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        Galvatron walked silently through the ruins of Decepticon Outpost Gamma 73, his hands clasped behind his back, his optics moving from side to side, taking in the damage the small Autobot attack group had caused. Cyclonus walked beside him, alternately fearful of what rage this destruction would incite in the Decepticon Leader, angry that the Autobots would commit such an offense, and shocked that the security on this outpost was so lax that this was allowed to happen in the first place.

        Four Decepticons he had never seen before had been killed outright in the lower level of the outpost, where the Autobots penetrated the Decepticon defenses in order to capture Frenzy. Another had been shot in the head while the Autobots made their escape, and even now he was in the repair bay being worked on. The chances of his successful repair were slim at best.

        Galvatron walked slowly up the ramp leading from the lower level up to the landing pad, glancing at the blaster scorches on the walls, floor and ceiling. Cyclonus watched Galvatron’s face as much as he looked at the damage to the outpost—for the first time in a long time, he could not read his Leader’s expression.

        "Galvatron!" Scourge approached the Decepticon Leader, obviously furious. "The Autobots destroyed two of my Sweeps! Two! What good will I be without my Sweeps, Lord Galvatron?"

        Galvatron paused and stared at Scourge, seemingly puzzled. "They’re only Sweeps," Galvatron said quietly. "We can always build more."

        Galvatron continued on, leaving Scourge to splutter at such dismissal.

        Once on the landing pad, Galvatron walked over to Blitzwing, his tank form frozen in time since the Autobot attack destroyed much of his circuitry.

        "My. . .my lord Galvatron. . ." Blitzwing managed, his vocoder weak and filled with static.

        "According to the outpost sensor logs, Blitzwing was attacked by the Autobot Kup. The thermal detonator that Kup used on Blitzwing froze his transformation cog and destroyed much of his vital circuitry. He lives, but without extensive repair he will be unable to function." Cyclonus had memorized what had happened here a dozen times over again before reporting the attack to Galvatron.

        Galvatron nodded. "He is one of our greatest warriors. Have him repaired—he is needed on the front lines."

        Cyclonus nodded, then motioned for two Sweeps to gather Blitzwing up and carry him to a repair bay. They did, immediately, and Galvatron walked away to survey the rest of the damage on the battlefield. Cyclonus hurried to keep up—and saw Soundwave, one side of his head module badly damaged, sitting on the bare steel of the launch pad, the remains of Ratbat cradled in his arms. Galvatron walked by him, and when he glanced down to see how Soundwave had fared through the battle, he nearly paused.

        Soundwave—Soundwave had been with Megatron at the beginning of the reign of the Decepticons, had stood by him every hour, every minute thereafter. Now, he sat alone on a battlefield, rocking back and forth and moaning softly over the loss of one of his cassettes. Every Decepticon knew Soundwave, knew his cassettes were his children—they were the only Decepticons he was personally loyal to other than Megatron, and even that relationship did not have the bonded strength Soundwave felt for his cassettes. Galvatron felt the sudden urge to go to Soundwave, to kneel by him and comfort him, to tell him how sorry he was for Soundwave’s loss. . .

        . . .but no. He was Galvatron, now. And Galvatron is power absolute. Everything that Megatron dreamed of, but could never be.
 
        He walked past Soundwave without sparing him a second glance.

        Cyclonus could not find it in his laser core to offer Soundwave only such cruelty. He knelt down next to Soundwave and grasped his shoulder.

        "Soundwave, brother, I grieve with you."

        Soundwave finally stopped rocking and took his optics off Ratbat’s corpse to look straight into Cyclonus’ face. Cyclonus was not surprised by the sadness he saw in Soundwave’s optics—but he felt Soundwave’s pain like a living thing, stabbing into his chest and writhing its way into his spark. He had not known Soundwave long—only two years, now—but he knew that Soundwave was a Decepticon to the core, as loyal to the cause as the greatest of Decepticon Leaders. When he was with Soundwave, Cyclonus felt as though he was with an equal—and now, to see him in such pain. . .

        "First Buzzsaw, then Frenzy, now Ratbat. . ."

        Cyclonus nodded. Each new name stabbed further into his laser core. He squeezed Soundwave’s shoulder, to reassure him, to reassure himself, to get him to stop speaking.

        "No Decepticon has sacrificed more than you have in the name of our people, Soundwave. Your name shall be honored throughout the Empire for what you have suffered." Even as he said the words, he knew them to be empty, and cursed himself for speaking them. What was he, now? A common dispenser of platitudes to be laughed at behind his back? A human Greeting Card creator? "I—I’m sorry, Soundwave."

        Soundwave nodded, and Cyclonus was about to say something more—what, he did not know, but he opened his mouth nonetheless—only to be interrupted by Galvatron.

        "Cyclonus! To me!"

        Cyclonus rose with one final pat on Soundwave’s shoulder, and Soundwave’s optics dropped once more to the now-headless Ratbat in his lap. As he approached Galvatron’s side, Cyclonus was surprised to see his Leader angry with him. Galvatron’s optics were narrowed, and his arms, clasped behind his back just seconds before, were crossed in front of him.

        "Cyclonus, since when is it the duty of a Decepticon warrior to make his fellows feel better?" Galvatron’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

        "My lord Galvatron, Soundwave has endured much—"

        "And that is what makes him strong. Come—Motormaster awaits us." Galvatron walked over to the wreckage of the two Stunticons, over which Motormaster was shaking his head sadly. Cyclonus noted that he plainly did not feel for his brothers what Soundwave felt for his cassettes. . .a difference between the implied relationships? Or did Motormaster simply not care about his fellow Decepticons as much as Soundwave did?

        "Drag Strip and Wildrider. . .do they no longer function?" Galvatron asked.

        Motormaster shook his head. "They’re dead. The Autobots killed them—shot them so full of holes that there’d be no hope of repairing them." Motormaster clenched his hands into fists and snarled. "If I ever get my hands on them—"

        Galvatron looked down at Motormaster calmly. "You had that chance. They were here in this base. You failed to stop them then."

        "I was in the command center!" Motormaster cried. "By the time docking control told us anything was happening, the Autobots had already captured Frenzy!"

        Galvatron nodded and waved one hand dismissively. "Yes, that’s all well and good. Tell me—without them, you cannot form Menasor, correct?"

        Motormaster nodded. "That’s right—he’d be missing an arm and a leg. That, and his mental faculties would be severely diminished. Even if we were able to find or create substitutes, Menasor’s mind would not be the same."

        "That. . .is unfortunate."

        Galvatron narrowed his optics and tightened his mouth gravely. He walked around the wreckage of the two Stunticons until he came to stand immediately next to Motormaster. Motormaster looked up at him momentarily, then back at his destroyed comrades. Galvatron leaned close to Motormaster, modulating his vocoder so that only Motormaster could hear him.

        "I am not Megatron. I do not need a Starscream."

        Motormaster stared at Galvatron, confused at first. Then, he saw Galvatron’s optics—narrow, and cold beyond measure—and he knew. He started to back away from Galvatron, stammering.

        "N-no, my lord Galvatron! Please, believe me! I did everything. Everything!" Motormaster’s optics searched the faces of the other Decepticons on the field. Many of them glanced away, and a few gazed on with a delighted glee. No matter where he looked, though, he found no support.

        "I appointed you commander of this base, Motormaster. And look what has happened. You have failed me." Galvatron had not moved, though Motormaster had stumbled his way backward nearly to the edge of the landing pad. Galvatron simply stood still, watching Motormaster’s distress with only the barest hint of a smile touching his lips.

        "No, lord Galvatron! Nooo!" Motormaster finally turned around and ran, transforming into his vehicle mode and rumbling across the rocky desert beyond the landing pad.

        Galvatron raised the cannon on his right arm and took careful aim. His fusion generators cycled up slowly, building up their maximum possible charge, while he tracked the leader of the Stunticons with only the smallest movements of his arm. He sighted down the barrel as Motormaster drove further and further away—there was nowhere else he could run to on this tiny moon, and no purpose in his running, though perhaps he felt that if he demonstrated his fear of Galvatron, Galvatron would not kill him.

        Cyclonus glanced into Galvatron’s face. He saw murder there, plain and simple. And he saw something else, as well, something terrifying—

        —the high whine of the fusion generators released with a roar, and with only the slightest kickback, a thick stream of purple-white energy leapt from Galvatron’s particle cannon—

        —Motormaster screamed a final plea for mercy, all the while driving as fast as he could as far away as possible from Galvatron—

        —Soundwave rocked, his dead cassette in his hands, oblivious to everything but his lost children—

        —Galvatron’s blast connected—

        —and Motormaster exploded in a massive fireball that sent a thick cloud of black smoke high into the night to disperse in the thin atmosphere there. Debris from his shattered body rained across the plains and onto the launch pad decking. Soundwave did not notice. Only a burning ruin remained of Motormaster, and Cyclonus knew.

        Galvatron raised the volume of his vocoder and turned to face the Decepticons gathered to witness Motormaster’s demise. "Hear me, Decepticons! I am Galvatron—I am power incarnate! To fail in your duties is to fail the Decepticons—to fail the Decepticons is to fail me. To fail me. . .is to die."

        With that, Galvatron left.

        And Cyclonus was left standing alone among the wreckage on the battlefield, knowing the truth. The truth, what he had seen in Galvatron’s optics as he was charging up his particle cannon and taking aim at the one Decepticon who had constantly stood against him since Cyclonus had brought him back to command the Decepticons. He knew the truth, and there was nothing he could do.

        Galvatron had planned it. Galvatron had planned it all.
 
 

        To Chapter Thirty