Retribution

by David J. Williams

  “The Curator claims their entire society is dedicated to the production and long-term storage of Energon,” Perceptor continued. “As you can see from these projections, they’ve been steadily producing a 20 percent surplus every refinement cycle. There’s enough Energon here to last several thousand years.”

  “Wow,” said Jazz.

  “It gets even more intriguing,” Perceptor said as Teletraan-1 displayed a comprehensive breakdown of what appeared to be an Energon cube. “Thanks to samples the Curator gave the away team, I’ve had a chance to analyze the Energon they produce. It’s a highly oxygenated mixture; no doubt that’s because of their environment, but that makes it highly compatible with what we use. In fact, it might even be more efficient.”

  “Interesting,” Jazz said.

  “And they’ve said they’re willing to sell it to us. Cheaply, too. The entity who calls himself the Curator wants to meet you, Optimus. He says it’s very important that he speak with you face to face.”

  “Does he now? Did he give any more information than that?”

  “No,” Prowl said. “But he did make it clear that he has some knowledge of Cybertron and our conflict with the Decepticons.”

  “How would he know about that?” Jazz asked skeptically. “Is there any sign they’ve ever been in contact with the Decepticons?”

  “None,” Prowl replied.

  “According to the Curator,” Perceptor said, “there used to be a fairly active space bridge in the planet’s orbit that they used to sell their Energon to a variety of races. But he hasn’t dealt with an actual Cybertronian for thousands of years.”

  Optimus punched up Bumblebee’s reconnaissance photos of the city. Optimus thought some of the Aquatronian architecture looked vaguely familiar. He could have sworn he’d seen such patterns and designs on Cybertron, but for the life of him he could not remember where. He found that fact unsettling.

  “What happened to the bridge?” Jazz asked.

  Prowl broke in. “The Curator said that when it stopped functioning a few million years ago, they broke down what was left and used its components to build the ring system.”

  “Which seems plausible enough,” said Perceptor. “Optimus, I would like to take samples of their Energon and see what its exact effect is on Autobots. All the simulations indicate it ought to be compatible. I would like permission to conduct the tests on myself.”

  “Request denied, Perceptor. Let’s learn more about this planet first.”

  “As you wish, Commander.” Perceptor never called Optimus by his rank unless he was irritated. But at this point, Optimus felt that a peeved Perceptor was a small price to pay given the risks. Since the Matrix still wasn’t offering any kind of guidance, he turned to his oldest friend, Jazz, and took him aside to talk privately.

  “What does your gut tell you, Jazz?”

  “My gut says we go down there but we go in force.”

  “Agreed,” but even as he said this, Optimus grimaced as though he’d been struck. The Matrix flared to life, then went dark again.

  “Optimus?” Jazz looked concerned. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I just felt—the Matrix—it was almost like a cry for help.”

  “From whom?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere far away yet very dear to me. Almost as though our home is in grave danger.”

  “Cybertron,” Jazz whispered.

  “Let’s hope not,” Optimus said, but he was badly shaken. And he hated to think of what was really happening back on the world from which he’d traveled so far.

  Especially when the one they were orbiting seemed to hold so many secrets.

  Chapter Eleven

  CYBERTRON

  THE ORB IN THE CENTER OF THE FAR WALL IS LIKE nothing you’ve ever seen. Whirling blades of light, an incandescence as bright as the sun itself—so intense that you’d better adjust your optics if you wish to preserve them. Officially, no one knows this orb exists.

  In practice, matters are a little more complicated.

  “So you found it,” Alpha Trion said.

  “So I did,” Shockwave replied. He patted Alpha Trion’s head in the most patronizing manner possible. “You thought to spread rumors that Vector Sigma was somewhere in the Sonic Canyons.”

  “I thought to spread rumors that Vector Sigma didn’t exist,” Alpha Trion told him.

  “And nearly everybody believed you that it was just one more legend. But to a logical mind like mine, legends are a code. It’s simply a matter of deciphering them. Even those who thought they were in the know weren’t strictly correct. Some said Vector Sigma was beneath Iacon, but we are so far down in the planetary core, we’re actually closer to Kaon.”

  “So what do you intend to do now?”

  “Activate it, of course.”

  “Cleverness without wisdom is mere stupidity,” Alpha Trion said. “You cannot activate Vector Sigma unless you have the—”

  “Key? The one that Optimus Prime carries without knowing it? How cunning you must think you’ve been. Your handpicked hero, spoon-fed everything, given every tool he might need—even the ones he doesn’t know about.”

  “It’s not just a matter of giving Optimus the things he needs; it’s about keeping them away from you.”

  “And that you have surely done. Optimus is on the other side of the galaxy, so how could I possibly reach him?”

  There was something in Shockwave’s tone that made Alpha Trion nervous.

  “You cannot,” he said. “It is impossible.”

  “Unless I could find a way to reactivate the space bridge.”

  “Are you saying you’ve done so?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Alpha Trion relaxed. “Work all you like; it’s impossible unless—”

  “Unless I had access to Vector Sigma,” Shockwave said. “Exactly. And so you think me boxed in. I cannot control the space bridge without access to Vector Sigma, and without a space bridge I cannot reach Optimus Prime and somehow deprive him of the key. But computers are like fortresses—they always have more than one entrance. Back doors, side doors, hatches through which the subtle might sneak. What makes you think that Vector Sigma is an exception?”

  “You are mad, Shockwave.”

  “Do you think I rose to power by daring too little?”

  “All you’re going to do is destroy yourself.”

  “Perhaps. But not before I destroy you.” Shockwave gestured to his guards, who pushed Alpha Trion toward Vector Sigma. Simultaneously, diagnostic drones floated forward, interfacing with the instrument panels along the wall. “You are a Prime, Alpha Trion. You may have long ago forgotten all your pride, but you are still a Prime and you were created by Primus himself. And so was Vector Sigma. Each of you is stamped indelibly with the mark of your maker. Your circuitry’s patterns will thus serve as a most precise skeleton key.”

  The guards halted just in front of Vector Sigma. More diagnostic drones swarmed forward. The room filled with a low buzzing noise. Alpha Trion stared into the orb’s glowing maw, and for the first time in a long time he knew an emotion he had almost forgotten.

  Fear.

  “Listen to me, Shockwave,” he said. The buzzing was getting louder. “There may be some way to use my circuitry to gain access to some of Vector Sigma’s powers. I say ‘may,’ because I truly do not know. And neither do you. But if there is a way, you’d need the right settings, the correct calibrations, and your chances of achieving that through guesswork are—”

  “Who said anything about guesswork?” Shockwave asked.

  “What else would you base it on?”

  “The Covenant of Primus.”

  “I hid that.”

  “In pieces, no less. You tore it apart and scattered its pages in anticipation of your arrest. But my Insecticons found a tantalizing fragment.” Shockwave held out a hand, and one of his Insecticons placed a scrap of paper in it. Shockwave read aloud: “ ‘Pity my Remaining Child, for he will be cast int
o the Mind of My Own Creation, He shall be used to engineer Dark and Wondrous Artifices …’ ” Shockwave looked up at Alpha Trion. “Any of this ring a bell?”

  “That leaves more than a little room for interpretation,” Alpha Trion said.

  “Perhaps,” Shockwave replied. “But what about this?” He held up a second piece of paper. On it were two illustrations. The first showed a bot that looked a lot like Alpha Trion in front of an effulgent orb that was clearly intended to be Vector Sigma. The second picture depicted a crystalline object that bore a distinct resemblance to Optimus’s Matrix of Leadership. But whereas the Matrix glowed, this crystal was colored so dark as to be almost black. The edges of both illustrations were decorated with abstract patterns that seemed merely decorative until one compared them against …

  “Vector Sigma’s instrument settings,” Shockwave said. “Yes. Do not try to hide the fact that you see it. This is a precise manual for how one might interface your circuitry with that of Vector Sigma. Do you really think I’m so foolish as to not use it?”

  “But you are foolish enough to take pages out of context.”

  “Namely?”

  “That Primus warns against this process.”

  “I don’t doubt he did.” The buzzing was now a rumbling. The entire room was beginning to shake. Vector Sigma was glowing ever brighter, and its rotation was accelerating by the moment. Shockwave’s finger stabbed down on the image of the darkened crystal. “Because it creates a Decepticon Matrix of Leadership,” he added.

  “There is no such thing,” Alpha Trion said.

  “That’s about to change.”

  “And what would you do with such a thing?”

  “What wouldn’t I do? All things would be possible.”

  “Optimus’s Matrix of Leadership has hardly made him all-powerful.”

  “No, but it has allowed him to rule the Autobots, has it not? When was the last time you heard one of them question him? No matter how stupid his demands, no matter how weak his objectives. Think of what such power could do in the hands of one with true insight.”

  “So with a Decepticon Matrix, you would turn the tables on Megatron.”

  “Only if he insisted on not seeing reason upon his return. But it’s more immediate matters that interest me. Crushing the Wrecker resistance, for example. Keeping them away from my research. Not to mention augmenting that research with the fruits of everything Vector Sigma contains. The secrets of the ancestors, Alpha Trion. The artifacts of the Primes. The weapons Primus never allowed his creation to wield. As your mind melts inside that of Vector Sigma, take comfort in knowing that you have handed me such strength.”

  The rumbling that filled the room had become deafening. The orb that was Vector Sigma was whirling like a dynamo, burning white-hot. Diagnostic drones pulled cables from the wall and prepared to plug them into Alpha Trion.

  “I am begging you, Shockwave. Do not do this.”

  Shockwave smiled. “I always knew this day would come,” he said. “The day when the great Alpha Trion finally came to his senses and begged.”

  He turned to the drones.

  “Integrate him,” he said.

  Light engulfed Alpha Trion.

  Chapter Twelve

  OPTIMUS, RATCHET, IRONHIDE, BULKHEAD, PERCEPTOR, and several dozen others rolled out of the strike shuttle that had just touched down. They were ready for anything, though so far no one had detected any defenses. Things might be a different story underwater, but the Ark’s artillery had this section of the planet covered from space. As the newcomers spread out around the shuttle, reverting back to bot form, Rodimus straightened up and checked himself for debris. He always wanted to appear his best in front of his hero, Optimus.

  “How do I look?” he asked Kup.

  “There’s grease on that phoenix of yours,” Kup said, pointing at Rodimus’s insignia.

  “What?!” Rodimus looked down, saw nothing, and looked back up to see Kup grinning.

  “Just kidding. Believe me, kid, the commander doesn’t care how you look; he cares about how you do the job. And what I care about is that somebody remembered to bring old Kup a fresh cy-gar.”

  As Optimus made his way across the tarmac to his comrades, he saw the familiar rune-covered buildings and felt those feelings of strangeness building up again. If the others were unsettled by their new surroundings, they certainly didn’t show it. Prowl stepped forward, offering Optimus a crisp salute.

  “The area is secure, Commander.”

  “Good job, Prowl.”

  “Welcome to the waterworks, gang!” Kup called out as they approached. Ironhide handed Kup a new cy-gar, then looked around disdainfully.

  “Can you believe all this ocean? Just doesn’t seem right. Me, I need good old metal under these feet.”

  “There’s metal here,” Kup said.

  “Sure,” said Ironhide, “and those guys are making the most of it.”

  He gestured at the Aquatronians, who now swarmed across the island facility; they’d come out of the sea and were busy opening up trading posts and preparing all kinds of kiosks for their new visitors. Most were humanoid, but a few had remained in their fish forms. Apparently they could function above the surface in either form.

  “What’s going on here?” Jazz asked.

  “They’re trying to make us welcome,” Prowl answered. “Whatever we need, they say they can supply. They’re bending over backward to please us. I think they’re even setting up some kind of parade to welcome us to their world.”

  “Yeah,” Ironhide said. “I remember the entertainment for us on Velocitron. Remember how well that worked out?”

  “Hard to forget,” Optimus said. “Ironhide, I want you to stay with the ships just in case. They seem peaceful enough, but you never know.” Ironhide nodded and snapped his pressure cannon into place on top of his shoulder mount.

  “Don’t worry, Optimus. Any of these fish-bots makes a wrong move, I’ll hose it down with liquid nitrogen and hit it with a really big hammer.”

  “Show-off,” Bulkhead muttered.

  “The rest of you follow me,” Optimus said. “Let’s see what else we can learn before this Curator returns to meet us.” He led the Autobots from the landing platform and over to the city’s edge, his optics scanning the runes covering the buildings.

  “Are we any closer to figuring out what these mean, Perceptor?”

  “I’m still running it through the universal translator. So far there’s no match with anything we have on record.”

  “What about the building designs?”

  “Nothing, although since we’re dealing with robotic life, it’s entirely possible that similarities in form and style are just a function of use. That might explain some of the resemblance. Especially when it comes to Energon storage and fuel disbursement.”

  Prowl broke in. “Speaking of Energon storage, there’s something you should see, Optimus.” He led the group a few blocks into the city to a group of warehouses. Prowl walked up to one of the hangar-size doors and slid it open to reveal tons upon tons of Energon.

  “By the AllSpark!” Ratchet exclaimed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much in one place before.”

  “And this is just one warehouse,” Prowl said.

  “The Energon in here alone could recharge every Autobot on the Ark,” Optimus said, “and refuel the ship three times over.”

  “The Curator said he was willing to do a deal,” Prowl told them.

  Optimus shook his head. “Let’s see if we can find out more about these Aquatronians before we start making trade agreements.”

  “Agreed,” Jazz said pointedly, looking at Perceptor. “And this must be that parade you were mentioning earlier.” A stream of Aquatronians marched down the street in perfect formation, a joyous marching tune playing through their loudspeakers.

  “Optimus, there he is,” Prowl said.

  “Who?”

  “The chief weirdo—I mean, the Curator.” The blue-white Aquatron
ian leader emerged from a nearby building flanked by ceremonial guards carrying banners and sporting a color scheme similar to their leader’s. The Curator approached them with open arms and a wide, toothy smile.

  “Friends, friends, friends; welcome to our humble planet. We of the planet Aquatron salute you one and all.”

  Optimus stepped forward. “I am Optimus Prime, commander of the Autobot forces. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The Curator bowed deeply and grasped Optimus’s giant armored hand.

  “Oh, yes, it most certainly is. It’s been so long since we’ve had any visitors of note, let alone an actual Prime! I have so very, very many questions to ask.” The Curator positively beamed with excitement as he vigorously shook Optimus’s hand—and kept on shaking it. It started to get a little awkward. Optimus tactfully withdrew his hand.

  “I hope I will be able to provide you with the answers you seek,” he said.

  “I am sure that you will,” replied the Curator. “And please, please, please—do not hesitate to let me know whatever I can do to make your stay as comfortable as possible.”

  “Well, we hadn’t exactly planned on—”

  “Staying? Certainly you must be tired from spending so much time in space. Doesn’t it feel good to have such solid ground beneath your feet?”

  “Funny definition of solid,” Bulkhead muttered in a low voice.

  The Curator ignored him and gestured at the warehouse. “And I know that you will want to take us up on our ability to replenish your ships and provide you with all the fuel that you require.”

  “Thank you,” Optimus said. “We greatly appreciate it.”

  “Then permit me to show you around.”

  The Curator proceeded to lead Optimus and a few of the Autobots on a tour of the island facility. Optimus was impressed with the sophistication of the operation and the symbiotic way in which the Aquatronians lived with their ocean. The Curator explained that they had stopped selling Energon long ago because of a lack of buyers. But now they were locked into their traditional ways, and even though they didn’t have customers, they had simply waited for a time when they would. Hence their jubilation at the appearance of the Autobots.