Title: Dreams of a Life Lived

'Verse: G1 AU

Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Mirage, Hound, Trailbreaker; mentions of OCs

Pairings: This is Prowl/Jazz and Hound/Mirage/Trailbreaker, but it start out Prowl/Mirage. Please don't yell at me about the pairings. FFN has a limited selection and I did my best.

Summary: Sometimes life takes a different path than planned.

A/N: I have no idea where this came from. *shrugs helplessly* Jazz took over. I was influenced by Nim's Island and various writers in the fandom. ante-luce, vejiraziel, and purajo are ones that have influenced me recently.

Jazz nibbled on the stylus for a moment, then made an annotation on his pad before turning to his input station and continuing the story he was writing. His comm buzzed and he absently answered it, most of his attention focused on the glyphs scrawling across his screen.

"Hey, Jazz, it's Smokey!" His agent's voice startled him. He tore his attention away from the story and focused it on the communication.

"Smokey. What's up?"

Smokescreen was bubbling over with enthusiasm. "I've got you set up at a soiree tomorrow evening – I know how much you love these things, and I couldn't resist the temptation. You're going to be very popular, Jazz!"

Jazz tried to figure out what Smokescreen was talking about before giving up and asking. "Smokey, what are you going on about?"

A pause, then, "Oh, yeah, you told me not to bother you until I'd sorted this all out. So, I was approached by a very high-class mech that loves your novels. He wanted to arrange a party of like-minded mechs to meet you, and we just finished the final arrangements. The party is tomorrow."

Jazz stared down at his desk, unable to form an answer. Smokescreen had decided when he met Jazz that Jazz was a party bot, always ready for a good time, despite Jazz's protestations to the contrary. He sighed.

"So, what are they contributing and where?"

"You'll like this one, Jazz. He's committed to building a new youth center for displaced youths in Kaon and paying for staffing it for a solar!" Smokey was practically bouncing with glee.

Despite himself, Jazz was impressed. He drew a deep draught of air. This noblemech had hit his weak spot and made him an offer he couldn't refuse.

He infused an enthusiasm he didn't feel into his voice, "Well, how wonderful! I'm delighted by his kind and generous offer and I look forward to meeting him and his friends."

Smokescreen laughed, relief evident in his tone, "That's what I told him! So here's the info you need…"

A joor later, Jazz cut the comm line and frowned before making a call of his own.

"Hello, Jazz. Long time no hear."

"I just talked to your brother last cycle, Sunstreaker. It's not like I haven't been around."

"I hear you've been busy," Sunstreaker said.

"As have you," Jazz replied.

Sunstreaker's smile came through his voice, "So, we've both been busy. What can I help you with?"

Jazz explained, and he and Sunstreaker made arrangements for the twins to help Jazz get ready for a Towers party.

Satisfied, Jazz returned his attention to his story.

Jazz wrote romances for the masses. He'd grown up abandoned on the streets of Kaon and had been put in a youth home by the Enforcers when he was four solars in age. The youth home was poor and lacked resources, but there was a tough mech in charge who made sure the younglings had fuel and an education. All the mechs that passes under Lug's care could read and write, and he did his best to get them into an institute of higher learning. Jazz had managed to get into the Iacon Academy in the Arts track, where he'd met Sunstreaker. Through Sunny he'd met Sideswipe, Sunstreaker's twin brother, who was in the Business track. Through Sides, he'd met Smokescreen, who became his agent when he'd submitted his first novel. That first book file led to a contract for three more and Jazz was on his way to financial independence for the first time in his existence.

He frowned at the screen. He was almost one hundred novels into his career and he felt that he was starting to repeat himself. He'd talked to Smokey and his publisher about writing more mature novels, but they'd been hesitant to change his product. Jazz had made his point by writing the novel and publishing under a different penname. It had become a run-away best seller for the publishing house, and Jazz now found himself juggling two styles of writing and growing more critical of his formulaic approach to his tamer writing name.

Sighing, he went through his manuscript critically, changing his descriptions of the hero to a completely different frame type. He again nibbled on his stylus before placing another comm.

"Hey, Jazz! How are you?" Hound's pleasant voice filled his audio receivers.

"I'm well, thanks, Hound." Jazz replied.

"What can I do for ya?" Hound asked.

"I was hoping to pick your processor about military types and treat ya to a meal." Jazz answered.

"Sure! What time?" Hound said.

"When do you get off work?" Jazz asked.

"Oh, in about twenty joors," was the reply.

"Great! How about five joors after you get off?"

"I'll see you then. Hound out."

Jazz got up and checked his cabinets. He had some candied energon he made at the start of the cycle – that would work as the sweet course between the two main courses. He had some gelled mid-grade suitable as the main course and a light high-grade that would work for drinking during the meal. He found some energon cakes he'd bought a couple cycles ago that he could use as the third course and as a final treat for the meal, he had some candied energon twigs, very difficult to find and thus, Jazz hoped, a very special treat for his friend.

After his inventory of foodstuffs, Jazz returned to his writing. One of the reasons he was successful was his discipline. He wrote all the time, edited himself harshly, and was amenable to his editor's suggestions and corrections.

So he returned to his work, changing his first hero's profession to the military and his second hero to a medical bot. He'd already done a medical bot as a hero before, so he called up his research on that, made a couple more comms and finally wrapped up for the day.

He laid out the food and set his small table for two. Hound arrived right on time and they enjoyed a fine meal together before moving to Jazz's main room and making themselves comfortable on the seats.

"So, Jazz, what do you want to know?" Hound asked, sipping his high-grade and munching on the energon twigs with enthusiasm.

"I've decided to make one of my heroes active in the military and I need to understand a lot more about the daily routine. Oh, and I need a special event, too. I don't know anything about the military, so I need background information. Anything you can think of, I probably need." Jazz answered, his pad and stencil at the ready.

So Hound talked. He started back at the rebellion Megatron had started, the uprising of the poor and downtrodden against the rich and privileged over energon shortages. He touched on the death of Sentinel Prime and the scramble to find a new Prime, culminating in a dock hand named Orion Pax becoming Optimus Prime. He recounted the first clash between Optimus Prime and Megatron, where Optimus had recognized Megatron as his Lord High Protector and sparkmate and had refused to fight him, calling instead for a council between them. Megatron had been baffled, but had cautiously agreed to a meeting in the middle of the two armies, bringing his two lieutenants, Shockwave and Starscream. Optimus Prime had brought Ironhide and Highbrow and had spoken first. Megatron rebuffed him, and Optimus had opened his spark, begging for his mate. Shocked, Megatron had been unable to resist the call of his mate's spark and had reached for him, uniting them in front of both armies.

Once Megatron was established as Optimus' Lord High Protector, their world had changed. Optimus moved rapidly, changing energon distribution and suspending the Senate. A new government was established with a balance of power. The Senate was matched by a Council based on population and measures had to pass both bodies to be presented to the Prime. The rebellion had died as energon became available to everyone, which meant that the armies raised by both sides dissolved and were replaced by a standing volunteer army, each side contributing. Since the rebellion had been short lived, they meshed well.

Hound talked about the various functions within the Cybertronian Army and how units were formed, some with special functions such as sabotage, others just general units but everyone highly trained.

"So, I really need someone who's based more on Cybertron rather than posted to the moons or off-planet," Jazz said.

Hound grinned, "We all do our rotations to the moons, and it's just part of being in the military. Not all of us go off-planet, though."

Hound continued to talk about various duties, about off-planet rotations and which units got picked for that. The unit would be a mixture of specialties, with a medic, heavy weapons, demolition or sabotage, sniper, scout and a specialist making up the bare bones of the team which was matched with a group of scientists or technicians searching for energon resources, or energy resources that could be refined into energon.

"Although I'd love it if you'd mention that the Prime will not let us search inhabited planets, since he feels that it is unfair to another, possibly sentient, species to take their resources for our use." Hound mentioned.

Jazz noted it, then reminded Hound that he needed a special event.

"Oh, an inspection by the Prime or the Lord High Protector is enough of a special event," Hound said, "so you don't need to make something up."

"Tell me about it," Jazz encouraged him.

Hound talked about the notification, the cleaning from top to bottom of the base, the polishing of armor, the complete stripping and cleaning of all weapons and the endless drilling.

"We do appreciate that the Lord High Protector and the Prime take these inspections as seriously as we do. They don't breeze in, nod, and leave. They spend two or three cycles with us, eating in the mess with the mechs, sleeping in the barracks and just spending a lot of time. Pit, last time the Prime came and drilled with us."

"You're kidding!" Jazz laughed.

"Nope, I'm not. He was right next to me, " Hound said.

"How'd he do?" Jazz asked.

"Not bad at all. He does a fair bit of training himself and he did well. Of course, he didn't know our special weapons drill, but he caught on quickly. He's a good spark, our Prime." Hound said.

Jazz asked a couple more questions, then let Hound go on his way since they both had work the following cycle.

Jazz wrote a new outline, then rolled himself into his berth for a long recharge, since he would be up very late the following cycle attending the soiree at the Towers. He shuttered his optics, content with a good cycle of work.

The next cycle, Jazz roused from recharge late. He took a container of energon around with him as he straightened up a few things mussed from the night before and tidying his home to his liking. Once he was done straightening up, he sat in his chair and looked at his large window.

The window was the reason he had chosen this apartment. It looked down over the central marketplace and there was an ever-changing array of mechs swirling in a display of life. Jazz loved to mech watch, and some of his best stories had come from catching a glimpse of two mechs, or two femmes, or a mech and a femme in a little slice of life and asking 'What if?' or 'Why?'. He watched for a few joors, enjoying this quiet time.

His door chimed, and he answered it, ushering the twins in. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked very different, with Sunstreaker being a gleaming yellow while Sideswipe was red with black accents. Their helm designs were different, too, but their faces were very similar, which gave the sense of kinship. Jazz had become friends with them, never realizing they were twins until one cycle when he was complaining about the lack of information on spark twins, since the novel he was writing at the time had a twin. He was telling the brothers that he'd have to give up the storyline when Sideswipe, after a quick look at his brother, asked him what he wanted to know. Jazz had poured out a whole list of questions that the brothers had patiently answered. Stunned, Jazz told them he'd never known.

"That's why we chose different frames when our final upgrades came along. Too many mechs wanted to get to know us because we were a novelty." Sideswipe had told him, Sunstreaker nodding his agreement.

After that, the brothers had been especially close to Jazz, the three mechs supporting each other in their endeavors. Sideswipe ran an import business, while Sunstreaker was an artist of high renown. Sunstreaker had his art hanging in his brother's import house, while Jazz had held signings for his novels at the import house. Sideswipe helped Jazz visualize rare items when they were needed as a setting in his novels, since he often had such items in his possession. Sunstreaker had helped Jazz with early cover designs for his novels' packaging, painting a vivid scene from Jazz's descriptions within the novel. Those early covers were highly sought collector's items if Sunstreaker's package design was still intact. Jazz had written lyrical descriptions for Sunstreaker's first galley showing. They borrowed materials from each other, helped each other through tough times, and scouted potential dates for each other.

The brothers were here to help Jazz look perfect for this soiree. Sunstreaker had brought his air brush and a collection of waxes and polishes, while Sideswipe had brought soaps and cleaners. They were very thorough, starting with cleaning Jazz in his root mode, then coaxing him into vehicle mode, where the brothers dove in and cleaned his floors and seats and clear panels. Sideswipe then pulled out a sander and removed all the paint before Sunstreaker stepped in and repainted him. Jazz owned a very good dryer that sped up the drying process without cracking the paint. Afterwards, they waxed and polished him while Jazz giggled at the tickling he received. Once they were done with his vehicle mode, Jazz transformed back into mech mode, where the whole processes was repeated.

Standing in the middle of his apartment with his arms outstretched while Sideswipe knelt before him with the sander, Jazz reflected on how lucky he was to have such wonderful mechs in his life. The only thing missing was a mech that he could love and that could love him, but he felt that at the right time, Primus would send the right mech his direction. He just hoped he wasn't too caught up in living to recognize the mech.

Sunstreaker stroked the paint on with the airbrush, then Jazz went under the dryer. Then he sat down so they could do the bottom of his pedes. Sideswipe had a portable dryer for small jobs like this. Then wax was applied, first to the bottom of his pedes. The polishing was done with a special polish that allowed him to not have slick bottoms so he didn't fall on his aft. Then the brothers waxed the rest of him as he stood between them before pulling out the cloths and polishing him to a high gloss. As a final touch, Sunstreaker rubbed a glossy coat onto Jazz's non-metallic parts.

Forty joors later, they were done. Jazz stood, his frame gleaming with the best wax and a very soft scent of highly maintained metal wafted in the air. He sniffed, then grinned at Sunstreaker.

"The very best stuff! Thanks, Sunny."

"You're welcome. Are you going by transport?" Sunstreaker asked.

"Yeah, Smokescreen's sending one. It should be here in two joors." Jazz answered, moving over to his desk and subspacing a pad and stylus, along with two markers for scrawling his glyphs on any novel pad offered to him.

"Good. You can't afford to get scuffed by someone walking over to the Towers. It wouldn't give the right impression." Sunstreaker moved away to gather up their materials.

Sideswipe stepped up and carefully clasped Jazz's shoulder. "Remember, let them lead. Don't eat everything on your plate, count to ten between bites, ask them about themselves; they love to talk about themselves. Be deferential, but not subservient. After all, they asked you there, you didn't force your way in. Leave after three or four mechs have taken their leave. Don't offer to autograph datapads, wait for them to ask. Do not volunteer anything about your background. Every single one of them has a different idea, none of which resemble the truth at all, and telling the truth will dim your mystic in their optics."

"Better to be thought a fool than open your mouth plates and remove all doubt?" Jazz asked.

"Yeah. Just…be quiet and respectful. They can wipe you out if they decide they don't like you, or they can make you even bigger than you already are." Sideswipe looked worried for his friend.

Jazz smiled up at him. "Thanks for the advice, Sides. I really appreciate it."

They all left at the same time, Jazz swathed in a cloak to protect his finish from any bumps. Sideswipe had loaned it to him. On Sides, it was knee-length, while on Jazz it brushed the ground and hid his entire frame. Sunstreaker nodded approvingly.

The transport was waiting with Smokescreen inside. He hopped out and gave Jazz his hand to help him into the large vehicle. Settling himself, Jazz nodded at the front of the vehicle and murmured, "Thank you for taking me tonight."

A deep voice answered him, "You're welcome, Jazz. It's my pleasure. I'm a big fan of your books."

"Really?" Jazz asked, "What's your name? Which datapad is your favorite?"

The mech replied, "My name is Wrench. My favorite is iTwo Moons Above/i, and I'm really honored to meet you."

They had a pleasant conversation, with Jazz autographing the mech's favorite novel before he got out at the base of the Towers.

Smokescreen had nervously chattered the entire time, a running monologue of everything Jazz should and shouldn't do. He listened and decided he'd run with Sideswipe's advise, which was much more terse and thus easier on Jazz's processor. He approached the doorman with the invitation in his hand.

"Hello, my name is Jazz." He offered the invitation, but subspaced it at the subtle wave of the doorman's hand.

"Welcome to the Towers, Dom Jazz." The doorman bowed him into the building. Nervously, Jazz entered and walked across the lobby area.

Another mech wearing some symbol on his chest met Jazz. "Dom Jazz?"

"Yes?" Jazz answered.

"Dom Jazz, I am here to escort you to Lord Mirage."

"Oh. Thank you…?" Jazz trailed off.

The mech smiled at him. "My name is Scuff, sir."

Jazz grinned at him. "Nice to meet you, Scuff." He offered his hand.

Scuff shook it, but turned it into a hand at his elbow. "Sir, you don't shake the hands of the servants in the Towers."

"Oh." Jazz said, embarrassment flushing his cheek plates.

"It's alright, sir. Just, for the future, now you know." Scuff escorted him to the elevator and pressed the call button.

"Yes, thank you, Scuff." Jazz said, entering the elevator when the doors opened. Scuff followed him in and pressed a floor button very high on the panel. A light on his wrist cuff flashed, and the elevator closed its doors and lifted off. This Lord Mirage lived high up in the Towers. Jazz wondered if the old saying about the higher you lived the richer you were held true.

They exited into a private foyer, tastefully decorated. Scuff pressed a panel next to the only doorway in the walls, and the door opened after his wrist cuff again flashed.

Jazz entered with trepidation, very nervous now that he'd seen a little of how the Towers worked. Scuff entered the room and was met by another mech wearing the same symbol on his chest.

"Ah, Dom Jazz. Lord Mirage has been expecting you; you're right on time. Admirable. May I take your cloak?"

Jazz dutifully allowed himself to be relieved of the cloak, mentally bracing himself for what happened next. Outwardly, he had a smile fixed on his face and did his best to look at ease.

The butler gave him a small smile and two of his fingers transformed into a small soft brush. "May I, Dom?"

Jazz looked over at his arm. A small piece of fluff from the cloak was sticking to his arm. "Yes, please. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Dom." The butler's fingers transformed back and he turned. "Please follow me."

Jazz fell in behind the butler and they walked through a long hallway. Plush carpets covered the floors, rare paintings adorned the walls, niches held exotic sculptures. Jazz did his best to look and not gawp at the riches displayed around him.

The butler finally stopped at a door and looked back at Jazz, who nodded at him. The butler tipped his head slightly, then opened the door and stepped through.

"Dom Jazz, my lord." He announced.

A blue and white mech came forward, his hand out. His helm was the most unusual Jazz had ever seen. The vents framed his face and went down to his shoulders, making him look like he was wearing a headdress. He was a light frame, sleek and elegant. His frame gleamed with good care, and his optics were a rare golden color. Jazz internally smiled at the thought of Sunstreaker having optics that matched his paint and made a note to share that idea with Sunny at the first opportunity.

"Dom Jazz? My name is Mirage. Welcome to my home. I'm so glad you could join us." Mirage shook his hand and gracefully curved his arm around Jazz's shoulders to introduce him around.

The other noblemechs in the room gathered to be introduced to Jazz. He found himself murmuring polite greetings to the dozen or so mechs, each seemingly eager to meet him.

Once the introductions were taken care of, Mirage waved over one of the servants and asked Jazz what he would like to drink.

"…and I have this fabulous Polyhex high-grade; you can taste the titanium, it gives it such a tart flavor!"

"Thank you, my lord. I'd prefer something a little lighter." Jazz murmured quietly.

"Nonsense! High-grade is the way to go!" Mirage laughed jovially.

"Yes, my lord." Jazz agreed.

The servant reappeared at his elbow with a crystal container. Jazz thanked him quietly and sipped it. He'd gotten a sweet mid-grade that sparkled like the high-grade in all the other containers. Jazz briefly grinned at the server and received a small dip of the head in return.

"Dom Jazz, I wanted to ask about your next bookfile!" A green and grey mech politely grasped his elbow to catch his attention.

"Yes, my lord?" Jazz responded.

"I loved your hero mech in the last book, iNever Again/i and I want you to do a follow-up story. I loved it so much!" the mech was gushing his praise.

"Baffle, darling, you can't gush at the poor mech!" another mech came over. He was red and black. He wrapped his arm around the green mech and hugged him.

"Lure, this is so exciting for me! Creator doesn't like that I read these novels, you know that, and it was so nice of Mirage to arrange this for me!" Baffle leaned into his friend.

Lure answered him, "Yes, I know. But authors often don't want to give away their plots, so you do it like this." He turned to Jazz and offered his hand, "Hi, I'm Lure. I'm a big fan of your books. May I ask you a question?"

Jazz was genuinely smiling now. He knew how to do this, "Sure, as long as you don't want to know my secrets!"

Lure laughed, "No, but I do want to know how you decide if the novel should be two mechs, two femmes, or a mech and a femme?"

"Ah," Jazz said, "that's a really good question. I let the characters themselves tell me. Sometimes I don't find out until I'm deep into the writing, other times I found out in the first paragraph. It really all depends."

"Well, I have to admit that your first femme/femme novel, iWalls Between Us/i, was fantastic. Did you have help writing the femme parts?"

Jazz reminded himself that this mech could make or break him and he wasn't trying to be deliberately stupid. "I feel that the need for love is a universal emotion and is true of everyone, femme or mech, which means I didn't need anything specific from a femme to write the book. However, yes, I did research and I asked some femme friends of mine to read through certain sections and make sure my characters behaved in a way that rang true for them."

"Oh, of course. I'm really glad you could be here this cycle." Lure smiled, still hugging Baffle.

"Oh, my turn!" Baffle said, bouncing a little on his pedes.

"Sure," Jazz said, "what would you like to know?"

"Well, in iNever Again/i you had the two mechs separated by a creator, who was such a horrible mech! No one should do that to their creation. Anyway, now that they're together, what happens next?"

Over Baffle's shoulder, Jazz looked at Lure, who was gazing down a Baffle with a smile and an adoring expression on his face plates. Jazz was suddenly struck by the idea that Baffle equated himself and Lure with the heroes in his last book. Lure looked up and caught his optics, a hint of pain in his own optics.

"Why, my lord, they lived happily ever after, of course! 'Break's creator forgave them when he saw how much in love they were." Jazz said, quickly writing the story to a temporary storage. That novel had been the first time a family member had been the villain and it seemed to have struck a neural chord with Baffle.

Baffle clapped his hands in glee, "See? I told you so, Lure."

"You're right, of course you are, Baffle. Do you have any more questions for Dom Jazz?" Lure kept his attention on Baffle, gazing into his optics and smiling at him.

"No, Lure, I don't." Baffled answered, leaning against the other mech.

"Then would mine refilling my container? I'm thirsty." Lure offered his crystal cup, and Baffle took it excitedly.

"No, of course not! I'll be right back!" He skipped off, indulgent smiles following him across the room.

Lure dropped his voice modulations. "Thanks for being kind to Baffle. He's a good spark, but his processor was damaged during this latest upgrade and it's taking a while to root out the problem. He's very attached to me, but his creator wants him to wait until his processor is right before allowing anything to happen. Your novels give him hope."

"My lord, I wish you both the very best." Jazz answered equally quietly.

"Thank you. Even if he can't get that processor fixed, I want to bond with him. He's the other half of my spark, and while I appreciate his creator's wishes, the waiting can be very difficult."

Jazz murmured, "Yes, I can imagine that."

"Well. Let me introduce you to another fan." Lure turned to a huge black mech that came up. "Dom Jazz, this is Lord Hammer."

"My lord," Jazz said, accepting the proffered hand and shaking it.

"Dom Jazz. It's wonderful to meet you. I've enjoyed your novels very much. I do wish, however, that you gave more time to the military." Hammer had a deep voice that rumbled and gave the impression of great power.

"You'll be delighted with the next novel, then, my lord. I'm putting one of the heroes in the military and the other in the medical field." Jazz responded.

"Excellent! I'll look forward to it." Hammer drew Jazz across the room. "This is my mate, Edge. He's the one that got me into your novels."

Edge was a slender silver mech and leaned against his much larger mate with a fond smile on his face plates. "You read them because they're well written and a very good distraction when you're off on business."

"True," Hammer said, leaning down to nuzzle against Edge's nasal ridge, "but I wouldn't have ever picked one up by myself."

Another mech came over and joined the conversation and it flowed that way for another couple of breems until a small bell rang. Everyone looked toward the sound.

Mirage was standing near another set of doors, a small bell in his hand. "My dear friends, Pads tells me the meal is ready." He looked over at his butler, who gave a small bow to the assembled mechs. "So, please, come join me for our meal!"

They all moved toward Mirage, who deftly cut Jazz out from the pack and slid his hand under Jazz's arm, walking side by side with him.

"I'm so glad you could join us, Dom Jazz. I am also a big fan of your novels and enjoy how they do not repeat each other, even though by this point they easily could. You do a very good job of creating new situations and new characters to populate your stories."

Mirage took a seat at the head of the table, Jazz to his right. The other mechs were obviously familiar with the seating arrangements and found their places quickly. Jazz smiled to himself to see Hammer settled Edge in his seat and help push it in. Lure did the same for Baffle, but sat next to him while Hammer moved to the other side of the table, sitting across from his mate.

Baffle was seated next to Jazz and after the servants started placing the first course, he leaned across and said, "Dom Jazz, do tell me more about 'Break and 'Fast."

Jazz spun more of the story, writing it as he spoke to temporary storage. He decided he would write a special follow up to his novel and send it to Baffle. He wondered how many people would actually be interested in a sequel to one of his novels and dismissed the idea, focusing his attention on the conversation.

Baffle was a very good conversationalist, moving away from novels to other items of general interest. Lure would turn from his other table mate to lean next to Baffle and support his point. Jazz enjoyed it thoroughly.

As the course changed, Baffle turned his attention to Lure, and Jazz noticed that everyone turned to the mech on their other side. He turned his attention to Mirage, who was watching him quietly.

"This is very nice, Lord Mirage. Thank you for inviting me." Jazz said after a silence that felt too long.

Mirage dipped his head, "I should be thanking you. It was very gracious of you to give your time to us this cycle."

Jazz smiled, "It was my pleasure."

"Indeed. Tell me, Dom Jazz, why Kaon?" Mirage picked up a utensil and dipped it in the container in front of him, then raised it to his lip plates and swallowed the mixture. Jazz carefully imitated him, then answered.

"Kaon is where I grew up, Lord Mirage. I have a fondness for my home city."

"Understandable. What else would you like to do with your life, Dom Jazz?" Mirage didn't look directly at Jazz as he asked the question.

Jazz was taken aback. That was a very personal question, and he wondered why Mirage asked it. Deciding that it was too personal, he replied, "I would like to continue doing the best I can with my life. How about you, Lord Mirage?"

Mirage smiled briefly at the question. "As would I, Dom Jazz."

The mech on the other side of Mirage thrust his face forward and boomed, "Nonsense! What's needed is more mechs of action! None of this wishy-washy touchy-feely stuff, Mirage! We need to take back the power the Prime has taken away from us! We're being deprived of the resources our credits found and that we're entitled to have."

Mirage slowly turned his helm to the other mech. "Dropfire, we're not discussing such subject this cycle. I told you that."

"Yeah, you did, Mirage, but it's important!"

The mech next to the bombastic Dropfire leaned in and added his thoughts. "My lords, I do believe this topic is more suited to a business setting rather than a party." Jazz felt a jolt in his spark at the voice. He was sure he hadn't met this mech.

Dropfire leaned back and waved his hand, "You're right, of course. My apologies, Lord Mirage."

The other mech continued smoothly, "Besides, I do believe the topic had more to do with a personal level, rather than society as a whole. Dropfire, how do you contribute back to society?"

Dropfire looked agog. "Contribute back? Why, in the name of Primus, would I ever want to do that?"

Mirage answered, "Because it's the right thing to do. It's what the Prime is calling for us to do, to serve as an example to the masses. By giving to Cybertronians, we show that we're part of them, not separated or set apart."

Dropfire turned to the mech on his right. "Is that why you went into city planning, Prowl?"

The mech must have agreed, because Dropfire laughed and slapped his leg. "I wondered! You're so much better than that lowly filth you have to work with. Seems a shame to have you there, toiling like a common bot when you could live in the lap of luxury. Excuse me."

A servant appeared over Dropfire's shoulder and bent to give him a quiet message. Dropfire listened, then excused himself from the table.

Mirage returned his attention to Jazz. "My apologies. I desire to answer the Prime's call by addressing the problems of our underprivileged younglings. I was hoping that you could help me with this project. Oh, I don't believe you've met Lord Prowl. He arrived just as we were heading into our meal. Lord Prowl, Dom Jazz. Dom Jazz, Lord Prowl."

Prowl nodded at Jazz around the obstructing centerpiece. "It's very nice to meet you, Dom Jazz."

"Nice to meet you, too, Lord Prowl." Jazz sat back and looked at Mirage, then asked, "How, exactly, do you want me to help?"

Mirage nodded. "Yes, of course you'd need to know. I'd love for you to join the board of the charitable function I've started. As a board member, you would have some social visibility, but you would also have input into the types of projects we would assume. What do you think?"

Jazz took a sip of the high-grade in his cup. "I think I'd like to look at your business plan, please. I'll look it over and give you my answer in a cycle or two."

"Fair enough." Mirage replied.

The mech on the other side of the table, deprived of his conversational companion, leaned in and asked, "Mirage, how exactly are you going to put in a youngling center in Kaon? There's no room; the entire city-center is an industrial complex not suited for living quarters for the workers, much less for any younglings."

"I was hopeful that we could refurbish one of the existing centers, Prowl, that are around the edges of the complex and would be of the most help to the younglings."

Lord Prowl bowed his head briefly to acknowledge Lord Mirage's point. "What is the best model you could find?"

Mirage answered, "There was an excellent center, called Kaon Protoform Services, which seemed to answer many of the problems facing the younglings of Kaon. However, the director, Lug, had to retire and the home seems to have fallen to pieces."

Jazz cocked his head and asked, "Why did Director Lug have to retire?"

Prowl answered him, "He was forced out by a board decision. However, I believe they regret that decision now since the home is steadily losing money at this point. Somehow, Director Lug made it break even or even show a small profit, in addition to turning out solid mechs that were a boon to our society."

Jazz spoke without thinking. "He made sure all the younglings could read and write."

The two lords looked at him. He straightened his back strut and continued, "I'm willing to believe the new director cut the education programs, which gave every youngling there hope that they could improve their lot in life. Without hope, I'd guess most of them run away as soon as they're old enough to make a living on the streets. Without a stable population of youths, a lot more time is spent on orientation and taking care of basic needs."

"Yes," said Lord Prowl, "that's exactly what's happening."

Jazz nodded. "So, first step, reinstate the education programs. Director Lug also busted bolts getting younglings into academies and colleges. He found scholarships, grants, and sponsors to pay the costs. It made a difference, and not just to the bottom line of the center."

Lord Prowl leaned back. "Let me investigate more about this, Mirage."

"We'll talk in a couple of cycles, Prowl."

The courses changed, and Jazz found himself talking to Baffle again. He asked about Baffle's family and was able to eat while the mech talked about his very large and extended family. His father and all four of his brothers, Baffle's uncles, ran the family business together. Each of the five mechs had large families and Baffle had an enormous number of people related to him.

Lure grinned across Baffle at Jazz and said, "I had to reassure no fewer than 87 different mechs and femmes about my intentions toward Baffle."

Baffle grinned and told Jazz, "My family takes up eight different floors here."

Jazz was impressed and said so. Baffle and Lure laughed and the conversation continued along other veins.

After the meal, they all retreated to the room they'd started in. Energon candy was scattered around on little trays and servants were quick to give them all a container of high-grade. Jazz found himself with the sparkling mid-grade again and quietly thanked the server.

Lord Prowl sought him out with a datapad and stylus in his hand. Jazz was a little nervous, but Lord Prowl soon had him at ease, asking pertinent questions and delving as deeply as he needed for clarification. He never asked how Jazz knew these things, he merely took Jazz's word for it and coaxed Jazz into a full telling of the ideas and methods Jazz felt had worked. How were the younglings upgraded (medical students)? What were the educational programs, and how had Lug bypassed the counts on the chips (he'd had them reloaded with more licenses as a donation from the educational company). What was the use of the large yard in the back of the center (unorganized play and organized games). How had Lug given hope to the younglings (the mechs that made it out came back to give talks and spend time at the center).

Jazz looked up and realized that there were only three mechs besides themselves and Mirage left.

"I beg your pardon, Lord Prowl, but I need to get going." Jazz said.

"May I comm you later?" Prowl asked.

Jazz passed him his comm information and took his leave, thanking Mirage for a wonderful evening. A servant got his cloak and escorted him to the elevator and called it up for him. He exited on the ground floor and called Smokescreen. The transport mech, Wrench, arrived half a breem later and Jazz sank back in the comfortable seat.

"How was it, Jazz?" Smokescreen had left the transport for Jazz and gone back to his office and thus was calling Jazz on his comm line.

"It was fascinating. I'll tell you more next cycle, Smokey. I need to recharge." Jazz said.

"Sure, sure, no problem, Jazz! I'll talk to you then. Call me, so I don't jolt you out of recharge!" Smokescreen terminated his comm and Jazz sank back on the seat, dazed and yet strangely hyped up. He had very much enjoyed his conversation with Lord Prowl and hoped the mech would comm him. He'd enjoyed being around him in a way he'd never felt before.

Once at his home, Jazz gave the transport mech a large tip and staggered up to his berth, dropping the cloak and falling into his berth almost immediately, already half way into recharge before he was horizontal.