eugenesis-text

The command, usually given in a cavernous throne room or on the bridge of an imperial cruiser,
seemed almost comical now. Soundwave waited, sensing that their chat was not over. ‘It makes you think,’
he said, testing the water. ‘We know that co-operation is possible between us and the Autobots. Perhaps…’
‘Perhaps what’
‘Have you ever considered making peace with the Autobots’
Galvatron’s face slumped like an avalanche: incomprehension mixed with terrible sadness, as if he had
been betrayed but could not work out how. For a moment, Soundwave recognised Megatron – the old
Megatron. He saw an expression he hadn’t seen since before the Great War, when the Decepticon
campaign was in its infancy, when Megatron would sit in empty halls, on the rim of battered stages,
wondering if he would ever fuse Cybertron’s dissenters and sociopaths into a cohesive army. He’d
witnessed doubt in Megatron’s eyes, but never Galvatron’s – until now.
‘Is it time to end the war, commander’
Galvatron suddenly doubled up in pain. He coughed sparks at the floor and clawed at the base of his
neck. After a few moments the pain faded and he relaxed, but something was wrong: his arm was frozen in
mid-transformation.
‘Tell no one about this,’ he said, watching his musculature gradually re-assert itself.
From above, the Sonic Canyons were as pale and deserted as the rest of Cybertron; nothing more
than a minor network of gorges offering geological variation: cerulean cliffs instead of frozen oceans and
squinting tungsten. Squeezed inside the cliff, insulated by layers of sky-scraping radium, Delphi’s war
chamber was full to capacity. The Decepticons dominated three quarters of the room, their paintwork
melting into a block of grey-blue and ultramarine, while the Autobots were reduced to a red and white
minority. This fact did not go unnoticed by anyone.
Sygnet was lost amongst larger, sterner Decepticons on a distant balcony. He bore the expression of
someone who’d been shown to the wrong seat but was too afraid to say anything. Nightbeat sat in the front
row, listening as Red Alert described the slaughter of AMC1 with trance-like solemnity. To his left,
Chromedome and Mainframe also compared recent histories. Their conversation was peppered with
buzzwords and jargon so technically dense that Nightbeat couldn’t help taking an interest, and so he found
himself flitting between headless patients and the best way to sat-bounce scrambled messages using a lowgrade
cyadene modulator.
The five highest-ranking Transformers on the planet sat on stage and talked amongst themselves while
the audience settled down. Optimus Prime sat amongst Galvatron, Soundwave, Siren and Perceptor. He
gestured for the chamber to be silent.
‘It is many years since I have addressed a crowd containing some of the faces I see before me today.
Although the events leading to this historic alliance are not as I would have chosen, the fact remains that we
sit here today, Autobot and Decepticon, as one. Whatever the motivation, that alone is to be applauded.’
He looked over the crowd as he spoke, amazed at the scope and variation of his race, from miniature
Transformers, half-hidden in the aisles, to Transformers with soft, organic faces. These strangers met his
gaze with aggressive familiarity, as if was he addressing them and them alone.
‘The Quintessons have control of our planet. It really is as simple as that. Soon, Ultra Magnus will
arrive with a team of Autobots, and that will be it: everyone will be accounted for. The question that now
arises, the question that has no doubt plagued each and every one of you since you sat down, is this: what
do we do now
‘We should take the initiative and attack!’ yelled Razorclaw from his balcony seat. ‘This “Aquaria”
sounds like the Quintesson heartland. Why not take the battle there’
Optimus shrugged. ‘We need to recover the Matrix. If that involves sending troops to Aquaria, so be
it.’
Razorclaw settled down, unsure whether his point had been accepted or dismissed.
Blastmaster raised his hand. ‘Optimus, Aquaria is covered in corrosive liquid. The Quintessons’ base
must be underwater. How do we get in’
‘There is a way to protect ourselves from aqua fortis,’ said Perceptor. ‘Pretender shells are immune.’