eugenesis-text

etween the gallery and the stage, descending like ski lifts, barrels warming in the sun. The stage itself,
which took up a fifth of the stadium, was empty except for a single lectern.
Members of Red Alert’s security team hovered by the door, weapons at their hips. The ‘Invisibles’ –
guards who avoided plain sight using Skids’ light-bending Sidestep technology – were already nowhere to
be seen (only a ripple of ripe light, a hiccup in the air, hinted at their location).
Prowl strode across the stage, self-aware to the point of embarrassment, and ducked into the wings.
He had every faith in Rodimus Prime, but he didn’t know how this troop inspection would have come
together if it hadn’t been for his organisational skills.
He saw Scattershot counting his Technobots; Red Alert wrestling with hand-comms, looking as
though his head was about to overheat; Quickswitch mode-hopping with boredom; Vroom striding
confidently through the crowd.
So many familiar faces, yet so few he could call close friends.
His true brethren, those with whom he had shared so much, were posted at Autobot City, light years
away. They’d be heading home soon enough: Mirage must have delivered the verdict by now. He
consulted his databoard and tried not to picture the dismay on the faces of Wheeljack, Jazz and the others.
So he’d been one of the five who had voted to close down the City. So what Why should he feel guilty
‘This is your last chance to call it off!’
Prowl looked up. Thunderclash and Rodimus Prime were standing nearby, half-hidden by scaffold.
‘You just don’t give up, do you’ said Rodimus.
‘I am merely offering you one last chance to reverse your decision.’ Thunderclash gestured off-stage.
‘Look, they’re not even in line yet. There’s still time to—’
‘Short of an asteroid heading this way or the Decepticons calling a truce, nothing’s going to change
my mind. Isn’t it time you accepted that’
‘Something is going to go wrong, I know it.’
‘Keep your voice down.’
‘Don’t tell me to keep my voice down! What does it take to—’
‘Oh, will you both just shut up!’
Rodimus Prime and Thunderclash looked at Prowl for the first time.
‘Now look, Prowl…’
‘I don’t want to hear it, Rodimus. I’ve had it up to here with both of you – everyone has! You!’ He
jabbed a finger at Thunderclash. ‘Rodimus is our leader. He deserves a little respect… And you can stop
smirking, Rodimus: you should be above such petty squabbles. The more you argue, the more you
undermine your own authority.’
‘Well,’ said Thunderclash, watching Prowl storm off stage. ‘I hope you’re satisfied.’
And Red Alert kept fretting.
All around him, robots were settling into tidier pockets, tugged and tailored by their commanding
officers. He counted a hundred, five hundred, a thousand… Not bad numbers, considering this was the
first proper troop inspection since Arklaunch four million years ago.
The overall layout was simple: twenty squads, each one twelve deep and twelve wide, including a rep
from High Command or some other senior officer.
As he climbed on stage, he noticed the silence: having assumed their positions, everyone had gone
quiet. It reminded him of circuit-communion, when the First Ones used to lead the faithful in wide-eyed
Primal prayer. That didn’t happen anymore; ‘Primus ist tot’ graffiti had appeared on the Golden Dome as
soon as the war had broken out.
Rodimus Prime was skulking in the shadows with the rest of High Command: Kup, Prowl,
Perceptor and Thunderclash. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were there too, honorary members in the absence
of Mirage and Ratchet. They looked awkward and pensive, as if waiting to collect an award.
‘Everything set, Red’ asked Rodimus.
‘Everything is as secure as possible. You’ve got the Invisibles, the laser platforms and Chromedome. If
anything trips the radar I’ll call things off immediately.’
‘We’ve got nearly three thousand Autobots out there,’ said Thunderclash, looking elsewhere.