Project Excalibur: Morgana's Twist

By Matt TALON Kirkby


    The laboratory doors hissed open—getting stuck not quite halfway—and Gwen slipped between them, glad that she had been making such frequent use of Camelot's exercise facilities during her lunch breaks. "Hello?" she called, but heard no answer. She stared into the shadowy depths, smelling a strong tang of some explosive and a whisp of smoke. She stifled a sneeze.
    A series of distant explosions rumbled but she took no notice of them—Decepticon aircraft were strafing Camelot's western edge for several minutes now, but the security forces reportedly had the situation under control.
    Despite not receiving any reply to her call, she continued into the room. Even now she moved with her trademark wiggle, even if she didn't see any males to impress with it. Brushing a strand of red hair out of her eyes, she took another look around the small laboratory. "Director Kirkby?" The computer console standing in the centre of the floor was humming softly to itself, multi-armed work robots stood idle nearby. Many of the ceiling lights were broken, and most of the dim illumination came through the doors behind her and also from a large jagged hole which had bean blasted through the wall.
    Blasted outwards, she noted, from the general lack of debris in the laboratory itself.
    A soft moan greeted her ears.
    "Director?" Gwen hurried towards a tumbled pile of crates, bits of debris crunching underfoot. "Are you—" She stepped around the edge of one crate. "Oh," her face fell, "Doctor Arkeville." She helped the old scientist to his feet. "What's happened? Where’s the Director?"
    "Gone," Arkeville replied absently. "Gone away." There was a rather mossy cut on his forehead, but the bleeding had already stopped. "He vaa rather suddenly called avay you see." He stared at the hole in the wall and shivered as another series of loud explosions boomed nearby,
    "Doctor Arkeville, where did the Director go?" Gwen kept her tone calm and steady, but her hands tightened on Arkeville's arms. "What happened here?"
    "I vas asked to prepare a bodyshell to undergo the bonding process," Arkeville explained in a tired voice. He absently brushed a hand through his unruly white hair. "All part of Phase Mordred." He pulled free of Gwen's grip and stumbled towards the softly humming computer console. He was limping slightly. "The Bonding vas a success…I think." A typed command brought a visual replay of the experiment onto a monitor. "For the most part. Something seems to have gone a bit...wrong." He shivered as he watched Talon's hand pick himself up into the air. "Yes, wrong. Must have been a malfunction in the subject bodyshell. That's the only explanation...or maybe it—"
    Gwen stared at the screen with widening eyes. "He's been kidnapped?" she wailed. "Matthew's been kidnapped!"
    Arkeville turned to look at her—as if only now noticing her presence. "Madarae," he said stuffily, adjusting his torn white lab coat and visibly shifting into a new personality. "I vould hardly call this assault upon my parson a kidnapping. The Director vas a villing participant in this entire experiment. It vas all his idea!"
    "We have to save him." Gwen's voice overrode Arkeville's continued protests. "We have to go after him. He could get hurt, or even killed." She stilled her trembling, "Well?" Her eyes blazed.
    "Veil?" Arkavills repeated. "Though I am open to suggestions, madame, but I am at a loss as to how ve should track down a very hostile Transformer and unkidnap our Director." He shrugged. "Should ve inform General Edvarda of this situation?"
    "No." She didn't like Edwards—he had taken far too much enjoyment out of personally 'frisking' her when he'd last visited the Director. 'Security indeed,' she sniffed mentally. "He'd probably just have the bodyshell shot down. No, we have to do something ourselves." She gnawed on her lip for a moment. Then she snapped her fingers. "Morgana."
    The all-clear siren sounded, signaling the apparent and of the air raid.
    Arkeville stared at her, "I beg your pardon?"
    "Morgana, Doctor," Gwen stood straighter, swelling out her chest—and straining her blouse to the limits of It's endurance— and nodded her head decisively, "That prototype bodyshell in the other lab. You know, the captured jet. We'll send it after the Director."
    Arkeville was shaking his head. "Not another one," he moaned and raised a hand to his forehead. Louder he said: "That shell is not yet programmed."
    "It's perfect."
    "It is experimental! Gven, that shell vas modified to be a last line of defense for Camelot itself. It is extremely altered from its former life, it is different from the other shells ve have created...indeed, half of its programming is still only theoretical!"
    "It's my--our—only chance of saving him." Gwen's expression hardened. "I'm going to bond with it."
    "I think this is a very bad idea."
    Gwen's hand tightened on Arkeville's arm. "Program your computer for the bonding operation."
    "But, I must protest! This is no task for a lady—"
    "There is no one else." Gwen gently yet firmly pushed the elderly scientist in front of the console. "Start programming." She began undoing her blouse.
    Arkeville opened his mouth to continue protesting—she was unsuitable for the Bonding, she hadn't undergone the rigorous testing process, she was not a warrior—then paused to consider her extremely determined expression, and then he blushed as she unself-consciously removed her blouse. Whirling around, face red, he began typing commands into the computer. "I hope you know vhat you are doing," he muttered, "For this cannot truly be a good idea."
    Gwen clanked into the secondary research lab. Even in armour she managed a slight wiggle in her movements. "Everybody out," she ordered firmly. The technical staff took one look at her pink-and-red body armour, her fiercely determined expression, and quickly backed away. Gwen strode to the feet of the headless bodyshell. She stared at its tall, brightly-painted form, eyed the sleek lines and sense of self-contained power...and then she mentally shook herself. "This is not helping the Director," she told herself. She jumped into the air and transformed into a head.
    Doctor Arkeville limped into the room, muttering to himself the entire time. "Veil?" he called out. "Has she done it?" He stared at the cowering technical staff and sniffed. "I vill assume that she has." He looked up at the Transformer. "Are you satisfied now, Gwen?" he demanded.
    "Yes, Doctor Arkeville." The feminine voice had a distinct high-pitched quality to it. "It has worked perfectly." Light purple optic sensors glowed with a rich light, "Now, we must go after the Director." She walked towards the outside door--her hips swaying slightly—and the floor shook slightly with each step that she took.
    Arkeville threw himself behind a computer console as the TransFormer stopped before the loading dock doors. Peeking over the top of the table, he watched Gwen push the door controls and the large door hissed open. "Vhy didn't the Director think to use the door?" he asked aloud.
    Without replying, Gwsn's bodyshell stepped outside. A moment later, the whine of jet engines filled the air.
    Arkeville stood up and turned to limp back into the corridor. "I have a very bad feeling about this," he said aloud, ignoring the technicians who were asking just what was going on, "Very bad indeed." He began to limp down the corridor. "Blackrock vill not be pleased about this turn of events...no, he vill not be pleased at all."