Age of Smoke Part 1: The Autobot Code

Chapter 33: Damage Control

Ratchet started online when there was a quiet knock at his office door. He checked his internal timepiece to find that he was still supposed to be on duty. He must have just barely dozed off.

After shaking his helm to clear it, he hit the button on his desk to open the door.

"Oh," he said as the black and white Praxian stepped in. "You finally decided to show up."

"I have work, Ratchet," Prowl said. "I do not answer to you, nor do I have any obligation to come here on your orders. We did not have an appointment, so I am not late."

"Sit down," Ratchet pointed to the single berth in his office.

Prowl scowled, but eventually did as he'd been told.

"So," Prowl said. "Have you looked into—"

"Yes," Ratchet said. "After reviewing the options, it seems you have two choices. Since your battle computer is an adult frame upgrade, your self repair system won't know how to fix it. You can either have it replaced or I can manually repair it. Repairing it will be faster, and somewhat less expensive, but also more risky, and you'd need to limit your use of the mod for several decaorns afterward while your processor finished integrating it."

Prowl frowned.

"Also," Ratchet said. "The connection between the mod and your processor is strained, which is causing some of the pain, and that will repair itself, but only if you use it sparingly for a while."

"How sparingly is sparingly?"

"No more than a joor at a time, with breaks in between of at least three or four joors."

"That's not possible in my line of—"

"Don't be ridiculous. Some of your tacticians don't even have battle computers," Ratchet said.

"I am not 'some of my tacticians,'" Prowl said. "I am the commander."

"And who says the commander needs one?" Ratchet demanded.

"I…" Prowl trailed off, then shook his helm. "Look, I don't want to waste resources on a new battle computer if you can just repair mine. You say you can?"

"Well, I don't have any experience with the mod, like I said, but Pharma and a few of the others do. And we can—"

Someone started banging at the door, making both of them jump. Ratchet recovered first and hit the button to open the door as he stood.

A member of the Decepticon combiner team stumbled into the room.

"It's 'Aid," he gasped. "He just collapsed."

"What!" Ratchet said, conversation with Prowl forgotten. "Where is he?"

The other mech backed out of Ratchet's office, and Ratchet followed him into the smaller medbay where Hot Spot stood, holding the unconscious form of the full-sized youngling.

"Here," Ratchet said, beckoning them over to the only empty berth in the room.

They needed to clear the place out a little, but he had other things to worry about at the moment.

Streetwise and Hot Spot helped bring First Aid over and set him on the berth. Then they backed off and watched as Ratchet worked.

Ratchet scanned him quickly, then pulled over the spark support machine they'd had him on earlier. His energon levels were all right, but his spark was in failure again. Working quickly and efficiently, Ratchet hooked the mech up to the spark support and then several monitoring devices.

First Aid's spark flickered for a moment, but then stabilized and strengthened.

Ratchet sighed and turned his attention to the other vital signs, looking for any possible cause for the collapse. "What happened?"

"We were just sitting in our quarters," Hot Spot said. "First Aid got up to get something but then… he just keeled over and…" He glanced at the others. "I think we all felt it. It was bad."

"It felt like he was offlining," Groove said quietly.

"That about sums it up," Ratchet said. "It's a good thing you got him here so quickly."

"He'll be all right, though?" Groove asked.

"Probably."

"Do you think it was the injection?" Streetwise said.

"I don't know," Ratchet snapped.

Prowl approached. "Ratchet, if you're going to be busy…"

"I'm not done with you yet," Ratchet said. "Stay here."

Prowl crossed his arms.

First Aid's processor activity spiked. He was booting up.

Ratchet magnetized him to the berth so he wouldn't accidentally pull off the spark support patch. In his condition, that could be fatal.

"He's waking up," Hot Spot said.

"I know."

It was still strange that siblings could have such a strong bond. It was like some sort of induced twin bond.

First Aid's optics flickered and his faceplate twisted in agony. Ratchet checked the monitors and then quickly accessed the mech's pain grid through the machinery he was hooked up to and turned it off.

Spark pain was beyond his influence, though.

"Ratchet?" First Aid said.

"Don't try to move, you won't be able to," Ratchet said quietly.

"I don't… feel good," First Aid said.

"I know."

"Ratchet…" First Aid gasped, then seemed to fight against the magnetism for a moment, before warm energon burbled up past his lip plates, spilling all over his faceplate.

Quickly, Ratchet released the magnetism and turned First Aid on his side, while being careful of the spark support line, so that the rest of the energon splashed over the edge of the berth onto the floor.

First Aid sobbed between retching spells, and kept going until his tanks were probably empty.

It was only halfway until it would be time for his next injection. That wasn't supposed to happen.

Then First Aid lay still, optics dull. It looked like he'd gotten some energon in them, and his helm was lying in a pool of it.

"Okay," Ratchet said. "Let's clean you up."

First Aid didn't respond, but Ratchet left him and crossed the room to get some solvent.

"Ratchet," Prowl said.

"Fine, you can go," Ratchet said. "I've told you the options. Think about it and let me know within the orn."

Prowl nodded and left the room as Ratchet went back over to the berth where First Aid was lying, staring at nothing.

Ratchet lifted his helm and wiped the energon out from under it, then carefully started cleaning off the mech's faceplate. "Can you describe what happened? Here, turn your optics off, it looks like you got some energon in them and I need to clean them out."

First Aid's optics went dark. "Okay," he said in barely more than a whisper. "I… I don't know what happened. Did I… Did I pass out?"

"Yes," Ratchet said.

"At first, when I woke up…" First Aid flinched as Ratchet wiped his optics gently. "I… I wasn't sure if it was you or Shockwave. I didn't want to look."

"Well, you're done with Shockwave," Ratchet said. "Forever."

First Aid trembled. "Promise?"

Ratchet rolled his optics. "Don't be ridiculous. How the pit would you end up back in Shockwave's hands? You're not leaving this medbay until I'm satisfied something like this won't happen again… there. I'm going to turn the pain receptors in your optics on, and I want you to tell me if you think there's still energon on them anywhere."

"Okay," First Aid whispered. "Sorry for making a mess."

Ratchet huffed, adjusting the mech's pain grid. "Optics?"

"I think they're clean," First Aid said.

"All right."

"I still don't feel good," First Aid said.

"I can put you in stasis for now."

"Mhm…"

Ratchet finished cleaning off the mech's faceplate, and the berth where the energon had spilled. Then he eased the mechling into a light stasis.

"You can stay here for a few breems," he told the others as he moved the berth so he could clean the floor around it. "But then I want you out of here. I don't need you crowding my medbay."

The rest of the gestalt approached the berth where their brother lay, and Hot Spot and Streetwise rolled it a little farther away from Ratchet and the mess on the floor, being careful to move the spark support equipment too.

The injections had seemed to be working. Now Ratchet would have to think about something else.

Too much to do—there was too much to do and he was so tired of it all. He needed to clear out the smaller medbay to make room for mecha who needed more intensive care, and then get some recharge—once he was satisfied First Aid was stable, that was.

I studied the report carefully. This could be bad. It seemed, in some ways, that the Autobots were trying to do a similar thing to what we'd done in Sistex and Doradus.

I commed Megatron, who was sitting on his throne, contemplating. We were ready to attack another city, and we didn't want to give the Autobots time to prepare for us, but there were too many options.

He looked up at me and mentally indicated that I should proceed.

I spoke over the comm. "We have received a message from some Decepticon sympathizers in Torus Heights."

Would you care to summarize, or do you want me to read it?

I took my datapad to Megatron, then stood by him as he read it. His emotions drifted from bored to concerned to angry.

Then he stood and threw my datapad against the wall.

It hit and shattered.

"I thought we had that city!" he said. "I thought they were on the brink of handing the Council over to us like Tarn and Sistex and Doradus."

I stared at him.

"How is it the Autobots invaded and took over without my knowing? And why are our numbers dropping there?"

If he'd finished reading the report instead of throwing it at the wall, he would know. I didn't answer.

"What?" he said.

I looked at the wall where the shattered pieces of my datapad lay.

"Oh," he said. "My apologies, Soundwave."

I nodded once and returned to my desk. "The Autobots' new Council is popular with the civilians."

Megatron glared at the ground. "Oh, really?" he said. "Why?"

I shrugged.

"We can't stand for this. We'll have to attack there."

"It's fortified," I cautioned.

And reports said Ironhide and a significant number of Autobot soldiers were already there.

Megatron turned his glare on me. "Are you suggesting we allow this sort of thing to happen? We have the mechpower to take it, don't we?"

I looked at him and then spoke over the comm. again. "If we're careful we can take it without wasting the lives of our soldiers,"

Megatron looked down. "I suppose that would be better. Perhaps if we attacked somewhere else first. We could draw them away, lull the mecha in Torus Heights into a false sense of security… since I know I do want to take Torus Heights, perhaps we can give our tactical team some time to prepare a more detailed battle strategy for attacking it."

Well, I supposed that was a little better.

Megatron sighed. "Shockwave's having some setbacks with our other project as well."

Right. His fear tactic to keep mecha from deserting. I still wasn't so sure about that. I'd managed to find a handful of mecha who were willing to participate, but there was no way to know how effective they'd be.

Then again, who was I to question?

"We will win this war," Megatron growled. "Nothing can stop us—it doesn't matter how many lies Optimus tells, or how many mecha he fools, I will defeat him in the end. Contact the tactical department. Tell them I want to speak with them immediately."

Sideswipe followed Ironhide through the groundbridge and came out in the Torus Heights station. He was still a little surprised that they'd assigned him and Sunstreaker to Ironhide's personal unit, and the commander had brought them back here.

But he wasn't going to complain. This seemed like it would be a lot more interesting than hanging around base until they got deployed.

Their orns of sneaking off during battles were probably over, though. Commander Ironhide wasn't the sort to put up with that kind of thing.

They drove in silence to the Council Hall, then transformed outside.

Since Ironhide didn't order them to stay behind, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker walked with him through the double doors and down the hall.

A secretary left his desk to come meet them before they got to the inner hall.

"Commander," he said. "Council is in session. I can let them know you're back, so they can…"

"Nah," Ironhide said "I'll let them know myself."

The secretary looked a little lost. Sideswipe smirked at him as they went past.

He had to admit that while Commander Ironhide was a bit of a stick in the mud sometimes, it was lots of fun to watch him steamroll over these poor helpless politicians.

And the mech knew how to make an entrance.

He threw the doors open and strode into the chaotic chamber. The mech representing small business owners and the factory workers representative seemed to be having some sort of shouting match while everyone else either pitched in or tried to shut them up.

Then, slowly, the room fell still and silent as they all noticed Ironhide standing by the door.

Sideswipe looked for Diadem and noticed that she seemed relieved to see them. That was a good sign. It meant she probably hadn't been able to take control while they were gone.

"Commander," the small business representative said. "Thank Primus you're back. Please tell this… this ignorant symbiont that—"

"Hold on," Commander Ironhide said.

"I motion that we take a recess," Diadem put in quickly in the silence. "For half a joor."

"Seconded," the Decepticon representative, Offroad, said.

He looked really annoyed.

Sideswipe would be annoyed too, if he'd needed to sit around and listen to all these mecha bickering all orn.

Several others added their voices to the motion, and then they started talking among themselves. A large number of them left their places and came toward the commander.

Sideswipe saw his brother tense, slipping into a ready stance. It was actually pretty smart, now that he thought of it, to assign Sunstreaker to be a sort of bodyguard. If he decided you were actually worth protecting, nothing would ever come close to you. Not that Ironhide needed a lot of help defending himself.

Diadem got to them first. "Commander, may I speak to you in private?"

He glanced at the approaching crowd.

"Commander, can you tell us…"

"What should we do about…"

"…help me with…"

"…can't seem to agree on…

"Yeah," Ironhide said, and ducked out of the room, followed closely by Diadem.

Sideswipe got a comm. from the commander. "Keep them from following me or killing each other or whatever for a few breems," he said.

"Yes, sir," Sideswipe said over the comm, then stood in the way of the door, blocking a couple of mechs who were trying to get past.

"Hey," he said. "Hey!"

The room got a little quieter, though some mecha were still having their own conversations.

"Why don't we all just sit back down until the commander and Diadem come back."

"How long will the Commander be staying with us, or will he leave us again?" someone asked.

"Is he going to take a Council position?" One of the actual senators said, looking hopeful.

"How the frag should I know?" Sideswipe said. "I'm not in charge of anything."

"We're on recess, we can leave, right?" a femme asked. "I need to speak with someone."

Sideswipe hesitated, but Ironhide hadn't said anything about letting them leave, just about following him. So he stepped aside to let her pass.

She and several others left the room while the rest milled around, talking to each other.

Sideswipe caught Offroad looking at him and was tempted to head over there to talk, but didn't. Better to try and keep track of who was coming and going.

After about ten breems, Ironhide and Diadem came back. The senator did not look happy, and neither did the Commander.

She went back to her place and Ironhide stood by the wall and waited while everyone else filed in and went back to their places.

Once everyone was there, Ironhide took the floor.

"Good Councilors of Torus Heights," he said. "It seems as if you aren't getting along very well."

There was a muttering of agreement that seemed to display a whole spectrum of emotion from angry to amused.

"So, Diadem and I talked it over, and we'd like to try something a little different. You mecha aren't giving her the respect she needs if she's going to be the leader. So you've got two options. Either shape up and let her do her job, or vote someone else into her spot."

Silence fell for a moment.

Then one of the councilmechs spoke up. "Commander Ironhide, sir, are you going to be joining us in the Council? There are still a few available—"

"No," Ironhide said. "I have other responsibilities and I can't hang around and babysit you all the time."

"Then are you going to leave again? How long will you be here?"

"Will you be taking your army with you when you go?"

"No!" Ironhide said and the room went quiet again. "We aren't talking about me. You mecha need to vote on a Council Leader. I suggest you pick someone with legislative experience, but other than that I don't care who. Just pick someone, and then fragging listen to them."

A mech stood. "I volunteer Senator Naos," he said.

"It's 'nominate' one of the non-council mechs said. "And I don't see why it's got to be someone who was already a senator and not one of us."

Things quickly devolved into chaos again, but Ironhide didn't call them to order. In fact, he backed away and stood by the side of the room, arms crossed, watching.

He waited until someone started organizing nominations, and a few of the other senators got a chance to explain how this sort of vote was usually cast, and then he beckoned to the twins and led them out of the room.

They left the Council Hall and crossed the square to the office building barracks, where Captain Crossblades met them at the door.

"How was Iacon, sir?"

"Not too bad," Ironhide said. "Come, let's catch up on…" he stopped halfway through the door, looking down slightly.

"What, sir?" Crossblades said.

"Pit," Ironhide said. "Pit, I just got here."

"Commander?" Crossblades asked.

"The Decepticons are attacking Slaughter City," Ironhide said. "They need me there."

"I want to come with you."

"You're not cleared for deployment yet," Air Raid said.

Dawn glared at him. "Does it matter? Really, you Autobots care too much about the paperwork."

Air Raid raised an optic ridge. "You Autobots?"

"Shut up," she said, and grabbed his arm to pull him closer. "I want to go out there with you. I want to fight alongside you. It's my right."

He could feel her begging, pleading through their newly re-established bond.

He smiled and she let go of his arm so he could put it around her and pull her even closer. He shuttered his optics, basking in the feeling of her spark pulsing in tandem with his.

"I will be all right," he promised. "And next time you'll be able to come fight with us. Just enjoy the break… unless you like the battlefield?"

She shifted and he un-shuttered his optics and looked at her.

"Well…" she said. "It is kind of nice when you drop a bomb on a group of groundpounders and it blows them to pit."

"Yeah," Air Raid said. "Maybe that's why you're not cleared yet, you know you're on the same side as those groundpounders now."

She nodded. "And now I'm gonna blow the 'Cons to pit for sinking Vos and lying about it."

Air Raid sighed.

"Just take me with you," she begged. "I mean, we might have to threaten Silverbolt out of tattling on me, but…"

"No." Air Raid let her go. "For me. Just this once. Stay here where I know you're safe. Just for this battle."

"That's not fair."

"I know it isn't. But don't worry, I'll come back."

She met his optics. "Fine. But don't expect me to be happy about being left behind."

"Don't worry," Air Raid smiled. "I generally expect you to be upset with me about something, all the time."

"I don't know why I even put up with you."

Air Raid pulled her close one more time. "Me either," he said, then released her and walked to the door.

"I love you," she said.

He grinned over his shoulder and left, closing it behind himself.

As if on cue, Silverbolt commed him.

"Air Raid, where are you? We're supposed to be leaving."

Air Raid transformed and zipped through the hallways in alt mode. "I'm coming."

After half an astrosecond, a slightly screechy voice came over the intercom. "No alt modes in the halls!" it said. "I repeat, we can't have any alt modes in the halls, especially when troops are mobilizing for deployment. Autbot seeker, please return to root mode and walk!"

Air Raid sighed and transformed to land behind a group of groundpounder soldiers.

"Are you flying through the halls?" Silverbolt demanded.

"Nah," Air Raid said. "Must have been talking to some other seeker. Don't worry, I'll be there in a couple of breems."

He cut the comm. and ignored the stares directed at him as he hurried past the others in the hall and toward the place he and his team were supposed to meet.

"Sir."

Prowl sent units of soldiers in all directions, spreading them out to meet the Decepticon line. If they could rebuff the Decepticons before they got a foothold…

"Sir, I know… Prowl, sir, you aren't supposed to be on duty. Ratchet told me you're not supposed to be using your battle computer until he repairs it."

"Hurricane, would you just follow my orders?"

"But sir… look, I don't want to lead this battle, but I'm not entirely sure you're qualified at the moment."

Prowl hesitated, though he kept sending orders to the ground troops.

"What if your battle computer stops working or you collapse or something?"

"There is very little likelihood of that."

"But Ratchet said—"

"I don't care what Ratchet told you. I am leading this battle."

"I can take command, if you'll just trust me."

"No," Prowl said. "I'm not sure you can. But we could use your help so if you would kindly stop distracting me…"

That shut him up, and for a few breems, Prowl hoped that would be the end of the conversation.

Then Ratchet commed him.

Prowl sent him a short message file, indicating that he was busy.

Ratchet commed him again, this time speaking before Prowl could acknowledge him.

"Get out of the command center!"

"I'm working."

"You're not supposed to be working!" Ratchet said. "You're supposed to be resting!"

"Mecha are dying."

"And you could get more of them killed."

"I told you if the Decepticons attacked somewhere before you repaired me, I'd stop resting."

"Fine! Leave the command center now and I'll fix your battle computer in two joors."

"What?" Prowl said.

"And if you won't leave, then I'll tell Red Alert you're a security threat and he'll have you hauled out of there."

"You wouldn't."

"I would," Ratchet said. "Now get out! You aren't fit for active duty, your battle computer could short out at any time."

Prowl looked down.

"Prowl!"

"Fine," he muttered, then spoke over the internal comm. "Fine, fine."

He commed Hurricane. "You win. Prepare to receive command."

There was a moment of hesitation.

"Yes, sir."

Prowl transferred everything he was doing over to his second in command and got up. Shooting the other mech a resentful glance, he left the room and made his way to his office instead.

It took a full breem to turn his battle computer off, but the pain faded quickly since he had only been using it for half a joor. When he felt a little better, he pulled a datapad from susbapace and started looking at reports.

He'd only been doing that for half a breem before his office door opened. "Hi, Prowler!"

"You can't even bother to request entry anymore?" Prowl said without looking up.

"Well, I figure what's the point?"

"The point is to be polite. Go back out there and press the entry request button."

"Ya serious?"

"Go," Prowl flicked his doorwings.

Jazz heaved a world-weary sigh, but left Prowl's office, and pressed the entry request button.

"Come in," Prowl said.

"Thanks," Jazz stepped inside. "Ya know, ya really don't have anything in this office. Ya should get, like, some wall hangings or something."

"Look, Jazz, I'm busy."

"No ya ain't," Jazz said. "And I ain't busy either. Ya wanna train or what? Ya won't get a better opportunity."

"I have a processor ache."

"Not surprisin' considering the size of your helm, mech. Something's gotta hurt in there pretty much all the time."

Prowl looked at him.

Jazz grinned, "So offended. Come on, mech, I wanna talk to ya anyway."

Prowl sighed. "Fine, you win too." He got up from his desk. It seemed he had no choice this orn. They might as well demote him already.

He followed the black and white mech to one of the smaller training rooms.

"Ya know, ya're pretty good, Prowler," Jazz said. "But ya ain't gonna get better unless ya practice more, and I think it's important for the command element ta be able ta hold their own, ya know. Right now, I think ya could beat Red Alert and Mainspring, and probably Ratchet. But that's pretty much it. Not even Elita or Chromia. Both of them are really good fighters."

"Well then, maybe I don't belong in the command element," Prowl said as they walked through the doorway.

Jazz shut the door behind them. "What?"

"You heard me."

Jazz frowned.

"I'm only here because…" Prowl said, then shook his helm. "Never mind."

"Nah, that sounded important," Jazz said. "Why are ya here, Prowl?"

Prowl blinked, surprised that Jazz had used his actual designation. "I… I'm just here because I knew Optimus before the war started. Because… because I was there. I was lucky. It wasn't leadership skills that got me here, just… being in the right place at the right time."

Silence fell for a few astroseconds.

"I should probably resign."

He couldn't see Jazz's optics behind the visor, but Jazz seemed to be staring at him, still wearing a thoughtful frown.

"You wanted to train?"

"Hold on," Jazz said. "Mech, ya've been listenin' ta your department too much. Remember back at the beginning, when it was just you and you slagging won battles all by yourself?"

"Well… they were smaller battles."

"Yeah, but… mech, ya aren't just some tactician, ya're the best. Ya're plans are the best, ya're the best at carrying them out."

"But the battles aren't… I can't do it by myself," Prowl said. "I need a team, a division. And I'm a terrible leader. If anything, I should be in some sort of advisory role… and even then, I'm useless without my battle computer."

"Ya know ya say ya ain't good with mecha…"

"Just shut up."

Jazz crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

"They don't trust me. They talk about me… even Hurricane goes behind my back. The only reason I'm not directing the battle is because he commed Ratchet."

"No he didn't," Jazz said.

Prowl looked at him sharply.

"I commed Ratchet."

"What?"

"Yeah. I figured ya might be workin' when ya're not supposed to…"

"You…" Prowl narrowed his optics. The idea that Jazz paid attention to his work schedule was ludicrous. Jazz couldn't even remember his own schedule. "Hurricane commed you."

Jazz sighed. "Prowler why—"

"You have him spying on me!"

"Funny story," Jazz said. "That's my job. Don't be mad at Hurricane, though. He's a good mech. And he has a higher opinion of ya than ya think. He just wants ya ta stop working yourself ta death, which, coincidentally, is what I want too. It's what we all want. Ya're cranky enough when ya're not exhausted."

Prowl considered that.

"That was a joke, mech."

"But it's true."

Jazz shook his helm.

"I have two joors," Prowl said. "Then Ratchet's going to try to repair my battle computer."

"Well then," Jazz said, pushing off the wall. "Since ya've got an appointment with a medic, I won't bother trying not ta scratch your paint."

Prowl rolled his optics and got into a fighting stance.