The First Spark

Swindle’s life was processed before his optics.

He stood at the edge of the Khyaxian Birthing Field, watching in abject horror as his fellow Combaticons fought vainly with the Demons. The word Demon was of course a nickname. No one on Cybertron had ever discovered their true origins, the creatures remained underground in off-limit areas the Autobots called Underworld. So what, then, were they doing here? Swindle looked north towards the Khyaxian spacecraft. To the left, he could make out a large green lizard creature. It must have been at least twenty times the size of the Khyaxians they’d already encountered. Swindle then noticed that the matrix of pods was arranged in rows, each terminating at the large lizard. Was it responsible for all the egg pods? Did it lay them?

Swindle blinked his optics, cleaning the grime from them, and returning his focus onto Brawl, Blast Off, and Obsidian. “Think, Swindle, think,” he said to himself. “What would Onslaught do?”

Inside the Royal Pavilions that lay at the heart of the Khyaxian homeworld, the Khyogi and two of his sons, Proel and Cruor, were waiting for Thrix.

“Where the krakk is he?” his father asked, grinding his teeth impatiently.

“He’s obviously not interested in your test, father,” Proel said. “We will start without him.”

“Very well,” said the Khyogi, settling into his thrown. “What have you got for me?”

The Khyogi looked down the steps that led up to his throne. The floor of the Arena opened up, revealing a holofield projector. The floor closed again, and the projector hummed into life, showing a picture of Cybertron.

“The Transformers have terrorised our Galaxy for countless millennia,” Cruor began. “And it has been left to us to stop them. We are enforcers, and not afraid to bring justice to worlds that the Galactic Authorities fear to touch.”

Proel joined his brother in front of the projector, its image changing to show Thrix’s tong-like device. “As you know, father, Thrix developed this instrument five years ago when we came in contact with the Swarm.”

The Khyogi watched intently, reaching into a bowl and scooping a handful of grit-roaches into his mouth.

“After much experimentation we came to realise that the Swarm was some kind of by-product of the Transformers’ biomorphic reproduction protocols. Thrix attempted to reverse the process, proving our Bocaraton Theory – that life can be reconstituted from death.”

A picture of Mindset appeared from the projector. “After more research, we managed to separate the Swarm into distinct entities. We called them Isolates.” Cruor pointed to the image of Mindset. “This one is Isolate alpha-gamma 987.”

Proel could sense the growing impatience of his father and interrupted. “While Thrix went off to work more on the theories of Bocaraton and Eschaton, Cruor and I focused on using what we’d learned from the Swarm as a means to exterminate the Transformers.”

The Khyaxian pressed down on his remote control and the projector’s image changed once again, to show a bomb. “We call this the Retaliation Device,” Proel said proudly. “We found that the Swarm was a copy of the Transformers ‘Matrix energy’ or genetic code. We can only hypothesis that the code was copied during reproduction and thus infuse the new protoform with life, but that something went wrong and a second copy was made, manifesting itself as the Swarm.”

The image changed to show one of the Cybertronian Empire’s Cyberworlds. “We tested a prototype of the Retaliation Device on one of their Cyberworlds. We detonated the bomb and the radiation effectively deleted their genetic codes. And with no ‘Matrix energy’ to keep the metal that composed their bodies alive…”

“The test was a success,” Cruor interrupted, smiling. “The entire planet was wiped of life within minutes, leaving the buildings and equipment in full-working order. All that was left were robot corpses that we stockpiled into one of the hangars.”

The Khyogi rose to his feet, applauding his sons. “Excellent, excellent,” he said. “We just need to wait for Thrix to see if his gift to me is any better.”

“But father!”

“Come now, I must grant all my sons a fair hearing.”

Onslaught shielded his optics from the shaft of stinging light that came from the doorway. “Another visit?” the Combaticon asked Thrix. “I know you said I was special, but really, you’re not my type.”

The Khyaxian half-ignored Onslaught, focusing instead on his shackles. There was a low hum and the shackles demagnetised, freeing Onslaught from his imprisonment.

“Erm, thanks!”

“Don’t thank me, thank him,” Thrix said, moving to one side, revealing Vortex standing behind him, weapon in hand.

“We all need someone to get there,” Vortex smiled.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, Obsidian dropped down from the Khyaxian spacecraft’s undercarriage onto the floor. He beckoned the others to do the same. Blast Off, Swindle, and Brawl dropped down, and Brawl was looking particularly pleased with himself. “My dang sonic cannons that carved a path through them Demon critters!”

“Yes, well done,” Blast Off said matter-of-factly. “You saved us all, you’re a hero.”

“But ah don’t want to be a hero!”

“Then why’d you save us?”

For once in his life, Brawl remained quiet.

“So where to now?” Swindle asked.

“This way,” Blast Off said, pointing to the Royal Pavilions. “I’ve got a strong reading on both Onslaught’s and Vortex’s energy signatures.”

“Well, at least they’re alive.”

“For now.”

”Thrix, at last!” the Khyogi sang, his son arriving in the Arena. “I was beginning to think you hadn’t thought of a gift for me.”

“Father, I have been working on the greatest gift of all.”

Proel and Cruor sneered at their brother.

“Even greater than the extermination of the entire Transformers species,” Thrix said, glaring back at them. “I present to you, the gift of Eschaton, of eternal life.”

“Listen to him, father,” Proel protested. “He cares nothing for what the Transformers have done!”

Cruor marched up to Thrix, jabbing a finger into his chest. “He doesn’t even care that the Transformers home planet is built upon one of our Birthing Field aster—“

The Khyaxian’s sentence trailed off into a stammer as he noticed Onslaught and Vortex walk into the Arena behind Thrix.

And, as if on cue, Obsidian, Blast Off, Brawl, and Swindle entered the Arena from a doorway on the far side.

“Well, lookee here,” Brawl sang. “The gang’s all here!”

“He’s brought them here to pave our homeworld with steel!” Proel panicked.

Cruor wrestled the cylindrical instrument from Thrix, firing it wildly at the Combaticons. The six Transformers scattered, ducking for cover.

Obsidian was caught by the weapon, dissociating into a portion of the Swarm and evaporated into thin air.

“I hope you enjoyed your short time out of Bocaraton,” Thrix remarked.

Onslaught watched silently at the space on the floor where a clone of his old self had just been standing.

Amongst the chaos, Swindle dashed over to Onslaught, opening his arms. He didn’t care if he was a Decepticon, he was just so happy to see his leader.

The two Combaticons embraced. “We found you!” Swindle smiled.

Onslaught wiped a droplet of oil from Swindle’s forehead. “I am so, so proud of you guys.”

Cruor took advantage of the moment and fired at Onslaught.

Thrix laughed loudly, because he knew what was going to happen. Or, more accurately, what wasn’t going to happen: Nothing.

Cruor fired again, but still nothing. And ag—

“Stop this!” the Khyogi bellowed theatrically. “Cruor, stand down! Thrix, what is the meaning of this?”

Thrix clasped his hands together and walked over to his brother, removing the device from his angry grip. “You mean this, father?” he said, pointing at Onslaught. “This Transformer is somehow immune. He is immune to the effects of the Retaliation Device.”

“No,” Proel mouthed.

“Which means Proel’s and Cruor’s plan is ineffective. It’s not a gift at all, father.”

A horde of Scruls suddenly burst into the Arena, surrounding the Combaticons, thrusting all kinds of weapons into their faces.

“And what of your gift, Thrix?” the Khyogi asked, releasing his finger from a silent emergency alarm button. “You have brought these Transformers onto our world, is that your gift? I want them terminated!”

Short clicking noises filled the Arena as the Scruls primed their weapons.

“No!” cried Thrix. “That’s not my gift at all. My gift is to grant you eternal life.”

“How?”

In truth, Thrix didn’t have a clue. He was only half way to proving Eschaton. He knew the theory, yes, but he was not ready to practise it. “My brother’s weapon was to wipe the genetic code from the bodies of the Transformers, but my plan is to do the opposite, to enhance it.”

“Enhance it?”

“Yes, father. My research has showed that it is possible to concentrate a Transformer’s ‘Matrix energy’ and use it on ourselves to transcend to a higher plane of existence.”

“Lies!” Proel cried. “There is no hard evidence of this Eschaton Theory he speaks of.”

The Khyogi walked down the steps towards his three sons and the captive Combaticons. “My sons, my precious sons. I am close to death, as you know. I don’t want to die. Who does?”

Onslaught glanced around, ignoring the alien and looking for options.

“To be honest,” the Khyaxian continued, “I am desperate. Knowing what’s ahead of me, I would do anything to halt the clock.”

The Khyogi held his arm out to Thrix. “My son, if you succeed in granting me eternal life, then I shall hand over my kingdom to you.”

Thrix smiled, and his two brothers folded their hands into fists.

“Thank you for having faith in me, father.” Thrix adjusted his instrument, glancing over to Vortex. “This Transformer, Vor-Tex, has an ideal dissociation factor. I will use him.”

Vortex glanced over to Onslaught. He had been through enough because of that device, thank you very much.

Ignoring the plasma rifle pointing at his face, Onslaught spoke up: “No!”

“No?”

“Vortex, and the other Combaticons are under my protection, I won’t allow you to use him.”

“You do not have a choice!” the Khyogi snarled.

Thrix marched over to Onslaught. “What are you doing?” the alien whispered. “You know how much I need him.”

“I don’t care,” Onslaught replied curtly. “I need him, too.”

“Well,” Thrix laughed. “As my father said, you don’t have a choice.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Onslaught said. “We’re all equipped with self-destruct devices, and all willing to detonate them if you get any closer to Vortex.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” the Decepticon strategist smiled, his optics glowing brightly.

“And what if I promise that he won’t be hurt in any way.”

“You’re lying, I saw what that device did to him before. And what it’s just done to Obsidian.”

“Haven’t you been listening? Eschaton is the opposite of Bocaraton. He will not be hurt. You must trust me.”

Trust was impossible for a Decepticon, but Onslaught couldn’t think of any other option. The Scruls would surely overpower and kill them, should they resort to a violent escape. What would Swindle do? Onslaught thought.

“Okay, Thrix,” Onslaught finally said. “Here’s the deal: You can use Vortex, and become king, providing you let us free and swear never to use your Retaliation Device on Cybertron.”

Swindle looked up at Onslaught. He was impressed.

“Very well,” Thrix said.

A myriad of technical equipment lay on the table next to Vortex. The Combaticon was standing up, relaxed and comfortable, though obviously a little concerned. The five Combaticons stood behind a line of Scrul guards. The Khyogi stood in front of Vortex, with Proel and Cruor behind him. Thrix was busying himself around the table, his hand shaking nervously.

The alien scientist attached a small device to Vortex’s cerebral port, stepping backwards and activating the cylindrical device.

Vortex’s body glowed. Dull at first, but then suddenly with the brightness of a Nebadon sunset. Everyone assembled in the Arena shielded his eyes. The glowing faded and concentrated itself in Vortex’s chest. The Combaticon’s optics faded and a glowing orb slowly emerged from his chest. It was a Spark – the first Spark.

“A singular mass of positrons,” Thrix announced. “A Transformers’ ‘Matrix energy’, or genetic code – call it what you will – isolated and manifested as a ‘Spark’.”

The Spark moved from Vortex, and the Decepticon fell lifelessly to the ground. Onslaught winced and then looked to his left, double-checking that it was really the biomorphic clone of Vortex that just died, and not the genuine article that stood next to him.

Thrix cupped his hands around the Spark, guiding it towards his father. The Khyogi took a step back. “Don’t be afraid, father,” Thrix smiled.

The Khyaxian and the Spark merged, and the alien lizard was bathed in white light. He growled as he was lifted from the floor. Thrix could feel the heat of the combination on his leathery face, and took a step back. The Khyogi’s skin burned away and his skeleton started to fall apart. The light intensified as the lizard underwent a startling transmogrification. The crescendo of light continued and then, suddenly, faded leaving behind a ghost-like entity.

The entity was a translucent skull-like creature with glowing tendrils that fell from behind its jaw like hair. Its eyes burned a deep red colour from inside diamond-faceted sockets. It was beautiful and horrific all at the same time.

“Yes,” Thrix hissed. “I’ve done it!”

The entity spoke in an inorganic voice. “Thank you, my son.”

The assembled Scruls and Thrix’s two brothers bowed before him, acknowledging him as their new king.

“Our father has transcended the mortal realm, and will now enjoy an eternity of forever-living. He has become the first of a new species!” Thrix announced.

“What should we call it?” Proel asked.

“Vortex-Khyaxian,” Thrix muttered. “Vvvoh… Kh… Vok. We shall call it The Vok.”

Epilogue

The far future, at a time after the Barricade.

Onslaught sat silently in his quarters, lamenting the past. He thought back fondly to his times with the Combaticons, as far back as their first meeting when he was an Autobot Councillor by the name of Obsidian. Even then, he was envious of Vortex’s flight mode.

His encounter with the Khyaxians had forever changed his worldview. Never since had he seen anyone (Decepticon, Autobot, alien or otherwise) stick to their word. Thrix had kept his side of the bargain, allowing the Combaticons to safely return home; and no Retaliation Devices were ever detonated on Cybertron. But that was hundreds of years ago, and by now everything had changed.

Soundwave entered the room. Scratch that. Commander Soundwave entered the room.

“Where’s Swindle?” Onslaught asked, almost begging.

“We’ve already been through this, Onslaught,” Soundwave said calmly. “He’s dead.”

“What about Vortex?”

Soundwave shook his head.

“And Brawl?”

“Gone, too.”

Onslaught tapped his forehead gently with his index finger and thumb.

“I didn’t come here to go over all this again,” Soundwave said, a little less calm now. “I have one final assignment for you.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve made an agreement with Star Saber. You are to be downsized and sent to…” Soundwave made a quotation marks gesture with his fingers. “… ‘Sabertron’ to keep an eye on the development of the Decepticon-descendent Neogens.”

Onslaught didn’t respond. Soundwave walked back towards the door.

“Any requests I should pass on to the engineers for your new alternate mode?”

Onslaught looked up at Soundwave, smiling underneath his mouth-plate. “I’ve always wanted to fly.”