| abstract
| - Arachnae strides out of the Communications Center, the heart as it were of this particular base establishment for the moment. Wings flick and shift behind her, footfalls nominally taking her towards the medical facility. Under an arm is a small field medical kit and just behind her is something… skittering, remaining just on her heels as she walks. She seems mostly oblivious to the tag-a-long whatnot. Fleet, still new enough that he's learning his way around, looks up as Arachnae enters the room and steps to the side of the hallway. Ariadnae Drone skitters behind Arachnae. Fleet gives the drone a curious look. Mixmaster too, is making his way down the hallway. Though for some reason, he's hugging one side of the wall. Every so often, he knock-knocks on the wall. It always makes the same dull thud. He sidles along, knock-knocking once more. Huh. Wonder what he's up to? Fleet gives Mixmaster a *really* curious look. "Sir? Is something wrong?" Arachnae pauses mid-stride, head turning to peer about before skimming over Fleet… resting on Mixmaster, frowning, glancing back at Fleet, then to Mixmaster. Frown crosses her features, "Mixmaster? I didn't know you were here…" Mixmaster, the 'creative' Constructicon, looks up, obviously disappointed from the latest dull thud on the wall. "It's around here somewhere!" he says, before continuing to walk along the wall again. Then Arachnae speaks up. Eeeek! "Yes… Scavenger said he found something /really really really/ crucial up here but didn't get the chance to pick it up, and I lucked out. Just before the slagging place was sealed up, too!" Mixy hands Arachnae most of a rusted-out sonic screwdriver. "And that's the crucial matter… in case you were wondering." If Nae doesn't take it, he drops it on the floor, and continues to knock-knock. Fleet makes a noise like static clearing from a speaker, an electronic clearing of his throat. "Uhm, sir, is there anyway I can help?" Arachnae blinks and headtilts, tucking wings in neatly behind her. "What's around here?" she asks… and takes a step back, not taking the offered tool. Attention slides to Fleet… and her optics flash briefly, "I don't think I know you…" Fleet stiffens slightly. "Newly assigned, Commander. My name is Fleet." Airwolf enters from the Communications Center to the east. Mixmaster points to the opposite side of the wall, and then looks at Fleet. "Fleet, eh? Well, if you want to help, try knocking over there. You'll know what it is when you find it." Is he being secretive? Not really, Mixy is just not really getting around to explaining it. He's CrAZy, don't you know. Fleet nods, although he seems to be waiting to be dismissed by Arachnae first. Arachnae seems to take several moments of time in studying Fleet, as if committing details to memory, such as design, colour, name, height and model series variant. "Welcome to Charr then, Fleet." Faint smile, "If I may suggest, update yourself on regulations involving quarantine procedures. As we are under such things." She shrugs, smiles again, still faint then stares at Mixmaster, "What… exactly… are you knocking on the walls looking for, Mixmaster?" Fleet nods, and doesn't bother to mention that he has been. Wouldn't do to seem too eager. He picks up the dropped tool to return to Mixmaster later and goes to the opposite wall, where he begins knocking, although the expression on his face indicates that he's clearly confused by what he's doing. Airwolf emerges from the Comm Center, where she'd been testing and retesting the new sensors. No, she doesn't expect to find any problems, but things have gotten pretty critical in the past week. Arachnae, she expects to see, but not Mixmaster and this unknown Seeker. Hmmm. Strange colouration. She inclines her head politely to the group and wonders if the spacebridge has been unlocked. Considering Arachnae's... precautions as regards the spacebridge, she would expect a lot of fireworks to accompany anyone arriving unannounced. Dong-dong. Dong-Dong. Dong-Dong. DING-DING. Mixmaster checks the wall again. DING-DING. His face lights up, and he opens a secret compartment. A generic brass trumpet, with the large number 32 engraved on it. Ahh, Secret Emergency Constructicon Trumpet number 23. Never the day come that Constructicon serving in the Empire should go by without a trumpet if needed! Mixy takes out the Trumpet, examining it. "It'll do." he finally says. Fleet stops knocking on the wall as his expression goes from confused to downright baffled. Still, his uncertainty is only hinted at in his voice. "Oh. Uhm, sir, would you like your screwdriver back?" Ariadnae Drone remains behind Arachnae, crouched. Arachnae sidesteps, giving Airwolf a polite nod of greeting before she catches a glimpse of bronze… "Oh no…" softly murmured, "Mixmaster, really. We don't need one of those right now." She adjusts the carry-case from under one arm to the other. "Greetings, Airwolf, how are you?" Fleet gets another thoughtful lookover. Airwolf feels a strange urge to blast the trumpet to shrapnel, but that's not her normal temperament, and she suppresses it. Hate plague, perhaps? No, just an impulse from another universe briefly interfering with her thought processes. "Greetings, ma'am. No change in status, either of myself or Charr." She eyes Mixmaster with little pleasure. He's like having a Junkion in the base. A good excuse to stay away from DHQ as much as possible, now made impossible by the lockdown. Thank you so very much, Disposal. Fleet shifts a little at the frequent, thoughtful looks, then he realizes what he’s doing and stops. Airwolf erks as alarms are suddenly set off, and she darts for the comm center. "Potential incoming on the spacebridge?!" Arachnae's wings snap outwards as she turns and rushes after Airwolf. "Get to a ready station." Ariadnae Drone leaves to the Communications Center to the east. Fleet opens his eyes wide. He had been keeping up with the situation, and didn't like the sound of that. Mixmaster leaves to the Communications Center to the east. You move east to the Communications Center... Airwolf peers at the displays, then shakes her head. "Request for spacebridge transport... The lock is holding unless we release it." Fleet follows the others in, still holding the rusty sonic-screwdriver. Mixmaster was about to totally defend having the trumpet… when something happens! "Oh for the love of…" He says, tucking the trumpet under his arm. "Is it Galvatron? Where's it from?" Arachnae skids slightly as she enters the Comm center, looking to Airwolf for confirmation, "Source of origin and have we have anyone attempt to give us a preliminary warning of such an attempt?" She slides into a seat, toggling a connect to the defense perimeter and sensors. Ariadnae Drone ducks under Arachnae's chair. Airwolf notes wryly, "The alarms going off were our preliminary warning." She returns to the readouts and studies them. "High level clearance request... Not Lord Galvatron this time. It's Commander Cyclonus' code." Arachnae headtilts… frowns... "Can we see which bridge he's trying to enter from?" Wings rustle behind her, panels crackling softly, "Primus damn them all, we haven't even had time to come up with how to scan for this nonsense. Airwolf, can you contact the commander and inquire as to his intentions and point of origin?" She turns, "Mixmaster, you *can* operate remote maintenance drones, yes?" Pause, "And… Fleet…" Blink… she needs to learn more about this one. "Arm yourself." Airwolf sends a long-range radio transmission to Cyclonus. Mixmaster ulps. "Um… and is he in the clear? I have enough restraining compound to hold back someone if we need to…" He doesn't wait for a response. He places his trumpet in the communications room (And it better be there when he gets back, slag it!) and draws out his gun, while the nozzle accessing his chemical tank slide-clicks into place. Fleet nods obediently, although with his shoulder-mounted weapons, there's nothing to pull out. That doesn't really prove anything… Airwolf shrugs and turns to Arachnae. "The Commander verifies, says he is coming from New Crystal City. Last I heard, he *was* there, and unless it's been breeched in the last cycle or so, it *should* be genuine. Shall I inform the Commander that he will have to undergo… security restraints for a short time?" Arachnae makes a face, then raises a brow, "If you would inform the Commander that while yes, we would be elated and honored to have a visitation from his esteemed personage, that due to the ongoing uncertainties with this particular infection and meaning no disrespect of course, that should he order us to allow his transport from New Crystal City, through the main transmitters at IHQ and then onwards to here, he will be subject to a full containment procedure for an undeterminate amount of time or until we can firmly establish that he is in fact clear of contagion." Airwolf sends a long-range radio transmission to Cyclonus. Mixmaster's optics blink for a while as he processes Arachnae's statement. Wow, she diplomacy-talks good. But still… "You DO know that he's not going to agree with that, don't you?" Mixy just hopes that he's not the one who ends up getting hurt. Airwolf relays simply, "He concurs with the security measures." Arachnae peers at Mixmaster and smiles a not-smile. "He doesn't agree with it, we don't open the spacebridge. Galvatron has agreed to be subject to containment should he choose to come here, why should anyone else not be subject to the same?" She stands, flexing fingers absently, "See?" Smile warms slightly, "But stay armed and lockdown the base until he has been cleared." Fleet walks over to set the screwdriver down next to the trumpet, and nods, moving back a bit and trying to be part of the background. A little tricky, since he's pastel yellow, but he seems fairly practiced at it. Airwolf doesn't seem as nervous about this as most. "Shall I instruct him to transport now, ma'am?" Arachnae nods, "Have him transport and I'll activate the fields." Airwolf sends a long-range radio transmission. "If this is a visit from an uninfected…" Mixmaster asks curiously, and not really hiding his nervousness, "… why are we only hearing about it as he arrives?" Arachnae smirks, "Because we're under a lockdown, Mixmaster. We can't use most of the communications as the chance of breech is high." Fleet, who had actually been wondering about the same thing, nodded, even though the comment wasn't directed at him. He's working hard to contain his own nervousness. Arachnae gives watch over the… well if anyone really looked at it, the kitbashed together defense field set up at the Spacebridge. "He's in and clear. Bridge is locked back down. Now we wait and observe for signs of infection." She settles back in a seat, turning to look at the ceiling for a moment before back about, "So… Fleet…" Smile "What is your particular field of specialty?" Curious tone to her voice. Airwolf would like notification of all arrivals, too, by whatever methodology works. An unexpected arrival is *exactly* how an Infected would come here. Now they can wait and wonder. "Might keep an optic on the orbital sensor, just in case this is a distraction for another method of approach." She does just that, leaving the inspection of the victim to Arachnae. Fleet seems surprised to have been addressed. "I'm… just a Seeker, commander. Aerial warfare." Arachnae ohs… and smiles at Fleet, "It's just Arachnae, unless there's someone of higher rank about, then you can use the formalities." Amusement lends her features lightness. "Or if you've done something terminally stupid." Mixmaster lowers his gun slowly… the danger has passed in the immediate future, at least. He eyes his trumpet, which somehow seems to have been joined by that rusty sonic screwdriver again. He picks it up, and throws it on the ground. "Nothing wrong with being 'just a seeker.'" Mixy absently states to the room. "At least you're never going to have a problem finding parts." Fleet shakes his head. "In my experience, doing something terminally stupid can be pretty terminal, so I try to avoid it. But, erm... which ever you prefer," he hesitates a moment, "Arachnae." That sounds remarkably like good sense, at least to Airwolf. She doesn't glance away from her monitor, but she nods, even if no one can see. No incoming, thankfully. Now all they have to do is wait to release Cyclonus. Arachnae chuckles, nodding to Mixmaster, "If it's one thing we know, it's seeker design and maintenance, right Mixmaster?" Wings shift in absent patterns. "Oh, I don't really mind being one of so many, when it comes to that," Flee remarks calmly, eyeing the screwdriver and wondering if he should perhaps dispose of it at a more opportune moment. "I like being easy to fix." Mixmaster snorts. "Inside and out. A little too much, really." He pauses for a moment, then makes another thought. "And the Sweeps are also pretty convenient that way. All the same basic parts.. thought they are sometimes grumpier than the Seekers." Mixy looks at Arachnae, casually adding. "No offense." Arachnae hnns, "Being easy to fix is a good thing really." Sideways look at Mixmaster, faint, wry smirk crossing her face, "More seekers than sweeps. Far easier to manufacture replacement parts for Seekers." She shrugs, "Ornery, vicious, and yes, grumpier. I'm not offended." Airwolf watches the sensors for a while longer, then lets them return to auto-monitoring. At least so far, there's been no security breaches. What's this? Idle conversation? Are there any officers about to slap them down for loafing? Yes, but Arachnae's not the sort to do such a thing. While Airwolf hasn't much to offer on the topic of Seeker parts, she still listens. Boredom, maybe. "Well.. good.." Mixy says, somewhat relieved to hear Nae isn't offended. "Because it is the truth." Considering that things might be /very/ tense in the next few moments, Mixy is relishing this chance to soothe edgy nerves. "Shame that the same can't be said about lime green paint. You'd think that we'd keep that in droves, wouldn't you?" Fleet forces back a smile. Being pastel yellow, he was in a position to commiserate on that account. No no no. Mixy's talking about AWESOME paint colours. Arachnae taps on a console.. and pulls up a materials inventory.. outdated, but it's at least a list. "Hmm. Not much lime green stored here on Charr. Hope you brought your own." Merriment, a jesting tone. "It's the truth, Mixmaster. I rarely get offended by the truth." Wings flex and half span outwards, "Actually, not much in paint storage at all, last inventory report. Which means.. the colour palette is rather limited." Airwolf shudders involuntarily at the mention of lime green paint. Along with Rodimus' red, orange, and yellow, it tops her list of paint disasters. Though... to give the Devils their due, lime green is excellent for visibility when marking which direction to go in the underground cavern system. "So I may eventually have to go grey?" Fleet asked curiously, although his tone doesn't indicate that this bothers him particularly. Arachnae looks at Fleet, looks back at the old inventory list, "Hmm.. Grey, mauve, chartreuse, pink.." pause.. "Pink? Why the.. I don’t know why we have pink.. unless.." taptaptap.. "Oh.. Never mind." Airwolf offers helpfully, "Cyclonus." Mixmaster humfs. He was painted Red, yellow and orange too. And Scrapper was painted Elita-One-pink too. Trust me, Green is the better option. "NO Pink." He says. "NO. PINK. Primer will do. I'll even be painted Predacon colours again! But NO. PINK." Fleet looks faintly surprised at Mixmaster's vehemence. "Actually, I used to work with a fellow who made a hobby of... repainting our third. It was some sort of strange contest. I think, if the third one ever showed any annoyance at how he'd been painted, he'd lose, or something like that. So we tended to have a fairly extensive collection of paints around." Arachnae shakes her head, glances over at Airwolf, fans a wing out and flashes her talons with a grin. While hers are a simple silvered-dull metal… Others… are not. Airwolf observes, "There isn't much call for paint here. This isn't a vacation spot, it's a punishment station... at least normally." Though being trapped in DHQ is getting more and more boring. She idly wonders why she isn't as nervous of the plague as everyone else. Surely she's not *that* bored. "Most of what's here is just primer covered by an insulating coat of thin rubber. That's all you really need, unless you're assigned to Dayside." Fleet nods. "I see." Arachnae mantles wings, looks off for a moment, "Point…" She moves to stand, the drone-thing skittering out from under her seat, "And as reminded…" Pause… and she looks at the floor… taps a tone on it… crouches… pokes at it with a talon.. "Hrrrrrn…" Mixmaster is shooting the breeze with Arachnae and Fleet, while Airwolf silently listens. They are relieving some tension while Cyclonus's arrival is being subjected to a screening process. It's still kind of tense, and many are still holding weapons of some sort. Secret Emergency Constructicon Trumpet number 32 is lying on a nearby bench (Never shall the day come that Constructicon serving in the Empire should go by without a trumpet if needed!) and is thankfully not being used. The current topic is paint, with Mixmaster vehemently stating he doesn't want to be painted pink. Arachnae is crouched down and expressing rather alarming interest in the floor covering, probing at it with a talon. Fleet looks curiously at the area that's drawing so much interest from Arachnae. Hook saunters in, humming a jaunty and intensely irritating tune as he scans his datapad, a small energon cube in his other hand. "Hmm," he remarks. "Tricky." He stops, looking up at the others as if noticing them for the first time, before approaching. "Well?" he asks, apropos of nothing. Arachnae looks up from the floor, "Airwolf… where do we keep the latex covering liquid for the floor sheathing and how much, if you know, do we keep on hand at a time?" Optics glittering brightly. Airwolf gives Arachnae a curious look. "In Repair Bay, ma'am. We use a similar coating for insulation from the cold as well, so there should be a sizable stock. If not, the chemicals are present on Charr for making more." Mixmaster would helpfully offer to synthesize the floor latex liquid, but he's busy arguing with his brother now! "Shut up Hook!" He blurts out as he turns to face the other Constructicon, before quickly saying "Sorry, natural reflex. Well what?" Fleet seems slightly startled. Although he's used to dealing with eccentric transformers, he's having to get used to a whole new collection of eccentricities. Arachnae extends a talon careful not to puncture the coating… and applies a light *ZOT* of electricity. She watches as the material effectively grounds out the charge. "Possibilities… Hrnn… Joints… mobility limited factors, venting ports, jets… Have to have test subject… have to have someone with basic frame layout. This would be so much easier if I were on Cybertron… Could remote a drone, coat it… and test but… sentience… Wonder if that's a factor." Someone’s having a think out loud about science theories moment and has gone into researcher land. "Well, dear brother," Hook replies, glancing at Arachnae, Flint, the floor that seems so interesting, then turning back to Mixmaster, "…has there been any new information on this plague? I can't extrapolate anything on /this/ flimsy data set." Airwolf shrugs. "There was a motion to send Fulcrum to Cybertron to contact DepthCharge, who is also there and claiming to be uninfected. If those two can work together, that 1) proves that they're not infected, and 2) has potential for capturing an Infected for testing purposes." Fleet backs away very quietly as Arachnae speaks out loud. Much of what she says makes little sense, but "test subject," "sentience," and "basic frame layout," add up to a number he very much doesn't like. Arachnae *zots* the floor again, breaking out of that mumble and peering up.. blink.. "Well well, Hook." Smile, crooked, wry and amused before she stands, the drone-thing skittering to stay behind her. "Greetings." Pause as she sorts thoughts, gives Fleet a rather… lengthy, thoughtful visual inspection before eying Airwolf. "Should send the chemical compound recipe for the flooring sheathing to Fulcrum if he does do through the plan. Perhaps a coating of this nature could aid in defending against infection. Granted, it depends on what… exactly is being transmitted. Coat some turborats and let them loose with tracking devices could work as well." She shrugs, "But all in all, a live test subject works far better. Volunteers even more so." Mixmaster is going to not bicker with Hook for a while, just to see what it feels like. And all this talk about volunteers… is unnerving. Better go make himself useful. "If you'd like, Arachnae, I could probably synthesize some of this with my existing chemical reserves." …so he doesn't have to be 'volunteered'. Hurray. Hook hmphs. "Fine, no-one answer my question." He nods curtly. "Nae," he replies in response to her greeting, "Airwolf, and uh…" he looks blankly at Fleet, "…Seeker. Am I right in surmising that you intend to manufacture some sort of plague-resistant coating?" Airwolf inquires, "Just what is required of the volunteer, ma'am? No one from here, I wouldn't think, because of security issues. Charr is forgotten, and I'd like it to stay that way." Fleet sees Arachnae's inspection, hears the word "volunteer," and, as soon as Arachnae looks back at Airwolf, makes a couple of more steps back as though that would help to make him more invisible. He's obviously relieved when Airwolf says, "No one from here." Arachnae tucks wings in neatly behind her and starts pacing. The shortened version of her name is noted… and will be addressed later, be certain. She taps talons on chin as she moves, the drone skittering after her. "I would like that as well, Airwolf. Yes, no one from here. We're short staffed as it stands. As for a coating, yes Hook. Command has requested that MSE (Medical Science Engineering) come up with something that at least gives more than the instant infection ratio we have right now. Any modicum of time added to that is a step in the needed direction." Pace pace *skitter skitter* "What would they need do? Coat a few laboratory specimens in various thicknesses and mixtures of materials, sealing all joints and adding tracking devices to them. The hard part is the release into a known area of contagion. There lies the risk." Fleet doesn't readily provide his name to Hook. He's not particularly pleased that Arachnae knows it at the moment, and as far as he's concerned, the less people who know who he is (and, perhaps, think he would make a good "volunteer" for something, ANYTHING) the better. Airwolf muses, "We know so little. It inspires hatred, it causes optics to glow bright red. Actually, that *does* tell us something. What would cause the optics to glow so brightly? Well, what causes them to glow normally? Mood shifts, overenergization, things that affects energy flow. I believe that testing for abnormal energy patterns might help in determining if someone is infected. Hatred is also an emotion, and that is where we get into neural territory. That is not my specialty, so I have to defer to those who do know about neural circuitry." "Are you /sure/ a mere coating would be enough? Not that I /distrust/ Mixmaster's chemical abilities, but if, like Airwolf says, this is some sort of radiation, it may penetrate a thin protective coating. Perhaps coupled with a forcefield generator… but those use a /lot/ of energon…" Hook says. Arachnae blinks… looks at Airwolf… her wings tuck in behind her, rustling softly. "Not certain about anything at this point, Hook. Which is why we need come up with a method to capture a known infected without anyone being in direct or distance contact. Factor in containment methods that do not all revolve around forcefields and you have us where we are now. We need one. We just have to find out how to get one. If we get one and it'd dead, I can always do neural surgery via remote system. If it's alive… then we have to find out how this is transmitted and what it is. Again, vivisections can be performed via remote mechanical devices." Fleet cocks his head a bit curiously. "I understand that I'm a bit out of my depth here, but what sort of radiation would be weak enough to only have a touch range, but strong enough to overcome our natural defensives that quickly?" Mixmaster scurries off to the lab to work on various chemical compounds to be tested as covering materials. …with the emergency trumpet! Hook looks at Fleet. "It could be that it /does/ affect us at longer range, but only close to the source does it "infect" our systems, or that it requires the specific vibrations generated by two solid objects bought into physical contact.. As Arachnae says, at this point, we don't know. My conjecture about radiation is just that… conjecture." He sniffs, as if not wanting to admit he's doing something as imprecise as /guessing/. Airwolf shrugs. "We're back to capturing someone on Cybertron. Safeguards... we can't have them without knowing what to protect against. The best we can do is make guesses, and those could have fatal consequences to those implementing the capture. Remotes would be best, and that still leaves the problem of transport without the victim escaping or infecting others. Sedatives as part of the capture? *Strong* sedatives?" Fleet nods, smiling slightly. "I see. I figured I must have been missing something." Arachnae smiles faintly, "Sedatives are not a problem." Wings rustle as she continues to pace and think. "We have no idea, Fleet. Hence why we're talking in circles it would seem." A shrug and she once more drops into a seat. "Wonder if we could simply 8ask* one of the infected exactly what happened to change their… er… minds…" You say, "They'd probably insist they had to show us." Hook chuckles. "Oh I'm /sure/ that would work, Arachnae." Hook affects a more annoying voice than usual, "Excuse me, Very Angry Mech? Would you mind not killing me for just a moment and filling in this survey?" Airwolf glances heavenwards. "And listen to Inferno waxing poetic about his heavenly visions of hatred? I *could* try radioing one of them, but I'm not hopeful of the results." Arachnae blinks… looks over at Airwolf… blinks… "Hmm.. Going to have to talk to Galvatron about something soon. I may have at least an idea of how to lure one out." Hook hmms. "I wonder if the plague would override a co-functional interlock?" Airwolf peers uneasily at Arachnae. "Er, you're not planning to lure Inferno in with yourself as bait, are you?" Hook segues into a conversation of his own as he idly taps at his chin. "Would the unification of the component minds be enough to resist the plague? Would the "virus" infect the whole, resulting in the meta-mind becoming tainted? Or would it affect each component separately, forcing an disengagement?" Arachnae's attention tracks to Hook. "No and no. The scientific data from such a testing of theorems is not worth the problematic risks involved in finding ourselves with tainted or infected co-dependant team members or worse, a meta-form refusing to demerge and on the rampage." Fleet, who really has little to contribute on technical matters, wanders over to the sonic screwdriver thrown on the floor by Mixmaster earlier and picks it up. Hook turns back to Arachnae. "Oh, of course. It was just a thought-experiment. I have to keep my superior analytical skills honed /somehow/." Airwolf idly wonders what superior analytical skills Hook is speaking of. This is the same mech that was cannoned by Galvatron for being unable to keep his vocalizer deactivated. Bad Airwolf. She's not normally so snarky. To distract herself from the conversation, she ponders energy detectors. Most of hers are very large, bulky pieces of equipment, but she could probably design something portable... Arachnae peers at Hook, "Then apply your analytical skills to this problem set: Core group of infected beings have attained hold of a major city-state. Apply to that statement your understanding of Cybertron's population and design layout as to the upper tiers of layers, include probable infection-plague rates as far as a pandemic state. Give me an estimated time layout for the spread of the disease under several operating factors from minor resistance to full fledged escape routines used." She adds, "Oh… and they do have space and FTL capabilities for this particular theoretical problem." Fleet murmurs, "That math is a bit beyond me, but I'm pretty sure I won't like the final number." Airwolf knows the principles involved, having studied the schematics of all her equipment over the past few months. Yes, it should be possible to put together a portable scanner that can pick up energy readings, but tuning them to be sensitive enough to read core radiation at a safe distance is another matter. "How large is the core group?" is Hook's immediate reply. "If only we had some sort of protective armor… a resistant ‘Outer Shell,’ if you would. If such a thing could be built, we could also rig it to send false-positive infected signals out… with such a ‘shell’, we could ‘pretend’ to be our foes." He ponders that for a moment. "Given the inevitable exponential growth pattern of infection, said city state could have an 80 to 99 percent infected rate within 5 cycles. More if the inhabitants are clever enough to evade the infected and put up resistance." Arachnae runs a quick calculation, "4, possibly 5." Airwolf mutters, "I wish we could have taken out the shuttles somehow. That and Scattershot are the only methods of transport off of Cybertron after the Autobot spacebridge was disabled." She sighs. "No time for strategic planning, not then." She really hopes that Omega got her message and got his chassis off of Cybertron. Arachnae hrnns. "Well, we still have the orbital lab station over Cybertron… At least… I haven't gotten any destroyed notices." Airwolf muses, "Another forgotten asset. We should have a look and mark it as a possible hiding place in desperate circumstances." Hook hmphs. "Hiding… really… It's just so… pathetic. I know we need time to perfect a counter-strategy, but we cannot remain on the defensive the whole time. I would prefer to see it as a potential launch pad for attacks." Arachnae nods. "It's small, easily locked down and… Honestly, it could be aimed at something and crashed if we had to." She ponders, "Or a great location to keep an infected." Airwolf gestures in Arachnae's direction. "There's your offensive strategy, Hook." "Oh I wouldn't say /offensive,/" Hook replies. "Curt, sometimes, perhaps…" Airwolf nods. "There's an idea, but we still have the problem of postage and handling. Er, transportation and drone operations." Arachnae glances at Hook, smirking as optics narrow behind her visor. "Transportation is the key element. Drones… Well…" She reaches down and scoops the small one off the floor, "Drones we have a-plenty." Fleet looks rather confused at the first reference. 'Postage and handling?' he mouths to himself. Airwolf sighs. "I can't see any way around it. Risks have to be taken. There are hiding places on Cybertron, though, that would reduce the transportation time at least." Hook returns Arachnae's look with a smug one of his own. This round goes to Hook. "If worst comes to worst, we could always destroy most of the infected individuals, could we not?" Fleet speaks softly, as though not wanting to draw attention to what he is saying, "If worst came to worst, that wouldn't be enough. We'd have to destroy them all." Arachnae continues to smirk, "By wiping out Cybertron, yes." Wings flick and she looks at Airwolf, "Es, at some point and soon, risks will have to be taken." The smirk fades into a scowl. Airwolf points out gently, "The Empire has been trying to kill off the Autobots for generations. They haven't yet succeeded. Now we have a city full of hate-ridden Autobots, and has anyone given any consideration to the cityformer that also resides in Iahex?" "I'm sure a precision strike could take out a good number of them, though once again we return to the fact that there would be survivors… and we'd have to round them up as well," Hook proclaims. Arachnae blinks… looks at Airwolf, "Wait… There is a cityformer in Iahex?" Airwolf announces simply, "Cinaplex. They moved all the Junkions into Iahex." Hook's proclamation is ignored. Iahex is a shielded city, just like NCC. No strike force is going to waltz in there and start shooting at people. The entire city is probably in battlestation mode right now." Arachnae gets very quiet as she mulls this particular tidbit of information over. Wings rustle, half fan out behind her and fold back as she toys with the drone-thing. "Well. That is a bit of a problem." Hook's optics flicker. "Oh dear" he remarks. "Perhaps that 'hiding' idea has some merit…" Fleet just nods, thinking that these people are quite good with understatement. He almost whispers, "Well, I'm in favor of it, for the moment." Arachnae shuffles her wings, toying with the little drone-thing which click-clicks in what could be considered alarm or protest. "Well… Looks like we should prepare for a full evacuation from Cybertron operations. Just prepare… Just in case." Hook hms. "And in the mean time, we're stuck here. Wonderful." Airwolf continues, "She's not capable of space-flight to my knowledge, at least. Yes, I've already been stockpiling, but we really need to be able to go out and mine the things that we *don't* have. DHQ can withstand a siege, but the more supplies we have, the longer we can hold out. Charr is a good place for this, strangely enough. There are hiding places that no one knows of… at least not yet. Ma'am, perhaps we should do some selective purging of the computer records, in case we have to abandon DHQ and go into hiding on Charr?" Fleet considers, "How would we evacuate without risking letting infected out as well?" Airwolf peers at Fleet. "If Cinaplex is knocking on the door, that's when we call the retreat. *Before* the defenses are reduced and the Infected arrive. You have a point, though. We'll only have someone's word as to when the attack began or whether or not they're been exposed." Hook says, "How long after exposure do the physical symptoms become noticeable? That, at least, should be an indicator of who is infected. Unless it takes a while for the signs to emerge." Fleet says, "Or the brightness of their optics, but that isn't always particularly useful…" Arachnae starts that pacing again, letting the little drone back to the floor so it can skitter after her. "Let's not panic just yet." Calm, reasonable tone, almost soothing in the level she uses. "Planning for a worst case scenario is all fine and well, which we should do, but we also need to focus on addressing the problem instead of running away from it." Pace pace pace *skitter skitter*. "IHQ was locked down as soon as there was realization of danger in Iahex. Those contaminated seem to lack a partial amount of common sense and broadcast their intentions rather wildly. If orbital sensors pick up Cineplex moving from Iahex… and believe me they will, that is when we begin evacuation from Cybertron to here." She glances at Hook, "From all indications, rather quickly, almost immediately after contact or exposure. The details have been lacking." Fleet watches the pacing. In all honesty, he's always in a state of tightly controlled panic, anyway, but it's something he's learned to live with. "Choice of victims…" Airwolf begins. "… Durango or Pipeline seem to be the weak links of that group. I'm not really familiar with either, so I couldn't imagine a strategy to lure him in. The uninfected Autobots will have to help with that. We'd need a powerful stun weapon, sedatives to be administered remotely, and quick transportation to a hiding place before his comrades notice." "So ultimately," Fleet murmurs, "we keep circling back to the same thing: we still don't know enough for a plan of attack." Pace pace pace *skitter skitter* "Stun weapon can be had rather easily. Delicate matter is insuring that it's a clean hit. After the initial shock, explosive darts with a medical sedative would work, and most firing bores can be retooled to accept the darts. Transportation still remains the key issue. We don't have anything large and quick enough to move an infected from point to point on remote drive." Arachnae murmurs as she paces. "If we go after the weaker links, I don't know enough about either to concoct a lure. I do know just enough from listening to their ramble to lure out one of the nastier ones. but that… is more dangerous." Hook nods. "We need help from intel," he replies grudgingly. "They can find the info, we can equip Mil-Ops who can do the catching, then we do the dissecting." Airwolf offers, "A remote-controlled vehicle? It's too bad that Cuddles isn't equipped for land movement." Arachnae activates sensor #3, located at Spacebridge Outpost. Airwolf activates sensor #2, located at Training Grounds. Airwolf activates sensor #5, located at Landing Field. Airwolf catches the movement on the sensor and bends forward to look more closely. Any signs of extra-brightly-glowing optics? No. The Commander is keeping himself occupied, she sees. Perhaps they should try carrying on a civil conversation with the mech. The Infected fail that every time. Airwolf transmits a message via radio. Hook also eyes the screen. "It would almost be more useful if he /was/ indeed infected," he comments. "We could sedate him with only minor loss of personnel." Hook glances at Fleet. Airwolf receives a radio transmission. Arachnae's pacing takes her back and forth near the PDS monitoring station. "Yes, unfortunate that Cuddles is indeed not land capable." She peers at Hook, smirks and keeps pacing. "A full cohesive movement from all divisions to solve a problem would be an entertaining and useful gesture." Airwolf comments, "He wants a thorough evaluation. Such as it is." Arachnae snap-turns, peers at Hook, "Fortunately for Fleet, the commander is in a fielded containment area and should he attempt to move outside of the perimeter, the defenses will fire while it is armed." Wings snap out… wings snap back in… Head tilts… "I'll see to his evaluation." Fleet doesn't even respond to Hook's comment. He's not pleased by it, no, and if it looked like Cyclonus were infected he'd defiantly be worried, but it doesn't, and he's been cannon fodder for so long that he's gotten rather use to it. Airwolf transmits a message via radio to Cyclonus. Airwolf tries some… provocative commentary to the good Commander. Hook hms, still eying Fleet. Seekers make the BEST shock troops, since there're plenty of them and they all look the same. "Well if my lazy brother weren’t avoiding work as usual, we could flood the area in his constrictive foam solution, for added safety." Airwolf receives a radio transmission. Airwolf blinks and hmmmmms. Hook's words give her an idea. "Dump the victim into some kind of molten solution that will harden completely around him, then transport the material?" "That's how it works, yes. Mixmaster has the details." He shrugs, Chemistry not being his forte. Too messy. "I believe his solution is only temporary, though I'm sure it could be improved." Arachnae looks over at Hook, then Airwolf then Hook… "Work on that Hook. What medium we should use." She scoops the wee drone up, it's legs thrashing about as she locks a scanner into a slot in its 'head'. The drone is set back down, the command, "Heel." spoken. "Moving out to scan the commander." She turns on a heel and pads out. Airwolf says, "Let me know when you're at the door, ma'am, and I'll unseal the base." Arachnae nods, "I'll need a secured signal for data transmission from my little friend here. To the med terminal." Wings tip forward and she's out. Arachnae leaves to the Central Hallway to the west. Ariadnae Drone leaves to the Central Hallway to the west. Airwolf receives a radio transmission. Airwolf deactivates the force fields, unsealing the base. The Central Computer Announces: ATTENTION! ATTENTION! The base is now unsealed. Airwolf receives a radio transmission. "I shall stay behind and man the console" Hook valiantly declares. Airwolf activates the base's security systems, sealing off DHQ with powerful force fields. Echoing through the base, the central computer announces: ATTENTION! ATTENTION! The base is being sealed. All force-fields are now up. Fleet watches Arachnae leave, and relaxes fractionally, as he still hasn't been volunteered for anything. Hook eyes the screen. "At this stage, I'm willing to wager Cyclonus is not infected. His movements don't seem to match reports of infected individuals." Airwolf adds, "Nor does he respond to provocation." Fleet nods. "Fortunate." He couldn't imagine having to face a plague-infected Cyclonus… and could well imagine that, if it came to it, considering his position and lack of other uses, he WOULD have been the one facing him. Fleet's optics widen briefly as he hears what Cyclonus has to say, but he manages to stifle any other reaction. Airwolf arches a brow at what she hears, but isn't too surprised. She already saw Charr's value as a last resort should things go badly, and she and Arachnae have already discussed some security measures. Hook hmms. "Excellent. Cyclonus can ferry up some equipment." He rubs his hands together, as if turning the empire's second in command into a delivery boy is an excellent idea. Fleet twitches his wings slightly, then begins walking around the room, still trying to familiarize himself with his new assignment. Fleet stops from his moving about the room and looks at the screen for a moment. Airwolf waits with her usual patience. She has no desire to hurry this procedure, and even as she watches, thoughts pass through her mind on the design of a portable energy pattern scanner. Hook taps his fingers on the console. Tap tap tap. Stop. Tap tap tap. Stop. Then he starts humming what may be "Modern Major General". Fleet stops and gives Hook a thoughtful frown. He doesn't have enough knowledge of Earth culture to realize what Hook is humming, and it just strikes him as weird noise. "What... what is that? Hook stops. "Hmm?" he replies. "What is what?" "That… noise you were making," clarifies Flee. Hook says, "Noise? What noise?" Hook seems unaware that he had started to hum. "What kind of noise?"" The energy spectrum is pretty wide, so this scanner would need a large array of crystals to not only provide the energy, but to focus what it receives. Schematics begin to form in Airwolf's mind. She's not only an engineer; she's a scientist in the realm of the physical sciences. Probably one of the few the Empire has who knows jack about organic planets. Fleet says, "You were making a noise like this:" and here Fleet makes an attempt to reproduce the tune that Hook was humming. It's probably at least recognizable. "Or something like that." Hook regards Fleet with disdain. "Oh… you mean I was humming? Or at least I think that's what you mean… since I would /never/ be that discordant." Fleet shrugs a wing. "I don't know. I couldn't place the noise." Airwolf gives Fleet a strange look. Music isn't entirely unknown to the Decepticon faction, considering that Rumble and Frenzy sometimes turn up the volume way too high. She can remember a time when the very walls of Darkmount shook from the bass frequencies, at least until an irate Galvatron ordered them to shut up. Hook hrpmhs. "Well as engaging as this is, I have work to do." He strides off towards the lab. "Do keep me updated, will you?" The yellow seeker has little to discuss with Airwolf, and decides to wander off to explore the rest of his new station.
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