Transformers: Retribution (22 page)

But right next to him all the same.

I
T WAS MORNING
.

The roof of the Pavilion’s hangar slid back to reveal a verdant dawn sky. Jazz and Perceptor made a final inspection of the Autobot shuttle and then crossed the hangar floor quickly. They needed to talk to Optimus.

Scarcely had they departed the hangar than the huge room’s far door opened and Megatron stepped into the room. Bemused Autobots paused momentarily from their task of loading to watch the spectacle while dozens of Decepticon warriors fell on their knees in front of their leader.

“Hail Megatron!”
they yelled in unison.

“Rise!” Megatron said, spreading his arms wide. Starscream, who stood a half step behind his leader, tried not to appear bored as Megatron reveled in the pomp and glory. Things were going to change soon enough. Thundercracker stepped forward and knelt at the foot of his master.

“My lord, we hear rumors of a treaty. Tell us they are lies. We hunger for war.”

“Spoken like a true Decepticon,” Megatron said as he looked out over his minions. “Brothers! I know what you desire. But today we do indeed seek peace with our Cybertronian brothers.” He gestured to the Autobots across the chamber while a confused murmur went up among the gathered Decepticons. “I know that to many
of you peace seems like an unexpected destination, but it is one to which we must venture. The future of the planet Cybertron depends on our mutual cooperation. No longer can we remain divided. When Autobot and Decepticon stand side by side in battle, there will be no force strong enough in the universe to oppose us. No power shall stand in our way.” The last line drew an appreciative rumble among the Decepticons; this was closer to the red-meat rhetoric they expected from Megatron, who sensed their mood and figured this was a good time to wrap it up: “We will bring this weak universe to bended knee and make it realize who its true masters are. We were born to lead, and lead we shall. United we will rule for all eternity!”

But the cheer that rose up from his troops was still a little muted. Nor could Megatron blame them. His soldiers might not be a hundred percent behind the idea, but it didn’t matter. The audience for this speech wasn’t the Decepticons but rather the Autobots. Before the assembled troops could ask him any embarrassing questions, he turned and left the room, accompanied only by Starscream.

“Excellent speech, my lord,” Starscream said.

“Spare me your flattery, dolt. It was the worst speech I’ve ever given.”

“Very well,” Starscream agreed. “It was terrible.”

J
AZZ AND
P
ERCEPTOR FOUND
O
PTIMUS IN HIS QUARTERS
, staring out the window, deep in thought, watching the sun sparkling over the ocean. He turned in surprise to see his two lieutenants.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Jazz placed his hands on his hips. “Telling you not to go through with this,” he said.

Optimus nodded. He’d been wondering who would
tell him that. “Right now Megatron seems to be abiding by the rules of the truce,” he said.

“Yes,” said Jazz, “but for how long?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Optimus replied.

“But what about the Quintessons?” Perceptor asked.

“What about them?”

“I still don’t trust them,” Jazz said.

“Some of the energy readings from this planet don’t make any sense,” Perceptor added. “I’m worried you’re just stepping into a trap.”

“We’re not
stepping
into it,” Optimus told him. “We’re in it already. Do you truly think I don’t see that?”

Perceptor looked abashed. “Optimus, I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you did. And you should. But here’s what you should consider: If the Quintessons wanted to destroy us, surely they could have done so already. The weapons in the planetary rings could have obliterated Ark and
Nemesis
alike and then rained fire down on those on the ground. So why didn’t they?”

Jazz and Perceptor had no easy answer for that. Optimus gestured out at the ocean. “This planet possesses a technology more advanced than ours. And no sane bot wouldn’t be scared by that. But if this really
is
part of some greater game, all we can do is play along and look for some way to get off the board altogether.”

“And that’s what you’re doing,” Jazz said, sounding utterly unconvinced. Optimus was glad he hadn’t mentioned the Curator’s offer to reveal the location of the AllSpark. That probably would have made Jazz laugh. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

“What’s the situation up on the Ark?” he asked.

“Sideswipe has the repair crews working around the clock getting the backup systems running,” Perceptor said. “And installing extra shielding to act as conducting rods. We think we might be able to vent the pulse back into space if they hit us with it again.”

Optimus nodded. “Good. That’s the key. We have to get the ship operational. But I want you two to bring another shuttle down from the Ark and take it back into space. Before these negotiations are over, I want you back on the Ark.”

Jazz was taken aback. “I don’t follow,” he said.

“If this really
is
a trap, then the Ark might escape. But those of us down here won’t.”

“The Ark will evacuate you, Optimus. Get you off the planet.”

“Too great a risk. If we have to face Quintesson weapons again, the Ark is to make for deep space. Put this place in the rearview and never come back.”

“No Autobot will ever abandon the Prime,” Jazz insisted.

“It’s precisely
because
I’m a Prime that you will carry out my orders. Get Sideswipe on the com-link and tell him to continue repairs and monitor both this planet and the
Nemesis
. No doubt the Decepticons are thinking along the same lines, so we need to keep a close eye on them.”

Jazz looked as conflicted as Optimus had ever seen him. “Fine,” he said. “But take some protection to the negotiations. Ironhide, maybe. Or Kup.”

“The Curator wants Megatron and me to meet with him alone. Just the three of us.”

“A trap,” Jazz repeated, practically grinding his teeth.

“As I said, if it was, they could have sprung it already.”

“But why do the negotiations have to be between just you and Megatron?”

“Because that’s literally the only way he’s going to listen.” Optimus didn’t tell his lieutenants about the Curator’s offer to deploy somatic engineering. But that bot’s words had been ringing in his head all night.
A way to influence circuitry … make Megatron more malleable
 … Optimus felt that such tampering would violate something sacred. But was it more sacred than peace?

“At least let someone escort you down there,” Jazz said.

“No. If there are distractions—no matter how well-meaning—it could upset everything.”

“If you say so, Commander.” Optimus wasn’t used to seeing Jazz so reluctant to accept orders, but these were unusual times. And then there was the question of what would happen if peace actually became a reality … Perhaps that was the real reason for the Autobots’ disquiet. To have to acknowledge that they hadn’t beaten the Decepticons after all this time. To be forced to coexist with them … Were they prepared for that?

“Don’t worry, Optimus,” said Perceptor as though in answer, “we’re ready for anything.”

“I know you are,” Optimus said. “I’ll see you when I get back. Believe me, whatever Megatron’s got planned, I can handle him.” With that Optimus stepped into the elevator at the far side of his suite. Jazz couldn’t suppress a feeling of dread as the doors slid shut. He and Perceptor turned away, and even as they did so, one of Soundwave’s mini-cons silently landed on the roof of the elevator, an invisible companion to Optimus as the elevator plunged into the depths of the Pavilion and the answers the Prime was seeking.

O
N THE FAR SIDE OF THE COMPLEX
, M
EGATRON REACHED
another elevator. He turned to Starscream.

“All is in order?” he asked.

Starscream nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“How go the repairs on the
Nemesis
?”

“Almost ready for battle, sire. Even damaged it stands as a formidable opponent.”

“And are the warriors I requested properly briefed?”

“Of course. They are waiting as per your request.”

“What about Soundwave’s spy?”

“In position. Soundwave confirms that Optimus is on his way to the Temple of Peace alone.”

“Very good. When this is all over, you will be properly rewarded, Starscream. You have served me well.”

“Reward is not necessary, my lord. I have merely done my duty.”

With that Megatron strode into the elevator. As the doors closed, Starscream could not help thinking of a tomb slamming shut forever.

It was a thought he found immensely comforting.

S
KYWARP WORKED IN SILENCE AS HE MADE THE FINAL
modifications to the cluster mine with which Starscream had provided him. The air commander had told him he’d stolen it from the Aquatronians. Skywarp didn’t give much thought to how he’d done that; undoubtedly Starscream had pulled another of his scams. No, he was more interested in the weapon itself, which he estimated was several times more powerful than the bombs he was accustomed to using. Starscream also had given him a detailed schematic of the Pavilion and precise coordinates on where the Curator would be. The fuse on the warhead would give Skywarp just enough time to teleport in, set the bomb, and teleport to safety. After that he would join the Decepticons in the final slaughter of Autobots and Quintessons alike. He was honored that Megatron and Starscream had such confidence in him. There was no way the plan could fail.

W
ATCHING THE TWO
C
YBERTRONIAN FACTIONS PREPARE
for the peace summit, the Curator was glad he was nowhere
near the Pavilion. Xeros pointed a long scaly finger at instrument readings alongside the main viewscreen that showed exactly how much Energon each of the ships had placed in its respective hull.

“Their vehicles are fully loaded,” he said. “Seems they just couldn’t get enough of it.”

“Don’t be so hard on them,” the Curator said. “Who could resist such a generous gift? The chance they would have left the energy behind was minuscule. All we need now is one last insurance policy.”

“An insurance policy?” Xeros was puzzled. “But your plan is perfect.”

“No plan is perfect,” the Curator snapped. “And while Stage One now has less than a 3 percent chance of failing, Stage Two’s variables still need strengthening.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That we activate Tyrannicon.”

Xeros paled. “Are you sure that is wise?” he asked. “That seems to be a bit … premature.”

“The sooner we bring him into the picture, the better. If we truly intend to utilize him in Stage Two, this will be a suitable test of his leadership capabilities.”

“It’s not his leadership capabilities that worry me. It’s that—”

“Your concerns are well known to me.” The Curator looked Xeros square in his dark green eyes. “And utterly irrelevant.”

Xeros stepped back abashed as an honor guard of Aquatronians entered the room, bearing a gigantic cryo-unit as though it were an oversized coffin. Ice crusted its windows, concealing what lay within. The honor guard set the unit down on a pedestal in the center of the chamber and left quickly. The Curator stepped forward and keyed in a security code. The cryo-unit started to hum.

“You’re activating him
here
?” Xeros asked.

“Why not?” The Curator gestured at the ceiling, and
a hatch slid away. A sizable laser cannon descended from it and swiveled to aim straight at the coffin.

“Always put insurance polices on your insurance policies,” the Curator said as steam poured out of the unit’s venting system, filling the room with a light fog. A sine curve appeared on a screen and began oscillating more quickly as a heartbeat accelerated. As the ice melted, water beaded and ran down the glass. One at a time, the security latches released; a lump formed in Xeros’s throat as lights atop the cryo-unit went from red to green. The unit’s huge door slid back with a hiss of gas and the crunching of ice breaking away. Xeros felt like he was staring into the heart of an ancient casket filled with long-dead evils. A huge pair of green scaly metal claws gripped the sides of the box, grasping for leverage as the massive bulk to which they were attached began rising from within. Xeros stepped back, trying not to cower, but the Curator simply stood there calmly, staring up at the thing that now stepped from its place of slumber.

“General Tyrannicon. Welcome back to the world of the living.”

A bloodcurdling roar filled the room.

T
HE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED
.

Optimus emerged into the center of an enormous circular chamber in the Pavilion’s basement. With the exception of another elevator directly opposite him, the walls consisted of a single wraparound window through which was visible nothing but oceanic abyss. He estimated that he was at least a mile beneath the surface. The floor and the ceilings were covered with the most ornate runes he had seen yet. Works of art depicted ferocious battles between disturbing-looking sea creatures. Maybe it was the history of Aquatron, Optimus thought, though it was an odd choice for a place called the Temple of Peace.

Before he could further contemplate the meaning of the elaborate murals, the doors of the far elevator slid open to reveal Megatron. Optimus held his ground but did not offer his hand. He knew Megatron would see it as a sign of weakness.

“Megatron.”

“Optimus. Aren’t you glad to see me, old friend?” Megatron wore his trademark sneer.

“I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you truly desire peace.”

Megatron laughed. “Of course I do.” He advanced farther into the room. “Just not the kind that you and I are likely to agree on.”

“I refuse to believe we can’t come to some kind of understanding. Where is the Curator?”

“I suppose he’s running a little late.” Megatron shrugged. “Such a shame. I was so looking forward to having an audience for your execution.” On the last word, a concealed third elevator door slid open—this one was set within the window-wall, and it made Optimus wonder just how much of the room was screen rather than aperture. Six burly Vehicons stepped out, their weapons ready.