Tales of the Intermezzo - Meister A Transformers Universe Story copyright 2004 by Dave Van Domelen based on properties owned by Hasbro =========================================================================== "intermezzo - n. A brief entertainment between two acts of a play." - American Heritage Dictionary "If they want more security, they'll ask for it," Smokescreen protested. There was an undercurrent there, though, that Jazz caught loud and clear. And it said, "And if you're going to be sending someone in without their asking, it should be me!" Jazz shook his head, still feeling uncomfortable in his new body but doing his best not to show it. "Prime, Prowl and Ironhide are still down with the rust, that leaves me the boss-man. And I ain't gonna send any of you guys into a situation I wouldn't go into myself." Even his voice wasn't quite right, he couldn't help but realize. The edge was gone. The SOUL was gone. Was HIS soul gone, lost in the transfer to this new, human-built body? Nah. Let Perceptor worry about that sorta thing. His spark was just fine. "Besides, I just got this body," Jazz added, putting to words the thought that kept echoing around in his central processor. "The Decepticons ain't seen me yet, they'd make you five in an astrosecond," he swept a bulky arm to take in Smokescreen, Hound, Sideswipe, Tracks and the newly renamed Silverstreak. Maybe he could use a new name? Mind on business, he chided himself. "I'm no slouch when it comes to bein' sneaky, Smokey. I *am* Prime's intel officer, after all." There was some grumbling, but in the end Smokescreen acquiesced, and he was the only strong voice against the plan. Jazz was NOT looking forward to Grimlock's new body being completed, though. * * * * The holographic driver had gotten Jazz into the car show's staging area, but now Jazz had to figure out how to get himself some place to sit. If he was going to help keep an eye on the world's top auto executives at this show, he'd need to be in a place where he could *see* them. The hall was darkened now, he'd entered late as the final setup was being completed. He cautiously transformed, casting about for a car he could replace without anyone noticing. "Aha, there you are," he chuckled, seeing a white Porsche 911 on a turntable. Clearly not a new car for the show, and a cursory glance at the placard showed it was for a charity of some sort. He carefully picked up the car and moved it to an inobtrusive location in the back. Then he transformed and took its place on the pedestal before powering down to standby for the night. * * * * "Huh, coulda sworn this was supposed to be a Porsche. Nobody tells me anything," a man snarled as he dragged a compressor and paint kit behind him on a cart. Whistling snatches of some pop song, he started taping over the windows and got to work. * * * * "This is going to be SOOOOO shiny, Gabe-meister!" a teenaged girl chirped to another in her group of four. "I just wished you hadn't gotten to name it, Sassy," Gabrielle frowned. The four of them had won a drawing to design a paint job for a car that would be auctioned off for charity. She, Sass, Chelsea and Mara had worked together on the design, but couldn't agree on a name for it. They'd decided that whoever's cell rang first would get to name it. Sassy had won. Sassy had also mysteriously just become a huge fan of Rob Schneider's old SNL routines. "Behold, the Meister!" Sassy beamed as the foursome was led to their winning design by one of the car show's security men. "I thought it was supposed to be a Porsche?" Mara tilted her head, causing all the ribbons in her hair to cascade. "Zoom zoom," Chelsea grinned. "I like this better. Our colors work even better on this car." * * * * Monty smiled and shook hands with some B-list celebrity as the cameras flashed. Mazda had sent him to gladhand as part of his cover job in P.R., but anyone who knew anything about cars knew he wasn't just a flack. Even the celeb knew he was involved in the Alternators project that built new bodies for Autobots stricken with Cosmic Rust. Still, appearances had to be maintained. There was some commotion across the room, and Monty glanced over in that direction. The charity car was being shown off, and its bright pink, yellow and blue color scheme was hard to miss. Odd, though...it looked like an RX-8. Monty knew Mazda hadn't supplied the car for that, or he'd have been assigned to be in every picture taken of it. The P.R. smile stayed fixed on his face, but Monty couldn't help but think that something more than a last minute substitution had happened. Especially since he knew at least one RX-8 capable of making its own choices. That train of thought was interrupted by one of the private security men tapping him on the shoulder. "Mr. Sooner? We have reason to believe that you may be in danger. If you could come with us, please?" the suit-and-sunglasses-clad man requested firmly. Monty's handheld buzzed. "Just a second," he held up a hand, then flipped it open. "Okay, just a dayplanner reminder," he lied, tapping a button and closing the device. "Let's go." He really hoped that RX-8 was who he thought it was, because that "dayplanner reminder" was actually an alert to the presence of a nearby Cerebro-Shell. Fool me twice, shame on me.... * * * * By this point, Jazz had seen enough pictures of himself on video walls to be thoroughly mortified. The paper over his windows had blocked his video receptors during the painting last night, but now that he could see himself...well, they said Primus punished the prideful. The teenaged human females were posing for pictures with him, alternately giggling and preening, as their sort had done for as long as Jazz had known humanity. Admittedly, that was only about twenty of this planet's years, and the details changed with bewildering frequency, but the underlying behavior never seemed to. Still, if Tracks saw this, he'd never hear the end of it. "Meister", as he'd been renamed by the girls, kept his sensors wide open, scanning the rest of the auto show. He'd picked a good spot for that, even if the side effects were uncool. (( EMERGENCY ALERT! DECEPTICON ACTIVITY! )) He nearly transformed reflexively as the signal practically smashed into his awareness. A microclick of analysis showed it was coming from a human being led away by security, and he quickly identified the human as a Mazda exec high in the Alternators project. Focusing on the security men around him revealed nothing suspicious at first...then he realized it was a sensor cloak. "Those tricky Decepticreeps!" he muttered silently to himself. Underneath the cloak were almost definitely some sort of cyborg agents of the type Starscream had been churning out using Dr. Archeville's "repairs" for inspiration. Now he did transform, standing up on the platform and drawing his rifle. Which had been partially painted gold. "I've been blinged!" he muttered, then fired on the cyborgs, who had been predictably slow in deciding between keeping cover and making an obvious move. The cyborgs dropped, stunned by weak electron bolts. No one else was harmed. "Great targeting computers you guys gave me," he grinned in the direction of the Mazda booth. "Don't get cocky!" came a voice from behind as a yellow Jeep Wrangler transformed and aimed a pistol at Jazz. "No funky moves, Autobot, or I start shooting into the crowd!" he emphasized by waggling his gun to either side. "Swindle?" Jazz lowered his gun. "Don't tell me there's MORE of you body-snatching Decepticons out there? That looks like it was supposed to be Trailbreaker's new body!" "Looks so much better in yellow than in black, don't you think?" Swindle grinned maliciously. "Wow...Meister's a Transformer!" came a small gasp from behind Jazz. He turned slightly to see the four girls clumped together in shock and fear, but Gabrielle seemed to have recovered her wits first. "Get 'im, Meister!" she shouted, a quaver in her voice. Swindle chuckled. "Meister? Well, I guess with that pretty new paint job, you'd be too ashamed to go around using your real name, right? Too bad this is all on TV, or I'd add this to my blackmail files." He gestured to some far more obvious cyborgs who had entered the hall, blocking the exits. "Grab anyone who looks important." Jazz stood stock still, giving no hint that he was receiving more of those signals from the Mazda exec. They looked like technical data on the latest model of Cerebro-Shell. "Excuse me, Mister...Swindle?" the Mazda man stepped up to the platform. The man had chrome steel bearings, Jazz had to admit. "We at Mazda appreciate your interest in our products and personnel," he spieled like a practiced adman, momentarily confusing Swindle. "What are you talking about, human? Of course we're interested. It's why we're kidnapping you!" Swindle retorted. "Yes, yes, of course. But perhaps we can make a deal that's of more benefit to all of us. My name is Monty Sooner, and I speak for the board on a number of matters. In exchange for certain considerations, I'm sure we could sweeten the deal for you personally, and none of your superiors would need to know a thing." Swindle considered this for a moment. "Maybe you just got away in the confusion, Monty. What sort of sweetening are you talking about?" "Well, consider the excellent sound system of our RX-8...NOW!" he turned to Jazz. "Dig it!" Jazz shouted, as he started emitting a harsh subsonic signal that the schematics told him would disrupt all of the Cerebro-Shells controlling the cyborg troopers. He tossed in some of the old razzle- dazzle, of course, forcing Swindle to step back and try to block his sensors. A driving rock beat sent Swindle to his knees, the pistol dropped as he clawed at his audio receptors. Meanwhile, the cyborgs had all started milling about aimlessly, as if waken from a deep sleep. It wasn't exactly kind on the humans...120 deciBels rarely are...but it was non-lethal. And better than being shot. Swindle transformed and sped away unsteadily, barely missing several humans in the process. Jazz would have loved to follow, but he had to make sure everyone here was okay. He shut down his signature sound and light show. That's when he heard the girls screaming, and turned to see them holding up cellphones with the screens lit. "Encore!" they shouted. "Meister ROCKS!" He chuckled. Meister wasn't so bad a name, really. And if he didn't feel quite like Jazz anymore, he could certainly learn to feel like "Meister". The paint job, however, would HAVE to go. ============================================================================= Author's Notes: So there you have it, my last fanfic of 2004, and one of the last fanfics posted in 2004! :) This story is based largely on the Binaltech setting, which itself is sort of an official intermezzo between G1 season 2 and the movie. I'm also bridging in the Meister color scheme designed by a Japanese TV starlet for a charity auction earlier this year, which I reproduced for my own amusement (see below). I had some trouble writing this until I decided to surrender to G1 plot logic...in other words, not worry all that much about the deeper "making sense" elements. And frankly, I think G1 plot logic suits the concept better anyway. To see what Meister's paint job in the story looked like, check out: http://www.dvandom.com/kitbash/jpopjazz1.JPG (front, side) http://www.dvandom.com/kitbash/jpopjazz2.JPG (rear) http://www.dvandom.com/kitbash/jpopjazz3.JPG (corrected hood) http://www.dvandom.com/kitbash/jpopjazz4.JPG (vehicle, with Gabi)