NCC Medical Ward

The Crystal City repair bay is far larger than previous versions in Imperial Headquarters or Trypticon himself. Clearly it was designed by a medic, for a medic. The entire room is rectangular in nature with medical beds arranged in a neat grid pattern. The beds themselves vary, with some being precious little more than metal slabs, and others having full scanners and tools attached, as well as everything in between. In total, there are about twenty beds. There is room for more in an emergency situation. The cabinets line the walls, spaced out between medical terminals. Everything has a place, and organization is key. With battle mode being initiated, the huge windows are covered up as the bay is encased in metal for its own protection. Access can still be gained with the right codes, however. Red warning lights flash on and off.

Contents:

Chimera

Arachnae

Scrapper's Art <SA> - Fourteen Pieces

MSE CO OFFICE (Earth)

Gumby Medic <NCC>

Obvious exits:

South <S> leads to NCC Central Command.

Southeast <SE> leads to NCC Central Hub.

East <E> leads to Mount R'Lyeh.

Ooh! Shiny. Sparkly! Chimera got bored with watching the unconscious prisoner, and wandered back through to Medical, to make sure that Arachnae got back safely. She pauses. Smiles.

Fleet steps in and looks around, the usual feeling of excess movement barely contained about him. In fact, at a higher level then normal. Of course, if asked, he could use the excuse that he came here to refuel, but he actually is looking for someone. It's just complete co-incidence that he showed up at the same moment as Chimera.

Arachnae pops out a small component on the shiny thing she's retooling, setting the part aside to gently pry out some flecks of carbonized metal from inside the apparatus. Wings flick.. and she peers up, optics focusing on the form of Chimera. A fleeting grin, "Yes?"

Chimera shakes her head, "Nothing, Ma'am. Just... glad to see you got back all right." Nothing about having thought about using a sharp and pointy stick on the unconscious prisoner. Nope. She wouldn't say anything about that. "Is there anything you need from me?"

Fleet glide-walk-skitters towards the table, ducking around obstacles. Arachnae's in the room, so he doesn't have to go with his excuse for being here, he can use his real reason. As he approaches he nods politely to both Chimera and Arachnae, but does not say anything yet, instead pulling himself up on the nearest empty table and dangling one leg off it, the other pulled up so he can rest elbow on knee.

Arachnae smiles, "I'm fine. Recovering nicely actually." She tips a wing outward, fanning panels out. "A little stiff but that's to be expected." Her hands absently begin to put the whatnot back together. Fleet's approach does not go unnoticed and she takes a moment to nod politly at him as way of greeting.

Chimera nods, smiles, and starts to withdraw, giving Fleet a bit of a ... glance. Maybe a nod. Yellow. Yep. It's Fleet.

Yes! Yellow! The Wait Light of EVIL! And back to full operational status as well, so it'll be hard for him to find excuses to not go on raids now. When the Autobots are all riled up. Poor yellow. He rests his head on the hand attached to the forearm attached to the elbow that's resting on his knee (got that? Good) and continues to sit in silence for a bit longer as he ponders what he intends to say.

Arachnae settles her wings back behind her, studying Fleet for a moment as she works on putting the shiny whatnot back together. "Is there something I can do for you, Fleet?" Wry smile crosses her face, "Or are you here just to keep me company?"

Hey! That's Chimera's job. And one she does... er... Well. She lurks. Studying a random instrument table.

"Well, I certainly don't mind the second option, but I sought you out because there was something specific I wanted to talk about in this case," answers the Wait Light. He pauses a moment, cocking his head, and then starts as he often does: by beating around the bush. "Arachnae, are you the only non-Sweep to have received training from them, or have there ever been others?"

Arachnae pauses in her tinkering, wings even ceasing their movement. And she peers at Fleet. "Well..." word drawn out slowly.. "They have done *some* training with others in the past..." trailing off... "Why?"

Chimera pokes at the instruments. She's not listening. Really. Oh. Okay. So she is. And pretending not to be.

The feeling of contained motion gets noticeably stronger as the latest Reason Fleet Is Nervous comes to the forefront. And Fleet is not fooled, Chimera. He's pulled that stunt too often in the past himself. He just sees no reason to chase you off. "Geist... wants to train me."

Arachnae headtilts.. studies Fleet.. then offers an odd smile, "Better watch yourself there, Fleet. Being offered training is the first step to looking like I do now." Wry, amused tone as she flicks her wings behind her.

What's wrong with that?

Chimera doesn't think there's anything wrong with it. But still... playing here.

Fleet seems to pull in on himself a little. "But... Arachnae... I'm a Seeker. Geist may focus on the ways I'm different from my fellows, but no amount of training will make me not a Seeker. I may be other things as well, it's not the whole of who I am, but it's a part of it."

Arachnae headtilts, studying Fleet for a moment before she slides to her feet with an absent grace. Wings tip and fold behind her as she pads over to a cabinet pulling out a welder.. "You see, Fleet.." turning to peer over her shoulder, "Sweeps.. and Seekers.. are differing evolutionary aspects of a similar principle. Unfortunately, the Sweeps.." she pads back to her desk, picking up the whatnot, "are for the most part a dead end. There isn't a way to entirely recreate the processes involved in their original manifestation, therefore making them an oddity. Useful, deadly, but in the grand scheme of things, not something we can recreate in entireity. Seekers.. Now seekers have always had some form of internal and external evolutionary progresses manifesting in differing aspects every few iterations." She offers Fleet a faint smile, "I wouldn't concern myself too much with worrying if you are in danger of becoming.. Hmmm..." She pauses to tick talon on her chin before grinning, "Sweeply. But you do have a chance to work on your combative skills, which is.. in the end, an evolutionary change."

Chimera was made a seeker. That should tell you something. But. Still playing with the instrument table. Maybe Scrapper shouldn't have shown her a few things around.

Fleet considers what is said, and nods. Fleet himself was actually aware of much of this, in some way or another. The only being who could turn Seekers into Sweeps is long gone. He wouldn't even have said what he had said if Arachnae hadn't made that 'first step to looking like I do now,' comment. "I know this. It's the main of why I agreed. Some of the survival strategies that used to serve have begun failing me, so it's time to take on new ones."

Arachnae chuckles softly, settling in back behind her desk. "They do look at things differently than the others." Interesting way to phrase things...

*clatter* oops. One slipped. Chimera looks up and towards the conversation momentarily, hoping that no one noticed that... she doesn't want to get kicked out quite yet.

Fleet isn't going to kick Chimera out. Not his place. He settles his chin back on matching gray hand and smiles a little wryly, eyes narrowed. "So I've noticed. He's certainly the first being I've encountered who's been on the impression that /I/ can be molded into a... 'powerful new weapon for the Empire,' or some such."

Arachnae grins, "It's the small, quiet ones you have to watch out for. Or so they've learned."

Fleet’s smile gets a little wider. "Small? I'm normal Seeker sized. I'm just good at seeming smaller."

Chimera would be delighted to be a powerful new weapon for the empire. Er. Just wait until after her player's finished doing taxes.

Arachnae chuckles, "Exactly."

Fleet drops his leg down so that both dangle off the table and sits up straighter, his expression amused, although there is both fear and worry lurking in there. But then again, when is there not, aside from immediately after a da- er, good, long fly? "Certainly a far cry from the recommendation that I should be smelted into a waste receptacle," he says, thinking of his first encounter with the Sweep. And isn't that sort of thing more Scrapper's department, anyway? "And so quickly, too." He looks at Arachnae and a smirk skitters across his mouth for a moment. "I imagine you're in part to blame for that."

Chimera happily realizes she's not going to get kicked out, and continues her study. Probably because... well... Okay. She wants to know what Mom does sometimes. Anyhow. Tools. Taxes. Same dif.

Arachnae gives a shake of her head, wry smile on her face, "More than likely guilty, yes."

Arachnae slides back to her feet, picking up the whatnot and heads towards her office. "Chimera, be certain to put away the tools. Last thing I want to hear is Scrapper complaining about a mess." She offers Fleet a smile, "Be on your toes, Geist hasn't mentioned to me what exactly his interest in you is. If I were you.. I would watch my back. Or get someone to watch it for me. Just.. in case." With that.. she enters her office to do more nefarious things.

Arachnae has disconnected.

Chimera looks up, guilty for a moment, but... eh. "Yes Ma'am."

Catechism has arrived.

Fleet deflates a little more with Arachnae's parting comments. Geist himself already said enough to make him rather wary on the matter - he just wanted to get another perspective from someone who's been through something along those lines, but he can't help but wonder if perhaps he hasn't bitten off more than he can chew.

Possibly. But then again, who can chew metal that easily anyhow?

Chimera carefully starts lining up the tools in the order that they had been laid out. Scrapper probably will yell either way. Though he did show her a few things at one point. Eh. Who knows.

Catechism doesn't have a bucket to return this time, and she's not injured or low on fuel. She is, however, dusty, and her paint is abraded away in parts, as if she's been hit repeatedly by billions of infinitesimally small particles. The Seeker is, in fact sandblasted. She moves stiffly, like she's trying to keep her joints from moving, and occasionally looks down at her feet, and winces.

Fleet gives Catechism a glance, then a doubletake. Well. He tries to determine if this is better or worse than his own flock of birds incident, although she does appear to be in more pain. He is sitting on an empty medi-table near Arachnae's desk and speaks up to catch Catechism's attention. "What happened to you?"

Catechism looks up slowly and blinks once. She shudders, dislodging some sand. Apparently feeling a bit better for the loss of some of the gritty stuff, Catechism raises a hand and taps the side of her helmet, trying to recall a word, one that doesn't have a good equivalent in her native tongue. Finally remembering, she fairly spits the word, "Simoom."

Fleet's optics widen in a look of curiosity. "Simoom?" he asks, obviously not certain of what she's talking about.

Catechism lowers her arm. There's a soft scraping noise that shouldn't be there as she does so. The Seeker glares at an innocent but nearby table in lieu of a more suitable target and explains, disgust clear in her voice, "There's this tiny sand stuff that covers parts of this leakin' planet. Sometimes, it gets in the air during storms. No prizes for guessing what I flew into."

Fleet ahs softly. Defiantly worse than the birds. "Actually, I helped Arachnae gather some sand for... something or another awhile back, but it was near the ocean. But I know what you're talking about now. Sand storm, then?" He pulls both legs up onto the meditable and crosses them, sitting in a position that a human would call "Indian-style."

Catechism pauses for a moment, running a mental search of her linguistic lexicons. Then, she confirms, still none-too-thrilled, "A kind of sandstorm, yeah. Violent, hot, and full of slaggin' sand. I need to find something that'll get rid of this scrap." The Seeker scowls and surveys the medbay.

Chimera was putting away tools. Or something. In the storage closet. Because that's what good little secretaries do.

Fleet leans back, remembering something. As Comcast pointed out, there are some things he needed to discuss with Catechism. First one. "Hey, Catechism? This may seem rather random, but how up to date are you by now? Comcast wanted to make sure, for example, that you knew that Trypticon is /not/ just the name of a portion of the city."

Catechism has limped over to a cleaning station, got down to the business of de-sanding herself, and at intervals, calls down imprecations on the whole silica tribe. Despite her preoccupation with ridding herself of the little particles, she does have some dim sense of what else is going on, and the mention of her name gets her attention. Automatically, she says, "Huh?" as she's not quite been paying proper attention. After a few more ticks of reviewing Fleet's words and processing their meaning, Catechism comes up with a more coherent reply, "Trypticon's alive or something like that, yeah? I've tried to read the pertinent reports and catch up on current events."

Chimera hums to herself. Off-key. And wanders through the room. Probably because she's a little wierd.

Fleet slips off the table and glides in Catechism's direction, giving a curious glance to Chimera as he does. Yes, he has indeed picked up on the fact that she's a little weird, but then, so is nearly everyone else. Fleet's not crazy, the rest of the universe is! Only, unlike most people who make that claim, he may actually have something bordering on a valid point. At least until the Sweeps drive him crazy. "That's right," he answers. "He is, in fact, the largest Decepticon. A cityformer."

Chimera will just be wandering out, and into trouble. Er. Paperwork.

Chimera has disconnected.

Catechism isn't 'singing in the shower', so to speak. This is good, as that'd likely be terrifying for all the wrong reasons. She does, however, growl as she gets around to the task of cleaning out her engines. Not having much to say but feeling that she ought to acknowledge Fleet's explanation, she says simply, "Right." Ah, the marvels of Decepticon engineering are lost on her.

Fleet shrugs a shoulder. It wasn't his main point, anyway. That's coming up. "Catechism... what have you learned so far about the Sweeps?" His tone is soft and even more serious than normal. Deadly serious.

But then, when one is clotted with sand, one's sense of wonder tends to be rather dampened. Witlessly, Catechism replies, "Eh? They're the new design-line of aerial hunter-killers. Good asset for the Empire. Seem decent enough." She's including Commander Arachnae in her evaluation of Sweepkind, which gives her a rather skewed view, especially as she has had about nil interaction with true Sweeps. She saw one once. That's it.

Decent enough? "Have you actually /met/... never mind. Just... some of them have trouble telling Seekers apart, the same way most of us have trouble telling them apart. I'm saying this because Ramjet, who really should know better anyway, once confused you for Dirge. Catechism, don't ever let them mistake you for Dirge. If one does, correct him respectfully, but immediately. I've found old records that indicate they have a history with that Seeker. One that could be dangerous for you if one mistakes you for him." Fleet's voice is very earnest here. He may not be particularly close to Catechism, but stupid deaths annoy him, especially when they can be easily avoided. He shrugs one shoulder. "That's the important thing. Don't let them confuse you with him. Beyond that, I'll leave you to make your own judgments about them." With that he turns and heads out, darting around obstacles as he does, almost as though he had a schedule to keep.