The denizens weren’t really under anybody’s control, either. Maintenance droids gone rogue, digging machines with glitched programming, rat-bots of all sizes, gladiators who had escaped the pits and gone feral somewhere along the way … They kept out of sight mostly, although Wheeljack wouldn’t have wanted to come down here by himself. He could hear them scuttling here and there in the dark, just beyond the range of his lights, and the only reason he wasn’t seeing them was that no one down here was foolish enough to mess with a heavily armed team of Autobots. Predators preferred easier meals, and the prey now passing looked anything but easy. Wheeljack had never dreamed that such anarchy existed so short a distance below civilization. It seemed strange to him that even though the ancient castes had been overthrown—rejected with such alacrity by Autobot and Decepticon alike—the lowest rung of that system had persisted almost unnoticed throughout the war that followed. These creatures down here were the true untouchables, not even worthy of classification in the heyday of the caste system and certainly not meriting any attention now. It made Wheeljack question many of his most cherished assumptions. All the more so as none of his teammates seemed to notice the irony. They were focused on more tangible issues.
That was understandable enough.
“We must be at least four miles below the surface,” Springer said.
“More than that,” Ultra Magnus said. He was the only one who seemed to have an exact sense of their bearings. There was a lot of magnetism down here, and it was playing havoc with the compasses. But Ultra Magnus had the map Maccadam had given him, and it was proving far more trustworthy than their instruments. After their escape from the bar, he’d picked the nearest manhole and kept their course as vertical as possible for at least a hundred levels, pausing only to sow false trails off to the side every once in a while. It must have worked, too, for there had been no sign of any meaningful pursuit. Then again, there’d been enough chaos up on the surface to keep everybody busy. Omega Supreme had seen to that. By now, he was probably retreating at speed into the polar wastelands, daring the Decepticons to come after him so that he could ambush them in that desolate terrain. Wheeljack envied the giant bot. He had the simpler task. Then again, if truth be told, right now Wheeljack envied anybody who wasn’t having to crawl like a mole-bot beneath the surface.
“Up ahead,” Ultra Magnus said. They waded through a corridor that was waist-deep in chemical sludge and climbed a staircase, and then that corridor suddenly ended in a convex steel wall that looked more than a little out of place down here.
“It’s new,” said Rack n’ Ruin.
It was so shiny that they could see their own reflections. Quick sensor readings indicated that the barrier curved away on either side of the crumbling corridor walls and was at least several meters thick: too wide for the sensors to say what was on the far side of it.
Though it was easy enough to guess.
“The train route,” Ultra Magnus said. “This is the way to Shockwave’s bunker.”
“So now what?” Jetfire asked.
“What do you think?” Rack n’ Ruin asked. One of his arms extended a welding torch, and he began slicing through. Blue flame stitched into steel; shadows played across the faces of those watching. But several minutes went by, and Wheeljack could see that the torch had made it through only a few inches.
“There’s got to be a faster way than this,” he said.
“You’re right,” Rack n’ Ruin told him. His other arm sprouted a drill that whirred to life and began plowing through half-melted metal. Wheeljack could see why Ultra Magnus had brought this peculiar bot along. Rack n’ Ruin switched back to the torch and then kept alternating between his two tools. In short order, he had to climb into the hole he was carving to keep extending it. And shortly after that—
“Paydirt,” he said.
“Good work,” Ultra Magnus said. “Wheeljack, you take over.”
Rack n’ Ruin clambered out of the cavity he’d dug, and Wheeljack climbed in. Crawling forward to the rear of the area Rack n’ Ruin had sliced out, he found himself staring through an opening into a wide vertical tunnel covered with cables and wiring. Opposite him were rails that ran down the wall and disappeared into the darkness below.
“Well?” Ultra Magnus demanded.
“Looking good,” Wheeljack said. He reached out and removed the cover from one of the cables before slotting in one of his input jacks. There was a click.
And then he was in.
In a single instant, the physical world dropped away and the datanet expanded inside his head. Only it wasn’t the datanet he was used to. That was an endless grid of wires and conduits that stretched throughout Cybertron and covered the planet in a wireless cushion. This was much smaller, extending only to the tower that lay four miles above and down to more facilities many miles below.
It was Shockwave’s private net.
It was isolated from the rest of the communications links on the planet so that intrepid bots like Wheeljack couldn’t get in and hack it. The only way to do that was to do what Wheeljack was doing now: get past the armored walls that protected Shockwave’s personal domain and gain physical access. With the ease of the practiced hacker, Wheeljack bypassed security protocols and worked his skills. The rails hummed to life.
Two minutes later, a rumbling echoed down the shaft. A shape appeared in the darkness above, coming rapidly down the shaft toward him. He hit the brakes, and a two-car train, empty of personnel but by no means bereft of purpose, clung with electromagnetic clamps to the rails opposite him. Wheeljack smiled in satisfaction.
“Our ride’s here,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-one
OPTIMUS MADE HIS DECISION.
He stepped to the gate, determined that no more Autobots would die. When that gate opened next and the Sharkticons came for their next victims, he was going to make a move. He didn’t care what the odds were. One way or another, this farce had to end.
“Optimus, what are you doing?” Jazz asked.
Optimus didn’t answer. It was all instinct now. As the Sharkticon guards approached the gate, he braced himself.
But suddenly doors beneath the giant screens slid open. Commander Gnaw entered the courtroom, flanked by more Sharkticons. They stopped in front of the pens with crisp military precision. Gnaw stepped forward and brandished his war baton. He pointed at Optimus and Megatron.
“Secure the leaders.” The guards pulled Optimus and Megatron from the pens and led them toward the Piranhacon pit, but as they approached, a metal cover slid across it. But it wasn’t the same flooring as before; it was an odd kind of shimmering material that Optimus had never seen before. An excited buzzing went through the watching crowd. Gnaw cleared his throat.
“Optimus Prime, Megatron, it has been decided that mercy will be shown.” Megatron wanted to tell Gnaw what he thought of his mercy, but the nearby whips caused him to hold his tongue for once. “You have the opportunity to save your people.”
“I feel like I’ve heard this one before,” Optimus said.
“You haven’t. The high magistrate of Quintessa is considering commuting the sentence to banishment.”
“Banishment?”
“You leave and never return to this planet.”
“A tempting offer,” Megatron said.
“It’s not an offer. The commuting of the sentence will occur in tandem with a separate sentence for you and Optimus Prime.”
“Namely?”
“Trial by combat.”
“Really?” Megatron said. Now he was interested. He got even more so as Gnaw continued.
“The two of you will fight to the death to see whose people we will set free. The winner will get to choose whether the loser’s people face the Piranhacon pit or are simply melted down for scrap.”
“I like the way you think,” Megatron told him.
Optimus shook his head. “Megatron, this is clearly yet another trick.”
“Are you a coward even now, librari
an?”
“Here are the rules,” Gnaw said. “Both of you will remain within this circle. None of your energy weapons will be repowered or given back to you. All fighting must be hand to hand. You will begin when I give the word. Do you accept?”
“Absolutely,” said Megatron.
Optimus bowed his head; if this was the only way out of here, then so be it. “Trial by combat it is,” he said.
Sharkticons tossed a variety of archaic weaponry at the feet of Optimus and Megatron and then retreated. Megatron picked up an enormous battle-ax lined with armor-tearing metal teeth.
“This is it, librarian. Your doom has finally arrived.”
“Megatron, are you blind? They’re still lying to us.”
“You know what, Optimus? I don’t even care anymore. Because even if they kill me, it won’t be before you meet death at my hands.”
Optimus picked up a pair of short swords and pointed them at Megatron in an ancient Cybertronian gladiator salute. “So be it, then.”
“Begin,” said Gnaw.
The two bots leaped at each other.
THE NOISE WAS DEAFENING. THE SCREENS IN THE CURATOR’S chamber were filled with close-up video of Optimus and Megatron battling each other like there was no tomorrow. Which there really wouldn’t be—not for either of them. But the Curator was unconcerned about the details of the combat. He turned down the volume so he could focus on the only thing that mattered now: the rising power gauges on his instrument consoles. The metal on which the Cybertronians were fighting represented the very latest in Quintesson technology, and it functioned as an almost perfect energy sink. Not only was it slowly absorbing the life force of both combatants, the harder they fought, the faster the process went. And in their frenzied efforts to bring each other down, Optimus and Megatron were both expending enough energy to power many a factory; sparks of Energon literally flew off each of the combatants as they twirled and writhed in the deadliest dance there was. If the Curator had had more of a taste for combat, he would have recognized what was going on in the pit as sheer ballet. Certainly the roaring crowd of Aquatronians had never seen anything like it. As the fight became ever more savage, the Curator smiled as the power readings climbed higher and higher.
“It is exactly as you predicted, master,” Xeros said. “This is a far better option than just throwing them into the pit. And much more entertaining as well.”
“If you say so. I never developed a taste for physical combat. I suppose I always thought of it as uncivilized.”
“Uncouth in the extreme,” Xeros agreed quickly. “But useful. A Prime and the greatest gladiator in Cybertron’s history … with so much personal animosity between the two … No wonder the power gauges are already passing 40 percent. Such irony that it is their very skill in the martial arts that will help us destroy them. Which one do you think will prevail?”
“Do I look like I care?” the Curator asked. “Get Tyrannicon on the screen.”
THE SHARKTICON GENERAL STOOD ON THE BRIDGE OF his flagship as the Curator’s face appeared on one of the dashboards. Tyrannicon saluted reflexively.
“Command and I obey,” he said.
“The energy threshold will be crossed within moments,” the Curator said. “Start your engines and stand by for the final attack order.”
“At once, my lord.” The screen went dark, and Tyrannicon began barking out commands. A rumbling filled the vast chamber as thousands of ships powered up. Each vessel was loaded with a full complement of heavy weaponry and Sharkticon warriors, and all were impatient for battle. Tyrannicon’s heart beat faster as he surveyed his armada. The fleet had been primed for combat for hours now, and everyone was hungry for action, Tyrannicon most of all; he hated waiting—particularly waiting on Quintessons—but like any good general, he knew that timing was everything. It would be the height of folly to let his impatience rule him when he was so close to his birthright, so close to fulfilling his ultimate purpose as a warrior.
“Open a channel to the fleet,” he said. He stood up and extended his massive arms. His two bodyguards stepped forward. One placed his ceremonial battle trident in his hand; the other presented him with the battle horn. His voice echoed across the fleet.
“Brother warriors! Today is the day that we etch our superiority into time itself. Suns may dim and planets may crumble, but the cosmos will know that we were here—that once we lived, walked, and conquered. When they tell their children the stories of the warriors who swept away their puny civilizations, they will whisper our names in awe and know that we were never defeated—that we are the ultimate fighting force. Now we fight the ultimate battle. When you hear my horn sound, follow me to glory. All hail!”
“ALL HAIL!” The noise rang throughout the huge cave. The underground lake on which the fleet rested glowed and flickered as lights flickered over the huge metallic hoop that dominated the entirety of the chamber’s far end. The lights started to move ever faster as the energy poured down through conduits from the city twenty miles above. The space bridge technology had been primed by massive infusions of Energon and fueled even further by the sparks of the Cybertronians devoured in the pit. Now it was being driven to still greater heights by the titanic battle under way above. The noise from both bridge and fleet was thunderous now. Tyrannicon stepped over to his flagship’s pilot chair and prepared to release the brakes …
“THAT’S STRANGE,” SAID SIDESWIPE.
Hubcap glanced over. “What’s strange?”
“We’re picking up huge spikes of energy beneath the Sharkticon capital. So strong that they’re reflecting off the atmosphere. Easily discernible from the far side of the planet.”
“What’s causing it?” Hubcap asked.
“Don’t know. Teletraan-1 is still running scenarios. But it’s absolutely off the charts.”
“All the more reason to hurry,” Hubcap said.
“I know that,” Sideswipe replied. The last of the repair crews had reported in, and the Ark was as ready as she’d ever be. Teletraan-1 put her fighting ability at just over 81 percent. After the beating she had taken earlier, it was going to have to do. Sideswipe had set all the boards to green; they were hoping that the old girl was ready once again to do the impossible. He keyed the com-link.
“You guys ready back there, Sunstreaker?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” his brother replied. He was back in the cargo area with the main force of Autobots, completing the final checks on their weapons and swapping stories about the last time they had been in a tight spot like this. Overall their spirits were high considering the possibility that what was about to take place would be their final fight.
“Great. Now hold on; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
“The bumpier, the better.”
“Great,” Sideswipe said. He hesitated, then said: “Until all are one—”
“Save the prayers,” Sunstreaker said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
THE CROWD WENT WILD AS OPTIMUS SWEPT MEGATRON off his feet with double blows from his swords. Both combatants were leaking oil and lubricating fluids from deep gashes in their armor. The weapons were razor-sharp and were inflicting devastating damage when they made contact. Megatron struggled to get back to his feet, adjusting his chest plate in an effort to keep his key components from spilling out. Optimus pivoted on his one good leg to receive Megatron’s next flurry of blows, grinning as he did so.
“You’re getting slow in your old age, Megatron!”
Megatron quickly brought the ax up, clipping Optimus’s faceplate and sending him staggering. “Shut up, upstart! I’m done playing with you!”
Optimus spun to the right, but his blade hit nothing but air. Megatron was already shifting to the side, using his ax as a staff to deflect the next blow. Before Optimus could compensate, Megatron stuck his foot out and tripped him, sending him sprawling. In one smooth motion, Megatron raised the ax over his head and sliced it back downward in a crushing two-handed blow. But Optimus had alre
ady rolled out of the way, and then he was back on his feet again, one of his blades slicing across the Decepticon’s midriff, a blow that might have been fatal if Megatron had not stepped back in the nick of time. The crowd was approaching a state of frenzy. As the noise washed over the combatants, Megatron grinned.
“Seems I’ve underestimated you, librarian. You’ve become quite the soldier. I always said you would have done well in the pits had you started out there. You’ve learned much from me over the course of our conflict.”
“As always, it all comes back to you,” Optimus said sarcastically.
“Make no mistake, you’re going to lose. But I’m offering you a genuine compliment: I’m impressed.”
“Then let me impress you some more,” said Optimus, moving forward.
THE CURATOR WATCHED THE NEEDLE AS IT CLIMBED steadily into the red. It was almost at the requisite threshold.
“Lord,” Xeros said, “the Autobot spaceship is on the move.”
“What?” The Curator was as dismayed as he was surprised.
“They must have made repairs. Shall I order them destroyed?”
“We’re channeling every drop of power from the planetary rings to the bridge. If I back that off now, we might lose our window. What’s their heading?”
“Powering away from the planet at speed.” Xeros pulled up the projections, showing the Ark vectoring out from its current orbit, a course that would take it over the pole and out into space. The Curator breathed a sigh of relief.
Retribution Page 23