Hello again. First I would like to apologize for the long update time, I just moved and my new home does not have any internet. Also, it should be noted that the holidays are a very hectic time at my work and I was unable to get much writing done. All this culminated in only a single chapter written.
Please enjoy, rate, and review.
Chapter 3:
The next orn the recruits went through a series of evaluations to determine where their talents and skills could best serve the base. First, came the marksmanship test. While Jazz was not the most proficient with weapons, preferring hand-to-hand combat like a true assassin, he was adequate and enjoyed the practice. It also afforded him the opportunity to acquaint himself with Ironhide, who turned out to be the base's Weapons Specialist. The red mech was certifiably obsessed with guns, the bigger the better. Although Jazz did not share this passion, their similar laid back natures gave them enough common ground to form a tentative friendship.
After marksmanship came melee combat. This test was overseen by a red, orange, and black seeker designated, Spitfire. Jazz was surprised knowing first-hand that nearly all the seekers had joined the Decepticons and the few who had not were all neutral. Seekers were also no known for their close combat skills, thanks to their thinner flight armor. However, Spitfire seemed to have no problems, even when disadvantageously pitted against a pair of twin frontliners. Most of the seeker's counterattacks and defenses focused on redirecting the motions of his opponents in a style similar to Diffusion. His fighting style was strange though, incorporating flowing, twisting, climbing moves than made him look more like a cybereel than a mech. Jazz knew that as soon as his undercover job was done he would be back to spar properly with the odd flier.
Just after the last recruit finished they were released for mid-orn energon. Jazz picked up his ration and surveyed the room for a table where he could observe without appearing antisocial. He selected one against the far wall, but as he arrived, so did another mech. They stood there awkwardly for a klik before Jazz extended his servo in welcome. "There is always room for two mah mech."
The red and yellow mech smiled and clasped his servo in a friendly shake. They sat and introduced themselves. "Ah'm Jazz." "Ah am Blaster."
Ya from Polyhex?" Jazz questioned, recognizing the accent as similar to his own.
"Yep, West District."
"The cassette-masters district?! Ya one o' them?" Jazz was delighted at such a rare meeting.
"If Ah am?" Blaster answered warily.
"Tha would be fantastic mech. Ah've never gotten tha chance ta meet one. Seen 'em tho, always surrounded by their cute little mechs."
Blaster grinned and pressed a small button on his torso releasing two quadrapedal cassettes. "Like these?"
Jazz's visor brightened in glee as he stared at the two small symbiotes. "That's awesome ma mech, what're their designations?"
This one is Steeljaw," Blaster pointed to the orange and purple felinoid, "and that one is Ramhorn." He pointed to the reddish miniature cyber-rhino.
"Hey there minimechs, how ya doin'?"
The two cassettes regarded Jazz warily and gave a neutral shrug.
"It's ok guys, he's a Polyhexian, he knows."
Jazz looked up, confused by the cassette-master's cryptic statement. "Ah know what?"
"That they have sparks and aren't drones."
Jazz's visor darkened. "Mechs have been treatin' 'em like drones?" His voice was soft and held a steel-like quality that promised ill-intent for those who had mistreated the little ones. Blaster dropped his gaze to the floor. "Most don' know any better. The District was a very close knit community and very few outsiders were ever accepted among us. Most Poly's didn't even know the truth and we lived in the same city."
"Then how'd ya know ya could trust meh?" Jazz was still glowering at the idea that the symbiotes might not be receiving the same rights as the full-sized mechs.
"Cuz you called them 'little mechs.' Everyone not in the know calls 'em 'the drones'."
The black and white stiffened completely at the statement and swiftly came to a decision within himself. "The little mechs will always be treated right and welcomed amongst mah crew. We'll neva' treat 'em as less 'n what they are if ya decide ta stick around. 'N if we eva' catch any mechs botherin' 'em, we'll take care of it."
"Thank you," Blaster was flabbergasted by the generous offer of protection, "but why? We're strangers. Why offer that to mechs ya hardly know?"
"In tha words o' our dear Prime, 'Freedom is the right of all sentient beings' and in mah own words, 'N Primus help all those who would try ta take that freedom while mah spark still pulses'." Realizing that his dark mood was starting to worry the cassette-master he smiled and added light-sparkedly, " 'Sides, it feels right 'n Ah learned vorns ago ta listen ta mah spark."
Blaster smiled back in gratitude, offering his own friendship in return. More than ready to change the subject, the cassette-master asked a new, but typical, question. "So mah main machine, what section ya hopin' to get into?"
"Comms, you?"
"The same."
"Mah mech, Ah think this could be tha beginnin's of a great friendship."
Finally the evaluation of comm. skills commenced. The trial was an extensive battery of tests focusing on range, pitch, sensitivity, and encryption that was not for the faint of spark. Spec ops training made encryption easy and Jazz's own audios took care of the other three. He would have relaxed, assured of his victory, if not for a certain red and yellow cassette-master who showed an aptitude parallel to his own. This narrowed the saboteur's chances by a significant margin and he had recently learned that there was only one space left in the Communication Division.
Sabotage would be considered the standard operating procedure, but his sense of honor demanded that the contest with his new friend be completed fairly. He sent a quick message to Blackshot through Mirage containing the relevant info, sans his honor's demands, for advise. The reply was both welcome and dissparkening. Since the trials had already been completed and the data transmitted instantly to the relevant officers there would be no chance to alter it. The final placement of the analyzed mechs would be the responsibility of Prowl, and he was impossible to sway once he had determined the statistical probability of the success of an assignment. It also did not help that the SIC and TIC were not on friendly terms with one another and Blackshot would be unable to influence the decision without revealing why it was necessary. A revelation he was unwilling to make with the identity of the spy unknown. Jazz was secretly glad that his friend would have a fair chance, but the inflexibility of the rigid Praxian could jeopardize the saboteur's mission.
After the orn's schedule was completed and the recruits released for predark-cycle energon, Jazz decided it was time for some recon. His decision to 'help' the SIC to loosen up was still firm in his mind, but to circumvent a problem one must first know the problem… extensively.
Prowl was ready to throw something. At that moment he would have liked nothing better than to hunt down the mech who had created the War Codices and force them to suffer through the datapad mountains piled all over the tactician's desk thanks to the rule that all new soldier placements would be overseen by Tactical. As head of the department he could have delegated the task to any of his subordinates, but his own perfectionism would simply demand that he review them anyway to ensure that every mech had been placed for maximum effectiveness. Resigning himself to the monotony of the task, and probable likelihood of a rechargeless night, he began on the first stack.
Many of the five hundred mechs would be rated 'normal' soldiers, 'cannon fodder' as Ironhide so eloquently put it, interspersed with a few promising individuals who would be jealously snatched up and assigned to specific departments in a never-ending cycle to improve their advantage against the Decepticons. Eventually he came to the file for a mech designated, Blaster. The mech rated extremely high in the comms section and seemed to be the perfect choice to replace Staticstop, who had perished in an attack a few decacycles earlier. Satisfied to have filled that void, Prowl picked up the next datapad, just to find that Blaster was not the only one to show an impressive score in comms.
Well, this would be interesting, the Praxian thought. Placing the two mechs' stats side-by-side, he compared them. The two were perfectly matched and complementary. Jazz was slightly superior in the aspect of encryption, but Blaster had a somewhat larger range. Prowl sincerely wished that there were two positions in comms, for these mechs seemed to have been built for it.
However, as only one spot was available a choice would have to be made. For the first time in nearly ten vorn Prowl turned on his battle computer to determine which young recruit would be the best option.
I am not completely satisfied with this chapter and it might get a rewrite at a later date. For now however, it will have to do.
