Aftermath - Chapter 4: Blaster

[silberstreif]

Finally back to weeks with reasonable work hours. ^^ It's time to upload!

Universe: Till all are one
Beta: Starfire 201
Continuation: AU, G1
Genre: Adventure, drama
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Blaster, Rook, and several others

4. Blaster

"Please, just one sentence!"

Blaster gritted his denta and pushed the femme aside, back into the crowd. He could already see his destination, which promised safety from these paparazzi.

"Do you believe that they are guilty?" cried another bot and pushed against him.

"No comment!"

Another appeared in his way. "What do you think about your best friend now?"

"Blaster!"

A short run later and he had finally reached the checkpoint, closely pursued by the journalists and reporters and plain, curious mechs. He flashed the impressively tall security mech his identification badge that proved him to be part of one of the only four news teams allowed inside. The guard nodded, and thankfully moved to block the way of the pursuers with grim determination.

Blaster didn't hesitate an astrosecond longer and stepped through the door which had opened automatically. His trained optics spotted various defence mechanisms in the hallway and around the door with ease. Idly, he wondered how many more were hidden from him. Trypticon always had had the reputation of a fortress, something that hadn't changed in their new era of peace. This, coupled with the soldier of the Cybertronian Defence Force (CDF for short), provided Blaster now with the first feeling of safety for orns.

Slowly, his racing systems calmed and he started walking down the plain hallway.

For Blaster, it had all started with the Breaking News report that had suddenly been shown on every channel and network Cybertron possessed. He hadn't been able to believe it at first. In anger at how people dared to accuse Prowl and Jazz like this and trembling with deep worry, he had tried to contact them, but it was futile. Then, he had done the next best thing and lost no further time in contacting Ironhide. It had been a sobering conversation which made clear the charges weren't fabricated and that they had gone willingly with the Enforcers.

In that joor, a small world had crumbled for Blaster. He had considered Jazz as his best friend, family even. He would've given his life for both of them without a second thought. He had placed his trust in them, obeyed and killed and walked to the pit and out – all in the belief that they were doing the right thing.

The charges were as far apart from the right thing as possible. How didn't anyone notice? Worse, had he helped without knowing? Why hadn't they tried to escape?

He wasn't the only one with questions. After the Great War, he had become a famous and beloved DJ, his known appearance became now a curse. Suddenly, everywhere he went mechs remembered that he was Jazz's best friend and had been the Communication Officer of the Autobots and surely he knew something...? He didn't, was even useless as a witness, but many mechs didn't believe him, and some fans felt personally betrayed. They called him 'monster', painted his house with defamations and assaulted him on the street.

Unable to stand the attacks and the journalists hounding him without respite, he left his luxurious apartment in Polyhex and went into hiding. Until this orn.

"Welcome, Blaster," greeted the cityformer's deep voice suddenly. Blaster shuddered as the vibrations hit his sensitive microphones and music speakers. "You're allowed to witness the trial from observation room eight. I will guide you. Please, do not leave the path."

"Thanks, Trypticon." For a moment he felt the slight wonder he always did when he interacted with former Decepticons. It made the peace all the more precious.

On the floor in front of him, several yellow arrows lit up. He followed them through hallways, each one full with nervous mechs, busy officials carrying datapads, important looking politicians tending to their social nets and dozens of security mechs from the CDF, Enforcers of various city states and private companies. It was obvious that despite the impressive security Trypticon offered, no one wanted to take any risks.

It was probably sensible, especially if one knew about Prowl and Jazz's more successful plans in the Great War. And yet... a large part of Blaster just wished all the guards away, so that they would be able to escape.

“You have reached observation room eight,” announced Trypticon. “I wish you a nice orn.”

“You as well,” was Blaster's automatic answer as he turned to the door onto which the number eight was etched.

It opened nearly silently and he stepped onto a soft silver floor made of expensive mesh. Behind him the door slid shut and the noise and stress fell away to blissful silence and the wonderful fact of being alone. Being safe from all the questions. He shuttered his optics for a moment, enjoying it, preparing for what was to come.

So far, he had managed to avoid all and every journalist. Not any more. He straightened and onlined his optics again. At least it would be on his terms.

He found himself in a small observation room used by journalists to observe the trials. With fast steps, he crossed the cabin to the far side wall that was completely transparent. Beneath it spread the infamous Hall of Justice in which the High Court judged only the worst of crimes and highest political cases.

This was the place in which guilt and innocence was decided once and for all.

Only mechs expedient to an ongoing trial were allowed to come here. Until now, Blaster had never been one of them and as a result had seen the hall only on TV stations. It was an impressive sight, even now, as it lay still empty and quiet before him.

Golden glyphs on the white wall proclaimed their highest laws: All are the same. Punishment must fit the crime. Truth is the base of all. Speak and be heard. And many more.

Only the whole wall on the right had no decorations at all as it was formed by Aequitas, the super computer from Garrus-9 that calculated guilt, ensuring complete neutrality in any trial. In front of it on a platform was a table with three empty chairs, where the three judges sat. A bit farther to the left came again two platforms with a broad passageway between them: assigned to the seating of the prosecution and defence. Rows upon rows of seats for journalists, witnesses, family, sometimes politicians and Enforcers filled the remaining space. Without a doubt, the hall would be filled to the brim the moment the trial began.

It was the only fitting place for Prowl and Jazz to be heard at.

Behind him, the door opened and closed again. Blaster probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been waiting for it.

"Hello, Blaster. You're early," said a friendly voice.

Blaster turned and greeted the silver-white mech warmly. “Hello, Rook. I wanted to avoid most of the crowds. It didn't work out as well as I hoped." He grimaced slightly. "How did you fare?"

Rook shrugged with an easy smile. "Quite well. Just slipped through. Maybe they want the opinion of just another journalist less than the one from Jazz's best friend?"

"Maybe."

Blaster doubted that. It was more likely that they simply hadn't recognised the plain frame in time. Rook wasn't just any journalist, he was a legend among them, a living example of all a journalist should be and the most trusted voice of truth their race possessed. A reputation won hard through utterly fearless reportages directly from the battlefield in the Great War. He had been one of the very few that Autobots, Decepticons and neutrals alike had welcomed. With good reason, as he had never broadcasted in his show 'Around Cybertron' anything than the absolute truth. During the vorns of peace though, he had withdrawn from politics and instead produced some documentaries – all of them excellent.

So, when Rook had found Blaster hiding at a friend's home and offered to moderate the trial live together with him, while answering questions about Jazz and Prowl... Blaster hadn't been able to say no. Not only had he dreamed of working with Rook, but it was also the only way he could become involved at all, to make sure his words wouldn't be twisted and maybe to help Jazz.

He would've loved to talk to his friend about his opinion of Blaster doing this, but it was impossible. No visits or calls were allowed. Which was a pity; with all the secret codes that Blaster still remembered from the war, he was sure they would be able to talk about anything without anyone being wiser.

"They got you, right?" asked Rook, concerned, while uploading data on the wall that doubled as one giant screen. "Told them anything?"

"Of course not." As if he would jeopardize this for a few vultures just looking to fleece his words for a few thousands more viewers.

"Great!" Rook glanced down into the hall and his gaze sharpened. "The first witnesses and soldiers are entering, it'll begin soon. We should start now. Ready?"

"Sure." Hopefully.

Thankfully, they didn't need a camera crew or anything here, the room itself and Trypticon took over these mundane tasks. Rook was experienced with the system and introduced the show without any hesitation or trouble.

"And for this reason, I want to welcome my guest and co-moderator for this orn – Blaster!"

He nodded, more than aware that nearly every Cybertronian in existence was watching him. Normally, they just heard his music. The thought that they all saw and listened directly to him was, for a moment, nearly overwhelming.

"Hello Rook,” he forced himself to say.

"Hello as well. It's wonderful that you agreed to be here." Rook smiled and it even looked genuine. Maybe it was. "What do think we can expect this orn from Prowl and Jazz?"

Blaster blinked as he really thought over the question and remembered a dozens of situations in the war. Far too aware of the klicks draining away while he thought, he still had to smile as he realised what the only possible answer was:

"Uh... well... they're unpredictable, always have been. So, I guess a few surprises."

"Surprises in a trial?" Rook seemed intrigued. "It'll at least keep up the suspense. What about the fear of their escape?" He pointed at the hall beneath them, that was now filled with everyone but the main players. "Down there I see at least twenty CDF soldiers alone, surrounding this hall and providing security is nearly a whole battalion, not to mention Trypticon and the fact that we're on a moon. Isn't this over the top?"

Blaster slowly felt more sure. "I don't think so. Most forget that these two aren't among the ten most dangerous Cybertronians, because they're such great fighters. No, their strength is finding the weakness of their opponent." He looked down into the hall. Dozens of memory paths with examples opened up. "And every system, every mech has a weakness."

Rook's optics dimmed for a moment as he recognised the truth in these words. "So you're one of the mechs that think they could escape this orn?"

There were many mechs who believed exactly that or were even preparing to break them out at the smallest sign that Prowl and Jazz wanted to be saved. Fans and believers were openly protesting in the streets, wearing black and white as a declaration of their loyalty. It would have been be ridiculous, if it weren't so many. But so far all was peaceful.

Blaster hesitated, knowing that with his next words he could push these believers into violent action. Then he shook his head. "They aren't magicians."

"But...?"

"But..." He sighed. This thought had kept him from recharging in the last orns, and kept him busy even as his own fans assaulted him in the street. Thinking it all over and over, he always came to the same conclusion. "I believe they want to be here. They're both paranoid to a certain extent, and both love gathering information, love knowing..." He narrowed his optics as down in the hall the lawyers of the prosecution walked it. "I'm nearly certain that they knew what would happen long before the Enforcers walked to their house."

The journalist was silent for a moment. Obviously, he hadn't expected this answer, and if even Rook hadn't, then their viewers were now stunned.

Down there, the doors opened again and soldiers holding gleaming chains marched in and behind them...

"Rook," said Blaster urgently. "They're here."

The silver-white mech followed his gaze, then changed over comm lines the camera setting.

Blaster felt as if the world should stop as he finally saw his old friend and his bondmate. The hall fell deadly quiet, and not a bot other than the slow marching armed soldiers and their prisoners dared moved any more. Prowl and Jazz entered next to each other, chained at ankles and wrists and with their heads held high in pride and confidence. They looked as they always had, black and white, solid, trustworthy. Relief that they were alright replaced the deep worry he had carried around with him, only then to feel hurt by their sameness. How could the monsters accused of these horrible charges be his friends and commanders? Shouldn't he see their evil now that he knew?

But all he saw was Jazz and Prowl in chains, looking calm and confident as if they were escorted by a honour guard and not paraded around in chains as two of the worst criminals to ever touch Cybertron.

"Blaster, what can you tell us about them...?" asked Rook quietly next to him.

The former Communications Officer reined his feelings in and gave the cameras the needed orders to zoom at them even more. "Do you see Prowl's doorwings? Their position is not very high or low, just neutral. But they're not stiff, which means he isn't worried, or nervous. Oh, and did you see how Jazz stepped nearer to Prowl?"

"Yes. Fear?"

A reasonable guess. Sadly, totally wrong. "No," said Blaster with conviction. "During the war if they were afraid they would always form a united front, ready to defend themselves from an attack at any time. Jazz is too close for that to Prowl."

Rook hummed in agreement. "But what else...?"

"He's telling Prowl something. And... yes, there. This small wing flutter." Blaster set the camera on repeat for the two small scenes.

"Amusement", concluded Rook who had a passing-familiarity with wing-language. "A joke, then."

"Yes." Blaster chuckled, feeling suddenly now a lot less worried about his friend. It felt so surreal to be here at their trial, when he still possessed so many positive memories of them. "Jazz always tells Prowl jokes, when he thinks his bondmate is worrying too much over nothing. Things like the punishment schedule for pranksters, or if during inventory a wrench was found missing..."

Rook gave him an sceptical glance. "This situation is hardly the same."

Down there, Prowl now leaned towards his bondmate's audios and whispered some short words that made Jazz's visor a few shades lighter. Blaster sighed as he remembered the many moments of Prowl's dry humour – sometimes appropriate, sometimes not. The timing had never mattered to Jazz; he had always smiled.

"To ya, yes. But to them? Who knows?"

Everyone had reached their seats. It was nearly ridiculous to see the tightly packed platform of the prosecution with nearly twenty mechs, and Prowl and Jazz's side with one single lawyer, a Seeker in white and blue.

"I've never seen this lawyer before," thought Blaster out aloud. "Is he good?"

Rook actually laughed. "Who knows? His designation is Sunflare. He's fresh from the academy, and the creation of the senator Sunburst of Vos with his bondmate Skylight. My connections told me he was contracted five orns before Jazz and Prowl were arrested. Some call it the luckiest contract in history."

"Lucky", repeated Blaster flatly. "I stopped believing in chance when I met them."

A bell rang through the hall and the three judges stood. The one in the middle was the highest judicial authority, an old green and yellow mech with the impressive wings of old Praxian elite. Lord High Judge Tyrest, whose vote would be the deciding one. On either either side of him were the Lower Judges who would be able to block Lord Tyrest's verdict together, if they both had doubts. The only other one with this power was the super computer Aequitas.

Lord High Judge Tyrest began the trial with ancient words of peace, truth and honour, followed by the introduction of himself, the Lower Judges and the lawyers. Sunflare managed to look just as composed as the armada of older and more experienced lawyers on the other side.

Blaster decided that he liked the small seeker.

Tyrest took a datapad from his table and activated it: "Defendants Prowl and Jazz as you have confirmed to have been bondmates for the entire time period in which the charges fall, you'll be expected to plead the same as you will be punished the same. You can plead -"

"Guilty", Jazz interrupted with a grin.

Not a few mouths in the hall fell open. Blaster couldn't hide a groan. He knew that grin, it translated into only one thing: mischief.

Lord High Judge Tyrest looked up startled and then frowned: "Guilty or innocent."

The former TIC didn't seem impressed. "Just guilty. It's faster."

There were some deep vents in the hall, as slowly, mechs understood what Jazz was saying. He wanted to plead guilty – on all charges. Blaster muttered helplessly, "Primus, Jazz...", not knowing if he should laugh or scream.

The High Judge wasn't moved as easily. With cool optics he said: "Nevertheless the procedural rules demand that you will plead on every case separately. Let's begin."

They did. One atrocious crime after another was listed, one horror after another revealed, and every time reacted the crowd of witnesses with shock and dismay. The defendants, though, less so. It was more than customary that the accused showed distress or confusion, be it a true emotion or just to help their case. Not this time. No matter what they were accused of, Prowl was sitting unmoving as a statue, while his bondmate was busy throwing every chance of winning their case into a black hole with an expression close to boredom:

"Guilty. Again guilty. Guilty. Guilty, must I repeat myself? Guilty."

"They're burying themselves," whispered Rook, amazed.

Blaster nodded grimly, less surprised than most. "Yes. Just further proof that they want to be here."

"But why?" asked the journalist and crossed his arms. "Normally one can gain nothing by prison or public execution."

"They have to gain something," insisted Blaster. Another cold, plausible thought touched his spark. He shuddered. "Or execution is exactly what they want..."

"Wanting deactivation?" Rook thought it over while he watched the proceedings below. "If they really committed these crimes, is it possible they'll feel guilty enough to want death?"

Astroseconds went past, only interrupted by another charge and another plead of 'guilty'.

"Yes", he finally whispered. His spark twisted. Bright, laughing Jazz suicidal? "If they somehow saw themselves forced to make these decisions and regretted them ever since..."

Rook narrowed his optics, then turned and called up several data on the wall. "It also would be the very best moment to do so. Crime rates low, economy strong, no unrest since vorns ago for the first time since the Great War. Just peace. And, more important, stable peace."

Blaster looked at the dozens colourful statistics on the wall, but didn't quite understand. "Stable peace?"

"Yes." Rook sighed. "This is a trial of heroes, of former admired leaders. It puts stress onto any society, which can lead to another civil war or at least massive riots. If you want to have such a trial as soon as possible after the Great War without risking peace, now is the ideal moment."

Blaster looked down to his friend, who now seemed so far and foreign. "Sounds like them."

The journalist frowned with an excited glimmer in his optics. This was the mech that had crossed battlefields, negotiated with Optimus Prime and Megatron themselves, dived down into the darkest pits of their race for nothing but the chance to find out the truth. "But that also means that they not only knew about the charges against them, they also decided when the evidence against them would be found."

Which would have taken a massive amount of influence, political skill and knowledge.

"And it still sounds like them," commented Blaster with a wry smile.

He shouldn't stand here and hope that it was like that, but he did. He wished for his friends that they were here out of their own free will, and not because of the chains and soldiers.

Beneath them, Jazz continued their suicidal approach to the charges: "Guilty. Maybe I can just make a card and raise it every time? No? Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guil- Moment." Jazz blinked, stopping for a moment. "'cuse me, can ya repeat that?"

The Lord High Judge Tyrest nodded, for a moment seeming nearly relieved that the farce was over. "Charge 56. The starvation of 235 neutrals in sector D-T3-2342 on planet Urix..."

Obviously puzzled, Jazz turned to Prowl. "Can't remember that one. Did ya order this?"

"No." Prowl answered fast and clinically precise. "Are they sure they have the right sector?"

Jazz looked to the judge: "Hey, check the sector."

"It's the right one," growled Lord High Judge Tyrest.

"Strange," commented Jazz with a smile. "I can only remember starving people in sector T-J2-23423."

Next to him the seeker lawyer twitched, then held still again. But his wide optics spoke the same emotions that everyone else had.

"And sector E-U8-523432, don't forget this one," added Prowl with a wing flutter.

Above them, Blaster's helmet met the transparent wall with a loud clang. “They have gone mad. Completely crazy with bonkers on top.”

"Yeah..." Jazz tapped his index finger against his lips. "So innocent?"

"Innocent", confirmed Prowl.

They both smiled and looked at the judge.

Lord High Judge Tyrest was quiet for a moment, marking it down, then he asked the prosecution: "Are these sectors in the charges?"

The lawyers, that had already in near panic looked through all and everything, shook their helmets. "Sector T-J2-23423 is missing."

"I see." Lord Tyrest sighed. "Please add this to the charges after this hearing."

And the list continued.

"That was unusual", commented Rook neutrally. "It seems they only want to be blamed for specific crimes."

"Something despite the amount of depravity must tie the crimes together," concluded Blaster, his curiosity piqued. This could be the key to understanding this trial. "The question is: just what?"

“Maybe they just want to be blamed for crimes they committed.” The words seemed cold, but Rook's voice vibrated with barely contained excitement. The glimmer had turned into a fervency. “Or maybe it's something else...” A sharp smile. “I will find out.”

In this, Blaster trusted Rook fully.

Comments

[neverminetohold.livejournal.com]

I'm looking forward to the reveal! :)