Retribution

by David J. Williams

  “Guys,” he said. “I think we’re here.”

  As everyone pressed up against the window, it quickly became apparent that this was no ordinary city. In fact, it might have been the largest city Optimus had ever seen, several times bigger than Iacon. There was no doubt this was the Aquatron capital. And it was set in the middle of a vast lake; as the train raced onto a causeway that stretched out over the water, Optimus studied the approaching buildings. They almost seemed more organic than mechanical, curving into and around one another as if they were enormous crystal growths. Optimus could make out flying versions of the Sharkticons weaving their way in and out of the skyscrapers. It stunned him that the city had gone undetected during the scans from orbit. Clearly the weather had been a factor, but there must have been additional shielding at work here. As the train passed over the lake, Optimus could see down into the clear water; bots sped this way and that, busily working on infrastructure just below the surface. Optimus could only wonder what else was down there as the train raced off the causeway and into the city.

  Unlike the one at the pole, this place was crowded. Aquatronians were everywhere. But now that the subterfuge was over, it was clear what a cowed lot they were. They were the planet’s worker class, whereas the Sharkticons were the warrior caste. The latter were a constant presence on the streets, their macelike tails bouncing along behind them. The population showed no curiosity at the prison train thundering past them. Perhaps it was a routine occurrence. The train traveled a considerable distance into the city and then came to a stop in front of a grand cathedral-like structure. Huge flying buttresses carved from sea stone held up a magnificent archway in which stood statues of huge trident-wielding Sharkticons. The runes indicated that the building was the Hall of Justice. Optimus had a feeling that justice would be the last thing they would find in it.

  “I hate this place already,” Ironhide said.

  The train doors slid open, and Sharkticon guards marched the Autobots and Decepticons out of the train and down onto the platform. Waiting for them there were—

  “Not these guys again,” Rodimus said.

  The Curator and Xeros were surrounded by a Sharkticon honor guard. Both looked pleased with how the situation had turned out.

  “KNEEL!” One of the Sharkticon guards cracked his whip. The Cybertronians reluctantly obeyed and dropped to their knees. It was one of the most painful things Optimus had ever done, but he knew he had to stay alive if his people were to have any chance at all. Trumpets sounded as General Tyrannicon appeared in the doorway two cars back. He marched up to the Curator and dropped to one knee before him.

  “May the light and hope of Quintessa shine down and empower your humble servant,” he said formally.

  The Curator smiled and beckoned the general forward with his scaly hand.

  “You may rise. General, allow me to congratulate you on apprehending these … malefactors. We can only shudder to think what further damage they would have caused had you not acted quickly. You have done well, and now that you have brought them to our great city of Hydratron, we can administer justice as the law requires.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I live to serve.”

  “See, Xeros?” The Curator turned to the taciturn scientist at his side. “I was right to return the Sword of Sharkticons to his rightful place.”

  “Of course you were, my lord.” Xeros glanced at Tyrannicon with more than a little trepidation. “How could I have not seen how essential his role would be?”

  Tyrannicon puffed out his chest and spoke in his imposing baritone. “These cretins surrendered without a fight once they saw the majesty of my battle force.”

  “Liar!” Megatron screamed. Then, turning to the Curator: “You! You set us all up! I’ll rip you limb from limb for this.” His words were cut off as Tyrannicon stepped over to him and delivered a powerful backhand blow that sent the Decepticon leader flying into the side of the train. Not content to stop there, Tyrannicon lifted his huge scale-covered foot and placed it on Megatron’s throat.

  “Another word from you and I shall permanently deactivate your voice circuits,” he said.

  For once, Megatron shut up. “You should let me kill them now,” Tyrannicon said to the Curator.

  “Your enthusiasm is commendable, General. But these Cybertronians must formally account for their hubris.” The Curator then turned directly to Optimus. “To think I thought you Cybertronians were ready for peace. Instead you’ve proved yourselves totally unworthy.”

  “You deceived us,” Optimus said.

  “No,” the Curator insisted. “You deceived us. You defiled our temple, and you disgraced yourselves. I gave you the benefit of the doubt when I should have known better.”

  “You little two-faced snake,” Ironhide said. A whip knocked him sprawling.

  “You see?” the Curator said. “Even now your people can’t control themselves. You’re primitives. But you still must answer to the law.”

  “And what does that mean?” Optimus asked.

  Tyrannicon stepped in. “You dare take that tone of voice?” he rumbled. He was about to give Optimus the same treatment he’d just meted out to Megatron, but the Curator raised his hand.

  “He has the right to speak, General. Or rather, he will inside the Hall of Justice.” Then, turning back to Optimus: “You see, Optimus, we Quintessons place a premium on truth and justice. Unlike you, I might add. But despite your many transgressions against us, you are still entitled to certain protections under our ancient code. Despite your proclivity for destruction and mayhem, we will treat you in a way that befits your status. Despite the fact that you do not deserve it, you will still receive a fair trial.”

  “A fair trial?!?” Jazz shouted incredulously. “But we’ve done nothing wrong!”

  Xeros snickered. “Of course you would think that. You have no true concept of what is right and what is wrong. Empathy and reason are empty words to you.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Optimus said, facing the Curator directly. “Not only are you our mortal enemy, you can’t even admit that to my face. You hide behind this talk of justice, and you’re laughing all the time. You’ve deceived us, but I promise that the one who will pay for his crimes will be you—” He was cut off as Tyrannicon raised a fist and smashed him to the ground.

  “For shame,” said the Curator. “Every word you say can and will be used against you. But in the end, I have no doubt you will recognize the gravity of your transgressions. Mark my words, Optimus Prime. In the end you will beg to be forgiven. General, take them in to meet the justice they have run from all their lives.”

  Tyrannicon smiled the smile of a pure predator. “At once, my lord.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  STARSCREAM STRODE ONTO THE NEMESIS’S FRESHLY REPAIRED command deck with a newfound air of confidence. Fleeing the Pavilion had been instinctual, but it had been one of the best moves he’d ever made. Because now the ship was undeniably his, and it was almost operational again. To be sure, he was short some of his key Seekers and a few others, but no matter. As far as Starscream was concerned, there was no reason to remain out here in the middle of nowhere, especially not when he could return to Cybertron and rule it himself. That mad scientist Shockwave would put up little opposition. Besides, if he waited here long enough, the Quintessons would finish him off, too. After all, that was exactly what he would do if the situation were reversed. The best answer he could think of was to be someplace else entirely, and that someplace undoubtedly was Cybertron.

  “Soundwave,” he demanded, “what is the status?”

  “Regrettably, I have been unable to reboot several of the Nemesis’s computers. However, I have managed to link new circuitry directly to the engines and devised a series of manual workarounds.”

  Starscream looked impatient. “So can we fly or can’t we?”

  “We can. Just not as well as I should like.”

  “Excellent. Plot a course back to Cybertron. We’re leaving this place
immediately.”

  “But what about Lord Megatron?”

  “Megatron is dead.” Starscream figured that would be the last time he’d need to hear that name. He congratulated himself once more on using Skywarp so deviously to eliminate the Decepticon leader. He began thinking about his plans for Cybertron. First of all, it would be necessary to rebuild Iacon entirely from the ground up. And there would need to be some suitable monuments. Perhaps a giant image of himself, three hundred meters tall, carved with laser on stone … Starscream became aware that Soundwave had said something.

  “What was that?”

  “I said Megatron isn’t dead, Air Commander.”

  “Impossible.”

  “It’s true, my lord. Let me show you.” Soundwave pulled up the video footage taken by the Nemesis of the sinking Pavilion. The two Decepticons watched the drama unfold. Just when it looked like there’d be no survivors, the Autobots and Decepticons crawled out and were rounded up by the Aquatronian fleet. Both Megatron and Optimus were among them.

  “By Unicron,” Starscream said.

  “Excuse me, Air Commander?”

  “I meant, thank Unicron he’s alive.” Starscream simply could not believe his bad luck. This was a serious monkey wrench in his plan: The remaining Decepticons would no doubt think it was their sacred duty to attempt to rescue Megatron from the clutches of these fish-bots. What angered him even more was the certain knowledge that they would never dream of doing the same thing for him. Starscream figured that for now he would have to play along and give the impression that he wanted to save their dear leader, too.

  “I knew he was too tough to fall before those insipid fish-bots and their Quintesson allies,” he said. “Where did they take them?”

  Soundwave brought up his scans of the planet and pointed to a large island in the south; it was so big that it might have been classified as a small continent. Most of it was shrouded in bad weather. Soundwave must have been hard at work reversing the planetary defense system’s scramblers, since it hadn’t been visible earlier.

  “They took them all there,” he said. “For what purpose I do not know.”

  “What can you tell me about that continent?” Starscream asked.

  “The weather has impeded our scans, but it seems to be the largest single landmass on the planet. Also, there is substantial electromagnetic activity, which further inhibits my efforts. That said, irregular breaks in the storm systems have allowed me to get a glimpse of what appears to be a huge city-island in the middle of a lake in the planet’s center. We think Megatron is now someplace within—we received a quick glimpse of his signal about twenty minutes ago. We also detected what appears to be a huge energy source beneath the city, which might be the source of all the electromagnetic activity.”

  “Presumably their Energon facilities.”

  “I don’t think so. It is far more concentrated than that. Take a look at this scan.” Starscream leaned in for a closer look. “As you can see, that is not an Energon signature. It is something else entirely.”

  “So what do you think it is?”

  “I do not know. But whatever it is, Megatron and the rest of our soldiers are standing right on top of it.”

  “Continue your scans. I don’t want to attempt a rescue until we know more about what these Quintessons are hiding.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now, what’s the status of the Ark?”

  “The Autobot ship remains on the far side of the planet. But we have to assume that they’re trying to figure out how to launch a rescue mission. If nothing else, I very much doubt they will allow the Matrix of Leadership to remain in Quintesson hands.”

  “Any sign of Quintesson moves against us or the Ark?” Starscream asked. He eyed those planetary rings nervously.

  “They seem to still believe they have us in stasis. And the Ark may still be in stasis for all we know.”

  “Excellent, Soundwave. You have done well.” Starscream turned on his heel and strode off the bridge, his body language radiating the anger he dared not put into words.

  As soon as the door closed, Soundwave moved to another screen and brought up his mini-con’s footage of the fight on the Pavilion. His spy’s purpose had been to make sure that Optimus Prime went down to the Temple of Peace by himself, but the spy had captured much more than that. What was particularly troubling was that just before the combat in the Temple of Peace began, another energy signature appeared on the exterior hull of the Pavilion. Soundwave had been trying to decode it for some time, and now at last he had an answer.

  Skywarp.

  Right before it had been destroyed, the mini-con had transmitted X-ray data that indicated that the Decepticon teleporter had appeared on the hull and attached an explosive device, which promptly exploded, disintegrating him in the process.

  That made no sense whatsoever. Skywarp was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a suicide bomber. So why would Megatron give such a risky order? He already had Optimus cornered, and the bomb easily could have killed everybody in that room. Soundwave had combed through the ship’s database looking for whatever information he could find on the Quintessons, but there was virtually nothing. It was as though somebody had erased much of the data. All signs pointed to them as somehow being the instigators behind all this, but there was precious little hard evidence to support that theory. Had Skywarp turned traitor? Or been under their control the whole time? The immediate problem was how to rescue Megatron, of course, but now there was a second challenge behind that one, for Soundwave intended to unravel the mystery of just what had set this lethal chain of events in motion. And if it turned out he couldn’t save Megatron, Soundwave knew what his duty demanded.

  Vengeance on everybody involved.

  THE INTERIOR OF THE HALL OF JUSTICE LOOKED LIKE A cross between an ancient gladiator pit and a modern opera house that sloped down to transparent holding cells, allowing an audience of thousands to enjoy a good view of the captives. Aquatronians packed those seats, sitting in attentive silence, waiting for the spectacle to begin. In front of the cells was a circular sunken area surrounded by a half circle of five viewscreens that stretched from floor to ceiling. A defendant’s box stood in front of those screens, and a dais had been placed opposite the box, with a witness stand off to one side. The entire room was resplendent in eerie green and black with gold highlights here and there. The Sharkticons who stood guard everywhere wore elaborate armor that matched the color scheme and design aesthetic of the hall. In a peculiar way, it made the short fat killing machines seem almost regal.

  “I don’t like the look of this one bit,” Jazz said. He and the rest of the Autobots were in one set of holding cells; the Decepticons were in the other. Everybody was glaring at one another, wondering what was going to happen next.

  “You and me both,” Ironhide replied as he looked for a weakness in the cell. He grabbed the bars and pulled. A Sharkticon guard slapped his hands with his tail.

  “GET BACK!”

  “It doesn’t do us any good to antagonize them,” Ratchet said.

  “I’d say they’re already pretty antagonized,” Ironhide replied.

  All at once the lights dimmed. Deafening horns sounded throughout the chamber. A figure wreathed in shadow appeared on the dais opposite the defendant box. It was hard to make out the details, but from the way it flickered, it was obviously a holographic projection.

  “Guess that’s the chief,” Perceptor said.

  “Guess again,” Prowl said as the five screens suddenly came to life. On each screen was another shadowy figure, five in all. Only they weren’t figures. They seemed more like disembodied heads floating in midair, each face contorted into a skull-like grimace. It was impossible to make out more than that, and the overall effect was more than a little eerie, an effect that intensified when one of the heads began speaking. A low hollow voice seemed to echo from a place beyond all space and time.

  “By the power of the Quintesson Imperium, I call this high court
to order on the city of Hydratron, in the province of Aquatron, and do hereby stand before you as chief magistrate.”

  Megatron chose that moment to start yelling. “Chief coward is more like it! Why don’t you show yourself instead of hiding behind that screen!” The Sharkticon guards promptly knocked Megatron to the ground with their maces and whips. The chief magistrate let the beating go on for a while before resuming his speech.

  “Another outburst from the defendant will result in him being found in contempt of court. Prosecutor, are you ready to commence your case against the defendants?”

  “I am,” said the figure on the dais.

  “Do you swear to present that case with neither malice nor prejudice?”

  “I do,” the figure said.

  “Then proceed.”

  “Your honor, I shall begin with the charges against their leader, Optimus Prime.”

  Megatron looked outraged. “Optimus isn’t our leader”—but his words were cut off as a Sharkticon smashed him back onto the ground. More Sharkticons grabbed Optimus and led him to the prisoner’s box. He stood there for a moment regarding the screens. He suddenly realized that he was looking at some kind of long-range communication system, that whoever was running this trial was offworld, perhaps on Quintessa itself. That meant they had to have a space bridge nearby to enable faster-than-light communication. It also meant there had to be a considerable power source close at hand. Perhaps they could turn that power source against the city’s defenses. If he could only find a way out from under the thumb of this sham of a court …