eugenesis-text

‘I take it, Optimus, that you intend to lead the assault on the fortress’
‘Of course. Why’
‘You’re putting yourself in a highly dangerous position. You might get killed and – and I’m worried.’
‘Ah, but are you worried about me, or about consequences of my death’
‘Actually, Optimus, I’m worried about you. Some things are more important than theoretical
paradoxes… and that’s not something you hear said very often.’
‘I appreciate your concern, but my mind is made up. Besides, I have devised a number of
contingency plans.’
‘They’re not responding, sir. Shall I try again’
Quantax looked at Q-89 with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. ‘No. They are obviously
predisposed. Close transmission.’ He sank deeper into his chair. Why weren’t Ryknia and the others
answering Had something serious happened A jailbreak He pictured swarms of Cybertronians snapping
their electro-bars, climbing over each other and scaling walls like Sharkticons. Imagine: Sevax is dragged
under the crowd-swell and dismembered, his components distributed over a rippling radius before they
even hit the ground. Jolup’s head curdles into hot slop as a proton blast sheers his face. And Ryknia…
Ryknia, terrified, barricades himself in the control room, sends a distress call to the fortress, collapses to his
knees and begs to be saved. Begs.
He dismissed the daydream as just that, and settled on the more disturbing possibility: Ryknia had cut
loose in a fit of pique and broken contact, freed the contingent of Quintesson prisoners and persuaded them
to join his burgeoning squad of anti-Monarchists. Was it time to take precautions An elite kill squad – say,
20 troops – could put the threesome down without fuss, and it wouldn’t be difficult to explain their deaths
when Xenon arrived. That is, of course, if Xenon’s ship ever made it to Cybertron…
As sole ruler of New Quintyxia, he felt that he was doing an admirable job. The thought of the
Imperial Majestrix hovering over his land sparked heat shimmers across his optics. Authority – absolute
authority – was addictive, and he had started to think of ways to maintain the status quo. Perhaps a group of
kamikaze Cybertronian rebels might somehow access anti-aircraft guns and blast Thermopylae out of the
sky Perhaps a freak blast from a plasma energy chamber might atomise Xenon’s mothership before it
touched down
He put his plans to one side as Q-311 entered the room. ‘You’re supposed to be mapping the Dark
Territories, 311. I hope you have a compelling reason for disobeying direct orders.’
Q-311 held out a small data slug. ‘There’s something out there, sir. Something odd. May I’ He
activated the main screen and stepped aside. ‘I apologise for the lack of sound and the poor picture quality. I
downloaded this surveillance footage via long-range optical-audio interface but I cannot explain why—’
‘Shut up, 311. Do you realise what you’ve found A living, breathing chrono-euclidiae.’
‘I’m sorry, sir’
‘A wormhole.’
The deep-sea Pretender shell had gave Siren extra height, and Nightbeat had to crane his neck to
look into his friend’s visor.
‘What are you smiling at’ asked Siren.
Nightbeat shook his head. ‘It’s the new look, that’s all. I’m not used to you as a Pretender.’
‘You should see what Wheeljack’s done to Magnus: he had to remove the poor guy’s shoulder towers
to make the suit fit properly.’
‘You don’t want to go on this mission, do you’
Siren checked that Optimus Prime, Galvatron and the others were still milling around the refuelled
Trident before answering. ‘I haven’t left Cybertron in eight years, Nightbeat. I’m attached to this place.’
‘And the real reason is’
‘Excuse me’
‘Come on, Siren. Eight years is just a drop in the ocean for you and me. We spent three centuries
underneath the Manganese Mountains – you even regretted not travelling to Nebulos with the Steelhaven
crew! So don’t tell me that you’re prematurely homesick, because I know you too well.’