Political Gain, Chapter One
The room smelled. The old theater had long ago suffered from exposed energon veins and planetary sulfur leaks that gave it the rather pungent aroma. It always smelled, no matter what was done to clean it or air it out. The lingering smell of spent fuel and the sickeningly sweet stench of whatever additive they were using to try and cover it up was enough to give any bot a headache. Not to mention the fact that the seats were not designed for comfort. The material was boring, too. If there was any mech in the room that was having recharging problems, this was the place to be to solve that. However, sleeping was not highly recommended, given the "fragrant" atmosphere, since falling into recharge might mean getting fuel poisoning just from the fumes. If not, a bot might wake up higher than a Seeker in orbit and twice as loopy.
Being part of the military meant enduring the necessary evils that are encompassed with that title. Briefings were such an evil and, many times, were totally unnecessary. That didn't make the matter any easier to deal with, nor did the deactivation of any and all sense of smell. Or sense of -anything- at this point.
Had no choice but to be at this one. There was somewhere else I'd much rather be but I'd practically been dragged here by Ironhide. Prime stood before the counsel, trying to persuade them that we needed a ship off-world, and we needed it now. The old glitches were stubborn and refused to believe that the 'skirmishes' that had occurred lately were nothing more than that and there were no trips needed off world.
Right. And the planet has rivers of energon waiting to be processed and utilized.
I was furious. It took every ounce of willpower I had to -not- get up, go to the Lofts and smack them around like the puppets they were. They had no idea what was going on, no idea what had occurred. If they did, they were damn capable of not giving a slag it seemed.
Tyger Pax had been a disaster, they said. Like the counsel had any idea about any disasters. They were too terrified to leave the chambers. Tyger Pax -was- a disaster but at the same time, it was a success. We had the proof. Proof was lying in med bay being tended to by Ratchet and Primus only knows how bad this is. I've not gotten the opportunity to find out either. Old 'Hide grabbed me as soon as I walked through the corridor and hauled both our afts here.
So now, I'm forced to sit here and do nothing while these relics tell Prime that he's incompetent and his decisions are making them see him as unfit to be part of High Command. Sorry slaggers didn't even bother mention the fact that Lord High Protector Megatron has obviously lost his logic circuits and flipped clean out. Prime, to his credit, takes the words without even flinching and retorts with his ever-cool and sensible reasoning.
They're not going to listen. They're scared. I can't blame them for that but, slag it all develop some neural circuitry and get some new optics if those are failing. Cybertron is dying, our people are at war, not on the verge of, but at war, and they're sitting here debating harsher fuel rationings to ensure their survival. Excuse me, I meant for the Cybertronian's survival. The mechs and femmes who put them in that loft, the ones they are supposed to be held accountable to. Those who lay dead or dying because they don't see a war. They see a 'skirmish'. I can't take it. If I can't say anything, and believe me, Ironhide has had to stop me twice, then I'm just not going to listen anymore. I tried anyway.
"I have here a report from your Chief Medical Officer in regards to your scout, uh, Bumblebee?"
That got my attention. No one has seen any report from Ratchet yet…
"I have not been made aware of any such report as of yet, Counselor." Prime said, very carefully.
"Indeed? Well, I shall read this report to you it seems."
Oh, slag no. Medical reports were -none- of their business! Ratchet wouldn't have given this report up…something's not right.
"That is highly irregular, Counselor. Medical reports are a personal matter-"
"They are only personal to the point of treason, Prime." the Head Counselor interrupted, rather smug.
I tensed, Prime tensed, slag even Ironhide tensed.
"Are you suggesting that-"
"That a member of your crew, if not your entire crew, has turned traitor? Is it true then?"
"No! You slag sucking, glitch infested-" I yelled, standing up quickly and being yanked back down by Ironhide just as fast.
"Enough, Jazz!" he whispered forcefully. "You're going to give them even more reasons to deny us and possibly charge us by giving in to your outbursts."
"They have no right! We've done nothing to even get implicated as being traitors." I told him as I tried to yank my arm back from his grasp. He didn't even budge his grip.
The Counsel continued their conversation, despite my outburst. Not even Prime glanced over though I -know- I'm going to hear about it later. I honestly didn't care at the moment. He could give me brig time for all the slagging good it would do.
Yes, political arena is -so- not my forte. Which is probably why Ironhide had to drag me -back- out of the Counsel Chamber when they said they were ordering Ratchet to cease his repairs on Bumblebee until a trial date could be set. Apparently, the whole "send the Allspark off world" mission we'd been given didn't fly so well with them. But to stop slagging repairs? I might have been dragged out of the room but I wasn't being quiet about it. I told them what I thought about their 'treason' and where they could stick their trial dates before the doors shut behind me.
I continued fighting Ironhide's grip on my frame but he seemed to have had enough and gave me a shove.
"Slow your servos down! What are you playing at here, Jazz?"
"They have no right to deny Bumblebee medical treatment! He almost -died-, Ironhide! And where do they get off on the whole 'treason' slag, huh? Just because they no longer like the orders--orders that they approved, mind you, that told -us- to get the Cube off-world and out of Megatron's hands? Never mind the-" I said, getting more and more worked up
"Enough! That's enough, Jazz!" he practically bellowed, giving me another push.
I stopped. I'm not afraid of Ironhide, not by any means, but I have enough respect for the old glitch to at least attempt to not get myself killed by him.
"You've got to stop doing this, Jazz. That Chamber is not the place to allow yourself to be ruled by emotions. It is ruled by logic and belief and thus requires vast reserves of self-control and tact. Both of which, by the way, you are currently depleted of."
"They have no right, Ironhide."
"I know that. You know that. Prime knows that. I don't know how they got their claws on that report much less where they're getting this whole 'traitor' theory from. You've got to calm down and let Prime handle this." he explained, still quite exasperated. "That chamber isn't your fight, Jazz."
"Then why'd you drag me here?" I demanded.
"To keep you out of trouble, or so I thought."
I was still fuming, trying to clamp down on the utter rage that was just ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. Glitched frggers refused to recognize the war zone right out on their front step, didn't want to see the fact that we'd all been betrayed and refused to acknowledge that Bumblebee's life was in Ratchet's hands and that cutting that care would ultimately kill him.
"Ratchet will never deny medical treatment, Counsel or no, much less from Bumblebee. He'll tell the Counsel to go melt in a smelter, lose his commission and his certifications before he'd -ever- do something so detrimental to his patients." he said, more than likely sensing my growing concern for the yellow mech's well-being.
"I know." I relented.
"Something about this is off, 'Hide." I said after a moments thought.
He nodded, clapping a large hand down on my shoulder.
"Indeed. But in order to figure out what exactly it is, we need to keep ourselves in check." he replied, voice changing to reflect his gruff reassurances. "Go check on Bee. I know you're worried about him. Call if you have any difficulties."
"Yeah, thanks." I mumbled, tossing a wave back as I headed out.
Ironhide was right. I needed to get my head back in the game. Something smelled strange and this time it wasn't the walls of the theater.