Nathan calculated that the current window on Earth was his most advantageous period. The Autobot main force had not yet made planet-fall, and his recent ascension to a High-Tier Veteran granted him a significant margin of safety. He was now capable of independent engagement against terrestrial combined-arms forces without immediate risk of structural failure.
However, once Optimus Prime arrived, the tactical landscape would shift. If he made a mistake then, it would likely result in rapid kinetic decommissioning upon detection.
As he approached the medical sector, Nathan noted that the guard drone, T-26, was gone. With Soundwave's arrival, Starscream's paranoid surveillance of Scalpel had become redundant.
I need a high-frequency melee solution, Nathan thought, recalling his execution of T-24. A single vibro-blade thrust through the spark-chamber is more efficient than a noisy exchange of rockets.
He entered the laboratory just as the heavy blast doors cycled open. A small, multi-legged shape scuttled toward the exit—the Laboratory Assistant Drone. Nathan didn't slow down, intentionally placing his heavy pedes in the small drone's path.
"Watch the trajectory, you oversized Seeker!" the assistant buzzed, its four limbs frantic as it narrowly avoided being crushed under Nathan's eight-meter frame.
"My sensors failed to pick up your sub-standard thermal signature," Nathan rumbled with a hint of amusement. "Watch your own path, Assistant."
The drone paused, its optics flickering as it scanned Nathan's iridescent new plating. "You... you've achieved Veteran-Tier status."
"Indeed," Nathan replied, looming over the smaller machine. "Perhaps you should recalibrate your tone. Even Scalpel's favor has its limits."
The assistant's haughty demeanor vanished instantly, replaced by a submissive sub-vocal hum. Nathan smirked and strode into the main lab.
"Scalpel."
The Chief Medical Officer was perched on a raised diagnostic table, his many limbs working with frantic precision on a glowing blue sphere. He didn't look up as Nathan approached.
"Stay clear of the localized magnetic field, Nathan," Scalpel rasped. "I am calibrating a prototype energy-matrix. One errant spark from your unrefined core and the entire sector becomes a crater."
Nathan stopped a respectful distance away. He noticed the lab was cluttered with salvaged components from the failed clone-hatchlings—a grim reminder of Starscream's "waste-not" philosophy.
"The Assistant has the ordnance modules," Scalpel said, finally retracting his manipulators. "How does the new frame feel?"
"The power-to-weight ratio is optimal," Nathan replied. "My gratitude for your recommendation to the Spymaster is sincere."
"Gah! Save the sentiment for the Autobots," Scalpel clicked. "Just find that crashed transport I'm looking for. I want the data-logs from its central bus."
"I have prioritized the search," Nathan lied smoothly, though he made a mental note to actually begin looking for the ship now that his status was tied to Soundwave's network.
Scalpel tossed two heavy weapon-crates onto the floor. "I only have two High-Tier modules in stock. Select one."
Nathan scanned the contents, but his excitement quickly turned to tactical disappointment.
[ MODULE A: ATMOSPHERIC COMPRESSION CANNON ]
High-impact shockwave shells. Requirement: 3.5s charge time.
[ MODULE B: CERAMIC INCENDIARY REPEATER ]
100 RPM high-explosive rounds. No armor-piercing capability.
"Is there no melee-spec hardware?" Nathan asked.
Scalpel glared at him with multiple optics. "You think High-Tier vibro-blades grow on the metallic trees of Cybertron? These are the only modules I've managed to scavenge from the Nevada scrap-piles. Take them or leave them."
Nathan looked at the choices. A 3.5-second charge time in a high-speed dogfight was a death sentence. And an incendiary weapon that couldn't pierce Cybertronian steel was useless against anything but humans.
He thought of Soundwave's Mini-Con Legion—the specialized drones like Frenzy or Laserbeak that acted as force-multipliers.
"Scalpel," Nathan began cautiously. "Can you manufacture an autonomous drone? A dedicated tactical companion?"
The medic froze, then a jagged grin split his faceplates. "You don't want a gun. You want a pet. A little piece of the Spymaster's legacy for the Skygnaw?"
"I want an infiltrator," Nathan corrected. "A unit loyal to my unique frequency. Like the ones you use."
Scalpel turned back to the glowing blue sphere on the table—a miniature, synthesized energy core he had built by reverse-engineering Starscream's designs. "It is a non-standard request. But I need a field-test for this synthetic matrix. If you provide the chassis material, I will forge you a hunter."