First Words

Copyright 1998, Robert A. Jung
Originally published May 15, 1998

All characters depicted or mentioned in this story are the trademarks and/or copyrights of their respective holders, except for those that aren't. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, is coincidental, etc., etc. Geez, it's just a story, guys. Don't get too uptight over it...

By all accounts, the planet Cybertron was a paradise.

The mechanoids there could not have wanted for anything. They were all but immortal, with gleaming steel bodies that could be repaired from most any injury. Their leisure time was boundless, allowing them to pursue whatever interests or studies they desired. And though work was available for those who wanted it, a generous welfare system -- backed by Cybertron's endless energy sources -- made it entirely possible for anyone to live a life of unstained hedonism.

In short, it was paradise. And everyone on Cybertron should have been happy.

But happiness is always relative...

Soundwave watched the meeting of the Council with a familiar boredom barely kept in check. He did not want to be here, but it was part of his job -- the weekly Regional Council sessions were part of his regular assignments at CyberNet News. It wasn't a strenuous task; as a Witness, all he had to do was to watch and listen to the events around him, in case his supervisors wanted to use a clip in the daily broadcast. Still, the endless droning of the bureaucrats and the petty topics of their "debates" combined to make it an irrefutably dull chore. Even knowing that other Witnesses planetwide suffered the same fate didn't reduce his tedium any.

The speaker currently addressing the Council was a silver-and-red robot named Dipledos; he was arguing for an extension of the Latagid canal, so it could reach the domed city of Xeppas. These public requests were an integral part of Cybertronian democracy -- anyone was allowed to speak before the Councils, presenting their ideas, criticisms, suggestions, and pleas to their leaders. There was no guarantee of action, but most Transformers believed that the open forum helped nurture the best ideas of the citizenry.

Soundwave knew otherwise. After millions of years of trial and error, all of the truly useful ideas had been implemented long ago. The most that came out of the Council meetings were either minor changes, transparent attempts to manipulate the system, or crackpot schemes. Soundwave was confident that a check of Dipledos' background would reveal some self-serving motive -- perhaps he wanted to start a business holding boat tours in Xeppas, for instance -- that explained his presence.

Dipledos finished with a half-passionate plea for the city, then bowed with overexaggerated grace and stepped off the chamber floor. With ritualized formality, Gaedi, the Regional President, asked the other members to consider the matter for a vote at the next meeting.

After dutifully noting the edict, the secretary announced the next speaker: "Megatron of Tarn."

True to his training, Soundwave suppressed any sign of surprise at the name. Megatron was one of the most notable people on the planet, a veteran warrior in the gladiatorial arenas. His name was known even to those who didn't care about the fights; in addition to his impressive win-loss record, Megatron was a flamboyant fighter, who fought with a grace that mesmerized his audiences. A few radical followers even protested that the safety rules and interlocks that protected all warriors were a restraint on the beauty of his art.

Soundwave centered Megatron in his view as the star stepped onto the floor. His strides were proud and long, but his face was sober, almost grim, as if it was etched by deep thoughts. Soundwave knew nothing of Megatron's personality, but was reasonably impressed -- this was not an indulgent playboy, bolstering his ego by flaunting himself in public for a minor cause. No, he was clearly on a mission, a task so important that he had to handle it personally.

Megatron reached the center of the room, and the last of his footsteps echoed off into the distance. Though the chamber was mostly empty, he slowly turned as he spoke, addressing an audience that wasn't there.

"Esteemed members of the Council ... I speak before you today on a matter of the utmost importance." It was a typical opening to many presentations, yet the timbre of his voice and the steel in his poise lend them additional weight.

With the smoothness of practice, Megatron continued. "For countless years, we Transformers have lived in absolute luxury. There is no want on our planet; each citizen is fed, and sheltered, and protected, and served. Though some of us may live better than others, we are all free to pursue whatever interests or hobbies we wish, free to improve ourselves and pamper ourselves, free from the burdens of toil and poverty. Our few encounters with alien races have been short and uneventful, and our Guardians have the strength to protect us from all threats.

"It has been this way for millennia, and there is no reason to believe it cannot continue so indefinitely."

Megatron paused for a moment while the audience acknowledged his words. This was nothing but the truth, a capsule summary of the history of Cybertron. Like everyone else, Soundwave wondered what was next.

"And yet," Megatron resumed, his voice rising, "What sort of a life is this? Where is the satisfaction, the reward, the purpose of such an existence? I myself am one of the most prosperous mechanoids on Cybertron; but I now see that an eternity of effortless pleasure is no paradise at all. At best, we become -- we have become -- lazy and complacent. At worst, it is nothing but a glittering cage, trapping us all in stagnation and rot."

The subsequent pause was filled with a few murmuring voices. Almost on cue, one of the Council members asked, "What are you proposing?"

A small smile danced across Megatron's face. "We must leave our home, esteemed one. We have stayed on Cybertron for far too long; let us spread ourselves among the stars, across the countless planets and systems that lie beyond our world. For the survival of our people, we cannot stay here indefinitely. Even if Cybertron's core never runs out of power, we'd still be dying as a people, wasting our years in meaningless games and idle pursuits."

The background voices swelled again, which was quickly suppressed when Gaedi raised his hand for silence.

Once satisfied that he had everyone's attention, the Regional President replied, "Your argument is an interesting one, Megatron of Tarn. However--" Gaedi tapped briefly on his desktop console, then continued "--you have no formal training in sociology, psychology, or any other related fields. And as far as I know, there are no signs of this ... malaise that you speak of."

"But it's there!" Megatron exclaimed, momentarily losing his well-rehearsed calm. "You don't need specialized training to see that too much indulgence is a dangerous thing."

"You may be right," Gaedi calmly admitted, "though I would still prefer to have some experts verify your theory. Even so, I'm not sure if leaving Cybertron is the answer. After all, unlike other planets, our world drifts aimlessly through space forever. Someone who settles on another planet may not be able to return to Cybertron later. How can we send out explorers under such conditions? How can we build relationships with other races when our periods together are so brief?"

Megatron relaxed briefly and smiled again. "That danger, that risk, is precisely what our people need, sir -- there is nothing worth having without risk. And building relationships is unimportant; why should we care about communing with lesser beings? If they prove bothersome, destroy them."

"What?!" Gaedi's shout was accompanied by a surge in astonished voices. After waiting a moment for the volume to drop once more, he continued, "Do you seriously think we should eradicate anyone who gets in our way?"

"Yes!" Megatron replied proudly. "With our superior intellect and near-immortality, it's obvious that we are the highest species in the universe. Why should we waste our time accommodating lesser creatures? They might be useful as pets or servants, but we shouldn't hesitate to eliminate them if they prove otherwise."

Almost every voice in the room was speaking loudly now, and the walls reverberated with their cries of surprise and shock. Gaedi struggled to restore order among the chaos, but it was futile. And while everyone else debated, Soundwave continued to silently watch the gladiator, who stood with unwavering calm in the eye of his storm.

And then everything came crashing down.

Megatron sat still in the darkness.

The uproar at the Council meeting was over now, a brief moment in the fading past, but it remained fresh in his mind. It had taken hours to quell the chaos following his presentation, including a mildly humiliating examination by a certified psychiatrist.

But having his sanity and competence verified didn't help any. After the entire Cybertronian Council was gathered by comlink, an overwhelming majority voted to denounce his ideas as subversive and dangerous. Even the more innocent aspects of his proposal -- such as establishing long-term colonies on uninhabited planets -- were rejected, out of fear that prolonged absence from Cybertron would ultimately lead to the same "arrogance of superiority."

They were right, Megatron had admitted, but they were also wrong. They were right that allowing Transformers to leave Cybertron would eventually foster feelings of magnificence and independence. However, he had argued, they were wrong that such feelings were harmful; it was simply a logical conclusion to draw, based on the facts of their existence.

Despite his arguments, the Council remained unconvinced. They could give no substantive reasons for their position, though, other than some vapid nonsense about "respecting the sanctity of life."

Ultimately, a blackout was imposed. All notes and records of Megatron's presentation were eliminated with digital precision. It was classified as a Level A state secret, and everyone involved was warned never to make any mention of it. With the full force of the Cybertronian Council behind it, the edict was more than enough to ensure their silence.

As far as everyone was concerned, his speech never happened.

Although Megatron was ultimately allowed to leave without incident, he could not simply drop the matter. His beliefs were correct; the Council's inability to see the truth was a reflection of their stagnant mindset. And Megatron knew that if he could simply share his ideas with the rest of the populace, many would agree with -- and welcome -- his philosophy.

But that was simply impossible. The Council was surely watching him now, tracking his every word and movement for signs of "subversive" behavior. Simply approaching a televideo station or newsnet office was beyond consideration. And although no one had threatened him outright, they had made it clear that his failure to submit to the blackout would lead to his imprisonment or death.

Because of that, Megatron had done nothing since returning home three days ago. This was not the paralysis of despair, but the meticulous planning of a grandmaster. He couldn't simply blunder forward; he had to choose his next move wisely, to find a solution to his dilemma. And though it still eluded him, Megatron continued to press on.

The door chimed.

Megatron blinked in surprise at the interruption. He never received visitors, preferring to do all of his socializing in public. His home was a haven for his solitude; only a handful of people even knew where he lived, and his home was in a fairly isolated part of Cybertron. Aside from an occasional delivery or the rare dignitary, the door never chimed.

In defiance, the door chimed again.

Suppressing a snarl of irritation, Megatron barked, "Identify."

"Visitor unknown," the house calmly replied.

Megatron considered for a moment, and the door chimed again.

"Suppress door," he said, and the house beeped in acknowledgement. With any luck, whoever it was would conclude that he wasn't home or didn't care for visitors, and leave.

Megatron returned to his thoughts. Getting his message out to the people of Cybertron wasn't enough. As the stern resistance of the Council taught him, his ideas would not be immediately accepted. Such a change would take time -- perhaps weeks, or months, or years. But time was what he didn't have, for he would undoubtedly be arrested as soon as he--

"Intruder detected on property."

"What?!"

"Intruder detect--"

"Never mind!" Megatron snapped as he rose to his feet. Crime was rare on Cybertron, and the idea of a burglar filled him more with curiosity than fear. Besides, he was not a champion gladiator for nothing; the idea that a random trespasser could threaten him was almost laughable. "Where is he now?"

"Intruder has entered the rear lounge. Shall I summon the authorities?"

"Not yet." After all, it could simply be an overenthusiastic (albeit misguided) fan. No need to get someone in trouble if they didn't deserve it.

Megatron moved through the darkened rooms, guided by his intimate familiarity of his home's layout. He stopped just outside of the lounge, where a shadowy figure moved with deliberate, careful motions.

The shadow suddenly turned towards him. "I mean you no harm," it said in an echoing, monotonic voice.

Megatron grunted. "I'll be the judge of that. Lights full."

The house lights snapped on, flooding the room with brilliance, and Megatron studied his visitor as he approached. The stranger was a boxy robot, about as tall as he was, mostly blue with some silver highlights. His face was partially blocked by a mask, which made his expression unreadable.

Trying to keep his voice level, Megatron asked, "Who are you?"

"My name is Soundwave. I need to see you."

With a light chuckle, Megatron shook his head. "Sorry, but I'm not signing autographs today."

"I want to talk about your Council meeting."

Megatron stopped suddenly, his optics narrowing. "How do you know about that?"

"I was a Witness," Soundwave explained. He then tapped a button on his belt-mounted controls, replaying part of Megatron's speech: "Let us spread ourselves among the stars, across the countless planets and systems that lie beyond our--"

"You were supposed to destroy that!"

Soundwave shook his head. "It was too important to erase."

A tense silence draped between them. Though Megatron was not normally a suspicious person, the events of the last few days had rapidly changed that. In less than five minutes, he was now facing a mechanoid who had broken into his house, demanding an audience, and confronted him with dangerously incriminating evidence.

Who was this Soundwave, really? Was he someone convinced by Megatron's ideas, a stranger who truly resonated with his call? Was he an idealistic dreamer who was jeopardizing them both with his defiance of the Council's edict? Or what if he was part of a scheme by the Council itself, hoping to entrap him into a crime so they can have him punished or killed?

As if sensing his doubts, Soundwave spoke again. "You must trust me."

Megatron's stern expression melted away. In a voice devoid of emotion, the besieged gladiator quietly asked, "What do you want, exactly?"

"I want to know more."

Sitting in a chair across from Megatron, Soundwave listened with absolute silence. The gladiator was talking freely now, completely immersed in sharing his ideas with a willing audience, unrestrained by his suspicions. Megatron had been hesitant at first, but a few well-chosen questions had enticed him into speaking.

And the conversation affirmed all of Soundwave's hopes.

As Soundwave had suspected, Megatron was neither a raving lunatic nor an impulsive agitator; he had clearly spent a lot of time on his ideas of Cybertronian expansion, and had spoken to the Council only after giving much thought to the matter. Though it wasn't entirely flawless, Megatron's views were part of a robust, consistent philosophy, with none of the blatant contradictions of an aimless madman.

Sensing that Megatron was almost finished, Soundwave returned his attention to the dialogue at hand. "...simply a matter of self-determination. It's completely ridiculous to squander our lives away in endless games and diversions, when we can do so much more with ourselves."

Soundwave nodded silently, but did not press for further details.

After an awkward pause, Megatron asked, "So ... is there anything else?"

"No, Megatron. I have heard enough."

"Um hmm," Megatron murmured. Though he tried to mask it with a veneer of indifferent calm, his tension was obvious. No longer enraptured by the joy of speaking, his suspicions had surfaced once again.

After another awkward moment, Megatron spoke again, this time in a voice lightly tinged with danger. "Now, Soundwave. I've been a gracious host so far. After all, you were the one who broke into my home, and talked to me about some rather ... delicate issues. But now I think it's time for you to reciprocate -- to tell me why you are here, and what is the real purpose of your visit."

"There is a sonic spy aimed at this house."

To Megatron's credit, he did not leap out of his chair in stunned surprise. Instead, aside from a pointed glare at Soundwave, he gave no acknowledgement of the news, acting almost unsurprised by it.

After a pause, Soundwave continued, "I have generated an ultrasonic antiwave signal this evening. Our discussion was not heard. No one knows we have violated the blackout."

Megatron stroked his chin slowly. "You've protected yourself, then."

"I protected us."

"...why?"

Soundwave stood up and faced Megatron. "I needed to hear your ideas. All of them."

"And?"

"You are correct, Megatron. We cannot live forever in endless leisure. We must push ourselves further, as a people, beyond the boundaries of Cybertron. Your message must be heard, and shared."

"Yes. But how?"

Megatron sat still in the darkness.

Soundwave had left over an hour ago, with promises to return. Megatron was now suddenly aware of how fatigued he was; but though he had not recharged in three days, he still could not bring himself to go to sleep. Indeed, a part of him was surprised at his own stamina.

Megatron's mind was racing with ideas and thoughts, and he allowed himself the pleasure of letting them run freely. Can they really do this? Can they spread his ideas to the rest of Cybertron? Would the Transformers embrace his views, or dismiss him as a kook? How will the Council try to stop him? Will he become a fugitive, fleeing capture from the Guardians? What happens if he's captured? Would the public cry for his freedom? Would he become a political prisoner, rusting away in a cell? Or would he simply be destroyed, without even a chance to defend himself?

And yet, even through Megatron's maelstrom of concepts, a single question rose over the others: Who is Soundwave?

Though he tried at first, Megatron could not ignore or delay this question. Soundwave was now the keystone of his dreams, and everything -- everything -- depended upon his aid.

And despite Soundwave's earlier assurances and promises, Megatron now realized that the blue mechanoid was a complete enigma to him. All he knew was what the Witness had told him, and nothing more. But while his reasons seemed true and plausible, that did not provide the same comforting assurance of knowing who Soundwave was.

Megatron was not naive, and a part of his soul was already churning out paranoid nightmares of betrayal and treason. The Council's power was all-encompassing; who knows what steps they'd take to stop a dangerous subversive? He admitted that if their positions were reversed -- if Megatron was the ruler of Cybertron, being challenged by a dangerous upstart -- he might take similar steps to eliminate the danger.

The other thoughts quickly faded away as Megatron pondered this problem. He studied the matter for countless minutes, thinking of ways to test Soundwave's claims, Soundwave's skills, and Soundwave's loyalty.

Then Megatron stopped.

A sneer crossed his face as he realized the absurdity of his ruminations. He had already committed himself; to dither with suspicion was pointless cowardice, good only to fuel his own fears. It was not his way -- a moment's hesitation in the Arenas could mean the difference between victory and defeat, and Megatron had learned to trust his instinct ages ago. And though the stakes were much higher now, his values hadn't changed.

I have to trust someone, Megatron concluded. It might as well be Soundwave. After all, who else is there?

As soon as he realized that, a wave of warm emotions flooded through Megatron. He smiled with familiar recognition; it was confidence, the trust in his innate ability to best any foe, any crisis, any situation. Only now was he aware of its absence, and his worries over recent events evaporated like ice in a furnace. The blackout by the Cybertronian Council was now nothing but a minor setback. He was Megatron, after all, and he would prevail -- no matter what the cost.

Soundwave returned the next evening, as he had promised. After spending the briefest of time on perfunctory chitchat, the two mechanoids began the long process of refining Megatron's message. Soundwave had explained that, while Megatron's fundamental ideas of expansion were sound, there were problems in the details -- areas of ambiguity and contradictions, incompleteness and error. These potential chinks in the armor had to be resolved, or else Megatron's foes might use them to discredit his beliefs.

They worked as a team, with Soundwave pointing out the problems, and Megatron pushing for solutions. When needed, Soundwave took on the role of Devil's Advocate, battering Megatron's beliefs with the Council's arguments, forcing the warrior to defend his views. Soundwave became Megatron's editor and supporter and foe, taking the warrior's raw ideas and refining them to pure, unblemished principles.

Several weeks quickly passed. In the daytime, while Soundwave worked at the televideo studio, Megatron tended to his own affairs. He rejected all proposals for future arena matches while putting his accounts in order. In the evenings, he and Soundwave would resume their work, further elaborating and editing his publication. Thanks to Soundwave, Megatron was seeing his ideas in greater and greater detail, finding new depths to them that he had never imagined before.

In all that time, Soundwave rarely spoke about himself, and personal questions from Megatron were answered with the briefest of responses. Even so, Megatron refused to be dissuaded, and continued to make his inquiries, scattering his questions over days with curious patience. Eventually, between the snippets of conversation and firsthand observation, Megatron assembled a profile of his new ally.

Soundwave had spent his years well. He was highly intelligent and technically versatile, equally adept at disassembling social theories and circuit boards. While other Transformers were content to spend their lives working in one field or developing one skill, Soundwave was driven to constantly improve himself, physically and mentally. His hunger for personal growth was almost tangible, and it was clear that he was stifled by the social confines of Cybertron.

And yet, despite this, Soundwave possessed no interest in fame or power for himself. This was not a contradiction; Soundwave had a very clear view of what his meaning of life was, and that was to be a catalyst for others. He derived personal satisfaction not from personal glory, but from knowing that he was a valuable -- no, critical -- part of someone else's excellence. He was a disciple searching for a master, though no one on Cybertron had proven deserving of his devotion.

Until Megatron.

For Megatron, whose life had long been defined by his own drive for renown in the arenas, this was disturbing at first. The idea of Soundwave -- or anyone else -- not possessing personal ambition was anathema to him, and he briefly question Soundwave's motives again, wondering if he was being ensnared in an elaborate plot.

But the moment soon passed when Megatron came to another revelation. Soundwave was ambitious, but in a different way. In the end, both mechanoids wanted what was best for Cybertron and its people. But unlike Megatron, Soundwave didn't care about being the speaker for the cause. He was more comfortable as an impetus for Megatron, driving the gladiator's theories to the strongest levels they could reach.

Twenty-three nights later, they were finished. "The document," as they had been calling it, was finally complete.

"It needs a title," Soundwave stated simply.

Megatron nodded. "Of course ... 'Beyond Cybertron'"

Soundwave's chest display flashed to the start of the document, where the title suddenly appeared. "Should I include your name?"

Megatron pondered for a moment. "Without a name, people might not take it seriously."

"True. But omitting it would allow you to deny any knowledge."

After a moment's pause, Megatron shook his head. "No. The Council will suspect me in any case, as I'd certainly be their main suspect. Sign my name; I have nothing to hide."

Soundwave nodded. "Megatron of Tarn" showed beneath the title.

Megatron smiled, then looked directly at Soundwave. "And now," he softly intoned, "there's just one more thing left to do..."

Getting Megatron out of his house was the hardest part. The sonic spy had been relatively easy to disarm, but the tracking beacon hidden in Megatron's magcar was much harder to remove. Eventually, however, Soundwave did remove it; it now laid on the floor of the garage, allowing the Council to believe Megatron was still brooding quietly at home when he was anything but.

The last door slid open with a whisper. Soundwave paused for a beat, verified that the room was empty, then stepped inside. Megatron followed directly behind him, and the door closed quietly.

They were sealed in the near darkness of the control room; the only illumination came from the muted glows of a hundred lights and screens. Though Megatron watched with an expressionless silence, Soundwave still recognized his awe, even muted. There was a special kind of magic in a televideo control room, one that Soundwave had seen before whenever visitors toured CyberNet. After all, despite its innocuous size, it was possible to reach every public display, sound station, and database on Cybertron from this room -- if one knew how to do so.

Soundwave did. He glanced at a screen on the right, then turned to Megatron. "This channel is broadcasting the Risson air races."

Megatron smiled. "A lot of people are watching that. Our interruption will be sure to get noticed."

Soundwave tapped a few keys on a keyboard. "Yes. Our broadcast will also override seventeen other video channels, eleven radio channels, and three thousand data libraries."

"It's going to be very hard for someone to miss us," Megatron said. "Are you sure the refresher will work?"

"It will not run forever," Soundwave admitted. "But it is disguised as a priority-6 search crawler, and it will randomly jump to a new database from the Masterbase directory after every five links. With any luck, it will be weeks before it is finally deleted."

Megatron nodded. Interrupting much of Cybertron's televideo and radio broadcasts was a major step, but the refresher program was a critical element of their plan. Both mechanoids knew the Council would try to erase all copies of "Beyond Cybertron" from the data libraries soon after it was released; the refresher's job was to go and re-insert the treatise in those databases afterward, and spread it even further as well. This way, Megatron's message would continue to be available even after the Council's initial efforts at suppression.

Soundwave moved to another part of the control room and pressed a series of colored buttons, whereupon a data access port extruded from the console. His right hand retracted into his forearm, then emerged as a data transfer station. With quiet efficiency, he plugged himself into the port and downloaded the message.

"It is done," Soundwave intoned a moment later. As he disconnected from the port, he pointed to a glowing green light nearby. "The transmission will begin when you press that button."

Megatron looked down, then turned to Soundwave. "This is it, then?"

"Yes."

The warrior smiled. He pondered for a moment, then said, "Very well, then. Let's teach the people of Cybertron to think about something other than their petty games and pampered lives."

He pressed the button.

An amber light lit up. Soundwave looked at a nearby display screen, which was suddenly overflowing with flashing messages. "It is done."

"Excellent. Let's go!"

The two quickly stepped out of the control room and hurriedly began to retrace their steps to the exit. But less than half a minute later, the ceiling lights began to flash as a klaxon howled through the halls.

Megatron asked, "What is it?"

"Security alarm," Soundwave answered.

Megatron snarled something unintelligible, then quickly bolted ahead and turned around a corner.

Soundwave picked up his speed and followed a second later. Before he could catch up to Megatron, however, a thick pair of arms suddenly grabbed him from behind. "Gotcha!"

Soundwave resisted immediately, but without success. "Release me!"

"No way, buddy!" His opponent tightened his grip further. "I don't know what's going on here, but something's set off those alarms, and I'm bettin' you and your pal are behind it!"

Soundwave stopped for a moment, then suddenly pushed backward, slamming his antagonist against the wall. The other mechanoid yelped, but didn't loosen his grip. "Nice try! But I've got a green star with the Nialess Wrestling Club, and I've beaten guys twice as big than you!"

Despite his best efforts, Soundwave remained trapped, and managed no more than to increase his captor's determination. Shifting tactics, Soundwave reached for his belt controls, hoping to release a high-frequency sonic burst and jolt his foe into submission. But his arms were pinned tightly to his sides; shoulder gyros strained painfully as Soundwave struggled to reach the button...

A thunderous roar rattled the corridor.

Soundwave staggered forward and bounced off the wall as he was abruptly freed. He staggered for a moment, then numbly turned around. Lying on the floor was the decapitated body of his antagonist, his head sheared away by a powerful blast of energy.

Soundwave looked down the corridor, where Megatron was standing up from a kneeling crouch. The gladiator's fusion cannon was now out of its subspace storage and attached to his right arm. Wisps of smoke trickled out from its barrel, a dark testament to its destructive power.

Pausing for only a second, Megatron beckoned to Soundwave, then turned away and resumed his escape.

With a fleeing glance at the corpse, Soundwave followed.

The magcar raced down the highway, leaving the whistle of rushing air in its wake. Inside, Megatron effortlessly steered the vehicle while Soundwave mutely watched the scenery pass by.

Finally, Soundwave turned to Megatron. "You were expecting a fight," he stated flatly.

Megatron never turned his gaze away from the road. "Truthfully? I wasn't sure what to expect. So I took the precaution of preparing for the worst."

"You overrode the safety interlocks."

"I had to." Megatron replied. "I didn't know what we'd face tonight. For all I knew, we could have been surrounded by a dozen Guardians the moment we stepped outside. I couldn't even try to scratch their armor if the interlocks were in place."

Soundwave nodded, watching the glow from the street lamps flash across the windshield. There was no need to belabor the obvious; violating the blackout was severe enough, but under planetary law, murder of another was punishable by nothing less than the death penalty. Whatever leniency Megatron might have expected from the Cybertronian Council before was gone forever.

More minutes passed in heavy silence. Finally, Soundwave asked, "Where are we going?"

Megatron turned the steering yoke in response. The magcar eased across two lanes of traffic, floated down an offramp, then drifted to a gentle stop. The neighborhood was vacant without being deserted; a small bar was within walking distance, and the muted sound of festivities was faintly audible. The engine whined into silence as Megatron turned to face Soundwave.

"I'm going underground," he said. "The Council will soon figure out that I was the cause of tonight's disturbance, but they won't find anything except an empty bank account and a house full of useless trophies. I've set up a few hideouts, so I can avoid capture for a while.

"But that's for myself. You, Soundwave, must leave. I'm sure you're smart enough to avoid associating yourself with my activities. You've already done more than enough for me, and I won't have you endanger yourself any further."

Behind Soundwave, the passenger door clicked open. He turned away from Megatron and looked outside, studying the darkness outside for several long seconds.

"Go," Megatron urged. "Return to your life."

Soundwave reached for the door.

And slammed it shut.

"I prefer this one," he stated.

Megatron smiled. After a savoring moment, he turned to face the road and started the engine.

"Thank you, my friend."