eugenesis-text

‘Three bodies were retrieved, although the destruction of their shuttle has temporarily deactivated
them.’ Haxian paused, looking to Rodern and Quantax. ‘Commander, they appear to be Cybertronian in
origin.’
‘Bring them to me. Now.’
Haxian clicked his fingers. The Decepticons swung from side to side as the gatekeepers carried them
in on a pole.
‘What does this say about your precautions’ demanded Rodern. ‘We spend four years underwater,
four years hiding in this pit so that Cybertronians won’t expect another attack, and yet they seem to know
exactly where to find us.’
‘It may be just a coincidence.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidences, and I don’t think you do either. If the Matrix Bearer has discovered
our location we must act immediately.’
‘If the Cybertronians suspect that we are hiding on Aquaria,’ said Xenon steadily, ‘then it is just that:
a suspicion. Why send three to tackle an entire army Can you reactivate them, Haxian’
‘I don’t think so, my Lord. All three have suffered complete internal shutdown – their brains have
ceased to function.’
‘Then it appears that events beyond our control have forced our hand. Rodern, I want a volunteer
suited up within five minutes. Quantax, transfer all squads to the warcruisers. We launch in ten.’ The
generals walked through opposite exits.
‘My Lord, what shall I do with the Cybertronians’
‘Take them to Ferrax. I have an idea.’
Death’s Head heard the retreating footsteps. Staring at the ceiling, the trident handle slanting into
view, he sensed he was alone. Perhaps he would be left where he was, gathering dust until a passer-by
kicked him into the Sharkpit.
He had to take control.
He had to fix himself, escape to Cybertron and sell his information to the Transformers. Calculating
his fee was the only thing keeping him going.
Sparks flew as he yanked the trident loose. He shut his eyes against the pain, and when he opened
them Xenon was standing over him, smiling.
‘I knew you weren’t dead, bounty hunter.’
Death’s Head screamed as an optic blast reopened his wounds.
‘You are now. Yes’
Red Alert balanced on the lip of the stage, alone in the open-top arena. Diosys was battered and
scuffed and rough round the edges, but it would do. In a matter of hours the entire Iaconian army would
fill this space, from frontline grunts to High Command. 95% of the Resistance would stand in rank and file,
in regimental lines, in squad-blocks and parade poses. It was an event he’d been planning for the last 116
days: the highlight of his career.
He was terrified.
He tugged his nose and dragged the movement across his mouth, scanning the arena for the
thousandth time, ticking off a mental list of blind spots and weak points, ledges and crevices: all the places
from which a Decepticon sniper could bang a bullet into Prime’s head. And while the thought of his
security team spreading out between the crowds calmed his nerves a little, he still had visions of a Memocon
or Insecticon nudging a crosshairs over the Autobot leader’s forehead before anyone could act.
He’d taken precautions, of course. The communications hive on C wing had been cranking out false
information for weeks, filtering titbits of fake foreign policy to all the right people: the plants, the deepplacements,
the turncoats - even the Terminal Empties (the ones that hadn’t succumbed to technodementia
or circuitburn, Chrome’s Syndrome or Thrash). All these channels led, one way or another, to
the Decepticons. If he’d done his job properly – and he prided himself on doing his job properly – then
enemy platoons would be combing the molten pools of Stanix right now, looking for non-existent pockets
of Resistance.