In an instant, all thoughts of the Autobots were
forgotten. Megatron saw the test vehicle veer off course,
saw it crash into the side of the space bridge, saw the
energon cubes spill out in multicolored disarray.
He knew the time was almost up, that the rim would
close and the portal would open at any second. Ignoring
the Autobots firing down on him from the cliff-edge above,
he bolted toward the cubes, only one thought in his mind:
"I must get those cubes over the bridge before it closes!"
He would fly them across himself if he had to, transport
vehicle or no transport vehicle; Shockwave had made it
very clear that the Decepticons back home on Cybertron
were in desperate need of the energy that he was hurriedly
gathering up to plunge into the center of the subspatial
vortex.
A stray shot from above struck the pile of cubes he
was carrying, just as he was about to step through the
opening and into the center of the ring. The volatile,
concentrated energy exploded in his grasp, the force of the
blast throwing him back and into the ring just as the outer
portal closed and a circle of brilliant white light began to
spin around the metal rim, lancing upward to converge at a
point in the sky just above the edge of the canyon.
Still stunned from the blast, Megatron felt himself
spin around in ever-quickening circles as the revolving
power caught hold of him and then tore him upward, along
with rocks and dust from the surrounding desert floor, as
the white light-beams arrowed upward and dragged him
along. He forced himself into an awareness of what was
happening -- the roar of the portal energies, the flashes of
light, the sudden intense cold.... His survival instincts
kicked in as they had so many times before, leaving no
room for fear, no room for the rational knowledge that this
experimental process had never been tried before -- leaving
room only to act, and to act in a way that would insure
his survival. He activated his flight engines and stuck close
to the beam of light that seemed to stretch into a vast black
nothingness of infinity.
He knew the theory behind the intergalactic
transport system, knew it very well, having worked out the
last details of the project with Shockwave over remote
communication in the last few days; he had, in fact,
supplied the last missing piece of information that turned
theory into workable fact, the piece that had eluded
Shockwave throughout his methodical work on its design.
And according to theory, if he stayed close to the
lightbeam, and if that beam was aimed correctly, he should
be arriving at the reception point just about--
--NOW.
The floor came up under him with a clang as reality
blinked back into existence around him. He caught his
balance as the lightbeam faded and the door of the
receptacle chamber slid back to reveal the control room,
ringed in computer banks with Shockwave at the space
bridge controls. Slowly, still a little dazed, he stepped out
of the chamber.
Shockwave turned from the console as he heard
Megatron's footsteps behind him. His single golden optic
brightened in surprise as he rose from his seat and
approached the Decepticon leader. "Megatron! What
happened?" he asked, the concern evident in his tone, as he
had expected a transport vehicle full of energon cubes
rather than a somewhat-battered commander.
"The Autobots robbed me of my victory," Megatron
growled, shaking off the lingering sense of disorientation as
anger flared up in him, fed by the knowledge that he had
failed to get the energon to those that needed it, for all his
efforts. He turned toward the starfield stretching above
them, visible through the transparent dome that enclosed
the control room, and renewed determination flared up in
him. "But they have not seen the last of Megatron!" he
vowed, as though to the universe itself more so than to
Shockwave. "I shall be avenged!"
He turned abruptly and crossed the control chamber
in two quick strides, going to the spacebridge controls.
"Shockwave, reverse directionality and get me back to
Earth," he commanded.
Shockwave joined him before the control console.
"I am unable to do that," he said, slightly apologetic. "The
bridge must re-set itself and recharge after the energy
expenditure." He reached down and tapped out a quick
sequence with his single hand, calling up data onto a small
screen. "The bridge will be operational again in two-point-
four standard astro-hours."
Megatron folded his arms across his chest and
glared at the read-out. "Very well," he growled, bristling at
the enforced delay. Perhaps some good use could be made
of the time. Although subjectively he had only been gone
from Cybertron for a few months, in fact four million years
had passed, and his brief, technical communications with
Shockwave over often-staticky subspace channels had not
really filled him in on the current state of the planet. He
stepped up to the transparent edge of the dome and looked
out over the view of the cityscape stretching below.
Polyhex City was -- dark. A silent wasteland of
twisted metal and remnants of buildings stabbing into the
sky. Nothing seemed to move in the streets below. When
he had left Cybertron, Polyhex was battered by enemy
attacks, but it was none the less an active city, inhabited
and lit up in fluctuating patterns with traces of light and
laser fire. From his current vantage point he could see the
outer ramparts of Darkmount, the seat of Decepticon High
Command, where sentries had stood guard ... and saw no
living thing moving there.
He turned to Shockwave. The large purple-gray
Decepticon was standing quietly, as though awaiting orders
or questions. He regarded Megatron steadily with his
unflickering golden optic.
"What happened here?" Megatron asked, and it was
almost an accusation. "The city looks deserted! That's not
how I left it."
Shockwave replied in calm, measured tones, as
though he'd been anticipating this. "Polyhex remained fully
inhabited for quite a long time after your unfortunate
disappearance. But eventually I was forced to shift troops,
re-allocate resources. Warriors were needed on the equator
to guard what valuables we still had -- the quadrilithium
crystal mines, for instance, which have continued to be
Autobot targets. Everything has shifted south. A bare
minimum of a garrison remains in place here, and we do
fend off the occasional raid, but Polyhex has become a
dispensing point from which resources are partitioned out
to the troops on the equator, rather than a concentrated
stronghold of warriors. It is more effective that way, less
likely to fall into Autobot hands -- spreading our forces out,
has made them less of a concentrated target. The Autobots
have come up with some dangerous innovations in your
absence, that we have had to systematically destroy. It has
not always been easy -- but you entrusted me with the task,
and I could not fail you."
Megatron listened in grim silence. He had
entrusted Shockwave with running things and keeping
order in his absence, and although he had never intended
his absence to stretch for four million years, he was also
quite confident that Shockwave had done whatever was
necessary to keep the cause alive. It was to Shockwave's
credit, someone who was not by nature the dynamic
command figure that it generally took to inspire
Decepticons, that he had kept the cause alive all this time.
Megatron knew it was his own responsibility to step in
now, where Shockwave had no more resources left. That
was his duty as leader, and he would see to it that his troops
on Cybertron got what they needed.
He looked up from his thoughts, to meet
Shockwave's steady gaze. "I'll get that energon to you," he
promised. "Recalibrate the space bridge. I'll be back when
it's ready to open again."
He strode past Shockwave to head for the exit door.
"Megatron." Shockwave's voice caused him to
pause and look back. "It is ... good to have you back," the
other Decepticon finished.
Megatron inclined his head with a slight smile,
before turning away. It would have been enjoyable to talk
with Shockwave again, get more detailed information on
the state of the planet -- but he was restless and impatient at
the thought of getting back to Earth, and besides had
always preferred to experience the world for himself rather
than taking a second-hand account.
He headed out into the dark city.
* * *
As Shockwave had said, there were a few warriors
stationed in Darkmount still ... not a tenth, not a hundredth,
of the capacity that the base could hold, and from speaking
to them briefly, Megatron learned that their days seemed to
consist of flying patrols, guarding what resources existed,
and when they got lucky, some excitement in fending off
the rare Autobot raiding party. They had known, of course,
that contact had been resumed with the vanished
Decepticon leader, though they had not expected him to
show up on Cybertron and pay them a visit. As a whole
they were surprised and pleased, though perhaps a little
embarrassed at the conditions in which Megatron found
them in, the city in ruins and all-but-deserted. He fired off
a few stock inspirational phrases, complimented them on
having stuck to their task, and left them with renewed
confidence that things were taking an upturn now that
Megatron had returned.
Megatron however was still irritated at himself, at
circumstances, and furious with the Autobots, that they had
prevented him from transporting the vital fuel to Cybertron.
True, the Decepticons on Earth had built a second
spacebridge along with the first, one that the Autobots had
not located, and his first task, once he returned, would be to
send home fuel from there ... but that did little to improve
his mood at the moment.
He flew out across the dark ruins that comprised
Polyhex City. Here and there a feeble light flickered below
... there were always scavengers who holed up in these
abandoned cities and scrounged what they could find, then
moved on. Eventually he picked a place to land near a
shattered sky ramp, and continued on between the tarnished
buildings on foot. Instinctively he kept alert to his
surroundings, superimposing the map of the city he had
left, with the broken structures all around him, updating his
sense of orientation.
Something moved in the shadows in the alley ahead
of him, and immediately he tensed for potential battle,
almost welcoming the prospect, as though seeking someone
to punish for the state of the Decepticon capital. The power
level in his fusion cannon crept up a notch as he stopped in
his tracks and stared intently into the dark alleyway before
him, equally listening for the slightest sound in the silence
that might indicate an enemy was trying to circle him and
attack from the side.
Twin deep-purple lights of optics flashed on in the
darkness. A glossy black figure seemed to solidify out of
the shadows and stepped boldly into the faint light cast by
the stars above -- a shapely female form, moving with
silent grace, a mass of writhing tentacles sprouting from her
back and shoulders and curling themselves forward and
around her, a Decepticon symbol the same shade as her
optics adorning her chest. She stopped a few steps away
from Megatron and regarded him for a long moment of
silence, then a slow smile spread over her face.
"Rumor had it you were back in town," she
remarked, the ends of her tentacles undulating gently as
though in a slight breeze, though of course there was no
wind in these cold, silent alleys.
Megatron finally found his voice as full recognition
set in. "Whiplash!" he exclaimed, amazed and surprisingly
pleased to see this apparition from his past.
Whiplash chuckled, showing a glint of brilliant-
white serrated fangs against the deep black of her face.
"Took you long enough to figure it out." In another
fraction of an instant she had closed the space between
them and flung her arms impulsively around him, following
up with the mass of tentacles that curled themselves around
his chest and shoulders.
He snatched her up and lifted her off her feet -- she
weighed almost nothing -- and spun her around.
"Whiplash!" he repeated, grinning. "I don't believe it --
after all this time!"
She laughed, disentangling herself from his grasp
and slipping back to the ground, poking at him lightly and
playfully with the tip of one tendril. "What, you think I'm
so easy to kill, that I wouldn't still be around?"
She looked him up and down, nodding as though in
approval. "I knew you'd be back. No matter what the
others thought, no matter how long it took. You're too
blasted stubborn to go off somewhere and die."
Megatron was acutely reminded again that he'd
been away from his homeworld for the entirety of four
million years, a stretch in which the Decepticons left
behind, could reasonably have been excused for giving him
up for dead. But clearly some had kept their faith in him,
some such as Shockwave who had never stopped scanning
the cosmos for him, and Whiplash who had known him a
long time previously, who knew he would never simply
surrender to the fates when there was a grand destiny yet to
be achieved, a destiny that only he could forge. He felt a
renewed rush of confidence and determination, mingled
with an unexpected undercurrent of gratitude, here in the
midst of the dark ruins which should have induced nothing
but hopelessness.
"So what have you been doing with yourself?" he
asked Whiplash, for he had lost track of her long before
he'd left Cybertron.
Her gaze shifted away from him, as though evading
the question. "I do what needs to be done," she replied.
"When you disappeared--" she looked back, locked her
optics on his, her expression darker as though remembering
some past anguish "--I felt like my place was here, in
Polyhex, near Darkmount near the center of command, so I
could help out with whatever I could. Just until you got
back and set everything in order again, you understand."
Her optics brightened again, flickered with a renewed trace
of amusement. "You took your time about it too," she
admonished.
Megatron chuckled. "Remind me to have you plan
my itinerary for me next time I head off-planet chasing
crazy Autobots."
She nodded, her tentacles undulating steadily
around her like the slow, hypnotic flickering of black
flames. She looked around sharply, then, as though
scanning for danger, and, apparently finding none, turned
back to Megatron. "Come with me," she requested
abruptly. "I've got a little something for you."
She activated her flight engines and leapt upward,
barely visible against the night sky, and Megatron
followed, skimming the upper reaches of the city. Here and
there, irregular craters opened bottomless rifts of darkness
below them, and the buildings that remained nearby, tilted
erratically inward as though drawn by morbid curiosity to
peer down into the depths. Elsewhere, towers and
transport-ways remained only as jagged slivers or skeleton-
structures bristling up out of a uniform mass of lower,
deserted ruins. In the distance, the looming edifice of
Darkmount and Shockwave's center of records and
monitoring, Watch Central, seemed to be the only
structures in reasonable repair, but Whiplash barely glanced
toward them, flying instead in a nearly opposite direction.
Megatron soon saw what they were heading
towards. Almost on the outskirts of the city, a remnant of
more prosperous times, the outer walls of the Polyhex
Arena rose in a gargantuan ring around the circular combat
field in the center, surrounded on all sides by the spectator
stands that climbed in step-like rows to the very heights of
the inner walls. Megatron had fought here a few times in
his gladiatorial days, when his team's tour had taken them
to this grandest of the major arenas on the combat circuit;
they had all gained a fair number of points here, moved up
considerably in the rankings, and he had good memories of
the place -- so it bothered him a bit to see the structure so
heavily bombed, with entire pieces missing from the outer
walls and entire sections of the stands having collapsed in
on themselves. As he and Whiplash drew closer, though, it
seemed as if the great coliseum was almost more imposing
this way, an armored symbol of combat, still standing
defiant in the face of extensive damage.
It was, however, totally deserted and steeped in
shadow and silence. Whiplash landed at the edge of the
combat field near a collapsed section of the bleachers, and
Megatron followed her down, looking around at the
cratered field, clearly damage that had not come from
gladiatorial bouts. Whiplash ducked under a fallen beam
that supported a remnant of the stands and disappeared into
the rubble of stone and metal, into a space where Megatron
could not follow, gone so quickly that he had barely seen
her vanish. Almost as quickly she re-emerged, and tossed
something long and broad and silver at him, something
with a smoothly-curved edge that caught the faint starlight
in a single strobe-pulse of mirrored light--
Reflexively his hand shot out and caught the handle,
bringing the heavy scimitar automatically into fighting
position. Then he raised the weapon for a better look,
regarding Whiplash in surprise. It was indeed his favorite
old gladiatorial scimitar that he'd kept from his time in the
Games. "I left this in my quarters at Darkmount," he said.
"How did you get it?"
"Saberwind gave it to me for safe keeping," she
explained, "one day while we were talking about you and
his creator Soundwave and his siblings and where all of
you might have gotten off to. Saber knew I'd been in the
State Games with you; he also figured you wouldn't have
left that weapon behind if you'd intended to be gone for any
length of time. I assured him you'd be back eventually. He
had the access code to your quarters, I guess Soundwave
left it for him, told him to check on things now and again--?"
Megatron nodded in confirmation, and she continued,
"Anyway, he brought me that scimitar. Said it seemed
appropriate that I'd guard it until you got back, if I was
willing. So, there you go," she finished with a satisfied
smile.
He brought the scimitar up close to him and
contemplated the play of light across its surface. "Yes,
Saberwind would have been able to get into most any room
in Darkmount," he said. "Soundwave deliberately left him
behind to help keep things in order -- almost like he knew
something the rest of us didn't. I'm sure Saberwind will be
pleased to resume contact with his creator after all this
time."
"Yeah, he's stationed on the equator by now, along
with most of the Polyhex troops. But everyone knows
we've resumed contact with you and the missing warriors
by now. Even the lousy 'Bots. News travels fast."
"I can imagine," Megatron said, tilting the scimitar
a bit and regarding it thoughtfully.
A flash of silver at the outer edge of his vision
warned him, and he was able to spring back just in time as
Whiplash lunged and swung a great gleaming battle blade
at him from the side in an attempt to knock the scimitar out
of his grip. The two metal surfaces clashed and scraped
past one another as Megatron was able to retain his hold on
his own weapon and pull back out of immediate range, his
optics flashing bright with surprise.
Whiplash drew back a few steps and circled, her
gaze fixed on him intently, the barest trace of an amused
smile on her face. "Too much dreaming and not enough
paying attention, Silver Terminator," she chided. "Isn't that
what Gutcruncher was always yelling at you about during
training?" Her battle blade, a weapon similar in form to
Megatron's scimitar, but lighter and more maneuverable,
twirled in her hand in a way that would have been
calculated, in the view of an audience, to create dramatic
effect as well as to distract the opponent.
Megatron was not about to be distracted. "Silver
Terminator," he mused, concealing an amused smile of his
own as he shifted into an old combat stance, rising to her
challenge. "No one's called me that in quite some time."
Upon hearing his old arena nickname, an entire
section of Megatron's life snapped back into vivid focus, as
though it had only been yesterday. The endless training
bouts with Whiplash and the others, the rivalry between
himself and Quake, their manager Gutcruncher pushing
them all ever-further beyond their limits, the precarious
journeys in their rusting old hover-transport from one
small-time Games ring to the next before finally breaking
through into the upper divisions, the thrill of combat, the
adulation of the crowds....
Whiplash continued to circle slowly as though
stalking some hapless target and she had all the time in the
world to close in on it. "Back when Polyhex was still full
of our warriors," she said, never breaking her stride,
keeping her blade and her tentacles moving, "you'd get the
occasional one who'd come out to the wastelands just
beyond the city, to get away from the others, to think, to
contemplate the stars. I'd always come find 'em, make sure
they were paying attention. It's no place to sit and dream.
Too much room for an enemy to hide, in those ravines and
shallow tunnels. Wastelands are my territory, you
understand. That's the buffer zone that protects Polyhex,
and I still pick off an occasional 'Bot on the perimeter. In
the old days, they'd try to infiltrate all the time. So anyone
that wasn't paying attention out there, was easy prey. And I
wasn't going to let any of our troops fall prey."
Megatron watched her eyes more than he listened to
her words or allowed his attention to be drawn to her
extraneous motions ... it was all calculated for distraction,
he knew. Whiplash in her gladiatorial days had gone up
against opponents who were unanimously larger and
heavier than she was, pitting their raw power against her
speed and agility, and so she was an expert at seizing any
opening, expanding on the slightest advantage, making full
use of the element of surprise. He had trained with her
long enough, watched her triumph in the arena too many
times, to be taken in. He knew in an instant what her next
move would be -- she would shift smoothly from circling
into a forward lunge -- there! glint of starlight across dark
curved armor plate -- and dart in from his left -- like
that! blade swinging around -- and then suddenly reverse
direction, seeking to connect from the other side while her
opponent was still turned the wrong way -- now! flash of
silver shooting up towards him -- He brought his scimitar
up and met the blade squarely, pushing forward, shoving
her back with an abrupt application of force, intending to
send her crashing to the ground.
Whiplash was thrown back and away from him,
stumbling a bit, but incredibly staying on her feet as she
danced backward and out of range of his follow-up strike.
Megatron's scimitar flashed out and sliced through empty
air as Whiplash was forced to back up further to regain her
balance.
"Too much talk and not enough fight, Electric
Blue," Megatron noted.
Immediately he was sorry he had reminded her of
what her old arena nickname used to be, because she
proceeded to live up to it. Her tentacles snapped forward
over her shoulders, their tips crackling with bright blue
electric sparks as she darted forward at him again, giving
off a pyrotechnic shower of electric bolts. Though not at
full power since they were sparring rather than engaged in
serious combat, the sparks still stung where they hit, and
Megatron reacted as any trained gladiator would -- bringing
his scimitar up and heading straight into the pain to cut it
off at the source. A tactic which, when fighting Whiplash,
was the classic mistake. He realized it almost as soon as
he'd begun the move, but by then it was too late -- swinging
the blade across empty air where his opponent had been
rushing toward him only a nanosecond earlier, he sensed
the blur of motion as she dodged underneath the strike, then
hooked a foot around his lower leg, using his own
momentum to complete the turn and kick his legs out from
under him.
Megatron twisted in the air as he fell, shooting out
his hands and catching Whiplash's wrists, twisting still, to
bring her to the ground with him in a hard impact. For all
of his size, he was fast and agile at close range, and he'd
managed to land on top of his opponent, who was pinned to
the ground beneath him. He'd lost hold of his scimitar, but
Whiplash's blade, too, went skittering off along the ground
as it was knocked out of her grasp.
Her optics flashed bright for a moment as she tried
to pull her wrists out of his grip, but there was no way she
could get free. He held her there for a moment, aware of
her body under him, the cool, smooth armor plate of her
thigh against him, her face very close to his.... He loosened
his grip a little, and it went through his mind to tilt his head
down just a little and kiss her---
She pulled her wrists free and scuttled quickly out
from underneath him, drawing herself up and standing,
snatching up her battle blade along the way. Energized
from the thrill of combat and yet vaguely disappointed,
Megatron too got back to his feet, dusting himself off
slightly.
"Not bad," Whiplash remarked. "We always knew
you'd go a long way. Of course you went a lot further than
any of us thought at the time." She added the last bit with a
trace of a smile.
For a moment Megatron recalled the incomparable
feeling of victory in the gladiatorial bouts, the frenzied
crowd of spectators screaming his name, the
congratulations of his team-mates and the knowledge that
he had once again survived and triumphed. It was a part of
his life that he looked back on fondly, that had helped
shape who he was today -- but it had never been a goal in
and of itself to him. For Whiplash, however, the Games
had been her life, and to Megatron's eyes she still looked a
little out of place in a setting where that lifestyle was no
longer possible.
"What did you do after they shut down the Games?"
Megatron wanted to know.
Her optics darkened slightly, as they had in the
alleyway. "I survived," she replied shortly, turning away a
little.
Megatron sensed he was treading on unwelcome
ground. He decided to resume another approach. "We
could use a fighter like you on Earth. My time here is
almost up, I'm about to head back. Come with me." He
stepped closer to her, regarding her intently.
She looked up at him steadily. "Can't do that,
Silver. I'm needed here. Polyhex is still a target for the
Autobots, and with most of the troops transferred
elsewhere, who'd patrol the wastelands? Who'd watch over
Darkmount? Who'd guard the back door?"
A whisper from the past. "Come back to
Perihellia with me, Whiplash. We could rule there
together...." .... "Can't do that, Silver...."
He took another step closer to her. "I'm not
accustomed to being turned down once, let alone twice," he
said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his tone.
Her expression relaxed into a smile, which might
have irritated Megatron further, except that there was a
warmth about the expression, an affectionate
understanding. "I'm not turning you down, Megatron," she
said softly. "I'm just needing to follow my own way.
There's a difference. Don't take it so personal, 'cause that's
not how I mean it."
Whiplash had always had an intuitive grasp of how
best to size up other Decepticons, what made them tick,
how to deal with them; behind her lethal skills and poised,
slightly stand-offish demeanor there was a certain insight, a
certain compassion. Megatron remembered this well, but
looking at her now, he sensed that those qualities had
deepened somehow, been tested by adversity and thereby
strengthened. Her fearless self-assurance remained, as well
as her unwavering determination to pursue her own chosen
course, but it seemed there was a center of inner peace to
her now that could only have come from a triumph over
great hardship. Another indicator that life had gone on
without him while he'd been frozen in stasis on Earth.
He sighed. "You're sure you won't change your
mind?"
"I'm sure. Besides...." she dropped her gaze a little,
"there's a particular male in my life that I wouldn't want to
leave behind."
Megatron felt his jaw drop. "What? You have
found yourself a serious mate?"
She chuckled a little. "Yeah, fancy that. Now don't
go into that rejection mode on me again, Silver -- I've got a
lot of fond memories of our time together, but you gotta
admit, it was pretty casual. And that's the way both of us
wanted it at the time. Just two friends on the same team
who happened to find each other attractive -- and that was
great, for what it was. But this is something totally
different again."
She searched his face as though looking for some
hint of understanding, of sanction.
He digested the information, and finally asked, a
little dubiously, "So you're happy, then?"
"Can't complain," she replied, but the violet light in
her optics softened a little, more telling than her
deliberately offhand words.
He smiled, shaking his head in disbelief, but he
couldn't begrudge her. Curious now, he asked, "Do I know
this guy?"
She smiled cryptically. "Yeah, you know him."
When no further information was forthcoming, he
prodded, "And?"
"And I better get back to my patrol," she said,
turning away. "Nice to have you back in the land of
moving parts ... don't forget to start up the State Games
again after you've wiped out the 'Bots. I still got a Division
One title to claim." She glanced over her shoulder and
offered him a nod of farewell, then vanished into the deep
shadows that engulfed the ruined bleachers.
Megatron went to pick his scimitar up from the
ground, and looked around the empty arena. His mind still
lingered on the past, the course of his own history which
had brought him to this place and this moment in time --
the past having guided him here, and lain the groundwork
for the future yet to come. He stood in the present moment,
on the brink of two eternities, the past stretching away
behind him, the future spanning ahead -- and he from this
place in time had the power to shape destiny. It was one of
those moments of clarity where all the pieces seemed to fall
into place, where for an instant it seemed that his every
struggle, his every victory, his every defeat, his every hard-
won lesson, had been part of a unique purpose that was still
in the process of unfolding. It was a purpose at which he
would not fail, and a destiny which he would bring into
existence at any cost.
Megatron's internal chronometer beeped softly. The
space bridge was almost ready to be re-opened. The future
awaited.
* * *
On his way back to Watch Central and the transport
chamber, Megatron grew increasingly anxious to get back
to the work at hand, increasingly concerned at what might
have transpired among his troops while he was gone, and
when he reached the space bridge control center he greeted
Shockwave with a rather impatient, "Shockwave, I must
get back to Earth! There's no telling what damage that fool
Starscream has done in my absence."
Shockwave had apparently anticipated his concerns,
for he replied, "You'll know soon enough, Megatron."
There were still a few minutes before the space bridge was
due to open, and so Shockwave had been remote-accessing
some of the broadcast satellites that circled Earth's orbit,
sifting through traces of the humans' primitive information
systems and scanning for Decepticon life-signs. In another
moment he had tuned in a picture: two jets, one red-and-
silver, the other ice-blue, flying along badly damaged,
nearly unable to stay in the air.
Megatron leaned over Shockwave's shoulder and
took in the scene with disgust, activating his comlink.
"Starscream, Thundercracker! You two look like Optimus
Prime ran you through a laser-powered trash compactor."
Something was going to have to be done about the space
bridge and its long reset time ... if he'd been there, this
wouldn't have happened.....
Starscream's voice crackled over the long-distance
link. "Megatron -- you're still alive!"
"Don't sound so pleased," Megatron shot back. In
fact there were undertones to Starscream's voice that almost
did sound pleased, but Megatron was in no mood to
puzzle it out at the moment. "Now pay attention," he
continued. "We will attack the laboratory as planned. The
antimatter formula will give us the key to ultimate power!"
Before Shockwave had called in with his emergency
request for energon, plans had been proceeding to harvest a
human installation as the Decepticons' first recent major
strike. Those plans had been temporarily put on hold, but
Megatron was resuming them now. One way or another,
his warriors on Cybertron would have what they needed.
"Wonderful, Megatron," Thundercracker spoke
from the screen. "With your leadership, we can't fail."
Megatron smiled slightly. Good old
Thundercracker. He was as loyal as they came.
Starscream, of course, had to make some kind of snide
comment in contrast: "Leadership my sine-function. If we
don't get parts to repair ourselves, we'll conk out before we
get your precious formula."
"Replace your parts and be quick about it!"
Megatron snapped. Did he have to explain everything to
his subcommander, or was Starscream merely being
obstructionist for the sake of being aggravating? No matter
-- he would soon be back to direct things. "Meet me in the
desert near the laboratory in five billion astroseconds," he
instructed. He cast a last glance at the space bridge
coordinates, to insure they were set to deposit him in the
second, more remote space bridge that was situated some
distance from the first. With his old gladiatorial scimitar
safely tucked away for the journey to Earth, he turned and
strode toward the transport chamber.
"Have a safe journey, Megatron," Shockwave said
as he locked in the final settings.
As the transport chamber door slid shut and the hum
of the space bridge filled the control room, a glossy black
figure stepped silently from the entranceway and moved to
stand next to Shockwave, curling a few tentacles
affectionately around his shoulders. "Good luck, Silver
Terminator," she murmured as the light beam of the space
bridge arrowed upward toward the canopy of stars.