Retribution

by David J. Williams

  “Always put insurance polices on your insurance policies,” the Curator said as steam poured out of the unit’s venting system, filling the room with a light fog. A sine curve appeared on a screen and began oscillating more quickly as a heartbeat accelerated. As the ice melted, water beaded and ran down the glass. One at a time, the security latches released; a lump formed in Xeros’s throat as lights atop the cryo-unit went from red to green. The unit’s huge door slid back with a hiss of gas and the crunching of ice breaking away. Xeros felt like he was staring into the heart of an ancient casket filled with long-dead evils. A huge pair of green scaly metal claws gripped the sides of the box, grasping for leverage as the massive bulk to which they were attached began rising from within. Xeros stepped back, trying not to cower, but the Curator simply stood there calmly, staring up at the thing that now stepped from its place of slumber.

  “General Tyrannicon. Welcome back to the world of the living.”

  A bloodcurdling roar filled the room.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED.

  Optimus emerged into the center of an enormous circular chamber in the Pavilion’s basement. With the exception of another elevator directly opposite him, the walls consisted of a single wraparound window through which was visible nothing but oceanic abyss. He estimated that he was at least a mile beneath the surface. The floor and the ceilings were covered with the most ornate runes he had seen yet. Works of art depicted ferocious battles between disturbing-looking sea creatures. Maybe it was the history of Aquatron, Optimus thought, though it was an odd choice for a place called the Temple of Peace.

  Before he could further contemplate the meaning of the elaborate murals, the doors of the far elevator slid open to reveal Megatron. Optimus held his ground but did not offer his hand. He knew Megatron would see it as a sign of weakness.

  “Megatron.”

  “Optimus. Aren’t you glad to see me, old friend?” Megatron wore his trademark sneer.

  “I suppose that depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether you truly desire peace.”

  Megatron laughed. “Of course I do.” He advanced farther into the room. “Just not the kind that you and I are likely to agree on.”

  “I refuse to believe we can’t come to some kind of understanding. Where is the Curator?”

  “I suppose he’s running a little late.” Megatron shrugged. “Such a shame. I was so looking forward to having an audience for your execution.” On the last word, a concealed third elevator door slid open—this one was set within the window-wall, and it made Optimus wonder just how much of the room was screen rather than aperture. Six burly Vehicons stepped out, their weapons ready.

  “What sort of treachery is this, Megatron?”

  “The best kind, of course.”

  “What did the Quintessons promise you?”

  “Nothing I can’t claim for myself.”

  “They’re playing you, Megatron. You must see that.”

  “They’re next on my list. Right after you.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “Oh, yes, it does. But never let it be said that I don’t appreciate your consistency. Right up until death, you remain the fool you’ve always been. Look where your eternal optimism has gotten you.” Megatron’s troopers moved in toward Optimus. “Any final words of wisdom you’d like to share?”

  “How about this?” Optimus said, whipping out his energy ax and decapitating one of the Vehicons. As the head flew across the room, the others rushed him. Only Megatron hung back.

  “Kill him slowly,” he said. “I want to savor every moment.”

  The room resounded with the clash of steel.

  SKYWARP EXECUTED HIS TELEPORTATION WITH PINPOINT precision, appearing on the underside of the lowermost part of the Pavilion, grasping the metal support bulwarks and stabilizing himself. According to the schematics, the Curator’s inner sanctum was right above him. Below him was nothing but oceanic abyss. Skywarp set the mine in place, activating its magnetic clamps. He’d set the bomb on a ten-second counter, but as he reached out to activate it, he realized that someone must have overridden that counter.

  Because it had already started counting down.

  Nine seconds ago.

  In a single brutal moment, he realized the sickening truth. Starscream had set him up. Because Skywarp needed at least five seconds to fully plot out the coordinates for a successful jump. And he had way less than that now. As the final second clicked onto zero, Skywarp did the only thing he could.

  A blind jump.

  That was as last-ditch as resorts got. He could end up inside the sun or half phased into a rock. For a teleportation artist, there was nothing worse than a blind jump.

  Except clinging to a bomb while it detonated.

  Just as the warhead went off, Skywarp’s teleportation system kicked in. He felt the first particles of detonation brush against him, with nothing but a wave of white-hot heat behind them—and then he was gone. Transitioning momentarily through phase space, he had time to swear a quick oath to the great destroyer Unicron that if he should somehow survive this, he would not rest until he had Starscream’s head on a platter.

  And then he was back.

  Several hundred meters above the ocean.

  To make matters worse, he was a burning wreck; he’d taken severe damage from the bomb. He plummeted down toward the green sea, spewing smoke and debris. All his systems were malfunctioning; there was nothing he could do but wait to hit the water—smashing into it with such force that pieces of him flew even as sea doused flame. But it did little to stop his fall; he plunged ever farther downward, ocean seeping in through the cracks and holes in his armor. His systems were shutting down altogether now, and with them all hope of revenge. Or life, for that matter. Just as his waterlogged optics went dark, a giant shadow fell over him. The last thing he saw was a tooth-filled mouth coming toward him …

  A HUGE BOOM SHOOK THE HANGAR.

  “That came from somewhere below,” Prowl said.

  Jazz keyed up his communicator. The negotiations had barely started; he and Prowl hadn’t even had time to do as Optimus had commanded and bring down another ship. “Optimus! Do you read me?”

  “I sense treachery,” Prowl said, raising his Investigator Special. “We’ve got to—” But before he could finish the sentence, the Decepticons on the far side of the hangar opened up with everything they had. Rockets and lasers whipped in toward the Autobots, who ran for cover and returned fire. As they did so, they heard Starscream yelling at the top of his voice.

  “I knew we couldn’t trust them! They just killed our lord Megatron! Destroy them!” Thundercracker and his attack wing of Seekers took to the air, gaining height and then roaring in toward the Autobots. The rest of the Decepticons weren’t that far behind.

  “I can’t reach Optimus!” Jazz yelled.

  “Never mind that!” Prowl shouted back. “We’ve got more immediate problems!”

  The Seekers swooped in; Bulkhead crushed the first of them with his battle mace. Ironhide grinned as he reached up and caught hold of a low-flying Decepticon’s wing, smashing him nose first into a nearby bulkhead. This sure was a lot more fun than peace, he thought. Jazz barked out commands; Rodimus switched to his sport-vehicle mode, popping up on two wheels and performing a wild stunt jump that catapulted him into the air and onto Thundercracker’s back, causing them both to crash into the side of one of the shuttles. The remaining Seekers landed, shifting back into their jet-trooper mode. Kup let loose a bracket of shots, bringing one of them down.

  “I guess the negotiations failed,” he said to Bumblebee.

  But before the scout could answer, the floor beneath them suddenly shifted. The entire Pavilion began to list to the side.

  “I think we’re sinking,” Prowl said as he shot a Decepticon in the face. “That explosion down below—”

  “Starscream!” Jazz yelled, his voice carrying above th
e fray.

  “Do you want to beg for mercy?” Starscream called out.

  “I want you to listen to reason! We don’t know what’s going on downstairs, and if this place is going under, we need to work together on getting out of here!”

  “That starts with you surrendering,” Starscream yelled—but that was when he noticed something bizarre about the shuttle he was standing next to. Hundreds of tiny porelike holes were appearing in the ship’s hull, each one shining with an eerie bluish glow. Just as he realized that the same thing was happening to the Autobot shuttle, the Energon loaded within burned through the floor of the hangar beneath.

  “Look out!” Jazz yelled. The next moment, the unstable Energon went critical. Both shuttles in the room exploded, sending sheets of blue flame and shrapnel in every direction. The entire floor began disintegrating like so much burning paper.

  “Autobots!” Jazz yelled. “Make for the roof!”

  “Every Decepticon for himself!” Starscream yelled into his com-link. And with that, he took his leave, fleeing through the smoke, making for the exit. He could guess what had happened: The Quintessons had tampered with the Energon, turning the precious substance into a time bomb. Staying in the Pavilion seemed like a really bad idea. Reaching a window, he climbed through and then fired his engines and took off for orbit as if his life depended on it. Let the others stay behind and fight it out. For the next several minutes they did just that, slugging it out even as the Pavilion sloped ever farther to the side, the balls of molten Energon sizzling as they dropped through floor after floor, down toward the deadly struggle far below …

  IT HAD STARTED OUT BADLY AND GOTTEN WORSE FROM there.

  Optimus had fought, of course—sliced his sword through another Decepticon’s faceplate—but as that bot twitched and sparked, the rest were on him, burying him under the force of sheer numbers. Megatron stood back, laughing while two of his henchmen held Optimus’s arms. A third prepared to ram an energy spear through his torso.

  But then everything went white as Skywarp’s explosion blew through the floor, folding back the wall. Thousands of tons of water poured in, hurling everyone in the room against the far wall. The video of the ocean flickered out amid electrical shortages, and as the blast of real ocean intensified, the Decepticons were swept one by one from the wall, hauled toward a watery grave. The pull on Optimus intensified; he searched for someplace on the wall he could grab on to and find purchase. But there was nothing. So he made his own, punching into the wall and holding on as the water roared past him—and with it the last of the assassins.

  Megatron.

  What happened next was pure instinct. Optimus reached out and grabbed Megatron with one arm, then used his legs and other arm to climb, pulling them both out of the rising white water. A dazed Megatron looked around.

  “What are you doing?” he yelled.

  “Saving your life,” Optimus told him.

  “You’re an idiot, librarian.”

  “Thanks for your opinion,” Optimus said as they reached the ceiling; he smashed through it with his power ax, clambering into the elevator shaft, which was now tilting diagonally as the Pavilion listed ever farther. He and Megatron heard more explosions far above.

  “My people are slaughtering yours,” Megatron proclaimed.

  “That may be so,” said Optimus as water poured into the shaft. “But how about we suspend our own quarrel until we get up there and see?”

  “Agreed,” Megatron said. They began to clamber up the shaft. And as they did so—

  “So what did the Quintessons promise you?” Optimus asked.

  Megatron shrugged. “The Decepticon Matrix of Leadership.”

  “And you believed them?”

  “What did they tell you?” Megatron snarled.

  “That if I couldn’t convince you of peace, they could control your mind.”

  “What? And you believed that?”

  And suddenly Optimus realized that he really did. And that the Quintessons had already been doing that. But not to Megatron.

  To him.

  A way to influence circuitry … make the subject more malleable … Optimus knew in that instant what he had to do. Something that his whole being rebelled at. Something he never would have contemplated doing until now. He reached into his chest cavity.

  And switched off the Matrix of Leadership.

  As the artifact went dark, all of his doubts fell away. None of it was left—just him. He had no idea where the AllSpark was. No clue to what Prime really wanted. But he knew for certain that he faced a foe far worse than the Decepticons: an ancient enemy that once had enslaved his race and had almost enslaved him and somehow managed to corrupt the Matrix itself. Because now that it was dormant, everything was clear. He remembered everything about the Quintessons now. Somehow they had manipulated the Matrix to lure him to this planet. Somehow he had to defeat the Curator and get his people to safety. He and Megatron kept on climbing, water lapping at their heels as they clambered desperately upward. But as they did so, Optimus heard something coming down toward them—a hissing noise …

  “Do you hear that?” Optimus asked.

  “That’s the fighting,” Megatron said.

  “No, much closer—” Then the ceiling ruptured, and molten Energon poured down toward them. Optimus and Megatron hurled themselves aside and were engulfed in steam as the Energon hit the water rushing up beneath them. They made it through into another corridor and kept on heading toward where they thought the surface was. Another thunderous explosion echoed down to them.

  And then all the sounds of combat stopped.

  RECOGNIZING THEIR COMMON PREDICAMENT, THE AUTOBOTS and Decepticons had combined their fire on the hangar ceiling, blowing it open. Water poured in, but so did light. As the Seekers flew out, the remaining Autobots and Decepticons scrambled along the walls and onto the part of the hull that was now the roof of the Pavilion. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Unbroken ocean lay all around. Everyone was just taking this in when a hatch opened and Optimus and Megatron climbed out.

  “Optimus!” Jazz yelled. “Thank Primus you made it!” He said nothing about Megatron, nor did he express surprise that the two were working together. Necessity had a way of throwing enemies together. Yet necessity was nothing if not capricious, and Jazz braced himself for Megatron to order the Decepticons to get back to the task of finishing off the Autobots.

  But what happened next was even worse.

  “Look!” Ironhide pointed at waves churning toward the remnants of the wrecked Pavilion, closing from all sides. The next moment, hundreds of gigantic manta ray–shaped ships broke the surface and moved in at high speed.

  “A full-scale battle fleet,” Ironhide breathed.

  Several hundred meters out, the noses of the warships peeled back and spit forth thousands of terrifying sharklike robots bristling with weapons and oversized razor-sharp dorsal fins. Both Decepticons and Autobot stared in amazement at the sheer number of new arrivals. To Kup, Bumblebee, and Rodimus the new robots looked very familiar, but they couldn’t quite remember where they’d seen them.

  A hatch opened on the bow of the flagship, and a huge blue-green behemoth emerged. A king-size version of his Sharkticon army, the newcomer wore a scaled red cape and a giant squid-shaped battle helm; he carried a titanic trident. The tentacles that draped down his chest and back might have been extra armor, but they writhed like snakes and probably could lash out like them, too. Sharp jagged-edge fins protruded all along the creature’s back, forearms, and calves. He handed his trident to two members of his honor guard—that was how many it took just to hold it up—whereupon three more of them placed a giant conchlike object into his open palm. He held the device to his mouth and began to speak through it. A monstrous voice boomed and echoed over the sea.

  “You have the honor of hearing the voice of Lord General Tyrannicon, the First of the Many. As supreme commander of the Aquatronian Defense Force, I hereby place you under arrest in the name of the Quint
esson Imperium. Surrender now or prepare to be utterly destroyed.” As if to drive his point home, thousands of Sharkticons began gnashing their teeth and thrashing their powerful tails. But an undaunted Megatron stepped forward and waved his fist at Tyrannicon.

  “Who dares speak to Megatron that way? I’ll tear you limb from—” Optimus grabbed Megatron’s shoulder and pulled him back. Megatron shoved him away.

  “Get your hands off me, librarian!”

  “Megatron, there’s no way we can win this one. You have to stand down.”

  “I never stand down.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but this might have to be the exception.”

  Megatron looked back over the endless mass of Sharkticon warriors.

  “I guess we are slightly outnumbered,” he muttered.

  Not only that, but the few troops he still had were exhausted from combat with the Autobots. For that matter, so was he. And he could only guess at what this maniac of a shark boss could do. Megatron longed to go out in a brilliant blaze of glory, but there was no honor in going down at the hands of these fish-bots. He was going to get out of this and wreak his vengeance on everybody. But the only way to do that was to do what he’d never done before.

  Megatron raised his hands in surrender.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  CYBERTRON

  “I HAVE IT,” SAID MACCADAM.

  Wheeljack looked around, startled. He hadn’t even heard the old bartender enter the room. Apparently Maccadam still knew how to keep a low profile. He’d been gone for several hours, to the point where Wheeljack was wondering if he should suggest to Ultra Magnus that they head elsewhere, that Maccadam might have been captured by the Decepticons, might have been forced to tell them that a team of Wreckers was hiding out at his bar. But Wheeljack had said nothing. And he knew why: If they were going to rescue Alpha Trion, they had no other choice than to hope Maccadam came through for them.

  Now apparently he had.

  “What’s the story?” Ultra Magnus asked.