Log edited with Logedit 2.6.9pl on Tue Dec  9 13:15:31 EST 1997

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Perceptor hustles through the repair bay carrying several datapads. Placing 
  them upon the counter, the scientist glances once again toward the inert 
  drone containing the nerual core of the believed-to-be-dead Red Alert. 
Red Alert would pose something, but he's not exactly alive yet... 
Red Alert therefore remains silent. 
Perceptor pulls up a schematic diagram on the monitor screen. Looking over 
  his shoulder toward the drone, he says, "Red Alert?" 
The drone attempts to shift once. One of the arms spins and a light 
  blinks... 
A slight smile forms on Perceptor's face as the lights on the drone begin 
  to flicker. "I have good news for you," he begins. "I have completed my 
  analysis of the integration of your neural system into that of the drone. 
  I should be able to easily relocate your core into your body, but I have 
  some final adjustments to make. The power conduits do not seem to be 
  generating the appropriate level of power." 
The drone's head spins happily again and again!! The few arms join as the 
  drone appears to come alive for a moment. It then returns to its somewhat 
  motionless state. 
Perceptor chuckles slightly. "I've duplicated your voice patterns from past 
  records stored within the databanks," he continues, "so I know that you 
  will prefer that over the hastily-prepared voice unit currently installed 
  into that drone housing." Turning from the computer console, Perceptor 
  walks over to the Cybertronian form of Red Alert. 
Perceptor lifts and optic to glance toward the drone. "Not every day one 
  gets to see themselves from this perspective, is it?" 
Perceptor opens the front panel to Red Alert. Withdrawing several tools 
  from the side of the table, the red scientist leans over and begins to 
  loosen several power tubes. 
The drone squeaks, "I can't thank you enough. This current voice unit 
  leaves something to be desired.." 
NightThunder enters from the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. 
NightThunder walks in, and leans back against a wall, punching a few keys 
  on her datapad. 
Perceptor nods his head toward the drone. "I can understand that. It is 
  also an inconvenience to be stuck in that housing," he says. "I hope to 
  have all of that fixed shortly." 
NightThunder grumbles about something under her breath and keeps 
  notetaking. 
Perceptor explains, "The injuries suffered by you at the hands of Unicron's 
  heralds were quite severe, but repairs were completed upon immediate 
  retrieval of your body." His yellow optics flicker slightly before he 
  continues, "Once the power connections are established, the real task 
  will be set--removing your core from the integrated systems of the drone 
  and placing it back into your body." 
The drone blinks it's lights again in thought, "Perceptor... How did I get 
  in this... thing?" It squeaks. 
The lights flicker on the drone, "Oh yes... I do recall some of that. How 
  long do you expect this to take?" It squeaks again. 
NightThunder mutters something about "Likely story" and continues her 
  notetaking. 
Perceptor stops and looks up from the open cavity of Red Alert. "Oh, hello 
  there, NightThunder," he says as he glances toward the door. "Is there a 
  problem?" 
NightThunder looks over to Perceptor."You're making a mistake. It's a 
  decepticon trick, a Quintesson trick, or a herald trick. That's the 
  problem." 
NightThunder returns to notetaking. "Please excuse me for notetaking this 
  historic moment before they infiltrate and kill us all." 
Perceptor shrugs his shoulders. "I have made numerous reports about the 
  validity of this information, NightThunder," he states. "I am positive of 
  the results, and all of my research has supported those conclusions." 
NightThunder says, "Research be damned. Even you can be fooled." 
Centurion climbs up and out of the training chamber below. 
Centurion lumbers into the area, his bluish grey optics surveying the area 
  casually. 
NightThunder says, "All that means is that they have to be more brilliant 
  than you. Rare, but possible." 
NightThunder continues to take notes quietly. "I won't be trusting these 
  two for at least a hundred terran years. Maybe a thousand." 
Centurion walks in casually from the Repair Bay below, nodding briefly to 
  the occupants before heading towards one of the Med Tables by the door 
  and taking a seat. He turns back to look at the group, putting his elbows 
  on his knees and resting his chin in his palms. 
Sunrunner wakes up. 
Perceptor dryly states, "I do not object to that, but such persistent 
  rejection of a confirmed resolution is illogical." Looking toward the 
  table, he picks up an energon hose and sticks his arms into the body of 
  Red Alert. "I should hope your misplaced lack of trust does not inhibit 
  your ability to follow orders from officers, NightThunder." 
The drone squeaks agains, wanting to comment on NightThunder's attitude, 
  almost angry, "How dare you think that I am an imposter, you.. you.. 
  you!! I am the real me, and there's nothing else to it!!" 
NightThunder says, "No. It just makes me compile more datapads filled with 
  evidence before presenting a conclusion, Perceptor." 
The drone's head spins once, as there is nothing else it can do at the 
  moment. 
NightThunder says, "And that....thing...is not Red Alert. Dead is dead." 
Perceptor withdraws his hands. Peering into the opening, he says, "That 
  should be connected properly." Glancing again toward NightThunder, 
  Perceptor says, "NightThunder, as I have stated on numerous occassion to 
  others who have shared your doubts, you are more than welcome to read the 
  detailed technical reports I have comprised regarding these drones." 
First Aid vanishes out of reality. 
Sunrunner looks curiously at the assembled, and asks innocently, "What's 
  going on here?" 
NightThunder says, "I hope that when I die, I at least have half the 
  dignity the real red alert did when he died. No amount of scientific 
  evidence can convince me that a whiny drone is actually the consciousness 
  of a brilliant security officer." 
Perceptor says to Sunrunner. "I am finishing the conversion process 
  required to move the neural core of Red Alert from the drone in which it 
  is currently housed into his original body." The scientist pauses, then 
  adds, "...regardless of unfounded doubts about the validity of an 
  officer's identity." 
Sunrunner nods. "Oh." 
Sunrunner says, "What if you ask him something nobody but Red Alert would 
  know?" 
NightThunder says, "Unfounded doubts? You found them in a couple of 
  slagging repair drones. You would be killed the moment a decepticon 
  officer called "Truce" because then he would shoot you dead in the next 
  .5 nanoseconds." 
NightThunder says, "That's not possible. I haven't lived as long as he 
  has." 
Perceptor calmly turns from the table and walks toward the console. He 
  enters several commands into the computer as two black hoses drop from 
  the ceiling. Walking back toward the table, Perceptor reaches up to grab 
  the hoses. "I do not know what other proof is required," he says. "The 
  manufacturing numbers match perfectly, and that information is only 
  available to command personnel." 
NightThunder says, "Anyone can fabricate a manufacturing number or hack 
  into a computer system." 
NightThunder says, "You haven't given enough time to consider all the 
  possibilities. I will never trust these two. They're fakes." 
Sunrunner frowns as she listens to Nightthunder rattling on. 
The drone emits, "So you *think*! Have you ever tried to do such things!" 
NightThunder says, "If I took the time to practice for a couple of 
  millennia, I am sure that it would not be beyond my capabilities. Nothing 
  is impossible, I simply speak from a position of pragmatic realism rather 
  than hopeful optomism." 
NightThunder says, "You will have to prove yourself every cycle for vorns 
  to come. And every day, I will pray that i am wrong, and you are right." 
Mortar climbs up and out of the training chamber below. 
Mortar says, "Hello" 
NightThunder says, "But to simply believe that you are who you say you are 
  is Turbo-wolf pucky." 
Sunrunner hops up off the table and glares at NightThunder, a little 
  miffed. "That's just not true! I don't know Red Alert very well, but I 
  *know* that that's really my Elita! I just know it!" 
The drone squeaks once, then speaks again, "Your decision is yours to make. 
  But I'm not going to go out of my way just to prove to you what I already 
  know." 
NightThunder says, "Then I pity you. You'll get more datapad space than 
  Rodimus Prime." 
Mortar says, "What's going on?" 
Perceptor states, "NightThunder, it would behoove you to read the reports 
  that have already been made. If there is not sufficient evidence 
  available there for you to accept this is Red Alert, I implore you to 
  suggest to me what would further make you understand the circumstances of 
  this situation." The scientist's yellow optics glow brightly as he says, 
  "This operation will be conducted, and I think you should investigate a 
  little more thoroughly rather than providing obstacles to Red Alert and 
  Elita One's acceptance." 
NightThunder looks over to Sunrunner. "That's not your Elita. It's a 
  consciousness construct concievably planted by any one of a dozen 
  enemies." 
Mortar says, "Am I missing something?" 
NightThunder says, "When Whiz brought "Optimus" back to life a couple 
  cycles ago, it wasn't him. It was a projection of desires. That is 
  exactly what this is." 
Sunrunner sniffles, and cries out, her voice cracking, "I *won't* believe 
  it! I won't I won't I won't! You can't make me!" 
Sunrunner suddenly turns, and runs out of the room crying. 
Sunrunner leaves to the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. 
Mortar says, "Will somebody please tell me what's going on?" 
Mortar shrugs. 
Perceptor laughs. "NightThunder, I honestly cannot understand how you can 
  link that ...procedure... to what has occurred here." He lifts his arm 
  and points toward the drone. "The original neural core of Red Alert is 
  housed in there. I do not know what other kinds of records are required 
  to prove this to you. This *IS* Red Alert." 
Mortar leaves to the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. 
NightThunder says, "The artificial intelligence programs will fail in a 
  vorn or two, and everything will go back to the way it was. They're 
  either traitors or fakes, and either way we'll all be mourning again 
  eventually. Dead is dead, Perceptor. Don't torment me and make me go 
  through another grieving period like I did the first time." 
Centurion sighs and hauls himself up from his Med Table, looking after the 
  running Sunrunner before looking back to Perceptor, "I'll take care of 
  it." 
NightThunder says, "That is what this is really about. Some things, like 
  the mysteries of death, just shouldn't be tampered with." 
Perceptor frowns. "They were not dead, and I wish you would cease such 
  ignorance when the reports clearly indicate otherwise." 
NightThunder says, "The reports are hooey." 
NightThunder says, "This is all nonsense." 
Perceptor enunciates, "If you feel that way, then leave the medical bay and 
  stop impeding upon my ability to complete this operation." 
NightThunder says, "You're making a mistake. I hope I can actually enter 
  rest cycle with these two around. I wouldn't want to be brutally 
  deactivated without getting a chance to defend myself. Maybe I'll have a 
  proximity alarm installed." 
The drone squeaks again, impatient, "Yes! Leave! Get out! Don't come back! 
  I want my body back and you are not helping me!!" 
NightThunder turns and starts to leave. "As you wish. You trust everyone 
  far too much, perceptor. But this is a violation of the natural order of 
  life, and the universe tends to exact it's own cruel revenge in time." 
NightThunder leaves to the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. 
Perceptor turns around to refocus his attention on the body of Red Alert on 
  the table. Flipping the level to start the energon transfer, he looks 
  otward the ceiling as a hum fills the room. The hoses begin to vibrate 
  slightly as energon flows from the storage units into the body. 
Perceptor watches closely as the energon transfer proceed. After several 
  moments, he deactivates the transfer unit and detatches the hoses from 
  the body of Red Alert. The scientst walks back toward the console to 
  check the status. 
The drone squeaks again, "That NightThunder... I can't believe s/he thinks 
  that!" 
Centurion shrugs towards drone, not really knowing what to say himself. 
Perceptor waves his hand to shrug off the comment. "She has been a vocal 
  opponent of this situation since it was first investigated," he says. "As 
  long as her actions do not reach a level of insubordination, I will not 
  waste my efforts to elucidate upon the extensive evidence that has 
  already been analyzed." 
The drone squeaks yet again, "As long as others do not think that way. It 
  might be difficult to return to my duties if so.." 
Perceptor changes the subject. "The energon adjustments seem to have been a 
  success, Red Alert," he says with a smile. "Now the task of moving your 
  neural core needs to be addressed. Can you please lie down here on the 
  table?" 
The drone wheels halfway over to the table. It encounters a few stray 
  peices of junk on the floor, and waddles the rest of the way. It stops 
  once it gets to the table, "I can't get up there on my own." it squeaks. 
Perceptor, cluelessly forgetting to take note of that, walks around the 
  table to the drone. "My apologies," he says absently. Perceptor kneels 
  down and lifts the drone onto the edge of the table. 
Centurion leaves to the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. 
The drone squeaks, "Thank you... shall I deactivate myself for this 
  procedure?" 
Perceptor nods his head with a hint of hesitation. "Yes, please do. It 
  would fit better within the safety protocols." 
You transmit a message to Rodimus Prime: Greetings, Rodimus! I would just 
  like to inform you that the process of moving Red Alert's neural core 
  from the drone into his body is almost complete. Be aware that we may 
  need to keep an optic on NightThunder ...I am concerned about her 
  opinions regarding Red Alert and Elita One. 
Transmission from Rodimus Prime: Yeah, she's haranguing me now. 
The drone spins it's head one last time in approval. It squeaks, "Then I 
  look forward to being removed from this... awkward point of view. Wake me 
  when you are finished, Perceptor. And again, thank you." It twitches 
  once, an arms spins, then the lights around the drone's head steadily go 
  dim. The spinning arm slows to a halt, and the drone appears all but 
  dead. 
You transmit a message to Rodimus Prime: Oh ...I see. I had requested she 
  leave the medical bay due to her incessant objections about every aspect 
  of this procedure. Shall I release the confidential and 
  officer-classified portions of my reports? 
Perceptor smiles. "You are more than welcome," he says softly. Leaning over 
  the drone, the scientist releases the latches on the internal covering. 
  He opens the panel and moves several of the delicate wires to the side, 
  evenetually exposing the neural core of the drone ...as well as its 
  integrated assumption of the core od Red Alert. 
Perceptor carefully begins to operate on the sensitive systems, 
  meticulously removing the core's circuits from those of the drone. He 
  works arduously for almost an hour, cutting and checking each action. 
Finally snipping the final connection between the neural cores of the drone 
  and Red Alert, Perceptor lifts the matrix from the housing. He cradles it 
  gently in his hands, slowly turning as the replaces it into the much 
  larger body on the other table. 
Rodimus Prime enters from the Main Lobby - First Floor to the north. 
Rodimus Prime thuds in grumbling under his breath. "I should reassign her 
  to deep-space patrol just so I don't have to listen to her." 
Standing before the body of Red Alert, Perceptor works to intricately 
  connect the neural net into the body system. He lifts his head to glance 
  toward the door as Rodimus Prime walks into the room. "Hello there, 
  Rodimus," he says with a nod of his head. 
Perceptor glances back toward one of the console monitors, checking his 
  progress on the operation. "I have almost completed the procedure," he 
  says calmly to the Autobot commander. "Removing the neural core from the 
  drone was significantly easier since the process had already been 
  successfully attemped with Elita One. Energon levels in the main body 
  have been reestablished, so once I have completed these connections, Red 
  Alert should be able to walk in his body again." 
Rodimus Prime waves his hand in a sourly dismissive gesture. "Walking dead, 
  of course." He stops himself, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry. She's so... 
  DENSE." 
Perceptor nods his head with an exasperated sigh. "I just hope her refusal 
  to accept this situation will not hinder the validity of the authority of 
  Red Alert and Elita One," he says. "The last thing we need is an Autobot 
  running around vocally undermining the authority of two of our most 
  important officers." 
Rodimus Prime smirks. "Well, Elita's gotten right back into the swing of 
  haranguing Arcee, so I guess it doesn't bother her." 
Perceptor reaches along the underside of Red Alert's body. Speaking toward 
  Rodimus, Perceptor says, "It is good to see that hte Femmes have readily 
  accepted her return." 
Rodimus Prime says, "Sure," he smirks, "some of em just show it in 
  different ways." 
Standing back up, Perceptor closes the panel to Red Alert's internal 
  systems. Peering toward the security director with concerned yellow 
  optics, Perceptor asks loudly, "Red Alert?" 
Red Alert's optics flicker once, on and off... After a pause, they flicker 
  again, but then stay on. He then attempts to sit up, but doesn't quite 
  complete the process, "Grahh... That hurts..." 
Perceptor places a hand on Red Alert's shoulder. "Take it easy, Red Alert," 
  he cautions. "Your body has not been used in almost two years. It is 
  going to take some adjustment to make sure all systems are functionally 
  properly." 
Red Alert lifts his arm to his head, and places his hand on the side of it. 
  He says as he shakes it, "This is certainly... different than that drone. 
  I must say, once I get used to it again, I do believe I will like it much 
  more..." 
Rodimus Prime folds his arms leaning cautiously against a supply cabinet, 
  then easing more of his weight against it as it holds up all right. 
  "Hands help, for one," he offers with a smile. 
Red Alert smiles slightly, "Yes... That is the most.. notable difference. 
  But I will return to my duties as soon as possible. Tonight if I can." 
Rodimus Prime says, "Whoa, take it easy. You've got a lot of catching up to 
  do. Besides," he smirks, "knowing our medstaff you'll be tied down here 
  for a week anyway." 
Red Alert rubs his head a bit more, falsely hoping that the disorientation 
  will go away, "Well, I need to return to duty as soon as I can. I can't 
  help but wonder what things have come to in my absence!" 
Perceptor shakes his head. "The reports archives will be made fully 
  accessable, Red Alert, but your need to reacquaint yourself with your 
  body's operation before you are able to return fully to duty." 
Rodimus Prime chuckles. "Not half as bad as you're imagining, I'm sure." 
Red Alert finally manages to sit up, "I think I'll get used to this rather 
  quickly.... Has anything of Iacon's layout been changed?" 

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