Retribution Page 5

  That was good, because the team he led was going to be a handful. Rodimus was quick on his feet; his ability to improvise had been useful in many a tight pinch. Like nearly every Autobot on the ship, he’d seen a few million years of combat. Yet his experience was nowhere near Kup’s; though the old-timer was old and dented, his experience dealing with the unknown just might be the edge they needed. Rounding out the team was Bumblebee, who had proved himself to be a first-rate scout many times over.

  “So this dropship has been fitted with aquatic capabilities should we need to do any underwater exploration …” Ironhide chuckled to himself as he eavesdropped on Prowl’s somewhat tedious briefing. He wished he were going. It had been a while since he’d seen some action, and he hated to think that someone else might be seeing it first.

  “Remember, I’ll be in command of this operation,” Prowl continued.

  “Second time you’ve mentioned that,” said Rodimus. “I think we get it.” Bumblebee beeped in agreement.

  “Just as long as you get this: If you have any doubts or questions, run them past me first. It’s vital we obtain as much actionable intelligence as we can.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah …” Rodimus offered with a bored wave of his hand. Kup pulled out a cy-gar and slapped Rodimus on his orange-plated back.

  “Easy, kiddo; knowledge is power, after all. Prowl knows what he’s doing. Top-notch operator he is. Nobody better suited for a sneak-and-peak job like this one. Did I ever tell you about the time we tricked a herd of Igyaks into—”

  “Only about a million times,” Rodimus interrupted. He raised a finger in the air. “I have a question.”

  “Yes,” Prowl said impatiently.

  “Who gets to fly the ship down?”

  “Nobody,” said Ironhide. “Teletraan-1 will be handling the drop.”

  “Aw, where’s the fun in that?” Rodimus said, disappointment written on his face. Ironhide handed the electronic checklist to Prowl and gave him a jaunty salute.

  “All systems are green, good buddy.”

  “Thanks, Ironhide.”

  “Just remember that if you find any Deceptifools down there, leave a little bit for old Ironhide, all right?”

  “Count on it,” Kup answered with a thumbs-up.

  “Okay,” said Prowl. “If there are no more questions, let’s get this show on the road.” The team members climbed in through the hatch, found their seats, and strapped in.

  “Away team ready for drop,” said Prowl.

  “Green light,” Sideswipe said over the radio. The massive flight bay doors opened; the dropship rocketed out of the bay and soared in toward the planet.

  “You’re in the pipe,” Sideswipe said. “Looking great.”

  “Passing the rings now,” Prowl said. They were spectacular, stretching out in both directions. But there was something about them that was a little peculiar …

  “Look at that,” Rodimus said, pointing at one of the rings that was … It didn’t seem possible, but it was blinking, its colors alternating slowly from green to blue to purple and back again.

  “Sideswipe,” Prowl said as he put the feed through to the Ark’s bridge, “you getting this?”

  “Roger that,” Sideswipe said.

  Perceptor broke in. “Initial scans indicate they might be artificial.”

  “What do you mean artificial?” Kup asked.

  “I mean somebody made them. Possibly to shield the planet’s equatorial seas from cosmic rays and their radiations. The placement seems very specific indeed. I’m going to have Teletraan-1 slow your descent so we can take a better look.”

  “Copy that,” Prowl said. The dropship fired its retros, rolling right to give the crew a closer view of the planet’s ring system. The purple and blue hues reflecting off the rings made for a breathtaking symphony of light.

  “This is really quite amazing,” said Perceptor. “There seem to be particles in the rings capable of trapping the sun’s rays. They might be serving as solar collectors.”

  Bumblebee chimed in with a series of high-frequency bleeps.

  “Same here, kiddo. I don’t like it.” Kup chomped down hard on his cy-gar. “If it can collect energy, it might be able to discharge it. Would make a heck of a weapon.”

  Bumblebee sighed in agreement. Sometimes the deadliest things were also the most beautiful.

  “Heavy weather brewing,” Perceptor said. “We’re going to try for insertion at the northern pole. It looks like the storms there are a bit milder.”

  “Roger that,” Prowl said. The ship fired its boosters and descended in toward the clouds that covered the planet.

  “This is going to be bumpy,” Kup said.

  He was right. Turbulence rocked the dropship as it dived through the thick storm clouds. For long moments, they couldn’t see a thing; they even temporarily lost contact with the Ark.

  “Switch to manual,” Prowl said.

  That, of course, was what Rodimus had been dying to do the whole time. He fired the thrusters, descending through the rest of the clouds. The churning waves of the planet’s great northern ocean came into view. Rodimus had never seen so much water in his entire life. He doubted anybody else on the ship had, either.

  “This place is way too wet,” he muttered. Far below, the impossibly tall spires of a sprawling metropolis became visible through the fog. It was entirely surrounded by the ocean, a building-packed hub perhaps a mile across. Spiderweb-like transport tubes ran out to the tops of underwater facilities; one couldn’t make out the details, but dark shapes loomed in the water. Rodimus couldn’t help thinking that there was something familiar about some of the city’s architecture. Magnification showed that many of the buildings were covered in runes and etchings.

  “Hey, Kup,” said Rodimus, “any of this look familiar to you?”

  Kup frowned. “Seems like I’ve seen it before. But not sure where.”

  “Any idea what those runes mean?”

  “Not a clue, sonny. I just know they have to be old.”

  “I thought you were old.”

  “Old enough not to find you funny.”

  That was when the Ark regained contact. “Glad you guys are okay,” Perceptor said. “Want to give control back to Teletraan-1?”

  “Not particularly,” Rodimus said. He made a wide circle around the metropolis and then swooped in toward what had to be a landing pad of some kind: a raised platform that protruded out over the sea, evidently capable of handling heavy freight. There was no doubt that whoever lived there had to have a high level of interstellar traffic to justify a facility like that.

  “Here we go,” said Rodimus. The dropship reverberated as it touched down on the platform. Automatic clamps rose up and gently held the ship in place while long sinewy hoses reached out and connected the ship to clean and refuel it. There were no other ships on the jetway, and most of the nearby hangars looked empty. But the facilities sparkled as if they had been built yesterday.

  “Up and at ’em,” Prowl said. He opened the rear cargo hatch. The away team trooped out and took in the scene.

  “Okay, let me be the first to say that this is pretty creepy,” Rodimus said. “Where is everybody?”

  “Stay alert,” Prowl ordered.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Kup said as he started a long-range scan.

  “It’s like a ghost town,” said Rodimus.

  “Enough with the back chatter,” Prowl said. “Bumblebee, give us a quick recon. Stay in com range and alert us the moment you find anything.” Bumblebee gave a hearty salute, shifted into his scout-vehicle mode, and took off at a high speed, roaring away into the city itself. As his feed merged with that from Kup’s scan, Prowl sent the data back to the Ark.

  “Perceptor,” he said, “you getting all this?”

  “Copy that. The Ark’s adjusting for the interference; we’ve got the uplink locked in. Looks like extensive Energon-mining facilities on the seabed around you.”

  “What about these s
tructures? The architecture looks … well, almost Cybertronian.”

  “I’m running the images through Teletraan-1. Hopefully we’ll have some more data within the hour.”

  “I’ve got this funny feeling we’re being watched,” Rodimus said as he took a closer look at an engraving on a nearby wall. It showed giant fish with huge teeth battling one another.

  “Remind me not to go swimming,” said Kup.

  AS THE AUTOBOTS CONTINUED THEIR RECON, THE BEING known as the Curator watched with satisfaction from his command center. In the time that had elapsed since he’d first detected the approaching Ark, he had been working quickly to get used to his new form. It was far uglier and much less mobile than what he was used to, but it was a necessary step. He flexed his chubby fingers, then touched his new face. At least the new parts all functioned properly. He had designed this body to be as close to perfect as possible. It was so primitive that he wanted to retch, but it was a key part of the charade he was about to play. The Curator was disappointed that so few of the Autobots had elected to come down to the planet initially, but his calculations indicated that more would follow. They just needed to be given a little space. The Curator knew that some things couldn’t be rushed. Some things just needed patience.

  Problem was, his masters had none.

  The voices from beyond filled the Curator with terror and dread, but he knew he was singularly fortunate to serve them. There was no greater honor than being the instrument of their will. And to refuse—to dissemble, to disobey in even the slightest way—well, he had heard the stories and had no intention of being a participant in any of them. So now he rose heavily (this new form was most ungainly) and made his way to the chamber of supplication, activating the ancient communication array. Even after millions of years, it still functioned without problems. The receivers of his message were a vast distance away; sometimes it took up to several hours to establish the link fully. But this time they must have been waiting for him, for they responded to his call within moments. A swirling darkness filled the screen.

  “Speak, Curator.” The voice was cold, dispassionate.

  The Curator steeled himself. “Masters, the Autobots have arrived.”

  “Go on,” the voice said in a tone of barely restrained excitement.

  “They have landed at the Energon production facility near the north pole,” said the Curator. “We manipulated the weather to increase the likelihood that they would touch down there. They just dispatched one of their scouts on reconnaissance. We are shadowing their every move.”

  “Excellent,” said another of the voices. “Our calculations show their scans have less than a 3 percent chance of detecting the southern continent.”

  “I make that less than 2 percent,” the Curator said.

  “You dare contradict us?”

  “With respect, my data is more immediate. Hydratron City and the machinery below it will remain cloaked. All security protocols are holding.”

  “Make sure that continues,” said the first voice.

  “Is there a Prime with them?” the second asked.

  “It is more than 80 percent likely,” the Curator replied. “This many Autobots, so long a distance from their home—they would surely not venture so far without the leadership of a Prime. But we shall know more once I’ve made contact.”

  “Be careful, Curator. If a Prime is not involved, then we reap but small rewards from this situation. Several hundred lost Autobots and one wayward ship barely justifies the cost of this communications link. But if a Prime is involved—well, should he become aware of your subterfuge, you will have to assume a more aggressive posture. Bringing a Prime into the equation too soon could contaminate the original algorithms.”

  “I am prepared for all eventualities, masters. There are certain accounts that must be settled.”

  “You speak truth. We have waited a very long time for this and placed great faith in you.”

  “Great faith,” said the second voice, though it sounded far more threat than praise. “Keep us apprised of your progress.”

  “Our goal is within our grasp,” the Curator said, but the screen had already gone blank. For a long moment he stared at it, breathing heavily. Then he pulled himself to his feet and retreated from the chamber of supplication. It seemed like it had been eons since the last time they had revealed their faces to him. Perhaps it had been. He had placed himself in cryogenic hibernation while the planet’s installations ran automatically and had configured the deep-space sensors so that only the most extraordinary contingencies would justify his waking. The detection of the Autobot ship was just such a contingency. Nor was it an accident. He had set up the mechanisms that would lure the ship to him, and he had succeeded. A few more correct moves and the ultimate prize would be his.

  Venturing back into his laboratory, he looked around. All was ready. Every instrument had been reconfigured to his new body’s specifications to maximize his ability to conduct the experiments that would be taking place here very soon. He flexed his new hand again and for the first time began to feel at ease with the new fingers. If he had known how to smile with his new face, he would have. Right now the best he could manage was a rather shaky grin. It was enough, though. He pressed a button; there was a rumbling in the floor as a hatch irised open. A pedestal rose slowly from within.

  Atop it was a glowing device that looked exactly like the Matrix of Leadership.

  Chapter Eight

  CYBERTRON

  THERE’S A STORM BREWING OVER CYBERTRON TONIGHT. Acid rain drenches the streets of Iacon. Lightning flares so brightly that it might as well be day. Thunder crashes so loudly that you might think Unicron himself had returned.

  But in the Tower of Shockwave you wouldn’t hear a thing. The walls are too thick, the armor too strong. And your peril is probably too great. You wouldn’t hear a thing in the Tower of Shockwave much as you might wish to. Chances are that all you’re wishing for is for it to all be over. Because very few who enter his building are ever seen again.

  A sadist would have enjoyed such a reputation. But Shockwave was no sadist. He was something far worse. To him the pain of others was just one more data point—one more method of eliciting information or simply one more by-product of whatever process the subject was undergoing. And it was usually inevitable.

  But sometimes it was best to start off with conversation.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this,” Shockwave said.

  Alpha Trion gazed up from his shackles. “I understand that,” he replied calmly.

  “You are a traitor.”

  “So you have said. May I ask to what?”

  “To this planet. To your kind.”

  Alpha Trion smiled sadly. “My kind is long gone.”

  “I have my doubts about that.”

  “You are entitled to them.”

  Shockwave frowned. “Solus Prime was destroyed by the Fallen. But I have no evidence that any of the other Primes met with a similar fate.”

  “I will clarify,” Alpha Trion told him. “When I said my brethren were gone, I did not mean to assert that all of them were dead. They simply left. In all directions, I might add. Vector Prime retreated to an enclave of his own devising. I suspect the Fallen and Liege Maximo are in faraway prisons. Or perhaps they went the way of Solus Prime. It would be fitting. But I do not know for certain.”

  “You know more than you’re telling.”

  “So tell me what you want to know.”

  “Which one of the Thirteen did you last speak to?”

  “Alchemist Prime. Just before he left in search of Liege Maximo.”

  “And what did he say?” Shockwave asked eagerly. “What did he confide in you?”

  “He showed no interest in anything save his quarry.”

  “What was he armed with?”

  “His own knowledge. Believe me, that was usually enough.”

  “What I would give for that knowledge,” said Shockwave.

  Alpha Trion laugh
ed. “It would do you no good.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you have no moral compass. You are a sociopath, Shockwave. It sickens me that Cybertron has passed into your custody.”

  Shockwave looked amused. “Now we see your true colors, Alpha Trion. You sit in your archives and pretend that you are above all this, yet you cannot hide your contempt for me.”

  “Can it really be said I ever tried?”

  “You are pathetic. You and your fellow Primes could have ruled the cosmos, yet you fell out over trivialities.”

  Alpha Trion shook his head. “What divided us was anything but trivial.”

  “When we Decepticons gain such power, we will not make the same mistakes.”

  “You’re already making them.”

  “Clarify that,” Shockwave said.

  “Megatron entrusted you to rule this planet, yet no sooner had he left than you began plotting to make yourself his master.”

  Shockwave looked genuinely affronted. “I am his loyal servant.”

  “Did Megatron not give you orders I was to be left alone until his return?”

  “I could no longer ignore the aid and comfort you have been furnishing to the Autobot cause. Why, just last week the Wreckers destroyed another of my laboratories.”

  “I have had no contact with the Wreckers since they left Iacon.”

  “But you have had contact with Optimus Prime.”

  Alpha Trion said nothing.

  Shockwave stepped closer. “Oh, don’t think I’m not aware you sent a courier to him. As well as a cargo. Fragments of the Blades of Time. Do you deny it?”

  “I merely acted as I had to.”

  “And so I had to take you into custody.”

  “But you mean to go further than that,” Alpha Trion said.

  “Because science demands it.”

  “What you call science is really just a craving to play god.”

  “You were a god once, Alpha Trion. The Thirteen together acted as such. And then you threw it away.”

  “And if you have any sense, you will leave it where it fell.”

  “Now, that is something I can never do,” Shockwave said. He pressed a button. There was a whirring noise, and the floor began to descend. The room was one large elevator; Iacon’s skyline quickly slid from view. But the interior walls of each level were transparent, and through them Alpha Trion could see sights he would have preferred not to see. In one room an Autobot hung from the ceiling while a clawed machine pulled him apart. In another an Autobot was slowly dissolving as acid dripped over him. And in still another, a bot that looked half Autobot and half Decepticon was battering its head against the wall in a way that suggested it was anything but sane. The sights got even worse as the room reached the bottom of the tower and dropped down through subterranean levels.