~blah~ is comm-speak ; blah is Cybertronian

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places, etc. belong to HasTak and other copyright holders. I make no profit from this.

Chapter 7: Waiting for news

In the end it was all fairly anti-climactic, Mirage mused as he settled himself in his usual corner of the rec room.

At the power plant they had done enough damage to the Decepticons to make their retreat inevitable, though little more since they were sticking mostly to laser rifle fire. A laser hit could sting, but it took repeated hits to do any significant damage and in truth, if there hadn't been so much laser fire the Decepticons would probably have laughed it off and ignored them altogether. It was an old tactic, one that hadn't really been used in centuries, and maybe that was why it had worked so well: the Decepticons had gotten so nonchalant about laser hits that it actually caught them by surprise when the concentration did some damage.

So things had been going surprisingly well, with the enemy right on the brink of pulling out, when Prime had started bellowing that they needed to get back to the Ark, that the base was under attack. Ironhide had kept a small group back to continue the fight until the Decepticons actually left, while everyone else had followed Prime to race back to the Ark, hoping against hope that they would arrive in time and wondering anxiously how the Decepticons had known they were so vulnerable on this particular day.

As they travelled, word came back that the Constructicons were there, and perhaps Soundwave and Starscream too. That wasn't good news at all and they were certain that they would get back to find only corpses. Instead they had arrived to find the battle over, and while the Aerialbots were there and had seen Devastator off, they claimed that the victory really belonged to Sunstreaker, Jazz and Prowl. Sunstreaker was certainly happy to take the credit and talk about what had happened, but the two officers were another matter: neither was talking about what had happened, they were too busy shouting at each other over the existence - or not - of a third Decepticon target.

Mirage swirled his energon in its beaker, staring into the liquid thoughtfully. He had worked with Jazz for a long time, much longer than Prowl had been with them, so when he said he could find no evidence of the Decepticons attacking any other target, Mirage believed him. Prowl did not. The argument had gotten quite nasty before Prime had stepped in and separated them, ordering Prowl back to his quarters to rest and putting Jazz on duty organising a diversion for the troops. Jazz being Jazz, the diversion ended up being an impromptu party in the rec room.

It was a comparatively quiet party, given the two successful sorties of the day, but then everyone was still waiting on news from the repair bay. First Aid and his mismatched bunch of assistants had been shut away in there for hours - more than half a day, now - and there had been no communication with them. None that he knew of, anyway. On one hand that was probably a good thing, since there would be little to do if the patients had not survived. On the other hand, it spoke volumes about how serious the injuries were, and how inexperienced the medics.

He frowned. Ratchet deserved better. Yet this was the best they could do. This was exactly why Prowl had wanted the CMO to take an apprentice sooner. It was true that First Aid had come complete with a background that made him more suitable than others, but he lacked access to Ratchet's personal files and that put him at a disadvantage.

Mirage frowned at the thought. First Aid did not have clearance to open those files but they would help him fix Wheeljack at least; having Ratchet's personal notes alongside the general files would make a huge difference, particularly given the number of times Ratchet had rebuilt the inventor. And Wheeljack was the most experienced of the non-medics: once he was repaired, he could help with Ratchet.

Flicking on his inverter, he slipped out of the room. Teletran-1 was out of reach with Prime standing on watch to allow his soldiers time to enjoy Jazz's party, and obviously the repair bay was also off limits, but there were other ways to hack the medical database and he knew of half a dozen. He, Jazz and Bumblebee regularly tested their skills against the system, retrieving confidential information just to keep their skills sharp. There had never been a need to hack the medbanks before because none of them could read the data written in the specialised medical script - or, at least, none of them had admitted to the skill, which was not quite the same thing in their line of work - but he knew they were not heavily encrypted. Even better, he knew Perceptor already had access from his quarters because he was an officer and was occasionally consulted in treatments for virus-based issues. With Perceptor in the repair bay, Prowl confined to quarters, and the other officers in the rec room getting drunk, there should be no problem.

Perceptor stood in the centre of his room, staring at the blank wall opposite the door. He had long since shut off his comm system, not wanting to know when the others returned, not wanting to think about anything at all, really.

It was not his fault, of course. He was not built for medical procedures, and Primus knew he had always been squeamish around the injured. Under the circumstances he had thought he could overcome his fears enough to at least supervise the helpers, but from the moment he saw Wheeljack's injuries he had known he was in trouble.

Ratchet had seemed far less injured - at least there was no obvious leaking fluid - so he had lurked around outside the bay until they brought him in. But when he saw what the injury actually was, and realised that he would be expected to physically assist, it had been too much. There was no way he was going to be responsible for killing either of his fellow mechs through ignorance, and he knew he was ignorant. Ignorant and afraid.

To even ask him to do it was just unfair, he decided. His skills were in data analysis, physics and chemistry. Not open CPU surgery. Not critical medical care. No-one would ever ask one of the Dinobots to act as a sniper, no-one would expect Powerglide to take on a Constructicon in a melee battle, so it stood to reason that he should be excused for this completely inappropriate task. He would tell Prime so, too. It was probably just a result of the panic when they realised what had happened, which was not his fault either. Yes, he had been on duty when the explosion occurred, but organising the clean up of these messes was Prowl's job not his. How was he to know that this time it was so serious?

The sound of the door opening behind him made him spin about, already explaining, expecting Prowl or Prime.

"I had to leave, you see, the whole task was an entirely inappropriate match to my skills and I..."

He trailed off, confused when he found no-one there. Then back-tracked half a step as Mirage dropped his inverter field.

"Perceptor? What are you doing here? Is the surgery over?"

"I... I... Th-these are my quarters. How dare you just barge in here and...?"

"You said you had to leave? What's going on? Why aren't you in the repair bay or reporting to Prime?"

"I don't have to answer to you, get out of my quarters. I'm busy."

Mirage stared at him for a moment, then vanished again. After a few clicks, the door slid shut. Perceptor sagged in relief. Alone again. That gave him another short reprieve to consider how to frame his explanation. Prowl was logical, and Prime trusted him. It was just a matter of finding the right words. Then there would be no problem.

~Jazz! ~

Jazz stopped singing at the priority ping, indicating that he was heading out for some fresh air, and slipped away from the others.

~Mirage? What's up? Cons again?~

~Meet me in your office.~

He nodded to Cliffjumper who was following him out and made a quick excuse about needing to get something from his quarters, then hurried away. What could have happened now? This day, which had started so very promisingly, was just getting worse and worse. Stepping into the office he did not hesitate to close and lock the door, even though the room appeared to be empty. As expected, Mirage was already there and materialised to one side of his desk as soon as the door was shut.

"Do you know where Perceptor is?" the spy asked darkly.

"In the repair bay."

"No. He's not. He's hiding in his room, right now. And if what I just heard him say is true, he's been there the whole time."

Jazz frowned. That did not make any sense, but first there was another small matter to clarify.

"What were you doing in his quarters?"

Mirage did not look the least bit repentant.

"First Aid'll need access to Ratchet's files. Perceptor's terminal was the easiest to hack."

"Next time wait for orders." Jazz suggested drily, then lied to divert his spy's attention. "Prime has already given First Aid the access codes he needs, so there's no need to hack. But if you don't wanna stay in the rec room, I've got a different mission for you. Primus only knows what's gotten inta Prowl's programmin' t'day but we'd better check up on this theory of his that the Cons mighta been up ta somethin' else. See what you can dig up, eh?"

"You wish me to infiltrate the Decepticon base?" Mirage asked curiously. "I understood we were avoiding that activity for now."

"I ain't rulin' it out, but see what else ya can come up with. Jus' trackin' a wounded 'Con back from battle might be enough to pick up some answers. This is an unofficial op, so it'll be limited backup. Come back to me when you've got an outline."

The spy nodded thoughtfully, and Jazz turned away. Prime would probably be horrified by the casual nature of this assignment, but that was why he had Jazz in charge of Special Ops instead of handling it personally. Best that the boss did not really know what his shadier staff got up to. Besides, he needed to distract Mirage from the idea of hacking into Ratchet's personal notes. Yes, he was right it was something that the acting-CMO should have access to, but there were secrets in there that Jazz could not trust to even one of his staff, even knowing how circumspect they were. He was not even sure that he trusted himself.

If Ratchet had so much as hinted at his bond with Prowl it might be enough for someone like Mirage to put the pieces together and come out with the whole truth. Or at least enough to do real damage. And that was only one of a myriad of secrets Ratchet might know. What would First Aid make of those confidences? It made sense that Ratchet may have left notes for his successor in the case of his death, but the danger inherent in passing that information on was significant.

First things first, he would investigate the situation with Perceptor. Then talk to Prowl - who had no doubt calmed down by now - since he would be able to weigh the risks properly and determine the best method of neutralising them. He would worry about everything else as and when he had time.

Sideswipe stared blankly at First Aid for a moment.

"Go." the medic repeated.

"But... don't you need me to watch the monitors?"

"Not anymore. He's stable on life support. He can stay that way for a megavorn and it won't do any major harm unless someone changes the settings. And we're pretty much done with Wheeljack now. Hoist can help me finish off."

Sideswipe cast a brief glance to the corner where Huffer had collapsed some time ago. Hoist looked unsteady on his feet, like he was about to go into involuntary recharge, and First Aid did not look much better. It had been a long, trying day. Day? Actually, he was not sure how long he had been in here. It could have been orns for all he knew. His chronometer claimed it had been 17 hours but surely it had been longer than that?

"I could stay and watch them while you get some rest." he offered.

First Aid peered at him.

"I thought you wanted to get out of here? Anyway, you're about to collapse too. Go and get some recharge and come back later."

Until the medic had said it, he had not really considered how tired he was himself. Now that he put a bit of thought into it, he saw the red warning message blinking at the bottom left of his HUD, warning imminent shutdown if he did not get some energon and rest. Even so, he was not sure if he could actually bring himself to lie down on a recharge berth yet; he was too jittery.

The worst was certainly over, there was no doubt about that. Ratchet actually looked peaceful lying on that repair bed, so long as you ignored the tubes and wires plugged into his side and the temporary plate tacked over his forehead just above his chevron. As for Wheeljack, there was no more fluid spillage, no more arcing wires, and most of the power diversions had been removed as his own circuitry came back online. Sideswipe had seen the aftermath of enough surgery on himself and his brother to know that the danger was past. So he turned and drifted out into the hallway.

Not really thinking about where he was going, he found himself standing in the doorway of the rec room staring dazedly at what appeared to be the full complement of Autobots crammed into the small space, talking and drinking and laughing like they were having a party. An ember of anger began to burn in him as he stood there. A party? What the slag were they celebrating? Did they not realise how bad Wheeljack and Ratchet's injuries were? Why had no-one been waiting anxiously outside the repair bay doors for news? What if one of them had died? Had they thought of that? How dare they celebrate!

"Sides?"

He swayed, his vision suddenly blocked by a wall of yellow. Tottering a little on his pedes, his equilibrium sensors a little sluggish from exhaustion, he finally focused enough to recognise his brother as the other mech said his name for the third time, now sounding very concerned.

"Sides? What happened? What's going on?"

He stared blankly for a moment, then grinned at his twin as he remembered the good news he wanted to share.

"They're gonna be okay!"