This is not an official Transformers product. None of the various copyright holders have authorised this book, nor have they in any way approved or otherwise endorsed its contents. ‘The Transformers’ and related characters and elements are registered trademarks of Hasbro Inc., manufactured under license from Takara Co. Ltd. ‘Death’s Head’ is a registered trademark of Marvel Enterprises, Inc. All chapter quotes are accredited to and copyright their respective owners and are used without permission. © 2001, 2007 JAMES ROBERTS FOR MY SON, WILLIAM EUGENESIS BY JAMES ROBERTS PROLOGUE Eugenesis (n.) The quality or condition of having strong reproductive powers; generation with full fertility between different species or races, specifically between hybrids of the first generation. In the years to come, when the Changeover had taken place (or ‘the Turnaround’ or ‘the Descent’, or ‘the Ascent’ or ‘the Reckoning’, or whichever sanitised, Ministry-approved epigram was doing the rounds that week), when the Great Scaledown and the unstoppable rise of the Neogens had led to a new population of Beast Warriors, and when a thirst for answers and a near-hysterical desire to dispel the shadow of Reductionism had forced Maximal scholars to retrace their dark ancestral steps, it would be decided that the Beginning of the End started on 1st December 2012 – and it started with a whimper, not a bang. And here the trees and I know their gnarled surface, water and I feel its taste. These scents of grass and stars at night, certain evenings when the heart relaxes – how shall I negate this world whose power and strength I feel? Yet all the knowledge on earth will give me nothing to assure me that this world is mine. You describe it to me and you teach me to classify it. You enumerate its laws and in my thirst for knowledge I admit that they are true. You take apart its mechanism and my hope increases. At the final stage you teach me that this wondrous and multi-coloured universe can be reduced to an atom and that the atom itself can be reduced to an electron. All this is good and I wait for you to continue. But you tell me of an invisible planetary system in which electrons gravitate around a nucleus. You explain the world to me with an image. I realise then that you have been reduced to poetry: I shall never know. Albert Camus ‘The Myth of Sisyphus’ (Æon file://tpr->x\\`**w.r.w.r.>>.x*src.x, t->x.y*src>>.x, t->x.z*src.x) fldppl+dxcet primus t32098r [ett+01] ;starts & [ends1] on cycle (8) 0 [fmul+dxcet pt394138r - nom [eax+0] ;starts on~cycle/ 11] fld dxcet primus ‡‡ t123827r [ecx+0] ;starts & ends on~cycle/ 92 r-fmul+dyset (1) pt371283r [evv+4] ;>>starts on~cycle/ 31 fldppl dyset primus tr [ecx+12130] ;starts – nom. [& ends on~cycle 89] r-fttul d-xxptd 3ptr911-1 + [eax+287638] ;starts on cycle + 51 file://wo1>z.z*src.z t-^/011>z.y*src.z t->z.x*src//:pt.z t->x.z*drc/.x+ t->x.y*src.x+ [fxch st(2) ;nom/ntt] fstp dcset1101 primus tr [edx+018] ;sts ^ *cycle 8//FG, ends cycle//001 fstp dcset1011primus tr [edx+809] ;sts ^ *cycle 162, ends on cycle CCT __ The Primal Pentateuch Vrsn 2.0 (First Church translation) PART ONE The Chaos of Warm Things ‘Time to lock and drop, people. Suction clamps primed for quick release. Skimming for low turbulence. You two okay down there?’ Kaal pulled the mouthpiece nearer his lips. ‘Ready when you are, Aybe. Be gentle with us.’ ‘Hey, you won’t even know I’ve let you go.’ The aqua-shuttle brushed sea salt into its flame jets as it clipped another wave. Stuffed inside the cockpit was Aybe B’rok, the leader of the Outer Ridge exploration team; he grappled with parallel controls and belly thrusters as he prepared to release the deep sea pod. He peered through the viewscreen’s water- whirls and splatter-patterns, but there was no need to search for a drop-off point: Aquaria’s entire surface was covered in liquid. Looking at the monitor screen he saw his two crewmates, Kaal Sted and Plyn Minsk, squeeze into bulky seats and nod at the vid-cam. He wished he were down there with them, ready for the plunge. Sure, Aquaria had been declared biologically lifeless and structurally unsound for years, but that was the attraction: a lifetime of gorgeous descent, ocean-wrapped and microcosmic, deafened by pressure. Not for the first time, he wished he were younger; after the third lifecycle, the Patriarchs were reluctant to send you on dangerous missions. You were saddled with stick-work and navigation while the deep-sea teams had all the fun. Exploration teams from neighbouring star systems had been combing this sector of space for the best part of four years, assimilating everything from asteroid belts and ice moons to hyper-globes and birth stars. Geomarines and Sci-Squads hopped from rock to rock looking for ‘trace-echoes’ and ‘telltale signs’. They braved contrastorms and nanoclimates, solar flares and collapsing evo-chains – just to be sure. And as they worked their way patiently down the Itinerary, ticking off every planet boasting ‘a mature ecosystem capable of supporting sub-neutered bio-mechanicals or hybridised link species’, many forgot exactly what they were looking for. Besides, deep down, no one wanted to find anything. It was all about security. Even before the time storm in 2009, the Patriarchs were discussing ways to ensure that the plans described in the Canister never came to fruition. And while certain militarised races could undoubtedly protect themselves (Empire worlds, for example, were crossed off the list immediately), the younger and more vulnerable civilisations were prime targets. And so the Canister’s message was translated into a billion dialects and neural codes, looped, and then re-beamed across the galactic sector. Specialised tracking teams worked through its planetary inventory, cataloguing and surveying, confident that the further down the list, the less likely the chance of contact. Protometallic messian spheres like Nithium, Torrene and Yerril were the most desirable targets, and yet every body-drop had ended with a resounding ‘clean’. So after three years checking the Top 200 it was time to sift through the dregs – the ruinous globes that didn’t quite make the grade. Aquaria didn’t even make the Top 200: it was buried in appendix six (‘Contingency’) under weightier and more probable candidates. It wasn’t even metallic, or a half-bred Cyberformed leftover. It was just… there. And so no one could quite work out why transwarp traces had been detected across its orbital belt, or why a cargo ship had been wing-clipped as it had crossed the dark side of its third moon. Aybe steadied the craft as hail started to scab the viewscreen. ‘It’s getting prickly up here. I’ll make the orbital run and retrace for pick-up, okay? See you in forty.’ He released the final set of holding clamps and the deep sea pod slipped from the aquashuttle’s fuselage. Kaal swept his hand across the control console as the pod sank underwater. A belt of multi-layered plexiglass curved around the pod’s waist. A single green bulb driven tight into the domed ceiling glazed every instrument with an emerald sheen. Directional boosters battled against the current and warning lights faded as the pod stabilised. ‘Let’s see what’s down here,’ said Plyn, activating the searchlights. ‘No sign of movement on a local scale. Take a sample, Kaal.’ Kaal fiddled with the miniaturised airlock and unpacked a seawater sample. ‘I know we can withstand the pressure,’ he whispered, ‘but do you ever get the feeling that the ocean is trying to force its way inside?’ ‘The ocean is trying to force its way inside – or are you just trying to be poetic?’ ‘Forget it. You want to hear the tox report?’ ‘What’ve you got?’ ‘The planet’s covered in aqua fortis, a corrosive liquid that breaks down certain metals – anything in the GH3, 7 or 8 tables. Submersion can trigger contact decay or web fractures.’ ‘I take it we’re safe in here?’ ‘I think so. The pod’s made from a GH composite.’ Plyn checked his console. ‘Ten thousand metres, Kaal - deepest we’ve dropped in a long time. It feels like the walls are gonna buckle. Tin-can time, eh?’ ‘Perhaps we should turn back. I mean look at the tox report – you think they’re going to choose this place?’ ‘Who knows? Aquaria’s on the list.’ ‘Yeah, but so is Earth. I think the Patriarchs are reading it all wrong.’ He pawed the viewscreen. ‘Crank up the beams, will you? I can’t see a thing. What’s the seabed like?’ The search beams swelled to maximum glare. ‘Nothing special. A few minor protrusions, but we’re looking at a regular pantrinsic plateau. I suggest we… ah.’ ‘What? What?’ ‘The sonar’s picking up some irregularities... Looks like an abyss, about two thousand metres across. Indeterminate depth. Suggest we—’ ‘No.’ ‘—go further down. Come on, Kaal, we’ll descend as far as the primary fuel blocks allow, right? We’ll drop-drift if we have to.’ Kaal fiddled with his mouthpiece and stared outside. The beams were bruising the lip of the canyon, tripping over cracks and cavities. ‘I really don’t see the point. Let’s buzz Aybe and give him the all clear.