Transformers-Revenge of the Fallen

by Alan Dean Foster

  Now, if dream and memory served, he would give one.

  Gripping it tightly with both hands, he plunged the metal dagger directly into the center of Optimus’s chest. The point ought to have shattered against the alloyed armor. It ought to have been turned to one side or the other. It did neither of those things. Metal met metal—and the glowing dagger sank into the smooth surface like hot steel into butter.

  The tremor that raced through the gigantic form dropped Sam to his knees. Light and energy gushed through the prone form. Forward of where he was kneeling, twin blue lights suddenly flared to life. Pulling out the Matrix, Sam climbed down, retreating as he rejoined his friends.

  In front of them, Optimus Prime rolled over. Slowly, as strength returned, he rose to his hands and knees. His head came up and his eyes found the torn and bloodied figure of a single human. One who stared back at him confused, injured, but determined.

  “I knew there was greatness in you, Sam.”

  “I—I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

  “Ah,” Optimus murmured, “but you did.”

  The concussion that shook the earth knocked nearly all the humans and several of the Autobots off their feet as well as sending Optimus back to ground. Supremely confident, an enormous figure now tow­ered above them all.

  The Fallen had arrived.

  As soon as they had recovered their balance, Ironhide and Sideswipe charged, firing all weapons. Raising a hand, hardly appearing to exert an effort, The Fallen swept them backward. When Optimus tried to rise, a second wave of the enormous hand knocked him down. It was as if The Fallen was fight­ing an infant. Then he turned.

  And bent toward Sam.

  The voice of The Fallen was even, perfectly controlled—and utterly, utterly malevolent.

  “Now, at last, I claim the energy of your sun.”

  A finger reached out and the dagger shape was torn from Sam’s grasp. He could no more have held on to it than he could have restrained a fleeing elephant.

  In a swirl of energy, The Fallen vanished. Squinting into the distance, the stunned and dazed onlookers saw him reappear kilometers away on the summit of the nearby pyramid. Sam’s tone was agonized, and not from the pain that wracked his battered and bruised body.

  “Somebody—somebody stop him! He’s gonna turn on the Machine!”

  Raising a hand, Optimus implored his compan­ions. “Autobots—stop him.”

  A shape drew near. “Optimus . . . you are the last of the Primes. You possess powers beyond your own imagining. Take my components . . . fulfill your des­tiny,” Jetfire told him. “You don’t need wheels, or feet—you need wings.” He glanced skyward. “Never done a damn thing worth doing with my life—till now. ”

  And with that, his head bent forward onto his chest as he willfully snuffed out his own spark.

  Not only the Autobots but also the humans stood staring. Then Optimus was moving, rising from where The Fallen had crushed him—momentarily.

  “Sacrifice should not be wasted. We have no time to mourn or to praise.” He nodded at Ratchet.

  Coming over, the medical Autobot quickly set to work. Charges and energy flew, stirring up whirl­winds of dust and dirt. When they settled, a familiar figure stood once more before those who knew him. Familiar, but altered.

  Ratchet stepped back and contemplated his handi­work. As he did so, Ironhide leaned forward to point.

  “I think you missed a seam there, just below ...” Before he could finish, aged but still powerful engines roared, and Optimus Prime rose swiftly into the desert sky.

  Another figure was also rising into the sky, ascend­ing far more slowly and painfully but with a resolve and purpose of his own. Clinging to the bare rock, keeping out of sight of the still stone-bashing De­vastator, ex-agent Simmons continued to work his sweating, gasping way up the far side of the pyramid. As he did so he occasionally paused to catch his breath—and to murmur into the radio he was carry­ing.

  “Hang on, boys—gonna have a heart attack here.”

  Far below and behind the downed helicopter, Leo followed the older man’s progress. His eyes were shining and his voice was alive with admiration.

  “Whoa—he is the Robo-Warrior ...”

  Having outflanked the remaining Decepticons, a

  separate column of Jordanian and American armor

  had begun to close on the pyramid and was now fir­ing at the two figures on top. Annoyed, The Fallen turned from Devastator’s work and extended his arms. Lifted off the ground, tanks and mobile cannon found themselves suddenly helpless and suspended in midair. Bringing his arms inward, The Fallen exam­ined the primitive war machines curiously. With a

  contemptuous flick of both hands, he then sent them tumbling like so many toys down the sides of the pyramid.

  Near the pinnacle, Simmons ducked behind a mas­sive quarried stone as a collapsing tank bounced over his head and on past him, heading downward. Choosing an opening, he rose and rushed up behind Devastator. Gulping air, he whispered sharply into his radio.

  “Prepare—to target—your weapon! I am directly below—the enemy’s scrotum.” Softly and carefully he spoke a string of coordinates into the radio’s pickup. “And gentlemen, if you miss by so much as one meter—you tell my biographer I was proud to serve!”

  Too busy to look for insects, flanked now by Mega- tron and Starscream, The Fallen bent to precisely in­sert the Matrix of Leadership into a slot at the base of the spire of alien metal. Within the ancient device the embedded crystal began to glow more brightly. Standing nearby, Devastator looked on proudly— until his attention was drawn to a strange object fly­ing in his direction. He raised his fists and readied himself to deal with the oncoming Optimus Prime.

  Out in the Gulf, a weapon that had previously been fired only in secretive trials emitted a steadily rising scream as hundreds of electromagnets propelled a solid metal projectile along its length, each one accel­erating it incrementally until it had reached a velocity nothing short of astounding. Fired from the still- distant destroyer, it struck its target squarely in the chest before Optimus could reach the pyramid. Dev­astator’s body was shattered by the impact and liter­ally flew apart. Below him, a fleeing Simmons sought cover from the sudden rain of metal fragments and splintered components. Part of an arm landed nearby and went rolling down the steep slope. As the ex­agent recognized it, a slow grin began to spread across his weary face.

  His attack unimpeded, Optimus ever so slightly al­tered his angle of approach.

  The Matrix crystal began to glow a white so in­tense not even The Fallen could look directly at it. A rising whine emerged from the depths of the metal spire as the ancient machine returned to life. An in­tense beam of white light thrust skyward from the apex of the spire. Even traveling at light-speed it would take eight minutes and thirty seconds to cross the gap between Energon-generating device and en­ergy source, between unknowing planet and endan­gered star.

  More than enough time for Optimus, arms fully extended side by side to form a finger-tipped ram, to smash right through the upper portion of the spire.

  Collapsing in upon itself, the beam flickered briefly. Each fading flicker was powerful enough to burn holes in the bodies of the Decepticons flanking the spire. Wounded, melting in spots, Megatron and Starscream wailed in agony. Himself injured, the star­tled Fallen attempted to bring his mystical weapon to

  bear upon Optimus.

  The Fallen was in a rage. “You dare challenge me? I am a Prime!”

  With seeming ease, Optimus Prime blocked the blast. “You abandoned that name when you slaugh­tered your brothers. There’s only one Prime now, and

  my ancestry will be avenged.”

  Now the battle was truly joined. Optimus waded into the fray, wielding broken girders like clubs in a blur of motion that none could withstand.

  Megatron, recognizing that the tide had turned, looked at The Fallen with incredulity bordering on contempt. “You promised, Master. You promised me the power o
f a Prime!”

  Optimus answered for The Fallen, “Primes are born, not made, Megatron. You were betrayed.”

  Sensing defeat, The Fallen opened a wormhole por­tal. He needed to escape, to flee the onslaught of his enemy. Anything to get away from the searing light of the Matrix. But escape would not be so easy on this day.

  Coming back around, Optimus ripped off the top of the spire, shot skyward, and then dove earthward. Intent on escape, The Fallen did not see him until the last instant.

  “Megatron, help me!” cried The Fallen. But Mega­tron was unmoved. His former master had lost what power he once held over the Decepticon leader. There would be other days to fight, other means to destroy the Autobots. Commander once again, he led Star- scream into the portal.

  Left behind, The Fallen faced the vengeance of the Last Prime alone. Powered by Jetfire’s engines and driven forward with all the strength in his rejuve­nated body, Optimus powered the tip of the spire directly into the skull of The Fallen.

  A metallic mouth opened wide, emphasizing an expression that was as much one of surprise as of shock and pain. Poised at the very entrance to the opening in the continuum, The Fallen collapsed. A few sparks fizzled from his skull and from his chest before he crashed forward. As he tumbled over the edge of the pyramid and rolled to the ground, it was with no more energy than any metal object of similar size and mass. When the ancient alien body finally came to rest against the rocks at the bottom, it sounded— ordinary.

  With a sizzle and a sonic boom, the opening in the continuum closed, and the sky behind it was once again blue and unaltered.

  Landing near the base of the spire, Optimus exam­ined the still-pulsing Matrix carefully. Satisfied with his assessment, he reached out and slowly, cautiously, removed it from the lower half of the machine. The dagger shape was warm in his hand. Warm—but not threatening.

  With the ruined town in front of them and the sea behind, soldiers and Autobots waited anxiously, their attention concentrated on the distant rocks. When a single shape rose from the summit and came toward them, respiration paused—until the figure grew large enough to recognize. Then men and women em­braced one other and, according to their disposition, began to sob or cheer. Some, unabashedly, did both.

  Wavering slightly but standing on his own two feet,

  Sam allowed himself to close his eyes. They opened

  when warm words filled his right ear.

  “Took all this,” Mikaela whispered tenderly, “to tell me you love me.”

  Still weak and unsteady, he turned to face her.

  “You ...” Exhausted, he had to catch himself before he could finish the thought. “You—said it first.”

  Grinning, she wrapped him in her arms. He imme­diately reciprocated; out of love, out of desire—but mostly so he wouldn’t fall down.

  When they finally separated, it was in time to see other familiar figures coming toward them. An ut­terly drained but triumphant Seymour Simmons, being carried in the arms of Mudflap. Beside him, being pulled along on a piece of Devastator like a kid on a sled, a beaming Leo Spitz. And running toward them, their faces shining, his mother and father, whose second honeymoon had not turned out exactly as planned .. .

  Returning planes crowded the deck of the U.S.S. Roosevelt. Mechanics ministered to them while med­ical personnel moved among the marines who had been brought aboard for treatment. Under Ratchet’s supervision, human technicians worked to repair the damage that had been done to a number of the Auto­bots.

  Two individuals stood alone on the bow, gazing out across the desert sea as the battle group steamed south toward more open water and, eventually, home. One figure was small, slight, and all too human. The other was huge, powerful, and as differ­ent from human as different could be.

  Or maybe not quite so much.

  “The symbols in my head.” Sam sucked in a deep lungful of the bracing sea air. “They’re gone.”

  “Not gone.” Looming beside him, Optimus shooed away a gull that sought to perch on his shoulder. “Absorbed within the substance of the Matrix.” Dropping his gaze, he regarded that precious—and dangerous— relic of a distant past that was now attached to his hip.

  “Peaceful.” Sam nodded at the water sliding past beneath the great ship’s keel. “Hope it lasts.” He grinned to himself. “I’ve got a lot of classwork to make up.”

  “Hope, as you have proven, Sam, is all that’s re­quired.” The leader of the Autobots paused for just an instant. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Tilting back his head, Sam peered up at his massive friend. “Thanks for believing in me.”

  They stood quietly like that for some time before he spoke again. “The Primes—if they weren’t a dream, or a hallucination—said I didn’t know the truth about my future. Do you?”

  Optimus considered. “I know one thing. Whatever it may hold, it is a future we’ll meet together. Our planets, our races, united by a history long forgotten, yet to be discovered.” Tilting back his head, he peered up at the sky and through it, to the stars beyond.

  EPILOGUE

  It was cold, and impossibly dark. In this place, where and when held no meaning.

  But something moved in the darkness. A rough beast, slouching forward in his injured state, pitiless in his desire for revenge and domination, Megatron made his slow and painful way through the decks of the Nemesis.

  It was a place perfectly suited for his needs. The Nemesis would provide sanctuary while he restored himself to his former might. It would take time, but this second defeat produced not despair but silent de­termination in Megatron. Here he would heal; here he would gather to him the surviving soldiers of his evil cause.

  And there was something else. The Nemesis held a treasure trove that Megatron would tap. A resource that would ensure his victory over the Autobots, and the destruction of their pathetic human allies.

  Dim lights flickered on, and Megatron surveyed the expanse of the cargo bay. Row upon row, level upon level of sarcophagi rested in the immense hold. Each contained a slumbering protoform, each a mighty warrior that would swear undying alle­giance to him.

  With a vision of the devastation to come, Mega­tron uttered his first command to his. legions.

  “Arise!”

  This cryptic warning is ignored by the national security advisor who feels the ruthless Decepticon threat is no more. The allies are victorious, the enemy has been defeated, and the world is safe. Small attacks around the world have been contained, and the remaining pieces of the coveted AllSpark are locked in an electromagnetic vault on one of the most secure Naval bases in the world. But nothing is as it seems, and there is a shift in the shadows. Things can change in an instant—and fragile peace will become all-out war.

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  Transformers © 2009 Hasbro Inc. HASBRO and its logo, TRANSFORMERS and all related characters, are trademarks of Hasbro and are used with permission.

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