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tanks that would form the brunt of their assault force. A team of Autobot high-rankers had intervened,
destroying the siphon, and then the Time Wars got in the way. Well, if you’re going to be distracted…
He was captured on his return to 2009 and thrown into an Autobot City cell. While he sat and
stared, a newly revived Galvatron took control. The grand plan was scrapped and Galvatron began to devise
his own strategy, a unique method of conquering Cybertron that would be attributable purely to him.
Even when he was freed, he’d kept his anger tightly under wraps. No outbursts, no grudges, no
loose-lipped comments. Any outward sign of disapproval would be interpreted as an act of mutiny
punishable by death. He vowed to sit back and wait, to keep track of the Resistance (not easy after
Autobase was totalled and the renegades went underground) and, when he had command once more,
remount the assault.
In blowing his cover Doubleheader had simultaneously beamed a tracking signal to the Decepticon
comms centre. Outgoing messages of any kind were usually pounced on by the Autobots’ tech-heads, but
who would think to scan for rogue frequencies while Rodimus Prime is being slagged And so they now
knew that the Autobots were inside the Archives Centre, a few miles from Helios, nudging the outskirts of
Iacon. It was time to finish what he had started.
He entered the comms centre. Officers stood and saluted.
Astrotrain pressed his palms together and smiled. ‘All squadrons are ready for mobilisation,
commander. The aerial fleet is fully fuelled and we’re ready to attack.’
‘You wanted to see me in person to tell me that’
‘No, there’s something else. A few moments ago Blackbolt detected a power surge in the Rust Sea
region.’
‘Energy signature’
‘We got a partial. You want a guess A portal, maybe even a warp-bridge.’
‘This warrants investigation.’
Tricoder pointed at his screen. ‘Commander Soundwave! I’m detecting a hyperspatial exit point!’
The night sky above Northern Polyhex had split apart and something was forcing its way through.
Ultra Magnus knew that he’d just witnessed his last chance of victory disappear – literally. His
Autobots knew it too, and the Sharkticons; everyone was fighting with punch-drunk vigour, as if suddenly
all the rules had been rewritten. Nothing mattered anymore. It was lawless.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ said Death’s Head, loitering on the sidelines. ‘It could be worse, yes’
‘Worse! I can’t contact Cybertron, half the city’s destroyed, Metroplex is dead, our Space Bridge has
imploded and we’ve got a floating space gun hanging over our heads. How can it get
any worse!’
‘Don’t get it, Magnus. Why don’t you just run away’
‘What, and abandon the humans to their fate Not an option.’
‘Think about it, eh The Quintessons aren’t here to kill the humans. They’re here to kill you. If you
run, they’ll follow.’
‘Fine! Except how the hell are we supposed to—’
He stopped.
He remembered.
He opened his wrist communicator and said, ‘Autobots, prepare to evacuate the city. We will
congregate near the remains of the command tower and from there proceed to the Ark. Do not engage the
enemy. Retreat is your main priority.’ He looked at Death’s Head. ‘That sounded cowardly.’
‘In which case you make a good coward, yes’
Conquest, the Quintesson warcruiser, having pushed its way out of the hyperspatial portal, had come
to standstill a hundred miles away. It balanced on the horizon line, black and angular. Tridents hovered
around it like flies.
The Decepticons stood to attention outside Darkmount, waiting to see what would happen.
Soundwave was up front, crammed into one of 200 Detonators, staring at ship in the sky. Behind the
tanks was the Aerial Corps: 800 high-flyers and cloud-crawlers that formed one of the most formidable