Transformers: Retribution (6 page)

Iacon itself appeared to be relatively untouched by war. The skyline looked almost the same as it had the day the Ark thundered out into deep space. But the city had changed dramatically nonetheless. For one thing, there was hardly any activity visible on the streets and overpasses. They were all inside, counting their blessings and—like the majority of people in any civil war anywhere—hoping they could survive until it was all over.

But it was at night that the real difference became apparent, for Iacon was a mere shadow of its prewar glory. Where once it had had a panoply of shimmering lights to rival the Milky Way itself, now it was virtually dark. The power was rationed, diverted to military bases and those directly involved in the war effort. Yet there were those who whispered that there was more to it than that—that in the face of constant conflict, the Energon reserves of the Decepticons were running low—that they hadn’t just cut power to all nonessential areas, they had been
forced to deprive even some of their active fighting units of fuel. They were desperate, some said, and all their talk that they would shortly crush the Autobots once and for all was just that: talk. Bravado, plain and simple. Then again, maybe the bravado was simply that of those muttering in the shadows, speculating about the course of a war they dared not participate in, a conflict that when all was said and done they knew very little about. In war, the larger picture is so hard to see. All that was clear right now was that a once-great city lay dark.

But not entirely.

One building was an exception to the general blackout. One building blazed with lights and dwarfed all else. One single structure stood at the very center of Iacon: a massive tower that was the newest addition to Iacon’s skyline, the only such improvement, if it could be called that, to be made during the entire war. The tower had been built by Autobot prisoners forced to work at gunpoint in slave-labor conditions. What had happened to those prisoners subsequently, no one knew. But they had constructed the largest building on Cybertron by far, twice the height of any other structure on the planet, stretching up and up until it seemed it might burst through the atmosphere and touch the heavens.

It was the Tower of Shockwave.

Cybertron’s master, the Decepticon whom Megatron had personally delegated to be his lieutenant to rule as he saw fit until the day the
Nemesis
returned victorious, with the head of Optimus Prime a trophy in its hold. Until that time the only head that mattered was the one to whom the summit of the tower bore more than a passing resemblance. An enormous elongated oval within which burned a piercing light. That Shockwave would have ordered an edifice built in his own image surprised no one unfortunate enough to deal with him directly.

Right now Shockwave was contemplating the imminent
arrival of the latest prisoner to be summoned to his presence. He sat in his personal suite, which encompassed the highest level of the tower. The walls were lined with screens, all of them carefully monitored by Shockwave’s single glowing eye. Some of them showed the position of troops across the planetary surface, but most of them depicted subjects far closer to Shockwave’s heart: calculations, data, experimental results. The screens without data had been left transparent, providing a breathtaking view of the city and all that lay beyond. One could see all the way to the pole from this room, but Shockwave couldn’t have cared less. He wasn’t interested in aesthetics. What interested him was the visitor he was about to welcome. He watched as the room’s double doors slid open. Insecticon guards entered, trailed by a large hover-cart that floated mere inches above the floor.

Strapped to that cart was Alpha Trion.

His arms were secured by reinforced clamps, and electromagnetic spikes driven into his circuitry at select points rendered him immobile below the waist. But the expression above his long white beard was one of utter calm as he met Shockwave’s gaze with a serenity that belied his situation.

“Leave us,” Shockwave said to his guards. They flitted back through the door they’d come through, which slid shut behind them. Shockwave turned back to Alpha Trion.

“So good of you to join me,” he said.

R
ODIMUS
, B
UMBLEBEE
,
AND
K
UP STOOD OUTSIDE THE
dropship listening to Prowl’s lengthy mission briefing while Ironhide completed the craft’s preflight checklist. Jazz had chosen Prowl as the away team leader because of his natural discretion and the investigative skills he had acquired as a police officer on Cybertron. Not only that, but Prowl’s experience with the civilian high council back in prewar days spoke well for his ability to address the diplomatic niceties a first contact scenario might require. No doubt about it, Prowl was no-nonsense and business-oriented.

That was good, because the team he led was going to be a handful. Rodimus was quick on his feet; his ability to improvise had been useful in many a tight pinch. Like nearly every Autobot on the ship, he’d seen a few million years of combat. Yet his experience was nowhere near Kup’s; though the old-timer was old and dented, his experience dealing with the unknown just might be the edge they needed. Rounding out the team was Bumblebee, who had proved himself to be a first-rate scout many times over.

“So this dropship has been fitted with aquatic capabilities should we need to do any underwater exploration …” Ironhide chuckled to himself as he eavesdropped on Prowl’s somewhat tedious briefing. He wished he were
going. It had been a while since he’d seen some action, and he hated to think that someone else might be seeing it first.

“Remember, I’ll be in command of this operation,” Prowl continued.

“Second time you’ve mentioned that,” said Rodimus. “I think we get it.” Bumblebee beeped in agreement.

“Just as long as you get this: If you have any doubts or questions, run them past me first. It’s vital we obtain as much actionable intelligence as we can.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah …” Rodimus offered with a bored wave of his hand. Kup pulled out a cy-gar and slapped Rodimus on his orange-plated back.

“Easy, kiddo; knowledge is power, after all. Prowl knows what he’s doing. Top-notch operator he is. Nobody better suited for a sneak-and-peak job like this one. Did I ever tell you about the time we tricked a herd of Igyaks into—”

“Only about a million times,” Rodimus interrupted. He raised a finger in the air. “I have a question.”

“Yes,” Prowl said impatiently.

“Who gets to fly the ship down?”

“Nobody,” said Ironhide. “Teletraan-1 will be handling the drop.”

“Aw, where’s the fun in that?” Rodimus said, disappointment written on his face. Ironhide handed the electronic checklist to Prowl and gave him a jaunty salute.

“All systems are green, good buddy.”

“Thanks, Ironhide.”

“Just remember that if you find any Deceptifools down there, leave a little bit for old Ironhide, all right?”

“Count on it,” Kup answered with a thumbs-up.

“Okay,” said Prowl. “If there are no more questions, let’s get this show on the road.” The team members climbed in through the hatch, found their seats, and strapped in.

“Away team ready for drop,” said Prowl.

“Green light,” Sideswipe said over the radio. The massive flight bay doors opened; the dropship rocketed out of the bay and soared in toward the planet.

“You’re in the pipe,” Sideswipe said. “Looking great.”

“Passing the rings now,” Prowl said. They were spectacular, stretching out in both directions. But there was something about them that was a little peculiar …

“Look at that,”
Rodimus said, pointing at one of the rings that was … It didn’t seem possible, but it was
blinking
, its colors alternating slowly from green to blue to purple and back again.

“Sideswipe,” Prowl said as he put the feed through to the Ark’s bridge, “you getting this?”

“Roger that,” Sideswipe said.

Perceptor broke in. “Initial scans indicate they might be artificial.”

“What do you mean artificial?” Kup asked.

“I mean somebody made them. Possibly to shield the planet’s equatorial seas from cosmic rays and their radiations. The placement seems very specific indeed. I’m going to have Teletraan-1 slow your descent so we can take a better look.”

“Copy that,” Prowl said. The dropship fired its retros, rolling right to give the crew a closer view of the planet’s ring system. The purple and blue hues reflecting off the rings made for a breathtaking symphony of light.

“This is really quite amazing,” said Perceptor. “There seem to be particles in the rings capable of trapping the sun’s rays. They might be serving as solar collectors.”

Bumblebee chimed in with a series of high-frequency bleeps.

“Same here, kiddo. I don’t like it.” Kup chomped down hard on his cy-gar. “If it can collect energy, it might be able to discharge it. Would make a heck of a weapon.”

Bumblebee sighed in agreement. Sometimes the deadliest things were also the most beautiful.

“Heavy weather brewing,” Perceptor said. “We’re going to try for insertion at the northern pole. It looks like the storms there are a bit milder.”

“Roger that,” Prowl said. The ship fired its boosters and descended in toward the clouds that covered the planet.

“This is going to be bumpy,” Kup said.

He was right. Turbulence rocked the dropship as it dived through the thick storm clouds. For long moments, they couldn’t see a thing; they even temporarily lost contact with the Ark.

“Switch to manual,” Prowl said.

That, of course, was what Rodimus had been dying to do the whole time. He fired the thrusters, descending through the rest of the clouds. The churning waves of the planet’s great northern ocean came into view. Rodimus had never seen so much water in his entire life. He doubted anybody else on the ship had, either.

“This place is way too wet,” he muttered. Far below, the impossibly tall spires of a sprawling metropolis became visible through the fog. It was entirely surrounded by the ocean, a building-packed hub perhaps a mile across. Spiderweb-like transport tubes ran out to the tops of underwater facilities; one couldn’t make out the details, but dark shapes loomed in the water. Rodimus couldn’t help thinking that there was something familiar about some of the city’s architecture. Magnification showed that many of the buildings were covered in runes and etchings.

“Hey, Kup,” said Rodimus, “any of this look familiar to you?”

Kup frowned. “Seems like I’ve seen it before. But not sure where.”

“Any idea what those runes mean?”

“Not a clue, sonny. I just know they have to be old.”

“I thought
you
were old.”

“Old enough not to find you funny.”

That was when the Ark regained contact. “Glad you guys are okay,” Perceptor said. “Want to give control back to Teletraan-1?”

“Not particularly,” Rodimus said. He made a wide circle around the metropolis and then swooped in toward what had to be a landing pad of some kind: a raised platform that protruded out over the sea, evidently capable of handling heavy freight. There was no doubt that whoever lived there had to have a high level of interstellar traffic to justify a facility like that.

“Here we go,” said Rodimus. The dropship reverberated as it touched down on the platform. Automatic clamps rose up and gently held the ship in place while long sinewy hoses reached out and connected the ship to clean and refuel it. There were no other ships on the jetway, and most of the nearby hangars looked empty. But the facilities sparkled as if they had been built yesterday.

“Up and at ’em,” Prowl said. He opened the rear cargo hatch. The away team trooped out and took in the scene.

“Okay, let me be the first to say that this is pretty creepy,” Rodimus said. “Where is everybody?”

“Stay alert,” Prowl ordered.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Kup said as he started a long-range scan.

“It’s like a ghost town,” said Rodimus.

“Enough with the back chatter,” Prowl said. “Bumblebee, give us a quick recon. Stay in com range and alert us the moment you find anything.” Bumblebee gave a hearty salute, shifted into his scout-vehicle mode, and took off at a high speed, roaring away into the city itself. As his feed
merged with that from Kup’s scan, Prowl sent the data back to the Ark.

“Perceptor,” he said, “you getting all this?”

“Copy that. The Ark’s adjusting for the interference; we’ve got the uplink locked in. Looks like extensive Energon-mining facilities on the seabed around you.”

“What about these structures? The architecture looks … well, almost Cybertronian.”

“I’m running the images through Teletraan-1. Hopefully we’ll have some more data within the hour.”

“I’ve got this funny feeling we’re being watched,” Rodimus said as he took a closer look at an engraving on a nearby wall. It showed giant fish with huge teeth battling one another.

“Remind me not to go swimming,” said Kup.

A
S THE
A
UTOBOTS CONTINUED THEIR RECON
,
THE BEING
known as the Curator watched with satisfaction from his command center. In the time that had elapsed since he’d first detected the approaching Ark, he had been working quickly to get used to his new form. It was far uglier and much less mobile than what he was used to, but it was a necessary step. He flexed his chubby fingers, then touched his new face. At least the new parts all functioned properly. He had designed this body to be as close to perfect as possible. It was so primitive that he wanted to retch, but it was a key part of the charade he was about to play. The Curator was disappointed that so few of the Autobots had elected to come down to the planet initially, but his calculations indicated that more would follow. They just needed to be given a little space. The Curator knew that some things couldn’t be rushed. Some things just needed patience.

Problem was, his masters had none.

The voices from beyond filled the Curator with terror and dread, but he knew he was singularly fortunate to serve them. There was no greater honor than being the instrument of their will. And to refuse—to dissemble, to disobey in even the slightest way—well, he had heard the stories and had no intention of being a participant in any of them. So now he rose heavily (this new form was most ungainly) and made his way to the chamber of supplication, activating the ancient communication array. Even after millions of years, it still functioned without problems. The receivers of his message were a vast distance away; sometimes it took up to several hours to establish the link fully. But this time they must have been waiting for him, for they responded to his call within moments. A swirling darkness filled the screen.