[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Miles Away [Closed]

[Nokta]

Episode 3.5 | Week 3 | Day 1

Alberta, Canada - 773 Miles North of Steens Mountain

40 HOURS AFTER CALCULUS, FOR DASHING ROGUES

The harsh sound of dispersing crows overhead jolted him awake.

Something felt wrong. He knew it right away.

Light flooded in, and the skies here were different. The flora thinner, the soil against his back tougher. The crispness in the air hit his olfactory nodes differently than the air around Blackridge did. Faintly, it reminded him of the site of the Ad Infinitum’s crash. The memory of that ship sickened him in a way mere words could not explain.

Nokta sat up, his helm swimming with unease as he did so. As his optics adjusted to the morning light, his surroundings were revealed. This was not anywhere he’d been before.

No. This was all wrong.

Primus, something deep in his tanks…no, not just his tanks. At the base of his helm, that tiny section joining his spinal links to his neural capacitors. The antennae jutting out of his shoulder blades bristled with agitation the more he thought on that feeling. What…what had happened to him?

Another wave of nausea hit. The demand to purge his tanks nearly won him over– were it not for the mech’s servo clamping over his own mouth to stem the flow. Squinting his optics in disgust, the mech swallowed the remnants of his last refuel, keeping the energon placid in his tanks. Primus knew how long it had been since refueling, how soon until his next. That was of course, the story of most of his military life.

Just then, a flash of color– bright, shaky images shunted into his frame. A shoddy medbay, the coarse feeling of a medical berth at his back, his captain clasping a servo over his frothing mouth so as not to waste valuable energon. The prickling of needles at his forehead, before digging in deeper.

Nokta keeled over to his side and finally purged the energon that had been welling in his tanks.

Well, there went that plan. Immediately an emergency dialogue popped up on his HUD, warning him of the dangerously low energon levels in his system. Another painful reminder far too soon of the nightmare he’d endured to get to Earth.

It was only then he glanced at his internal chronometer, and his tanks sunk with dread. It couldn’t be right. He couldn’t possibly have lost that much time.

Instinctively, he activated his comms to hail Blackridge– only to find that it had been turned off. Mentally cursing, the mech checked his comms channel history– there had been 4 pings to Blackridge every 6 hours starting about an hour after he’d left Blitzwing’s office nearly two days ago. His last transmission had been about 8 hours ago, missing what should have been his fifth check-in 2 hours ago, likely due to falling into stasis.

And yet, he remembered making none of these transmissions.

As soon as he recomposed himself, he wasted no time tuning his encrypted line to Blackridge again. "This is Lieutenant Nokta, I’m–" The mech froze, stumbling over himself. Very rarely was he at a loss for words. He didn’t know what to say, it felt like a failure to even admit what had happened. But he forced himself to swallow his pride and finish his broadcast.

"I’ve had an accident. I’m relaying my position now." The mech spoke in a gruff rasp.

He could barely move– and he didn’t want to attempt standing, lest there be some medical mishap with the surgery he’d endured on his spine the week before. He’d know for sure once he got some energon in him. His arms and legs tingled as though he’d been in hyperstasis for years. How long had he been out? The blinking ‘low fuel’ indicator at the top of his HUD continued incessantly, taunting him for his lack of preparation in not bringing rations with him. Nokta leaned his helm back against the trough he’d found himself in, letting out a sigh as he stared up at bright, overcast skies and prepared to wait.

Little did he know, he wouldn’t be waiting long at all, as an ever-vigilant spymaster had already sent a certain seeker to investigate Nokta’s last known position.

[Starkrieger]

The wild whip of foliage bowing before it thrashed it’s way back into place followed his wake. Usually the Seeker waited for darker conditions to fly the skies over the Americas. The distinct shape of his deltoid winged alt stood out as ‘foreign’ in these parts, but flying so low made unlikely he'd be spotted from a distance. Starkrieger doggedly raced, running rough circumferences around a central point, as close as he dared to the earth below.

One of their own had gone missing, and he’d been dispatched to the mech’s last known location. Like a search animal finally on the trail of something living, the Seeker’s focus spiked, a finely tuned instrument once more, at the promise of potential success. Not that he was aware of why he'd accelerated, and cut his turns with rediscovered ruthlessness. No, there was only the knowledge of his new objective, find Lieutenant Nokta!

Nothing, still nothing…

A fresh ping cut through his processor, vectors, distances, velocities. A silent answer in the old Vosian military code returned to Soundwave, confirmation; he would comply. Uncommunicated between them was the Seeker’s appreciation, the Spymaster was one of few that could easily direct him in a way he could process. Coordinates, after all, were the standard, and few models had reason to give direction any other way. However, it wasn’t the time to dwell on the officer’s skills, nor his own gratitude that he simply accommodated the deficiency without commenting on it.

Banking hard the jet executed a roll, cutting the time to change course before reigniting his thrusters. As he drew near the seeker split from the direct path, decelerating to make wide passes. Using an injured comrade to lure others wasn't a new concept.

He remembered the mech, how could he not? The wisp of a spark that was there just beyond his senses was not something he would soon forget, but familiarity didn't silence instinct. It felt wrong; he’d picked up no trace, not from Nokta, and not from any other powered machine. 

He should have noticed something. 

Cutting his engines the Seeker transformed in air, dropping the distance to the ground, his blaster barred, ready. A quick fire of his thrusters burst forth, lessening his impact as he touched dirt, several strides from the officer where he took a click to observe.

Drawn back wings angled and flicked, his processor straining to find signs, anything to indicate the downed Cybertronian was online, or ,on the grim side, that he was rigged to detonate.

::Testing weapons without me? I’m hurt:: The tease came over the local encoded channel, but it wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Tension lent gravity to the soldier’s tone, his noticeable choice to choose the Vosian dialect deliberately. Nokta had shown an understanding of it previously, and it was less likely to be hijacked by just any assailant. He was, perhaps, inviting him to signal he was…well…him, and not a lifeless (or wishing he was lifeless) puppet.

---

Clearance for Soundwave reference granted by Zer - Thank you. 

[Nokta]

His helm was spinning, even stock still as he was. How much time had passed since he requested aid was growing fuzzy. He found himself nodding off…only to lurch himself back awake, knowing full well the dangers of an unintentional recharge when fuel levels were low.

He tilted his helm back to stare at the sky above, again recalling that this was unfamiliar scenery compared to that of all surrounding Blackridge. Where was he? A cursory glance at his odometer made him sick to his tanks again, though he was sure he had nothing left to purge. The beacon hummed in disapproval. Pines swirled overhead. He was seeing double now– that was not a good sign. Vision darkened at the edges– and he was pulled into a partial reboot.

His optics offlined. Emergency stasis loomed. Haunting images flickered behind his eyelids.

"Would you ever want that again?" A voice called out to him in the deep dark.

"How could you ever ask me that question and live with yourself, knowing what you’d do to me if I said no?"

The lieutenant could feel himself nearly choking on his own words. It was as if they were being pulled out of him on a string. The role he played in this nightmare was a set one, just as it was in all of them.

"I couldn’t."

Another voice– in the now– coincided with the reboot of his systems to bring Nokta out of his stupor. Suppressed biolights that would have otherwise made for the appearance of a corpse slowly came alight once more. A crimson bloom crisscrossing over the lieutenant’s supine form would become the first sign of life.

::Testing weapons without me? I’m hurt::

Nokta’s helm wrenched upwards as soon as he heard it. Even though that voice was familiar, years of training dictated his movements. His servo instinctively went for his hip, where his blaster was holstered.

Black, white, and red. A thin seeker of typical proportions for his station– compact and efficient. With faceplates that seemed like they’d been twisted into a smug grin exactly as forward as it could be without getting him into serious trouble with his superiors. This was assuredly the mech who’d joined him on the firing range some time ago.

::Starkrieger?:: The name left Nokta’s mouth in the standard Iaconian dialect, matted down by the Nova Cronum influence that was his typical accent.

His optics refocused, his shoulders tensed for that silent moment. Tension that Starkrieger mirrored. The lieutenant caught on to the seeker’s unspoken meaning and slowly eased up on his own body language. His servo slipped away from his thigh holster, coming to rest over his midsection while his other servo lifted to gesture at the forest around them.

::Just enjoying the scenery this time, I’m afraid.:: That time, he mimicked the seeker’s own dialect with the same conversational proficiency he’d demonstrated at the shooting range before. He was out of practice, even if not for his current state.

But it was him.

[Starkrieger]

He knew his designation. It wasn’t exactly a guarantee, but even that first confirmation did much to sooth the Seeker’s nerves. For one, it confirmed the coherency of the downed mech; but also, the chance of this being a trap seemed much smaller to his way of thinking. The follow up only further put him at ease, enough to return to standard Cybertronian at the very least.


“Perfect spot for a picnic”, he teased wryly, shifting his blaster across his chassis, before making a call. The whine of transformation coincided with the shift of his plating back into a proper servo, leaving his claws twitching in slow, deliberate thought. Despite his certainty, Krieg couldn’t ignore that he was on the ground, the vulnerability of his position had his wings twitching as he approached, cautious despite his steady pace.

Only once he reached Nokta, would he reach up to manually lift his flight visor, taking comfort in the physical, but unnecessary effort.

“Threw it together at the last minute; guess I owe you a proper meal.” Though the teasing continued, it didn’t slow him from his objective. His unarmed servo moved to retrieve a cube tucked away, meanted, low grade emergency rations. It was hardly anything to get excited for, but to starving mecha whose tank could easily flip on a dime? Bland might be just the ticket. At least, if the lieutenant was able to lift his head, he’d be able to help him consume the energon directly, instead of having to introduce a line. The officer had suffered enough without Krieg’s inept medical care.

If nothing interfered, which seemed the most likely scenario, he would remove the seal, slowly lowering himself to a single knee. There was no knowing how stable the other would be with his levels so low. Shifting the cube to his left servo, allowed the Seeker to reach with the other, claws slowly moving to try to slip behind the officer’s helm, and offer support.

“Easy sir”, his volume and tone dipped, the other’s condition cutting through his former levity to instead offer assurance, understanding. Whether Nokta would tolerate his touch, or reject the gesture, Krieg brought the cube forward, slowly, allowing the mech to reach for it, or allow himself to be cared for to whatever degree he felt best. If his assistance was accepted, it would be no difficult feat for him to control the flow of energon; his mindful tipping preventing him from flooding the smaller model’s intake. If not, he would allow him his pride, and simply stick close, in case things went sideways.

“Careful. Flatline will have our plating if you’re damaged further.” He could hear it already, the berating for moving him too roughly, overfueling him, or just existing too close to the compromised mech. Not ideal. It was all the more reason for the soldier to look Nokta over, visually seeking signs of trauma or serious structural compromise, anything ‘Second Rate’ might blow a gasket over.

[Nokta]

The shift of Starkrieger’s weapon transforming back into a servo would further quell Nokta’s unease– or what unease he could have mustered given his current state. The grounder attempted to sit up against the tree trunk he lay against, only to wince as his vision darkened at the edges once more. He shut his optics tight, allowing the dizziness to pass, before opening again.

A perfect spot for a picnic….That he could agree with. He was rather famished.

Nokta followed Starkrieger’s movements as he spoke, watching closely enough that he waited a beat longer than would be normal in any other casual conversation. It was a side effect of his many years engaging in various forms of Decepticon spycraft. Always watch their servos, never their mouth– you never knew when they were making motions to stab you in the back unless you paid attention. It was true even in the unlikeliest of situations. After all, those were the most opportune.

Instead of a hidden blade, however, an energon ration was produced. Now sufficiently certain that there was no deeper ruse on the seeker’s behalf, he could once more regard the mech’s visage. Starkrieger reached behind Nokta’s helm to aid, which was certainly noticed by the lieutenant but not commented on. A simple motion, and yet not one many Decepticons would care to make, given the circumstances. It was…strange. But not something the lieutenant would reject, given that Starkrieger had proven to be here in good faith, and not simply sent to put down a dying dog.

Instead of wasting the energy needed to lurch away from another’s touch, Nokta lifted two servos to steady the cube within the other mech’s proffered hand. Pressing his mouth against the lip of the cube, relief flooded his system as soon as the liquid touched his glossa. It was coarse, the taste barely perceivable on his tongue, but sustenance all the same. He hardly heard the flier’s reference to Flatline, the careful warning to pace himself an afterthought as he felt the energon warm his tanks, his nausea almost instantly fading into a memory. Lifting his optics from the energon cube, Nokta pinned Starkrieger with his silent gaze again, taking another hungry sip before pulling back from the ration to speak.

"You owe me nothing but an explanation, Starkrieger," Nokta spoke calmly after taking his first sip from the emergency ration. "You were sent for me, Lord Me–" The officer cut himself off, pressing his teeth together as if to stall a remark that would have been far too presumptuous for his rank.

"Soundwave’s doing, yes?" The lieutenant asked, his body statuesque, betraying the silent fire of anxious intent in his optics.

[Starkrieger]

Despite his usual hesitation to touch another, Starkrieger had no problem given the circumstances. That he drew the other in, exposing himself to attack didn't go unnoticed. It was a vulnerable position, but in his mind he'd have to be stupid to be concerned. What was Nokta going to do? Kill him? It'd be quite the trick taking care of himself after. Besides, if the Spymaster wanted to be rid of him, surely he’d find a more reliable means than a half starved lieutenant.

Still, there were many that would think him foolish for taking the risk. Eh, since when did he let what others thought stop him once he made up his mind? So he remained, assisting as he watched the flow of energon, minding that it didn't overwhelm his charge. If he chose to gulp it down greedily, that probably wouldn't be for the best, but so long as Nokta handled it well, Krieg wouldn't stop him. He wasn't a sparkling.

“Can’t really offer much of an explanation”, he began easily, not intending to hold out on his fellow Con. It wasn’t as though he was privy to anything secret, or potentially damaging for others to know. It better that way, easier to make sure that being tortured for information would be fruitless, no matter how skilled his inquisitor. As for Nokta’s little faux pas? The soldier saw no cause to make it a big deal. The mech was low on energon; he was sure he’d made a far bigger spectacle of himself the last time he’d been in a similar state. Though… that truth was known only to Knock Out.

“It was the Spymaster, yes. Sent me searching, and then updated me with directions not long after.” Directions, not coordinates, but then, Starkrieger had no reason to lie, and Nokta even less of a reason to worry. No, it seemed, for whatever, reason the dark mech seemed almost, concerned about the chain of events. Maybe he was just trying to get reoriented after… whatever landed him here in the first place.

“He didn’t give me any details.” There was no accusation and no sense of feeling entitled to an explanation. Then again, he didn’t think that Soundwave was really keeping anything from him. Nokta had been lost; usually, that would imply not knowing what had happend to him “... You don’t look like you’ve been in a scrap.” The translation was perhaps obvious. He wanted to know what happened, but was being tactful, providing an easy opening to share, or shut him down. Soundwave had chosen him, likely because he was a Seeker, one that he was able to direct with little issue. He didn’t have high clearance, or rank to justify him firing off questions.

“I was about to send an update… Unless you want me to give you a minute.” Even if they remained here while the other mech got himself sorted out, the soldier had no doubt his serious companion would probably start obsessing over what he’d say to command, the moment that they made contact… if he wasn’t already.

[Nokta]

He’d been waiting, staring up at the seeker, for an explanation, only to feel his eagerness wane upon that initial response. Of course he would not know, nor would have been told. He was a mere seeker, plucked from a list of those who were actively on call to search and rescue. Maybe that gave him more time? If Starkrieger was still following regular protocol then Nokta was pretty sure he knew how much time he had to get his story straight before he had to explain himself to someone that outranked him.

Perhaps it was for the best Starkrieger did not know the full extent of things as they were. Outside of Flatline and High Command, no one else knew of the beacon. The “high priority” nature of Nokta’s retrieval could easily be ascribed to the fact that he was an officer with some amount of rank. He was certain Starkrieger had flown hundreds of those kinds of missions in the past. This would be no different, Nokta decided. It made explaining himself easier, kept this whole thing routine. Refreshingly routine.

Oh, how different things had gone for Nokta since arriving on Earth than he’d once expected…it made him long for the rigid and predictable expectations of his squadron back on Cybertron. But those days were long past now. Only this remained.

"You must think me such a bureaucrat even asking you…" Nokta muttered as he sat up a bit further, taking another sip from the emergency ration, feeling the fuel coat his insides warmly and letting the sensation settle before responding again.

"No, no. Nothing like that." He spoke, dismissive of the very concept he’d been fighting. Though he did not remember what had happened exactly, the telltale signs of physical exhaustion would be felt in his struts if he’d been in combat. The body kept the score in that regard, and he knew his very well.

"I’d prefer you did not contact anyone just yet, I’ll do that myself once this ration has done its job." Nokta spoke as calmly as he could, not revealing the fact that he was still highly disturbed by this frightening personal development and even more fearful of what conclusions High Command would come to upon discovering his lost time.

He needed to get to Flatline, as soon as possible– ideally before anyone else confronted him about his absence. He wasn’t going to lie about his condition but he had to stay ahead of the facts. It was his body, his mind. He would decide the best course of action, as soon as he consulted his doctor.

His internal dilemma might grow more apparent to his rescuer, as Nokta went quiet much longer than could be considered normal during a conversation, his gaze seemingly nonexistent as he remained trapped in his own increasingly tumultuous thoughts.

[Starkrieger]

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that. I don’t judge mecha that are running on fumes.” The assurance was off handed, as he saved his gentleness for the actual handling of the officer. Through the process, he remained attuned to his frame language, how limp or resistant he became and for how long.

“Besides, you’re not dull enough to be an agent of bureaucracy.” He teased light, with that signature playful smugness.  If Nokta began to truly regain control of his chassis, he wouldn’t interfer. He was ready to remove support, just as much as the lieutenant could stand, while preparing to return it, should he falter. Of course, if Nokta didn’t seem ready, he wouldn't push it. Regardless, he remained alert, his optics flitting up from time to time to satisfy a need to reassess their surroundings.

“As you wish. Probably for the best,  it gives you time to run diagnostics.“ Though Nokta appeared intact, he was aware that there could be unseen injuries. The other had lifted his helm when he first arrived, which was good, assuming that delirium hadn't delayed urgent warnings or error signals.

As silence settled between them, he would need to move by either returning the mech to a restful position or merely picking himself up, if he was able to keep himself upright. With a stretch, the Seeker better survey their surroundings. Safe they might be, being grounded with a compromised ally was something he couldn't rightly ignore, nor should he. Earth was far from the most dangerous post he’d been stationed at, but there were Autobots… and the natives had proven to be problematic.

Still Nokta remained silent, and the Seeker began to consider the mech’s state in a different light. It was starting to seem like he was reluctant to report in. With a casual extension of his left arm, the sounds of transformation announced the return of his weapon. It didn’t occur to him that the other might interpret it poorly, but perhaps the almost languid motion would put him at ease regardless. Smoothly, the seeker pivoted. Turning his back to the other, his blaster was drawn up, resting across his chassis as he ‘stood guard’ over his downed companion. Despite their shared alliance, a part of his processor revolted. They hardly knew one another; to offer the mech his back went against instinct, but he wasn’t some mindless drone. There were considerations beyond base impulse and emotion…Fortunate, since the spreading of secondary wings, and the angling of his primaries to try to relocate him found little satisfaction. Nokta’s nearly nonexistent signal rendered him as little more than something within proximity. Of course, Starkrieger knew he was there, making his non-presence… disconcerting, given their circumstance.

“Do you need help… sorting what happened?” The offer was breathed gently into the air surrounding them.  Acceptance or rejection would hopefully be easier, thanks to the privacy he granted the mech.

[Nokta]

"Besides, you’re not dull enough to be an agent of bureaucracy."

The lieutenant would respond with a haggard chuckle. The tree he laid against groaned as he leaned his helm back to rest against it. "Just give it time."

This particular officer was not always prone to the prickly attitude that most of his station were. He could self-deprecate too, when the time called for it. Especially when the company knew so little about him, and was already making quips supposing they did.

There was a flash of suspicion in his expression as Starkrieger asked him that last question. Of course, he could have merely assumed the question a polite gesture, but yet again years of his craft had trained an automatic, almost knee-jerk paranoia into him. It was all too easy to assume this mech was attempting to pry, to get him to divulge potentially harmful information. It was only instinct to jump to that conclusion when anyone could be a spy.

"Pray tell how you might help me with that?" His optics were sharp despite his frame’s post-stasis malaise. Though the words were blunt, there wasn’t any hint of biting criticism in his tone like others might have opted for. It was merely a static question, open for an equally genuine response.

Nokta would not reveal that he had lost more time than che’d been unconscious for. That nearly two full days had gone by and he had nothing to explain or show for it other than a few routine location pings was disturbing enough to himself, it would be even moreso to his superiors. Perhaps even to this mech before him who he barely knew.

The only boon in this situation so far seemed to be that no one had been asking for him longer than it had taken him to pass out and forget to ping Blackridge once. Considering the value to the cause of what had just been surgically grafted to his spine in secret, he considered all of this incredibly lucky. And so he would not endeavor to make what had happened look like anything other than a simple accident as a result of lacking proper rations.