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One thing Sunstorm was expecting on his day off would be a relatively peaceful morning. Thrust would return from his dawn patrol, grab a cube and maybe have a quick chat with some friends before he’d slink off to go cuddle with the yellow Seeker. Sunstorm didn’t mind Thrust’s company as much anymore; they’d started growing old together, and since their Conjunx ceremony, the Conehead had been vastly more aware of how the younger felt about not just him, but also everything else. Sometimes Sunstorm just needed his space, and that was ok. But sometimes, he would linger for a bit longer in his chambers, if he could, to find some strength in the other. Thrust was far more experienced than he was, a fighter by nature. Sunstorm didn’t outright need him to fight his physical battles for him, but having the Conehead at an arm’s reach did help keep his neurons at bay. He didn’t bother checking his inner analogue that morning, as he snuggled further into the thermal blankets. He desperately tried to keep his optics offline despite the wild hope and excitement that was brimming at the far corners of his spark, where his connection to his Trine-mate, Bitstream, had been muffled. Not entirely sealed off, but seemingly not entirely mute, either. No, when his brother became like this, it was often a result of an overwhelming emotion. Bitstream was more in tune with frequencies and telepathic connections than Sunstorm, thanks to the Dassault’s external neural link that would crest his helm like a set of headphones. Sunstorm couldn’t fault him for his unique abilities, no matter how largely it pissed him off. Having half your brain constantly exposed was bound to become a flaw at some point or rather. Sunstorm had spent a large majority of the war just trying to distance himself from his brother and his troublesome emotions. It had been exhausting. When they both found their way to Earth, Sunstorm had decided to put up with it, and did so with surprising ease. Bitstream rarely bothered him unless either of them was in great trouble. Sunstorm had tried numerous experiments to mute or silence the bond, but begrudgingly refused to block it entirely due to Bitstream’s psyche. Having such a young Seeker be cut off wholly from his Trine-mates would leave a devastating impact; just ask any of whom who found themselves a ‘last Seeker standing’ out of their Trine-mates. There were days where Sunstorm had wished he’d been there to save Wingstun, or take his place instead. Just so he didn’t have to put up with the emotional duress his brother inadvertently placed him under.
But today was only a happy feeling, so the pastel-coloured Gloster Gladiator assumed that it was nothing really to worry about. In fact, he hummed quietly to himself as he allowed a small wave of the frequency to wash over and cleanse his spark. Maybe, if Thrust was in a good mood and had nothing better to do, they could be intimate later. Sunstorm rarely allowed anycon, let alone himself, the pleasure of such a thing. But seeing how relaxed and giddy Bitstream felt, he wondered if he should be relaxing on such a level, too. He’d been informed that he had the entire solar-cycle off, so he figured that he was going to use it wisely. Thrust hardly ever rejected him anyway, unless he was absolutely too tired.
But the unfortunate part of this morning was yet to unfold as morning drifted into lunchtime and the usual time for Thrust’s visit came and went. This prompted Sunstorm to bring his optics online and wait. He never wanted to jump to conclusions; however, now he was beginning to worry. Was his Endurae suffering after being exposed to some attack? Had Thrust finally snapped or forgotten about him?
No, it had to be more than that!
The mirth on Bitstream’s end was still vibrant and alive, so there had to be no indicators of an attack taking place. With a heavy groan, the four-winged Seeker pushed himself up out of his berth, clutching his face-plates with his white talons as he shuffled into the washrooms to clean himself up. Maybe Thrust had truly thrown in the towel. Bitter about their relationship status, Sunstorm was about to swallow his fear and reprimand the other through their connection when the entire warship suddenly jerked to the side with a hefty, strained moan. With a squeak of terror, Sunstorm clasped the side of the sink, optics wide as he stared at his fearful face in the mirror. A few things slid and fell off before the ship slowly righted itself again. Venting heavily to calm his neurons before he timidly rose to his peds, Sunstorm stilled, trying to listen for any shouts coming out in the hallway outside.
There was nothing but silence.
He in-vented sharply and focused on Thrust’s shard in his spark. . : What’s going on?! : .
. : Sunny! : . He hated that nickname. But it did feel good to know how desperate Thrust felt. Maybe something was holding him up. . : Are you on the ship? I can’t find you anywhere! : .
With a scowl, Sunstorm went to demand an answer from him, but was halted by a notification appearing on his HUD. It was a transmission from Soundwave. You’ve got to be slagging me… Grumbling, Sunstorm answered it. “Yes?”
“Sunstorm: Status report.” The cold voice of Soundwave appeared before his obscured face-plates did.
Sunstorm felt a little embarrassed by the flustered state he was in before he snapped back into focus and responded. “Frazzled. What’s going on, Soundwave? Where is everycon?”
“Situation: Hijacking. Target: Nemesis.”
Sunstorm’s spark dropped as he heard this, optics going wide. Somebot had hijacked the Nemesis? Or some alien creature?
His spark quickened as he glanced around, trying to find anything that could be used as a weapon. Ever since being stationed as a priest, and more importantly, a Deputy Inspector General, there’d been no need for him to carry such a thing anymore. He’d rarely fly into the heat of combat, and he’d hardly ever been cornered without backup nearby. He knew where the armoury was, but not what kind of situation he was in. He was panicking out of his processor until he heard Soundwave report next.
“Theory: The Nemesis has been hijacked by low-ranking Decepticon officers. Seekers: Bitstream and Hotlink.”
Are. You. SERIOUS!? Sunstorm reset his voicebox so he didn’t accidentally shout that at his superior. Settling for a firm nod, he gripped the edges of the sink tightly and glared past the hologram communicator displaying Soundwave’s face to glower right at his own in the mirror.
“Objective: Ask them to return the ship. Preferred: Before Megatron finds out.”
“Why can’t you contact Bitstream?” Sunstorm couldn’t help but jab. Bitstream was the bot directly under Soundwave. The Dassault answered to him, not Sunstorm.
“Obstruction: Communicational errors.” That just meant that Bitstream wasn’t picking up the phone.
With a hefty vent, Sunstorm reluctantly agreed and ended the call. The last thing he needed was to be on board this ship when Megatron found out and would inevitably lose his slag over it. He cleaned himself up in the washroom before he headed out.
The Nemesis took a few more awkward dips and turns before he eventually reached the Throne Room. Soundwave’s control panel would be there; it could help override the entire ship’s course and commands, and luckily, Sunstorm knew the key to unlock it.
Unfortunately, so did his brother.
As soon as Sunstorm set ped in there, he was greeted by Chemtrail spinning uncontrollably around in Soundwave’s chair. She slid past him as the door sealed shut behind him, giggling over the shrill whine of her engine. In Megatron’s throne sat none other than Hotlink himself, who appeared to be pretending to scope through a spyglass, only that he was facing away from the window.
“Turn ‘er to the Starboard, Captain!” He gargled out in a heavy, ragged voice and slapped the arm of the throne.
“You’re the Captain, dumbaft!” And then finally, from Soundwave’s control panel, stood Bitstream. His wingtips fluttered as he chuckled, pressing any and all buttons and dials that were laid mercilessly before him. Over on the other side of the room were Nacelle and Wheezing Arrow, trying to figure out how to deploy the cannons. This hastened Sunstorm’s fear as he made a beeline toward his Trine-mate.
“What are you doing!?” Shrieking at the top of his own rattled engine, the Gloster tightly gripped his brother’s shoulderstrut and whirled him around to glare daggers at him. “Turn this fraggin’ ship around, right now!”
Instead of looking fearful or muttering an apology, Bitstream only stuck his glossa out at him and narrowed his optics. “Pppt! Here comes the party pooper, folks!”
“Gawh!” Chemtrail huffed as she struggled to sit up in the chair, no doubt falling victim to spatial disorientation from the way that she was swaying and how her optics looked unfocused. “Not that! We don’t like those!”
“Sunstormy~!” With a grumble, the yellow Seeker turned to look up at Hotlink, who was giggling down at him. The throne was already two sizes too large from the way the amateur engineer was kicking his peds about like a Seekerling. “We were wondering when you’d get up. It's not like you to sleep in; you sure you’re not sick?”
“With Bitstream’s driving, who wouldn’t be?” Sunstorm scoffed darkly.
“Hey!” Taking some offence to that, Bitstream went to whack him on the backstrut, but stumbled with a gasp as the ship veered off its prohibited course.
“How do you get the cannons working?” Nacelle, who was older than him by a few years, shouted at him from across the room.
But before Sunstorm could respond in any way, her much older counterpart seethed with a hiss. Glaring at Sunstorm while he had a vice grip on his own controls, Wheezing Arrow stated. “Don’t ask him; he’ll set the place in lockdown.”
Chuckling as he leaned against the controls, Bitstream nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, don’t let him touch anything!”
“Get him!” Chemtrail ordered as she threw a digit in Sunstorm’s direction.
“Tie him up in the brig!” Nacelle hollered.
“Make him walk the plank, arghh!” Hotlink leered over the catwalk, grinning darkly down at him.
Giving a soft ex-vent, Sunstorm focused on one inanimate object in the room. The last thing he, or anycon else wanted and needed, was him escalating the situation. Especially in Megatron’s Throne Room. It could take months to clean the place of radiation leakage. And as much as he was considering his defence mechanism given their idle threats, he had to remain the reasonable one here. “No. Look, if you don’t turn this ship around right now, Megatron is going to be very displeased with all of you.”
He glanced from one face-plate to another, taking in their individual hesitance and wariness. “If you turn this ship around,” he went on, not looking at his brother behind him. “Soundwave will only give you a light punishment.”
“Bahh, that’s not good enough!” Hotlink stuck his glossa out and waved his aft out behind him in the air, half-bending over so he could see what was happening beneath him. “We demand a pay increase!”
Sunstorm couldn’t stop himself from raising a brow-ridge. What pay increase? We’re soldiers who survive on the bare minimum; who’s getting paid here!?
“Aaaand!” Nacelle raised her servo next with a bright, shining look in her amber optics. “We demand to raid the Autobot base in search of energon candies!”
There was a mighty hoot of agreement that rang through the room. Sunstorm stood dumbfounded for a moment. In all sense, these ideas seemed highly illogical to him.
Chuckling behind him as he turned to make the ship perform a doughnut, Bitstream explained. “Megs won’t be back for another few joors, Sunshine. We’re just lettin’ off some steam until then.”
“Are you crazy!?” Sunstorm whipped around to berate him in a quiet but rageful whisper. “Soundwave is waiting for this ship to come back. Megatron would have no doubt found out about this already. And what do you think Starscream is going to do?”
“Ehhh, pat us on the wing for an awesome idea?” Bitstream grimaced.
“NO!” Sunstorm roared before he grunted, wings twitching as he collected himself. “No. Starscream will send escorts to steer us back to base, or just shoot us down. Because frag it, he doesn’t need kids like us screwing up this war.”
“Don’t be so uptight.” Bitstream scoffed and eased back the throttle to turn the ship Southbound.
“Uptight? Don’t be so uptight?” Sunstorm repeated the audacity. “I’m serious, Bitstream! We could get in severe trouble for this!”
“I could,” the sky-blue jet jabbed a thumb at himself, looking smug and cool for a moment before he added. “And you just need to relax, alright? I would’ve invited your boyfriend to the party, but sadly he’s on the ‘let’s be responsible this weekend’ team.”
Sunstorm then frowned and stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Thrust is not responsible.”
“That’s what I said!” Bitstream gawked before he went on. “But he and the older Seekers were far too scared to come hang out with us when we suggested this. And like no slag in Hell were we gonna let Starscream and Slipstream in on it, either.”
“Tell me who’s on the ship.” Sunstorm’s mood soured and his expression flattened.
With a shrug toward the door, Bitstream answered. “Everycon who likes to party.”
That statement meant that there were at least fifty irresponsible and reckless Decepticons, most of them Seekers, running around freely unsupervised within the confines of the most armed warship in the cosmos.
Sunstorm tried again to reason and plead with his brother, but they were twenty minutes away from the nearest Decepticon airspace. No human military was bold enough to strike them down, and they were too far out over the sea for any Autobots to intervene. No, at this given rate, Sunstorm and his sanity were a lost cause.
He’d been strategising in his chambers for the last half an hour, trying to come up with a plan when Soundwave called him again. “Ultimatum: Turn the Nemesis around, or Starscream intervenes.”
Sunstorm didn’t quite like the sound of that. If Megatron was the father of the Decepticons, Starscream was their mother. Quick to anger, ruthless when it came to schedules, to know that the Air Commander was getting trigger-happy made the Gloster all the more stressed.
“I can’t get them to comply,” he said, almost pleading. “It's like a bunch of sparklings have taken over!”
“This is what he gets for ordering teenagers to Earth,” Sunstorm twitched as he heard Starscream’s unimpressed voice in the background on Soundwave’s end.
“Direction: Rocky Mountains of North America.” Soundwave then displayed their location on a satellite-tracking map. “Nearest Autobot base: Concur Mountain. Consequence: Aerialbots.”
Now Sunstorm understood why Starscream had been ordered to intervene. If they kept going any further, the Aerialbots would be the ones to shoot them down, or worse. A million things could happen, and Sunstorm didn’t want to waste any time thinking about them. “How far are they? The Aerialbots?”
“Twenty-three miles,” Soundwave answered.
“And Starscream?”
“We’ve been following you at a safe distance,” Soundwave said in a slightly warmer tone. “Failure to comply results in failure to submit. Objective: Turn the Nemesis around. Do not get targeted by the Aerialbots.”
“Trust me, it’s not on my top ten favourite things to do.” Sunstorm huffed before he disconnected the transmission. His alt-mode was severely outdated and used only for recon purposes. If they did get shot down, Sunstorm would make an easy target for the Aerialbots. He doubted that Bitstream would care, or Thrust would reach him in time.
“I can’t believe that I have to do this.” He pouted, fluttering his top wings as he stood and marched his way back to the Throne Room. By now, Chemtrail and Nacelle had disappeared, and Wheezing Arrow was also nowhere in sight. No, now stood Clobber, grinning from either side of her helm as Hotlink daintily floated in the air, pointing out all the buttons and stitched details of Megatron’s Throne.
Bitstream still guarded the ship’s controls with a smug smirk. Beside him, Ion Storm was uploading a playlist while he munched on some energon chips.
This has gotta stop. Sunstorm shook his helm as he approached, seething.
“Oh, you back for more?” Bitstream hugged himself, leaning forward as his smirk darkened. “If you’re having trouble taking a nap or finding yourself in a better mood, I could always-”
“Don’t you dare.” Sunstorm hissed as he slapped the other away. “The last thing I need from you right now, Bitstream, is you meddling around inside my helm. We are less than twenty miles out from Aerialbot airspace; you need to turn this ship around.”
Truthfully, Sunstorm didn’t care if the party stopped then and there, or they decided to keep going. He just didn’t want to risk a conflict with the enemy while they were unguarded and in lively spirits. The Aerialbots were debatably more experienced than half of those on board.
Unfortunately, upon hearing this news, Bitstream only continued with glee. He turned to grin at Ion Storm before he whistled up at Hotlink and shouted. “Incoming enemy air forces, Captain! What should we do?”
“Ahh,” Hotlink leaned over the catwalk to beam down at them, pinning his wings back for balance as he said. “Engage the Boom-Booms, drive those petty, little Autobots away!”
Ah, scrap. Sunstorm’s thin lip plating twitched into a frown. He stepped back and watched as his brother blitzed across the room and giddily took up arms with the weapons panel.
“Aye, aye, Sir! Engaging the enemy now!”
Ion Storm hummed, gently brushing past the Gloster to witness the show firsthand from the observation deck where the Throne sat facing. But now Sunstorm realised something - Ha! Those idiots have abandoned the controls!
He grinned, mostly at their stupidity, but also because now he could maybe turn the ship around. And even if they tried to pry him off, he could just singe them a little; no need to outright damage anything or anyone.
With anxiety filling his every nerve, Sunstorm latched onto the controls and established a connection with Soundwave. “I have the control panel at my disposal. Fly me through it.”
It had been a while since he’d had to cover for the Third in Command, and he couldn’t remember every button or switch for the life of him.
“Understood.” Soundwave gave a small nod before he continued. “Engage thrusters, edge forward to bank to your port side and turn.”
Upon feeling them beginning to turn around, Sunstorm’s hopes were shot down when Hotlink shrieked. “Aye, we have a rapscallion on board! Argh!”
The so-called ‘Captain’ of the stolen Nemesis hissed down, squinting at the Gloster as he took aim.
“Shoot to neutralise, not kill!” Bitstream called up without a care as he readied the ship’s cannons. He wore a smile as he watched his friend take aim at his brother.
“Bitstream!” Sunstorm shrieked, watching as Hotlink readied his null ray.
The Dassault cackled evilly with his servos on his hipstruts. “What? I’m just sayin’, y’know you can melt a bullet before it hits you, right?”
“No, I can’t!” Sunstorm screeched, half in fear, half in disbelief. “I’m not Nova Storm!”
“It’s never too late to learn how~!” Ion Storm smirked from over his shoulder, watching them carefully.
Seemingly on his own, Sunstorm glared daggers up at Hotlink. “Shoot me, and I plunge this ship straight into the ocean!”
“Ok, but what happens if I don’t?” Hotlink raised a brow-ridge beneath his visor.
Sunstorm vented, looking cornered. “I don’t know. Maybe I turn this ship around, and we can just all forget about this entire ordeal?”
“Hmm,” Hotlink scrunched up his face-plates before he clicked his glossa. “Nah. How about I just take over the controls, instead?”
And not for the first time that cycle did Sunstorm mentally say to himself: You’ve got to be kidding me. He watched helplessly as Hotlink lightly waved Clobber away from the Throne and sat in it with a slag-eating grin. He lounged about freely and, on the right armrest, began to press some buttons and wave his servo around. With a shriek, Sunstorm felt the entire ship bank hard in the opposite direction and clutched tightly to the control panel to prevent himself from sliding across the room. A few others laughed and hovered as the floor gave out, sending everything sideways.
“This isn’t funny, Hotlink!” Sunstorm shouted up at him.
“I dunno,” the purple mech hummed merrily. “It seems like a you problem, Sunshine; you’re the only ‘con who’s not laughing!”
Engaging in what little and ancient thrusters he had, Sunstorm hovered over the slanted control panel and gritted his denta as he fought hard to regain control over the ship. While Soundwave was busy pestering him, inquiring as to why the Nemesis was headed for a dangerous nose dive toward the ocean.
. : I don’t know! : . He mentally shrieked as the other Seekers cackled in the background behind him. . : Hotlink’s overridden the controls through the Throne; I can’t kick him out! : .
There was a subtle pause on Soundwave’s end before he responded. . : Sit in the chair. : .
Sunstorm’s optics widened, his spark stilling in fear as he heard the command. . : What? : . He frowned hard down at the console in front of him. Was Soundwave telling him to sit in the Throne? Fragging Megatron’s Throne!?
With a groan, Sunstorm straightened out his backstrut, flicking his top wings up to help keep him balanced in the air. His optics narrowed on the transmission that the telepath sent in confirmation. . : Yes. I will vouch for your efforts. Do not heavily engage in radiation, if possible. Limit injuries. : .
You’re so screwed now. Sunstorm’s cold, blue optics narrowed to slits as he sized up Hotlink and the others. With the Communications Officer’s approval, Sunstorm had been given permission to use lethal force. Not to the extent where it would permanently harm the other Seekers, or dare even damage Megatron’s Throne, but enough force to ward them away. From the Throne, Sunstorm could have complete control over the entire warship. With any luck, they’d be nearing land soon, and he could safely hand back the reins over to their impatient superiors.
“Uh oh,” Bitstream grinned as he hovered beside the catwalk, leering down at his brother. “Brace yourself, Captain, one o’ the crew’s gone rogue!”
Flexing his wings, the Dassault Rafale squealed as his Trine-mate rocketed toward him. In a flurry of talons and yellow volts of electricity, Bitstream seethed as he got stung. He might’ve been fast enough to dodge the slice of his brother’s vicious talons, but his energy signature had been within reach, and Sunstorm’s deadly radioactive electricity had managed to latch onto the other’s EMF and sting his circuitry. Not enough to cause sickness or real pain, but enough to make it feel like a small pinch.
The sky-blue mech wondered briefly about backing off, but grinned as he dove back down and smashed against his brother’s waist. Sunstorm gasped from the impact, his audials full of Bitstream’s laughter, and his optics wide with uncertainty as they went tumbling through the air.
Sunstorm’s frame was heavier due to his armour density and mass, the downside of having four wing panels. His speed was nowhere near the jet-powered Dassault’s, but he did brace himself against one of the walls and push back against his Trine-mate. This time, however, Sunstorm twisted his torso and tightly hugged his brother. Bitstream yelped and shrieked, nearly crying as his armour began to bubble and sear under the radiation.
“Let me go!”
“Stand down and I will!” Sunstorm snarled in his Trine-mate’s audial.
Giving a small whimper, Bitstream went limp and carefully, Sunstorm floated them back down to the floor. He lifted his brother’s chin, checking over his vitals before he soared into the air once more.
Hotlink gave him a warning look, and the yellow Seeker doubted his capabilities for a moment. Hotlink was far older than him, however, Sunstorm did have the ‘privilege’ of working with Overlord during the early days of the war. With Clobber slowly backing out of the way, hot, white radiation cackled from Sunstorm’s runes and transformation seams. The ancient language embedded into his armour, long hidden under careful filing and cosmetic jobs, now glowed to life the longer he endured the radiation. This turned his beige highlights into a fiery orange, then eventually a hateful red. He was careful to keep this alarming radiation to an angry cloud, not allowing it to spill out everywhere and contaminate the Throne Room. He couldn’t do that, and unlike Nova Storm, his predecessor, Sunstorm indulged in his abilities where he seldom had the time and security of being on his own where nothing could be harmed. He was much more in tune with his emotions and better at handling it than the Seeker Captain. He would singe Hotlink if the other continued to threaten him, and while he wouldn’t permanently injure him, he’d make it quite a burn to remember.
With a small growl, Hotlink threw himself at the yellow Gloster. Higher and higher they traded blows, with Hotlink hitting hard and fast while Sunstorm burned and endured. He was quite used to bearing the full brunt of a physical attack. He could deal with the psychological factor, too, if this “play” fighting was an actual battle. From the way Hotlink danced, twirled, and swiped his talons at him, Sunstorm could tell that the other was holding back quite significantly. The last thing Hotlink wanted was Sunstorm getting pissed off and getting personal with him. It seemingly never ended well for anybot, unless they were Thrust. By the fourth dodge, Sunstorm flared out his quadwings, twirled in the air and kicked Hotlink hard in the helm. The purple Seeker went down, spiralling to the floor with a groan where he landed with a small thud.
Glaring up at Clobber, the femme giggled sheepishly and hid behind the Throne, almost offering it to him. Below them, Bitstream pouted while Hotlink recalibrated his bearings.
Without much hesitation, Sunstorm floated into the massive seat and pulled up the Nemesis’ control interface. . : Soundwave. : .
Almost instantly, the telepath reappeared on his transmission frequency.
Sunstorm narrowed his optics. . : Guide me, I’m flying blind here. : .
From outside, Starscream and Soundwave promptly guided Sunstorm and the Nemesis across the ocean, getting it to hover before it landed on a barren peninsula where it had been busy refuelling that morning prior to the childish hijacking.
By the time they landed, Sunstorm was feeling quite nauseous in the Throne that loomed over him much like the warlord’s very own, personal shadow. Hotlink had grumbled about an oncoming helmache, but otherwise the two Seekers were mostly left unscathed and were both in store for a gruelling, audial-ful courtesy of Starscream when they landed, and the Aerial Commander boarded the ship. Nasal unit high in the air, optics glaring and wings fanned out, flanked on either side by Thundercracker and Slipstream. Immediately, Sunstorm relinquished his position upon seeing Soundwave enter the room and nodded over at the control panel.
“I think I left it undamaged.” He huffed, almost annoyed at the fact that if he didn’t, it originally wasn’t his fault anyway.
After a silent but tense few moments of Soundwave checking over everything while Starscream shrieked angrily in the background, berating and bellowing out Vosian expletives to the naivety of Clobber, Soundwave eased with a small nod. He turned, visor bland and voice emotionless as he said. “Sunstorm directive: Recover from this ordeal. Request: Thrust awaits you in your quarters.”
“How delightful,” Sunstorm grumbled, and after glancing at Starscream, quickly stormed out. It was apparent that the Commander wasn’t angry at him, or at least not yet. He decided that sticking around would only warrant unpleasant attention. So he hurried in between grumbling and apologetic Decepticons back to his room. After opening the door, a shrill but happy trill greeted him as Thrust rose from their berth.
“Oh, you’re ok! I was actually kinda worried about you this time. I know you don’t like being overwhelmed and I initially thought that it had been someone else to come aboard and steal-”
Sunstorm interrupted him with a hungry kiss, pinning his wings back as the door sealed shut and locked behind him. He all but shoved his Conjunx back onto the berth and vented as the Conehead squirmed beneath him, chirping in surprise.
“I need to blow off some heat.”