Transformers: Prometheus

CHAPTER 19

In orbit, Soundwave watches—and waits.

He is patient. He has been patient for longer than the primitive world below him has known the concept of the written word. For a moment, he allows himself to bask in the solar winds, and the multitudinous whispers of the planet’s indigenous frequencies, allows himself a moment’s anamnesis for the lost choir of Cybertron, and then—having allowed for two point four seconds of simple diversion—returns his attention to the task at hand.

It is a truth of the universe that knowledge is power. So much so that even the indigenous population of this primitive world, these humans, know it to be so. But recent events have made it apparent to Soundwave that he does not have enough of either—so, he watches, and he listens, and he waits.

He knows that the Autobots and their human allies are doubtlessly aware of his presence, here, in orbit, and he knows that there is very little they can do about this fact. But very little is not nothing. And so Soundwave has taken precautions, constructed contingencies, and readied himself for the electronic battlefield. When the fight comes, and it will, the humans will find that a shared proverb does not mean their capabilities are remotely comparable to his.

And yet, the Autobots hadn’t even attempted to interdict him. More than that, they had made planetfall in the metropolitan core of one of the indigenous urban centers. Optimus Prime and his band of intransigent lieutenants had done little more than alert the humans to their presence—and, after a brief pursuit, one of their number, Arcee, had been taken.

Fury, at the thought of Frenzy’s murderer. It flows through Soundwave’s spark like a hurricane. He allows himself to feel it, to process it—and then, to discard it. He is no Shockwave, who had perfected his techniques on his own encephalon in the name of pitiless rationality, but he shares his appreciation for logic: he has more important considerations. The fact that the humans have captured a Cybertronian is more important than his enmity.

The fact that they had done so with weapons and tactics that implied familiarity with Cybertronian techno-physiology, as well as the speed of their response, is a deeper curiosity. Perhaps even concerning. The fact they had enough resources available to pursue the remaining five Autobots was an interesting point to plot, as well. As was the fact that, shortly after seizing Arcee, the humans had broken off their pursuit.

From two kilometers away, Laserbeak had watched the capture, had dutifully relayed it to him. And so, Soundwave dispatches him to shadow the convoy containing Arcee as it withdraws three-hundred kilometers to the north-east. Away from the closest military hub, an aerial defense installation to their east. For now, this convoy is his only concern.

He can’t track the five remaining Autobots and, so, does not try. He knows the Autobots. He has faced them on Cybertron and across the galaxy. He has their strengths and weaknesses plotted out with all the simplicity of a mathematical equation and, for the most part, Soundwave is superior.

But the humans?

They are, like all organics, primitive. Perhaps a century from destroying themselves with their primeval fission weapons, their unconstrained consumption, or simple ecological collapse. Perhaps all three. Not an unknown variable, but not an important one. Or perhaps, Soundwave thinks, a variable that had been concealing itself. He allows himself a brief moment of professional respect (felt, processed, discarded) and watches as the convoy of black vehicles travel up the fifteenth arterial roadway, then the two-hundred and fifteenth, then the eleventh, and enters a concrete structure.

It is as primitive as the rest of the planet, but it holds Soundwave’s attention for a second, and then another, and longer. Because it is silent. Close enough to two urban centers that it is practically cloaked by proximity, awash in radio waves and electromagnetic frequencies, but broadcasts so very little itself. Even Laserbeak’s keen sensors fail to tell him anything more than it is made of millions of cubic meters of concrete.

He cannot see inside.

Soundwave ponders. He sifts through the surrounding data, but finds nothing amiss. The structure is precisely what it appears to be: a hydroelectric power plant, bearing the name of a deceased member of the local tribe’s ruling caste. But he cannot see inside. It is where the human strike team has withdrawn to, with their Cybertronian captive, and has not emerged from again. It is ostensibly a section of civilian electrical infrastructure, a simple series of water turbines, generating an average of single-digit terawatts in a human year, but...

He cannot see inside.

For the first time in the years since his arrival, this primitive world, this Earth, has drawn his interest. What can this structure be except a clandestine base of operations for a human strike team, one equipped with weapons and tactics that were sufficient to disable and capture a Cybertronian? Seemingly disconnected from any and all forms of planetary telecommunications, potentially entirely self-sufficient despite the quaint notion of hydrological power. Potentially. Seemingly.

And, there’s one other detail to consider.

Soundwave replays Blackout’s last transmission, before the he had gone radio silent three months ago, reports of an energon signature, his destruction of the military base, his failure to find the source of it...

There are no coincidences. A mind that believes in coincidence is one that lacks the proper perspective to see the connections. Above this primitive world, Soundwave’s perspective is absolute—and yet, the lack of information. Just one small spot. So insignificant he might never have noticed it. So, the gap in his awareness that must be charted, plotted...

And corrected.

Soundwave reaches out to his right hand.

“Ravage, dispatch.” And, with a thought, he transmits the coordinates for this location, this mystery, this Hoover Dam fortress. “Operation: infiltration.”

At top speed, Ravage will be there in three hours. Soundwave anticipates an extensive report before the fourth. Perhaps he'll inform the others of what they find. Perhaps. Knowledge is power, after all. But for now, patience. In orbit, Soundwave listens, and watches, and waits. For Ravage. For the Autobots.

For Lord Megatron.