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        To Chapter Twenty-Nine
 

        "Answer me, Frenzy! Answer me now!" Fortress slammed his fist down on the table between him and the smaller Decepticon, crumpling the metal. The Autobot military commander was furious with the cassette, who had only sat still and smiled faintly at the two Autobots in the room since the interrogation began. He left his fist in the center of the crater he’d smashed into the table and pointed with his other hand directly into Frenzy’s face. "If you don’t answer me this nanosecond, I’m gonna rip out your optics!"

        Frenzy shrugged. "Sounds like a deal. That way I don’t have to sit here staring at your ugly mug."

        Fortress roared and leapt forward, but Cerebros jumped out of his chair and intercepted the burly Autobot, holding him back with all the force in his body. "Fortress, that’s enough! That’s enough, I said!"

        Fortress glanced at Cerebros, his optics still glowing bright with fury, then relaxed as Cerebros’ yell finally got through to his cerebral circuitry. The tension drained out of his body, and he stepped back, out of Cerebros’ arms, to lean against a wall on the far side of the interrogation chamber from Frenzy. He positioned himself so he wouldn’t have to look at the Decepticon, wouldn’t have to feel his rage surging up again in his laser core.

        Cerebros sighed and sat down, leaning on the now-lopsided table with his elbows and steepling his fingers in front of his face. He stared at Frenzy calmly, his optics tired from the strain of the long interrogation.

        "It’s a shame, Doc. You shoulda let ‘im rip out my optics. You’re not much prettier a sight."

        Fortress pushed away from the wall, but Cerebros extended a hand behind him and waved him back. He then began to tap his fingers on the table. "I’m not a doctor, Frenzy—you know that. I just want a little information, that’s all. Answer a few questions and you can go."

        "Back to the Decepticons?"

        "Back to your cell, to rest."

        Frenzy shrugged. "Ah. It’s not like you’d ever let him do anything to me anyway, Doc. You Autobots just don’t have the wiring for torture."

        "I’ll show you wiring!" Fortress leapt at Frenzy, but Cerebros grabbed him and started pushing him to the door. "Let me at ’im, Cerebros! I’m gonna bust his skidplate!"

        Cerebros knocked on the door into the interrogation chamber and, when the guards outside opened it, pushed Fortress out of the room. Then, blocking the doorway with his body, Cerebros glanced back at Frenzy.

        "You would do well to speak, and soon. Your confidence that we Autobots ‘haven’t the wiring’ may prove to be your undoing, should you task our patience too much."

        Frenzy snorted and looked away, crossing his arms and plopping his feet heavily on the misshapen table. Cerebros left, and the door closed and hissed shut behind him.

        He joined Fortress in the corridor outside and sighed, shaking his head. "It’s no use, Fort. He knows we’ll never torture him. He’s endured worse when he was still in the Decepticon army than he’s having it here in our prison."

        They began walking toward the observation gallery, where Rodimus Prime was undoubtedly waiting for their report. Not that he needed it—he had seen everything they had to report on, from his safe spot behind mirrored transparisteel.

        "So much for the good bot/bad bot routine," Fortress grumbled. "That’s all right, though—it was somewhat amusing to role-play a violent psychotic."

        "Just don’t enjoy it too much. Remember: when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." Cerebros’ tone was grim.

        Fortress glanced at Cerebros. "Cerebros, we’ve known each other for millions of years. Do you really think I’m gonna go nuts now, when we hunted Decepticons across the cosmos for half our lives and I didn’t lose it?"

        "Things were different, then."

        Fortress barked a sharp retort of laughter. "Yeah—they were worse. The Matrix was lost, Shockwave controlled Cybertron, everybody was starving for energon and nobody knew where to find it. I think I would’ve done better to go crazy then rather than wait around for it, you know?"

        Cerebros shrugged. "That’s one way of looking at it. Sorry for the glum—now that the War’s back in full force, I just feel so very tired. It’s as if all our work has been for nothing, it’s like it never ends."

        Fortress smiled. "It never does." He clapped Cerebros on the back, hard. "C’mon, Hot Rodimus wants his fancy report, and I don’t wanna be the one to explain why it’s late. You’ll just have to think up something better than what we’ve already got in order to yank out Frenzy’s databanks."

        The door to the observation gallery opened, and Rodimus Prime stood staring down at the prisoner on the level below, both arms clasped behind his back. His optics were narrow and the set of his jaw was grim, angry. Frenzy, Cerebros could see through the corner of his optic, was twitching his foot to some internal music, seemingly without a care in the world.

        "Explain to me why we still have not learned anything from the prisoner we captured specifically so we could learn something from him." There was no trace of amusement in Rodimus Prime’s voice, no warmth from one Autobot to another. His tone was cold, demanding. And Cerebros had no answer to give him.

        "He’s a tough nut to crack, Rodimus. But don’t you worry your Matrix-bonded processor about it, we’ll get answers from him soon enough." Fortress smiled a cocky grin.
 
        Rodimus Prime stepped away from the window and walked slowly toward Fortress, his arms still behind his back, never taking his optics off the smaller, burlier Autobot. He stopped only inches in front of Fortress, glaring down at him with all the presence he and the Matrix within him could muster. This close, Cerebros could see that the resurgence of the War had worn on Rodimus Prime—there were deep grooves in his faceplate, under his eyes and around his mouth.

        "Yesterday is not soon enough for the answers I need, Fortress. You would do well to remember that." With that, Rodimus Prime pushed past both Fortress and Cerebros, heading for the door. As it shunted open, he turned back to regard them over one shoulder. "He’s right, you know. You don’t have the wiring to do what needs to be done. If it takes torture to get him to speak, then torture him. This is Frenzy we’re talking about—it won’t take much."

        "We can’t do that!" Fortress protested. "If we did, then we’d be no better than the Decepticons!"

        "It will win the War, Fortress. Please don’t tell me you’d rather see all your friends perish under the fire of Decepticon blasters before you’ll cause one Decepticon—one enemy—a little pain. You have the opportunity to get the information that will end this War. Do what must be done, and we will win." Rodimus Prime stepped out of the room, and the door closed behind him.

        Fortress shook his head. "If we have to stoop to their level, then we’ve already lost."

        Deep in interstellar space, where only the light from years-distant stars brushed its hull, the last of the Decepticon starships sat in wait. The carbon-scars burned into its hull during the battle for Cybertron have long since been healed, the performance of its engines, forgotten for nearly a year while exiled on Charr, boosted to unparalleled efficiency. It was created in a single moment by a living planet, and it now serves as the mobile headquarters of the Decepticon command. Its role as an evacuation vessel for thousands of Decepticons trapped on Cybertron after the destruction of Unicron has not been forgotten—the humiliation of the Decepticons’ loss of their homeworld has been forever etched into its side. It is the Decepticon flagship—it is the Vengeance.

        Deep within its upper hull, in the War Room dominated by an enormous holographic map of the galaxy, the upper echelons of the Decepticon army stood in wait for the appearance of their Leader, their Messiah, Galvatron.

        Cyclonus, Scourge and the four Sweeps he never went anywhere without, Blitzwing, Soundwave, and another, smaller robot who had never appeared at one of these meetings before, all stood in silence, most of them taking in the beauty of the holographic galaxy. In the past year, Galvatron led the Decepticons into devastating attacks on Autobot-controlled territories, making great headway in their millennia-ancient War. But the true genius was what Galvatron had been doing without the Autobots’ knowledge—after his return to Charr, he had summoned all Decepticons back to him from all the far reaches of the galaxy, and together they had captured vast swatches of territory that the Autobots didn’t even know about. Nearly a third of the galaxy rested in the hands of the Decepticons, and that territory was outlined in a brilliant patch of Decepticon purple on the galactic map before them.

        The double blast doors leading into the war room opened with a roar, and Galvatron stepped into the room, tall and confident, his optics taking in each of the Decepticons laid out before him and the territory that was his to rule mapped out in the air at the center of the room. He allowed a faint smile to touch his mechanical lips as he strode to the round table below the galactic map and placed his hands on the holo-generators, stroking them delicately.

        "The War goes well," he said.

        "Praise Galvatron!" All the Decepticons gathered in the room, save Galvatron, snapped to attention and saluted, their arms straight and flat before them.

        Galvatron nodded, and his optics came to rest on the smaller robot in the batch. "You there, who are you? I have not seen you before."

        The small robot stepped forward to face Galvatron in the light of the captured galaxy, unsheathing the sword he wore by his side. He stopped only a few feet from the Decepticon leader, his shoulders only as high as Galvatron’s waist. He looked up into Galvatron’s optics, then kneeled before him, stabbing his sword into the floor and resting his forehead on the tip of the handle.

        "My name is Bludgeon. I pledge my allegiance, and that of my troops, to you." Bludgeon spoke in a voice that sounded like a death rattle, like wind rushing through a dry skull left lonely in a desert wasteland.

        Galvatron nodded. "Bludgeon, eh? I like it. It has a. . .pleasing ring to it. What is it that you offer me, Bludgeon?"

        "My forces have spent thousands of years off Cybertron, traveling the galaxy to gather energon where we could and destroy our enemies whenever we had the opportunity. We have returned because we have heard your call—we offer our entire energon supply, six thousand astroliters, and ourselves, all of varying talents. I am their commander, and a master of Metallikato."

        Galvatron widened one optic. "Metallikato, eh? The forbidden art—ancient, and deadly. A master, you say?"

        Bludgeon stood, sheathing his sword, and nodded.

        "Excellent. You shall be assigned to the planet Earth. The fleshlings of that world have long allied themselves with the Autobots, and have been a thorn in my side for far too long. You will be responsible for setting up a hidden base on their moon, from which we will be able to strike when the time comes to destroy that wretched hive."

        Bludgeon bowed deeply, never taking his optics off Galvatron. "I thank you, my lord, for this opportunity to strike at the heart of our nemeses. You shall not be disappointed."

        "I expect not." Galvatron dismissed him with the wave of one hand, and Bludgeon returned to the shadows, leaving only Galvatron standing in the single beam of light that fell from the ceiling of the War Room. "Blitzwing, how goes the repair of that damaged outpost?"

        "We are fully functioning and heavily armed. Our weapons stores and defensive capabilities have been expanded, and our offensive capabilities have been revised. Gamma 73 will make an excellent jumping-off point for any campaigns you may have planned for that sector."

        Galvatron nodded. "Excellent. Soundwave, report! What have the Autobots been talking about lately?"

        Soundwave stepped forward and stared, silently, at Galvatron before speaking. Galvatron paid it no mind, but Cyclonus could sense what it was, without question—Soundwave blamed Galvatron for the loss of so many of his cassettes, and a bitterness about it was even now growing within him. Cyclonus would have to see what he could do about averting those emotions, before they bred Soundwave into turning traitor.

        "The Autobots continue questioning Frenzy, who has given them no information as yet. They are still touting the success of that mission as a great victory, to both themselves and to the Earth fleshlings. They claim the information in Frenzy’s databanks will bring them victory."

        Galvatron smiled. "And we shall not correct them on that matter—yet. Scourge, report! What is the status of the Autobot space fleet?"

        "We’ve raided every shipment of energon and supplies from Earth to Cybertron, so the Autobots haven’t gotten a chance to expand their starfleet. However, Ultra Magnus has convinced the Earthers to allow the Autobots to build orbital shipyards to start constructing new vessels at Earth. All our efforts at jamming all transmissions between Earth and Cybertron have failed miserably—the only way we could do it would be to build an enormous, easily detectable and energy-guzzling jamming station, or a bunch of little stations that would be harder to detect but which would consume even more energon."

        "You bring me nothing but unpleasant news, Scourge." Galvatron frowned, and Cyclonus sneered as he saw Scourge cower next to him. "That new Autobot starships will be built at Earth is bad news, indeed. Ultra Magnus has always had a higher degree of success fighting against us than has Rodimus Prime on Cybertron—if he were to get a fleet in his arena, he might very well set our plans for Earth sector back by several months.

        "Wait until the shipyards are nearly finished. These fleshlings have a regular power-down cycle, usually when the side of the planet on which they live is not facing their star. While they sleep, you and your Sweeps will fly in, destroy the shipyards, and fly out as fast as you can. This mission requires precision and stealth—you must be out of range before the Autobots on Earth are able to counterattack. You will no doubt have Bludgeon’s finest efforts to assist you." Galvatron grinned menacingly, and Bludgeon lowered his head in deference to Galvatron’s words. "By attacking at that time, you will have laid to waste much of the humans’ precious energy and material resources, paving the way for our eventual invasion and annihilation of that planet.

        "As far as the jamming station is concerned—I have a better idea in my mind. Soundwave, your little planted diversion—does it still function?"

        Soundwave glanced at Cyclonus quizzically, then stepped forward once again. "Do you mean Buzzsaw?"

        "Yes, yes, that one. You implanted it in the Autobots’ primary computer core, it sent the female off-course and straight into our hands. That one. Has it been discovered, yet?" Galvatron was beginning to grow impatient, and it showed plainly in the set of his jaw.

        "No, my lord Galvatron. He has not been discovered." Cyclonus caught the emphasis on the word, faint though it was. To endeavor to correct Galvatron was a dangerous thing—the last Decepticon who had attempted it was still lying in a smoldering heap on Gamma 73, where Galvatron had ordered his carcass to remain, as a reminder to all Decepticons of the price of crossing Galvatron.

        "Excellent. Have it jam all transmissions between Cybertron and Earth from within the Autobots’ own communications system. It is something they will never expect." Galvatron continued on as if he hadn’t noticed that Soundwave’s choice of words did not reflect his own. Cyclonus did not doubt Galvatron had indeed noticed, and had filed away that information for later remembrance. Perhaps he would do nothing to Soundwave, since they had been close in his former life. Cyclonus hoped, very sincerely, that that would be the case—he did not want to think of any more pain coming to Soundwave than what already had.

        "If he does that, the possibility of his discovery will rise tenfold." There was genuine distress in Soundwave’s voice at this. Bad enough that Buzzsaw was far away from him, but that he could be discovered and destroyed?

        Galvatron leaned forward, his face pushing into the holographic galaxy as he stared at Soundwave with narrowed optics. The shadows of the swirling image played across Galvatron’s face, making him look both divine and demonic. "Then it will have to do its job well, so that it is not suspected. Won’t. It?"

        Soundwave stared down at his feet. "Yes, lord Galvatron."

        Galvatron nodded. "Excellent. Finally—Cyclonus, report! How go the studies of the Quintessons?"

        "Very well, my lord Galvatron. They have finally isolated the power structure they discovered twelve months ago, and anticipate a preliminary working model within another two months. The deaths of several of their scientists from working with the leg of Unicron have resulted in several setbacks, which is the reason for their delay."

        "Their delay has outlasted its welcome. Give them exactly sixty more of their days. If they do not have the prototype working by then, kill ten Quintessons for every day more they require."

        Cyclonus frowned. "Are you certain, my lord Galvatron? If it should come to that, we will kill all their scientists quite quickly—"

        Galvatron laughed harshly, derisively. "Ah, Cyclonus, you so amuse me sometimes! I didn’t say kill ten Quintesson scientists, did I? Of course not. But killing their females and children can be much more motivational than killing them, wouldn’t you agree? Of course, I’d be surprised if those five-headed freaks have females or children—if they don’t, then simply kill a hundred of their common citizens each day. We must, after all, maintain our dominance."

        Cyclonus felt alternating waves of horror and awe. Horror, because he could not see how it could possibly be honorably to kill an innocent third party deliberately in a dispute between two others. Awe, because he knew Galvatron was right, because he knew the Decepticons needed the innovations the Quintessons were working on (though at a Decepticon timetable, rather than the Quintesson timetable they had been using), and because he knew that Galvatron easily made difficult decisions for the greater good of the Decepticons.

        He truly was the Messiah.

        Galvatron turned his attention to the map before him. "Now, we should capture at least one more major planet before moving on to Earth, if for no better reason than to keep our skills sharp and our enemies cowering." His optics glanced from system to system on the display until they settled on one planet on the edge of Decepticon territory. "Ah, excellent. This is a planet of fleshlings with highly advanced technology—if we can capture their world, we will capture Earth easily. What fantastic luck that we should have so perfect a world to practice on."

        And when Galvatron smiled, Cyclonus knew that no luck played a role in that world being still free from Decepticon rule. Galvatron had planned this, too—had thought of everything ten steps ahead of anyone else. He was all that the Decepticons needed, and more. Omniscient, omnipotent, omnimalevolent! As they filed out of the room, Cyclonus glanced at the name of the world the Decepticons would next take.

        Nebulos.
 
 

        To Chapter Thirty-One