[Fic] Story of a Lifetime, part 3.5
Since I'm still up (after falling for the April Fools Day joke on PxJ *sigh*) I figured I might as well just post this now.
Part 3: Near misses
Chapter 5 of 5
Jazz pushed his engine to screaming, forcing his alt mode to its top speed, and fled.
Faster, faster, but not fast enough. Dodging laser bolts close enough to blister his paint. Wrenching himself around a corner he had temporary cover from a bridge above and he made the best use of it he could, but they were close and they were skilled.
A triple-toned chime gave him hope and he veered left. Rubble blocked his way, but he transformed and somersaulted over it then transformed back, snarling curses at the strain all of this was putting on his still-mending arm.
Faster, he had to go faster.
Notes on his HUD told him how far he was from his goal and offered alternative routes, estimated how many pursuers he had and how far back they were. He ignored all of it - he had could not spare the focus to process any of it.
A second signal, this time two low notes then a long high one. Close, he was so close.
A ground-bound Decepticon appeared out of an alleyway ahead of him, trying to block him off. He transformed again, rifle in his hand without thought, rolled, shot, transformed, kept moving.
Now there was a new signal on his HUD, one not so easy to ignore, an urgent warning that his energy levels were dropping dangerously low. In any normal mech it would have signalled imminent stasis lock, but he had programs to handle that: he would use up every last erg of energy then collapse and die rather than drop into helpless stasis where the enemy could capture him.
Three brief notes, a harmonising tone, then a chord. Gasping, he transformed one last time and flung himself recklessly off the edge of the road into one of the many deep chasms in Cybertron's surface. As he fell, he saw laser bolts skim past him: the winged enemies still pursued.
He offlined his optics.
If they paused to aim, there would be nothing that could save him. He had no flight capabilities, he could not dodge, could not even turn to fire back at them. His energy levels now dropped below the normal stasis threshold and he shut down every system he could in order to remain conscious.
A little further and he would be safe.
If not...
Well, no-one lived forever.
Talking to it was not working.
The medic asked and since there seemed no other option Prowl agreed, granting his permission for the next stage. He was reduced to referring to the captured Decepticon as 'it' since there was no indication as to whether it was mech or femme. Mech, probably, but that was not an assumption he chose to make.
The captive did not seem to understand spoken Cybertronian. It snarled at them in a strange mix of binary click and meaningless sonic bursts interspersed with almost-words that closely resembled pungeant curses.
"Removing the language protocols would make it easier to fit in the important core components without increasing the processor size." the medtech commented as he continued with his work.
"So they understand nothing at all?"
"Probably a limited set of commands so the Cons could keep them under control. Ah. Definitely a sparkling."
"You can tell that so easily?" Prowl asked, moving slightly closer to look into where the enemy's spark chamber had been cut open.
The idea of doing this with the captive still online utterly shocked him but the medtech had assured him that the shortage of sensors meant that it was in no pain, and certainly the prisoner had not reacted to the obscene intrusion. As for the cutting, it appeared that the chamber had been welded shut so this was the only way.
Looking down, he saw a silvery mist swirling within the heavily shielded black box. This was what a spark looked like?
"See how the spark is almost transparent? A mature spark is opaque and darker in colour because the core is solid energy, but a juvenile spark is... well, wispy. Translucent. No mistaking it. This one, well I'm no expert but I'd say it's no more than a few decades old. Also..."
The medtech paused, peering at it, then stirring it a little with a tool protruding from his finger. Feeling queasy Prowl quickly looked away, fighting the urge to cover his own chest with his hands to protect against such a casual intrusion into that intimate area.
"Also?" he prompted.
"Well like I say, I'm no expert, but I'd say it's too small. It looks like a split spark, but I've never heard that with a sparkling. Splits only come from mature mecha, but then there would be fragments of solidified core in here, and there aren't."
Prowl looked back at him, careful not to look down.
"You're suggesting that they are taking newly created sparks and splitting them, then inserting them into pre-programmed drone shells?" he asked slowly.
"What? No. Can't be done. They'd never form properly. I don't know what it means, maybe he's just been starved so long his spark's faltering. Or maybe he's just always had a dim spark..."
"Sir! Communication from Sky Lynx just got through. He's bringing reinforcements."
"I'm on my way." he nodded, but kept his gaze on the medtech. "Close it up again and have it guarded - I want it brought back aboard. And don't talk to anyone about this. As you say, it may be an aberration."
He wished he could believe that himself, but now that the suggestion had been made it made too much sense. If the new sparks were being split across multiple forms it would explain the sudden massive increase in available troops. After all, Vector Sigma would only grant so many sparks at a time, but if those sparks were to be divided up it was a completely different situation.
This was information he had to get back to Quickquadrant.
Jazz groaned as he forced his optics to focus, then sighed.
"Wakin' me up again, Hound? Can't ya let an injured mech rest for just a few clicks?"
"You've been offline for almost three full orns. We tried to put you into stasis, but it wasn't working and Raj said you'd probably been tampering with your programming again. You know what Ratchet'll say if he finds out."
"He ain't gonna find out." Jazz mumbled. "Didja get the data?"
"Yeah. Raj dredged you when you came back on board. You don't remember?"
Jazz shook his head.
"Last thing I remember's fallin'."
"Well we caught you and got out of there, but you wouldn't go offline until you'd dumped the data. Except you were too far gone to drop it onto a pad or crystal, so Mirage hooked up."
"Good thing he was there, then."
"That's what you said at the time." Hound sighed. "Anyway, you know you're back with us now, so go back offline and we'll get the medics to take you in again and get you sorted out."
Jazz frowned, something not adding up.
"Hey, wait. We weren't that far away from the Fantalex, how come it's takin' us so long t'get back?"
"We've been staying out to give you time to recover. Returning you to the medics with new dents and scratches is one thing. Doing it with you exhausted and with all your defences up is something else."
"Oh. Thanks, Hound."
The scout sighed.
"Don't mention it. Just stop giving Raj ideas, okay?"
Jazz smiled but was too tired to banter and let himself drop back into blissful unawareness.
Epilogue
Prowl shuffled through the corridors with his doorwings drooping down, not caring who saw him looking so dissheveled.
He was tired. Six straight orns of directing combat, two more of being grilled over his hypotheses and actions while the reinforcement commanders routed the Decepticons, then an all-too-short nap before having to report before the entire command complement.
Quickquadrant had been ready to entirely dismiss his theory about the split newling sparks, and Prowl could hardly blame him since he had no evidence because the commander who had taken over had immediately shot his prisoner, but then Curveball had spoken up to say that his own agents had confirmed it just a few groons earlier.
So then he was 'honoured' by being asked to stay for the discussions that followed. At least until Ratchet had noticed he was drifting into stasis where he sat and ordered him to rest.
Sometime later he might actually be embarrassed by that, he thought distantly. Not right now though. Right now he was too tired to care about anything but getting to his berth.
Hearing muttered curses from around the corner, he frowned. That sounded like Jazz, but he had never heard the other mech sound so irritable. Rounding the corner himself, he found his roommate glaring at the code panel, leaning heavily against the wall and looking at least as worn out as Prowl felt himself.
"Oh." Prowl muttered, realising the problem. "The code."
Jazz looked up and spotted him.
"Thank Primus. Will ya get this slaggin' door open before I fall over here?"
"I thought you'd be able to break the new code." he admitted, moving forward to type in the correct access code.
"I designed it so it couldn't be hacked."
"Even by you?" Prowl asked as the door opened, letting Jazz go through first.
"Oh, sure I could do it if I had a few groons to waste on it. Why in the name o'the Unmaker did ya change it now?"
Prowl stared at him blankly, finding it was too much effort to think back that far.
"I... don't remember."
Jazz snorted, flopping gracelessly onto the berth.
"Figures. Just remember to tell me what it is, later."
"Of course." Prowl agreed, sinking down onto his own berth. "Welcome back."
"Ngh. Be polite later. Lights off!"
End of Part 3.
Part 3: Near misses
Chapter 5 of 5
Jazz pushed his engine to screaming, forcing his alt mode to its top speed, and fled.
Faster, faster, but not fast enough. Dodging laser bolts close enough to blister his paint. Wrenching himself around a corner he had temporary cover from a bridge above and he made the best use of it he could, but they were close and they were skilled.
A triple-toned chime gave him hope and he veered left. Rubble blocked his way, but he transformed and somersaulted over it then transformed back, snarling curses at the strain all of this was putting on his still-mending arm.
Faster, he had to go faster.
Notes on his HUD told him how far he was from his goal and offered alternative routes, estimated how many pursuers he had and how far back they were. He ignored all of it - he had could not spare the focus to process any of it.
A second signal, this time two low notes then a long high one. Close, he was so close.
A ground-bound Decepticon appeared out of an alleyway ahead of him, trying to block him off. He transformed again, rifle in his hand without thought, rolled, shot, transformed, kept moving.
Now there was a new signal on his HUD, one not so easy to ignore, an urgent warning that his energy levels were dropping dangerously low. In any normal mech it would have signalled imminent stasis lock, but he had programs to handle that: he would use up every last erg of energy then collapse and die rather than drop into helpless stasis where the enemy could capture him.
Three brief notes, a harmonising tone, then a chord. Gasping, he transformed one last time and flung himself recklessly off the edge of the road into one of the many deep chasms in Cybertron's surface. As he fell, he saw laser bolts skim past him: the winged enemies still pursued.
He offlined his optics.
If they paused to aim, there would be nothing that could save him. He had no flight capabilities, he could not dodge, could not even turn to fire back at them. His energy levels now dropped below the normal stasis threshold and he shut down every system he could in order to remain conscious.
A little further and he would be safe.
If not...
Well, no-one lived forever.
Talking to it was not working.
The medic asked and since there seemed no other option Prowl agreed, granting his permission for the next stage. He was reduced to referring to the captured Decepticon as 'it' since there was no indication as to whether it was mech or femme. Mech, probably, but that was not an assumption he chose to make.
The captive did not seem to understand spoken Cybertronian. It snarled at them in a strange mix of binary click and meaningless sonic bursts interspersed with almost-words that closely resembled pungeant curses.
"Removing the language protocols would make it easier to fit in the important core components without increasing the processor size." the medtech commented as he continued with his work.
"So they understand nothing at all?"
"Probably a limited set of commands so the Cons could keep them under control. Ah. Definitely a sparkling."
"You can tell that so easily?" Prowl asked, moving slightly closer to look into where the enemy's spark chamber had been cut open.
The idea of doing this with the captive still online utterly shocked him but the medtech had assured him that the shortage of sensors meant that it was in no pain, and certainly the prisoner had not reacted to the obscene intrusion. As for the cutting, it appeared that the chamber had been welded shut so this was the only way.
Looking down, he saw a silvery mist swirling within the heavily shielded black box. This was what a spark looked like?
"See how the spark is almost transparent? A mature spark is opaque and darker in colour because the core is solid energy, but a juvenile spark is... well, wispy. Translucent. No mistaking it. This one, well I'm no expert but I'd say it's no more than a few decades old. Also..."
The medtech paused, peering at it, then stirring it a little with a tool protruding from his finger. Feeling queasy Prowl quickly looked away, fighting the urge to cover his own chest with his hands to protect against such a casual intrusion into that intimate area.
"Also?" he prompted.
"Well like I say, I'm no expert, but I'd say it's too small. It looks like a split spark, but I've never heard that with a sparkling. Splits only come from mature mecha, but then there would be fragments of solidified core in here, and there aren't."
Prowl looked back at him, careful not to look down.
"You're suggesting that they are taking newly created sparks and splitting them, then inserting them into pre-programmed drone shells?" he asked slowly.
"What? No. Can't be done. They'd never form properly. I don't know what it means, maybe he's just been starved so long his spark's faltering. Or maybe he's just always had a dim spark..."
"Sir! Communication from Sky Lynx just got through. He's bringing reinforcements."
"I'm on my way." he nodded, but kept his gaze on the medtech. "Close it up again and have it guarded - I want it brought back aboard. And don't talk to anyone about this. As you say, it may be an aberration."
He wished he could believe that himself, but now that the suggestion had been made it made too much sense. If the new sparks were being split across multiple forms it would explain the sudden massive increase in available troops. After all, Vector Sigma would only grant so many sparks at a time, but if those sparks were to be divided up it was a completely different situation.
This was information he had to get back to Quickquadrant.
Jazz groaned as he forced his optics to focus, then sighed.
"Wakin' me up again, Hound? Can't ya let an injured mech rest for just a few clicks?"
"You've been offline for almost three full orns. We tried to put you into stasis, but it wasn't working and Raj said you'd probably been tampering with your programming again. You know what Ratchet'll say if he finds out."
"He ain't gonna find out." Jazz mumbled. "Didja get the data?"
"Yeah. Raj dredged you when you came back on board. You don't remember?"
Jazz shook his head.
"Last thing I remember's fallin'."
"Well we caught you and got out of there, but you wouldn't go offline until you'd dumped the data. Except you were too far gone to drop it onto a pad or crystal, so Mirage hooked up."
"Good thing he was there, then."
"That's what you said at the time." Hound sighed. "Anyway, you know you're back with us now, so go back offline and we'll get the medics to take you in again and get you sorted out."
Jazz frowned, something not adding up.
"Hey, wait. We weren't that far away from the Fantalex, how come it's takin' us so long t'get back?"
"We've been staying out to give you time to recover. Returning you to the medics with new dents and scratches is one thing. Doing it with you exhausted and with all your defences up is something else."
"Oh. Thanks, Hound."
The scout sighed.
"Don't mention it. Just stop giving Raj ideas, okay?"
Jazz smiled but was too tired to banter and let himself drop back into blissful unawareness.
Epilogue
Prowl shuffled through the corridors with his doorwings drooping down, not caring who saw him looking so dissheveled.
He was tired. Six straight orns of directing combat, two more of being grilled over his hypotheses and actions while the reinforcement commanders routed the Decepticons, then an all-too-short nap before having to report before the entire command complement.
Quickquadrant had been ready to entirely dismiss his theory about the split newling sparks, and Prowl could hardly blame him since he had no evidence because the commander who had taken over had immediately shot his prisoner, but then Curveball had spoken up to say that his own agents had confirmed it just a few groons earlier.
So then he was 'honoured' by being asked to stay for the discussions that followed. At least until Ratchet had noticed he was drifting into stasis where he sat and ordered him to rest.
Sometime later he might actually be embarrassed by that, he thought distantly. Not right now though. Right now he was too tired to care about anything but getting to his berth.
Hearing muttered curses from around the corner, he frowned. That sounded like Jazz, but he had never heard the other mech sound so irritable. Rounding the corner himself, he found his roommate glaring at the code panel, leaning heavily against the wall and looking at least as worn out as Prowl felt himself.
"Oh." Prowl muttered, realising the problem. "The code."
Jazz looked up and spotted him.
"Thank Primus. Will ya get this slaggin' door open before I fall over here?"
"I thought you'd be able to break the new code." he admitted, moving forward to type in the correct access code.
"I designed it so it couldn't be hacked."
"Even by you?" Prowl asked as the door opened, letting Jazz go through first.
"Oh, sure I could do it if I had a few groons to waste on it. Why in the name o'the Unmaker did ya change it now?"
Prowl stared at him blankly, finding it was too much effort to think back that far.
"I... don't remember."
Jazz snorted, flopping gracelessly onto the berth.
"Figures. Just remember to tell me what it is, later."
"Of course." Prowl agreed, sinking down onto his own berth. "Welcome back."
"Ngh. Be polite later. Lights off!"
End of Part 3.