Part 31
Two guards stood outside the conference room door. Two more guards stood further down the hall, and a third guard at the elevator allowed in only those mechs who had been commanded to appear. In the Ark, rumors floated that Prowl was giving uncovered spies the chance to confess and avoid execution, that Soundwave was being made into an Autobot officer, that Wheeljack was trying out a new armament on foolish volunteers, and that Starscream was teaching the command cadre how to perform a few moves described in the stories on the sur-net.
Inside the conference room, however, the handful of mechs looked at each other in confusion. Hound and Mirage sat side by side, their clasped hands hidden under the table. First Aid tapped his fingertips together nervously, and beside him, Beachcomber drew idle loop de loops in the air. Rewind sat crosslegged on the table itself, looking back and forth between everyone and wondering why Blaster hadn't been called in as well.
At the front of the room, Jazz sat in the corner, leaning against the wall as he glared. Or as he seemed to glare. If they could have looked under his visor, they would have seen that he was actually in a light recharge cycle, but only his bots knew he'd sleep through meetings and Mirage knew better than to say anything.
Finally, Prowl came through the door, closing and locking it behind himself. The locking mechanism fell shut with a heavy clunk, making everyone at the table jump.
"Feel like there's rocks in my sparkchamber," Rewind murmured.
Startled by Rewind's diminutive voice, Mirage's nerves forced out of him a bundle of questions. "It isn't true, sir, is it? That you think we're spies. Or that we're in trouble?"
Prowl raised his hand, used to Mirage's anxieties about having his allegiance questioned. And he knew that if he didn't immediately explain what the real reason for their presence, Rewind would start rattling off inane random facts and Hound would start clearing his intake so much that they'd have to resort to internal comms. So many vorns of war had reduced his faction to a single raw nerved shared among them, but it had also taught Prowl how to manage them so they could function.
"You have been called here," Prowl said, starting the meeting, "because of your activities on the sur-net."
All of them flinched.
"Specifically for your activities in the cross-faction sub-forum."
Mirage looked even more stricken than before. "Sir...you don't doubt our loyalty, do you?"
Prowl shook his helm. "Your loyalties do not need to be proven, Mirage. You can rest on that. I would trust any of you with my life."
Mirage vented, tightening his grip with Hound.
"All of you here," Prowl said, "have been active under various names on the cross-faction sub-forum, either writing stories or commenting positively on anything showing an end to hostilities. Your names include Oasis, Ain't-Nothing-But-a-Houndmech, Hippie-Mech, Pacifist-Punch and Trivial-Trivia."
Their winces changed to surprise as they recognized each other, and First Aid looked over at Beachcomber with wide optics.
"You're Hippie-Mech," First Mech gasped. "Oh my, I totally love your Trine Tribulations trilogy. I read it every few shifts."
"Wait," Hound said. "You're the one who wrote Dust Devils? I would've sworn someone on Spec Ops wrote that."
Beachcomber shrugged, but he couldn't help a small smile. "Don't forget, sometimes Jazz takes me out scouting with him. I know he can't tell me much, but the way we move and skedaddle, I pick up enough for a story or two."
"You also-" Prowl started.
"Are you going to finish Aerial Displays?" First Aid asked. "I've had that one bookmarked so long and I'm dying to find out what happens with Firefly and Acid Storm-"
"You are also," Prowl said louder, overriding the ambulance, "our best chance at scrambling Decepticon cohesion."
"And the love triangle between Skywarp, Skyfall and Skyfire," Mirage said, leaning forward as if it was imperative Beachcomber understand. "The last chapter just made it that much worse, with the cracked sparkchamber giving him amnesia-"
"So although this is unusual," Prowl said over them, trying to regain their attention, "I have a request-"
"I actually tried drawing the Sky trio," Rewind admitted with a sheepish flash of his optics. "But the positions were so hard to tell who was who-"
Prowl dropped his fist on the table.
"I need you to write Decepticon porn!"
Everyone looked at him with wide optics. Even Jazz sat straight, yawning as he came out of recharge.
"...sir?" Beachcomber leaned back as if Prowl might explode.
"I need as many stories as you can possibly gather," Prowl said, leaning on the table and pressing one hand to his chevron, "with the most contentious couples, causing the most conflict, and then post it all on the Decepticon's mainframe."
"Sir?" Rewind echoed. "I...now you want us to write those stories?"
Jazz snorted. "No kidding, right?"
"Those stories," Prowl said, sinking into his seat, still grimacing as if he'd eaten bad energon, "have netted us two of the highest ranking Decepticon officers, the destruction of five small bases and the capture of enough energon to fuel us for the next ten years. I would be a fool to not use them to their fullest potential."
"But..." Mirage hesitated, then went on when he saw Jazz nod. "I, of course, will follow orders. But Soundwave wrote them because he wanted to change sides, and Starscream wanted to belong to Skyfire again. How will posting these stories do anything to the other side?"
Prowl waved his hand for Jazz to answer. There was a faint rumble from Jazz's engines as the saboteur did not like being gestured at, but he stood and came to the table, leaning on Prowl's chair enough to make it lean unsteadily to one side.
"Our hope is this," Jazz said as Prowl's doorwing smacked the back of the chair. "Soundwave's smart, but he ain't the only bright bot in that army. Megatron ain't anything as inspiring as Optimus. A little nudge in the right direction can't hurt. Heck, I don't think we'll get a full on uprising, but if we can cause, oh say a riot in their mess hall, some infighting between troops, it could widen a few cracks in their camaraderie."
"I get your point," Hound said. "I heard about 'Bee and the Aerialbots. But boss, we had all'a that, and we're still chugging along fine."
Prowl jerked his chair back out from under Jazz, giving him a sour look before turning back to Hound.
"That is because Red Alert has shuffled troop assignments where he could so that none of your hostile sides are together. No cross-faction fans with Autobot purists, no rival pairings, no anti-war bots patrolling with front liners."
"Wow." Rewind rubbed the back of his helm self-consciously. "He's, uh, he's figured all of us?"
"He started with those bots in the mess hall fight," Prowl said, "and worked his way out. And it's worn him out. There is a reason why he sneaks Inferno into his office so often now that it isn't even a secret."
A soft "aww" escaped all of them except Prowl and Jazz. In the lull of the conversation, Beachcomber finally joined the conversation.
"So..." Beachcomber said, leaning forward and steepling his fingers together.
Jazz and Prowl both straightened. From the way the rest of the bots had acted, Beachcomber was secretly some big name bot on the sur-net. From Mirage to Rewind, all of them gave the blue bot just as much attention as they had Prowl. His words carried the most weight with them, and yet Beachcomber wasn't always one to follow orders. From how he had turned so uncharacteristically serious, this could be their real battle.
"You want us," Beachcomber started, "to take something we started to get away from the fighting...and turn it into just one more weapon."
"I want to use it to stop the fighting," Prowl said. "As it did for Soundwave and Starscream."
"These stories are not about the war," Beachcomber said, and his hands tightened. Tiny tremors ran through his frame. "These stories are my hopes and dreams. They're about the war ending and everything being okay again."
Prowl opened his mouth, only to cut himself off as Jazz touched his shoulder.
"I've got hundreds of readers," Beachcomber said, and his voice started to scratch with soft static. "They all say the same thing. It'd be great if this was real. If only this was how the war really went. I fantasize about not killing 'Cons every day. Even the ones who leave me flames tell me I'm just making it harder to kill Decepticons, that this isn't real life."
"'Comber..." Jazz started.
"Ain't it funny?" Beachcomber said, putting a hand over his face as he leaned forward, turning over his hand as Rewind came over and held his fingertips. "Even the faction purists can only tell me I'm a fool for dreaming. Ain't no one want to keep fighting. And now you want to use these like bullets?"
"No," Jazz said.
"You just said you did!" Beachcomber snapped around, glaring at him. "You want to 'cause riots and fights and...and..."
"If you could take all your stories," Jazz said in the same voice he used for comforting wounded bots, "and put them up where the Decepticons could see them, what do you think would happen?"
"Some of them would agree!" Beachcomber pleaded. "Some of them would agree, and say we shouldn't fight anymore, that this fight has been horrible from the start!"
"If you could turn one Decepticon away from the fight," Jazz said, "so that you wouldn't have that one 'Con in your gun sights...would it be worth it?"
Beachcomber stared at him for a long moment, his vents surging his engine. No one spoke. Both bots held the other's look evenly, refusing to look away...and then Beachcomber broke off, covering his faceplate.
"...gimme a couple shifts," he murmured. "I'll do it, just...I need time."
"Thank you," Jazz said softly. "You'll get those shifts."
"Gotta get in the groove," Beachcomber said, smiling half-heartedly at Rewind, still holding his hand. "Can't be writing if I ain't in the groove."
First Aid reached over, touching his arm. "'Comber...if you need anything...?"
"I'll swing by medbay with you," Beachcomber said, nodding once. "I guess I do write better after one of your special neural packs."
Beachcomber fell in on himself a little, ignoring the meeting as it continued around him. He closed his optics, even closed down his internal communication, listening to Rewind's quiet murmurs in his audio.
"The rest of you," Prowl said, recapturing everyone's attention. "Any and all cross-faction works need to be gathered. We need the largest amount possible for an initial flood-"
"I beg your pardon, sir," Mirage said, raising his hand.
Prowl huffed and his mouth became a fine line. Only when Jazz tip his helm did Mirage continue.
"A flood doesn't attract the best readership," Mirage said. "Almost all of the stories would be ignored."
"True," First Aid sighed. "When I was just starting, I posted four chapters at once. I'll never do that again. I only got a few comments on the last chapter."
"Better to make them wait," Hound agreed. "Post a little at a time."
"We could start them off with some completed epics," Mirage mused. "Sprinkled with some one-shots to whet their appetite."
"Add in some poetry," Hound said. "So they'll end up using it in the berth. Even if it's for laughs at first, they'll start writing their own."
"And that's when the forum will really start turning," First Aid said. "If any of the Decepticons are writers, they'll start posting, and then anything we have will just keep it fresh in case they get bad writer's block."
Mirage snapped his fingers. "Hey, what was that one Spec Ops fic about Jazz's mission to trick Soundwave into believing that Jazz loves him?"
Beside Prowl, Jazz choked.
"There were a couple like that," First Aid said. "The humor one where Jazz leads him through the base?"
"No, the one where Jazz falls in love too, then has to kill Soundwave anyway for the sake of the mission."
"Deceptively Yours," Rewind said over his shoulder.
"Yes, that!" Mirage said. "That's the perfect name for the forum."
"Yeah, that could work," Hound said. "Put a nice banner over the top, maybe a little purple 'Con mark for the icon."
Prowl glanced at Jazz, who'd turned to sit against the table, hiding how he put one hand on his visor.
If you wish to save yourself, Prowl said over their internal comm, you may. I don't think any of them will give us anymore trouble.
You mean they're taking this ball and running with it, Jazz said. Dunno. I'd love a recharge, but I don't wanna take the chance 'Comber turns on ya again.
You handled that better than I could have, Prowl said. No, I think he's willing now. Go on. This subject is painful for you, and...I don't like upsetting you.
Jazz glanced sideways at him, knowing this was a veiled apology for the stolen kiss.
I still ain't forgiven ya, he said. He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers on his hood. But I ain't about to turn up my nose at a chance to scoot outta any meeting. See ya next shift, Prowler.
As Jazz walked around the room, ignoring such esoteric comments as "moderation or unmoderated" and "spike or plug n' play," he remembered something Red Alert had mentioned to him. In the doorway, he turned and looked over the mechs at Prowl. He seemed to toss something around in his helm, warring with something in himself.
Did Red Alert tell you anything? he finally asked. 'Bout me and any incidents?
He said that I should ask you, Prowl said. But not to be an aft about it.
Red said that? Jazz said, eyeridges shooting up.
Inferno was with him, Prowl said. It was heavily implied.
Huh. Jazz shrugged, hands up, smiling nonchalantly. Ah well. Guess it can't be helped. I guess letting you know about incident report #20872 ain't letting too much of the cat outta the bag.
...Jazz? Prowl asked, confused not at what a trust he'd been given but at how his friend was treating it so flippantly. Are you all right?
Sure am, Jazz said, communicating as he left the room and closed the door behind himself. I get to leave early and I gave you a shiny new glitchmouse to play with. Later, mech.
Prowl knew better than to ask how much later. Instead he put his helm down and waited for the mechs around him to finish hammering out the plan for him. From their enthusiastic handling of their personal datapads, eagerly listing the best "tragic fics" and "epics" and "PWPs," it was going to be a long shift.
Struck by sudden inspiration, Prowl commed Ironhide.
What's up, Prowl?
Are you free?
...I don't think I like the tone of your voice, kid.
Are you free? This is an official request.
Dammit, kid, ain't gotta be such an... Fine, what the hell you need? Optimus is in recharge and yeah, I'm flippin' free.
As Jazz would say, there is a meeting I need brass on, but I am four cycles late for recharge. Can you please step in? I doubt it will run too much longer.
Sure, and that's just the line to lure me in. Ironhide vented heavily. Be right there. Hate for you to fall over on your aft.
Prowl stood, gaining the attention of the mechs in front of him.
"I am leaving for recharge," he said, "but Ironhide will continue the meeting. If you have any questions, any questions at all, feel free to direct them at him. He has some passing understanding of these Polyhex Manuals."
When Ironhide walked in, all optics turned to him like hungry turbofoxes spotting prey. Prowl had the brief pleasure of seeing Ironhide's optics widen in panic, facing the second in command with a growing sense of betrayal just as the door closed.
Prowl wrapped up that memory file and sent it to Red Alert. It was a gift that the security officer would appreciate.
A blinking light caught Counterpunch's attention. In the Decepticon mess hall, he looked up from his energon, turning on his datapad and reading the notification. Beside him, Thundercracker watched him from the corner of his optic. It wasn't unheard of for the rank and file to take out grievances from each other's frame, even in the middle of a full mess hall. Especially in the middle of a full mess hall. And Counterpunch had always struck him as suspicious, even among Decepticons, disappearing and reappearing at random.
"What's up, short stuff?" Thundercracker asked. "New mission?"
"No..." Counterpunch picked up his datapad and showed it to the jet. "I just got an invitation to a new forum on our net."
"Oh yeah?" Thundercracker leaned close, squinting to see the much smaller print on Counterpunch's pad. "Deceptively Yours invites you to new adventures and forbidden passions. Register your account and find yourself on the new horizon of love, where even a dream can end a war."
"What the heck is that?" Counterpunch asked, looking back at his datapad. "It sounds a little...weird."
"Deceptively Yours?" Thundercracker ran a search through his memory files. "That sounds familiar..."
"Should I click it?" Counterpunch wondered. "I really like this datapad. I don't want it to get infected."
"Why not?" Thundercracker said. "It's our own net. Soundwave isn't here to infect and blackmail dumb mechs anymore."
"That makes me feel so better," Counterpunch drawled.
With a heavy vent, he touched the link and opened up the new site. A banner ran across the top of the page with the title in Decepticon purple and silver. A soft tune played in the background, and Counterpunch quickly muted the player.
"It's just more stories," Counterpunch said, reading off the titles. "Countdown to Betrayal-can Starscream ever forgive Skyfire for the way he stole the Decepticon officer away from the war, shackling him in an Autobot prison of lust and forgotten romance. Dented Wings-when Skywarp plays a prank on the wrong front liner, he discovers that humiliation beneath a grunt's boot can be more exhilarating than flight."
Countdown shook his helm and sat back, turning off the datapad. "Primus. It's just as bad as the drivel on the Autobot net."
Heavy typing came from beside him. Counterpunch glanced sideways, feigning disinterest as Thundercracker opened up the forum on his own datapad, eagerly clicking through the whole forum, even reading the rules and by-laws and making an introductory post.
"I wonder if they'd read a screenplay," the jet whispered to himself.
Counterpunch allowed himself a small smile. The work of a double agent was nerve-wracking and there wasn't a day that he didn't feel like his spark had dimmed a little through his work here. A mission where no one died and no one doubted his cover story made this a cakewalk, dangling the hook in front of Thundercracker and watching him snap up the bait.
It almost meant that Counterpunch would probably survive debriefing Jazz about Decepticon porn habits.
TBC...