Rome pinged Bei. Since when is forty a full life?
When your world has been decimated. Wildlife had been exterminated during the Founders’ occupation of Picaro. To survive, the natives had to supplement their diet with vegetables. Given they were strict carnivores, the change in eating habits had wrecked havoc upon their systems. The Picaroons had every reason to hate the Founders, but would that make them loyal to the Alliance?
Ugu pursed her lips as she typed in more keys. A dart-shaped vessel with an aerodynamic scoop on the back replaced the ETs’ images. “The Picaroons are the garbage collectors of the galaxy. They’ll know this area of space, and no one pays much attention to those who take out the trash. Plus, they have a ship twenty minutes away.”
“No stealth capabilities.” Rome rocked back on his heels.
“They’re very good at hiding.” Ugu shambled back to her seat. Groaning, she sank down on the metal chair. “And the Founders are accustomed to dealing with them. I doubt they’ve upgraded their systems to consider the Picaroons a threat.”
Bei would take any advantage, even one that might not be real. “Send for him.”
Rome called two security officers then sent them the alien’s image. Ask this ET to join us in the war room.
Keyes retrieved Omest’s biometric signal and relayed his current location. “I volunteer for the mission.”
“As do I.” Rome’s avatar stalked toward his wife’s in the WA. We can’t both go. This mission could FUBAR in a second. Who’s going to raise our son, Charlie?
Taking them both was out of the question. Bei needed one of them to remain behind just in case. Thankfully, he had other men, just as dependable who needed a chance to test themselves before the stakes were raised. Decide.
You will be here for Charlie. In cyberspace, Keyes rested her hands on her husband’s chest and batted her eyes. You went on the last mission, and you promised Mumbai Niger that he would have the next opportunity. She played the memory clip for good measure.
Damn you’re sneaky, woman. Rome tossed hearts and flowers to his wife. I’ll make a security officer out of you yet.
Not for all the silicone on Earth.
Bei added Niger to his security detail. Keyes and Shang’hai were the only command staff on the team. He rounded out the last three places with ensigns who’d distinguished themselves in the battle against the Founders.
And Nell? Rome tapped the private line. I’ll guard her with my life.
She’s coming. Bei refused to leave her behind, not with a traitor on board. Not with space so unsecured. Besides, her abilities might be the edge they needed to survive the mission.
I don’t like to risk her, but I agree. Keyes withdrew from cyberspace.
You damn sight better come back. But if you have to choose, I’d take Nell and those babies she’s carrying over you. Rome faded out of the WA.
Bei was counting on those babies to transport Nell to a safe location if her life was threatened.
Outside, the Picaroon strolled down the hallway between the two security officers. Omest’s attention bounced from the engines to the consoles and followed the coolant lines. “Fascinating. It is rare that I see anything while it is operational.”
Bei’s skin itched. The ETs interest could stem from a more sinister motive than curiosity. The alarm buzzed. The two security men took up positions beside the entrance to the war room. Around engineering, the Skaperian and Human crew ignored the new arrival. Bei opened the door.
Smiling, Omest flattened his palm over his double heart and bowed slightly. “Admiral York, it would please me greatly if I can provide you some small service.”
Keyes chuckled. “Was his grandfather as charming, Ugu?”
“Oh, yes.” Ugu’s aquamarine eyes flashed and a blush tinged her peach-toned skin.”
Rome blocked his wife’s view of the newcomer. “I can be charming.”
Bei sealed the doors and double-checked the room’s security. The only active recorders were the Syn-En. Good. Maximizing his sensors, he offered his hand to the ET. “It would please me greatly if you could do this service for the Alliance.”
Omest stared at Bei’s hand before setting his against it.
Data fed into Bei’s system—heart rates, breathing rate, skin temperature, and moisture content. He checked them against the medical database. No sign of deception.
Omest’s hearts bumped. His green eyes focused on the three-dimensional display. “Fascinating. I wasn’t aware you’ve been to the dark quadrant.”
How much to trust the newcomer? Bei left a passive sensor on the ET’s skin for constant monitoring. “We haven’t been, but we are planning a visit.”
“I see.” Omest inhaled deeply and palmed his chin. “I’ve only been a few times. The Founders don’t appreciate visitors.”
“What can you tell us of the area?” Bei dragged his communications officer into the WA. Hack his ship’s mainframe. I want to know everything he knows.
Keyes’s avatar pulled dog biscuits from her pocket. Think this should distract the antivirals while I do some cybershopping. After blowing a kiss to her husband, she opened a door to the CIC and stepped on the data stream flowing toward the Picaroon fleet.
“For starters, these question marks are guns. Big guns. Projectile and energy weapons.” Omest paused with his finger outside of the holographic cube. “They’re big enough to have come from a ship. A war ship.”
Holy hell. Bei rocked back on his heels. He hadn’t been expecting that little trick.
Taking control of the projection from his wife, Rome changed the green holders to cannons. “You can touch the display. It’s just light.”
Omest held his breath then plunged his hand into the cube. He wiggled his fingers for a moment, dipping in and out of stars. “Amazing.”
“What else?” Bei kept an eye on his countdown.
“These gates have guns on them as well. Anything coming through without the proper authorization code will be blasted to pieces.” The ET circled the gates with his pale finger.
“Do you have a pass to pick up the garbage?” Ugu creaked to her feet.
“No. We’re allowed in only once a year. And then we are permitted to enter through this gate only and not allowed to travel any further than here.” The Picaroon indicated a spot a tenth of an AU from the gate. “We’re met by armed cruisers and ten garbage scows.”
“Describe the ships.” Bei rolled his shoulders. The Founders had over a hundred types of such vessels. A dozen the Skaperians had never met in battle.
“Roundish with lots of weapons.” Omest smoothed his black hair. Sensors recorded a bump in moisture on his skin. Was he lying, remembering an unpleasant encounter, or worried his contribution might not be enough? “We do record all our garbage runs, for billing purposes. I can send you the files, if you’d like.”
The ET’s skin dried.
“Later.” After his officer retrieved them. Bei replayed the Picaroon’s visit to Nell. Omest wanted to prove himself and his species worthy. Bei could leverage that and reward it. “These records you keep, do they have any long range scanning capabilities?”
“Nothing like yours.” Omest smoothed his black shirt.
“But?” Ugu stopped next to the Picaroon. “I knew your grandfather, child. You have means of obtaining information.”
“He spoke fondly of the Skaperian-Founders War.” Omest ran his tongue over his pointed teeth. “Occasionally, a refurbished tracker would be dropped in one of the scows and make its way back to the planet. I’m not to blame if it transmitted on a Picaroon frequency.”
Hot damn! They had something to celebrate. Bei’s avatar high-fived Rome’s then they do-si-doed. “Will you give us access to your files?”
“It will be a pleasure.” Omest bowed slightly. “I can have my ship here in an hour and turn everything over to you then.”
Waiting wasn’t an option. “If you repeat your command codes, we can retrieve them now.”
Ke
yes bounded through the cyberdoor. A dust cloud surrounded her coughing avatar. They were pretty well hidden, but I found them. And we’ve got recent intel. Only three months out of date.
Rome caught the packages she tossed him but waited to merge them with the display. No point in giving away all our secrets.
Or showing a lack of good faith. Pride tended to be a prickly thing especially in ETs. Bei would bet his upgrades the Picaroons responded well to respect.
“But how can you reach my ships? They are in another system.” Omest’s arched eyebrows met over his straight nose.
Keyes tugged on her fiberoptic cable. “We can jack into any computer, no matter the distance, just as you can talk to your fleet.” Crumpling the map in one fist, she threw up a computer interface. “Just type in or say your password and I’ll transmit it to your ship. If you have a biometric key, I can replicate it.”
Omest stepped away from the hologram. Fear misted his skin.
Bei set his palm over his heart. The ET had far more to lose than the Syn-Ens. “I give you my word as an Admiral and leader of the Humans that we will not access your systems after this, unless you give us explicit permission.”
Rome’s avatar grinned and juggled the stolen data packets. Nicely worded. “You can change your passcodes afterwards. Then we won’t be able to get in again.” In cyberspace, the Chief’s pants caught on fire.
Omest’s fear increased, and he licked his dry lips.
Time ticked down.
Ugu chuffed. Apollie fiddled with her cornrows.
Bei watched the clock. Thirty seconds. Forty. Would the man use his position of power to negotiate?
Omest stepped forward. Bracing his hands on the table, he leaned toward the screen. “For the good of the Alliance and the betterment of all species.”
Keyes wrapped and unwrapped her index finger in her cable. Rome paced cyberspace.
One minute. One minute ten seconds. Bei forced his arms to relax. “That is a noble sentiment.”
Omest blinked, then smiled. “That is my passcode.”
Ugu snorted. “Well said, child. Well said.”
Keyes chuckled and tossed the map back onto the projection. “Passcode sent. I’m in.”
“Look for an area marked one hundred one uses for sewage.” Omest stood a little taller.
“An appropriate title for the Founders.” Rome crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels.
The ET nodded. “No one wants to think of sewage, let alone explore it.”
Admiral, they’re the same files. Unaltered. Keyes’s eyes darkened for a moment. “I’m merging the data now.”
Cannons ringed the ice planet and heat signatures formed cubes on the surface. Ships took off and landed from a field a klick from the facility. The building must be very important to the enemy. Good.
“I think we may have found a means to strike the Founders where it hurts.” Bei moved in closer. Something was off on some of the data. “There’s more than one vantage point.”
Omest smiled. “I know another way into the quadrant. It takes longer but—”
“How much longer?”
“An hour.” Omest shrugged. “A little less, if I push the engines.”
Bei would bet his upgrades his engineer could shave fifteen minutes or more off, once she got her hands on their reactors. “My team and I will be ready to leave when your vessel arrives.”
The ET fell back a step. “You’re commandeering my ship?”
“We’re hitching a ride. You’re driving.” Bei shifted, crowding the Picaroon’s space. “Minimal crew, and you tell no one.”
Omest swelled with pride. “It would please me greatly.”
If he betrayed Bei’s trust, he would personally dismember the ET before he died.
Chapter 13
Groat handed the last of his injured crew to the medics. Three hours after the convoy skirmish and his men were finally being evacuated.
The air reeked of singed armor and flesh. Bodily fluids made the deck slippery, but the medic carried the legless Scraptor effortlessly up the ramp. The engines of the triage vessel sputtered and coughed. Rust pimpled the peeling paint of the interior. Wounded lay on the grated deck for the lack of beds.
A new recruit in pink armor raised his severed claw. “We’ll make them pay, won’t we, Fleet Commander?”
Tridit clomped to a stop beside Groat. Soot stained his silver armor. “The Humans will pay, and pay, and pay. We will work them into extinction.”
Worked to death was too easy. Groat had other plans. “The strongest, we will hunt for sport.”
A muffled cheer drowned out the moaning of his crew.
It did nothing to stoke the bloodlust that should be stirring in the breast of every Scraptor. They needed more. Groat would give them more. It was his duty as their leader. “Every year, we will lengthen the time it takes for our prey to die, increasing their suffering. Every year, someone will be rewarded with the best armor the Founders have to offer.”
Groat raised his second-in-command’s humanoid arm, displaying the latest in Scraptor protection.
A clamor of pounding fists and boots blasted from the triage ship. Even the medics stomped their feet in approval.
“New armor! New armor!” The chanting drowned out the groaning of the closing ramp.
Groat wrestled the airlock door closed. Metal screamed as he pushed it in place. Smoke billowed along the ceiling. Red emergency lights bathed the dented walls and chipped paint.
Tridit waited by the second door. “Do you think the Commerce Board will authorize the expenditure for the prize?”
“They’d better.” Stepping back, Groat massaged his forearm under his armor. When had his old armor become so itchy? “They’d better triple the budget if they want to win this war.”
Groat would see to it that the Founders suffered for every delay and slow payment. His contact had come through this time. He would do so the next time. And the next, until the Scraptor Army became invincible.
“I hope our new ship is ready soon.” Tridit sealed the second airlock door.
Inside the bay, the clamps released the triage ship with a pop. The engines bathed them in orange as the burners pushed the vessel away from the dreadnaught.
“This old rust bucket served us well.” But more so in Groat’s grandfather’s time. A new era was dawning and Groat planned to make it a glorious one for the Scraptors.
“She died well.” Tridit thumped on the bulkhead. A ceiling tile sprang free. It spun around hitting his eyestalk. The optic ball popped out and dinged the wall. Crouching, he swung his claw after it. The ball rolled over the pinscher then dropped toward the ground. He brought up his humanoid hand, letting the ball dance over his fingers.
Laughter chugged up Groat’s throat. “Your first war wound, my friend.”
Tridit’s mandibles peeled back, revealing rows of incisors. “It is an insult, not a wound.” He slammed the ball onto the deck, then pinched it between his index finger and thumb. “I will repay the damage to the next Human I meet.”
“Save your ire for the Syn-En.” Groat plucked the optic from Tridit’s hand, spit on it, then polished it on his armor before screwing it back into the vacant eyestalk. “Those abominations did this to us.”
With a little help. The fools were probably celebrating their victory. Let them celebrate. The Syn-En would help the Scraptors far more often in the months to come.
“The plan is working. That will silence the doubters.”
Grabbing Tridit by the throat, Groat slammed his best friend against the wall. Fear chilled his flesh. His claws pierced the bulkhead beside his friend’s head. “You know better than to mention doubters.”
This corridor and the rooms branching off it were in the only habitable area left on his ship. The Commerce Board’s spy cameras could still be operational. If the leaders of the other four species learned the Scraptors’ plans to begin losing the war to gain better equipment, weapons, and armor, then they wou
ld be forced to pay.
In Scraptor blood.
In Scraptor limbs.
In Scraptor heads.
Starting with Groat’s. His neck plates itched at the thought.
Tridit raised his four appendages. His eyestalks shifted left then right before stilling on the camera. “My apologies, Fleet Commander. I didn’t mean to imply that anyone aboard doubted the glorious and righteous cause of the Founding Five.”
Groat released his friend. Anyone watching would accept the explanation. The other species didn’t believe his people were capable of intelligent thought. “We must appear united at all times.”
Appear being the key word. The others were keen on appearances, especially the stinky ones. He sniffed the air. No mind-altering pheromones made the corridor unbreathable. Where had the politico gone?
The com by the airlock burped with static.
Tridit flipped the toggle switch at the bottom of the boxy unit. “This is the dreadnaught Lunaria.”
“Evac shuttle, Bruar, in bound, Sir.”
“Portside station Roban, Subdeck nine is the only safe landing zone.” Tridit pinched the switch.
“Portside station Roban, Subdeck nine.” The Scraptor confirmed. “ETA in fifteen cycles.”
“Acknowledged.” Tridit turned off the com. “I’ll inform the last of our men.”
“Tell them to stay put until docking is confirmed.” Groat clasped his pinschers behind his back. “The last docking took three tries and with life-support off line, every attempted landing mattered.”
“What about our stinky friend?”
If the politico missed the shuttle, he’d die a slow death by suffocation. Tempting. Groat cracked his knuckles. But there were worse Municians out there, and he didn’t want one assigned to his ship, at least not until the Scraptor plan neared fruition. “Raise him on the com, if you can.”
Tridit grinned. “And if I can’t?”
“We tried.”
“After I notify our men.” With a bounce in his armor, Tridit marched down the hall and disappeared through a side doorway.
Syn-En: Pillar World Page 12
