eugenesis-text

Quark’s head disappeared in a shriek of shredded metal.
Rev-Tone suddenly realised that he was covered in oil. Quark’s body wobbled in front of him; it had
no shoulders, just a ragged semicircle above the stomach, as if someone had taken
a bite. The back of his chair was missing. Rev-Tone started screaming. He was glad when his optical
microfilaments began to weave comet-tails from his eyes: it meant he was finally blind to the horror.
Quantax was speaking and waving his hands, but his words were inaudible above Rev-Tone’s
banshee wail. He reloaded the laser pistol and fired another shot. The screaming stopped. Rev-Tone
slumped in his chair, hunched over a hole in his chest.
‘Again,’ said Quantax. The guards repositioned the unconscious Autobot. ‘We’ll just have to find
another way.’ He squeezed the trigger and maintained pressure until Rev-Tone and the remains of his chair
were indistinguishable.
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 three people sealed off by a plain metal door.
The Institute had been carved up and shared out. Neutral territory had been divided up into the
Autobot Zone and the Decepticon Zone, a yin/yang curve separating east from west. Nothing had been
said; no one had mapped the boundaries: people just knew. The mutual distrust was polite and unspoken.
Refugees mingled but did not connect, as if charged with magnetic repulsion. People looked in mirrors and
over their backs, fondled holsters and checked locked doors. They leant closer to their neighbour and spoke
differently, as it their words were italicised.
The Autobots talked about Prowl. The Decepticons talked about Sixshot.
The only overlap came at a command level. Perceptor and Soundwave talked as they walked side-byside
along the dividing line.
‘Once the transmat has been customised we will have direct access to the Sonic Canyons,’ said
Perceptor.
‘I can have Pounce and Wingspan assist your men. They have experience in localised teleportation.’
Perceptor looked up at him. ‘What is it like outside’
‘Empty. Contrary to popular belief, Cybertron isn’t swarming with Quintessons. We travelled here
without incident.’
‘Back in your cell you said the other Decepticons were dead.’
‘No, you said that – or rather Prowl did. Where is he’
‘Off-line.’
‘He let me go, you know.’
‘I guessed.’
They walked into the comms-room, where Chromedome and Red Alert were sitting in front of the
screen.
Soundwave, spreading his hands over the commport keys. ‘Perceptor says you have something to
show me.’
‘We made mute contact with Delphi,’ said Chromedome. ‘Perhaps you could…’
Soundwave shrank into cassette deck mode, landed neatly on the desktop and extended a tentative
linkup cable. A crisp, full-colour picture melted on screen. Chromedome muttered ‘unbelievable’ as
Fastlane looked up from his post and greeted them in quadraphonic stereo. Optimus Prime, Siren and
Nightbeat appeared in the background.
‘Thank Primus you’re alive!’ exclaimed Siren. ‘We were so worried.’
Realising that no one else was going to ask the question, Chromedome said, ‘Who is that standing
behind you’
‘It’s who you think it is,’ replied Siren.
‘My name’s Optimus. I think we met once before, at a lecture.’
‘Who is he’ repeated Chromedome. ‘Some sort of clone’
‘No, I’m the, er, original.’
‘Ask Perceptor,’ snapped Nightbeat. ‘But ask him later. We have more pressing concerns. Where are
you’