Syn-En: Plague World: The Founders War Begins (30 page)

Tridit rolled his appendages. “It is a good day to be baptized in blood.”

The recruit changed course. On the right-hand forward porthole, the knife-blade of a pleasure cruiser appeared at the edge of the solar system. An energy barrier protected the upper decks from ambient space radiation. No guns jutted from her sides. No armor plated her hull. A ship merely designed to transport the Humans from the planet below.

She would be easy to destroy.

Too easy.

But eliminating her would leave the Humans below isolated and defenseless.

Groat’s insides twinged. He suppressed it. Inferiors didn’t deserve pity; they deserved to die. “Recruit, take us on an intercept course with the
America.
”

Bei stood near one beehive oven. The bricks hissed in the drizzle.

At the throat of the canyon, two
Starflight
shuttles powered their engines. Twenty Syn-En medics in black uniforms formed a line from the village to the shuttles open ramps. Baskets of bread and fish passed bucket-brigade style to the shiny, bulbous crafts while soldiers sent boxes of rations back down the line.

Nell hugged and kissed yet another villager’s cheek. Straightening, she handed off a bundle of apples wrapped in a blanket and pressed a case of dehydrated shakes into the person’s hands. Blowing her bangs out of her face, she shook her head. “I wish they were coming with us.”

Bei did as well, but it wasn’t to be. He just hoped Doc instructed the biologics in the proper use of the rations before they departed. It would give the villagers something to eat while they hid inside the shelter, deep in the mountain. As much as he wanted these people to survive, he feared their fate if they did.

His internal com beeped.

Captain Amazon’s voice filled his head.
Admiral, this is the
America.
We have reached the Surlatian system and shall achieve high orbit in fifteen minutes.

Copy that,
America
. We welcome you, but report no joy in our relocation efforts. The biologics are staying.
Bei skimmed his fingers down the small of Nell’s back. “It’s time to leave.”

Nodding, she knelt in front of the boy whose life she saved.

He pushed a doll made of dry corn husks at her.

She patted the mud-caked hair swirled atop his head. “I shall treasure it always.”

The boy stepped back. The rest of the biologics swarmed the village but none came closer to the Syn-En than a meter.

Bei stacked the donated rations near the oven then scanned the area for his chief medical officer. Doc was nowhere in sight.

Hugging the cornhusk doll to her chest, Nell waved goodbye. “Thank you for your kindness and generosity. Long life and prosperity to you all.”

Bei fell in step beside her.

Ahead, the rest of the Syn-En marched toward the shuttles.

Captain Amazon beeped him on a scrambled channel.
Admiral, did you think it wise to send out that information? I’ve been fielding requests for the last three hours from other sentients.

What information was sent out?
Bei’s hand spasmed on his wife’s back and his gut clenched.

About the Founders concocting the Plague in their labs there on Surlat. The whole universe is up in arms and many are calling for war.

The Syn-En and the NSA were not ready for war. Would not be ready for several years yet. Bei eyed his wife. She had found the information. She had a well-developed sense of justice. “Nell, did you send information about the Surlat Strain to anyone?”

She pursed her lips. “Why are you frowning at me? I sent it to Doc and Apollie to study further.”

On Bei’s left, Apollie hummed softly. “I forwarded the file to the NSA headquarters.”

“On an unencrypted channel?” Compression alarms flared in Bei’s head. He shook his hands, releasing his fists.

Tossing a peach from hand to hand, Apollie shrugged. Her unbound yellow feathers cascaded down her back. “It’s possible.”

Bei swore. “Did you even think of the consequences of your actions?”

Captain Amazon’s voice buzzed in his head before Apollie answered.
Admiral, I have a welcoming party of sixty Scraptor fighters. Their weapons are hot and they are in attack formation
.

Feedback buzzed in Bei’s head. His armor hardened for battle. He swept his wife up in his arms and sprinted for the shuttle.

Nell looped her arm around his neck and held on. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Tugging the scythe from her belt, Apollie covered his six. “I don’t see any threat.”

This is the NSA ship
America,
we are taking fire. I repeat, we are taking fire
.

“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 co-pilot 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 and 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.”