Nautica didn't say anything for a while, but there was no question that she was still conscious, since she whimpered with every bump. There was the constant dull throb in her helm, and the pain of her damaged propellers flared up sharp and hot and radiated through her chest every time she moved, and it was all complicating the already taxing exercise of trying to figure out what was happening. Thinking felt like trying to move through the water in her root mode--everything pushed back against her and progress was agonizingly slow. She knew it should be easier than this, and her fingers scraped against Megatron's plating as she balled up her fists in frustration.