Episode 1 [AR] - "Oh look, it's a lion" (Open)

[Deleted]

(Right, so, first time RP with anyone other than Hoss, be gentle!)

“Ya absolutely positive ya wanna go to this earth? In your condition?”
Optics rolling to the ceiling for what seemed the umpteenth time that cycle, Rocker handed off a cargo crate to a dock worker and rounded on the concerned captain of The Legend.
“Not that the concern isn't appreciated, Optiplex, but we've been over this. I MUST go to earth, I have to--”
“Heed the Prime's call, I know, but... can't ya just, I don't know, stop being an Autobot and stay here? Out of trouble.”
Rocket shook her head and shot him a look of endearment.
“I am an Autobot with the skills that may or may not turn the tables of the war, Optiplex. I must go, even if there's just the slightest chance of making a difference and....”
She trailed off as images of the past few vorns flashed through her mind. Confusion, death, energon everywhere, memory cores, a promise to a dying mech, pain...
“Rocket?”
Shaking her helm and coming out of her reverie, Rocket smiled at the gentle captain.
“Besides, I’m in good shape thanks to the medics here on Orious. I will be fine,” she said with a tone of finality in her voice. He wasn't going to change her mind. Even Megatron himself wouldn't change her mind.
Completely unconvinced, Optiplex crossed his arms and gave her the look she remembered her creators giving her a time or two, especially when they knew they couldn't change her mind, but wanted to keep trying until she out right left.
“Still, I mean, pods only got one good run in 'er. Once you set course, ain't no changin' your mind.”
The concern was heavy in his voice and it was flattering, the way he treated her like a youngling and looked after her well being. Primus knew she didn't do it enough on her own as it was. As much as she would have liked to stay with him aboard The Legend, sweeping through the stars and ferrying Neutrals to and from their established bases, she couldn't morally ignore the call of the Prime.
“I understand the implications, Optiplex, but I am going to earth,” turning to the rustic escape pod turned transport ship, she shifted on her pedes, “ She reliable?”
Optiplex puffed up in pride and placed balled fists onto his gaudy orange hips. Rocket wondered briefly if he'd ever consider a less optic sore paint job. Probably not, he was an old school mech.
“Course she is! Built all the pods on Legend myself. Won' find a sweeter lil 'ship'. It'll be like headin' to earth in luxury style!”


“Pull up, frag you!”
Slamming a hand on the already fritzing console, Rocket turned and ran towards the cargo hold of the small pod-tuned-ship in an attempt to secure its contents. Stepping around the crates as gingerly as possible, the femme lamented the fact that she knew next to nothing of the ships controls, and if she'd at least learned a little bit more than just how to make it go where she wanted, she would know how to salvage the deteriorating situation. As it was, she couldn't override the systems and try to right the nose diving ship. All thoughts about that, however, were dashed as a loud explosion rocked the ship and she was suddenly watching a few of the cargo crates disappear out of the new hole in the side of the ship.

Spitting out a panicked curse, she secured the rest of the cargo crates and dashed to one of the security harnesses to the side. Just as she typed in the pass codes and the mechanical arms extricated from the walls, the garbled voice of the ship's limited AI surrounded the cargo hold.
“PREPARE FOR HARD LANDING. ALL PASSENGERS FIND THE NEAREST SECURITY HARNESS. PREPARE FOR HARD LANDING.”
Securing herself in said Harness, rocket's hands gripped the metal arms and she offlined her optics as the ship plummeted.


When she next on-lined her optics, she was in the floor of the cargo hold and was disoriented. The flashing, red auxiliary lights were dimmed by the acrid smoke from burning fuel and the place was a disaster. Outside of the hole in the ships hull, she saw ground, organic carpeting covering it in a brownish sheet. Groaning, the femme pushed herself onto wobbly pedes and did a self check.
No lasting damage, thank Primus, and though a few of the dents and nicks were painful, she wouldn't need complete attention any time soon. It was nothing she couldn't take care of on her own, anyways. Passing a self inspection, her new agenda was to find out where she'd landed in respect to her original destination. Upon inspection and a little slapdash research using the thing called the internet, Rocket realized where she was with a frustrated groan.

Africa.

Not only had she not landed in Nevada like she'd programmed the navigation systems to do, she wasn't even on the same landmass. In hindsight, she should have checked the shuttle over a little more, knowing Optiplex's penchant for buying up junk to fix that he had no inclination as to HOW to fix it. Her crashed “luxury liner' was obviously one of those things.
Ex-venting, she Autobot surveyed the surrounding wreckage. Luckily her unlucky landing was in a location devoid of the dominant species, humans, and as such, any detection was highly unlikely. If anyone had noticed, (thanks to those outdated satellites and all those easily hackable radio waves), hopefully she and the wreckage would be well on their way out. A simple tap into recognizable media, radio waves and digital sludge told her she was good. With that, she encrypted a signal against Decepticon notice and sent out a call.

“To any Autobot or Neutral Cybertronian within my broadcasting vicinity, my designation is Rocket and I am an Autobot Communications officer downed and without transport at the included coordinates. I am in need of assistance and come bearing minimal, sharable supplies. Please respond.”

Signal successful transmitted, Rocket went about making herself useful. With one last look out to the area, sight skimming over the local fauna, including some rather large fuzzy feline thing, she headed into the hull of the ship to take note of what was left of the cargo and to put out the rest of the fuel fires.

[Deleted]

Wheeljack watched the falling podship with interest. He'd slipped quietly backed to Earth, landed on completely the wrong continent -Europe-, picked up an alt-mode -at a car-show full of concept cars, he learned later but by that point, he'd grown accustomed to the new wheels and wasn't looking to change it-, then he had set out to learn all he could about the planet. He wasn't quite under the direction of Autobot Command, they knew he was about -nothing could have kept him from letting Bulkhead know he was back and willing to roll out anytime-, they had an agreement in place regarding salvaging wrecks but generally for the most part, Wheeljack had been left alone to explore by himself in peace.

Which was just how he liked it.

He kept telling himself that, trying to pretend that there wasn't a small part of his spark that twinged in loneliness with Bulkhead so close yet just out of reach.

He'd flown the Jackhammer from continent to continent as he learned more about the humans. Africa held a lot of interest for him, from what Wheeljack had picked up on the humans' internet, the continent was rich in minerals and precious metals. It sounded like an ideal hotspot for energon and Wheeljack figured there had to be some Decepticon mines buried in the ground somewhere here. For now, he was on recon only, simply scouting out their locations for future missions. The Autobots might have a good grasp on the situation in North America and their groundbridges gave them instant access all over the world but their numbers were few and couldn't be everywhere.

So, whilst hovering somewhere above the Coast Province in Kenya, the Jackhammer's sensors had caught the out of control descent of a Cybertronian podship. From his readings, the situation looked pretty serious, Wheeljack had encountered more than his fair share of dying spaceships, especially during his gig picking up Autobot refugees. He'd gunned the Jackhammer after it, tracking its fall through the atmosphere.

He had just caught up to it when an explosion rocked the ship, scattering a few cargo crates to the wind. Wheeljack tagged a marker on them so that the Jackhammer would automatically track the vector of the escaped cargo for later recovery. The operation had just moved up from a rescue mission to a rescue and clean-up mission. At this point, he figured, the only thing he could do was to let the podship crash and hope that its passengers would survive.

And that they were Autobots, for their own sakes.

The podship hit the ground hard, skidding a couple of hundred metres before dragging to a halt as a smoking, burning mess. Despite himself, Wheeljack winced. The ship hadn't been anything special, nothing like his own Jackhammer but still, it killed a part of his spark inside every time one of the new arrivals ploughed a piece of machinery into the face of the planet. True, they'd all been piloting rust buckets but a ship was a ship and Wheeljack was both a spark-born engineer and a skilled pilot.

He flew over it once, no signs of life. Wheeljack's mouthplates tightened in consternation as he looked for a good spot to land. It took a while, simply because he wasn't comfortable with leaving the Jackhammer out in the open. Crashes tended to attract attention of the Decepticon kind, in Wheeljack's many, many vorns of experience, and whilst he had no compunctions over getting into a scrap with them, the Jackhammer was a little bit less replaceable and the only way of this rock, should it come to it.

Then, the Jackhammer's communications systems clicked.

“To any Autobot or Neutral Cybertronian within my broadcasting vicinity, my designation is Rocket and I am an Autobot Communications officer downed and without transport at the included coordinates. I am in need of assistance and come bearing minimal, sharable supplies. Please respond.”

The voice was quite composed for someone who'd just survived a crashlanding, so it didn't sound like the caller or anyone with her was in trouble. Wheeljack checked the channel, encoded and on an Autobot frequency. And offering to share supplies, that was a surprise. All good signs but he hadn't lived this long by trusting appearances. Still...one servo casually tapped the Jackhammer's holographic interface to activate a comm channel.

"Well, Rocket, it seems like you're in luck," he transmitted. "Autobot Wheeljack en route, about 2 klicks East. I'll be seeing you soon."

The patch of low lying trees he'd found was less than ideal and more token effort due to the scarcity of cover but it was close by the crash. Wheeljack emerged from his ship and fluidly transformed into his alt. This was not the terrain the vehicle he'd picked was ever meant to have navigated but Wheeljack handled the rough ground with the ease born from the experience of much, much worse conditions. It didn't take long before he reached the crash site and reverted back to root mode.

The podship wasn't going to fly again, that much was sure. Wheeljack took in the sight of the gutted ship with a practised optic, already identifying which parts could still be salvaged for spare parts for the Jackhammer. Through the large tear in the ship's hull, he could make out the survivor, attempting to contain the remaining fires. Without hesitation, he plunged forth to her side to help. He'd brought some fire-fighting equipment of his own, tucked away in subspace. After seeing so many refugees crash-land, it had become an automatic instinct to pack away the equivalent of a Cybertronian fire extinguisher whenever he ventured forth on these operations.

Wheeljack kept a careful optic on the newcomer as they worked. "Hope you weren't too attached to this bucket of bolts," he commented dryly. "You did a really good job of murdering it. You said something about supplies?"

It was, by this point, pretty clear that the femme was alone and undamaged and highly likely an Autobot. Wheeljack's interest in the whole venture was already waning. She'd go off and be a good little soldier and join up with Team Prime and that would be the end of things. Wheeljack's involvement in the matter ended as soon as he got her to where she needed to be.

Supplies however were a different thing completely.

[Deleted]

Waiting wasn't something Rocket liked to do, despite being rather full of patience. Decoding and coding messages, radio waves and the like took a patience she was sure a front-liner wouldn't have. Be that as it may, it didn't mean waiting, alone mind you, without any contact was any fun. Luckily enough for her, taking care of the damages and the fires was enough to keep her busy, as was surfing along this data filled thing called “the internet.” She'd learned quite a bit about the area she was in, Kenya, it would seem, and had she not been on a mission to get her aft to Prime, she might have been interested in looking through their minerals to add to the precious 'rock' collection she'd been amassing since she was younger. Kenya was apparently home to many kinds of precious and semi precious stones. Sapphire was interesting, as was the common Tourmaline. She'd have to see what happened to see if she could at least collect a little bit of it. For all she knew, the Prime would tell her to remain there because of the mineral deposits. That was sure to mean energon supplies and that meant Decepticons. She hoped not.

Said collection habit was something she assumed she inherited from her maternal creator. Mojave was a passionate, renowned archeologist that had come home with little bits and pieces of things for a young Rocket that had her learning all she could about the shiny metals and minerals. That the collection had survived the crash made the small femme happy enough as it was... that her precious delivery was unharmed as well was just as good. Those containers had been set aside well away from the fires and wreckage. If anything went up in flames, she didn't want it to be them.
Once she was pretty sure she'd had all the fires out, she'd gone about moving the cargo out of the hull of the ship. There was nothing left but scrap in it and she hoped that whoever pinged her would have a ship that could carry supplies. Taking inventory of what she had left, she let out an exvent. Most of the energon had survived the trip, the container with what medical supplies she could scrounge up had a large hole in it, but at least it had just tumbled and scattered about the cargo hold, rather than into the atmosphere. Energy supplies, random tool boxes and some other things she had no clue of had survived as well, and that was good enough for her.

It was while she was moving the cargo that another small explosion and a fire started... again. Cursing under her breath, the femme dropped the cargo container and dashed over to the flame to put it out. It was during this that her comm ping'd and she listened to a voice tell her that he was Wheeljack and he heading in her direction. A sense of relief flooded over her. She was confident in her ability to code a simple call for help against Decepticons, but that didn't mean her abilities were infallible.... or that it was Wheeljack at all. She remembered his name vaguely from reading something about the wreckers or something once upon a time. At least, if it was him, he'd be strong enough to give her a hand if any unsavory visitors showed up. Her fighting skills, minimal at best, were lacking.

While she didn't necessarily know what kind of Alt mode he sported, she was glad he was there, anyways, and with something better than solvent to put out the fire. A quick scan showed the Autobot symbol and an Autobot frequency and she relaxed. It was hard to mask a bot frequency with a 'con one without someone trained to notice NOT noticing. His comment had her glaring at the ship in disdain.
“Hardly, I should have known better than to trust something Optiplex worked on to actually work,” she said, stepping away from the withering smoke. It was at this time she got a good look at the mech who'd joined her. His mentioning of her supplies had her momentarily worried. Anyone still enlisted or under Prime's command more than likely would have asked about her health and then worried about everything else. Either he was a wanderer or a bounty hunter and she had time for shenanigans from neither.
“Limited, anyways. I lost about three cargo pallets on entry, one of them energon, the other with odds and ends,” she stated, leaning against the side of the ship.
“What I have isn't mint condition, I received it from a neutral ship and base, but it's what I could scrounge. You're welcome to some it it... within reason,” she finished before eying the two smaller crates put aside.
“All but those, anyway.”

She moved away from the bot for a moment to get her wits about her and make sure she had everything accounted fore before she spoke. “Have you been in contact with anyone still with Prime? I assume, since you're out here, you're either on a mission for him or wandering.”

Awkward silence followed and she huffed. She didn't know what to do that wasn't what she was good at. Interrogation, maybe, investigation, certainly... small talk? Not really.

[Deleted]

Wheeljack snorted when he heard Rocket's assessment on her ship. He'd been eying up the least damaged support beams and armoured plating for scavenging potential but a quick scan on the ship infrastructure had revealed a substandard alloy with a rather low percentage of Cybertronium. He couldn't quite identify the other materials in it but it'd take the sort of equipment and resources that weren't readily available of Earth to recover any decent amount of Cybertronium. The metal was extremely hard to come by these orns and Wheeljack hated making do with anything less when it came to the Jackhammer. That didn't mean that he'd turn down a potential source when it turned up.

It just meant he'd complain bitterly to himself whenever he was forced to use it.

"I tagged the three boxes you lost on the way down, we can fetch them and see if anything survived the drop," Wheeljack replied. Idly, he traced one finger through the soot settling on his armour. Most mechs would probably be bothered the ash but Wheeljack had caused far too many explosions for it to be an issue. "Honestly, I'm not looking for much. Just keeping an optic out for spare parts and other materials to keep a starship going. I'd like to have a look through what you've got but that's something to be dealt with later. In fact, you got any need for this wreck? Cuz I'll strip it for spare parts if you don't."

Hopefully by establishing his interest now, Rocket would refrain from offering her supplies to the Omega base until after Wheeljack had a chance to look through them.

Proper protocol dictated that Wheeljack should obtain some form of identification to help confirm Rocket's Autobot allegiance before getting into contact with the Omega outpost. Her ID codes would serve just fine in this situation. It'd take Wheeljack like, only a few astroseconds to go through the procedure.

It'd be short. It'd be quick. It'd take no effort at all.

So, of course, he ignored it.

Wheeljack couldn't recall the last time he'd bothered adhering to standard protocol but he was pretty sure there were a few thousand vorns between now and then. As things were, he'd become accustomed to rely on his instincts and plain simple observation. After picking up your fiftieth refugee, you started getting a feel for who was a genuine Autobot or not. Most Decpticons tried murdering him outright or attempted to hide their allegiance and deceive him. The later ones never quite could hide the feeling of fear whenever he got close though. There were advantages to being such a skilled fighter, after all. Your enemies hated you and they tended to recognize you on sight, a winning combination. Autobots, on the other hand, sometimes didn't know who Wheeljack was straight away or had heard of him but didn't actually know what he looked like.

Rocket was checking all of Wheeljack's mental boxes for 'Yup, totally a Bot.' Besides, even if she wasn't, well, Team Prime would figure things out, like they had with that whole mess with Makeshift. Granted they'd had Bulkhead with them who was familiar with Wheeljack. They had a new security director though and Red Alert's paranoia was legendary.

"Right on the mark with your second guess," the Wrecker answered easily. A lesser bot might be ashamed to admit that they were -in essence- a deserter of sorts but Wheeljack saw no point in hiding it. Any interaction with a form of authority would make that abundantly clear that everyone was better off with him on his own. "But I do have contact with the Autobot forces established on this planet. I can call for a groundbridge to get you out of here right now if you want. I'll handle clean up here and bring your missing boxes back to base."

There was a brisk efficiency to Wheeljack's thoughts. The longer they were out in the open, the more likely they were to be spotted. And Rocket lacked an alt-mode, though that could be handled back at the Omega base. It'd be quicker, too, if he handled the retrieval by himself, being more familiar to the planet.

Of course, this assumed that she trusted him with her missing property. Or that she wanted to go directly to the Bot base. Her decisions after all and Wheeljack didn't particularly care to make them for her.

Unless they fragged him off or interfered with him, of course.

[Deleted]

Rocket looked up from a box she'd been checking to give him the smallest of relieved smiles. He might not have really cared what was going on beyond his own gains, but that didn't mean she wasn't thankful he at least offered, even if the offer was an after thought.
“That would be most helpful, actually. I don't have much from my time with the Neutrals, but those data pads that were lost contain most of my notes and code books. I'd like to have them back,” she rambled a little, picking some rock from a joined in her elbow.
“The extra energon would help too. Help yourself to what's left,” motioning dispassionately to the ship, she shook her head, “It served it's purpose for me... granted less than it should have, but I digress. If you can get anything useful out of it, you're more than welcome to take it.”

Standing again because sitting meant not doing anything and she was too energized to do nothing, she walked back over to the taller mech and put her hands on her hips. She contemplated asking him to help her get an alt mode. She felt naked, vulnerable without one, and it would certainly help her once she did reach Prime's coordinates. On the other hand, leave the rest of the rubble out her would not only attract 'con attention, but local attention as well, and she wasn't in the mood to fight or make explanations for things people had no right to know.

There was also the thought of the Kenyan mines, filled with what could possibly be Energon stores and no doubt earth crystals. Both interested her. Energon mines would mean an upper hand for Autobots for sure, enough to actually create a small store of the stuff. The crystals? They'd sate her curiosity and collective tenancies. Not one to go out on her own whim without knowing what she was getting into and at least a little bit of a go ahead, she turned to the bot again.

“If it's not too much trouble, there are actually things I want to do. However, being new here and still navigating through the pit of a thing called the internet, I'm still rusty on knowledge and direction,” she explained, “Correct me if I'm wrong, but we're in a region called Kenya, yes? According to human intelligence there are rock mines all along the region, perfect places for Energon Crystals to form, plenty enough, I would imagine, that harvesting them would at least create a small store for the Autobots?”

She hoped asking him for a little help wasn't too presumptuous. He was already being nice enough to offer to help her to the Autbot base, and here she was asking him for far more than he probably thought he was getting into. She wondered if he even cared. Maybe he was bored enough to try it? Selfish enough to wonder what he got out of it too? She didn't know, but as things stood, didn't care much to find out anything beyond whether he was going to give her a yes or a no.

“That being said, I'd like to check and see if there is any, and satisfy a crystal curiosity of mine as well. Only problem is that I don't think I’m outfitted with a strong enough commlink to catch attention across oceans just yet, and I would really like permission before gallivanting off into unknown territory. Would you, perhaps, be able to help me contact the Autobots for that permission? As well as help me find an alt.”

Looking down at dented grey metal, she felt a little embarrassed that she was standing there in something less than her best. She was a fraggin' Praxian, for Primus sake, the least she could do was uphold appearance standards.

“I feel some what... naked and vulnerable without one, you see.”

[Deleted]

(OOC: This turn might not be what you're expecting but Wheeljack kept prodding at my brain going, 'say what.')

Notes and codebooks? Wheeljack mentally deflated at this. Boring, his processor labelled the missing boxes. Truth be told, he had no vested interest beyond their retrieval but one did like to imagine he was fetching a neutron canon or something equally exciting. But. Nope. Just some data notebooks.

Wheeljack turned an optic back over the wreck. Stripping it for every usable part might take a while, longer than he felt comfortable sticking around in one area. It wasn't the possibility of Decepticons that bothered him, he welcomed a good fight, but sooner or later, the locals would start to show some interest. He'd had to make the ship very gone in a short amount of time...or maybe call for a groundbridge and get the Omega base Bots to help store it until he could have a chance to dismantle the wreck.

"Yeah, this little part of the world is called Kenya," Wheeljack replied. He quirked an optic ridge at the bot as she outlined her plans. The Omega base outpost didn't seem like it had equipment or enough bots to spare for energon mining. And if there were deposits out here, Wheeljack was banking on the Decepticons to have already found them.

"I don't doubt that there's energon out here," he told her. " I was out scouting for deposits when I saw your ship go down actually. Thing is, if there's energon here, you can bet your tail-pipe the Cons will be here too and probably occupying those mines." Wheeljack studied her intently as he spoke, this time assessing her for combat capability. Rocket didn't look like much of a fighter, she was short and her frame was built for speed. Light weaponry, if that baton and pistol were the only weapons she was packing. Plus-what was that she'd said on her way down? Communications officer. Yeeeah. Probably not much of a fighter.

Still. Her choice if she wanted to tag along. Wheeljack had suspicions of his own that had started brewing while she talked. "Still want to come with?" Wheeljack's optics narrowed at her. It was -quite frankly- more than a little strange that she didn’t want to stop by Bot command first and get debriefed before gallivanting off on a strange planet. Even Wheeljack had checked in, albeit he'd been waylaid on his way in and had come this way more to see Bulkhead than Optimus Prime. Rocket's alt-mode could be handled easily over there as well. Not to mention-

What sort of Communications Officer wasn't outfitted with a planetary comm-link?

Wheeljack's own comm range was boosted by the Jackhammer, he used it to bounce off his own signals and amplify them. He could easily call the Omega base even if he was on the other side of the planet or off it. But a comms officer own equipment should be far outstripping his capabilities, given that was their job.

Unless she wasn't a comms officer.

Except, Wheeljack's instincts had been dead certain before that she was a Bot. And those instincts had rarely been wrong before. There hadn't been any recognition of Wheeljack, Killer of Many, Many, Many Decepticons and Deserving of a Painful Death, Crush Him Now! Just, oh, hey, look, another Autobot, cool.

Maybe she was just a lousy comms officer whose fondness for crystals outweighed her sense of duty. Wheeljack shirked his Autobot responsibilities all the time, so he wasn't exactly one to talk.

Or, she could be a Decepticon hoping to stab him in the back in an energon mine where he'd be outnumbered.

Eh. Let her try.

"I'll need your ID code to get you that permission," Wheeljack said casually, as he opened up a channel to the Omega base and also broke his thousand of vorns long streak of not following proper protocol. The security director's records were impeccable and would be able to confirm her identity for him. And even if they did come back positive...well, all that meant was that Rocket had been an Autobot. It didn't necessarily mean she was still one.

Getting permission for Rocket would be much easier when he'd flagged the request with an additional note of his own suspicions and decision to check her out. And even if they refused it…

Well, since when did Wheeljack answer to Bot command? And since Rocket was counting on him to give her their response...

Wheeljack didn't have to tell her the truth. One way or the other, he'd get to the bottom of this.

[Deleted]

Upon hearing the likely fate of the mines, she couldn't help the little pout. Wheeljack was right, if she'd learned anything from reading reports and radio waves she'd gotten while being on the Humdinger (she could have slapped the captain for the stupid name), it was that where there was Energon, there were certainly Decepticons on it. They had the superior tech and knowledge on mining the stuff, she'd be out matched even with a good group of bots to go with her.
That being said, she wasn't keen on coming face to face with a 'Con when she'd been so out of touch with the war for so long thanks to getting separated long ago from the squad and base she'd been assigned. Not to mention she wasn't a fighter in the first place. The closest she'd come to actual combat had been message running in the beginning of her stint with the Autobots and an interceptor had cut her off. Only quick thinking and the business end of her long baton had kept her safe, and that was with a heavy does of luck dashed on top.

Rubbing a hand down her face plates and giving a long suffering ex-vent, the femme looked up at Wheeljack.
“If it's all the same to you, I'm more interested in the safer retrieval of a crystal than the more dangerous investigation of “possible” energon deposits,” she said and rubbed the back of her neck in slight embarrassment as her door wings shifted with her posture, keeping her balanced.
“I'm not outfitted with anything beyond a standard weapon and book knowledge on how to fight. I'm a comms officer with a collection of Crystals and a broken comms whose been all over hither and tither on an ill equipped neutral cruiser. The less of battle I see, the happier and more alive I will stay,” she finally ended as she looked around them.
She much preferred keeping her aft in one piece (albeit a little dirtier than she'd like, but she assumed base at least had solvent showers), and would reserve crystal collection for after she'd come in contact with command and let them know she was there.

Rattling off her ID saw her hoping, rather tiredly, that Wheeljack was indeed the Wheeljack she'd heard mention of a time or two... and not just some random 'Con impersonating him. That would be bad for her and she did so hate giving out information no one REALLY needed to know. Desperate times, they say.

“They have CMO Ratchet on Omega base, correct?” she asked after waiting for him to contact them.
She needed a good check up from a real medic and she needed someone familiar with her frame type to at least fix her comms. It was the only way she'd be any kind of useful. The antennae at the sides of her helm twitched as she looked around for something to do. They were nothing more than ornaments if she couldn't get the tech upgrades and the blow breaker pieces in them. It was pure luck she'd caught the Prime's signal as it was and even more so relying on her knowledge retention in order to send out her own comm. Hopefully Ratchet, if there at all, would be able to get her into complete working condition, something she'd not been in since she'd been separated from Copas base.

[Deleted]

Or maybe Rocket was just a comms officer with a broken comm link and an overwhelming fondness for crystals.

Wheeljack didn't feel any consternation at his mistake though he did turn off a few battle protocols. Would have helped if she'd been more clear about the matter, not being outfitted with the proper commlink and broken comm links were two different things entirely, in Wheeljack's opinion and one should be able to differentiate the two. Rocket had vetoed the energon mines herself after being informed about the Decepticons, so that added another mark in her favour of being an Autobot. His suspicions still hadn't been completely laid to rest but he updated his transmission with a 'Never mind, I think I jumped the gun here." It would make things marginally better when she went to the Omega outpost, once Red Alert's paranoia had been roused, it would be a long while before it was truly satisfied. And that was an outcome that Wheeljack was fine with, the matter was out of his servos now and passed onto someone else, she'd be checked out and her status as Autobot would be confirmed.

"They have medics," Wheeljack grunted as he crouched down and examined the exposed wiring beneath a shorn sheet of plating. A decent amount looked recoverable. Rocket did look like she was in need of a medic, so the question was a reasonable one. Still. Information about the location of ranking officers wasn't something you just went handing out freely even if their position was well known to the Cons. "Doc Sunshine and some other mech." Bulkhead had been keeping him somewhat in the loop in regards to the influx of new Autobots back at base.

The Wrecker's head lifted as he received a new transmission. "Command wants you back on base," he added with a smirk. Ah, the joys of dealing with bureaucracy. Thank Primus he'd left all that behind. He was at no one's beck and call. "They want to get you debriefed before you go off and accidentally scare the locals."

He transmitted their co-ordinates for a groundbridge. As the familiar green swirl of energy opened, something Rocket had said struck his processor. "Give me a call when you go mining for crystals," Wheeljack's thoughts had turned to their many applications in weapon development. For example, you could use them as focusing crystals to concentrate the gun's energy output into a more defined and lethal beam. "If you don't catch me at a bad time-" -say, helm deep in a horde of Decepticons- "I might just tag along and see what I can pick up. Otherwise, I'll see you around."

If, you know, he ever decided to drop into the Omega Base for a social visit. Scarlet sounded increasingly stressed whenever Wheeljack pinged the base just to chat with Bulkhead, so Wheeljack kinda figured he'd have to come by sometime to needle the guy. Or, even just to talk to Bulkhead face to face.

Yeah, he'd get around to it, one of these cycles.