eugenesis-text

The window was an example of the classic hymolith design, the glass able to withstand the heaviest
artillery fire. Each interlocking slat reinforced a framework of curved, diamond-shaped plexi-plates. There
was only one flaw, one tiny structural hiccup: a particular pane of glass could be shattered with the right
shot at right angle.
Emyrissus’ entire mission hinged on this particular pane. Galvatron’s skull had to be framed by the
slanting latticework when the magic bullet broke the seal.
The problem, borne out over nine hundred days, was that Galvatron rarely moved from his throne;
he just lounged in the darkness, lost in thoughts and daydreams. Even now, all Emyrissus could see was the
outline of a forearm and forefinger.
Emyrissus often wondered what played on his target’s mind. Did he concoct ambitious masterplans,
baroque schemes that would bring about total Decepticon victory Did he dream about killing his enemies
or winning them over to his cause Was he concerned with the smaller details, the friends he had lost, the
sacrifices he had made in his life Or was he just too frightened or too bored to venture from his inner
sanctum
Anyway, it was almost sunset. Practice time. He leant on his elbows to give a better view, aligned the
rifle sights and drew a bead on the throne, imagining how the butt would hammer his shoulder when he
finally pulled the trigger. If he fired now, though, it would be a wasted shot. From this angle, the laser
would bounce harmlessly off the glass, simultaneously telling half the Decepticon army that an Autobot was
hiding nearby.
Practice over, he laid down the rifle, shook his head and prepared to wait another nine hundred days.
Nightbeat rested his chin on his forearm and looked at the orb on his desk with a mixture of
melancholy and nostalgia (not that the two were ever fully separate). The one remaining bulb lassoed a
meagre curve of light over the orb’s upper hemisphere and breathed colour into the core. Alongside him,
his computer flashed the Autosymbol above the words For Your Immediate Attention. He was lost in
concentration, so much so that the rumble outside his office sounded like a distant murmur. It seemed that
everyone heading for Diosys was using his corridor as a shortcut.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Nightbeat It’s Doubleheader. I think your door’s jammed. The keypad’s not responding.’
Nightbeat scooped up the orb and put it back inside his chest. ‘It’s working fine from this side,’ he
replied, deactivating the lock.
Doubleheader was still pressing his gun barrel against the pressure pad when the door slid open.
‘Ah, there you are. I’ve been trying to reach you by computer for ages. Didn’t you get my message’
‘My terminal’s broken.’ He noticed that Doubleheader had ditched his Pretender shell and vaguely
wondered why. ‘What do you want’
‘To see if you’re coming to the troop inspection. High Command have set aside a special place for
you.’
‘I won’t be attending. But thanks for dropping by.’
‘Are you sure Everyone’s going. Well, nearly everyone - they’ve left a special place for Longtooth.’
‘It’s not my scene. Really - there are things I have to get on with. Cases.’
‘I understand. I just didn’t want you to feel left out.’
Doubleheader’s parting words stayed with Nightbeat as he locked the door and confronted his
terminal. Individuals he could deal with (just about), but not crowds. Besides, he had more pressing
concerns: in four hours, when the troop inspection was over, High Command would reconvene and
Rodimus would finally explain why he was here. Let the others stand in line with their polished guns and
their polished smiles. Why waste time shaking hands with Autobot dignitaries when he could be in his
office, slumped under a naked bulb, wondering where everything had gone wrong
It was only daybreak, but the arena was already half full.
Thick streams of Autobots poured through the entrance and collected in large pools. Sealed in his
tower, Chromedome positioned the spy cams as per Red Alert’s instructions. Six laser platforms hovered