eugenesis-text

Perceptor peeled himself away from the quarantine pod. ‘Somebody change the subject,’ he sighed.
‘I’m hoping the nutro-bath will halt the spread of the infection,’ said Red Alert.
‘Can he be cured’
‘I’m not qualified to make a proper diagnosis, Chromedome. I can’t even say what type of CG he’s
contracted. Given the fact that we’re inside a viral research centre, it could be totally unique. Then it
becomes a question of donor compatibility. Without the correct transplant tissue, he might as well be dead.’
‘I guess you’re in charge now, Perceptor,’ said Chromedome, moving to the door. ‘I’ve got to get
back to the comms room. I dunno, maybe the others will make contact again.’
Red Alert let the programmer leave without comment. ‘So, Perceptor… what happens now’
‘The matter transporter remains the most viable route of escape. Siren’s medical staff can tend to
Prowl, even it means placing him in cold storage indefinitely.’ He noticed the look of Red Alert’s face.
‘You think this is likely’
‘I gave Chromedome the happy-ending version just now…’
‘That was the happy-ending version’
‘Prowl’s chances of survival are astronomically slim. Fighting a designer disease is virtually impossible.’
‘I hate to say it, but perhaps this was a failed suicide. In which case…’ Perceptor grappled with an
unwanted thought. ‘In which case he might resent us reviving him.’ The comms-panel flashed on Perceptor
wrist. ‘Yes, Chromdome’
‘It’s me. You’d better get here straightaway.’
A few moments later Chromedome was beckoning Perceptor and Red Alert into the comms room.
‘You remember our concerns about Kup – that he may have been trailed by the Quintessons’
‘We dismissed that when the rad-sweep zeroed out,’ said Red Alert, but he looked less confident than
he sounded.
‘Yeah, well that was then; take a look at the radar now. I count over 500 blips.’
‘Kup’s killed us,’ said Red Alert. ‘We’re dead.’
‘Calm down,’ said Perceptor, who switched to inter-Autobot radio and began his address: ‘This is a
code red field warning. All troops proceed to the west-wing and prepare to engage enemy forces. The Quintessons have
found us; repeat, the Quintessons have found us.’
Moments later, dozens of Autobots ran outside, leaden with weaponry and twitching fingers. Kup
took the lead, sweeping rotor-clip rail guns across the horizon and fighting the urge to strafe an empty sky.
Silhouettes appeared in the distance.
Perceptor transformed into his microscope mode and adjusted his magnification barrel. ‘It’s not the
Quintessons,’ he declared. ‘It’s the Decepticons.’
‘Soundwave has led them right to our front door!’ choked Red Alert. ‘Get back down, Perceptor!
You’re a target!’
‘I’m receiving a signal… Soundwave says he means us no harm. He proposes an alliance.’
‘Get down! It’s a trick!’
‘Maybe. But it’s time for some perspective.’ Perceptor transformed and carefully put down his
weapon. ‘I’ve just told him that we accept.’
The storeroom was gaudy with polished gold surfaces, with reflections of reflections; everywhere, a
glassware glare of bounced and bouncing light. Nondescript and brutally functional, the storeroom was
nothing more than an architectural afterthought sandwiched between basement blocks at the bottom of the
Quintesson Fortress. It was a dead-end with a door: no windows, no viewing galleries, no oh-soconvenient
ducts or vent shafts.
True, Quantax would have preferred a run-down cell or a torture chamber (something nice and
grimy, ideally with a VVH sparking away in the corner), but the storeroom would have to do. It was better
than the control room, anyway, and it had a certain low-key hopelessness that the conference halls and
antechambers lacked. Outside, in corridor 1A/001, foot soldiers, tech-heads and senior offices dashed from
floor to floor carrying reports and ferrying messages, oblivious to the five people sealed off by a plain metal
door.
The two guards flanked the doorframe, rifles like cummerbunds, happy to watch. In the centre of the
room, Rev-Tone and Quark sat at a sturdy metallic table, their arms tied up behind their chairs. Inhibitor