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Who: Airlift, Arachnae, Buzzsaw, Blast Off |
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The Darkmount medical bay has seen better days, but it looks like things are quickly getting turned around in there at the moment. A number of the tables are currently in use, but the medical staff is actually working on things rather than lounging indolently about. Strangely, a number of them are casting somewhat worried looks in the direction of a dark form stalking among them, more than a few seeming absolutely terrified of the Reaver. Suture and Gravedigger come in the room carrying twin crates, moving towards a specific table in the 'command' area of the medbay that is slightly isolated from the regular beds. "Ahhh..excellent.." comes the sound of the Reaver's vocalizer as he looks up and sees them.
Moving to intercept he taps the table, "Buzzsaw..I believe we can get back to work now.." he says approvingly, sounding pleased indeed as the crates are set on one end of the table. Rumble has already been discharged, so there's plenty of space. Opening the cases he carefully examines the large engine packs, nodding slightly. "Excellent modularity..Soundwave's skills are always a pleasure to behold.." he says as he brings the table fully online again, initiating a holographic overlay of the complex connections involved for the engines. Top sets of hands hold an engine up, while the bottom set moves in to begin making connections of delicate control feeds to the Condor's systems.
Buzzsaw stirs faintly, sincerely surprised he even managed to go offline for a moment. Though, internal sensors alert him that it was far longer than simply 'a moment'. He mutters softly and settles his focus on the engine packs being drawn from their crates. "Hmm, those will suffice. I see they've not even had their breakin-hours... wonderful. Plenty of time to catch up on that, however."
The condor shifts on the table, cringing at the sound of protest from a few servos as another self-diagnostic is run. "Still a work in progress, I see."
The four armed unicronian eyes the damaged tape with an experienced gaze, "You're making speedy recovery even so, considering how badly you were damaged.." he comments in an approving tone. "Just don't force those servos before they have time to be properly integrated into your lubrication systems and receive good energon flows..you can cause damage and end up right back where you are now. Neither of us wants that.." he says as he finishes the connections.
"Please ignite your left engine at only one-tenth percent thrust.." he says as three hands close around the engine..just in case. "Just for a moment, then cut it. I simply need to test the feeds are working.."
Rumble suddenly sits up, rubbing the back of his head and looking around in bewilderment for a brief moment, before the events of the previous cycle come rushing back to his memory. Then, he just watches Airlift as he works on getting Buzzsaw operational again.
Buzzsaw understands the request, and understands the concept of bedrest, but that doesn't mean he's got to be happy with it. The condor just settles on the bed and takes in a slow breath, carefully checking the connections in the harness before sending the commands to the engine itself. "Mind, I need to get some of the sequences calibrated before hand, expect a lot of idling and motoring until the command systems and protocols recognize and talk with one another." Once the systems appear to be functioning (because, yes, he is a stickler for preflight and proper checks before operations), the condor sets throttles to zero and ten-percent accordingly, firing up the engine.
The spare hands brace the thrust of the engine, "Enough.." he says quickly, and nods to himself. Once the engine is off it's time for the other engine. It gets almost precisely the same treatment as the first, held in place with upper hands while lower hands work the connections. He then deploys a stabilizer railing from the medical bed itself. The magnagrapples are placed against the engine, a careful shielding field put up so that the tape isn't demagnetized in the process. "Now..this should withstand full thrust, but don't risk it..keep it under a thirty percent output mark.." he says as he checks the fuel feeds. "Otherwise, you may initiate whatever calibrations you need to while I continue the work. Backbone, the cart please.." he calls out.
Backbone pushes over the surgical cart and pulls the cover back off of it, and it's obvious medical staff hasn't been idle. Indeed, laid out in careful array are an entire armor re-fit for Buzzsaw, completely fabricated while the Intel Commander was in his rest cycle. They're even colored already. One of Airlift's hands lifts up a piece and he starts the slow process of reskinning the plucked bird.
Arachnae pads into the workshop-aka medical, wings akimbo, a materials crate in tow on a hover pad. She directs the device to slid the crate against a wall, skirting any actual interactions ongoing.
"The engines are new and I would not dream of going above eighty. Not yet, at least." He runs a full check of the new engine, carefully partnering it up with the other to match throttles. Engine one, having already run, goes up first, jumpering into the second as he starts to throttle up to match.
"Everything appears nominal. Minimal vibrations in the engine mounts, and degradation of command inputs is less than point-zero-zero-one...." He nods, cutting power and powering the sled down, looking towards Rumble to give his Brother a nod in acknowledgement.
A distraction, just a moment, as Arachnae enters. It's enough that Airlift actually looks up towards her and frowns just slightly..though almost immediately the expression is gone. He adopts an intentionally light tone as he looks back down, though when he speaks he addresses her. "Ah, Arachnae. Excellent, I'm glad that you've arrived back safely from Trypticon.." he says in an approving tone. "I'm going to require your assistance before too long I imagine, and it's important that you be at full operational status to assist with the recovery and restructuring of the Logistics division."
He's as subtle about his intentions as ever it seems. He'd noted of course that his 'active' status was reinstated with some rank restored, but the idea of a Combaticon in command of the medical bays simply seems something he can't tolerate. He re-assembles Buzzsaw's armor onto him, before stopping at a piece that is for some reason painted red and black.. "Ah..Suture..I believe you've made a mistake here..this one needs to be corrected.." he says as he passes it to the gumby medic behind Buzzsaw's back where hopefully he won't see the mistake.
Rumble nods in return, feeling a little less angry. The anger factor's been turned down a few notches for a couple of reasons: they'll need to avoid infighting in order to figure out how to get Trypticon back, Buzzsaw is in very capable hands, and Soundwave is recovering. So for now, he just sits there in quiet contemplation. With any luck, Frenzy won't show up and ruin everything, because Rumble is (relatively) manageable without Frenzy around, but when the two of them get together, all bets are off.
Arachnae glances over her shoulder as she is addressed. A brow lifts over a golden optic then she turns to direct the hover pad to park itself in a nook. Wings shifting.. and getting an irritated swipe of a taloned hand to shove one back behind her she replies, "The trip was.. interesting." she concedes, padding to a console to pull up the roster. "I'm fully capable of performing tasks of a medical nature and would be pleased to perform that function."
Optics focus on Buzzsaw a moment, studying how he handles the engines before flicking attention back to Airlift. "The loss of such trained technicians is going to cause issues with scheduling once the status quo is returned."
Buzzsaw blinks at mention of a mistake, his optics scouring for said error... when he can't see ahead of him, he turns the task over to his cameras, that telltale scout of a lens coming up from his head to scan around him. "I do not look kindly on mistakes or errors when my own well-being in flight is a consideration, or at risk." Fortunately, he misses the error and things go about as smoothly as could be expected as he settles himself down on the medbay bench. "The loss of technicians merely means we need to dredge up reserves, which we have in plentiful supply from various areas where propaganda is successful. Skills can be taught. Incompetence, however, is the largest concern here. Someone failed miserably, and I intend to find out who it was once we have addressed the larger problem."
"C'mon, Buzz, save your pissin' vinegar for that guy back there," Rumble says, pointing his thumb back toward the captive meatsack.
"Ah. I'm certain you are fully capable of functioning as a medical operative Arachnae," he assures, "even so though I noticed that it has been more than twice as many cycles as recommended since your last scheduled maintenance. As such, and considering I am currently your most immediate superior, I feel it is my duty to see to it you are properly maintained before clearing you for duty. Please..lie down on table four and begin a level six diagnostic on yourself.." he says politely to her. He'd already prepped the table for the eventuality, programming it to perform a full memory core diagnostic as part of any level five or higher diagnostic test.
To Buzzsaw he replies, "It was nothing operationally imperative..simply..cosmetics." he explains politely, though elaborates no more at all. Likely the condor will just download the security feeds later anyway if he isn't already. Oh well, medics die cheap apparently. "As to bringing up reserves, unfortunately this is not like the military divisions Buzzsaw. Even if we were to graduate student medics early, it would not suddenly grant them the seasoning to deal with a situation the likes of which we are facing. Furthermore, other divisions have been poaching medical operatives who have any military skill with alarming success in the absence of cohesive leadership of the division. Our numbers are at an all time low with few replacements likely. I've drawn up a list.." he says and hands it over, basically of all the Decepticons who have medical, scientific or engineering specialties but are currently not in the division. It's extensive and audacious.
Arachnae lifts a brow, peering at Buzzsaw, before attention goes back to the roster. She does speak though, idly, thoughtfully. "Yes, skills /can/ be taught but until they are up to par, would you like a conscripted med-tech welding your fuel lines after a handful of vid-trainings and some cadaver work? Of course, we could simply hand out med-tech designations to anyone who's handy with tape and medfoam and all go on *merrily*." Tone melodious and smooth, "That's certainly the way to go, dredge up drudges. After all, medtechs are so deliciously, wonderfully -expendable-, aren't we? So wonderful to be reminded of such. I thank you Buzzsaw for those ever so genteel words." Wings gone flat against her back as she speaks.
Those appendages then fan out and shift panels against panels in an irritated rasping sound. "Nope." In reply to Airlift.
Buzzsaw has left.
Buzzsaw heads back to OOC-Land.
One last weld and all but that final piece of armor that is being hastily repainted is on Buzzsaw, leaving Airlift free to turn towards Arachnae. "That almost sounded like the Arachnae I remember so well.." he approves, stalking over towards the other medic and looking at her. "However, there are many other discrepencies that give me cause for concern that a longtime ally and comrade is in need of urgent and extensive medical assistance. For one thing, turning to me and asking 'do I know you'.." he says as he points to the table.
"Please do not make me do something we will both be sorrowful for Arachnae. Get on the table for a diagnostic scan.." he instructs in a surprisingly sane and gentle tone. Of course, he's also between her and the exit when he says it, though not in a menacing fashion. "We've worked together far too long for any argument.."
"Yeah, I don't wanna hear no bitchin' in here," Rumble adds. Who asked *him*?
Arachnae slowly, ever so slowly, turns around to peer at Airlift, a single brow lifted, lips schooled into a tiny, disapproving frown. "Yes, there are discrepancies. Yes, it's logged as a wait and see situation." She fans wings out then back in again in a deliberate fashion. "I do *not* know you and you are not a designation I've run across in my note to myself. Granted, the note was short."
Head tilting, frown slipping into a faint smile. "Please do not do anything that either of us will be sorrowful for. This.." she taps her helm, "Is a deliberate action on my part. Why, I don't know, but I left myself a note."
Blast Off walks into the room, having gone through the Decontamination Chamber earlier, right after transporting a lot of injured Decepticons from the suddenly mobile Trypticon. He's clean again, which puts him in a (mildly) better mood, and getting ready to go looking for the errant city. But as CO of Aerospace (not to mention a glass cannon himself), he needs to know the status of the medical team and medical supplies. He stops as he spies Arachnae. Hmmm, interesting... he hasn't seen her much- and she seems to have some knowledge of the Combaticons... maybe even something regarding the hated Loyalty Program that is stuck inside his head now. He also notes the others present, nodding to anyone who looks at him.
"Airlift. You seem to be doing quite a bit for a mere "civilian". He says...slightly sardonically. "No matter. Since you seem to be taking charge anyway, I shall ask you, what is the state of the medical team? Are they ready for the military manuevers we have planned?"
Well, all things considered, that actually doesn't sound unreasonable. He's known Arachnae long enough to really not be all that surprised by the proposition that she'd perform brain surgery on herself to remove certain unwanted or inconvenient records from her databanks. Or at least to lock them away. "Be that as it may, the fact remains that it is impairing you.. You should know me Arachnae, well enough to take action when I tell you to rather than stopping to ask questions and look for justification. The fact that you inadvertently damaged such important knowledges as who to trust is cause enough for medical attention."
"Besides, how can you be certain without those memories intact that the note is indeed from yourself? You don't remember writing it likely after all. Let's see it then.." he steps closer towards her and reaches out with a hand as though expecting something to be handed over to him. "You've been taking orders from Swindle willingly Arachnae..you know better than that sort of madness!" he says in a despairing tone. He doesn't even glance back at the 'civilian' comment, assuming that as is often the case Aerospace is simply slow to read interdepartmental memo's.
Arachnae snorts, optics flickering, gaining a bit of green in the gold depths. "I am not impaired by any means. I have knowledge but I don't recollect how I got it. Nor do I recollect personages or how in the slagging pits I got *wings* of all things." Tone slashingly raspy. "And no, I haven't been taking orders from Swindle of all mechs. Don't get me wrong, he has.. had.. slaggit." She puts a hand to her head, hissing softly, "Don't frak with my defrag, Airlift."
Wings span out and glitter faintly which elicits an irritated swatting as she pushes them closed. "Soemthing had to have happened, paradigm shift or damage to cause me to force a full memory defragmentation. I woke up before it finished. That. is all. The only way to fix this is if I went back into stasis or.. you leave me the slag along and let me go through this the long way." She hisses softly, green bleeding back into gold in her optics, head turning to give Blast Off a polite inclination of her head. "Touch me and we're going to have a big problem."
Arachnae
A deep indigo with even darker undertones here and there, this mechanism moves with a quietly predatory style, the perception of a coiled violence just beneath the surface tempered with the almost skittish way she holds herself. Highlights of lighter flashes of blue shimmer on angles and edges with any movement. Vents on her chest are housed underneath the curved yet split pieces of the nose of her alt self, peeking out at the center. Other overlaping pieces broaded the apperance of her shoulders, fin-vanes giving the shoulder guards a high arch. The visor that covers her optics seems transparent at first, then at a movement, it shimmers with a rainbow of colors, light playing across its surface like faeries dancing in the breeze. From beneath it, emerald green optics stare out, quizzical, curious, cautious witha byplay of wary distance playing in the background. Below her visor, as delicatly etched as a fine crystal carving sits a pert nose and a set of full lips, curved into a smirk. From her shoulders to the tips of her feet, she is as gently curved as a mechanoid can be, panels overlinking other panels to lend the promose of grace and range of motion. On her back springs a set of carefully articulated, lightly armored panels that curve slightly and hint at another form. And strike square in the middle of her chest, etched in a relief pattern but with no additional shading is the Decepticon emblem, a quiet proclamation of loyalty.
Blast Off 's optics narrow at the snide comment on Swindle. Ok, so... the comment's probably not completely unwarranted, but Swindle IS a Combaticon. And that's the second time Airlift's made a snide comment about his teammate. "I asked you a question, Airlift, and I would like a reply. I'll ask you *another* question, too, while I am at it. Do you have an *issue* with my teammate? He may be rather... unorthodox... but he tends to get the job done." He nods politely back to Arachnae. "How are you? Have you remembered any more significant details since I last spoke to you?"
"Come off it Arachnae, if you actually had your memories you'd know that you never could take me in a fight..even after my dear 'cousins' helped.." he says with a shake of his head. He stalks away for a moment, shaking his head, "initiating a full defragmentation without properly accounting for needed time. What in the cosmos were you thinking Arachnae!?" he demands in a frustrated tone. He looks over at Blast Off, "personally, no, I love the sense of joyful chaos he brings by selling anything and everything that isn't nailed down, including other citizens of the Empire or their internal mechanisms, to the highest bidder. But he's in the wrong fragging division, get him back in Military where he doesn't have access to vital medical equipment that sells for such high prices on the black markets. As to your question, since I'm not a civilian, it was irrelevant.." He then turns and glares at Arachnae, "I want to see that note at the least, and you WILL be scanned for damages and properly monitored as you go the long way to reassembling your memory banks Arachnae. That's the best offer you're getting. You won't like your other option..so what's it going to be..I monitor your recovery but let you do it yourself, or plan b.." He's tensed up as if expecting to have to move quickly..and very unhappy about the fact.
As the conversation continues, Rumble listens for a little while, then gets restless and jumps down off the medtable. He disappears from view, and then eventually arrives at Soundwaves intensive-care medtable. One of the medical attendants tells Rumble to get away from the patient, but Rumble tells off the attendant with a few choice words, then sits up on the medtable beside Soundwave. And that's all he does; he just sits there.
Arachnae's frown slides into a bit of a warmer smile as Blast Off asks after her mental well being. "Bits. I'm past the academy now and well into my stints in the labs. A bit odd as oft there are two sets of reactions vying for emoting. I was /quite/ the craven at one point in my life. Oddly." She gives a shrug, "Some of the memories are not at all pleasant but necessary to recover, I am.. or was.." optics beginning to slit, "Feeling much more stable." She spins, optics narrowing to slits, black motes now dancing to obscure the color of the lenses.
Her tone slides sweet, gentle, a velvety alto, silk over steel. "Airlift, dear, Airlift." Her entire demeanor shifts, wings tipping up, partially fanning out in a predatory fashion. Talons extend, the taint of ozone beginning to waft from her. "I have been scanned, poked and prodded." Tone conversational despite the posturing. "What was I thinking? I was thinking to maintain stability!" Voice rising, echoed pain leeching into the tone, "I /was/ a medic, a scientist, a researcher, a defender of -life-. One does not undergo so many core paradigm changes in so short of a time without consequences." Velvet tone giving way to a rasped snarl, "Back.. Off." She seethes, "How -dare- you question what I was/am thinking." Tone flattening back to the softer tones as easily as one turning a light on, "I know what I am doing. This *isn't* my first defrag rodeo."
Blast Off glares at Airlift's response, but... he can't really argue with it unfortunately. After all, he knows all about how Swindle will sell off people as spare parts... especially since Swindle once did that to him and the rest of the team. He huffs slightly and glances away. "Very well, I will look into it. Just remember he outranks you. I expect you to speak to- or of- your superior officers with some respect." Blast Off, and most of the Combaticons, will be the first to snark at, insult, and argue with each other- but if an outsider dare do the same, watch out.
He nods again to Arachnae. "Very good. When you feel ready to begin exploring areas from your past, such as where you seem to have been lying dormant for so long, let me know so that we may continue your recovery. There are some things I would like to know." He watches as she gets more agitated at Airlift, finally commenting to him, "You are still technically a civilian, correct? Until you have higher authorization- like becoming Head Medic here- I do not see that you have the authority to force her to do anything."
Airlift would, if he were human, be shaking by now with the effort of restraint. He's been alone so long out there in the dark of space, that the face that could remain so expressionless once before betrays his concern for Arachnae..and the absolute misery he appears to be in. His frustration at being so....helpless. He had very few friends in those dark days after Unicron..before he regained trust from his fellows..so few he could count them on one taloned hand, leaving him with an overabundance of spare counting units to remind him.
He just seethes as well, stalking silently over to the computer and hooking into it..downloading some of his own memories..before, during and after the Unicron Returns incident..onto a memory crystal. Stalking towards the door he yells out, "Backbone, notify me of any change in Soundwave's status immediately.." He doesn't even look towards Arachnae as he throws the crystalline data storage towards her on his way out the door, shoving past anyone who might still be lurking in the doorway. Outside..he goes hunting for things..or mechs..to rend into scrap.
Arachnae's wings drop behind her, optics flickering, brows knitting together. A hand goes to her helm, confusion reigning a moment before, "Patience." She offers as a single word to Airlift as he stalks out. Blinking, she recovered from the moment, optics brightening back to gilded green, "Thank you for your offer Blast Off. I've explored my lair, so to speak. Nothing much there but a stasis chamber now. I pulled what I could and brought here." Optics tracking Airlifts departure, a chuff-sigh coming from intakes, "Oddly, that moment.. helped." She snatches the crystal out of the air, "Mayhaps more debates on my questionable actions in self diagnosis. Not something that is suggested but. I am a bio-neural genius after all."
Blast Off watches as Airlift suddenly stomps out of the medic bay. "Are you ignoring me?" Yep. The Combaticon bristles at that- and makes a note that he *doesn't* want this guy in charge here. Not that he ever seems to actually GET what he wants. *sigh* He looks around... Airlift never did tell him the state of the medical team ...and with the confusion there haven't been any posts yet saying one thing or another. And here he is, with several large military campaigns coming up and no clear idea on who's going to see after medical supplies and repairs. He shakes his head, "I tell you, being a CO is not worth the aggravation some days..." Actually, it's rarelly worth the aggravation- and he didn't exactly volunteer for it, either. Oh well.
He looks back to Nae. "I see. It is good you returned then. I suggest self-reflection would be a recommended course of action. Find someplace quiet and review and reflect. Get back to me when you come to new insights." He turns to grab and talk to Backbone instead, still seeking that info, but then stops to look at Arachnae again. "And at some point... speaking of being bio-neural genius, I have some questions for you. ...At some point."
Arachnae snorts softly, padding back towards the roster, "At some point I may be able to answer your questions. Recollection and reintegration is going much faster than anticipated. I am.. pleased I believe with my return and a bit miffed that the ejection was triggered several months early. At least knowledge and training was defrayed already, only interpersonal relationships and social bits are left. I can only imagine if I'd been ejected before skill set integration had finished." She pokes at the roster and sign-vents. "Being an XO is no picnic either." Pause, blink, "Wow, I was an XO and remember being torqued off about the promotion."
Blast Off nods. "Very good. Yes, I know how disquieting it can be to have carefully laid plans and schedules thrown off by the chaos of the world. I like things neat and orderly... and rarely seem to get that. But it is the way of the world, I suppose... and one must plan to have one's plans disrupted sometimes. Onslaught is quite good at that, and I attempt to learn from him." IT's rare for Blast Off to admit learning from anyone, but he does really seem to admire the Combaticon leader's intelligence.
He glances to her and sniffs. "Well, having professional skills is the most important thing, anyway. Interpersonal relationships- dealing with people at all, really- is overated. It only gets in the way." The standoffish- and yet somehow always lonely, go figure... Combaticon nods to her politely, then walks away.
Arachnae offers a smile to Blast Off, "I do prefer order myself." She sits and pulls the roster up, making notations on the areas where the dead were to cover on Cybertron as openings, "Dealing with people is part of professionalism, Blast Off. If there were no others, there would be no need for professionals, now would there?"
Blast Off falters a moment, looks back and blinks at her. That's... not something he'd ever considered. He spends his time trying to convince himself he doesn't really need anyone, and isn't really lonely, after all. To make himself feel better for not actually HAVING any interpersonal relationship skills to speak of. "Uh... I suppose?" He says, still not sure about that.