eugenesis-text

every scrap of information now obsolete. He was gripped by a sudden anger. How dare he shirk
responsibility How dare he assuage his guilt with suppositions and second-guesses He had to consider the
facts of their situation: they were all going to die because of him. All this was his fault. He had insisted on
waiting for the Quintessons to make the first move. When they attacked, he had argued to remain in
Autobase and not assist the Decepticons. When they finally turned their attention to Iacon, he’d halved his
troops and fled to a dead end. So Kup was right: all this was his fault.
His tired eyes found the Death List, relegated to waist level and half-hidden among less arresting
documents. It was made up of seven names. Seven names: how hopelessly inaccurate. Something grey and
fleeting broke the surface of his mind, something usually anchored in the depths. He imagined his name –
his full name, complete with biocode and serial number – typed out as number eight.
How long would the list be now He couldn’t resist totalling and tallying: it was in his nature. He
counted a good few hundred left on the battlefield and the three-dozen headless patients piled up in E
Ward. Soon the casualties they had brought from Autobase would die too – he imagined them expiring as
he walked the aisles, his name on their lips. There was nothing he could do for those that were already
dead, for those countless Autobots he had already forsaken. A fierce determination rose up inside him.
There would be no more deaths. He would do everything in his power to save their lives, even if it
meant—
What What could he do
Determination alone could not save their lives. He was as powerless as he had ever been.
The drilling became louder and more insistent (Kup had obviously recruited more workers).
Suddenly Prowl leapt to his feet, opened the door and rushed headlong towards the sound.
He knew what he had to do.
Rev-Tone and Quark ignored the distant drilling. They were a long way from everyone else. After
checking F Ward for structural weaknesses they’d sloped off into the outlying passageways, still under
construction. Lanterns hung from skinny metal fences that blocked off unstable areas and funnelled the
tunnel into a dark dead end. They sat on top of individual pyramids of rubble.
Quark took a handful of grit from his seat and threw it into the darkness. It struck a distant wall with
satisfying impact.
‘How are you feeling’ he asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
‘I feel half dead. I can hear and smell and taste the battle. I can picture the Quintessons advancing on
all sides. I can recall the faces of everyone that looked away or shook their head as I begged them to come
with me. I feel guilty for surviving. I feel angry with myself for that guilt. I feel sick.’
Quark leant to pick up more filings (scoop) and sent them flying (chink). ‘I was asking about your
legs.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Rev-Tone ran his hands over his thighs, testing the territory. ‘Yeah, they’re getting
better. Thanks.’
‘I feel the same as you,’ said Quark. ‘About the battle.’
(Scoop. Chink.)
‘They’ll be here soon,’ Rev-Tone mumbled, throwing his own handful of grit.
‘I know. Frightening, isn’t it’
‘Prowl doesn’t know what he’s doing.’
‘He’s under a lot of pressure. It can’t be easy.’
(Scoop. Chink.)
‘He’s not the right type, you see. He hasn’t got the spark for leadership. At least Rodimus had the
spark. Perceptor’s too preoccupied with the smaller picture – he wouldn’t be suitable – and Chromedome
only comes into his own with computers or comms stuff. Kup’s going off the rails and Red Alert’s too
paranoid.’
‘Well there’s only one person suitable then, isn’t there’
Rev-Tone stopped in mid-throw. ‘Me Well, I mean, I’m just a soldier, and a wounded one at that.’
He shifted in his gravel seat. ‘And you know how I hate giving orders. Plus I’m universally recognised as
the least popular Autobot since Flame. You and Bluestreak are the only ones who like me, and you don’t
count.’