CHAPTER TEN
Earth, crash-site of the Ark II
“I… am never, ever doing that again.”
“What’s wrong?” Wheeljack asked, looking over at Jazz. “Never been on an orbital jump before?”
“Oh, I’ve been on plenty,” Jazz replied, wiping dirt off of his white armor plating. “Plenty enough for me to decide that I absolutely hate them and never want to do them.”
“Well, it’s either this or getting shot out of the sky by Decepticons or humans, depending on whoever hates the most today.” Wheeljack turned back around to look upon the remains of the Ark II, the ship in which the Autobots had arrived on Earth over a century ago. It was still embedded in the mountainside it had crashed into, its once golden hull having faded to a rusted orange.
“Gotta admit,” the Autobot engineer muttered, “I’m surprised Sector Seven didn’t salvage or destroy this, especially after they turned against us.”
“They were probably too focused on chasing us to even remember,” said Jazz. “And, hey, who knows; maybe they’ve already booby trapped it without us knowing.”
The two Autobots proceeded to enter the crashed Ark, carefully stepping over rubble and debris. The ship was sure to be empty of bots, as all those who been knocked into stasis lock upon the crash had been reactivated by the time of Unicron’s defeat and any who had died had been recovered and entombed back on Cybertron. Despite this, Jazz still couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking onto a ghost ship. He still had vivid memories of the ship bustling with activity during its quest for the AllSpark. To see it in such a decrepit state left him feeling uncomfortable at best.
They eventually reached what had once been the Ark’s command center and Wheeljack made a beeline for the main computer. Jazz was not expecting it to boot up after so many years of disuse and was surprised when it actually did within minutes of Wheeljack switching it on.
“Dang,” Jazz commented. “Didn’t think it would work after all this time.”
“I plugged in a power booster,” Wheeljack explained as he tried to adjust the glitching monitor. “Not sure how long it’ll last, but it should be enough to do what we need to.”
Once the monitor’s screen had stopped glitching enough to be usable, Wheeljack started typing away, inputting codes and various strings of text and numbers. Jazz didn’t understand half of what he was doing and decided not to pretend to, instead waiting until Wheeljack was finished or something interesting happened.
The latter did not waste any time in presenting itself as a small, ball-shaped object popped up from the ground and hovered in front of Jazz, eliciting a startled shriek.
“Intruder alert!” the object blared, shining lights in the Autobot’s face. “Intruder alert! Identify yourselves immediately—”
“T-X One-Nine-Eight-Four,” Wheeljack said.
The ball instantly dimmed its lights and backed away from Jazz, speaking to him in a more polite tone. “Greetings, Crewmember Jazz. I hope you are doing well.”
“Uh….” Jazz glanced at Wheeljack, who still had his attention on the computer. “What the hell?”
“Please monitor your language, Crewmember Jazz,” the ball said. “It is not professional of a high-ranking officer.”
“’Jack, you’ve gotta clear this up for me.”
“It's a backup drive for Teletraan-One,” Wheeljack replied. “It gets activated in the event that the main computer shuts down, which it did when the Ark crashed.”
“How come it never popped up when we first woke up?” Jazz asked.
Wheeljack shrugged. “I dunno. You and the others came back online before I did and the topic never came up. It probably just hadn’t recovered from the crash yet.”
Jazz eyed the small robot warily, still slightly bothered by its presence. “So, uh, do you need it for what you’re doing or—”
“Teletraan-X, reroute power from sectors one, four, and nine to main grid.”
The robot’s central blue flashed green for a second. “Done,” it said.
At that moment, the room was suddenly bathed in light as the rest of the command center’s systems came back online. A satisfied Wheeljack then turned away from the computer and beamed at Jazz.
“Radio Prime,” he said. “We’re back up and running.”
* * *
In spite of everything, Sari had to admit that it was nice to finally return to known civilization. The coffee shop Kicker had brought her to was just as busy as it had been the last time she had visited it during the semester, with no one being wise to what she had just been through since then.
Still, she wasn’t exactly in the mood for anything besides a bottle of water. She had already finished half the bottle by the time Kicker returned to their table with his cup of coffee. No longer in his suit of armor, he was wearing a far more casual set of white jacket over red shirt. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was just another student from her college rather than… whatever he was supposed to be.
After taking a painfully long sip from his drink, Kicker glanced up at Sari, staring at her through his long brown locks. “So, where do you want me to start?”
“Are you sure it’s safe to talk about this here?” Sari asked, looking around at the other customers.
“They’re not going to overhear,” Kicker replied. “And if they do, they probably won’t care; just two kids talking about made-up crap.”
“Right.” Sari sighed, staring at her half-empty bottle. “What’s your story, then? How did you find out about… this?”
“My father told me. He was one of the many scientists who worked for Machination on Project: Cadmus.”
“Project: Cadmus,” Sari repeated. She reached into her pocket and dug out the piece of paper she had found earlier with those same words written on it. “I found this in my dad’s office,” she said, showing it to Kicker.
Kicker nodded, barely reacting to it. “Makes sense. Your grandfather, Newton Sumdac, was the head of the project. I’m not sure how much involvement your father Isaac had in it, though.”
Sari frowned. “What is Project: Cadmus then? What does it have to do with us?”
“It’s where we came from,” Kicker said. “It’s what resulted in our creation.”
Sari took in a deep breath, though if she was being honest with herself she had expected that to have been the case. “So, what, we’re just some… experiments made in a lab?”
“More or less,” Kicker said with a shrug. Sari noticed that he did not seem as bothered by this as she was, though it was probably because he had had more time to process it.
“Scorponok made it sound like I was the only one, though,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I didn’t think there were others.”
“Probably because Scorponok doesn’t know about any others,” said Kicker. “My father said I had been deemed a failure and was ordered to dispose of me. Instead, he raised me as his son and waited until my powers started developing to tell me the truth.”
“Could there be others, then? Others like us?”
Kicker thought for a moment. “Well, we definitely weren’t the first. Others were made before us, but they were disposed of for failing to meet expectation. Although… my dad thinks one of them might have gotten loose.”
Sari slowly nodded, trying to take all of this in. She planted an elbow on the table as she ran a hand through her hair, blowing out her breath as she continued to stare at her bottle. “So, what now?” she asked, almost in a whisper. “Those robots — Scorponok and the rest — they aren’t going to give up on chasing me, are they? Who can we turn to?”
Kicker glanced around before leaning closer, his tone low. “Are you aware of a group by the name of Sector Seven?”
Sari tensed slightly, recalling how Sector Seven had turned against the Autobots. “I know someone named Fowler,” she said carefully.
“Good. He’s one of the few from that group who can still be trusted.”
“He was supposed to pick me up back in Detroit. But then those… Decepticons showed up and… kinda put that whole plan in the trash.”
“If you can try calling him again, that might help us,” said Kicker. “Until or unless the Autobots return, he might be the best person we can turn to.”
Sari raised an eyebrow at him. “You know about the Autobots?”
Kicker smiled slightly. “Of course I do. That whole thing that happened back at Stonehenge wasn’t exactly under the radar.”
“Yeah, well, to be honest, I didn’t really believe any of it up until this last week,” Sari said quietly.
“Fair enough.” Kicker shrugged as he took another sip from his coffee. “I would probably be in the same boat if I didn’t already know that I was some weird alien cyborg thing.”
Trypticon
“Mind transfer is ninety percent complete,” reported Flatline. “Spark readings are still steady.”
Shockwave stared down at the resting forms of Scourge and Megatron. A cable between their heads connected the two as it transferred the latter’s memories from the former into the new body constructed for him by Trypticon. While he was confident that the operation would go smoothly for Megatron, he had doubts that Scourge would survive the process. The Scourge program had been created to infect Optimus Prime — then known as Orion Pax — and turn him to the Decepticons’ side. The fact that it had developed a personality all its own was something Shockwave found to be… unprecedented.
Unless, of course, Scourge had requested more from Trypticon than just a single spark and a new body….
“Ninety-eight percent!” said Flatline. “Nearly complete. Everything is looking good….”
Shockwave directed his attention to Megatron’s newly built form, watching as its optical sensors glowed to life for the first time. Before Flatline could even say that the process had completed, the revived Decepticon leader began to sit up, forcefully disconnected the cable from his head. Flatline rushed over to assist him but was ignored as Megatron immediately set his gaze on Shockwave, his red eyes narrowing.
“Shockwave,” he growled.
“Lord Megatron.” Shockwave inclined his head in acknowledgment. “How do you feel?”
“I feel… alive.” Megatron flexed his hands, testing every joint in his servos. “More alive than I’ve felt in… years.”
“I would suggest that you allow yourself a few mega-cycles to rest,” Flatline said meekly. “Your spark and body are still very new and fresh, and it’s not guaranteed that the body can withstand the full capabilities of a spark as strong as yours.”
If Megatron had heard him, he did not show it. Still, he took great care in raising himself off the medical slab and planting his feet on the floor. Stretching to his full height, he slowly shifted his attention back to Shockwave, his expression still displaying a sense of wariness.
“I’m surprised you have returned to serve me.”
“I understand why you might feel that way,” Shockwave said in a low tone. “However, I assure you that my loyalty will not be in question.”
Megatron let out a sharp laugh. “You said the same when I first took over the Decepticons, and yet you spent the next thousand years plotting behind my back with your Secret Order. How do I know you will not do the same again?”
Shockwave briefly glanced at Megatron’s arm, taking note that the Decepticon leader had not yet reacquired his fusion cannon. “The events that transpired last year has made me realize how… illogical my plans were in the greater scheme of things,” he said carefully. “I am willing to acknowledge the fact that you are the superior leader for Cybertron’s future.”
“That much we can agree on,” Megatron said. “However, I simply cannot afford to take any more chances with you.”
Too late, Shockwave realized that Scourge was no longer laying on his medical slab. Before he could react, he was tackled from behind and landed face-first onto the floor. As Scourge kept him pinned, Flatline began to approach him, deploying a claw-like device.
“Not willing to kill me yourself?” Shockwave asked, glaring up at Megatron.
“Oh, no.” The Decepticon leader grinned. “Your mind and intellect are much too valuable for me to waste. I am simply making sure that you won’t be a hindrance to future plans.”
“Plans?” Shockwave questioned. “You have only been back from the dead for less than a deca-cycle. How could you possibly have any plans?”
Megatron chuckled, though it sounded like it was coming from both him and Scourge at the same time. “You will see, old friend. In time, you will see.”
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