2018-10-23 The Mech Who Said Yes
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|2018-10-23 The Mech Who Said Yes|
|Location||Lost Light - Science and Medical - Wheeljack's Laboratory|
|Summary||After Ratchet said no. Can't imagine why he'd do that.|
The door opens before Soundwave into chaos.
Well, chaos may be overstating it just slightly. The room is organized chaos. There's clutter covering each and every workbench, but it seems to be hemmed into specific areas for specific projects, despite the sprawl of gears and circuits and wires and two sets of tools sized for two different sets of hands. (and is that a body over in that corner...? Maybe it's best not to ask questions.) And there, in the midst of that chaos, is Wheeljack. He doesn't look up immediately from the workspace he's currently using as the door opens, but waves a hand in Soundwave's general direction. "Hey! Come on in, just don't bump the--" he cuts himself off, and this time it is because he's looked up, and has been momentarily halted by the incongruous sight of Soundwave standing in the entrance to his lab. "Oh," he says a moment later, his helm fins flashing through a series of sheepish colors. "Soundwave, right. Uh, grab a seat?" it comes out more question than offer. Wheeljack's hand briefly comes up to brush over the spot where his Autobot badge used to sit, before falling away again. "I got your request, and so, good news first? I think I can do at least something for you."
After being told 'no' (NO!? Unacceptable!), Soundwave wasted no time finding someone who would assist him. Which is how he has ended up in complete chaos. Its definitly not the worst work space he's seen but coming from the likes of Shockwave and... It leaves something to be desired. Though, one can't deny that Wheeljack sure has work volume down.
Soundwave's visor shutters and he moves to where Wheeljack had gestured him too. Looking around. "That is good. Wheeljack, I'm having difficulty finding a seat. Where would you like me to place it once I grab it?"
Wheeljack stares blankly, fins dark, before they flash along with his incredulous chuckle. Was that a joke? It sounds like it should have been a joke, but he doesn't know Soundwave well enough to tell. "You can sit on it. There's one over-- oh, wait, no, don't move that one, the welds on that semiconductor are still setting-- there, that one." He points to a stool a few work stations over that should theoretically be able to hold Soundwave's mass. "So, before I start, I'm going to have a few, mm, questions for you." It's a very nice way to say caveats.
If it was a joke, Soundwave doesn't point it out. He simple goes to the right stool and-- Oh. Oh, this is kinda a small stool. He glances to Wheeljack before holding onto a table to help lower himself down onto the stool. Yep, there we go. Sitting. On teeny, tiny stool. It creeks. He hunches forward to better pay attention to the scientist. "I am listening. And I have the Quintesson's tentacle with me right now as well. If your will be requiring that."
"Yeah, I'll be requiring it-- I can make the modifications to your own, but it'll go faster if I have something to model them off of and use as an object for study, and that will mean I have to spend less time taking yours apart or potentially messing up the compontents. Not only that but I can examine more efficiently if I can just wholesale reuse the relevant parts... but anyway." With another flicker of his fins and a shake of his helm, Wheeljack drags himself back on track before he can wander even further into technical rambling. "What do you need those mods for, as opposed to, say, your cannon?" His optics are blue and bright, intent on Soundwave's visor as he asks the question.
Soundwave nods, head canting only slightly as Wheeljack speaks. Then he slowly withdraws the Quintacle from subspace. It's a little melty in a few spots but still floppy and bendy and other things a tentacle may be. He holds it out to Wheeljack. "Cannon, optimal for ranged combat. Releasing missiles at close-range usually... Hazardous for user as much as target," he says, his own tentacle peel out of his sides, biolight blinking as they wiggle around in the air.
Despite the nature of the questioning, Wheeljack can't help reaching out to take the quintacle and transfer it to the partially-clear workspace, turning away from Soundwave ever so slightly to start poking at the thing, examining the ending in particular. As he tinkers, his fins glow a solid and solemn blue. "I'm not the weapons engineer on this ship," he says, as he starts to pry away some of the outer casing on the thing. "I can make it for defense, but I'm not going to make it lethal if I don't have to."
Soundwave leans to look over Wheeljack's shoulder and watch him. Possibly in morbid curiosity. His tentacles don't seem to like it as they snake closer to Wheeljack, biolights beating frantically. "Stun-grade electric shock would suffice," he says. Then he sits there, hovering behind Wheeljack with his tentacles wiggling all around him. He taps a knee with his thumb. "Your mind sounds like labirynth," he says, conversationally. Like a normal person.
"Stun-grade electric shock it is," Wheeljack says, cheerful as he accidentally pricks a finger on an internal component and hisses, pulling it back to shake out his hand before delving back into dismantling the tentacle with even greater enthusiasm. His fins actually flicker brighter with enthusiasm as he laughs, apparently unconcerned with the observation. "Thinking in straight lines sounds pretty boring to me," he observes, pulling out something and holding it up with an optic. It glints off of the bright light of his helm fins. "Anything else you want from this? I think I can see some sort of onboard processor or data storage or something. I wonder if quintessons keep dispersed memory storage? Maybe this thing will start acting autonomously if I hook it up to some exterior power source." And if the way he half-rises is any indication, Wheeljack is completely ready to go and test that out.
Soundwave's shoulders rise just a fraction. "The best path is hardly a straight on," he agrees, watching Wheeljack's fins. "Memory storage? Within the tentacle? That could solve a range of problems..." He turns away a little, thinking. One of his own tentacles loosely wraps around Wheeljack's arm. Why are you taking its tenta-brother appaaaart. "Mine have a habit of acting out when I don't pay attention. I thought that would be the technological difference between Quintesson biology and our own. Perhaps it is something else."
"Something like that," Wheeljack echoes, nodding. He doesn't manage to get far from his seat with that tentacle wrapping around his arm to keep him close, but that doesn't seem to bother him much at all. He just absentmindedly untangles himself, poking more at the little box inside that he's looking at, then makes another sound and pulls back. "Ack! Zappy little thing, ain'tcha," he mutters, still cheerful. "It might be a matter of Quintesson bio-engineering! But I'd have to get a look at yours to say for sure." He taps one finger against Soundwave's wandering tentacle. "Now, this guy apparently has some power reserves still left in whatever defense mechanism it has after all, which probably means there's some sort of internal mechanism separate from the Quintesson's own systems, which means I'll probably be able to extract and modify it for your use."
Soundwave sits up suddenly with the tentacle poking, the stool wobbling and creaking further beneath him. His plating clatters faintly. "Hnn, that's good. I believe. Just-- Be careful. They are rather... Sensitive." Beat. "How long will this take?"
Wheeljack's poking abandons the living tentacle in favor of focusing again on the dead one, which is rapidly becoming much more involved. His tools begin to appear, and parts are starting to be removed. "I bet I can do this now," he says, cheerful, "if you're willing to wait around. Or-- well, maybe. As long as I can verify that this part is the source of the shocks, and that these wires connect it to the rest of the tentacle to deliver it through the tip... I just need to find the insulation that's keeping it from damaging the rest of the limb or traveling up into the frame proper. And modify it to make sure it's non-lethal." The twisty windy thoughts are getting even more twisty as Wheeljack starts poking, more and more enthusiastic as he delves deeper into the guts of the thing. "So maybe a day. Is it all right if I keep the rest of this thing? I think I can get some good data from it."
"I will have to wait a day?" Soundwave asks, looking and sounding rather dissatisfied with that wait time. "You may keep it if you cut down on previous wait time estimate."
Wheeljack says, "What, are you going to use it in the next day?" Wheeljack asks, flashing a skeptical look in Soundwave's direction. "Ah, there we go." He starts pulling a series of wires and devices out of the center of the tentacle. "I can do it faster, if you don't mind getting shocked. Or having it not work. Or having the power regulation go wrong and cause a feedback loop and boom!" Wheeljack's fins flash brightly, illustrating the point as he gesticulates rather wildly, device still held in his hands."
Soundwave considers this. Runs a few numbers in his head. "If there was a feedback loop, I would become aware of the situation ahead of time and be able to cut off power to tentacle or detach it. But, explosion unlikely. Go faster and no 'boom' and you may have two of these tentacles for whatever use you see fit." He pauses, briefly, before adding, "Wheeljack, not aware of my life. Maybe I would use it within next twenty-four hours."
"I hope not, since it would probably be on this ship," Wheeljack points out. "But deal, as long as you come to me if it starts malfunctioning, instead of Ratchet. He's great at what he does and all but something gives me the feeling he would be a bit shouty about this." A brief pause, then he adds, "And I think you're the first person who's looked me in the face and said that an explosion was unlikely."
Leaning over the tentacle's dissected parts, Wheeljack starts producing more tools from the ether, working his way through the parts of the tentacle's zapper, muttering to himself as though he's beginning to forget that Soundwave is there. Occasionally he starts getting distracted, and moves toward another project and tinkers with a few pieces or writes down a few notes, before circling his way back to the tentacle on his table, and all the while, inside, that labyrinth of thoughts is twisting itself up toward a whirlwind, all while Wheeljack talks and flashes his fins and works.
Soundwave sticks around longer than one would expect, if only to pull Wheeljack back to the tentacle to continue his work there. He eventually leaves because of the whirlwind headache Wheeljack's mind is giving his own. BUT HE'LL BE BACK SOON WHEELJACK. BETTER BE READY TO INSTALL BY THEN, THANKS.