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.