eugenesis-text

‘Pity we don’t share the same concerns, eh’ Death’s Head swapped wrist attachments and shredded
half the lab with a hail of acid-tipped shards. Haxian ducked behind another workbench. ‘You should see
what I do with my other hand,’ shouted Death’s Head, loading another spike-shell. ‘Come on. What’s the
point in hiding Surrender and I’ll let you live.’
‘Don’t listen to him! He’ll shoot you the moment you stand up!’
‘Who’s side are you on, Siren Thinking maybe I’ll shoot you first.’
‘That would invalidate your contract.’
‘Should have read the small print, eh’
‘Look, DH, if the Matrix is damaged we’ve come here for nothing.’
‘You’re not my sole employer. Before you lot came along I was hired to wipe out whoever I found
down here. And the Hybridians could outbid you with their loose change.’
‘Fine time to start weighing up your loyalties!’
‘Loyalties No such word. I’d double cross myself if I could make a profit, yes’
‘Why am I not surprised You really are a sorry piece of— wait!’ Siren jabbed his weapon at the
workbench. ‘Did you hear something I thought the Quint was out of ammo.’
Death’s Head pointed to a handgun lying among the test tubes and broken glass. ‘He is.’
Siren gave a nod, and they approached the workbench from opposite angles, ready to drop or dive or
open fire. They found Haxian sitting upright with his legs stretched out, his hands hanging limply by his
sides.
‘Soft-destruct, they call it,’ said Siren, crouching to eye level. ‘The brain module burns itself out at
rather than blowing up. Less painful.’
Death’s Head looked puzzled. ‘You’d have thought he’d have gone for the big bang, eh Taken us
out with him.’
‘Some people, given the option, choose to die with dignity.’ Siren laid down his weapon and went to
prise the Matrix from the scientist’s rigid hands. ‘Not everyone wants to go out fight—’
Haxian exploded.
At some point (somewhere between landing outside Delphi and banging a bullet through the fuselage
of a distant Trident), Optimus Prime finally surrendered to the mechanics of war. Loose targeting, keeping
space, marking attackers, picking the weak and unguarded: everything came flooding back. He was wellversed
in the etiquette of war and its lexicon of denial: words like ‘countermove’, ‘damage limitation’ and
‘pre-emptive strike’ could be used to excuse any indiscretion, any atrocity. He was a freedom fighter; his
enemy was a terrorist. He interrogated; they tortured.
A few of the more religious Autobots, already maddened by the onset of slow internal fade, had
draped themselves at his feet, as if the sole of his boot could heal and temper.
The Quintessons were everywhere. A Trident stitched a thread of plasmafire between fleeing
Autobots; Rewind caved in under photon bolts; Getaway’s head left his body. He was so overwhelmed by
the enemy (the troops, the Tridents, the liquid skim of green-silver/silver-green) and by the Autobots
clinging to his heels, that he almost missed the transport ship sliding over the cliff-tops. It settled on the
canyon floor and opened its doors, and suddenly they had arrived.
Hundreds of them, all painted red.
‘Where the hell have you been’
Magnus knelt with his back to the wall and slotted another energon clip into place. ‘Shut up,
Galvatron. I’m not in the mood, okay’
Galvatron didn’t think it was an unreasonable question, considering that he’d spent the last few
minutes waist-deep in aqua fortis trading shots with the Imperial Majestrix outside an enormous vault. Part
of him wondered why he was bothering to shield himself when it was unlikely that Xenon’s lasers could
penetrate his super-dense armour. Deep down he knew that he was being self-indulgent, dragging things
out to make all this worthwhile.
Ultra Magnus stared at Galvatron’s disquietingly serene expression. ‘Did you hear the explosion
before’