Chapter Text
Optimus Prime had three data pads laid out on the console before him, side by side, each displaying a different personnel file. Above them, a holographic shape shifted under the deliberating gaze travelling across the airwaves.
“…can’t complain about his work ethic. He always delivers beyond what’s required, and timely. And the precision of his calculations is… I can’t understate what an asset he’s been, logistically. He really is overqualified for his position as far as that’s concerned. His skills ought to be used elsewhere.” The blue shape shifted again.
“But…?”
A sigh, “But… the mech’s a time bomb. Has to be. He doesn’t go anywhere, or talk to anybody, if it’s not on the shift docket. Or the next shift’s docket. I can’t get ‘im to stop working on his off time. Hasn’t integrated into the team hardly at all. And you know he was in…” he floundered for a moment.
“I am aware.”
“Well, I just don’t know if I can recommend him for command based on group compatibility, or lack thereof. Sir.”
“I will take your comments under advisement, Recycle; thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I’ll let you get back to your duties.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Prime out.” It was his turn to sigh, rearranging the data pads again. Stacking them like tiny, flat cargo containers, and then unstacking them into a row again. He picked one up.
A familiar face scowled back at him. “Ah can’t do what yer askin, Prahme. Ah’m programmed fer firin’ off bullets, not mission specs, so just pick somebodeh else.”
Prime huffed in a half-chuckle. Ironhide wasn’t wrong. No amount of wishing he were would make him a good fit for the position. He put the data pad back on the console.
Even if he weren’t a viable option, it was easier to measure the two strangers against someone whose measure he knew well.
He had met Springer before, and found no fault with him. He had a level processor, and his fiercely loyal team was a sign of a promising leader. Which was another problem.
They needed him.
Optimus rolled that around his processor again, on a well-worn track. Was it worth dismantling one of his most promising field teams to fill a critical command position?
There were too many redundancies to absorb. He had a very promising scout, several reckless but undeniably deadly shock troops, and a cranky old mentor already on the roster. He couldn’t recruit them all, spread thin as they needed to be. And he couldn’t quite justify splitting them apart.
He shuffled the data pads again, setting the elder mech’s file down between the other two. His gaze settled, for the umpteenth time, on the third candidate (second, he corrected himself).
In the database, the bot was an ideal prospect. No disciplinary records. Perfect attendance. Several commendations in his previous function. And qualifications… Optimus shook his helm every time he re-read the certification scores and upgrade specs. The only thing even remotely dubious in the personnel file was the inexplicably shadowy designation.
And outside of the file… the two-sided reference from his superior.
The Prime stared down the datapad as if he could will his unease away. As if he could will this choice to be the right one. It would solve so many problems.
“…mech’s a time bomb…and you know he was in…”
Optimus scowled. He refused to discriminate against someone for… that. But there were considerations one had to make, when assembling a team that would be at the heart of a long and grisly conflict. Not setting anyone up for failure. Not asking more of them than they could give.
He didn’t have to like it.
“He doesn’t go anywhere, or talk to anybody, if it’s not on the shift docket.”
If that was true, then no amount of willpower was going to make this work. He needed someone he could trust implicitly with the lives of his team. With the lives of his friends. Someone they would follow without reservations.
Springer understood that, he had formed a group with strong bonds of trust. Bonds it would be hard to wrench free of and start over.
“His skills ought to be used elsewhere.”
The way Recycle spoke of his subordinate… would anyone care if he were plucked from their midst?
He sighed again. He was getting nowhere. He locked his console and forwarded messages to his ad-hoc quarters.
Moving for the door, he paused. He plucked one data pad off the edge of the console, and strode out into the old cargo port that his own unit of Autobots temporarily occupied, still mulling over his puzzle…
…and came face-to-face with the uncooperative puzzle piece outside his door.
Surprised, he stopped and blinked at the unfamiliar, but immediately recognizable mechanism.
“Prowl.”
A calculating, even gaze met his.
“Optimus Prime. Sir.”
Well, maybe this would simplify things. He let go some of the tension of being caught off-guard, “Is there something I can help you with?”
The unruffled mech cocked his head slightly in consideration, “I came with the intent of asking you the same,” he indicated the data pad, whose screen Optimus was making no effort to conceal. “My personnel record has had a potential reassignment, pending your approval, for some time now. I determined that there must be some point or points of contention surrounding your decision. If any input from me would assist in that process, I would certainly provide it.” His expression was calm, and inscrutable.
Optimus nodded, gesturing with the data pad for his unexpected visitor to fall into step beside him. “You deduced correctly; I suppose there is no harm in saying that I am in quite a conundrum. I was going to call you in for an interview tomorrow, but I’m glad you stopped by. Why don’t we take a walk instead.”
It wasn’t posed as a question, though it wasn’t quite a command. Prowl matched his pace without comment.
Pausing at an intersection to let a busy minibot bustle by, bobbing hurriedly as he passed the Prime, Optimus led them purposefully to the cavernous expanse of the landing pad, still strewn with cargo containers and illuminated by the now-patchy rays of the light grid on the damaged roof far above. “I assume you know what position you’re being considered for.” It would hardly to take a genius to figure that one out, and this fellow had cores to spare.
Prowl half-shrugged nonchalantly, “Yes, as well as the other likely option. Your crew needs tactical support. Command-level. And…” he squinted briefly, in… frustration? Apprehension? The first sign of anything, really, that had crossed his faceplates- “…you need it now.”
Crew? Had he guessed at something else as well? Optimus let the word pass unchallenged for now. He stood at the crumbling verge of a ship’s berth, considering the empty void that was once a welcoming rest for hovering barges and spacefaring vessels alike. “Yes. We’ve been too reactive, and now we’re too spread out. Every moment our forces move without a long term strategy, we lose momentum.” He poked the brittle edge with one of his pede plates, watching small chunks of metal tumble down into the depths of the docks. “And yet, I cannot afford to make the wrong choice, or we will lose more than that.”
“To double haste triples folly,” Prowl offered, seeming to quote something that Prime did not know. “A conundrum, indeed.”
Optimus sighed, “Indeed. And to make matters worse, I have two excellent candidates. Both qualified, in the database,” He waggled the datapad in his hand, “And utterly opposite, outside of it. And no matter how I calculate it, I can’t produce a satisfactory solution. On the one hand, I threaten the stability of my field operations. On the other, I risk my own.” He reset his optics and refocused on his silent companion. “What I would really like to have is your opinion on this.”
Prowl regarded him seriously, “I could perform the functions you require in an officer. My experience and upgrades make me uniquely suited to the tactical analysis that the Autobots need to leverage to minimize loss and maximize gains. But I assume that,” He added, as Optimus was about to speak, “Was not what you meant.” It wasn’t posed as a question, but the statement was left open to elaboration.
“No.” The Prime looked back into the gaping maw below them. “Springer’s team needs him. Relies on him. Grows with him. Enough that I would resist taking him from them unless I had no other choice. You can’t force that kind of synergy. But you,” he lifted his hands- and the data pad- in a helpless shrug, “I talked to Quartermaster Recycle earlier. And to Transport before that. And Hotline. You’ve held half a dozen positions in thirty orns, and as far as I can tell, you haven’t made any ties since you enlisted with the Autobots. And I can’t trust my people to someone who can’t integrate. There is too much at stake.” His optics bored into the shorter mechs’, searching intensely enough that his chin lifted a few microns.
“It sounds like you already know who you want.” Prowl intoned coolly.
“I don’t want Springer. I want the gear that fits. I just don’t know if he exists.” He shook his head. “What do you want?”
Prowl actually seemed caught off-guard by the question, subtly shifting his weight to one pede, then the other, and then evenly between the two. His optics changed brightness slightly, only noticeable in the shadow of spotty lighting. Rerouting power… calculating?
“I want… to make a difference. To have the greatest possible impact on the outcome of events in alignment with Autobot values.”
Optimus winced at the technical language, which made the statement seem formulaic, but Prowl wasn’t finished.
“My previous and current superiors will have told you that I didn’t interact with their teams socially. Even avoided doing so. This is true. They didn’t… need me, as you put it.” He tilted his head again, choosing his words, “Those positions were… temporary. Transient. Our supply chain and communications infrastructure didn’t require a macro-strategist to streamline and prioritize their operations. My current… colleagues… don’t need to develop trust in a glorified scheduler. I was assigned to those groups to overhaul their processes and move on. And to keep me out of the way. Out of combat.” His look was pointed, and a frown tugged at his features.
It was Optimus’s turn to tilt his head, “And you want to see combat?”
“Of course not, but that isn’t the point.” He pointed at the datapad in the taller mech’s hand, forgotten for the moment. “I want my qualifications acknowledged and put to their best use. I want to protect, and to serve, in a meaningful capacity, with a network I have a chance to invest in. Again,” He emphasized, crossing his arms and looking at Optimus expectantly. “I have no references who can vouch for me in that capacity, however I must point out that being transferred every time I run out of tasks has been… isolating.” He ground out the word as if it was lodged in his vocalizer.
The Prime’s optics brightened and he leaned back slightly, taking in the mech before him with newfound understanding. “I see. That does sound exhausting.” He hefted the small, thin device in his hand absently, as if weighing it, “Much like overworking yourself. We already serve extended shifts, and Recycle was concerned that you were working in your off time. Burning out won’t do anyone any good.”
Prowl actually let out a sharp ventilation that might have signaled amusement or annoyance, “We are fighting a war, it seems rather hypocritical to prioritize recreational activities over that effort.”
Optimus sighed and looked around; even here there were signs of fighting. He gestured to a large scorch mark in the floor, a container riddled with bullet holes, and the jagged breach in the ceiling far above. “This war is here to stay, Prowl, and it’s our job to make sure we are as well. We may not always have the security of a defended base or the luxury of downtime. We are all soldiers now, and it’s not an easy life. I need to know that my people can pace themselves, so that they are ready when it counts.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” the stoic mech’s gaze lingered on the rift overhead before descending back to his taller companion, “But not all of them will be ready. Not soon enough. You have gathered a considerable arsenal of skillsets under your command, but many of them were civilians. How many have processed that they no longer are? You say conditions will deteriorate, which is certainly true, but how many are already struggling with this?” He gestured at the scarred, but deserted loading dock.
Optimus looked down at the hole beside them, poking another dangling chunk of metal into the abyss. He could not formulate an answer.
Prowl pointed at the rough-edged, but solid, loading platform beneath their feet. “Some of us have lived this life, or something like it. In law enforcement, the veteran’s duty is to prepare the rookie for their role. Provide vigilance against their oversights, correction for their errors, and protection in situations they are not ready to face. Those of us who are able to cope must give the others the chance to learn, or our defenses will crumble at the first test. For that alone, I do not begrudge my time.”
Optimus drew his gaze back to meet the other’s optics, and gripped the data pad more firmly. His audios whirred, even though no one was speaking. The cogs were beginning to spin into place. But would they turn, or shear off? “About that…”
The optics tilted slightly and shuttered once, “About what, Sir?”
“Coping.”
There was no misunderstanding the tinge of quiet dread in Prime’s voice. Prowl’s optics narrowed, and the sensory panels attached to his back twitched. “If there is something specific you want to know…” his tone was more flat than sharp, “I will be frank with you. If you want an eyewitness account, Sentinel Prime sealed the only complete report. You should, presumably, have access.”
Sighing guiltily Optimus shook his head, waving in negation, “No, no, what happened is not my concern. I would not ask you anything at all if it weren’t critically relevant, and I do not expect you to confide in me personally. But I need to know that I can count on you in a crisis. I am a high-value target to the Decepticons, and those around me could be endangered at any time. And the road I plan to take us on is difficult and dangerous. Are you battle-ready?”
“I am certified in-“
“I have read your qualifications a hundred times. I am asking if you are ready.” His look was grim, and searching.
Prowl unconsciously shifted to a stance closer to attention, “I am.”
“And are you prepared to command others in support of our cause, even when it endangers them?”
He considered this, “It is impossible to eliminate risk in any scenario. My duty has always been to identify and analyze the most variables to act with a high level of certainty and maximize beneficial outcomes in high-stakes operations. This would be no different. I am prepared for such responsibility.”
“Good. And do you feel you are prepared to…” Optimus waved the datapad around, mimicking the motion of a rolling wheel, “…integrate? Become a productive member of a tightly-meshed team?”
“I am…” Prowl hesitated, giving a small sigh, “Prepared to try. Truthfully, if you are looking for someone who can be a friend and confidante to your team, I may be a poor fit. However, given some of the… eccentric reputations that precede them, I would propose that they may benefit more from organization, consistency, and discipline. I believe I can offer that much.”
Prime glanced quickly at the empty ship’s berth, where the debris he had dislodged had finally settled, and mused thoughtfully, “You may have a point, there.”
“I would not ask you to choose one way or the other. But if you do select Springer, I will be applying for his vacancy. I would… appreciate your support in either case. I know I can do more good than just routing supplies.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. That team has what it needs,” he nodded, as if answering a question no one had asked.
“And yours?”
“My team,” Optimus glanced aside and rubbed the back of his helm, “Needs help. Lots of it. On a very permanent basis.”
“Agreed,” Prowl concurred maybe a little too readily, “They have a variety of talents, but lack the planning and direction to leverage them to their utmost. Begging your pardon, Sir,” he amended thoughtfully, “The diversity of their backgrounds and skills make them… volatile, complex variables. Such a crew would be a challenge for even a seasoned statistician to contemplate. Your science and engineering division alone needs to be applied… cautiously. And your assembly of combat specialists is certainly unprecedented.”
“You’ve reviewed their files?” Brow ridges raised under a blue helm.
“Of course. I prefer to prepare for any likely scenarios. And I have been rather… underemployed.”
“Well then,” Optimus turned away from the empty cargo dock, tossing the datapad over his shoulder into the abyss with a chuckle. “Let’s go grab a cube. I think I can cure your boredom, effective immediately.”
“What are you doing? That was a perfectly functional datapad.” Prowl looked back disapprovingly as they retreated to more habited parts.
“I’m delegating,” the Prime replied, with more mirth welling into his vocals than was strictly necessary. “Welcome to the team.” Their footsteps echoed across the giant space.
“They’re all yours.”
The new Chief Tactical Officer took to his new post like the proverbial Seeker to the wing. After reviewing the recordkeeping of the highest echelons of Autobot leadership, he quickly assumed control of their centralized reporting processes. Hardly believing his good fortune, his commander had offered no word of protest. Mission log collection was standardized. File storage architecture was organized. Approval streams were restructured.
At first there was a great deal of grumbling about the new addition, due mainly to the number of forms one suddenly had to fill out to perform one’s duties. Discovered a leaky valve? Maintenance request form. Operated dangerous equipment? Safety pre-check form. Detected an unusual heat signature on patrol? Benign sensor anomaly report form. Some unknown party even submitted a counterfeit “Filled out too many pointless fragging forms form,” which was summarily rejected for failing to include proper credentials.
The unlikely peacemakers to help quell the wave of unrest were, surprisingly, the most “civilian” members of the unit. The Prime had gathered around him an unusually dense population of scientists and other niche specialists, who were accustomed to such measures and unexpectedly thrilled at the newfound access to all manner of factual tidbits. And those who still muttered of unfairness, out of stubbornness or inexperience, learned very quickly not to mutter when the team’s medical officer was about. His hearing was sharp, his aim with projectile tools was uncommonly good, and he had always had to fill out forms for every repair he had ever performed. There was a sudden spike in medical reports for dent repairs, and for the most part the subject was laid to rest.
Once the datastreams were marching along orderly and to his satisfaction, Prowl turned his attention to the duty roster. There was opportunity for improvement everywhere, and slowly things began to change. The veteran soldiers, who had been handling most of the patrol and guard duties, were split up and partnered with less experienced mechs of all subtypes on the shorter routes and less risky posts. Likewise, those who were qualified were then scheduled to perform more training, supervise makeshift practice facilities, and experience different aspects of their operations.
Across the board, personnel qualifications were reviewed and their assignments reevaluated. Minibots, Prowl discovered, were less often assigned to potential combat zones, even though some were well-qualified and heavily armed. Their chief engineer was frequently called upon for basic equipment repair, despite specializing in complex power systems- and generally causing hazards in uncontrolled environments. He would be better suited to research and development on any number of long-term projects. Meanwhile, they had a fully qualified civil engineer who had mostly been relegated to setting up barricades and clearing rubble. He was quite excited to put his design and construction abilities to more sophisticated use. There were many such discrepancies that required adjustment, and overlooked or underutilized skills that could be leveraged.
Unfortunately, not everyone seemed to see the wisdom in these adjustments.
Checking his chronometer, Prowl supposed that if the irate weapons specialist did not pause soon, he would have to interrupt.
“-won’t stand fer it. Yah can’t just come in here an’ reduce ahr commander to a freight runner. Ahr Prahme for Prahmus’s own sake!” While no weapons were drawn, the unmistakable whine of auxiliary systems charging up corroborated his ire, “Is nothin’ sacred to you young guns? Yer outta yer fancy processor if yeh think this’s acceptable. Why, when Ah was in th’ Guard-“
“I am well aware of your concerns, Ironhide,” he didn’t quite understand them, but his awareness had been thoroughly raised since the invasion of his (probably permanently) borrowed office, “And I assure you, this is a low-risk mission with a high probability of success with the parameters I have outlined.”
“Yer parameters’re glitched, ‘s what Ah’m tellin’ ya. He ain’t just an errand bot ya can send about. He’s th’ Templar o’ the Matrix an’ a hundred things besides, an’ his place is-“
“Excuse me?” None other than said mighty Templar of the Matrix of Leadership himself peeked around the door of his (probably former) office. He had been treading carefully around his new second in command since he had insisted on taking over most of his commander’s administrative duties, and requested the use of a computer terminal. Optimus had relinquished the access codes and veritably fled in elation, and avoided disrupting the mech, lest he change his mind. “Am I interrupting?”
“No-“
“Yes!”
As Ironhide glared, Prowl stared impassively back at him, “We were just discussing your next assignment, actually.” He gestured for their superior to enter the room.
Optimus obliged, his optics brightening, “Yes, I just came to check with you about that. Are the details in the request correct?”
Ironhide’s engine rumbled angrily, “Ah already told him ya ain’t just a tow-bot ta send ta fetch things, but he ain’t gettin’ the message. In th’ old days-“
Optimus cut him off sharply with a raised hand and a shake of his head, “There is no shame in being a tow bot, Ironhide, if he performs his function with pride.” He waved off any response, “I did not come to dispute the contents of the request, I just…” He shifted a little sheepishly, “I wasn’t sure if it was assigned to me in error. I’ve never gotten one of these before.”
Prowl shook his head, “It was not. I have determined that you are the best candidate based on the mission requirements, menial though it may be.”
“But ANYBOT could go retrieve th’ stuff. There’s a whole logistics team t’handle this kind o’ thing.” Ironhide threw up his hands in exasperation, but his weapon systems were finally winding down.
“True, but they rely on the shuttle network in the city sublevels to move freight from place to place. This is a large load that is not convenient to any access points of that size. They could not move it quickly intact, and breaking it down would take time. Either scenario leaves them exposed longer than necessary.” He turned to Optimus, “If I am interpreting your specifications correctly, you would not be much slower towing cargo than not. Is that accurate?”
The tall commander nodded, almost eagerly, “Yes, the dimensions and weight you specified are well within my capacity. Better for me to retrieve it over the road, than to have a group outside the dome dismantling or winching it along.”
“Ah should at least-“
“Ironhide, I will have an escort, and we will be swift. And if you recall, I am fully armed and trained by the best. I need you here, keeping an optic on things while I’m out…fetching things,” he seemed rather amused by the idea.
“Oh no y’don’t. Ah still think y’all’ve lost yer chips. If this place falls down in th’ meantime, yer not pinnin’ it on me. Ah’ll be on the firin’ range,” he groused as he left.
Optimus couldn’t help a small chuckle, “Don’t mind him, he’ll get over it.”
“I certainly hope so. I did not expect such a reaction for something so… routine.” He paused and made a gesture of deference, “I hope I did not overstep myself requesting you for such a task. If you have objections, I will adjust my algorithms in the future. There are certainly also disadvantages to sending you into the field.”
Optimus dismissed the idea with a wave, “No, I think your reallocation of resources has been very shrewd so far, myself included. It’s high time we put aside our biases and… ‘put our qualifications to their best use.’” His optics twinkled a little.
Prowl acknowledged the quotation with a thoughtful nod, “Does this mean that the Honorable Templar of the Matrix of Leadership, Scion of the First Spark, Heir to the Legacy of Primes, Speaker of the Source Codex, is available to move cargo when the situation calls for it?” The question was posed with a seriousness that was either a humorless factuality, or a lethal deadpan. It was hard to tell which.
“He didn’t…” Optimus Prime groaned helplessly in exasperation, “Ironhide is so old-fashioned sometimes… don’t pay it any bytes. I’m not concerned with formalities.” He shook his head, though his look was a little… smug. “But I can back a cargo block into a space with less than point-five-percent clearance, quick as you please. Anytime duty calls for it.”
“Excellent. I’ll make a note in your file.”
And so it came to pass that a bevy of maintenance bots, busy moving and cutting and welding all manner of metallic objects on the now-bustling dock, were shocked nearly out of their plating when none other than their Prime and Commander rolled into their midst unannounced. The sharp hiss of brakes cut the silence as he neatly parked his burden. He transformed and stretched, nodding and rumbling greetings to the group before moving to undo tie-downs and remove the sheet of protective film from the misshapen form. A chorus of exclamations went up as it was revealed, and they swarmed around to assist in moving the massive turbine off of the wheeled transport bed, setting upon it like a hungry swarm of sharkticons.
Wading out of the excited group, Optimus Prime acknowledged a mech- whose brooding had originally caused some unease among the workers, but had long since been forgotten- lurking by the exit with a scowl. After looking the other up and down, the frown abated somewhat. “Any trouble?”
“No. I think we were observed, but didn’t encounter any resistance,” he adjusted his pace to accommodate his shorter companion, “Honestly, it was good to get out of the base for a little while. And worth it, if it keeps our progress moving along.” He indicated over his shoulder at the activity they were leaving behind.
Ironhide snorted air from his vents, “Ah still don’t think it’s worth sendin’ you on supply runs fer a backup plan.”
Optimus declined to be baited into this argument again.
“Ah, well. What’s this about bein’ seen, now? Kinda tight timing to get picked up by spies,” Ironhide was frowning full-force again.
Optimus shrugged, “I’m not sure, it was just a blip and then it was gone. All of the details will be in my report.”
Another huff, “How many forms you gotta fill out fer that one? Nevermind, I don’t even want ta know. Ah’ve done so many fer weapons inspections, I wouldn’t be too sorreh if a shell nailed that ingot-head right in th’chevron next time he comes out to the range.”
“Ironhide! Do not damage my brand new tactician,” the Prime chided lightly, “Besides, he volunteered to handle almost all of the datawork. Even if I have to file ten reports, I still come out ahead. So if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go do just that. Behave yourself.”
“Yer STILL afraid he’ll dump it all back on ya, arent’cha?” the older mech shook his head incredulously after him.
“Sometimes caution is the better part of valor,” Optimus deflected, his stride lengthening as he hurried on his way.