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[DragonRage]

"Hey, ya all," Stonebeard addresses the group, "I picked up on a weird subspace signal.  The computer thinks it's a distress code, but couldn't be sure, so I set up a signal booster, and whoever was on the other end opened this giant portal disk.  I poked a steel bar through and it came back okay, so it's probably safe to go through.  Ain't safe to leave it in the shop, so you think some of you could take a look through and see what's on the other side?"

[StormLord]

Tyra wandered into the workshop some time after talking with Dale and had mostly just been acquainting herself with the base's layout of facilities.  When Stonebeard called for assistance she was right there, and not just because if someone can open portals all the more reason for her to want to 'borrow' some of the materials.
"I suppose we don't have anything better to do."
Tyra heads through the portal

[cronos5010]

Unlike Tyra, the machine was already inside of the workshop itself, having moved to stand guard over the recently opened portal while Stonebeard called in anyone who seemed free enough. It stands in place while the dwarf explains the situation, metaphorical gears turning in its head as it tries, and fails to properly understand what they were saying, except for one particular sentence. It was an order of sorts, one that it was very well suited for, a scouting mission into completely unknown territory, with no real guarantee of return. The machine stamps off before Tyra, letting out a cry of, "Moving to assist," before it steps into the portal.

[Chevaleresse]

"I'll take care of this." Warden 3 spoke stiffly before marching through the portal, carefully not looking at Stonebeard as she proceeded with the backpack she'd been given earlier.

[DragonRage]

Stepping through the portal, Tyra, Warden 3, and VerTwo find themselves in a alien cityscape of gleaming metal, the green disc of the portal hovering behind them in between two arms pointing skyward, almost but not quite meeting.  All around them, robots go about their daily business or gawk at the newcomers, roughly humanoid and human-sized, but carrying wings, wheels, and other vehicle components in odd places, many of which don't look like they could possibly be useful where they currently are on the bearers' bodies.

Sitting incongruously in the middle of the alien street is a red and blue Peterbilt 379 semi truck, attached to a long trailer.  The trailer's sides have been folded down, revealing compact, futuristic lab equipment that looks more like the technology of this world than of Earth.  A squat alien building sits behind the truck, on the other side of the street, simpler and more worn than the gleaming skyscrapers to either side.  It's been roped off, and pedestrians often glance at it as they walk by.

Closer to you, and perhaps of greater concern, stand two robots, substantially taller than the others at closer to eight feet tall than five or six.  One is stocky and red, with grey accents and a broad chest adorned with a prominent symbol like a stern, blocky, red face.  He has a tube-like contraption attached to his right shoulder.  It almost looks like a weapon, but is capped with a lens.  His companion is slender and slightly shorter, mostly white with some red and pink accents, and the same red symbol attached to her pink 'helmet'.  She's carrying a white, pistol-like weapon in her left hand, pointed at no one in particular for the moment.

"Excellent!  Organics!  Exactly what we required," The red robot says happily, "Just as I hypothesized, our subspace distress signal would be detected by sympathetic parties, who could then be groundbridged to our location.  And we got organics on our first try!  I had assumed we would need several trials in order to secure the correct sort of assistance."

"We might still need to, Perceptor," The pink and white robot points out, "We still have to convince them to, you know, enter an ancient and possibly structurally unstable temple infested by ravenous scraplets, find an ancient artifact, and get it out of there without getting it or themselves eaten.  If they're not up for the danger, we're gonna have to send them back and try again.  So...  How do you all feel about risking your lives for likely inadequate physical compensation and a warm fuzzy feeling inside whatever your species uses instead of a spark?"

"Please, Arcee, I'm sure we can come up with adequate physical or monetary compensation for services rendered," Perceptor asserts.

"I dunno, I value my life and limbs pretty highly," Arcee replies, "Sure, scraplets prefer metal to meat, but they're not exactly geniuses.  Anything that moves might be worth at least a nibble, and leaks are a lot harder for organics to patch than on us, even if the scraplets probably won't keep chewing on them."

[StormLord]

At first the sights of huge metallic structures and moving mechanisms didn't exactly instill comfort in Tyra, after all her journey through the Guardian of Steel had been...messy.  But it was something that was soon overtaken by the various automatons, and more impressively the two talking automatons that were standing guard by the portal.
Taking a moment to compose her thoughts again, Tyra eventually settled on how to respond.
"What is a Scraplet?"

[Chevaleresse]

Warden 3 looked around with a mix of wonder and immediate caution at yet another alien landscape surrounding them. It held just enough familiar sights to highlight its utter strangeness. The situation left her with few opportunities to take stock of her surroundings, however, as the denizens of this land began to address them. Some kind of retrieval mission; land operations weren't her strength, but she had a bit more flexibility than an aluminum chassis had when it came to these things.

"As an Ensign of the United States Navy, I cannot allow someone to take on a task if it would be a lesser risk for myself to do so." She nodded once for emphasis. "I will simply require fuel and other materiel. Preferably more than I have arrived with, as our current logistical situation leaves much to be desired."

[cronos5010]

The machine glances furiously at its surroundings, taking in as much of the sights as it could. Mainly to determine if it had unwittingly stumbled into a target rich environment along with the two, far squishier humans that accompanied it. "Warning, hostile MECs detected?," it states, as its mechanical limbs quickly pivot from potential target to target, while it slowly meanders around Warden and Tyra in a vain attempt to provide cover.

[DragonRage]

"Scraplets.  Nasty little things.  Pests in small numbers, easy enough to deal with, "Perceptor explains, "They eat metallic substances, and only metallic substances, and are very small and fast.  Their size lets them go unnoticed without proper vigilance, and their speed lets them reach prey easily, but in insufficient quantities they are easily disabled by extreme energy level changes, particularly those caused by thermal variation in the environment.  However, in large numbers, they are far more dangerous, and can use instinctive behaviors and sheer numbers to overcome many of their weaknesses.  Most vexing."  He projects two holographic images from the tube on his shoulder.  One shows a tiny, oddly cute, insect-like creature with big, blue eyes on a huge head, holding its tiny forelimbs next to its body like it's praying.  The other image shows that same creature, but with its mouth gaping, displaying rows upon rows of rotating, buzzsaw-like teeth.  "As you can see, suffering bites is not advisable."

"It's always fuel, isn't it," Arcee chuckles darkly, "Depending on what you're looking for and compatible with, we might have something in storage, or be able to bring it in through the Spacebridge.  Perce here gets quite a bit of leeway on controlled supplies since he's the department head of medicine and engineering at the University of Iacon, and if you're really in need of something exotic we've got a few old war buddies we could lean on."

"Indeed.  I am certain we can accommodate your needs," The professor agrees.

[Chevaleresse]

"Stand down, VerTwo." Given the unit's lack of a name, she briefly toyed with the idea of dubbing the robot Warden 4. "We can probably help, yes, although from the description, my airframe may be at risk. I presume you don't have a lack of advanced alloys, given. . ." She gestured vaguely at the everything nearby, including Perceptor and Arcee themselves. "Anyway. Do you have incendiaries or similar weaponry available for use?"

[cronos5010]

It takes a brief moment for Warden 3's order to register, but VerTwo complies readily enough, lowering the barrel of its battered autocannon as it simply tries to take in what the non hostile MEC was saying. "While this unit is equipped with a flamethrower, it is in need of refueling," it states, after it hears Warden 3's request for incendiary weapons.

[StormLord]

Tyra raises an eyebrow as 'Perceptor' clearly uses some kind of illusion.  Impressive of whoever devised the autonomous creatures that not only appeared capable of reasoning, but also of magic.  Likely a foolish choice to give to machines no matter how advanced she thought.
"I'm in need of more materials for my craft, gemstones would be excellent.  As would anything that passes for an alchemical reagent on this world."
She glances over to VerTwo as Warden 3 tells it to stand down.  She considered suggesting they should leave it here, but decided having something between the creatures and herself was probably best.

[DragonRage]

"Incendiaries and flamethrower fuel?  Probably got some around somewhere.  Advanced alloys?  Depends on what you mean by advanced, but we can probably scare something up, even if it needs to be shipped in," Arcee states, "I'll make some calls."

"An airframe, you say?" Perceptor leans down to take a closer look at Warden 3, the lens apparatus on his shoulder telescoping in and out, "Are you, by chance a techno-organic?  Or a cyborg?  Biomechanically and mentally stable examples are quite uncommon and noteworthy.  Would you object to some non-invasive probing?  I've never met a non-hostile techno-organic in person before!  Oh, this is so exciting."

[Chevaleresse]

"I can provide a bill of materials necessary to repair any battle damage I take." The air superiority fighter frowned. There was no guarantee it would actually be the correct alloys or have the desired characteristics. And this was entirely leaving aside the matter of stealth coatings. . .

"I... am not certain where I fall in your definitions." She paused to think about the rest of her answer. The reflexive response was to deny the request, but if what she'd been told was true. . . "Normally, investigation of my systems would be highly classified, but given the circumstances, I believe an exception can be made."

[DragonRage]

"I see.  I assure you, I will keep any information I glean in strict confidence for a period of...  You look Terran, yes?  50 of your stellar cycles?  I believe that should cover doctor/patient confidentiality considering the average human functional lifespan," Perceptor slowly shuffles around Warden 3, mumbling to himself.  He swaps out the lenses on his shoulder scanner several times as he does so, "Well, from this alone, I can confirm several things.  First off, based on your energy signature, mechanical structure, and cellular structure, you are indeed a stable hybrid, and should not need to worry about suddenly self-terminating due to flaws in your construction.  Secondly, and you may already be aware of this, but you started your existence as a military aircraft, and were later awakened and granted human traits by the implantation of... something.  My sensors cannot penetrate it, but as there is nothing else inside you that could be allowing you to exist in your current state, logically, this device must be responsible.  I do wonder..."  Perceptor's eyes flash a bright, pale blue, and bright lines extend from his pupils, playing over Warden 3's frame.

And then, his entire body begins to shift.  Red and grey metal plates slide over each other with faint clicks and whirrs, pulling in his blocky frame into a sleeker configuration.  The sensor tube slides down to rest on his forearm, making room for a pair of swept-up, familiar-looking wings, each with that red face emblem displayed prominently upon them.  The helmet-like structure on his head changes too, resembling what Warden 3's pilots might wear, and his heels bulk up a bit with the cylinders of jet engines.  As the changes end, a cockpit slides into place over his chest, looking remarkably like it was pulled straight from an F-22.  "I see.  So the organic and mechanical components are linked, but separate," Perceptor comments, "Unless..."

He kneels, and begins to shift again, wings, arms, and legs folding and rotating, accompanied by a strange, distinctive series of noises, until a red and grey F-22 rests on its landing gear before Warden 3.  It looks similar to her own original form, but not the same; her gun has been replaced by Perceptor's sensor tube, and its missile compartments appear to be missing altogether.  As bizarre as it might sound, it looks like a civilian model of the F-22 fighter jet.  "No, the alt mode remains the same," Perceptor's cockpit glass lights and dims in time with his words, "The scan only registered the mechanical side of the techno-organic.  Interesting.  Implications uncertain, but every data point helps.  I don't suppose you would like to share your name for the records, miss Ensign?"