Transformers: Retribution (17 page)

“Not so fast,” said a voice.

Megatron emerged into the hangar bay with an enraged look on his face. But his voice was disconcertingly calm.

“I have to hand it to you,” he said. “No one’s done that kind of damage to my flagship in a while.”

“It’s not even
your ship
,” Superion said. “It’s supposed to be a scientific station that belongs to the people of Cybertron.”

“And the people of Cybertron belong to me.”

“In your deluded head, maybe. But thanks to Optimus, we all know better.”

“Optimus?” Megatron’s voice was cold. “Don’t talk
to me of
Optimus
. His words are as noble as his actions are weak.”

“Weak? Leading a resistance against you is weak?”

“He’s such a coward, he sent you to die in his place.”

Superion laughed. “I’m not planning on dying.” Abruptly he brought up his gun and fired, missing only because Megatron was already switching to spacecraft mode and roaring straight toward him. Superion didn’t have time for a second shot; Megatron struck him in the chest, knocking him sprawling and sending his rifle flying. Superion lunged out to grab Megatron, but the Decepticon leader was too fast, gunning his retros and streaking back out of reach, shifting back into humanoid form and aiming his fusion cannon as he did so.

“GET OFF MY SHIP,”
he bellowed.

This time Superion had nowhere to hide. The shot blew him straight through the hangar door and into space, flinging his component bots out in all directions, streaming flame behind them, blaring out automated distress calls. Megatron wasted no time savoring his triumph; he stormed back to what was left of the bridge and plugged directly into a console to take personal control of the
Nemesis
. The Ark had used the distraction of Superion to pull away from the
Nemesis
, but now Megatron poured all reserve power into the forward engine banks, swooping in toward the Ark. Starscream pulled himself to his feet and looked up, dazed, through the remnants of the bridge’s roof as space raced past.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“I’m winning,” Megatron said as he activated the tractor beam.

S
IDESWIPE
’
S SCANNERS CONFIRMED THE WORST
. S
UPERION
’
S
gambit had failed, and now nothing stood between him and the
Nemesis
. The Ark was rocking under the
renewed bombardment, the rear shields were disintegrating, and as smoke began to billow from the consoles around him, he came to a grim conclusion: The safety of the Ark and its crew was secondary. The primary goal was to make sure that Optimus survived, and alone down on the planet he wouldn’t have much of a chance against even a damaged
Nemesis
. Sideswipe knew that Megatron would have no compunctions about raining down bombs until nothing was left, that he’d happily kill every living thing on Aquatron if he thought it would destroy Optimus Prime.

And that couldn’t happen, for Optimus was the light and the hope of all Autobots. Optimus held the Matrix of Leadership, without which the AllSpark could never be recovered. Sideswipe keyed the ship’s intercom and gave what he knew would be his final order.

“All hands abandon ship! I repeat all hands abandon ship!” Escape pod launch lights went green as the Autobots followed orders and ditched. The primary launch bays disgorged a wave of support craft, and even as they did so, the
Nemesis
caught the Ark in its tractor beam.

But that was just fine by Sideswipe. He was now the sole Autobot aboard the Ark; he swung the ship around, aiming it straight at the
Nemesis
, and then hit the throttle, coaxing the damaged engines to the limits of their remaining capacity, the Decepticon tractor beam inadvertently working in his favor, accelerating his kamikaze run toward the
Nemesis
. The Autobots would lose the Ark, but the Decepticons would lose everything. And Sideswipe would die free, at the helm of his beloved ship. He watched as the
Nemesis
rushed toward him.

“T
HEY
’
RE COMING STRAIGHT AT US
,” S
TARSCREAM
yelled.

That was the last thing Megatron had expected. For
Optimus to get his lieutenants to embark on suicide runs was one thing, but now the entire Ark was doing it. For the first time it occurred to Megatron that Optimus might not actually
be
on the Ark, that there was some larger scheme afoot that he had missed.

But right now he had more pressing problems.

“Reverse polarity on the tractor beam!” he screamed. “Evasive action! Hit that thing with everything we have!” The tractor beam switched to repel, but the Ark’s momentum was still carrying it forward. The
Nemesis
raked the Ark with withering fire, revving its thrusters in a desperate attempt to get out of the way of the oncoming Autobot ship. Megatron watched as the Ark filled his field of vision. He heard Soundwave saying something about how he was picking up an energy burst from the planetary rings—that they were changing color. Megatron marveled at his lieutenant’s capacity for trivial detail, for the Ark was almost on top of them. He braced himself to leap from the
Nemesis
.

And then everything went crazy.

There was a sudden flash from the planet’s innermost ring. A massive electromagnetic pulse struck both ships, which instantly lost all power. For a moment so did Megatron—then his backup systems came online. He switched on his own sensors and looked around. The darkened Ark was spinning off at an angle from the crippled
Nemesis
.

“What just happened?” Megatron demanded to know.

“Most of the ship’s systems are out, my lord! The same with the Autobot ship!” Soundwave reported. “It looks like they’ve been knocked off their collision course as well.”

“Weapons?”

“Not responding,” Starscream answered.

That was when Megatron received a beacon emanating from the planet below.

“Optimus?” he growled.

“I fear you are mistaken,” said the voice of the Curator.

“Then tell me who you are to dare to get in my way. What name shall we call your ashes?”

“I am the Curator, and I regret to tell you that you are violating neutral space.”

“Neutral? You are now my enemy, and you will die like a—”

“I will do no such thing. Nor am I your enemy. I shut down both your ship
and
that of the Autobots because you were engaging in combat within the sovereign territory of Aquatron. Now I invite you to join me on the surface of this planet.”

“You
invite
me?”

“Let me be more candid,” the Curator said. “What you just experienced was our planetary defense system on its lowest setting. Should you not accept my invitation, we shall introduce you to its more advanced capabilities.”

Megatron thought fast. “What lies has Optimus told you?” he asked.

“He is down here with me now, so you can ask him that yourself.”

“So you
are
in league with the Autobots.”

“No. As I said, I am neutral. There will be no fighting on this planet. Just talk.”

“Like we’re doing now?” Megatron said scornfully.

“No. This is just the preliminary discussion. Gather your lieutenants and come down to this planet. All will be explained then to both you and the Autobots under my personal flag of truce.”

Megatron looked at the darkened
Nemesis
around him and realized he had no choice. For all he knew, the Curator really
wasn’t
in league with the Autobots, but in that case, the Autobots were in the same predicament
he was. In order to defeat this Curator, he would have to play along. He needed more information.

And then he would crush them all.

“I accept your invitation,” he said.

“Here are the coordinates,” said the Curator.

T
HE
A
UTOBOT SHUTTLE SPED SOUTH TOWARD THE LOCATION
specified by the Curator. Optimus had no idea what was there, but it didn’t look like he had much of a choice. The Curator had kept his promise to deal with the
Nemesis
, but he’d also shut down the Ark. The leader of Aquatron held all the cards now, so he might have been forgiven a sly smile as his face appeared on a screen in the cockpit.

But Optimus refused to show any weakness. “What have you done with the Ark?” he demanded.

“You asked me to help you preserve it,” the Curator said. “And I have done so.”

“You paralyzed it.”

“Had I not, it would have destroyed the
Nemesis
. And I never pledged the destruction of the Decepticons. I merely promised to save you from them.”

“So what happens now?”

“I have spoken with both Megatron and your pilot, Sideswipe. The Autobots that evacuated the Ark have returned to it, and they will stay there for the duration of our discussions at the Pavilion.”

“And what is the Pavilion?”

“A sacred place,” the Curator said. “No violence of any kind is tolerated there. Please remember that during the negotiations.”

“
What
negotiations?”

But the screen had gone blank.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Prowl said.

“He’s got us by the circuits,” Jazz muttered.

“But he
did
stop the
Nemesis
from destroying the Ark,” Kup said. The old veteran couldn’t understand how anyone could have a problem with the Curator. He’d been suspicious before his unsanctioned exploration of the undercity, but now he felt confident that the Curator had their best interests at heart.

“I guess we’ll have to see what this Pavilion is,” said Ironhide.

“I think I see it now,” Rodimus said, staring out the window.

Everyone crowded together to take in the view. Outside lay endless ocean, yet something had just broken the surface, was rising from that sea even as the craft soared in toward it: a massive structure of all manner of levels and platforms, the base widening as the summit extended ever higher, until it became clear it was nothing less than a gigantic pyramid-island protruding from the middle of the water now pouring off it in sheets.

“They had
that
under the sea?” Prowl asked in a tone of wonder.

“They have a
lot
of stuff down there,” Jazz said. “We still have barely any idea what else is—”

“Look at the sky,”
Rodimus said.

They all saw it now: flares of light that could only be objects hitting the atmosphere. The Autobots focused their optics to reveal—

“Decepticons,” Jazz said. “Heading straight for that Pavilion.”

“Megatron doesn’t look too happy,” said Prowl.

“He’s not the only one,” Ironhide muttered.

T
HE SHUTTLE ALIGHTED ON THE VERY APEX OF THE
P
AVILION
. The Autobots stepped out to find the Decepticons already waiting for them. Amazingly, no one fired at anybody. That was partly because Optimus and Megatron
had both impressed upon their followers the wisdom—if not the necessity—of heeding the Curator’s wishes. But it undoubtedly also was due to the sheer surrealism of the situation: the Autobots disembarking from the craft, staring at the Decepticons only about twenty meters away, at the edge of the Pavilion’s roof. Though Megatron was certainly happy to try to provoke the Autobots into doing something that might bring the Curator’s wrath down on their heads.

“Optimus,” said Megatron, “so nice to see you.”

“Megatron,” Optimus said coldly, though he raised a hand in formal greeting.

“You’ve led us on a merry chase across the galaxy. And you might have saved us a lot of trouble.”

Optimus said nothing. Megatron laughed, warming to the task of provocation. “So let’s see … The only reason you’re still alive is because the Curator took a liking to you. What did you have to do to achieve that? What favors did you offer him?”

“I offered him no favors,” Optimus said stiffly.

“But maybe one of your clueless minions did?” Megatron glanced at Jazz. “Perhaps Jazz here has betrayed you the same way you betrayed me?”

“Why you—” Jazz started forward, only to be held back by Optimus’s outstretched arm.

“We agreed to a truce, Jazz.” Then, turning back to Megatron: “Though I would suggest you are straying dangerously close to shredding the spirit if not the letter of that law.”

“Law,”
Megatron scoffed. “A figure of speech and a maladroit one at that. What law do you speak of?”

“Mine,” said the Curator.

He rose through a trapdoor that irised open in the middle of the roof, halfway between the two rivals.

“I have a confession to make,” he said.

“This ought to be good,” Megatron said.

“I have been less than forthcoming with you.”

“Then you should tell us everything,” Optimus said.

“And so I shall. I am a representative of the Quintesson Co-Prosperity Sphere, of which this planet Aquatron is a proud member.”

Everyone stared blankly at him except Optimus, who looked appalled.

“The
Quintessons
?” he said. His days spent in the library had given him access to databases containing much bygone lore; he knew that the Quintessons were a race that had fought many wars with Cybertron in the distant past. They had even landed on Cybertron itself once, and had temporarily occupied the planet. Which meant that—

“You are our
enemy
,” he said.

The Curator looked embarrassed. “Once that may have been true. Our ancestors were a primitive people, and like many primitives, they saw force as the only solution to problems.”

“Whereas you just lie,” Ironhide said.

“This is a dangerous galaxy,” the Curator told him. “And like our ancestors, you Cybertronians
do
believe in violence as a solution. Can you blame us for proceeding with caution? If I engaged in subterfuge, I did it only to protect this planet.”

“Which is
not
Quintessa,” Megatron said, trying to get things straight.

“No,” said the Curator. “It truly is Aquatron.”

“So where’s Quintessa?”