Rust Spot

ashes to ashes rust to rust

"Oh. Hey Krok. Why is the new guy dying?" Spinster asked, lowering his weapon but not letting it go.

"I was hoping you could tell us that." Krok said as he shoved a random assortment of scrap off the small berth in the middle of the room.

"You have barf on your aft." Spinister pointed out as he jauntily walked across the room, rotors flicking in interest.

"I won't sit on anything then." Krok replied dryly. "He made a mess of the living room purging and says that all of his organs are moving around. Feverish too." He reported as he plopped Fulcrum down and stretched a cable in his back for a moment.

"Hmm. Sounds like parasites." Spinister hummed as he prodded Fulcrum's midsection with the barrel of his pistol.

"Parasites? No, please no!" fulcrum thrashed as the cold barrel of the gun wormed its way beneath a plate.

"Krok help, he's going to kill me!" Fulcrum begged. The scavenger's captain set his large dark palm on Fulcrum's chest.

"Relax, he's not going to kill you. He's going to help you. And put the gun down. Right?" Krok asked pointedly, red eyes glaring at Spinster. The copter shrugged lazily.

"Yeah sure. Super keen on helping. Why not." Spinster agreed as he tossed the gun over his shoulder. "Does it hurt when I do this?" he asked as he jabbed a few fingers into Fulcrum's heated middle.

"OOOH PRIMUS YES. PAIN PAIN L0TS OF PAIN" the technician shouted.

"Whiny one isn't he?" Spinster mumbled. "How about this? That hurt?" he asked again as he poked into the soft protomesh of Fulcrum's side.

"gahhhhh!!! Please make it stop" he whimpered, his small hand flying up to clutch at Krok's. His fingers were cold and clumsy. Krok stroked his tan fevered helm.

"It's alright. I'm sure spinster's almost done." He soothed.

Spinster leaned in real close over fulcrums lateral slats. Once there had been grille covers there but after his reformat, they had been replaced with poorly fitting panels. There was a small hiss as spinster breathed in deep.

"weheeew! Gross. You reek of oxidation. One moment." Spinster turned to rummage through a few boxes on the shelves.

"Oxidation. I can't be oxidizing! All that time on that planet and not a speck of rust, I always read the hygiene pamphlets they gave us, and I'm extra careful to dry myself after solvent baths. I'm a good mech I don't want to rust." He babbled, eyes screwed tightly shut.

"I'm sure you did. These things happen. It's not your fault." Krok responded reasonably.

Spinster plonked a hefty crate down on the desk and began fishing around in it. Humming to himself he pulled out a pry bar, a power pack, what looked to be a small shop vacuum held together with duct tape, and a small black hard side case.

"What's he going to do?" Fulcrum warbled.

"Gonna open you up. See how bad it is. Probably going to have to scrape it." Spinster replied casually as he continued to dig around in the box. Next he pulled out a small magnetic light and a selection of clamps.

"you know what? suddenly i feel much better! i think i just had back burn or indigestion. yeah that's it! just need to go lie down on my berth and power down for a bit." fulcrum blubbered as he tried to sit up. Kroks hands planted themselves on orangy shoulder pads, pinning the anxious mech to the work table.

"You're not going anywhere. I know you are scared,but you're sick. spinster needs to open your plating to help you get better. i know that you don't trust him, and that he's never had any real training or an actual license, but i promise you he's really good with this stuff.'' Krok tried to reassure Fulcrum in his calmest, most reasonable tone.