Coming to Terms

by Bibliotecaria.D

The Decepticons decide to do their part to cement the fragile peace. Now the Autobots have to come to terms with culture clash, interfacing kinks, and rubber chickens. Jazz can only hope these things aren't somehow connected.

8. Pt 8

I'm not reposting all the warnings. If you didn't read them in Pt. 1, then on your head be it.

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Pt. 8

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Monitor duty had become Serious Duty since treaty negotiations started. Sitting around staring at a bank of vidscreens was vastly more important when there was a Decepticon sitting at your back doing the exact same thing. Only being more Decepticon about it. Which mostly resembled the way the Autobots did it but was why an already serious duty got the capital letters now.

So Jazz took over for Red Alert without even a token protest. Not only was it really not the time for putting up a fuss about boring duty shifts, but, well, everyone knew that in order to keep the mech on monitor duty awake and alert, it was best to come gab at him for a while every shift. Not huge, attention-diverting discussions about the state of the universe in general, but some small talk. A short spat of chit-chat to pass the time.

Gossiping by the water cooler, basically.

It wasn't official, per se, but there was always constant flow of mechs filtering in every shift. They'd come in, chatter for a bit, get updated on the latest news that the last mech in had brought, and then go off again. Decepticon or Autobots; it didn't matter. Monitor duty was Gossip Central, and that hadn't changed for all that Soundwave and Blaster now waged passive-aggressive office battles over who got the most comfortable swivel chair every day.

Two factions, one room, all gossip? You'd better believe that the Jazzmeister would be there!

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemechs," he said in his best announcer's voice as he flopped into the not-quite-as-comfy-as-the-comfy-chair next to Blaster, "and welcome to this evening's edition of the Unofficial Newscast. I'm your host, Jazz, and this is my co-host..?" He held an invisible microphone out, inviting his co-host to chime in.

Blaster had the nice swivel chair and could afford to be gracious tonight. He good-naturedly took his cue, accepting the microphone with aplomb. "I'm Blaster, and we're here to tell you all the news that isn't news."

"And then some," Jazz agreed. He put his elbows on the console, sweeping an assessing gaze over all the monitors. Nothing seemed terribly out of place during his rapid check, and he nattered on, "First up today: those whacky triple-changers and their shenanigans. Blaster?"

"After a three cycle-long meeting with Ratbat and Hot Spot, we're still no closer to a resolution on the shipment schedule. Astrotrain claims building transport shuttles for energon distribution from the solar plants should be the focus of the next joint project, while Blitzwing insists yet again that the shuttle subset in the Decepticon Armada is not meant to be assigned to long-term materials transport! I don't know what to think of that. Self-centered, much?" Blaster shrugged in exaggerated dismay across the room at Spyglass, who was watching the two Autobot officers goof around with a semi-resigned, faintly-amused look on his face. Soundwave was ignoring them the same way he would the Insecticons trying to eat a mech's leg: it wasn't a serious threat, so it wasn't worth acknowledging until someone died.

Jazz shook his head right back at Blaster when turned to for his opinion, still speaking into an invisible microphone held in one hand while the other logged him in as on-shift. "No idea, my mech. You'd think he'd sacrifice a little dignity for the cause of peace, wouldn't you?"

"Exactly." One of Blaster's fingers twitched, pointing without pointing at the third monitor to the right, but Jazz didn't so much as turn his head. Behind the disguise of his visor, however, he watched as that monitor cycled through a series of camera shots from outside the main building. Blitzwing and Astrotrain seemed to be having an argument as they slouched against the outer wall.

"So they'll have to spend a few stellar cycles ferrying energon around until the distribution network's up and running," the saboteur pooh-poohed as he checked the comm. network for available icons. Gears and Huffer were tagged to 'casually meander' in the triple-changers' direction. "Big deal! They've spent how many millions of years ferrying Decepticon soldiers around? At least the energon doesn't get frisky in their holds!"

#Ride that choo-choo!# belted out into the command room from Blaster's tape deck, and this time Soundwave did react. He turned around and glared, visor narrowed just enough to be imposing as Blaster and Jazz swiveled from side-to-side in their seats in time to the music, arms raised to tug on invisible train whistle-strings.

The two Autobots were too busy hooting #Woo woo~!# to take notice of Soundwave's disapproval. Intimidation: FAIL.

The Decepticon officer turned back to his own monitor bank, and if he'd been less adept at hiding emotion, there probably would have been a pointed grumble or two aimed at immature idiot counterparts. There was no sign he'd noticed that two particular Autobots had just exited the medical/engineering building to walk toward main HQ, sulking the whole way. Well, he'd probably noticed - c'mon, this was Soundwave - but that wasn't the same as caring.

Jazz loved his job, some days. There was nothing quite like the rush of hiding things in plain sight.

Most of the Decepticons (and the Autobots, for that matter) had no idea the Olympic-level complaint marathons Gears and Huffer held had gotten more information for the Special Operations division than Mirage's stealth mods. Complainers weren't a threat. They were big, obvious annoyances who could initiate a one-up-you competition with anyone, anytime, no matter the topic. People blurted all kinds of information they normally wouldn't when trying to out-complain those two mechs. Unhappy with Optimus Prime's latest speech? Yeah, whatever, Gears had a bigger grief with the way Sunstreaker pushed him around in the halls. Think Megatron's master plan was a pile of slag? Tell Huffer about it; everything he'd ever built was a waste of time. A mech thought his life was bad? Then he had another thing coming, because Huffer and Gears took their unique mad skillz of finding the worst in everything to whole new depths of dissatisfaction with the world. They didn't just gripe; they rocked griping out.

Blaster smiled as the monitors cycled through again, showing Huffer and Gears 'stumbling' across the triple-changers. There were a few back-and-forth exchanges, silent because of the lack of audio, but there was no mistaking the sight of four mechs settling in for an epic bitchfest. Oh, the debriefing tonight would be rich.

"So what's the problem, here? Seems to me it's a little work for some future play," Jazz spoke into his invisible microphone, settling back to tell everyone his opinion on the matter. "Blaster, my main mech, level with me. It worth the fuss those two are puttin' up?"

"Blitzwing's going to ride his pride down in flames if he doesn't abandon ship, but Astrotrain seems to be thinking it's a waste of resources better allocated to shuttle-building instead of fueling a delivery rotation. Ratbat came out of nowhere with a series of plant production numbers that knocked the gaskets off those two, however," Blaster chuckled, "and Hot Spot's ever-hopeful that they'll see reason. Still, the question on everyone's lips remains:" and Jazz chimed in, because everyone had been asking, "Where is Octane?"

"Is he still on Earth?"

"Did he crash into an asteroid?"

"He might be dead!"

"Or stranded!"

"My bet," Swindle put in, leaning against the doorjamb, "is that he high-tailed it off to Monacus with a tank full of pure oil-distilled energon. He's probably bartered it off to a casino for three pleasure-drones and a docking slot hook-up. Off living the good life, the fragger. We won't be seeing him again until Cybertron has something he wants again."

Jazz and Blaster both swiveled to face the Combaticon, faces lighting up. 'Company!' beamed from their ecstatic grins. Swindle smirked back at them, knowing it was a solemn monitor duty to pump him for every iota of information he'd let slip. But, slaggit, the Autobots were more fun about it than the Decepticons ever were. For instance, Soundwave just gave him a blank stare, and the Reflector components had a distinct aura of disapproval.

The two Autobot officers, on the other hand, were all but dancing in their seats because someone had come to play! Yay!

"Three drones?" Blaster asked. "Really?" He made room at the monitor station, and Swindle leisurely sauntered over to take the offered spot leaning on the console between the Autobots. It wasn't like anything on the monitors couldn't be seen from the other half of the room, anyway. "Is that all, you think?"

"I'dve thought at least six or seven," Jazz agreed. "Folks, our first guest joining us for tonight's broadcast is the ever-scheming Swindle. Swindle's just put in his two-cents - well, more like one because he's a cheap sonnuvagun - on the Octane question, leaving us with the burning question of why he's predicting only three pleasure-drones hangin' off Octane's arms." He propped an elbow across the Decepticon's thighs, invading his personal space like it didn't even exist. And, like most sane mechs confronted with a lap full of Jazz, Swindle didn't protest. "Swindle, our listeners have to know. Only three? Why?"

Swindle widened one optic at Jazz, silently asking if this was actually being broadcasted. Jazz gave him nothing more informative than a wink of half his visor, and lifted his invisible microphone. The Combaticons briefly looked like he debated leaving, but hey, there was no business like show business.

Humoring the mad Autobot, he spoke toward the 'microphone' as if this were a real interview. "It's a matter of economics, Jazz. You'd think a mech like Octane would go for immediate pleasure over numbers, but I've seen him count his credits. Mech's not that bright, but he's canny." He held his hands out flat in front of himself. "Say he gets the six drones." His right hand dipped like someone had set a weight on it, and his other hand rose in response. "Suddenly, he's got only enough left in his tank for half a vorn of dock space. Three drones," his right hand rose, balancing out with his other hand, "and he's got a full vorn to plan his next move." He considered the balance and nodded to himself. "Full tank of pure distill? Casinos on Monacus will pay premium price for that. He'll have it good there, and I wouldn't bet on him leaving until he runs out of credits." Swindle clapped his hands together decisively, looking down at the blue visor gazing attentively up at him. "So! Three drones, you see?"

"Uh-huh," Blaster said thoughtfully, attention split between Swindle and actual monitor duty. "I can see the logic in that. But Monacus isn't the only place Octane could hit up for sanctuary, and I've got a listener on the line who'd like to have his say. Kup?"

"Evening, Blaster, Jazz. Swindle, you no-good scoundrel," Kup said clearly from Blaster's speakers, and his playful tone of voice kept away even the remotest chance of offence, "who're you fooling? Octane wants hot bods and hotter mods, he'll head to Brobdingnag. Planet of the giants, and you know they do everything - and I do mean everything - almost larger than a mech can handle! There was this one time back in…"

Swindle relaxed back on the console, not even bothering to pretend that he wasn't enjoying being the center of attention as Kup started in on one of his famous stories and Jazz made himself comfortable for the long haul. Huffer and Gears annoyed 'bots into complaining back, but Kup had competitive storytelling down to an art. Even when a Decepticon knew he was giving too much away, it was just too entertaining to stop when the banter began with Kup. Jazz let Blaster take over the 'interview' and dimmed his visor enough to not give away where he was looking while arranging himself to keep his half of the monitors in his line of sight. It may have looked like he was slouched half-on Swindle, elbow and back propped against the Combaticon, but he kept Soundwave in sight at all times. He counted on Blaster to both watch his back and keep an optic on the Reflector components.

This truce thing was far more difficult than it looked on the surface. A neutral observer might walk into this room to see three mechs talking and another group across the room working. Any Cybertronian would probably walk in and promptly rebound off the layers of tension turning the air solid. This was nine million years of distrust, shut into a room.

There was a ping on the comm. network, requesting a pick-up from one of the security duty slots. Blaster diverted it from Red Alert's icon automatically. The Security Director would have to be dead before he'd drop himself off monitoring Autobot lines, but Blaster could - and would - keep anything but an emergency from interrupting him right now. Jazz accepted the ping as Blaster opened a second diversionary line for another call from some Autobot working out at the solar plants. Swindle continued to soak up the attention, and Jazz didn't shift a centimeter as he opened a line to Silverbolt.

*"Talk to me, Hannibal Smith."*

*"Is the line secure?"* The Aerialbot commander rarely dropped his sober mien, but he'd added an extra dollop of serious to his voice today.

*"Hold on a sec."* Jazz twisted, display an improbable amount of flexibility in order to point a finger over Swindle's lap at Blaster. "Wait, wait, we're all assumin' Octane's left Earth! Why'd he go and do that? Mech's got it made. There's over thirty countries with open-door policies just for him, and another fifteen that wouldn't actively kick him out." Which made it a gearstuck nightmare trying to track him down, even though the mech supposedly was still in Trypticon's company. That was just the grease on the joint for why everyone was so anxious to find the mech, but both fortress-former and fuel tanker had up and disappeared.

"The mech makes friends out of entire countries," Blaster agreed. "Fuel or not, we could use him around here right now." Diplomacy on the casual level didn't seem like a big deal until the Autobots and Decepticons had found that they didn't have a single iota of it outside of high politics. Jazz was trying his best to get Kup's storytelling and the complaint marathons going if only to promote some kind of interaction between the factions.

Uh…non-interfacing interaction, that was. Although that seemed as though it was being pushed on the Decepticons' side, so the Autobots were going to have to just deal with it. Sooner, rather than later.

The Combaticon had startled at Jazz's sudden move and jerked his arms away from where they'd been folded across his chest. Uncertain hands hovered over the Autobot's helm as Blaster spoke and the smaller black-and-white mech nodded thoughtfully. Jazz rested his chin in the crook of the elbow on Swindle's thigh, and across the room, somebody didn't choke off their ventilation system in time. Swindle grinned lopsidedly in that direction as all four Decepticons studiously did not look at Jazz settling himself firmly into the argument.

"We can't even go to the United Nations asking for him to be turned over to us." The saboteur wriggled to make himself comfortable. Someone's fans made a suspicious whirring noise. "Our darling Decepticons here," he tilted his head toward the other side of the room, "agreed to classify humans as 'sentient aliens, Autobot allies' in the ceasefire. Unless Megatron declares Octane a criminal, we've got no grounds to evict him from friendly ally-countries!"

"Are you saying I could go to Earth right now if I wanted to?" Swindle asked the Autobot in his lap. The Combaticon was all business. Mostly. There might have been a low rumble from his engine underlying his words, but who could blame him? Jazz's fingers had started tapping on his - along his - up his - business! All business. When it came to business, Swindle was cool as a cucumber! "I'm not a criminal."

"No, you're not caught yet," Blaster corrected.

"Innocent until proven guilty," Swindle shot back readily.

"Guilty until someone is sufficiently bribed," Jazz said, always the optimist, and Blaster warily leaned away from the pair of mechs who smiled at him with freakily similar ingenuousness. "To answer your question," the saboteur turned his head to peer sidelong up at his armrest, "no. You'd have to apply for an entry and business visa from the Earth Embassy to go back, now. Octane's only a legal resident on Earth right now if he's still on Earth. If he didn't leave before the truce ally-planet stipulations went into effect, the country he's in can issue him an in-place Earth residence permit, just like the USA did for Metroplex." Meaning that Trypticon could be a legal resident of Earth as well. And wasn't that an alarming loose end?

Swindle looked down the length of his own windshield at the Autobot coyly peeking up at him, and from the look of it, he swallowed down the first three things than went through his processor. They were probably all business-related offers, but the first two were likely enough to put some stress on the peace negotiations, and the third was almost certainly illegal outside of the Decepticons. Actually, that was limiting the conmech. Jazz wasn't sure about the legality of Swindle's business propositions on Cybertron, period. "Ah…so, not likely I'll be getting a visa?" the Combaticon said a little weakly. Tap tap went Jazz's fingers. "I don't know about that. I can be pretty persuasive."

"I'm sure you can," Jazz put just the right emphasis on that, and suddenly there was more than one rogue fan buzzing in the room. "However, I'm still wonderin' - if you wanna go back so bad, why are you assuming Octane ever left?" He heaved himself back around, settling back into his previous position lounging against Swindle's leg. That leg jolted, just a tad. "Seems like he'd wanna stay. Blaster?"

The other Autobot took over without a hitch, having caught Jazz's tap-code and secured the open comm. line while everyone was distracted by The Jazz Game, Interactive Edition. "We've already got a caller on the line agreeing with you, like he read your mind! Hound, fill us in. Where's Octane hidden himself?"

"Blaster, I don't know about the political atmosphere, but I can tell you, there's thousands of places on Earth Octane could hide away in! I don't even know where to start listing…"

*"Don't know how sensitive this information is,"* Silverbolt told Jazz as soon as the saboteur dropped back into the comm. line, *"but better safe than sorry. We've found Starscream."*

A surge of rage never made it to Jazz's face, but it was felt all the same. Dismantling the Air Commander would have to wait, however. *"Why do you think it might be sensitive information?"*

*"Because we found all the other Decepticon flyers, too,"* Silverbolt said slowly. *"All the ones off-shift, anyway. Air Raid saw a formation heading out of city limits toward Tarn, and he…decided to follow them."* Meaning that Air Raid had taken off after the Decepticons without checking in with Silverbolt or otherwise warning anyone that he was going off half-cocked. As per usual, really. Jazz didn't even bother slapping a mark on Air Raid's disciplinary record anymore. *"They must have known he was there,"* because Air Raid was many things, but stealthy? Not so much. By Silverbolt's tone, his commander knew that fact all too well, *"but they made no evasion attempts. About 6 kils outside of the ruins, Skywarp contacted him and offered to escort him to, and I quote, 'the show.' Contact, I should add, was made by Skywarp teleporting in just out of weapon's range and swinging about to fly parallel to his flight path."* Meaning that the escort offer hadn't been so much an offer as telling Air Raid that this was what Skywarp was going to do, so if he didn't like it - tough luck.

*"Any hostile moves?"*

Silverbolt actually seemed somewhat amused. *"This is about when I was informed of what was going on. Air Raid was thoroughly thrown off his course by Skywarp being, and I quote again, 'so dang polite.' He called me in a panic."* No surprise there. Ironhide had sat down with each of the more, er, excitable Autobots currently staffing Vos for the peace negotiations. He'd made sure they understood exactly what the consequences of being the moron who upset the tentative Autobot-Decepticon peace process would be. Cliffjumper had volunteered to stay back at the unofficial HQ after his session with Ironhide, but the Aerialbots had developed an urgent need for authority figures to sign off on any and all interactions with Decepticons. The constant permission-seeking had been steadily driving Silverbolt up the wall, but it'd been a relief to the other Autobot officers. Better too cautious than not enough!

*"I contacted Skywarp."* There was a pause, and the Aerialbot commander's amusement had disappeared into apprehension when he continued, *"I've never heard Skywarp be that formal. He invited me out to their location as well."*

That particular word use was beginning to carry bad connotations for Jazz. *"What do you mean by 'formal'?"*

Instead of answering, Silverbolt played back an audio clip. *"If you wish to observe the proceedings, you are invited to join us,"* a disquietingly familiar voice said, and it was just plain wrong to hear Skywarp sounding like a rational, normal Cybertronian. *"Air Raid followed Skywarp,"* Silverbolt said while Jazz pondered that, *"and they landed in what the map downloads tell me is what's left of downtown Tarn. He couldn't give me a count, but it sounds like there's at least three hundred Deception flyers out there with him."*

One Autobot surrounded by hundreds of Decepticons? A chill raced through Jazz's spark. *"Get him out of there immediately."*

*"With all due respect, sir, I think that might be a bad idea. Air Raid says it's really tense there, but, well, it's not being directed at him. He's getting lots of strange looks, but Skywarp's sticking to him. There are more flyers arriving by the klik, but nobody's leaving. If we pull him out…"*

That tension might ignite. Jazz had been in that kind of situation before, where people might fasten on the oddity as a target if given an excuse. *"Gotcha. What's the focal point?"*

*"Starscream."* Of course. *"Sir, Air Raid says he's fighting for his life."*

…what? *"Explain that!"* This could be bad, very bad. It was one thing to plot revenge on Red Alert's behalf, but actually following through was a personal luxury Jazz could never allow himself for the sake of the peace treaty. Assassinating the Decepticon Second-in-Command this far into the negotiations would result in a power struggle no one could afford at this point. Megatron's hierarchy in the ranks would need to be re-established, and the likelihood of in-fighting leading back to restarting the war was terribly high.

Silverbolt was unhappily aware of that fact. *"I'm not sure of the details. I pinged as soon as Air Raid mentioned the fighting, and all he's been able to update me on is that it seems to be some kind of ritualized combat. Starscream's fighting an unidentified Decepticon grunt one-on-one, and all their weapons are laid out on the ground. They're not using them. But Starscream's already wounded."*

The part of Jazz that had been seething with fury since Red Alert's meek sign-off cackled with fierce joy. The rest of him fell into glacial calm, already pinging Prowl, Optimus Prime, and Ironhide with a briefing of the situation and Jazz's proposed action response. First Aid received a heads-up alert to prepare for possible incoming wounded, and the other officers were put on alert. Sideswipe accepted the monitor duty-tag and headed down from his station on the fourth floor to replace him, already setting up a backstory with the saboteur as he went. Blaster rearranged the shift schedule without missing a beat talking to Swindle and Trailbreaker.

Jazz himself stretched luxuriously, causing Swindle to momentarily lose his train of thought and stare down at him. The Autobot let his helm fall back against the Combaticon's thigh, and he smiled up at him. "What? I'm not made to sit still for so long." The Combaticon shut off his optics and shook his head before pointedly redirecting his attention to Blaster's last question.

Jazz pushed off Swindle and stood up for another stretch, but his mind was a dozen steps ahead already. *"Hannibal, leave Face at the base."* Skydive would be the least likely to mindlessly race off to the rescue if something did happen, and he'd also be the one most likely to survive if the rest of his team went down. Like Prowl, the strategist had suppression software that clicked into play under high emotional stress. That wouldn't guarantee he'd outlive his gestaltmates, but he had the best chance. *"Pull Murdock and B.A. off patrol, and the three of you meet me at the Vos/Tarn border. Warn B.A. and Barracus to be on their best behavior."*

*"Yes sir."*

Most of the flyers were Vosian, and the only rituals that had come up lately were Vosian in nature. Assuming this was some kind of Vosian ritual, not Decepticon, Jazz could think of no good that could come from it. Except Starscream's messy end, but in the cold logic of Jazz's thoughts, even that couldn't be celebrated.

Sideswipe moped into the command room like a mech going to waste-dump duty. Overdone angst, minus the bowl of Cheerios to cry into. 'Wah wah waaah,' he bleated protest. Didn't wanna, couldn't make him.

Jazz frowned, Jazz-the-officer showing through the Jazzmeister-the-mech for the first time the whole shift. Yes, he could. 'Bad mech. Monitor duty for you.'

'Wah wah WAH!' But Sideswipe hadn't done it! There was no evidence! He hadn't even been on Cybertron! He'd been set up by - by garden gnomes! And the Mech Who Wasn't There! Anyway, it had been a joke and Prowl needed to grow a sense of humor, so -

The frown deepened. 'Bad mech. Monitor duty for you.'

'…wah.' Sideswipe plunked down in Jazz's chair and sulked. Woe betide him. Blaster and Swindle laughed with utterly no sympathy when he gave them his best pitiable optics, and he turned a sullen pout on the monitors since nobody else seemed to sympathize with his whining. 'Waaaaaaaah.'

"Good luck with that," Jazz told Blaster, who jokingly shook a fist after him. He gave Soundwave's watchful look a jaunty salute and waved at Reflector as he walked toward the door. Even as he left, however, Sideswipe was starting a game of Texas Hold 'Em with Swindle, keeping up his pouting mask with apparently no effort as he did so. Jazz tagged Smokescreen to join them as soon as the Praxian reached the area; there was no way to prevent Soundwave from tracking this little adventure, but a loud, distracting crowd in the command room would at least help. No reason to make it easy, after all.

Jazz exited the building and transformed to drive toward the unofficial Autobot base. He didn't see anyone following him, but catching Laserbeak or Ravage wasn't a certainty any day, even with his sensors stretched to their limits. He settled for racing along the route, taking advantage of the one thing larger mechs had over Cassetticons: speed. He pushed himself as fast as possible for a breem before suddenly veering toward the border. Now he stuck to what shadows the setting sun gave him and took advantage of anything that sheltered him from spying optics on high. Speed was still his best bet.

He pinged Silverbolt as he went. *"Two breems until I reach the border. Is the A-Team in position?"*

*"We're ready."*

*"Update?"*

*"It's still one-on-one combat, unarmed. Starscream's fought off two mechs so far. No fatalities, although the damage was pretty bad. Air Raid says he tore the wings off one mech after forcing him to surrender or die."* Silverbolt sounded revolted, and Jazz couldn't blame him. At the same time, he could almost understand Starscream's reasoning. Just because a Decepticon surrendered didn't mean he was out of the fight. It just meant he'd wait for a better time to strike. Want to take a surrendered Decepticon out of the fight for good? Disable him. Want to disable a flyer? Take away his wings.

Understandable, but still brutal.

*"What's happening to the wounded?"*

*"One moment."* Silverbolt's icon flashed off the secured line. Jazz's tires squealed around a hard corner, and the saboteur swore softly before running silent again. The icon came back on. *"Air Raid couldn't see, but he asked Skywarp. There's a medic on-site tending the wounded. Somebody named Knock Out?"*

Jazz raced the sun, trying to make it as far as possible before having to turn on his headlights. He could use his scanners, but he'd have to slow down for that. Headlights were big flashing signs of 'Autobot here!' he wanted to avoid as long as he could. *"I know him. Tell Air Raid to stay the frag away from him, no matter how shiny he is."*

*"Fireflight's the one with the shiny thing obsession, sir,"* Silverbolt said wearily.

*"I don't mean just physically. Mech once talked his way out of the middle of an Autobot battalion, and those he couldn't talk around, he cut through."* The only good news was that Knock Out wasn't a flyer, and that probably meant he wasn't Vosian. If this wasn't a Vosian-only event, then maybe disaster could be averted. Not to raise his hopes or anything, but a medic being present might mean this wasn't combat to the death. If Starscream survived, the treaty might make it, too. If the horrid little Decepticon medic didn't just laugh and kill him for the fun of it. *"Think Ratchet, only prettier and more psychotic."*

*"More psychotic..? Nevermind. I'll warn him."*

*"Good."* He pinged icons, dropping them into the comm. line. It made it less secure, but there was no avoiding that now. *"You ready to be soldiers of fortune, A-Team?"*

*"We're getting paid for this?"* Slingshot said immediately. *"How much?"*

*"How about a kick in the aft? I think the Autobots can afford to give you a few of those."* Jazz transformed to jump over a ruined city wall, and he pelted across the pitted remains of what had once been a wide border-road toward the opposite wall. *"Hannibal, I need a lift."*

"I'm happy to oblige," the Aerialbot commander said, standing up and reaching down from the top of the wall.

Jazz made a running leap, taking a jump-step up the wall before grabbing hold of Silverbolt's outstretched hand. The larger Autobot hauled him up easily, and Jazz glanced back the way he'd come. The last rays of sunlight backlit Vos, turning it dark as midnight. Even if a Cassetticon had been following him, he wouldn't have been able to see anything against the sun. He settled for hunkering down behind the wall. The Aerialbots were already clustered there, although Fireflight looked jittery from staying grounded and Slingshot had a sneer almost wider than his face.

"Alright, here's what I want. B.A.," he pointed at Slingshot, who sneered back at him, "you stay on the border. Patrol this area, but don't enter Tarn and don't be a sitting target." He gave the smallest Aerialbot a glare when Slingshot started to protest. "Cram it. Remember what Ironhide said he'd do if you stepped outta line again?" The jet's reddish-orange visor widened nervously, and Jazz summoned a singularly nasty grin. "Don't make me tell you what I'll do after he's done. Murdock, you're flying in with us."

Fireflight nodded so enthusiastically he bounced on his knees. Silverbolt just sighed his vents in resignation, having long-ago given up keeping his dignity in the face of Jazz's persistent flippancy. Besides, unlike Slingshot, the other Aerialbots secretly - or not-so-secretly - enjoyed the A-Team references the other Autobots inflicted on them. The comparisons weren't always flattering, but having a whole American television show of in-jokes had done a lot to bring the Aerialbots into the Ark's crew.

It wasn't that Slingshot really hated being referred to as 'Bad Attitude B.A.' He just hated everything in general. He glared after them when they took off, but he transformed to start flying the border as ordered.

"He's worried," his commander said quietly, voice echoing through his interior.

"I am, too. This could get pretty ugly, and I don't just mean because we have to look at Starscream's face." Jazz had braced himself against the curved inner wall of Silverbolt's altmode for take-off, feet against the opposite wall. The Concorde SST was meant to be a human passenger plane, but Ratchet had taken out three-quarters of Silverbolt's passenger seating to make way for situations just like this. Optimus Prime wouldn't be able to fit in Silverbolt without some elbow grease to pop him in and out, but most of the smaller Autobots could manage comfortably. Jazz propped his feet on either side of a window and watched Fireflight fly at Silverbolt's wing.

Silverbolt's voice was even quieter this time, just whispering through the cabin. "I thought…he was courting you?" He sounded uncertain if he should press for more information.

"We're not sure what's going on with that," the saboteur said as neutrally as possible. Silverbolt had been present at the officer briefing last night, but he hadn't been in on the loop for events today. Silverbolt was a commander of a sub-group of Autobots, making him an officer by default, but his youth and accompanying lack of actual experience meant he wasn't strictly part of the command cadre. Sometimes. Occasionally. He held, in the words of Optimus Prime introducing him to Ultra Magnus, a complicated rank.

Okay, so the Prime had originally said 'special' rank before Slingshot was a jerk and made a short-bus joke that'd gone completely over Ultra Magnus' head. Ironhide and Air Raid had smacked the loudmouth upside the head, and Ultra Magnus had politely let the confusion pass when Prime restated himself. Thank Primus. The Ark crew was having a difficult enough time explaining all their Earth references to the other Autobots without having to admit that a couple of the Aerialbots - whose creation was hard enough to explain on its own! - thought their team leader was retarded in the programming because he was afraid of heights. The Aerialbots hadn't been created with a 'Politically Correct' button to mash in situations like that. Or ever, really.

Immature flying war machines. Oi.

Speaking of which. "I'm being hailed by Skywarp," Silverbolt reported right as purple light flashed out beyond Fireflight. It momentarily lit the twilight sky, and Fireflight veered alarmingly close to Silverbolt before the Concorde evaded. "Response?"

Jazz narrowed his visor at the black and purple jet barely visible in the twilight sky beyond the smaller Aerialbot. "Give him a second to scan you and pick up - "

*"Jazz!"* Skywarp exclaimed, mock-delighted. *"How nice of you to visit!"*

" - my signature." Fireflight descended and ducked underneath his commander, presumably to take position on his other side as Skywarp slid into place at Silverbolt's wing. *"Hello, Skywarp. It seems there's a party, and I wasn't invited. I'm hurt."*

An unpleasant tone of amusement underlay Skywarp's voice as he demurred, *"It wasn't intentional. You're welcome to come."* A dark laugh came across the comm. line, the kind of laughter that meant nothing good for the one being laughed at. *"This'll be of particular interest to you, I'd think. Follow me!"* He crowded closer before zipping ahead, and Jazz had to brace himself as Silverbolt lurched in the Decepticon's turbulent wake.

*"What kind of party is this, Skywarp?"* Jazz asked, but only more laughter answered him. Silverbolt angled down, murmuring a warning that they were coming in for a landing. *"I better not need my dancing shoes."*

*"Oh, that would depend."* Skywarp dropped back to transform and smirk through the window at Jazz as Silverbolt's nose tipped back up and the ground got closer.

The Decepticon was trying to be annoying, but the Autobot Third-in-Command was also Head of Special Operations. He was used to putting up with irritating informants. *"On what?"*

One last smirk, and then Skywarp was out of sight. Silverbolt jolted as his landing gear touched down. *"On whether Starscream is still courting you."*

Silverbolt was still taxi-ing to a halt and Jazz was edging toward the exit when the stoic Aerialbot commander snapped sharply, "Fireflight, pull up!" The black-and-white mech tucked and rolled out the open hatch just as Silverbolt started to transform. The exit shrank behind the saboteur, sliding along transformation seams as the Concorde mass-shifted, stowing a large portion of his altmode's structure in subspace. It resulted in an Autobot only a few meters taller than an average Seeker whirling around to look for his wayward gestaltmate.

Who was being held bridal-style, undamaged but shell-shocked, in Skywarp's arms. "They still let you fly on your own?" the Seeker asked him. "You're a menace."

Fireflight's surprise morphed into a hurt scowl. "You're mean."

"Decepticon!" Skywarp asserted with no shame whatsoever. "Comes with the territory." He looked up, grinned at the two Autobots gaping at him, held Fireflight out as if offering him to them - and then cheerfully dropped him.

"Waaaaoof!"

"You're welcome," he said to the Aerialbot now sprawled at his feet.

Dazed, Fireflight just looked up at him. "…thank you?"

"Fireflight, get up," Silverbolt sighed, seeming to decide that chiding Skywarp was a lost cause. Catching Fireflight before he crashed had been positively charitable of the mech, anyway. Being petty about it afterward was a small price to pay. "Thank you, Skywarp."

"No thanks necessary. I'm always up for rescuing little Autobots from…all kinds of things," the Seeker leered suggestively. Silverbolt stiffened angrily, optics narrowing. Skywarp's optics glittered cruelly, and Fireflight looked into them with dawning fear.

The Aerialbots had adored the Decepticon Seekers, once upon a time. Such crushes didn't die away into nothing, not during war.

"Keep your mitts off my 'bots, Skywarp, or I'll give Megatron a list of all the infractions we've been keepin' track of since the peace negotiations started," Jazz said, striding forward so the Seeker focused on him and not the Aerialbot clumsily scooting away. "Don't think we haven't been noticing your excuse for a sense of humor showing up. We haven't done anything 'bout it so far because peace is worth tolerating an annoyance like you. But which do y' think Megatron thinks is more important: one easily-replaced, uppity soldier who thinks he's funny, or peace?" The small Autobot officer stood in front of him, hands on his hips and visor insolently tilted up, and the hint of a grin really ground the point in. "Think real hard on that, now."

They matched glares for a klik, but it was Skywarp who eventually gave in. Jazz was right; Skywarp's pranks had been steadily getting more malicious, and they had to be going against Megatron's express orders. Given the choice of Skywarp or the peace negotiations, Skywarp was going to be the one who lost.

That didn't mean he had to be a gracious loser. "Come on," he snarled, whirling away to stomp through the ruins. "And keep up," he said over a wing as the three Autobots hurried after him. His voice turned sweetly poisonous. "You wouldn't want one of your precious baby jets to get left behind among us uppity soldiers."

Jazz didn't reply. It was a snide comment not meant to be replied to, and the saboteur had bigger things on his mind than pandering to Skywarp's smarting pride. His sensors had been screaming warnings at him from the moment he exited Silverbolt, and the internal alarms were only getting louder. Fireflight yipped softly but didn't object as Silverbolt and Jazz sandwiched him between them, taking firm holds on his horizontal stabilizers from either side. The small jet was twitchy with nerves and proximity alerts, head twisting every which way to try and see everything at once, but that wasn't possible. Jazz and Silverbolt were more guarded, giving less away as they scanned in opposite directions.

Only Skywarp was at ease here, picking his way through gutted buildings that were all that remained of Tarn. Twilight had rapidly given way to full dark, just the distant metallic shine of a rising moon lighting their way, but the darkness all around them was full of red optics. Some of them watched the Autobots pass, turning in pairs and groupings to track them. Others clustered and moved in the dark without more than an assessing look, more concerned with their own affairs.

Jazz's sensors picked out what his optics couldn't show him, and his hand tightened on Fireflight's stabilizer as if it could keep the young Aerialbot safe. All around them, Decepticons perched on broken struts, sat on crumbled walls, and stood in dead-end streets more wreckage than paving. They spoke quietly, laughed raucously, and when the distant din of combat changed, they moved toward it with the uncanny unison of a flock of birds.

Or a trained military unit, which wasn't what Jazz wanted to think about when that military unit was several hundred strong and sweeping him along in its midst. Silverbolt and Fireflight had unconsciously picked up the sense of excitement all around them communicated by raised wings and moving flaps, and Jazz had to increase his pace when they sped up. Skywarp gave him an archly superior look when they drew even with him, but he didn't comment on the Aerialbots' sudden intensity. There was a strange sort of animation in the purple-and-black Seeker's expression, too. Jazz couldn't identify it.

Sound carried far among the ruins of Tarn. Skywarp guided them through the wreckage toward the source, but there was a reason the Autobots and Decepticons had chosen to meet in Vos instead of one of the other destroyed city-states in the region. Vos had been bombed out, but the assault concentration had been on taking out flyers. Ground-level damage was comparatively minimal. Not like Tarn. There wasn't a whole building left standing in this city-state.

They edged past a collapsed wall, through the lobby of some past apartment building, and climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor. From there, the harsh glare of floodlights could be seen up ahead. Skywarp scornfully offered Jazz a hand, but Silverbolt was the one who lifted the Head of Special Operations from the fourth floor, across the rubble that had been a crossroads, and set him on the second floor of another burnt-out building. They went down the stairs and emerged onto a street that was still traversable.

It was full of Decepticons. Most ignored them, possibly because Jazz's smaller body was hidden in the stark shadows cast by the three flyers around him. Skywarp led them into the river of soldiers, heading toward the circle of floodlights up ahead. In that light, Jazz glanced at the mechs streaming past. They were gliders, fighter jets, helicopters, shuttles, and transport skiffs. He couldn't even identify all their altmodes, but they all possessed that singular pride of Vos: flight. Their faces shared Skywarp's odd eagerness. They communicated it through body language like predators closing in for the kill - or spectators.

*"Air Raid says Starscream's taking on one of the Rainmakers,"* Silverbolt murmured through the comm., and Jazz nodded fractionally. The Rainmakers were Shockwave's lead trine, not Megatron's, but they'd headed the Decepticon Armada during Starscream's four million year absence.

Taking the chance that distance would help secure the line from Soundwave, Jazz pinged Air Raid's icon. *"Which one is it?"*

*"Not the green one, what's-his-name, Rainman,"* Air Raid said promptly. *"It's the yellow one who always looks like he's got a campfire in his cockpit."*

*"Not Rainman. Acid Storm,"* Fireflight put in. *"Even I know that."*

*"How do you know that?"*

Fireflight shot a shy look at Jazz, then Silverbolt. *"Um…tell you later."*

That sounded like something inquiring minds needed to know. Jazz had an inquiring mind. He obviously needed to know.

He and Silverbolt gave the Autobot between them a demanding look, and Fireflight squirmed. He flapped his hands, part shrug and part helpless gesture at Skywarp: 'Later later.' The two officers exchanged resolute looks. Fireflight smiled wanly as they nodded at him: 'Yes, later.'

There was a barrier across the road up ahead where the skyscrapers on either side had crumpled toward each other, met in the middle, and gone down in a massive heap of debris. Half of the 'flock' around them accelerated, hitting the wreckage in leaping runs lit by the short flame-bursts of thruster-boosted jumps from foothold-to-foothold until they disappeared over the top. No one seemed willing to just fly up and over.

The other half of the soldiers headed straight into the mound of rubble. Skywarp forged ahead, wings spread wide to clear room in his wake as they joined the crowd.

Jazz was too short to see what was happening. From his perspective, the brief fires of the jumpers kept getting closer and closer, but the crowd wasn't climbing up. Instead, they were suddenly on a rough-hewn pathway sloping down, and the floodlight-lit dark of night was replaced by the pitch black of a tunnel. His visor narrowed, then widened in response, reaching for any bit of light to help see while his scanners bleeped and warbled enemy proximity alerts in constant dismay: 'Warning, danger, warning, danger, warning…'

There was light, once his vision adjusted. Red and orange and green optics provided muted illumination, studded by the occasional blue and purple pair. Optics, visors, and sometimes cockpits or wingtips glowed like an underground rainbow. One large mech with a full set of white and pink running lights tracing his forearms, lower legs, and wings shouldered past Silverbolt. Skywarp's dark canopy glass didn't show anything inside, but Jazz could see the frenzied whirl of radar and lidar panels through Fireflight's cockpit.

It was more beautiful than it should have been.

There was no silence, despite the strange pressure the Autobots felt to whisper. Metal feet clanged off the uneven metal ground; wings scraped across shoulders, banged off girders propping up the walls; snatches of continued talking echoed loudly; turbines whined. Someone tripped further back, prompting a whole percussion section of thumps, thunks, clinks, and clanks, along with yells of surprise and anger. And up ahead, a dull roar grew. It sounded familiar, and something ached in Jazz's chest to hear it.

It sounded like the ocean on Earth, throwing waves up on a storm-torn sea-shore. It sounded like a concert heard from outside the venue: nothing but indistinct noise and cheering. It sounded like driving toward a far-away battle. It sounded like the propaganda rallies Megatron had held in the lower levels of Kaon, after the gladiatorial matches but before the Enforcers arrived. It sounded like standing at the back of the room when Sentinel Prime had given a speech: grumbles and mumbles and nonstop noise.

Jazz held onto Fireflight's stabilizer just a little tighter as the tunnel exit appeared, an arch of white light above the heads in front of them, and then the sound of a crowd washed over them in a blaze of brilliant light: cheers, laughter, jeering, commentary, mockery. It was the noise of several hundred separate conversations trying to be heard above the hubbub, and - somewhere close, somewhere central, standing out yet mixed in - the fierce, sharp staccato sounds of a fight.

An unwelcome hand had him by the shoulder, but Jazz restrained his first impulse to remove that hand at the wrist. Patience, tolerance, relearning war-time habits. Thinking first and reacting later was the price of peace. The multiple layers of his visor compressed as he squinted into the harsh floodlights, filtering the worst. He identified the shape before he could see the colors.

"Stick close," Skywarp said, pulling on his shoulder. "You'll never find each other if you get split up here."

That was more than a little ominous, but as his vision adjusted and fed information into the picture painted by his scanners, it was also only truth. Air Raid's initial estimate had been three hundred Decepticons. Looking around, Jazz upped that estimate to at least five, if not six hundred. There had to be that many different color combinations, a few hundred different special modification builds, a couple hundred different frame designs. Hundreds of pairs of wings folded up and down, flicking every which way in excitement, or boredom disguising excitement. Every pair was stamped with purple insignia, and every Decepticon was armed.

Fireflight looked cowed, and even Silverbolt's stoic mask had slipped to reveal just how overwhelmed the Aerialbot commander was. Three Autobots in the midst of the Decepticon Armada. If they got separated…

Jazz obediently followed Skywarp's pull and towed Fireflight after him in turn. Silverbolt, of course, wasn't about to let his gestaltmate go, so he brought up the rear of their little train. The Aerialbots were pressed close to each other, concerned with staying together, but Jazz looked around. He pinged Blaster and Ironhide, feeding information from his scanners straight through the comm. system to them. At this distance, Soundwave likely got a copy of everything the saboteur sent over the network, but that was a necessary sacrifice at this point. The Autobots needed real-time information on this situation. Visual scans always transmitted badly through comm. systems, but it was better than nothing. He let his gaze linger on the crowd, counting individuals and units as well as assessing the overall mood.

The collapsed skyscrapers provided two walls around what had probably once been a city park. Maybe there had once been a sculpture featured in the park's center. A circle-intersection had probably gone around it before the skyscrapers had gone down. The surrounding buildings had fallen over those roads, forming a makeshift amphitheater around the center, which was still mostly clear of major wreckage. Tonight, the collapsed buildings had become seating. The rubble stacked up in tiers from what had been the park's center, providing arena-type seating for the still-arriving crowd.

The Decepticons seemed in no hurry to settle down. The flyers swirled in eddies and drifts, groups and individuals always moving. But they climbed and sat and got up to move again with one optic always on the middle, the center of the 'arena.' They were here to watch the fight.

Even under the floodlights, Sunstorm glowed a vicious yellow. His fists trailed streamers of electromagnetic fire, and his armor crackled with white sparks. The air around him distorted with radiation visible to the naked optics, and it shrilled dangerously across other sensors. His optics were the orange of an angry sun, spitting tendrils of fire out of the join where optic-glass was set into flexible facial micro-plating. There were deep scrapes across his armor, and where there weren't scrapes, there were cracks where repeated impact-damage had finally broken through the radioactive Decepticon's augmented structure. It looked like someone had held him down and beat the living slag out of him until his enhanced regenerative abilities threw in the hat.

Smoke trickled in short exhales from his vents, including his mouth. From the set of that mouth, Sunstorm was very much unhappy with the situation. Whether from the beating he'd already taken, or the pleased look on his opponent's face, it was hard to say.

Starscream shouldn't have looked much better. Sunstorm had dented armor, a torn lip and cheek, missing chunks of glass from his cockpit, and from the right-angle bend in both wings, he wasn't flight-capable any longer. Starscream was missing half of one wing entirely, and he limped heavily from damage to one turbine. Armor-grade glass in his cockpit and one optic had cracked. The dents around the cracked optic showed he'd taken a fist with large knuckles to the face. Being that close to his radioactive, energy-bleeding clone had to be doing nothing good for his health, either, but still he smiled.

Not just smiled. Starscream smirked. He was, after all, the Seeker left standing.

"Well, reformat me into a yacht," Skywarp said mildly, coming up short as they climbed up onto the next tier. The purple-and-black Seeker seemed slightly entertained but more disappointed as he watched Sunstorm drag himself upright and the Air Commander knock him down again. "Sunstorm sure lost quick."

"He doesn't look defeated yet," Jazz pointed out, and Skywarp glanced down at him before returning his optics to the fight. Sunstorm had just launched himself at Starscream's legs, trying to tackle the other mech. He'd apparently been counting on the Air Commander favoring his weak leg, but the damaged turbine instead kicked out and took the radioactive Seeker straight in the face. Something snapped loudly enough to be heard up in the tiers, and Sunstorm lurched back with the soft metal of his nose disjointed and smeared across one cheek.

Sunstorm's howl of pain temporarily drowned out the crowd noise, but cheering overwhelmed him in turn.

Starscream stomped forward with his good leg, thruster on low burn, but Sunstorm rolled desperately. One hand cradling his snapped nasal bridge, Sunstorm kept rolling until he was out of reach. It must have been both awkward and painful considering the state of his wings, but given the choice of getting stomped on and melted or some wing-pain? Yeah, Jazz would have rolled, too.

"He's not completely out yet," Skywarp noted, resuming their climb, "but he won't last long. Starscream had him the klik he lost the flight advantage. Wonder how he managed that one?"

A baritone grunt preceded Thundercracker's presence on the next tier up. "Sun-dazzled fool assumed that missing a wing meant Starscream couldn't fly." Jazz wasn't entirely surprised when the blue Seeker moved into sight, looking down on them. He offered his wingmate no help up the sheet of corroded metal leading to where he stood, but Skywarp didn't seem to expect any. "Starscream got his hands on the idiot's nosecone and used his own momentum to slam him right into the ground. Once he got one split in Sunstorm's armor, he just never let up long enough for it to repair." He looked over the Autobots' heads at the fight as his wingmate reached the top. Starscream shrieked, a sound more rage than pain, and the arena laughed callously when an answering squeal of what was definitely pain rang out. "A pity. Everyone expected this to be the toughest fight, too."

"Starscream versus his own clone? Pfft," Skywarp made a dismissive gesture as he stood upright. Air Raid peeked around him, optics wide, and hurried to offer the other Autobots a hand up. Jazz took a running step and went up first. "Shockwave did a good job on Sunstorm's armor and whatnot, but c'mon. He's, like, two hundred thousand vorns younger than Starscream."

Fireflight and Silverbolt were pulled up to join the group, and Thundercracker gave the four Autobots a disinterested once-over. "Mmhmm. It's been the younger ones who've been challenging, so far."

"Yeah, 'cause nobody else is stupid enough." Skywarp crouched on the edge of the flattened area Thundercracker had apparently claimed. The rubble had tamped down into a sort of plateau on top of what had once been a wall, and it was wide enough for all of them to spread out on. There was a large group of flyers on the tier underneath wearing the same unit-marker on their wings. They looked up at Skywarp and whooped enthusiastically, raising their fists to the Air Commander's wingmate. He waved a hand, acknowledging them, then rested his elbows on his knees and watched his wingleader pin Sunstorm on his front. A crackle of electromagnetic fire wreathed the downed mech, twining up the injured turbine planted between Sunstorm's bent wings. The fire flashed a brilliant, sickly yellow and retreated when the crunch of cockpit glass giving way snapped above the cheering. "Not much longer now."

Thundercracker looked like an art critic watching a play, not a spectator at one of the more grotesque matches Jazz had ever seen. Pieces of bright, if dented, armor were being flung to the side as Starscream ground his clone down with one foot, dug his fingers into gaps, and used the leverage to tear them loose. "Betting pool was weighted toward Sunstorm winning," he told Skywarp.

"Lotta mechs gonna be out credits, then."

"Mmhmm."

"You?"

"No."

"Good mech."

"Sunstorm didn't stand a chance," Air Raid whispered to Jazz. "I thought maybe because of the damage - but no way. Starscream took a few hits, but as soon as he got his hands on Sunstorm, it was a massacre. Just…I don't know how else to describe it!" Blue optics pale with fear and awe turned toward the fight again. "And as soon as this one's down, he'll just invite somebody else, and it'll start all over again."

Silverbolt was carefully standing between Fireflight and the edge of Thundercracker's little observation platform. The unit below laughed uproariously as a particularly pained cry came from Sunstorm. "This is insane. It's horrible." Fireflight kept trying to look, but his commander shuffled between him and the view.

Meaning it was up to Jazz to get actual information out of this spectacle. Which, truth be told, was why he was here instead of Mirage or Trailbreaker. Not only did he currently have a…unique…in with Starscream, but he had rank to pull in case of emergency. It might not mean much to the gathered Vosians, but it might mean enough to the gathered Decepticons. The peace negotiations could mean nothing or everything, right here and now.

So he left Air Raid and Fireflight in Silverbolt's capable hands and went to stand by Skywarp. One of the flyers at his feet glanced back, did a double-take, and elbowed the mech next to him. Jazz folded his arms loosely on his bumper and crossed one leg over the other, digging the tip of his foot into the rusted rubble for balance. The whole unit turned to stare up at the Autobot above them. He nodded cordially to them, and they began turning back to the more interesting event after a klik of not-quite-hostile staring.

Jazz let his head tip to one side thoughtfully, studying the combat winding down below, and asked, "Who's next?"

No comment on the sickening nature of the 'show.' No disapproval in his voice. No officer demanding information. Just the curiosity of a bystander. Skywarp glanced up, a bit surprised, and Jazz's sensors informed him that Thundercracker had moved. A moment later, the blue Seeker stopped on the other side of his wingmate.

"Sunstorm's wingmate's have the right to challenge next on his behalf, but Slipstream couldn't care less and Acid Storm's smarter than that. He'll wait until what he really wants is up for grabs." Thundercracker's baritone had a kind of level neutrality to it. It gave little away, but the Seeker himself was eyeing Jazz speculatively. "You shouldn't be here, you know."

The small Autobot feigned injury. "Skywarp invited me!"

"Skywarp said," said Skywarp, and there was mischief in his voice, "that you were welcome to come. That doesn't really mean you should be here." He slanted a sly look up at the Autobot officer, more than a little meanness in his expression. "So. How's that courtship going, Jazz?" Disrespect edged the question like a weapon, and Thundercracker's optics were openly searching.

The black-and-white saboteur let his visor return to the floor of the makeshift arena, turning the question over in his head. Starscream had stopped torturing the downed flyer by tearing him apart, but the look on his face was too pleased to mean anything good for Sunstorm. The Air Commander had bent down, resting yet more of his weight on Sunstorm's writhing body, and he said something to his clone. Sunstorm braced his hands against the ground and tried to heave himself up, but another push from Starscream had him prostrate again. Starscream cocked his head. Jazz could see his lips moving, because Primus help him he was looking at the mech's lips again. They quirked with perverse pleasure when Sunstorm, helm helplessly pressed to the ground, clearly forced an answer out. Whatever Sunstorm had said, it looked like it'd hurt to say.

The din of the crowd lessened, their attention zeroing in on surrender. A flyer in the unit below Jazz had Sunstorm-yellow pin-stripes on his limbs, and he made a startled sound of bliss as the nearest mechs began actively molesting him. Everyone's optics were on the scene below, but this unit apparently wanted some hands-on fun of their own. The unit clustered together, nearly burying the color-matched flyer with grabby hands and dirty comments. Jazz took notes on the ones that made Skywarp glance down at them.

Starscream pushed himself off Sunstorm to the sound of glass shattering, and, limping but proud, he took a couple steps back. The yellow Seeker's fingers curled against the rusted metal of the arena floor, getting a grip on self-control. There was really nothing else for Sunstorm to hold on to. His weapons were stacked neatly beside Starscream's at the far end of the area. With his armor perforated or torn away, his electromagnetic powers would do as much damage to himself as his opponent. The radiation was already doing bad things to his circuitry, visible to the crowd in violent sparking and crawling lines of light under his remaining armor plating.

Sunstorm had lost the fight. It was time to pay tribute to the victor.

Jazz took a look around the crowd. Any Seeker with yellow on him was getting groped. Most of them looked quite happy with the sudden attention, and the sound of voices was gradually being replaced by the rapid fan-beat of circulating air.

Ratchet's icon flashed and dropped, contacting Jazz through the comm. system. *"Status update, Jazz."*

*"How's Red?"* he asked immediately, and his tone didn't even hint that he was watching an orgy in the making. Below, beaten, a mech pulled himself along the ground using only his hands and arms.

Ratchet, on the other hand, sounded disturbed enough for them both. *"He's upset, but it could have been worse."* Something in Jazz calmed, however; the medic didn't sound murderous anymore. That was a better sign than he'd been hoping for. *"We couldn't pull the entire sequence of events out of his download, but we got the gist. Is Starscream there with you?"*

*"You could say that."* Sunstorm's legs might have been damaged beyond use, but Jazz wouldn't bet on it. It was probably just safer for the defeated challenger to stay down. So he half-slithered, half-crawled to Starscream's feet, and lowered his helm.

*"Good. When you get a chance,"* Sunstorm's mouth dripped energon and joint lubricant in a delicate pattern across the Air Commander's feet, and his lips followed the drips in a series of dainty kisses, *"punch the fragger as hard as you can in the face."* Kisses evidently weren't enough, and Starscream nudged Sunstorm's cheek with a foot. The crowd murmured approval as Sunstorm turned his head and obediently licked it, battered face too tired for humiliation. *"Then overload him so hard his scrap-metal processor blows out. And repeat that sequence until I get my hands on him!"*

If Jazz was shocked by Ratchet's instructions, he didn't show it as he asked aloud, "What exactly am I looking at here?" On the comm. line, he sounded more weirded out. Justifiably so. That was the most bizarre medical advice he'd ever been given. *"What are you going to do with him?"*

*"Dissemble him for spare parts, reassemble him, and 'face him through my desk."*

Shock nearly made it through this time, but Jazz was a professional. It would take more than that to rattle him, even if that was the mental image of Starscream on Ratchet's desk, legs wrapped around the medic's waist and canopy pressed in a gloriously wanton arch up against him. Or the very real image of the yellow-striped flyer on the tier below imperiously lifting a foot that six mechs swooped down to lavish kisses on. *"…so…he didn't take advantage of Red?"*

Skywarp and Thundercracker exchanged considering looks. Jazz looked between them and the arena floor, where Sunstorm had licked his way up Starscream's leg to the point where he had to sit back on his heels in order to reach any higher. The Air Commander seemed amused when his injured foot ended up in his clone's lap, held like spun glass in unsteady hands as Sunstorm bent his head to run his tongue along the lines of Starscream's lower leg. At no time did Sunstorm raise his head, and the hands holding Starscream's foot offered no resistance when Starscream shook himself free. The yellow Seeker simply knelt, head bowed, and waited for orders.

The triumphant Decepticon lifted his chin, flashing a proud smirk at the crowd, and patted Sunstorm twice on the head like a good pet. He turned his back on his crushed clone with a dismissive flick of his remaining wing.

The Sunstorm-yellow flyer below Jazz yowled through a very pretty overload, covered in purring unit-mates who began to tease him toward another. Another Seeker Jazz finally identified as Slipstream made her way out of the crowd toward the downed mech still kneeling in the arena. An exasperated expression plastered itself across the other Rainmaker's face when Sunstorm weakly tried to stand up on his own, and the yellow Seeker yelped audibly when Slipstream snatched an arm and kept walking, dragging her crippled wingmate behind her.

Starscream never even glanced at them. He raised his hands, accepting the crowd's applause, and for a klik, his injuries looked like trophies. 'Hail the conquering hero.'

His optics went up the tiers, searching out his wingmates, and locked instead on Jazz.

*"He did,"* Ratchet confirmed grimly. *"But not in the way he could have, and trust me, Red Alert was in no state to protest if he had. What the fragger did was for a very specific purpose, and I'm sure it served his own ends. Which is why I'm going to kill him. But, I'm going to resurrect him afterward because what he did saved Red Alert's life. More than once."* Blue met red, and the red narrowed with an emotion that defied easy definition. Skywarp and Thundercracker weren't the only ones looking between Autobot and Air Commander, now. *"It was intentional, Jazz. He knew what he was doing, and he went out of his way to make sure Red Alert stayed alive."* Silverbolt and Air Raid stepped up behind Jazz, defiance and support ready at his back when the victor far below dropped his arms.

But the Seeker didn't move. He just…looked. Not a surprised stare; not a glare. Just a fixed, unwavering look that peeled the Autobot officer away, pushed aside the Jazzmeister, and confronted whomever was underneath.

*"You bring him back here, Jazz. I have questions to ask and an aft-kicking to deliver. And,"* Ratchet added wryly, *"I have a burning need to express my appreciation in very carnal ways to that manipulative cog-sucker, since that's apparently the only kind of gratitude Decepticons really understand."*

*"I'll do my best,"* Jazz said evenly to the CMO, gaze never leaving Starscream's narrow optics, and Ratchet's icon blipped off the line. "Is it just me, or does ol' Screamer really not like me being here?"

Still crouched at the edge of the platform, Skywarp snickered. Thundercracker smacked him on the back of the helm with an open hand and looked at the Autobot officer over the resulting whining. "It makes things a little more complicated than I'm sure he'd like," the blue Seeker said smoothly. "Most of us had assumed you had rejected his courting, but if you're here…" He trailed off, looking at Jazz meaningfully.

Jazz only saw that out of his peripheral vision, as Starscream had yet to release him from that heavy look. His hands were tingling. "Oh, well, you know how it is these days. A tryst in the hallway at noon, a lovers' duel with pistols at dawn," he said lightly. Fireflight choked behind him, but the Decepticons seemed confused by the Earth reference. Just as well, since he hadn't meant to imply that the peace would be broken by shooting flimsy flintlock guns at each other. "I hadn't been aware of rejecting him," he tacked on. "Did I miss something?"

"There seems little point in continuing this farce."

A sensation like sugar settling in his fuel tank overcame the pleasant tingles abruptly, and the saboteur had to work to keep it off his face. Whatever or whoever Starscream was looking at so intently, it wasn't going to show him a weakness.

A comparatively tiny mech bustled out onto the arena floor, all shiny plating and flashy red paint job. He hurried toward the injured Air Commander, snarking all the way. Starscream switched his attention to Knock Out, and Jazz reset his visor with a feeling like a vise had just let go of his head. He blinked again before turning to Skywarp and Thundercracker. The two Decepticons were looking at him the same way Perceptor examined a fascinating new specimen.

"What did you say to him last?" Thundercracker asked, tone casual but optics avid.

"What exactly am I looking at here?" Jazz repeated his question, jerking a thumb at the arena. Starscream was tolerating Knock Out's dramatics for the sake of a quick patch-job on his leaking wing, apparently. "This some kinda Vosian dominance thing, or should we be informing Megatron that there's infighting going on in the Armada while he's busy talkin' to Prime?"

If anything, that made the two Decepticons concentrate even harder on the smaller 'bot. "A 'Vosian dominance thing'?" Skywarp said, testing the words in his mouth. "I like that. What do you think?" He leaned toward Jazz, looking up at him suggestively. "Should I show you some Vosian dominance?" His optics strayed toward the trio of Aerialbots standing behind Jazz. "It won't hurt, I promise." He grinned as the yellow-striped Seeker on the tier below trilled through another overload, taking several of his comrades with him. The unit clustered closer as they subsided to the ground en masse, contented and exhausted.

Jazz scoffed. "You couldn't dominate a paper bag," he said, drawing Skywarp's optics back to him. He held the Seeker's now-angry gaze with his own, gesturing down into the arena. "If you could, I'd expect to see you down there. There's no love lost between you and Screamer, so why aren't you in on the fighting? Don't think you can take him?" he prodded.

"I - " Skywarp caught himself, straightening and standing up from his crouched position to loom over the smaller mech. "Nice try, Autobot."

Thundercracker's hand clamped onto one purple-black wing. "For the purpose of ending our Great War," the more rational Seeker said gravely, tightening his hold until Skywarp winced and backed down. Skywarp jerked his wing loose and stalked past Thundercracker to stand at the far end of the platform and glare at the crowd as if looking for a target. Thundercracker turned his head to watch him go, but he looked back to Jazz when his wingmate was safely away. "You're pushing, Jazz."

"I do that, Thundercracker." The Jazzmeister grinned fiercely, all liquid trouble and nice curves, and the Seeker's optics widened a fraction. "How 'bout this: you tell me what's goin' on here," his gesture took in everything around them, "and I'll tell you what I told Starscream."

There was a low exchange of Aerialbots talking behind him, and Silverbolt discreetly withdrew his team to the opposite end of the platform from Skywarp. It gave Thundercracker and Jazz the pretense of privacy. The blue Seeker watched them go and gave Jazz a calculating look. Behind Thundercracker, Skywarp lifted a hand in greeting to someone below. A moment later, a mottled, violently-green Seeker bounded up onto the platform. He gave Jazz an intrigued look, which Jazz returned with his blankest expression, and Thundercracker turned to follow his gaze.

"Huh. Acid Storm!" Thundercracker beckoned, surprising Skywarp and Acid Storm, if their expressions were anything to go by. A closed look crossed Skywarp's face, telling Jazz he was talking over an internal comm. line. Thundercracker's wingmate sneered and turned his back a second later, confirming that Thundercracker had said something he didn't like, but Acid Storm cautiously walked over toward them. "Have you met Jazz?" the blue Seeker said, mockingly courteous.

"Outside of battle? No," Acid Storm said dryly. He gave the Autobot a frankly curious look. "Jazz. Third-in-Command of the Autobots." He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Hello."

"Hello, Acid Storm. Leader of the Rainmakers, Subcommander of the Decepticon Armada." Jazz inclined his head politely. "Where does that put you in the Decepticon hierarchy, anyway?"

"Below Skywarp."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it." They all regarded Skywarp's stiffly-turned back with varying degrees of resignation and amusement.

"How's Sunstorm?" Jazz asked, schooling his face to look politely interested. Look at them being all so well-mannered. It was almost like they weren't all suppressing combat subroutines. "He looked fairly bad off at the end, there."

Acid Storm grimaced. "He's still ranting about how he's the Chosen of Primus, and only he can lead Vos back to her blessed self."

"So," Thundercracker broke in, smiling slightly, "he's doing just fine."

Acid Storm brought a hand up to rub at his optics, obviously wishing that he could just reset them and have his wingmate disappear when he brought them back online. "I thought for sure Slipstream would finally take the chance to murder the dumb glitch, but she's just sitting on him until Knock Out's finished patching the Air Commander. I mean, it's a perfect opportunity to shut him up for good, but noooo." He dropped his hand and glared at Jazz. "Do you know what it's like to be saddled with a mech who's convinced his every crazy thought comes directly from Primus?"

"Thankfully, no. We just have Sunstreaker," the small Autobot said tactfully.

"Who? Oh, him. Yeah," the green Seeker said glumly, "we got him once with the acid rain, and he ripped my wings off. Couldn't fly for fifteen orns. He's got a direct line to Primus, too?" Acid Storm looked oddly hopeful, like he truly wanted someone to share his pain.

Jazz felt a little bad crushing that hope. But only a little. "Nah, he just has a Primus-complex. 'And Primus spoke unto Cybertron,'" he quothed, "'and said, This is Sunstreaker, whose color I love. Touch his finish and die.'"

"Rust and scrap metal. Hey, wait, he's yellow too, right?"

"You're joking. It can't be something that simple."

"Yeah, you're right. It's not even the same color yellow."

"No, but I've never seen Sunstorm without the fireball thing goin' on. What color is he without the lightshow?"

"…you might be on to something."

They both fell silent, thinking over the relation between color and lunacy. Thundercracker looked back and forth between them, clearly not-quite-following their logic. After nearly a klik of waiting out their pondering, he tapped them on the nearest shoulders and pointed at the tier below. They looked. The yellow-striped Seeker was a scratched-up mess, half-buried by other mechs and smiling at nothing. Lunatic, perhaps, but hardly obsessed with divinity or looks. Jazz and Acid Storm made identical sounds of disappointment.

"So much for that theory," Jazz said.

"Yeah."

"If you two are done," Thundercracker broke in before they could begin theorizing again, "I thought we might take this opportunity to trade some information."

Acid Storm suddenly looked sharper around the edges, charisma stripping away to reveal the canny Decepticon officer who'd led the Armada in Starscream's absence. "What information?" The look he turned on Jazz was pure speculation.

The Autobot Third-in-Command returned it, visor looking the polluted cloud-camouflage flyer up and down. "I want to know what's goin' on here. Thundercracker's reluctance to say anything means I should probably report this t' Prime, if not Megatron. What do you think?"

He thought that was a bad idea, if the angle of his wings meant anything. But Acid Rain merely glanced down to where Starscream was speaking with a group of large mechs who looked to be capable of space flight. "It's not a secret. I doubt Megatron doesn't know already." He shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"And your refusal to share this not-secret with the Autobots looks mighty suspicious," Jazz retorted. "So here's my deal: we ask questions, we answer. You tell me, I tell you. Capiche?"

Acid Storm blinked his optics and looked at Thundercracker for translation of the Earth term. The blue Seeker made a face, and a moment later the other Decepticon nodded. "Oh. Yeah, I understand."

"Thundercracker?" Jazz's smile was full of charm, humor, and the highway to Hell.

The blue Seeker might have been one of the more even-tempered of the Decepticon Elite, but he hadn't gotten his rank by backing down from challenges. "I agree," he said coolly. "Do you want to start?" Down below, the group around Starscream had gotten larger, and Starscream's gestures had become more animated. Whatever he was saying was lost in the dull roar of the crowd of Vosians dispersing back into the ruined city to mingle until the next fight began.

"Why, thank you," Jazz said. "Why isn't Skywarp down there fighting Screamer?"

The two Decepticons gave him a surprised look for the unexpected question. Thundercracker's surprise slid into rueful understanding. In order to explain Skywarp's refusal to fight, he'd have to explain what was going on. "Good question," he granted. "What do you know about the military contracts?"

"You use them to form trines," Jazz said promptly. "Other than that, not much."

"We're starting from the very beginning, then." Thundercracker looked momentarily dismayed, but he straightened his wings and fell into a practiced stance, like he'd done this before. "There are two main kinds of contracts: social and business. Military contracts fall under business, but they are more stylized. Individual terms can be negotiated on a case-by-case basis, but the Flight Guard didn't negotiate with every single recruit who wanted to join. The recruit sought permission to court a particular unit or officer from the recruitment office, and the office presented the standard terms from the contract of that unit or officer if the recruit's courting suit was accepted. The recruit would then reject or accept the proposal of terms. Some negotiation was allowed, but mostly it was an open/close situation. Seek permission, court a unit, get the terms, and accept or reject the contract."

Thundercracker looked over his wing at Skywarp. "That didn't change much at the beginning of the war. The rules of wingmate courtship within the Armada are more rigid than they used to be, but it's still based off of standardized contracts. The terms are negotiated by rank and individual, and the basic hierarchy hasn't changed.. A mech contracts with his unit-mates. The leader of the unit contracts with his superior. That mech then contracts with his superior, and - "

" - so on and so forth," Jazz said thoughtfully. "That makes more sense. The way Starscream," he hesitated, "implied, I kinda had the idea that all the Seekers contracted with him independently."

Acid Storm's fans kicked on hard enough to blow air into Jazz's face. "Can you imagine that?" he said wistfully. "He would never leave the berth. Nothing to do all day but 'face us senseless."

"Never leave the berth?" Thundercracker gave him a puzzled look. "You obviously didn't do much negotiating in your courtship if he kept you confined to the berth."

That didn't help Acid Storm bring his ventilation system under control. He looked somewhat dazzled, in fact, looking down at the group surrounding the Air Commander with a smile lingering about his lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

Thundercracker snorted a quick burst of air out his intakes. "You do that. In any case," he dragged his attention back to Jazz, "wingmate contracts are less formalized than regular military contracts because they're closer to a regular business contract. Military contracts are all about structure, you see?" he asked, and the Autobot nodded carefully. "They don't change much from soldier to soldier. Wingmate contracts are highly personalized by comparison. We settled into military units of three for stability, but it takes a lot of searching to find someone who can fill a - that's not important right now." Thundercracker verbally stumbled for a split second, and one of Jazz's information assessment processor filed the fragment of intel for later analysis.

How often did a Seeker fly solo? Starscream had bragged that no one could keep up with him in flight, but the hidden implication was that mechs had tried - and he'd allowed them their trying. Why exactly was his frametype classified as 'Seeker'?

It wasn't important at the moment. Thundercracker covered his slip with an irritated gesture vaguely in Skywarp's direction. The other Seeker was kibitzing with somebody on the tier below. "The higher a mech's rank, the harder it is to get his permission to court, and the more difficult negotiations are. More terms are demanded, and there's more haggling. Just like the bigger a business contract, the more the involved parties have to spell out the details." He looked down at the arena floor. "Starscream demanded non-compete clauses from Skywarp and I."

"I've seen you shoot Starscream," Jazz said evenly.

"And he's shot me," Thundercracker said back, just as even. "Trying to kill each other doesn't count as competition. That's just being a Decepticon. Non-compete means that neither of us can attempt to usurp his position - any of his positions - without nullifying the contract entirely. If Skywarp challenges Starscream, he loses his position in Starscream's wing. Technically, he wouldn't lose his position in my wing, but Starscream would likely hold me accountable for Skywarp's actions and repudiate me, too."

"Losing your position in the lead trine," the Autobot said softly, "would mean what? Demotion?" His visor squinted in thought. "Do you even hold a rank outside of the Air Commander's wing?"

Thundercracker regarded him, weighing his answer. Jazz could almost see him tallying up the extra question for his own use later. "Yes," he answered finally. "Political Protocol Officer."

This time, Jazz really couldn't keep the shock off his face. Acid Storm's head whipped around, and he gaped at Thundercracker like a stunned fish, mouth opening and closing silently. "Really?" the violently-green mech squeaked at last, coughed his vocalizer through reset, and repeated in a more normal voice, "Really?"

The blue Seeker folded his arms over his cockpit and utterly refused to be made uncomfortable by their combined staring. "Really."

"The Thought Police," Jazz said, disbelief clawing its way through astonishment. "'1984', Decepticon-style."

"What?" Thundercracker frowned, obviously checking the reference against his Earth database. "What?! No. That's not - that's wasteful. Why would I reprogram anyone and then kill them afterward?"

Jazz recoiled. Okay, now that was a case of completely missing the point! "So you do reprogram mechs to believe in the Decepticon Cause?" Primus, there hadn't been a hint that Thundercracker was that dangerous. A tremendously competent warrior in Starscream's wing, a dangerous Seeker in his own right, but most of the rumors centered around the blue flyer indicated that the mech was less than fanatic about the Decepticon Cause. He'd been marked by SpecOps for possible defection to the Autobots, for frag's sake!

The saboteur's mind kicked into high gear, processing that. Suddenly, Thundercracker's whole war record was cast into sinister mystery. There had been no hint.

"I didn't know we had Political Protocol officers anymore," Acid Storm was saying, impressed. "The rank's not even in the posted hierarchy. What division does that go under?"

Thundercracker wrinkled his lip and closed one optic, a strange expression on the normally unflappable Seeker. It conveyed the amount of disgust felt by him quite well, however, as he said, "Soundwave's, unfortunately. The Office of Political Protocol was included in the Communications Division." He seemed to catch on to Jazz's growing horror, no matter how well the Autobot thought he was hiding it, and gave Jazz glare devoid of real feeling. "Don't look at me that way. I still technically hold the rank, but it's an empty title. Megatron decided Political Protocol officers were unnecessary after he came up with the Robo-Smasher, and we were dispersed among other divisions. I was never recommissioned in another division because I already held officer rank in the Armada as Starscream's wingmate." His expression turned sour when Jazz just stared at him. "And we didn't reprogram mechs into Decepticons. My primary duty was to indoctrinate new recruits on the rules and regulations, and make sure they understood what the Cause really meant."

Jazz nodded warily, still eying Thundercracker like he'd sprouted another pair of wings. Although that might have been less surprising. Thundercracker had been touting the Decepticon Cause to new recruits? That didn't line up with what Jazz knew about the mech in front of him, and that was a scary thought for the Head of Special Operations. He was supposed to be the one who knew all the details.

This detail? He hadn't known. This was not a good thing. "I…see."

Thundercracker turned to glare into the arena, brooding. Or trying to set Starscream on fire by sheer willpower; Jazz wasn't sure, looking from his angle. "That's what our wing did. I taught, Skywarp tested, and if the newbies survived us, Starscream led them." It seemed oddly like he was reminiscing. "It wasn't all that different than what I'm doing right now. The street scum off of Kaon's lowest levels came to Megatron's banners with no idea what they were really fighting for or how to contract. I had to indoctrinate them."

"So if I asked you what the Decepticons wanted from the war..?" Jazz asked cautiously.

Reminiscing about the past slammed headlong into the present, and Thundercracker bristled, turning on the Autobot. "You'd be taking my turn to ask the question."

"Whoa, hey, okay." The black-and-white saboteur rocked back on his heels, holding up his hands defensively. As much as the Autobots needed a clear answer to that question, he also needed time to process what he had just learned. And he had, according to the deal, already asked one question too many. "Ask, then."

Acid Storm and Thundercracker wheeled, abruptly standing shoulder-to-shoulder facing the smaller mech. "Have you rejected Starscream's courting?" The question was nigh breathless with anticipation, for all that Thundercracker's baritone remained steady. Acid Storm's expression was probably the last thing small fuzzy mammals on Earth saw before something with big talons and a beak swallowed them whole.

Jazz slid into a ready stance, turning himself sidelong to the two Seekers. If they lunged, he could sprint for the Aerialbots. Silverbolt pinged him, but he sent back a Be Ready status advisement instead of opening a comm. line. "I'm not sure. Wait!" he held up a hand as Thundercracker's mouth turned down. "I've been tripping over ritual phrases all day, alright? We're Autobots, not Decepticons. You guys don't come with operation manuals." Acid Storm actually cracked a grin at that, and the Autobot officer shrugged amiably at him. "I dunno if I've rejected him or not. What am I supposed to say to reject a, uh, suitor?" It still felt weird to say that out loud.

Thundercracker stayed tensed a klik more, but his wings drooped as he accepted Jazz's question. "…just like a new Kaon recruit," he muttered, and Acid Storm snickered. The blue Seeker shot him a quelling glare, and then turned a forcefully patient look on Jazz. "There's no set ritual phrase. Traditionally speaking, a courtship decision tends to be prefaced by 'I have decided,' but it can also be as simple as 'Yes, I agree,' or 'Slag you and your altmode, no, not in a million vorn.'"

"Skywarp?" Acid Storm asked idly.

"Starscream. To Skywarp, appropriately enough."

"Ah."

"Does any of that sound like something you said to Starscream today?" Thundercracker asked, still wearing the expression Jazz was starting to label 'I Will Teach You If It Kills Me.'

The small Autobot rewound his encounters with the Air Commander, tentatively holding the phrases up against everything he'd said. It certainly didn't seem like he'd rejected anything. "No, I didn't reject him," he said without lying, because if anything, it seemed the other way around.

"There seems little point in continuing this farce."

The Seekers' shoulders slumped, but Thundercracker's crestfallen attitude seemed matched against Acid Storm's relief. That was apparently not the answer both wanted to hear. "Should I?" Jazz asked impulsively.

"No," Acid Storm said immediately.

"Yes," Thundercracker said at the same time.

"What?"

"What?"

"…I'll be sure to do that," Jazz said, helplessly smiling as the two Decepticons frowned at each other. "Can he reject me?" he asked, no more innocent or overtly interested than before. Because that's how spies got their information: by not letting informants know what they really needed to know.

"He can," Thundercracker said, attention diverted to internal communication equipment. Acid Storm's frown deepened. "He won't, though, not with Megatron's orders being shoved down his intakes."

"Exactly," Acid Storm snapped. "He's under orders to court an Autobot. If he," Jazz smiled, head tilting to one side as a hand was waved in his direction, "rejects him, all it does is make him offer suit to someone else. At least this one's a purely social contract. If he has to contract with another Autobot, who knows what kind of contract we'd end up with?!"

"He shouldn't be contracting with anyone outside of Vos, social or otherwise!" Thundercracker insisted. "Everyone agrees with that, or there would be challenges being issued!"

"Would you rather it he be rejected? This was inevitable even if rumor didn't have the contract open," Acid Storm jerked his chin at the arena floor, "but a rejection is far less dignified than a challenge! Do you have any idea what it would do for our reputations to get turned down flat two orns into a courtship?!"

"We're going to have a contract with an outsider either way! How respectable can we be bound to a ground-pounder from - "

"'scuse me - 'we'? Who's 'we'?" Jazz picked out, visor ping-ponging between them. "Why would Starscream courting me mean anything for…'we'? It is my turn for a question." He raised a hand like a polite kid in class when the two Seekers turned their anger on him.

Thundercracker made a sound more commonly heard coming from kettles boiling over. "Ignorant, overclocked, empty-headed Autobots." He stopped and cycled his vents through a full inhale/exhale. Peace. "I…apologize. That was rude," he gritted out, and Jazz nodded acceptance. The Seeker forcibly kept his cool. "What position do you think is being challenged down there?" He pointed at the arena floor.

Starscream was half-fighting, half-playing with a flyer three times his size, now. The Air Commander had on a tolerant smile, and his blows weren't meant to do more than deflect. The giant mech was obviously just doing it for the chance to touch the Air Commander's remaining wing and dart suggestive hands aft-ward. The crowd was barely even looking.

"I think whatever the position is, it involves a berth," Jazz said tactfully. He winked half his visor at Acid Storm. "Or not."

Thundercracker just looked at him, and a strange sort of recognition filled his optics. "It's like having two Skywarps," he lamented out of nowhere. "A Decepticon one and an Autobot one, but still…two Skywarps." He looked down at the faux-battle being cheered on by mechs busy groping each other, and he seemed to mourn dignity as a lost cause. "He's Vos' last Emirate, Autobot. The other officials are all dead. Until we get the city governance running again and start selecting representatives, he'll continue to lead us."

"It's something the Vosian survivors have accepted for millennia," Acid Storm said quietly. "He's not a great leader, but he's who was elected last."

"He led us into the Decepticons." Thundercracker still looked at the mock-fight, its fakeness all the more obvious because of the brutality that had prefaced it. "Ability aside, Megatron didn't make him Air Commander. We did."

The green Seeker beside him regarded Jazz steadily. "We believed in the Decepticon Cause, but we followed Starscream."

Blue wings hiked irritably. "It changed, as Megatron and Starscream grew more at odds with each other. Megatron's distorted the initial Cause so much, it…nevermind." He shook himself, rejecting the subject. Jazz was beginning to see how a mech who'd spent the first part of the war indoctrinating recruits could have become someone disillusioned by the Decepticons today. And it made it all the more important that the Autobots dig up just what Cause Vos believed in, if it wasn't Megatron's. "Megatron held our loyalty through his contract with the Emirate of Vos, and…heh. Self-preservation dictated that we side with Megatron when Starscream had his mad bouts of treachery. Megatron has the Decepticons, and that makes him more powerful than Starscream." The wings eased back down, but Thundercracker didn't turn around. "But Megatron didn't kill him. Beat him, maimed him, exiled him - but he didn't kill our Emirate. He didn't dare. Starscream's the last Emirate; if he died before another election, the contracts wouldn't be passed on. They'd be annulled."

"We would have followed Megatron if Starscream died in battle," Acid Storm denied. "We wouldn't have had a choice, not until the war ended. But he wouldn't have liked our terms after renegotiation. It wasn't always just treachery, Thundercracker." He made an aimless gesture, perhaps trying to illustrate motive behind the Air Commander's traitorous behavior. "Starscream's tried annulling the contract and renegotiating updated terms, but Megatron's always managed to meet his challenges. Can't renegotiate if the challenge is overthrown."

Thundercracker drew himself up, something old and proud straightening his shoulders. "My point is, government office is more important than the one holding it. When a head of state contracts with someone, that mech isn't just contracting with another mech." One narrowed red optic turned to regard Jazz as if the Autobot were the most dangerous mech in the arena. "It's not just Starscream courting you, Jazz. It's Vos."

Jazz's spark was doing funny little flip-flops in his chest, bouncing around on top of his fuel pump and shrieking alarm. He recklessly tapped icons for the whole Autobot command cadre and began sending information packets as fast as he could assemble them. This was important. This was 'Annie get your gun!' important. They needed a pre-meeting about the meeting leading to the actual meeting dealing with this fragged-up situation before Jazz took another step or screwed this up any further. Because smelt him if this hadn't gone all kinds of wonky between Starscream nuzzling him in the hall this morning and the Air Commander coldly turning away less than a joor later.

Starscream courting him. Starscream possibly rejecting him. Starscream-as-Vos courting him. Starscream-as-Vos possibly rejecting him. The potential problems and benefits had Jazz's threat assessment subprocessor spooling this new information into tangled, interconnected weaves that didn't so much analyze the scenario as fret uselessly about it.

"Now, my question," Acid Storm said, optics locked on the confused Autobot, "is what terms have you been setting?"

He looked at the green jet, visor pained. "…what?"

"The contract," Thundercracker elaborated. "What terms have you discussed?"

"We haven't discussed any," Jazz admitted. Both Decepticons twitched. "We keep getting, er, interrupted by other things," he amended, trying to make it sound less like they'd gotten into a shouting match over - over - it really hadn't been over anything he felt necessary to tell two Decepticon officers, no matter their relative rank.

Ah, but there was something of gossip-value he could use to head off any awkward questions. "We somehow got right in the middle of the Constructicons asking Ratchet's permission to court him, today," the saboteur said, putting just enough exasperation into his voice that it didn't sound like a big deal. Jazz and Starscream hadn't gotten around to that whole courtship thing; oh, well, whatcha gonna do? Maybe tomorrow. "And I had monitor duty after that, and he…had to go fight off half the Armada, apparently." He gave the two Seekers an inquisitive look, silently asking what that was all about.

They ignored that. "The Constructicons and Ratchet? I can see that," Acid Storm nodded. "Good social contract. A medic's a solid social bond, and it's not like Hook will be on-call in the medical sector for more than emergency cases for a few vorns. Very little business cross-over to complicate things. So he gave permission?" he asked Jazz.

"Yeah." That was still kind of funny, not matter what was happening right now. Especially since Acid Storm had slid into a bizarrely conversational tone of voice, like he was the village matchmaker or something. Jazz continued to broadcast information packets, and Ratchet's icon strobed embarrassment that he'd become the discussion topic. "I don't know how negotiations will go, but the 'Structies seem to know what a mech likes." He added a bit of leer to his grin and turned it on the mottled green Decepticon.

"That's good. He's a pretty thing, for a ground-pounder." Acid Storm's good-humored smile turned the backhanded insult into a joke. "A bit blocky for my tastes, but it's not like the Constructicons were made for form over function." Beside him, Thundercracker shifted his feet uneasily and fanned his wings back, looking meaningfully at the vividly-colored Seeker. Internal comm. went back and forth, and Acid Storm's approval melted into amused horror. "Oh. Well. That's going to make things…interesting, won't it?"

Jazz looked between them. "What? What am I missing?" Red Alert pinged him with a reminder. "Does this have t' do with Ratchet's other suitor?" Two pairs of red optics focused on him again, and he shrugged guilelessly. "Lucky guess."

"Lucky guess, my thruster," Thundercracker said, suddenly irritable. "You tell your medic to watch his step, or this whole thing is going to blow up in our faces. I don't want to see the peace treaty fail at this point." His head turned, scanning the crowd.

The atmosphere in the makeshift arena had become much more relaxed. Starscream had won himself some breathing room by defeating Sunstorm, apparently, and no other challengers had stepped up yet. The Vosians were widely dispersed and, beyond a few fist-fights, were more interested in talking than causing trouble. The Aerialbots were still huddled at one corner of the platform in a tense group, but Skywarp was on the opposite end talking with a tiny rotary mech. Whatever the two Decepticons were talking about, it apparently required the rotary to mime riding a wild bronco, or maybe a friend. Skywarp seemed to enjoy watching, in any case.

Thundercracker looked at it all and fanned his wings back. "We've got too much to lose, now."

That was reassurance for the Autobots listening in, but ominous at the same time. Ironhide, Prowl, and Red Alert immediately formed a comm. network for compiling a list of what over fifty-six thousand Vosians planet-wide could potentially gain from the current draft of the peace treaty. It did not sit well with any of them that very few of the gains featured peace or cooperation with the rest of Cybertron.

"What kind of terms do you want?" Acid Storm asked shrewdly, poking one finger at Jazz's hood. The Autobot, taken a bit aback, skipped a step out of reach. "You've had time to think about it, surely." He smiled broadly, projecting trustworthiness. It didn't work very well. "If you want to explore your options, we're the mechs to ask. Thundercracker and I, we know contract terms in and out."

Even Thundercracker tried on a warm smile. It was kind of creepy, honestly.

*"I don't like the sound of that,"* Blaster said. *"Sounds like they have lots of experience shafting other 'bots with the fine print, to me."*

*"I agree,"* Prowl said. *"Speak carefully, Jazz."*

*"Go teach grandma to suck eggs,"* Jazz snarked back, his tone admitting that the importance of this situation hadn't escaped him. *"Trust me, I'm double-checking every single word I say, here!"*

There was a pause. Ratchet and Optimus Prime's icons almost vibrated with contained amusement. Prowl's somehow managed to look confused. *"…I do not have a grandmother."* Red Alert seemed to take pity on the Autobot SiC, and his icon transmitted a brief interpretation of the Earth expression. The tactician occasionally had trouble translating idioms from their literal meanings. *"Jazz!"*

"*I know, I know, insubordination, blah blah blah. Shaddup, trying to work here."* Prowl was going to read him the rulebook through a speakerphone at 78 RPM when this was over. It'd be totally worth it, however, as smarting off to a superior officer had firmly settled Jazz into The Zone. Word games with Decepticons?

The Jazzmeister smiled charmingly back at the duo. 'Bring it on.'

"So kind of you," he demurred, "but I couldn't possibly waste your valuable time like that." He carefully pulled in excess armor with cable attachments his design wasn't supposed to have, letting his body language speak of uncertainty and conflicting desires.

"We don't mind," Thundercracker said, deep voice practically thrumming as he moved closer in unconscious predatory response to Jazz's unspoken signals. Blue wings flared confidently. "As I said, I used to do this all the time for new recruits."

Acid Storm sidled in on the other side, looming like a guardian angel with demon optics. "You know, since the peace treaty is falling into place…you're really the Autobot equivalent of a recruit."

"Newbie to Vos protocol, new recruit - same difference. Less discussion of the Decepticon Cause, of course."

"But you still need guidance."

"Starscream is, after all," the blue Seeker reached out and gently dusted off the Autobot's shoulder, removing some rust flakes solicitously, "my wingleader. My Emirate, too."

"We are under orders to help you Autobots with the courtship proceedings," Acid Storm brushed the other shoulder clean. Jazz didn't flinch, wouldn't flinch, not flinching, here. "You must have questions."

*"Oh, they are going to screw you hard."* Blaster's voice held all the warnings threat assessment was already scrolling down Jazz's visor. *"Cat, you better walk like you're on a hot tin roof, or you are gonna get burned."*

*"On it. Fair warning, folks, I'm gonna take a risk here. A-Team, you're playing back-up. If anyone asks, I've always wanted Prowl's job."* Silverbolt tweaked Fireflight's nosecone, preventing the smaller Aerialbot from turning to give their superior officer an incredulous look. Jazz looked down into the arena and bit his lip, doing his best to look like a worried mech trying not to look worried. From the way the two Decepticons drew closer, it seemed he'd succeeded. Wolves gave wounded deer similar looks. *"Way I see it, if everyone here thinks I rejected Starscream, they're all bucking for a shot at my spot. I dunno how prior contracts conflict with renegotiating for better terms, but I think what I'm watchin' is a combination of Decepticon bloody-mindedness and Vosian contract annulments."*

*"Skywarp's not challenging because he doesn't want to lose his position in Starscream's wing,"* Prowl interjected, *"and only the younger Vosians are challenging at all. Older and wiser mechs don't trust the peace treaty to make rank a past issue? Or are they confident they're where they want to be right now?"*

*"Or Skywarp doesn't want what they think Starscream offered me."* Because what he had right now was a completely open contract, a blank slate that hadn't yet been limited. If Starscream hadn't rejected him, and right now, a definitive answer to that question was unknown to all. Which was something Jazz wasn't leaving to chance. *"Blaster, if Starscream tries to contact me from here on out, I'm having communication hardware failure."*

*"Gotcha. Jazz who? Nope, don't know the mech."*

Jazz widened his visor subtly and peered up at Thundercracker. His tank gaskets skreeled shut. It was an unseen anxious reaction he'd never been able to suppress. "I was wondering something." The two Seekers did very good impressions of concerned interest, leaning closer and making encouraging noises. "Just how flexible are the terms for a social contract? Because if the peace treaty is signed, I'm gonna need something to do afterward, and, well, a head of state needs an executive officer…"

The Bank of Flabbergasted reported a withdrawal on all accounts. Thundercracker and Acid Storm had the emotions. They had all the emotions.

---

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End Pt. 8

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