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“We can not keep delaying this, Optimus,” Prowl spoke up immediately once the doors to the Prime’s office shut. “The time to make a decision is now.”
Two datapads were placed with a thump on the Autobot leader’s desk. Simultaneously, the two doorwings on the black and white Praxian’s flared out, casting a dark, looming shadowing over the desk. Optimus sighed as he picked up the datapads for review. His second-in-command would not be so easily deterred again.
“Prowl, I-”
“Prowler’s right ‘bout this,” A voice above Optimus spoke up.
Accustomed to this behavior from his third-in-command, Optimus simply turned his helm up to watch as Jazz appeared through the vents. How the saboteur managed to fit in the first place, Optimus didn’t know. From his perspective, the vents in the Ark would hardly support a minibot. Then again, doing the impossible was practically Jazz's entire job description.
Jazz slipped into place beside Prowl to present his own report. “The crew’s startin’ ta get real uneasy, OP.”
Prowl nodded in confirmation. “The longer we keep putting this off-”
“The closer we are ta total chaos.” Jazz finished the thought.
Optimus laid the datapads back down so he could lightly grip his helm with his left servo. The digits on his right servo began tapping out a rhythmic pattern as he thought about the situation.
“Explain the options to me again, please,” He requested of his top generals, in an attempt to placate them.
“Well now, let's see, ya already know morale will improve with Option 1. The mechs gotta move, mech. It ain’t good for everybot ta be stuck here doing nothin’ in a time like this! The Decepticreeps could attack any day now, which means-”
“Which is precisely why Option 2 should be our decision. While morale is important in the long run, our most dire need is efficiency. When the Decepticons choose to make their move, and soon enough they will, we will need to respond in due time. Might I remind you that response without organization is chaos.”
“Do ya even hear yerself, Prowler?” Jazz exclaimed, expression contorted in an odd mixture that was frustrated, incredulous, and disapproving all at once. “Tell me, who’s gonna respond, if everybot feels like they got nothin’ ta act for?”
“If nothing else, they will respond regardless because it is their duty,” Prowl answered cooly with a deepening frown of his own. “Yet, under your so-called plan, there is an 83.47% chance that 42.83% of our troops will be physically incapable of any sort of response at all.”
Jazz shook his helm, scoffing as the Praxian spoke. “The bots are more than just numbers, Prowler. When are ya gonna realize that?”
Prowl’s doorwings hiked up aggressively at the accusation. His derma drew in tightly as he stood straighter.
Optimus stood up. They were both right- he had let this go on for long enough. Prowl and Jazz, for all their differences, worked well together for the most part. More than that, they were friends as far as Optimus could tell. Under normal circumstances, such words and actions wouldn't even cross their minds, surely. Yet at this rate, it seemed as if his top two generals and advisors would start going after each others' throats more than they would target the Decepticons. Morale and efficiency would certainly both go out the window then. He had to stop this.
“Enough,” The Prime ordered as he cleared his throat.
The black and whites, practically snarling at each other now, snapped to attention.
“Sir.”
“So what’s it gonna be, OP?” Jazz asked, relaxing out of the attentive positive to smirk confidently at his commander. “Prowler’s plan or mine?”
Optimus hesitated for a moment, bracing himself for their reactions. During the time where his officers had thought that he was critically weighing and comparing the individual merits of their own- admittedly very well done plans- he had been formulating an idea of his own to lessen the blowback when one of them would undoubtedly fail.
“Neither,” he admitted at last. Jazz’s smirk fell away, and Prowl’s wings flared out in shock. Before they could begin protesting, Optimus raised a servo silently asking them to remain silent for a moment more.
“In honor of our arrival on Earth, I have decided that the bivornal Autobot Intelligence Department Inter-Division Competition will feature a past time of our human hosts: Paintball.”