eugenesis-text

‘Refuel and re-arm. I have received news from one of my more reliable squads that the Autobots’
medical centre is located near your present position. They’ve already cleansed the complex, and in doing so
discovered the body of the Matrix Bearer, Rodimus Prime, sealed inside some sort of tomb. They were
unable to break in and will soon rejoin you to commandeer pathblasting equipment. Bring me the Matrix,
with or without its host.’
‘It shall be in your hands within the hour, General.’
‘I will hold you to that.’
Prowl’s Autobots had congregated in the octagonal foyer at the hub of AMC1, unified by grief.
Afraid to talk too loudly and unsure what to say, they huddled against each other and waited for their
leader.
Prowl swept through spring-hinged double doors and, surrendering to a statistician’s impulse, counted
heads: 197. Everyone was inside. A supernaturally calm Perceptor was leaning over Red Alert to speak to
his new chaperone, Kup. Senior officers stood brave-faced and solemn as they received details of the death
toll. Prowl squeezed through fissures in the crowd, trying to avoid faces and voices.
‘They left just over a hour ago,’ called Perceptor, beckoning him over. ‘They spent a long time trying
to break into the medivault.’
Prowl looked at Red Alert. ‘Did they leave any messages or threats’
‘Nothing,’ answered Perceptor.
‘I’m sorry you had to go through this, Red Alert. How are you feeling’
Red Alert shook his head.
‘When will his voxbox be fixed, Kup’
‘His voxbox I’ve already fixed it.’
Quark sat down against the corridor wall and put his small hands behind his head. Why had he let
Rev-Tone drag him away from the meeting point They should have been with the others – safety in
numbers and all that. Rev-Tone was equal parts stubborn and persuasive, and at times like these it was
dangerous combination.
‘Every ward has been checked, Rev. Come on.’
‘Be quiet. You see this’ Rev-Tone pointed to his own face. ‘This expression means I’m
concentrating.’ He jabbed the wall-mounted keypad, which flashed an indignant red.
‘It’s probably just an equipment store.’
‘Highly unlikely considering that we’ve passed several unlocked doors with “Equipment Store”
plastered on them. This one’s different: it has a coded lock.’
Quark let his partner tap away. He knew the signs by now. Patronising, evasive, edgy: Rev-Tone was
keeping himself busy to avoid thinking about the deaths of his fellow patients. It was a clockwork impulse,
and one that he had seen many times since they’d first met in a Decepticon cell at the height of the Straxian
Holocaust, two million years previously. Delay the inevitable, relegate the wrenching shock to some
occluded corner of the mind, compress it into a Dark Event, out of focus and never to be examined. Let
others deal with the repercussions, the rituals of clean up and aftermath.
The keypad flashed green, the door opened and Rev-Tone prodded the darkness with a flick-torch.
Something was moving.
A long-dormant optic sensor adjusted to the light. ‘First Aid Search Rescue Is that you’
‘What did I tell you, Quark They missed one.’
‘It would help if you didn’t keep shining that torch in my face,’ said Throwback as he was dragged
from a sarcophagus of circuitry. ‘I’m getting nasty stim-surges here.’
Rev-Tone and Quark muddled with monitoring equipment that seemed to consist of finger-thick
wiring and flashing shoeboxes. Throwback had been dangling from the ceiling in a chandelier of petrolaxdrips
and nucleon feeds, locked in a cheap bio-suit with only the steady hiccup of his own fuel pump for
company.