The Diego Diaries: Forensics (dd6 520)

-0-Morgue at 0350 AM on the TMC

They walked in with the youngster who was running the desk at the special sectors portion of the medical center. All of the security containments and the morgue were here among other things. Ratchet walked in, then turned to the youngling kid, Mott. He looked a bit perturbed given that Ratchet was here to autopsy an organic who had as someone so eloquently put it, 'exploded out in the boondocks somehow'. He looked queasy and scared. "How about bringing Prime and I something to drink, infant? I'm thinking a beer would hit the spot right now."

The kid looked relieved, then turned to Optimus who nodded. He fairly flew out the door as the two watched. "He's in an apprentice program that lets them experience all the different kinds of work in medicine, then they can choose and we help them get through college," Ratchet said. "We keep them in the program and they don't get frustrated and quit."

He walked to the freezer unit while Prime sat next to the door. He didn't want to be here either it would seem. Ratchet coded the lock, then pulled the tray out. A shrouded body was on it, a small one that was now flat and laying normally. He pulled it further, then legs with rollers shot down from it and he could pull the tray out as a gurney. Moving it to the door, he pushed it to the room across the way that had an elevator. Optimus followed.

They went up, then across before stopping. The door opened and they were in the heavily plated imaging center of the hospital. All the big machines that were by their nature harmful were clustered here. He pushed the body in then slid it into the first big machine there. He closed the door, then walked to a walled off control room. "Come in. You don't need anymore radiation than you already get in space."

Prime followed, then watched as Ratchet sat, pulled up screens, then tuned the machine into the body. A detailed three dimensional color image of Dobbs appeared, one that showed him relaxed in death. He was an odd shade of gray, something he shared with the bots in death and in the image there was a lot of blood splatter. It came from his mouth as his lungs failed and then other organs as they froze nearly instantly in the -122 degrees and minimal atmosphere of the Martian day at this time of year.

His face was relaxed which was a mercy but he showed distress to a small degree anyway. His features were intact, his internal organs had burst including his lungs and he had frost bite, dark and extremely extensive over his body where it had been exposed. He had broken bones all over his upper body. His arms were broken in several places, his ribs all were fractured, his helm bore a blow which seemed overkill. The machine stated that it was post mortem.

"Well, what a mess. All of his ribs are broken. Both his arms are broken in several places or fractured. His wrists are broken along with fingers in defensive wounds, his body is a patchwork of bruises and he has every single one of his internal organs ruptured or frost bitten. He died immediately upon removal of his mask and I would state that they beat him to make that possible. We're dealing with a man trained in combat and fit as a fiddle who was killed, perhaps in a surprise move against him.

"He couldn't have lasted more than a second after the loss of his mask. Even if he held his breath it would only give a second or two longer to live. This is homicide, Optimus. A brutal cold blooded killing."

Prime nodded. "Can you work out a report, one that will stand scrutiny with the humans? I would like everything possible about him, his condition both before and after his death and anything that might link him to his killers."

"In the old orns humans believed that if you looked at a dead man's eyes the image of their killer would be etched on them. You could see the last thing they ever saw there. I wish that were true now," Ratchet said as he programmed the computers to do a digital autopsy of the human, one in which nothing would be cut or invaded. When it was finished Dobbs would go back into the freezer to await transport to Earth and his family, whenever that would be.

"What do we know?" Ratchet asked. "No one was out and about that isn't accounted for. He was making friends, perhaps in a friendly manner but no one saw him after the four visits. I don't see him letting someone ride with him that he didn't know. No one hitchhikes here. No bot did this. We could detect that at the scene and on the body. I don't know what to think."

Prime nodded. "I know. We need to move on this. The habitats will stay on lock down until we get a clue. I do not want anyone else to be killed before we catch these individuals."

"What if someone has a bead on tech that allows them to come and go? What if they told him about it or he found out? What if they had a falling out and killed him? I don't know how this fits together without some kind of cloaking tech and some disagreement between Dobbs and his killers. There has to be advanced tech involved here and we all know that means the Resistance, the mob behind the traitors at Sector 7 and that bunch. Maybe they figured out how to cloak, came here, were spotted by Dobbs and they killed him to keep things buttoned down?"

"How would they get here? By the Resort tours? By sneaking into a space bridge somehow? How long could they be cloaked before it would fail? How would they exist here? None of our tech for the environmental suits is old tech. We created it here," Optimus said.

"Maybe there's enough information in the missing data that they could make the stuff they needed? Humans are incredibly creative. That's why half the aliens that plague them come here, to exploit them and their creativity. Nothing would surprise me about them. It's their special super power, I think," Ratchet mused.

"We have to figure this out. Maybe we need to screen for cloaked individuals through the bridges and ship traffic. Maybe someone is sneaking aboard when the tours come. We have tours coming from and going to Earth two times a day. That doesn't count the commercial services and our own shipping. The door would probably seem very open to someone who had mastered cloaking and environmental tech," Prime said with disquiet.

"I fear that, too," Ratchet said.

-O-Later that morning … 0900 TMC at the Ops Center, The Fortress …

They began to come in, finding their seats as they balanced their cups, plates and data pads. They were the senior Autobots and a few specially invited scientists and specialists. The night had passed and they were gathering to discuss what had been discovered. It was a grim faced group that settled, then turned to Prime. All of those who were normally on Cybertron by now were here for the mass briefing.

"Prowl, begin," Prime said as he sat back with a hot cup of 'tea'.

"We're getting push back from Earth over the blackout. They want to know what's happening," Prowl began. "We've told them that a glitch in a new booster addition had taken down the system and we're working for it to be up tonight at 1800 hours." Prowl sat back. "If we don't have a definitive idea about this by then we have to send the body to Earth anyway and face the music."

"What do you have, Ratchet from the full autopsy?" Prime asked.

"He's a strong fit human male, Caucasian, has two tattoos, is well nourished and has a hernia scar. He bears two knife wounds on his upper arm and a bullet wound, all of which are long healed on his upper left thigh. He was not intoxicated nor was he using any drugs at the time. He didn't even smoke as some do.

"He suffered a lot of woundings from blunt force trauma, most likely the tire iron found at the scene. He had broken ribs, arms, wrists, fingers, a few blows on his legs that didn't break bones but likely put him down on the ground as well as a heavy blow to the cranium after he lost his helmet.

"He suffered a lot of blows but none of them were enough to kill him. I believe they were affected to allow them to pull his helmet off. He suffered immediate freezing of limbs, face and body when the seal of his helmet broke and he lost his protection and atmosphere. It was then that I conjecture that the last blow to his head occurred. He fell into a fetal position due to the impact of the cold and after about 10-15 seconds of holding his breath, he exhaled and died.

"His lungs burst and so did his heart. He was almost immediately frozen to death and there is extensive frost bite on his limbs and face, all of the places that were exposed to the direct atmosphere. He exhaled most of his blood supply through his mouth and all in all it was a terrible but immensely quick way to die. He had no chance when the seal broke."

It was deeply silent in the room. Then Raptor shifted. "I have no truck with mercenaries. We can all agree that mechs like Lockdown have no use for anyone. But I have to tell you, Prime that this really frags me off. The humans are helpless here and we have the charge to protect them. Someone killed this man without a thought to him or his loved ones. I want them."

"You and me both, Raptor," Prime said.

"This is fragged," Perceptor said. "He had no chance. This is the work of cowards, Prime. The humans are a lot of things but I like them. They're … plucky and brave. This is not an easy place to live and they want to come here. I like them and working with them is always enjoyable. This is really going to make problems for both sides, those of us who love this place and want the relationship to succeed."

Everyone agreed, then Springer leaned forward on his elbows. "What's next, Optimus? We need to protect them, all of them. A lot of them are friends and all of them love being here. This is a real blow to everyone. I like the humans. They're brave and decent, most of them. What do you want us to do?"

Prime considered that, then set his cup down. "We have to protect them and the alliance as well. If we do not protect Earth they will die at one point or the other from the threat. They are our neighbors and friends. I find them admirable and good. We cannot let their wilder instincts lead them into danger. No matter what this means to our alliance we are going to protect them." He looked at Springer. "Put mechs in the buildings, armed and have them stand by the doors on short shifts. I want their presence to be seen and halt whoever is behind this from doing it again without reprisal.

"I want us to put together all of the facts, have it presentable as a document, then I will tell the humans what happened. I have already asked General Morshower to tell the family what happened and he will at 1700 hours. I will tell the humans right after they are informed. I do not want them to find out by anyone else but us. It is not the Autobot way.

"Until then, hustle," Prowl said. "We have to have some idea of what's happening. Wheeljack and Perceptor, I give you charge for scanning transports, incoming and outgoing passengers on both commercial vessels and our own cargo. I was already told by my ada that he's working on full spectrum scanning on all bridge transports. We have to figure this out. Have all your findings, or not to me by 1500 joors. No later. We have to have this ironed out as best we can before Optimus presents this to Earth. Any questions?"

No one had any so they broke up and walked out to take on the problem once more. Prowl and Prime watched them go, then Prowl glanced at him. "Anything about Crader?" he asked.

"No. Nothing so far," Prime said. "The Matrix is quiet."

"Too bad." He grinned without mirth. "We have a naming ceremony tomorrow and dinner. Its messed up again."

"Who is surprised?" Prime asked.

"Not me," Prowl said with a sigh.

-0-TBC 11-13-18 edited 11-24-18

ESL: post mortem: after death

A great genius died today, Stan Lee. What he didn't create in comics doesn't much matter. He was such a great man personally as well as professionally. He was amazing. It pains me in places I didn't know I had when this news reached me. He took it all with him, all the joy, creativity and happiness of millions. Some people should live forever. The world's favorite uncle is gone. He's with his wife, Joan at last. Over 70 years married, those two. I wish I could tell you how badly I feel tonight that his light went out in the world.

Rest in peace, Stan Lee. 1922-2018

Excelsior!