Noblesse Oblige

Chapter 2


As Pacer moved toward a door that led to a side room off the office, Mirage struggled to keep his face from displaying any of the dismay that was coursing through his systems. He wasn't thrilled at the idea of getting a personal attendant – while he knew his father relied absolutely on Pacer, who seemed to function as an extension of Oblique's will, he had a hard time comprehending that sort of constant invasion of privacy.

Even more disconcerting was the idea that his new servant was damaged goods. Almost blind – what a strange concept. As far as he knew, glitches like that were fixable. He'd never heard of a mech going through his whole life that way. Any way he looked at it, this felt like he was getting handed someone else's problem, and it felt unfair.

And…right now? He had sort of hoped he'd have at least a day to mull things over and savor the last of his privacy. Apparently not. He should have expected it, of course. While his sire could be very patient indeed (You didn't build and maintain a financial empire by being an instant-gratification sort of mech), when it came to things that COULD be done immediately, that's when he wanted them done. Pacer disappeared into the side room, the door sliding shut behind him. The nano-kliks that passed seemed to stretch into vorns, and Mirage concentrated on resisting the urge to fidget.

After several thousand eons had passed, the door whispered open again and Pacer emerged, his arm crooked so the second black-and-white mech he was leading could hold on to it. Mirage recognized the expression of parental fondness on Pacer's face from his own father. That and concern were warring with the servant's usual countenance of pleasant neutrality.

As for the second mech – his new servant/responsibility – Mirage was at a loss. He'd never seen anything like it. As far as he knew, optics only came in three colors. Most Cybertronians (as far as he knew) had blue ones. Rarer were optics that were golden, like his own. And some, for whatever reason, had red optics. He'd even seen a few mechs with red optics, during his father's business dealings. Those had been unnerving for some reason, but not nearly as unnerving as this.

The new mech's eyes, wide open and set into a silver face, were white. Mirage had never imagined anything so unnatural-looking. Their paleness faded into the mech's face and made it look vulnerable and eerie at the same time. Worse, as the newcomer and his father drew closer, Mirage realized that there was something unstable about the optics. From time to time, they flickered, or surged or dimmed suddenly. Mirage felt slightly nauseous and distinctly awkward. He had no idea what to do with his own optics – it was an unpleasant sight, but he couldn't seem to look away.

The pair came to a stop in front of Mirage. The new 'bot angled one side of his face toward him, then the other, then squinted slightly. He finally seemed to give up on getting a good look at Mirage and settled. Then his face broke into a bright smile and he spoke. "Hey. You must be Mirage."

Mirage's tone was haughty. "Looks like it." Ugh, had he really just said 'looks'? How insensitive could he be?

If the new 'bot noticed, he didn't show it. If anything, the smile got wider. "It's great to finally meet you. I'm Jazz."

"So I see." Holy Primus, what was wrong with him? Maybe he'd have to write a program purging all vision-oriented words from his vocabulary later.

A few uncomfortable moments passed, with Jazz grinning at him as Mirage stared while trying not to stare. Oblique broke the silence from his desk.

"We're glad to have you join us, Jazz. Your father has been indispensable to me for nearly all of my life. I'm glad to see the tradition may continue."

Jazz turned his face in the direction of Oblique's voice. "Thank you, sir. I'm gonna try my best."

"Good. I expect nothing less from Pacer's son. Mirage?" Mirage looked at his father. "I must get back to work now. Why don't you take Jazz to your quarters, get him acquainted?"

"Yes, sir," Mirage said.

Pacer turned to his son. "Go with Mirage now. Swing or I will come by to pick you up at the end of the day."

"Okay. Thanks." Jazz turned his face back to Mirage (Primus, was it permanently set on 'smile'?), and released his hold on his father's arm. "Shall we?"

There was a pause. "All right. Come on," Mirage said. Jazz reached a hand out toward him, and Mirage recoiled, realizing what he intended.

The blue mech thought he was taking this pretty well, all things considered, but this was too much. He wasn't particularly touchy-feely even with those within his own caste, and the idea of walking around with a glitchy commoner hanging on his arm was intolerable. Jazz would have to find another way. Mirage took a very deliberate step backward.

The smile finally wavered a bit with uncertainty. To Jazz's credit, he recovered quickly. He retracted the offending arm and placed it by his side. He straightened and the smile became less of a greeting, and more quietly self-assured. That's okay, it seemed to say, we can play by your rules. I'm up to the challenge. "After you," he said out loud.

Mirage turned and headed out the door. After a few steps he glanced over his shoulder. Jazz was following, albeit a little slowly. He was keeping his arms at his sides, but his hands and fingers belied his nervousness by twitching. Mirage slowed his pace and shuffled his feet a bit more than he would usually, giving Jazz at least a noise to follow. Jazz matched his pace and they made their way out of the office and down the hall. It was a halting process – Mirage kept absentmindedly speeding up, then having to slow down to allow Jazz to catch up. Neither 'bot said anything as they hitched their way along.

Mirage was in misery. He hadn't recalled the distance between his quarters and his sire's office being twenty million megamiles long, but apparently it was. After a billion vorns had passed, they finally arrived at Mirage's suite of rooms and he led Jazz inside.

"Well, this is it." He turned and faced his new companion. "This is the sitting room, and there are the doors out onto the balcony. The sunroom is that way, and then there's the storage room. Over there is the way to the recreation room and then my recharge room. Washroom's off to the side of that."

Jazz's face looked as if Mirage had just told a very funny joke. "Eh, I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific than that." His voice was full of unexpected but unmistakable mirth. "'This way' and 'that way' and 'over there'… those don't work so well for me, as far as directions go."

"Oh." Mirage floundered. For all his training in social graces, he couldn't seem to get anything right. "Well, to your left…"

"Hey…" The tone of voice was still amused, but now it seemed to convey that Jazz was taking pity on him. "Why don't we try it this way: you show me around, and I'll get the lay of the land. I'm actually pretty good at getting around once I get things mapped out in my head, I just need a bit of a guide at first. You don't have to touch me or anything, just walk me around and let me know where things are. After that I'll be good to go. Is that okay?"

Mirage resented the slight hint of pity in the tone, as well as the fact that his new servant seemed to be taking control of the situation. He wanted to say something snappy and cruel to put the newcomer in his place, but he managed to realize that something like that wouldn't help anything but his ego. And he didn't have a better suggestion. "All right."

"All the walls, all the doors, all the furniture, anything I can bump into."

"All right," Mirage said a little testily. He moved closer to Jazz, and then walked backward toward the wall. "Follow me…" Jazz followed with a look of intense concentration and measured footsteps. He had allowed himself to bring his arms up in front of him, and held them with his elbows bent and his fingers splayed out, palms down.

Suddenly a sensation washed over Mirage. There was something like an extended muffled thump, and he felt as though tendrils of ice had seized him by the back of the neck and then traveled throughout his body. He jumped.

"What? What was that?" His voice was a much less than dignified yelp. He struggled to control it as he gaped at Jazz. "Are you doing that?" he demanded. The sensation abruptly stopped.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Jazz said apologetically. "Sonic pulse. I'm learning to use acoustic location sensors - they help me figure out where things are. The way the sound waves bounce off things, stuff like that. Do you mind if I use them?"

Of course he minded. "I suppose not…but do you have to use them all the time?"

"No, no," Jazz assured him, "Not all the time. Especially not in familiar places. Once I figure out where everything is here, I won't hardly have to use them at all. As long as you don't move the furniture around too much on me, at least." He was grinning again, his optics flickering wildly.

"Okay." He was prepared this time, his dental plates gritted when the sonic waves washed over him. After a moment, they either subsided slightly or he got used to them. He resumed his backwards walk and Jazz followed. "Well, here's the doorway…"

They made their slow way around the suite of rooms, starting around the walls of each and spiraling inward. Jazz didn't say much as Mirage narrated the furnishings of his rooms aloud, feeling more than a little silly. The silver face wore a look of intense concentration, the pale eyes starting intently (and unsuccessfully, Mirage guessed) at whatever they were looking at. The black hands traced every object they came across.

The journey wasn't perfect – Jazz did end up bumping into some things, with a cheerful "Whoops!" every time. In the sitting room, his hands knocked a stack of datapads off a side table. He unintentionally shoved more datapads aside when examining the recharge berth, and caused a miniature datapad avalanche when he discovered that the desk was almost entirely hidden under a mountain of the things. The tour ended in the sunroom, where Jazz's hands swept over another group of datapads scattered across Mirage's favorite window seat.

"…and that's about it." Mirage finished. He shrugged exaggeratedly so that maybe Jazz would see it. "Do you have any questions?"

"You have a lot of datapads." Jazz commented.

"I like to read." Mirage said, a little defensively. That wasn't true. He LOVED to read. There were very few activities that he would pick over curling up in the sun window surrounded by datapads. He couldn't seem to settle on just one story, either, so he always had multiple datapads open with different novels on them scattered around his suite. Sometimes he'd just happen to be walking by one, and he'd pick it up as if he'd just discovered treasure and drop into a nearby chair with it and lose himself for cycles.

"Oh, yeah, really? Y'know, I think I caught that." Mirage frowned at the gentle hint of sarcasm. Of all the cheek… His need to put the intruder in his place reasserted itself.

"You CAN read, can't you?" He inquired archly. He'd meant it as a rhetorical put-down, but as Jazz's expression shifted into a wry smile and his optics glitched, Mirage realized he'd hit home. "…oh."

Jazz shrugged. "Ehhhh, don't worry about it. Kinda goes with the whole glitchy package." He smiled and tapped his temple next to his right optic, which kept going dim. "I mean, I could, if… I know how…it's there in my primary programming and everything. I just can't see details well enough to."

"Can't you just jack into things and read them that way?"

"Oh, yeah, I can." Jazz unconsciously fingered one of his data cables, pulling it partially out and then retracting it. "I do that all the time. When I can, at least. Thing is, it gives me a nasty headache. The doctors say it's something about my processors having trouble matching visual input versus stuff I'm jacked into…anyway. So mostly I use it for small, short stuff. Something long like reading a story…" He winced. "…yeah, no, forget it. No can do."

"Ah," was all Mirage could think to say.

"That doesn't mean I don't like stories, though!" Jazz added quickly. "We've got a few datapads at the house, and Pacer and Swing read to me when they have the time."

"Really? Like what?" Mirage's curiosity was piqued. Maybe he'd discovered common ground…

"Well, there's The Covenant, of course…"

"Of course." Mirage groaned inwardly. So they were THAT kind of family. Just his luck, to be stuck with a Covenant-beater. Oblique was a firm atheist and found the notions of faith and religion, well… 'Droll' might be a kind euphemism. 'Stupid' would be more accurate. Fortunately, Jazz seemed to have moved on.

"…and The Endless Rust Sea, and The Incredible Twins, and Stargazer's Travels…"

"Oh!" Mirage forgot to be detached and aloof for a moment. "I love Stargazer's Travels!"

Jazz's smile could have lit Iacon for a stellar cycle. "Me too! We just finished it. I can't stand that it's over. I think it might be my favorite."

"You know…" murmured Mirage, having recovered his decorum, "There IS a sequel."

"Really?" Jazz forced himself to sound less interested than he was. Mirage wasn't fooled.

"Really. I have it. Haven't started it yet, though." Mirage was confusing himself. Was he bragging, teasing…what? Why was he being mean? In all the lectures he'd received on how to treat The Less Fortunate, he didn't remember "rub their low-grade noses in it." Though now that he thought about it, maybe it had been there, between the lines.

"Oh," was all Jazz said. There was an awkward silence. Suddenly Jazz seemed to re-energize. He smiled again and spread his arms wide. "So!" He made a show of looking all around the room. "What do you want me to do?"

"What?" Mirage said stupidly.

"Me!" He thumped his chest once for emphasis. "I'm yours now, so I'll do whatever you want."

Oh slag, thought Mirage, he really is mine, isn't he? I have to think of something for him to do. He thought of Oblique and Pacer. For maybe forever I have to think of something for him to do. Time seemed to stretch out in front of Mirage. I can't even think of anything for him to do right slagging now…

"Maybe clean something?" Jazz suggested helpfully, "I'm actually pretty good at cleaning things. Well. As long as nothing's too delicate and I don't have to organize anything. C'mon. What can I do for you?"

Go away so I can read in peace, Mirage replied in his head. He supposed he COULD order Jazz to do just that. It would certainly be a relief, but Oblique would be disappointed in him for not trying harder.

He supposed he could have Jazz 'clean something', but the housekeeper had just been through his quarters and everything was pretty much spotless. He could order Jazz to sit quietly in the sitting room while he read and just leave him there until one of his sires came to pick him up. That choice was not without its attractions, but somehow Mirage felt bad just abandoning Jazz to sit alone while Mirage indulged in an activity he couldn't partake in.

Well, he COULD participate in it, if

Impossible. On SO many levels. First, and most importantly, it set a dangerous precedent. They were not equals and they were not friends. To start off their association with an activity that so much as implied otherwise would be a gross breach of conduct, Mirage knew. Plus, it didn't solve the problem of what to do with Jazz for the long-term, it just put it off for a day. And it was sort of…intimate, in a way Mirage never was, even with Oblique. Still. It would solve the problem for the day. Mirage decided to give himself the gift of a day. Didn't he deserve it?

"We'll read." He said, as gruffly as he could manage. "We'll sit and I'll start reading the sequel to Stargazer's Travels to you. I've been meaning to read it anyway."

It was Jazz's turn to look taken aback and uncomfortable. "Um, are you sure? I don't think that's what I'm supposed to-"

"I'm sure," Mirage said curtly, cutting him off. Then he summoned his best impression of the quintessential spoiled young Tower brat. "Besides," he added haughtily, "it's not up to you. You have to do whatever I want to do. And I want to read." He swept the datapads littering the window seat to the side, picking out the one he wanted, and sat in his customary place, leaning against the right-hand side of the nook. He glanced impatiently at Jazz, who remained standing and looking slightly confused. "Did you not hear me? I said, 'sit'!" Jazz glanced down and started to lower himself to the floor. Mirage gave an exasperated sigh.

"Not on the floor! There!" He pointed, and then realized he needed to elaborate. "The other side of the seat. There's plenty of room."

"Well, if it's what you want…" But the smile had started to creep back to Jazz's face.

"It is." He said firmly. He'd worry about tomorrow tomorrow. He watched as Jazz felt for the edges of the window, then lowered himself into place on the cushioned seat, mirroring Mirage's posture. He waited until his new acquaintance had settled. "Ready?"

Jazz tilted his head and gave an inscrutable half-smile. "Yup."

Mirage tapped the surface of the pad and it lit up. He started to read, feeling self-conscious at first. Eventually that wore off as he became engrossed in the story himself, and the two youths stayed there until the light coming in the window was red from the sunset, and Swing rang the door chime to pick Jazz up and take him home.