Part 4
Ironhide snickered as the line of embarrassed mechs marched in, but with Optimus presenting himself with utmost formality, he kept his officer face on. The growing lineup of mechs didn't need any more humiliation piled on anyway. That the twins were involved was no surprise, but the cassetibots on Blaster's shoulders looked like they wanted to climb into his recharge case and never come out again. From Jazz's demeanor, he supposed they were lucky not to be wearing stasis cuffs. At least Jazz had shown some mercy on his own bots and let Mirage and Bumblebee flank him, present to answer questions but not among the official row of the condemned.
"The usual suspects," Prowl said, nodding at the twins. "Not unexpected. But Blaster...I'm surprised."
"Sir," Blaster said, one hand on his waist, the other rubbing slightly at his audio horn. "Is what we did really worth all this? It was just a few mechs having a bit of fun."
"Some mechs," Ironhide said, "got more delicate sensibilities, kid. I mean, it takes quite a constitution to shrug off 'Virgin Alert to Passion'."
Sunk low in his seat, glaring sideways at Ironhide, Red Alert revved in warning. "Or 'Tanning an Ironhide'."
Prime's bodyguard blinked and his smile faded slightly. "Wait, what?"
Realizing what was about to happen, Perceptor reached over and grabbed Red Alert's arm, but he couldn't talk fast enough to stop him.
"Ironhide knew he could have fought off Shockwave's hold," Red Alert recited, facing the older mech with what should have been dead calm save for his overly wide optics and pursed lips, "but something held him still. What strange emotion made his spark flicker in hesitation? The single golden optic stared deep into him, frozen in likewise confusion. And then Shockwave's grip hardened like tempered polytitanex, dragging a scream of submission-"
"All right already!" Ironhide snapped, raising a hand in defeat. "I give, I give."
Aghast but quick to distract the other bot, Perceptor leaned close to Red Alert. "How much did you memorize?"
"Enough," Red Alert said, still glaring at Ironhide. "Didn't even get to the good part."
"This is what concerns us about 'your bit of fun'," Prowl said to Blaster, but focusing on Red Alert and Ironhide until he was sure neither of them would start up again. Even Optimus had leaned back in surprise at his security bot's outburst. "It's all too dangerous to upset mechs who have been upgraded with military armaments."
"I think I get what you mean," Blaster said a little sheepishly. "But the cat's outta the bag, man. The whole Ark's doing it now."
"The whole Ark?" Optimus echoed, leaning hard on the table. Primus, what kind of leader was he? He wasn't running an army. He was running an erotic book publishers and fantasy love-in. Did the Senate ever have to deal with this?
"Well, most of 'em," Blaster said with a shrug. "You can't tell who's writing what 'cause it's all under fake names, but there's hundreds of downloads every hour. Four or five uploads, too."
"Out of curiosity," Ironhide started, "can you see what the titles-?"
Everyone seated faced him as one. "No."
"Geez," Ironhide grumbled. "Fine, lemme know when the meeting's over. I'm going to sleep."
Red Alert slumped in his chair with a low vent. "Thank Primus."
"So Blaster...you're saying that the proverbial barrel is leaking and there's no way to stop the spill," Prowl said, steering the conversation again.
This time it was Rewind who nodded, prompted by his carrier's nudge. "Ah, yes sir. It's almost impossible to keep track of it all. Though there is a primary posting forum, there was an argument about whether it was acceptable to write using Decepticon characters, and now smaller forums have begun splintering off."
"So nice of them to worry about the ethics," Red Alert growled, "of how they write unwilling mechs."
Blaster vented nervously. "Um, yeah, but what can you do?"
"Trace every single post," Prowl replied, turning his attention from the meeting to his datapad and typing out what was very clearly a plan of action. "Compare writing styles and form a statistical archive of the most prolific writers. Contrast that against the duty schedule to find those with leisure time and those with enough shirk time on the job to produce this fiction."
"And then break their fingers off," Jazz murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Everyone's gaze flicked to Jazz, then back to each other, all of them trying to assess how serious he was. Mirage and Bumblebee were no help, staring straight ahead and pretending to hear nothing. To judge from their sudden perfect obedience, if their commander broke the hands of half the mechs in the Ark, they would probably be at his side offering to take over when he grew tired.
Although usually smart enough to keep his mouth shut when in trouble, Sideswipe scanned every mech's look and found himself unable to control his indignation.
"Okay, come on," he said, ignoring Blaster's panicked headshake and the cassetibots frantically waving their hands at him to stop. "I mean, yeah, okay, I get that it's weird and all, but this isn't that bad. This isn't insubordination or even disobeying direct orders."
Prowl paused, surprised that all the time Sideswipe had spent in the brig had hammered home if not proper behavior then at least the technical terms for his disciplinary reviews.
"We're stuck here in the middle of a fragging war," Sideswipe continued, and as he spoke, his voice began to tremble. "We can't go home. The enemy is like right there and we can't get hardly any rest-I mean Ratchet had to put my arm back together last week and, well. We can't get energon spiked with nitro or kerosene or anything else good, and we can't go racing and blowing things up, and it's hard enough to get a hook up for a little interfacing when things are so slagged, y'know? I mean, it's just..."
He shrugged, unable to say what he meant. Finally he had to settle for words that came as close as he ever could.
"Everything's just slagged."
No one spoke. Unsure of what to say, one by one their gaze slid from Sideswipe to Optimus, who sat with his hands steepled, in deep thought. Jazz finally looked up from his seat, sitting in his own miasma of annoyance and not sure how to fight it off because he couldn't quite tell where it was coming from.
"A good way of putting it," Optimus said with a long, sad vent.
Sideswipe and Blaster both relaxed. At least the Prime wasn't going to scold them. Maybe the officers would, but death by lecture had been avoided.
"We can't force mechs to stop thinking things we don't like," Optimus said. "We'd be no better than Decepticons then. At the same time, there are mechs who rightfully object to being used like this."
"We're not using anyone," Sideswipe insisted, raising his fists in frustration.
Blaster put his hand on Sideswipe's shoulder, quieting him with a shake of his head. The rowdier bot hadn't seen the Prime like this before, in calm deliberation, and as Sideswipe looked around at the officers, he realized they were all waiting for the Prime to decide.
"We can't stop them," Optimus said finally, as if in resignation.
Jazz smacked his fist on the table, startling everyone but Prime and Prowl, but he didn't argue.
"At the same time," Optimus said, "the ones crafting these stories need to show greater discretion. This can't become a distraction or a tool to harass others."
Red Alert gave a significant look to Ironhide, who noticed it and dipped his head in a grudging nod.
"Any of these Polyhex Manuals will be confiscated if we find them, and disposed of. They are not to be read or shared except in private. And...in the name of Primus, don't let me see anything else about this." He stood up, venting in frustration.
"So we just push it back underground," Jazz said, looking at nothing and no one. "And pretend they ain't treating us like their personal pleasure bots."
Optimus paused, then nodded once. "There's nothing else we can do."
Lightning quick, Jazz stood up and walked out of the room. Mirage and Bumblebee hesitated, not sure what to do, and Prowl half stood.
"No no," Ironhide said, coming to his pedes and going after Jazz. "Guys, you watch after Prime, okay? I'll deal with him."
"Are you certain?" Prowl asked. "He can be dangerous when he's like this."
"He's just pissed," Ironhide said, pausing at the door. "Don't worry, I can take it when he vents. But, uh, Mirage, how about you call Smokescreen and come after me? Just to hold him back maybe."
"Um, sir, I really don't..." Mirage trailed off as Ironhide disappeared. "Oh, slag."
Halfway down the corridor, Ironhide caught up with the fuming bot and fell into step, craning his neck to see Jazz's face. What he saw wasn't promising.
"Wait. Wait!" Ironhide started, easily keeping up with Jazz's shorter steps. "Look, is it really that bad-"
He startled back when Jazz suddenly turned on one pede and advanced on him. Not that Ironhide couldn't go a few rounds with Jazz, but the Spec Ops commander could project a much larger presence than his actual height, and right now he was pushing up on his pedes to almost reach Ironhide's shoulder.
"You pile of rust," Jazz snarled, his anger smoldering hot enough to melt the face off a raw recruit. "Maybe you're fine with being their toy, but I ain't. I find any of that slag lying around, I'll strip the armor off the mech who had it."
The few mechs in the corridor stopped and slowly backed away, as quiet as steel pedes could be on steel floors. Primus help the mech who attracted Jazz's attention. Few mechs faced him so fearlessly, and Ironhide had armor three times as thick as anyone's.
"Jazz Peeled Off My Amor," Ironhide mused. "Would that be adventure or-?"
"A promise," Jazz growled.
"Okay, now look," Ironhide said, drawing himself up to his full height. "I know it's uncomfortable, but you can't force mechs to be pure of cortex. You have to just make your peace with it and ignore it."
Jazz paused, staring and Ironhide and venting heavily. The older mech knew that look. Their third in command had worn that look the same day that Ironhide nominated him to that position and Optimus had accepted. Most mechs wanted to work up the chain as high as they could, but Jazz had actively resisted to the point where the floor still showed the scuff marks where Ironhide had dragged the smaller mech to the commission ceremony.
Probably because this same intense paranoia made for a great officer with a frame full of stress.
"You're getting soft," Jazz said lowly.
The growing crowd around them began to murmur when they heard such open aggression, but both officers glared at them and sent them scattering, hiding around corners with their arrays fully open to catch any word. Only Mirage and Smokescreen were left, suddenly revealed by the dispersed crowd, slowly backing up lest Jazz notice behind himself.
Ironhide frowned. "Now hang on, you little fragger-"
"'Ignore it'?" Jazz said over him. "This can't do nothing but come back to bite us in the aft. There's antagonism among the officers, there's spots in the Ark's code where mechs are hiding information and anyone trying to pass info can just stash it in a datapad and swear it was a-"
"Jazz," Ironhide said firmly. "What's really bothering you about this?"
Jazz's mouth snapped shut.
"'Cause all of that's normal," Ironhide said. "Ain't nothing changed. But this is eating you up more than anything I've seen outta you in awhile, and that's different."
Crossing his arms, Jazz refused to look at him, and when Ironhide went so far as to put a hand on Jazz's shoulder, the smaller mech tapped his wrist in annoyance.
Recognizing it as a signal to call him and give him an excuse to leave, Mirage and Smokescreen inwardly cringed that he'd spotted them. Mirage sent the empty datapacket he kept ready, sounding a soft alert on Jazz's external comm.
"Well, look at that," Jazz said, turning so that Ironhide's hand fell away. "I'm urgently wanted somewhere else. And somewhere else sounds like a fine place to be right now."
"Jazz..." Ironhide vented, giving Mirage a dirty look.
"Later," Jazz said with a wave. He walked between his mechs and grabbed each of them at the waist, forcing them to walk backward a few steps before they turned and flanked him. "Spec Ops: where we don't ignore something even if we want to."
TBC...