Syn-En: Plague World: The Founders War Begins (27 page)

“Perhaps the Scraptors were their favorite of all. Only warriors could conquer the known worlds.” But how far did the beneficence extend? Stooping, Groat picked the radio off the floor. “Recruit?”

“Commander.” The pink armored youth’s relief overpowered the static. “Have you healed as well?”

“The power and fury of the universe resides within me.”

Tridit paced the room.

“The Scraptors shall vanquish all who challenge the Founders.” The recruit repeated the appropriate response, then he whispered. “I can’t find the engineer. Not a trace of him, his armor, or his life signal. It’s like he’s disappeared.”

Groat’s armor crackled with unease. Could the Erwarians have demanded a sacrifice before they blessed him, Tridit, and the recruit? He would never be authorized to write a Valor in Battle letter for the fallen warrior. Technically, this mission did not happen, and the engineer’s mate would never receive her death benefits. A sour taste rolled over his pointy teeth. “Have you attempted to contact the
Celestia
?”

“Negative, Commander. I have been awaiting your orders.”

“Open a channel.” Groat rubbed his forearm. Mindless obedience served a purpose, usually the Founders. To survive in the Scraptor ranks, a warrior had to relearn a few things.

“Opening a channel.” The recruit’s voice disappeared in a void.

Groat pictured him manually switching frequencies to connect with the dreadnaught in orbit.

Tridit cocked an eyestalk. “The recruit is a rule follower?”

“Too soon to tell. But I’ll keep an eye on him.” If the recruit didn’t switch allegiance to his fellow Scraptors, his career would be short and violent.

Static preceded the recruit’s audible return. “Commander, Political Officer Argent wishes to speak to you.”

Groat bet the stinky Munician did. “Patch him through.”

“Patching through.” The recruit breathed heavily.

“Groat? Groat?” Mopus’s irritating whine shredded the silence. “I thought you were connecting me. Don’t you know how to do your job?”

Whatever Scraptor the green politico addressed didn’t answer.

Mopus would probably demand Groat write the warrior up for insubordination. Groat would, but the file would be lost before it left his battleship. One of the benefits of commanding such a derelict relic. Maybe the only one. “Mopus, you requested to speak with me.”

“Ah, Groat. I take this to mean the Founders’ new and improved vaccine has protected you from the Plague.”

Groat snorted. Mopus was wrong. The virus had scoffed at the vaccine. But to tell the truth would be to risk demotion at the stinky politician’s hands. Groat would not end up as his grandsire had. “We’ve recovered.”

“Excellent. Just excellent. The Decrepi will be pleased.”

“How will they know since we aren’t officially here?” Tridit rolled his eyestalks. Opening his armor, he removed his copulator and pissed in the corner. The acrid liquid stained the concrete.

Mopus cleared his throat. “Have you completed your mission?”

Groat cracked his knuckles. Reporting failure always had consequences. “The first two depots were empty. We are proceeding to the third data warehouse.”

Silence.

Groat cursed. Politicians didn’t understand that their timetable was not always feasible no matter how elite the soldier. As the Humans said, shit happens.

A long sigh blew through the radio. “You must hurry, Groat. We are detecting Human life signs in your area. We can’t have them finding those data crystals first, can we?”

Humans. Groat spit then dragged his hand across his mandibles. “I’ll retrieve the crystals.”

“And Groat.” Mopus’s whisper was a bed of gravel. “Leave no witnesses.”

The link was severed.

Groat attached the radio to his armor. “Let’s move out.”

Tridit strode out the doorway into the morning light. Scraptors did not hide or skulk, especially when a skirmish could happen at any time. “I wonder how my improved armor will perform against the Humans this time.”

“We shall find out.” Groat pounded across the floor. “And maybe this time we will test it on a Syn-En.”

Bei knelt on the landing of Sub-level Four and set the electronic trip wires. Five levels of staircases spiraled around the atrium at the heart of the lab complex. Hallways radiated off the open space like spokes on a wheel. Darkness concealed everything. Water dripped through the cracks and the walls slowly crumbled, but the fermites quickly dealt with any rubble.

He hoped this vault contained data crystals. Their mission could not be for nothing.

His implants twitched but his hands remained steady as he aligned the laser. Pale light shone from the half-Watt bulb topping his index finger. Night vision painted the bare walls and risers in lime green. Anyone peeking over the balcony or standing at the guard stations could target the light and shoot him.

Sensors reporting all clear, Admiral
. Ensign Richmond’s camouflaged armor made her one with their inky surroundings.

Even without his enhanced vision, he knew she knelt on his right with the energy rifle in her hands aimed at the upper floors. Standard Operating Procedure.
Given the dust wasn’t disturbed at the lab’s entrance, I don’t think we’ll meet the enemy until we’re leaving
.

If then.

Ninety-three minutes into the mission, Bei and the Syn-En had nothing to show for their efforts. Team Bravo had reported
Charlie
vault as empty. Bei had aborted searching their first targeted data vault after noticing the bootprints on the floor. An untried security officer and unknown intel payoff coupled with Doc’s warning about the Founders’ spy-bot, swung his actions toward discretion.

Bei switched off the light and night vision then rose. Thanks to the fermite housekeepers, the laser beam remained invisible.
Let’s move out
. Ultrasound turned the world into angles of white and gray surrounded by inky black. With his hand on the wall, he walked down the last flight of stairs.

Richmond ghosted behind him. The rasp of a boot heel gave away her fear.
I think I would prefer to infiltrate an occupied complex.

You would have been able to practice more of your skills
. Unfortunately, the fermites had cleared away every trace.

This emptiness is an electromagnet toying with my circuits. I’m imagining things that aren’t there.

Focus on what you see with the ultrasound.
Bei’s fingers glided over a smooth surface. Glass. A gray bubble directly across the atrium betrayed the clear line of sight of yet another guard station. The Founders didn’t trust their citizens. He scanned the lab interior.

Tall benches carved up the rectangular room. Human-sized cages cast a net in the right corner. In the left corner, a large lamp hovered over a table with straps. A sole stool remained tucked under a work station. Behind glass-fronted cabinets, graduated cylinders, beakers, and volumetric flasks waited.

All this equipment is so low tech.
Richmond whispered through the WA.
What do you suppose happened to their technology?

I imagine the fermites dismantled it once it stopped working.
A shame really. Bei would have liked to see the inside of the Founders’ technology. It might even give him a clue to their projects. His gut clenched. The best he might get out of this mission could be a training exercise for his men.

Alpha and Omega, this is Bravo team
. Security Lieutenant Portland shimmered in cyberspace.
Delta warehouse is empty. I repeat no joy at Delta site.

Understood Bravo. Fall back to exfiltration site and keep an eye out for Bug-uglies.

Copy that, Alpha
. Lieutenant Portland lobbed a glowing ball through cyberspace.
It’s all up to you, Omega. You’re our last hope
.

Richmond’s avatar caught the ball and tossed it between her hands.
I’ve got you covered, Bravo. We’ll find that Intel and repay Bug-uglies’ spying with a little espionage, Syn-En style
.

Portland tossed a lightning bolt after her.
Don’t get cocky, Ensign
.

Who’s cocky? 
Richmond stretched the ball into a shield, deflecting the lightning bolt.
I’m determined. I want payback.

Yeah, well sign our names to the bottom of that requisition and see you at the exfil site.
Portland faded out of the WA.

Stepping off the last riser, Bei leaped over a puddle of water and checked the map created during the shuttle’s flyover. Given the depth and geologic composition of the complex, his sensor resolution grew murky on Sub-level Five but the last warehouse should be down the South corridor. As a precaution, he swept the area with ultrasonic waves. Two hallways on the left had collapsed. That could account for the distortions on the map. He walked down the black throat of the South corridor.

Richmond hummed in the WA.

The melody stirred the fringes of Bei’s conscious. He’d heard that tune before. Nell had been humming it while in her catatonic state.
What is that tune?

It is a theme song to an old Earth entertainment serial titled
Gilligan’s Island
.

Bei slowed as he approached the first guard station. Pockmarks in the wall and sharp metal rods on the floor revealed that the first booby-trap had been triggered. No point in quizzing the ensign over this trick. It was obvious. Stepping over the metal lengths, he scanned ahead for an electronic signature of more pitfalls.
Does this serial contain a ship?

A boat, for traveling on the sea. Although why anyone would take such a small vessel on the ocean is beyond me.

No traps. He moderated his pace and continued to check.
What is the premise of the serial?

Seven people are shipwrecked on an island and between drinking out of coconut shells and eating a lot of pie, they attempt to improve their situation in various manners. Usually the ideas are the brain child of one man.

The professor? 
Bei made a note to check out this serial while Nell slept.

Nell Stafford has made you watch it, too? I didn’t care much for the skinny biologic, at first, but after four episodes, I did want to know what happened next. So I watched the entire series and the movie events.

Chunks of the corners were torn away from the next guard station.
What was the trap here?

Richmond ran her fingers over the damage.
No trace, but from the damage, I’d conclude some ordinance dropped from the ceiling and exploded about head height.

Very good
. Bei stepped to the side.
You take point
.

Richmond stepped forward then drew up short.
Three sensors located on the right, three meters in
. She shifted to the side.
From the damage to the opposite wall, I would say projectile weapons.

And the threat level?

The ensign shifted to the left. I don’t see the weapon’s housing. I believe it might be hot
.

Bei pinged her cerebral interface in approval.
Appropriate response?

We could trip it and disable the weapon when it activates but that would reveal our presence to any enemy. We could slip under the trigger, but that might cause difficulties in our egress. The best thing would be to find the weapon and disarm it.

Proceed.
Crossing his arms, Bei planted his feet in the guard station and accessed her cerebral interface. Her heart rate was elevated, so were her adrenalin levels.

Richmond didn’t ask for illumination as she slipped into the corridor. She alternated her sensor sweep then groaned when the results came up with no new information. One meter from the trigger, she paused. She switched back to sonar and scanned the bullet holes. From the angle, penetration, and area of the damage, she backtracked and located the weapon in the ceiling.

Bei grinned. Security Chief Rome was correct; Richmond was a natural.

Settling her rifle on her hip, she gathered static electricity along her armor then sent the charge arcing toward the sensor in the wall. One after the other, the triggers went dark.

Bei waited. Would she make a newbie mistake and declare the situation secure?

After another follow-up sweep of the sensors, Richmond crouched low then leapt high. Her hands flattened against the ceiling, her elbows bent, and her legs performed the splits. Boots planted on opposite walls, she hovered one point six meters off the floor. She tapped the ceiling in front of her face and an automatic rifle lowered. Within ten seconds, she’d emptied the chamber, jammed the ammunition feed, and pocketed the extra brass.

The rifle returned home as she dropped to the ground.
The second booby-trap at the end of the hall has already been dismantled.

You’re on point.
Bei gestured for her to precede him. She deserved the honor of entering the data warehouse first.

In the WA, her avatar didn’t just hum but sang the theme song.

Bei understood the plot of the serial, but it didn’t match the lyrics. If the passengers and crew were on a deserted island without anyone knowing and the ship unseaworthy, wasn’t the boat lost? Perhaps, his wife loved the show because it was as illogical as she.

Richmond paused at the last guard station. She set her hand on the damaged wall. Concrete crumbled to ash at her touch.
This explosion burned very hot and probably damaged the door. The warehouse is open for business.

She jerked her head toward the black opening.

Check it.
Turning his back to her, he glanced down the hall. Empty. Still. They were in a blind with only one way out. Two if you counted them dying. His sensors twitched. Their luck couldn’t hold forever.

The warehouse is clear of booby-traps.
She gasped.
Alpha, I have drawers.