eugenesis-text

Hoist’s torso was almost torn from his legs as the gunport smacked the road. Still travelling at two
hundred miles per hour, Optimus Prime skidded into the tunnel and dragged his gunner along the walls: a
tin can bouncing on a piece of string. By the time he had been dragged to a halt, Hoist was lying some
distance away, Grapple was hammering to be let out, and the Quintessons had disappeared.
If Prime felt any pain when he transformed he hid it well. The gunport (minus gunner) was dragged
into its housing. Grapple emerged like a newborn child, meek and fragile, from the back of the trailer. With
a breath of sweet rust, Optimus Prime became robot once more. He helped Hoist to his feet. ‘I’m sorry.
Thank Primus you’re alright.’
‘Don’t apologise. Your stunt worked. Madness, of course, but it worked.’
‘Why haven’t they followed us’ asked Sunstreaker, still wired from the chase.
An exhausted Nightbeat, cradled by the tunnel’s curve, nodded in breathless agreement. ‘Just what I
was thinking. They were good pilots. A little change of environment shouldn’t have stopped them.’
‘We should be thankful of the reprieve,’ muttered Prime, ‘no matter how temporary.’ His mind was
elsewhere. Nightbeat had been watching him study the tunnel floor, and now he was measuring the
distance between entrance and exit. They were standing at mid-point, where the light did not quite reach.
The semi-circles of daylight at either end were bright enough to bleach the outside world, overwhelming
all detail. Nightbeat was the first to see the Quintesson silhouettes. ‘We’re surrounded,’ he said.
They heard an unfamiliar voice, inflated by the tunnel’s acoustics. ‘Cybertronians: lower your
weapons and make your way slowly towards me. Surrender now and you will not be harmed.’
‘What do they take us for’ snapped Sunstreaker. ‘They’ve been trying to blow us off the road for the
last ten minutes and now they expect us to – hey! Optimus!’
Prime was walking purposefully towards the enemy, holding his weapon by the barrel.
‘What are you doing’ called Nightbeat.
‘I’m going to talk to them.’
Nightbeat looked at the others for a reaction, and in moments they had caught up with their leader.
Outside, reinforcements had arrived. A fresh batch of Quintessons encircled them the moment the
Autobots stepped out of the tunnel. Their armour blinked in the sun, as if they had just rolled off the
production line. Their eyes were dewed and luminous, their fingers webbed with cladding, with mouldsnap
and surplus skin. It seemed as if some vague collective impulse still echoed in their neuranets, some
universal program-code too strong to break down: when one shielded his eyes, his neighbour shuddered
with an approximate gesture, as if a single thought had dominoed through the group.
Optimus laid down his weapon and faced the ringleader. ‘What is your name’ he asked.
Q-142 smiled with surprise. ‘Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing, Cybertronian.’ He saw
the symbol on Prime’s chest. ‘Or should I call you “Autobot” You know, I can never tell.’
‘Why were you chasing us’
‘Oh, you know… Tying up loose ends. We’ve gutted your base, by the way – the one underneath
the solar generator Everyone’s dead, of course.’
‘You’re lying.’ Prime looked at the weapon suddenly against his chest. He pushed the barrel aside
with his index finger until met with resistance. ‘You wanted to talk. You said we would come to
no harm.’
‘My orders were to retrieve any scattered Cybertronians, and you know what Dead ones are far
easier to transport.’
‘I had hoped you Quintessons would be prepared to negotiate.’
‘A Transformer extolling the virtues of negotiation How novel. Tell me Autobot, where was your
love of negotiation when you first swapped thermonuclear warheads with your enemy Who preached the
benefits of trust and diplomacy when millions of innocent people were dying by the day Who crossed
enemy lines carrying terms and conditions while you and your friends discussed the finer points of mutually
assured destruction’
‘You talk as if you know us. You don’t.’
‘My dear Autobot, we know you far better than you think.’
Nightbeat, Grapple, Hoist and Sunstreaker felt gun barrels against the small of their backs. Not for the
first time that day, Nightbeat wondered what Prime was playing at.
‘You’ve entertained me long enough,’ said Q-142, confident enough among the security of his men
to rest a hand on Prime’s shoulder. ‘It’s a shame I have to put you down.’