Retribution

by David J. Williams

  “We need to get airborne right now!”

  “And I’m telling you we can’t!” For once Soundwave’s voice was breaking from its customary monotone. “We lack the thrust to reach orbit!”

  Starscream cursed. Whatever Megatron had been trying to do had gone horribly wrong. The only good news in all of this was that the Decepticon leader was assuredly dead, but Starscream knew he was unlikely to survive him by more than a few minutes. He blasted away at the tentacles trying to force their way inside the bridge, swearing as he did so that whatever happened, he wasn’t going to end up getting digested alive. He’d put a laser through his own head first. He just wished he’d done the same thing to Megatron while he’d had the chance. Because the only chance they had now was that the Ark would prove strong enough to lift them both.

  WHILE JAZZ AND SUNSTREAKER FIRED AT THE TENTACLES hammering on the bridge of the Ark, Sideswipe wasn’t waiting around. The threats of Starscream paled by comparison to what the vast entity awakening around them could do. He rushed to the consoles, undocked from the Nemesis, and fired the engines. The ship rumbled as the thrusters came online. Sideswipe amped up the motors. The Ark began to shake violently, rising slowly into the air.

  Way too slowly.

  “Those Decepticons have clamped onto us!” Sunstreaker yelled.

  That made perfect sense, Sideswipe thought. Starscream undoubtedly was figuring that if the Decepticons had to die, so would the Autobots. And if the Autobots made it out of here, so would the Decepticons. Still more tentacles hurled themselves against both the Ark and the Nemesis, grabbing both ships and pulling them downward. Jazz keyed the com-link.

  “Jazz to Superion, do you—”

  “I’m on it,” said the great voice. Thunder rolled against the window as the giant bot flew past, firing at the waving tentacles, trying to sever enough of them so that the Ark could gain height. But then more tentacles slapped against Superion, and it was all he could do to keep himself out of trouble. Sideswipe put the ship’s engines into the red and began to steer amid the writhing pseudo-pods. But the Ark was still way too low, and it was reaching the limit of its power. There was a terrible shuddering noise, and then the Ark-Nemesis combo began to sink inexorably toward the myriad maws below.

  THE LEVIACON HAD DESCENDED ONLY HALF THE DISTANCE to the lake bed when Optimus felt ripples through the water; looking up, he caught sight of an amazing scene high above him: The base of the floating city was lighting up in a dazzling display of colors. Streams of bright light flowed out from it like star-filled tendrils. Optimus was almost lost in the dazzling display of color; it seemed for a moment that he was drifting free of the Leviacon, floating up toward a kaleidoscope of sheer beauty.

  “Don’t look directly at it!” the Leviacon said. “That’s how it snares its prey!”

  Optimus shook his head violently as though to clear it and grasped onto the Leviacon more tightly as the great bot steepened the angle of its descent, plunging downward, just missing a gargantuan tentacle that swept by them and wrapped around a whole school of fish-bots. Optimus could almost hear their terrible screams as they were crushed mercilessly. And now he saw more tentacles coming in behind them.

  “What are they?”

  “It is the drinking doom,” the Leviacon moaned. “The most ancient of all Aquatronians, that which was never meant to awaken! The Hydratron itself!”

  “I thought Hydratron was the name of the city.”

  “The city is the Hydratron,” the Leviacon said. “And now it hungers!”

  Optimus adjusted his optics and finally got a clear view of the nightmare above. The city had transformed into the most monstrous of all jellyfish, a man-o’-war several miles across. Every creature caught inside it was surely just meat now. And its tentacles were coming down like the wrath of some ancient sea god.

  “This is the Curator’s work,” Optimus snarled as the whale-bot’s dive steepened into the vertical. It was all he could do to hold on as the Leviacon did its best to outrun those unfurling tentacles. Below him, he could see glowing lights: the entrance to an underwater cave.

  AS STOMACH JUICES CHURNED DOWN CORRIDORS THAT were folding up and twisting like tangled intestines, Megatron’s Sharkticons rallied to him, leaping onto him and clinging to him, serving as an outer shield of armor against the burning acid. They were literally dying to save him, yet their efforts would be in vain unless Megatron got out fast. He was blowing his way through corridors as quickly as he could, making for the nearest outer wall, but he wasn’t going to get there in time. He felt like he was dissolving in his own arrogance; he’d believed for one shining moment that he was a god, only to find himself being digested inside the belly of a real one. The last of the melting Sharkticons fell away from him; he could feel the acid start to wash across him. He was going to die, yet in the back of his mind was a single fleeting thought, an imperative that had become second nature on the floors of the gladiator pits eons ago and a galaxy away: Never give up.

  Never.

  Megatron summoned all his remaining strength, making one last herculean effort, stumbling forward, ripping through the outer wall with his bare hands, letting a tidal wave of pure water pour in, an inundation that would have destroyed the old Megatron but now was his salvation. He was staring out into the ocean, gazing at swathes of tentacles. He fired his laser through the water, severing the nervous system of one so that it unfurled limply. Then he reached out, grasped it, and began sliding down that tentacle, gathering speed as he plunged into the depths below.

  MORE AND MORE TENTACLES WRAPPED AROUND THE Cybertronian ships as they sank back toward the horror beneath them.

  “We need more power!” Starscream yelled from the bridge of the Nemesis.

  “Thanks for helping!” Sunstreaker shot back.

  “Everybody shut up and let the pilot fly!” Jazz shouted.

  Sideswipe was doing his best. Lights throughout the Ark dimmed as he pushed the motors way beyond the red. But the ship kept dropping. Sideswipe felt like he was sliding inexorably down a mountainside. Teletraan-1’s consoles flickered; the engines were about to burn out. Something massive hit the Nemesis from below; the reverberation rippled through both ships. It was too big to be a tentacle; it had to be the monster’s jaws. But then something entirely unexpected happened.

  The ship began to rise.

  “It’s Superion,” Jazz breathed.

  He was right. The gigantic robot had managed to get beneath the Nemesis and was acting as an additional engine. The Nemesis-Ark combo continued to climb, gaining height, the guns of both ships frying the tentacles that still grasped them. Then there was nothing left holding them back, nothing above them except sky. Sideswipe hit the throttle and was pushed back in his seat as they thundered upward toward the heavens.

  Chapter Forty-five

  LEVIACON DESCENDED EVER FARTHER, WITH OPTIMUS holding on while they dropped through cave after cave, all of them filled with water. The whale kept on telling him they were almost there, but it seemed like he’d been saying that for miles. Yet all at once Leviacon changed direction and started swimming upward. Optimus saw a glowing light shimmering above him, a giant circle reflected in the shimmering surface toward which Leviacon was now surging up.

  And breaking.

  But only barely. Only the Leviacon’s eyes protruded. Optimus crawled carefully up the creature’s back, sticking his head above the water to try to get a sense of what was going on in this chamber.

  It turned out to be a lot.

  An enormous cave with a titanic glowing hoop of fire covering the entirety of the far wall. Pouring through that space bridge were hundreds of Sharkticons, swimming out into the chamber, scurrying up the walls, trying to get at the command module that hung from the center of the ceiling. But the plasma cannon on the bottom of that module was spraying out death in every direction, knocking Sharkticons into the water and raining fire down on them. It didn’t take a genius to guess where the Curator was. Optimus patted
the whale’s back.

  “Thank you for everything, friend. I’ll take it from here.”

  The Leviacon rumbled dissent. “There is no way you would get close to that alone. Together we have a chance to defeat the being that tried to enslave both our planets.”

  “What do you suggest?” Optimus asked.

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” said the whale, and abruptly submerged, diving while Optimus held on for dear life as it picked up speed, arcing back toward the surface, changing into a gigantic humanoid robot as it fired rockets that sent it streaking out of the water, reaching up with its mighty hands and pulling the control bubble clean off the ceiling, flinging it against the side of the cave. The module slid down the wall, coming to a halt upside down where a ledge met the water. As the Leviacon somersaulted and dived back toward the surface, Optimus caught a glimpse of masses of Sharkticons closing on the disabled module. The water closed in over his head; he figured that it was all over for the Curator.

  He was wrong.

  Suddenly the bridge glowed with the brightness of the sun as a surge of energy radiated out from it, frying the circuitry of everything that happened to be above the water’s surface at that moment. That included every Sharkticon. Its lower half still exposed to air, the Leviacon was burned badly. It transformed back into whale mode, thrashing in pain, retreating to the bottom to nurse its wounds. Only Optimus was left unscathed. As the bridge reverted to its normal energy output, he let go of the crippled Leviacon and swam quickly toward the command module, scrambling onto the rocks and vaulting inside.

  The Curator was crouching on what had been the module’s ceiling, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Apparently he’d been protected by the shielding in the module’s walls. Or he was simply immune to the more lethal effects of the bridge. After all, he’d built the thing. He straightened and gazed up at Optimus.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Miracles never cease. Megatron told me you were dead.”

  “Megatron has a bad habit of exaggerating.”

  “And you have a bad habit of surviving where so many others don’t,” the Curator said. He eyed the hundreds of dead floating Sharkticons in the water. “I really didn’t want to do that.”

  “You mean destroy them wholesale?” Optimus was puzzled. “They’d have chewed you to pieces otherwise.”

  “I mean push the bridge to the limit like that. A portal through space-time might harness considerable energies, but what I just did had a 30.4 percent chance of shutting it down altogether. And I happen to still have need of it.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Curator.” Optimus towered over the smaller bot. “It’s all over.”

  “Over?” The Curator laughed. “It’s just begun. I trust you met my pet.”

  “You mean that city-size jellyfish?”

  “The Hydratron. I’m going to be sending it through the bridge to consume everything on your planet, Optimus. It may be the largest jellyfish ever created, but on the plains of Cybertron it’ll be more like a spider. And it will hunt your people down like the insects they are.”

  “The caves leading here are too narrow, Curator. There’s no way you could get that monster—” But even as Optimus spoke, he heard a distant rumbling. The ceiling began to vibrate faintly. “Oh, no,” he said.

  “Oh, yes,” said the Curator. “It’s tearing its way through the lake bed to get to me. Such loyalty. Would that all my servants showed the same.”

  “This has gone far enough,” Optimus said. He stepped forward, ready to rip his foe apart. But just before Optimus’s fists connected, the Curator produced a wandlike object and pointed it upward; Optimus suddenly felt energy flowing out of him. It was as though the Matrix of Leadership was expanding in his chest to the point of bursting. He sank to his knees as the Curator smiled.

  “How do you think I opened the link to Cybertron in the first place?” he said. “Your Matrix was an essential part of the equation. And although whatever you and Megatron did to the Matrix replica means I can no longer manipulate you remotely, you’ve made the mistake of coming down here. This is the heart of my power, Prime.”

  “Primus … curse you,” Optimus muttered. The Curator flicked more buttons, and he slumped forward, fighting for consciousness, his optics dwindling to the point where all he could see was the Curator’s cackling visage.

  “It’s fitting it should come to this,” the Quintesson said. The rumbling overhead grew louder. “Without our wisdom, without our brilliance, your race would amount to nothing more than an elaborate wind-up toy! We gave you purpose! We gave you a chance to serve! And look how you paid us back!”

  “You claimed to be … creators.” Optimus could barely talk now. “Claimed dominion. You lied. You had no right …”

  “Don’t talk to me of rights,” said the Curator. “Don’t talk to me of lies. We Quintessons create our own reality, and our slaves dwell within it.”

  “Not anymore,” said a voice.

  The Curator and Optimus looked up to see a battered and bloodied Tyrannicon emerging from the glowing hoop, striding along the ledge toward them, his trident on his back. Pieces of his armor were missing, and he was covered with tooth marks. But he was still very much alive.

  “Ah, General,” said the Curator. “You’ve arrived just in time to—” But before the Curator could finish his sentence, Tyrannicon had closed the distance between them and grabbed the Curator by both arms.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the Quintesson screamed.

  By way of answer, Tyrannicon tore the Curator in two.

  Or rather, he tore the Curator’s shell. From within fell something far smaller: a fleshy black cephalopod whose mantle was covered with red splotches and beady eyes. The thing was covered in a disgusting slime, and before it could skitter away on feeble tentacles, Tyrannicon scooped it up in one of his massive fists.

  “I should have known you would try to have me done away with,” he thundered. “Turning my own forces against me in my hour of victory. Did you not trust me?”

  “No! I had nothing to do with that!” the Curator squeaked, his voice high-pitched now that he’d lost his shell. “You’re crushing me—urrrghh!” Tyrannicon kept squeezing more tightly, cutting off the Curator’s shrill pleas. All that was audible was the intensifying rumbling of the approaching Hydratron, and Tyrannicon was far too angry to notice that. The only thing he cared about now was wringing the answers he wanted from the hapless Curator.

  “Give me back command of my soldiers,” he demanded. “Give me back my armies.”

  “Please, please, believe me—”

  “Believe a Quintesson who’s begging for his life? Never.”

  “But you should,” Megatron said.

  Everyone turned as he emerged from the water, which poured off his fins in sheets. Tyrannicon’s face went dark as he saw how the Decepticon leader had changed. His eyes locked on Megatron’s shark-jaw chest plate.

  “What abomination is this?” he asked.

  “It is I, Megatron, the First of the Many. Be grateful you have the good fortune to witness my true incarnation.”

  “You seek to usurp my rule,” Tyrannicon growled.

  “Megatron,” Optimus said, “we’ve got to—”

  “Save it, librarian. I’ll deal with you in a second. Tyrannicon, your legions are now mine. But perhaps we can strike a deal.”

  “A deal?” Tyrannicon repeated the word as though it were a curse.

  “Yes. You may serve me and lead my Sharkticons. You’ve been a minion all your life; why change now? Trust me, you’ll enjoy being my general.”

  “Is that a fact?” said Tyrannicon. He stepped into the water, striding through the shallows toward Megatron, still gripping the Curator in one hand. Megatron moved slowly to the side, clearly seeking optimal ground as the two opponents squared off. The whole room was shaking now; the Hydratron was drawing ever closer. But both bots seemed to think the vibration was purely the result of their own stomping a
round the chamber. Optimus tried to mutter a warning, but no one was listening to him anymore. Tyrannicon reached Megatron and looked down at the Curator.

  “Have you heard this farce, Curator? Megatron tells us to bend the knee for all eternity. How do you think we should reply, hmm? How shall we answer?”

  “Please, Tyrannicon, show mercy.”

  “I give you the mercy you gave the innocent!” Tyrannicon clenched his fist until the Curator was crushed completely. Juice ran down the Sharkticon general’s arm as he stared coldly at Megatron. “Such is the fate of any who would claim to be my master.”

  “I’m going to do more than just claim,” Megatron said, stepping forward and swinging his fists. Tyrannicon lowered his head, charging Megatron like an enraged bull. There was a thunderous crash as the two giants clashed, locking arms, each trying to rip the other apart, shove the other beneath the water.

  “Imposter,” Tyrannicon said through his teeth. “You may as well give up now.”

  Megatron laughed. “I was fighting in the pits a million years before they built you. You can’t possibly hope to defeat—”

  But Tyrannicon’s helmet shot a corrosive mixture of black inky acid right into Megatron’s eyes. Megatron broke away, stumbling backward as his optics tried to cope with the toxic substance. Tyrannicon pulled his trident from his back and swung it around so that the hooked pommel caught Megatron under the arm, knocking him sprawling down in the water; then he reversed the trident in a blur, stabbing out with a thrust that would have speared the Decepticon if he had not rolled to the side, diving beneath the surface. Tyrannicon leaped forward, submerging; only the general’s fins were visible as he closed on where Megatron was. Thrashing filled the water as the two bots furiously battled on the rocky bottom. Watching the fight, Optimus figured it could go either way. But the intensifying vibration now shuddering through the chamber told him that neither was going to win.