More Junk in the Trunk

Commercial Medium Orbit - Pz-Zazz

''The spaceways here tend to be downright clogged, with spaceships being forced to take parking orbits for hours as they wait for permisssion to land. Some go ahead and try it, anyway. Collisions are not uncommon. Of course, wiring a bit of moolah to the traffic controllers always seemed to speed things up.''

Rush hour on the orbital space lanes started about three hours ago, local time, and won't be ending until early the next morning. Strong light glints off the hulls of the ships stacked in orbits, sleek craft interspersed throughout massive gigaton freighters that easily outsize them by multiple orders of magnitude. It is in the junction of one of the private lanes that Louie negotiates passage out of the snarled mess in the sky. Stabbing a green finger at the console, he grumbles a bit as he and several other henchmen of Gutt wait for the bribes to properly clear a faster lane for them.

From behind and to the rear, a (relatively smallish) arrowhead spacejet slithers past the silhouette of a corvette, hanging back in the radar shadow of two corpulent frigates. An impatient lane jumper waiting to leap at the next gap to present itself? Or something more than meets the eye?

F/A-18 Super Hornet  catches up to Fusillade's position by means of disposable rocket engines bolted onto his drop pod rails, decelerating awkwardly. He's not really used to the spaceflight accessories and, consequently, he complains about it a lot. "Blast Off should really be doing this. Useless primadonna never shows up to any assignments."

From Autobot Shuttle , Gears grumbles as he pilots the Golden Age. "Why are we out here doing this?" he groans, "Where's Jetfire or Sky Lynx when you need them? We're going to get our chassis kicked. Our skidplates handed to us." He turns to the occupants of the shuttle that have accompanied him. "Well, I guess that leaves us. We're doomed."

From Autobot Shuttle ,     Hardstrike sits in the back of the Golden Age, strapped into one of the larger seats. He's got what looks to be large playing cards with Cybertronian symbols on them, and shuffles with a grumble before a table. "Y'know, why do they send a guy who can't fly on gunrunner patrol?" he calls out to his comrades, "This has got to be most boring assignment ever." The 'bout finishes shuffling, and deals a hand out to the smaller Cosmos accross the table. The 'bot raises an optic ridge to minibot, "I figure Gears and I are just dead weight for a job you could do just as well on your own, Cosmos. What gives?"

 Grey Snapper, Fusillade says, "They're getting ready to off-load. Be ready to spring when they show an opening."

 Boomslang says, "Ready as I can be up here. Just give the word."

From Autobot Shuttle , Cosmos stares into the datapad resting on the table, set to randomly shuffle through navigational and statistical probabilities based on flight trajectories... ... really happening and exciting stuff as you can see! He's prodded out of his daze by a card flicking off of his minibot digit when Hardstrike deals out a hand. "Err, yes I suppose it is a rather interesting assignment." Cosmos picks the cards up, positioning them around to form his hand.

"So, where is she?" the reptiloid to Louie's left asks, peering into the console screen. However, as the Lancer and Super Hornet tilt into view, Louie gives him a sharp slap on the shoulder. "There we go. Get on down to the cargo hold and get ready to make that transfer!" He clenches his jaw, not saying more as the others' footfalls disappear down the corridor.

The dark grey and ghost white ship coasts into a holding pattern along a side hatch. Could this be a contraband transfer? With a few puffs of maneuvering rockets, the Lancer rolls to align one bomb bay to the ship -- before a second set of doors opens up, and space-fitted munitions begin slamming into the Gutt's ship! Any subtlety is lost now as detonations blossom out in an orange bouquet around the ships, just off the Autobot shuttle's three o'clock position.

F/A-18 Super Hornet  unloads a barrage from a pair of recoilless rocket pods he brought just for such an occasion, thrusting towards the target. The smaller explosions ripple across the hull, debris and gas obscuring the larger ship's sensors as the space-fitted fighter closes in... then transforms and vanishes entirely!

The F-18 produces that distinctive transformation sound as it flips around and pops out limbs to assume a humanoid shape.

Combat: Boomslang activates his cloaking field and vanishes from sight!

From Autobot Shuttle , Gears frowns even more as he sees a ship get attacked right in front of them on the viewscreen. He blinks as one of the attacking Decepticons seems to pull a Mirage. "Oh great. Now we'll get sneak-attacked," he mumbles, "Allright, get ready. We've gotta stop these Decepticons." He sighs heavily and brings the Shuttle's weapons to bear on the attacking non-disappearing Decepticon.

Combat: Autobot Shuttle  misses Space-Going B-1R Lancer with its Disruptor attack!

From Autobot Shuttle ,     Hardstrike examines the cards in his hand, and smirks slightly, "Well, well, looks like I've already got P-guh!" He drops his cards, a hand grabbing out to stabilize himself as the shockwaves from nearby explosions rattle the ship. He isn't too used to space transit, "What was that?!" the autobot asks, glancing out the window just in time to see a jet transform-and dissapear before compeleting the shift into robot mode. "Primus slag it. Gears, can you get us closer?"

Hardstrike removes the straps on his seat, and starts for the airlock.

Louie hmmmmmmms to himself, rubbing fingers over photosynthetic stubble as the explosions rock the ship. Tapping a few commands into the console, alert klaxons begin blaring in the hallways and local comm frequencies. With eyebrows raised, he says, "Welp, boys, looks like we're in some 'real' trouble." The others chuckle ominously as the Autobot shuttle closes in to their location. Pressing an open comm line, Louie shouts, "HELP! We've been boarded! We ain't done nuttin' wrong! Da Robot Gang's knockin' us over!"

Fusillade trims her microrockets, twisting about in space. The luxurious swoops and curves of the stark orca pattern on her space tiles glitters in the ambient light of a million pinpoints of shuttle and viewport light from the crowded traffic, making the otherwise good shot from Gears go wide. She conversationally addresses the larger ship that just shot at her, <>

<> Louie insists angrily on the loudspeaker.

From Autobot Shuttle , Cosmos peers at Hardstrike's expression, obviously holding a stellar hand as opposed to Cosmos' utterly wortless one. Then suddenly the ship is sent in a minor turmoil, as evidenced from the shockwave. "Oh it's probably just turbulence..." he remarks. "You should really calm dow-aah!" the second aftershock considerably larger than the first cuts the green mini-bot off mid-sentence. Standing up, Cosmos reaches out to grab Hardstrike's hand of cards; all the while keeping an optic out on his Autobot brother. "Yes, something is the matter... ..." remarking, he switches the hands and unstraps himself as well; making for the front of the ship.

From Autobot Shuttle , "Alright, we're coming," Gears radios to Louie. His optics roll as he addresses the Decepticon space-bomber. "Yeah, like THAT'S going to happen," he snorts, "Take your dirty mitts off that craft, or I'll send you home with ventilated wings and fuselage." Then he charges up the shuttle's laser and fires it at Fusillade again.

Combat: Autobot Shuttle  misses Space-Going B-1R Lancer with its Laser attack!

A dull *clang* can be heard from beneath the Autobot shuttle as it closes in on the blockade runner that's under attack. As if something had just bumped into it.

From Autobot Shuttle ,     Hardstike moves over to the airlock itself, and stops by a cabinet near it. He grabs what looks like a set of clamps-one around each of his wrists and ankles. A small button on them is hit, activating with a hum-magnetic latches to keep him attached to the ship's hull. "I'm headed out. Try not to do anything too fancy, Gears..." the autobot calls back, and steps inside the hatch. It shuts, depressurizes the chamber, and then opens out to the void of space.

Hardstrike climbs out, holding close to the hull. His optics glance around, searching for Fusillade...

Hardstrike leaves the Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>.

<<I think there's two of 'em on here!>> emanates from Louie's ship before the radio goes suddenly silent.

"Mitts? MITTS?! I don't have no stinkin' hands in this mode!!!" Fusillade objects, dipping one slender wing and veering wide with the same grace she would possess in any atmosphere. Never mind the small flivvers that just got whacked by her tailfin, and have gone spinning away crazily. "And you keep trying, bucko, here's some incentive, ahahahaha!" There's a wild, reckless laugh from the aerospacecraft as she sashays around the shuttle, and then disgorges a pair of space-converted Harpoon missiles at the main weapon turrets. She's not terribly hard for Hardstrike to find.

Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer misses Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age> with her GBU-27 attack!

<Decepticon> Grey Snapper, Fusillade says, "And you keep trying, bucko, here's some incentive, ahahahaha!""

From Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, Cosmos glares out the window as the Lancer careens around the Autobot shuttle, instinctively ducking when the ship fires upon his craft. Shaking the minor encounter from his processor, Cosmos sits down at the navigational array and begins to bring up information on the object of their frustration. "Sensors indicate Decepticon anomalies in the area... ...downloading schematics now." All the while, his hands are furiously typing on the datakeys. One could get tired from just watching him at work.

Something moves across the surface of the Autobot ship, creeping closer to Hardstrike now that he has emerged from the hatch. It can't be seen but it might be felt, vibrations carrying through the handholds and the steel skin of the Autobot shuttle. A desert tan Seeker shimmers into view behind Hardstrike, a three foot long carbon-fiber combat knife raised behind the unsuspecting Autobot...

Combat: Suddenly, Boomslang appears out of thin air!

Combat: Sneak Attack!!

Combat: Boomslang strikes Hardstrike with his Combat Knife (Kick) attack!

Space-Going B-1R Lancer's schematics, when Cosmos pulls them up, are heavily annotated by Jetfire. Over the course of several vorn, they show the progression from the role of an atmospheric bomb truck to a space-capable menace, as well as footnotes about her role as a weapons testing platform for such oddities as gestalt technology, resurrection zombification, planet busting kinetic bombardment profiles. However, there doesn't seem to be any discussion about whether or not any of these experimental dalliances actually became permanent parts of her airframe. She also seems to not respond very well to combat SNAFUs. "I... missed a shuttle," the aircraft says forlornly, flicking her nose canards before descending into a tirade of expletives, "I MISSED A SHUTTLE!!!!", shooting much more wildly now as she keeps herself front and center for the craft's attention.

Hardstrike clomps along the hull, and raises on arm at Fusillade as she moves into view, <<Not so fast, Deceptipunk...>> he murmers over shortband radio, as sound and space don't mix. And that's when the knife stabs him in the back, going deep in between his shoulders, <<...arghhh! We have a boarder on the hull!>> Hardstrike yells out to his friends, forced onto a knee by the blow. He's at a disadvantage if this guy can move in space normally. Either way, it's fight or die...

Hardstrike, turning to point the laser barrels on his arm at his attacker-a few yellow shots of energy lash out.

Combat: Hardstrike sets his defense level to Neutral.

Combat: Hardstrike strikes Boomslang with his Laser attack!

From Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, "We'll see about that!" Gears grumbles. The shots go wide thanks to some fancy maneuvering by the skilled minibot pilot. "Slaggit, hold still!" he snaps, trying to aim the Golden Age's weapons at the evasive bomber. He doesn't care if Fusillade has no hands in vehicle mode. He still doesn't want her filthy wings/landing gear/anything on that other ship or its contents. "Let's try this again!" he adds. He decides to try one of the other sidemounted guns to try to hit her.

Combat: Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age> misses Space-Going B-1R Lancer with its Side-guns! (Pistol) attack!

Pt-Choo! Pt-Choo! It's like a Special Olympics slapfight. :( At least Fusillade is properly matched to her size class. A searing bolt of energy sizzles past her left wingroot, and with a <<WHUT-whoa-OH!>> the aircraft pulls a hard stop with a flare of reverse thrusters. Desperately scanning the surface of the craft, she pivots her disruptor in the direction of what she thinks is a sensor pod, and fills the local space with a flurry of focused argon beams!!

Louie's ship begins to slowly crawl away.

Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer misses Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age> with her Disruptor attack!

From Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, Cosmos pours over the data, trying to discern a weak point or some sort of advantage they could gain against her. "Decepticon designate Fusillade... ...not much here other than historical data that won't be worth a slag if we can't land a *hit*." he states, the last part directed at Gears. Dashing away from the controls, the mini-bot tromps up to the airlock and hits the release. "Just try to keep her busy lad, I'll do my best to aid Hardstrike against this other combatant!" With that said, Cosmos dashes outside the craft; the door slamming shut afterwards.

Cosmos leaves the Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>.

Boomslang can't, as it turns out, move normally in space. As soon as he releases his grip on the Golden Age's hull and is struck by the laser beam he falls off of the shuttle and starts floating away, knife still in hand. "I'm going after it," he emits over the radio to Fusillade, igniting the disposable rocket engines affixed to his wings and flying off towards the escaping smuggling ship in a crazy, corkscrewing fashion while laying down a suppressing fire against the Autobots from his wrist-mounted machineguns.

Combat: Boomslang sets his defense level to Protected.

Combat: Boomslang strikes Hardstrike with his Autocannon (Pistol) attack!

<<Hey! I'm not done ye-gah!">> Hardstrike was yelling over shortband at Boomslang as he shifted his footing to continue laserfire at the Decepticon as he floats off towards the other whip, before the machineguns rattle his armor, forcing off his aim. The Autobot grumbles, <<Cosmos, we've got a runner!>> he calls out to the minibot, before transforming himself. The bands are shifted with him-as they were designed to-and now rest on the underside of the tank. Hover engines are kept off, of course, and the tank clanks onto the hull.

The launchers adjust, and launch a rock with a slight 'shove' at the shuttle in recoil, speeding towards Boomslang.

Hardstrike's body seems to fall into itself as it compacts and folds together into his vehicle mode.

Combat: Hardstrike misses Boomslang with his Direct Fire attack!

"It?" the 150 foot long bomber queries empty space. Twisting about on her axis, light glints off her canopy as she tries to parse what just happened as her backup darts off -- for the wrong ship. "I..." Words fail. Well, the double-cross of the gangsters who posed as being a ship in distress wasn't exactly what she had PLANNED, but as long as the end result was the same... did it really matter? Time to keep their attention on the here and now! She makes herself the most obvious target for now. She sprints forward with a burst of her quartet of main thrusters, and transposes herself between the Autobots and the fleeing Pz'Zazzian ship. With a faint deedly-DEET, target lock alarms begin to sound in Cosmos's and Hardstrike's comms.

Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer strikes Cosmos with her Bombs Area attack!

Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer strikes Hardstrike with her Bombs Area attack!

Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer strikes Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age> with her Bombs Area attack!

From Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, "At least she can't land a hit, either!" Gears says over the radio to his comrades. Another barrage heads for the shuttle, and again, Gears managed to maneuver the craft so that the beams pass by harmlessly. Special Olympics Slapfight, indeed.

From Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, Gears charges up the shuttle's laser.

Combat: Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age> strikes Space-Going B-1R Lancer with its Laser attack!

Boomslang cuts the rockets, flips around and slams into the smuggling ship with an awkward bounce, hanging on as the smuggler swoops closer to the Autobot ship, crossing behind it. Boomslang rights himself into a crouch and springs away as the two ships pass close by eachother, winking out of sight like a TV screen blinking off as he approaches the rear of the Autobot ship.

Combat: Boomslang activates his cloaking field and vanishes from sight!

Cosmos floats in space for a second before transforming into his spacecraft mode that resembles the terran's traditional depiction of an UFO. The recon specialist whizzes over towards Hardstrike, Boomslang, and Fusillade, his sensors focusing on the latter in an attempt to identify the subject; relaying such information to his comrade. <<Focusing on Fusillade with all internal sensors... ...hope this helps you out budd-ehh!>> he starts, cut off by a seemingly random barrage from the B-1R Lancer; the attack collides against his hull. He does however manuever somewhat efficiently, avoiding being taken out of the fight.

With a wag of his finger, Cosmos folds down into his spacecraft mode.

Combat: Cosmos analyzes Fusillade for weaknesses Hardstrike can exploit.

Hardstrike's form is rattled once more as the bombs cascade over the shuttle and him, tearing up his armor. Thankfully, there are no fires, being in a vacuum. But that also means systems exposed to the bleak coldness of space don't function very well, such as his targetting sensors. <<Hey, what's the....slaggit, he cloaked again...>> Hardstrikes calls out. The launches adjust, tracking Fusillade.

<<Beat it, Decepticon. Or I'm gonna blow you to bits!>> You paged Rodimus Prime with 'But Boomslang keeps bouncing around between ships, we'll never get FTL from EITHER of them at this rate.'

Combat: Hardstrike misses Space-Going B-1R Lancer with his Direct Fire attack!

One of the hatches on the Autobot shuttle, towards the aft over the engine compartment, suddenly fizzles and pops open and then slams shut again about two seconds later. Is it... a TRIPLE CROSS?

Boomslang enters the Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>.

There is a cornucopia of energy signatures from the aircraft that make it light up like a big, shiny, 'PICK MEEEE!' sign. <<Nuh uh. There's something here I want, and I ain't leaving until I get it! Although, if you really want me to... beat it, I'll be happy to oblige.>> As the rocket flies wide, Fusillade whips around, sending the broad flat side of one 50-foot long wing in Hardstrike's direction. For all she knows, Boomslang is still on Louie's ship -- which means making herself as big a menace (or at least pest!) as possible. <<PADDLE-BALL!!!!!>> she effuses into local radio.

Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer strikes Hardstrike with her Midair Negotiations (Punch) attack!

<Decepticon> Grey Snapper, Fusillade says, "WHEEEEEEEEE PADDLEBALL"

From Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, Boomslang creeps through the Autobot ship, security cameras looking right through him as he passes them unseen. He peers around a corner, looking down the length of the ship at the cockpit where Gears is manning the vessel and considers garroting the minibot for a moment before he observes that Gears has no neck to slip a garrote around. "Hm." He turns away and swiftly slips into the engine room, pulling a crowbar and a cutting torch out of subspace.

Flying Saucer <Cosmos> thrums up his auxillary propulsion drive and zooms toward Louie's craft. <<It's okay, I'm one of the good guys; not a UFO here to abduct you... ...>> the recon-bot hails on broadband. Meanwhile, Fusillade is making herself even more of a target... ...which begs the question, just what in the name of Primus are they here for in the first place? The green and yellow spacecraft hums up it's weapons systems and fires off a shot at the Lancer. <<Cease and desist Deception Fusillade! This is your one and only warning!>>

Combat: Flying Saucer <Cosmos> misses Space-Going B-1R Lancer with its Particle Beam attack!

Fusillade flies low, and tries to smack Hardstrike off the shuttle with her wing. There is a clank and a denting of metal on his armor, and he even slides slightly-but the magnetic clamps hold for now. He transforms, however, as Fusillade isn't going to get this close very often. He comes upright on his feet, energy sword out and ignited, slashing at her form. <<I'm a bit too big for that! Now beat it!>>

Hardstrike's vehicular body pulls upwards from the middle, and begins to re-shape into his robot body.

Combat: Hardstrike sets his defense level to Aggressive.

Combat: Hardstrike misses Space-Going B-1R Lancer with his Energy Sword attack!

From Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, Gears is furiously locking on his target. The fact that he can't see the other Decepticon out there gives him a niggling in his processor. But for now, he assists Hardstrike in driving off Fusillade. "Take some more of this!" he says to nobody in particular, as he aims the disruptors for another shot.

Combat: Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age> misses Space-Going B-1R Lancer with its Disruptor attack!

<Decepticon> Boomslang says, "I've almost got it... some stubborn... clampy thing connecting it to the engine. Wish Scrapper was here. Give me just a minute."

Space-Going B-1R Lancer is having a bit too much fun as the shots all go wide, sizzling against the hulls of other ships that are packed into nearby space lanes. <<Nya-nyah!!>. Oh, real mature. She makes the mistake of getting too cocky, and transforms. Planting hands on hips, she simpers a bit in the direction of the Autobot ship. <<Now now, boys, if I didn't KNOW better I'd say that you were trying to get rid of me.>> She then pivots forward and twists around in the void of zero-G, and proceeds to clap the palm of her hand on her aft. Full moon out tonight. <<Do your worst, HAW HAW!>>

The sleek bomber rears up, wings collapsing onto hips even as the rear fuselage splits to form arms. The horizontal stabilizer slides up, the forward fuselage folds up accordian style, and Fusillade hops up on thrustered feet.

<Decepticon> Grey Snapper, Fusillade says, "I'm... really kinda asking for it right now, Boomslang. You'd better deliver."

Hardstrike is getting frustrated at this point, and isn't up for being mocked-not in space, not when he's on a really crummy assignment that is getting worse by the moment. The Autobot glares at the Seeker, before transforming, and disengaging the magnetic clamps. <<You want it lady? You got it!>> He flares the thrust on his engines, barreling him forwards through space at Fusillade....

Hardstrike's body seems to fall into itself as it compacts and folds together into his vehicle mode.

Combat: Hardstrike sets his defense level to Fearless.

Combat: Hardstrike strikes Fusillade with his Rolling Roadblock attack!

From Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, Boomslang creeps back through the Golden Age in the opposite direction with a valuable doohickey tucked under his arm.

Boomslang leaves the Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>.

The aft hatch on the Golden Age pops open again but doesn't close this time.

<Decepticon> Boomslang says, "I got it, we're clear to get out of here."

SCREEEECH*CRUNKCTH!* Well, that's the sound that would get made if there were any air around. Fusillade asks for it, and finally gets it. << Gaaaah! Ow, what TOOK you so long?! Awright, awright, I'm GOING sheesh this spacelane is too cramped ANYWAY it's not like I can actually GET AROUND and pull any decent G's while stuck here, hmmph!>> She achily transforms back to her more formidable alt mode form, and blasts off!!!!!

Fusillade leans forward, wingblades whipping out to their full span, even as her arms lock backward in place as the rear fuselage. Her torso folds out to the become the cockpit of a space capable B-1R Lancer, ready for flight!

Combat: Space-Going B-1R Lancer begins retreating, leaving herself vulnerable to parting shots from Flying Saucer <Cosmos>, Autobot Shuttle <Golden Age>, and Autobot Heavy Cruiser <Steelhaven>

<Decepticon> Grey Snapper, Fusillade says, "Ha ha, really? I'm bigger than you, don't lie"

Flying Saucer <Cosmos> is too busy monitoring the area to notice the retreating Decepticon, trying to ascertain their objective still. <<Gears... ...Hardstrike, just what the hell just happened here?>>

Hardstrike, of course, forgets one crucial thing after impacting Fusillade: he can't stop himself in space. Even with cut thrusters, he keeps drifting after slamming into the Decepticon, albeit at a different trajectory. <<Uhhh....little help, Cosmos?>>

<Decepticon> Boomslang says, "It's actually not very big according to the picture."

Combat: Like the wind, Boomslang is gone!

The invisible Decepticon also is gone, making good his escape with the FTL drive he ripped out of the Golden Age when no one is looking. Or... is he?! No, he is.

NCC Medical Ward

''Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets.''

Compile looks as he is busy working in the Medical Bay and looking over the various logs of those who need work done to them. As he humms, due to being bored and well, there is nothing to do. "At leas TI got out of Galvatron's golf bag," he says to himself as he reviews the requests and blinks at one, "Oh, that will be fun," he says as he sees Fusi's request. "At least it will be easy," he adds.

With a crate balanced on one hip, hand gripping the outer edge to secure it, Fusillade shimmies into the brightly lit bays. Glancing about the myriad ceiling-mounted racks of equipment, she emits a satisfied 'ah' to herself as she spies the black and white tape at work by the monitor. "I'm a little concerned about the size, this was taken from a full-sized Autobot shuttle. Ha ha the look on their faces was amazing, you should have been there, Compile!" She plunks down the crate on a medical table.

Swindle arrives from the steel-spun tunnel from the NCC Spinal Pathway to the south.

Swindle walks in, carrying an empty burlap sack and wearing sunglasses.

"You might need to make her ass bigger," suggests Boomslang helpfully, fitting a suppressor to his gun.

"I approve of this idea," mutters Ramjet as he walks into the Medical Bay. The thin, diagonal slash his mouth makes is an expression of displeasure. He is not one for confined areas under water. Perhaps the Transformer-sized rocks glass clutched in his hand, filled with an amber fuel, will make strides in improving his disposition. Or Fusillade's ass will instead.

Swindle stops by an unoccupied medtable and lays out his low-tech carrying device. "Ammo Storage System?" he asks, helpfully. "Yeah, you can never have a big enough ASS. I knew a trooper who depleted all his primary ammo and then reached back to get more, only to find he'd gotten his ASS shot off. Tragic."

Swindle looks at Ramjet. "Huwah? I don't know. I think he was red.. or blue or green or something. I don't really pay close attention to the color-by-number guys."

"I think it was Flapjack, but then I've seen a lot of folks get their asses shot off," admits Boomslang. He doesn't admit that half the time it was him, with different paint jobs.

A wilting glare is fixed on Boomslang's face by Fusillade, although Swindle's clever sales pitch earns a smirk from Fusillade. Prying off the top, she hauls out a russet orange device, mainfolds and high-pressure containment cylinders making it look like a piece of modern art. "SO, should I go ahead and transform for this? Might make things easier!" As the surly Air Commander draws near, Fusillade says, "You're right about Cybertron needing to be rebuilt, that place is a DUMP, no one should be able to cut themselves in half on the scenery. Talk about embarrassing." At the mention of Ammo Storage Systems getting shot off, she frowns. "Well, everything at this point is INTERNAL, I suppose we could add some exterior hard points..."

"Nh," Ramjet glares at Swindle. "I remember his destruction. He was the test pilot for a magnet-assisted orbital launcher. Broke apart at launch." He slides his thumb along the edge of his nose before continuing, "..It seemed he had no cushion.." Ramjet lifts his drink to his lips and takes a sip, "..for the pushin'."

Fulcrum wasn't expecting there to be a crowd in medbay (though why he should be surprised is a mystery), so he pauses for a moment in the doorway before entering ., optics flickering as he works out what's going on. ""Another missile to the posterior, Fusillade?" he remarks, trudging over to check the preliminary scans.

Swindle holds up his hands with his thumbs touching and forefingers at right angles, like little goal posts. He extends that out to arm's length and looks at Fusillade like he's framing her for a photograph. "Huh.. exterior hardpoints would make her all pointy, and more than a little butch. Whatever that means."

Compile blinks and facepalms, "Well, if it is too big, we can adjust it," he says to her as he gets a bad image of doing an ass job on Fusi and than hearing all the smartass remarks and he just sihs, "Alright, lets get to work. Um..." and he ponders. "Ok, tranform Fusi and get ready for some added weight," and he looks at the others, "And not in that way."

"Exactly. I noticed you being sheared in twain and I would have stopped to pick you up." Ramjet tells Fusillade. "..but running -away- from Galvatron seemed to be the better part of valor at the time." Fulcrum shows up and mentions projectiles to important anatomical Points of Interest on Fusillade and as if by magic, Ramjet's expression lightens. "..I knew there was a reason I showed up. Hnh. Do we summon Reflector for this.."

"..for Imperial morale, of course." Ramjet adds with a fake cough.

Swindle smirks and looks skyward. "Leave 'flec out of it. Starting to be a real lens-fest in here anyway, if you know what I mean." Pause. "Because I certainly don't. Next caller!"

<Decepticon> Ravage snarls loudly over the comms as Rumble shakes the area.

<Decepticon> Rumble says, "Uh, heads up."

"Counterpoint: hardpoints are hot," replies Boomslang. He likes ladies with hardpoints. "Although I guess internal hardpoints are just as good... and at the kind of speeds she's gonna go with that thing in there, external munitions would probably just cook off anyhow."

Tapping one foot, Fusillade finds herself grateful for not being under Ramjet's direct command. Will make the yelling and screaming later that much easier. The doors swoosh open to admit Fulcrum, and any remarks she may have had in response to his missile wisecrack fade away as she stares. She stares long and hard at the rejuvenated Fulcrum, much in the same way that a white tiger would Roy. "I... no, just THINKING about it, alhtough it sounds like Swindle might have a few good ideas. Today, I'm going to GO FASTER!!!!" She sets the stolen drive on he table by Compile, and nods to him regarding his instructions for transormation.

Her wingblades whip out, scissoring overhead of the tape and the others present. A tremendous WHUMPH reverberates as the hundred-ton bomber clears the floor, glossy white space tiled belly nearly a story above the floor. She's situated so that the business end of her quartet of atmospheric engines are pointed at the group. A faint half second later, a faint twist and pop sounds out as a subspace pocket disgorges her sublight space engines, the rocket pods clunking and locking into place atop the junction of her wings' trailing edges and fuselage.

Ramjet stares blankly at Swindle. "I have no clue what you mean." His attention is then re-captured by Fusillade. Who mentions going faster and then transforms. "/Faster/ is hotter," he tells Boomslang. Another sip of his drink and Ramjet settles back, tilting his cone to the side so he can have a better view of her business end. "Swindle. Tell me you have a recording device on you."

Compile looks, "Not really," he says to them. "If you re-enforce them or have them be popup units, they will not break or shear off. However, the FTL drive will add a lot of weight, so you will need to have new engines and additional adjustments to the engines, and support systems," and he looks and thinks. "So, it will involve removing the engines and than installing the FTL drive. After that, the engines will have to tuned to the output and re-enforced." and he ponders.

"However, it is an easy modification," he states to them. "The speed increase will be noticable and if nothign else, can break the FTL drive into parts to attack to the engines, so that if one is damaged you still have the drive."

Swindle looks up. "I was wondering why the built the ceilings so high in here." He looks over at Ramjet. "What? Recording device? No way, I don't need that kind of evidence lying around. Didn't you ever Frost/Nixon?"

Ramjet's face scrunches up into a sour expression. "Yes. But Dirge was involved, too. It just.." He shakes his cone ever-so-lightly, "..got -weird-."

Fusillade leans forward, wingblades whipping out to their full span, even as her arms lock backward in place as the rear fuselage. Her torso folds out to the become the cockpit of a space capable B-1R Lancer, ready for flight!

Stretched out over a 133' x 147' section of the repair bay, Fusillade flicks nose canards in delight at the idea of redundancy. "Oh please, yes. That won't help when planet crackers o up inside me, but that'll be useful for smaller weapons fire. There's... an awful lot for people to aim at already anyway. Oh I am SOOOOOOOOo excited I have been waiting forever for this and then oh oh oh oh MAN kinetic bombardment and oh god Fulcrum what happened you looked a LOT better just a moment ago!"

Boomslang flattens himself against the wall so he doesn't get pinned by a wing. "Even so I think this might be better done outside," he grumbles, scooting sideways out of the way of the wings with his gunsmithing kit.

Compile looks as she transforms and he grins. "Alright, lets get those engines off ya," and he starts onthe port wing and works on removing them.

<Decepticon> Soundwave says, "Alert. Autobot espionage unit: Bumblebee has infiltrated Charr. Incoming rescue team: Tailgate, Skydive, and Grimlock."

There's a nervous AHEM from Fusillade as Compile begins walking about her flight surfaces. Each of the pieces are modular, so detaching them from the airframe is not too difficult, aside from getting the slings and mounts to haul away each of the gargantuan powerplants. "I'm half the female I used to be!" Fusillade shout sin mock dismay.

Swindle points out, "Those engines don't make up -nearly- half your total.." beat, "what I -meant- to say is, nice weather we're having in here today. I think it might rain."

Compile looks and blinks, "Don't worry," he says. "You'll be more the female you were," and he puts on some Daft Punk, specifically, 'Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.' and than the song is heard.

Work It

Make It

Do It

Makes Us

Harder

Better

Faster

Stronger

More Than

Hour

Our

Never

Ever

After

Work is

Over.

As he works, the song plays on. He removes the first of four engines and takes it over to a table, and returns, attachign the sling and works ont he second and the third after he finishes the second, placeing the second on the same table, followed byt he third and forth as he removes them. Once that is done, he loosk and attaches energon lines to keep full going and pops open her rear area, back fo the plane near the landing gear to get to the rest of the systems he will need to adjust and remove for the FTL drive.

Boomslang says, "Well, after you get this stuff slapped in you'll be one and a half the female you were, so it's just temporary, right?"

As the music comes on, Fusillade's tailslabs begin to flick to the beat. It was nice and distracting, considering the idea that this entire milieu was taking place thousands of feet underwater. The rear bomb bay actually provides excellent access to the plane's interior. The space is crammed full of electronic multiplexors, guidance systems for the payloads, pumps to redistribute weight while in flight, and endless other systems to keep the bird aloft. "I... hey... HEY..." she directs at Boomslang, although she is unable to move. All she can really do is flap her wingslats in annoyance at the smug conehead.

"Hnn.." Ramjet rubs his chin between sips of his drink. "Her having more oomph to her business end would be more interesting."

"Hey hey hey, Ramjet!" Fusillade calls out with nosecone pointed blindly to the corrugated steel wall of the bay. "We should come up with things to do now that I have FTL and don't have to ride in Astrotrain anymore!"

Compile looks and works on the inside of Fusi now and begins to make the proper adjustments and as he works he pulls out the old stuff, "This is old, no need ofr that," and he works on makign things smaller and better and this involves him fabricating new parts and he does that as he works and installs them as he pulls out the old systems and he blinks and sighs, "You guys watch too much of the Earth TV," he says to them as he nods, "Ok, I made up at least fifty percent more room in there for the FTL," he states to her as he climbs down and than gets on top of her.

As he moves, he opens another bay and owrks on doing the same thing that he did under her, even though that sounds wrong on so many levels. He works and hums as he copies what he did and looks, "Hmm," and he brings over two hooks and attachs them to the dudder and unhooks it as he lifts it up and removs more to make the room better. As he works, he replaces the old parts with new parts and thinks as he has a few Gumbies come over with new parts to re-enforce the area to hold the fTL Drive. As he works, he thinks and makes the proper adjustments and than he smiles as he looks at Fusi.

"Ok, I had to adjust the support of the area to make it bigger, due to the size of the FTL. After I get it installed, I will be working on the engines and than will attach those and do a test run. If all works, you will be able to make FTL jumps with ease and your energon consumptionwill not be as much." After saying that, he moves over to the FTL drive and makes adjustments to that, to fit int he area and moves parts to no locations to make it fit snugly, like a bug in a rug.

Once this is done, he works on getting the FTL drive hooked up to a crane and he moves it into place and begins to lower it. Due to the weight, Fusi will fill like she is fully loaded.

"Gotta know what the humans are up to," argues Boomslang. "And who's valuable to kidnap."

"Well." Ramjet mentions. "I have pressed my cone against you. But I am completely un-opposed to touring space inside of you." This does not sound right at all.

"Ohhhhhhh, weight saving. THANK you, thank you. There are some days I feel like a frigate." Fusillade seems happy at this prospect, although she's secretly surprised at the thoroughness of the streamlining process. Compile did good work -- penance for his creator's unappealing nature? She vanes wings in indication at Ramjet and Boomslang as they continue making wisecracks. "JUST because I can't move right now, you two... I know where you recharge!" The weight as the FTL drive is lowered into her fuselage causes her to sink briefly on her landing carriages before the hydraulics compensate for the weight. "Oh. OH. Huh, that's not too bad! So uh... how will it work, Compile? Like how will I turn it on? And get it to stop?"

Swindle flips open a technical manual that he steals from a nearby shelf. "Ahem. The Mark II Self-Contained Hyperluminal Drive System, commonly known as FTL, is a modern marvel of Decepticon Engineering. Using state-of-the-art reverse beta Lightions (trademark) the system can.." Swindle suddenly closes the book. "What is this, a sales guide? Does anyone in this Empire even know how this thing works?"

Boomslang leans over Swindle. "That's the wrong manual. This is the Autobot version. I know because I found it in an Autobot shuttle."

Boomslang 'found' it.

Compile looks and grins as he pull shis Cybertronian mind out of the gutter, thanks Ramjet and Boomslang. He blinks at Swindle as he looks, "It's an Autobot FTL drive, not one of our," he states as he moves to the engines and works on each one, makign the needed adjustments and testing each to see if they work. Once tha tis done, he has Gumbies help him and move the engines back to Fusi and with help, reattach each one and than begins to replace the plating that was removed. "Yea, and with all Autobot stuff, it sucks and needs to be adapted and fixed," he says to them as he finishes and unhooks the external energon lines. "Well, the engines will work just like the old ones and hwen ou want to go to fTL, you just think and you go. However," he says to her. "It will take a few days to get use ot the changes and once you are adjusted properly, youw ill be able ot use it with ease. I do suggest you wait a week for your systems to get use to the new addition," and he works on counterweight for her due to allt he weigh in the ass.

Ramjet polishes off the rest of his drink. When Fusillade threatens him, he simply grins smugly. "Yes, you do! And the offer continues to be on the table. I think you'll find me to be a brutal, but compassionate.." He tilts his cone back, lifting his nose in the air. "...space-rummy partner."

Swindle throws the book into the air. "Whatever! No wonder I can never find anything to steal in this place, it's full of junk!"

Boomslang suggests, "I know a better word for that." He leans in conspiratorially. "MISAPPROPRIATION."

Swindle huhs? "Better word for what? Junk? Yeah, it's completely misappropriate."

With the barest of patience, Fusillade waits for all the balancing to be completed. Once Compile extricates him from the labyrinthine crawl space of her air frame, the bomber gives a relieved whistle, and transforms back to her considerably smaller robot mode. "A week, yeah, gotcha. So, how far away from planet sized or larger gravity wells do I need to be before engaging this thing? I wouldn't want to be in the middle of the little jet's room and think to myself 'SMELT I wish I was on Monacus' and then rip a hole in the planet. But that's mostly just because I wouldn't be around to see the mess it'd make, haha." She frowns a bit, and clutches at her gilded flanks, "Ugh, sits like a brick of lead though. Maybe Swindle was RIGHT about this being junk..." She snaps out a finger, and points at Ramjet, Boomslang, and Swindle. "Don't even THINK of saying something smart in response to that. And Ramjet, I might consider. Might. You will have to make an exquisitely stunning offer to beat my current position of freedom and leisure." She grins wickedly.

Compile looks, "Like any other shuttle," he says to her."

Swindle grins back at Fusillade. "You're Only As Obsolete As You Are Poor. That's one of my mottos. I pay an army of security drones to shoot people with lasers if they use it without my permission." He taps on the side of his head, considering that. "Huh, maybe that's why I have to blackmail an army of lawyers into defending robolawsuits pro-bono all the time."

Hinder shuffles into the medical ward from heaven knows where, certainly not from the direction of the doorway. And, as is rather common, she's carrying some small random object or other in her mouth. She stops and looks around at all of the activity as if trying to decide whether or not to make her presence known.

Space-Going B-1R Lancer scowls darkly, and objects, "M'not a shuttle! And, uh... good job." She doesn't seem too comfortable with giving praise. "Could be," she agrees with Swindle, before she bustles off, "Oh BOY I'm gonna go try this thing out hey guys start raising the tower already I'm about to leave the Shark!" Her excitement over the upgrade is audible from quite some way off, echoing down the hallway and out into the atrium.

The sleek bomber rears up, wings collapsing onto hips even as the rear fuselage splits to form arms. The horizontal stabilizer slides up, the forward fuselage folds up accordian style, and Fusillade hops up on thrustered feet.

Fusillade scowls darkly, and objects, "M'not a shuttle! And, uh... good job." She doesn't seem too comfortable with giving praise. "Could be," she agrees with Swindle, before she bustles off, "Oh BOY I'm gonna go try this thing out hey guys start raising the tower already I'm about to leave the Shark!" Her excitement over the upgrade is audible from quite some way off, echoing down the hallway and out into the atrium.

Swindle calls after Fusillade, "Don't forget to stock up on Swindle's patented Faster-than-light Universal Coolant.. aw, damn, she left."

"Yeah.." Ramjet replies to Swindle. He sucks in a breath of air and exhales. "Remind me to never slot her for some kind of stealth mission. The Autobots are going to see her tail-end for /astro-miles/..."

Swindle smirks and shakes his head. "I never understood why she tries to squeeze that size nine tailfin into the back of her size eight radar-absorbing architecture."