eugenesis-text

Xenon appeared outside the cell and poked his tentacles between the bars. ‘Galvatron! Awake at last! I
thought you’d never come round.’
‘Release me, Quintesson, and your death with be quick and relatively painless.’
‘A cliché, Galvatron. I expected better… I quite liked the “relatively”, though.’
‘Where am I’
‘Aquaria.’ Xenon shut down the bars and swept into the cell. ‘A very long way from home.’
‘If you planned to kill me, you didn’t do a very good job.’
‘If I planned to kill you, you’d be lying face-down in your throne room, your head split open and
your brain smeared like putty across—’
‘Yes, yes, yes. Who are you, anyway I thought the Quintessons were extinct.’
‘My name is Xenon. There are thousands like me, thousands who survived the CyberWar.’
‘The CyberWar Oh, you mean that skirmish a few years back Is that why I’m strung up here
Revenge for something you started’
‘Revenge Partly, I suppose, but not just for 2008.’
‘Come on then, Xerox. Hit me with the Grand Scheme.’
Galvatron recoiled as a tentacle etched a hair-thin cut from temple to chin. Oil oozed from a severed
duct and smeared his lip.
‘Don’t mock me,’ said Xenon, pressing his tentacle against the bridge of Galvatron’s nose. ‘Next time
I will hit you here, and press until I pierce your brain. You’re useful, not essential. There’s a difference.’
‘Why have you brought Thunderclash here’
‘Comparison.’
Galvatron nodded towards Longtooth. ‘And this one What happened to him
Xenon did not answer. His tentacles were flashing around Thunderclash’s head, kneading the air into
a lime-green halo. Galvatron watched in amazement as his captor removed cranial casing and performed
thumbnail surgery on the neuranet underneath.
Thunderclash convulsed as a thousand frayed neuro-synthesisers exploded into life. His body
shuddered and slapped the wall.
‘Welcome back on line, Autobot’ crowed Xenon. ‘How are you feeling I know you can hear me
and I know you’re in pain. If you’d like the pain to stop, I suggest you stop screaming.’
Thunderclash snapped at the air, his optics flickering like cheap TVs.
‘Thunderclash!’ snapped the Quintesson. ‘Calm yourself! This is no way for a Matrix Bearer to
behave.’
The Autobot relaxed. He had no choice: his stim-synths had cordoned off the ravaged avenues of his
body. He was vaguely aware of his surroundings: the loose rust of a tawdry cell, bars coated in pale blue
icing, a bobbing sphere.
Xenon moved back to admire his prize specimens. ‘How perfect. The two supreme leaders of the
Cybertronians strung up and helpless.’
‘I don’t know who or what you are,’ said Thunderclash, clearing his voxbox, ‘but I think you’ve
made a—’
‘Shut up, Autobot! You think that Xenon wants to hear your mewling’
The Imperial Majestrix regarded Galvatron with suspicion. ‘Grovelling won’t save you.’
Haxian appeared at the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Lord Xenon, but the operating theatre is prepared.
If you’d like to check the equipment…’
Xenon slid outside, reactivated the electrobars and sloped off.
‘He said “operating theatre”, Galvatron. What’s going on’
‘That was Xenon. We’ve been captured by the Quintessons, who are no doubt poised to re-invade
Cybertron. I think Xenon wants to cripple both factions by abducting their commanders.’
‘But I’m not—’
‘I know. But if Xenon assumes everything is going to plan it puts him at a disadvantage. Rodimus
will have time to muster some sort of counterattack.’
‘You’re pinning our hopes of rescue, and of a Cybertronian victory, on Rodimus Prime On
someone you despise’