| abstract
| - Covering nearly a million square miles, the vast lands of the provinces of Quebec, Ontario, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Newfoundland, and Prince Edward Island reach as far as the eye can see. Canada is an immense land rich in resources, from the mines of gold, nickel, and iron to the huge hydroelectric installations on the St. Lawrence, Churchill, and Columbia Rivers to the extensive forests, producing nearly half of the world's newsprint. Most of the people live on the southern border, in cities like Toronto and Montreal, but that represents a bare fraction of the extent of this region. The east Canadian waterways are plentiful when it comes to fisheries and hydroelectric energy, the flumes of such natural wonders as the Niagra supplying enough electricity to power the insatiable appetites of not only Canada, but New York City and the Great Lakes. It's a long haul, but quite worth the trip for those looking to help bolster the Decepticon's energon stores. With all the recent weirdness in New Crystal City, something as simple as an energon raid can, in of itself, be refreshing. Fussily picking over several roundabout paths to avoid early detection, Fusillade chatters on at great length, whether her company wants it or not, about the visitors. "I seriously think we should just put them together in the same room and let them eat each other. Arrrgh, I'm so torqued still about Scourge not letting us just destroy that rock. There is NO way it's going to work!" MiG 29 gives the audial equivalent of a shrug over shortwave. "I agree" the green MiG replies. "Destroying at least a large part of the moon would solve many problems. The dust produced by debris entering Earth's atmosphere would no doubt produce an effect similar to a 'Nuclear Winter', which would hamper human resistance." He adjusts his course to follow the larger plane, following at Fusillade's wingtip like a.. well, like a jet following a bomber. He's not very good at metaphors. B-1B Lancer actually lapses into silence for a moment. "I... uh... not quite the same thing. I'm talking about the xenomorph hive asteroid in the Trifid. Practically in our back yard, and they're just letting it sit there. Mark my words, Fulcrum, High Command's gonna have us be little more than incubators for those filthy things soon. I've heard stories!" She porpoises up slightly, although the slipstream vortex coming off her starboard is hardly bothered, providing Fulcrum with a less fuel-demanding flight. Banking hard, she sizes up the mist-shrouded horseshoe of Niagra. "Looks quite thunderous. Got that extractor with you?" Not waiting for so much as an answer, she blows past the main tourist pavilion at transonic speeds, announcing their arrival to the humans so that the annoying things don't get underfoot. Infants scream as over 140 dB are poured over the scenic landmark, and a multitude of car alarms go off as she passes. MiG 29 ohs. He's obviously not up to speed! Although blowing up the moon would be a pretty good idea. He'll file that one away for future use. He'd have to get his chair off it first. "The EnergonCubulator 3000 is ready to go, yes" he replies, idly attempting to get target lock on the tiny blurred forms of the humans as he sweeps over the ground. "Are your storage bays prepared for its output?" Kenya Momesa is already at the spaceport barking orders to the technicians who are preparing the Eclipse. The Masai warrior seems to be tense...it's going to be his first confrontation with Decepticons in a while, "Get this shuttle ready now. We must launch as soon as possible." "We totally should write stuff on it first with a giant laser," Fusillade comments about the moon, before returning her attention to more serious business. "Yeah, I emptied out the main bay before we came here. Kept a few of boys on my rack to make sure I could at least put up a fight once the resistance shows. Which it will." The Lancer swoops past the convoy of vechicles, cackling darkly to herself, working the crowds, and perhaps listening, and hoping for, some more screams. The arrival of the EDC shuttle hasn't quite been noticed, but with all the different places that the aircraft is menacing in the general vicinity, it's likely she'll be first of the two to notice. "Waste of energy, if we are just going to blow it up" Fulcrum replies, wondering just how long before they reach the human power complex. They must have been spotted by now. "But if we WEREN'T to blow it up, carving a large Decepticon symbol on the moon would be a fine act of propaganda. I would probably have to move my chair though." Red Alert is driving towards the falls, following the winding road carefully. "How many times do I have to tell the ruddy Decepticons? Stop being cliche! Do something more inventive!" He would shake his head, but he's a car. He revs his engine up and speeds up the path towards them. Red Alert shifts into his car mode. Kenya Momesa looks over his shoulder at Briar, his amused smile hidden behind the faceplate of his helmet, "Don't worry about me Michael. I've been fighting the good fight for over 20 years now. Beside, 2 Decepticons jets are now big threat...Iwould rather fight that than a gestalt... The shuttle is ready, we should go." Without waiting for a response, he boards the shuttle. B-1B Lancer doesn't seem satisfied until at least three motorists upend their vehicles on the now packed roads as they try to leave the pavilions. Then, a bit more business minded, she dips one wing, and holds briefly over the further upstream phalanx of hydroelectric compound. << I'll cover ya while you get it set up >>, she radios on local shortwave to Fulcrum, gaze sharp on what seems like a vechile foolishly driving TOWARD them. MiG 29 overshoots the bomber with a wing-waggle of assent, quickly reaching the turbines. Ignoring the paniced screams and general chaos his entrance causes, the dour blacksmith transforms, striding towards the engines with EnergonCubulator 3000 in hand. Bits of rock bounce harmlessly from his legs as a couple of foolhardy humans attempt a form of resistance, the others more sensibly fleeing for their cars. The MiG-29 twists around and folds in on itself with a grinding sound, transforming into the robotic form of Fulcrum. Security Sports Car sighs as he watches the scene unfold on his radar. He's almost there...suddenly he swerves, hitting a rock. It tosses him into the air and he transforms, flipping, to land behind a rock along the path. He likes rocks. They are his friend. He calls out from behind it, "Whatever you are up to, seekers. It ends now. How many times have you attacked this place? Don't you have something better to do or do I have to blast you into oblivion?" Red Alert shifts into his robot mode. Kenya Momesa takes the pilot seat while Briar is watching over his baby. He makes a few check, after all it's been a while since he piloted anything. "Get ready Briar, we're about to launch." Kenya pushes a few buttons, make a few more verification and then he starts the engines. Kenya Momesa grins as he replies to Briar over his shoulder, "Then like the french says : attache ta tuque avec de la broche!" Then the benefactor hits the launching button. The Eclipse takeoff and flies at full speed north east, towards the Ontario. Double-taking slightly at the call-out from Red Alert, Fusillade swerves midair, and shrills out, "Seekers? SEEKERS!" The bomber growls, and then peels off to begin scouring the periphery of the hydroelectric facility, all the better to pounce upon any offending Autobots. Grumbling, the large aircraft bobs upward, still not deigning to transform to robot mode. Fulcrum ignores Red Alert, confident that Fusillade will be able to at least distract him. She is, after all, very distracting. With heavy tread, he moves to the generators, quickly and efficently attaching the Cubulator 3000, the outline of an energon cube appearing on the ground and begining to fill with glittering pink energy. Red Alert clicks a clip into his rifle and takes aim on Fusillade with his rifle. He notices Fulcrum, all right. But he figures it's easier to pick on the girl. He's an ass like that. "This is your last warning. You have exactly five seconds..." the sound of a plasma turbine warming up can be heard as Red stares down his scope, propping the rifle on his rock cover, "Before I start ripping you to shreds. You better hope that's all I do. Ask Catechism sometime about what it's like to be caught in my grasp!" It doesn't take too long for the shuttle to reach Niagara Falls. Kenya silently nods as Briar jumps out of the shuttle. "Of course I am the one who need to find a parking" he mutters. In fact the benefactor really see a parking near the falls... "Too bad for the tourist" he thinks. He lands the Eclipse right in the middle of the parking and climbs out of the shuttle. "She and I are two entirely different makes. You wouldn't have a CLUE where to start, so just hide behind that rifle of yours!" Fusillade spits out viciously, before she completely disses the Autobot by wheeling about in the sky to turn her attention the closing EDC craft, making a show of ignoring him. Several seconds pass before she gets a positive ID on the Exo-Suit. With a faint grumble, she rises to meet him. Fulcrum has first hand knowledge of how different Fusillade and Catechism are, having been elbow deep in both of them at one time or another. And you should see their blueprints! He looks up from the small pile of cubes to assess the situation, a breif report on a secure channel confirming the fact that they're outnumbered. "Hn" he grunts, returning to his work and carefully adjusting a dial on the Cubulator. Damn humans always spoiling things! They probably cause more property damage STOPPING the Decepticons than the cons themselves cause. Red Alert snorts derisively. "I don't particularly care about your makes, Fusillade. I'm talking about your minds. And I have this sinking feeling that you wouldn't last half as long as she did when I got her in my grasp. Maybe we should find out since you're feeling so cheeky, eh? Oh, and tell Fulcrum that we're not stupid. I know you're the distraction. He can keep about his business. I have a couple of friends that will be saying hello to him." He snaps off a quick but weak shot at her, "That's your warning shot. Either you go bye bye...or...you go bye bye, but in a much more unpleasant manner!" Macho, isn't he? That is...when he has a rock to hide behind. Red Alert strikes you with Commando Rifle (Tracking Snipe) for 12 points of damage. Exo-Suit strikes you with plasma saber slash for 11 points of damage. Kenya Momesa gives a quick look towards Fusillade but it seems that Briar and Red Alert are handling her. Kenya decides to turn his attention towards Fulcrum and his big energo pump. Unfortunately, firing at him may cause an explosion...the benefactor will have to take it close and personal. He takeoff and from above, he dives towards Fulcrum. Calling back behind herself to Red Alert, Fusillade responds, "Duh, what did you think I was talking about? Are you stupid? Of course I was talking about mi--IIII! NYowwwwwrgh!" Fusillade's alto rings out across the valley carved out by the waterway. The Lancer's rear fuselage and tailslabs take the brunt of Red Alert's assault, before she lumbers end over end in a somersault, and bears back down on Red Alert. "Oh, I saw the shuttle. Good pilot, got it on the ground reaaaaal quick. Let's see how talented they are getting it back into the skies. In the meantime, QUIT YER HIDIN'!" Keeping her main bay closed for now, she opens her front stores, and lays down a cluster-bomb unit in hopes of detonating either Red Alert, or at least the rocks he's hiding behind. Or even making some rocks FALL on him! The path of both the bomber and the bomb itself fly wide from the slicing force of Briar's downward, charged slice. With a buckle and shudder of her central wingbox, Fusillade pulls up hard, momentarily only able to keep enough wits about her to get away from the pending explosion. Red Alert evades your Shed Unwanted Tons! attack. Fulcrum shakes his head as a warning indicator tells of an incoming agressor. "Very well then" he says, taking his hammer from the chain at his waist, raising his free arm to take aim at the human as he approaches, waiting with the same attitude as a batter at a baseball game, the burst of laser-fire from his arm-mounted heat-ray serving more as a distraction than anything else. Fulcrum misses Kenya Momesa with his Heat Ray attack. Swing and a miss. Strike 1. What swing? LASER. Swing comes later. Red Alert smirks a bit as she predictably turns to face him. She releases her payload and Red leaps to the side, his cover getting exploded. "Oh...now you've just gone and hacked me off..." he likes having a rock to hide behind. It's kind of like a blanky. Only more manly. He winces as Briar makes contact, "Ow. That looked painful, Fusillade. Maybe you should pay more attention. You know..." he leaps as more rocks fall, rolling into a combat crouch, "They say that idle hands are the devils playground? No idea where that comes into play here. But your bombs sure seemed pretty idle. Maybe I should just teach you about real explosions? Care for a lesson?" BLOOP, the rocket soars off his shoulder, "Or maybe you're femme enough to transform and come down here to face a real warrior...not some knockoff that just bombs thing but can't fight for real." Red Alert strikes you with Rocket Launcher for 19 points of damage. You are very conscious that your life is in serious danger in this battle. Kenya Momesa dives under the heat ray, it was close...too close but the benefactor doesn't plan to let the seeker fire again. "I suggest you leave at once that would be better for you.". Before he even finishes his sentence, Kenya is charging right towards the seeker, launching his armored fist towards him. Kenya Momesa strikes Fulcrum with Armored Punch. -THOOM- the rocket lands home, cutting off any witty retorts that Fusillade might have for Red Alert. Several segments of blown off wingblades spiral down, lodging themselves point-first into the ground with vicious slices. To Fulcrum, she radios, <> Eventually, dampeners compensate, and with multiple internals railing against any continued engagement, Fusillade whistles out, "What you can't touch, you will never hold," before galloping off through the skies. Fusillade retreats from the area swiftly, outdistancing all pursuit and parting shots. Kenya's fist bounces off Fulcrum's armor with a *CLONK*, leaving a small dent. Hm. Going to have to hammer that one out later. Oh, and there goes Fusillade. So much for stuffing her hold with fuel. "Very well, human" Fulcrum intones, swinging one hand around in a pimptacular backhand to smack the pesky amored fleshling away. "Get out of my way, and I will collect my energon and depart." Fulcrum strikes Kenya Momesa with Shut yo mouth!. Red Alert begins making his way up the path, trying to reach Fulcrum before he can escape. He just can't let him get away with it. But he can't fly. He's running as fast as he can. "Come on Kenya...just keep him busy..." Kenya Momesa is smacked accross the face, which send him flying backward. "Oh no. You're leaving the energon here, it doesn't belong to you." The masai warrior gives a quick look over his shoulder, "Your friend his already running away...you should follow." Then he springs back towards Fulcrum, this times, he launch his knee towards his opponent. Kenya Momesa strikes Fulcrum with Knee Strike. Transmission from Red Alert: Oh ho. Running away, are we? Hmmmmm...Galvatron would be so proud. His finest. Stick to what you're good at, Seeker. Dropping bombs. You have little else to be proud of, do you? Pathetic. Took you down in two shots. Learn to fight, then call me. You transmit a message to Red Alert: Not a Seeker, but then again, high-end processors never were in ready supply for the AUTOMATED ROBOTS. Fulcrum deliberately turns his back on Kenya, the human's knee driving into his waist joint. Gritting his teeth and staggering forward slightly, the blacksmith stoically ignores his opponent long enough to grab the meagre cubes that have been produced and the machine itself. Which, through the MAGIC OF TRANSFORMATION, all end up in his cockpit. Afterburners flaring into life, he soars skywards. His player would allow people a parting shot, but it's 3:30 am, and he needs sleep Fulcrum crouches, then leaps up, his joints screeching as he transforms into a grey and green MiG-29. Fulcrum begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from B-1B Lancer. Transmission from Red Alert: How amusing. Picking on my heritage. What's next...should I make fun of your gender? You transmit a message to Red Alert: Sure! Transmission from Red Alert: Take some lessons on banter. This isn't even fun anymore. ........................................................................ Message: 2/17..........Posted........Author Xenomorph viability....Fri Jan 12....Soundwave ........................................................................ (Another brief text message:) Analysis of the live Xenomorph and its mental attributes suggests an extreme hostility towards all lifeforms not of its species. This hostility is likely due to deeply ingrained instincts. As such, despite any attempts to train them, it is my belief that we could never completely control them unless we were to remove and replace their brains entirely. Final recommendation: Total extermination of Xenomorph species. -- Soundwave (No mention of whether or not he did a mind scan on it, like the moon dragon. Given his last unpleasant experience, probably not! And yes, he wasn't the first one to come up with the idea of wiping these creatures out.) ........................................................................ It takes a rather long time after the radio furor for Fusillade and Fulcrum to return to base. Fulcrum is likely stowing the few cubes of energon he secured from the electric plant. Fusillade herself drags into the repair bay, fixing a baleful, withering gaze upon those who dare to approach too closely. With an exasperated hiss, she flounces down upon the nearest medical table, and half-curls up to rest, and wait. Bandit looks up from his routine and his optics flitter to life. Tends to happen around the one who has just walked in is around. "Comrade Fusillade.....it has been some time no?" he states in his basso voice. "Are you being allright?" he states with a hint of concern. Fusillade groggily raises one wingblade up to half-span it out, as if pulling up a blanket, or an imaginary shield, although the weapon itself is missing nearly a third of its segments. She flinches at the voice, and mumbles, "We DID get enough to justify the raid, I'll post in a moment. And, Shockwave and Soundwave have already meted out their punishment for my so-called treason. Not you tooo..." She trails off, resting one cheek on the cold, indifferent table. Bandit looks over at Fusillade with deep concern. He pulls away from his machinery and stretches the cords and wirings to their limits bringing him inches from her. "Punishment......Treason? Of what are you speaking Fusillade....." he seems to not care about his own wounds for the time being. "That stupid, felching Sweep," Fusillade gurgles out, hatred and despair welling up through the pain. "Scourge... wants to use those aliens that killed -- nearly killed -- Catechism and /you/" her voice drops to a hoarse whisper as one of the techs begins to prep the table. There's a bit of grunting a he attempts to yank the wingblade out of her grip, but those intense yellow-orange optics never leave Bandit's face. "They want them to be used as weapons. Against the Autobots. We tried to take a shuttle to destroy the hive asteroid. And that... SNITCH!" One palm slaps against the counter, "Wouldn't let us go. Those things would just as soon use us as incubators... they don't care what faction. Even Soundwave agrees, but he wouldn't, they wouldn't listen to me..." Her shoulders quake a bit, before she's lashed down by the tech, and the scorched armor gets sheared away. Gumby Medic begins work on Fusillade's injuries. Bandit nods his head at that and ponders for a moment. "So how did you suffer so much damage. It is true that these creatures will be harder to tame than a siberian tiger in the middle of winter...but perhaps there is merit to attempting to use them. Perhaps just dropping some in autobot territory will cause them enough pain for us to be finding an advantage?" he tries to play devil's advocate, but that is more of a smokescreen to hide his obvious concern. "Yet another abysmal failure," Fusillade bites out unhappily. "Energon raid in Canada. EDC and Red Alert were all over us. It was a spur of the moment thing." At the suggestion of dropping them in Autobot territory, she draws her hematite lips tight. "And what will happen once the Autobots are gone? These creatures burrow, they aren't going to be so easily dissuaded from..." As some of the armoring and fried circuit boards are replaced, she bites back a few choice curses, "Trying to attack us. It would have worked, too, the plan. We had fallback plans, too." One foot spasms. Bandit nods his head and reaches out with a hand and places it on her shoulder. "Well I am glad that your mission was successful...though I am not thinking the price you paid was worth it..." he states as he motions towards her wounds. "I faced off against Springer and Smokescreen while Soundwave was being on one of his personal missions. That would be explaining the EDCs rapid response....." he states thinking. Fusillade appears to calm a bit at the touch, her behavior now more sullen instead of outright upset. The bomber flicks her optics shut briefly, raising one hand to pull off her slim visor. "They've been very quick with their responses lately. But a lot of that has to do with the choice of targets. The richest sources have the drawback of being in the best protected areas." She winces some, still sore, as she shifts weight to better face Bandit, "So?" Bandit looks at her "So?" he asks curiously as if that question...so simple reached to his very core. Fusillade pops her mouth open, and perhaps in the interest of retaining some degree of privacy, leans in. Maybe to keep him from stretching those leads. Who's to say? "I... just really wish that Cyclonus was here. It's like... being sensible is CRIME here! Those things can't be controlled! Scourge and his other Sweeps... not Sunder, not Dredclaw, but one of the others, the one that sneaks around the repair bay? Him. They're getting bolder. And it makes my coolant boil just thinking about how they say they aren't subject to our chain of command, yet they are happy to come in and RUIN it for us!" Bandit nods his head. "I have felt the same treatment at times....but now as I am having a bit more rank...maybe I can be of some service...you are in my chain of command no?" he states and finally almost knocks an entire computer over to lay an arm on her shoulder. The tech flat out stares at both of them in shock before the squint from Fusillade sends him skittering off. That intense expression fades, and Fusillade arches optic ridges as she twists around to regard Bandit with some surprise. Stilling the nervous stirring within, she murmurs a tad playfully, "Oh please, don't remind me. Yes, you are currently my division executive officer, Bandit." "Are... you really badly injured, yourself?" Fusillade asks as she tries to gently set aside some of the cabling. "Some of this looks pretty intense. You shouldn't be exerting yourself." Bandit nods his head and grins. "Yes...so if you are having problems...then I am the one you would go to no?" he asks with a slight smile. "I mean it would be being the most prudent course of action...to be using your chain of command..." he states playfully. Bandit says, "Bah most of them are because they were doing some augmentation and recalibration....my wounds were not so bad....considering what I did to the others" Fusillade clenches her jaw, the unceremonious removal by Shockwave still rankling deeply within her. Would she ever let it go? "I just... you're busy," she makes up as an excuse, trying to hide her stubborn pride. "I should be able to do it on my own. We have to be strong enough. If not physically, then by other means, to justify the rank. Sixshot was ready to take their faces off for me..." Bandit nods his head oblivious to the angst that Fusillade displays. "Well Sixshot is more than capable of doing so comrade...but you do not have to be fighting every battle yourself. That is where it is being the responsibility of your leadership to be acting on your behalf...especially if it is justified..." "You've been busy, so has Blitzwing," Fusillade reiterates again, the repairs making her a fair bit sluggish. Eventually, she rolls her bead backward to rest on the table, and admits, "I probably don't have to, no. But it seems like SOMEONE is always watching, and ready to hold it against you when you don't, you know? I guess it's not really as much of a problem for you, since you're well..." She trails off, shamed. Bandit hrms, "Well do not be mistaken Fusillade....I am never to busy for anything that conserns you...." he pauses "Or any others under my command....." "Since you're YOU," Fusillade finishes. How much of that was the meds talking? "Oh, it was a mistake for me to EVER have been in any kind of command. You need to rest." She goes on a tangent. "Sir." Bandit looks at Fusillade and grins slightly at the Sir. "Fusillade....how long have we known each other.....there is no need for such formalities here...I am simply trying to ...." he stops as if trying to figure out what he is going to say. "It's... been nearly quarter of a vorn. And sometimes it's necessary. My mind won't be changed on that." Fusillade gives a lop-sided smirk, as she digs hands into the edges of the table to balance herself. "Making sure that proper protocol is followed, yes. The best use of personnel and resources. Of commodities. Shockwave's quite soundly reminded me of that. It's okay, we are all..." She risks one last glance, before raising a hand to the back of her cranium. "I need to rest. You do too." Bandit nods his head in agreement. "Da....you are right......" he lifts his arm from her shoulder and makes his way back to his table. "Do not be disenchanted comrade....we all face obstacles...but your merit and your abilities will win the day in the end..." --End--
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