Things had finally settled down at the Autobot base. There was a victory party for what the N.E.S.T alliance has called the Eggman Hive war. Autobots, Mobian, and humans of magical persuasion or not were celebrating. After it wound down and the guests left, Optimus, Topaz, and Teletraan met in Optimus’s office. “You bots certainly know how to party,” observed Topaz.
“Jazz was always called The Music Meister on Cybertron,” replied Optimus. “For a while, he wanted to be called Meister.”
“G.U.N’s had a question on that,” interjected Topaz. “Is ‘Jazz’ his real name?”
“No, that’s just a name he picked up since he heard Louis Armstrong and other various jazz musicians,” answered Optimus. “Only his friends know his real name. Don’t bother asking, we swore a vow of silence on that note.”
“Well, at least Tower won’t get that info either,” muttered Topaz. The mood went down as Optimus sensed the bitterness in her voice.
“I…Er…Shadow…briefed me on…” Optimus stopped when he heard a sniffle. He knew where it came from. Optimus sighed, then transformed. He projected his holo-form onto the desk where Topaz sat. Topaz looked up; her eyes stained with tears. She then hugged Optimus and sobbed onto his shoulder. They stayed that way for a few minutes until Teletraan received a call and curled his lips into a snarl.
“I know it seems too short for a full consoling session,” he said to the two, “but Tower’s calling.” Optimus didn’t want to take it, but his desire for answers was strong. He checked with Topaz.
“Go ahead,” she replied as she wiped her eyes and adopted a cold, angry demeanor. Optimus canceled his holo-form and transformed.
“Put it through,” directed Optimus. Silas’ head then showed up on the screen.
“Optimus Prime,” he purred. “I believe you owe me for…”
“No, YOU owe US for breaking the collective hearts of those that looked up to you, Ex-commander Tower!” snarled Optimus. “Shadow briefed me on the whole story. So, I must ask, why?” Silas said nothing, then removed his goggles, undoing the wrappings of his mask and revealing Abraham Tower’s face.
“Will that change your current opinion of me?” he asked.
“No, it won’t,” replied Optimus.
“Then we’ll table that for now,” dismissed Tower. “I have only this to say, leave MECH alone. Our quarrel is with the animals, not the Autobots. Leave us alone, and I can promise you’ll never hear from MECH again.”
“Unless you kidnap humans that LIKE working with Mobians,” hissed Topaz. Tower’s face curled into a snarl.
“You keep serving that purple pincushion,” he growled, “and you’re going to have a lot more to worry about than mere kidnappings!”
“You do realize,” interjected Optimus, “that neither Topaz nor I respond well to threats. I thought you would know that by now. But, I’m beginning to suspect you don’t know G.U.N or the Autobots all that well.”
“Oh, I know you,” countered Tower. “I was like you once, young Optimus. But then, I opened my eyes! Open YOUR eyes, Prime! Ask yourself, why is G.U.N so obsessed with MECH?! Topaz, we’ve never harmed you! And yet, we’re constantly arrested and charged with terrorism and our supporters are harassed and ridiculed! Why?! Because we’ve left the Mobian illusion of Paradise and that’s the one thing you can’t accept! No one leaves Paradise! Everyone should WANT to be friends with Mobians! Hell, you even want the Autobots to join! You only allow them sanctuary here to help them escape the horrors of their past, so they may take their rightful place in Aleena’s Court! You know, in some ways, Aleena’s even worse than Eggman! At least he tells you about his plans to dominate the planet! Aleena’s more insidious! She conquers people, and they don’t even know it!” Topaz was visibly angry but kept her voice level.
“You know what, Abraham Tower,” she hissed, “I don’t give a DAMN what you think of G.U.N, MECH, or anything else. All I know is, you have betrayed the ideals you instilled into me, the trust of many a good soldier, and the United Federation. And, so help me, as the new Commander of G.U.N, if it takes me until the moment my hair is totally grey, I will see to it that you are placed before a Court Martial and place you in a cell next to Aaron Witwicky’s in Deep Down Prison, where you will spend the rest of your days wondering if attacking our Mobian friends was really worth it.”
“…I look forward to the attempts, Commander Topaz,” replied Tower. He then looked off-screen and made a slicing motion across his throat. The call terminated.
“The Autobots will assist you in bringing MECH down,” assured Optimus.
“You’ve got enough on your plate with Shockwave and Eggman,” remarked Topaz.
“And Tower has knowledge about us and our base,” countered Optimus. “MECH’s as much our problem as they are yours. On another note, I don’t recall the promotion ceremony having happened yet.”
“Tower doesn’t know that,” replied Topaz. “Could you let me down? I need to head home.”
“Of course,” confirmed Optimus. Topaz stepped into his hand and was lowered to the floor. She then left the office. As the door shut, Teletraan came back up.
“I just got a report from Jazz that they had to put Trema in the detention area,” he called.
“Trema? What for?” asked Optimus.
“Jazz is on the way to your office to explain that,” reported Teletraan. The door then chimed.
“Come in,” bid Optimus. Jazz then came in. “Ah, Jazz,” greeted Optimus. “Mind telling me why we’re holding a Nebulan here?”
“Well, she’s a currently DRUNK Nebulan,” muttered Jazz.
“…Okay, what happened?” asked Optimus as he braced himself for ridiculousness. So, Jazz spun his yarn.
The party had just ended, and Jazz was putting away his mix-table when Prowl came up. “Can I help you?” asked Jazz.
“I have an uncooperative Nebulan that won’t come out of our holo-suite,” reported Prowl. “I need another Cyber-Ninja and Optimus is busy talking with the future Commander Topaz.”
“Lead the way,” directed Jazz. As they were walking, Prowl briefed them on the situation.
“As per protocol,” he relayed, “like any of the guests, I gave her 10 minutes to use it. That was at 1530 hours.”
“She’s been in there for three hours?!” yelped Jazz.
“Fighting the battle of Klachdachbrach, or some such thing,” muttered Prowl.
“Oh, I remember hearing about that from Optimus during his obsessive stage with Star Trek,” sighed Jazz. “The Battle of Klach D’kel Brakt, or the Briar Patch, was a legendary Klingon victory over the Romulan Star Empire in 2271.”
“Well, she’s been losing it for the past three hours,” hissed Prowl. “AND, she said she’s not coming out until she wins! Banging on the door only prompts her to seal herself in. A threat to cut off the power prompts a threat to chop off my door-wings. The last threat for me, after I said I’d shoot down the door, was that she’d shoot me.”
“This IS Trema we’re talking about?” asked Jazz.
“Judging by the smell of alcohol coming out of there,” sighed Prowl, “and the fact that she responded in slurred Nebulanese leads me to believe that Trema hit the rock-rum a little too hard.”
“Okay, that answers that,” replied Jazz. “Now, another question, since when do we have legendary Klingon battles in our holo-suite programs?”
“I can answer that,” called Teletraan. “Claws gave me copies of her holo-suite programs as a recovery present.”
“And there’s someone with the Dyno-bots who likes to fight as a Klingon?” gulped Jazz.
“I know!” replied Teletraan. “It’s violent! Brutal!” He then shuddered. “Bloody. But, for someone like Trema, it’s entertainment.” They arrived at the holo-suite to hear the sounds of battle.
“Shut off the power,” commanded Jazz.
“She’ll kill you,” warned Teletraan.
“No, she’ll chop off my door-wings,” replied Prowl. “Shut off the power.” After a second, the holo-suite’s power was cut. A second after that, slurred Nebulanese came out of the room. Trema then pulled the doors apart and came out in traditional Nebulan battle gear. Covered head to toe in blackish-grey steel and wielding both of her Ban’grazas, she unleashed Nebulan curses that made no sense. She then saw the two Praxians and roared. Let me offer a loose translation for what she said in Nebulanese.
“You dare interrupt my entertainment! You Cybertronian Shclavek!” Shclavek has no translation, but it’s one of the worst insult to fling on Nebulos. She swung a drunken punch, but Jazz caught it.
“The battle’s over,” he replied in Nebulanese. “People are waiting to celebrate your victory.”
“They are?” Trema asked. Jazz and Prowl nodded. A grin then appeared on her face. “Lead the way, then!” she commanded. Prowl and Jazz told her to wait in the detention cell and sleep, so she could give a moving speech.
“Prowl then told Ratchet about what happened, so he headed to the detention area with Nebulan pain-killers,” finished Jazz.
“Thank Primus,” sighed Optimus. Prowl then chime in on the comms. “Yes?” quizzed Optimus.
“Trema has woken up,” reported Prowl. “She wants to see you.”
“On my way,” called Optimus. Optimus then left his office and made his way to the detention area. Trema was holding a glass of water in one hand and her head in the other.
“Prowl told me about what I did in there,” she moaned. “My head feels like I met the wrong end of Krunk’s club.”
“How much rock-rum did you drink, if I may ask?” quizzed Optimus.
“I don’t know, too much?” moaned Trema.
“I found enough glass to make, on average, 11 bottles,” replied Prowl. “They were in various stages of damage.”
“By the Allspark! Eleven?!” gasped Optimus.
“How am I conscious?!” groaned Trema.
“I’m amazed you fought and refought the Battle of Klach D’kel Brakt for three hours,” remarked Teletraan.
“The first bottle may have altered my vision,” answered Trema, “but I think the Klingons were attacking the Romulans with metal clubs.”
“That’s their sword, the Bat’leth,” replied Optimus. “Teletraan, bring up an image of the Bat’leth.”
“Okay,” mumbled Teletraan, “but she’s gonna call sacrilege on you.” The Bat’leth appeared on a screen as Trema was released from the cell. She got a good look at it and curled her lips into a snarl.
“Sacrilege doesn’t BEGIN to describe what Optimus just said!” she growled. “That is NOT a sword! That’s a piece of glorified modern art!”
“What?!” protested Optimus. “We’re gonna have to have a little duel. I bet a Bat’leth could stomp a Ban’graza!”
“Doubtful,” dismissed Trema. “After I fully recover, I’ll gladly take that challenge!”