eugenesis-text

generation of burnouts and scroungers, multiplying in the dark. Cybertron: a multi-cultural melting pot of
cripples and cannibals.
At one time – the low-point a few years back – he would have crossed over to see the Empties. He
would have sat down, torn off his Autosymbol and let time and terrain wear his bodywork down. A simple
life: hiding from Decepticon brat packs and scavenging for curdled fuel, prodding bodies and swapping
stories. Facedown at daybreak, face-up at nightfall, until one day your cerebral circuits ironed themselves
smooth and your brain quietly clicked itself ‘off’. How many AWOL Autobots and Decepticons ended up
choking on spiked fuel in Emp communes
He wondered why was it so quiet. Even the spatter of distant gunfire had stopped. He imagined a
lone Decepticon checking his chronometer, packing up his rifle and jetting back to Darkmount, another
day’s work done. It had been a good few minutes since the last explosion – they were usually far away,
somewhere in the Dead End ghettos; the timid flash, like a heat-bump on the horizon, and then, a moment
later, the hollow thunderclap.
He picked his way into the cave. Only yesterday he had been desperate for any information about his
new mission; now he was desperate to forget it. Whenever a germ of protest formed in his mind, some
valid argument against doing what he was about to do, he thought of his friend, of snow and ice and
responsibilities.
Footsteps. Perceptor climbed into the cave followed by Grapple, Hoist and Sunstreaker. ‘Sorry I’m
late,’ he said. ‘There have been developments. The Quintessons have invaded Polyhex.’
‘It’s started, then. When do we move in’
‘If you’re implying that we should send Autobot reinforcements…’
‘Magnus aided the Decepticons last time. I was one of his team.’
‘Ultra Magnus is not in command anymore.’
‘So what’s Prowl going to do’
‘He’s waiting for more information before he makes a decision. He wants to know how the
Decepticons are faring before putting his men at risk.’
‘What if it’s too late What if the Quintessons take over the planet’
‘Ultimately, Nightbeat, it changes nothing. The Autobots are no better or worse off. The Resistance
still resists, the Rebellion still rebels, except this time the oppressors are different.’ He didn’t like the look
on Nightbeat’s face and decided to change tack. ‘Do you have the mind-purge device Good. Grapple,
Sunstreaker and Hoist have been fully briefed.’
Nightbeat turned to his teammates. ‘I trust you’re all comfortable with this No one is forcing you to
join this mission, least of all me.’
They nodded and smiled and waved their heads dismissively.
‘Good!’ said Perceptor. ‘You’re all programmed with the co-ordinates of the Celestial Temple. It
should take less than a day to reach Lonium if you use the Scud-Run. If anything goes wrong, anything at
all, contact me immediately.’
Nightbeat led his team out the cave and turned to Perceptor. ‘If you look out the window and see a
massive rift in time and space, take that as a cry for help.’
Slap-bang as he was in what would one day be known as the Polyhex Massacre, Blitzwing should
have been thinking about the quirks of aerial warfare. He should have been thinking about the tricks of the
trade he’d been picking up since being surgically separated from his morph-twin all those years ago (coming
on-line to find himself in the throes of mech-meld wasn’t funny; Fulcrum’s experiments with morphcore
division may have led to the rediscovery of biomorphism, but they’d also led to their fair share of stillborns).
He should have been knuckling down and playing his part in trying to repel the Quintessons – a part
learned over the course of countless training simulations (Sbridge86, Lunar88, Swarm94, Quint08 and the
uniquely coded Twars89/09) under the tutelage of Snarler and Ratbat. The trouble was, he never really
learnt any strategic lessons from the ComSims; he just revelled in the mayhem.
It was the same right now. He was far too busy marvelling at the chaos of it all, at the mad scrabble of
aircraft clogging up the sky, to think about his place in the larger scheme of things. He was content to wade
in and start firing.