::Good mornin’, Megatron. …If it’s mornin’ there. Hope it is. Anyhow, we have our shuttle set up an’ we’re ready t’ come, if ya could send us the coordinates, please an’ thankya.::
That done, Hotwire turned to the rest of the crew in the cockpit of the Little Runner. ”A’ight, just need a response an’ we’ll be on our way.” In front of the levitating ship, the bridge glowed a bright, ethereal white, as opposed to the normal green-blue—the sheer amount of energy necessary to power such a bridge jacked up the glow factor by a good ten times and the Little Runner’s pilot bay window had the light deflectors down to keep those inside from being blinded.
inside, Echo and Crankshaft sat behind the controls, keeping the small ship at an idle while Thunderlane and Blindside kept watch at the perimeter scanners and Stockpile stood beside Hotwire at the helm of the shuttle.
“Uh, Cap?” Crankshaft raised a servo. "I trust him if you do and all that, but… you sure Bulkhead can take care of the Covenant while we’re gone? Him and Jor and Marco?”
Hotwire shrugged. ”I have faith in ‘em. Worst case scenario, they accidentally trip the power ‘r forget a diagnostic.”
“‘Worst case’?” Crankshaft arched an optic ridge. ”We are talking about the same Jordan, right?”
“Cranky, I’m tryin’ not ta give myself an aneurism, okay? They’ll be goo—wait, I’m gettin’ a comm. back!”
He’d been expecting the traders, and had sent a few soldiers ahead to scout and shield the causeway that would be their rendezvous point. After confirmation that their signals would be dampened, Megatron bridged to the location himself, along with vehicons carting more than enough energon to compensate for a space bridge charge.
It had been a minor concern that the warlord was venturing out at all, but no Autobots had been spotted in the area, and Megatron was adamant.
::Coordinates sent, Hotwire. I expect you will not disappoint.::
Megatron's back up 