It had gotten to the point where Blaster actively avoided Cliffjumper, all the while filing secret transfer requests to high command – either for himself or for Cliffjumper, he made a special note in the forms that he wasn't picky. There just wasn't enough room on the Orbital Array for the two of them. It wasn't that he disliked the little red 'Bot. Cliffjumper was just a very… enthusiastic individual. And while Blaster of all Autobots could appreciate that trait under normal circumstances, it wasn't so easy when Cliffjumper would pester him every time they met.
"Please?" he'd beg, "Just give me five kliks on the air. You won't be sorry! I think I was a radio jockey myself in a past life."
"You believe in reincarnation?" Blaster asked once.
"No," Cliff answered, "I was a reactivated spark. Lost all my memory files when they brought me back online. I was either a radio jockey or part of a team of paranormal investigators with a talking turbofox. I get some weird flashes now and then."
Each time, Blaster had managed some excuse – "time constraints," "red tape," "Steeljaw has some pretty nasty worms and is quarantined in the transmission suite" – but he was running out of ideas. And he knew he couldn't hold Cliffjumper off forever.
And he couldn't just be honest with Cliffjumper. How does one tell a friend that while they had spirit in spades, it was the wrong kind? As The Voice, Blaster tried to motivate the Autobots, invigorate and inspire. He rarely denigrated, he rarely criticized. His messages were positive… well, as positive as one could be in wartime. Cliffjumper, by contrast, was more… vindictive. His idea of "motivation" was much more aggressive. But one couldn't tell someone like Cliffjumper that. He was utterly irrepressible.
But the transfer requests always came back denied, then one day they just stopped coming back. And Cliffjumper was beginning to figure out the alternate routes Blaster would take to the transmission suite. One day, he pinned him down and Blaster looked into those keen, fervent blue optics and knew he was beaten.
"All right, come on," he said.
"You mean it?" Cliffjumper asked gleefully.
That worried Blaster, but he ignored his better judgment and chose to just get this over with. "Yep. 'Course, this will be a test screening. We're gonna record you and see if you have the chops for live broadcast."
"Good enough for me! You won't be sorry!"
But Blaster had a feeling he would be.
Soon enough, Cliffjumper was seated behind the booth and cracking his servos. Blaster and Jazz watched him from a separate compartment which housed the studio equipment.
"You sure about this?" Jazz asked.
"No," Blaster said. "But I have to let him get this out of his system so he'll leave me in peace. Thanks for agreeing to help me with this, by the way."
"You kiddin'? I wouldn't miss this for all of Cybertron."
"You guys ready in there?" Cliffjumper's voice crackled in.
"We're set," Blaster assured him. He switched on the recording gear. "Begin in five… four… three… two…"
"HELLO AUTOBOTS!" Cliffjumper screamed bombastically into the mike. "THIS IS YOUR GOOD BUDDY CLIFFJUMPER, AND I'VE GOT A SPECIAL LIST FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION! HERE'S A COUNTDOWN OF THE TOP FORTY SUSPECTED TRAITORS IN OUR RANKS! LISTEN CLOSELY – ONE OF THEM COULD BE STANDING NEXT TO YOU RIGHT NOW!"
Jazz stared at the monitor incredulously for a moment before bursting out into laugher. Blaster groaned and slammed his head against the controls. This was going to be a long five kliks.
