Stockpile had been reading a datapad, a historical-fiction story from Plorginarr. He had been so into it that when the sound of metallic impact cracked through the air, the shuttle's spark practically leapt from it's casing and he jumped in his seat with a gasp, the poor chair underneath cracking from the sudden lift and subsequent impact of the several-ton shuttle.
"Primus above," he muttered, servo placed over his rolling spark and optics wide. He scanned the room, finally settling on a small object sitting lonely on the wide empty floor. That was odd--Stockpile cocked an optic ridge and frowned. It was a circular light fixture. He looked up, finding the black hole in the ceiling where it was missing. Huh.
Sighing wistfully--he'd just gotten to a good part--the old mech pushed himself to his pedes, setting the pad aside on a nearby table as he went to retrieve the little light fixture. He crouched down and plucked the tiny thing up between his thumb and foredigit, subspacing it with the resolution to bring it to his sparkmate later for repair. Right now, he had a story that needed read.
He was about to sit back down when another sudden noise found his audials--it sounded like a wall panel popping open, on the second floor of the library. Stockpile sighed. Always something. He was about to head up the stairs to check it out when the door on the far wall slid open and Blindside darted in, skidding to a halt on the floor and leaving little marks on the floor as he did. He looked around wildly, optics settling on Stockpile, who looked at him curiously.
"There's an organic thing runnin' around in the walls," the scrapper said by way of explanation. Stockpile simply pointed up, and Blindside nodded, running off up the stars and onto the second floor.
::Ah'm lookin' fer it, Crank.:: Blindside stopped at the head of the stairs, taking in the room and looking for--there! On one of the shelves, behind a stack of datapads, a wall panel was open. "Got'cha!" He dashed over to the shelf and--
Bugger. He looked around, shoving datapads and old books and scrolls and binders aside, trying to find... whatever it was he was looking for. "Aww, c'mon," he grumbled, stepping back to get another look at the whole shelf. He slapped a servo to his forehelm and groaned.
"I swear, if yer a thief, yer makin' a real mess 'a sneakin' around!" he called out.
