Transformers: Retribution (20 page)

“Then let me say it plainly: The Matrix is not the only one in existence.”

Megatron stared at him. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

“Primus himself created the Matrix so that a single Prime could act as his instrument. So why would he have created two?”

“I didn’t say he did.”

“Now you’re talking riddles.”

“Who else besides Prime would have the power to create a Matrix of Leadership?”

“No one else,” Megatron said. But then he suddenly realized what the Curator was driving at. “You don’t mean—
Unicron
?”

The Curator smiled.

Megatron fought to conceal his excitement. “So you’re telling me that a Decepticon Matrix of Leadership really exists.”

“Not only does it exist, we can help you get it. And it would make you invincible.”

“I already
am
invincible,” Megatron said.

“Of course you are. That’s why it’s taken you several million years to win a simple civil war.” Before Megatron could put his fist through the Curator’s face, the Quintesson got to the heart of the matter: “Megatron, I
will not bandy words. You
are
the most powerful Cybertronian alive today. But the Decepticon Matrix of Leadership would turn you into a living god. You would be the sword of Unicron himself. Why should Primus have all the advantages in the fight you’ve dedicated your life to?”

Megatron pondered this. “So this ‘treaty’ that you claimed to want—”

“We
do
want it. Just not tomorrow. Once you have your own Matrix, you can bring the Autobots the peace of the wasteland and dictate terms to the survivors.”

“That is a pleasant vision. So where is this Matrix?”

“At a location that we will reveal to you once you have performed one small favor for us.”

Megatron’s face darkened. “I do no one favors.”

“Then consider it a favor you do yourself. If you are truly worthy of the Decepticon Matrix of Leadership—or what you will soon know as the Matrix of Conquest—it will be an easy task.”

“Name it.”

“Kill Optimus Prime.”

A broad smile crossed Megatron’s iron face.

“Well, my friend, I was going to do that anyway.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Indeed we do. I will kill him and take his Matrix for my own.”

“His Matrix?” The Curator shook his head. “Believe me, you will discard it as a useless bauble when you have the Decepticon Matrix.”

“Say I wish to claim both.”

“Impossible,” the Curator said.

“You dare defy me?”

“I dare explain reality. The contact of Matrix and Anti-Matrix would destroy more than just you. It would be like a supernova detonating. There would be nothing
left. Content yourself with the Decepticon Matrix; grind the one in Optimus’s chest to ashes.”

“You wish me to destroy it?” Megatron frowned. “And here I was thinking that this was the part where you were going to say
you
wanted it.”

“I have no need of such a thing,” said the Curator, and he said it with such conviction that for a moment Megatron almost believed him.

Almost.

S
TARSCREAM WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF ENJOYING THE
many amenities of his lavish quarters when the knock at the door came. He cringed; only Megatron would even think of disturbing him at this time of night. He hated being at Megatron’s beck and call, hated the way his master condescended to him, hated the very fact that he
had
a master.

Someday he would have to change that.

“Coming, Lord Megatron. I hope there isn’t—” Starscream stopped in midsentence as the door opened to reveal the squat form of the Curator.

“Air Commander Starscream, I was wondering if you and I might talk for a moment.” The Curator pushed past him without waiting for an answer.

“What can I do for you?” the nonplussed Decepticon asked.

“May I dispense with the titles and simply call you Starscream?”

“By all means. No need to stand on ceremony.”

“Excellent. I took you for a no-nonsense kind of leader the moment we met. I think you are the kind of Decepticon I can work with. One I can trust.” The flattery was laid on far too thickly; perhaps the Curator wasn’t very good at backroom dealing. Then again, maybe he
was
. After all, here he was in Starscream’s quarters talking,
and Starscream was listening. Good con artists always recognize each other, and as far as Starscream was concerned, he was the best bar none. He sat down on a nearby couch, crossed his arms, and waited for the pitch.

“Do tell,” he said.

“Let me be blunt with you, Starscream. I want to end your civil war. I truly do. But that objective is subordinate to my primary goal: the success of the Quintesson Imperium.”

“Two hours ago it was your Co-Prosperity Sphere.”

“Let’s not get hung up on labels,” the Curator said breezily. “The point is that our prosperity depends on peace.”
Sure it does
, Starscream thought as the Curator warmed to his speech. “War has never been the answer to interstellar problems, for it only leads to destruction and death. And diaspora, too—look at the fate of your own people. We know now that subjugation and conquest of other worlds is a mistake. We want to change that paradigm for the better.”

Starscream smiled. “And how do you propose ‘we’ do that?”

“You are extremely perceptive, so what I am going to say next will undoubtedly not be a surprise. I do not think your Leader Megatron has any intention of honoring the peace process.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’m afraid I do,” the Curator said. “Our scenarios indicate he is just biding his time until he sees an opportune moment to betray us.”

“If that’s so, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.” Starscream knew that at that very moment the
Nemesis
was secretly scanning the planet, looking for weak spots in the Quintesson defense grid. “Then again, Megatron plays his cards close to his chest,” he added.

“He does indeed,” the Curator said. “But that is precisely
why I wanted to talk to you. We believe that if the Decepticons had a change of leadership, our peace process would have a much better chance of achieving success.”

Starscream kept his poker face. “A change of leadership. That sounds drastic indeed.”

“Sometimes drastic problems call for drastic remedies.”

“Megatron is our glorious leader,” Starscream said. “Who could possibly replace him?”

“We had in mind yourself,” the Curator told him.

“Me?” said Starscream with feigned surprise. “Why, I’m just the air commander.”

“But you could be so much more, and you know it. And we know it, too. We believe that if you were the Decepticon leader, peace with the Autobots might be easier. Megatron is obsessed with Optimus Prime. Whereas you seem to take things a little less … personally.”

“What makes you think I would betray Megatron?”

“Must we play this game? Aren’t you tired of licking his boots? You’re the obvious heir to the crown. And you know where Megatron’s path leads. He would sacrifice every Decepticon to achieve his one goal: destroying the object of his hatred. Burning every bot in the universe would be music to his ears if Optimus was among them. What the Decepticons need is a leader who has their true interests at heart. One who can lead them to a just and honorable peace. Hasn’t this war lasted long enough?”

It’s lasted long enough without us winning
, Starscream thought. But he looked at the Curator solemnly. “I’m sure that if I was ruler, my policy would be one of moderation and diplomacy. But we speak of hypotheticals. Because I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but we Decepticons don’t hold elections.”

“Elections are not the only way to replace leaders,” the Curator said.

“True.”

There was a long pause.

“If you’re asking me to kill Megatron, you can think again,” Starscream said. “In open battle, he would destroy me.”

“That is quite an admission,” the Curator replied. “Such a far cry from the bluster of Megatron. I see it as further evidence that—”

“Let me put it this way: I’m not going to be your pawn.”

“Then why don’t you find one of your own?”

Starscream smiled slowly. “I like the way you think. But I feel you care more about eliminating Megatron than ensuring that I take his place.”

“You wound me, Starscream.”

“Because I know what I’m talking about. If Megatron were to be … 
removed
from the game board, there would be a scramble for succession. Who is to say my rivals would not unite against me?”

“They would not dare. Because when Megatron dies—of natural causes or otherwise—we will give you the Decepticon Matrix of Leadership.”

Starscream shook his head. “That does not exist.”

“I can assure you otherwise. You see, we know where it is.”

“Permit me to guess: You’ll tell me its location after I kill Megatron.”

“I shall tell you its location now. We have it in our possession.” The Curator produced a small hologram projector that displayed a schematic of the Matrix in the air. It looked like the one in Optimus’s chest, although whereas that one was blue, this was black, pulsating with a red glow from deep within. “At the end of our occupation of your world, we took it with us.”

“That was naughty of you,” Starscream told him.

“I find myself unable to disagree.”

“So how do you plan to initiate the negotiations tomorrow?”

“Well,” said the Curator, “I’m open to suggestions.”

T
HE VAST HANGAR AT THE CENTER OF THE
P
AVILION WAS
the only part of the structure where both Decepticons and Autobots were allowed. A Decepticon shuttle stood in the eastern half of the hangar; two hundred meters away was that of the Autobots. Ironhide paced back and forth in front of it. The tension was so thick that one practically could taste it. Everybody was wondering what was going to happen next. Was there really going to be peace with the Decepticons? And did anybody really believe that the Quintessons—having attacked Cybertron in the past and having deceived everybody in the present—could possibly be trusted? It was true that this planet seemed peaceful and that the Curator’s explanations had a certain logic to them.

But as far as Ironhide was concerned, the whole situation stank.

He wanted nothing more than to talk things over with Jazz and Prowl, but they were giving him a wide berth. Most likely they were still mad at him for letting Rodimus take the dropship. He really couldn’t blame them. They were a careful and calculating pair, and Ironhide admired them for it. Somebody had to think that way, but it certainly wasn’t going to be him. Right now he was doing everything he could to keep from smashing something. A truce with the Decepticons! He couldn’t see it, not after all these years. Those scrap heaps would never accept a truce; it simply wasn’t in their Spark. Ironhide mulled this over while he watched Rodimus, Kup, and Bumblebee load up the shuttle with pallets
stacked high with freshly minted Energon. Ironhide supposed that was their punishment for going AWOL and wrecking the dropship.

His
punishment was to sit here and do guard duty. Across the hangar he could see a group of Decepticons busily loading their own shuttle with Energon. The Curator had explained the details to everybody earlier: If ultimately peace could
not
be reached, both shuttles would depart simultaneously back to their mother ships with replenished stocks of Energon. At that point, the Ark would be allowed to continue on its way and the
Nemesis
would be held in orbit for several more cycles, long enough to give the Ark a head start. Megatron hadn’t liked that at all, but the Curator had explained that allowing the
Nemesis
and the Ark to leave at the same time would simply result in an immediate resumption of the battle in orbit around the planet. The Curator added that although he wanted peace between the two sides, if they insisted on war, they could go fight somewhere far away from Aquatron.

“You okay there, sonny?”

Ironhide turned to see Kup looking concerned. “I’m fine,” he told the old veteran. “What about you?”

“Never felt better. Look, I’m sorry we got you in trouble over our little excursion.”

“Forget it. I’m just glad you guys came back.”

“That makes two of us.” Kup lit a cy-gar. “Funny thing is, we weren’t down there anywhere near as long as I expected. Once we got into the infrastructure, it seemed like a quick jaunt back. Even though we must have covered miles.”

“Hey,” Prowl said, walking over. “You’ve both got things to do.”

“Easy,” Kup said. “I’m just taking a cy-gar break.” He picked up his box of Energon and got back to it.
Prowl didn’t even acknowledge Ironhide, just walked straight past him. Ironhide could see that the more senior bot was on edge. In a couple of hours, it would be morning and the negotiations would begin. But really, anything could happen at any time. They would just have to wait and see.

“Y
OU
’
VE REALLY PROVED YOUR WORTH
, S
KYWARP
. L
ET
me be the first to say it: You’ve reached a potential not many thought you had in you.”

Starscream had been talking for the last ten minutes. He paced back and forth like a general reviewing his troops, but the only bot in the room besides him was the nervous Skywarp. It was all that Decepticon could do to stand at attention and keep his optics looking straight ahead. It wasn’t very often that Starscream spoke to him privately, to say nothing of summoning him in the middle of the night. That didn’t bode well. Skywarp had heard the rumors back on Cybertron of Decepticons who disappeared after being called to duty and told to report alone. So often in the Decepticons’ ranks it was a comrade who put the proverbial energy blade in your back. Skywarp searched his memory for any offense he might have given the Seeker commander, but he couldn’t think of a single thing. That didn’t mean the volatile Starscream hadn’t taken umbrage at something.

“What was that, sir?”

“I said it’s not your fault that your fellow Seekers don’t respect you. You can always count on others to be jealous of power. That’s one way that you and I are so alike. So feared.”