Syn-En: Plague World: The Founders War Begins (29 page)

At the four o’clock position, Richmond remained still as a statue. The games the Syn-En played as new inductees took on new meaning on missions.

Bei was grateful Captain Pennig had insisted they be taught. Their camouflage worked better on a textured background than bare, concrete walls.

“Tridit, what do you say we celebrate our victory over the Plague with a little exercise?” Groat’s flashlight bounced a ball of light around Sub-level Five of the research complex. “What do we do when we find Human scum?”

The Scraptor on the stairs behind Groat took two steps then performed an aerial somersault. Tridit landed with a heavy thud. His pinschers snapped and clacked. “We chop off their hands at the wrist.” Spinning on his heel, he butchered the air. “Lop off their forearms.” He continued the deadly dance with a two step bringing him within a meter of Richmond. “Then remove their upper arms.”

Tension roiled through Bei. He’d bet the Scraptor was reliving the attack on the hill.

Another swipe stirred Richmond’s ponytail. In the WA, her heart rate accelerated and adrenalin spiked.

Tridit’s one-two punch aimed for her face.

She ducked to the side, avoiding the blow.

Tridit twirled around, sweeping his tail toward her.

Richmond leapt the appendage.

Groat’s applause covered the thump of her landing. “Very good, my friend.”

Tridit bowed.

Bei’s finger twitched on the trigger of his rifle. One shot for Groat, right between the eyestalks. Just one. Richmond could blow a hole through Tridit’s bullet-shaped helmet.

Groat cracked his knuckles. “But how would you do against the Human subspecies, Syn-En?”

Tridit’s eyestalks stood straight up. “Humans are Humans. Their blood is just as warm splashed against my armor.”

Shaking his head, Groat stalked to the center of the room. “These scum are different and present a little more of a challenge.”

“A challenge. From a Human?” Tridit snorted.

Groat held his index finger and thumb a millimeter apart. “A little challenge. Come let me show you. I have been studying the Syn-En. I know their weaknesses.”

Bei stiffened. What were these weaknesses the Scraptor planned to exploit?

Setting the flashlight on the riser at shoulder height, Groat aimed the beam into the center of the makeshift arena.

The beam hit Bei square on the chest. He shut off his breathing subroutine and waited until their attention locked on each other before moving.

Hunched over, Tridit circled Groat. “Are you certain you don’t wish to test your new armor on me?”

“Don’t you want to know what it can do?” Groat cocked an eyestalk. “See if it is worth the credits?”

Say yes,
Bei silently urged.

Tridit charged. Humanoid hands thrust forward, claws raised in a protective posture.

Groat side-stepped. “That is too easy.”

Richmond performed a back handspring, landing safely out of reach in the throat of the collapsed corridor. Two small pebbles tumbled into the arena.

Veering to the left, Tridit slammed into the wall. Chunks of concrete rained from the water-stained ceiling between Tridit and Bei.

Bei might be able to use that. Tilting up the muzzle of his rifle, he pulled the trigger. The energy burst flashed white when it encountered the concrete dust, then it disappeared.

Another chunk bounced on the floor.

Richmond pinged his interface.

Bei waited for another chance. The ensign was smart. She’d catch on.

Groat swung his sword appendage at Tridit’s head.

Curling into a ball, the Scraptor rolled to the left.

The sword tip stabbed the wall.

Bei fired two shots in quick succession.

Knots of concrete dribbled on Groat’s head. He shook them off and charged.

Tridit unfurled on his feet. Twirling, he swung his tail and rammed the side of it into Groat’s chest.

The eight-limbed Scraptor flew toward Richmond’s position. His boots slipped on the floor and he landed on his tail, sliding backward.

Bei waited until the Bug-ugly collided with the wall then fired again.

Richmond’s two shots helped to form a ragged arc near Bei’s.

The collapse must appear natural. And be timed perfectly. A fissure appeared in the ceiling. Damn, the building was more unstable than he thought. Bei recorded the two Scraptors as they locked armor.

Claws battered claws. Boots kicked. Segmented bodies twisted.

To Bei’s surprise, Groat didn’t engage his sword appendages. Perhaps the Bug-uglies had some notion of honor. The grappling warriors bounced off the wall near Bei’s position. Firing another salvo, he shifted closer to Richmond.

The fissure deepened. Concrete dust fell in a steady stream.

The ceiling was almost ready to collapse. Now, he had to wait until his targets were in position. Bei pinged Richmond. Creeping in the shadows, they relocated under the stairs. If the whole ceiling went, they would be better protected.

Groat and Tridit broke apart then collapsed together. Blows were exchanged. Claws swung and stabbed. The fight lurched into the center of the room then the side. Groat slammed into the stair railing. Balancing on his tail, he mule-kicked Tridit in the chest.

They reeled across the room right under the crumbling ceiling.

Bei opened fire.

Richmond matched him shot for shot. The ceiling lit up.

Butting bullet-shaped heads, neither Scraptor noticed.

Concrete groaned. Fist-sized chunks pummeled the fighters’ helmets. With a moan and crack, large blocks dropped from the ceiling. One knocked Groat sideways. A second, half a meter by half a meter, flattened him. A large flap swung down on a hinge of rusted steel, smashing Tridit against the wall. He slid to the floor. A shower of smaller pieces bounced around the area.

Bei made for the stairs.

Close on his six, Richmond followed. She misstepped and a pebble shot out from under her boot and headed toward the enemy. Bei slowed. Neither Scraptor moved. He mounted the stairs two at a time. The improvised plan had worked.

Groat sealed his eyestalks as the pungent liquid poured over him. Pipes banged in the decontamination cells. Disinfectant pooled in the dents in his armor. His brand new armor. He rubbed the shiny red surface. The tissue underneath throbbed, a side effect of a floor dropping on him. The deluge tapered off. Stray drops echoed in his helmet like a bell.

He remained immobile as cold air blasted him.

Something was off about that collapse. Something… But what? Raising his arms, he let the air blow moisture from his pits. The building was old, unmaintained. Deterioration was evident on every floor, in every lab. With the way he and Tridit slammed each other against the wall, they could have brought the entire mountain down on their heads.

So what was it?

Groat replayed his last memories before he passed out. The boulder on his back. Smaller chunks bouncing away from the epicenter of the collapse. Smaller chunks… One of the chunks had sailed toward him, not away.

A hard knot formed in his gut.

Someone had been in the lab with him and Tridit.

Someone had watched their fight.

He would gamble a year’s credits that someone was a Syn-En. But if that were so, why hadn’t they taken the three crystals. Even Humans could not be so stupid as to leave behind valuable data.

Pipe, conduits, and shower heads rattled as the ship gained altitude. The fusion reactors knocked and puffed. He gripped the overhead tie bar and waited. Minutes passed. His boots lifted off the ground for a second before the artificial gravity kicked in. They’d achieved orbit with no difficulties.

The Erwar truly had favored the Scraptors.

When the air vents switched off, the hatch to his shuttle’s interior grumbled open. Groat stepped lightly in the hall and removed the three crystals from the bypass. The hexagonal yellow, red, and blue chips reeked of disinfecting ozone. He filled his lungs with the scent—the scent of victory. He closed his fingers around them. His boots barely skimmed the deck as he glided toward the command platform.

The Commerce Board must recommend him as Commander of the Fleet now.

Groat sailed through the open door and strutted onto the platform.

Standing by the broken tactical station, Tridit clasped his hands behind his back. Dents and scratches marred his red armor and the tip of his right pinscher had broken off in the cave-in. “The political officer has tried to reach you three times, Commander.”

“No doubt he is concerned about the status of our mission.” Groat eased into his seat. His claws dangled in the dents on the side, his humanoid limbs rested in the grooves of the arms, and his new sword appendages dug into the inside surface.

The new recruit straightened at the con. His shiny peak armor reflected the pinpoints of starlight out the forward portholes. “Mopus Argent has requested I contact him as soon as you left decon.”

The recruit’s hand rested on the controls.

Groat glanced at Tridit. Had his second-in-command talked with the recruit about the proper order of his allegiance?

Tridit shrugged. When he moved his hands in front of him, he flashed a platinum platter. He held it out, offering it as a place of honor for the crystals.

Groat set them carefully on the shiny silver surface. Red for weaponry, blue for craft design, and yellow for unsanctioned projects. The crystals could contain thousands of years worth of research, or be completely corrupted by time. He’d bet his new armor, he’d hit the information jackpot. “Contact Mopus, Recruit. On screen.”

Let the stinky politician see the treasure and drool.

For once, Groat had the upper hand.

Tridit stood near the command chair. In his hands, he tilted the platter to show off their bounty.

The recruit twisted the last knob. The forward viewer directly in front of him filled with white noise then Mopus appeared.

The Munician’s green skin turned a sickly shade of snot. Tears ran along his turquoise robes and a gold thread dangled from his cuff. His green hair quivered around his pointy ears. “What has taken you so long? Why didn’t you respond to my earlier calls?”

Groat’s pinschers tightened. The politico would not speak to him with such disrespect once he was promoted to Commander of the Fleet. “I responded as soon as I left decontamination, per your request.”

Mopus’s lips curled back. “What is the purpose of decontamination? Our vaccine protects against the Plague. It was an unnecessary delay.”

Was this a trap? An attempt to get Groat to denounce the protection afforded by the Plague vaccine, so he would be denied the promotion. He pushed out of his chair. “It is the proper procedure as written by the Decripi.”

The gum-drop light on his chair arm confirmed that his answer had been properly recorded.

The new recruit peered closer at the screen embedded in his con.

Such odd behavior even for one in pink armor. Keeping his attention on the stinky politician, Groat gestured to the array of crystals. “As you can see, the mission was a success. We have recovered the Founders’ lost research.”

Mopus’s green hands balled at his sides. “You have recovered it. You have recovered it!” His voice rose to a high pitched squeal. “Your incompetence has caused the release of intellectual property that could cost the Founders femptillions in credits.”

Groat’s eyestalks stood straight up.

Mopus’s nostrils flared. “I have already reported that your unauthorized blundering on the quarantined planet has resulted in the release of classified research. You will be stripped of your armor and left to shrivel in the twin suns of Olteac Prime.”

The recruit nodded toward the right-hand forward screen as it flickered to life. The dreadnaught,
Celestia,
puttered into sight from behind a gas giant. A hundred cannons stared alertly out of her sides. The barrels of energy weapons raked black space.

The ship prepared for war.

Groat’s ship had been taken over by Mopus. What was the politico up to?

Groat sprang from his seat. He had to retake command of his dreadnaught. “What is the meaning of this? I am Commander of the
Celestia
.”

“This is damage control.” Mopus flopped into the dreadnaught’s command chair. It listed to the side, forcing the politician to clutch the dented arms. “This is protecting the Founders interests. Witnesses must be eliminated.”

Black dots swarmed in front of the
Celestia.
The fighter squadrons had been launched, heading toward the planet. The Humans would be slaughtered.

Groat’s sword appendages stood straight up and toxins filled his stinger. “You will cost the Founders credits if you attack the Humans on the planet. The notice of removal has already been filed with the Erwar Consortium. Since the Humans registered as sentient, we are no longer allowed to kill them.”

It hadn’t been easy for the Scraptors to accept, hunting the scum was the only sport the Founders permitted.

“You filed the notice. You invited the Neo-Sentient Alliance to crawl over Surlat, the very heart of the ancient Erwarian empire.” A malicious grin marred Mopus’s face. “The record clearly states that I wanted to eradicate the vermin, but you opted for a course of action that compromised the very basis of Founders’ society.”

Groat stabbed the deck of his shuttle. He’d been set up by the stinky politico. He had no doubt, Mopus would blame the files leak on him. Grout would find the recordings of events on his ship and prove his innocence. Right now, he had his own damage control to do. His armor itched. Had two of the storehouses actually contained data crystals? Had the scum raided one before his and Tridit’s arrival. “What did the Humans find?”

Mopus waved his hand in dismissal. “It matters not. Once we eradicate the vermin, there will be no one to counter our official report.”

And unless he acted, Groat had little doubt that he and his men would number among the casualties. He flexed his armor. If the Humans really had recovered data, he would have the glory of killing the scum. “Recruit set course for the planet. Tridit, looks like today is our lucky day. We get to test our skills against the Syn-En.”