I finally, FINALLY, got some internet at my house and hopefully I will be able to post regularly from now on.
And, I have a few things to tell ya'll about this chapter.
First, I am introducing the form of timekeeping that will be used in all of my G1 fics for denoting the time of orn:
Dark Cycle: (D.C.)
Begins at 9pm and ends at 7am
9pm – 1st joor 2am – 6th joor
10pm – 2nd joor 3am – 7th joor
11pm – 3rd joor 4am – 8th joor
12am – 4th joor 5am – 9th joor
1am – 5th joor 6am – 10th joor
Light Cycle: (L.C.)
Begins at 7am and ends at 9pm
7am – 1st joor 2pm – 8th joor
8am – 2nd joor 3pm – 9th joor
9am – 3rd joor 4pm – 10th joor
10am – 4th joor 5pm – 11th joor
11am – 5th joor 6pm – 12th joor
12pm – 6th joor 7pm – 13th joor
1pm – 7th joor 8pm – 14th joor
Second, in my fics Femmes are simply another frame type, like seekers, and since Cybertronians do not have genders, all femmes will be referred to by the pronoun he/him when the fic is written pre-Earth. When my fics reach the post-Earth setting the humans denote the femmes as female, a fact the femmes quickly correct, but they keep the she/her pronoun since they like the idea of further demarcating their frametype from the normal mech frame.
Chapter 4:
An excited comm from Bumblebee had Jazz racing across the base to reach the Northern Commissary.
The Placement Lists had been posted.
The black and white skidded into the room, narrowly avoiding slamming into the wall of bots jostling to discover their posts. Jazz slowly managed his way through the throng to the announcement board where he found the yellow mini frowning slightly at the lists. "Sorry Jazz, but you didn't make the cut. They assigned you to Medical as a Technician, but at least they added a modifier that puts you on the short list should a position in Communications come available."
The post surprised the saboteur, sure he had basic medical skills, but no better than the rest of the formerly repressed majority, who either learned to repair themselves or perished. Not to mention that all spec-ops agents were required to learn first aid as a matter of course and most leveled up to minor field repair. He did not think his skills were anything special, but maybe the presiding surgeon had seen something promising.
Well, at least it would keep him off the front lines and, given that most bots trusted the medics, it might yield some interesting intel.
Once back in their room, and joined by their invisible partner, they discussed what their next step would be.
"Ah think we can still work wit' this. We jus' gotta play it careful."
Two pairs of attentive optics showed equal expressions of skepticism and Bumblebee stated a valid objection, "How? We have been trying to do this from outside the department for decacycles now and nothing has come of it."
"Well, when ya'll investigated tha department there shoulda been at least a few mechs there wit' enough empty frames in their subspaces ta get at least one discharged ta clear mah way."
"No sir, there actually is not." Interjected the noble spy. "After our investigation was finished the Lord Prime wanted an update on the mission and Blackshot was forced to turn over our reports. Our commander would have held a few back, but thanks to the Matrix our leader could not lie when the Lord Prime asked if the reports were complete. Then, all the illicit activities were turned over to Prowl, who proceeded to discipline all the offenders. Thus leaving us with a squeaky clean High Command and no leeway to insert any agents. Blackshot was not pleased."
Jazz servo-helmed, "Ya kno, Ah'm really startin' ta hate that mech. Could he not see tha benefit o' havin' readily disposable mechs whose activities, while against the rules, were not doin' any harm?!"
The other two gave him sympathizing looks, but could offer no words of solace.
"Well, no use cryin' ova' spilt ena'gon. We'll jus' hafta work wit' what we got. Ya'll give meh a couple a joors ta mull this ova' in mah processors an' we'll discuss new options this evenin'. Try an' think of any loopholes we mighta missed will ya." The exasperated saboteur implored. Mirage nodded his acknowledgement, activated his disruptor, and left with a soft, "Until this evening gentlemechs."
Bumblebee left soon after to begin his shift, leaving the aggravated Polyhexian to his thoughts. Jazz considered the mission from all angles and came to the depressing conclusion that the only recourse left would be using his friendship with Blaster. A tenuous avenue of intel at best and depended largely on whether the cassette-master would mind being 'disturbed' during work joors. Well, slim as it may be it still satisfied the mission requirements and Jazz turned his processor to the recon data he had collected over the past three orn while waiting for the lists.
According to what he had witnessed, the 'beloved' SIC led a very boring functioning with very little variation to his ornly routine. The Praxian served long joors and hardly ever seemed to recharge or refuel. Prowl's day started on the eighth joor of the dark-cycle before the light of Binaura, the binary stars, had even begun to ease the darkness. He would rise, grab a quick shower in his private washrack (6.8 kliks every time), snatch a cube from the officers' lounge, and then sequester himself in his office until the second joor of the light-cycle when the SIC would attend the ornly officers' meeting. Afterwards he would spend a joor with his tactical unit receiving updates on the various projects to which they were assigned. Then it was back to his office for more paperwork and tactical assessments. He never left, not even to refuel, but usually either his diversionary officer or the young theoretician apprentice would take him a cube before they retired for the dark-cycle. Finally, at the 4th joor D.C. he would go back to his quarters for a bit of recharge and start the orn all over again.
Jazz wondered when the bot defragged, because four joor was barely enough time to recharge, much less even begin the six joor defragmentation cycle. The saboteur shook his helm at the foolishness of the Praxian, such poor maintenance could lead to errors in his tactical planning or worse, get him killed on the battle field. What was most puzzling though, was Prowl's lack of social interaction. It was medically proven that all Cybertronians needed at least one friend to keep them metally stable and needed to have some form of physical contact, platonic or otherwise, with said friend to remain emotionally centered. The lack of these would explain the SIC's need to adhere to the rules as a way of stabilizing his meta and his emotionlessness to compensate for his isolation. These tactics should not have worked on a long term basis, but Prowl was still operating at maximum efficiency for his model type.
This intriguing puzzle aside, it was painfully obvious to Jazz that the solution to the 'Stick-Aft' problem would be to procure a few situations in wherein Prowl would be able to make some friends. How to make these events occur and the candidates to use would require further investigation for the time being.
Unbeknown to the saboteur his musings and earlier ops meeting had not gone unobserved. Up in the secured vents a small felinoid shape could just be discerned as it crept away on silent pedes. It made its way through the ducts until it reached another berthroom. It removed the vent grating and dropped down onto the berth below next to his master. The red and yellow mech showed no surprise at his cassette's sudden appearance and merely opened his arms to allow the felinoid to arrange himself comfortable in the larger mech's lap.
After they were settled the cassette initiated a hardline connection to transmit the intel he had gathered. The cassette-master smiled as he viewed the ops bots' reactions to their setbacks.
"Looks like our rockin' spy-bots are rollin' with the punches and adjustin' their steps to the new dance. The Dark Queen will be pleased."
The felinoid purred his agreement, but felt it proper to comment, "You certainly didn't help them any."
"The Queen didn't want them to have a gel-cube walk. He felt that a challenge for our titanic trio was important to make 'em bring their A-game, and he's not done with 'em yet. Our stellar leader has one more glitch to throw in the mix."
"Why make it harder? The longer this takes the more intel slips out of our base." the felinoid replied, then started when he caught a fleeting thought in his master's meta. "He know who the spy is? Then, why hasn't he done anything about it?"
"Mah main machine, that is not for us to question. It is the Dark Queen's prerogative to decide when information is leaked, not our."
The two curled up together, finishing their data transfer and began the tedious chore of monitoring the other three cassettes remotely as they too monitored the ops bots.
Short and with a cliffy, I know. Sorry. My muse is being a pain right now and it took me forever to actually finish this. FF was also being a pain about my formatting and hopefully this turned out readable. I went back and changed Bumblebee's assignment in chapter 2. I also reread chapter 3 and wow did I have some mistakes, that'll teach me to type up a chapter at 11 at night.
On a happier note, I have several other fics that I work on when I reach an impasse with this story but so far I have not posted them. Would ya'll be interested in having those posted as well even knowing that they won't be truly worked on until I finish this story?
Also, I have a Christmas fic that I didn't finish in time to post for December, would ya'll like me to post it anyway or should I save it for next Christmas?
?: Warperchick, were you referring to "Everything Will Change"?
Please, as always, rate, review, and point out my mistakes. (and thank you to Reclusive Owl, Twilightfairy, DarkSirocco, and all those who have found errors and were kind enough to point them out.)