“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.”
THE VAST HANGAR AT THE CENTER OF THE PAVILION 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 ar
ound 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.
“YOU’VE REALLY PROVED YOUR WORTH, SKYWARP. LET 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.”
“I’m feared, sir?” Skywarp asked with a mixture of trepidation and confusion. It was times like this that he honestly wished he was smarter. But he didn’t like the use of the word fear. Not now. Not when he was experiencing it so strongly himself. Not when Starscream had that scheming look on his face …
“I’m not one to spread scurrilous rumors and idle gossip,” the Seeker commander said. “But you must be able to see how envious the other Seekers are of you. It’s not your fault that you’ve outshined the others. Of course they’re going to be bitter. You do see that, don’t you?”
“I suppose so …”
“Of course you do. You have an ability that no other Cybertronian has, Skywarp. That makes you different, and that makes people fear you. But that’s why Megatron and I have been singling you out for these special missions. You’re the jet trooper we turn to when we need things to get done.”
“Well, I try to do my best.”
“And you succeed, my friend. Which is why we need your help once more.”
Skywarp’s optics narrowed as he considered Starscream. Maybe the Seeker commander wasn’t planning on eliminating him, after all. “My help …?”
“This Pavilion we stand in is magnificent, but it is a gilded cage. These Quintessons are playing us. Megatron and I plan to turn the tables on them.”
“I thought this peace treaty—”
“We don’t need a peace treaty. We need victory against Autobots and Quintessons alike. Even as I speak, the Nemesis is preparing to strike. But at the key moment, we need our best Seeker to hit the Quintessons where they least expect it.”
Skywarp was having trouble following this. Plots and intrigues just weren’t his style. But fighting was. And it sounded like he was about to get called into the fray again.
“This order comes from Megatron himself?” he asked.
Starscream’s face darkened. “Of course. Do you want me to disturb his sleep cycle so he can tell you that personally?”
“No, no, no,” Skywarp said quickly. “That won’t be necessary. Tell me what it is you require.”
THE CURATOR WAS GLAD TO LEAVE THE PAVILION. IT WAS intended to make the Cybertronians feel comfortable, but to him it was a monstrosity. Everything about its architecture was wrong, though that wouldn’t matter shortly. Returning across the Kraken Sea aboard his personal craft, he was only too happy to get back to his inner sanctum, where he found Xeros waiting for him.
“How have matters gone?” the junior scientist asked.
“Excellently well. These Cybertronians are a painfully simple lot. The current progression of events is well within the margin of error of all the simulations we played out. My calculations now place our probability of success at 84.5 percent.”
“Even though we have revealed our identity?”
“That was a necessary step at this juncture. The timing demanded it. There is no way a backwater planet like this could have access to the weapons that we just neutralized their ships with. We had to tell them who we are or else we had to tell them some wild story that could be disproved—or that would simply raise more questions than it answered.”
“But to admit that we are their ancient nemesis—”
“Were,” the Curator corrected him. “That’s all we’ve admitted.”
Xeros didn’t seem convinced.
“Surely some of these bots will suspect our ultimate intent.”
“All of them suspect something,” the Curator said. “But none of them know for sure. And the bait dangled before each of them is too great. Each one thinks he can still outwit me if necessary.”
The doctor nodded slowly. “When really you have trumped them all.”
“Let this be a lesson to you, Xeros.” The Curator was in an expansive mood. “The key to realizing a plan is to avoid trying to control the exact paths by which that plan is realized. Indeed, sometimes one sets those paths at odds with one another, as I have done tonight. Never tell one falsehood when you can deploy several contradictory ones. Sometimes you can even tell your victims the truth. It doesn’t matter. Each player in this game is still hooked by his own desires. The fact that their agendas clash only strengthens our hand. No matter what transpires tomorrow, we shall win. Then we can proceed to Stage Two.”
Xeros raised an eyebrow. “So events on Cybertron—”
“Continue to proceed on schedule.”
“You are not concerned that the scientist Shockwave might discern our plans?”
“What these primitive bots call science is mere fumbling in the dark,” the Curator said scornfully. “We have taken Shockwave’s measure without him even knowing it. There was a 96.7 percent probability that he would tamper with Vector Sigma and a more than 80.0 percent likelihood that he would use Alpha Trion to do it. He thinks to create something that will make him a god; little does he know that he is merely forging the chains with which we will bind his race. But the maturity of that particular vector is still a few days away. The primary vector on this world will come to fruition tomorrow, and you and I will enjoy the spectacle from here.”
“I applaud your genius,” Xeros said with a graceful bow. “I must admit that to see a plan as complex as yours achieve fulfillment like this is simply … breathtaking. There surely is no doubt you will be asked to report back to Quintessa when your work here is done.”
“Should that happen, you will be accompanying me.”
“You do me too great an honor,” Xeros protested.
“Not at all. Your work here has made mine possible. It is only right that you share in my success.” The Curator went over to the glowing replica of the Matrix of Leadership and began to make adju
stments to various wires and conduits to the apparatus.
“The real thing will be infinitely more useful,” Xeros said.
“This has proved its worth. We’ve replicated enough of the codes to be able to interfere with the actual one, and that is no small feat.”
“But the genuine one can be used to find the AllSpark itself. We can breed whole new armies—uncover the remaining secrets of the Primes—”
“I am fully aware of that,” the Curator snapped, and Xeros cringed visibly. “I estimate the chances that the Matrix will be destroyed tomorrow at less than 2 percent. It is far more resilient than the one who carries it, who has at least a 65.3 percent chance of termination.”
“Optimus Prime truly doesn’t suspect we have been manipulating it?”
“No. The complexity of the circumstances has provided us with the perfect cover. He believes that the Autobot Matrix of Leadership is malfunctioning due to his own self-doubt. The effect is self-reinforcing. That said, I intend to make a few minor adjustments before tomorrow.”
“He wears his virtue as though it were the heaviest of burdens,” Xeros said. “It weakens him. Makes him more susceptible.”
“I couldn’t agree more. In the meantime, have the required amount of Energon moved from the refineries to the holding tanks in preparation. In the wake of tomorrow’s events, we must be ready to launch Stage Two without delay.”
“I anticipated your desire and already gave the order.”
“Excellent. Now we have merely a few more hours to wait.” The Curator turned back to the glowing Matrix replica and began to ponder what dreams Optimus Prime would have next.
Chapter Twenty-three
CYBERTRON
“DISTURBING,” SHOCKWAVE SAID.
That was as emotional as he ever got, but it was quite enough. Things just weren’t working out as planned. He prided himself on his objectivity—the essence of the true scientist—and he was increasingly realizing that the gap between what he’d thought was going to happen and what was actually taking place had diverged to the point where he was going to have to do the unthinkable, violating a key principle of his methodology.
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