eugenesis-text

‘Aw, is the Autobot scared’ said Motormaster from the opposite bench. ‘Do you want the driver to
stop and let you off’
A few Decepticons laughed; a lot more didn’t.
Sunstreaker aimed a punch at the Stunticon’s head but his fist was stopped short by the electro-chain.
‘It’s not even worth telling you to shut up. I expect you’ll be the first to break. You’ll probably leave a
patch of oil on your seat when you strand up. You’ll break.’
‘Be quiet, Sunstreaker. No one’s going to “break”.’
‘Oh yeah, Darkwing We’re going to an execution camp, not a recreation centre. We’re all going to
die.’
‘Then why don’t they just kill us now’ asked Dreadwind. ‘I’d rather be dead than go through this.’
‘Whatever you do,’ warned Runabout, squashed by his side, ‘don’t self-destruct. Anyone who wants
out let me know: I’ll beat you to death.’
‘What’s the score with the Decepticons, Darkwing’
Darkwing arched his head to find his questioner, who was sitting in shadow near the back. ‘What did
you say, Rainslam’
The Autobot leant into a shaft of sunlight. ‘It’s Slamdance, actually. Raindance is one of my
component parts: Raindance and Grandslam.’
‘Who the hell cares’ shrieked Spooler. ‘You’re an Autobot: names aren’t important.’
‘You’re just sore because he’s an upgrade,’ shouted Sunstreaker. ‘I bet you’d love to be one of a
combining cassette team, except no one would be your partner. Imagine hooking up with you… I’d rather
dip my head in the Smelting Pool.’
‘Sunstreaker. Spooler. We’re on our way to a Quintesson abattoir. Now is not the time for feeble
provocation.’ Darkwing once more picked Slamdance out of the crowd. ‘What did you
ask me’
‘I asked what the score was. What’s happening with the Decepticons’
Darkwing received a few warning glances from his team mates but replied nonetheless. ‘Darkmount
was blitzed by an entire fleet. We lost. Simple as that. The Quintessons turned their warcruiser into a
headquarters and rounded up the survivors.’ He looked around at Motormaster, Spooler, Runabout and the
others. ‘We made a run for it but were caught near the Detention Centre. Is that what you wanted to
know’
‘Galvatron’s dead, Soundwave’s dead…’ Dreadwind wrung his hands. ‘Everyone’s dead.’
‘What about you’ asked Darkwing.
Slamdance shrugged. ‘Autobase was blitzed too. Half of us split, half of us stayed behind to give
cover.’ He tapped the window. ‘There’s another ship full of Autobots on our tail… Hey, are we slowing
down’
The sprawling decay of the inner cities had been replaced by the mute beauty of the Manganese
Mountain range, flumes and expressways giving way to slopes that were wet with reflection, with lightbend
and bounce-back. The ship slipped through the air with the grace and languor of a hot air balloon.
The pilot’s voice was piped into the trunk: settle down or be killed on landing.
The next few breems blurred into a hi-tech, hi-speed nightmare. Sunstreaker found himself
concentrating on Darkwing’s back as they marched in single file across the windswept plateau outside
Kledji. At some point – before they were inside – Motormaster self-destructed.
They were stripped of inessential bodywork, dunked and sprayed, clamped to a chair and given an
injection. Then they were led through infinite light-starved walkways to their cells, where they tried to
transform – a gut reaction, a life-bred impulse.
Only then did they realise what had been taken from them.
December 27, 2012.
A throbbing cluster of metal bolted away from the Quintessons’ Polyhexian headquarters, whining as
the pressure built inside. Release catches were jettisoned like empty energon canisters, breakaway lines ran
from top to toe, and the object split into separate holo-probes. Squat-thrusters choked on fag-ash flame and
the sub-orbital satellites spun across Cybertron like scattered pollen.