Fulcrum sits at a med-console, data on the various space-faring Decepticon transports scrolling up the screen, the diagrams and numbers faintly reflected in his optics. Every so often he leans forward, making an adjustment to the entries, the patches of oil glistening on his frame mute evidence that he's recently been at work.

 

Fleet drags his sorry aft into the medical ward. There are several holes in his outer armor, and it looks like his injuries were bad enough that he actually damaged himself further when he transformed. There's none of his usual grace-of-motion. He's too hurt. He tried to come by right after the battle, but all the techs were busy. Still, it can't hurt to try again...

 

F-35 <Catechism> arrives from the NCC Central Hub to the southeast.

F-35 <Catechism> has arrived.

 

Fulcrum looks around, getting to his feet as he realises that the sorry figure dragging itself into medbay is actually in need of repairs. "Fleet" he says by way of greeting, already pulling a medscanner from subspace and pointing it at the pastel seeker. "The aftermath of the convoy mission?"

Fulcrum pulls out a medical scanner and runs a check on Fleet.

 

F-35, Marine Corps variant, transforms into robot form. Catechism's feet unfold, her arms unfold out of her body, her nosecone rotates through her body and ends up on her shoulders to expose her face, and her wings rotate into position.

 

Fleet continues to limp towards an empty medical table. "Fulcrum. Yeah, that's right." He growls. "I was fine until I took a hit from our own /side/! That distracted me, and the Autobots were able to take advantage of it. Up until that point I had been... untouchable." A slight smile touches his expression. Simply enjoying the memory of that early part, when he dished out so much more than he took? Or does he perhaps have a smattering of pride after all?

 

Catechism was only lightly wounded the other day, having turned into a generic Seeker pretty quickly. In fact, her only injury came from her own side - she got hit by Wildrider's scattershot gun. As far as the Seeker is concerned, she's just going to paint over the damage and call it good. Her self repair system can handle it, she figures. No need to spend actual time getting repairs. The medics and engineers have better things to do than worry about her. Oh, there's a fine line between optimistic and lunatic, a fine line indeed...

 

Fulcrum's frown cuts a deep line in his face. "You were shot by a comrade?" he asks. Treachery really irks Fulcrum, an unusual trait in a Decepticon. "Who? And under what circumstances?" He glances over at Catechism, quickly assessing her condition as being less in need of repair than Fleet. Picking up a sonic screwdriver, he begins loosening the yellow Seeker's damaged armor plates.

 

Fleet grumbles as he settles down, watching Fulcrum work with only a vague amount of interest. "Wildrider. And he shot... pretty much everyone. I think he wasn't just paying attention to where he was shooting."

 

Catechism chimes in, "Yeah, I got clipped by Wildrider, too." She doesn't sound particularly vexed by it. Wasteful to shoot one's own side? Yeah. Does it happen anyway? Yeah. So why worry?

 

Fulcrum's expression eases somewhat. Ah. A simple case of overenthusiasm. Fulcrum knows wildrider is no traitor, despite his... sometimes unconventional tactics. In fact, Fulcrum is somewhat fond of the scrappy Stunticon. "Ah" he replies, disconnecting severed and damaged wires before replacing them or adding new connectors. "It sounds like the convoy was heavily guarded in any case."

 

Fulcrum begins work on Fleet's severe injuries.

 

Fleet is only annoyed with Wildrider because the distraction is what let all the other Autobots hit him. At least, that's Flee's story and he's sticking to it! He's already pegged the Stunticon as an overenthusiastic nutcase, but it's not like he's never dealt with that type before... "Quite. It makes me wonder what the slag was in there! Ah well... at least we destroyed one of the trucks." He nods to Catechism. "Good shooting, that. Although I think the squishy jumped out the other side before the thing exploded.

 

Catechism shrugs and waves a hand dismissively. "Eh, that's fine. Wrecking one of those trucks was more important than exterminating its driver. Get rid of one of those fleshlings, and a dozen more will just step up to replace him, anyway." It's kind of like that with Seekers, too, but that fact is lost on the cloudy conehead.

 

"Humans reproduce quickly" Fulcrum agrees. "I mentioned this to Briar after the destruction of Des Moines, but the human did not see the logic" Fulcrum chuckles, an unpleasant rattling sound. Replacing the last of Fleet's damaged capacitors, he begins cleaning the residue left from severed fuel-lines and coolant pipes.

 

Fleet looks down and immediately regrets the action. It's not pretty down there! It's not that he's squeamish or anything when it comes to other people's innards, but his own are an entirely different matter. Because he's more attached to them. "Well, I haven't personally interacted with humans very often, but reviewing their media, they don't seem to place a very high importance on logic." He shakes his head. "Really, I don't understand why the Autobots protect them. At least if we ruled them, we'd give their short, pathetic lives purpose through service to the Empire." He pauses. "Granted, the lives would be briefer, but their lives are so short anyway, it hardly matters."

 

Main systems restored to normal functionality.

 

Catechism rummages through a cabinet, looking for the light grey. She comments, "Don't the Autobots have a deal with the humans? They come smack us around we step on too many humans, and the humans give the Autobots stuff?" In some strange alternate universe, Catechism is a political science professor. Not here.

 

Fulcrum finishes up the post-repair cleanup and begins attaching new armor plates to Fleet, replacing those damaged in the fight. "From my experience, humans require strong leadership. It allows them to function at peak efficiency. Humans seem to work better if the majority, the masses, are united by a single purpose, directed from above. Should we succeed in conquering this planet, it should not take much to convince the humans that their slavery is in their best interests."

 

Fleet suppresses a grunt of pain as the new armor is attached and his system works to register and incorporate the new body parts. "I'll have to take your word on that one, Fulcrum. I'm still trying to figure out the little things myself. Although it does seem to agree with what I've learned so far..."

 

Just give them all iPods, and they'll gladly slave away.

 

Catechism finally locates the paint that she needs, and notes that her self repair systems have indeed fixed up all of her damage. Maybe she was right about not needed to see a medic over the wound, but even a dead clock is right twice a day. The Seeker then sets about touching up the bare, if healed, metal.

 

Fulcrum pops the final rivet into place, waving over a gumbie to apply a paint-ap to the bare metal. The mini-bot sized medic grins up at Fleet. "Ullo mister.. I'm Repaint. Now.. what color would you like? I've got a good run on pink at the moment.. ooh! Or how about a nice orange?"

 

Catechism finishes up repainting herself, not suffering unexpected, horrible acid death. Looks like she grabbed the right can! She nods to the others. "See you around." Then, she takes leave of the med bay.

 

Catechism moves southeast to the NCC Central Hub.

Catechism has left.

 

Fleet erms a little nervously, eyeing Repaint warily as he does. "Really, if possible, I'd like to stick with my current color scheme. We Seekers tend to look enough alike that, in my experience, frequent color changes get confusing." Not that too many other Seekers flutter about like a frightened butterfly, but still, that was beside the point.

 

Repaint aaaaaws. "What about some tiger stripes then? I've always thought tiger stripes add a certain flare to jets." Fulcrum shakes his head, frowning. Why can't he get /good/ help for once?

 

"No, thanks," answers Fleet. "I'm afraid I'm really not interested in flaring. Just repaint me with my current color scheme." His voice is a little firmer when he says it this time. Fleet can glare, if it comes to that. Just because he's usually mild natured doesn't mean he doesn't know how to do the whole stone-cold Decepticon warrior act when it serves. He hasn't started yet, but he does prep his Cruel Seeker Glare, just in case.

 

Repaint sighs. "Oh well" he says, clipping a can of yellow paint to the airbrushes built into each forearm. "But don't come crying to ME when all the cool Seekers are wearing tiger stripes!"

 

Fulcrum watches Repaint work, just in case he gets any funny ideas.

 

A slight smirk dashes across Fleet's mouth, although it's moving so quickly that it's easy to miss. "I'll be sure not to. Although I've never really held being a 'cool Seeker' as a goal, anyway." If he did, do you think he'd be painted pastel yellow?

 

The minibot finishes up his task and scuttles away. Fulcrum is once more back at his terminal. "The convoy" he says, optics still focused on the screen. "How big was it? Were there no signs of what they were transporting?"

 

"Three trucks? Four, if you count the Autobot. I wasn't able to get a close look at them. They had EDC markings, though. Well, except for the Autobot." He slides off the table and heads into the general area where Fulcrum is working. "It wasn't a planned encounter at all, really. More a matter of chance. There was an accident on the road they were driving on, and we happened to be nearby. Wildrider didn't even notice the Autobots at first." Mostly because he was too busy causing the accident, but hey.

 

Fulcrum glaces away from his work for a moment. "Then it may have been anything" he intones. "Though no doubt DCI is investigating. Whatever it was, at this stage I doubt it will impact on Lord Galvatron's plans."

 

Fleet shakes his head. "Probably not. I never said the whole event had any kind of significance. It's just... one of those things that happens. But I felt it should get reported, anyway. After all, even if it doesn't have any significance... well, it's just not my place to decide that, is it?"

 

Fulcrum nods. "No doubt the Autobots wondered what we were up to in alaska that one time as well. As you say, it could have been just co-incidence." Fulcrum doesn't sound too certain of that though. He figures it's probably a bad sign. But what else is new?

 

Fleet is not, by nature, a pessimist so much as a paranoid. Be prepared for the worst. That way, if it does happen, you're ready, and if it doesn't, it's a pleasant surprise, although he's still perfectly capable of letting himself enjoy what good times come. Well, as much as anyone who suffers from a permanent case of controlled panic can enjoy anything. He shrugs. "Like I said, not my place to worry about it," he finishes. "Yeah, it'd have been nice to figure out what they were transporting, or at least destroy all the trucks, but no changing that now."

 

"It could not be helped." Fulcrum agrees, rising to his feet. "If you will excuse me, I have work do to on Lord Galvatron's armada."

 

Fleet nods. Being currently on the injured list, he has little to do himself, but he wouldn't want to keep Fulcrum from his job. "All right. Until later." With that, the pastel pyramid heads out as well, just to ensure he's out of the way.