Ep0.5 - "Tradecraft" (closed)

Jazz grinned as he came up behind the monitor seat, bowing. "Why, you, my dear! I am here to sweep you away from this drudgework to a new and exciting life of sensors and traps and devious spec op shenanigans!" He mimed a microphone with one hand, voice dropping. "Your mission, if you choose to accept it--and you don't have to though it is more exciting than monitor duty and has an only slightly greater chance of blowing you up--is to aid the sly and devious Jazz in securing our fair base against all who might harm us and those we harbor!"

He tossed his invisible microphone over his shoulder, voice returning to normal. "So yeah...want to trade monitor duty for security-setting detail? I could use an extra pair of hands that know a trap from a sensor, and I've got Bulkhead ready to sit the rest of your shift if you'll spell him. Something about being stuck in the back ends of the base with about a foot clearance on all sides is getting to him. Go figure!"

Jazz tilted his head toward the corridor he'd come from...which began to ring with the sound of heavy footsteps and muttering. "Yeah, don't even have to wait that long. Bulkhead was coming out of there one way or the other. You're just doing me a favor by filling in for him. Thanks."

He looked over at Bulkhead as he emerged into the Control Room. "You're free, big guy. Nice, open monitor duty for you. Thanks for the help."

Bulkhead looked a bit sheepish but also relieved. "No prob. Thanks, Shadowrunner. Sorry, Jazz. I'm up for bangin' down anything you need collapsed, but--"

Jazz waved his hands in honest dismissal. "Nah, don't worry about it. Believe me, I'm not going to give anyone slag about tight spaces. Try sticking me in a small enclosed shuttle again for more than a few kliks and you'd likely see why."

Jazz turned back to Shadow as Bulkhead moved to the monitors, his manner all longwave and fingers tapping lightly to music only he could hear. "So! Shall we? First stop's storage to pick up some supplies. I'm out of transmitters, glue, and paint."

"I haven't!" Jazz said. "I'm lookin' forward to it, though. Granted, all I've got to go on is the kids, but I like the humans. Their psychology isn't so different from ours. They're easy to relate to." He turned to grin at her as they ducked into storage. "And I've got some experience dealin' with hard-nosed military types."

He looked around the storage room and sighed. Supplies were scattered about in no particular order, a mishmash of Earthen and Cybertronian goods. He added "oh Primus organize and inventory" to his mental to-do list. Yuck. Maybe he could find someone who'd actually like doing it? He supposed it was asking a bit much to have a budding Prowl on-base, but hey, it didn't hurt to dream....

"Ok, so transmitters are over...here, yeah, got it. And the paint's over in that crate over there, if you'd grab a few cans. The gray stuff. But glue...I have no idea. I was using my own and now I'm out. Bulkhead swore there was some in here, over against this wall." He looked at the messy room, then at Shadow. He shrugged and started hunting through the boxes and crates.

He hadn't missed the acrobatics Shadow's field had done when he'd approached her. She had it tucked in tight, trying (rather successfully) to modulate it into carefully crafted midwave neutrality. He'd surprised her, though, and a lot more had come tumbling out...and she'd promptly cut it off like a steel trap closing. It might just be spec ops (his profession had its own psychological pathology list, really). Or it might be something else.

Never in trouble, Jazz thought. Never stationed anywhere but with Labyrinth. Never a servo out of line.

Always in control. Always watched. Always...performing?

Jazz's servos were delicate on the human-made organic crates, his voice nothing but idle, casual chat. "So...what do you think? You think I'm makin' too many changes? What with the roster changes and security and stuff? I'm curious what folks think, to be honest."

I was afraid you'd say that, Jazz thought, wearily. And not about the glitter.

She'd very carefully given him an answer that meant exactly nothing. And implied that rank equated right. Jazz had, of course, heard bots say much the same thing as an evasion tactic. A way of bowing to authority even though they didn't agree.

He WISHED that this was what this was. But somehow, he didn't think so.

Jazz moved to the indicated crate, marked by a perfect small handprint of multicolor glitter. Prying the lid up, he said, "Aha. Success. Thanks." He subspaced several cans of it and turned, smiling. "Great, let's go!"

He headed out, leading the way to the section of the base they were hardening. He didn't talk along the way, just hummed. A little Top 40 here, a little Cybertronian symphony there, a smattering of something he couldn't even remember correctly but thought was an Andurian sonata.... He stopped every now and then to point out as they moved past other bits of the security project. Hopelessly insecure areas collapsed and sealed, a few of the smaller ventilation entrances now properly monitored. He stopped at one of them to show Shadow the gist of what they were going to be doing further down. "--and then cover it with a little paint, a little rock dust, and there you have it. Shielding keeps it from showing up on an EM scan, and you've got a mostly-undetectable multisensor."

Jazz hitched himself up to point in the ventilation shaft. "Pinsensors go in the welds where the plates meet, spiraling around the shaft to catch anything thinking it's being clever by climbing the top or the side wall. Luckily they blend right in with the metal. And, when we feel like gettin' fancy, we can get clever with pressure plates and traps and explosives. Cluster bombs. Chem gushers. Think I've got a few acidtraps in my 'space somewhere."

He grinned at Shadow. "Whatcha think? Feel free to make suggestions, you know. Two processors are better than one at this type of thing. Keeps the enemy guessing."

Finally, response! Suspiciously perky response, but an interested, engaged response nonetheless.

Jazz beamed. "Definitely! From what I see, there's a lot we can do with human tech. I uh...might already be testing some of that out. Yeah, don't ask where I got the supplies. As for what to start on...." They'd arrived. The main air exchanger for the complex, fed by a mess of conduits, some of which were big enough for a Cybertronian to fit through. It was big and important enough (unless they wanted the place to become poisonous to humans, at least) to keep online and unblocked. Perfect bait.

Jazz showed Shadow what he had in mind: sensor grid, a few stickytraps (using something considerably more sticky than human glue), camera setup covering the main exits from the area, just 'cuz. Jazz had understood Optimus' point: if the time came that they actually NEEDED these traps, they were already fragged and would need to leave. But still...just planning things like this made Jazz recharge better at night. As well as the idea of one of these traps springing a very nasty surprise on Laserbeak and, by extension, Soundwave.

They worked side by side for a bit, Jazz installing and Shadow testing. Jazz let the silence go on for a bit, broken only by him humming softly. "This must be weird for you," he finally said, quietly, looking up at Shadow. "Taking orders from me."

That was a hit. Dead center.

Shadowrunner could muffle her EM (and oh, she was good at that), but she couldn't help the stutter of her systems. Jazz's hearing was more than good enough to hear the muted click of a vocalizer cut off on an instinctive sound of surprise. The tension in her hydraulics. The subtle scrape of microplates as she started.

And her control slipped with that last sentence, her voice steady but its harmonics strained. And oddly enough...not just the grinding stress of grief or the low growl of anger. No, this was higher-pitched, more like worry.

Why did he worry her?

Primus, Jazz wished that they had a psych officer. Focus, Jazz, focus.

He kept his voice soft, his field open and longwave. "Because I know you spent a long time with the Thirteen. And I know that it's not been near long enough to adjust. I can only imagine what it's like, but...every one of us understands. I'm not trying to replace Labyrinth. And no one's trying to replace your cohort. But I just want you to know...if you want it...you have a home here. This is a good place, with good mecha. I hope you can feel welcome here."

Jazz kept very still. No, scratch that, he leaned back just a bit. Everything about the femme's suddenly-plate-tight field screamed "back off".

That...certainly hadn't been what he'd been going for.

The question knocked him off his stride, too. He let his confusion filter through his field, though his reply wasn't, perhaps, the most eloquent ever. "Me? I...want you to do work you want to do and have friends and feel supported and...be happy....? Sorry, I'm confused. I'm not sure what you mean."