eugenesis-text

‘In that case,’ said Rodern, ‘I’ll be walking on a plateau of Cybertronian corpses by dawn.’ He stared,
glassy-eyed, into the middle distance. ‘And a new era of greatness will begin!’
‘Just… just go,’ said Xenon, and blanked the screens.
The two warcruisers, the Conquest and the Enslaver, peeled themselves away from Aquaria’s orbit
towards a corridor of space that rippled like hot backseat plastic. Distant star fields bent out of shape, suns
stretched into molten string, a pinprick of light became a yawning portal, and the black Quintesson
motherships crossed into hyperspace.
‘Sygnet’
Blitzwing stepped into the repair bay and nearly short-circuited in shock. In front of him, propped up
against a wall of arc welders, cortex dismantlers and laser rods, were the head and shoulders of Scourge. His
head was as hollow as an Easter egg, cradling empty space and a swirling drone. His optic sockets
smouldered like fresh bullet wounds. But it was okay, it was all right: he was just off-line.
The Triple Changer cursed himself for his jumpiness and ventured further into the room.
He didn’t like this place, with its pots of paint and its zombified Decepticons. Twenty-six years ago
he’d stumbled upon the secret lab, now long-since bricked-up, and discovered Lord Straxus’ contingency
plan, Project: Rebirth. That poor trooper – Skywarp’s morph-twin, Lancer – had been stripped to his
endoskeleton and nailed – nailed – to a circuit-slab in preparation.
Sygnet had been in charge.
According to Fulcrum, he’d foregone the anaesthetic and pumped Lancer with Syk (and cheap,
rough-cut Syk at that, mixed with sour petrolax and battery acid) before building a replica of Megatron’s
bodyshell around his trembling limbs. The operation had taken six days. Sygnet was a sick, twisted creature
– which was surprising, all things considered.
‘Sygnet’ His voice was soft (he didn’t want to disturb the engineer in mid-operation). There was no
reply, just the distant fuzz of sparks. ‘Sygnet I need to talk to you.’
Litter-strewn steps led to a closed door and a slab of boiled neon that read Operation in Progress. Do not
enter. Underneath, lasered into the wall, was an addendum that read, Except Galvatron, obviously.
Blitzwing pressed his audio receptor against the door, shrugged, and pushed it open. Sygnet’s sanctum
was waxy and tubular, like an inner ear. Ancient worktops were covered in tools, some designed using the
latest Decepticon technology, and others no more sophisticated than a blunt needle. The floor was worn
down by millions of years of tread and pressure. Each dip and dent marked the beginning of one of Sygnet’s
rambling anecdotes about his operations. He would point to a scratch on the floor and say, ‘That’s where
Scorponok was fitted with shoulder-turrets,’ or ‘See that mark That’s where Megatron first tested his
electro-axe attachment,’ or ‘Those holes in the ceiling Oh, that’s where I winched Straxus’ head into his
life-support machine.’
Standing in the centre of the room under a cone of mustard light was Scourge’s body, minus his head
and shoulders. Poking out of the chest wound, bound by chain, were Sygnet’s feet.
Blitzwing rapped on the door retrospectively. The sparks stopped and there was a muffled, ‘Hello’
‘Sygnet, it’s me. Soundwave wants us in the throne room.’
The chain rattled as Sygnet winched himself upwards. The light caught the dark cockpit that sloped
from his chest to his midriff and clipped the wing-fins on his shoulder blades. He was holding a scalpel in
one hand and remote control in the other.
‘Oh, hi Blitzwing. Didn’t quite catch what you said.’
Blitzwing repeated himself.
‘Since when has Soundwave had the throne room to himself’
‘Since Galvatron time-jumped.’
‘And why have we been summoned’
‘Dunno. Maybe Soundwave wants to brag about his new position.’
‘You think so That’s not like him.’ Sygnet disentangled his ankles, stood upright and clicked his
finger-joints back into place, a habit that annoyed even the most patient Decepticon. ‘Let’s go see what he
wants.’
‘What about Scourge’
‘He’s not going anywhere,’ said Sygnet, flicking off the light.