Nell held her breath and entered the corridor.
Skeletal Humans lined the hallway, three rows deep on each side. Those who could, stood. Most sat in tight fetal balls on the floor. Body odor, offal, and blood overwhelmed the air scrubbers. Some people gazed listlessly into nothing.
Nell shuddered. If there were flies, she’d have thought this was some commercial for a charity in a third world country. Save the Humans. For only a dollar a day, you can make a difference in the life of some man or woman lost in space. A dollar will buy freedom, two meals a day, and—
“Nell?” Davena squeezed her arm.
“Sorry. I was thinking.” Unpleasant thoughts. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. Maybe the fermites could perk up her thoughts. Nell snapped the hair tie around her wrist.
“I’m concerned about you. Your fermites don’t disappear anymore and Los Alamos says he can’t read you with his diag beam.”
They weren’t the only thing that were hanging around after the party ended. Nell stared at her hand and willed her skin to return to its normal peach color. The silver strip widened. Maybe she should embrace her inner zebra. “Los Alamos?”
“My husband.”
“Right. Sorry.” That explained why she’d been given extra watchers. Nell’s cheeks heated in embarrassment. Doc Los Alamos Cabo was always Doc. All the Syn-En were named after places according to their regional identity, the ultimate way to dehumanize them. Bei rarely talked about his induction days. He didn’t remember his birth name, nor could he look it up. Only the Syn-En, their original civilian crew, and Nell knew that they couldn’t return to Earth again.
God help them if their allies ever found out.
Ahead, the children paused at a tee. Sweetie bounced on her heels, looked both ways then glanced back at Nell.
Nell pointed to the right.
The children skipped away.
Nell didn’t hurry to keep up with them. The corridor ended at the elevator. Only crew members could access it.
“Are you feeling well?” Davena sent a wave of fermites toward Nell.
Nell’s fermites slapped them away. She hadn’t done that. “Whoa! Has that ever happened before?”
The last thing she needed was the fermites having a death match while inside her body. She was running out of flesh and blood parts to replace.
“No.” Davena shook her hand. Her red fingers glistened for a moment before returning to their normal cinnamon color. “But then there have never been two oracles at the same time.”
“I’m not an oracle.” Nor had Nell ever played one on TV. “And to answer your question, I’m a little worried. You know how things are going.”
Davena pressed her lips together, then glanced left then right. “I know a little. Los Alamos says I’m better off not knowing.”
Some days, she’d give a million fermites not to know. Turning at the tee, Nell spied the children waiting by the elevator.
A bell chimed through the Public Address system.
“All staff, please prepare for the arrival of refugees.” The computer voice drifted down the hall. “All staff, please prepare for the arrival of refugees.”
More wounded. More lost people. More people to fill the overflowing ship.
Nell squeezed her eyes closed. “Where are we going to put them?”
They stopped at the end of the hall.
Like an earthworm swallowing, the rows of humans tightened in waves. Room would be found. It had to be.
“Don’t worry about that. You need to rest.” Davena pressed her thumb against the button. “Elevator, please.”
The lights chimed to life as the voice recognition acknowledged her authority.
Nell rubbed her neck. Tension made the skin tight. “I can’t just switch off the thoughts. I’m responsible for them.”
She’d been elected. She hadn’t even known she was running for the position. If she’d known, she’d have hidden better.
“On Surlat, we were responsible for each other.” Davena frowned. “Foxtrot-one-five-zeda-Romeo is taking care of Sweetie without being asked.”
God. The boy had his barcode memorized. Nell forced her arm down to her side.
The elevator chimed. “Code red arrivals for sick bay. Stand clear.”
Nell reached for Sweetie’s shoulder to move her away from the door. Static electricity jumped in a blue arc from her fingers to the young girl’s shoulder.
Sweetie squeaked and pressed closer to the boy.
“Sorry.” Dang. That had been happening a lot lately. Nell sucked on her tingling fingers. Maybe all her technologies weren’t playing nice together anymore. Heaven help her if it turned into an all-out sibling rivalry. She grounded herself on the wall, then clasped the girl’s shoulder. “Let’s scooch back a bit. Some hurt people need to get by.”
Davena pressed against the elevator call panel.
The boy squeezed himself back into an opening, dragging Sweetie with him.
Nell eased closer.
The elevator doors chimed again. “Code red arrivals for sick bay. Stand clear.”
“It’s as clear as it’s going to get,” Nell muttered.
The woman on her left chuckled. She cradled a splinted arm against her shrunken chest. “Having this much room to move is a blessing.”
The doors parted.
Ensign Virginia Richmond had her arms wrapped around two healthy-looking men. She wore her hair in a ponytail like the teenager she was. But despite her full cheeks and smooth skin, her eyes revealed the hardened Syn-En soldier she had become. Thanks to her prosthetic arms and legs, she carried both patients with ease. Her gaze locked on Nell. “The Admiral says you are to rest, Leader.”
Admiral, not Bei. Leader, not Nell Stafford. As soon as the NSA declared war, all the Syn-Ens’ ass cheeks puckered. Nell understood, but she missed the down time.
“Aye, aye, Ensign.” She flashed her palm in an insulting salute.
Richmond winked before resuming her impartial mask.
On Nell’s right, the injured woman hissed through her teeth. “Yea-Sayers.”
The word echoed down the corridor.
The hair on Nell’s neck stood on end. Yea-Sayer. She’d heard that word before…
Medic Brooklyn hauled two more obese men behind Richmond.
Four walking wounded waited in the elevator, pressed against the back wall.
Nell stepped toward them. “It’s okay. You can come out. You’re safe.”
In unison, they raised their arms and pointed at the healthy-looking men. “Yea-Sayers!”
In the span of a heartbeat the hallway erupted into chaos. The three rows of people lining the corridor surged toward the patients. Limbs flailed. Fists smacked flesh. Cries rent the air.
Richmond and Brooklyn disappeared under the writhing mass.
Nell’s heart leapt into her throat. The Syn-En protected people. They wouldn’t give up the men without a fight. A fight they would lose. “They’re going to be trampled.”
She headed toward the mound of people. She had to rescue Richmond and Brooklyn.
An elbow slammed against her cheek. A man backhanded her.
Stars danced in front of her. A foot hit her in the gut as the outside layer of Human skeletons body surfed over the others to get their ounce of justice. “Richmond! Brooklyn!”
A synthetic arm bobbed to the surface.
“Oh hell no! Stop it. Stop it this instant.” Nell swore. Like that had ever happened. Fermites swarmed, fogging the air. “Get off of them.”
Faces turned toward her.
Angry, twisted faces. Bloody fists were raised.
Richmond’s head poked through the seething mass.
Something collided with Nell’s temple. Warmth trickled down her cheek. She raised her hand to swipe at it. Instead, her hand disappeared and all went black.
Chapter 3
“All systems go dark.” Bei clenched and unclenched his hands as the enemy dreadnaught shoved through the event h
orizon in front of them. A riptide of tension swept through the triangular bridge, upon which his holoimage stood. He used his command codes to isolate his team from the rest of his men. No need to worry them if things went south.
“Weapon drones powering down to seventy-percent.” Seated in the station directly in front of Bei, Security Chief Rome skimmed his fingers down the LED control panel. On the forward screens, the drones faded until they blended with the wreckage of the convoy.
“Taking nonessential systems offline.” Sydney Shang’hai, Bei’s Chief Engineer, sent the power down signal via her cerebral interface. Lights on the command panels winked out. Air vents ticked as life support fell to the minimum, maintaining the charade that the Syn-En were aboard.
In the forward station, Iggy shifted on her stool. Her pink and green tail drooped nearly to the floor. “Com systems on standby.”
Bei stared at the view screens. The broken hulls of the enemy convoy were scattered like cracked eggs over the solar system. With a thought, he scrolled through the available sensors, scanning the space beyond his remote-controlled ship. Despite being located in another galactic quadrant, the Striker obeyed every command of his four-sentient crew. Outside, the pods with the Syn-En life signs melded with the glowing debris field. “Status of our people?”
“Minimal life signs.” Black filled Shang’hai’s almond-shaped eyes. Static distorted her holographic projection before the image solidified. “I’m getting interference from the pods.”
Iggy’s tail curled around her hind quarters. Her pointy ears pricked and the feathers on her head stood on end. “It’s a Human signal.”
“Patch transmission through.” Bei set course. The Striker’s nacelles hummed as the small vessel skipped forward on an intercept course. He would retrieve his men and retreat. Bile flooded his mouth. After six months of war, he and his men were good at retreating.
He’d rather excel at advancing.
And he wasn’t alone.
The Syn-En hadn’t acquired a taste for defeat. It wasn’t in their circuits or their programming.
Rome’s hands curled into fists. The spherical drones zoomed across open space, heading for the cargo bay. “Stowing drones in the toy box. The bastard Founders aren’t going to know what they’re missing.”
The enemy better not. Retreat was a tactical strategy until Bei and his allies built up the NeoSentient Alliance’s defenses. Until they could stop losing battle after battle.
“Patching through.” Iggy cocked her head to the left. Her tiny four fingers drummed on the console. Fangs flashed in her muzzle. “Audio only. Visuals aren’t being transmitted.”
Static belched from the coms.
“Oh thank God you’ve come,” a female voice rasped. “You’ve got to pick us up. Don’t let them get us again.”
A muscle flexed in Rome’s square jaw, and his short blond hair twitched. He pinged Bei. “What the hell? I’m sending the message to the Combat Information Center for voice recognition. Syn-Ens don’t cry.”
Syn-Ens kept their emotions in the Wireless Array, not out in public.
But the Founders were capable of atrocities Bei had never imagined. And he had access to a universal history archive full of atrocities. The room darkened as he switched part of his conscious into the WA. His avatar materialized, found the tail end of the message, and stepped on it. Data buzzed by his ears as he swept along the stream. “Identify yourself.”
“Oh, thank God you’ve come.”
Iggy howled as the recording repeated. An instant later, she tackled him, knocking him off the data stream.
Bei rolled over and over in the blackness of uninhabited cyberspace. Catching the Amarook by the scruff, he kept her signal from breaking up.
She planted her paws on his chest and shook her head. Her ears slapped her cheeks. “Firewall. Gave me quite the headache.”
She leapt off his chest.
He held his breath, waiting for her to disappear.
Raising her muzzle, she sniffed the air then bounded toward the fluorescent green line in the distance.
Bei pushed to his feet. The emptiness sucked at his boots, snagging pixels with every step. Damn, he’d love to know how the Amarook’s telepathy worked. The void always left him with a migraine. Jogging, he closed the distance.
The SOS changed from a steady stream to a fuzzy line.
His avatar scattered like marbles then reformed. He swayed on his feet. “Report.”
“We’re taking fire, Admiral.” A pixelated Rome ghosted nearby. His nose wrinkled at the void.
Taking fire? Dammit! They were supposed to be cloaked. Bei stopped next to Iggy. “How are they targeting us?”
Iggy snapped at the SOS stream then sniffed the block wall that stopped her from tracking it to its point of origin. Butt in the air, she dug with her forepaws at the base of the firewall. Pieces of code formed a pile behind her. “Go. I’ll get through.”
Closing his eyes, Bei transferred back to the Striker. “Rome?”
“They haven’t located us.” Shang’hai’s holographic hands slipped through her console. “The Bug-uglies are firing depth charges.”
On the forward screens, light burst from the Founders’ dreadnaught. Gun barrels bristled from nearly every meter of the hulking mass. Only the docking ports and energy weapon batteries along her mid-deck remained smooth.
Bei’s synthetic skin prickled. It might be possible to locate his ship by searching for anomalies in the debris field. He slowed his vessel, keeping it clear of the hunks of smoldering hulls. He’d have to find another way to salvage those life pods. He ordered the wardens to retrieve the lost men. Data showed the repair bots leaving the hull and skimming across space like black widow spiders.
An explosion blossomed on the screen. The deck bucked, swallowing his holographic feet. Access panels popped off. One sliced through Iggy’s hunched form. Sparks sprayed the metal floor. Static burped on the forward screen.
“They’re damn accurate for guessing our location.” Too damn accurate. Was something giving away their position? Bei ran a quick diagnostic on the Striker’s systems.
Shang’hai’s holoimage faded. “It’s possible that they recognize our engine signal.”
Bei swore under his breath. Such was the hazard of repurposing a ship. “Mask it.”
Another salvo punched the bulkhead. Alarms flared in Bei’s head along with a scrolling list of damage. “Rome bring out half your toys.”
Rome straightened and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s see how the Bug-uglies like having my balls shoved up their bulkheads.”
“I think you might want to reword that.” Shang’hai snorted. “Bringing forward screens on line.”
“Fuck ‘em.” Rome leaned forward as twenty-five spherical drones skipped across the space in front of the Striker.
The image scattered on the screen.
“Dammit, Shang’hai.” Rome glared at his companion. “Get your software up and running.”
Iggy rolled out of her seat. Four paws planted on the deck, she growled at the static.
An image formed.
Aricose Groat, Commander of the Founders’ Fleet, peered back at him. The Bug-ugly Scraptor’s eyestalks twitched above his bullet-shaped head. His red, segmented armor glistened in the light of the bridge. “Hello little Syn-En. Are you too scared to come out and play?”
Defensive ridges raced down Bei’s arms. His synthetic skin hardened into projectile proof armor. “Groat.”
Iggy shook her body. “He can’t hear us or see us. He’s broadcasting on all Plenipotan frequencies.”
Plenipotan? This ship had been a Plenipotan vessel before its conversion. “How does he know we can receive it?”
Iggy licked her furry hands and smoothed her pink and green feathers behind her ears. “All vessels are equipped with a Plenipotan receiver. They are the administrators of the Erwar Consortium. Or were, before the war.”
Another volley burst in the distance. Debris from the c
argo ships fled before the concussive wave. The enemy was clueless.
“Any luck contacting the Syn-En on the lifepods?” Bei smoothed his defensive ridges. His uniform knit back together.
“The signal smells of Scraptor.” Iggy spat up a furball. “I severed our connection so the enemy cannot use it to trace us.”
“Good thinking.” For a wolf-like creature. Bei’s men hadn’t considered it. But then, the Amarooks were natural predators and they knew the enemy.
Iggy sent an image of her and her pack annihilating a dozen of the extinct Earth animals. “We are not such pathetic creatures, even if we do harbor a fondness for Humans.”
Her pulse of anger slammed against Bei’s temple. He released a shot of caffeine to ease the ache.
Rome winced. “Yeah. Yeah. We get it. You’re the Big, Bad Amarook coming to blow everyone’s house down. Now tame your wild side, Featherhead or my boot will plant itself in your furry posterior.”
Iggy plopped her hind end down and thumped her tail against the metal deck. “With the amount of time you spend considering posteriors, you could be part Amarook.”
Red tinged Rome’s Teutonic cheekbones. “You—”
Another salvo rocked their ship. Metal screamed. Bulkheads buckled. The fusion reactor breached its first level of containment. A coolant pipe burst and steam jacked up the temperature of the engine room.
Bei chucked the files at his engineer. “Fix it.”
Shang’hai turned toward the door leaving the bridge. She drew up short, pink dreadlocks slapping her back. Her curse words blistered the air. “I can’t fix the leaks, but I’ll try rerouting the coolant.”
Right. They were holograms and not physically on the Striker. Bei jerked his head once.
The wardens confirmed they’d locked onto the lifepods. Each spun a NeoDynamic Armor cocoon around the small vessels. Once activated the NDA camouflaged the pods, hiding them from the Scraptors’ attack.
Groat clacked the pinschers below his set of humanoid hands. “What’s the matter little Syn-En? Are you afraid?”
Rome shook his head. “I’ll teach him the meaning of fear.”
The Bug-ugly’s image disappeared from the starboard screen. In his place, the battlefield came into view. Partial schematics overlaid the dreadnaught and crosshairs targeted the vulnerable soft points. Twenty-five spheres plunged through the convoy debris field and circled back toward the hulking battleship.
Syn-En: Pillar World Page 3