“State your name for the record,” the prosecutor said.
“I am Optimus Prime, and I refuse to recognize the legitimacy of this court.”
“Your recognition is not required,” said the prosecutor. “Are you ready to hear the charges?”
“Go ahead,” Optimus said wearily.
“The charges against you are as follows: destruction of public property, criminal mayhem, high treason, war crimes, and galactic blasphemy. Do you have any questions regarding these charges?”
“You’re charging me with treason? Against whom?”
“Are you not a native of the planet Cybertron?”
“Yes. Which means that—”
“It means that treason is applicable. The other charges reflect the destruction you have wrought on Aquatron and your past crimes against the Quintesson Imperium committed by both you and your minions—” He broke off as the Autobots and Decepticons started howling in outrage. The Sharkticons had to restore order; by the time they were finished, many of the Cybertronians were unable to do anything more than watch the proceedings from a prone position. After that there were no more interruptions, and the prosecutor got on with his hatchet job.
“You have the right to know the evidence,” he said to Optimus. “Are you prepared to hear it?”
“I’m prepared to hear it, but I doubt you’re going to listen to me.”
The prosecutor ignored him. “First, as to mayhem and blasphemy. The following is indisputable: that you did willfully engage in violent combat in an area designated as a sacred neutral zone. This combat did result in the destruction of our Temple of Peace. The following footage will be labeled as Exhibit A.” The image on one of the screens was replaced by a scene of Autobots and Decepticons battling savagely at the Pavilion. It was followed by another of Optimus desperately fighting for his life in the Temple of Peace before the bomb on the hull detonated and turned the screen white.
“This was instigation,” Optimus said. “A setup. The Curator orchestrated all this, and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the kind,” said the prosecutor. “Do you see this ‘Curator’ in the courtroom today?”
Optimus looked around, but the Curator had remained outside. “No, I do not.”
“Then we regret that we are unable to call him as witness.”
“He’s right outside!”
“But not present. And thus legally not relevant.”
Optimus ground his teeth. Obviously this was a kangaroo court, and the ending was preordained. He forced himself to listen as the prosecutor continued: “Your wanton desire to wage war on Aquatron itself is beyond dispute. However, these incidents pale in comparison to the ancient and long-standing vendetta you have harbored against the Quintesson Imperium. May it please the court, we turn now to the war crime and treason charges.”
“Proceed,” said the chief magistrate.
“I wish to introduce Exhibit B.” The face on another screen faded, to be replaced by an image of a barren and rocky Cybertron. “Millions of years ago we found your planet a barren wasteland. In our infinite wisdom and benevolence, we Quintessons gave life to both Autobot and Decepticon. We brought forth your race and gave you the gift of intelligence, along with the spark of life itself.”
Down in the cage Prowl looked at Perceptor. “That’s not the creation story I was told,” he said in a low voice. Now the screen gave way to bots changing into jets and vehicles while an automated assembly line installed cockpits on them and shadowy figures climbed in.
“And after we gave you all these gifts, you chose to reject our love. You rose up against us and drove us from your planet. You betrayed us and set yourselves on a path to never-ending war and violence. And look where it has gotten you. Millions of years of fighting later, it was inevitable that you would return to us—and now that you have, we demand that you account for your disobedience.”
Optimus’s head was spinning. Was all this true? If the information had been presented to him in any other way, he might not have taken it so seriously, but there was something about the visuals that had the spark of truth to them. Or maybe it was just the entire spectacle of the court; maybe he was meant to be taken in by all the pageantry. Surely this was just propaganda, pure and simple. But in that case why was the pressure in his head building? Why did it feel like he was about to have another seizure? What if the Quintessons really had created the Cybertronians? Through the haze that engulfed him he could hear the prosecutor continuing:
“Thus is Optimus Prime guilty of blasphemy,” he said. “Guilty of rebelling against his own creators.”
“So a video constitutes proof?” Optimus asked.
“More blasphemy,” said the prosecutor. “You condemn yourself with your own words.”
“I thought you said the blasphemy charge was for fighting in your temple.”
“I didn’t say it was limited to that,” the prosecutor shot back. “During our rightful rule of Cybertron, you spoke against us. That was blasphemy. Then you acted to thwart us. That was treason. Both are capital crimes.”
Both sounded virtually interchangeable to Optimus; he suspected that there was no real distinction in the Quintesson legal code. Either that or they were making all this up as they went along, given that the outcome was so certain. Then again, they seemed to attach inordinate importance to the proceedings. Perhaps they were seeking to get him to admit guilt. Perhaps that was what they regarded as victory. The pressure in Optimus’s skull was getting ever worse; the prosecutor spoke with such a forked tongue it almost made Optimus forget what was really at stake here—that he had let his people down. He had walked into a trap, and now there was no way out. He searched his mind for some way to respond, and a single obvious thought rose to the surface.
“But I wasn’t there,” he said.
“But you were,” said the prosecutor.
“This was before my time.”
“Was it really?”
Suddenly it all came rushing back. Optimus remembered things he would rather have forgotten: remembered the Quintessons’ rule of his homeworld, remembered them presiding over courts just like this one, handing out their brand of justice, deciding who lived and who died. He had been there, after all. Ratchet had been right.
Or had he? Had the Quintessons merely put those thoughts into his head just now? Agonizing pain gripped Optimus, and he sank to his knees; he heard a murmur of horror from the watching Autobots. As blackness rushed up to claim him, two words floated into his head—two words that were like life rafts in a sea of agony, two words that he reached for as though they were his sole chance at salvation. It was the only way out. Perhaps mercy would be shown to the Autobots, but he knew there would be none for him. Nor did he wish for any. He pulled himself to his feet.
“I confess,” he said.
The prosecutor smiled. “Go on,” he said.
Optimus could barely speak, but he knew he had to: “I confess I rebelled against you.”
“And blasphemed.”
“And—” Optimus stopped, for now he remembered a world without the Quintessons, a world before the Quintessons. He had been a data clerk that whole time. And he had seen what had happened, seen the Quintessons come down from the sky in their silver ships and take custody of Cybertron.
Without firing a shot.
That was the part Optimus could scarcely believe even as he saw the truth of it. The Quintessons had arrived on Cybertron at the dawn of spaceflight. They were the first creatures from another world ever to visit Cybertron, and so it was easy for them to proclaim themselves to be superior beings. They had been the first to explain to Cybertronians the mystery of the T-cogs, had shown them how to change themselves into other modes. After that, it was easy to pass themselves off as gods. They had brainwashed the entire population, just as they were trying to brainwash Optimus now.
“I confess I should have done more,” he said.
“What?” The prosecutor’s face went dark, but Optimus fi
nally had seen the light.
“I should have done more to fight you,” he said. “I didn’t do enough. I was a data clerk; I just sat in the archives. All I could do was record the truth of it and help reveal to the people the lies that you were telling us. You never created us, much as you might claim it. You Quintessons are the ultimate megalomaniacs. You want a universe filled with slave races, all of them believing themselves to be your creations. Perhaps in the absence of all dissenting voices you’d start to believe it yourself. Perhaps that’s what you believe even now. Maybe there are no limits to your self-deception. But I won’t be a party to it. You may kill us all, but you won’t kill the truth.”
The prosecutor’s face was grim. “So you wish to take the path of agony?”
“Apparently you do,” Optimus said. “You could have just executed us all, but instead you seem compelled to make us go through this mockery of a trial, yet all the while the only ones you’re fooling are yourselves.”
“Is that so?” The prosecutor laughed. “A moment ago you were denying everything, and now you’ve just confessed that you did indeed carry out seditious activities against us.”
“And I’m proud to admit it,” Optimus said. “But I never led the resistance. That was Sentinel Prime, and he’s dead.”
“And not honorably, either,” the prosecutor said.
“He lived long enough to grow old and decline,” Optimus admitted. “But the final stage of his life cannot take away the years of his glory. And you can’t take them away from him, either. That’s why you’re striking out at me, isn’t it? I’m just a convenient proxy for the one who exposed the truth and threw you off Cybertron.”
“You underestimate yourself,” the prosecutor said. “We have witnesses that will testify to the full magnitude of your crimes.”
“Sure you do,” Optimus said. “Witnesses with fins who know loyalty only to you.”
“No,” said the prosecutor, “witnesses from among your own followers.”
That was news to Optimus. “What?” he asked. “Who?”
But the prosecutor was milking the moment for all it was worth. He turned to the magistrates. “It is time to learn of the true nature of Optimus Prime. Bring forth those who would testify!” The Sharkticon guards gathered at the Autobot pen, opened it, and dragged out Rodimus, Kup, and Bumblebee.
“Why them?” Jazz muttered.
“I don’t know,” Ratchet replied. “But I’ve got a feeling that none of us are going to like the answer.”
“The witnesses should be aware that they can speak freely without fear of reprisals,” said the prosecutor. “We only want you to tell us the truth. For only the truth can set you free from the shackles of your oppression. State your name for the record and begin.”
Rodimus stepped forward and fell to one knee in front of the shadows on the viewscreen: “I am Rodimus. Optimus Prime is obsessed with one thing: destruction of the Decepticons and anybody who would try to oppose him. He will go to any length to destroy a Decepticon regardless of any innocent who might be in the way. The only thing that drives him is the destruction of his enemies. He has been fighting for millions of years and sees war as the only form of diplomacy worth practicing.”
“Then why did he agree to the peace talks?” the prosecutor asked.
“He confided in me that he agreed solely in order to create an opportunity to strike at the Decepticons when their guard was down. He never intended for there to actually be peace. He is a cruel tyrant who yearns for the day when he will be the sole power in the universe.”
“Rodimus!” Optimus yelled. “What have they done to you?” But he could guess. During the excursion that Ironhide had foolishly allowed, the three bots must have come to considerable grief. Quintesson brainwashing had been at work. But why would the Quintessons go to all this trouble just to contaminate witnesses? Did the sham appearance of justice matter so much to them? Or did they truly think this was justice? If so, it was the most warped view of reality Optimus had ever encountered. But then again, he’d been naive in more ways than one today.
“Next witness, state your name for the record and begin your testimony.”
Kup stepped forward. “I am Kup. Life means nothing to Optimus Prime. He rebelled against Cybertron’s rightful masters and did all he could to ensure civil war. He proclaimed that he jettisoned the AllSpark into space in order to keep the Decepticons from getting their hands on it. But the truth is that he wishes to possess it free from all interference so that he can rule this galaxy and all the creatures who dwell in it.”
“And what of your comrade’s testimony regarding the peace process?”
“Under the flag of truce, Optimus planned to steal your Energon production technology. Once he had the ability to produce limitless Energon, he planned to make himself tyrant beyond all measure.”
“Indeed. And what does the last witness have to add?”
Bumblebee stepped forward; he raised his yellow arms high to the shadowy figure, pointed at Optimus, and let loose a series of beeps, squeals, and high-pitched tones.
“Despicable,” said the prosecutor. “Absolutely conclusive testimony. The court will note that even his own men recognize that Optimus Prime is a depraved maniac with no regard for anybody’s rules except his own. If left to his own devices, he will continue to be a danger not only to the peaceful people of Quintessa but to thousands of other races as well.”
“Agreed,” said the chief magistrate. “Do you have further questions?”
“Your honor, I have one final witness.” A larger than normal Sharkticon emerged into the courtroom and strode to the center of the floor.
“This is your witness?” For the first time, the chief magistrate sounded surprised.
“No, your honor,” replied the prosecutor.
The Sharkticon opened his gaping maw and dumped pieces of the bot that had been Skywarp onto the floor.
“That’s my witness,” the prosecutor said.
“Very good,” said the chief magistrate. “The witness will state his name for the record.”
Much of Skywarp was gone, but the torso and head were still functioning. The eyes glowed faintly, and the mouth moved slowly. “Skywarp,” it said.
“Begin your testimony.”
The testimony didn’t just sound brainwashed; it rang so rote that Skywarp might have been taking dictation. “Before the peace conference began, Optimus Prime approached me,” he said in a monotone. “He told me that if I killed Megatron, I could be the new leader of the Decepticons. He provided me with a bomb and schematics of the Temple of Peace. As you can see from my sorry state, he tried to double-cross me and set off the bomb while I was planting it. He is a ruthless killer, a deceiver of the lowest kind.”
“Whereas you are just a ruthless killer,” said the prosecutor. Skywarp said nothing. He probably hadn’t been given any more lines to say. “Take him away.” The Sharkticon scooped the pieces of Skywarp up into his mouth and left, and the prosecutor turned back to the judges.
“I think we have heard enough. The testimony that has been provided seems quite sufficient to make a prima facie ruling. So I turn now to the honorable magistrates and ask that they—”
“Wait,” Megatron said.
Everyone looked at him.
“I, too, wish to testify.”
“Very well,” the prosecutor said. Sharkticons led Megatron onto the stage.
“State your name for the record.”
“Megatron. I wish to say that the fact that you charge the librarian with crimes against your illegal rule is beyond laughable.” The crowd audibly gasped. “The sniveling data clerk known as Orion Pax never did anything to you; he never fought in the war against you. He was too busy counting data chips. I have never had much use for the past, but now as I am forced to listen to you, some of it is coming back to me. I was the one you sent to the mines. I was the one you could not control. I was the one who took up arms alongside Sentinel Prime and drove you slime back t
o where you came from. I should have remembered your stench the moment I saw you, but now—in the light of this mockery of justice—I see you precisely for what you are. I do not recognize this court. You have no power over me, no power over any of us. All of your so-called evidence is nothing more than lies. Your judgment is beyond worthless.”
Most of the latter part of this speech was drowned out by Aquatronians yelling at Megatron from the galleries. Optimus figured that Megatron would receive yet another beating, but apparently the Quintessons adhered strictly to their view of legal niceties. “Thank you for your testimony,” the prosecutor said gravely. “Though I should warn you that it shall be used against you in your own trial.”
“Use away,” Megatron said contemptuously as the Sharkticons hauled him back to the cage. The prosecutor turned back to Optimus.
“Our legal system does allow for a statement from the accused. Never let it be said that this high court is anything other than a paragon of justice. Do you have anything to say for yourself, Optimus Prime?”
Optimus paused; he looked at Megatron and then back at the Autobots he had failed so badly. Surely there was still some way to save them. But if there was, he had yet to see it. He turned back to the prosecutor and the magistrates.
“Though I wouldn’t quite use the same language, for once the sentiments of Megatron and myself overlap. I oppose you and everything you stand for. And as I said, it is to my shame that during your occupation of Cybertron, I did not personally lead the battle against you. But that was a time when we were scholars, scientists, philosophers … when we pursued the arts and sciences and all the wonders they contain. If anything, your desecration of our world turned us from clerks to warriors. I don’t know what you did to my Autobots to make them say such outlandish lies, but don’t think I don’t realize that you Quintessons are masters of manipulation. Eventually the truth will be known, and it will undo all of your plans. You accuse me of doing all these things against you; I wish I had. My real crime was not doing more to fight you. And I swear that I will find a way to atone for that.”
“Your own words serve as a fitting condemnation.” The prosecutor turned to the screens. “I move that the magistrates pass judgment based on the evidence I have presented.”
Retribution Page 21
