METATISIC: PART ELEVEN
TITLE: Metatisic., Metatisic: Saga One
TYPE: Transformers G1 fiction
AUTHOR: Megan Seekings & A. Chandler
FIRST RELEASE: 1985, 1986, & 1987.
Revised edition 5/8/03, 2004-2008
SUMMERY: Unable to obtain it from their native planet of Cybertron, Decepticon leader, Galvatron resorts to excavating an asteroid particle that has tested positive for Cybertonium, dispatching a crew to retrieve it. But as the surface layers are removed, trace outline of an ancient staircase unintentionally leads the party on a sudden and very unexpected journey deep into Cybertronian history prior to the first Great War some 14 million years ago!
Nothing at all. There is no sound. No Iysurus or the metropolis in which it exist ...Nothing.
Everything around Cyclonus was closed out, shut off, and so immediately irrelevant and unimportant. Ripples of reality speeding his circuitry flushing his face with aftershock. Over and over and over the name resounded with magnified clarity. Everything at last was understood. Everything at last to him made sense Megatron! This was Megatron! This mech would become Galvatron! And this ancient Dourjer, the Decepticon Metatisic, who's first original stare had seized so much of his attention, so much of his intoxicating pondering, was in fact his creator!
Rumble had never seen the blue jet so stunned, although he was too. Cyclonus' legs wobbled with weakness. His optics still large, slowly he sank to one knee until he was face level with the boy.
"My..." Cyclonus could barely manage to speak, "My... young Lord."
He noticed now that Metatisic's brow had gabled questioningly at his intense reaction, but for some reason it just didn't much matter to the second-in-command.
"Are you under arrest?" The vornling asked seeing that the jet was still shackled in energo-cuffs. Megatron's expression carried his curiosity, but he was reluctant to break away from his father's side.
"Yes, yes I suppose we are."
"You're not a rebellion are you?"
"No I am not."
The boy scowled, "All the prisoners say that" he told him. "Especially when they're just afraid to die."
"But it is true" Cyclonus insisted.
"Have you really seen the new robots in Cybertron? I heard that they look a lot like us."
"Yes." Cyclonus nodded and answered him somewhat monotone. "Yes I think that they do."
"Will you be staying here a long time?"
"I-I don't know the answer to that I'm afraid. Perhaps."
"I was studying. I've been learning how to transform." Megatron shifted the subject, but now he wasn't so sure of himself, "Wellll ...I almost got it."
"Megatron," Metatisic called him firmly. "That is enough now --Um, Shockwave? Please take Megatron to his quarters."
"It was a pleasure to meet you, young master." Cyclonus finished.
Lifting himself back to his feet, Cyclonus could see that the Dourjer had not turned away from him at all. His optics were slim slits within his ashen gray face. Frozen, dark, even ice cold until the guardian and his vornling charge were gone. Deep set in their triangular sockets so heavy-lidded that it was impossible to fathom their true color, from a certain angle they were black, shiny as wet pebbles. Energy shimmered across the mirrors.
"Why did you do that for?"
"Pardon, mighty one?"
"The way you reacted just then --Why? The way you looked at him?"
It wasn't merely a question. Metatisic was sincerely shouting now!
"I want to know why?! What are you thinking about?!!"
Why was the monarch so angry? What had he done? Cyclonus couldn't understand. "But I thought nothing at all, m'lord."
"Don't you toy with me!" The Dourjer snapped ferally. "Now that you are in the temple like the other one, you think to do some terrible harm to my only son?!"
"Nay, master. Not at all. I swear it." Quickly Cyclonus bowed, employing the soothing but not patronizing voice he had used more than once on Galvatron to swerve his paranoid schizophrenic bouts. "I had heard, Most Mighty, about the child," he fibbed in an instant. "I had desired to see the immaculate design of Megadyne's great hand. Now I have --Such a rightful heir, M'lord. He will become a great and powerful ruler. There is no doubt."
Hesitation --a sign the sweetened, hasty lie may actually be working, even though Cyclonus still didn't dare to look the king in the face.
"Certainly." Metatisic's anger stilled, but it hadn't cooled completely. "You sound so sure of yourself, Cyclonus --Quite sure in fact. Clairvoyant as well as an explorer, are you?" He laughed now. "That wonderful is he? Hmm, supposing that is no great surprise. Everything I am is within him. Complete autonomic perfection."
"And one that is clearly witnessed in the majesty of his superior designer as well."
"Please dispense with your flatteries, my wayward adventurer." Metatisic's tone took on a note of caution; low and mocking to a point. Even though smiling, the twin scarlet windows creased turning a dark maroon in the thick congested shadow just under his helmet.
"I am keen to the ways of the Rougeons and their patronizing rabble, Cyclonus --Yes, of course you would shower me with everything you feel I would want to hear from you in order to save your spark."
The Dourjer jabbed a knuckle up under the frozen jet's chin. Tipping his head back until he could look into Cyclonus' eyes, he leaned just close enough to the right of his cheek and whispered, "Wouldn't you in your situation? Wouldn't anyone at all?"
"Should you have me destroy them now, master?" Sarterius asked.
"No." Metatisic drew back putting an arm out to block the general's advance, but he never once removed his focus away from the blue jet and his mates. "No, stay your weapon. I am told that Bractos and its cargo bays are already teaming with tired, sickly, scrap bucket slaves. I would like to have my use of these three. Take them to holding!"
"Yes, Mighty Metatisic."
"Sarterius! Do keep in mind that I still would like to yet discuss their matters in Cybertron. I want to know mor"
Screaming! Someone called out for the Dourjer just then from far down the causeway, not yelling so much but screeching at maximum volume! The tone carried urgency, ending Metatisic's conversation with his general in a instant. Every optic, lense, and head in the domed chamber snapped in the direction of the commotion.
"Metatisic! Metatisic!" The rush of pounding feet closed in upon the dome. Activated by it, and his leader's sudden alarm, Sarterius sprang and braced himself at the doorway leaving Rumble and Scourge stooping and instinctively reaching for weapons they didn't even have.
It was the mech, Beat Down. They had left him back in the throne room. Stricken with desperation, he rushed the room, "Metatisic! Master! He !"
"What is it?!" Metatisic grabbed the Decepticon's shoulders firm and hard when a burst of fluorescent green suddenly flashed from corridor he had just come from. The soldier didn't yelp, he merely grunted and pitched forward suddenly, crashing against Metatisic's chest. Confusion dominated the Dourjer's expression rather than stunned surprise, but when a thin curl of smoke swirled off from Beat Down's back however, Metatisic's optics first noticed and then flicked to a shape at the entry way. The figure was hardly ignorant to Sarterius' presence to his left and he leapt, ducking from the general's line of fire. With the plasma rifle he carried in his grasp, the intruder pressed the tip of it hard and flat into Metatisic's breastplate.
"Tell them to come no closer!" The mech ordered him. "Tell him now!"
"Stand down, Sarterius."
The general jerked.
"I said stand down!"
"Very good." The intruder's smile was crooked with nervousness and there was a good reason for it --the sounds of several weighty feet was beginning to fill the halls. It wouldn't be long before he was discovered. Unsteady in his resolve, the optics of the mech monitored every twitch of the general and every shift of his royal hostage.
"You!" Metatisic spat.
"Yes. Yes it has been awhile hasn't it, my king? Well, I was looking forward to a meeting with you earlier today, but your guardsmen, as you see, are so incredibly rude. They wouldn't permit me a proper audience so it seems that I am left to force."
Metatisic straightened himself and Beat Down fell away from him to the bridge. The soldier hadn't moved nor spoke another word more. Either he was statis locked by the blast --or worse yet, he was dead! Either option, it was clearly obvious that this gloating mechanism was to blame.
"Get out, Jhard!" Metatisic stood stock still pointing with so much demanding wrath that his fingers trembled, "Out!"
"Now, now, M'lord. I do commend your bravery --I really do, but you are hardly in any position right now to be making any demands of me. My weapon stays where it is, and we've time only for what I have to say."
At last he got through to the monarch, or so it would seem, that he was in real danger of his life. Scoffing at the gun tip butting at his chest plate, Metatisic sneered, considering his host.
"You should commend your own bravery, Jhard. Infiltrating the Iysurus temple in broad daylight is quite a remarkable feat of accomplishment. Even more incredible that you've survived to make it this far to me. That's more than your lady friend's success this morning. You ought to be proud."
"Jhard?" Rumble's brow lowered and arched. He was whispering to himself, but Metatisic had still heard him anyhow. The Decepticon leader's information was harsh and bitter when he spoke.
"He is a former member of the regiment here within this complex. A might good one too I should add.. It makes the light of his treason that much more a weight upon his cables. Why are you here Jhard?"
"I told you --A proper audience. I've come to talk matters with you, Metatisic. I haven't come here to.. "
"To kill my mechs?" Metatisic cut him off, homing in a glance upon the wreckage of Beat Down slumped at his feet.
"A careless mistake."
"YOU ARE A TRAITOR!"
"I have some information before you move your troops into the Nin'gur Pass."
That made the Dourjer pause. In fact, he almost chuckled. "You have information? You?! Self-professed ruler of your renegade Decepticons and laying your fictitious claim to these borders in some delusional expect that they might become true?! How DARE you, you piece of slag! As if you'd really anticipate for me to fall that you would put your Rougeon comrades in any danger?"
"I want the fight to end." Jhard did not change his demeanor, "Helping you now will make that happen faster."
"I find that difficult to believe with your weapon against my chest."
"I'll not withdraw my weapon without your guarantee that you'll hear me out."
"Your time in the prisons have taught you nothing of respect!" Sarterius snarled suddenly. He moved towards him, but Jhard's finger itching on the trigger of his pistol kept him at bay. Other guards had arrived now, and still more yet. They flocked at the entrance, but Sarterius waved them back.
"I was guilty only of the crime of hunger." Jhard sounded ho-hum about it, but it was apparently very obvious that he was boiling in his own rage about the ordeal. "Your battalions destroy and seize our energy supplies and left us no other resource."
"My energy supplies, Jhard!" Metatisic was quick to correct him about that. "You keep forgetting to make note of that fact MY energy supplies." His tone dropped slightly and he snorted, "I don't like thieves. They not only steal, they lie. Which will put doubt into anything you even have to tell me now."
"You'll kill me if I lie." The Rougeon stated calmly, "Termination is not part of my plan."
"Your gamble to be here now is already making that possibility part of the appointment, Jhard. I can just as easily have the information beaten out of you." Metatisic said, "That usually saves time and guarantees that I'll hear the truth."
"Need I note that I was not dragged here, your highness." Jhard poked him with his gun, "You said it yourself how amazing it was that I would dare come here and challenge this domain in broad daylight, but instead I walked in with the choice to tell you what I know."
"Care to tell me why I am suddenly now your chosen one?" Metatisic asked, his voice flush with sarcasm.
"Well. The truth is that I stand a better chance to make a profit working with you. Other renegade leaders see information as a duty to their cause, and resistance fighters expect it for free. I don't work for free."
Metatisic had been able to stifled his chuckle at first, but as one brow rose after the other, he exploded into laughter, "See this, Sarterius!" he said uproarishly, "Even within traitors there is treason, Hahaha! Hehheh ...and just what makes you think I would be so free with my credits."
"Your Decepticons are in danger, Metatisic. If you care for their continued ability to function, you'd pay to save their lives. That is, unless, you planned to decrease the population of the empire."
"You would dare to threaten me?!"
"A fact is not a threat!" Jhard defended. The vats of his lenses were all aslant. He seemed not to see too clearly, even though there was no doubt that he could. The Rougeon's free hand gripped the leader's arm hard just above the elbow tight.
"I had a feeling you might disagree, my former Lordship," he began again, "Truth is, you are so infatuated with waste mech we've left in Nin'ger that the true might of our cause is free to infiltrate the gates of the captial now! You're an ignorant fool! You can be full assured that they aim to slaughter just as much as you intend too in Nin'gur!"
The fresh attitude in Jhard's expression was pure ludicrous. Laughing at Metatisic's wide open eyes, he delighted further "I am but its harbinger," he claimed, "And the showing of your slagged haul is the most perfect trophy Oooooh, how I worshiped you once."
Swelling in his moment of pride, a rifle charging up alerted Jhard to the catwalks above him.
Very foolishly, the former guard's aim weakened away from the leader's chest and took aim at the sharpshooter above --It was his gravest mistake. In one powerful swing, Metatisic stole the second distraction to knock the weapon clear from Jhard's hand. It skidded in cartwheels across the bridge. The Rougeon threw himself to reclaim it, but Sarterius kicked the rifle off the ledge.
"Worshiped me, did you?! Metatisic roared. "--Then be the good burnt offering that you ARE!"
Shoving the Renegade Decepticon hard, Jhard had scarcely collided with the grated floor of the dome path when Metatisic growled viciously again, and transformed! The three Decepticon visitors from the future shared the same moment look of amazement. Eyes broadened upon the new alternative --a giant Howitzer of sorts. Fixed on track wheels that reminded Rumble of the same powerful grounding traction of the rolling prison cell that brought them to Bractos, internal mechanisms charged with the Dourjer's fury in thunderous authority. The tri-cannon lowered at the Rougeon, eye level from his position upon his knees.
"NO, NO ... METATISIC WAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT!"
No mercy. No hesitation from the angry ruler. A powerful explosion rocked the perimeter. The three Decepticons from the future, even Sarterius and several other guard and soldier mech, were knocked by the concussion of the intense blast. When Cyclonus could finally pry an eye open, Metatisic was transforming back to robot mode. Scowling at the whole experience, the Decepticon leader straightened and stood triumphantly; his head bowed towards the twist of metal before him.
The attack had taken Jhard's left arm and more than three quarters of the adjoining collar from the Transformer. Ruins of deformed armor plate and rods sprayed out all around him for several feet. Some more slivers, melted, burnt to color of charcoal, smoldered as Jhard's jaw hung low, captured entirely in the seizure of horrific agony.
Metatisic took aim now at the traitor's face, grinning at the heavy drains of energon gushing forth from the Rougeon's quivering lips. "I don't NEED your INFORMATION!"
The last shot took the trespasser's head clean off. Disgusted, Metatisic kicked the remaining wreckage from the bridge. He didn't say anything at first, and nor did he even bother to watch the body crash in pools far below, only heard it. Instead, with his shank still smoking, he rounded on the thick assemblage of soldiers.
"Me!" He roared hot and hostilely. The volume steadily mounted, just in case there was any question or linger of doubt in any one of them witness to the spectacle, "I, alone, am the heir of Megadyne! As was inherited by my creator, his, and theirs before them! --ME! I'll NOT share my privilege with riff-raff from the desert!"
Sarterius tucked his chin to his chest when Metatisic's anger landed on him, "And you!" he fumed. "The most feared army this side of the universe and you cannot so much as dispense these shoddy constructs!"
"Lord, I "
"Ouiet! And be thankful that you're not joining what's left of that no count double-crosser at the base of this ravine!"
Renegades --the identity of these mysterious "Rougeons" at last. They were Renegade Decepticons. Rumble dealt with them once before, and Cyclonus and Scourge both at least had heard of them. In a bid for their own power and prizes, they divided the empire throwing a large wrench into eons' old traditions. They ignored order, sold out their patriotism for greed, and chose rulers from amongst themselves all while attempting to thieve territory from the rightful leader. Some vorns later, Megatron would put a end to their wasted cause. For the last surviving group of them, Megatron had their bodies destroyed, saving only the personality components.
"The Combaticons." Rumble thought of Swindle. He, and the rest of his gestalt team were resurrected by using those very components thanks to Starscream back in the earth year 1985. In this time during Metatisic's reign however, quickly judging the immediate situation, the renegades are more than apparently abundant as they are a nuisance sacrilege. As the small Decepticon pondered the moment, loud siren whoops began to blare loudly throughout the maze halls of the Iysurus.
Jhard hadn't fibbed about Bractos' safety!
Another set of soldiers and Shockwave parted the guards lined at the door, "Mighty Metatisic!" he announced urgently, "Resistance units have been sighted just outside the capital gates!"
Megatron wiggled under the giant guardian's leg and squeezed past a couple shields held by the guard mech around him.
"Megatron." Metatisic touched the youth, but kept the brunt of his immediate concern on the purple Decepticon scientist, "How many, Shockwave?"
"Several legions have been spotted, sire."
Metatisic growled at the news.
"That robot tried to kill you?!"
"No need to fear, Megatron. He has been terminated. A lesson to you of what befalls all traitors --Remember that, Megatron."
"I'm not afraid," The vornling insisted. "If I had been here, I would have made him pay."
"Heha ..I'm sure that you would have." Metatisic attempted to smile at his son's novice bravado and hugged the boy to his leg. "Sarterius! Where exactly is your mechs now?"
"Too far away yet" Sarterius frowned. "I'll radio to them immediately, but most of them have already been dispatched to the Nin'gur passage. The Rougeons have tricked us!"
"We won't let them know it, or give them the moment to praise that small accomplishment. What have we got available now?"
"There is four units with me, M'lord --aside those here that remain already here in Bractos."
"Fine, fine. I want all able-bodied warriors to prepare to strike. I won't have these reprobates breeching the city." Shifting his focus for a moment, the monarch's gaze fanned over Scourge. He paused, thought for a second, then peered over at Rumble and Cyclonus standing nearby.
"Decepticon Cyclonus," Metatisic beckoned his attention. "Are you and your mechs trained in any military tactics?"
"Oh... No, Metatisic," Sarterius laughed lightly. "Master, I am sure the size of our arsenal is already well enough than to have to include "
"I said all those who were able-bodied, general. I don't like to my victories to rely on another's sincerity. I want to be positive --Cyclonus!" Metatisic continued, "You claim your innocence and your desires for me to trust you, well, then allow me to grant you that opportunity. Can you fight?"
"Um," Cyclonus puzzled his reason for asking. Just before the renegade Jhard stormed the dome, the Dourjer ordered Sarterius to take them to holding and he didn't appear to trust him at all. This new settlement caught him entirely off guard. "Y-yes, Mighty One." The jet hesitantly replied. Pressing his lips together, Cyclonus regained his wit and confidently raised his head, "Yes, Mighty Metatisic. Absolutely."
"Release their braces Sarterius."
"Mighty One, if I may. My weapon, and the weapons of my fellow Decepticons were confiscated when we were arrested."
One shackle fell. Then another. Scourge held his arms out.
"And restore their weaponry for the time being." Metatisic added to the order and sheaved Megatron close to him. Cyclonus' study followed the great leader and how tainted his expression was at that moment with crawling concerns as he motioned his offspring towards Shockwave. Galvatron's second-in-command picked up on the Dourjer's low and breathy octave.
"Shockwave, listen to me. Shockwave listen... Take Megatron, keep him safe and close to you."
Metatisic's voice was serious.
"My ancestors, each one of them who's steel fist forged this land."
"Metatisic if no one else, I understand that importance perfectly. I will--"
"You must hear me out, Shockwave. Megatron is my only pedigree to the pact first sealed by Megadyne. If something should happen to me this day, Megatron MUST inherit! Yet he is still a child and I fear those who would take advantage to seize my crown from him. Swear to me --swear that you will uphold the empire by your duty to see to it that he remains favored, and grant to him your honor as you would respect me. Protect him, Shockwave --Please."
As once before, Shockwave saluted with his only hand held at his forehead then put it across his chest with a thump. "As you have ordered, Metatisic. It will be done accordingly."