Some of the junior medics skittered away from Prowl as he entered the med bay, retreating to the relative safety of the Intensive Care Unit on the far side. It was discouraging, but Prowl refused to allow himself to be affected by the reaction. First Aid, however, cast a hard look at his coworkers and wandered over, though not without caution.
"Prowl… Ratchet is attending to an emergency in one of the training rooms. Can I help you with anything?" First Aid came to a stop a respectful distance away, his armor flared slightly in evidence of his tension. "Are you here for your post mission?"
Prowl nodded once, glad that Ratchet's apprentice had had the courage to approach him on his own. "Indeed." He confirmed.
"Um… Okay. Right over here, please." He pointed to a berth.
Prowl complied and felt sensory energy wash over his frame as he settled onto the metal surface.
"Hmm." First Aid began thoughtfully, though he frowned with concern. "Only some minor damage to the superior hinge casing of your left doorwing. Your auto repair systems should be able to take care of it, though it would happen quicker if the dents were removed…"
Prowl was looking at him closely. "Do you feel you can do so on your own?"
First Aid's optics widened slightly, though he nodded. "It is a simple procedure, the question is if you are willing…"
"I am." Prowl interrupted. "I have disabled my pain grid in the affected area, tell me what else you want me to do."
First Aid stared, aware that even though he had not said it out loud, the former Decepticon was once again offering to allow any security measures the medic might feel the need to utilize. In that instant, with that realization, First Aid decided he would do his best not to look on Prowl any differently than he would any other mech, faction symbol not withstanding.
"Just hold your doorwings at a 100 degree angle."
Prowl bowed his helm and did precisely as asked as First Aid circled around behind him. Within astroseconds, the doorwings were immobilized and the junior medic unsubspaced a small magnetic stylus used for subtle shaping of thinner metal sheets and ran it over the affected hinge casing with firm, sure strokes, though he was extra careful not to apply any more pressure than necessary. He might not have performed this particular task on a very many doorwings, but he had done it countless times to other joint casings.
He felt some of the tension in Prowl's frame let go as one particularly deep dent was corrected easing the pressure on the underlying hinge and sensory wires, though he also heard the short intake of air that was associated with the sting of the metal snapping back into proper shape.
Finished with the work, First Aid snapped off his tool and quickly remobilized his patient's doorwings.
He was smiling shyly as he circled back around. "Alright, everything else looks good. You are free to go."
Prowl stared at him for a moment, then cocked an optic ridge. "Are you not also going to lock down my weapons and communications systems?"
First Aid's frame heated and his engine sputtered. "Um, right, of course."
He reached for Prowl's neck only to find the Praxian had slid the appropriate panel open for him again. Perhaps, First Aid allowed himself to consider as he quickly made the adjustments, reestablishing the medical-only override, perhaps Prowl was being completely honest with them and was truly not a threat to them. History not withstanding, the former Decepticon had never been anything but accommodating and supportive; not exactly behavioral traits First Aid would have expected.
Ratchet had briefed him on the mech's revamped ethical programming, but even that did not completely explain what he had seen and experienced first hand. While a stringent ethical subroutine might have forced Prowl to cooperate, it could not make him offer emotional support and encouragement.
Perhaps it was just the hopeless optimism that Ratchet swore would see him to an early smelting, but First Aid wanted to believe a mech as notorious as Prowl could have a change of spark and find redemption.
He was smiling again as Prowl looked at him, sliding the protective armor plate back into place over his neck. "Again, my thanks, First Aid."
"Any time Prowl, I…"
The med bay door swooshed open and a blue and gray form streaked through it to collide with Prowl's leg. The tactician looked down at the small form now beaming up at him, arms wrapped tightly around the plating he had collided with. He was dimly aware that Chromia had followed the sparkling into the medical ward at a more sedate pace, but he kept his optics on his young charge.
"Prowl!" Bluestreak breathed with relief evident on his young face. "I missed you… again."
Before Prowl could respond, the youngling was scaling his frame with all the confidence a little one should have with its caretaker, trusting the larger mech to protect him from harm either in the form of a tiny digit crushed between armor seams or from falling should he slip.
Once Bluestreak was settled over Prowl's spark, one long black and white arm wrapped comfortingly around him, the usually talkative youngling was soon clicking and whistling contentedly.
First Aid released a light vent of air, his voice soft with amusement and a touch of awe. "Younglings. They never cease to amaze."
With another look at Prowl, First Aid left the two Praxians to return to his other duties.
Prowl turned his attention to the blue femme. "Thank you, Chromia."
Chromia's optics widened slightly, the simple gratitude making her uncomfortable. "Of course." She paused, but felt she should add more to that. The tactician had brought her sparkmate back… completely unscathed. And that was saying something if what Ironhide had shared with her about the mission was accurate and she had no doubt it was.
She cleared her vents and intoned, somewhat awkwardly, "Welcome back."
Prowl's optic ridges arched upward, then he dipped his helm. "Thank you. Was Bluestreak well in my absence?"
"About like last time." She considered the Praxian closely, noticed the carefully concealed lines of exhaustion and lingering tension in his frame. "I don't think he's the only one that needs recharge. Now get."
Prowl suppressed an amused chuckle, only letting his doorwings twitch slightly. Still not sure exactly where he stood with Chromia he opted for safety and stood, keeping his grip on Bluestreak secure. "Yes, ma'am."
She smiled slightly and waved him to the exit. Acquiescing, Prowl headed for the door. He remembered he was supposed to notify at least one of the Autobots and settled for databursting both Jazz and Ironhide that he was returning to his quarters. And then he sent the same databurst to Red Alert, remembering how the security director had over reacted the first time he had walked around unescorted.
As much as he was not about to admit to the fact, Prowl was very much looking forward to surrendering to the bliss of recharge.
… … …
Nearly a decaorn after his first patrol with Ironhide, Prowl rolled back onto base just behind the Weapons Specialist, this time from a completely uneventful orn-long patrol. This had simply been a routine, close proximity patrol of the Iacon base itself. Important for security purposes but typically monotonous.
Thankfully, unlike his last patrol, Ironhide never found a reason to knock him to the ground. Of course, Ironhide had also not found much cause to engage him in conversation either. But that too was alright with Prowl.
Following a last, almost abscent-minded order to report to med bay, Prowl greeted First Aid only for the medic to be interrupted by a loud, familiar voice from the ICU. "Who is it now! Better not be one of those fragging Twins. The slagging pit-spawn."
The last sentence was said in a rough, tacked on grumble that prompted Prowl to look at First Aid in question. The young medic made a show of rolling his optics even as he called over his shoulder. "I can handle it, sir."
Prowl's optic ridges remained cocked as First Aid turned back to him. "Do I want to know?"
First Aid shrugged even as sensory energy brushed across Prowl's frame. "Were you aware how much an a nuisance the Twins can be?"
"Intimately."
Prowl's dry reply was enough to make First Aid smile. "Then you know what happened."
Prowl only grunted in unspoken understanding, granting access to his weapons and communications systems as the medic reached for his neck. Once that task was completed, Prowl offered his thanks for First Aid's service.
"I'm glad you managed to come back from a patrol and that's all I had to do." First Aid gave him a surprisingly friendly look. "Good orn, Prowl."
"Good orn, First Aid."
Leaving the med bay, Prowl checked his fuel level and decided he really should refuel. He released a vent of air. The rec room would be crowded at this time of orn. But it would be irresponsible for him to allow his energon levels to drop below their current level, not when he now had an option to prevent it.
With resignation he sent Jazz, Ironhide and Red Alert a quick databurst alerting them to his intended destination.
As always, walking through the halls of the Autobot base during high traffic times was an uncomfortable experience. Those who did not shy away from him eyed him with open suspicion. Often times his audios would catch comments from mostly nameless mechs. Many of said comments were various expressions of concern about security with him 'free to roam as he pleased.' A few malcontents would mutter questions as to whether their leaders were glitched for letting the 'slagging 'Con out of his cage.' Then there were also the times that he was called a 'sparkless murderer.'
Prowl would do his best to keep his doorwings from twitching in those cases and pretend he was not aware of the antagonism and distrust. He knew he had only been fulfilling his duty as Megatron's lead tactician. He knew he had been acting with the best intentions of trying to end the conflict quickly and spare innocent lives. But he also knew he had been trying to achieve those goals by ensuring the permanent offlining of as many Autobots as possible.
And now his ethical subroutines no longer let him brush aside their condemnation of his previous actions, just as he could not escape the self-imposed guilt of having ordered all Autobot medics targeted.
It was a routine that repeated every time Prowl found himself in a highly populated area of the base, which was why he did his best to avoid crowds. Try as he might, his doorwings were only at a very stiff droop by the time he made it to the rec room.
Once he stepped through the entrance a brief hush ran over the gathered mechs, but it was followed by an equally quick round of murmurs. He was painfully aware of how many sets of optics followed his silent progress to the energon dispenser. Despite propriety, Prowl attempted to finish refueling as quickly as he could.
To his chagrin, some of the louder antagonists started sharing their biting comments louder than was strictly necessary, gathering attention. Their boldness leant bravery to a few others who soon joined in.
Prowl did not respond to the insults that were becoming increasingly personal and obnoxious. He had almost finished his cube when a large red frame stepped up to his table.
The mech stood beside Prowl, but his gaze was on the group that was causing the scene. More than one set of optics watched the drama unfolding before them as they might a overpriced holovid.
"Inferno." Prowl greeted Red Alert's second soberly.
The soft, polite greeting caught many silent observers by surprise.
"This does not look good." Inferno said quietly, then looked down at the Praxian. "Some of those could scorch the paint off a pit miner. Makes you want to take a blaster to a few helms, I bet."
Prowl shook his helm. "They have every right to their opinions, and good reasons for the ones they are expressing. I wish no harm on any of them."
Inferno's optic ridge cocked, though he was just as surprised as those watching. "Yeah, well, I can't say the same about them. You need to leave. Now."
Prowl only stared up at him for an astrosecond, but then, to everyone's utter perplexity, the former Decepticon stood. His actions, however, caused even his highly verbal detractors to fall silent. Unwittingly, his next words – though uttered softly – were heard by everyone in the rec room.
"Of course, Inferno. I know you must be off duty and I apologize for being the cause your leisure time has been interrupted." As a former enforcer, Prowl had an innate respect for any mech serving in a similar function. Thus, he deposited his almost empty energon cube in the red mech's hand – held out for that purpose – and made his way immediately for the exit.
Once he was gone, Inferno glanced down at the cube. Even he was surprised the former Decepticon would capitulate and follow his order so quickly. He was even more amazed that he would so easily surrender his ration of energon without even demanding he be allowed to finish it.
For his part, Prowl started to head to Chromia's quarters to collect Bluestreak but then changed his mind. There were still several joors left in the orn and he did not want to rob the youngling of time with his friend. And, if he was honest with himself, the incident in the rec room had rattled him more than he wanted to admit.
No, there was someplace else he wanted, no needed, to go first. Something he needed to do.
Making up his mind, Prowl activated his comm. and notified Jazz, Ironhide and Red Alert that he would be in one of the practice rooms.
… … …
Smokescreen entered the Prime's office when granted access and Optimus looked up from his terminal. Jazz, who had been standing over his shoulder pointing to something on the screen, looked up as well. The smaller mech stepped back as Optimus pushed away from the console to acknowledge the Autobot Lead Tactician.
It did not take mystical insight from the Matrix for the large mech to see the white and gray Praxian's agitation. "What troubles you, Smokescreen?"
Smokescreen stared at him for an extended astrosecond and then cleared his vents, looking down. "I'm sorry, Prime. I can't find them. I have tried. I have even tried to use the algorithms Prowl used, but… I am simply not programmed to do this type of analysis."
Optimus could tell how uneasy it was for the proud young tactician to admit to failure and was about to offer reassurance, but Smokescreen looked up then, a soft whining coming from his engine. "I just… I just don't have the processors for it. I looked at the same data Prowl and Ironhide had and I never saw it."
Light blue optics dropped to Smokescreens pedes again. "I'm sorry, I just… I don't have the tools necessary to…"
"Yes, ya do." Jazz interrupted the light in his visor gleaming.
Smokescreen and the Prime exchanged a brief glance before looking at Jazz for an explanation. Seeing their looks the saboteur hastened to provide it. "Prowl. He offered his skills and abilities if you ever had need of them."
Smokescreen recoiled visibly. "We can't just trust him. What he could do with that much data…" He shook his head, leaving their imaginative subroutines to fill in the possibilities.
Jazz waved a clawed hand dismissively. "I'm not saying we trust him. He won't do anything without supervision."
Optics widening, Smokescreen was a moment in finding his voice. "You mean…?" Jazz nodded. "But he would never agree to that. It's humiliating, absolutely humiliating! I wouldn't ask that of anyone… even him."
Jazz merely shrugged, carefully not looking at Optimus. "If it's necessary, it's necessary. We can give 'im the option, so it'll be his choice."
Smokescreen hesitated, looking at the silver minibot as if seeing him for the first time. Then he nodded, his entire frame shivering slightly. "I'll get what we need from Ratchet. But I doubt he'll go for it."
"He's in a training room. I'll go get Prowl." Jazz almost rubbed his hands together in anticipation, but kept himself from doing it.
Optimus was frowning slightly as he pushed away from his desk, standing. "I will meet both of you with Ironhide in the tactical command center."
Both of the smaller mechs nodded and the Prime waited until it was just him and Jazz again before he spoke, stopping the silver saboteur midstep. "I hope you know what you are doing, Jazz."
Jazz shot him a smile. "Always, Boss bot."
Optimus grumbled. "I know you won't risk the security of our base, but you know as well as I that if he feels forced into this, it will accomplish nothing except perhaps turn him against us."
"I think ya might be underestimatin' him, Prime. But I'll leave that aspect of this in your capable hands." Jazz saluted jauntily and excused himself from his leader's office.
He knew from Prowl's databurst a joor ago that he was at least supposed to be in one of the training rooms. He activated the signal on the tracking device welded to Prowl's frame to determine an exact location. It popped up on his HUD immediately. Training room five.
Jazz used his overrides to open the training room doors, realizing even as he did so that it was unnecessary; they were not locked. Whatever he might have expected to see, what greeted him was quite the opposite.
Instead of… whatever… he was met with a quiet, almost peaceful, circular chamber with vaulted ceiling. The walls were polished to a mirror shine and while there were an impressive array of bladed weapons displayed along one curve of the wall, it was the centralized, raised mat that drew the saboteur's attention. The mat took up nearly the entire floor space, leaving only enough space along the perimeter of the chamber to allow one mech Optimus' size to circumnavigate the room. Above even Optimus' impressive height were a series of banners waving gently in the programmed breeze. It was well lit, but not harshly so, ensuring to sharp shadows fell.
It was perhaps the lighting that made the form sitting in a properly meditative posture in the center of the raised mat look almost surreal to Jazz. Or perhaps that was just the unexpectedness of the whole scene.
"Is there something I can help you with, Jazz?" Prowl asked without even flicking a doorwing.
Jazz took another cautious step into the training room. He recognized the simulated room for what it was and it introduced a whole new set of possibilities regarding the mech who had programmed the simulation. Potentially dangerous possibilities.
But he did not let such speculations affect his tone. There were many questions he wanted to ask Prowl at that moment, but this was not the time. "Ya 're wanted in Tactical Command."
Prowl moved then, jerking slightly before long legs unfolded and the Praxian stood. The movement was more graceful than Jazz remembered seeing in the former Decepticon before and it made him even more suspicious.
However, the expression Prowl gave Jazz as the tactician turned to face him was almost completely blank. "That is unexpected."
Jazz barely refrained from snarling. That monotone sentence sure sounded a lot like something Soundwave might say and his previously positive thoughts were quickly taking a darker turn. "Yeah. No kiddin'. And none of us are happy 'bout it either. It's too soon for this, so don't expect a warm welcome."
Prowl frowned at the saboteur's suddenly biting tone but nodded nonetheless and moved to deactivate the simulation before standing in front of Jazz. "Too soon for what?"
Jazz did not answer right away; instead he turned and marched down the hall. Only once Prowl was at his heels did he reply. "You'll see."
Prowl drew in a system full of air and muted his vocalizer. That three word combination was proving not to bode well for him. Such evasiveness only served to increase his nervousness at this rather sudden and unexpected summons. But he did not press the issue, well aware the smaller mech was not required to tell him anything and that the more he pushed the less he would likely be given in the future.
When they reached the tactical command floor of Iacon base, Prowl did his best not to let his natural curiosity overtake him. This was not someplace he had been before so he took in as much data as he could without arising suspicions. There was a centralized terminal that controlled an oval-shaped holographic display well. Currently the holographic generator was not powered on, probably in anticipation of his arrival. Along the perimeter of the spacious room were various terminals each with their own consoles; most of them were currently occupied. A door recessed into the far wall indicated the tactical department leader's office. Smokescreen's office. The layout was similar to the tactical command that had been utilized by the Praxian Enforcer Corps.
Prowl took all this in even as he followed Jazz to a separate console, one that was somewhat offset from the rest of the command center. He saw that the Prime was there, as well as Ironhide, Ratchet and Smokescreen. Drawing closer to the small gathering of high ranking Autobots, Prowl quickly scanned the console itself and saw the interfacial data hub sitting on its surface like an innocuous decoration.
The tactician was careful to keep the sudden concern from showing on his face and focused instead on the mechs gathered around, hoping to get some indication of what was coming from them since Jazz had been so very unhelpful in that regard.
Smokescreen, easily the most expressive of them all, looked distinctly uncomfortable, displeased and even a tad bit embarrassed. It was an unusual combination, though one he had seen before in his former apprentice; usually when he was about to do something he was not sure was a good idea.
The Prime was calm and powerful, radiating a peaceful control over the entire situation by his presence alone. Yet even his posture and expression hinted at some unidentified concern. That alone was sufficient to make Prowl slightly uneasy.
Ironhide was clearly unhappy and suspicious. Bright cerulean optics narrowed as they met Prowl's in open warning and watchfulness.
Ratchet, while he appeared carefully watchful as well was mostly guarded, his expression that of professional coolness.
Interestingly, they gave him the time to make these observations and then to look at the gathered equipment as well, almost as if they wanted him to reason out what was about to be asked of him. Prowl took them up on the unspoken offer and examined the tools more closely, aware he was being intently studied by five pairs of optics.
It was rather clear they had something they wanted him to do, but from the presence of the interfacial hub, it was also clear they did not trust him to do it unsupervised. That they were in the tactical command center suggested it was a tactical analysis of some kind… and Prowl suddenly understood the meaning of Jazz's cryptic words.
He had not yet satisfied their requirements for progressing to the third stage of his integration process and yet circumstances were making them feel as if their hand were being forced in the matter. He also realized just how fragile the ground the trod was in this singular moment.
Seeing the light of understanding dawn in the Praxian's optics, the Prime spoke, drawing the former Decepticon's gaze. "Prowl, we have been unable to identify likely locations of the safe-houses you suspect are surrounding Iacon. Will you review the data for us and give us your analysis?"
Prowl did not answer immediately. They had not found what he had warned them about, but instead of dismissing his warning, they were asking for his analysis yet again. It hinted that they trusted him enough to at least want to consider his evaluation. Yet they did not appear to trust him at all. There was only one reason for that that he could think of and it made the whole prospect much more tricky.
He answered slowly, deliberately, not looking away from the Prime's intense gaze. "I cannot give an accurate analysis if data is excluded because of the security threat you believe me to be."
Optimus nodded with equally deliberate regality. "We understand that. You will be given all the data we currently have." He paused. "We are not asking you to plan an assault, we are simply looking for probable locations so we can confirm or refute their presence at all."
Prowl hesitated a moment longer, glancing at all of them again. Since they did not trust him, that left only one logical outcome once the analysis was completed. Was that why Ironhide was here; as back up?
He was peripherally aware that they were now the center of attention for the entire tactical command center. But he brushed that observation aside; it was insignificant in the larger scheme of things. He had already made the decision to help if he was ever given the opportunity, he did not even need his new ethical coding to reinforce that determination.
After a long couple of astroseconds, the former Decepticon released a vent and reached for the appropriate cord on the interfacial hub. His voice was completely inflectionless. "And who will be monitoring me during this procedure?"
A collective wave of barely noticeable relief, tinged with surprise, spread through the frames of all the gathered Autobots, including those not officially part of the group.
Optimus answered, his voice not giving away any of his own astonishment or concern. "Jazz, Smokescreen and Ratchet."
In other words, Smokescreen to make sure he was doing what he was asked, Jazz to stop him if he did something he shouldn't and Ratchet to back up Jazz if needed. Prowl blinked in his own mild surprise, then frowned almost imperceptibly. That many invading minds in a one-way interface would be very uncomfortable…and humiliating; especially in such a public setting. But he had handled worse.
Prowl straightened slightly, not allowing himself to think about the audience he would have. He had offered his services to Smokescreen and he would provide them when asked. It was a testament to his skill and the level of risk they thought he represented that they would take such drastic steps in order to both utilize his abilities and still safeguard their security.
He could not, in good conscience, begrudge them that.
He nodded. "Understood."
Prowl was about to plug the cord into his primary data port when the Prime reached out to stop him. "This is not a demand or an order."
Prowl looked up into unfathomable blue optics for a long astrosecond and felt the weight of the Prime's sincerity. He did not know why, but he felt he could trust it, wanted to trust it and so, against all his instincts, chose to do so. And he appreciated what the Prime was doing, or rather, not doing.
"My skills are needed, Prime?" He asked softly.
The Prime hesitated, as if he did not want to admit a fact they both knew but not, Prowl could tell, because of wounded pride. The Prime honestly did not want Prowl to feel unduly pressured to agree to this procedure. Or what was sure to follow after. "Yes."
Prowl offered the Prime a reassuring bob of his helm. "I offered to be of service in whatever capacity you saw fit." He allowed the corner of his lip plate to quirk ever so slightly. "Personal comfort and dignity were not stipulated in that offer."
Optimus just stared, along with the others, clearly surprised at the statement as much as at the nonplussed manner in which it was delivered. Prowl, however, wasted no more time, girding his mind for what he was about to do, he slid the cord home.
He synched with the hub, or rather allowed the hub to synch with his CPU and then looked up at the three mechs who would be supervising this exercise. His expression was clearly expectant. Ratchet's professional mask was firmly in place, as was Jazz's. Smokescreen's bafflement, on the other hand, was clear for everyone to see.
It took a moment, but when Prowl cocked an optic ridge, Smokescreen literally shook himself and quickly connected first to the hub and then connected the hub to the terminal. For the sake of his own sanity, Prowl waited until both Jazz and Ratchet had also connected and synched with the hub before he lowered his primary firewalls.
He felt Jazz press against his other firewalls and stiffened, looking at the saboteur. Jazz stared right back, his gaze unwavering and Prowl realized that, of course, they would want to monitor such things as his intentions and personal responses to what he learned about them. It was the only way they could know for sure whether he was looking for any advantage he could take, or even if he was truly doing his best to process the data he was to be given. It was also the only way they could ensure access to his processors if they felt it necessary to deal with anything they felt suspicious.
With a slight nod to the head of Autobot Special Operations, Prowl lowered the requested firewalls. He grimaced slightly as doing so immediately made the pressure on his processor increase by several times. Thankfully, even though there were three minds invading his, it was not quite as bad as during an active scan, as this time they were not actively searching for anything. No, this time the spy and the medic were simply observing and he was fairly confident that, at least during the analysis itself, they would do nothing else unless he stepped out of line.
Dismissing their presence for the time being, Prowl turned his attention to Smokescreen.
The other tactician faltered under his scrutiny, then bristled, engine revving in warning.
Prowl tucked his doorwings in a clearly deferential gesture and averted his gaze to the other Praxian's chassis. He signaled his readiness to proceed.
Smokescreen continued to glare at him for a moment longer, then nodded, relaxing slightly. He signaled the terminal and data began pouring in through the hub.
For exactly 2.3846 astroseconds, Prowl simply allowed himself to relish the feel of the sheer volume of data that flowed across his processors. Then he coolly tasked his tactical, logic and battle computers to roughly categorize and prioritize the information. That would be the single, most time consuming aspect of this analysis, both because of the volume of data he was working with and because it was the most important stage. Even the most miniscule amount of important data missed or wrongly categorized would throw off everything that followed. Because of that, while he proceeded quickly, the process was not so fast that his observers had trouble following what was going on.
Yes, it was a distinctly humiliating sensation to have three invading minds inspecting and observing how his processors worked, but Prowl was able to compartmentalize his own embarrassment in favor of accomplishing the task at hand. The first, rough categorization and filtering of data took just over a breem.
Then the real analysis began. The three monitors were again witness to the stunning efficiency with which Prowl routinely operated as multiple processors whirled simultaneously at speeds it was impossible for any one mech to track it all at once.
Whatever Jazz and Ratchet might have been expecting, all they got was the calm detached professionalism of a trained, highly skilled tactician.
The complexity of the problem and the speed with which Prowl was dealing with it, combined with the presence of three intruding minds in a one way interface, started taking its toll just over two breems into the analysis.
Prowl's doorwings trembled slightly at the increasing discomfort, but he continued without pause and without slowing. As he did so, the dull ache gradually grew into a pounding throb.
Three breems into his work, Prowl began feeding the results back into the terminal, using it to help process the data. The terminal would compare the results and pair them with additional information that might be related. Knowing what he was looking for, he narrowed the terminal's parameters and started processing the now re-hashed data.
At some point, he had shuttered his optics to block out excess sensory data to his taxed processors. Four breems into his analysis he was unable to keep from grimacing, the throb in his processors threatening to overcome his concentration. But he pressed on, double-checking and finalizing his calculations.
By four and a half breems he was organizing his final report, when he froze mentally, his vents stalling momentarily.
He glanced at Smokescreen. /Smokescreen…/ He highlighted a minor data feed his processors had just identified as important.
/I see it./ Smokescreen sounded angry. /Do you know who?/
Prowl shook his helm minutely. /Not with this data set. My apologies./
Smokescreen released a vent of air. /Probably just as well./
Recognizing that was all the response Smokescreen would give him, Prowl returned to finalizing his assigned task. He went over everything one more time and then wrapped up his end of the analysis. He logged his results and signaled his completion of the task.
Smokescreen wasted no time in unplugging the hub from the terminal and then disconnecting himself from the hub.
Prowl had raised one hand to rub his faceplate, though he made no move to disconnect from the hub, keeping all processors still. He waited silently for what he knew was coming – something far more uncomfortable and degrading than a simple processor scan – and he did so with resigned assent to the procedure, making no move to protect himself from it.
Jazz simply stared at him, however. "Ya aren't goin' to disconnect yourself?"
Surprise flashed through Prowl and he knew the medic and the saboteur caught it, as he had kept his firewalls lowered as he had been ordered. Even so, his only outward response was to online his optics and look incredulously at the saboteur. "You know as well as I that doing so while you are still in my processor would fragment yours."
Prowl looked away. "Besides, I know there is a reason neither of you have disconnected yet. I won't try and stop you."
The silence stretched again. Then, with an unreadable look at Ratchet, Jazz reached over and disconnected himself from the hub.
Ratchet watched him for a moment longer then reached forward to disconnect his own cord. Prowl's optics widened in genuine surprise, he spoke, causing the medic to halt, mid-motion.
"Are you not going to wipe the data from my memory files?"
All of the Autobots who heard the softly spoken, genuinely confused question reacted with horror and shock. Seeing their reactions, Prowl hastily explained. "It was my impression that I had not earned enough trust to have access to such information as I had to process for this task."
"So you expected us to strip it from your mind once we had what we wanted?" Ratchet demanded, his anger tempered with sympathetic dismay.
Prowl blinked, caught off guard by the medic's obvious revulsion of the prospect. "It was a distinct possibility, one I would not have been surprised by."
Jazz's hand convulsed into a fist on the console's surface. "And ya agreed ta do it anyway?"
Prowl's optic ridges furrowed as he shifted his gaze to the saboteur's "Of course. Like I said, personal dignity and comfort were not stipulated in my offer."
The Autobots exchanged looks, though Ironhide never looked away from Prowl. Optimus said nothing, but Prowl could somehow tell there was a wealth of emotions swirling behind the large mech's control. Smokescreen seemed very disconcerted while Jazz actually appeared like he was not sure what he should be thinking.
Ratchet moved then, drawing the black and white Praxian's attention. The CMO was coolly evaluating as he removed his cord. Releasing a soft vent of relief he could not deny, Prowl also quickly separated himself from the hub, plucking it from his data port.
Ratchet spoke then, handing him a pain chip. "Tell me, do you always run your battle and tactical computers at combat speeds when doing routine analysis?"
Prowl accepted the pain chip gratefully, fingering it a moment before sliding it into his wrist port. "No. Nor was that my active combat level. That was alert level and yes, that is the speed I normally operate under."
Smokescreen was staring at him. "You completed a multi layered analysis in under five breems."
Prowl nodded, perplexed Smokescreen of all mechs, would be surprised by this. "Yes, and while the volume of data was considerable, it was not overly excessive and there was only one, simple goal in mind. That was the primary contributing factor to the speed and ease with which it was completed. If I were calculating possible strategies for attacking the installations, it would have taken considerably longer, especially if you also wanted to know what other options were available."
Smokescreen's blank astonishment morphed into a slight frown. "That was easy for you, wasn't it?"
The two tacticians looked at each other for a long moment which none of the others wanted to break. Prowl did not miss the accusatory light that flicked across his former apprentice's optics and thought he understood. Prowl had taken his skills and put them to work for the Decepticons. That action had pitted them against each other, even if never directly, when they should have been friends… mentor and pupil…colleagues.
In Smokescreen's optics, Prowl's choice had not only been a direct betrayal, it had also taken away the younger mech's teacher before his training had been completed, thus robbing him of knowledge and the confidence that comes with knowing one had successfully met the stringent standards of a high profile apprenticeship, of knowing that he had mastered the skills inherent in the trade. And now, Smokescreen doubted everything he had thought he knew about Prowl
Prowl's betrayal of Smokescreen was not just factional, it was very, very personal for the other tactician, while it had only been a simple, coldly logical choice for Prowl. And that, perhaps, made it even that much more painful for the younger mech. This was not the first time Prowl had faced that fact, but this was the first time he had done so fully understanding its impact on his former apprentice.
True, Prowl might have submitted to a humiliating procedure in order to lend his own processing ability to a problem Smokescreen was unable to deal with, but that did not mean Smokescreen was ready to forgive him.
Smokescreen saw the wisps of pained understanding in the former Decepticon's optics, and his own only tightened in response. He would not forgive Prowl that easily, but that did not mean they would not work together when necessary.
Knowing his former apprentice as well as he did, Prowl was able to read all of that in the white and gray Praxian's expressive face with relative ease.
All of this an more was behind the underlying aggravation in Smokescreen's incredulous and heated question, a reminder that what was easy for Prowl should have at least been possible for Smokescreen, except it was not… because Prowl joined Megatron before he finished training the younger tactician.
Prowl nodded ever so slightly, acknowledging the unspoken terms Smokescreen had placed on their relationship more than the question asked. "This is what I was built and programmed to do."
The two considered each other for another long astrosecond and then Smokescreen deliberately turned his attention to his Prime. Recognizing the dismissal, Prowl dropped his own gaze briefly as Smokescreen spoke.
"That is not all. Prowl also identified a disturbing pattern in the data."
Prowl's optics widened slightly, though he said nothing. With that statement, even if he refused to forgive him, Smokescreen was acknowledging the validity of Prowl's analysis. It was more than the former Decepticon had been expecting.
"Disturbing in what way?" Optimus asked, optics flickering between the two Praxians before settling on the Autobot.
Smokescreen's engine revved with frustration and anger as he exchanged a short glance with his former mentor. Then he looked back at the Prime. "We have a possible traitor in our ranks."
Guesses as to who this 'possible traitor' is? Anyone? Even if you don't want to guess, please review.
