Transformers: Retribution (38 page)

The Constructicons picked up speed, broke their formation, and started driving figure eights around Tyrannicon, dashing in and out, conducting hit-and-run attacks against the mighty general’s imposing form. Tyrannicon was surprised such heavy vehicles could move so fast; the next moment, Mixmaster sped past him, spraying a blue adhesive gel from his cauldron. Tyrannicon pulled free, but in the time it took him to do so, Hook snared him by the armor, ground forward, and smashed him into a nearby building while Long and Scavenger closed in from the sides. They whirled and
dumped debris and fuel down onto Tyrannicon, whereupon Frontloader streaked by and ignited the pile. Tyrannicon, wreathed in flames, emerged from the debris with his fire extinguishers working overtime and a furious expression on his face. He had to admit he was impressed with his adversaries’ skills; the close order with which they fought was a sight to behold even if they were trying their best to eliminate him. He shook his war trident in their direction.

“Vermin,” he said. “All you’ve done is get me angry.”

If he was trying to provoke the Constructicons, he succeeded. They converged on him, slamming on their brakes and converting from their vehicle modes back into robot form as they trained their lasers on their target.

“Give it up, scaly,” sneered Bonecrusher. “This is a fight you can’t win.”

Tyrannicon answered by doing a ten-meter somersault, landing in the middle of their line, after which he tripped Hook with his war trident and then grabbed Mixmaster by his arm and executed a throw that propelled the Constructicon into a nearby building. Then he did the same to Scrapper, using him as a club to send Scavenger sprawling. The latter was trying to get a clear shot and wasn’t succeeding. Scrapper couldn’t believe how bad this fish thing was making them look.

“That’s it!” he yelled. “You asked for it! Constructicons to me!” The bots seamlessly synced together, each one taking on the requisite component as they shifted back into the giant green-and-purple chrome form that was—

“DEVASTATOR!” yelled the enormous bot, bellowing his name as he slammed both fists into the ground with a seismic force that sent Tyrannicon sprawling. Devastator then proceeded to snap a massive antenna
off the top of a nearby building and hurl it like a spear at Tyrannicon, who ducked at the last moment. He was showered with shrapnel as the projectile smashed into a nearby wall and exploded. But as Devastator closed in, Tyrannicon snagged an oil conduit with his trident and directed a geyser of fuel upward, temporarily blinding the lumbering titan and enraging him even further.

“A LITTLE OIL WON’T STOP ME, PUNY BOT!” Devastator sputtered.

Maybe not, Tyrannicon thought, but it might buy some breathing room. While Devastator flooded his optics with cleansing fluid, the Sharkticon leader turned and sprinted down an alley, smashing against buildings almost at random. To an unwitting observer, it might have looked like he was damaged beyond repair, that he was malfunctioning so badly that he was unable to run straight. Devastator’s vision cleared just in time to see Tyrannicon turn a corner and vanish from sight, but the size of the bots meant that the head start wouldn’t last for long. Devastator strode after the Sharkticon leader, following him into an area of the city where the buildings crowded particularly closely. Yet getting to grips with Tyrannicon proved to be more difficult than expected; Tyrannicon kept turning, dashing down alley after alley, his path so unpredictable that it bordered on the random, even though it was anything but that. Tyrannicon danced an acrobatic circle around the enraged giant, finishing with a series of leaps that brought him to the top of a nearby roof. Devastator saw him and turned to grab him.

“NOW YOU ARE MINE,” he said, but that was when the charges Tyrannicon had been placing along his route all detonated simultaneously. This time the gambit worked perfectly as several skyscrapers collapsed on Devastator,
burying him beneath thousands of tons of metal. Tyrannicon breathed a sigh of relief as he scanned the rubble, and then he clambered down. But as he reached the ground—

“Congratulations,” said a voice.

Tyrannicon looked down to see a bot with batlike wings, very sharp teeth, and a devious smile on his face.

“I’m Ratbat,” he said. “Commander of the city garrison.”

“
What
garrison?” Tyrannicon said. He raised his trident—

“Wait,” said Ratbat.

“Better talk fast.”

“To continue your massacre would merely deprive you of valuable slaves.” Tyrannicon frowned. “You
are
going to need slaves, aren’t you?”

“Some,” the Sharkticon leader replied. “Are you volunteering?”

“I’m volunteering to order the garrison to surrender.”

“And what else?”

“That’s not enough?”

“Not really.”

“What if I could tell you where Shockwave is?”

“What about the bot they call Alpha Trion?”

“Him, too.” Ratbat hesitated, thinking fast. “There’s two places left that matter. All you have to do is check them both.”

Tyrannicon grinned. “Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

W
HEELJACK FELT ILL
. T
HE ARCHIVES CONTAINED ALL
the information ever compiled across the long history of Cybertron: every scrap of data, every particle of knowledge. Regardless of their differences, all Cybertronians
had the same history—the history that was held in these rooms.

Now Alpha Trion was proposing to erase it all forever.

But Ultra Magnus and Maccadam had both agreed to his proposal immediately. The team of Wreckers had gotten rapidly to work, rigging charges throughout the labyrinth. When they detonated, they weren’t just going to destroy the Hall of Records; they would take half of Iacon with them.

Not that there would be much left of Iacon by now, anyway. They could hear the rumble of the Sharkticon juggernauts above them, drawing ever closer. Alpha Trion had declared that he would sooner forswear Primus than allow the Quintessons to capture the knowledge of the Cybertronian people. No one had disagreed. All of them knew it was their own deaths they were undertaking. They would perish in the explosion; there was no doubt about that. And Wheeljack had to admit that at this point he wouldn’t have it any other way. Better to die cleanly than live under Quintesson slavery or, even worse, be given to the Sharkticons as playthings. Wheeljack attached one final charge, then went back to join the others in the main hall. On the way, he met Springer.

“Looks like this is it,” he said to his old comrade.

Springer grinned wanly. “You always knew we weren’t going to die of natural causes.”

“Didn’t expect it to be under these circumstances, though.”

“Hey, if we’re going to go out, we may as well do it with a bang.”

“You got that right, friend. It’s been an honor.”

“Maybe there’ll be an afterlife where we can kick Decepticon tail forever.”

But Wheeljack wasn’t really in the mood for jokes. They reached the main hall to find the others waiting.

“Everything ready?” Ultra Magnus asked.

Everybody nodded. Ultra Magnus picked up the detonator, but Alpha Trion shook his head.

“The responsibility is mine,” he said. Ultra Magnus handed him the detonator. Alpha Trion took it and looked at all those gathered.

“I want to thank all of you,” he said quietly. “And seek your pardon that it’s come to this.”

“There’s no need to say that,” Ultra Magnus told him.

“I disagree,” Alpha Trion said. He flipped the fail-safe off the detonator. But just as he was about to hit the button, the doors to the Hall of Records flew open.

Shockwave stood there, several bodyguards crowding behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled.

“Blowing this place sky high,” Ultra Magnus replied.

“You’re going to destroy our sacred Hall of Records?”

“Like you hold anything sacred,” Rack n’ Ruin snarled.

For once Shockwave had no quick rejoinder. Instead he seemed to be genuinely upset. He entered the room and looked around, his gaze flickering from database to database. When he spoke next, his voice approached the desperate.

“There must be something in here that can save us.”

“All the history in the world cannot give us a future,” Alpha Trion said.

Shockwave looked like he wanted to rip the Prime’s head from his shoulders. “I should have guessed, Alpha Trion. Our people are being
wiped out
, and all you’ve got to dispense are more of your stupid aphorisms.”

“You say that as though you think I’m the one who set all this in motion,” Alpha Trion said calmly.

“You
did
, you senile idiot.”

“Because I failed to persuade you to listen to me?”

“Because you emptied out the vault!” Shockwave turned to Ultra Magnus. “Where I’ve just come from! Do you realize what was in there? Artifacts of the Primes that might have allowed us to defeat the invasion!”

Ultra Magnus was impassive. “And how do you know Alpha Trion—”

“Because the records of the vault show it,” Alpha Trion said. Everyone looked at him in astonishment. “It is true. I cast the artifacts in the vault into space long ago. Back when the Autobots left the planet and the Decepticons took over. Because I could not allow such a precious cargo to fall into the hands of a maniac like Shockwave.”

The scientist could do little more than splutter furiously. “And now you have consigned this planet to maniacs like—”

“Me,” said a voice.

Tyrannicon stood in the doorway, scores of Sharkticons crowding behind him. The invasion leader was battered and covered with the oil of those he’d killed. He looked every inch the conqueror of Cybertron. The fact that the diminutive Ratbat was standing beside him did not diminish that image in the slightest.

“I suggest you surrender now,” Tyrannicon said.

Ultra Magnus shook his head. “We will fight you to the last—”

“You
are
the last,” Tyrannicon told him. He gestured at Ratbat. “This bot has already been kind enough to surrender the city to me.”

“You traitor,” Shockwave shrieked.

“On the contrary,” said Ratbat, “you are the traitor. Tyrannicon has made me temporary governor of all Cybertron.”

“The key word in that sentence is
temporary
,” Ultra Magnus muttered.

“Wait a second,” said Ratbat. “Let’s not be too hasty.”

Alpha Trion held up the detonator. “Long live Cybertron,” he said.

And pressed the button.

A
UTOBOTS AND
D
ECEPTICONS WERE HUDDLED IN THE
crippled
Nemesis
, firing from open hatches and portholes. The ship was floating right now but slowly taking on water through the holes it had sustained during the crash. It wasn’t going to stay above the surface for long. Nor was what remained of the city, for that matter. The tops of a few buildings still protruded above the surface; Sharkticon heavy guns had been set up there and were blasting down at the Cybertronians. Superion stood next to the spaceship, up to his waist in water, firing wildly as Sharkticons crawled all over him in an effort to bring him down by sheer force of numbers. Gnaw’s battle turtle was making a beeline for him. On top of the
Nemesis
, Kup, Rodimus, and Bumblebee were blazing away at it.

“Looks like this is it,” Kup said.

“Never say die,” said Rodimus.

Bumblebee chirped and beeped and pointed. Rodimus and Kup looked up to see—

“The Ark,”
Rodimus said.

Like a gigantic bird of prey, it roared down from the sky, evading the missiles that streaked in toward it. Though he should have been jubilant, Rodimus watched its approach with a sinking heart. He knew what Sideswipe was trying to do: get them off the planet with or without Optimus. But it was a suicide run: The Ark was far less maneuverable than the Aerialbots. Already the
guns on the city towers were tracking it, lining up their target. At this range they couldn’t miss.

M
EGATRON CONVULSED
.

As soon as he slotted the device inside his chest, it began to consume him. It was as if his whole torso was on fire; heat radiated out along his arms and down his legs, rising up into his head, setting his brain alight.

He fell to the ground gasping, struggling to maintain his sanity.

“Megatron!” Optimus yelled.

“Stay back,” Megatron gasped. He felt like he was fighting for his very life now, as if he was going to explode any second and scatter pieces of himself all over the room. Was this how Optimus had felt when he received his Matrix? No, Optimus had had it easy. Optimus always had it easy. Then again, Optimus had been given a real Matrix. Perhaps this really was a fake. For the first time it occurred to Megatron that he might have made a mistake, that he might be in his death throes even now. All of existence was shrinking to a single point, all his past and future bound up in a single present moment—but in that point was clarity. This
wasn’t
the Decepticon Matrix of Leadership.

It was something else entirely.

Suddenly it all made sense. All the runes, all the cave drawings, everything that had happened up till now; all of it clicked into place like the turning of a great key. This was his moment. He was on this planet for a reason. The Quintessons had tampered with Matrix technology, but in so doing they had created a device whose purpose even they didn’t fully understand, a device whose repercussions would shake the universe. Insight blasted through Megatron’s head, practically frying his circuitry, as he took it all in: The cosmos spun around him, the eons spread out before
him, the epic struggle between Primus and Unicron that had spawned the Thirteen, that had given rise to the Cybertronians themselves.

As well as the Sharkticons.

For Aquatron was one of the lost Cybertronian colonies, after all.

Only it had never shaken off its Quintesson rule and thus had been lost to history. The knowledge was as clear to Megatron as if Unicron himself had spoken in his ear. Or Primus—he no longer cared who was saying what, because the heat in him was intensifying further. He was melting from deep within. His steel was turning molten. From somewhere far away he heard Optimus yelling at him to remove the abomination from his chest, and he dimly wondered what Optimus was referring to. He saw Xeros frantically punching buttons on the console and laughed to see such flailing impotence. He saw the roof fall in, saw the Sharkticons dropping into the room.