Retribution

by David J. Williams

  “We have heard all and have weighed its veracity and value,” said the chief magistrate. “We are indeed ready to pass judgment.” The other four nodded.

  “What is the judgment of the court?” asked the prosecutor.

  All five judges spoke at once: “We find Optimus Prime to be … innocent.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  THE REBOOTED TELETRAAN-1 HAD NOTHING ON FILE about the Quintessons except that they had indeed occupied Cybertron millions of years past, yet the computer’s databanks seemed to regard the whole period as a minor footnote in Cybertronian history and had very little to say about it. To Sideswipe that seemed strange. Having your planet subjugated should have merited more than just a few annotations. But apparently there wasn’t anything more in Teletraan-1’s ancient memory circuits.

  “Scrap it,” Sideswipe mumbled to himself. He would have loved to know more about the enemy, but as it stood, he would have to operate in the dark. So he dived back into something he did know about: the Ark. All the backup systems were functioning perfectly. Even better, he’d finally been able to locate the island where Optimus and the others had been taken. But rescuing them was going to be tricky. In fact, it might be downright suicidal, for a lightning-fast strike through inclement weather against unknown planetary defenses seemed like an invitation to a fast demise. The Aerialbots were still nursing their wounds from the last fight with the Decepticons; it didn’t seem right to ask them to be in the vanguard of another risky mission. But what other choice was there? The Ark was too clumsy to use as an orbital dropship. It just wasn’t designed for that kind of attack maneuver. Sideswipe’s contemplation of the matter ended abruptly as the bridge door slid open and Sunstreaker entered.

  “So what’s the plan?” he asked. Sideswipe tried his best to hide his irritation at his brother’s nonchalance about the predicament they were all in. Calling him on it never worked. It was easier just to meet Sunstreaker on his own insufferably glib ground.

  “I’m still coming up with one.”

  “Know what your problem is?”

  “Tell me,” Sideswipe said wearily.

  “You think too much. Give me Bluestreak, Trailbreaker, Mirage, and a combat shuttle, and we’ll go down there and snatch the big OP back, no problem.”

  Sideswipe knew that it was precisely this attitude that kept his brother from having too many friends in the Autobot ranks. Nobody could live up to the legend that Sunstreaker was in his own mind. Sure, he was one of the best, but that didn’t mean he had to remind everybody about it constantly. “You really think it’s going to be that easy?” Sideswipe asked.

  “Um, yeah.” Sunstreaker nodded. “I think it should be pretty straightforward. This is me you’re talking to. A card-carrying member of the Magnificent Six, and I don’t make claims I can’t back up.” Sunstreaker was having a hard time damping down his enthusiasm, and Sideswipe could guess why. Fighting Decepticons was par for the course, but the chance to get to grips with a whole new foe was too good an opportunity to miss. Sideswipe suspected it was all Sunstreaker could do to stop himself from commandeering a shuttle and heading down to the surface with all guns blazing. He shrugged and turned away.

  “Well, thanks for the perspective. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Look,” said Sunstreaker. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure here, but you’ve got to believe that we’ll prevail. After all, we Autobots always come out on top.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence.”

  “Yeah, you and half of Cybertron. Come on; give me the green light.”

  Sideswipe sighed. “We’re not doing anything until I can get more intelligence on where they’re being held. And figure out what the Nemesis is up to. We can’t afford to make any more mistakes as far as the Decepticons are concerned. Last thing we need is to end up getting caught with enemies on both flanks.”

  “Sound thinking,” Sunstreaker admitted.

  “Gee, thanks for saying so.”

  Sunstreaker was about to retort when Hubcap entered carrying a datapad. With Bumblebee down on the planet and Hound lost back on Cybertron, Hubcap was the best scout remaining. Sideswipe knew he could count on Hubcap to give him an honest assessment even if it was a truth he didn’t want to hear.

  “This is the best we could do, boss.” By we Hubcap meant he and Teletraan-1; between the two of them, they’d coordinated a deployment of semi-intelligent sky spies into orbit around Aquatron. In normal circumstances Hubcap would have left the whole operation to Teletraan-1, but in this instance hands-on piloting expertise had improved the satellites’ chances of evading detection. Hubcap handed the pad over, and Sideswipe took a look at the incomplete schematics of the Aquatronian city. “We think they’re keeping them all here—at this large building in the city center.”

  “Good work, Hubcap.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet. As you can see, that’s probably one of the most defended places on the whole scrap yard of a planet. Getting in there won’t be easy. Especially with the weapons systems still active in the ring. We’re going to need to do something about that.”

  “I’ve seen worse,” Sunstreaker chimed in.

  Hubcap looked scornful. “Oh, really? Even if we got down there in one piece, those fish-bots have the numbers. We counted up to about fifty thousand Sharkticons in the city alone—never mind the sea fleets and Primus knows what else.”

  “Quantity is no match for quality, buddy.”

  Sideswipe decided to nip this in the bud. “What about the Nemesis?” he asked Hubcap.

  “She’s still on the other side of the planet. Impossible to tell what’s going on inside.”

  “Do they seem to be making repairs?”

  “Can’t tell. Which means the Quintessons can’t, either.”

  “Okay,” Sideswipe said. He made a decision and keyed the ship’s intercom. “Listen up, everybody. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

  OPTIMUS WAS LED AWAY FROM THE PRISONERS’ BOX and pushed back inside the pen.

  “I thought they said you were innocent!” Jazz yelled.

  “Apparently they define that word differently than we do.”

  “Maybe you should have pleaded guilty.”

  “I don’t think that was an option.” Optimus looked around to see Perceptor in the process of examining Rodimus, Kup, and Bumblebee, who had been returned to their cells. Now that they’d given their testimony, those three bots stared straight ahead, blank expressions on their faces.

  “So what’s wrong with them?”

  Perceptor turned. “Their minds seem to be stuck in a repeat pattern. Almost like their brains are on standby.”

  “They’ll probably remain that way now that the Quintessons have no more use for them. See if there’s something you can do, Doctor.”

  “I’ll try my best,” Perceptor said.

  Optimus turned back to Jazz and Prowl. “We’ve got to figure a way out of here. We’re running out of time.”

  Back on the stage, the prosecutor was addressing the magistrates again. “May it please the court, I wish to invoke Article 7B384 and declare the entirety of the Cybertronian group before you bound together as a criminal conspiracy. Since Optimus Prime has been found innocent, it follows that all those who were carrying out his orders are innocent as well.”

  “Agreed,” said the chief magistrate.

  “Wait a second,” Optimus said.

  But the prosecutor ignored him. “Will you therefore pronounce the verdict?”

  The chief magistrate nodded. “This high court finds all Cybertronians arraigned before us to be innocent of the following charges: destruction of public property, criminal mayhem, high treason, war crimes, and galactic blasphemy, with the appropriate sentence to be carried out forthwith. This court is hereby adjourned.”

  The five screens went blank, and the prosecutor disappeared as well. Suddenly the whole atmosphere changed. The audience started cheering as though they were taking in a circus, and that
cheering grew louder as a squad of Sharkticon honor guards opened up the cells and began driving Autobots and Decepticons back with whips.

  “START WITH THOSE TWO!!!” the guard captain yelled.

  The Autobot Brawn and the Decepticon Ramjet were pulled out of their cages and marched to the dais where the prosecutor had just been. The noise of the crowd became deafening.

  “They found us innocent and they’re still going to sentence us? I don’t get it,” said Brawn.

  “Don’t look at me for answers, Autobot. This whole thing stopped making sense a long time ago.”

  A voice boomed down from above.

  “You have been found innocent by the Quintesson Imperium. Prepare for judgment.” Without warning, the floor opened up beneath them and they fell several hundred meters down into a water-filled pit. Ramjet started thrashing around, screaming the whole while.

  “I can’t swim!” he yelled. But Brawn felt his feet touch the bottom, and he helped Ramjet get his bearings. Far above them, the two Cybertronians could see the narrow circle of light that was the mouth of the pit. Their predicament was projected on all five viewscreens so that Cybertronians and audience alike were able to see what was happening at the bottom.

  “The water’s not that deep,” Brawn said. “I guess they don’t expect us to drown.”

  He was right. Suddenly, multiple hatches in the walls opened up and hundreds of ravenous Piranhacons poured in. It was like a wave of nothing but razor-sharp teeth; Brawn and Ramjet barely had time to scream before they were pulled beneath the water. A few more moments and oil slicks rose to the surface. The crowd applauded wildly while the Autobots and Decepticons reacted with sheer consternation.

  “By Primus! They didn’t stand a chance!” Bulkhead cried in disbelief.

  “This is barbaric!” Megatron yelled.

  Optimus said nothing. He couldn’t bear to. The crowd noise swelled again as Sharkticon guards pulled out Hotlink and Blaster, dragged them over to the pit. Hotlink struggled the whole way, imploring Megatron to help him, while Blaster remained cool and calm even in the face of certain death.

  “Hey, Hotlink, you want to die with a little bit of dignity?”

  “I’d rather live with none at all!”

  The Sharkticons tossed the Cybertronians over the edge with relish.

  THE WINDOWS OF THE CURATOR’S INNER SANCTUM AFFORDED an excellent view of the city of Hydratron, but the Curator and Xeros were focused on a more immediate spectacle: the courtroom proceedings, projected on a screen that dominated the entirety of one wall. Another wall contained two smaller viewscreens; Tyrannicon’s face was on one, and Commander Gnaw was on the other. Gnaw had been the one assigned to carry Skywarp’s parts into the courtroom. He was happy that he could swallow again and even happier now that Thundercracker’s screams were echoing from the speakers. Gnaw had always found the screams of others extremely satisfying. Tyrannicon, though, seemed less than thrilled.

  “Pathetic,” he said. “And these Decepticons are supposed to be fearsome warriors?”

  The Curator looked amused. “Don’t underestimate them, General. They are far more resourceful than you might think. After all, they were able to accomplish what you people never could.”

  On the screen, scales flared around the general’s gills. Xeros didn’t like the way the Curator kept baiting Tyrannicon. Sure, all the Sharkticons were under neural conditioning controlled from this chamber, but Tyrannicon’s will was particularly strong. That was why Xeros had been so hesitant at the idea of bringing him out of cryo. But the Curator had assured him that Tyrannicon’s anger would be easy to channel. All the same, Xeros didn’t enjoy the way Gnaw kept looking at him like he was gourmet food laid out on a platter. He was glad Gnaw wasn’t in the room with him; he did his best to ignore Gnaw’s gaze, focused instead on the death throes of the Cybertronians on the large screen. But the Curator was concentrating on another screen, one that swam with readouts. A look of concern crossed his face.

  “We are getting a high-energy output from these executions, but at the current rate, there is a 78.2 percent chance that we simply may not have enough to initiate Stage Two.”

  “Surely you jest,” Tyrannicon said.

  “I never jest, General. These Cybertronians have already depleted much of their energy fighting each other.”

  “Fighting that you encouraged.”

  “You draw perilously close to insubordination,” said the Curator. For a moment the two bots stared at each other. But then Tyrannicon drew back in deference.

  “Forgive me, lord. I seek the same victory you do. Perhaps if we could harvest the bots aboard the two crippled ships in orbit …?”

  “I would rather not do that unless we have to,” the Curator said. “Xeros and I were saving them for experiments.”

  “You may have to forgo that luxury,” Tyrannicon said.

  “Perhaps. But there is an alternative solution that I suspect will solve our energy requirements.”

  Tyrannicon looked skeptical. “To what are you referring?” he asked.

  The Curator waved his hand over a control panel, and the room filled with a reddish light as the simulacrum of the Matrix of Leadership rose from the floor.

  Tyrannicon looked unimpressed. “That’s a fake,” he said.

  “It’s a replica,” the Curator told him. “There’s a difference.”

  “That difference being?”

  “This is more than just a stage prop. I haven’t simply been using it as bait to dangle in front of these Cybertronians. This device replicates key elements of the Cybertronian computer systems, allowing us to hack into them as needed.”

  “Such as Optimus’s Matrix,” Xeros added.

  “I thought he shut that down,” Tyrannicon said.

  “I believe there is a more than 80 percent probability that he’s going to find himself in a position where he needs to start it back up again,” said the Curator. “Commander Gnaw, you will report back to the Hall of Justice and redirect proceedings there.”

  “At once,” Gnaw said. The screen flickered out. Tyrannicon looked annoyed, and Xeros could guess why. He didn’t like the Curator going over his head to give orders to his subordinates. The Sharkticon general opened his mouth to protest, but the Curator beat him to it.

  “General, report attack readiness.”

  Tyrannicon stiffened with the reflexes of a born soldier. “We are at total readiness,” he said. “But again, we still don’t have the requisite energy for—”

  “Leave that to me.”

  Tyrannicon saluted. “The fleet awaits your command,” he said.

  As Tyrannicon’s face disappeared from the screen, Xeros stood up. He knew what was about to happen, knew he wasn’t invited. That was fine by him. He didn’t envy the Curator one bit. He left the room. As the door closed, the Curator sighed heavily and then adjusted the settings on the screen that showed the courtroom. For a moment, there was static.

  And then his masters appeared.

  Skull-like visages regarded him coldly. “Report,” said one.

  “Stage One is complete. May I congratulate you on your mastery of the courtroom just now—”

  “Do not presume to comment on our legal expertise. Confine yourself to the science. What is the status of the energy readings?”

  If the Curator had sweat glands, he would have been using them now. “Everything is under control. I hope to report initiation of Stage Two within minutes.”

  “Have there been any complications?”

  That was a trick question. There were always complications, but the Curator’s masters never wanted to hear about them. They certainly didn’t want to hear that despite all his maneuverings, it was going to be touch and go whether he achieved enough energy for Stage Two. As always, it came down to what the Prime would do. The Curator longed for the days when Primes would no longer be a factor in anybody’s calculations. He stared at his masters and forced himself to be calm.

  “No complications
,” he said. “We cannot fail.”

  “Cannot is a strong word. Are you compensating for a lack of confidence? Do you need reinforcements?”

  The Curator knew what reinforcements meant. It meant shall we replace you with someone more capable? It would be his body in the Piranhacon pit if he went down that road. He shook his head.

  “There is no need for reinforcements. We are more than equal to the challenge before us. The Cybertronians still have inklings of what they are facing. They possess no idea our real trap has yet to be sprung.”

  “Let us hope you are correct, Inquirata.” The Curator stiffened to hear himself addressed by his proper name. “Much depends on your success.”

  “A success we must have,” said a second voice.

  “For the sake of our ancestors,” added a third.

  “And our descendants,” said a fourth.

  “We rose,” said a deeper fifth voice. It was that of the chief magistrate. “We rose, and we fell. Now we rise again, and this time we shall not falter. Nowhere will escape our reach. All the universe will be gathered up under our sway.”

  “For the greater glory of Quintessa,” the Curator intoned.

  “For the greater glory of Quintessa,” the magistrates repeated.

  The screen went blank.

  For a few moments, the Curator stood there, breathing heavily. It all came down to his next move. Everything was at stake now. He longed to get off this useless backwater world, longed to be recalled to Quintessa itself. Or perhaps he would resume his Curator status on a more important world. That was its own kind of promotion. Especially with the right kind of world. Something strategic. Something valuable. Something worth planning for eons to dominate.

  He had one in mind right now.

  Chapter Thirty

  CYBERTRON

  IACON WAS A CITY OF MANY LAYERS.

  There was the surface, of course, that once-proud skyline laid bare by war and now eclipsed by Shockwave’s tower. There were the sublevels stacked beneath that, many of them still buzzing with industrial activity. But as you kept going lower, that activity died down. The corridors grew emptier, the echoes were louder, and the infrastructure was in ever greater disrepair. There was no one point where you could be said to have entered the undercity, but once you got there, you weren’t going to quibble. Lighting flickered sporadically when it flickered at all. Corridors lost that distinction and became tunnels. Steam hissed erratically. Elevators no longer worked. Ladders ended halfway down chutes. The place was an utter maze.