To no one's surprise, least
of all his own, Jazz was feeling positively jaunty.
Even in ordinary times, it didn't take much - sometimes just waking up
from his recharge cycle would do - to send Jazz into a fit of the jollys.
But these were not ordinary times, and neither had they been for several
million years, if a 'bot wanted to get truly picky about things, and though
Jazz's joy was sometimes interspersed with this inconvenient yet obligatory
war, most days provided just enough of the inane to send Jazz to simply
scandalous levels of glee. And today was no exception.
A tired, withering look was all Jazz received
as he breezed into the command center. Prime paused from briefing Hot
Spot, while Prowl simply offered Jazz a deadened look.
"Autobot Jazz with the morning report,"
Jazz merrily announced, and was rewarded with a slow, agonized blink from
Prowl.
"Dare I ask?" the tactician monotoned.
"Probably not," Jazz grinned,
enjoying the curious looks he was catching from the newcomer, who along
with the other Protectobots had recently joined the ranks from stasis,
and were still trying to find their bearings. Which naturally would have
been made far easier had they been awakened into a normal unit, but so
far what Hot Spot and the others had experienced could more accurately
be described as a perpetual clown fest, and so Jazz could understand a
bit of bewilderment on he part of the ordinarily charismatic Protectobot.
A quizzical look passed from Hot Spot to
Optimus, but Prime only shrugged and looked on with what Jazz suspected
was a hint of humor.
"Well then," Prowl looked back
down at the datapad he'd been poring over, "I don't want to hear
it."
Jazz worked very hard to suppress a grin.
"What if I cut out the violent parts?"
Without looking up, Prowl quirked an optic
ridge. "What, and leave me solely with the stupidity? That takes
the entertainment out of it."
Jazz crossed his arms. "I thought you
had your capacity for entertainment surgically removed."
"Naturally," Prowl continued,
still staring at his work, "but my dry, mirthless outlook does not
preclude me from enjoying the misfortunes of the Autobots' criminal element."
Out of the corner of his visor, Jazz caught
a worried look on Hot Spot's face. Clearly, the Protectobot did not seem
to approve of such an outlook as Prowl's, but neither did he seem to yet
understand the dedication or enthusiasm of the Autobots' miscreant crowd.
"Criminal?" he asked, painfully perplexed.
Prime attempted to explain. "Have you
met the Lamborghinis?"
Hot Spot knitted his brow, processor calculating.
"Red Alert indoctrinated us into the security program. He has a Lamborghini
alt-form, but he-"
"Never mind." Prime gave up, and
nodded toward Jazz. "You were saying?"
"He wasn't," Prowl interjected,
face bland. "In fact, he was going away."
But naturally, Jazz had no such plans. "Right,"
he gave Prowl a cherubic look, and summoned a stack of papers with a flourish.
"As soon as I get these release papers signed, I'll just boogie on
outta -"
"Release papers?" Prowl looked
up, face shrewd.
Jazz smiled. It was just so easy. "Oh,
you know," he explained airily, as he sauntered over to Prime, "usual
police procedure. If you just sign here, Prime…"
But good old Prime seemed to feel this was
a good time to stop being amused and take a bit of interest in the goings-on,
and instead of taking the papers, he merely crossed his arms and narrowed
his optics. "Police?" he asked, voice somewhere between concern
and blooming irritation. Hot Spot looked on with increasing alarm.
"Well," Jazz paused for emphasis,
as though unsure where to start, (though he knew perfectly well just how
he wanted to launch this thing), before giving a tiny shrug of his shoulders
and asking, "Remember Blades?"
"Remember Blades?" Hot Spot sputtered,
optics flaring to life. "What do you mean, 'remember Blades'?"
Prowl glared, coming halfway out of his
seat, while Optimus demanded, "Is Blades in danger?"
"Woah, guys, chill," Jazz backed
up a step, enjoying himself quite thoroughly. "Blades is right as
rain. So to speak."
"So to speak?" Now Hot Spot was
beginning to glower, and Jazz wisely reminded himself who quick these
team leaders could turn into rabid denmothers when it came to the safety
of their team mates.
But still, a new guy was a new guy, and
Jazz did have to have his fun. "Well," he explained, "he
ain't damaged, but he sure is mad out in the rain. I think he made Sideswipe
blush with the language he was spoutin' off -"
"Jazz!" Prime barked. "Tell
the story straight or get someone in here who can. And what," now
here Prime narrowed his optics in that dangerous way that never failed
to make Jazz glad his alt mode wasn't Italian, "does Sideswipe have
to do with it?"
Well, now Jazz had everyone's attention,
including Prowl, whose optics had gone about as flat as stale water. And
that wasn't even mentioning Hot Spot, who had assumed action pose, and
was doing some of the most impressive bristling Jazz had ever seen, which
was saying something, considering that Optimus Prime had something like
a blackbelt in the sport of Very Impressive Looming. All of which, needless
to say, gave Jazz the notion that it might now be in his best interest
to quickly get to the point.
"Ok," he started over, as he smoothed
the paperwork and set it on the nearest console. "You know how the
guys can be, what with the new guys suddenly coming online. I mean, you
remember when the Aerialbots were new-"
"Jazz," Prime growled. "The
point."
"Exactly what I was getting to,"
Jazz crossed his arms. "Straight facts: seems a few of the Aerialbots
got the impression that they wouldn't be new guys anymore if they'd play
a little prank on one of the newer guys. Now somehow," Jazz looked
skyward, "and I don't know exactly how, these certain Aerialbots
got it into their heads that it would be a good laugh to take away Blades'
rotary assembly and leave him stranded on top of the TV tower down in
Portland. Which," he added hastily, as he observed Hot Spot's mood
darkening, "is where he is now, and last I heard, was still hollerin'
bloody murder about getting rained on."
Here Jazz paused, mouth set stubbornly against
grinning, while Prime and Prowl leveled him with what Jazz liked to refer
to as the Lizard Eye of Mirthlessness. Hot Spot, on the other hand, seemed
all shades of ready to burst into action.
"Why didn't the Aerialbots get him
down? Prime," Hot Spot turned to the Autobot commander, "we
can't leave him there."
"Woah, there, cowboy," Jazz held
up his hands. "The Aerialbots did try to get him down after they'd
poked fun at him for a bit, but he wouldn't come. Didn't wanna be rescued
by them."
Hot Spot's optics darkened. "Why not?"
"Well, it seems," and here Jazz
let the smallest of grins slip, "he was too mad. Didn't wanna be
rescued by Aerialbots."
Prime sighed. "And he's still there?"
Jazz nodded. "You can hear him yelling
a mile away."
"Prime -"
"Yes, Hot Spot," Prime sighed
again, and Jazz would have bet his back end that it wouldn't be the last
time that day, "I'll send Skyfire."
"Uh," Prime," Jazz put in,
"we might want to all go."
"And why is that?" Prime asked,
his patience clearly thinning.
But Jazz just held up the sheaf of release
papers along with he hoped was an apologetic smile, and Prime simply resigned
himself to sighing and herding them all out the door. And Jazz was only
getting started.
"So,"
Prowl intoned as they all settled in for the short flight, "Blades
was left susceptible to Decepticon attack by the Aerialbots, who are currently…"
He stared at Jazz expectantly.
"Getting an audio-full from Silverbolt,"
Jazz supplied, "who by the way is about as mad as I've ever seen
him. I don't envy those three birds."
"Let me guess which three," Prime
put in dryly.
"Well, let me see…" Jazz
answered, "not Skydive…and…yup, that about narrows it down."
Prime grumbled and eyed Jazz with a bit
of testy foreboding. "But that still doesn't explain those release
papers."
"No," Jazz agreed with a widening
grin, "it doesn't. See, this would be the just-plain-stupid part,
and since Prowl clearly expressed that he didn't want to hear it…"
"What did Sideswipe do?" Prowl
asked flatly.
"Who is Sideswipe?" Hot Spot asked,
arms crossed, and still looking pretty well put out.
"He is a product of the underworld,"
Prowl explained. "A spawn of the Great Evil."
Jazz furrowed his brow. "Aw, he ain't
that bad."
"You know," Prime put in, "sometimes
I wonder how much trouble Sunstreaker would avoid if he didn't have his
brother around."
"Oh, he'd be prank free, I'm sure,"
Prowl replied. "Of course, there's also a greater than sixty percent
chance that he'd be a sociopathic mass murderer."
"Ah. True." Prime nodded. "So,
Jazz, you were explaining -" he nodded at the release papers "-those."
Hot Spot looked at a loss, not that anyone
paid him any mind.
"Right." Jazz produced the papers
with a flourish. "Short version or long?"
"Short," Prime and Prowl replied
in unison.
"Right on. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker
are being detained by the Portland P.D.," Jazz explained. "They're
not asking us to post bond - they just want us to sign these and take
custody of the twins." Jazz smiled. "And that's it."
"That is most certainly not,"
Prowl narrowed his optics, "it. What happened?"
"You said you wanted the short version,"
Jazz countered.
"Jazz." Prime fixed the saboteur
with a steely look. "What happened?"
With a shrug, and with a pure sense of enjoyment,
Jazz bent over the papers again. "Well, says here they tried to talk
Blades down from the TV building, and Sideswipe even tried to jetpack
up to get him. Didn't work."
"Well, there's nothing wrong with that,"
Hot Spot spoke up. "I don't see why the Earth security force detained
them, but I for one will be sure to thank them for trying -"
"Hot Spot," Prime put a hand on
the Protectobot's shoulder, "I'm sure there's more to this."
"There's always more," Prowl added
without the slightest trace of humor. "Go on, Jazz."
Jazz looked back down. "Ayup, indeed,
there is more, my friends. Seems that when Blades turned down Sideswipe's
offer for a ride, he made full use of - uh - decorative metaphors, not
to mention a few colorful suggestions for what the twins could go do.
Short version: Sunstreaker took offense. Shouting match ensued, much to
the enjoyment of one Sideswipe."
Prime groaned. "So they were charged
with disturbing the peace?"
"No, there's more," Jazz replied,
and could all but feel Prowl's cold stare boring through him. Suppressing
a grin, he began to read, "Says here - and I'm skipping bits to keep
it short - 'Subjects A and B continued to block traffic while Subject
C loudly and continually protested his position on the tower. Officers
made repeated requests for all subjects to evacuate the area; requests
were ignored. At approximately 0345, Subject C made a loud and derogatory
statement regarding what Subjects A and B could go do to one another.
At this point, Subject B (yellow) became highly agitated, and forcibly
removed a fire hydrant from the ground, which he then threw to the top
of the tower with the intention of striking Subject C. Subject C evaded
being struck, and the hydrant has not been recovered at this time. At
approximately 0350, the street was beginning to flood. Subject A (red)
responded with amusement, and did not appear to understand officer requests
for him to evacuate the area. Officers again repeated requests to Subject
B (yellow), who made the following statement:
'Hey, Po-po, let me put this in words you
can understand: F[omit] you, and the f[omit]ing hippopotamus
you rode in on.' Subject B also added, 'Or was that your mother?'
At this, Jazz looked up, gleefully awaiting
the inevitable reaction. He was not disappointed.
"Primus!" Optimus blurted, optics
wide and practically crackling. "That slagging son of a glitch! He
said what?"
"Prime, language," Prowl chided.
"What's a hippopotamus?" Hot Spot
piped up.
Thrilled to the gills, Jazz bent his head
over the report again. "It said…here it is…'Subject B,
who made the following-"
"Jazz," Prime glowered. "I
heard you the first time."
"But you asked -" Jazz started,
then quieted himself at an ugly look from Prime, though he couldn't help
grinning like a jack-o-lantern with a TNT candle.
Prowl and Prime traded glances, and Jazz
didn't need them to speak to know they were sharing a mutual wish to stamp
the words 'PREDACON SNACK' across Sunstreaker's forehead and jettison
him into the sea directly above Decepticon headquarters. But before any
such thing could be discussed, Skyfire, (who wasn't entirely able to keep
the amused quaver out of his vocalizer), announced that they were preparing
to land.
Which was just as well, since Prime seemed
too thoroughly peeved to have anything commanderly to say.
"Primus all mighty," was all Prowl
muttered, as they all tucked in for touchdown.
Jazz, happy as a turbo-dog in a dirty oil
slick, looked out at the rising pavement below them with the sure feeling
that this day was going to be fine indeed.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker
were first on the agenda, it seemed; or at least that was how the police
wanted things. It appeared that though they had the ability to hold the
Lamborghini terrors - those abilities amounting to an energy cell and
a donated Wheeljack-created cannon - Portland's finest were not precisely
enjoying their job. So Skyfire was dispatched to go try to remove Blades
from the TV tower, while Jazz, Optimus Prime, Prowl, and Hot Spot met
up with the captain of the Portland Police.
"We've filed an addendum to our original report," the captain
informed them upon arrival, his eyes a little red and rheumy in the fresh
morning light. The rain had stopped, and though the world looked nicely
scrubbed under the rising sun, the poor captain looked like someone had
run him over with a V-12, and left extra-wide tire treads across his face.
"They haven't damaged anything -" he was saying as they walked,
"-seems they've got some respect for that cannon you boys donated
- but that yellow one's done nothing but run his mouth since three this
morning, and the red one's done nothing but egg him on."
"Egg?" Hot Spot asked, but neither Prime nor Prowl were paying
the Protectobot any attention.
"I'll bet he was," Prowl was muttering, while Prime was busy
concocting a generous and long-winded apology. Jazz would also bet that
the twins would have had an exceeding amount of respect for any sort of
object that A) looked like it had explosive components, and a very important
B) had Wheeljack's seal on the barrel. Jazz would have given his left
door panel to see the looks on their faces when the police had leveled
that baby at their sparkling little paint jobs.
As it was, Jazz was happy enough to content himself with seeing them after
three or so hours of being detained by a bunch of cranky, self-important
humans. The saboteur could hear them all way across the impound lot, and
they were not pleased at all. Or at least Sunstreaker wasn't.
"Primus!" Jazz could hear the yellow warrior shouting. "The
buttons on that uniform are a projectile hazard! Download one more doughnut,
and you're gonna come from together, you sauce-swilling little pork-chop
man!"
Angry shouts erupted, complete with scuffling and the sounds of a struggle,
all of which were backdropped nicely by the sounds of Sideswipe laughing
himself sick.
"Let me pull the trigger," someone shouted, and as Jazz's party
neared, they could see two officers holding a third back, while Sunstreaker
loomed over all of them on the other side of the bars. Sideswipe, in true
form, leaned weakly against the back wall as he wheezed.
"The Autobots are coming," one of the restraining officers grunted.
"Jenkins!"
Jenkins shoved off the other two officers as he stepped back to straighten
his shirt, which Jazz had to admit was wrapped a little tightly around
his middle. "Go to hell, you damn trash can," Jenkins snapped.
"Such language," Sunstreaker crossed his arms and sneered. "You
teach the little pork-chops at home to talk like that?"
"Hey, Autobot!" one of the other officers waved a warning finger
in Sunstreaker's direction. "Leave a man's kids out of it."
"Or what?" Sunstreaker snapped. "You gonna oink at me some
more?"
"Sunstreaker!" Prime barked, making the yellow warrior snap
his glare in the commander's direction.
"Prime," Sunstreaker glowered. "It's about fragging time.
Get us outta here."
Prime neared, and stood before the open-air cell, glowering in return,
though Jazz noted that the commander's glowering was a touch more impressive,
as he towered over the surly yellow warrior by a good head and shoulders.
"I have half a mind to leave you in there," Optimus growled.
"But this is humiliating!" Sunstreaker slammed a fist against
the bars and flung up an impressive spray of sparks that sent the humans
scurrying backward.
"Exactly," Prime said, and turned his attention to the humans,
one of whom was frantically batting the embers off of his uniform. Somewhere
in the background, Sideswipe was laughing anew over some comment about
smelling fried bacon, while Sunstreaker flexed his newly electrocuted
hand. Prime ignored them both.
"My deepest apologies to you all," he spoke gravely down to
the three highly irritated officers. "However we have offended you-"
"However?" Jenkins barked back.
"However? Try all night with this one's mouth!" He stabbed
a viciously quivering finger in Sunstreaker's direction. "And that
one," he singled out one exuberantly and beamingly amused Sideswipe,
"keeps making it worse!"
Jazz couldn't help himself. "Jenkins, man, we've had a few million
years with those two, dude. We know."
"Jazz, please," Prime held up a hand, and Jazz slid a quick
grin in Sideswipe's direction, which Prowl saw and quickly rewarded with
a disapproving stare.
"Officers," Prime was trying again, "I sincerely apologize
for everything, and I give you my word that whatever has been damaged
will be repaired or replaced."
"Nothing got damaged," the captain put in, and gave Jenkins'
shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Except, of course, for the fire hydrant,
but I'm assuming you'll have your boys patch that up."
"Of course," Prime nodded. "I'll send for a repair team
immediately. Again, please accept my apologies on behalf of the Autobots,
and rest assured that this will not happen again."
"It better not," Jenkins grumbled, with a poisonous look in
Sunstreaker's direction.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, officer," Prime assured Jenkins,
with the merest flick of a gaze in the twins' direction. "I'm fairly
certain these two will be adequately occupied for at least the next several
weeks."
"What?" Sunstreaker glared through the bars, and even Sideswipe
sobered at that, not that anyone cared.
"The addendum to our report," the captain said as he handed
over a small stack of papers. "Should you need a full description
of the night's events for your own logs."
"Oh, I'm certain that won't be necessary," Prime assured the
captain, as he accepted the report. "But I am grateful to you for
thoroughly addressing the matter, as I intend to do." That last bit
was directed toward the twins, who were looking somewhat less thrilled
now that they were facing the prospect of hearing what their punishment
would be.
"Well then," the captain dusted his hands off, "that concludes
our business here. As long as the paperwork is all signed, you can have
your boys back, and be off down to the TV tower."
"Yes," Prime agreed. "It is getting late, and we'd hate
to tie up morning traffic. If I could just get you to let these two out…"
"With pleasure," the captain replied, with no small amount of
sincerity. "Jenkins? Would you cut the energy bars off?"
"Gladly," Jenkins gave the Lamborghinis one last, ugly stare
before cutting the switch.
"About fragging time," Sunstreaker
snarled as he leaped lightly through the opened door, and gave himself
a thorough shake. "Ugh, and this lot has such a stench. Are
these the most unkempt automobiles on the face of the planet? It's like
a festering pound in here."
"Sunstreaker!" Prime snapped, and the yellow warrior trailed
off into a grousing mutter. Prime extended a hand to the captain. "Thank
you for your patience, officer. I'll see that this doesn't happen again.
That I promise."
"Good enough for me." The captain
returned Prime's gingerly-offered handshake. "Just see to it that
the one on the tower is gone as soon as possible. He's been creating a
scene since last evening."
"I already have a mech on the job," Prime nodded. "Now
if you'll excuse us, we'll go see how he's doing."
"Sounds good." The captain tossed off a little wave, and watched
as the Autobots transformed.
"Thanks again, officers." Prime gunned his engine a little,
warming up, before slowly pulling away. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker,
get your spoilers out front. The rest of you, let's roll."
By the time they were
two blocks from the station, the sun had broken through the clouds, the
newly-washed pavement was glittering like gold, and Jazz was having the
best traffic jam of his life.
"What do you mean, it's not your fault?"
"It's not!" Sunstreaker protested.
"Yeah, Prime," Sideswipe piped
up. "All we did was try to get him down, and he wouldn't come. How
is that a crime?"
"What? Destroying human property with
the intent of hurting a fellow Autobot isn't a crime?" Prime fumed.
"Is it so hard for you two to remember how to at least act like Autobots
in front of the humans?"
"But we didn't do it!" Sunstreaker
insisted, stubborn about that one point, and not really hearing a word
that Prime was saying.
"Oh, I somehow doubt that," Prime
said. "I doubt that highly."
"We're not lying," Sideswipe protested.
"We may be scum-sucking bottom dwellers, but we're not liars."
Prime's engine rumbled menacingly. "This
is not a laughing matter, Sideswipe."
"I wasn't trying to make you laugh."
"It's not like he has to try
to be laughable," Prowl muttered.
"I heard that!" Sunstreaker snapped,
crankily revving his engine.
Jazz snickered.
"And don't you rev at us, Sunstreaker."
Prime was far from done. "What you two did - convincing the Aerialbots
to put Blades in harm's way, aggravating the humans, damaging their city,
attempting to damage another Autobot - is unthinkable. Now I understand
that you two have energy to burn, but for the love of Primus, can you
begin to explain what goes through your processor to make you think this
is acceptable behavior?"
"Well, you don't know what Blades said,"
Sunstreaker fumed in return. "That little slagger needs to learn
some manners."
"And anyone wanting to teach him manners,"
Hot Spot put in testily, "can slagging well come through me. You
got a problem with one of mine? I'll handle it. But don't let me catch
you threatening my team mate again."
"Wh--?" Sunstreaker sputtered.
"Who the slag are you? And don't tell me you're gonna let that pastel
nightmare of a paint job talk to me that way, Prime."
In reply, Prime pushed as close as he could
to the yellow Lamborghini's back end, crowding him into the car in front.
"Yes, I'm going to let him talk to you like that, and I also back
what he said one hundred percent. So keep that in mind next time you think
to threaten any Autobot. Now do you understand the words that are coming
out of my vocalizer?"
"Prime," Sideswipe asked, sounding
less than thrilled with being cramped between an angry Hot Spot and the
car ahead of him, "what's the big deal? We tried to help Blades,
and he didn't want help."
"So you threw a fire hydrant at him?"
Prime asked, apparently finding Sideswipe's logic to be a little incredulous.
"Well, I didn't throw it,"
Sideswipe replied.
"Thanks a lot!" Sunstreaker griped.
"Well, I didn't."
"Well, nice of you to highlight that
point," Sunstreaker snapped. "And why don't you just step
on my face on your way out of jail?"
"I might."
"Slag you, pig slagger."
"Both of you!" Prime shouted.
"Shut up!"
"But Prime -"
"Shut up!" Prime roared his engine,
and the two Lamborghinis in front of him and Hot Spot hunkered down a
little over their tires, visibly sulking. "The both of you have some
serious consequences waiting for you if we ever get out of this traffic
and get back to the Ark, so if I were you, I might spend the rest of the
day contemplating just how you could get back into my good graces, as
opposed to grinding them into the pavement with your incessant, inane
bickering."
A moment of clear, startling silence fell
at that, and Jazz suspected he wasn't the only one in the party who was
astonished that the Lamborghinis had actually obeyed and shut their vocalizers.
Around the six Autobots, passengers in other cars were craning their necks,
watching, as they all crept forward in first gear. The tower was still
some blocks away, and Jazz was pretty sure he could all but hear the frustration
reverberating in the low rumble of Prime's engine, but there was really
nothing for it but to keep inching forward.
"Are these two always like this?"
Hot Spot finally asked, voice lowered.
"No," Prowl supplied. "They're
usually worse, and generally make more extensive use of expletives."
"We do not," Sunstreaker muttered
in his best not-so-low voice.
"Yes, we do," Sideswipe said.
"I never blew any Autobot up,"
Sunstreaker shot back, voice still low.
"Expletive," Sideswipe
stressed. "Not explosive."
"Whatever," Sunstreaker growled.
"I still never blew nobody up."
"And I never threw any fire hydrant."
"Oh, fine," Sunstreaker said,
voice escalating. "Leave me with all the blame, you scrud-swilling
Volvo-humper."
"Both of you," Prime growled,
"share the blame."
"But I-"
"-did nothing to help the police,"
Prime interjected.
"But we tried to get him down!"
Sideswipe protested.
"Oh, and you just happened to know
he was up there," Prime said. "You just happened to be in the
area, where the Aerialbots, who are desperate to be accepted by your slotting
little clique, just happen to be playing a prank on one of the new guys."
"Hey," Sideswipe defended himself,
"I don't cause all the pranks."
"Really?" asked Prime. "So
who did? I suppose Prowl did, or Ratchet. Maybe Wheeljack. Or what about
Perceptor?"
The twins responded with a sullen silence.
"Oh, wait," Prime answered his
own question, showing a rare bit of sarcasm, "they couldn't have
done it, because they all have jobs to do. They're busy, productive mechs,
who don't waste their off hours with activities that would endanger Autobots
and humans alike, not to mention the humans' property."
The sullen silence deepened, and Jazz could
all but hear the resentment radiating from the red and yellow Lamborghinis.
It was a very few mechs who were able to truly aggravate Optimus Prime,
but those two sure had the knack. If it had been anyone else, Jazz would
have thought Prime was being kind of hard on them, but he had to admit,
there was nothing Prime was saying that wasn't true. And if the truth
fit…well, neither Sideswipe nor Sunstreaker were the kind of mech
who should complain if it stung a little.
"So," Prime spoke up after a moment
of brooding quiet, "if you didn't put the Aerialbots up to it, then
who did?"
But now that the twins had the proverbial
floor, they clammed up tight as a couple of titanium drums. Slunk low
over the pavement, the pair skulked along, in all shades of bad temper.
"Well?" Prime asked, when they'd
said nothing for a good solid minute.
"We're not rats," Sideswipe informed
the Autobot commander.
"Oh, so you do know who did it,"
Prime said. "And I suppose you didn't put the idea in that Autobot's
head?"
"We told you," Sunstreaker reiterated,
voice surly as ever, "we didn't put Blades up there, and we didn't
tell anyone to tell the Aerialbots to put Blades up there either. We just
tried to help."
"Right. And a lot of good a projectile
fire hydrant has done us all."
"Well, that Protectobot has a big,
slaggin' mouth," Sunstreaker grumbled.
"Watch it," Hot Spot warned.
But, sadly for Jazz, who was quite enjoying
the whole lecture, Skyfire's voice broke through the comm link just then,
asking them to hurry, since Blades seemed to have no particular inclination
to come down any time soon. Fortunately for Skyfire, they were only a
few blocks away, and would be there within minutes. Which was probably
a good thing, since the Lamborghinis were getting huffier by the minute,
and Jazz was pretty sure they needed a break from the grand lecture, which
the saboteur was fairly certain was only getting warmed up. It was a long
drive back to the Ark, and Jazz would bet the Autobot commander intended
to use every mile of the way to let the twins know just what he thought
of their idea of helping.
And that would be a hard drive home, sure
as the day was long.
Upon arrival at the
TV tower, what was immediately clear was that Blades was not at all happy
to see the Lamborghinis again.
"Hey!" the Protectobot shouted
from on high. "What the slag are those two slaggers doing here? Tell
'em to step the slag off!"
"Watch your mouth!" Hot Spot shouted
back as he transformed.
"Blades," Prime called up, having
transformed himself. He stood looking up to the top of the tower, neck
craned and optics squinting against the morning sunlight as it glinted
off of Blades' armor. "We need you to come down from there."
"Well, I ain't comin' down like some
cheap princess in the arms of some knight in shining smartass!" Blades
shouted back.
"Well, you would qualify for that,"
Sunstreaker muttered to Sideswipe.
"You two. Shut it," Prime warned,
then turned to Prowl. "How are going to get him down quickly? This
is creating a huge mess of traffic."
Prowl looked around. "Well, he can't
jump. He might land on someone's car, or worse, someone."
"A Protectobot would never do that,"
Hot Spot said with no small amount of zeal, and with a bit of a look toward
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "Blades would never harm a human, or their
city."
The twins merely glared.
"Well?" Prime was still waiting
on Prowl.
Prowl turned to Hot Spot. "If he had
his rotary assembly returned to him, would he come down then?"
"Most likely," Hot Spot replied,
then added in a louder voice, "though if he doesn't come down soon
one way or another, he'll most likely have me to deal with."
"I'll come down when I get my rotary!"
Blades shouted back, obviously piqued, and confirming Prowl's guess. "Tell
those slaggers to give 'em up!"
As one, everyone turned to look at the aforementioned
'slaggers', but neither Sideswipe nor Sunstreaker seemed to have any intention
of offering help. "What?" Sunstreaker shrugged. "Do I look
like I have his slagging rotors stuffed up my aft?"
"Yeah, we don't have 'em," Sideswipe
said. "Though I'll jetpack up there and haul him off the fragging
tower if you want me to."
"And start a mid-air fistfight?"
Jazz asked. "No way, man. He ain't comin' that way, not if we don't
want people gettin' hurt."
"Well," Prime asked, sounding
increasingly flustered, especially given the growing, neck-craning crowd
of humans around everyone's feet, "do you two know where Blades'
rotary assembly might be?"
In unison, the twins shrugged. "We
told you," Sideswipe said. "We don't know."
"Well ain't this just the cat's meow,"
Jazz put his hands on his hips. "We got the tomcat up the tree, and
the fire truck here, and we still can't get him down."
Prime sighed. "Fabulous."
"Well," Sunstreaker put in with
a sour look, "has anyone thought of asking the Aerialbots
what they did with the thing?"
"Gee," Sideswipe added, "that
would be like blaming the guys who actually did this."
"And that would be inconvenient,"
Sunstreaker nodded.
"Because then they couldn't harp at
us."
"Would you two shut it?" Hot Spot
glowered down at the twins, and earned a stink eye in return.
Prime and Prowl exchanged looks. "Well,
it can't hurt," Prime said, "that is, if the Aerialbots are
still alive to tell the tale after Silverbolt got done with them."
Prowl offered a wan smile, then coolly hailed
the Aerialbot commander over the comm link. "Prowl to Silverbolt."
There was a brief moment of white noise,
followed by the dry, humorless tone of Silverbolt's voice. "Prowl,
this is Silverbolt. Go ahead."
Prowl, optics flat, and sounding a little
too much like a parent asking one child to give the other child his favorite
toy back, asked, "Would you, or any of your team, happen to know
the whereabouts of Blades' rotary assembly?"
"In fact," was the toneless and
equally unamused reply, "I happen to have it right here in my cargo
hold."
"Well," Prowl commented, with
a bland look toward Prime, "isn't that nice. And where might you
be?"
"Two miles out," Silverbolt responded.
"Skydive and I have a bead on Skyfire. I take it he's circling the
area."
"You would be correct."
"Then we'll just airdrop the thing
back to Blades," Silverbolt suggested.
Prowl nodded. "That would be most convenient.
After that, would you shadow Blades back to base?"
"Will do."
"Skyfire," Prowl hailed the circling
jet, "I want you to join them. We'll drive back." Prime quietly
nodded his agreement with the plan.
"Roger that," came Skyfire's enthusiastic
(and not entirely humorless) voice.
"Good, then we'll see you back at the
Ark. Oh, and Silverbolt," Prowl added, "I'll want a full report
on my return."
"Roger," Silverbolt replied.
"Prowl out."
Jazz grinned. "Well. That was easy."
"Well, when you actually ask the jerks
who did-" Sunstreaker started, but Prime cut him off with a glare.
"Don't start."
A smug little look passed between Sideswipe
and Sunstreaker, but apart from that, the pair fell quiet as the six Autobots
waited for Silverbolt and Skydive to arrive. Like a big, lazy albatross,
Skyfire continued to circle above the city, and from his loafing, slaloming
flight, Jazz suspected that the big Autobot jet was quietly and thoroughly
enjoying the whole spectacle. Beneath him, on top of the tower, Blades
stood looking crankily down at the group, obviously wondering what they
were concocting, and why they were all standing around and doing nothing,
but Jazz noted with some amount of amusement that nobody seemed in a hurry
to fill him in. Around the group, the humans continued to mill, some shielding
their eyes as they watched, others shoving past to walk the last few blocks
to work, and Jazz noted with a smile that it seemed the humans were getting
used to having the Autobots around after all. A few years ago, a scene
like this might have caused panic, but now the Autobots had become so
much a part of Earthen life - and especially Portland life - that even
a big, cranky Protectobot hollering from the top of the TV tower didn't
seem to faze these humans any more than last night's headline news.
With a chuckle, Jazz glanced over at Prowl,
and tipped his head toward the half-interested and ever-drifting mass
of humans. "Well, Prowl dude, seems like we've finally become just
another few weirdos in the crowd."
Prowl gave him a dry look, but Jazz could
tell he was secretly amused. "Just the designation I always wanted."
"No doubt," Jazz agreed, and looked
back up at the approaching rumble of jets. From the northeast, he could
make out the forms of one Concorde and one F-16, glinting in the morning
sun.
"Silverbolt to Prowl," the Aerialbot
commander hailed the tactician.
"Go ahead," Prowl replied.
"Preparing to drop one rotary assembly,"
Silverbolt informed him, sounding about as enthused as a Corvette hubcap
deep in mud.
"Understood," Prowl sent back.
"As soon as the Protectobot is in the air, head for home."
"Roger that," Silverbolt responded,
and nosed up as he began to slow.
Above them, the Concorde began a wide arc,
banking almost lazily as he came down to a near-stall. Just below him,
Blades watched with what Jazz could tell was a mixture of confusion and
wrath, though in the absence of the Protectobot shouting epithets and
insults up at Skydive and Silverbolt, Jazz was willing to bet that these
weren't the Aerialbots Blades was looking for. With a last sudden drop
in speed, Silverbolt's nose tipped up just over the top of the tower,
and his cargo hold opened just long enough to eject a bundle of neatly-stowed
rotary blades, which unceremoniously dropped directly onto the Protectobot's
head. Flailing, Blades shoved the assembly away and shouted something
into the air, but by the time he'd freed himself from the mess, Silverbolt
was arcing away again.
Just off his commander's wing, Skydive quietly
joined the circle of Autobot jets, while the three waited for Blades to
get dressed and get moving. But Blades, having been (in his mind) insulted
just one more time by an Aerialbot, had already forgotten the assembly
beside him, and was busy hollering about the ignoble origins of the Aerialbot
family line.
"Blades!" Hot Spot shouted, optics
flaring.
Back turned, fist shaking above his head,
Blades either ignored, or didn't hear the Protectobot commander.
But Hot Spot was wearied of this sport by
now, and was hardly in a frame of mind to be outdone by one of his underlings,
so he took it upon himself to holler so loud that even Sideswipe and Sunstreaker
stood up straight. "BLADES!" Hot Spot roared, suddenly all but
seventy-five feet tall. Feet planted apart, hands on his hips, the Protectobot
commander positively loomed as his voice reverberated like thunder
down the corridor of high rises, and Blades, suddenly deciding to get
smart, looked down to see what his commander wanted.
"Yeah, Hot Spot?" Blades asked,
his voice wilting just ever so much.
"Get that gear on," Hot Spot commanded,
all full of fire, brimstone, and all things not nice, "get your tail
feathers in the air, and GET the SLAG HOME."
Blades blinked. "Tail feathers?"
Prowl asked under his breath, but at once Blades was all in a flurry of
movement, and no one bothered to answer the tactician.
Rotary assembly in place, the Protectobot
helicopter sprang into the air, leveled out, and rose to join the others.
"On my way, boss," Blades radioed down, and Jazz noted with
a wry, upward look that the Protectobot had suddenly seemed to understand
how to use his comm link. Somehow shouting didn't seem appropriate to
him any more. Jazz wondered why.
"Move out," Hot Spot sent back.
"And don't drag aft, because when I get there, I want to see your
happy, shiny face in Protectobot Bay. Clear?"
"Clear," came the less-than-thrilled
reply, and Jazz wondered just what Hot Spot had in store. Not that he
had time to find out.
"See you back at base, Prime,"
Silverbolt radioed down, waggled his wings, and picked up speed back toward
the northeast.
"Well."
Jazz looked around, his smile unmet by anyone. "That wasn't so bad,
right?"
A set of blank stares was all he got in
return, until Prime just decided to shake his head and brush past him
to the road, where he transformed and sat idling while the others caught
up. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker didn't even have to be told to take point.
"Hey, man, coulda been worse,"
Jazz tried again, as he pulled out next to Prowl.
"Perhaps," Prowl replied, voice
all rife with his usual flat charm, "this is where the human phrase,
'so happy I could l stick a fork in my eye' comes in."
"See!" Jazz crowed. "Humor!
You're finally getting it!"
"Save it, Jazz," Prime rumbled
up ahead. "At least until we get out of this traffic."
Jazz chuckled. "Right on, Prime. Silent
Jazz it is, so long as you promise not to steamroll over those two ninjas
up there."
"We make no promises," Hot Spot
offered from next to Prime, his own engine giving off a bit of a menacing
rumble, but Jazz thought that somewhere under all the grumbling, he detected
the slightest bit of appreciation from the Protectobot commander for the
absurdity of it all.
The ride back was
everything Jazz could have hoped for. Sideswipe, in true form, seemed
to have completely gotten over his sulk by the time they reached the interstate,
and before they were ten miles out of the city, he was taunting and harassing
his brother in a game of clip-the-quarter-panel. Which, of course, sent
Sunstreaker into fits and conniptions, and subsequently made Prime start
his lecture all over again about the sanctity of order and good relations
with the humans, not to mention the safety of their fellow Autobots, and
- Primus forbid they forget - the absolutely unforgivable sin of wasting
the Autobot commander's entire slagging morning. Or so he put it.
Naturally, Sideswipe absorbed probably every
fourth or fifth word of this lecture, which he then dumped out of the
other audio and onto the pavement, which was receding behind them all
at something like ninety miles per hour. So much for speed limits. But
hey, everyone needed to stretch their legs a little, and when they all
got back to the Ark, Jazz had to admit that even he felt a little better,
which was saying something since he hadn't been aware that he'd been feeling
bad to start with.
The inquisition, naturally, was kept as
pain-free as possible.
"So you," Prime pointed a finger
at Air Raid, Fireflight, and a sour-faced Slingshot, "wanted to be
accepted by them," he pointed at a half-attentive pair of Lamborghinis,
"so you stranded him," Prime pointed at a much-subdued (for
now) Blades, "on the top of a tower."
"Yeah," Slingshot jutted out a
hip, body language indicating that Prime could pretty well piss the slag
off. He flicked a glance toward the veteran trouble-making brothers. "Not
that we give a slag about them slaggers though. I mean - whatever."
"Yeah," Fireflight backed up his
team mate, then glanced at Air Raid as if to ask what he'd just agreed
to.
Air Raid shrugged, and Jazz, standing just
behind Prime's elbow, smiled.
"Well," Prime continued, ignoring
Slingshot's sauce, "was this your idea?"
"No," Slingshot tossed back, then
immediately looked like he regretted the admission. "I mean…"
he trailed off lamely.
"No?" Prime asked, somewhat amused
by the little Aerialbot's posturing. Watching from the corner, Silverbolt
was not.
"No," Air Raid piped up, and put
a hand on Slingshot's shoulder to quiet him. "It wasn't our idea,
Prime, but if it's all the same, we're just gonna keep it to ourselves."
"Well, that's great," Blades spoke
up, lip curling slightly. "Protect the guy who masterminded this."
"Shut up, you little white fairy,"
Sunstreaker narrowed his optics. "Nothing happened to you, and they're
not rats."
With a blink of surprise, the Aerialbots
stood up a little straighter. Sunstreaker had never defended them before.
Blades clenched his fists. "Who you
callin -"
"BLADES." Hot Spot didn't need
to shout, and Blades slunk back down into a sullen slouch, mouth shut.
"Fine," Prime said, clearly ready
to be done with this, since time was inching toward noon. "Last chance
to rat out the perpetrator, before I double your punishment."
In unison, all three guilty Aerialbots looked
up with alarm, but they somehow didn't look surprised, and dug in like
mules in a cornfield. Mouths pressed shut, they regarded Prime with what
Jazz almost thought was a kind of united pride, and if he hadn't understood
it so well, he would have thought it was funny. But he could see it in
their optics that, for the first time, they were finally starting to feel
like part of the Autobot gang, and Jazz smiled to himself, feeling that
the plan was going well after all.
"Very well," Prime said, "all
five of you will begin your punishments at 1300."
"Us too?" Sunstreaker snapped,
optics flaring. Sideswipe, who, of all of the guilty five was probably
the closest to being innocent, hardly looked surprised.
"Yes, five," Prime repeated himself.
"You," he pointed at Sunstreaker, "even if you didn't tell
the Aerialbots to strand Blades, for destruction of property, and for
aggravating the Portland police. Now, if you go with Prowl, he'll have
something to discuss with you."
"Wh-?" Sunstreaker looked extremely
wary, and glanced at his twin, who merely shrugged. Grumbling, and looking
curiously anxious, Sunstreaker moved slowly to trail after the retreating
tactician, though it was clear the warrior didn't like to be separated
from his twin. They were always sentenced together, and Sunstreaker didn't
like this turn of events for some reason, not that Prime seemed to care,
since he appeared to have other ideas.
"You," Prime pointed to Sideswipe,
"for being absolutely no use whatsoever in stopping your brother."
"Hey, I'm not his mother," Sideswipe
protested, though his entire posture was resigned to whatever Prime had
in store.
"No, but you do have a responsibility
as an Autobot," Prime told him, "no matter what the circumstances.
And if you can't do anything but stand by while your brother gets you
both in trouble, then you'll just have to suck it up when it comes to
the consequences. Now go see Ratchet and tell him what you two did."
"Ratchet?" Sideswipe looked alarmed.
"Yes. "
"But he'll yell at me for days!"
"Exactly." Prime crossed his arms,
and Sideswipe ducked his head.
"Primus on a popsicle stick,"
the warrior muttered as he trudged to his doom. "Make sure Sunny
gets all my pieces," he tossed over his shoulder as he plodded out
the door. "Maybe he can sell what's left of me and buy some nice
fuzzy dice."
Jazz snickered.
"You three," Prime pointed at
the Aerialbots, "back to Silverbolt until I send for you."
A chorus of mumbled, bedraggled assent rose
up from the Aerialbot threesome, as they turned around to follow a glowering,
storm-brewing Silverbolt out of the room.
"And you," Prime faced Blades
last.
"Oh, I'll take him," Hot Spot
spoke up, his face alight with the prospect of finally getting his hands
on his troop.
"Do you know why you're facing punishment?"
Prime asked Blades.
"Probably," Blades sulked. "Though
I bet Spot's gonna let me know twice."
"I'd say that's a good bet," Hot
Spot replied nicely.
"Well then," Prime gestured, "take
him away."
And then there were two. Jazz looked up
at Prime. "Think they'll ever learn?"
"Slowly," Prime nodded. "Slowly
but surely. Or at the very least," he added, "they'll get better
at not getting caught."
"For sure," Jazz agreed, and
the two sauntered out to devise a nice, suitable punishment for all involved.
Which, conveniently
enough, turned out to be helping Hoist and Grapple make some modifications
to some of the Ark's outer weaponry. The punishment even had a nice theme
and everything, since most of the gun emplacements were in locations that
needed fliers to reach them. Blades, Slingshot, and Sideswipe proved to
be invaluable little porters, and by late afternoon, Hoist was happily
issuing orders to the five, while Grapple whined and moaned if one of
them got a placement even just slightly off. Grapple wanted things just
exactly so, and he pestered and nagged at the bunch until Jazz
was pretty sure they were about ready to take a jump off the mountain
side.
"That outta make an impression,"
Hot Spot commented appreciatively, as he and the others stood squinting
up at the busy little workers.
"I doubt it," Silverbolt groused.
"My three have a flat learning curve."
"Ah, Bolt," Hot Spot clapped
the Aerialbot on the shoulder, "they'll work out all right. Wait
and see."
"Oh, wait and see, is it?" Ratchet
piped up as he stalked out, hands clenched into a pair of impressive red
fists. "You stick around to wait long enough, and you see just how
bad these glitch-blowing little rat bastards can be. Prime," he addressed
the Autobot commander, apparently wasting no time in getting straight
to the point, "permission to occupy the hell out of Sideswipe's time
after he gets done with this little vacation."
Prime's optics crinkled with a bit of humor.
"Granted."
"Good," the cranky medic put his
hands on his hips and looked skyward, where Sideswipe was balancing on
a thin ledge. "Because I wasn't done with him. And if you even think
of falling and damaging yourself," he called up the red warrior,
"I will end your slagging joy! Comprende, Paco?"
"Yes, Ratchet," came the almost
bored-sounding reply. But Jazz knew better, and understood all too well
that the red warrior had nothing but respect for Ratchet's ill temper.
Neither did Jazz suspect that Sideswipe was looking forward to hearing
more of it.
"Why do you call him 'Paco'?"
Silverbolt asked.
Ratchet smirked, but didn't answer.
A moment passed, in which everyone watched
Sunstreaker and Fireflight carefully balance a turret base against the
mountain side, so Grapple could weld it into place. Both at an awkward
angle, their heads bent close in concentration, the pair looked like they
were working well together.
"Ever think these guys will get along?"
Silverbolt asked, voice somewhat hopeful behind the weary tone.
"Oh, I'd bet they will with time,"
Jazz smiled. "Time, luck, and fortuitous circumstances."
Prowl, having been quiet thus far, furrowed
his brow. "Meaning what?"
"Well," Jazz pointed out, "they
had a common ground today."
"Protecting the mastermind," Prowl
surmised quietly.
"Exactly," Jazz winked behind
his visor, and crossed his arms. "Which is a step, right?"
"That's right," Prime nodded.
"And we'll take all the positive angles we can get out of this situation
right about now."
Jazz watched the other Autobots working
in the late, golden sun. "Silver lining, right?"
"Yes, well," Prowl observed, "I
guess whoever came up with the 'strand Blades' plot did us a service after
all."
"What a champ," Jazz grinned,
all Cheshire Cat.
"Almost," Prowl added, voice light
as the afternoon air, "like a benevolent saboteur."
And Jazz contented himself with a day well
lived.