Knight in Borrowed Armor 7
Duty
A Transformers Prime Fanfiction
Fowler shifted a bit uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the red muscle car. He had gotten used to riding around in Optimus, telling himself it was no different than getting a piggy back ride from his Dad when he was a kid. Being carried around by what was essentially a zombie car was different however. Something was making him nervous. The airman had long ago learned to listen to his gut. He cast his senses about trying to detect the source of his worry. It was too quiet, he finally decided. Every other time he'd been in an Autobot there had been something; a pulse that surged below the sound of the engine. There was nothing like that now; only a silence that was a constant reminder that the Cybertronian that had been was dead.
"You've been awfully quiet young man," General Trask finally said.
The special agent let out a short bark of laughter. Trask looked over at him and arched an eyebrow. Fowler shook his head.
"Sorry Sir, it's just been awhile since anyone has called me that," he said.
The older man let out a laugh of his own.
"Son, I was with the fleet that stormed the beaches at Iwo Jima on D-day. Anyone who wasn't there with me counts as a young man these days," he said ruefully, "and those grow fewer with every winter. You; you're still young enough to be after that Darby filly."
"What!" Fowler jumped in the seat slamming his knee into the underside of the dash. "I have no idea what,"
"Oh don't bother denying it," Trask said with a laugh, his weather worn face crinkling into a thousand laugh lines. "A blind man could see the way you look at her."
"She's an amazingly brave woman who is dealing with a massive load," Fowler said stiffly massaging his leg. "I admire her greatly. She's not the kind of woman you call a filly!"
"I'm sure you do, and I meant no disrespect airman," the old man suppressed a grin.
"Humph," Fowler turned to the gold lights on the cracked dash, "Nitor, how long until we get where we're going?"
"Soon, I'd expect," the voice stated sedately.
"What's that supposed to mean?" the agent demanded.
"Well, I have the directions Ratchet gave me, and I do not imagine he would drop us far from our target," the muscle car explained.
"Why don't you just use your GPS?" Fowler demanded.
"My what?" Nitor asked in confusion.
"Don't worry Fowler," Trask sighed, "I know my way around this place. We're about five minutes from the base."
"Good," Fowler said.
Moments later they pulled up to a small guard house. They were waved through a chain link fence by an alert young soldier. Tucked away in the trees was an old log barn. Nitor pulled through the doors and let his two occupants out. The red car transformed and faced the soldier standing in front of an old horse stall.
"You are the warrior of the light?" the middle aged man asked. His cameos blended in well with the graying wood. Blue eyes sparkled out of a somewhat round face, topped with a thatch of graying hair that somehow managed to be unruly despite being regulation length.
"I am Nitor," the mech said with a nod.
"Well," the soldier stepped forward eyeing the warrior, "this isn't exactly what I was expecting."
"Are you prepared to receive the message?" the general asked urgently.
"No," the man shook his head as if to clear it.
"What? Why?" demanded the old man. "You are Colonel Jonsen aren't you? Commander of this garrison?"
"Yes I am," the colonel explained with a smile. "But given the, ah, situation, it was decided to bring in an expert in case the messenger had any more trouble."
"Who?" Fowler asked in frustration. Too many people hade interacted with the bots already today. Now they were bringing in another without consulting him.
"She's known as the facilitator around these parts," Colonel Jonsen said. "Nitor here was supposed to have known her predecessor quite well."
"What?" demanded the general, "two thousand years ago?"
"It's a very long lineage," the colonel said with a shrug and a smile.
Nitor was frowning. The general, long used to hurry up and wait settled down on a bale of hay. Fowler began to pace. Suddenly there was a rattling from the other end of the barn. A weather warped man door was forced open and a young woman staggered into the dim interior squinting.
"Hey Jonsen? You here?" she demanded.
The colonel went over to meet her. Fowler stood and studied her. As far as he could see there was nothing remarkable about the woman. She had the kind of face that might have been anywhere from eighteen to thirty, dark hair, and worn blue jeans, a jean over shirt, and a blue bandana. Dried dirt splattered her legs and sleeves. She was the kind of girl who belonged in a barn. The agent reminded himself not to judge too quickly, if the garrison commander had summoned her it was likely she served some needed function.
"And these are Special Agent William Fowler and Major General David Trask," Colonel Jonsen was explaining.
"General Trask, Agent Fowler," she nodded politely to each of them, but her attention was clearly on Nitor.
Fowler frowned and was about to speak when the old general nudged him and shook his head. The special agent sighed and settled down onto a crate.
"Nitor," she said with a smile, "I am of Bear Tribe, of the Clan. Do you know who I am?"
"I cannot say that I do exactly," he replied contritely.
"There is little surprise in that," the woman said ruefully, looking him up and down. "Forced into that shell as you are I'm surprised your senses work at all. Anyway, I'm the current representative for all of North Clan."
Nitor's optics suddenly flared a brilliant gold. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
"Princess! Forgive me."
"Ugh!" the woman threw her pony tail over one shoulder and frowned up at the kneeling mech. "Only if you promise to NEVER do that again."
The red mech stood and looked at her in confusion.
"I serve the Clan just the same as the garbage barge pilots," she explained. "I am not by any definition royalty."
Nitor smiled warmly at the woman.
"Facilitator, then," he offered.
"That's what they say," she agreed. "Now someone said something about getting a message to the brass."
Colonel Jonsen stepped forward.
"You are aware of Nitor's mission?" he asked her.
"Nope, not really," she replied.
"There was a swarm of the dark loving ones attacking my Lady's lands," the mech spoke up. "A hole in the barrier had been torn for them to come out of. I drew their attention and led them back into it, for such creatures are easily distracted, but I could not hold their attention forever. They have coursed after me in endless chase these long centuries. But now their attention had turned back to my Lady's lands. I know the paths they will take to burst out of the barrier. This is the intelligence I carry."
The woman nodded.
"I see that you must render this in the mother tongue," she said seriously. "But there are others under the command of the colonel here who could take dictation for you. What do you need me for? And wouldn't one of the Clan tongues be as acceptable, and easier?"
Nitor looked at Colonel Jonsen curiously.
"That body belongs to void walkers and it can't take the mother tongue in its current state," he said, "and while we are considering using a Clan tongue we hope you can fix him up enough to deliver the goods properly."
The woman stiffened and her eyes widened.
"Void walkers? Here on Earth?"
"You didn't know?" the colonel asked in surprise.
"That really doesn't matter at this point," she said sighing and shaking her head. "I'm here to help now, give me a minute. Nitor, sit."
She strode up to the mech and placed her hand in his. Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. Without opening her eyes the woman began to move her hands up his arms and onto his chestplates, finally coming to a stop over the empty spark chamber. She hummed a bit and tilted her head to one side.
"Okay, here's the scoop," the woman finally said. "This body wasn't prepared properly for you so you don't fit in exactly. I think if I sync your energy with the type of life force this shell is supposed to hold the language won't be an issue. Oh, and Colonel?" She looked straight at the soldier. "Spread the word to all concerned, nonliving machines and the mother tongue DO NOT MIX. Boom happens, the scientists figured that out years ago but it seems to have been forgotten. I'm guessing Nitor here has already seen the results."
"I'll make a note of that," he promised.
"Good Lady," Nitor spoke up. "Is it really necessary to synchronize my life force to this shell? I will no doubt be returning it to its family as soon as my mission is complete."
"Not to worry, my honorable friend," she replied, unbraiding her long hair. "The process will make it easier to remove you once the task is complete."
Fowler blinked. Hadn't her hair been much shorter moments ago? And in a pony tail?
"As you say let it be," Nitor was saying.
"Good now hold still, this won't hurt much," she flashed a grin up at Nitor. "
She placed her hands, wrists crossed, over his spark chamber. The air around them became charged with power. For the briefest of moments Fowler could have sworn her closed eyes glowed Autobot blue. Nitor went rigid for a moment, the sound of snapping welds filled the barn. Then soft gold light began to glow from every seam. His spark chamber opened and the woman reached her hands in and gently cupped them around a faint spark. The speck grew in intensity until it filled the chamber with swirling light. Then it solidified down into a burning golden ember that just fit into her palms.
Nitor let out a soft sigh of relief. The woman gently guided his spark chamber closed. She began to run her hands over his scars. Each in turn glowed gold where she touched it then faded. Finally the woman leaned back and examined her handy work.
"I have done all I can," she announced. "Speak Nitor, warrior of the light, complete your long deferred duty, and know you have done it well."
Special Agent William Fowler had seen a lot of odd things in his time. But as he sat blinking into the setting sun, he mused it would be hard to top the events of this day. Nitor drove along easily toward the groundbridge coordinates, chatting with the general. It seemed that once his duty was done it occupied none of the mech's mind. The agent let out a sigh and shook his head. This was going to be a fun report to write up.