Slingshot knew he was in trouble the instant he sailed into Prowl's office and spotted both Prowl and Silverbolt sitting around the only desk in the room.

He slid to a halt. "Oh man. What have I done now?"

"Park it," said Prowl.

Warily, Slingshot sank down into an empty seat. He leaned forward to get a better look at the boss, who sat like a statue beside him. Silverbolt looked straight ahead at the wall. He did not so much as glance in his fellow Aerialbot's direction. His face was set in an expression of cultivated neutrality.

Prowl tapped the surface of his desk and a monitor slid into view. He touched it and it sprang to life, illuminating his face with blue light. Slingshot could see the reflection of lines of text scrawling across his optics.

"It may interest you to know I received an email from the Operations Manager of Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport this morning," he said. "It is in regards to an incident that took place while you were flying back from Maine one week ago. Do you recall this flight?"

It was a loaded question. Slingshot's mind raced. One week ago he had been dispatched in response to a Decepticon sighting on the east coast. It had been a hoax, of course. Swamp gas and weather balloons. Once the humans had figured out that a Decepticon sighting would get the famous Autobots racing across the country to investigate, the 'Cons had begun to appear in the strangest of places. The Hamptons. Six Flags, Vallejo. Butthurt, Nevada.

"Sorta," he said.

"I have reviewed the flight plan you filed for the return leg of that mission. It took you directly through the class B airspace of the Detroit Metropolitan airport. The Operations Manager attached an audio recording of your communication with Detroit air traffic control to the email he sent. Would you care to hear it?"

No. "Yeah... sir."

Prowl swivelled the monitor to face him and touched a key. A new window popped into view, with audio control buttons and a scrub bar. Slingshot braced himself as the tactician hit 'play'.

Static. Scratchy voices.

AB201: YO DETROIT TERMINAL, THIS IS AERIALBOT AB201.

DETROIT TERMINAL: AB201 THIS IS DETROIT TERMINAL, ALTIMETER 30.08, GO AHEAD.

AB201: WHAT UP MOTHERBITCHES.

TERMINAL: UH AB201 SAY AGAIN.

AB201: I SAID WHAT'S UP? THAT OTHER GUY TOLD ME TO SWITCH TO THIS FREQUENCY SO HERE I AM. I'M PASSING THROUGH YOUR ZONE TO THE NORTHEAST AT UH THIRTY-FIVE THOUSAND. SO JUST KEEP THE REST OF THESE AIRLINE SLOBS OUTTA MY WAY OKAY.

WJ411: DETROIT TERMINAL, GOOD MORNING, THIS IS WEST JET 411 WITH YOU AT-

AB201: HEY.

WJ411: -FLIGHT LEVEL 350-

AB201: HEY!

WJ411: UH YES?

AB201: FLIGHT LEVEL 350? THAT IS MY ALTITUDE PAL. STAY OUTTA MY WAY OR I'LL KICK YOUR WAIT WAIT IS THAT YOU ON MY LEFT FIVE MILES OUT.

WJ411: UH STAND-BY.

TERMINAL: WEST JET 411 YOU HAVE TRAFFIC AT YOUR THREE O'CLOCK, FIVE MILES, YOUR ALTITUDE.

WJ411: ROGER TERMINAL UH WE HAVE THE TRAFFIC IN SIGHT.

AB201: AW SWEET I SEE YOU. I'M COMING OVER. TELL ALL OF YOUR PASSENGERS TO LOOK OUT THE RIGHT-HAND WINDOWS. I AM TOTALLY GOING TO DO A BARREL ROLL.

The recording clicked to a stop.

Prowl turned the monitor back around. He folded his hands together and leaned backwards.

"That's your voice we heard speaking with Detroit ATC, correct?" he said.

Slingshot had the good grace to scuff his feet on the floor.

"Yeah," he admitted.

Prowl regarded him steadily. Then he looked over at Silverbolt, who now sat upright in his seat with his face in his hands.

"Proper radio protocol and terminology," he said. "Review it. I suspect the first lesson didn't stick."

Learning how to talk on the radio is hard.