Fic: That Still Small Voice: Chapter Eight
Title: That Still Small Voice
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringements are intended.
Summary: Sam has been pulled deeper into the conflict than anyone realized.
Author’s Note: Much thanks to lyricality and starofsacrifice (ABSilverstreak on ff.net) for betaing. As well as okami_myrrhibis for also catching my stupid grammatical and spelling errors. Love to you all! I hope you all enjoy Chapter Eight, and be sure to drop me a line and let me know what you think!
Chapter One : Chapter Two : Chapter Three : Chapter Four : Chapter Five : Chapter Six : Chapter Seven
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Chapter Eight
“Walls and Towers”
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
And reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancient voices prophesying war!
--Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “Kubla Khan; or, a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment.”
8888
Sam felt that if he had ever made a stupid decision in his life, it was coming to the tropics in the middle of July. Having been born and raised in the desert, Sam had thought himself well-prepared for the heat. However, he was used to dry heat, where one hundred degrees would feel like eighty. Sam was decidedly unprepared for the humidity, the heaviness in the air that pressed down on the landscape like a wet towel. Just before a rain, the humidity was so thick Sam found it hard to breathe, until an afternoon shower helped dispel some of it, pushing it down into the soil. Inevitably, though, it would curl back up and lay, sluggish, along the curves of the hills, and on this day, no redeeming rain seemed to be coming.
In the meager shade provided by Bumblebee’s alt. form Sam sat, his t-shirt pasted uncomfortably along his spine and ribs from sweat that would not dry, and denim shorts chafing along his thighs. His water bottle had long since turned warm, but pickiness had been the first thing to be driven away by the tropical sun, and warm water was easier on the body-ice water felt like nothing less than a kick to the stomach when he was overheated. Several times, daily in fact, Bumblebee had asked Sam to remain inside the car’s cab where temperature could be regulated. It had been savagely tempting, but located as they were so far from Ratchet, Sam declined so that Bumblebee could save his energy in case of an emergency. The only time Sam let Bumblebee use the climate control was during the nighttime, when the ambient temperatures were not so intense, and the windows had to be kept rolled up to prevent entry of mosquitoes and potential infection by malaria.
Sam chuckled to himself as he remembered Bumblebee’s reactions to Ratchet’s studies on tropical diseases, malaria in particular and its extent across Central America. Bumblebee had nearly gone into nervous fits at the prospect of potentially not being able to protect his human from such a threat, and even Ratchet had spent the week before departure running his processor into the ground over which preventative medicine to prescribe. Will settled it by giving Sam his excess supply of chloroquine. Speaking of which. Sam reached into his backpack and pulled out the white tube of tablets, knowing that Bumblebee was watching him intently to make sure the proper dosage would be taken. A faint hum crept in on the edge of Sam’s hearing range, beneath the sound of a slow boiling earth, and Sam knew that Bumblebee would be scanning him nonstop for the rest of the day to make sure none of the side-effects would occur. They had done nothing other than give him mild headaches and itchy rashes on his palms, but Sam had been able to divert Bumblebee’s concerns by placing the cause of these discomforts on the ungodly heat and sun exposure.
A swig of warm water washed the pills down, and Sam tucked his legs in farther to keep up with Bumblebee’s shifting shadow. Midday was approaching, and soon Sam would have to find shade elsewhere, but for the moment he could stay. Laid out in front of him on the ground was a map of Mexico, their route highlighted in red marker and destination near the southern border circled. A map was not necessary, since Bumblebee had each road and the coordinates mapped out internally; to be able to keep track of their progress through unfamiliar territory was more for Sam’s benefit. Mexico was larger than Sam had realized. Once they had crossed the border, it had taken nearly six days to reach Chiapas. Perhaps it would not have taken so long, but both Bumblebee and Sam had agreed with Keller and Will that traveling back roads and staying away from heavily populated areas would be better and safer than a young teenage boy flouting the latest Camaro model in the wrong parts of towns. There had been the option for Bumblebee to scan a local vehicle and take its form, but Bumblebee preferred the ability to speed away if necessary-though he could push any alt. form past its Earth-designed limits, a chosen camouflage could offer its own advantages. Unfortunately, keeping the Camaro form also made for slow going on ill-kept rural roads to keep out of sight. There had been some discussion on whether or not to travel by night, but Sam had convinced Bumblebee to drive by day. Sam had felt safer traveling during daylight, and he could take control over the wheel for Bumblebee and not worry about missing a sign or turn
Nights were spent stretched out on the backseat, or as stretched out as the admittedly cramped quarters would allow, both Sam and Bumblebee hidden in the woods or hills where people would be unlikely to stumble across them. On the occasions that thirst or muscle cramps woke Sam in the middle of the night, each time he found Bumblebee to be completely alert and scanning the area for both Decepticons and human rogues who would be more than happy to make short work of the treat that was Bumblebee’s alt. form. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Bumblebee could easily defend himself and Sam, but the less attention they attracted the better. They needed to slip in and slip out, unnoticed, unremarked.
The secrecy and urgency of it all made it all the more exhilarating: an honest to God military mission, where the presence of danger traveled with them, waiting for an opening, like a shark amongst rainbow runners. It was nothing like the pretend spy missions that Sam and Miles used to play in the backyards across the neighborhood, when most of their G.I. Joe figurines met somewhat gruesome ends; in fact, everything was going quite smoothly, even if the background tension and the uncertainty of heading into the unknown never diminished. This made Bumblebee be on edge for most of the trip; the strain of constantly scanning for trouble and worrying about the mission, the strange signal, and danger to his charge made Bumblebee cranky.
A sudden ringing shuffled through the heat, and Sam blinked. It sounded so distant, and for a moment he was unable to understand from where it was coming.
“Parents,” Bumblebee said, and that was enough to make Sam startle upwards and scramble against Bumblebee, shedding the haze his mind seemed to be in as he fumbled with the door handle and dived inside Bee’s cab to reach his cell phone.
“Hey, mom,” Sam said as he opened the phone, trying to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. He had known it was his mom-she had been the only one in the past week to call him, but he knew that his father would be close at hand, listening in while reading through a ‘Handyman’ magazine and pretending to be unconcerned.
“Hello, Sam! How is Cancun?” Judy asked, and Sam could just hear her expectation of news of a category five hurricane or statistically improbable thirty-foot tsunami.
“Oh, it’s…” Sam paused, giving a glance to Bumblebee’s dash.
“Partly cloudy, ninety-three degrees with humidity at 73%. Visibility ten miles, ocean 85 degrees. Seas two to three feet, variable wind from northeast at four miles per hour, pressure at thirty inches,” Bumblebee responded quietly.
“Thanks, Mr. Roker,” Sam muttered before answering his mother. “It’s great, mom. Perfect weather.”
Cancun had perhaps not been the most original of lies, but that had worked to his advantage. It was a common destination for college students, especially restless teenage boys. Despite the wild party-atmosphere connotations for the place, Sam had done his best in convincing his parents that it would be good for him to experience another country, meet new people, and, the clincher: help him to become more social. That, and promising to call home twice a day and answer every single time his mother called him. This had resulted in the occasional 2 AM phone call, and judging by his father’s desperate pleas in the background for her to hang up and let Sam be, Sam knew what his mother thought she would be interrupting.
All in all, it had gone smoothly, save for a bit of embarrassing reminiscing from his father that he had to endure prior to leaving, and Bumblebee’s reports of weather and daily State of the Resort Town addresses had helped him to keep his parents blissfully unaware that he was in reality traveling through rural Mexico hunting an unknown, alien signal.
“No, mom, I have plenty of money,” Sam sighed. Bumblebee’s interior was blessedly cool, the air light and fresh, and he let himself relax in it for the duration of the call even as he scowled internally at Bumblebee’s subterfuge. Sam had argued for Bumblebee to save his energy and not worry about supplying Sam with air conditioning, but it appeared Bumblebee was doing so anyway, most likely in an effort to entice Sam back in with the temptation. Sam fought back by leaving the door open, hanging one leg out so that should Bumblebee try to close it on his own, he would smash Sam’s leg. If Bumblebee wanted that badly to waste the energy, Sam would be more than happy to help. He would show Bumblebee to never try and outdo a human when it came to spite.
Judy Witwicky continued on, unknowing of the battle of wills between man and machine that her son was currently waging with his all too stubborn car.
“-And someone named Will called. Will Lennox,” Judy said, and Sam faltered.
“Will?”
“Yes,” Judy responded, sounding a little perplexed. “He wanted to know about the song ‘London Bridge is Falling Down.’ He said that he had never heard the version that I taught you, and he wanted to hear the whole thing.”
Sam frowned, chewing on his lower lip.
“That’s strange,” he replied.
“How did he think to ask me?” Judy asked, and Sam winced, cursing his slip-up. The last thing he needed was to get his mom worried and suspicious. Her temper operated on a hair-trigger, and, Mexico or not, she still had her Louisville Slugger. Still, he could not think of why Will had called his mother over something like ‘London Bridge is Falling Down,’ and it took him a moment to remember where the situation had even come up for Will to hear it.
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“So I finally get to meet the famous Annabelle,” Sam observed as he approached the base, not being able to help but smile at the sight of Maggie and Mikaela fussing over the small bundle of pink being cradled in Will’s arms. Will handed her over, letting Sam hold Annabelle for a few minutes.
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” Sam said dramatically as Annabelle latched with astonishing grip onto one of his fingers. “She had to walk into mine.”
“Looks like you’ve found an admirer,” Maggie laughed, watching Annabelle suckle on the captured digit.
“Actually, it looks like I’ve found a babysitter,” Will countered, looking extremely relieved. “Can you keep an eye on her for a minute, Sam? I have to go get her diaper bag out of Ironhide before he implodes or tries to transform inside out again.”
“No problem.”
Sam suffered graciously through Mikaela’s playful jibes at him being able to care for a baby, listened well to Maggie’s continuously running advice on how to properly hold Annabelle, and soon enough, the Autobots started to gather around, curious to see a human ‘sparkling.’ Having seen babies before, Bumblebee hung back, not wishing to contribute to the crowding, and Ironhide made sure that Wheeljack kept a safe distance. Ratchet seemed interested but uncomfortable, but easily the most entertaining was Optimus, who, to Sam’s eye, seemed absolutely enthralled by Annabelle. Will even let Optimus hold her by placing her in the dip between two outstretched fingers, the material of the exoskeleton material here soft enough to be comfortable and safe for Annabelle’s head. It was fascinating to see such a large being handle Annabelle with such care and delicacy, and to hear Optimus’ normally deep, commanding voice soften to murmur Cybertronian praises to her.
Sam took Annabelle back after a couple of minutes, moving to sit in the shade of the building while the Autobots spoke with their human liaisons on the trip he and Bumblebee were going to be making. He was not required for the moment, having been briefed throughly already, so let Annabelle take his fingers back into her possession.
“London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down; London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.”
The song was old, tasted old, like a chromatic scale. It had been his mother’s favorite, the song having been used by Judy’s own mother to sing her to sleep when she was young. For Sam, ‘London Bridge’ had been a nighttime song, a sicktime song, a humming song for playing alone on the tire swings on the school’s playground. And as it was the only one he really knew, it came easily, almost unbidden.
“How will we build it up, build it up, build it up? How will we build it up, my fair lady?”
Ratchet and Bumblebee had stepped in closer to Optimus, speaking to him in rapid Cybertronian while Ironhide answered questions from Maggie and Will. Mikaela had been cornered by Wheeljack, laughing at something he had said. Sam spared a glance to Bumblebee, who was gesturing unhappily, before turning back to Annabelle. She gurgled at him, wondering why he had stopped.
“Gold and silver I have none, I have none, I have none; Gold and silver I have none, my fair lady.”
Maggie was speaking in place of Secretary Keller, who could not leave Washington for Sam’s departure. She had pulled out a rather thick manila folder, the white papers within stamped from Earth to Moon with red ‘Top Secret’ brands. Ironhide took them, scowling and cursing all the while about humans’ need to use such flimsy paper and how he would have to spend time converting it all to electronic data that they could store internally. No wonder humans messed things up all the time, with such a messy way of filing information.
“Iron and steel will bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow; Iron and steel will bend and bow, my fair lady.”
So focused on Annabelle was he that Sam missed the way that Ratchet spun around, cutting off whatever it was that Optimus was saying, and stared at him, the light of his optics pale in the bright sunlight.
“Wood and clay will wash away, wash away, wash away; Wood and clay will wash away, my fair lady. Stone so-“
“Sam.”
Sam looked up, startled to see that Ratchet had moved so close, his large form blacking out the sun and casting Sam into deep shadow. Ratchet was undeniably tense; Sam’s name had come through the vocal processor as strained, thick, like it had been layered over with molasses. Ratchet knelt down, one hand curling next to Sam to brace the immense weight. It was a little unnerving, but Sam scolded himself. He had no reason to fear Ratchet. He did not answer, but he did not need to. Ratchet continued unprompted.
“What are you singing?”
“Oh, it’s, uh, ‘London Bridge is Falling Down,’” Sam answered, unconsciously leaning back against the wall of the base. It was a little embarrassing, and his male pride withered a little at having been caught singing a nursery rhyme to a baby girl and having everyone be silent and staring at him. He had not thought it strange at first, but Mikaela’s all-too-happy grin suggested she had just received some good-natured teasing ammunition, and he sighed. More unsettling, however, was Optimus, who had not approached Sam, but had rather taken several steps backward, shifting his weight almost imperceptibly from leg to leg as though he were suffering from an excess of nervous energy and did not know what to do with it. Ratchet’s fingers slowly curled in the dirt next to him, dragging long, shallow furrows.
“What does it mean?” Ratchet asked, the uncertainty in his voice switching to a charged, rippling snap.
“It’s a kid’s song. The first verse is about London Bridge falling down, and the rest of the song is about trying to decide what to use to rebuild it so it won’t fall down again. I don’t know as it really means anything,” Sam answered.
“How did you learn it?”
“It’s pretty common, I mean, most everyone knows the first verse. My mom taught me the other verses.”
“You say it’s common?” Ratchet questioned, the harshness lessening ever so slightly.
“Yeah. Well, not everyone knows the extended version, but yeah, everyone knows the song.”
Ratchet continued to stare at Sam, optics unblinking, for several long moments before Ratchet slowly pulled away, taking large strides back into the base. Everyone returned back to what they had been doing before Ratchet’s interruption, but Bumblebee could not get Optimus to focus on him again. Sam locked gazes with Optimus, the force of the Autobot leader’s attention nearly palpable before he dropped his gaze back to Annabelle.
“Stone so strong will last so long, last so long, last so long; Stone so strong will last so long, my fair lady.”
8888
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Sam said. He flinched internally at how watery his tone sounded, but he was too busy trying to reach for an answer, an explanation that would work. “Will heard it from me, and said he didn’t know the whole thing. I told him to call you, since I had forgotten a few of the lines.”
“Well, who’s Will? You never mentioned him before,” Judy questioned. Sam leaned his head back against the seat, rubbing away some of the sweat that was beading along the lines of his eyebrows. Dizziness was coming slowly, creeping upwards, against the flow of blood. The heat, the goddamn heat-the temperature difference between the outside and Bumblebee’s interior had been too great, and Sam closed his eyes against the shock of the temperature change.
“He’s a friend of mine,” Sam supplied the answer. “He was the one who helped me get my car.”
His parents had wondered why Sam had come home with a 2009 Camaro after having bought the ’76 model, and Will had served as an obscure contact that had helped him make a perfectly legal switch. He was getting good at this. He was tired of lying, it was too much work to craft a good one, and this had been the truth in its own way. Without Will, Sam may have never been able to retrieve Bumblebee from Sector 7’s grasp.
“Oh, yeah,” Judy said, though Sam could tell that she could not remember hearing Sam use Will’s name in such close conjunction with Bumblebee. But he had remembered, had thought clearly enough and had enough foresight to leave it open enough so that the connection could be made. His mother was left with no choice but to believe him. “I remember. Well, I suppose I’ll call him back, then. Have a good day, Sammy, and stay safe.”
“I will, mom. Thanks.”
Sam snapped his phone shut, tossing it onto the passenger seat before quickly pushing his way out of Bumblebee and back out into the heat. It felt relaxing, as his sweat had turned cold in the air-conditioning, and the heat sat heavily, adding weight that helped to calm his dizziness.
“Please get back in, Sam.”
“No, that’s all right.”
Legs already feeling weak, it was easy to let his legs buckle, and Sam knelt next to his backpack, reaching for water. Behind him, he could feel the deep, low rumble of Bumblebee’s engine, the heat of it washing in waves across his back. It was misery, the stickiness and suffocation. But the fever also felt good in its own right, baking away the discomfort and headache.
London Bridge is falling down
“You are not feeling well,” Bumblebee pressed, and Sam fought against snapping back against the obviousness of the statement. It was not Bumblebee’s fault, he had to remind himself, and heat always made him cranky. “Perhaps it is an adverse reaction to the medicine. You need to sit down.”
Despite the minute shaking in his muscles, Sam stood, bracing against the swimming feeling in his head at the motion. He needed to show Bumblebee that he was fine, that he could keep going, and a little heat sickness was hardly worth getting upset about.
“I’m tired of sitting,” Sam said as he gathered up his pack. A sip of water removed some of the cotton-feel in his mouth, and it settled quietly in his stomach. As long as there was no nausea, he would do his best to shrug everything else off. “That’s all I’ve been doing for the past week and it’s making my knees hurt. Let me walk for a bit. I need to stretch.”
He did not wait for a reply; Sam swung his backpack up over his shoulder and started down the road. Bumblebee was quick to follow, moving up so that the driver’s side door was even with Sam. Bumblebee stayed quiet, and for the moment Sam was more than happy to ignore him. He was more concerned with his mother’s phone call, and why Will had contacted her about a stupid children’s song. Will had not cared; it was Ratchet who had acted strangely, had demanded to know what the song meant. Unless Ratchet had asked Will to contact his mother, but that prospect seemed even stranger. Of all people, Ratchet seemed the least likely to concern himself with Earth traditions, much less deal with nursery rhymes for simple games. Perhaps if-
“I do not like this.”
Falling down
For all that Bumblebee was an alien robotic organism, had a relatively limited experience with Earth, and used a vocal processor that could only mimic human speech, he pulled off ‘sulking’ very well.
“What?”
“I do not like that you are carrying on this lie with your parents, Sam.”
“You have a better idea?”
But Bumblebee did not answer. Sam continued walking, the hard-packed sand of the road and dried, brittle plants crunching underneath his sneakers. They had reached a flat stretch of land, so it made for easy walking, but Sam could see the high stretches of hills before him, leading into foothills and the faint blue peaks of the Sierra Madre de Chiapas even farther away. The hills looked cool, wrapped by strips of fog, but the thought was little comfort against the lowlands sitting in the rain shadow of the mountains. Despite suffering the dry season, the land around Sam was green, carpets of short grass and woods of conifers and tropical broadleafs that rose and fell with the soil. And in the heat of midday, most everything was quiet. To the north, Sam could just see the leading edges of banana and coffee plantations, squared away in cleared out sections of forest. There were no doubt houses nearby, small villages for local farmers, but Sam knew that he and Bumblebee would have to steer clear. A necessary precaution, but still frustrating.
“Hey, Bumblebee. Do you think, on our way back, we can stop in Tuxtla Gutierrez? I’d like to see the city.”
“No.”
Sam stopped in his tracks, taken aback by Bumblebee’s immediate negative.
“What? Why not?”
“It isn’t safe. Our orders are to investigate the signal and immediately return to base, avoiding as many human settlements as possible. We need to complete this mission as quickly as possible.”
“Give me a break, Bumblebee! I’ll need to bring something back for mom and dad anyway, so we’ll have to stop someplace. God. What a lousy road trip buddy.”
The last part was muttered, barely a sound on his breath, as Sam turned to continue walking, but it was loud enough. A moment of heavy silence passed before the distinct pulsing hum and sound of shifting metal plates pushed through the heat, causing Sam to startle and instinctively take two steps backwards as he spun to face Bumblebee. Transformation complete, Bumblebee crossed the distance between him and Sam with one easy stride. He kneeled down, bringing one hand behind Sam to prevent further retreat; this had the effect of causing Bumblebee to loom over Sam, an aggressive stance that fit the incensed expression lining Bumblebee’s face plates. Feeling his stomach twist at the sight, Sam scowled at the act of intimidation, millions of years of human evolution in his cells making the split second decision to cover fear with irritated defensiveness.
“Is that what you think this is?” Bumblebee questioned, his normally mellow voice crackling with frustration. “A road trip?”
“I didn’t mean-“
“No, Sam. You are not taking this mission seriously enough. Ever since you volunteered us, you have been treating this all as a vacation. You have no idea of the danger you are deciding to treat so idly, as though it were a game. Now,” Bumblebee said, finally pulling away from Sam and re-shifting back into his Camaro camouflage. “Get in.”
Oh, hell no. Sam took a defiant step backwards and crossed his arms, ready to go to the mattresses on this one. Mikaela had called him sheltered, too, both she and now Bumblebee saying it as though it were an accusation, a personal insult, and Sam was tired of it. So he had not had a life befitting Indiana Jones. That was no reason to treat him as though he could not handle himself, or be responsible enough to complete a task for Optimus. Perhaps, Sam thought bitterly, the problem was that Bumblebee was taking this whole thing way too seriously.
“Optimus thinks I can do it just fine,” Sam said, folding his arms tighter around himself. It sounded a little spoiled, like a child boasting to a sibling, but he was beyond caring at this point.
“Optimus,” Bumblebee replied, deliberate in his tone. “Also put me in charge of your well-being. That you agreed to the position suggests that you would be willing to follow my direction. On top of that,” he added, cutting off Sam as he opened his mouth to comment. “Optimus also named me leader of this investigation. Since you are so intent on placing emphasis on Optimus’ opinion, then realize that I currently outrank you and can report disobedience. Get in.”
It was beyond frustrating, to be outflanked like that, and Sam tightened his fingers into his palms, the bite of the nails against his skin satisfying.
Falling down
“I am not a child.”
“No,” Bumblebee agreed. “But you are being irresponsible and unreasonably stubborn. Get in.”
The door-the passenger side door-swung open, the gesture not so much an invitation anymore but a command. For a moment, Sam wanted desperately to just keep walking, if for no other reason than hard-headedness and to frustrate Bumblebee even more. But no matter what he did, he would be outpaced, and there was no other choice. Sam climbed in, keeping his backpack on his lap. The door closed, all locks falling into place, and Bumblebee picked his pace up down the road.
“According to the GPS, we should arrive at the signal’s location by nightfall. Unless you think we should wait for morning to investigate?”
Bumblebee was at ease, his voice completely erased of any previous anger. From obedience classes with Mojo, Sam recognized the technique. Correct the wayward behavior, and then forget about it. Well, the trainer would forget about it. The animal would not. Sam wanted to challenge him, wanted to ask why Bumblebee cared about his opinion if he was so adamant on being the one in charge. But he kept silent. Sam decided to ignore Bumblebee, and instead sunk down into the seat and turned his head away from the dash to watch the scenery pass by the window.
Nightfall, Bumblebee had said. Over nine hours away, seemingly an interminable amount of time and yet close enough, real enough, to make Sam’s gut twist uncomfortably, as it would coming suddenly over the top of a steep hill. Despite his pride, Sam could not quite ignore the tiny doubt in the back of his mind that said that Bumblebee could be right. Any number of Decepticons could be there, having set a trap and just waiting for their prey to walk straight into it.
Sam clutched his pack tighter against his stomach, doing his best to shake off the fear. He could not show it now, could not talk to Bumblebee about it if he wanted to keep what little dignity he had left. All he could do was wait, as the blue hills of the mountains loomed high and ever closer.
London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.
8888
TBC
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringements are intended.
Summary: Sam has been pulled deeper into the conflict than anyone realized.
Author’s Note: Much thanks to lyricality and starofsacrifice (ABSilverstreak on ff.net) for betaing. As well as okami_myrrhibis for also catching my stupid grammatical and spelling errors. Love to you all! I hope you all enjoy Chapter Eight, and be sure to drop me a line and let me know what you think!
Chapter One : Chapter Two : Chapter Three : Chapter Four : Chapter Five : Chapter Six : Chapter Seven
8888
Chapter Eight
“Walls and Towers”
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
And reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancient voices prophesying war!
--Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “Kubla Khan; or, a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment.”
8888
Sam felt that if he had ever made a stupid decision in his life, it was coming to the tropics in the middle of July. Having been born and raised in the desert, Sam had thought himself well-prepared for the heat. However, he was used to dry heat, where one hundred degrees would feel like eighty. Sam was decidedly unprepared for the humidity, the heaviness in the air that pressed down on the landscape like a wet towel. Just before a rain, the humidity was so thick Sam found it hard to breathe, until an afternoon shower helped dispel some of it, pushing it down into the soil. Inevitably, though, it would curl back up and lay, sluggish, along the curves of the hills, and on this day, no redeeming rain seemed to be coming.
In the meager shade provided by Bumblebee’s alt. form Sam sat, his t-shirt pasted uncomfortably along his spine and ribs from sweat that would not dry, and denim shorts chafing along his thighs. His water bottle had long since turned warm, but pickiness had been the first thing to be driven away by the tropical sun, and warm water was easier on the body-ice water felt like nothing less than a kick to the stomach when he was overheated. Several times, daily in fact, Bumblebee had asked Sam to remain inside the car’s cab where temperature could be regulated. It had been savagely tempting, but located as they were so far from Ratchet, Sam declined so that Bumblebee could save his energy in case of an emergency. The only time Sam let Bumblebee use the climate control was during the nighttime, when the ambient temperatures were not so intense, and the windows had to be kept rolled up to prevent entry of mosquitoes and potential infection by malaria.
Sam chuckled to himself as he remembered Bumblebee’s reactions to Ratchet’s studies on tropical diseases, malaria in particular and its extent across Central America. Bumblebee had nearly gone into nervous fits at the prospect of potentially not being able to protect his human from such a threat, and even Ratchet had spent the week before departure running his processor into the ground over which preventative medicine to prescribe. Will settled it by giving Sam his excess supply of chloroquine. Speaking of which. Sam reached into his backpack and pulled out the white tube of tablets, knowing that Bumblebee was watching him intently to make sure the proper dosage would be taken. A faint hum crept in on the edge of Sam’s hearing range, beneath the sound of a slow boiling earth, and Sam knew that Bumblebee would be scanning him nonstop for the rest of the day to make sure none of the side-effects would occur. They had done nothing other than give him mild headaches and itchy rashes on his palms, but Sam had been able to divert Bumblebee’s concerns by placing the cause of these discomforts on the ungodly heat and sun exposure.
A swig of warm water washed the pills down, and Sam tucked his legs in farther to keep up with Bumblebee’s shifting shadow. Midday was approaching, and soon Sam would have to find shade elsewhere, but for the moment he could stay. Laid out in front of him on the ground was a map of Mexico, their route highlighted in red marker and destination near the southern border circled. A map was not necessary, since Bumblebee had each road and the coordinates mapped out internally; to be able to keep track of their progress through unfamiliar territory was more for Sam’s benefit. Mexico was larger than Sam had realized. Once they had crossed the border, it had taken nearly six days to reach Chiapas. Perhaps it would not have taken so long, but both Bumblebee and Sam had agreed with Keller and Will that traveling back roads and staying away from heavily populated areas would be better and safer than a young teenage boy flouting the latest Camaro model in the wrong parts of towns. There had been the option for Bumblebee to scan a local vehicle and take its form, but Bumblebee preferred the ability to speed away if necessary-though he could push any alt. form past its Earth-designed limits, a chosen camouflage could offer its own advantages. Unfortunately, keeping the Camaro form also made for slow going on ill-kept rural roads to keep out of sight. There had been some discussion on whether or not to travel by night, but Sam had convinced Bumblebee to drive by day. Sam had felt safer traveling during daylight, and he could take control over the wheel for Bumblebee and not worry about missing a sign or turn
Nights were spent stretched out on the backseat, or as stretched out as the admittedly cramped quarters would allow, both Sam and Bumblebee hidden in the woods or hills where people would be unlikely to stumble across them. On the occasions that thirst or muscle cramps woke Sam in the middle of the night, each time he found Bumblebee to be completely alert and scanning the area for both Decepticons and human rogues who would be more than happy to make short work of the treat that was Bumblebee’s alt. form. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Bumblebee could easily defend himself and Sam, but the less attention they attracted the better. They needed to slip in and slip out, unnoticed, unremarked.
The secrecy and urgency of it all made it all the more exhilarating: an honest to God military mission, where the presence of danger traveled with them, waiting for an opening, like a shark amongst rainbow runners. It was nothing like the pretend spy missions that Sam and Miles used to play in the backyards across the neighborhood, when most of their G.I. Joe figurines met somewhat gruesome ends; in fact, everything was going quite smoothly, even if the background tension and the uncertainty of heading into the unknown never diminished. This made Bumblebee be on edge for most of the trip; the strain of constantly scanning for trouble and worrying about the mission, the strange signal, and danger to his charge made Bumblebee cranky.
A sudden ringing shuffled through the heat, and Sam blinked. It sounded so distant, and for a moment he was unable to understand from where it was coming.
“Parents,” Bumblebee said, and that was enough to make Sam startle upwards and scramble against Bumblebee, shedding the haze his mind seemed to be in as he fumbled with the door handle and dived inside Bee’s cab to reach his cell phone.
“Hey, mom,” Sam said as he opened the phone, trying to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. He had known it was his mom-she had been the only one in the past week to call him, but he knew that his father would be close at hand, listening in while reading through a ‘Handyman’ magazine and pretending to be unconcerned.
“Hello, Sam! How is Cancun?” Judy asked, and Sam could just hear her expectation of news of a category five hurricane or statistically improbable thirty-foot tsunami.
“Oh, it’s…” Sam paused, giving a glance to Bumblebee’s dash.
“Partly cloudy, ninety-three degrees with humidity at 73%. Visibility ten miles, ocean 85 degrees. Seas two to three feet, variable wind from northeast at four miles per hour, pressure at thirty inches,” Bumblebee responded quietly.
“Thanks, Mr. Roker,” Sam muttered before answering his mother. “It’s great, mom. Perfect weather.”
Cancun had perhaps not been the most original of lies, but that had worked to his advantage. It was a common destination for college students, especially restless teenage boys. Despite the wild party-atmosphere connotations for the place, Sam had done his best in convincing his parents that it would be good for him to experience another country, meet new people, and, the clincher: help him to become more social. That, and promising to call home twice a day and answer every single time his mother called him. This had resulted in the occasional 2 AM phone call, and judging by his father’s desperate pleas in the background for her to hang up and let Sam be, Sam knew what his mother thought she would be interrupting.
All in all, it had gone smoothly, save for a bit of embarrassing reminiscing from his father that he had to endure prior to leaving, and Bumblebee’s reports of weather and daily State of the Resort Town addresses had helped him to keep his parents blissfully unaware that he was in reality traveling through rural Mexico hunting an unknown, alien signal.
“No, mom, I have plenty of money,” Sam sighed. Bumblebee’s interior was blessedly cool, the air light and fresh, and he let himself relax in it for the duration of the call even as he scowled internally at Bumblebee’s subterfuge. Sam had argued for Bumblebee to save his energy and not worry about supplying Sam with air conditioning, but it appeared Bumblebee was doing so anyway, most likely in an effort to entice Sam back in with the temptation. Sam fought back by leaving the door open, hanging one leg out so that should Bumblebee try to close it on his own, he would smash Sam’s leg. If Bumblebee wanted that badly to waste the energy, Sam would be more than happy to help. He would show Bumblebee to never try and outdo a human when it came to spite.
Judy Witwicky continued on, unknowing of the battle of wills between man and machine that her son was currently waging with his all too stubborn car.
“-And someone named Will called. Will Lennox,” Judy said, and Sam faltered.
“Will?”
“Yes,” Judy responded, sounding a little perplexed. “He wanted to know about the song ‘London Bridge is Falling Down.’ He said that he had never heard the version that I taught you, and he wanted to hear the whole thing.”
Sam frowned, chewing on his lower lip.
“That’s strange,” he replied.
“How did he think to ask me?” Judy asked, and Sam winced, cursing his slip-up. The last thing he needed was to get his mom worried and suspicious. Her temper operated on a hair-trigger, and, Mexico or not, she still had her Louisville Slugger. Still, he could not think of why Will had called his mother over something like ‘London Bridge is Falling Down,’ and it took him a moment to remember where the situation had even come up for Will to hear it.
8888
“So I finally get to meet the famous Annabelle,” Sam observed as he approached the base, not being able to help but smile at the sight of Maggie and Mikaela fussing over the small bundle of pink being cradled in Will’s arms. Will handed her over, letting Sam hold Annabelle for a few minutes.
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” Sam said dramatically as Annabelle latched with astonishing grip onto one of his fingers. “She had to walk into mine.”
“Looks like you’ve found an admirer,” Maggie laughed, watching Annabelle suckle on the captured digit.
“Actually, it looks like I’ve found a babysitter,” Will countered, looking extremely relieved. “Can you keep an eye on her for a minute, Sam? I have to go get her diaper bag out of Ironhide before he implodes or tries to transform inside out again.”
“No problem.”
Sam suffered graciously through Mikaela’s playful jibes at him being able to care for a baby, listened well to Maggie’s continuously running advice on how to properly hold Annabelle, and soon enough, the Autobots started to gather around, curious to see a human ‘sparkling.’ Having seen babies before, Bumblebee hung back, not wishing to contribute to the crowding, and Ironhide made sure that Wheeljack kept a safe distance. Ratchet seemed interested but uncomfortable, but easily the most entertaining was Optimus, who, to Sam’s eye, seemed absolutely enthralled by Annabelle. Will even let Optimus hold her by placing her in the dip between two outstretched fingers, the material of the exoskeleton material here soft enough to be comfortable and safe for Annabelle’s head. It was fascinating to see such a large being handle Annabelle with such care and delicacy, and to hear Optimus’ normally deep, commanding voice soften to murmur Cybertronian praises to her.
Sam took Annabelle back after a couple of minutes, moving to sit in the shade of the building while the Autobots spoke with their human liaisons on the trip he and Bumblebee were going to be making. He was not required for the moment, having been briefed throughly already, so let Annabelle take his fingers back into her possession.
“London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down; London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.”
The song was old, tasted old, like a chromatic scale. It had been his mother’s favorite, the song having been used by Judy’s own mother to sing her to sleep when she was young. For Sam, ‘London Bridge’ had been a nighttime song, a sicktime song, a humming song for playing alone on the tire swings on the school’s playground. And as it was the only one he really knew, it came easily, almost unbidden.
“How will we build it up, build it up, build it up? How will we build it up, my fair lady?”
Ratchet and Bumblebee had stepped in closer to Optimus, speaking to him in rapid Cybertronian while Ironhide answered questions from Maggie and Will. Mikaela had been cornered by Wheeljack, laughing at something he had said. Sam spared a glance to Bumblebee, who was gesturing unhappily, before turning back to Annabelle. She gurgled at him, wondering why he had stopped.
“Gold and silver I have none, I have none, I have none; Gold and silver I have none, my fair lady.”
Maggie was speaking in place of Secretary Keller, who could not leave Washington for Sam’s departure. She had pulled out a rather thick manila folder, the white papers within stamped from Earth to Moon with red ‘Top Secret’ brands. Ironhide took them, scowling and cursing all the while about humans’ need to use such flimsy paper and how he would have to spend time converting it all to electronic data that they could store internally. No wonder humans messed things up all the time, with such a messy way of filing information.
“Iron and steel will bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow; Iron and steel will bend and bow, my fair lady.”
So focused on Annabelle was he that Sam missed the way that Ratchet spun around, cutting off whatever it was that Optimus was saying, and stared at him, the light of his optics pale in the bright sunlight.
“Wood and clay will wash away, wash away, wash away; Wood and clay will wash away, my fair lady. Stone so-“
“Sam.”
Sam looked up, startled to see that Ratchet had moved so close, his large form blacking out the sun and casting Sam into deep shadow. Ratchet was undeniably tense; Sam’s name had come through the vocal processor as strained, thick, like it had been layered over with molasses. Ratchet knelt down, one hand curling next to Sam to brace the immense weight. It was a little unnerving, but Sam scolded himself. He had no reason to fear Ratchet. He did not answer, but he did not need to. Ratchet continued unprompted.
“What are you singing?”
“Oh, it’s, uh, ‘London Bridge is Falling Down,’” Sam answered, unconsciously leaning back against the wall of the base. It was a little embarrassing, and his male pride withered a little at having been caught singing a nursery rhyme to a baby girl and having everyone be silent and staring at him. He had not thought it strange at first, but Mikaela’s all-too-happy grin suggested she had just received some good-natured teasing ammunition, and he sighed. More unsettling, however, was Optimus, who had not approached Sam, but had rather taken several steps backward, shifting his weight almost imperceptibly from leg to leg as though he were suffering from an excess of nervous energy and did not know what to do with it. Ratchet’s fingers slowly curled in the dirt next to him, dragging long, shallow furrows.
“What does it mean?” Ratchet asked, the uncertainty in his voice switching to a charged, rippling snap.
“It’s a kid’s song. The first verse is about London Bridge falling down, and the rest of the song is about trying to decide what to use to rebuild it so it won’t fall down again. I don’t know as it really means anything,” Sam answered.
“How did you learn it?”
“It’s pretty common, I mean, most everyone knows the first verse. My mom taught me the other verses.”
“You say it’s common?” Ratchet questioned, the harshness lessening ever so slightly.
“Yeah. Well, not everyone knows the extended version, but yeah, everyone knows the song.”
Ratchet continued to stare at Sam, optics unblinking, for several long moments before Ratchet slowly pulled away, taking large strides back into the base. Everyone returned back to what they had been doing before Ratchet’s interruption, but Bumblebee could not get Optimus to focus on him again. Sam locked gazes with Optimus, the force of the Autobot leader’s attention nearly palpable before he dropped his gaze back to Annabelle.
“Stone so strong will last so long, last so long, last so long; Stone so strong will last so long, my fair lady.”
8888
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Sam said. He flinched internally at how watery his tone sounded, but he was too busy trying to reach for an answer, an explanation that would work. “Will heard it from me, and said he didn’t know the whole thing. I told him to call you, since I had forgotten a few of the lines.”
“Well, who’s Will? You never mentioned him before,” Judy questioned. Sam leaned his head back against the seat, rubbing away some of the sweat that was beading along the lines of his eyebrows. Dizziness was coming slowly, creeping upwards, against the flow of blood. The heat, the goddamn heat-the temperature difference between the outside and Bumblebee’s interior had been too great, and Sam closed his eyes against the shock of the temperature change.
“He’s a friend of mine,” Sam supplied the answer. “He was the one who helped me get my car.”
His parents had wondered why Sam had come home with a 2009 Camaro after having bought the ’76 model, and Will had served as an obscure contact that had helped him make a perfectly legal switch. He was getting good at this. He was tired of lying, it was too much work to craft a good one, and this had been the truth in its own way. Without Will, Sam may have never been able to retrieve Bumblebee from Sector 7’s grasp.
“Oh, yeah,” Judy said, though Sam could tell that she could not remember hearing Sam use Will’s name in such close conjunction with Bumblebee. But he had remembered, had thought clearly enough and had enough foresight to leave it open enough so that the connection could be made. His mother was left with no choice but to believe him. “I remember. Well, I suppose I’ll call him back, then. Have a good day, Sammy, and stay safe.”
“I will, mom. Thanks.”
Sam snapped his phone shut, tossing it onto the passenger seat before quickly pushing his way out of Bumblebee and back out into the heat. It felt relaxing, as his sweat had turned cold in the air-conditioning, and the heat sat heavily, adding weight that helped to calm his dizziness.
“Please get back in, Sam.”
“No, that’s all right.”
Legs already feeling weak, it was easy to let his legs buckle, and Sam knelt next to his backpack, reaching for water. Behind him, he could feel the deep, low rumble of Bumblebee’s engine, the heat of it washing in waves across his back. It was misery, the stickiness and suffocation. But the fever also felt good in its own right, baking away the discomfort and headache.
London Bridge is falling down
“You are not feeling well,” Bumblebee pressed, and Sam fought against snapping back against the obviousness of the statement. It was not Bumblebee’s fault, he had to remind himself, and heat always made him cranky. “Perhaps it is an adverse reaction to the medicine. You need to sit down.”
Despite the minute shaking in his muscles, Sam stood, bracing against the swimming feeling in his head at the motion. He needed to show Bumblebee that he was fine, that he could keep going, and a little heat sickness was hardly worth getting upset about.
“I’m tired of sitting,” Sam said as he gathered up his pack. A sip of water removed some of the cotton-feel in his mouth, and it settled quietly in his stomach. As long as there was no nausea, he would do his best to shrug everything else off. “That’s all I’ve been doing for the past week and it’s making my knees hurt. Let me walk for a bit. I need to stretch.”
He did not wait for a reply; Sam swung his backpack up over his shoulder and started down the road. Bumblebee was quick to follow, moving up so that the driver’s side door was even with Sam. Bumblebee stayed quiet, and for the moment Sam was more than happy to ignore him. He was more concerned with his mother’s phone call, and why Will had contacted her about a stupid children’s song. Will had not cared; it was Ratchet who had acted strangely, had demanded to know what the song meant. Unless Ratchet had asked Will to contact his mother, but that prospect seemed even stranger. Of all people, Ratchet seemed the least likely to concern himself with Earth traditions, much less deal with nursery rhymes for simple games. Perhaps if-
“I do not like this.”
Falling down
For all that Bumblebee was an alien robotic organism, had a relatively limited experience with Earth, and used a vocal processor that could only mimic human speech, he pulled off ‘sulking’ very well.
“What?”
“I do not like that you are carrying on this lie with your parents, Sam.”
“You have a better idea?”
But Bumblebee did not answer. Sam continued walking, the hard-packed sand of the road and dried, brittle plants crunching underneath his sneakers. They had reached a flat stretch of land, so it made for easy walking, but Sam could see the high stretches of hills before him, leading into foothills and the faint blue peaks of the Sierra Madre de Chiapas even farther away. The hills looked cool, wrapped by strips of fog, but the thought was little comfort against the lowlands sitting in the rain shadow of the mountains. Despite suffering the dry season, the land around Sam was green, carpets of short grass and woods of conifers and tropical broadleafs that rose and fell with the soil. And in the heat of midday, most everything was quiet. To the north, Sam could just see the leading edges of banana and coffee plantations, squared away in cleared out sections of forest. There were no doubt houses nearby, small villages for local farmers, but Sam knew that he and Bumblebee would have to steer clear. A necessary precaution, but still frustrating.
“Hey, Bumblebee. Do you think, on our way back, we can stop in Tuxtla Gutierrez? I’d like to see the city.”
“No.”
Sam stopped in his tracks, taken aback by Bumblebee’s immediate negative.
“What? Why not?”
“It isn’t safe. Our orders are to investigate the signal and immediately return to base, avoiding as many human settlements as possible. We need to complete this mission as quickly as possible.”
“Give me a break, Bumblebee! I’ll need to bring something back for mom and dad anyway, so we’ll have to stop someplace. God. What a lousy road trip buddy.”
The last part was muttered, barely a sound on his breath, as Sam turned to continue walking, but it was loud enough. A moment of heavy silence passed before the distinct pulsing hum and sound of shifting metal plates pushed through the heat, causing Sam to startle and instinctively take two steps backwards as he spun to face Bumblebee. Transformation complete, Bumblebee crossed the distance between him and Sam with one easy stride. He kneeled down, bringing one hand behind Sam to prevent further retreat; this had the effect of causing Bumblebee to loom over Sam, an aggressive stance that fit the incensed expression lining Bumblebee’s face plates. Feeling his stomach twist at the sight, Sam scowled at the act of intimidation, millions of years of human evolution in his cells making the split second decision to cover fear with irritated defensiveness.
“Is that what you think this is?” Bumblebee questioned, his normally mellow voice crackling with frustration. “A road trip?”
“I didn’t mean-“
“No, Sam. You are not taking this mission seriously enough. Ever since you volunteered us, you have been treating this all as a vacation. You have no idea of the danger you are deciding to treat so idly, as though it were a game. Now,” Bumblebee said, finally pulling away from Sam and re-shifting back into his Camaro camouflage. “Get in.”
Oh, hell no. Sam took a defiant step backwards and crossed his arms, ready to go to the mattresses on this one. Mikaela had called him sheltered, too, both she and now Bumblebee saying it as though it were an accusation, a personal insult, and Sam was tired of it. So he had not had a life befitting Indiana Jones. That was no reason to treat him as though he could not handle himself, or be responsible enough to complete a task for Optimus. Perhaps, Sam thought bitterly, the problem was that Bumblebee was taking this whole thing way too seriously.
“Optimus thinks I can do it just fine,” Sam said, folding his arms tighter around himself. It sounded a little spoiled, like a child boasting to a sibling, but he was beyond caring at this point.
“Optimus,” Bumblebee replied, deliberate in his tone. “Also put me in charge of your well-being. That you agreed to the position suggests that you would be willing to follow my direction. On top of that,” he added, cutting off Sam as he opened his mouth to comment. “Optimus also named me leader of this investigation. Since you are so intent on placing emphasis on Optimus’ opinion, then realize that I currently outrank you and can report disobedience. Get in.”
It was beyond frustrating, to be outflanked like that, and Sam tightened his fingers into his palms, the bite of the nails against his skin satisfying.
Falling down
“I am not a child.”
“No,” Bumblebee agreed. “But you are being irresponsible and unreasonably stubborn. Get in.”
The door-the passenger side door-swung open, the gesture not so much an invitation anymore but a command. For a moment, Sam wanted desperately to just keep walking, if for no other reason than hard-headedness and to frustrate Bumblebee even more. But no matter what he did, he would be outpaced, and there was no other choice. Sam climbed in, keeping his backpack on his lap. The door closed, all locks falling into place, and Bumblebee picked his pace up down the road.
“According to the GPS, we should arrive at the signal’s location by nightfall. Unless you think we should wait for morning to investigate?”
Bumblebee was at ease, his voice completely erased of any previous anger. From obedience classes with Mojo, Sam recognized the technique. Correct the wayward behavior, and then forget about it. Well, the trainer would forget about it. The animal would not. Sam wanted to challenge him, wanted to ask why Bumblebee cared about his opinion if he was so adamant on being the one in charge. But he kept silent. Sam decided to ignore Bumblebee, and instead sunk down into the seat and turned his head away from the dash to watch the scenery pass by the window.
Nightfall, Bumblebee had said. Over nine hours away, seemingly an interminable amount of time and yet close enough, real enough, to make Sam’s gut twist uncomfortably, as it would coming suddenly over the top of a steep hill. Despite his pride, Sam could not quite ignore the tiny doubt in the back of his mind that said that Bumblebee could be right. Any number of Decepticons could be there, having set a trap and just waiting for their prey to walk straight into it.
Sam clutched his pack tighter against his stomach, doing his best to shake off the fear. He could not show it now, could not talk to Bumblebee about it if he wanted to keep what little dignity he had left. All he could do was wait, as the blue hills of the mountains loomed high and ever closer.
London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.
8888
TBC