Enter the Decepticon forces. Because really, what good is a Transformers story if you don't have some form of fighting? And what good is torturing Megatron if Starscream isn't there to point and laugh? Also, try not to pick out Soundwave's various issues. I know in canon he's about as talkative as a brick but he had to speak up here. No worries though, as Rumble will act as his mouthpiece for the rest of the story. And why Soundwave? Because he scares me. Seriously. I can deal with evil warlords and psychotic transforming jets but give me something that shows no emotion and I start twitching.
I have been to Las Vegas twice in my life- which is really sad, as I only just recently turned twenty-one- and I swear to God, I have never seen a city undergo such a radical change within one hour. During the day it's almost like, what? This sleepy little small-town-Americana is Las Vegas? And then the sun sets, the freaks come out and the neon lights go on and it's, ohh, this is Vegas. Yes, children, it's Las Vegas indeed- the only bipolar city in the world.
Disclaimer: Oh look, another thing I don't own. That makes this what, everything? -sigh-
--
If it weren't for the fact that Starscream was about as creative as a piece of sheet metal, Swindle would have been accusing him of making this all up.
The seeker stood on the bridge of Soundwave's ship, trying to stare down the communications officer. He would have had better luck trying to stare down a wall, for it would have had more of a reaction than Soundwave. Granted, the visor and facemask hid anything he might have shown, but Swindle suspected that the officer had long ago had the emotional cortex in his processor removed. Someone that could not say the same thing was the biggest of Soundwave's band of symbiotic pests, Rumble. He had long ago left the bridge so he could laugh in the hallway. They could still hear him.
Since it appeared Soundwave had gone off into his own universe Swindle felt obliged to continue the conversation.
"So Megatron was on the planet?"
"Yes," Starscream hissed, all but vibrating with impatience. "As was the Allspark. And one of the planet's natives exposed Megatron's spark to the Allspark and killed him. How many times am I going to have to repeat this?!"
"Not like it becomes the truth if we talk about it often enough," Astrotrain put in from his corner. Starscream sneered at him.
"What of the Allspark?" Laserbeak, another of Soundwave's minions, shifted around to peer at the agitated seeker. "Was it destroyed, or is it possible to retrieve it?"
"Destroyed," the jet answered, looking as though he dearly wanted to shoot all of them. There was a heavy silence in response to this, as all the 'cons present tried to accept the fact that their race no longer had a future.
"I don't think we should be taking his word on something this important," Astrotrain said finally. Swindle looked at Soundwave, who was still superior officer on this ship even though Starscream officially outranked him. He was unmoving, his visor grayed out. Communing with the ship's main computer, Swindle realized; talking with the one machine onboard that he didn't regard with disconnected disdain.
"Optimus Prime is on that planet," Starscream said slowly, stressing the Autobot's name. "If the Cube survived Prime now has it."
"Prime is one mech, not an army," Swindle countered. Even so, he doubted they would survive a head-to-head fight with the cursed Autobot and his team. He considered all the mechs on board- himself, Soundwave and his midgets, Astrotrain, Starscream, and Dead End, who was probably huddled in some corner predicting the doom of the universe.
"Our scanners have picked up three Autobot signals recently landing on the planet," Buzzsaw put in from the computer console. "Two of them are confirmed as the twins."
Someone hissed. Swindle winced, then tried not to smirk at the full-body flinch Starscream gave. Buzzsaw's words needed no explanation; while there were several twins within various Cybertronian cultures, the ones in question could only be the infamous Autobot frontline warriors Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They were well-known within Decepticon ranks; there were very few who hadn't heard the horror stories of how those two plowed through mechs bigger and tougher than themselves, leaving a trail of slagged 'cons in their wake. Oddly enough the seekers were a particular favorite of theirs, like sparklings playing with their toys. As much as they were known for their skill on the ground, the twins were almost as dangerous in the air; a surprising thing, considering they weren't fliers by any means.
There wasn't a single Decepticon on this ship who hadn't gotten worked over by those two.
"We're going to need reinforcements," Swindle muttered. Between the twins, that old glitch Ironhide, and Prime himself… A gestalt would be useful, but most of them had split apart long ago. Swindle's own former team leader Onslaught had fallen to Superion, the only gestalt whose team had survived and stuck together.
"Starscream. Report on Barricade and Frenzy."
Soundwave's toneless voice caused all of them to start. The seeker glared at him in irritation.
"I don't know what happened to them. I was fighting the Autobots for the Allspark. Barricade ran away."
"So he's a coward now, huh?" Swindle grinned darkly at the jet.
"We just received a transmission from Barricade," Rumble put in abruptly, and Swindle wondered when the little thing had snuck back in. "It's too jumbled to make anything out. I can run it through some programs and filters but it's not gonna get much better." This last part was directed towards Soundwave. The comms officer turned around and walked over to the main controls.
"We will travel to Earth," he said. "We will maintain a planetary orbit outside of Autobot sensors and attempt to communicate with Barricade. We will not engage the Autobots."
"Uhh… reinforcements?" Swindle took a half-step back as that visored gaze pinned him down. "We may not want to engage the Autobots but if something does start we need to be able to hold our own."
"We will not engage the Autobots," Soundwave repeated, his tone changing not one iota. And that was the end of that, for Swindle had long ago learned that 'emotionless' and 'tolerant' didn't mean the same thing. Unfortunately certain seekers had not yet had the opportunity to figure that out.
"Well, I say no," Starscream snapped irritably. Soundwave slowly turned to face him, his movements carefully measured and controlled. Swindle, who was standing near enough to the seeker to be within the potential range of fire, took one broad step sideways.
"You are Air Commander," the communications officer said, his voice slightly slower and more digital-toned, most likely to drown out any trace of his growing irritation. "Megatron is High Commander. Until his demise is confirmed we will proceed as before. If confirmation is received we will discuss matters then."
Which was Soundwave-speak for my ship, my rules, shut up and get back in line.
Still Starscream didn't get the message. He snarled at the other officer and strode over to the control console. Swindle felt his grin grow as he nudged himself sideways to get a better view. As the seeker reached out with one hand, Soundwave apparently decided he'd had enough. A green light blinked once in the officer's visor and a small port on his chest slid open. Starscream had enough time to glance back at him before he was hit.
It was noise; under normal circumstances it was nothing more sinister than an off-key hum. As it was Soundwave, however, the noise was now a weapon. Swindle felt it across the room, a sort of soft feedback that caused his systems to stutter. How the 'con did it none knew nor were brave enough to ask. He had simply shown up with that ability, appearing on Megatron's warship without warning, and Megatron had accepted him into his exclusive circle of officers immediately. This had caused considerable discourse within the rest of the officers, and more than once Soundwave found himself a survivor of various attempts to remove him. Megatron had tolerated this long enough for word of Soundwave's seeming invincibility to get around before informing the rest of his officers that Soundwave was going to act as communications officer and no one was getting bumped out of place because of him. He'd made a point of looking at Starscream while he said that. Unsurprisingly, the attempts on Soundwave's life stopped. And Starscream had probably thought that the newcomer had either forgotten by now or had simply never figured it out.
Starscream was a fool. An off-line fool now, Swindle thought humorously as the jet dropped to the ground. Challenging Soundwave had never been a wise idea. Dropping your guard around him after challenging him? You may as well kill yourself and spare him the effort.
"Swindle: take Starscream to the brig. Rumble: plot a course for Earth."
--
UNLV turned out to be University of Nevada, Las Vegas- an education center. It was also huge, as it consisted of several large buildings scattered around in a manner that probably made sense to its designers and no one else. By now, Jazz reflected wryly, he had certainly fine-tuned his handling of people. He could judge before they said one word how to ask his questions and how much charm to load into his voice.
It was a point of honor that he found the library. By the time he'd spent a few hours on campus he'd been getting a little worried; it would be dark soon and he had no idea where he was going to spend the night. Las Vegas was a quaint little tourist town by day, but come nightfall it would quickly live up to its name of Sin City. And as much as he was enjoying being human and getting first-hand exposure to their culture, Vegas' nightlife might be just a little too exposing. So when he found the library he felt inordinately proud of himself, as though he hadn't had to ask seven people for directions.
When he slid into the seat in front of a computer it was with vivid relief. Everything he'd done so far had been well beyond his field of experience; it was only his natural adaptability that had kept him afloat. This, however, he knew better than anything. It only took a few minutes to adjust to the methods this machine used. He was used to being the computer, not necessarily using one, but he figured it out quickly enough.
Google fast became his best friend. He spent about twenty minutes researching everything he'd once considered too uninteresting to waste any time on. Then he pulled up maps and studied the distant between Las Vegas and the small LA suburb of Tranquility. He eyed the desert and mountains separating the two cities with misgiving; there was no way he was getting around that by himself. After a moment's consideration he searched for anything concerning giant robots or cities getting half-slagged by unexplained forces and was pleased to come up with nothing new. Finally he went to an online white pages and looked up Sam's phone number, thankful that the boy had a unique last name.
After that he signed off and headed over to the row of pay phones by the entrance. It took him a few tries before he figured out the right combination of coins but after a minute there was a tinny ringing from down the line. A woman answered and Jazz pictured Sam's mother, waving around a baseball bat and yelling about her bushes. Both of Sam's parents were a little… off, but she seemed slightly more so than her mate.
"Hello?" She sounded guarded and Jazz braced himself for anything.
"Mrs. Witwicky? Is Sam there?" He tried for pleasantness, hoping it would ingratiate him. Judging by the almost full minute of silence he'd failed horribly.
"Are you with the government?" she demanded suddenly.
"The govern- what? No, ma'am, I'm just-"
"Because you sound government. If you are work for that jackass Simmons I'm gonna-"
"I'm a friend from school," Jazz interrupted, almost desperate to get the conversation back onto stable ground. There was no silence this time, but he still realized in short order that he'd made a bad move.
"Oh really? A friend from school? Calling to tell him about the classes he missed? Because he skipped today, you know. Did you know that?" There seemed to be no safe answer to that, but she moved on before Jazz could even go 'huh?' "He isn't even home now and it's almost seven thirty. If you see him you tell him he's grounded, and he's losing that car! I'm getting it towed the second he gets home!"
That car might have something to say about that, but mentioning it didn't seem wise. "Look, maybe I can just call 'im myself if I could get his cell number."
"He's not answering his cell phone."
I wonder why. Jazz bit his tongue, refusing to say that out loud and ruining what little chance he had. Instead he tried an angle she might appreciate more.
"Well, maybe he'll answer if I call. Then I can tell him t' get home."
There was a silence as she considered this. Finally she asked the obvious question.
"If you're his friend, why don't you have his number already?"
Jazz had an answer waiting. "Got a new cell phone. I lost his number."
He ended up writing the number on his hand in pen, but at least she'd given it to him. He thanked her again and hung up, then rested his forehead against the phone's cool plastic casing and took a fortifying breath. Here came the hard part, he thought wryly; convincing a mech he'd known for a very long time that he was who he was, give or take a few odd changes. With more than a hint of foreboding he dialed the number.
The phone rang twice, then a vaguely familiar voice answered with a guarded, "Hello?"
"Hey, Sam." Jazz turned, wrapping one arm around himself and leaning a shoulder against the wall. "Can I talk to Bumblebee?"
There was a heavy silence. Then Sam found his voice and almost managed to sound confused.
"Who? I don't- who is this? I don't know anyone called Bumblebee."
"Let me rephrase that then," Jazz drawled. "Get in your car an' put me on speakerphone. I wanna have a chat with your Camaro."
"Who is this?" Now Sam sounded slightly panicked and more than slightly angry. Jazz massaged his temples with his free hand.
"You may remember me," he said. "My name is Jazz."
--
Jazz?
Sam pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it. Ever since the mystery text message early that morning he'd been leery of the thing, especially since the message itself had conveniently disappeared without a trace. He'd agreed to skip school- actually he'd called in sick- and try to track down the new guys in order to keep himself from thinking about it. That, and it was possible to snooze in Bumblebee's back seat and not get detention.
"All right, who is this? Really? Jazz is dead," he snapped into the phone. A sigh filtered down the line.
"Nothin' I can do t' convince you, which is why I'm sayin' put Bee on." The voice definitely rang a bell but it was simply impossible. Jazz was dead.
"How do you know about him? Are you- waitaminute. Are you some sort of Sector 7 freak out for revenge?"
"No, though I must sound real official 'cause your mom was askin' if I'm government too."
"My mom? You talked to my mom?" For some reason this made Sam even angrier. "If you said one word to her-"
"I was perfectly nice to your mother, but she's got a lot o' mean things to say to you. Somethin' about skippin' school and stayin' out late and getting' your car towed when you came home."
Sam winced despite himself. He'd barely been paying attention to what time it was, since the newcomers weren't responding to any form of communications. Their car modes were fast too, so catching them was proving to be difficult. Bumblebee seemed confident that he knew who they were and he wasn't amused by their antics- a bad sign, considering how mild-mannered he normally was. This whole day had been one big lesson in frustration. And now his mom knew he'd skipped class, which meant he was dead.
"Since it appears you're in trouble anyways, what say you have some fun an' take a quick side trip t' Vegas?"
"Vegas?"
"Y'know, Vegas. Big city in Nevada. Lights, gambling, drinking."
"I know what Vegas is," Sam interrupted. "Why would I want to go there?"
"I was kinda hopin' you'd pick me up." The person claiming to be Jazz was sheepish now.
"Pick you up? What, have you been impounded or something?"
"We'll go with th' 'or something'. Seriously, put Bee on. Or tell him to run a scan for a spark signal near Vegas an' see what he comes up with."
Sam once again stared at his phone. Was this some sort of joke? Were the new guys doing this?
"Slaggit. Sam, I gotta go. I'm outta change."
"You're what?"
"Look, tell Bee to do th' scan. If he can't find anythin' tell him to head out to UNLV."
"Why Bee?"
"Fine, tell Optimus, I don't care! I just need someone to-"
There was a click, followed by the recorded voice of an operator telling him the call had exceeded its time limit. Sam blinked at that- he wasn't aware Cybertronians had time limits.
"This is weird," he muttered to himself. "This is really, really weird." And he was crazy for even considering that the person called Jazz might be telling the truth. But despite all the arguments to the contrary, his mind kept replaying the entire conversation and getting caught on several points. It had sounded like Jazz, or at least as much like Jazz as Sam had seen of him. And he'd been very knowledgeable- Sam could count on one hand the number of humans who knew the name Optimus. Most knew him simply as Prime.
Not to mention he'd given Sam a surefire way of catching him in a lie. The teen pocketed his cell phone and stood up off the curb he'd been sitting on. Bumblebee had pulled into a rest stop to take a break and try another method of tracking the new guys. Sam had been left sitting around and trying not to look too bored, lest his guardian get insulted and take him home before returning to the search. He tapped a careful finger on the hood and received no response.
"Okay, I just got a really weird phone call," he said without preamble. "He said he was Jazz."
"Jazz is dead." Bumblebee's tone was stiff and insulted. Sam spread his hands helplessly.
"I said that, and he just insisted I let him talk to you. He also said for you to run some sort of scan around Las Vegas."
Bumblebee didn't answer for a long minute. Then he swung his door open and Sam slid in.
"There's an unusual spark signal originating in one of the University of Nevada, Las Vegas' buildings."
"UNLV," Sam said to himself. "What's so unusual about it?"
"It has no shielding to hide it," Bumblebee answered, sounding distracted. "And it's not reading normally. It's appearing and disappearing."
"And that's a… bad thing?" Sam asked, confused now. He knew what a mech's spark was, but how could they scan for it? Wasn't that like developing a machine that could sense human souls?
"Sparks do not act in that manner," Bumblebee informed him. "Either they're there or they're not. They never fade in and out. It can't be Jazz." The last part was quiet, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself more than Sam.
"So. Road trip?" He tried not to sound too hopeful; he was in enough trouble as it was. If Bee said yes Sam should, as the good son he tried to be, ask to be dropped off at his house first. Maybe a block away, if his mother was serious about the tow truck.
"Optimus has asked me to investigate it." There was a brief pause. "You should go home."
"Yeah, I should. My mom's probably mad." Sam chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then shrugged. Before he could say anything Bee slammed on the gas, twisting his steering wheel around wildly and throwing his passenger across the seat and against the far window. The teen had just managed to right himself before the 'bot did it again, tires squealing in protest as he pulled around in a u-turn at thirty-five mph. This time Sam ended up plastered to the driver's window. It took him a moment to peel himself off, and he immediately put his seat belt on, although by now it seemed a little late.
"What happened?" Sam rubbed at his cheek where it had impacted with the window. His guardian, who was driving down a two-lane country road, didn't respond. Right as Sam was going to ask again a cop car shot past. It banked sharply, performing a turn similar to Bee's of a second ago, and fell into place behind him. Sam peered at it worriedly. "That's not Barricade, is it?"
"No," Bee said, sounding amused. "And he'd be insulted if you suggested it to him. That is Prowl."
The name meant nothing to Sam, but the not-Barricade part worked perfectly fine for him. He stopped twisting around in his seat and instead stared forward. Unless he was mistaken he'd just seen- there!
"There's something up there," he said, unconsciously beating on the steering wheel in excitement. "Like a red car or something. It's coming this- hey!"
The cop car, Prowl or whatever, had pulled up beside Bumblebee and effectively blocked both lanes. Neither slowed down. And in the distance Sam could now see two cars, one gold and one bright red, both something low-slung and sporty and moving far too fast and they were gonna crash and no one was stopping--
"Bee!" He braced both hands against the dashboard, watching as the golden car ahead of them came barreling down, not even slowing.
"Don't worry, he won't risk a collision. It'll scratch his bodywork."
"What?!"
It turned out that Bumblebee was right- at the last possible second the other car veered off, sliding right off the road and bouncing to a halt in the long grass. Sam heard the familiar humming whine of a transformation but before he could turn to watch Bee was slamming on his own brakes.
The red car appeared a little slower on the uptake, or it didn't like the deep ditch it would drive into if it left the road. It turned a half-second to late and the cop's front bumper clipped the red car's rear. There was probably no serious damage, but both cars had been going fast enough that the impact swung them wildly out of control. The red car hit the ditch and flipped itself, rolling sideways several times before coming to a halt. Prowl merely fishtailed around a few times before sliding to a stop. He had stayed on the road, although he was spanning across it now.
Sam let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Then the sun was blotted out as a large shape silhouetted itself.
"What do you think you were doing?" The words were hissed, sounding like an angry goose. Sam peered up at the shape. A tall mech, somewhere between Ironhide and Prime, although a little less broad than the black pickup.
"If you had responded to any of our transmissions we would not have had to resort to such methods," an unfamiliar voice answered. In what Sam had always imagined as a slowed-down video of a machine exploding the cop car began to transform. Bumblebee opened his door and the teen took the hint, slipping out and quickly getting off the road. Within moments all four mechs were in robot mode, with the red one picking grass and dirt out of his joints and rubbing at dents in his armor.
"We wanted to explore," the red one said cheerfully. Prowl folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head slightly back to stare at him.
"And it never occurred to you to ask?"
"Hey," Sam whispered. He picked up a pebble and flicked it across the road, where it clanked on Bumblebee's leg. The scout took a step backwards and knelt down to speak with the human. "Who are these guys?"
"Sideswipe, he's the red one, and Sunstreaker. They're twins. And Prowl is a tactician and second-in-command."
"Second? What about Jazz?"
"Yeah, what about Jazz?" Sideswipe put in loudly. "What's this about him being dead and in Vegas?"
"You- how did- you bugged my cell phone?" Sam demanded incredulously. Sideswipe just shrugged.
"We were gonna go check it out," he explained. "Except then we found you guys. But hey, if you're going to Vegas, can we-?"
"No," Prowl interrupted. Both twins shifted and glared at him, but even though they were each a full head taller they accepted Prowl's answer.
"We should go," Sam put in hesitantly. "It's about a three hour drive to Vegas from… I don't know where we are."
"Maybe we can-" Sideswipe tried again.
"No."
"But you didn't-"
"Sideswipe," Prowl sounded tired now, like a babysitter close to being burned out by a pair of rambunctious three-year-olds. "First we will report to Prime, as you should have done upon landing. After that, if he says you may, you can go to Vegas."
Sam had the feeling Prime would sooner paint himself neon green and do the chicken dance in Central Park than allow the twins to take a trip to Vegas. Evidently this was a shared feeling, as both twins exchanged frowns and mutters of dislike. Still, they obeyed.
"I can take care of these two," Prowl said to Bumblebee. "You go see what this Jazz thing as all about."
Bumblebee nodded and transformed back, leaving his door open for Sam. The teen took a moment, still staring at the twins, to make his way over. Once he did he misjudged the angle and the side of his head hit the door frame with a decent amount of force. Sideswipe burst into merry cackles at that. Sam managed it on the second try, refusing to look at the red 'bot.
"All right, let's go," he said. Bumblebee gave a cheerful chirp of his radio and gunned his engine, kicking up a dirt cloud towards Sunstreaker. Within moments they were pointed in the right direction and leaving California fast behind.
Neither remembered to call Sam's parents. They were both too busy focusing on the road ahead, and the mystery that awaited them in Las Vegas. A mystery that called itself Jazz.
--
A/N: Gasp! Next chapter Jazz reunites with the other Autobots! Does this mean the story is coming to an end?
Uh, the end of the beginning, maybe. The playing field has officially been leveled and the teams were announced. The game itself has yet to begin.
And talk about your mental images… if anyone can draw that picture of Prime I'd pay good money to see it.