"Domestic abuse is no laughing matter," said the woman in the grey knit dress, looking at Jazz from beneath her arched eyebrows with a ferocious gaze. Her name was Jeanette, and Jazz understood she'd once been a librarian.
"'m sorry, ma'am," Jazz said, putting a hand to his mouth and trying to stop giggling. He sat cross-legged on the floor of the small space partitioned off in what had been the Ark's main engine room when the Ark still had engines. Now it was spruced up and sectioned off all over to make somewhere Autobots could meet humans. Jazz could hear Prowl, in his little box of space at the other end of the room, murmuring something congratulatory as his human said 'Check, and I do believe mate as well'.
"We're really serious about this," said Clarice, a big woman in a peach tracksuit, shifting so her trainers squeaked against the smooth metal floor. "We saw it on the news! He got thrown right through an office block! Your leader even called it a 'domestic squabble'!"
"Yeah, he did," Jazz admitted, not mentioning that calling Megatron and Starscream's constant struggle for control of the Decepticons a 'domestic squabble' was Optimus Prime's idea of a joke. Guess the Chief's sense of humour's a bit too subtle for some. "But, see, Cybertron ain't like Earth ... "
"Are you saying this sort of behaviour is acceptable on your world?" Jeanette said, narrow eyebrows rising up her wrinkled forehead. Jazz wondered how her forehead could move at all with all her hair scraped back into that tight little knot.
"Wouldn't stand for it 'mongst our own," Jazz said. "But Decepticons gotta live with a savage sorta law."
"Excuse me?" said Jeanette, tweaking the cord by which her thick-lensed glasses hung around her neck.
"What goes down between Megatron an' Starscream ain't beans to them," Jazz said. "To Decepticon eyes what they do to one another's just the way things are. Commander an' lieutenant. The third right 'gainst the fifth duty, to the victor go the spoils and all that jazz. You ain't even seen what they can do when they get worked up." An' pray to Vector Sigma you don't, 'cause there wouldn't be much Earth left afterwards. "They're Decepticons. It's just - what they do."
"When we see someone being abused by their partner, someone who is trapped in a bad relationship they don't know how to get out of, we want to help," said Jeanette, letting go of her glasses and gesturing agitatedly with her thin hands. "Even if that person is a giant robot from another planet. Even if they've been raised to believe it's normal and natural. We have to help, because it seems that nobody else will!"
Jazz shook his head gently. "I don' know, ma'am. This all seems ... kinda out there."
"That's the same attitude so many people take to this sort of situation," Jeanette said. She sounded as if she was starting to get angry with him. "People don't have to - they shouldn't have to live like that!"
"Jeanette," said the third woman, Emma, the quiet one with the fluffy blonde hair, "you're shouting again."
Jeanette went silent immediately, hard mouth shut firmly. She folded her arms over her stick-thin body and sniffed. "I'm sorry," she said, forcing the words out. Jazz wasn't sure who she was apologizing to. It seemed kinda automatic.
"Mr Jazz -" Emma began, brushing her fringe out of her eyes.
"Just Jazz, please," the Autobot said, smiling at her.
"Jazz," and she tried a little smile of her own, then immediately went back to addressing the floor in front of his feet. "Every one of us at the shelter has been in a relationship like this one. We all know, from the inside, how it looks and feels. That's why we see in Starscream someone who's in the same bad place as we've been. He's trapped and afraid and doesn't know how to get out and - " Emma put her hand to her mouth. Jazz thought she might be trying not to cry. "And we've all been disbelieved and - and ignored by the people who were supposed to help us." She looked up at him again, through her long fringe - a quick blink of blue eyes wide with uncertainty. "Aren't you supposed to be helping people?"
"Well, yeah, but ... " Jazz stopped. "Starscream ain't no nice lady."
"There you go again!" said Clarice. "Attacking the victim!"
"Whoa, I mean, I thought you came from a shelter for abused women," Jazz exclaimed, realizing that it would be futile to try to explain that Starscream was about as much of a victim as Ironhide was a ballet dancer and that it would get him yelled at to boot.
"Victims of domestic abuse," Emma said.
"Victims includes men," Clarice said pointedly. Jeanette looked very fiercely at her shoes.
"Well, that's all kinda the same to us and to the 'cons too," said Jazz, "but Starscream's kinda big. You ain't gonna put him up at your place, are you?"
They looked at each other for a moment.
"If it comes to that, yes," Jeanette said. "Although given how close the Decepticon base is to New York we would prefer it if we could find somewhere further away, somewhere safer for him. Given the problems we have with violent abusers coming to the shelter as it is, I doubt we could do much should his ex-partner arrive on our doorstep."
"He needs to be somewhere he can feel safe," said Clarice, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her tracksuit jacket. "He needs to heal."
He is a heel, Jazz thought. "You ain't suggesting we put him up, are you?"
"No," Jeanette said, although Emma had opened her mouth as if to say yes. "What kind of lunacy would that be, to get someone out of a terrible relationship such as this one and then drop him in amongst a group of people who would - I mean - " She stumbled over the impetus of her own words.
"Yeah, yeah," said Jazz, realizing what Jeanette was about to say. "Bring him in here and there'd be one almighty ruckus." And I wouldn't bet he'd be the one to come off worse.
"We're not entirely sure where we'd house him, to be honest," Jeanette said, fiddling with her glasses again. "Things are still at such a theoretical stage. We do hope to arrange some sort of deal with an airfield - perhaps hire a hangar for him, if we can raise the money."
"You got that sorta cash?" Jazz said. Prowl kept a tight rein on the Autobots' access to human money and didn't let what they did have go anywhere without a painfully good reason.
"No," said Jeanette.
Clarice shook her head very emphatically. "But if we can get through to Starscream, it'd be a real sign to people," she said. "It'd make the news. I mean big news! We could ask for donations or something." She looked at Jeanette, perhaps expecting her to join in, but she was polishing her glasses on her sleeve and looking introspective. "It'd be a message of hope to other victims," Clarice continued, a bit lost. "If we can help alien robots, of course we can help normal women! We got to do it."
Man, Jazz thought, sinking his chin into his hand with a tired half-smile, why did I volunteer for Ark PR officer? Oh yeah ... because I thought it would be fun. The spark of a laugh began to tickle him, way down in his fuel tank. Well, I might as well have some fun ... "Ladies, I ain't exactly convinced of this, but if you say you're seein' something I ain't, well, even ol' Jazz can be wrong. I'm willing to help in any way I can."
Jeanette smiled tightly. "Thank you. We brought our outreach leaflet."
"Jus' one leaflet?" Jazz asked.
"It was too expensive to print more than one," Jeanette said. "We had it blown up to Transformer scale."
"Well, that's real nice of you!" Jazz said. "So all I gotta do is give this leaflet to ol' Sta - err - Starscream?"
"If you could get it to him in the least hostile manner possible ... " Emma asked, combing her hair back from her face, sounding as if she felt she was asking for too much.
"Sure I will, honey," Jazz said and the laugh bubbled in his tanks, "sure I can!"
"So that's it, huh?" Bluestreak asked, peering over Jazz's shoulders as they hunkered in the shelter of a ruined building, Decepticon fire shrieking overhead.
"Yup," Jazz replied, turning the flimsy leaflet over in his hands. It was a sheet of plasticized card nine feet long and six feet wide. The charity's logo was printed across the top in letters a foot tall and under it their slogan - "You Are Not Alone." Jazz had to wonder how smart that was. He scanned over the huge print again, picking up phrases like "harmful relationship" and "cycle of abuse", words such as "trapped", "alone", "afraid", and wondered if the charity had just scaled up one of their normal leaflets.
Jazz glanced over the broken wall. Starscream and two of the Constructicons were firing from behind a crushed warehouse, their backs to the big industrial building where the Decepticons' latest doomsday device was hidden. The Air Commander was dragging his right leg as he moved. Jazz smiled, reckoning he'd picked a good day. Starscream's injury was serious enough to prevent him leaping into the air the moment an Autobot got close, but not so serious that he'd feel threatened by little ol' Jazz.
Jazz took two seconds to read the leaflet properly. The Air Commander's name wasn't in the text but it was clearly written specifically for him. The opening paragraphs were full of outreaching "you are not alone" and "we know how you feel" that graded into more specific "you're in a bad relationship and you can get out of it", all "we're here to help" and "you don't have to suffer any more" with an added helping of "all you have to do is walk away".
Sure, tell the ol' glitch to pack in all that work clawing his way up the food chain, junk the whole 'conquering the universe' gig and come live in a draughty hangar in Kentucky, plantin' flowers and givin' kids flying lessons between therapy sessions an' little TV speeches. Hey, only took him a couple'a million years to make it to where he is, no big deal walking away just 'cause Megatron's got the gall to keep stayin' alive.
Jazz chuckled. Starscream would be mortified to find out what the humans thought of him.
He leaned back, humming a few bars along with the Bee Gees playing in his head, and held the leaflet up for Bluestreak to see. "Read this!" he whispered, voice wobbling with suppressed laughter.
Bluestreak leant against Jazz's back and read over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his visor Jazz could see the gunner's optics widening and his mouth opening in an expression of shock, then amusement, then horror.
"There are people who do things like that?" Bluestreak asked, sad-eyed. "I mean get into trouble like that, not just leave it, because if you didn't want to leave it would be -"
"Yeah, it happens," Jazz said, dismissing the matter with a shrug.
Bluestreak looked doubtful. "Even if it's just little arguments sometimes?"
"Dunno, Bluestreak, never been there myself," Jazz said and then noticed the gunner's worried expression. "I reckon you'd know if you were in one, man. Little arguments is normal. Betcha even Elita and Prime gotta row sometimes." He looked back at the leaflet and grinned hugely. "Starscream's gonna have a fit! Man, Trailbreaker's gonna chew his spare tyre when he realizes he missed out on this one."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Bluestreak asked, turning to fire a rocket at a Constructicon. "Making Starscream angry, I mean, Trailbreaker can always think of a new joke. He could really hurt you, and I just don't know if Optimus Prime would really - "
"'course I'm sure!" Jazz said, unable to stop giggling even as a green and purple figure was flung into the air and vanished beyond the warehouses. "Starscream's gonna be too dumb-struck to more'n smack me around a few times, and I don't mind if it costs me an arm and a leg to get this one over him!" Jazz couldn't shake the image that had been in his mind since the charity contacted him, a mental picture of Megatron in a necktie, one hand raised in a fist whilst the other held a newspaper, and Starscream in a floral apron, crying and nursing a black eye. Jazz put his hand over his mouth and squeaked, trying so hard not to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of it. "Can you cover me whilst I go see if ol' Starcreep's willing to accept delivery?"
"Sure," Bluestreak said, swiveling at the waist to burst-fire at a dark jet swooping overhead. "They look about ready to run but you know how sometimes they look like they're gonna run and then they turn on you, so don't be too long, because if you're gone for more than a few minutes I might get called away by Prime or Prowl or -"
"Be as fast as a turbofox full o' high-grade with Mirage on my trail," Jazz said, tipping Bluestreak a casual salute.
"That'd be really fast," Bluestreak said, sounding a bit distracted as he launched a pair of rockets over the building and into what, judging by the vast plume of light and the earthshaking roar, had been the Decepticons' energon storage.
With a quick chuckle, Jazz ducked down and leopard-crawled along the ground, sneaking around the ruined wall and into the trench of an unfinished pipeline that ran between the two buildings. Quickly looking around as he slipped into the trench, he saw only one Constructicon - Long Haul, he guessed - and he was backed into a corner by Bluestreak's guns, looking about ready to bug out and fly for it. Starscream was out of sight.
Keeping low to the ground Jazz scuttled along the trench, glad of the piles of spoil between himself and Long Haul. The sun shone pleasantly, basking on the bricks and broken concrete with warm, peaceful light. Jazz reflected it was a lovely day, just the sort of day to be parked out on a bluff somewhere listening to everything on the radio.
Damn, me and Blaster should've called in malfunctioning this morning, he thought. Wonder if Prowl'd believe chronic memory loops of the Bee Gees is bad enough for an afternoon off? Yo, Ratchet, I got a bad case of the contagious Gibbs! Yeah, that'd work 'bout as well as Huffer saying he's got a worn clutch and a slow puncture. Jazz laughed to himself.
On the other side of the rubble there was the abrupt whine of Decepticon flight tech. Jazz looked up and saw Long Haul receding into the sky. For a moment he thought the Construction was going to fire on him, but the Decepticon didn't seem to have noticed Jazz was there.
Now that's what I call showing a green pair of heels, Jazz thought, trying very hard not to hum along to the Bee Gees.
Popping up like a prairie dog out of a hole, he saw that the battlefield was emptying. There were jets in the distance, flying in protective loops around the retreating Constructicons and Megatron himself. Jazz winced as the Decepticon leader fired at something beyond the buildings, probably Prime, sending a vast thoom through the whole valley. The air darkened with churned soil and smoke, the earth shuddered, and Megatron escaped through the thick tower of foul smoke.
Jazz couldn't see Starscream in the retreat. Ho, they've gone and left him behind again! One of these days that's gonna bite Megatron in the aft.
The mental image of Starscream sinking his mandenta into Megatron's backside, Megatron hollering and flailing all over the place, made Jazz double over spluttering with laughter. At least it got rid of the Gibbs, Jazz thought, rising into a crouch as he snuck up to the battered building. There was an entrance labeled "Delivery Vehicles Only", which suited Jazz down to the ground. Dropping back down to all fours he crawled through the gateway into a big empty parking lot. There were a couple of delivery vans parked and empty, one on fire.
On the other side of the parking lot Jazz saw a broad door, just big enough for him to crawl through, so - smashing the glass and pulling out the doorframes as gently as possible - he wiggled through the corridor. It took a turn to the left - awkward but not impossible, although he gouged up lots of the well-polished wooden flooring - and then to the right where Jazz banged his aft on the doors of a big service elevator, and then straight ahead was a smashed-in door.
Through the door the corridor turned into a covered walkway, tall and wide enough for Jazz to crouch. Following it Jazz entered an open courtyard or quadrangle of grass and gravel. The Decepticons' weirdo device du jour was smouldering in a heap in the corner to his left. Starscream stood between Jazz and the machine, leaning away from the sparking power controls, poised as if about to abandon his post. Jazz wondered whether to back into the walkway and holler to Starscream or just pounce on him from behind.
Starscream twitched a wing then turned sharply, arms snapping up, and fired both barrels straight at Jazz.
'Hex and vex! Jazz thought, diving back into the walkway. Keep forgetting how good that glitch's rear-view hearing is. Guess you don't make 'con 2IC if you can't hear someone about to stab you in the back. Hot plasma whined past his heels and detonated against a distant wall. Overhead the concrete ceiling creaked.
"Stay chilled, man," Jazz called out to Starscream. "I'm here on a mission of mercy."
Starscream laughed, a brief snicker of sarcasm. "Tell it to the neutrals."
"Y'know Megatron bugged outta here 'bout five minutes ago," Jazz said. "Gone and left your behind behind again."
"What luck," Starscream sneered, soft-voiced. "I won't have to share my enjoyment of ripping out your cogs."
Uh-oh, Jazz thought. He sounds pretty frosty for a wounded dude who's been left bone-alone-o guardin' the flag. Well, there ain't no bomb in there or he'd've been up and out and half-way into orbit already. Means there's something valuable in that power box, something ol' Starcreep probably wants for himself.
Yeah, Jazz thought with a smile. Something he wants to grab for his own dirty tricks and tell Megatron we made off with. "You having fun, standin' around on guard duty there?"
"I'm not in the mood for foolish prattle, Auto-botch," Starscream snapped.
Jazz realized from the sound of his voice that the Air Commander had his back to Jazz's hiding place, probably elbows-deep in the power controls already. Damn, he works fast. "Yeah? How's this then, I got a message for you."
"A three-thousand-Fahrenheit message, I'm sure," Starscream said. He sounded pretty uninterested.
Son of a glitch knows I ain't got the firepower to do more than scratch his back, Jazz thought with a frown. And whatever's in Megatron's new toy there is more interesting than cracking my face. Looks like it's time to get up-close and personal with the Big Ugly. The butterflies of laughter started up their jig in his fueltank. Or just time to get personal. "Not quite. It's about nine feet long, six feet wide and flat."
Silence. The distant thump of gunfire. Someone was still holding out on the other side of the valley, unable or unwilling to retreat. Nearby, water dripped monotonously on concrete.
"You're warning me you have a nanoblade throwing knife?" Starscream asked, sounding more curious than alarmed. "You Autobots get stupider all the time."
"This ain't for throwing," Jazz said, restraining not only laughter but also the long habit of addressing Decepticons by rude names. "It's written down. Y'know, all those letters making up words? You want me to read it to you or d'you know how to do that yourself?"
"Idiot!" Starscream shouted. "If this is some foolish Autobot game - "
Jazz scrambled back as he heard Starscream's footsteps stamping towards him, the tough rims of the Seeker's exhaust nozzles cutting through the concrete floor and the awkward scraping drag of his damaged leg. Jazz tucked up his legs, readying himself to tackle Starscream around the knees and then sit on him and give him a good hard mocking.
This is gonna be fun, as long as I don't get killed, Jazz thought.
Starscream's arm lunged around the corner and grabbed Jazz by the shoulder. With a yelp the saboteur threw his weight away from the Decepticon even as the hard-angled body moved into view, blocking out the light.
Scorch and singe, they build these goons big in Polyhex! Jazz thought, freeing himself from Starscream's grip and diving into the corridor for cover. He skidded on the polished floor and hit the elevator with a resounding clang, his headfirst leap carrying him through the doors and chest-deep into the elevator carriage. Half-in and half-out, arms stuck in the doorway, Jazz looked up and saw Starscream's optics reflected in the steel wall of the elevator, shining like a pair of laser sights.
Aw, junkbuckets! Jazz thought. This is gonna hurt. "Hey man, don't take it out on me - I just came to talk."
"I'm sure your moronic Autobot babble about peace and friendship hasn't changed since the last time I was captive," Starscream said. He was hunched up in the walkway, wings tearing into the ceiling. He was too big in the shoulders to get into the corridor, Jazz saw with slight relief, but his arms were easily long enough to reach Jazz's legs. Jazz quickly drew his feet up as far as he could but Starscream could still reach him if he tried.
Jazz realized that a few small explosions in the right place would bury them both in several hundred tons of concrete. He wasn't certain if that would be a good idea or not. If I took him prisoner we could have a nice friendly sorta talk with a handy-dandy set of electron bars between his hands and my vital circuits. Still, can't say I fancy being buried under all that rubble with Big Ugly here, 'specially not this particular Tall Mad and Claustrophobic. "Hold the line, this is a new message, hot off the press."
"What are you blathering about, you pest?" Starscream snapped, wriggling as he tried to get his air-scoops through the door. His fingers scraped the floor half a hand's length from Jazz's feet. Jazz considered kicking but knew the Seeker was faster than him, easily fast enough to catch his flailing feet and drag him out on his aft.
Aww, rivets and rust! I can't hand him the leaflet in this position neither, Jazz thought. He drew his knees up as high as he could, until they were tucked under his bumper, and tried not to think about Starscream shooting him in the aft. Then he braced his feet against the ceiling, put his hands to the outside of the elevator door-frame and with a shout of "Hup!" somersaulted backwards. Plaster sprayed from holes torn in the ceiling and walls, showering Jazz with white dust.
Jazz landed on all fours, face-to-face with the barrel of Starscream's null ray. The Seeker's upper lip curled in a nasty smile.
"Whoa, whoa!" Jazz slowly felt under his chest for the leaflet. It was a bit crumpled but intact. He held it out to the Decepticon. "Mission o' mercy, man," he said. "You got friends you didn't know you had."
"Mercy would be your vocalizer shutting down," Starscream said, peering at the leaflet with intent suspicion. "What is it?"
"The news, the truth and the way out," Jazz said, trying to get the last set of evangelist broadcasts he'd heard out of his vocal processor. Bang it, worse than the Gibbs!
"You are incomprehensible," Starscream said, optics flicking as he snap-scanned the leaflet. There was no way he could read it at that angle, even if he realized it was written in human.
"It don't bite," Jazz said, holding it out a little closer.
As he'd gambled, Starscream's in-built curiosity overrode his self-preservation as it always did and the Air Commander tweaked the fragile thing from between Jazz's fingers.
The Seeker moved back into the freedom of the courtyard, backing up doubled over until his air-scoops stopped scraping the ceiling, his bad leg still dragging ruts in the concrete. Keeping a gun trained on Jazz, Starscream glanced at the leaflet, back at Jazz, then looked at the leaflet again.
His optics widened, brightening like flares. He stiffened, joints rigid, shoulders pulled back, wings quivering. His mouth opened soundlessly.
Starscream looked down the corridor at Jazz with his optics blazing and his mandenta bared and gleaming sharply, his wings quivering. His fingers worked in spasms like he was crushing someone's face between them.
"You-!" and it came out like the scream of an air-raid siren. The distant background of gunfire paused. "You dare-!" and every window for ten miles shattered. "You dare to insinuate that I-!" Starscream howled in anger. His hands clenched and lit up in a corona of electricity that sparked and spat and set the leaflet burning into an ashy rag.
The Air Commander shook with rage and Jazz could finally laugh as loud as he had longed to do for days.
"I think I found him," Sideswipe said a million miles away.
"Rivets," said Sunstreaker, the sound of his voice swimming with distortion. "Start digging."
The sense of his own body returned the moment Sideswipe started up his jackhammers, shaking his entire frame. "Gnnnaaaargggh!" Jazz managed.
"Oh hey, he's awake," Sideswipe said. Jazz's visor flickered back into functionality and he found himself staring up at Sideswipe between a mess of girders and broken concrete. "Hi Jazz!"
"Yo Joe Lambo!" Jazz said, coughing clouds of powdered concrete out of his vents. It seemed weirdly dark, even considering the tons of rubble on top of him. "Anyone wanna tell me what happened?"
"Starscream," said Sunstreaker, hefting one of the girders off him. "Happened. Loudly. Everywhere."
"He exploded?" Jazz said, giggling.
"Yes," Sunstreaker said, tossing another girder aside.
Jazz noticed both of his rescuers were filthy and covered in singe marks. "He get the controls for the power lances?" he asked, remembering his original objective.
"No," Sunstreaker said. He and Sideswipe got their hands under Jazz's arms and hauled him up, out of his cocoon of concrete.
Jazz turned to Sunstreaker. "Since when were you Mr. Monosyllabic?"
Sunstreaker punched him in the abdomen.
Jazz felt his armour buckle, the blow lifting him clean off his feet. He went down hard, face to the concrete, hitched up in a ball of surprise and pain. He heard Sideswipe shout "No!" and the sound of a scuffle, felt Sunstreaker's foot hitting the ground near his face. Did Sunstreaker almost just kick me?
Sunstreaker grabbed him and dragged him back to his feet again. "Listen, you dumb son of a Volvo, Prime wants your aft back in the Ark an hour ago and right now if he had asked for your head I'd be happy to bring it home in a cube!"
Jazz boggled. "What the 'hex, Sunstreaker?"
"You looked around yet?" Sunstreaker asked, jostling him.
Jazz looked.
All around lay devastation. Every warehouse was flattened, everything that could burn was aflame. The sky was thick with towering smoke, the ground gouty with craters. The ragged bluffs where the Decepticon power lances had stood were spread across the valley in splatters of hot rubble, dribbles of molten stone still running down towards the steaming, stinking river. The few buildings that had stood before the battle began were now only cracked foundations. Somewhere, beyond some pile of smouldering rubble, someone was moaning in pain.
In the distance the sirens of fire engines wailed. Black fingers of smoke drifted across the far side of the sky, pointing out gaping holes in the skyline of the city nearby.
" ... the 'hex?" Jazz asked.
"Starscream," Sunstreaker said, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him towards the road. "Happened. Loudly. Everywhere."
"Yeah, what the bolting 'hex did you do, Jazz?" Sideswipe asked, tossing an I-beam aside and following after them.
"I - I just ... it was a joke, that's all," Jazz said, in a voice that felt as small as he did amongst the enormity of the consequences around him.
The drive back to the Ark was undertaken without speech, Jazz boxed in by the Lamborghinis, Sideswipe in the lead and Sunstreaker in the rear. It only took half a mile for Jazz to feel the first bump, a sharp nip at his tyres as Sunstreaker's front end crept under his back bumper and nudged him, oomph! He hunkered down on his shocks and tried to ignore it, a nasty feeling circling through his systems like a virus.
Oomph! Sunstreaker bumped him again.
He gonna do this all the way back to the Ark? Jazz wondered. A sensation of impending doom began to filter into his circuits. Most likely. Man, Prime's gonna grind my audios off for this ... I hope ...
There were flashing lights behind them. Jazz popped up on his shocks to try and see over Sunstreaker but the warrior's big engine funnels got in the way. He could just make out the cab of a fire engine approaching. Red Alert's sirens whooped behind Sunstreaker for a second in greeting. Inferno was following behind him, his engine sweating diesel from the strain of keeping up with the security chief.
Dunno how he stands the pace with ol' Red sometimes, Jazz thought, the first flickers of a smile beginning.
"Hey there, chief," Sideswipe called.
[Sideswipe,] Red Alert replied.
"Everything under control back there?"
[It is not under control. There is nothing left to be controlled. We are simply organizing the disaster. Inferno and I are heading for the city to help with the rescue operation. Optimus Prime is sending everyone out along the damage line to help, even the Dinobots.]
"Even the New York patrol?" Sideswipe asked.
Oomph! went Sunstreaker's bumper against his tyres. Jazz yelped.
[They're busy where they are,] Red Alert replied, his tone dark and guarded. [I understand Optimus has sent the Aerialbots out in support.]
[Red Alert?] Sunstreaker called, the first thing he'd said since they left the battleground. [You hear any update on Bluestreak?]
Jazz's tanks lurched and he wobbled on the road. I left Bluestreak outside when I went in to have my little coffee klatch with Starscream. Man, I hope nothing bad happened to him.
[The injuries aren't as bad as first feared, although he will need a new arm,] Red Alert said. [But Ratchet thinks it will be a day or two before the trauma loops in his main cortex break down enough for his higher cognitive functions to auto-restart.]
Oomph!
Jazz yelped as Sunstreaker rammed him in the back tyres. "Hey!"
"Shut up," Sunstreaker snapped. "If Bluestreak can't talk then neither can you."
The sun was idling down the evening sky as they approached the Ark, washing Mount Saint Hilary in deep orange light. The thick pine forest around the mountain was deep in shadow, filled with the scent of sap and the faint homely smell of the volcano itself.
The smoke-stained city was far behind, Red Alert and Inferno still digging for survivors. They expected to be out all night and the next couple of days too. Jazz had realized by the indecent haste with which he was shunted out of the damage zone that he wasn't being taken home to help; he was being taken home under guard.
Man oh man, this was not supposed to happen, Jazz thought. Who'da thought Starscuzzbucket would take so much offence?
That thought was interrupted by Sunstreaker's bumper against his raw tyres.
Ironhide was waiting for them at the entrance to the Ark, sad in the optics. He shook his head at Jazz when the three of them transformed and didn't answer the saboteur's hallo. Sideswipe excused himself with some urgent errand or other that just happened to need running to repair bay. Ironhide waved him off.
Jazz was quick-marched up to the main bridge with impending doom on one side of his core and nervous guilt on the other.
Optimus Prime had his back to them when they came in, leaning over Teletran-1 to look at scenes of destruction and flame on the many screens. Jazz heard him sigh.
His guards walked him up to Prime, stood him at their leader's right hand. Jazz had a feeling that he might not be on Prime's metaphorical right hand so much in the near future.
Optimus shook his head and turned to look at Jazz. He regarded the saboteur with a long, silent stare. Jazz saw pain in his commander's optics, real deep pain that went down to the laser core, the kind of pain that stayed for years. Prime's distress came off in him waves, big fuelpump-slow pulses of grief, with Ironhide like a repeater station on Jazz's left side and Sunstreaker like an interference tower broadcasting cold anger on Jazz's right, arms folded, glaring at Jazz out of the corner of his optics.
Jazz felt about six inches tall.
"Jazz," said the Autobot leader, and his tone was heavy, trying to hide the sadness. "I've been waiting for you to arrive."
"Seems I'm the man of the minute," Jazz said, trying levity in the face of gloom and watching it fall as flat as an Insecticon under a steamroller.
Optimus Prime shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jazz. This is going to be very hard for both of us."
Jazz looked away. It was hard to meet Prime's optics when they were full of such fresh grief and yet still had so much room for sympathy.
"Starscream has left a trail of devastation from one side of the United States to the other," Optimus Prime said, pointing to a map on one of Teletran-1's smaller screens. It showed a bright red line drawn, as if with a ruler, from the battle site in Idaho to the Decepticon underwater base south of New York. There were three large red spots on it. "The authorities are still tallying the casualties. He flew low, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet in the air, and shot everything he passed over. Cars, houses, office buildings, factories, schools, hospitals, anything with living people in it." Prime pointed to one of the spots, blooming over South Dakota. "This was a town. Parksburg. There were about four thousand people living in it." He looked at Jazz. "It's gone. It's a hole in the ground."
Jazz looked at the other two spots. They were bigger. The thought of how many deaths they represented came up in his mind like a wall and he cringed. In his tanks he felt the beginning of a turning sensation, like the death roll of a crashing starship, that made every one of his internal components ache.
The Autobot leader paused, optics dimmed in grief. Jazz heard the almost inaudible sigh of weariness from his leader.
"He made one small detour," the Prime said, "to attack and utterly destroy a single building - a refuge for abused women in New York City. The New York patrol tried to defend it. Tracks was badly injured. They're still looking for Seaspray." He stopped again, touching Teletran-1's keyboard with one hand. "I've been informed that the shelter was reduced to a twenty-foot-deep crater. It's still on fire. The rescue workers do not expect to find any survivors."
Jazz's fuel tanks turned to solid ice and plunged through his feet, leaving him faint and shaky. "I - I ... "
"Jazz," said Optimus Prime, and Jazz felt another lurch in his tanks because that tone of voice was the clarion of disciplinary doom. "I'd like to hear an explanation for this."
"Well ... " Jazz started, holding up his hands. "I - " and the words locked in his mouth. "I - " I can't say it. "I - " I can't. I have to. I can't just say "I thought it would be funny."
Sunstreaker's jaw clicked with tension. He had his arms folded in that rigid way that meant he was trying not to clench his fists. "Funny?" he said. "Bluestreak came home in the back of Ratchet with his shoulder missing. Is that funny?"
Jazz flinched.
"Sunstreaker," Prime said, and the squad leader bowed his head in silence. "Jazz, your explanation, please."
Jazz waved his hands helplessly, the guilt settling around his throat like a shackle. "I just thought it'd be a laugh."
"This is no laughing matter," Optimus said, shaking his head.
"Yeah, yeah, I just didn't think -"
"Heard that before," said Sunstreaker, sotto voce.
Prime ignored him, holding Jazz in a gaze like a tractor beam, and Jazz could do nothing but explain.
"See, the ladies from that shelter came to me a couple'a weeks ago," he said, realizing as he spoke that all three of them were dead, reduced to wisps of carbon smoke. His voice dried up. "They - they said -"
Optimus Prime nodded. Jazz couldn't look at his face. "Go on."
"Said they thought Starscream was bein' domestically abused by Megatron," Jazz said. The words seemed so incongruous, so outright paradoxical that a bubble of laughter welled up into his voice and broke out in a hysterical little sob. "Said they wanted to help the ol' glitchbag. Let him get away from his bad relationship." He kept seeing Jeanette, sniffing and fiddling with her glasses, then suddenly her bones flashing black as the yellow brightness of plasma fire reduced her to nothingness. "Gave me a leaflet. I thought Starscream'd be embarrassed. Thought it would be funny. I - I jus' handed it over." He hung his head. Clarice appeared in his mind, melting into a pool of boiling flesh. "Thought it'd be funny," and his voice sounded as small as he felt as the memory of Emma budded in his mind, bloomed into a scream as a wave of flame swept over her, hair crisping, skin blackening, flesh bursting, limbs charring, dead, dead, dead!
Jazz put his hands over his face and shook.
"You saw humans trying to help a Decepticon," Optimus Prime said, and Jazz couldn't look at him because he was looking at their deaths again, "reaching out to an invader with compassion and kindness and you used them, just to make you laugh."
Jazz shook his head, trying to make it all un-happen just by wishing hard enough. In his mind he saw them die again. He saw Tracks bleeding out on a broken pavement. He saw Bluestreak having his arm torn from his body, sending his mind spirally down into old bad places. He saw towns go up in clustered explosions, each flash a thousand lives blasted away in a blink.
"Jazz, I'm sending you to New York," Prime said leadenly. "You're to go to the attack site and volunteer to help in any way you can."
"Yes, Prime," Jazz said in a tiny voice, lowering his hands to his sides, conscious of the disapproval of his comrades beside him, conscious of the weight of shame settling upon his shoulders.
"After that, you'll be spending some time with one of this charity's sister foundations, working with victims of domestic abuse." Prime's optics were spots of cold light. "When you understand why I'm so ashamed of what you've done, then you can come home."
"Yes, sir," Jazz said, not sure he'd spoken loud enough for Prime to hear.
Optimus Prime sighed again and just looked at him. Jazz wanted to ball up on the floor and bawl out how sorry he was but the people he needed to apologize to were dead, flashes of ash, smears of cinder, gone - burned up and consumed by Starscream's anger, all that needless rage over one little leaflet.
Prime turned back to Teletran-1 and carried on his work as if Jazz had become invisible. His guards fell out. Ironhide went over to Prime and put a supportive hand on their leader's shoulder. Sunstreaker stood to attention, waiting to be dismissed just to prove he didn't need to run off to repair bay.
Jazz stood and stewed in his own guilt, waiting to be sent away. And waited. And waited.
He ventured a look at Sunstreaker. The warrior was ignoring him, just leaning on the console waiting for Prime to find a use for him or send him off to get clean or just maybe go and see how that wounded member of his patrol was doing. Jazz realized he was going to be persona non grata with a lot of people for a long time.
Man, I've screwed up so bad, he thought, looking at his feet. Bad Jazz, bad. Bad, bad, bad Jazz. Where do I start makin' up for this ... ? He thought about Bluestreak, flat out on a repair plinth. Aw 'hex. How'm I gonna patch things up to him? How'm I gonna patch things up with Tracks and Seaspray and Sunstreaker and - and everyone?
Teletran-1 beeped. Jazz's head snapped up in surprise. He realized he felt weak, and sick with himself.
Sunstreaker glanced at the console. "Incoming from Slimeball HQ," he said, sounding disgusted.
"What in tarnation do they want?" Ironhide said.
"Repair bill for Starscream busting up Megatron's face?" Sunstreaker suggested.
"Put it on," Prime said, nodding to Sunstreaker, who hit the button, fixing Jazz with a cold glare as he did.
Teletran-1's screen blinked, switched from flame and destruction to Megatron. He was smoke-stained, his face torn, his jaw twisted, his back cannon leaning at an angle that meant fractures and pain. There were long streaks on his chest and shoulders and face, the kind of finger-wide marks you'd get from struggling with someone who was trying to rip your optics out, someone with sky-blue hands. Red hydraulic fluid was dripping from his mouth, where his lower lip and part of his face had been ripped away. Jazz thought he saw bite-marks there.
"Prime," said Megatron, his voice hoarse, perhaps from the smoke pouring from the damaged walls around him, perhaps from whatever explosion had ripped holes in the ceiling above him, perhaps from whatever internal damage was causing molten metal to ooze from between the plates on his abdomen.
"What is it, Megatron?" Optimus Prime said. Jazz saw the Autobot leader's shoulders tighten, saw his hands clench, saw his optics narrow and brighten with target locks.
"What did your troops say or do to Starscream?" the Decepticon leader asked, resting his hands on his hips. Jazz saw he was missing fingers, the stumps crackling with green light.
Prime turned his head to look at Jazz; Jazz cringed, grinding his hands together. Prime looked about twenty seconds from taking a swing at someone, and in the absence of Megatron or Starscream, Jazz couldn't help but feel he ought to offer himself as target. Prime looked back at Megatron. "Nothing I authorized or approve of," he said.
"Then it will be understood that I did not authorize or approve of Starscream's ... enthusiastic response," Megatron said, his mauled face twisting.
Jazz realized that, through all that damage, the Decepticon was trying to smile.
"Nor," continued Megatron, and Jazz went cold with anticipation, "can I ignore the insult dealt to not only Starscream but also myself by the pathetic flesh-grubs of this planet." The remains of his mouth torqued into a sneer, the damaged dermaplating cracking and exposing the pale green glow of living circuits. "I will not be considered some petty dictator, keeping my lieutenant on his knees in terror as if I were a coward!" His upper lip rose a fraction, exposing sharp mandenta stained with someone else's fuel. Jazz realized that Megatron's glossa was gone from his mouth. "You may inform those groveling carbon sacks that you call your allies that, should one more word of this demeaning nonsense reach my hearing, I will allow Starscream to correct their warped perception at his absolute liberty!"
His optics flashed like flames burning through skin. Jazz looked away.
"Congratulate your warrior, Prime," Megatron said, his voice like honeyed gravel. "He has placed the fate of all humanity in Starscream's hands." He closed the communication.
Optimus Prime stared at the screen, aghast, shaking his head slightly. His shoulders sagged as another burden was laid upon him. Jazz opened his mouth to apologize and could find no words. Sunstreaker glared at him with optics like drillbits.
Jazz held his hands out pathetically as all three Autobots turned to stare at him. "I - I just thought it would be funny."