eugenesis-text

‘It wouldn’t work. The lock only records the most recent de-activation, in this case Throwback’s
override at 240. It was the first thing I checked.’
‘I should have guessed. My apologies, Red Alert.’ Prowl looked down at Chromedome. ‘What about
you Any progress’
‘I’ve made a connection with Delphi, commander, and I’m ready to transmit.’
Prowl stayed in the shadows, his circuitry still rippling with nerves. ‘Perceptor,’ he said into an
intercom, ‘we’re about to speak to Delphi. You’d better get up here now.’
The picture, when it appeared, throbbed with wayward contrast. Fastlane was de-synced by
interference; he shifted outside his body contours and blinked at an equally bad picture of Chromedome &
Co.
‘They’re alright,’ beamed Red Alert. ‘Thank god we’re not the only ones.’
‘What’s wrong with the picture’ asked Perceptor, walking in with oil up his arms.
‘It’s a scrambled transmission,’ explained Chromedome. ‘Buffed, tri-coded and fed through an
encryption press. We’re not talking liquid digital here: you want high-resolution, get me something that
doesn’t pre-date the Golden Age, okay’
‘This is Outpsst Delphi. Fsst Offcer Fastlne respnddng yr message.’
Everyone looked at Prowl, who was staring at his feet.
‘Do you, er, want to respond, commander’ asked Chromedome.
‘You reply.’
Chromedome was not prepared. ‘Er, Fastlane This is Chromedome. We’re calling from the Institute
of Higher Programming.’
‘Can he hear us’ asked Red Alert, leaning into the intercom. ‘Nod if you can hear me, Fastlane.’
‘Was that a nod’ asked Chromedome.
Throwback shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe.’
‘Ask him about a warp-drive receptor,’ said Perceptor. Chromedome did as he was told, and Fastlane
started tapping his keyboard furiously.
Red Alert pointed to two new on-screen figures, grey and distorted. ‘Who are these two Is that
Nightbeat’
‘This is ridiculous!’ Prowl snapped. ‘Sixty million years of telecommunications and we can’t even
send a message across the planet!’
‘My job would be easier,’ said Chromedome tersely, ‘if the Quintessons hadn’t destroyed all but their
own orbital satellites.’ As if on cue, the picture collapsed altogether. ‘That wasn’t me: we were hi-jacked by
another signal – an Autobot SOS. Someone’s nearby.’
‘Patch into the perimeter cameras,’ said Red Alert. ‘Now.’
Outside, Kup was feeling his way from a flaming MARB. Hot Rod’s was corpse slung over his
shoulders like a roll of grey carpet.
‘Well at least they’re safe,’ concluded Siren, as Fastlane gave up trying to re-establish contact. ‘And if
Prowl and the others have survived, so could many more.’
‘Does Prowl command that contingent’ asked Optimus, his voice shaded with quiet pride.
‘He does now, sir, yes,’ replied Siren, ‘Ever since Rodimus Pr—’
‘Since their leader was incapacitated,’ interrupted Nightbeat. There was still so much Prime didn’t
know; one revelation did not necessarily demand full and frank disclosure.
‘I’m sure he does a fine job. He’s a fine officer.’
Nightbeat wondered if Prime was chalking up each Autobot destined to outlive him. Others would
be bitter; Prime seemed to be reassured by the exercise.
‘Sorry to interrupt the party,’ chimed Wheeljack, entering the room with a data-board in one hand
and a grey orb in the other.
Sygnet followed a few paces behind his ex-mentor, his hands pinned behind his waist. He gave Prime
a sideways glance that was not reciprocated. ‘We’re ready to make our report on the paralysis chip. If you’d
like to join us in the briefing chamber…’