Keep Your Distance From the Sun

AN: THANK YOU TO ALEXLUKE, GIRAFFECHAN, and RAP BEAR for your continued patronage and awesome support!

AN2: Sorry for the delay. Having some issues I'm trying to get sorted out. Hopefully my computer and internet will be unaffected, but just in case I'm gone awhile, I promise I'll be back as soon as possible! I'm not abandoning the story or the multiple others I'm posting. But if computer takes another fit, I may have to scrap it and I can't afford another one, so I'd be offline until I could afford a new system. My laptop is ANCIENT an unable to surf the web. (still running XP if that tells you anything) so I'll be able to get some writing done, just be unable to post until I can get back on my feet again. :D

Anyhoo, wanted to give a heads up in case I can't post a month or two. Fingers crossed my computer holds out and I dont have any expensive repairs.

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"Dismissed," Prime said.

The dozen senior officers around the table rose, offering a sign of respect before gesturing to their subordinates who had remained against the walls, awaiting orders and offering needed data if their superiors required immediate answers for the Prime. Most of the subordinates were dismissed as well, given some much needed down time.

Two of their numbers did not garner such a respite. They received short, clipped orders from their commanding officers, ensuring reports for their assigned sectors were collected, and thus, correlated for the supplimental meeting within the next solar cycle.

The unfortunate pair of mechs who had their tailpipes reamed, accepted their assignments without protest, and watched as their commanding officers disappeared out the door together, talking of high grade and the last femmes leaving base and the odds of them wanting a frag before final departure.

The two burdened mechs left behind, one bewildered at the sheer volume of his assignment, the other studiously stoic despite the fact his superior had given a less than satisfactory report. He was positive he had provided the correct reports. But his superior had blamed the gross negligence on his low ranking, barely worth acknowledging, subordinate.

Who was currently rechecking his facts and comparing it to the initial report he gave late into the night. The only sign of emotion was the slight bend to his brow ridge while his battle computer worked through the figures. And the omissions.

Like, why were his suggestions for augmentations of energon consumption ignored, and the guard positioning along the southern border to protect their weakest flank?

His findings kept resulting in the same conclusion. They were wise and logical. Perhaps he should mention his suggestions again?

If only he was of higher rank. Then he could approach the subject with the Prime. As it were, he was far too lowly to be granted an audience with their new, yet revered leader. His inner dialogue was ruined by his companion, who spoke with a thick Iaconian accent.

"This sucks," he said, tapping a datapad showcasing over a thousand designations of mechs and femmes who had yet to file a report. It was up to him to make sure all of them filled out the necessary paperwork and have it condensed into a smaller, easier presentation for his superior to deliver during the next meeting.

Together the mechs exited the room. They bore similar paint, black and white, but vastly different builds.

One was shorter, squatter, bulkier, with a slinking, sneaky stride. He had a visor and long taped fingers that housed his assorted mischief's.

The other mech was taller, with dark blue optics, red chevron, and doorwings hiked so high on his back, they appeared painful. Normally, Praxians were loose in their doorwing formation, but this one was unusually rigid.

"He didn't incorporate any of my suggestions," the Praxian said, staring at the datapad in his hand.

"Don't worry about it, Prowler," the boxier mech chirped, tapping the taller mech on the back in encouragement, mindful of his doorwings. "We're just grunts. You know that. We lack the experience to give the Prime counsel. He wants battled tried and scarred mechs. Those who've had experience. Those who know what its like to fight and able to understand the battlefield as a whole, not just bits and pieces."

Prowl scowled, shrugging off the other's servo from his back.

"Easy for you to say, Jazz. You're training in espionage. You get field experience, hacking mechs and downloading their experience to add to your own."

"It does save time," Jazz grinned then sobered a little. "I'd rather leave the important battles to those who are more experienced."

"But if we lack the proper experience, when it is vital to our roles as soldiers, our lack of skills may cause damage or termination to our teammates."

"Hey, don't think like that," Jazz said, stopping Prowl and placing a hand on his shoulder. He stared into dark optics. "It's not wise to put inexperienced bots out on the front lines and expect them to be blood thirsty mercenaries and take out entire squads. We're grunts. Our jobs are to observe, learn, and when we get promoted, we can make the best decisions to ensure a victory."

Prowl wasn't convinced. He offered a huff through his vents, nodding to Jazz's datapad.

"So, what are you supposed to do to correct your oversight?"

Jazz didn't flinch from the barb. He handed the datapad to Prowl so he could see the full extent of his duties. It took a moment, but Prowl's optics went wide. He handed the pad back with a gaping expression.

"Collect and file one thousand and sixteen reports from eight hundred and four separate incursions and engagements?"

"Yup," Jazz said, scrolling through the near impossible task. "I need a drink."

Jazz grasped Prowl's arm and tugged him toward the main rec room. Since it was the middle of the day, the place should be fairly empty, as bots went about their duties.

Prowl hissed and protested but it was a lost cause. When his friend wanted to drag him along, he had no choice but to comply. Jazz was becoming good at his job, coercion and espionage. He had already figured out Prowl's weakness and used it against him when necessary. Several times he had found the right junction to pinch, causing the monochromatic mech to rising on pede tips and follow Jazz's lead.

As predicted, the rec room was sparse, save for a dozen or so soldiers, all of whom were battle worn, scuffed, and gossiping the latest news. A group of five greeted the double black and whites, but they waved and went to the energon dispenser, pouring even measures of a grade less than they preferred.

"Wish we had high grade," Jazz muttered, staring morosely at the slushy pale blue liquid.

"High grade takes too much energy to create, stabilize, and offers an unstable overcharge to systems that can knock a mech unconscious." Prowl said, taking his cube and only seeing basic fuel for survival. He was never one to get overcharged. In fact, he didn't understand the concept and had never indulged.

"Rather the whole point," Jazz said in exasperation.

Honestly, his counterpart needed a lot of education. The mech may be Jazz's senior, but when it came to life and experiences, he was still a junior. The duo was about to head to a far corner to talk privately, as Prowl wasn't much of a socializer, but a flash of color caught Jazz's optics.

Not that the other bots on base were bland and black and white, but because there was no mistaking the brilliant red always appeared as immaculately fresh as if off the assembly line. While other mechs and femmes bore the scars of war, the two newest recruits, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, always seemed as fashion plates. Their paint was impeccable. Their shine illustrious.

Had Jazz not known better, he would have surmised that either of the twins were never in a battle, let alone active participates, but Jazz had witnessed first hand how ferocious the pair could be. Many battles were won the twins leading the charge.

Together, they were unstoppable.

Usually where one was, the other wasn't far away, but Sideswipe was alone, helm lying on the table, soft snores coming through his vents. Either he had a long time on patrol, or he spent too many hours in the training rooms, but it was unusual to see one alone, let alone in charge.

Which reminded Jazz…

"Here, hold this," Jazz said, handing over his cube to a perturbed Prowl who stared at the innocently slumbering front liner. "Sideswipe is on my list to collect field reports. Since he's here, I'll remind him they're due and he can tell his brother."

"Not a good idea," Prowl said, intending on returning Jazz's ration, but the boxy mech was already heading toward the demonic glint of his doom.

"Jazz!" Prowl hissed, doorwings hiking in alarm. He placed the cubes on a nearby table and made to follow his friend, "Don't touch him!"

But it was too late.

Jazz placed a hand on Sideswipe's forearm and in a blur of motion, the dragon was awake and raining hellfire.

Jazz barely had time to let out a partial scream of fear as Sideswipe burst into action, leaping up, grabbing the unwanted servo and twisting it away. Jazz went flying, barely able to recognize the danger of flame before he was rendered unconscious.

Conversation in the rec room ceased.

Everyone sat, froze in fear. They knew Sideswipe's reputation. He and his brother were good because they were fearless and bloodthirsty. In fact, it was often joked behind their backs, that they were so violent, they'd slash their own spare tires.

Prowl's servos were up defensively, showing he wasn't a threat to the mech with whitened optics, scanning the room for the next threat.

"Stand down, Sideswipe," Prowl said softly but firmly. "There is no danger. You suffered a bad memory loop. You are safe. You are here, in Iacon, on the Autobot base, surrounded by friends."

Sideswipe remained in defensive mode. When his optics zeroed in on Prowl, they narrowed. Every bot knew that was the end of the Praxian. He was now sited by the crazed front liner and was to be terminated.

Prowl placed his hands at his sides and dropped his doorwings, allowing them to sink low on his back and flutter slightly.

It was a typical pose by passive Praxians.

"Sideswipe?" Prowl said, voice lower, more gentle. It was the kind of tone one used when addressing a bot about to terminate.

Prowl's doorwings fluttered a little, the sensors activating fully and causing the air to hum with warm vibration. He centered the reverberation toward Sideswipe. It was a soothing thing and allowed one to sense the EM field of another, sensing their intentions.

Their EM fields were like lie detectors. The least bit of static and others knew you were lying or trying to deceive them. Very few had mastered their EM fields.

Not that Praxians were bellicose builds by nature. Their frames were more bulky, giving a stout, but unassuming build.

The only other bot on base able to provide a soothing reaction with his EM field was currently unconscious, a victim of stupidity.

"No one is going to hurt you, Sideswipe," Prowl continued. He could sense Sideswipe's field pulsing along his own, sensing his mood to determine level of threat. Hoping to get through Sideswipe's dangerous haze, Prowl thought quickly. "You said you knew where to score some high grade. I don't know about you, but I could really use the extra jolt right now."

Sideswipe paused, systems running high, frame practically vibrating with anticipation. As Prowl's words sunk into his meta, his optics slowly returned to their navy blue glimmer of mischief.

Out of the corner of his optic, Prowl detected a golden comet bursting into the room, zeroing in on his twin and finding him to be calming from his murderous intent.

"It's okay, Sunstreaker," Prowl said, knowing Sunstreaker had been called into action by the spark call of his twin during the perceived danger. Prowl's doorwings gave a causal flick in a friendly, happy gesture. "Sideswipe was going to tell me where I might find some high grade."

"I was?" Sideswipe asked, systems having a hard time throwing off the extra charge that came with the heat of battle.

It wasn't often he had to return to normalcy in a calm manner. Usually it involved a lot of violence and cursing.

Sunstreaker remained frozen, staring between brother and monochromatic stranger, unsure of the situation.

Sideswipe's optics cleared. He relaxed his posture, spark returning to normal rhythm. He glanced about the room as if seeing it for the first time. Spotting Jazz still crumpled in an unconscious heap, he nodded, "What happened to him?"

"Poor judgment," Prowl said simply.

"Some bots can't handle their grade," Sideswipe snickered.

"I believed he mentioned the two of you had yet to file your reports, and the Prime has commanded all field reports be turned in by end of cycle. I hope that will be enough time for you to finish. The more information you can provide, the more vital in helping Prime and the command team inflict the most damage to the Decepticons with minimal damage to our own forces."

Sideswipe grinned in a handsome, mischievous way. He pointed between himself and his brother.

"Just point me and Sunny in the direction you want cleared. We'll do the rest."

Sunstreaker growled, half expecting Prowl to adopt the horrid moniker but the strange mech surprised him.

"I hope Sunstreaker and yourself can finish the reports in time. We've had word of Decepticon advancement and any intel you can provide will be helpful."

"I hate reports,' Sunstreaker muttered, scowling. His gaze swept the room, finding most of the bots returning to their tables, as they had ducked for cover when Sideswipe jumped into action.

"We better hurry," Sideswipe snickered, hurrying toward his twin. Together they left the break room, passing the white demon of medbay, stomping to answer the call of an unconscious mech.

"Hey there, Ratchet," Sideswipe said as they approached.

"Slag off," Ratchet retorted without breaking stride.

"Love you, too, handsome mech!" Sideswipe barked, having the audacity to smack the CMO on the aft plates open handed, then bolt down the corridor, laughing maniacally.

"I'm going to terminate him," Ratchet snarled after the red dot in the distance.

Sunstreaker continued his more moderate pace, speaking over his shoulder, "You can't. I get first dibs."

Ratchet made a contemptuous noise and entered the rec room to find Prowl kneeling over an unconscious, bleeding, dented Jazz.

"What the slag happened?" he asked, joining the Praxian and employing a scanner.

"He made a critical mistake," Prowl said, moving aside to allow the medical officer to work. "He woke up a front line warrior by touching him."

Ratchet gusted air. He knew what that entailed. Jazz was lucky he was still functioning, if not distorted and requiring a couple new joint replacements. And some hoses. Maybe reset the plating on the left side.

Slag, Sideswipe had torn the smaller mech nearly in half! The plating was sparking around Jazz's waist when Ratchet attempted to move him. Sideswipe's actions may have been only a blur of motion, but he had performed the most damage possible in the blink of an optic.

"Slagger," Ratchet snapped, though it was difficult to tell who he was referring.

"I hope he has learned his lesson," Prowl said, assisting in retracting Jazz's armor to allow Ratchet access.

"There has to be a better way of waking a mech up," Ratchet added, clamping off a leaking oil line. "If someone else is stupid enough to wake one of those malcontent, psychopathic, unhinged, fragged up mechs, they may not survive! Slag, there may not be enough pieces left over to even identify when they get through!"

"If comms doesn't work, throw something at them," Prowl said, helping Ratchet in hoisting up the unconscious mech. "Keep a safe distance and appear as non-threatening as possible."

"Got it all worked out, don't you?" Ratchet snorted, making a mental note to send out a medical communiqué with the information to prevent other bots from coming to harm or termination by being stupid enough to wake up a frontline warrior by touching or shaking him.

"Logic is the ultimate weapon," Prowl stated, helping to carry Jazz to the medbay, where he was going to have a long recovery time to think about his approach to sleeping frontline warriors.

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As always, reviews and feedback are LOVED and squealed over with glee. :D

I plan on doing a double posting for the anniversary this coming July, so fingers crossed my computer holds out until then and I can celebrate with my AWESOME readers!

((hugs to all))

PJ