Syn-En: Plague World: The Founders War Begins

by Linda Andrews

  The woman opened and closed the tool compartment of her index finger.

  The man frowned at the screen. “But there are others like us,” he thumped on his barrel-chest. “that are living there. So this creature-thing can’t be that deadly.”

  “There are usually some who are resistant to the virus.” Apollie’s fingers flew over the keyboard in front of her. A pie chart replaced the navigation map on the view screen. “Humans and Scraptors were the most affected by the initial infection.”

  The slices representing the two species consumed nearly half the pie. The Skaperian wedge amounted to a third of the remaining portion. Four species out of the Founding Five amounted to a sliver. Had the Decrepi found a cure and not shared it? Or were these ETs special?

  Bei pointed to the thinnest slice. “Why had the rest of the Founders escaped the Plague with so few casualties?”

  Apollie glanced up. The beads at the ends of her cornrows clacked together. “Once the pandemic hit the third system, the Founders quarantined their ships and their worlds. The Accumla, Decrepi, Unadul and Municians didn’t leave their world for Earth decades. The Scraptors remained to enforce the Founders will. As the most exposed, they had the highest casualties.” A smile played with her thin lips. “They also brought the disease back to the Founders’ worlds. They did not escape unscathed. And given how much the Founders lie, these numbers could be severely underestimated.”

  Given the hatred between the Skaperians and the Founders, Bei would process that statement with more than a kilobyte of skepticism. He glanced at Doc.

  Doc stroked the black goatee ringing his mouth. “I concur with Apollie’s hypothesis. The Surlat strain is capable of inserting into any genetic coding, whether carbon or silicon based. It rips apart RNA, DNA and the silicon equivalent to turn the host immune system against itself.”

  Leaning against the bulkhead by the view screen, Nell inhaled sharply. “Will the Syn-En be immune?”

  Her gaze burned Bei’s skin. He refused to look at her. He wasn’t entirely mechanical.

  Doc avoided her gaze but allowed his fears to broadcast through the WA. “It’s hard to say how it will affect the Syn-En. While we are primarily machine, we have a biologic core that is vulnerable to infection. And don’t forget, aside from our cerebral interface, our brains are untouched by technology.”

  Throughout the WA, the Syn-En digested the news. Two thoughts later, suggestions for defending themselves sprouted and were snabbled up by the appropriate departments.

  Most of them held promise. Unfortunately, the time factor eliminated ninety percent of them.

  Shang’hai shunted an image of a Syn-En onto the screen. “The shortest routes to infection will be our joints and our cerebral interface.” Red outlined the small cube at the base of the figure’s skull. “I’d recommend the landing party remove all hard lines.”

  Bei nodded. They could minimize response time by keeping the WA online while dirtside. Thankfully, no one had discovered a biological virus with the ability to infect cyberspace.

  Nell rubbed the back of her neck. “Can we caulk the seams of our brain boxes and… and joints to prevent infection?”

  Bei’s gut clenched. No, and Hell no. His wife was staying safe on the ship. She was the glue that held the NSA together.

  “Brilliant.” Mechanic Smith’s dark fingers flew over the keyboard. “I can create just the thing. If you’ll loan me your NDA expertise, I should have it ready before touchdown. Easy.”

  Nell nodded. Her skin had almost returned to normal peach tones. “Whatever you need.”

  Bei pinned her with a glare.

  She set her hands on her hips. “Doc, what magic up your cyborg sleeves will protect your biologic core better than my immune system?”

  Bei snapped his attention to Doc and shot an order through the WA. If you answer that truthfully, Doc, I will unsnap your prosthetic arm and pummel you into a lumpy pudding.

  Every Syn-En at the table winced.

  Nell rubbed her temples. “Elvis’s block prevents you from reading me, not me from hearing your tantrum in the WA.”

  Admirals do not have tantrums. Bei’s response elicited chuckles in cyberspace.

  The feather-face flashed his canines. Thankfully, Amarooks didn’t make a sound when they laughed. Unfortunately, they could unleash large bundles of Smiley faces into the WA.

  Compression alerts flared in Bei’s head. He uncurled his fingers. One day the universe would introduce Elvis to a bitch named Karma.

  Nell stomped toward Bei. Anger and concern crackled in her blue eyes. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the Syn-En have very few biological bones left, which means their immune system might actually become overwhelmed faster than say a relatively unaltered human.”

  Bei crossed to meet her. “You are not going.”

  His NDA prickled. Everyone in the room watched.

  “Furthermore,” she pointed at him. “your brain box will minimize your immune response so that you can keep working, allowing the infection to grow to lethal levels.”

  Doc leaned back in his chair. She is correct, Admiral.

  Stuff it, Doc. Bei loomed over his wife, using his tenth generation and eight-inch height differential to his advantage. “You are not going.”

  “I never said I was.” NDA gathered under her soles, lifting her to his eye-level.

  Sometimes, he hated technology. “When the Plague finished with Earth, nearly ninety-nine percent of all life had been exterminated.”

  “I know.” She set her hand on his arm. Her bottom lip trembled. “I was there. I survived.”

  Her anguish and loss cast a long shadow in the WA.

  The biologic male, Karl, sputtered. “That was more than a century ago. How is that possible?”

  Nell’s gaze never left Bei’s face. “I took a very long space nap. Look up Rip VanWrinkle or Sleeping Beauty. I have the ability to protect you. Let me.”

  Bei’s logic processors recognized the validity of her argument. His logic processors were obviously malfunctioning. “The virus has mutated. Your antibodies will be worthless.”

  “Then so would yours.” She cupped his cheek.

  But you would still be alive. Clasping her hand, he placed it between them.

  Would I? I don’t think there’s a me without you. She shrugged and shifted away from him.

  He didn’t want to let her go, but this wasn’t the time.

  Captain Pennig cleared his throat.

  The woman, Erin, sniffled. Her companion, Karl, patted her on the back.

  Bei smoothed his uniform tunic. Biologics were damn proficient at reading body language.

  Apollie gathered her braids into a single pony tail. “I realize you may not wish to hear this, Admiral, but Nell Stafford is our best chance of safely extricating those humans and preventing the Surlat strain from becoming a universal threat.”

  Had his wife known this? He glanced at her.

  Nell shrugged and flashed her palms. “You want me to remain on board as a reserve Petri dish in case the Syn-En bring the Plague aboard along with the refugees?”

  Apollie’s nostrils flared. “Like all women, you are a fearsome warrior, Nell Stafford. I would not prevent you from joining any fight and would gladly face any opponent at your side.”

  Bei stiffened. The Syn-En did not discriminate based on gender, but he damn well reserved the right to protect his wife. He’d pluck a feather from Apollie’s head, use it as a quill, and write it on her forehead.

  Nell blushed. “I’m not exactly a warrior.”

  Waving her pale hand, Apollie dismissed Nell’s doubts. “As we are not fighting an opponent we can see, that is neither here nor there. The fact is, Nell Stafford’s blood is different than most other Humans.”

  Nell tugged on her sleeves to cover the streaks of silver. “That’s kind of obvious.”

  Doc frowned at Apollie. “NDA doesn’t involve the immune system. And she is just like other Humans besides that.”

/>   Except his wife wasn’t. Bei didn’t mention her cerebral interface, nor her effect on him.

  “I am not discussing the silver sheen.” Apollie squeezed her red eyes closed for a second before squaring her shoulders. “I was there the day Earth was infected with the Surlat strain.”

  The Syn-En around the table sat up straighter. The background noise in the WA faded to nil.

  Bei decided against closing the communal link. Secrecy was poison.

  Nell scrubbed a hand down her face. “I knew you’d slept for over a hundred years but…”

  “I selected Nell for our…” Apollie studied her fingers. “For our repopulation experiment.”

  Elvis sprang from his seat. “Skaperians and their experiments,” he snarled then wheeled a chair around the table. The Amarook tapped it against the back of Nell’s knees. “I wouldn’t eat you if I were starving, Paladin.”

  With a weak smile, Nell sank onto the seat. “You wanted to use me to create a new slave race. A cross between Human and Skaperian.”

  The woman hissed, but Karl kept her in her seat.

  Apollie fidgeted on her chair. Color rouged her cheeks. “We needed antibodies for a vaccine. Humans are close enough to us that we knew we could get it from you. But then… Then the scientists discovered something different in one percent of the survivors. Something unique. Never before seen.”

  Nell sagged in her chair. “Why not just give us tiaras and sashes and award us King and Queen of the Freaks? Why mess with our egg baskets and kidnap us?”

  Bei set his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “You’re not a freak.”

  Sitting on his haunches, Elvis stroked her hair. “You’re the best Human. Nearly perfect, except you lack a third set of limbs.”

  Swallowing hard, Apollie sent a file to the view screen. The Skaperian equivalent of classified was scrawled under the name. Then came assurances of death if an unauthorized person opened it. “Survivors fell into three categories.” She typed in her password. “Possible candidate, unsuitable candidate, and candidate.”

  Nell’s picture appeared under a banner titled Arizona Driver’s License. Given her birth date, she would be one hundred-sixty-four in three months. She looked younger now than in her picture—a gift from the Skaperians that would keep her ageless for another hundred years. She squeezed his hand. “What swung the vote to candidate?”

  “Upon infection, these particles appeared.” Apollie tucked her braids behind her ear. “You recovered faster, you healed faster, you learned faster. You had been given the ability to adapt within a generation, not from one generation to the next.”

  “That’s not possible.” Bei tightened his hold on Nell’s hand. “No species evolves that quickly.”

  “I would have found these particles.” Doc shook his head. “I know Nell Stafford’s blood work better than anyone.”

  Apollie tapped her keyboard and the screen changed. Molecules appeared then blew apart. “That’s because you weren’t looking small enough, and they change. It’s almost like they have some sort of intelligence.”

  “On an atomic scale? Not possible.” Doc’s eyes darkened and the data flew in a blur across the screen.

  Bei’s synthetic hair stood on end. Could it be true?

  “Nearly an atomic scale.” Apollie raised her hands off the keyboard. “They measure one hundred one quadrillionths of a meter. We call them fermites after one of Earth’s great scientists.”

  Collapsing against his chair back, Doc raked his fingers through is dark brown hair. “Shit.”

  A data packet exploded in Bei’s head. Nell’s blood work did contain these fermites. In fact, they nearly outnumbered her red blood cells.

  Elvis whimpered and huddled near Nell’s feet.

  Nell slapped her free hand over her mouth. “How bad is it?”

  “You’ll be fine.” Bei would make her fine. He would make certain of it. He wouldn’t lose to some fermite.

  Apollie glanced at Nell. “We have never detected ill-effects from housing the fermites. We had you tested after registration. The Syn-En have had NDA for nearly a hundred years and yet none of them can manipulate it like you, Nell Stafford. Even when they use it to treat the injured refugees, it does not behave as it does with you. If the Surlat strain has mutated into a new virulence, you are our best hope for a vaccine.”

  Nell tensed beside him. “And if I don’t survive?”

  “Then for the sake of all the sentient species left in the universe, you may wish to stay for the planet’s purification.” Apollie’s voice cracked. “And the Erwar Consortium will force the planet to remain quarantined forever.”

  Red warning lights lit up Bei’s skull. The thought of Nell’s death sent his systems spiraling toward a cascade failure. “No. Absolutely not.”

  A tear slipped down Nell’s cheek. “If I’d have known how unique I was in the universe, I would have bought a lottery ticket.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Alrighty then, option one is to leave the Humans on Surlat, allowing them to be killed, and giving the evil Founders the idea that we won’t defend our own species, so as to prevent the Plague from returning to wipe out the rest of life in the universe.”

  Apollie raised a finger. “The cleansing the Founders propose did not destroy the virus the last time.” She bent her head over her keyboard. Documents flashed up on the screen—memos from the Founders’ headquarters. “In fact, we think they traveled to other planets, knowing they carried the disease.”

  The Syn-Ens’ fury consumed the WA. They demanded justice. They demanded Nell be kept safe.

  Her shoulders slumped. “Evil happens when good men do nothing.”

  Bei’s anger spiked. “The Syn-En will act.”

  Nell sighed. “A hundred years have passed, hasn’t someone found a cure?”

  Drumming her fingers on the table, Apollie sighed. “Most of the remaining Skaperian have been sleeping for the last hundred years. And Humanity has just achieved interstellar travel. The only ones who have a chance to find a cure are the Founders. Do you really wish to pay the price they will demand for a vaccine?”

  Hell no, but neither would Bei sacrifice his wife.

  Nell shivered. “Ask for the vote, Bei. This Three Musketeer moment isn’t an all for one, but a one for all. I need to be that one.”

  In the WA, Elvis’s hold lost control over her emotions. A vortex of sorrow spun through cyberspace, touching all the Syn-En who were connected.

  Bei crouched at her side. Her hands were cold beneath his. Who was he without her? Not half the man he was now, and no amount of technology would restore him. “All those in favor of rescuing the Humans on Surlat record your yes vote now.”

  Beeps sound in his head. Everyone had voted in favor. Everyone but him. He couldn’t do it. Fuck his programming. Fuck his duty. He couldn’t send her to her death. He wouldn’t. He’d nix the whole mission.

  She leaned against him. “I can beat a stupid flu bug, Bei. I can beat anything as long as you’re at my side.”

  His wife was too damn clever. Bei cast his vote. It was unanimous. “Captain Pennig, set course for Surlat.”

  He scooped up his wife and carried her toward the door. If he had to sacrifice her for everyone, then everyone could damn well give them the next few hours to themselves. Either they left the planet together, or they rode the same chariot from this world to the next.

  Chapter 4

  “Sir, the Human ship is moving out of the solar system.” Sitting at the helm of the dreadnaught, the Scraptor in pale pink armor sat in a metal chair that listed to the right. His primary claws, the pinscher’s, hung listlessly at his side while he manipulated the gears and knobs with multi-purpose hands. “Shall I pursue?”

  Pink armor. The recruit was new, and Aircose Groat had to train him while spying on the Neo-Sentient Alliance. Some alliance. Only three species so far. The other inferiors wouldn’t dare join. The Founders were too powerful.

  And he was the enforcer of the Founders’ will.


  Like his parents and their parents before them. Stretching back to the great emptiness, when the Erwar had left a void in the universe with their departure.

  “Hold position.” Groat rose from the commander’s chair. Scratches marred the metal sides. Remnants of plush upholstery lay like fallen pennants on the dust that had once been a cushion.

  The Celestia had seen better days and had been old when Groat’s grandfather commanded her. A knock sounded at regular intervals over the purr of the Helium-3 fusion reactors. The dented deck groaned under his weight. Artificial gravity pulled on him. He massaged oil into his new armor, easing the sting as it meshed with the flesh underneath. The Syn-En scum had seemed impressed with his new sword appendages.

  The vermin would think twice before challenging the Scraptors again.

  “Holding position, Commander Groat.” The helmsman’s fingers prowled the control panel as if seeking something to do.

  Beyond him, the star field visible through the forward portholes bobbed on the riptides of the solar winds.

  Gears ground together. The door behind him squeaked as it lifted in the bulkhead.

  Groat didn’t turn. He knew who it was. Mopus Argent, the Founders’ resident stooge. What was the point of having a groveling politician aboard? He’d seen the classified communiqués. The Founders wanted this new alliance wiped out before it became too powerful.

  And the best way to accomplish that was war.

  And war meant upgrades, meant the stingy Founders would open their sacred funds for new tech, new ships, new weapons. Groat glanced around the bridge. Cables and wires poked through worn conduits like hairs sprouting from warts. The lime green paint blistered and peeled off in giant scabs. Old electrical fires left soot stains along the bulkheads. Three quarters of the panels on the command deck no longer worked.

  He bet a year’s supply of armor oil that everything gleamed and worked on the new NSA flagship, the Nell Stafford. Perhaps he would demand the ship as payment for eliminating this new threat to the Founders. Then he’d keep the chief scum, Beijing York, locked up in the bowels to rot. Groat and Groat alone would visit his prisoner but only to show him video clips of his wife undergoing the Decripi’s medical studies.