There was the sensation of movement. The change of light and dark. Acceleration and a falling away; an unfettering. Mirage could feel but the cubic transformation dulled everything in the anticipation of trauma or significant ablation. Then there was whatever Jazz had used on him. He felt unmoored, alone in his own space.

Except for Tempest, who was investigating the crystal of his spark chamber with tiny (sharp!) claws. The sparkling seemed content to bumble around in his confined space, kicking his peds and interacting as he would in his carrier's cockpit. All was well with him for the moment.

The former spy, former Autobot, former social better, tried to calm himself. This was one of those situations that happened. It wasn't pleasant. There was nothing he could, yet, do about it. He had to rely on the competence of other beings to enact change. And wait.

So he might as well relax and allow the universe to order itself as it willed, Mirage told himself. He delicately felt through the connection between himself and the sparkling. The link was ephemeral and the feedback hazy. Tempest was not alarmed. That was good. He wanted the little one to remain at ease. He concentrated on that feeling.

Passivity conserved energon, buying time for rescue. Whatever plan Jazz had, which he would not think about right now because he was going to be serene and his former commander was never that and provoked un-serenity in others by his existence alone... Thundercracker would move Cybertron to find Tempest. Even if the Seeker was incapacitated, Soundwave would take up the search.

Soundwave had not been there thus any damage done to Thundercracker and Skywarp to prevent pursuit would not have affected him. The Host had been frustratingly difficult to neutralise during the war. Mirage saw no reason why that would change in peacetime. Plus, he was a Minister in Megatron's government. It would be embarrassing to lose an official so soon after their appointment. Even if the Decepticons thought he had escaped willingly, they'd want him back to take out their mortification on his person.

So they would find him.

Eventually.

Mirage was not precisely comforted by that notion. However, it was a fact about which he could be sure and use that surety to build a scaffolding of rationalisation to steady himself. It was simple a matter of time. Patience and time.

He ran an internal scan. All results from his kinetics were error messages but his cognition was only minimally compromised. His communication suite did not respond at all, which could be total failure or a signal interrupt. Mirage set his emergency channel to automatic and metaphorically blew the dust off his locator beacon. His Autobot one. Jazz would have disabled the one installed by the Decepticons.

His systemics were good, considering. It took some bypassing but he managed to shift then activate a feeding line. A few twitches gained him the sensation of Tempest latching on. In cube mode, his energon cycled slowly to limit leakage though it would be enough to sustain the sparkling for a significant time. Mirage would unfold himself rather than risk starvation. He doubted that situation would eventuate.

He just existed for a while.

Tempest fed then drowsed then squirmed and chattered. Mirage cycled his biolights to entertain him, trying to play a colour response game. The seekerling had a notable preference for red lights and didn't seem to get he should touch the hue corresponding to the flashed pattern. Perhaps his optics weren't calibrated for a full spectrum. Or perhaps he simply liked red better. He fed again before falling into full recharge.

Mirage powered down hoping the process would reset his gyros. The weightless disorientation could be from zero G, a daunting prospect, but until the disorientation passed he couldn't be sure of any feedback. He considered what he would say to Jazz after the resolution of this incident. Much depended on the outcome. The noble was unsure he would ever be able to forgive his former comrade if this stunt saw him exiled from Cybertron.

Or reignited the war.

A handshake protocol contacted his firewalls. Mirage roused ready to actively bolster countermeasures if necessary. Another contact, a repeat of the first, with a slow verification of identity. Ratchet prodded him again. The Chief Medical Officer of the Autobots did not initiate any transformation sequence. All he did was poke gently.

::greetings:: Mirage tried his comm suite. It worked for short range.

::greetings:: Ratchet responded. ::query: you want me to shout at [designation: Jazz]:

::no:: Mirage returned after contemplation. ::query: location::

::undesignated ice rock asteroid:: The medic sent the handshake again.

Mirage accepted it, braced to resist if necessary. He did not expect chicanery from Ratchet but it was possible there were orders. A medical assessment swept through him and by proximity Tempest, who onlined and hissed. He recognised the sensation of a med scan and did NOT like.

"He has the sparkling with him." Ratchet said aloud rather than transmitting on a private frequency. This was a statement. Mirage formed the impression there had been considerable discussion on that subject. The ambulance sounded vexed.

"Jazz said he boxed himself before the bitlet could be detached." Blaster pinged an IFF generally, politely giving Mirage the option of acknowledging his presence or not.

::query: individuals present:: The Towerling sent solely to Ratchet, which the Host would certainly sense. He knew that was snippy but he wasn't amused.

"Just myself and Blaster." The medic answered shortly, his tone conveying he was not at home to nonsense. "Prowl is on standby at another location. Jazz is on the comm with him right now."

Mirage very much wished to communicate with Prowl at the moment. He had several glyphs he wished to transmit loud and clear. That would not be constructive however, not least because the Praxian had been shouted at by more intimidating mecha than himself without twitch of a doorwing. Instead, as Ratchet seemed disinclined to force a transformation, he could remain in his current form relatively incommunicado. Was that the most efficacious tactic?

Blaster took the hint of the unacknowledged IFF and retreated. He may have left the room, Mirage couldn't tell. The noble waited for Ratchet to resume the conversation, which he did with an audible vent mimicking a human sigh. The medic had spent considerable time working alongside that species and had picked up their habits.

"For my own curiosity and care coding, I would like to examine the sparkling." The ambulance announced. It wasn't a demand or an order either to him (both Prowl and Jazz technically outranked the CMO, which sometimes Ratchet even acknowledged) or to Mirage. This was to satisfy his core directive as well as the chance to see a bitlet for the first time in megavorn.

::[designation: Tempest] does not like medics:: Mirage flickered his biolights for the seekerling, who chirruped. He seemed to have calmed after the hissing.

"With a hack like Hook, I'm not surprised. I hope they at least had a Neutral emergence specialist present. Seekers spark readily but they have reams of potential complications, not counting ongoing sub-par repairs and energon deprivation." Ratchet had not been pleased when he'd heard the Elite trine had produced a sparkling. Relieved, envious even, yes, but not pleased. Too soon, too risky.

::no specialist to my knowledge:: There had been mention of consulting Ratchet. Mirage pushed out his field to its furthest extent. He could not sense anyone else in the room. He could always cube again. The transformation was very quick and difficult to disrupt. The complication would be securing Tempest first. The racer unfolded himself into his root mode, realising halfway he was on a medberth, then settled the sparkling on his lap.

Tempest hissed at Ratchet.

"Excellent vocalisation." The medic lit the tip of one of his digits and held it in front of the bit, who reached for it. "Grip is adequate. He's a little under-sized. I would have expected more colour too, though that can be delayed if he has a complex under-layer like structural iridescence." Ratchet wiggled his finger. Tempest held on.

"No." The sparkling said, trying to pull the light towards him. He did not like being booped on the nasal ridge by the digit before it extinguished. "No!"

"He has said 'yes'." Mirage provided, petting Tempest's helm.

"I read a case study of a sparkling whose first glyph was 'perihelion'. More than a few have said 'frag' or variations thereof. Linguistic novelties like that usually indicate processor glitches rather than anything profound. 'Yes' or 'no' are reassuring." Ratchet smiled at the seekerling, who looked at his face-plate but didn't mimic his expression. He frowned. Tempest frowned. Probably temperament, then. "Can you point to Carrier?"

Tempest pointed behind Ratchet towards the closed door of the cramped medbay. They were on a ship or a base repurposed from a ship, likely inside a hollowed-out asteroid to shield them from detection. The medic still turned around. He was in time to see the first distension of warp energy and was already ducking as Thundercracker and Skywarp teleported in guns hot.