Transformers: Retribution (12 page)

“You want to track them, huh? I’m game.”

“So now we’re just gonna follow these freaky fish-bots around?” There was more than a hint of foreboding in Kup’s voice.

“Look,” said Rodimus, “I don’t know what it is exactly we’re looking for, but if we follow these bots to their home, we might get a better idea of what these Aquatronians are up to.”

“That’s thin, sonny.”

“Well, for right now it’s all we’ve got.” Rodimus cranked the underwater drives up to quarter speed and
proceeded to trail after the school, following a pipe farther and farther out along the seabed. The mecha-fish paid no attention to the dropship a few hundred meters behind them. Maybe they weren’t programmed to notice.

“You might want to keep an eye on that fuel gauge, kiddo.”

Bumblebee beeped agitatedly. Almost as one, the fish were diving out of sight. Rodimus increased the dropship’s speed ever so slightly, and suddenly the seafloor dropped away beneath, tumbling down a cliff into—

“Nothing,”
Rodimus breathed.

They were looking down on an incredibly deep system of trenches. It was a veritable maze, and it seemed to stretch on forever, filled with canyons several dozen kilometers across. Along the walls of the trench over which they were floating were more facilities, protruding out like barnacles. Rodimus peered down into the abyss.

“Bumblebee, scan that trench. I want to know how far down it goes.” Bumblebee quickly came back with an answer that made Rodimus grin and Kup cringe.

“You’re not thinking of taking us down there, are you?” the veteran asked.

“We’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“See, when you say things like that, that’s when I start to worry.”

“This dropship can handle the pressure,” Rodimus insisted, adjusting the ship’s ballast to initiate a slow descent into the darkness. He switched on the dropship’s floodlights, illuminating the structures clinging to the side of the cliff wall. Out the window Kup could see all manner of facilities. It was almost as though they were in some underwater city and the cliffs were the skyscrapers. But in between the rows of pipes and conduits, he could make out more of the strange runes they had seen in the city above, only these were carved directly into the
rock past which they were dropping. They must have been etched there millions of years ago, he thought, long before the Aquatronians had covered the walls with their complex machines and automated factories.

Suddenly the ship’s collision Klaxon sounded. Alarm lights flashed.

“What’s going on?” Kup demanded.

“Sonar picking up a contact below. Closing on us. Something big.”

“How big?” All three Autobots stared at the sonar screen as the data scrolled past: well over forty meters in length and heading right toward the dropship. Bumblebee bleeped frantically.

“Hang on!” Rodimus yelled. He blew the remaining ballast in a desperate attempt to rise out of the trench and gain maneuvering room. But the signal kept closing. It was almost on them …

“Brace for impact!”
Kup yelled. Rodimus threw the ship to the left in a last-ditch evasive maneuver, and then the entire dropship shuddered under the impact of a titanic force. Rodimus’s reflexes ensured that it was only a glancing blow, a mere fraction of what it might have been, but that was small consolation as the structural integrity of a portion of the hull gave way and water poured in. Rodimus sealed off the bridge from the flooded compartments, doing his best to regain control of the ship. But whatever had hit them had knocked out too many of the key systems. For a moment everything went dark, and then the emergency lighting kicked in. Rodimus felt the stick go dead.

“Okay, guys, maybe it’s time to worry,” he muttered. Kup peered out the window just in time to see the tail of the biggest fish-bot he had ever seen disappearing back into the depths. The crippled dropship rolled over and started to float back down like a falling leaf, gradually
spiraling out of control into the dark of the trench, gaining speed …

“Scrap me,” Kup said.

Everything went black.

O
PTIMUS AND THE REST OF THE
A
UTOBOTS SAT IN PLACES
of honor in the Aquatronians’ Coliseum as honor guards marched by with their streaming pennants. The Curator had just finished a long, boring speech on the theme of kinship lost and found. He’d expressed his fervent hope that now that the two species had found each other again, they would be able to fulfill their mutual destinies. Indulging in a rather poetic rhetorical flourish, the Curator suggested that perhaps the great Primus himself had stopped by their world during his long journey at the beginning of time.

None of that stopped Optimus from having grave misgivings about this planet. But if the Matrix really
was
malfunctioning—however slightly—maybe that was also the cause of his suspicions. Maybe he was jumping at shadows. Yet even as he watched the ceremony, Optimus felt like he had seen it all before, like he’d witnessed a similar procession long ago, back on Cybertron. But wasn’t that the nature of déjà vu—that feeling that a thing had happened before even when it hadn’t? There was very little he was sure of now. The Coliseum’s walls were adorned with that script Optimus
knew
he had seen someplace back on Cybertron. Memory was one thing, giant block letters carved in stone was another, and he couldn’t help thinking that the Aquatronians and the Autobots were much more closely related than this “Curator” was willing to admit. When Optimus had asked earlier about the nature of the Coliseum, the Curator had replied that it wasn’t used for games, that it stood as a testament to the Aquatronian legal system, which required
the participation of a large proportion of the populace to ensure that justice was properly served.

Justice
.

There was something in the way the Curator used that word that was odd, a peculiar emphasis. Optimus couldn’t help noticing the precision in the robot’s cadences, the careful way he always chose his words. Optimus now felt it was a mistake to have let the Curator’s doctor examine him. Sure, Xeros had claimed merely to have confirmed what Ratchet had already discovered, that physically there was nothing wrong with him. But if they had found something, would they have told him? And if his robotics really
were
fine, that meant the unthinkable was still a possibility: There was something wrong with the Matrix of Leadership and they had no way to fix it or even to find out what it was.

There was another possibility, though, and it was the one Optimus found the most disquieting. Maybe he had done something to fall out of favor with the Matrix. Maybe the sparks of the great leaders contained within it felt that Optimus was failing them as a Prime. After all, what had he done so far? Fight a losing war on Cybertron and then career halfway around the galaxy looking for the AllSpark that he himself had ejected into space, all the while being pursued by a vastly superior force of Decepticons, even as—he felt it in the depths of his circuitry—unspeakable events occurred on Cybertron. He truly believed that at every step of the way he had made the best of a series of bad options. But perhaps a real leader would have found a better way. Perhaps the Matrix had judged him and found him wanting. Perhaps the spirits of past Primes were saying that he just didn’t have what it took.

But if that was the case, why didn’t they just tell him?

“Optimus,” Ratchet said, stepping up behind him. “Can I have a word in private?”

“Of course.” Optimus rose and walked with Ratchet to an empty section of seats. It looked like the two of them were simply enjoying a better view, but Ratchet obviously had something to say.

“I’ve been studying the diagnostics I did earlier,” the physician said. “Trying to cross-correlate them against the seizure you had.”

“Seizure?” Optimus grinned ruefully. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“I don’t know how else to refer to it.”

“Go on.”

“Well, earlier you were talking about being in a cage. That may involve the problems you’ve been having with the Matrix. But Xeros may be right—it also may be linked to dormant memories.”

Optimus frowned. “I take
your
opinions far more seriously than that so-called doctor. Tell me more.”

“Well, you know that our life spans can be very long. But the Cybertronian brain can only store a finite amount of information. There have been some studies that suggest our brains take key information and compress it, storing it for later use. How much do you remember of your time as Orion Pax?”

“I know I spent much of that time in the Hall of Records.”

“But you don’t remember every single second of that time, do you?”

“I suppose I don’t.”

“Well, that’s what might be happening here. Your brain is trying to alert you to something. But as to what that something is, perhaps time will reveal the fuller picture.”

“We may not have that time.”

“I realize that.”

“But from what you’re saying, you don’t think this involves the Matrix.”

“I didn’t say that. Actually, I’m sure the Matrix
is
involved with this.”

“Well, then you should take a look at it.”

But Ratchet shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything useful. The artifacts of the Primes, the way they work, all that; that’s not a medical problem
per
se.”

“That’s what has me worried,” Optimus said. But even as he spoke, his internal communicator buzzed to life, alerting him to an urgent message on his emergency channel:

“Ironhide to Optimus, come in, Optimus.”

“Go ahead, Ironhide, I read you.”

“We have a situation back here at the landing pads. Rodimus, Kup, and Bumblebee took the dropship out a few hours ago, and now I can’t raise them on the communicator.”

“They took it back into space?”

“No, Optimus.” Ironhide hesitated. “They took it underwater.”

For a moment Optimus was too stunned to reply. “Why?”

“They wanted to do some more exploration. I know I should have told them no, but—”

“Where was the last known contact location?”

“Last check-in was near a series of deep sea trenches in the southern sea. Then they fell right off the grid. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Hold your position. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Optimus. I’m really sorry.”

As Ironhide disconnected, Jazz leaned over and nudged Optimus.

“Is there a problem, boss?”

“Some of the scouting party has gone missing.” Observing the agitated conversation, the Curator turned his attention from the parade.

“Is everything all right, Optimus?”

Optimus decided he might as well come clean. “It looks like some of our people might have gone exploring and gotten themselves lost.”

“My word. That’s terrible.”

“What can you tell us about the trench system around here?”

“Oh, my. Well, we have a few older facilities kept out there as reserve production units should our main ones go offline, but the currents above those trenches are treacherous. And then there are still some … er, ah …”

“Go on,” Optimus said.

“Well … there are still some creatures from our prehistoric age that evolved much more slowly than the rest of us—that became much larger than us—and that make their homes deep in those trenches.”

“So not every mechanoid on the planet is as evolved as you,” Perceptor said.

“Well, no. I never claimed they were. And there
have
been instances over the years of them occasionally coming up out of the trenches to hunt.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” Jazz added with extra sarcasm.

“Your tone implies criticism,” said the Curator. “And I understand that you’re upset. But your bots ought to have consulted me before they went out exploring.”

“Too late now,” Jazz said.

“What’s done is done,” the Curator said. “But you have my word that we’ll do everything in our power to help you find your people, Optimus Prime.”

Optimus gave him a hard stare. “You can start now,” he said.

K
UP BLINKED AND ADJUSTED HIS OPTICS AS THE INSIDE
of the dropship came back into focus. They were no longer in motion, and the control panel was flickering. Had they sunk all the way to the bottom of the trench? How close were they to being crushed? He was sitting in a shallow pool of water, staring up at the floor overhead. Above him, Rodimus and Bumblebee were hanging upside down in their acceleration chairs, their arms dangling, their systems still coming back online. Kup quickly checked himself for serious dents or breaches in his armor; satisfied that everything was still functioning, he proceeded to cut his two comrades out of their harnesses. As he sliced away, Rodimus came to with a groan.

“Easy there,” said Kup.

“I guess … you were right,” Rodimus said.

“I was
right
?” Even now, Kup kept his trademark sense of humor. “Wow, you really must have taken a bang on the head.” He eased Rodimus gently onto the floor. “Easy, kid. You’re just a little banged up.” Kup turned to Bee and started cutting him down.

“How’s Bee?”

“Still out, but I don’t see any major damage. He should be up and at ’em in a few moments.”

“So we’re all okay.”

“Depends how you define
okay
,” Kup said. As he spoke, a seam gave way and jets of water sprayed into
the room. The dropship shifted noticeably; metal creaked alarmingly. Rodimus eased slowly over to another viewport. This one provided more of a vantage point and made the reality of their perilous situation all too clear: They were tangled in a network of pipes along the trench’s clifflike wall. That was all that had saved them, and it wouldn’t keep doing so for long. Sooner or later, the whole twisted mess was going to give way and they would continue their inexorable descent to the bottom of the trench. Long before they reached it, they would be crushed by millions of tons of pressure. In the meantime, the crippled ship was rapidly filling up with water. Rodimus tried to activate the engines, but they didn’t respond; the dashboard flickered, but there was nowhere near enough power.