Syn-En: Plague World: The Founders War Begins

by Linda Andrews

  Leadership had its privileges.

  “Open the door fully.” Mopus Argent snapped. “One cannot expect a man of my station to stoop.”

  The metal screeched.

  The new recruit at the helm shrunk in his broken chair.

  Groat plugged his ear hole with his thick finger. Maybe he should demand one of the new recruits give up their supply of armor oil to grease the doors. But he wouldn’t. Growing into a new set of armor was painful. Armor oil was the only thing that made it bearable.

  Fabric whispered. Light footsteps followed. Mopus. “You should demote that Scraptor, Groat. It took entirely too long to open a simple door. Such laziness. I thought you were preparing for war, not coddling budgetary waste.”

  “My men are ready for war. The equipment is lacking.” Groat focused his eyestalks on the forward porthole. The starlight appeared to be distorting around the Nell Stafford. No doubt, the ship’s external sensors were malfunctioning. The Human vermin would need to travel for another Earth hour before reaching the mouth of the wormhole. “Magnify the image of the enemy craft.”

  “Magnifying the image of the enemy craft, Commander.” The helmsman twisted knobs and pushed levers. The porthole blanked.

  No image reappeared.

  Mopus smoothed his green hair behind his pointy ears. A gold embroidered cuff slipped over his green wrists. More gold twined with the sapphire robe that brushed the dented deck. “Your men are hardly ready for war. He can’t even manage a simple task.”

  “It is not my men; it is the equipment. Maybe instead of sending political liaisons to each ship, the Founders could send repair equipment. It would be more useful.” Crossing the six steps to the helm, Groat banged his fist on the side of the boxy console.

  Static blitzed the screen. It cleared a second later.

  “Stop complaining.” Mopus flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “We are issuing new armor, aren’t we?”

  “And deducting the cost from the Scraptors’ pay.” Groat stepped closer to the forward screen. The stars around the saucer-shaped ship morphed into a halo. Others looked like flagean smears on a planet-bound windscreen.

  Mopus milked his long fingers in front of his custom made robes. “What is wrong with your viewer?”

  Groat’s insides condensed into a hard point. “I don’t think it’s my viewer.”

  One moment the Human ship glowed as bright as a star. The next, it had vanished.

  Where in the blackest holes of the universe had the vermin acquired such technology?

  The air fogged with Mopus’s malodorous pheromones. The politician must be worried to emit such a stink. The Scraptors were immune to such chemical control. “Where did it go?”

  Returning to his command chair, Groat shoved a lever on the arm, opening the air vents to full. His claws clacked in agitation. His tail swished. “Control your stink, Mopus, or I’ll ban you from my bridge.”

  Mopus’s green skin deepened to a shade of infected snot. His coin-slot nostrils flared. “Where did the Human vessel go?”

  “To Surlat.” Groat stilled his appendages. It wouldn’t do to give away the gaps in his intel. This war would need a Fleet Commander. He would be it. Two of his competition had already succumbed to unfortunate air scrubber malfunctions.

  “Do you know this, or are you guessing?” Mopus’s tilted eyes narrowed to slits.

  “They will rescue the vermin on the planet. I have studied the Humans’ behavior. I know how they act.” Groat clasped his pinschers behind his back.

  “Scraptors did not evolve meaningful intelligence.”

  Groat’s claws tightened, one nearly snapping the other in two. He forced them open. “Then you will be pleased to know, that on a pass under the Nell Stafford, we placed a homing beacon on her hull.”

  The process had been so smooth, he doubted the Humans had realized it. He tugged out a keyboard. The keys clicked as he tapped in the signal frequency.

  Four red dots flared on the stellar map.

  His armor itched. How could the ship be in four places at once? It just wasn’t possible. Unless… Unless the beacon had shattered, and the remnants reported their positions. The screen fuzzed with static then cleared. The dots shifted on the star chart.

  Mopus peered over the helmsman’s shoulder and frowned. “I will talk to the Founders’ board and see if we can jar loose some funds for repairs. We can’t destroy our enemy unless we can track them.”

  “Thank you.” The words soured Groat’s mandibles more than fermented froce. But he would take the funds to repair his ship. And he would make certain all the Scraptors knew it had been him who eased the credit rationing.

  “Lay in a course to Surlat, helmsman.”

  “Surlat?” A chill penetrated Groat’s full body armor. The stinger on his tail flooded with toxins.

  “Yes.” Mopus rested his pointy chin on the tips of his long fingers. “We need to observe the Humans in action.”

  The helmsman’s armor glowed brightly. “But the planet hasn’t been purified. The Surlat strain…”

  Groat couldn’t rebuke the new recruit even if he wanted. His father and grandfather had perished from the virus. So had nearly ninety percent of the Scraptor race. Only a quarter of the other Founding Five races had died.

  Mopus dismissed their concerns with a wave of a lanky hand. “The Founders have given you the latest antiviral vaccine and embedded more in your armor. You’re protected.”

  Groat’s mandibles remained sealed shut.

  “The Humans will die, and then we can salvage their technology.” Mopus raised one green eyebrow. “Who knows, we might be able to save one or two of these Syn-En subspecies for you to test your new armor.”

  There was that. Groat had heard the grumbling in the common areas. The Syn-En guerrilla attack had created doubts in Scraptor superiority. “Lay in a course for Surlat. Point three of maximum. I don’t want to arrive before the Nell Stafford.”

  He didn’t want to arrive at all. Not when the Surlat strain still thrived.

  “What other devices did you plant?” Mopus scratched his smooth chin.

  Not as much as Groat would have liked. Arriving on a ship surrounded by camouflaged hostiles hadn’t urged him to ask for a tour. “I spread trackers on their docking bay floor. Every member of their landing party should pick them up as they walk to their shuttles.”

  Turning a knob on his chair, he switched feed from the outside sensors to his shuttle’s recorders. The image showed two beetle-shaped Human shuttles huddled on the far side of a cavernous docking bay.

  “Those are their ships? Grotesque.” Mopus shuddered. “Do your trackers include visual?”

  “Some do. Most are audio and locational beacons.” Groat lifted his hand to massage his armor but stopped short. He would not show weakness before another Founder. “As you know, the full sensor trackers cost more, so they must be conserved.”

  And he had used an entire year’s supply. Still, it wouldn’t be enough. He just hoped the Founders realized that wars couldn’t be won on tight budgets.

  “Good.” Mopus folded his arms and tucked his hands up his sleeves. “I wish to watch when the Humans realize their fancy gadgets do not work on Surlat.” He cut his attention to Groat. “Then you will be thankful that the Founders make certain your ships have rudimentary technology, not the easily disabled advanced stuff.”

  Mopus pushed the button near the door. A buzzer echoed deep in the bowels of the dreadnaught. Metal ground as the door began to lift.

  Groat’s swords raised in a defensive position. His hands clenched. The Founders fear of technology was based on a myth, nothing more. The Erwar were more creatures of technology than actual biochemistry. Why would they unleash some invisible force that could destroy their world? He’d never bought into the superstition. Neither had his fellow Scraptors.

  The Founders didn’t stint on technology when they created their comforts.

  Just when the Scraptors needed it to enforce th
eir will.

  Then budgets and their streams of red and black ink came into the picture.

  And the Scraptors always lost.

  They wouldn’t lose if the Humans and their technology escaped Surlat unscathed.

  Groat wasn’t certain whether he hoped they did or didn’t.

  Yes, he did. He wanted Humans stuffed back into their rightful place—serving their betters, the Founders. His mandibles relaxed. Maybe he could help keep the anti-technology myth alive. Maybe he could send a code to the trackers to short-circuit their hardware.

  And if it were strong enough, the Humans might never reach the planet’s surface at all. Eliminating both the Syn-En and the Plague in one fiery explosion.

  Chapter 5

  Nell swirled her finger above the white goo. A soft vortex spun in the silver bowl. Flecks of NDA glittered before disappearing.

  Beside her, leaning his hip against the workbench, Mechanic Montgomery Smith exhaled. “I think that’s about done it. “

  She bit her lip. “They’re in the solution, but will this caulk create enough of a seal to keep the Surlat Strain out?”

  It hadn’t in Doc Cabo’s simulations. Neither had the four batches before it. What was the point of being some freak of nature if she couldn’t use it to save Bei, the Syn-En, and everyone else in the universe? She yanked her finger away from the bowl and the stirring tapered off. Familiarity whispered across her senses. Bei.

  “It will buy us time once we’re dirtside. Which is more than we had before.” Her husband skimmed his fingers down her spine.

  She shivered as the touch evoked memories. Hours spent in their cabin. The tenderness of their lovemaking giving way to the frenzy of fear, of the need to survive despite impending death. Her nose prickled. She wanted another century in his arms. Two if she could get it. Anything longer than the last six hours they’d spent together.

  The mechanic cradled the bowl and backed away. His black eyes flashed against dark skin. “I’ll just give this to Doc. He can patch everyone up en route to the planet’s surface.”

  Nell watched until the automatic doors into the hallway closed behind him. She wiped her damp palms on her black uniform pants. A lump grew in her throat. The workroom reeked of oil, solder, and ozone. Mechanical arms and legs hung on hooks, several layers deep, from the ceiling. A heap of stripped shells lapped at a corner, metal buckets sorted the salvaged bits.

  She hated the whole horror show patina of the place. Never came in here if she could avoid it. But she’d gladly move her bed in here, if she survived this trip.

  Bei wrapped his arms around her, moulding her back to his front. “The shuttles have passed their final checks and the engines are firing up.”

  “Did you grab my bag from our room?” She clung to his arm. If only… The price of ‘if only’ was too high. They’d said everything they needed to in their cabin.

  “Shang’hai is bringing our kit to the shuttles.” His warm breath cascaded down her neck. “She wanted to make certain her upgrades were functioning optimally.”

  “It wouldn’t dare do otherwise. I’ve heard her threaten to turn broken equipment into toasters.”

  “She’d do it, too. And no one uses toasters anymore.”

  With a sigh, Nell stepped out of her husband’s arms. “How many are going with us?”

  “Twelve medics, four security officers, Apollie, and two biologics.” He caught her hand. Together they wove through the workbenches toward the door.

  “That many?”

  “Everyone volunteered to go.”

  She replayed his words as the door opened. “Wait. Two Humans? Isn’t that dangerous? We know the virus is down there. That it’s mutated into a big, bad flu bug.”

  “They’ve agreed to remain in quarantine until Doc cooks up a vaccine from your blood.” His lips firmed. “Since they’ve spent their lifetimes as lab animals, Karl and Erin feel they are in the best position to report the effectiveness of the vaccine.”

  Soft white light illuminated the empty corridor. No one was about. Disappointment warred with relief. As much as she would like to say goodbye to everyone, this short walk to the shuttle bay might be their last time alone. She leaned against his solid frame. “What’s wrong? The fact that Humans are helping to save the Syn-En and the universe, or…”

  No point in finishing. They both weren’t happy.

  “I don’t trust these biologics. They are too eager to help with everything.”

  The elevator doors opened at their approach. It always did when she wasn’t in a hurry. Apparently, the universe wanted them on the ground as soon as possible.

  She retreated to the far corner. “You think something more than gratitude is motivating them.”

  A statement not a question. She’d felt the burp in his subroutines during the meeting, but hadn’t identified the cause until now.

  “My subroutines do not burp.” He smoothed the hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. His lips lingered for a moment.

  She clutched his shirt front and buried her face in his neck. “I thought you’d shut down the WA again.”

  “I left it open for us.”

  Something of them would remain if they didn’t return from the planet. The knowledge helped to close the lid on her boxful of fears. “I hope nothing comes back to bite us on the butt when we return.”

  The elevator slowed to a stop.

  Retreating a step, he held his arms stiffly at his side. “I can always use my authority to delete the records.”

  “Sometimes it’s good to be the king, or in your case, the admiral.”

  “And sometimes it sucks.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. The base of her neck tingled, then something tugged on her brain box. The WA had been disconnected. She was alone at her husband’s side. Raising her chin, she followed him along the short walk to the cargo bay.

  The engines hummed, echoing throughout the ship. She glanced up and down the hall. Her stomach cramped. Shouldn’t she have seen someone?

  The double doors on the right snicked open. Boots stomped as the Syn-en snapped to attention. The black-clad soldiers stood in neat regiments along the sides of the cavernous space. Humans straightened and faced her. Cheeks glistened. Some wiped their eyes. When the Syn-En saluted, the people copied their movements.

  Nell bit the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking. They were saying goodbye. She plodded beside Bei. The soldiers created a corridor ten feet across leading directly from the beetle-shaped shuttles to the opening in the hull.

  Everyone stared straight ahead. Many swallowed hard.

  In his dress uniform, Captain Pennig stood at attention near the ramp leading into Starflight 1’s bulbous belly. Chief Engineer Shang’hai stood beside him. With his tail curled around his body, Elvis sat between her and her boyfriend, Montgomery Smith. The dark-skinned mechanic clutched a wooden box in his hands.

  Bei halted in front of the captain and returned the salute. “You have your orders.”

  “Aye, Sir. As soon as you punch through the atmosphere, we continue to Terra Dos and drop off our passengers. The America will contact you when she reaches high Surlatian orbit in thirty-seven standard hours.” When Captain Pennig lowered his arm, the other assembled Syn-En did the same. “The America is creating space for three thousand refugees as well as readying quarantine decks.”

  Bei nodded. “Has news of our mission been sent ahead?”

  Nell twitched. If they failed, steps must be taken to eliminate the threat to the rest of the intelligent world.

  “The Skaperians are drafting a proposal to present to the Erwar Consortium.” Captain Pennig presented an epad, representing the official transfer of power to him. “Our allies don’t think they will have any trouble getting it to pass.”

  Bei set his finger on the pad, authorizing the power transfer, then entered his command code.

  “I would hope not.” Nell sunk her fingers into Elvis’s feathery head.

  The Amaro
ok rose on his hind legs, until he stood eye level with her. His black tongue licked her cheek, then he held out a vial of his saliva. His furry hands shook as they placed it in her hands. “It’s fresh and potent. It will keep you healthy.”

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I’m sure it’s just what I’ll need.”

  Sniffling, Elvis settled back on his hind quarters. “I do not like an enemy I cannot shred with my claws or rip apart with my fangs.”

  Nell tucked the vial in her pocket. “I’ll be back. Everyone loves a sequel.”

  He hung his feathery head. “Some sequels are never made, no matter how popular the original.”

  She scratched him behind his flat ears. The lump in her throat blocked any words from escaping.

  Mechanic Montgomery Smith cleared his throat. “Nell Stafford, we made something for you.”

  He balanced a battered box in his hands. His fingers fumbled with the brass latch before he lifted the lid. In the center of a nest of uniforms, rested a silver tiara. A spidery copper scrollwork held jewel-toned circuits in place. Diamonds of gold were soldered at even intervals along the sloping band. Screwdriver tips jutted from the three pointed peaks of the tiara. Amarook fangs dangled like pearls in oval openings.

  Plucking the crown from the fabric, Montgomery set the box on the ground. His hands shook as he set the tiara on her head. “You declared yourself the Queen of the Freaks and so we decided our queen needed a tiara. We figure you can wear it for your next meeting with the Skaperian Empress. Humans are just as good as anyone else.”

  Bei cleared his throat and looked away.

  The metal settled lightly upon her hair. Her NDA sized it perfectly. Nell covered her mouth but tears sprang to her eyes. Leaning forward, she kissed Montgomery’s cheek. “Thank you. I might just do that.”

  Growling, Shang’hai slipped between her boyfriend and Nell. She embraced her quickly. “Take care of Bei. Despite what he may think, a Syn-En isn’t as strong as his upgrades, but the man wielding them.”