Catechism is sitting on top of a medical berth, a borrowed datapad in her hand. She's reading, trying to keep updated despite her injured condition. One might except that her promotion would get her more expedient medical treatment, but evidently it does not. Catechism is a Seeker, a standard factory mass-produced model, so there at least ought to be the needed parts in stock.

Cinderblock makes his way in, "...damn sticky fingered medtechs probably took my credits...robbing an old mech! Bastards!" He walks over to a medical cabinent, "I'll show them! I'll take this!" Snatch! "And this!"

The footfalls of Cinderblock aren't the only ones that enter the repair bay. "I'm certain that we could use the tunnels, it's just so damned... constrictive. But the Combaticons, and you said Terrorcons too. Heyya, Catechism." And then as Cinderblock begins to pilfer, Fusillade stares. Didn't anyone get the memo. Those hematite lips part in disbelief. And then, with whipcrack speed, akin to that of a striking snake, she snaps out one obsidian hand to crack him across the back of the helmet. A shrewish "Shame on you!" barks out from her. "Put that up right now!"

Cinderblock pauses and mutters, putting the stuff back, "...Sheesh..."

Catechism is rather absorbed in whatever she's reading, an expression of intense thought on her face. It takes her a moment to register that Cinderblock, in all his grumbling glory has arrived. Then, Fusillade arrives, and it's another moment to assimilate that. She straights up and slides off the medical table, standing a ramshackle attention and tossing off a salute to her superior officer. It takes her another moment to register just what Cinderblocks's doing. Her expression quirks into something like disbelief, and she inquires, not dropping the salute, "Just what do you think you're doing, Trooper Cinderblock?"

Cinderblock crosses his arms, trying to look non-chalant, "I was helping them clean up. You know, all one Empire and that crap."

Catechism's expression softens. She did her time cleaning the medical ward. It was drudgery, but it was useful to the Empire, and she learned that a warrior can aid the Empire in ways other than combat. Still not dropping the salute, evidently waiting for some reaction from the Air Commander, Catechism notes, "You had better get the volunteer work properly logged, or the MSE folks will throw a fit."

"Given your habits of stuffing credits in the cockpits of anything remotely attractive looking whilst on a gambling spree hardly qualifies as sticky-fingered medtechs," Fusillade teases out wryly. "Behave, before I have to accuse you of being a hooligan." A squint is sent his way about the 'one Empire' comment, but she doesn't seem too ruffled by it. By that time, she's just now turned on her heel to stare agape at Catechism. "What are you doing?! You're injured!" At that point, she practically springs at Catechism, palms out to shoulder tackle her back onto the table.

Cinderblock smirks at Fusillade, "...oh, I forgot about that, Ma'am..." He looks over at Catechism, "Yeah, take the chance to rest, Cat."

Fusillade snorts! "Pfah, you probably forgot a lot of other things, wouldn't put it past you."

Catechism falls back onto the medical table, sending her borrowed datapad skittering onto the floor. If one were to pick it up, one would note a number of recent reports open, but there's also a much older report, dating back to before the Decepticons invaded Carbombya. The Seeker looks slightly abashed and excuses, "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't want to show unintended disrespect by omitting the at attention stance and salute."

Cinderblock sits down at a nearby table, and shakes his head, "Catechism, this is Fusillade. As important as she is, she's still the kind who'd grease down a mech and show him a fun time...even if it did involve shrike bats..."

A faint thrum of resignation escapes Fusillade, who still appears to be trying to come to terms with how to best handle her former wingmates. At this point, her strongest preference, urge even, has her treating much the same as before. Could it eventually translate into preferential treatment? Who's to know? A smooth motion carries her over to the padd, although she has the decency to not invade the XO's privacy as she presents the padd to Catechism. "I'm still compiling information from troops. Just got finished doing a face to face interview with Cinderblock here." And then he brings THAT up. The initial scowl melts into smugness as he mentions the shrikebats. "They actually came? My. That was awfully conventient that they'd be on Monacus instead of their native Dromedon, mmm?"

Cinderblock frowns, "You'd be surprised what they have on Monacus."

Catechism glances at Cinderblock sideways and comments dubiously, "Proper flexibility and morale are important factors to consider, if somewhat incongruent." She switches her gaze, taks back the datapad, and says, "Thank you, ma'am, and if you don't mind, I wish to speak to you about the matter of the proposed Aerospace liaisons. Fulcrum is a fine mechanism, and I have no qualms with your choice of him, but I must protest the selection of Colonel Comcast."

Cinderblock yawns, "...eh, if you dislike someone, he'll probably end up dead."

"Oh, I was just picking the first ones that came to mind as an example, Catechism," Fusillade murmurs. "If someone had a better idea, they'd pipe up. At least I'd HOPE they would." She pulls up a chair, turns it around, and crosses arms over the top edge of the back, resting her chin on forearms as she considers the F-35. "So... not Comcast. I suppose he is busy. What else though? Gotta be something more than that. Is there someone better qualified in DCI? With wings?"

Catechism sits up stock straight on the medical berth and stares at the datapad. Then, she explains, "Ma'am, Commander Soundwave has a number of winged cassettes in DCI, and I have found both the cassettes and Commander Soundwave himself far more helpful and useful than Colonel Comcast. As for Colonel Comcast, not only is he busy with overseeing DCI, he seems perhaps too busy without enough gain. Where are the reports on Autobot fuel convoys he told us he'd get?"

Cinderblock sits back, and seems to doze off...he mutters occasionally about mechamonkeys and his money.

Fusillade sags in the seat, and groans audibly as she listens to Catechism. "I'll be the first to admit that there is still a LOT for me to read up on before I can make good command decisions. But at this rate, anything at all will look good, you think? Easy energon ration," she says to Catechism in an attempt to cheer her up. "Fuel convoys? Really?" She perks up slightly, and hmms. "How long ago was this? The time of their relevance may have lapsed. Or was this more recent and still important? If not, why not just post an inquiry? If you leave it open to 'everyone' to do it, then 'no one' will, I've found. Bandit came through nicely when I talked to him, and I've found Cinderblock..." She pauses slightly, perring at the dozing mech, "Faithful on the battlefield."

Catechism ums softly and reminds, "It was a while back, but not too long, ma'am. We were still troopers. Colonel Comcast suggested that maybe us MilOps types ought to hit energon convoys, but he didn't actually know of any at the time. He said he'd get back to us. He hasn't, and moreover, he hasn't told us if energon convoys are no longer valid targets, ma'am. Now, more than ever, we both need that sort of intelligence. Unless he's gotten back to you and I wasn't CCed." Catechism could believe that of Comcast, easily.

"No longer relevant, then, because it never was, Catechism," Fusillade states sourly. "The material would be too precious to be taken in such a straightforward manner, its destruction would have been too likely. IF there were any on planet, DCI would have spearheaded the reacquisition efforts. We're going back to Earth, girl." A thin smile is sent the injured Catechism's way, "Which means there's nothing for us here. But that doesn't mean we couldn't have gotten a message telling us there's nothing here. Quite rude of him," she says briskly. "Want me to expedite your repairs? I was able to get the techs to jump even before I had the rank, got them to fix Cinderblock this past megacycle, actually."

Cinderblock has disconnected.

Catechism shrugs and says, "Up to you, ma'am. If I am not being repaired, there is likely a good reason why. Possibly the correct parts aren't in stock." That last addition is rather weak. If there aren't Seeker parts in stocks, something's dreadfully wrong. She returns to the other conversation thread, "To be honest, I haven't heard anything from Colonel Comcast, despite my promotion. It doesn't particularly surprise me, ma'am. However, I am concerned about my own ability to plan out effective strikes, given my lack of current data."

"The lack of prior battle data and logisitics data is going to be the largest hurdle that we're BOTH going to have to face, I think," Fusillade confides to Catechism. A dismissive "Pfft!" is sent to the Seeker's comment about parts, before she turns her seat and bellows out, "GET your sorry skidplates over here and put the Execu..." she pauses, "Executrix back together!" Turning back to Catechism, she rumbles out, "So, we go out and get it ourselves. That's the way things are going to have to be, looks like." She hesitates for a moment, but then states to Catechism, "Much as Cyclonus has decided to take it upon himself to see to it that the Empire is protected, so will we." She brightens, "Hey, I got moved in on the fourteenth floor back in the barracks, it's not that bad. But I gotta go, so maybe those lazy heaps of scrap will be over here to do you right while I'm away. See you later, Catechism." A grin is flashed, and Fusillade rises from her reversed chair, and begins to sidle out.

Catechism nods and notes softly, "I got a bit of timing data on NHC West, 'ma'am. However, if Colonel Comcast cannot do even his own job, why should I expect him to be able to do a second task as liaison to Aerospace? All speed, ma'am. Hopefully I can speak with you more later," she pauses and grins, adding, "And hopefully I'll be intact."

One last comment is sent over Fusillade's shoulder, "I'd hope so, Catechism, I wouldn't fare nearly as well as you against the likes of Magnus. Rest up, we've got a lot ahead of us." And then, the doors.

Fusillade moves west to the IHQ Central Chamber.

Fusillade has left.