eugenesis-text

The insult was too much. Sunstreaker punched the cell wall. Jolup was right: his paintwork was in a
horrendous state – all blotchy red – and his torso was as blistered as bark. ‘Look what you’ve done to me!
I’m ruined!’
For the second time that day, Jolup’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Ruined’
‘I’m a sack of scrap metal! An eyesore! A derelict!’
‘If it’s any consolation, you weren’t much to look at in the first place.’
Sunstreaker leapt for Jolup and crashed into the spluttering bars. His body raged with energy, every
gap and throughway webbed with lightning. He collapsed, and it felt as if he was melting into the tiles.
‘You hide behind your neat little forcefield and pick on the smaller targets, swinging your stupid little stick.
I’ve got your number, Jolup.’
‘Hush, Sunstreaker.’ The voice came from the adjacent cell. Slamdance was manacled to the common
wall and craning his neck to speak. ‘Calm down. Relax.’
‘I’m gonna get out of here, Jolup, and I’m gonna hunt you down, and when your back’s turned—’
‘How very noble of you.’
‘—I’m gonna put a sabre through your fuel pump.’
‘Shut up, Sunstreaker.’
‘I’m gonna put you through the worst body-horrors and face-torture you can imagine, gonna make
you scream and scream and—’
‘Let it go!’
‘You really should listen to your friend, Reddie.’
‘—scream until you won’t know where or who or what you are! And do you know why I can do
this’
Slamdance gave up.
‘Do you know what gives me the right to do this’
‘Tell me,’ said Jolup.
Sunstreaker spat a wad of stale oil into Jolup’s face. ‘Because I’m better than you. And if you’re really
are a Quintesson, we’re all better than you, because one of us is worth a thousand of Unicron’s bastard
offspring.’
Jolup wasn’t listening. His world had exploded with the sizzling ball of mechwaste that had landed on
his cheekbone. He was already beckoning his guards over and firing up his baton. Sunstreaker was scooped
up and tied up in seconds. Next door, Slamdance closed his eyes.
‘Downstairs’ said a guard.
‘Not this one. Take him to my personal quarters. He needs to be taught some manners.’
Prowl felt oddly protected inside First Aid’s otherwise empty office. Smoky panes of glass formed
three of the four walls; it looked as if someone had breathed on every surface and written ‘First Aid –
Medical Officer’ with a warm fingertip.
He was hunched over the desk like a drunk, cloistered from a world of noisy activity, of action and
reaction. Only a handful of his Autobots had been given specific tasks, yet everyone seemed otherwise
engaged. He could hear drilling, far away. Kup and others were trying to break into Rodimus Prime’s
medi-vault.
What would Kup do once inside Strap Rodimus to a wheelchair, hook him up to a vat of bubbling
energon and push him up and down corridors Yes, and he’d probably fuse his fingers to the handles to
prevent separation. Rodimus was one of many casualties now, each one needing a personal carer, a
lifter/carrier to check the electro-pulse and sparkline, but he was the only Matrix Bearer, the only one with
a demigod trapped inside his chest.
He was reminded of his last conversation with First Aid (a one-way conversation, since half of it was
pre-recorded) in which the doctor had invoked Section 11 – euthanasia dressed up in reg-speak and
legalese. First Aid had been concerned that Rodimus was too big a drain on AMC1’s limited resources, and
he’d been right. The energy saved by switching Prime off would save the lives of at least a dozen frontliners.
With Prime’s chances of recovery dipping below 8%, was it ethically and morally excusable to deny
them these resources Then there was the Matrix itself… First Aid had assured him, more or less, that the
Matrix could be surgically removed without setting Unicron free. Assuming that were true, could it still be