“What’s going on?” Nell tightened her grip around her husband’s shoulders. Apple and apricot trees whizzed by in a blur. Grass swished in their wake. Ahead, the Syn-Ens divided into two lines and sprinted for the open belly of the shuttles. Her heart lodged in her throat and refused to be swallowed down. Must be bad. Her husband and his men had never reacted like this before.
“The America is under attack.” Bei tightened his hold.
She glanced up at the blue sky. Yellow sunshine and not a cloud in sight. Faint twinkles burst near the eastern horizon. Was that the space battle or fermites? Overhead, a large ship moved in orbit like a dark moon. The Scraptor’s dreadnaught. Her throat cleared as her insides condensed in a hard knot. “Why? Why would they attack us?”
Bei glanced at Apollie. “I believe the information that the Surlat strain was concocted here by the Founders has caused an uproar in the galaxy. There are calls for war from the other sentients.”
The Skaperian hooked her scythe on the equipment belt under her breastplate. Her pale chin thrust forward.”Everyone has a right to know. Everyone suffered.”
While in theory Nell agreed with Apollie, at the moment discretion might have served them better. “Perhaps the timing could have been better.”
Like when they were safely away from Surlat or even out of Founders’ airspace.
They emerged from the orchard and into the wheat field. The sheaves bowed and twirled as the ship nacelles powered up.
Bei snorted. “We could have released the information in three years, when our fleet was prepared to take on the Founders.”
Apollie shook her head. “The delay—”
“Would have changed nothing. As it is, we’ll have to adopt a different strategy to win the coming war.” Bei glanced up.
With its belly ramp open, Starflight 2 lifted off the ground. Two lagging Syn-En leapt for the closing bay. They clung to the side before flinging a leg over and disappearing inside.
Nell’s brain box tingled. The WA was alive with chatter. She peeked up at the sky.
Two capsule-shaped vessels blazed red flames along the upper atmosphere. Silver flashed. Yellow bursts shot out of Starflight 2’s forward section. It tracked the glints of silver and exploded them. The shuttle banked at a ninety degree angle and chased the intruders. Fermite-filled air revealed the flight path of the energy weapons.
Good God. The Scraptors were bombing the planet. Davena! Nell glanced over her husband’s shoulders.
The villagers stood, mouths open, watching the fighters twirl, spin, somersault and dive in and out of the atmosphere. Doc and Davena ran out of the orchard, shouting and waving their arms. Keeping an eye on the sky, the people collected the ration boxes and headed for the shelter behind their cliff dwellings.
Bei crossed the ramp in two long strides.
Nell’s feet skimmed the deck of the crew compartment. “If the Scraptors want to punish us for revealing their dirty secret, why aren’t the evil Bug-uglies coming after us? Why kill the villagers?”
Around her the rectangular room seethed with action. Syn-En strapped on grenade belts, stuffed extra charge clips in pouches, and passed pistols, rifles and rocket launchers around like party favors.
“The Founders don’t want any witnesses.” Bei shoved wicked-looking knives in his boots and then strapped a plasma machete on his thigh. “They’ll kill everyone to keep their secret.”
Doc and Davena paused at the edge of the orchard. His kiss lingered for seconds before he pulled away. Their hands remained linked until he stepped into the wheat. Davena wrapped her empty arms around her waist. Doc sprinted toward them.
A boom sounded from above.
Bei’s blue eyes shone from a black background. “Starflight 2 has taken out one of the fighters.”
Her husband was more active in cyberspace than on the ground.
“And the America?” Nell waited until Medic Queens emptied the bench seat of its load of oxygen tanks before dropping the top and sitting on the metal bench. She hugged her legs close to stay out of their way.
Apollie pulled her own armaments from the seat opposite Nell.
Bei ducked his head under the strap of a Lassiter rifle. “Energy fields are holding.”
For now. Nell had seen enough SciFi movies to know that wouldn’t last. The enemy was bound to overwhelm their defenses sooner rather than later. “How long until reinforcements arrive?”
Doc bounded up the ramp.
“One hour, fifty-eight minutes, and three seconds.” Bei flattened his palm against Doc’s chest. “Are you certain?”
Doc’s jaw worked for a minute, then he shook his head. “My place is here. My pledge is to the Syn-En.”
Bei shook his head. “The old rules don’t apply, Cabo. We are free to choose a different path.”
Doc squeezed Bei’s shoulder. “I appreciate your offer, Bei, but one more of us could make a difference up there. If I can give Davena extra time dirtside, then it’s enough.”
Tears pricked Nell’s eyes. That was so sweet.
The ramp hummed closed and the shuttle lifted off.
“We’ll give her and her people a lifetime.” Bei removed a helmet from the overhead bin. “We are outnumbered and far outgunned.”
Doc paled. “Operation Geronimo?”
“Operation Geronimo.” Bei passed the helmets around. “Grab your oxygen tanks. Two per Syn-En.”
Apollie froze, her fingers on the straps of her shin guards. “But that only had a twenty percent success rate in the simulations.”
“This isn’t a simulation, and we are highly motivated to succeed.” Bei shut the overhead bin with a snick.
Nell’s insides squirmed like she had a belly full of snakes. “What is Operation Geronimo?”
“Our best chance of success.” Bei set his helmet on the bench seat next to her. Wrapping his hands around her wrists, he pulled her to her feet. “I need you, Apollie, and Doc to head to the bridge now.”
The Skaperian jerked on the last tie of her shin guard and stomped toward the ladder at the forward end.
Doc grabbed two cases out of a cabinet and followed.
The rest of the Syn-En turned their backs to Nell and Bei.
Oh, boy, this can’t be good. Nell dug in her heels “What is Operation Geronimo, Beijing York?”
He pulled her against him, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her. He was a damn good kisser, but she was stubborn. Unfortunately every time she pulled back, he advanced. When she zigged, he zagged. Holding her close, he carried her up the ladder, then the short flight of steps to the bridge. He pushed her into the chair and strapped her in before breaking their kiss.
She licked the taste of him from her lips. He didn’t fight fair, but she couldn’t think of a better parting. “Nothing you could have said would be worse than what my imagination is throwing at me.”
“I was designed to fight. Remember that.” He caressed her cheek before backing out of the oval bridge.
Apollie chuffed in her copilot seat. “No one was designed for Operation Geronimo.”
Bei glared at her.
Doc sealed the hatch to the bridge. More bulkheads thudded into place.
Setting her hand on the hatch, Nell sensed her husband moving away. Dark space pressed against the forward portholes.
Two Scraptor fighters veered toward them. Doc jacked his fingers into helm’s ports and headed straight for the enemy craft.
Apollie’s tapered fingers danced over the console, flipping toggle switches and turning on gumdrop lights. When crosshairs appeared on the glass, she grabbed the steering wheel and centered on a capsule-shaped ship. She fired.
Red flared along the fighter’s rounded nose cone.
Doc leaned back in his chair. A rocket sailed out from under the shuttle and tapped the nose. Crimson flames peeled back the hull of the enemy craft. Soft thuds pounded the side of their shuttle as they sailed through the debris and entered space. The Starflight stopped on a dime, flipped over an
d chased the remaining enemy craft. “Admiral, I’m lining up a target.”
Nell crossed her arms over her chest, hanging onto her harness until the artificial gravity switched on. Fat lot of good her superpowers did. She was about as useful as a wart on a toad. “So how exactly does Operation Geronimo work?”
Doc clamped his lips together.
She felt him probing her brain box. “I’m not going to shut up until you tell me.”
Apollie braided her hair and glared at Doc. “Since I can’t plug my ears at will, I will tell you. Doc will cut one of the enemy fighters from the herd. He’ll run up behind them and one of the Syn-En in back will jump from the shuttle, latch onto the fighter, and cut his way in.”
In the forward porthole, Doc closed the distance between him and the alien fighter. Far ahead, other capsules freckled the America’s hull. Starbursts lit up her concave side. The transport ship banked to the right, trying to present her smallest side to the enemy’s assault.
Prayers of protection, of impossibilities, and miracles strung together in Nell’s head, but she kept her focus on the conversation. “Isn’t space really cold? Won’t the Syn-En freeze to death in minutes?”
Doc snorted as he overtook the fighter. “The human body is predominately water. It resists temperature change extremely well, biologics don’t flash freeze because they step into space. And even if they did, these are Syn-En. Their biologic core is protected by insulating levels of NDA, and their prostheses are designed for space rescues.”
Thank God for that. “And their helmets and oxygen tanks will give them plenty of oxygen and prevent them from decompressing in the vacuum of space, so why isn’t the success rate higher?”
Finishing her braid, Apollie secured it with a single bead. “Because the Syn-En aren’t using the helmet and oxygen like we would. Doc will make the first pass head on. The soldiers will aim one helmet at the enemy’s portholes, hoping to damage it if not destroy it.”
“The fighters don’t have portholes.” Doc headed for the swarm of fighters buzzing the America. “We’re latching on with grappling hooks. Then we’ll burn through with lasers to depressurize the hull and incapacitate the operator. We’ll board, take control, and split into two groups. One will attack the enemy fighters. The others will begin an offensive against the dreadnaught.”
Nell pinched the bridge of her nose. If her husband survived this operation, she’d kill him. “You should have named it Operation Bug Splat on a Windshield.”
“That would have been demoralizing.” Doc picked off his chosen target and dove directly for it. The enemy took the bait and he pulled away. “Besides, we’ve already had two successes.”
She bit her lip to keep from asking the number of failures. “Aside from the obvious problems with this method of attack, what if those capsules are unmanned drones?”
Doc reversed course and began to chase the fighter. “Then we proceed to plan B, Operation Kamikaze.”
Chapter 32
Bei hung from the ramp of Starflight 1. The shuttle slowly maneuvered into place over the Scraptor’s pill-shaped drone. Twelve had already turned on the Founders’ dreadnaught. Six Syn-En awaited pickup after missing their target. A clock counted down inside his head.
Any minute now, the Scraptor’s Defense systems would adapt. Any minute.
Bei scanned the frequencies, looking for the enemy’s preferred channel.
Queens and Portland rolled off their targets, releasing the capsules on their new heading.
Brooklyn and Troy rerouted the guidance systems of their targets for the cannon array on the dreadnaught’s side.
A high pitched beep blitzed Bei’s head.
The drones Brooklyn and Troy rode exploded. The enemy had adapted. Troy’s life signs fell dark. Brooklyn’s limbs flew in all directions. His health systems reported severe head trauma and shrapnel embedded in his chest.
Reshuffle priorities. Pick up Brooklyn, see if you can patch him back together. Operation Geronimo is cancelled. Proceeding with Operation Kamikaze. Bei launched his grappling hook at the target underneath. He leapt from the back of the shuttle just as Doc darted right. He jerked forward as the fighter picked up speed.
Copy that. Operation Geronimo cancelled. In cyberspace, Doc ordered the pick-up of the Syn-Ens based on damage and remaining oxygen levels.
Bei increased his magnetic attraction. The distance between him and the drone closed but not fast enough. He vented a little of his spare oxygen as propellent. Wrapping the grappling hook line around his wrist, he collided with the side. Impact alerts flared yellow. He activated his armor and the serrated ridges dug into the cylinder’s side.
Admiral, worry infused Captain Amazon’s voice. Energy shields are down to twenty percent.
Understood. The transport was running out of defensive options. Bei punched through the fighter’s outer hull and peeled it back. Wires and crystals glowed in his night vision. Status of your deck guns.
Installed and manned, but we only have six shells per gun. Captain Amazon uploaded files, showing the evacuation locations of her biologic crew. Some areas functioned as life pods. Two large stations did not.
Seven hundred Human lives at risk, yet few panicked. They counted on the Syn-En to save them.
Bei didn’t plan to disappoint, but the odds were not in his favor.
Don’t waste your shells on the fighters. Bei yanked the crystal. With his NDA fingernail, he scratched the outside, overriding the self-destruct. Ripping out the navigation deck, he uploaded new code and coordinates then locked them in place.
The fighter began to arc back toward the Scraptor ship.
As soon as the enemy caught on to the highjacking, Bei tapped into their signal. His code usurped the Scraptor’s. The fighters broke off engaging the America and headed back to the dreadnaught.
Bei smoothed his armor, unwound his wrist, and rolled off the fighter. With a thought, he activated his rescue beacon and checked the WA. Ten Syn-En had been retrieved. Forty fighters raced home.
Doc scooped up two Syn-En. Do you think it will work?
Depends on whether or not the Founders have kept up with Human technology. We learned long ago how easily drones could be turned against us. Bei tapped into his wife’s brain box. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe her mood. He’d deal with it if he survived this battle. Venting oxygen as a propellent, he lined up with four other Syn-En. With luck, the StarflightStarflight could scoop four of them up on one run.
Thanks for turning down the heat, Admiral. Captain Amazon tossed bouquets of roses in cyberspace. But, we have one enemy craft closing in on our position and two troop transports heading toward the surface. Looks like they plan a dirtside clean-up.
Bei assigned his best man to destroy the planet-bound ships. Starflight 1 take out the troops transports. America, focus energy barriers on critical systems. Starflight 2 finish harvest. If the Scraptors board the America we’ll be on their six .
Doc chased after the enemy troop transports.
Starflight 2 picked up four Syn-En then lined up for Bei’s row. Two more of his men maneuvered into position. The shuttle would plow a row directly toward the America.
Red blossomed along her hull.
The enemy vessel rammed us, Admiral. Reporting breaches in decks six through ten. Captain Amazon smoothed the emotion from her voice. Security crews four and five check for intruders. Crews eight and twelve relocate biologics to aft decks.
Bei drew in his arms and legs. Two quick bursts of oxygen positioned him in the center of the pick-up. The black walls of the shuttle swallowed him inside the crew compartment. A net stretched across the insides. Ropes cut across his back. Hooking his hand around one, he unrolled and scrambled to the side.
The net sprang back just as another Syn-En was retrieved.
Captain Amazon spat through the com. Admiral, I have confirmed enemy contact. We have been boarded.
Chapter 33
“Oh, I think I’m gonna be sick.” Nell
clamped her hand over her mouth. Bile burned her throat and nose. Her stomach flopped around her chest and her heart clung for dear life to her ribcage. Aerial acrobatics in a spaceship were all well and good in a video game, but it sucked in real life.
The shuttle spun in tight corkscrews after one of the box-like Scraptor troop transports. In the pilot and copilot seats, Doc and Apollie leaned into the turns. The crosshairs on Apollie’s window tracked the butt end of the target. Sprays of bullets perforated the enemy’s hull.
The Scraptors retaliated with bursts of light. Thumps pounded like hail on the hull.
Apollie jabbed a few toggle switches. Lights on the helm blinked red, yellow, and green. “Can’t you level it out?”
Doc braced his hands on the con. “Right nacelles are off-line. Bringing stabilizers on in three…two…one.”
The rotation ended abruptly.
Nell’s eyeballs took a second or ten longer to settle. Her head slammed against the headrest.
The porthole in front of Apollie blinked red. Target acquired. She punched the launch button. Two warheads streamed away from the shuttle. Vapor trails marked their trajectories.
Please, please, please, hit the target. Hit the target. Nell’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
“Take it out. Take it out.” Doc leaned forward in his seat.
The enemy transport ejected evasive measures. Red balls of light serpentined in space.
Doc’s fingers dented the con. “Not this time, assholes. Overriding targeting systems.” The warheads darted left then right. One countermeasure detonated close to a missile. Doc jerked in his seat. “Here’s my invitation to the party.”
The warhead swerved back toward the enemy ship. The first missile burrowed into the exhaust system before exploding. Crimson cracks appeared in the fracturing hull. The second pile-drove deeper into the transport then went off. The ship blew apart. Large chunks rode a blast wave toward them.
Apollie braced in her seat.
“We’ve got incoming.” Doc nosed the shuttle up at a ninety-degree angle.
The planet filled the horizon. Shrapnel pounded the underbelly of the shuttle. The second Scraptor transport plunged into Surlat’s atmosphere.
Syn-En: Plague World: The Founders War Begins Page 24
