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Evolution Stage 2: Creatures of ClayStage 2: Creatures of Clay
After sleeping through a hundred million centuries we have finally opened our eyes on a sumptuous planet, sparkling with color, bountiful with life. Within decades we must close our eyes again. Isn't it a noble, an enlightened way of spending our brief time in the sun, to work at understanding the universe and how we have come to wake up in it? That's how I answer when I am asked as I am surprisingly often why I bother to get up in the mornings.
"Stand by for landing," Hound called out. "And hold onto your afterburners; this'll get real bumpy if the crust's not strong enough to hold us."
There came a thump and lurch, a topsy-turvy moment as landing gear met uneven terrain, a hiss-click as the hydraulics took up weight. The little shuttle leveled itself on spindly legs; then with an almost-sentient sigh, shut down.
Not a bot moved or spoke for several kliks.
Then, "Move out," Jetfire ordered. "Let's see
Evolution Stage 1: Creatures of MudPrologue
The reason why the universe is eternal is that it does not live for itself;
it gives life to others as it transforms.
Jetfire watched. Not in fear or wonder or humility, or even in embarrassment. The gods he never had believed in were locked in a death-struggle before his wide-open optics. But if anyone had asked him to define what he was feeling as he gaped out at the sight, he would have answered, "Nothing."
He watched, face blank, as a gossamer trail of his own spark-light streamed from his open torso; watched it weave itself among the many thousand other strands running into the heart of the Matrix. He gasped and stumbled back a little as he felt his soul tie into the great Soul of his Creator. He was confused and uninformed and overwhelmed. But he followed his Commander. Along with every transformer of Cybertron, he sent what strength he had into the heart-stone of his god.
Several small ships of the raggle-taggle fleet stood between Jetfir
Three-Minute Fiction Contest EntryQueen, For a Day
She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. Glowing blue letters over its white arch proclaimed, "TO LIFE." She glanced back at the book, but she'd learned all it could teach her. Besides, she was anxious to see the world she had inherited. She pressed a button; the door slid up; and she was consumed by light.
Blurred shapes loomed and retreated. A smoking yellow lamp swung close above her head. "The female lives," a hushed voice reported.
"At last. How soon can she seed?"
"Not soon enough. The last squad out there's been slaughtered."
Firm hands slid underneath her. "Sorry," said a harried male, hoisting her in his arms, "No time for ceremony." Turn-by-turn, they bore her along twisting tunnels pulsing with the low concussions of bombardment. One left a trail of blood from where a rusty, broken pipe had scored his arm.
Bursting out of the dark, they stumbled down a broad staircase, and fell to the ornate floor of
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More