Part 2
With two very reluctant mechs dragging their pedes behind him, Jazz entered the meeting room and twirled his chair wrong way around, plopping down and leaning forward on the back of his chair. The command cadre were there already, and Prowl narrowed his eyes without saying anything. Vorns of experience had taught him that Jazz did not follow standard protocol, and sometimes he did things solely because they irritated the other officers. And if they did let on that it annoyed them, Jazz would simply continue in a bid to get demoted.
"You're wondering why I called you all here today," Jazz said, and snapped his fingers.
Behind him, Mirage and Bumblebee each carefully lay a stack of datapads on the table, gently nudging the top pads so they wouldn't fall over. As they backed away, they set their pedes as quietly as possible, almost as silent as their commander as they came to parade rest behind Jazz.
Ironhide glanced at them, then at the Autobots seated around the conference table. The lower ranks' nerves were so raw he almost expected Bumblebee to start sparking.
"So...what's all this?" Ironhide asked, breaking the silence.
Jazz reached out and pushed the two stacks, sending the datapads clattering across the table. Behind him, Mirage and Bumblebee winced.
"Oh, just wait..." Jazz muttered. "Just wait 'till you see what's been spreading around the Ark without us knowing. Go on, take a look. I can't do justice to it myself."
As if Jazz had spilled out scraplets instead, Prime and Red Alert reached across slowly, hesitating as if the datapads might infect them. Giving them a look, Ratchet grabbed the nearest one and started scrolling over the text.
"Some presentation," Ratchet huffed. "Jazz, you didn't even bother to put them all...on the same...page..."
The medic sat straight, staring intently at the screen.
"'Ratchet's Six Proven Ways to Rev Up Your Engine'?" His voice rose with each word until he was glaring at Jazz, and then at Bumblebee when the Spec Ops Commander didn't react.
Beside him, Perceptor slipped a faint sound of static which he cut off with a terse screech.
Ironhide snickered and settled into his chair, transitioning his optics to a near-sighted reading mode. "Well, ain't this cute. 'Red Alert's optics widened even as he lowered his gaze, fist pressed to his mouth.'"
Heads snapped up in shock, then turned swiftly toward Red Alert, whose jaw dropped as he struggled to say something and couldn't. In growing horror, he realized that the older mech meant to keep reading.
"I-Ir-Ironhide-"
"'His vents worked frantically to cool his impossibly heated system, flushing his faceplate as he spread his pedes ever so slowly-'"
"Stop!" Red Alert dropped his datapad and reached across the table as if he might climb across it. "Ironhide, no!"
"Don't get your undercarriage in a bind," Ironhide laughed, tossing the datapad back into the pile. "Primus, it's been vorns since I've seen these. Nice to know some things don't change."
"'Nice'?" Ratchet demanded.
"What things?" Jazz frowned.
"I'm with Powerglide?" Red Alert gasped, holding Ironhide's datapad at arm's length. When they all looked at him, he tossed the device back and hid his face in one hand.
"Polyhex Manuals," Ironhide said as he picked up another datapad and scrolled idly through it. "Cheap, tawdry stuff put out for a quick overcharge. Used to trade 'em back and forth when I was just a recruit. Whoa, Lamborghini Twins Do the Ark."
Ironhide doubleclicked and began scanning.
"You're seriously not bothered by this?" Perceptor asked, finally in control of his voice again.
"Why is there a 'this' at all?" Red Alert demanded. "Where the slag did this trash come from? Who's writing it?"
"All very good questions," Jazz said, swiveling his chair. "I brought my-"
"Wow," Ironhide said, scrolling quickly. "Jazz, did you see how many Spec Ops stories you're in? Jazz Caught in Starscream's Den of Depravity, Jazz's Interrogation at Soundwave's Pedes..."
"I brought my mechs," Jazz repeated a little louder. "They apparently know where these things are-"
"You're like a superhero master spy in these," Ironhide kept going, tilting the datapad slightly. "'The chains might have been welded, but they couldn't hold him forever-'"
"Ironhide," Prime rumbled in warning.
"Huh, 'Prisoner of Prowl's Brig'-"
"Ironhide!"
Prowl made a strangled sound and studied Bumblebee and Mirage intently. Or rather studied a point on the wall between them.
"Just start talking," Jazz snapped, one hand over his visor.
"Yes sir," Mirage said when Bumblebee hesitated too long. When he glanced over, Bumblebee looked like he would implode if he tried to talk. "Um, half a vorn ago, they just started showing up-"
"Skip the history lesson," Perceptor said. "How are they distributed?"
"Sir, there's a forum on the Ark's sur-net, in the basic code," Mirage said. "The stories are posted there, and then anyone can download whatever they want."
"How many stories are there?" Red Alert asked, still not meeting anyone's optics.
"I...don't know, sir," Mirage said. "Hundreds. Maybe thousands."
"Primus," Red Alert muttered.
"Who knows about it?" Perceptor asked. "And who's doing the writing?"
"We-" Mirage stumbled and glanced back at Bumblebee, who was no help. "We seem to be keeping it away from the officers-um, you, sir. Otherwise, everyone knows."
"Oh Primus." Red Alert sank further into his chair, grasping Perceptor's offered hand.
The motion did not go unnoticed. Mirage and Bumblebee both caught the quick comforting and their glances lingered a klik too long. Both wilted under Prowl's glare.
"Are you contributing to these forums?" he demanded.
"I...did write a couple of stories," Mirage admitted.
"Which ones?" Ironhide asked, not looking up from the datapad.
"For the love of Primus," Ratchet groaned.
"C'mon, kid," Ironhide laughed. "'Fess up."
Mirage glanced at Bumblebee again, but the smaller bot only gave him an innocent look that was no help. Apparently only Mirage had produced any stories, and he was on his own. Squirming as everyone waited, he vented and glanced sideways.
"Turbofoxes Ripped My Finish," he mumbled.
"Heh, overblown adventure stuff," Ironhide nodded, and gave Mirage a knowing look. "And what else?"
"Please, sir," Mirage said, strangling on his embarrassment. "Don't make me..."
"Was that the title?" Ironhide grinned, gleeful at everyone quailing around him. "Or do I gotta get mean?"
"Fireflight in the Morphobot's Tentacles," Mirage said, his optics clamped shut so he didn't have to see their faces. "And Ironhide, Defender of Optimus Prime's Innocence."
The titles hung in the air, impossible to move beyond. Jazz couldn't help looking up, one hand covering his face even as he peered between his fingers at their leader. This meeting had been a mistake. Why had he brought these two? Why did he have to be the one who found out about it? Why was he a damn officer in the first place?
Ironhide almost doubled over as he cackled. "Now that is loyalty you just can't buy. You have the love of your army, Prime."
Optimus vented a whole cycle, regarding his mortified officers and the two mechs who were about to dig a hole in the floor and crawl in after. Red Alert was going to pass out if he didn't stop venting so heavily. Even Jazz, who he could usually count on to handle such unusual circumstances, looked like he was about to draw a knife and slit poor Mirage's cables. Which probably wouldn't kill him since Ratchet was right there, but not something Optimus wanted to see.
"Regardless of how normal this apparently is," Optimus said, and now even Red Alert managed to lift his optics in hope that the Prime shared his embarrassment. "It isn't fair to the mechs who don't want to be the center of someone's written fantasy. I'm assuming no one asks permission from their subjects, Mirage. Are you in any of these?"
Mirage tilted his head. "I admit, I have been a little curious as to which ones I'm in."
"You'll have to ask Cliffjumper," Bumblebee finally managed to say, wincing when Mirage seized up. "I think he's got all the ones where you show up."
"What?" Mirage hissed, glaring at him. "Are you serious?"
"And that's what I'm worried about," Optimus said. "Jazz, I'm going to need a full investigation on this."
"You got it," Jazz muttered.
"And no dead 'bots."
"...they won't be dead, sir."
Optimus thought better of arguing that.
TBC...