First Contact Revisited

By Matt TALON Kirkby


    "Soundwave?" rumbled a deep voice from the open doorway.
    "Yes?" the communications expert replied. Without looking up from his console he waved the other Decepticon to a chair. "You desire something, Warlord Terrorwing?"
    "How do you do that?" Terrorwing asked, shaking his head in mild amusement. "No, nevermind, telepath—I don't? want to know just how easily you can read my mind."
    "I do not read the minds of allies and friends," Soundwave replied, finally looking at his visitor. "Only enemies."
    "Yes, well...." Terrorwing, warlord of the Grey Legion, frowned before finally continuing. "I wonder at something, Soundwave."
    Even a non-telepath could tell that. "Yes?"
    "We both served with Megatron back in the First Days of the Great War...we know the mechanold he was. But now," he gestured to the gray bulkheads of the Dark Glory. "Can we be certain that this is the same mechanoid we once swore our lives to?" He grimaced at his tone. "I mean no treason...it's just that fifty thousand Vorns is a long time, even for our race. Adding in the rumors of his madness and supposed death back on Earth nearly a quarter-vorn ago, how can we be certain that he is indeed the Megatron we swore allegiance too when the Great War began? This ship, his empire, his army, are all very impressive, but I will not risk the lives of my Legion for an imposter." Terrorwing looked directly at Soundwave. "Is this truly our Megatron?"
    Soundwave nodded. "Yes." Certainty filled that single word, pure, unshakable certainty. "I knew it was Megatron from the start." He turned off his console, abandoning his project. "It began almost five years ago, in our undersea fortress on Syrra IV...."

    I saunter into my quarters and desiring solitude, seal the door behind me. I walk past the energon-dispenser, ignore the stack of data chips waiting on my desk, and stop next to my favorite chair, thinking only of enjoying my well-deserved rest-cycle, and then I notice a light on my computer console is blinking an 'incoming message' signal. I sigh...after a long day of assisting Galvatron with overseeing the final touches on our fortress's defenses, I am exhausted. Listening to his rants about his future plans is also tiring...he has fire—I must admit—but none of Megatron's grand vision. The light is insistent though...and strobes brightly. The dimly-lit lightpanels shine at a mere quarter—power, with some murky illumination coming from the room's sole armored viewport...the aquatic creatures swimming through Syrra IV's endless oceans usually sooth me...today I opaque the viewport.
    Resignedly, I tap at the computer keypad, powering up the screen. Hopefully it is just something I can ignore...a memo from Shockwave regarding energon usage or a request from Starscream about creating new encryption codes. I am working on one exceptionally complex code that will be all but impossible to crack unless....
    The message on the screen is gibberish.
    Well, it is heavily encrypted.
    Almost unconsciously I sit down at the console. My rest-cycle can wait...this looks interesting. A multi-level split-inversion variable-routine code...I haven't seen one of these since...almost thirteen years now. My cursory scan locates another anomaly: the signal was sent from outside the fortress. A compressed pulse, phase-shifted into a lower spectrum to avoid detection, then transmitted via tightbeam...fascinating and very difficult to achieve.
    After an hour of work, the standard decryption routines have failed to crack the code, so I begin to try the non-standard routines.
    Several hours later, the locked door to my quarters hisses open and several rambunctious figures enter. They immediately head towards the energon-dispenser, arguing good-naturedly.
    "Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, please be quiet!" At the sound of my seldom-raised voice, they fall silent. "I am working upon something of importance, and I require silence," I continue more calmly. "Please go elsewhere for a while. Maybe the Insecticons would like to play with you." I add the last in a vaguely apologetic tone.
    "Sounds like fun," Frenzy says.
    "Race you to the Hive!" Rumble challenges.
    "You're on."
    As the door closes behind them, I turn back to the console.
    Exhausted, mentally and physically, I slump back in my chair and stare at the small chronometer blinking in one monitor. It is five hours past local midnight, six hours after I found this message.
    But it is decoded. Finally. With great satisfaction, I tap the appropriate switch and watch the computer sort through the characters and delete filler, then arrange the remaining letters into a message.
    It is just three short words.
     I NEED YOU.
    I stare at the serenely glowing letters. "I need you?" I repeat aloud. "What kind of message is that?" My optic band narrows in my concentration as I tilt my head to the right and study the letters again. At first I think it must be some trick...but I dismiss that thought: the code is far too difficult to fake...and only a handful of highly ranked Decepticons even know of its existence. I consider the list of suspects in my mind...and dismiss most of them immediately, the others follow one by one. The best choice to have sent such an unusual message was...but no, he was long dead.
    I type at the keypad and trigger a second scan of the datastream...the computer detects another message buried within the first.
    I stare in shock at the string of nonsense characters scrolling across the monitor. Even encrypted, I know what they say!
    Numbly, I punch in the appropriate decryption code anyway...in an instant, the message resolves into a string of numbers.
    I know those stellar coordinates...know them only too well. This has to be some kind of trick...and I know that I have to go there in person and find out for myself.

    A few hours later I am ready. I have obtained permission from Galvatron to travel off-world—after enduring a long and rambling rant about treachery and desertion—and then arranged for a scoutship to be fueled and prepped, summoned my Cassettlcons—I am not leaving them around Galvatron without my presence to protect them—and then I head up towards one of the fortress's secondary hangerbays.
    Skyquake is waiting when I step out of the traveltube. "Well?" the Predatfor commander demands.
    "Well?" I repeat. I walk towards my ship, keeping my pace slow and measured...technicians are giving it a final preflight check and just finishing off its fueling.
    "So what is this sudden mission of yours?"
    "Rumor travels faster than any signal I can transmit," I observe dryly. "However, in this case it is accurate."
    "So?"
    "So?"
    "Where are you going? Traveling alone in a small, lightly-armed scoutship is hardly your usual style, Soundwave."
    "It's personal," I tell him bluntly. Then I pause outside the open hatch of the scoutship, looking at the busy technicians. Skyquake and I—despite the Predators’ unquestioned loyalty to Galvatron—have shared many confidences about Galvatron’s mental status during private conversations...we have entrusted each other with potentially deadly information. "If I am successful," I confide softly, "then we will have a very bright future for our race." With that I step into the scoutship and seal the hatch behind me.
            *            *            *
    Syrra IV is long behind me...I find the solitude of hyperspace to be soothing. I enjoy the sense of isolation, something I seldom felt while surrounded by a fortress full of my fellow Decepticons. Granted my Cassetticons were present inside of my chest, but they hardly count while inside me, they’re in a form of stasis...I find their presence the be most comforting. I stretch out my mind...and I can sense nothing for as far as I can strain my thoughts.
    With a beep, the scoutship drops out of hyperspace. My optic band narrows slightly as the mottled red of hyperspace resolves into the star-strewn-blackness of Realpace.
    My destination is visible through the forward viewport...a small, barren planetoid. Its star—a tiny, burned-out ember—is all but-invisible to the naked optic.
    I smile at old memories...the planetoid orbits a dying star, its barren surface dark and pitted by ancient impact craters, all of it covered by the frozen remnants of its atmosphere.
    Ember—"As good a name as any," Megatron had declared after our scouting partly had stumbled across the planetoid during a boringly routine mission during the early Vorns of the War—is totally useless to anyone. Devoid of any trace of vegetation or life—not even the most primitive microscopic lifeforms—no natural resources…the planet would be ignored by anyone who stumbles across it. Hence the main reason Megatron had built a private retreat there.
    I alter my course slightly with a brief thruster burn. A scan using all my ship's available sensors detects nothing—-no lifesigns, no power emissions, no signals, no mineral or metallic deposits—but I enter into orbit anyway. I carefully adjust my course to follow a vary specific sub-orbital insertion path into the non-existent atmosphere. Heavily shielded from detection, ancient though powerful weaponry keeps watch for unauthorized intruders...and I have no intention to test their accuracy.
    The surface is as barren and inhospitable as I recall.
    Landing is easy, leaving the scoutship is more difficult. The extreme cold has caused the hatch to warp slightly...I finally force it open, worrying briefly about how I will get it closed again when I am leaving later.
    If there is a later...I force that particular thought from my mind and increase the gain on my optics.
    Wandering across the icy rocks, I silently transmit the codes to open the outpost door. Even though I had helped oversee its initial construction, finding the outpost after so many millennia is rather difficult. The cold light of distant stars provides more illumination than the nearly-dead sun Ember orbits...the icy plain is featureless.
    Finally the hatch responds to my broadcast and two meter-thick ice-and rock-covered duranium slide open, silent in the vacuum. I carefully descend the newly-revealed staircase. The hatch closes behind me.
    The airlock hisses as a standard atmosphere was pumped in, I carefully adjust my internal temperature to prevent my optic band from steaming up, or cracking, in the sudden warmth.
    The inner airlock opens and I step into the outpost.
    The widely-spaced ceiling lightpanels are glowing at less than one quarter-power but I could navigate the outpost in total darkness. Light reflects from the silvery Decepticon emblems inlaid in the tiled floor and wallpanels.
    I pace the single corridor which forms the core of the outpost, my footsteps echo on the tiles. I pass sealed doors—a small but well-equipped medbay, an armory and firing range, a recharge station and supply depot—and finally stop outside the computer center. I pause, unable to move, gripped by a sudden sense of dread—what if this Is all just a trick? What if this is a trap?—then I force my finger to key the lockpad.
    The door glides open.
    The room is brightly lit. Full-power lightpanels shine down, their light augmented by the glow from a dozen active monitors and displays. "It has been a long time," the room's occupant announces in a deep voice, "but I knew you would come."
    I stare at the robotic figure...it is—but it can't be!
    "Don't you recognize me?"
    I eye the massive humanoid figure again. "I recognize whom you think you are," I reply carefully. "I know how few know about the encryption code you used, how many fewer know about this place." His face is familiar. "I know who you supposedly are."
    "Soundwave...don't be fooled by this new bodyshell." He takes a step towards me. "You know exactly who I am...in your heart."
    I do...that purple-and-green armor is new, the shoulder-mounted cannon is different, but that tone of command—casual yet compelling — is the same...I spot the subtle nuances of body-language which no impostor could possibly fake well enough to fool me. "Megatron!" I gasp. For a moment his mind is open to me and I read it as easily as a decrypted file. WI function for you and for you alone!" Bowing my head, I slam my fist against my chest in proper Decepticon fashion. "Command me, Mighty One."
    "Ah, Soundwave, you don't know how good it is to hear you say that again!" Then his grin slips. "But address me only as 'Commander' for now. I will not allow myself to use my true name until I have proven myself worthy of once again commanding the Decepticons."
    "Then come back to Syrra IV with me," I plead. "There are many there who will follow you joyfully!"
    "All in good time," he replies. "For now I have other tasks to occupy my attention, but I will deal with Syrra IV soon enough."
    My mind is filled with questions...my brief telepathic touch has shown many images—Galvatron throwing Shockwave against a wall, Ratchet and Staracream locked in battle, a blast of fire searing my circuits, a humanoid form cloaked in shadow asking how I felt-—but they make little sense. "Mighty One, how did you survive? All reports indicated that you were killed in the Ark’s second crash…."
    "And the traitors who caused it will pay. Oh, how they shall all pay! Traitors and my benefactors alike!" Megatron laughs then, his optics blazing with light, "But, unlike them, I shall be thorough in my work," His voice softens as he gazes at me, both his voice and his expression calm and relaxed. WI will no longer tolerate the existence of multiple groups of Decepticons...we must become one race again." His smile is pleased as he scares at me, "Together again, Soundwave, and now nothing will stop us!"
    "Just like old times," I agree.
    "Yes...and our destiny awaits," The old fire is indeed there...that casual aura of power that Megatron had always surrounded himself with. "Things are different now, Soundwave. We will be victorious in the coming war...oh, let Galvatron and Shockwave play… their games will all amount to naught in the future I am creating. This time nothing will stop me!" he declares. "Not the treachery of Shockwave and Starscream, not the madness of Galvatron, not even the interference of Optimus Prime himself!" His pleased laughter echoes through the room.
    "As you say."
    "Now, Soundwave," Magatron’s hand thumps onto my shoulder, "I know you have many questions…rest assured( I will answer all of them." He taps a button on his arm. "Dark Glory, drop your cloaking screens and teleport me aboard. Be swift, we have an important visitor." He looks back at me with a grin. "And after my story, you must tell me all about the doings of our faction...tell me everything."
    "As you command, Meg—Mighty One."

    With a soft thud the scoutship docks in its hanger and a dozen technicians swarm to check it over.
    I step out of the small ship, after having wiped the navigation systems to prevent anyone from checking on my travels. Looking around the hanger, I am glad my faceshield hides my expression, it won't do to have anyone pondering why I now look with contempt upon this hidden fortress. For how can I be content with hiding underwater when the galaxy awaits the glory only the Decepticons can bring to it? I have seen the future...and it will be more glorious than most of my fellow Decepticons have ever dreamed!
    Skyquake is waitflng near the doors, "The illustrious Galvatron demands your immediate presence," he informs me.
    I shrug. "Big deal...let him wait."
    Skyquake looks shocked at my reply. His expression slips into a grin as I walk towards the nearest traveltube. "Well?" he asks softly as he falls into step beside me.
    "Well?" I ask with a mocking tone.
    "Did you find what you sought?" the Predator demands.
    "Yes," I reply just as softly. "And our future has just become very bright indeed." I step into the travel tube....

    Terrorwing remained silent for severed moments after Soundwave had finished his story. "And from that mind-scan—"
    "I am quite certain of his true identity, whomever his mysterious benefactors are, they rebuilt a fine new body for our old Commander." Soundwave paused. "For the last five years, I have slowly gathered supporters from among the Decepticons on Syrra IV, plotting carefully and manipulating, data for Megatron’s use. At last we made our move—on the eve of Galvatron’s greatest triumph---and this is the result."
    "I doubt you planned on the Disciples though," Terrorwing said with a wry grin.
    "No, they were unexpected."
    Terrorwing stood up. "I was convinced of Megatron's identity, you understand, but I had to be certain—from another independents source— before risking my Legion."
    Soundwave nodded his understanding. Terrorwing cared for his Legion better than most TransFormers cared for their own offspring... though he could be stern and fierce, Terrorwing was soft-hearted in some surprising ways.
    "Now that everything is clear, the Grey Legion will serve loyally, as the honor of our heritage demands." He offered a salute. "Power to the Decepticons, forever!"
    "Forever," Soundwave repeated as the door closed behind Terrorwing.