eugenesis-text

PART FIVE
ifetrac
December 31, 2012.
The monopod bounced across the surface of Helex like a tarnished bauble, its feeble engines choking
on boiler fluid. It span on a geodesic line, rolled to halt, throbbed with kickback and ejected a cramped
passenger.
Soundwave rolled the pod into a nearby crater. He was impressed: low on fuel and stripped of
suspension, the one-man bubble-craft he’d found inside a bomb shelter with other emergency supplies
(auto-corrosion pills, a rusted warp gate, a cracked communicube) had somehow snowballed him across 300
miles of occupied territory. The Autobots assumed that their enemies lounged in barracks waiting on
Galvatron’s whim and whinny: not so. In fact, the Decepticons worked quietly and assiduously, rigging an
entire planet in preparation for the End Days, for the Big Push. Monopods were stashed undercover, gunports
were hidden inside fake craters, and listed buildings were used to hide Harvester Units.
In the distance he saw what looked like a deserted missile silo: Leagus. Shimmering in Helexian mist,
Sixshot’s headquarters seemed to hesitate on the ruby-dew horizon, afraid to settle. Soundwave headed for
Leagus, keeping to the built-up, burnt-down areas. As he walked, he pictured Sixshot throwing shapes in
the command room, prancing and prattling in front of his new army – a reservoir of manpower and
reinforcements bottled inside a bunker, forever held in check.
He froze at a distant sound. He sensed Quintessons everywhere, overrunning the planet like trickling
water. This was the revised future, the new order, the day-by-day of New Quintyxia. The sound did not
repeat itself, and he calmed down using a process of sonic elimination: his footfalls, the fridge-hum of his
CPU, the oboe moan of bending wind.
He had initiated a bio-scan the moment he’d escaped from the Institute. As a first generation carrier
unit, a symbiotic push/pull existed between himself and his cassettes: a simple mind-scan, thrown wide,
could isolate each one of them. For some reason, Overkill, Spooler and Slugfest were in the Manganese
Mountains, their readout sigs warped and detuned. Beastbox and Squawktalk had died – quite horribly – at
the Polyhex Massacre. That only left his original team – Ravage, Frenzy, Rumble, Buzzaw and Laserbeak –
whose life-signals resonated loud and clear from the silo up ahead. Now, two signals were heading his way.
He looked up to trace their approach. The sky was sequinned with stars and more besides: new
satellites, freshly loosed from their traps and tarpaulins; surveillance globes spinning on their axes; skyscraping
spotlights raking beams across pits and pylons. Somewhere among all this, Laserbeak’s eyes shone a
peculiar red. He released an object from his talons: a cassette that expanded and hit the ground as Frenzy.
Soundwave smiled as the bird landed on his forearm. ‘As punctual as ever, Laserbeak.’
‘We thought you were dead, boss,’ said Frenzy. ‘What’s happening out there’
‘You mean you don’t know’
‘Well, we get bulletins from Sixshot. The Quints are attacking the planet; the Autobots are holding
‘em off.’
‘A sadly outdated report. The Quintessons have conquered Cybertron. Perhaps if you hadn’t locked
yourselves indoors it might be a different story.’
‘Hey, we’re just obeying orders. You expect me to cross Sixshot He wants us to wait inside until—’