Chapter Text
“It’s a little humbling, you know, that it took us four or five whole cycles to drive this distance, and a shuttle can cross it in just three groons,” Bluestreak said.
Jazz looked away from the window. “Sure, but it’s nowhere near as fun this way. I really did have a good time on that camping trip.” At Bluestreak’s astonished exclamation, he added, “Well, ya know... Minus the peril and injury and stuff.”
“Yeah. I guess it was pretty fun before Jazz dragged me off a cliff. We should do another one sometime,” Bluestreak said. He looked over at Hound, who was peering out the window in fascination. “The Mithril Sea is really beautiful just after the rainy season.”
“I’d like that! Prowl, would you be up for that?” Jazz asked, nudging Prowl.
Prowl looked up from the data pad he’d been reading, and reviewed the last few kliks of conversation he recorded in his short-term memory. He was trying to get caught up on some work, and really had not been listening. “Camping? Again?” He glanced at Jazz’s eager expression, then looked over at Bluestreak and Hound. “Can you guarantee that a trip to the Mithril Sea would be less... taxing than our last trip?”
Hound laughed. “We will do our very best,” he said. “In fact, if you’d like, we can arrange accommodations at the resort when we arrive.”
Prowl’s door wings tipped upwards slightly at that, but he glanced at Jazz when he groaned. “A resort? That’s not camping!” Jazz complained.
The shuttle pilot interrupted their conversation. “We are approaching the coordinates you provided,” he said.
Prowl did not look out the window; he had never been fond of heights. Jazz, however, had his face plates pressed against the window. “There’s the cliff, and all the caves,” he said. “It doesn’t look all that different.”
“It has only been a single vorn,” Prowl said, stowing his work and pulling out a different data pad. “I do not imagine a lot has changed.”
After they landed, Prowl advised the pilot that they would be back within a groon. He transformed and followed Bluestreak, Jazz, and Hound down the switchback trail to the base of the cliff.
Hound stood where he and Prowl had set up their camp when they were looking for their missing partners. “Did you want to do it here?” he asked.
“This is as good of a place as any,” Bluestreak said. “Unless you think we should be closer to the caves? Or inside the one we came out of?” He peered down the cliff face. “Which one was it again?”
“Well, this spot here is where he came and found Prowl and Hound,” Jazz said. He looked at Prowl. “What do you think?”
Prowl shrugged. “I think this is a waste of time and energy, coming all the way out here to do this. I do not think it matters.”
Jazz gave Prowl a lopsided grin. “All right, we’ll do it here, then.” He gestured to Prowl. “Go ahead.”
Exventing sharply, Prowl gripped the data pad. He felt extremely silly, but set his door wings into a neutral angle and began to speak. “Hello, Grouser. We are here to thank you for your assistance in helping reunite us with our friends. After discussing it, we realized that we would likely not have succeeded if you had not helped us.
“We understand that you were only trying to protect the machadron herds. We also know that while we were not here to hunt them, other mechs do come here to hunt. With so few machadron living, every single herd member is important. We understand your suspicion of any mechs who spend time in this area.
“With that in mind, Bluestreak, Hound, and Jazz petitioned the Council to protect the machadron herds on these plains.” He exvented softly again. “Due to a sentence I received some time ago, I could not add my name to the petition, but I assisted them in drafting it. Several Council members agreed with our petition, and drafted a bill in response. The bill was passed a deca-cycle ago. It is now illegal for anyone to hunt machadron on the Howling Plains.” Prowl held the data pad aloft. “The text of the bill is on this data pad. I will leave it here.” He put the data pad on the ground at his pedes.
“Again, thank you. We wish you well.” Prowl dipped his head and lowered his door wings slightly. He heard the other three mechs also say their thanks, and then looked up. “Are we done here?” he asked, taking a step backwards.
“We are, Prowler. And thank you, too,” Jazz said, taking Prowl’s arm. “I know ya didn’t want to come all the way out here, but I’m glad ya did.”
Prowl slid his hand down and grasped Jazz’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “You are welcome, Jazz,” he said.
They drove back up the hill to the shuttle, boarded, and strapped back in. “Back to Iacon?” the pilot asked. When Prowl nodded, the pilot shrugged. “Easiest shanix I’ve ever made,” he muttered.
On the flight back to Iacon, Prowl pulled out his work and was reviewing another supply request when the pilot called for him. “Sir... We’re receiving a transmission. It’s addressed to you.”
“To me?” Prowl put his work away again. “It is probably my office,” he told Jazz, getting out of his seat.
Making his way to the front of the shuttle, Prowl leaned into the pilot’s area. “I can take the call now,” he said.
“It’s not a call, sir. It was just a message.” The pilot pointed at a screen off to this right. “Tap the accept button on the console there to read it.”
Frowning, Prowl tapped the button and read the message.
He read it again.
He transferred the message to his data pad and thanked the pilot, then made his way back to his seat.
After a few kliks, Jazz noticed that Prowl had not started working again, and was instead staring off into space. “Prowler?” he asked. “You all right? What did they want?”
“It was not work, as I thought.” Prowl looked at Jazz, and then at Hound and Bluestreak. “It was a very short message, and I think it was meant for all of us.” He glanced down at the data pad in his lap.
“Really?” Jazz craned his neck towards the data pad. “Who’s it from?”
Prowl handed him the data pad. Jazz’s visor brightened when he read the message, and he glanced up at Hound and Bluestreak.
“Well? What does it say?” asked Bluestreak impatiently. “Read it!”
Jazz read the message out loud. ‘”It says: ‘Thanks. Now I can rest easy. – Grouser’.”