CSI: Ark - 7 of 9

The Commander of the Autobots, one of the most formidable warriors alive, bearer of the Matrix, and of late apparently bereft of his senses after having shot one of his youngest warriors over a matter of TV scheduling, Optimus Prime ducked his head under a fine cleansing spray, sighing for the umpteenth time at the fact that the washing racks of the Ark were just… well, small. Which he was not. He stared at one hand, then another, and chuckled very quietly. Had Jazz really expected to find anything in them? Did his officers think he miraculously expelled dirt and grit from his person, rather than taking a shower every day like a normal mech? He shook his head in wry amusement before stepping out onto the dryers.

He was absentmindedly wondering if any stretch of an emergency condition would allow him to schedule Wheeljack to retrofit the wash racks when he picked up the steps of someone on the nearby hallway. Automatically, battle-honed circuitry collected and collated information: light, but not too much so; a warrior’s balance in every measured stride, and the determined spring of youth; a high-performance engine purring in near-perfect silence. When the door opened he was already stepping out of the dryers. “Can I help you, Sideswipe?”

The red Lamborghini leveled a very keen look on his CO from the door and waved desultorily. “Nah, it can wait.”

Which probably means I shouldn’t. Prime followed the retreating mech out of the room. “Go ahead.”

Sideswipe lifted a data slate. “I’ve got a warrant.”

Prime cocked his head minutely. “A w- Are you arresting me?”

For a moment, the young mech seemed about to say ‘yes’, and Prime realized Sideswipe really, really, really wanted him to think he would. He hid a smile behind his faceplate and crossed his arms calmly, patience personified. The Lamborghini blew a sigh. “Of course not. ‘less you wanna admit you did it?”

“I admit to nothing, because I’ve done nothing I need to admit to.” He put his hand out for the slate and read that it was, indeed, a warrant, allowing Jazz and his team to have their Examiner check on anyone who might have been at the Rec Room during the morning of the murder. “Paint samples?”

“Just a formality.” Sideswipe shrugged casually.

“Aren’t they all.” Prime handed him back the slate. “Lead on.” The two of them walked through the hallways drawing every optic in the Ark to them. The Examiner’s Room was actually one of the outflow surgery rooms, used when the Ark had a much larger crew and more injured than the Med Bay could accommodate. First Aid and Swoop were waiting for them.

“Good evening, Prime”

“Aid.” Prime nodded to the Protectobot, and then to Swoop. “Swoop.”

Optimus? A private line quietly quested for his attention as he sat on the medical berth.

Yes, Prowl?

Jazz has offered me a… remarkably reasonable request for a second warrant, but I wished to clear this matter with you first.

Prime was only barely aware that First Aid and Swoop were both discussing how to go about getting a paint sample in the first place. Go ahead.

He wants to check your quarters.

My quarters? It didn’t even occur to Optimus that Jazz might infringe on his privacy – he had eons of faith on his officers. I don’t believe any of us tampered with anything there, did we?

No. I never thought he’d… I didn’t see a need.

Poor Prowl. Optimus smiled secretly again. Likely he would have won, against anyone else. But Jazz didn’t think like most mechs did. He didn’t think like any mech except his own showy self. By all means, then. I trust you both.

“Swoop, stop complicating the issue or so help me I’ll throw you out.” First Aid had apparently lost his patience with whatever argument had gone on between him and the Dinobot.

“Me Swoop just think it important to preserve paint sample.” Swoop shrugged. “You First Aid ex-am-iner, though. Me Swoop just watching.”

And delaying, Optimus thought. He waited until First Aid had taken samples of his three primary colors. “Are we done?”

Before First Aid could answer Swoop moved closer to his CO. “You Prime ok? It very difficult, no?”

“It is a terrible tragedy, yes, Swoop, thank you. But I’m fine.”

“You Prime sure? Maybe quick check?” He gestured to one of the monitors.

“I’m fine, Swoop, really.”

“Y’know, Aid, you could offer to at least help him restock his kit. Never hurts to be prepared.” Sideswipe said smoothly from the door.

Prime leveled his eyes on the red Lamborghini, his tone a subtle tease as he replied,  “How nice to hear a sensible idea from you, Sideswipe. For once.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Jazz paused at the door to his CO’s quarters, fighting back an unaccountable wave of nervousness. His eyes fell on the largest of his companions. “I bet you’d never thought you’d hear this, Grim, but I’d love t’ have two of you right about now.” The Intelligence Officer gave his police rep a wry grin and rubbed at his neck.

The Dinobot did indeed look startled – most of the time the Autobots had trouble coping with just one of him. He caught on, however. “You Jazz need someone with him Prime, and someone here.”

Jazz sighed. “What do you think?”

Grimlock shifted, vaguely nervous. He was very much aware that Prime, by the rules of their game, had already killed two mechs, and he suddenly understood that Jazz was very much afraid there might soon be a third if Grimlock happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. In the end he could only think of one reply. “Me Grimlock better stay near him Prime”, he rumbled.

“You do that.” Jazz turned to match optics with one of the other two mechs. “Which means it’s just you an’ me, Trail. You ready for this?”

“Are you sure it’s ok?” Trailbreaker looked decidedly uneasy.

In response, Jazz nodded towards their third companion. Prowl shrugged lightly. “You have a warrant, don’t you? I will wait out here.” He stepped forward and entered a code into the lock. The door hissed pleasantly open and the SIC stepped aside to let them through.

Jazz waited until the lights had brightened the empty room. It was larger than his but, surprisingly, not by much. There were several shelves full of slates and printed books sized for a Autobot’s hands, a recharge bunk and yet another desk partially covered in half-finished reports, blueprints and plans: apparently sleep really was optional for Prime. Jazz wondered what Ratchet would pay for that information with a crooked grin: when the CMO sent you to your room, it was to rest, not to play truant to his instructions. There was a large print, human style, behind the desk, with Martin Niemoller’s poem writ on large, bold letters under the heading ‘Indifference is the greatest enemy’.

“Jazz?”, Trailbreaker whispered. “What are we looking for?”

Jazz pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking very softly. “Trail, block the door, will ya? And I mean so that even Megatron can’t make it through.”

The SUV gave him a puzzled look but obeyed, shaping his force-field so as to blockade the door.

Jazz faced the empty room. “You’ve got less than a minute, Mirage. Your call.”

Trailbreaker started at that, and let out a quiet, disjointed little sound of shock when a corner of the seemingly empty room suddenly blurred and shifted, revealing the tall, elegant frame of the sniper. Mirage leveled a half-glare, half-smirk on the Porsche. “What took you so long?”

“You!” Jazz waved a finger at him. “You have no idea what my day’s been like, so shush!” He stared keenly at the Ligier. “That is not Hound’s.”

“No.” Mirage gestured to the nasty gash marring his chest, surrounded by blackened metal and charred paint. “We weren’t sure Hound could stay around me without giving away my position, so Sunstreaker made it out of some pewter and latex human thing.” He gestured Jazz forward. “You have a problem.”

“Just one?” Jazz approached.

“Just the one.” Mirage smiled at him and, without further warning, dropped like a dead weight; Jazz barely caught him before he fell to the floor.

“Trail!” Between the two of them they managed to get the Ligier upright. ‘Sides, hard and fast and anywhere but his quarters.

Oh, good, ‘cause he left already. His tone turned gleeful. You want I should -?

No!

But I didn’t even say anything, Sideswipe complained.

Just no! “For the love o’ lil’ mechs, why isn’t it ever easy?” Jazz muttered as he and Trail carried Mirage out of Prime’s room, much to Prowl’s surprise. “What?”

Prowl stepped back. “Nothing. That’s… a very clever idea, Mirage.”

“Thank you”, the presumably unconscious sniper replied without moving.

“Where to, Jazz?” Trailbreaker looked anxiously around.

“First Aid’s, road less traveled. Put a field behind us, just in case.” Grim, tell me, please tell me, that you’re with Prime.

Him Prime with him Wheeljack. Still can’t open him Red Alert’s door. You Jazz want me Grimlock –

NO! Why is everyone asking this?! “This way.” Jazz quickly came up with a route through the hallways that would take him to the Examiner’s Room with as few interruptions as possible – not that it mattered. He doubted Red would be out in time to cover his shift, which meant Prime would be covering the night shift. Which meant he’d see in the security logs how Mirage was ever so hurriedly dragged away and into very unlikely safety –

He dragged in a few deep breaths before opening a private line. Ratchet, how much d’ you want t’ get Prime?

That depends on how much trouble you’re in, came the caustic, immediate reply.

I’ve got an eyewitness. With evidence plastered all over his torso. Of course, I don’t need t’ tell you what’ll happen if Prime gets hold o’ him.

There was silence on the line. Why? Why would I let you do this to me?

Because you love me?

I’m calling Optimus.

Because I’ll owe you forever an’ ever and I have a bit of info on Prime I’m sure you’d love to know before you have to ship him off to his room for some enforced rest?

It better be one helluva good bit of info. Fine. Bring him over. And First Aid and Swoop better be here before you are, or so help me, I’ll sell you for spare parts to the Decepticons, if they’ll even buy you.

Yessir. Jazz switched lines again. Swoop, Med Bay, please.

Med Bay?, Sideswipe stuttered.

“Did I hear you right?” Trailbreaker stared at him, aghast.

You Jazz sure?, even Swoop sounded decidedly uncertain.

I’ll put it this way, guys. Can you think of anyone else who can stand Prime down? He let them digest that in silence. Swoop, bring First Aid with ya. And run.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

In the end, even Mirage balked, wary of showing up in Med Bay with a wound, even if it wasn’t a real one. It wasn’t until he was sitting on one of the repair berths with Ratchet not murdering, not berating, and otherwise demonstrating merely curiosity over the gaping hole, that he began to relax.

“This is really well done.” Ratchet examined the ‘wound’ from every angle. “Even the shredding is done right, though I guess if anyone would know it’d be that yellow pain in the aft. Scarring, scoring, shredding… you can even tell the direction it came from.” He shook his head and unceremoniously ripped the fake wound off of Mirage’s chest.

“OUCH!”

“Better that than the real thing.” Ratchet told him sharply before turning to Jazz. “You want this?” He brandished the ‘wound’, handing it over when Jazz nodded before turning to his ‘patient’. “Get yourself to the surgery berth.”

“So… professional opinion, Ratch?” Jazz watched Mirage go for a long moment.

The CMO considered. “Aid.”

“Yes, sir?”

“What do you have?”

“Well… Prowl gave me the information I should give Jazz if he found Mirage…” The Protectobot looked uncertainly at his mentor, seeming to draw courage from an encouraging nod. “Wounds like that take a while to repair, because it’s not just the frame that’s affected.”

“Glad someone’s noticed that”, Ratchet growled.

First Aid went on. “You have to do internal repairs, restore fluids. It can involve some major dismantling and part replacement, and then there’s circuitry checkups, stress testing for lines and servos…”

Jazz looked at his feet before turning to Ratchet. “We’re talkin’ hours here, ain’t we.”

“Provided Prowl’s script doesn’t call for your eyewitness to die. In which case me and him and my welder need to have words about the abilities of my staff.” Aid and Swoop stood up a bit straighter at that. “But yes, we are. A couple for the frame, anywhere between four and six for internals.”

Jazz felt his team’s optics on him as he considered that. He felt his instincts leap forward and looked back at them. Smiling. “We’re ahead o’ the clock. That’d be eight hours, give or take. I bet you… I bet you all Prowl was gonna give us Mirage on the sixteenth hour.”

“He was gonna give you Mirage?” Ratchet stared at him in disbelief.

“Show always have two big clues”, Swoop piped in, and started chortling. “We winning!”

“Well, until then, your eyewitness is offline, and you’re loitering in my Med Bay. Not YOU!”, he thundered, pointing a finger at Jazz. “You have something to tell me, I believe.” He smiled toothily.

“ ‘Sides, go talk to Ironhide and Wheeljack, see if they’d like to pull jury duty.” Jazz noticed the Lamborghini was already inching towards the door and he turned to Ratchet. “Can Trailbreaker stay with Mirage? Just… y’know, in case?”

“In case of what?”, Ratchet asked, ever so mildly.

“Nuthin’.” Jazz ducked his head and followed the CMO meekly into the office.

“Then sure, he can stay. Aid, set up a berth for Trail, please?”

“Sure, boss.”

“Swoop, I want a full report on the standard procedure for dealing with wounds like Mirage’s. We are going to keep ourselves properly busy.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Jazz?

The Porsche batted at his audios. He felt stiff all over, he wasn’t sure why his bunk felt so damned uncomfortable that night of all nights, when he was absolutely exhausted and now, to top it all off, his CPU was buzzing.

I’m really terribly sorry to disturb you, Jazz, but you insisted. Jazz!

He lifted his head with a groan, vaguely registering the unfamiliar outlines of… “This’n’t mah room.”

Jazz, will you answer Percy before he wakes us all up? Sideswipe demanded drowsily on the line.

I’m still awake, Trailbreaker put in.

Hurray for you, the red Lamborghini snapped sleepily at him.

Sorry, Percy… what? Jazz shook his head furiously, trying to clear it. Office. Desk. My office. My desk. FRAGGIT! What time – Trail, is Mirage awake?

No, Ratchet says within the hour, the SUV reassured him. It’s Ok, Jazz, I’m on watch.

And you can’t imagine how glad I am, Trail. Percy, what’s up? I thought you’d forgotten about us.

I would not -!

I’m teasing, Percy. Jazz stood up, stretching to try to unkink his back after falling asleep at his desk… It had looked so inviting.

It still did.

I have finished my analysis of the remote.

No one spoke until Sideswipe finally snapped, Well, c’mon, Percy, don’t leave us in suspense.

Well, I wanted confirmation that Jazz was ready to receive my report, as well as information on whether it is secure to do so –

Percy. Jazz rubbed at his forehead. Gimmie.

Well, there are multiple samples of paint on the remote, as one would expect of an article that sees so much use. However, there were also paint samples on the inner surfaces, and of particular interest were the edges of the broken casing and multiple shattered circuit boards. I have matched them to the samples Swoop brought in this past evening.

Jazz, who’d gone back to his desk, though this time he was once again leaning back on his chair, came back to a normal position with a resounding thump when Perceptor’s words actually registered. Wait, Percy, you got a match?

That’s what I just informed you of. The scientist sounded somewhat irked. Were you even listening?

Another deep silence. Holy slag. Sideswipe, too, sounded fully and incredulously awake all at once. Did Percy just crack the case?

Honestly, if you thought this – wait, what? Perceptor was left bereft of words for a few seconds, truly a momentous occasion surpassed only by his next words, which were short, concise and to the point. I did?

Wait, wait. Jazz tried to control a surge of glee. Percy? Which colors did you match?

Only the blue, but –

How many mechs in the Ark carry those colors?

There’s only two Autobots currently carrying this particular shad –

Prime one of them? Jazz could only hope whoever the other unfortunate mech was, he had a titanium alibi.

Yes, b-

Jazz? Trailbreaker sounded awfully sorry at breaking into the conversation, his voice very quiet – and very nervous.

Something wrong, Trail?

It’s Prime. He’s here.