eugenesis-text

Quantax swivelled free. As the blows reigned down, Nightbeat did not know where to turn. Either
way, a head-flick left or right, and the Quintesson’s fists seemed to connect, each one leaving a deeper dent.
How long before a barbed knuckle started mashing internal circuitry
He caught Quantax’s fist and squeezed. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ he slurred. ‘The
wormhole’s dangerous. Are you listening to me It’s not to be tampered with.’
‘Tampered with I am second in line to Xenon himself! I’ll do more than tamper with it! I’ll violate its
every nerve and flux!’ He scrambled to his feet and sprinted for the portal.
Nightbeat transformed, ramped a mound of debris and knocked Quantax aside. The Quintesson
rolled down the altar and sank under the fumes.
Nightbeat waded into the energy dregs, twitchy and disoriented, mindful of the gaping crevasse
underneath. The empty space beneath his boot was a warning too late: like a detonating landmine, Quantax
burst from the mist, slashed him across the chest, and dived out of sight.
Nightbeat’s felt the wound and he staggered backwards onto the altar, staring at the oil leaking
between his fingers. Could he really see Muzzle’s orb against his palm, or was he imagining things, was he
dulled with fever The heat on his back reminded him how close he was – how stupidly close – to the
wormhole.
‘Come on, Quantax. Whatever you’re hoping to do, it isn’t going to work. What’s the plan, eh
Time-jump to 2008 and alter the course of the original invasion Can’t be done. Travel back millions of
years and become leader of the Quintessons Can’t be done. Or perhaps go back just a few hours so that we
never come to blows Can’t be done.
‘And you know why it can’t be done, Quantax Because Perceptor was right. Because History is
immutable. Past History, Future History, whatever: it’s mapped out from the beginning, or from the end,
and there’s nothing you or I or anyone can do to alter it. Everything we do – whether we jump forward or
back – is accounted for. We’re meant to do it. And if you were meant to use the wormhole and become a
great leader, or even the Majestrix himself, History would already had recorded it.’
And there was Quantax, right on cue. He burst from the mist, grabbed Nightbeat by the throat and
slashed his stomach open. The mindpurge device fell out and slid towards the wormhole.
Nightbeat and Quantax tumbled down the altar steps, rolled across the floor and fell over the
precipice.
Outside, Centurion wondered how he was still alive. How could someone like him – so fragile, so
human – withstand any more pain
‘A certain type of robot,’ said Jolup, sinking his boot into Centurion’s ribs, ‘would beg you to fight
back. A certain type of robot would wring his hands and pontificate about honour, about the quality of
combat. Not me. I’m glad you can’t fight back.’
Centurion rolled onto his belly, certain that he’d left an important clump of innards sizzling on the
ground. With a reaction spasm reserved for birth or death, he grabbed Jolup’s sweeping leg and knocked his
attacker to the ground. Now all it took was a scramble upright, the recovery of his shotgun, a well-placed
kill shot and… and… and stop.
He couldn’t move.
He was paralysed.
When Jolup grabbed his neck and hoisted him to eye-level it all became tearfully clear. There were
his legs, criss-crossing each other on the ground as if marking buried treasure. Before he could properly
assimilate the blast-waves of shock, the ground opened up and swallowed all evidence.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jolup, stepping backwards to avoid the chasm. ‘I’m trying not to laugh, I really am.’
He held Centurion over the lava and began unfurling his fingers. ‘Did you say something, Autobot Did
you say you wanted to go home’
‘If I were you,’ said Optimus Prime, standing between Astrotrain and Thundercracker. ‘I’d consider
his request very carefully, and then put him down on solid ground.’
Jolup craned his neck and saw three new arrivals, one of whom looked unnervingly like Sevax. All of
them had their weapons raised, but the big guy at the front, with glass on his chest and a mouthplate, was
threatening him directly.