eugenesis-text

They were bombing along Expressway G, one the Scud Run’s bastard turnoffs, and now, after years
of wear and tear, little more than a wisp of titanium. Its carriageways had been skimped and whittled,
pruned to a greying thread. It was comically ruined, as if someone had airdropped a motorway from ten
thousand feet. Even the potholes had potholes. The craters had craters. The cracks could barely hold
themselves together.
Optimus Prime thundered alongside Nightbeat, riding the tufts and surface-shocks, ignoring the
hailstorm of gunfire bearing down on him. Grapple and Hoist rolled about his trailer like ball bearings,
dodging flippers and consoles. Sunstreaker led the convoy, screaming as he plunged headfirst through flamewaves
and barricades.
The Quintesson frontier squad had found them as they were cruising through Yuss, emerging from
the tattered fringe of the Acid Wastes in quiet procession. To them, the Autobots were Stragglers or Recycs
or maybe even bona fide Grade As. Either way, the response was swift and simple: attack.
The six hoverbikes had come down hard, expecting an easy fight, their side-mounted blister cannons
spitting gobs of tempered plasma. To say that he had never seen a Quintesson, Optimus reacted quickly,
using the auto-launcher in his command deck to clip the nearest flyer. Sensing the nature of the impending
battle, he’d ordered the slower Autobots into his trailer and headed for the nearest expressway.
Now, after innumerable near misses and a couple of direct hits, the convoy was heading toward a
slashed and toothless tunnel; an underpass that undercut the foundations of the Yussian Embassy.
‘What’s happening out there’ asked Hoist, slumping into a chair and propping his head in his hands.
‘We’re cutting it fine, that’s all,’ said Optimus, swerving to avoid the latest shots. Behind him, the
Quintessons dived close to the ground, their bodies hunched against the controls, their faces stuffed into
conical windshields. ‘Are you ready, Hoist’
Hoist looked at the other passengers, not understanding Prime’s question. ‘Er… yes’
The trailer roof split open and Hoist’s chair was catapulted through the gap. He found himself
bobbing in mid-air and grappling with the dual photon cannons that had sprouted from his seat. The roof
re-sealed. He spun 180 degrees, lunged for the trigger and opened fire: the chair throbbed with recoil and
the shots exploded like firecrackers around the enemy.
’40 seconds until we reach the underpass,’ Optimus announced. ‘Can you keep them busy ‘til then’
Hoist felt the gun-port bend into the slipstream. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said. A hoverbike exploded like
a burst balloon and plunged off course. The Quintessons retaliated with careful lines of fire.
‘Here we go!’ yelled Sunstreaker from up ahead, as he slipped into the tunnel.
‘I’m pulling you in, Hoist.’
There was a jolt a metal against metal and Hoist braced himself for retraction. Oil clung like sap to his
brow as the hoverbikes bulged closer. He risked a downward glance. ‘Well’
‘Something’s fused the long-arm. I’m having trouble pulling you in.’
Quintesson gunfire chapped the lips of the tunnel. Hoist swivelled around, saw the low-lying ceiling,
and screamed.
‘Keep calm. Nightbeat, can you overtake me’
Nightbeat willed a final burst of speed and slipped in front of the truck, his tyres melting into liquid
rings. Warning signs dotted his dashboard like burst capillaries.
‘When you reach the tunnel,’ continued Optimus, ‘I want you to transform and shoot at my front
tyres.’
‘You want me to what!’
In the background, an overconfident Quintesson snagged some road-crust and ploughed his bike into
an adjacent building.
Nightbeat applied the brakes, dragged two charcoal lines into the tunnel, and transformed. His hand
was lost in a haze of twitches as he tried to align his weapon.
Prime thundered closer, making no allowances, and there was Hoist, perched on a stalk, swaying with
the wind. Four hoverbikes flitted like mosquitoes in the background.
Nightbeat closed one eye and fired.
The shot missed its target but gouged a fresh hole in the road. Something ruptured – some gas-line or
energon cable – or maybe he got lucky and the laser bolt pot-holed one of the propax reservoirs that
underpinned most of Yuss. Whatever. Nightbeat fired, the motorway exploded, and Prime tipped sideways.