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"It's cold," Vortex complained.
Blast Off resisted sighing. There was no air anyway. He also didn't bother to explain that space was cold in the shadow of planets.
"You have a suit," the shuttle said instead.
"But it's still cold. And it's clunky, and I hate it."
Vortex was such an annoyance when he was cold. Or ill. Or just bored. Actually, Vortex was an annoyance most of the time.
"And why do I have to do all the work here anyway?" the 'copter continued. "You’re way more familiar with satellites and stuff."
"I have to carry the equipment," Blast Off answered logically. "Besides, it wasn't me who aggravated Starscream and Soundwave." No, it hadn't been Blast Off. But his rotary teammate had dragged him into this mess and now he was stuck, docked onto a human satellite where Vortex was supposed to install some surveillance device.
Vortex huffed through the comm and thankfully stayed quiet for almost a klik. That was a new record for this mission.
"I still hate it. It's colder than when Cybertron went dark." Vortex took out a welder and tried to light it. It was supposed to work in space. It didn't need air, but the 'copter handled it like he’d never used his hands before. "Argh," he uttered, an astrosecond before he lost the grip on the tool and it floated away. "I hate all of this."
Vortex watched the welder tumble end over end, getting smaller and smaller until it vanished. He sighed. His suit provided him with that ability. "I don't want any more..."
"We're almost done." Blast Off tried to encourage, but it merely sounded bored.
"Frag everything," Vortex swore as he looked through the toolbox for something else he could use.
Another klik passed, then the Sun began to rise. At first it was a blue shimmer of illuminated atmosphere, then it became almost painfully bright compared to the earlier darkness. Radiation tickled on Blast Off's sensors and the energon in his wings melted.
Blast Off doubted Vortex valued the view as much as he did.
"Holy frag," the 'copter gasped, and Blast Off thought he'd been right. "Why is it suddenly so fragging hot?"
This time, Blast Off sighed even though there was no air to vent. It was useless to explain. Instead he let his reaction control system send him rolling. At the movement, Vortex' helmed head turned towards him.
Blast Off rearranged himself in front of the satellite, his shielded underside facing the Sun as his frame cast a shadow over the human-made heap of metal and the 'copter.
Vortex took out another tool and continued working. "Thank you," he muttered sheepishly.
Blast Off acknowledged it with a flare of his field.
Hopefully they’d be done soon.