He stood outside, absorbing it all.
The sun. He'd never gone outside; as a scientist, the sun and the moon were obsolete sources of light and ancient measurements of time, irrelevant to timetables, deadlines, grant applications, presentations...he'd eaten whenever, slept never, only saw the sun when he had to interact with the much-hated outside world.
All of THAT changed quickly. Suspended in a birdcage over Shockwave for an agonizingly long period of time had changed him. There was natural light here! Atmosphere! If he could breathe it in. He'd have cried, too. Robots do neither.
A body's a body. Optimus Prime transformed carefully, his trailer coming from out of nowhere and clicking into place with a gentle tug. Something back there beeped inquisitively. Was that Roller? (Good thing Optimus had been able to access his medical records - comprehending Cybertronian, which mystified him. The doctor - Ratched? eyed him suspiciously.) He'd do best to answer.
"I thought...we'd go for a drive." Roller beeped again. "Would you like to get out? I'm not going too far." When he was human he'd never had a pet. He didn't know what to do with the stray cat that came to die outside of his secret lair, and he certainly didn't know what to do with this smaller piece of him. Roller did not reply. Optimus found the spring to release his trailer door. Roller beeped and beeped and did not move, which was REALLY irritating. "OK, stay back there, then," he replied, not meaning to sound so aggrieved. "I'll...take off, now." How did he roll out? "Here. Like this...um...OK." He jerked forward a little, panicked, and hit the brake more abruptly than he had the gas pedal. This had been scary enough the first time - Ratched and Wheelcheck had forced him to undergo a once-over when they saw the trouble he'd had driving earlier (not knowing how to stop...how embarrassing). After a few tries and some concerned beeps from Roller, Optimus got the hang of it and settled on a pedestrian 40 miles per hour. TRAFFIC rules did not escape him, though. Speed was still a little disquieting.
Where would he go?
A small yellow Volkswagon pulled up, its goofy little horn squawking good-naturedly. "Hey, Optimus!" he greeted enthusiastically.
Which one was this one? Bumblebee! "Hello, 'Bee. Riding with me?"
"Sure! Where you off to?"
"Nowhere in particular. Have any suggestions?" Human interaction had always been difficult for him, but Autobots were such a cheerful, friendly lot that it didn't seem like as much of a struggle. He even LIKED some of them. This was new.
The Bug perked up. "Yeah! That canyon I keep telling you about! Follow me!" He zipped off, a little too fast, but if he were leading, Optimus was okay with that.
"He looked at his medical records."
"Aynd?" Ironhide prompted.
"That's it. I don't know what he was looking for, but he had a clean bill of operation. My notes said the same." Ratchet shrugged. "If he's a copy, he's a good one."
Wheeljack was in on this meeting, since it was his idea to check up on Prime in the first place. "I sent Bumblebee out to keep an optic on him. They're at Foster's Gully. Should be out 'til five."
"I talked to him about the battle...he kind of brushed me off," Kup interjected, for the fifth time. He seemed the most unsettled by all of this.
Prowl nodded, making more annotations on a datapad. "Perceptor, thank you for your report, too." He stood up. "We will have to watch him, for now. Red Alert is re-calibrating the radio interception antennae, in the event of a clandestine call. We shall reconvene tomorrow, meeting adjourned-"
"Now hold on a minnit!" Ironhide shouted. "Ya can't just wait and see what he's gonna do!"
Prowl sighed, exasperated. "-as I was saying: ON THAT MEETING'S AGENDA: we will discuss how Kup and Perceptor will have employed tactics to keep Prime distracted, or until he reveals his intentions. I will be in contact with Ultra Magnus so that Blaster does not know, and Jazz, you and Bumblebee will go back to the space bridge for clues." He glared darkly at Ironhide. "YOU are in charge."
Ironhide couldn't resist preening a little. "Now thayt's more lahke it." His first order of business should be forcing Prowl to go on vacation.
More pressing issues were at hand; namely, what Megatron was up to next.
Oxygen! Curse this worthless human's lungs and peripheral nervous system! Dr. Arkeville continued gasping, adrenaline fueling his anguish and accelerating his need for faster intake rate.
Starscream looked on, apologetically. "I thought I could cross the ocean without incident," he explained.
"THERE'S NO AIR IN SUBSPACE COMPARTMENTS!" Dr. Arkeville managed to scream.
Starscream scowled. "You are going to be overheard," he hissed. "You would do well to modulate your voice." The human looked on the verge of tears. "I couldn't put you in the cockpit, not while being watched, and I'm still getting used to transforming. I could have killed you that way, too." He was still unconvinced; as though Starscream had done this maliciously. "This seemed easier." Come to think of it, the original Starscream had heaped enough malice on the original Optimus to merit some physical discomfort as mild retribution. The Incident at the mines of Vos was somewhat vindicated now, as far as THIS mech was concerned. "I wanted to avoid detection."
Dr. Arkeville returned to panting on his side on the floor. His stomach wouldn't rebel again, would it? That had been embarrassing. Humans had NO equilibrium, and no control over their body functions at all.
Starscream was confused by the layout of this lab. Perceptor's was well-organized, brightly lit, slightly smoky on the days Wheeljack was in it. This one was the same, except that everything had a sheen of insidiousness that clung like coal dust. It was the lab of an unhappy individual. Dr. Arkeville's was similar, but had more flashing numbers, on the monitors.
Wait a minute.
Starscream picked up a random datapad. "Electric wave did not change variable, control immobile as well. Null hypothesis rejected, alternate hypothesis proved inconclusive. Suggestion: new experiment with higher voltage."
He could read Decepticon.
"I can-" he gasped, grabbing another pad. THIS one was in another language, but he could read it! It was a description of table manners and proper etiquette! He handed it to Dr. Arkeville. "What does this say?"
The human squinted. "It's Chinese. No, Greek. No..."
"Korean!" Starscream interrupted, elated. He lowered the pad incredulously. "When did you learn Korean?"
Dr. Arkeville huffed air out of his useless lungs and rubbed his forehead. "My second task here was to learn Human communication methods. Soundwave couldn't be trusted to know everything!"
"What is the point of dividing labor if you have to learn everything anyway? No, wait. YOU had to learn everything because ignorance is equal to an inadequate defense system." That's Starscream.
Dr. Arkeville had given up scowling and was now accomplishing the task of sitting upright. Starscream should help him. Negative, he was capable of utilizing his own faculties. It took him a few moments, but he was all right. "Now for business," he announced. "How are YOU going to destroy our worst enemy?" He looked...jealous? "A pity it will only be by my hand in a literal sense."
"Starscream!" it was out of him before he remembered their pact. "You think I'll be able to DO it! I'm FLATTERED!"
Dr. Arkeville couldn't scowl deep enough. "Modulate your voice, indeed," he muttered, paying more attention to his human wrist. It was purple and swollen.
Starscream forgot his momentary elation and bent over to examine it. As Optimus, he didn't know much about human anatomy, but in THIS figure, experience told him that this was not good. "Can you move it?"
"Yes. It's just a sprain." Dr. Arkeville wrapped it up and ignored Starscream's protests that only an x-ray could determine that, wheeling over to the bottom of a computer and demanding aid in ascending to its keyboard. "The buttons are too big," he huffed. "Place me next to it and take this dictation: [ function ] name () { command-list Megatron_must_die; }"
It took three passwords and a voice recognizer but once they had access the list was impressive, ranging from elaborate underhanded schemes to simple pot-shots, everything imaginable...Starscream was overwhelmed.
"You've done everything but call the Autobots and tell them you're coming," he observed. No, wait, that was #4400962. "What can I do that hasn't been repeated fourteen million times?"
Nothing, apparently. BUT there could be a twist or two done, seeing as how some of these would have WORKED if not for minor execution flaws or Autobot meddling. Hehehe. (Where had THAT smug feeling come from?) Dr. Arkeville wasn't too thrilled with the idea of poisoning his energon - Megatron had excellent chemistry descriptors - but hey, if Starscream were up to being beaten senseless...as long as nothing was permanent. Starscream, seeing his reflection in some of the polished metal surfaces, noted the poorly healed marks on his wings and felt a stirring of fear. This was nothing new, as Optimus he'd been terrified of Megatron on a regular basis, but in Starscream, there was no sense of responsibility to buttress his facade of aggression. Starscream did this because he could not tolerate being a subordinate. Optimus did it to keep evil from spreading. THIS fear was far more personal, and it hadn't translated as well from one body to the next.
"Perhaps more reconnaissance," Starscream suggested nervously. Dr. Arkeville shrugged.
"It will not change anything but your resolve." There were flickering lights going darker and brighter, Decepticons were being called to assemble. "Go up four flights, turn left, there's a large throne room on your right." Something on the bitter human's face softened. "And good luck." He shook it off. "Don't mess up!"
The door slammed behind Starscream and that flicker of fear lingered and intensified into trepidation.
Human beings were unbelievably disgusting. When he was Starscream, Dr. Arkeville had read an American Fifth-Grade Science book that listed the five things all earth beings needed to do to be alive, and at this moment, he needed to do two of them.
Waste receptacles had not been considered when they had concocted this smuggling plan. What did Shockwave do? No memory was coming up, no matter how hard Dr. Arkeville searched. Should he use the old Gundarr cage that still hadn't been cleaned out when it died? Something inside of his lower half heaved, and there were few options left.
Disgusting. Other animals buried it, so he would, too. As he rolled away, he could still smell it on him, adding the feeling of dirt and grime and nasty. The pain in his wrist intensified when he'd had to climb out of the chair to excrete. This had to end, and soon. Starscream may be obsessed with killing Megatron, but once he'd been knocked about a few times he'd come to his senses and yield to more superior thinkers and work a little harder and turning all of them back to their original forms. Dr. Arkeville figured that the former Optimus Prime would have to learn that the hard way, however. It would buy HIM some time and be fun to watch Starscream fail.
Besides...what was the old Dr. Arkeville doing with the Autobots, anyway?