eugenesis-text

Soundwave knew he should have nodded and left, but something in Galvatron’s words held him
back. ‘Commander, am I to take it that you’re looking for an excuse to kill Sixshot’
‘My dear Soundwave, I’m asking for feedback on Sixshot’s strategies, tactics and judgement.’
Galvatron turned to face him. ‘I’m looking for an excuse to kill you.’
The construction hangar was carpeted with Quintessons, with thousands of grey-green
biomechanicals swarming like bees on honeycomb. Crowds of grunts and tech-heads modified triplepronged
attack craft – Tridents - to the slap and thud of industrial machinery.
Death’s Head was not easily moved, but the spectacle below was overwhelming. He squared his
thumb and forefinger, carved the crowd into blocks and counted over twelve thousand Sharkticons.
Dammit.
He hadn’t brought enough ammunition.
He risked another step onto the balcony and took a closer look at individual robots. Some were
overseeing the conveyer belts, others were waving their weapons and giving orders. There was a definite
hierarchy on display, but he sensed the absence of an overall leader.
Things had changed. In 2008, the Quintessons had their own planet, albeit an unstable one – an
elliptic fusion of mix ‘n’ match geo-fragments limping endlessly around a shabby brown dwarf. What had
happened in the four years he’d skipped Was Quintesson still orbiting Omega Pytan or had it collapsed,
creating a tribe of nomads
He’d grown so accustomed to the rumble of noise that it took a second for the nearby voices to
register. They were coming from behind him, from the adjoining hall. He climbed into the rafters and
scooped up his cloak before two figures stepped onto the balcony.
‘Work proceeds apace, Lord Xenon,’ said Haxian, ushering the Imperial Majestrix to the lip of the
balcony. ‘The fleet will be completed within the projected launch time.’
Death’s Head raised his eyebrows: his luck was finally changing. How often did an opportunity like
this present itself ‘Lord’ Xenon His prime target, the leader of the Quintessons, appearing by chance
Things like this didn’t happen to him normally. He studied Xenon’s malformed, ovoid body, which was
balanced on a column of crackling energy. Five faces encircled its fattest point, nibbling a penumbra of
shadow. (He was unfamiliar with Brotherhood doctrines but caught the sledgehammer symbolism: the
grotesque masks represented the Pentacore: the Dark Gods Syncorax, Akra, Kryn, Unicron and Harbinger.)
Between the facemasks and the antigravity beam were dozens of techno-organic tentacles.
‘Incredible, isn’t it Haxian Think how far we’ve come. Four years ago we teetered on the brink, and
now… now all this.’
‘96% of the attack craft are complete, my Lord. The ships below make up the final 4%. The new
design ensures greater manoeuvrability and fuel efficiency, just as you predicted. We even have a subset of
Tridents with hyperspace capabilities.’
‘What about destructive capabilities If this project is to go ahead I need to be confident that a single
pilot can lay waste to an entire city.’
‘Firepower was increased tenfold after General Rodern suggested that we replace the phase lasers with
photon cannons and draw energy from the engine coils.’
‘Hm. Remind me to thank Rodern for his input.’
‘You won’t need reminding, Xenon: you can thank me right now.’
Death’s Head watched a third figure appear on the balcony. His humanoid physique set him apart
from the standard Quintesson design. His face was a collision of razor-sharp angles, all chin and cheekbone.
Serrated fins curved over his shoulders and met in the small of his back, overcompensating for fat, tubular
forearms and spindly elbow joints.
‘I’ve been looking for you, Xenon,’ General Rodern continued. ‘Quantax says two of the orbital
motherships are complete.’
‘Excellent. Tell him to de-cloak and begin trans-matting the Tridents immediately. This planet
cannot support us much longer. What about the other facets of our campaign’
General Rodern looked at Haxian who, after seeking Xenon’s consent, left his superiors alone on the
balcony.