Well, that was informative. Not to mention entertaining. Vortex completed the last of the glyphs and contemplated his next move.
Perceptor was so easy. The slightest rev of Vortex's engine, the softest sigh of air through his vents, and the scientist became flustered. His hands shook, and his mouth twitched. He snapped at the minibot, he was short with Wheeljack; his fingers skittered across the control panel, urgent, hasty. He made frequent mistakes, and cursed softly to himself.
Wheeljack, on the other hand, he was another matter entirely. Cool and collected, he leant against the wall as Bumblebee had done, but – unlike the minibot – his nonchalance wasn't feigned. Neither, it appeared, was his interest.
'YOU MISS THE GOOD OLD DAYS,' Vortex wrote. No question mark, simply a statement.
Wheeljack tilted his head to the side, neither confirmation nor denial.
'I'LL TAKE THAT AS A YES.'
The smallest of nods, almost certainly subconscious. Vortex glanced at Perceptor, but kept his visor fixed on Wheeljack. One of the benefits of an extra layer of glass – no one could tell for sure who you were looking at.
"You gonna tell me who that's for, then?" Wheeljack said. Vortex flashed his denta in a quick smile. The scientist was forthright, had to give him that. And a lack of guile was always so very attractive in an Autobot.
'WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW?' Vortex wrote. He eased himself out of the crouch, focusing on the transfer of hydraulic pressure as he lay down on his front. His missing rotors tingled, a ghost sensation.
"It's why I asked," Wheeljack said. Perceptor gave him a look; could have been caution, could have been censure. Wheeljack either missed it or elected to ignore it. "So spill, who's it for?"
Vortex grinned and shook his head.
"Okaaaaay," Wheeljack said. "I'm gonna assume it's an Autobot, 'cause otherwise you wouldn't have writ it there. Am I right?"
Vortex mimicked Wheeljack's earlier casual nod, down to the minute twitch of his right foot. Wheeljack tilted his head, not intimidated, but no longer quite as comfortable as he had been.
"Don't talk to him," Perceptor snapped. "You'll only encourage him." The console's lights danced under his hands, a frantic pattern which Vortex was only beginning to realise might be pertinent.
"I don't see why it matters," Wheeljack replied. "He ain't getting out of here, and anyway, I got a need to know."
Ain't getting out of here? Frag no, Vortex was getting out of here. And if he could take down Wheeljack and Perceptor in the process, it would be so much better.
Not that he had the first idea how to get out of the cell. Still, they had to open it sometime. And until such time, he could work on getting something worthwhile out of the situation.
Wheeljack vented slowly, gearing up for another round of Guess the Autobot, but Perceptor beckoned him over. He tapped the console, looking perplexed.
"Could you just have a look at this for me?"
It was impressive how quickly – and how thoroughly – Wheeljack became absorbed in this new activity. Vortex gave Perceptor a friendly little wave and wrote 'NICE RUSE' on the berth. Perceptor pretended not to notice.
So, team science had its weak points. Which was good, because the cell didn't seem to.
Perceptor's prudishness, Wheeljack's butterfly mind, and Skyfire's Starscream issues. Utterly fascinating, all of them, the kind of intel he needed to crack them under interrogation. But not exactly the kind of intel he needed to concoct an escape plan.
If only he could talk to Onslaught. He needed a strategist's overview; psychological manipulation – although highly entertaining and helpfully distracting – could only take him so far.
Still, the cell wouldn't be locked forever. They had to get him out to… to do that thing Perceptor had let slip they were planning.
He shied away from the thought of the box. They weren't putting him back in sensory deprivation. It just wasn't going to happen. He watched Perceptor's hands skitter over the console, watched Wheeljack tilt his head, scrolling through lists of numbers that Vortex couldn't quite make out.
He tried the gestalt bond again. It was locked, as ever, nothing but the faintest life signature from any of them. He didn't even know if they were awake or in recharge.
Were they coming for him? His throat itched, his self-repair trying – and failing – to do something with the cauterised cables. He arched his neck, increasing the pressure.
They had to, didn't they?
He slouched over the berth, resisting the urge to draw his knees up to his chest. This wasn't a problem. He didn't need Onslaught. He was larger than the Autobots, stronger than them; as long as Skyfire didn't come back. All he needed was Perceptor to open the cell door, and he'd have a hostage. After that, it was one short step to freedom.
Didn't they?
He stamped on the thought. Don't rely on your team; Swindle had taught him that.
"I think I got it," Wheeljack said. Perceptor glanced at the scrolling numbers and nodded.
"Yes, I believe that will do it."
Do what? Vortex thought, and it occurred to him that he had no idea what timeframe the Autobots were working to.
"No worries," Wheeljack replied. "You want me to pull the plug?"
Perceptor winced, and there followed a long moment of meaningful glances and half-hidden gestures. Private comms, although they were obviously trying to hide it.
After a while, Wheeljack looked down. Perceptor touched him on the arm; was something going on between the two of them? Interesting.
But not quite as interesting as mention of pulling the plug. Vortex ran a quick systems diagnostic. Fuel at 12.2%, power core at 76.98%; weapons offline, no ammo. His tail rotors quivered; at least he still had those.
And his sensor net. Fully online and working perfectly. He lay still and reduced power to everything except his CPU.
Perceptor pressed a quick sequence of buttons; beside him, Wheeljack looked mildly ashamed. A background hum that had been there all along suddenly died. The forced recharge jack had been isolated.
Not that Vortex couldn't recharge without it, but the process would be slower. Far too slow without energon, and he doubted they'd be bringing him any more of that.
He almost missed the new vibration which passed through the Ark's walls. It was an impact tremor, he was sure of it. Onslaught? Brawl? He smothered the hope before it could kindle. He couldn't allow himself to rely on them; they hadn't come for him yet, they wouldn't come for him ever. Onslaught thought he was a liability, Brawl didn't think at all, Swindle was an aft and Blast Off would probably find some perverse amusement in Vortex being put back in the box. Frag, the shuttle could bear a grudge.
A low alarm began to sound, and the science bots gave each other what looked to be a concerned glance. Then Perceptor flicked a switch, and a series of numbers began to flash across a screen. Even at this distance, Vortex could see it was a countdown. Not good.
"Let's go," Perceptor said. Wheeljack nodded and followed him out.
