Part 27

Prowl sat down, arranging his datapad just so on the table, typing in a quick set of commands as if he didn't have Soundwave seated across from, unbound, his gaze flickering from Prowl to the door where

Sunstreak and Sideswipe both stood guard. When he'd been brought in, Soundwave had seen Cliffjumper and Brawn outside in the hall with rifles unslung, and the two of them kept their optics trained on him the whole time. Surrounded by Autobots, Soundwave felt both fear that they might execute him without warning in this little interrogation room mingling with yet a strange measure of respect.

Fear the scary Decepticon who requires four mechs for a guard.

"I am told," Prowl started as he typed, "that you received a visit from Frenzy and Ravage."

Soundwave nodded. "Visit, appreciated. Their care and well being, also appreciated."

Prowl said nothing. As he typed, Soundwave sat very still and wondered if he'd erred. When Megatron noted whatever privilege or reward he'd given, he expected some kind of kowtowing, prostrating and deep gratitude, no matter how small the gift. Was Prowl the same type? Did Prowl expect effusive gratitude?

But Jazz didn't seem like that type, and Prowl had Jazz's approval. But then Jazz was chaotic and unpredictable. Should Soundwave try to guess Prowl based on Jazz's behavior?

"Your information so far," Prowl started, "has led to the purging of five spies, the surrender of two more, and three energon storage depots falling into Autobot hands. We have also destroyed two smaller bases and have drawn up plans for raiding and destroying a base in New Mexico."

With one more keystroke, Prowl brought up a hologram of the base in question, a sketch in glowing blue lines. Soundwave recognized it immediately, a large depot for energon and munitions, with several Decepticon troops stationed inside. His optics traced the entrance, the long corridor that led to the barracks, but nothing else.

"Diagram, unfinished," Soundwave said. "Missing several chambers and exit."

"Which brings us here today," Prowl said. "I took the schematics from your memory banks, but you were glitching rather badly at the time. Since you seem more stable, we will finish the design."

Soundwave reset his optics, then reset them again, staring at Prowl for several seconds. His optics widened as his lips parted. If he'd proper social protocols installed, his faceplate wouldn't have betrayed the full extent of his surprise. Intead, he ended up providing Prowl with an unintended report of his emotions.

"Prowl, trust Soundwave so much?"

"Shouldn't I?" Prowl folded his hands and looked at him, eyeridge raised.

The awkward silence that followed left Soundwave stumped. Sullen pride warred in his spark. He was Megatron's most loyal soldier, Decepticon Third in Command, Communications officer, his—

The processor in his helm flared painfully hot, and Soundwave pressed his hands to his helm, suppressing his old designations as his loyalty programming warred with himself. Gradually the heat faded, contracting back to its normal size, and Soundwave vented in relief.

Still silence. From between his fingers, he looked at Prowl, finding him in the same position with that smug little smile.

"Your confidence, illogical." Soundwave couldn't help his grumble as the helm-ache dissipated.

"Once again," Prowl said, "we disagree on percentages. Tell me, why shouldn't I trust you?"

Soundwave's reply choked off in his throat. If only Frenzy or Rumble were with him. They'd have known what to say, or at least could have snapped back something witty. Instead, intensely aware of Prowl's look and the waiting question, Soundwave blamed his glitching cortex and decided to run yet another deep defrag later that night.

"Query...yielded," Soundwave said slowly. "Retracted."

Prowl's small smile was enough of a reply. "Then shall we begin?"

Soundwave vented again, then waved his hand at the back of the hologram, where the edges blurred and wavered as if the hologram had been badly erased. His own memory of the base was haphazard as well, with missing sectors in random places. The Autobot's repair mech had done a good job of stabilizing Soundwave's processor as he crashed over and over, but some bits were corrupted beyond saving.

"Barracks, two doors," he started. "Northwest ten degrees, south five degrees. Corridor to south, ends in common room two hundred by one hundred meters. East exit to...wash racks..."

Prowl, adding in the new data and creating more rooms in the hologram, glanced up as he typed. "You're not certain?"

Soundwave frowned and pressed his hand against his helm that much harder. "Memory sector, badly damaged. No third outside exit there, no connecting corridor. Wash racks in no other logical place, therefore...should be there?"

"We'll pencil that one in," Prowl said, and the room in question appeared in a red outline instead of blue. "The racks do make sense there. What leads off from the other barracks corridor?"

"Basic small repair," Soundwave said. "Medical supply, minor fixes only. Two recharge berths. Thirty meters square. No other doors."

Slowly the schematic took shape, with one side fully developed. As Prowl began to work on the other side, a severe design flaw stood out, painfully obvious.

"The regular mechs are kept away from the munitions?" Prowl wondered. "What if there was an attack? Are they supposed to repel Autobot forces only with their own armaments?"

"Decepticon armada capable of scrambling within fifteen seconds," Soundwave said. "Radar maintains constant watch for two hundred kliks in all directions."

"Then what is in those munitions depots?" Prowl asked.

"...unsure." Soundwave felt as if his right side were growing heavier, and he leaned his helm several inches that way before realizing that the sensation likely came from a processor imbalance, one set of servos overclocking and outrunning the rest. He forced himself upright and reset his gyros.

"Should I summon First Aid?" Prowl asked.

Soundwave shook his helm once. At least Prowl hadn't followed that up with a snide comment about his glitching. He vented once, adjusting the airflow to he processors around his spark, and continued.

"Residual processing errors, fading over time." Straightening, he looked back at the hologram. "Munitions, uncertain. Megatron does not always divulge his tactics to all officers."

"You were his third in command," Prowl said. "His most—"

Prowl broke off as Soundwave tensed, biting his lip and clearly warring with his coding. There was no need to push the mech into another crash just to emphasize how unlikely this story was, and he waited as Soundwave rallied himself once again.

"Megatron...jealous of his power," Soundwave managed. "Also secretive with resources. Soundwave, used to believe that was part of outmaneuvering Autobot spies. Now...probably Megatron juggling information to conceal accumulated resources."

"So the troops don't realize he's out for himself," Prowl said, nodding along. "All right. Your best guess, then. What's in that base?"

"Energon." Soundwave considered what he remembered of their supply chain and the resources that had appeared and then disappeared from his inventories. "Missiles, small grade. Armada, constantly running out."

Prowl noted that, and the necessary rooms appeared. As they slowly pieced the hologram together, a more complete picture emerged of a sprawling base with a skeleton screw to defend it. Occasionally he or Soundwave nudged a room or wall into place, but after all the adjustments and fine-tuning, Prowl frowned.

"It isn't situated right," he said. "The way this curves, this corridor goes nowhere. There's no exit. It ends in the earth."

Soundwave shook his helm. "That door, hidden behind waterfall."

Prowl straightened with widening optics. "But the amount of rust that would accumulate is prohibitive. It'd flake off a piece at a time when your fliers come in for landing. And you'd lose thirty percent of your defense right there."

"Exit, recessed sufficiently from falls," Soundwave said. "And gain back twenty percent in camaflouge and timed flight details. Also, gain fifteen percent in surprise."

"It's too much of a risk," Prowl insisted, sounding more irritated as he went on, "and too much of a loss after it's discovered. The only real gain you'd get is if you think zooming out of the water looks intimidating."

As soon as he said it, Prowl understood, and he vented and stared at Soundwave. "It was Starscream's idea, wasn't it?"

"Technically Thundercracker's," Soundwave said. "Part of 'Armada Wet and Hot' screenplay. Starscream, fan of that series."

"I don't..." Prowl held up hands to stop him. "I don't want to know. I'll assign Rewind to that story. He can give me a synopsis. Good. I've been looking for something suitably painful for his part in all this."

Soundwave grimaced, ducking his helm. "Thundercracker screenplay, not bad. Rough, but not punishment-worthy."

Prowl raised an eyeridge. "Oh? You've read it, have you?"

"Thundercracker, most dedicated Decepticon writer. Soundwave, beta-read all of his fiction."

"...do I even want to know what that is?"

"Editing and revising," Soundwave said. "For coherence, characterization, mechanics of language. Thundercracker's screenplays, rough and stilted. In need of reworking."

"And he goes to you to sound smoother," Prowl snorted. "Ironic. So what was it about? The Armada, the porn version?"

Soundwave opened his mouth...then hesitated. His faceplate tightened in concentration, considering his words, making the other mech suspicious. Their prisoner could go silent as he fought his glitching, but to pause to twist his words around? And so obviously... The lack of a social protocol for his faceplate made his emotions and thoughts clear as text.

Prowl's narrowing optics warned Soundwave of the Autobot's thoughts. Tactful or not, it had to be said.

"Not pornographic," he started. "Posturing, jockeying for position. Entire work is of Thundercracker's trine posturing and showing off. Waterfall, plays into this."

"I'm going to regret asking this," Prowl muttered. "But Primus help me, it might be important. How?"

How? Deceptively simple, the question had no easy answer.

"Shows of strength and precision," Soundwave said. "Flying in fast and stopping on point. Flexing their wing struts."

Prowl didn't change his expression, still watching intently as if he expected a real answer. Soundwave realized he wasn't going to be able to explain properly and instead called up an old file.

"Starscream landed last," Soundwave said, reciting part of Thundercracker's story,"disengaging thrusters as he neared the base and gliding down half a mile, transforming only as he cut through the water. Lightly stepping in, he stood for a moment to tilt his wingstruts one way, then another, arcing them in clear display of how pristine they were, devoid of any scorchmarks or afterburns. He'd flown circles around the Autobot anti-aircraft fire, and now he stood in the setting sunlight, wings outlined in gold as steam wafted from his hot engines."

"Well, he certainly captured that preening diva's personality," Prowl said. "Just like the twins, complaining if their paint gets scratched or seeing who can pull the tightest donut out on the sand."

At Soundwave's furrowed brow, Prowl explained.

"Just a little car culture, driving fast and spinning circles. It looks dramatic, but it chews up the wheels."

Soundwave nodded. "Like jets flying tight turns. Firing competitions at top speed."

Prowl didn't answer, but his face twisted and he went back to typing on his datapad, creating the image of a waterfall on the other end of the base. Soundwave had the sense that he'd offended the other mech somehow. A moment passed.

"Autobots, never compete in wargames?"

"Tch." Prowl shut down the hologram and gathered his datapad up. "We're not warbuilds, most of us. We're civilians with guns screwed on. We train. That's it."

The look in Prowl's optics warned off any other questions about that. The disdain was obvious. Civilians did not make a toy out of killing other mechs. Soundwave vented lightly. He had heard that before, an accusation hurled at warbuilds. Just as the warbuilds slighted the civilian mechs who purged energon the first time they shot at another mech, so weak they might as well be made out of tin. Civilian mechs didn't even have decent plated armor.

But they had the Prime. And the Decepticons had a greedy false despot.

"Megatron, activities known?"

"Somewhat." Prowl's answer, understandably evasive, at least reassured Soundwave that there had been no overt attacks on this particular base. "He knows you and Starscream have defected, and he's not happy."

Soundwave nodded once, more to himself. "Decepticons, wary then. Megatron's anger, always unfocused."

Prowl drummed his fingertips on the table, facing Soundwave for several long seconds. Just how far could a defector be trusted? Even one as evidently sincere as Soundwave? Especially for the former Third in Command. Not that Prowl had to be completely honest in his answers...

"Speaking of Starscream's trinemates," Prowl said. "We haven't seen them for weeks now. You wouldn't have any idea where they'd be, would you?"

"Negative. Soundwave, carrier and communications. Skywarp, Thundercracker, jets and armada. Interaction rare."

He paused as an idea struck him, and he grimaced at the thought. Prowl would not enjoy this suggestion.

"Thundercracker, writes under persona of M3cHwR1t3r." He spoke the name while adding specific character codes in his voicestream so that Prowl could hear the different spelling. "Checked forum updates?"

Prowl stared at him, his faceplate contorting slightly. The thought of diving into that cesspool of mech lust... He pulled his datapad close and sent a message to Red Alert, Jazz, and, after a moment's thought, Ironhide, telling them to either comb through the story forums for anything by Thundercracker. Or else have one of their underlings do it for them, although he was sure Ironhide would happily go searching. Red Alert would probably ask Inferno and Jazz would have the entire Spec Ops cadre reading and swearing absolutely no enjoyment as they did so.

"I'll...take that under advisement," Prowl grumbled. "In the meantime, I have another question."

A pause. Soundwave wondered why Prowl didn't continue and concluded that he was giving Soundwave the moment to let his processors shift topics. Not that he needed it—his glitching was related to his loyalty protocols—but he appreciated the consideration.

"Prowl—query?"

"Yes," Prowl said. "We've been on opposite sides of the battlefield for thousands of vorn, constantly trying to win out the most miniscule percent of an advantage."

"Autobot forces, uncanny accuracy and foresight," Soundwave said.

"So how is it that that I'm not calculating the same output on your threat level as you are?" Prowl asked. "What formula are you favoring—Venn's Standardized Constant or the Bernoulli Modified Quantex?"

Soundwave grimaced as if he'd tasted bad energon. "Neither. Haytham's Anti-Euclidean Parabolic Fields."

Prowl scoffed. "Impossible. That theory was disproved millenia ago."

"By Autobot Senate," Soundwave said, his words clipped and quick. "Guild of Senate Analytics declared theorem disproven without considering Kaon proofs."

"Haytham created those probability scales on highly theoretical and untested phenomena," Prowl said. "You simply can't measure what's in motion. That's a basic constant."

"Haytham workaround, superior to Venn and Bernoulli." Soundwave's eyeridge raised. "Soundwave, formulated tabulation for military use. Prowl's own admission, similar outcomes to Autobot science."

Prowl took a quick vent to cool his heating core. "No doubt you used Autobot formulas to proof your results."

Soundwave adjusted slightly in his seat. "Purely for verification."

"Of course." Prowl turned his datapad, showing the very different result for their previous dispute. "So...why am I at thirty-two percent while you're at thirty-eight?"

Leaning forward, Soundwave scrolled through Prowl's numbers, examining the math. Some of the rows were darkened, blotted out so that Soundwave couldn't see all of the details of Prowl's classified arithmetic, but then the details were not important. The factors for input—Soundwave's glitching, his cooperation, his loyalty, his programming base—that was all that mattered.

Soundwave found no fault in Prowl's numbers. Knowing the other mech was staring, Soundwave sat back in his seat and examined his own data. That his own numbers varied slightly, no more than a thousandth of a percent, should not have made for such a vast difference in the outcome.

"...ah."

Discrepancy identified. Soundwave flinched and glanced aside.

"You found something," Prowl said.

"...affirmative." Soundwave put his helm in his hands again, venting heavily. "Jazz."

Prowl looked like he would scour the paint right off Soundwave's faceplate. "What about Jazz? Are you planning something?"

"Negative." Oh, why would Primus just melt him down here and now? "Soundwave, previous behavior with Jazz."

"You mean capturing him and playing out one of your little fantasies?" Prowl asked, gratified as Soundwave twisted in his seat. "But that's just one more act of aggression in a whole damn war. Why does that weigh so heavily in your formula?"

"Miscalculation," Soundwave said. "In the extreme. Failed to account for civilian sensibilities."

Prowl's mouth twisted. "...you mean you thought he'd enjoy it?"

Unwilling to speak, Soundwave nodded once and didn't meet his look.

Prowl added in Jazz's measurable reaction to Soundwave's advance and came up with a new number. "Thirty-seven point nine."

Awkward silence filled the room. Prowl slid his datapad back into subspace and stood. The interrogation was done for now.

"Your defection," he said, "is generally accepted. At least as accepted as such a high ranking officer's can be. But until you find a way to understand civilian culture, you will always be five point nine percent out of tune."

Again, no reply. Prowl went to the door, paused, then looked back over his shoulder. Although the millenia of war had hammered out any pity he might have for the other mech, Prowl could feel a small measure of sympathy. Soundwave had given up almost everything to leave Megatron. The survival of his cassettes was in itself a minor miracle.

"Rumble should be well enough to visit you," Prowl said, noting how Soundwave looked up with wide optics.

"Laserbeak?"

"She was hardest hit by the trek across the desert," Prowl said. "She'll be another week or so in medbay. I'll ask Ratchet to keep you up to date. Is there anything else?"

Soundwave opened his mouth, reconsidered, trapped in hesitation. Prowl added his behavior to his collective recordings. Soundwave, he gathered, only acted with uncertainty when considering the reactions of the Autobot civilians-turned-soldiers.

"Just say it," Prowl sighed.

"Access to fiction archive, possible?"

Prowl's automatic "no!" was halfway out of his mouth before he stopped himself. That particular sur-net could be isolated, physically if needed, so Soundwave's formidable programming couldn't break through into the Ark mainframe. More to the point, it was a bargaining chip, and anything Soundwave accessed would be fodder for further analysis. And after Soundwave's sacrifices, it was such a tiny accomodation in return.

"I'll see what I can do," Prowl said. At Soundwave's hopeful look, he held up a hand in caution. "I can't promise anything."

"Understood." Soundwave nodded. "Consideration, appreciated."

Prowl tipped his helm in acknowledgement, then entered the code that opened the door. As he walked out, Sunstreak and Sideswipe stepped in, rifles at the ready. Only after Prowl vanished down the hallway did the twins angle their rifles, prompting Soundwave to stand and follow, one twin in front, one twin behind.

The hall was otherwise empty. Soundwave tilted his helm.

Down to just two guards. Frenzy would say he was moving up in the world.

TBC...