Other Worlds [Part 14]
Apr. 20th, 2009 01:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luce*glaring at bunny* Right. Just what part of 'Epilogue' did you not understand? Why do I have more fragging chapters now?!
Title: Other Worlds [Part 14]
'Verse: TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
“… Are we…?”
“Well, I don’t feel deactivated.”
“Just out of curiosity, how would ‘deactivated’ feel like, exactly?”
“I dunno, bro. A lot more painful?”
“That, mechling, would be nearly deactivated. Which you will be if you don’t. Stop. Moving. I told you to brace when we went through that warp, but do you listen? No, because you are all overclocked glitches with nothing to do but try my patience circuits!”
“Yes’m.”
There was a feigned cough as a flame headed mech muttered a rather distinct “Whipped.”
“Mute it, Jetfire. And that goes for you too, Hot Shot. Sit still so you don’t aggravate the damage.”
“But I feel fine!”
The femme snapped briskly at him. “That’s because the sensor relays to your legs are cut off. You can’t sense the damage, but my scanners are shrieking at me. Now sit. First Aid, stop him from bleeding out. Rodimus, Brawn, I’ll need you to fetch and carry. Jetstorm, if you want to see Primus that badly, I’ll send you there myself, but I will get this fixed before I do so you can feel it, and I assure you, it will hurt. Jetfire, quit hovering and go see how the others are up at the helm.”
As mechs scrambled to do her bidding, Red Alert smirked. Ratchet’s lessons in med bay control were definitely coming in handy.
= = =
“So, where are we?” Jazz glanced at the blue mech beside him, both of them peering out at the dark expanse of space from the viewing deck and shrugged.
“Frag if I know. We’ve survived, unless this is the Matrix and everything I’ve heard about there being more light was a load of slag.”
“Can we contact anyone?”
Their Supreme Commander asked, and Jazz sat down again, double checked the systems reports, then made his reply. “Comms systems are functional, but we could be near Cybertron, Earth, the resort planet Priorus Vi, or some Pit spawned Decepticon stronghold. Without knowing where we are, I’d rather not risk some ‘Con twigging on to our existence.”
“Is there any chance of us figuring out where we are then?” Ultra Magnus queried again, and Sentinel returned to his post at another console, checking the data feed on his monitor.
“We’re trying to calculate our position, but that’s difficult to do without any point of reference. Even our starcharts aren’t going to be much use until we figure out what direction we’re going. We’re attempting passive scans to see if anything familiar comes up that we can triangulate on.”
Jetfire, having heard this as he entered the helm of the ship, groaned, and Ultra Magnus, Jazz and Sentinel turned to look at him. “Great. We don’t get ripped to atoms thanks to a billionty to one chance, only to end up lost in interstellar space. Wonderful.”
//Jetfire! Report.//
All the mechs started at Red Alert’s brusque comm., and the jet twin hurried replied that all three at the helm were fine. Sighing in relief when the medic acknowledged and terminated the connection, Jetfire looked up and spotted a data window flashing on the montitors.
“What’s that?”
Ultra Magnus leant forward. “… The computer indicates that it’s a populated planet, ten lightorns away.”
Jazz scrutinised the screens, a smile blossoming on his faceplates as he registered what they were telling him. “Not just any populated planet. That’s Alpha Sol 17-148-22727.” He spun round in glee as Ultra Magnus stared, bemused by the giddy guardsmech.
Sentinel shook his head as the cyberninja hummed a joyful note, continuing for Jetfire. “It’s a telluric planet, about 71 percent covered in water. Populated by organic life."
Jazz's smile widened, and he practically crowed. "It’s also known as Earth.”
= = =
“Well. We survived.”
“We did.”
“And we obtained so much data from the experience.”
“That too.”
The microscope sighed, and his companion, Wheeljack now that there was no more need to distinguish between two such mechs, patted him on the shoulder in commiseration.
“A pity we’ll never be able to share this information with our friends.”
“Perce’, I’m sure they won’t mind.”
“You don’t have to call me that anymore. I’m probably the only Perceptor around now.”
“I know. Just like I’m the only Wheeljack.”
“… Ah. Then, shall we proceed to check on the others… ‘Jack?”
“Let’s, Perce’.”
= = =
The hammer wielding mech sat back, hands folded before him in deliberation. “So, we know where we are, but are we in the correct ‘where’?”
“I think so. We’re trying to pick up on their transmissions. The humans are remarkably noisy about these things. You can hear them from lightvorns out.” Jazz grinned (honestly, the mech hadn’t stopped smiling yet). “And what I’ve heard so far is music to my audios.”
“Oh?”
“New music, nothing like what Blaster showed me back at the Ark. We’ll have to get closer to be certain, but it’s definitely not the 1990s anymore.” Jazz broke away from the conversation, alerted by a chirp from his console, indicating that their scanners had picked up something else.
“Hm, what’s this? Looks Autobot in origin.”
“Could be Optimus’s crew trying to contact Cybertron.”
“Let’s give it a listen then.”
= = =
//With the All Spark gone, we cannot return life to our planet. And fate has yielded its reward: a new world to call home. We live among its people now, hiding in plain sight, but watching over them in secret, waiting, protecting. I have witnessed their capacity for courage, and though we are worlds apart, like us, there's more to them than meets the eye. I am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge amongst the stars; we are here, we are waiting.//
“Jazz?” Sentinel reached for the black and white cyberninja, and the mech clenched his fists, looking at the floor. Quietly, Jazz spoke.
“It… doesn’t sound like the Optimus Prime we’re looking for.”
“Jazz, there was always the chance we’d not-”
“I know, fraggit!” A too bright visor glared at him, then broke away again. “Sorry, Sentinel.” A cycle of air, frustrated and resigned. “It’s just not fair.”
Sentinel’s grip on Jazz’s shoulder tightened in sympathy. “No, it isn’t”
Title: Other Worlds [Part 14]
'Verse: TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
“… Are we…?”
“Well, I don’t feel deactivated.”
“Just out of curiosity, how would ‘deactivated’ feel like, exactly?”
“I dunno, bro. A lot more painful?”
“That, mechling, would be nearly deactivated. Which you will be if you don’t. Stop. Moving. I told you to brace when we went through that warp, but do you listen? No, because you are all overclocked glitches with nothing to do but try my patience circuits!”
“Yes’m.”
There was a feigned cough as a flame headed mech muttered a rather distinct “Whipped.”
“Mute it, Jetfire. And that goes for you too, Hot Shot. Sit still so you don’t aggravate the damage.”
“But I feel fine!”
The femme snapped briskly at him. “That’s because the sensor relays to your legs are cut off. You can’t sense the damage, but my scanners are shrieking at me. Now sit. First Aid, stop him from bleeding out. Rodimus, Brawn, I’ll need you to fetch and carry. Jetstorm, if you want to see Primus that badly, I’ll send you there myself, but I will get this fixed before I do so you can feel it, and I assure you, it will hurt. Jetfire, quit hovering and go see how the others are up at the helm.”
As mechs scrambled to do her bidding, Red Alert smirked. Ratchet’s lessons in med bay control were definitely coming in handy.
= = =
“So, where are we?” Jazz glanced at the blue mech beside him, both of them peering out at the dark expanse of space from the viewing deck and shrugged.
“Frag if I know. We’ve survived, unless this is the Matrix and everything I’ve heard about there being more light was a load of slag.”
“Can we contact anyone?”
Their Supreme Commander asked, and Jazz sat down again, double checked the systems reports, then made his reply. “Comms systems are functional, but we could be near Cybertron, Earth, the resort planet Priorus Vi, or some Pit spawned Decepticon stronghold. Without knowing where we are, I’d rather not risk some ‘Con twigging on to our existence.”
“Is there any chance of us figuring out where we are then?” Ultra Magnus queried again, and Sentinel returned to his post at another console, checking the data feed on his monitor.
“We’re trying to calculate our position, but that’s difficult to do without any point of reference. Even our starcharts aren’t going to be much use until we figure out what direction we’re going. We’re attempting passive scans to see if anything familiar comes up that we can triangulate on.”
Jetfire, having heard this as he entered the helm of the ship, groaned, and Ultra Magnus, Jazz and Sentinel turned to look at him. “Great. We don’t get ripped to atoms thanks to a billionty to one chance, only to end up lost in interstellar space. Wonderful.”
//Jetfire! Report.//
All the mechs started at Red Alert’s brusque comm., and the jet twin hurried replied that all three at the helm were fine. Sighing in relief when the medic acknowledged and terminated the connection, Jetfire looked up and spotted a data window flashing on the montitors.
“What’s that?”
Ultra Magnus leant forward. “… The computer indicates that it’s a populated planet, ten lightorns away.”
Jazz scrutinised the screens, a smile blossoming on his faceplates as he registered what they were telling him. “Not just any populated planet. That’s Alpha Sol 17-148-22727.” He spun round in glee as Ultra Magnus stared, bemused by the giddy guardsmech.
Sentinel shook his head as the cyberninja hummed a joyful note, continuing for Jetfire. “It’s a telluric planet, about 71 percent covered in water. Populated by organic life."
Jazz's smile widened, and he practically crowed. "It’s also known as Earth.”
= = =
“Well. We survived.”
“We did.”
“And we obtained so much data from the experience.”
“That too.”
The microscope sighed, and his companion, Wheeljack now that there was no more need to distinguish between two such mechs, patted him on the shoulder in commiseration.
“A pity we’ll never be able to share this information with our friends.”
“Perce’, I’m sure they won’t mind.”
“You don’t have to call me that anymore. I’m probably the only Perceptor around now.”
“I know. Just like I’m the only Wheeljack.”
“… Ah. Then, shall we proceed to check on the others… ‘Jack?”
“Let’s, Perce’.”
= = =
The hammer wielding mech sat back, hands folded before him in deliberation. “So, we know where we are, but are we in the correct ‘where’?”
“I think so. We’re trying to pick up on their transmissions. The humans are remarkably noisy about these things. You can hear them from lightvorns out.” Jazz grinned (honestly, the mech hadn’t stopped smiling yet). “And what I’ve heard so far is music to my audios.”
“Oh?”
“New music, nothing like what Blaster showed me back at the Ark. We’ll have to get closer to be certain, but it’s definitely not the 1990s anymore.” Jazz broke away from the conversation, alerted by a chirp from his console, indicating that their scanners had picked up something else.
“Hm, what’s this? Looks Autobot in origin.”
“Could be Optimus’s crew trying to contact Cybertron.”
“Let’s give it a listen then.”
= = =
//With the All Spark gone, we cannot return life to our planet. And fate has yielded its reward: a new world to call home. We live among its people now, hiding in plain sight, but watching over them in secret, waiting, protecting. I have witnessed their capacity for courage, and though we are worlds apart, like us, there's more to them than meets the eye. I am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge amongst the stars; we are here, we are waiting.//
“Jazz?” Sentinel reached for the black and white cyberninja, and the mech clenched his fists, looking at the floor. Quietly, Jazz spoke.
“It… doesn’t sound like the Optimus Prime we’re looking for.”
“Jazz, there was always the chance we’d not-”
“I know, fraggit!” A too bright visor glared at him, then broke away again. “Sorry, Sentinel.” A cycle of air, frustrated and resigned. “It’s just not fair.”
Sentinel’s grip on Jazz’s shoulder tightened in sympathy. “No, it isn’t”
