He didn't get very far.
Obviously, the rocket-powered chair wasn't built for long distances, and when compounded with the SAND that was all over the desert that had NOT been a variable on Cybertron, Dr. Arkeville was lucky to gain the ground that he did...which wasn't much. He was stuck, half a mile away from the space bridge, when a four-legged animalbot of some kind found him, scooped up the side of the chair that HADN'T tipped over, and carried him back to Starscream and the purple one.
They ignored the humiliating pile in which he'd been deposited until the 'thermal event' had subsided. Would they kill him? One could only hope.
Starscream's shadow fell on him as a blast of heated wind seared the skin on his still-organic pieces. The tumbleweed that slapped him in the face as it bounced onward didn't help, either.
"I'd crush you under my foot but you'd get it dirty," Starscream snarled. "So I'm burying you alive instead!" The purple one laughed with him as they proceeded to kick sand over the still-sideways Arkeville. It covered his face, got up his nose, ground into his circuits. It seemed like they'd never stop.
"Starscream, come in!" a different voice called. "What happened to the space bridge?"
The dirt paused its onslaught, cascading into whatever gaps in his system it hadn't the time to invade prior.
"An antroid set it on fire," he replied. "What is the damage report, Blitzwing?"
The voice laughed.
"Megatron forbade you to tell me? TELL ME!"
"You want it? Come and get it. Megatron'll LOVE this one!"
Starscream clenched his fists. "Come with me," he sighed. "There's nothing left HERE-' he gave the mound of sand another kick "-to protect."
The purple one did not reply. He took to the air after Starscream. Dr. Archeville listened to their engines fade off and moved his arm to dispel some of the sand.
He had to admit, he was nervous.
Getting over Optimus had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, and no part of it was enjoyable. That happy feeling Prime gave him, that had become a shock to his system to be replaced by agonizing pain, which dulled to a haunting ache that flared up like a faulty circuit when he saw him...how did one erase all that? How could Perceptor pretend that it hadn't hurt to be dismissed like a rusty screw? Distractions would be nice right about now.
Well, the new Autobots had come in from Cybertron. For some reason, Perceptor had trouble with their LOOKS. He'd been away from the home planet far too long if normal Cybertronian formats were visually incongruous to him. Still, they were decent. Blurr, Hot Rod, and Springer were all right. Perceptor had managed to say pleasantly enough that it was 'nice to see Ultra Magnus again.' He hadn't had to worry about that too, much, though; they were off on a mission in no time.
A few days later, the Dinobots returned from THEIR part of that trek with their new best buddy...and Perceptor had forgotten his manners completely. He STARED. This mech was charismatic. Charming. Funny. ...wow...
"Perceptor's our head scientist. He's the one you go to when there's nerding to be done," Sideswipe explained, breezing past the microscope on his way toward better things. "This is Bluestreak. You know Ironhide, here's Skyfire, Sunstr-"
Nerding was not a word, and Perceptor rotated his body to correct that insolent punk when he realized that he and the other mech were long gone, talking a mile a minute with Ironhide.
An overwhelming urge to run up to him and interrupt to give a better introduction attacked, but before he could do it, THAT urge was superceded by fear. He was nervous? Improbable!
"Prahme's gotta see you for himself, Kup, he'll blow a gaysket!" SLAM! went the door.
He didn't see Kup for the rest of the weekend, which both relaxed and annoyed him.