. Unfortunately, it did not seem that alien robots were affected by it. All he could do, then, was sit and wait to see whatever surprise that both Bumblebee and Ironhide wanted to inflict on him. He did not imagine the drive lasting too long, since otherwise Bumblebee would have taken him home first to get his overnight bag together, but he did wish he had had remembered to bring that apple with him. He had left it on the table back at the café in his rush, and it had sounded so good--
“Hey, Bee, you’re connected to the internet, right?”
“I am.”
“I was just wondering if there was any reference on it to…to apples and ravens. Referenced together, that is.”
Sam felt foolish for asking, but the comment made by the man in line had lodged itself into his brain, and with nothing else to do but sit and stare at rain, he felt it tickling at him. He wanted to believe that it was just the crazy rambling of someone who perhaps had had a bit too much to drink-the guy had been in there to buy coffee, after all-but it sounded too structured for it to have simply been pulled from the air. He supposed there was no harm in asking.
“Are you talking about the Raven Paradox?” Bee asked after a few seconds of searching. Sam started, not having expected an affirmative response.
“What’s that?”
“According to this website, the Raven Paradox states that ‘seeing a red apple increases the likelihood that all ravens are black.’”
That made even less sense than the man in line.
“I don’t get it. What does it mean?”
“Apparently, it’s an exercise in logic. The phrase ‘all ravens are black’ takes the form of a conditional statement: if it is a raven, then it is black. This must mean, of course, that the contrapositive to that statement is also true: if it is not black, then it is not a raven.”
“So, seeing a red apple…” Sam said, trying to turn the riddle over in his head.
“Which is not black and not a raven,” Bee elaborated helpfully.
“Increases the likelihood that all ravens are black.”
“It is also an example of the ‘scientific method’ that I have seen described so often,” Bumblebee cut in. “It would be quite impossible to examine each and every single raven, even in theory, since there have been many ravens that have died and many ravens that have not yet been born. That is why the Paradox states that the likelihood is increased, rather than the fact being proven. Humans have an odd way of phrasing such logical arguments, but I believe I understand it. The same format of equivalent contrapositives is used quite often, I am seeing. There are many examples listed throughout literature, mostly concerned with a character’s identity. For example, when you say, ‘I am Sam,’ you are also saying ‘I am not Will.’ ‘I am not Mikaela.’ Do you understand?”
Sam bit his lip as the echo of the Devil resounded through his head: I. AM. MEGATRON!
I am *not*--
“Yeah. I think I do.”
“Your way of presenting logic arguments is indeed quite unusual. I will point it out to Ratchet-I think he will enjoy it very much. But for now…”
Bee trailed off, and Sam refocused his attention to the front. At some point, Bumblebee had exited the highway into the industrial part of town. And, from the look of it, into the most run-down, horror-movie setting part of the industrial park. This was not helped by the fact that it was still raining, though it had lightened up considerably, and that Bumblebee came to a stop inside the train yard where more than half of the cars were most assuredly out of commission. Bee remained silent, so Sam stepped out of the car and moved away so that Bee could transform. Once in his ‘natural’ state, Bumblebee shifted so that he stood directly over Sam, to shield him somewhat from the now misty drizzle. Will walked up to Sam, just as Ironhide approached Bee, and gave Sam a crooked smile.
“So. When do you think Jigsaw shows up?” he asked, looking around him at the twisted, red metal that rang with the sound of raindrops and formed dark monoliths on the gravelly ground. Above them, Ironhide and Bumblebee were conversing in the strange, guttural sounds of their language, obviously excited about something. Sam grinned back at Will, mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“Right after Alien, of course,” he said, earning a hearty laugh from Will.
“Geez. And no Sigourney to be found. Just our luck.”
All four went silent at the sound of heavy footsteps, the hum of turning gears and hiss of hydraulics, and both Sam and Will spun around to see both Optimus and Ratchet approaching their group. Both had their shapes broken up by the piles of metal surrounding them, but Sam could make out the distinct flame paintjob and blue glow of Optimus’ eyes. As he had since he first saw the Autobot leader, Sam felt his stomach turn leaden at the sight, filled with both desires of hiding behind Bumblebee’s leg and to run up to Optimus in delight.
“Sam, Captain Lennox,” Optimus greeted, his deep voice moving warmly across the greeting. He got down on one knee so that he was closer to their level, but not coming so low that it would seem condescending. “I deeply apologize for the short notice and late hour, but I am very grateful that you were able to join us this evening.”
“Are you going to tell us what this is all about? These two bums have been keeping it secret,” Will said, pointing up at Ironhide and Bumblebee. Optimus chuckled.
“As we will all continue to do so, Captain. We wish for it to be a ‘surprise.’”
Bumblebee began speaking to Optimus in hurried clicks, while Will turned to Sam and gave him a look that said, ‘They’re your robots. You deal with them.’ Ratchet turned from Bumblebee’s and Optimus’ conversation and looked down at Sam.
“I agree,” he said. “Since we will be here for a little while longer, I suggest that you both take shelter in one of the boxcars. I have read that prolonged exposure to precipitation may encourage viral and bacterial infections.”
“I think he means that we’ll get sick if we stay in the rain,” Sam said in a stage-whisper to Will, who widened his eyes in appropriate mock-astonishment.
“Why didn’t he just say so?”
Yes. Perhaps becoming friends would not be as impossible as they both had first thought.
Bumblebee obligingly tore open the door to one of the few boxcars that had remained upright, lowering his hand to the ground so that Sam and Will could use it as a step up before sitting down next to the car.
“Captain Lennox, I wished to tell you how impressed and thankful I am with your government’s hospitality towards us. Though I am aware of the hesitation and wariness in trusting us, the generosity has greatly exceeded our expectations and hopes,” Optimus said, also coming to a rest in front of the boxcar.
“We get things right once in a while,” Will replied with a weary smile. “And we do owe you a lot. For saving us from the Decepticons.”
Optimus shook his head.
“That was our fault to begin with. I cannot express how sorry I am for dragging Earth into our war. Allowing us to remain is a great honor, and I can assure you that we will do our best to serve mankind in repayment.”
“You can’t fool me, Optimus,” Sam called out, trying to break the somber mood with an entirely irreverent joke. “I know it’s a cookbook.”
Next to him, Will practically folded in half as he tried to hide a sharp bark of laughter, tucking his face into the fabric of his jeans. All around them was only the sound breeze whistling across the plates of metal as the Autobots stared at Sam, trying to process what he meant. Sam stared innocently back.
“What do you mean by-“ Ironhide began, but Will had managed to catch his breath by then and cut him off.
“I’ll explain it later, Ironhide, when we have more time.”
“That would be best,” Optimus said as he quickly stood, ground shivering under the movement. Bumblebee also stood, and all four Autobots turned their gazes skyward. “Since we do not have time for it now.”
Almost on cue, a roar of sound-one that could be mistaken for residual thunder by those farther away-sent minor shockwaves through the train graveyard, and Sam raised his hands to cover his ears. With each second it got louder, as though a massive jet were hurtling towards the ground, and Sam could feel the metal beneath his feet begin to vibrate wildly. He felt Will grab a hold of his arm to keep him steady, and Bumblebee quickly moved so that he was standing protectively in front of them, ready to shield the two humans from whatever fire was falling from heaven. It also blocked Sam’s view, but he could see that Bumblebee’s body was outlined in the bright, orange light of immense heat, and that light seemed to fill his world before a resounding crash shook the earth beneath him. The top of the boxcar bent under Bumblebee’s grip, an attempt to keep it steady, but both Will and Sam tumbled to the floor, scrambling for purchase in the large rust flakes.
As soon as the jolting stopped, both Will and Sam scrambled out of the car with Will hissing, “I knew it!” and ran to where the Autobots were gathering: a large crater, just on the outside edge of the train yard, with dirt and gravel thrown in a high ring around it. Bumblebee stayed close by Sam, also staying back when Sam halted several yards behind the group. Small fires littered the ground, eating at already decayed bits of trash and wood, and cast the entire area in a dusty orange light, filled with dark, sharp shadows. The fires were small, dying under the sheer amount of water in the air, and most had fizzled out by the time whatever was in the crater unfolded itself. Like Will, Sam had a pretty good idea as to what was happening, and he watched with such eager anticipation that he did not notice when the tips of his fingers began to rake slowly and deeply across his palms.
What stood up out of the crater was so distinctly alien that it made Sam’s breath catch in his throat. Bumblebee had told him about their protoforms, of course, and how it was a Cybertronian’s most basic form until they had scanned some sort of mechanical object to mimic. Sam had thought he had it pictured, but it was something else entirely to see it just yards away. All of the Autobots began speaking, and it was nothing but a jumbled mess of static and clicks to Sam, so he waited in the shadow of Bee’s leg until the new Autobot’s optics briefly glanced at Will before they locked on him.
“Sam, Captain Lennox,” Optimus began, and Sam could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “I’d like you to meet a very good friend of mine. This is Wheeljack.”
8888
TBC.