Syn-En: Registration

by Linda Andrews

  “I can see that, but we can’t keep all the goodies to ourselves.” Instead of walking directly to the play corner, he veered to Alfred’s group.

  You always had a way with the ladies. Keyes stroked her belly before setting her hand at her side.

  Bei’s hands dug into the coarse fabric. Are you still?

  Yep. Keyes set her hand on her stomach. I checked on the little bundle of cells, once I remembered who the hell I was.

  With Ruth hovering near his elbow, Bei held out the candy to the group. “Would anyone like some?”

  Alfred whispered into Dietrich’s ear.

  Dietrich shifted to the front and picked out two pieces of chocolate. “Italy wasn’t built in a day.”

  Bei blinked. That was Keyes’s message? Why hadn’t she just asked about her husband, Rome? “No, but it was built. Quickly.”

  His words rippled over the group and charged the air.

  Velma squeezed between Dietrich and Alfred. “Let me take some of these delicious candies to Kay. She’s new and I might be able to persuade her to join our clan.”

  Ruth frowned at the small pile of candy left. “Can we go play now?”

  “Sure.” Bei followed her to the corner.

  Adults smiled and nodded. One man shifted in his seat so he could see Keyes in his peripheral vision.

  Four young boys scooped slag into buckets with a miniaturized shovel. Two girls sat against the wall, each cradled a larger boulder in their arms and rocked it. A toddler and a four-year-old girl stacked blocks into a pyramid.

  Bei lowered himself to the ground, careful not to spill his chocolate. “Anyone want some candy?”

  The four boys shook their heads and emptied their buckets into a smaller slag pile. The girls and toddlers surrounded him.

  Ruth scowled at the diminishing hoard of goodies before snatching up two more. “Let’s play bucket brigade.”

  The boys each raced for the two shovels. Four hands gripped each spade. “Let go. I got it first.”

  “You let go. I was here first.” The four staggered back and forth in the tug of war for ownership.

  Ruth clapped her hands. “Yens. Dieder. You are the diggers first. Once we move the pile over here.” She pointed to a clear spot near the adults. “You will switch. Come, Heidi. We’re diggers not builders.” She knocked the pyramid over and kicked the rocks toward the pile. “Olga and Sam, hand your children over to their clans. We have work to do. Our quota must be met.”

  This was their idea of play? Earth children had dolls and building blocks. The Syn-En had games that didn’t require things—tag, hide and seek, and mother, may I? Bei rose on his knees, cast about for a place to set the candy. “Perhaps I could teach you another game?”

  Ruth clucked her tongue. “No. We need the practice digging.”

  Olga and Sam gulped down their last bite of food. They blinked up at him with sapphire blue eyes. Wet black braids wiggled over their slim shoulders. Twins. Identical twins.

  He recorded the gold flecks in Olga’s eyes and the deeper dimple on Sam’s right cheek.

  Sam held out her rock to him. “Would your clan accept our babies?”

  “I’d be honored.” Keeping Keyes in his peripheral vision, Bei sank to the ground and held out his free arm.

  Each girl placed warm boulders into his arms before shuffling over to the stack of buckets.

  Ruth arranged the bucket brigade from tallest to shortest then took her place in line. “Alright, let’s see if we can move four tons of ore before the call to quarters.”

  Oh, that’s horrible. Even on Earth, the children have some toys, not practice work. Keyes plucked one candy from Velma and popped it into her mouth. Her nose wrinkled, her lips puckered and she stopped chewing. Good Lord, that’s vile.

  You didn’t like it on Earth, what made you think you’d like ET’s chocolate better? Ducking his head, Bei positioned the rocks to provide cover then opened the compartment in his arm.

  I’m trying to be friendly. What do you mean, quickly? Do you know where Rome is or not? Shuddering, she swallowed and waved away another piece.

  He shoved aside a few tracking supplies and replacement finger tools and neatly stacked the candy inside the compartment. I mean that Rome should be here five hours after we leave. It’s up to you to reactivate him.

  Bei shunted the isolation command override codes to her.

  Why isolate him at all? His memories are bound to have returned. Keyes shook hands with Dietrich.

  The Scraptor leaned against the wall by the elevators. The rifle pointed to the ground and his bubble eyes shone white against his red armor.

  Was the guard sleeping? Not that it mattered. Bei wouldn’t move from his position until he headed for the elevator. I isolated your husband because I didn’t want him finding out where you are and what your assignment is.

  So you let him worry because he couldn’t find me? Keyes rose off her bench.

  Dietrich stepped back.

  No, I didn’t let him worry. I left a message that you’re okay and will be contacting him in a few hours.

  Like he really cares. Keyes set her hand on her stomach.

  Bei snapped his arm compartment shut. No way would he tolerate these two at each other’s throats. Mission was critical. He cares. Children do not come with manuals. Rome needs the rules and regulations, even if he likes to break them.

  I know… A smile softened her lips. I just wish I knew how to help him.

  An alarm blared before Bei answered. Doors opened and closed. Men and women left the private rooms, passed the buffet tables and picked out a few choice cuts on the way to the elevator.

  Ruth dumped her bucket of rock onto the pile. They’d only moved two ‘tons’. “Nice job everyone. Let’s all get one last piece of candy before we leave.”

  In a swarm of chatter, the children rushed the dessert table, grabbed handfuls and stuffed them in their mouths.

  The Scraptor stomped over, pointing his rifle at Bei. “Time’s up.”

  Sweeping his hand down his sleeve, Bei covered his arm compartment and rose. No chocolates remained behind. We’ll talk more tonight during everyone’s sleep cycle.

  Keyes cracked her knuckles. I’ll ping you when I bring Rome to his senses.

  Edging around the Scraptor, Bei joined Job and his family by the elevator.

  The leader of the Deutche clan eyed the guard before standing shoulder to shoulder with Bei. “Our time in the pleasure rooms always toodles along so fast.”

  Bei stepped into the elevator and moved to the back. “How often do you visit the rooms?”

  “Once every seven to ten days.” Job joined him in the corner while his wife and Ruth stood in front. He opened his mouth and shut it.

  A handful of other clansmen and women drifted inside.

  Bug-ugly squeezed in last. He placed his hand against the biometric pad and the doors eased closed. Gears ground as the elevator dropped.

  Bei stared at the glowing button. That was not the clan’s floor, or the level they’d mined an hour ago.

  “Shit.” Job’s fists trembled at his side. He caught Bei’s eye. “Where are you taking us?”

  “The top-hats found a rich vein and want it mined straight away.” The Scraptor flashed his sharp teeth.

  Job wrapped his arm around his youngest daughter. “At least let us take the children back home. They need to sleep.”

  “No. Everyone works.” Bug-ugly raised his rifle. “Ten tons before your next rest cycle.”

  Bei’s fingers curled into fists. Ten tons. They’d needed a full twelve hours to move that much ore last time. He scanned the group in the elevator. Only a few would last a full shift before collapsing from exhaustion.

  Ruth pressed against his leg.

  Bei’s armor hardened. Keyes, you’re going to have to track my position. Find the quickest route to the surface, and two alternates.

  Understood. Admiral, I can’t find any record of a new vein discovery. I think you’re he
ading into a trap.

  Chapter 23

  Elvis’s nails scraped the ground. Cold seeped through his paws, penetrated the marrow in his bones. Faster. Must run faster. Must warn the others.

  His sides heaved like bellows. Moisture evaporated from his tongue. Dried saliva glued it to the side of his muzzle. His eyes strained. Show me something. Anything.

  Boots pounded in the tunnels behind him. Metal scraped metal. The rumble of Scraptor voices mingled with a soft moan. Light exploded in bursts through the passage.

  Show me anything but evidence of the Scraptors.

  Muscles coiled tight around bone. He plunged into the pitch black passage. Ozone clung to his fur and pain rippled from his haunch. The hit had been a fluke. The Scraptors had been firing blindly after him.

  Given the number of shots, one should have hit him.

  The wound was only superficial, not proof that male Amarooks couldn’t be predators or were weak. Especially not him, not the son of generations of alphas. His ancestors had freed the Amarooks from the Skaperians’ genocidal experiments.

  He and his sisters had the memories encoded onto their DNA.

  The blood of warriors drummed in his veins.

  He wouldn’t fail this mission.

  Not like he failed to protect Nell Stafford.

  Elvis slowed to sniff the air. A hot breeze ruffled his fur. The surface exit. He’d found it thanks to the traitor Anwar’s stench. Sand clung to his paws. The tunnel tilted slowly down and a pin prick of light dotted the wall.

  Lowering his head, he dashed around a corner. A pyramid of sand poured through an Amarook-sized opening. He had to get outside. He leapt. His paws sunk deep into the sand. Muscles quivering, he lifted one paw. The ground gave way and he slid back.

  A low growl reverberated up his throat.

  He had to lead the Scraptors outside.

  Elvis retreated to the far side of the tunnel. Shoving with his hind legs, he pushed off the wall. One length. Two. He sprang. Landing halfway up, he tasted the sweetness of victory.

  Before he moved a paw, the ground liquefied and the exit receded.

  “He’s heading for the exit.” The Scraptor’s voice echoed through the tunnels.

  Elvis whipped his head toward the sound. They were close. Too close. His heart pounded. No more playing around. If the two-footed humans could get out this way, he should be able to as well. Tucking his tail close, he hunkered low then leapt up. He landed smack in the middle. Paws and hands clawed at the shifting sand.

  No! He couldn’t fail.

  His fingertips brushed something hard. Was it a handhold? A step? He dug faster, deeper. Dust fogged the air.

  “We’ll call in air support once we reach the surface.”

  Elvis swallowed the hard knot in his wind pipe. He could smell the Scraptors. Yet he floundered around like a puppy in his first snow. His palm skimmed something solid. His fingers closed around it and heaved.

  A red rope cut through the pile of sand. So that’s how the humans did it. Hand over hand, he pulled himself up. Muscles burned as he pulled his legs out of the sucking sand.

  The hole at the top widened. He stuck his head through. Sand invaded his nostrils and blasted his eyes. Wiggling into outside, rock scraped his back. Curtains of sand shimmered in the orange haze.

  He plodded a few steps into the barren landscape, watched as the wind erased his tracks almost as soon as he created them. Excellent.

  “This is Daget. The prey has reached the surface.”

  Elvis’s ears twitched.

  The Scraptors stood in the tunnel below.

  Sidestepping ten lengths, Elvis burrowed into a dune.

  “What are your orders?” Daget’s gravelly voice carried over the storm.

  “Search and destroy.” The orders burped through the static. “Once the storm fades we’ll send two patrols in your direction.”

  Elvis pulled dust over his head, leaving only his nose covered by his hands sticking out. Even if he weren’t invisible, the sand clinging to his hide should make it impossible for the Scraptors to detect him.

  One smooth red head stuck out of the tunnel. Dust quickly coated the bubble eyes and segmented armor.

  Nell had been right. The Scraptors did resemble Earth insects. Nell… Elvis swallowed a whine. He would avenge her death. Maybe he’d even hang one of the bug heads on his den wall.

  Three Scraptors climbed out of the opening.

  And just stood there. Facing north, the middle one scratched his head. The one on the right, kicked at the sand as if to unbury Elvis’s tracks. The third took turns staring at the other two.

  One minute passed, then two.

  For pity’s sake, what was wrong with them? The Syn-En wouldn’t be standing around scratching their armor. They’d be moving out of the way, so Elvis could return to the tunnels.

  He blinked at the dust in his eyes. And just where were the others? Hadn’t the promise of his svelte Amarook pelt been incentive enough?

  A heavy weight settled deep inside his belly.

  Why settle for one trophy when the Skaperian embassy was full of them?

  His body twitched with impatience. Was he already too late? Had the Ck’sons had their long green limbs cracked and broken? Had poison polluted the Shishes underwater home? Were the padgows having their pink tentacles plucked one-by-one from their bodies?

  As for the Humans…

  The Scraptor in the middle strode forward. “Come. Let us bag this dog before the storm clears and the strike force takes the best prizes.”

  Elvis closed his eyes. His kind may have once viewed Daget’s comparing Amarooks to an Earth pet as an insult, but that time had long passed. Humans deserved respect, even if they were a set of limbs short of equal.

  “Shall we fan out?” The smaller of the three fell into step behind the first two.

  “Negative.” Daget pressed the heel of his boot and his soles spread out like wings, enabling them to walk on the soft ground. “We head to the river. All animals need water eventually.”

  So they weren’t as stupid as they looked. He was still smarter. Elvis waited until the Scraptors climbed the dune two hills away before emerging. Shaking the sand from his fur, he staggered toward the opening. He stretched out on his belly and surfed the soft sand to the ground.

  When his paws touched stone, he sneezed the dust from his nose. The air stunk of pungent Scraptor. He blew it from his nostrils and sniffed again. There, under the armor polish, he detected his scent markers. Between them and his memory, he shouldn’t have any more setbacks.

  Sticking to the middle of the tunnel, he ran for the embassy.

  ***

  Elvis’s front leg buckled. He slammed into the walls. Pain lanced his fur. He shook it off clearing his head. Six dead ends. Three sidetracks. One near miss with the other two Scraptors still searching the tunnels.

  And who knew how much time had passed?

  Still he hadn’t reached the embassy.

  But he had to be close. His joints screamed from the abuse. His body begged him to stop. Move front paws. Move back paws. Repeat over and over and over.

  He had to reach the others before the storm cleared.

  If it hadn’t already.

  Mustn’t think like that. Nell wouldn’t approve. Elvis stumbled over his front legs, landed on his face. Air whooshed out of his lungs. His dry tongue stuck to his teeth. Stars danced in his peripheral vision.

  Too bad they didn’t light the tunnel.

  He pushed up with his hands. His raw fingertips burned and the metallic scent of Amarook blood tinged the air. His insides knotted. Loping down the tunnel, he’d had to trace the walls to avoid suffering a collision with them. Now he must limit his contact and reduce the number of blood trails for the Scraptors to find.

  He’d go slow, stick to the middle, and thank Nell’s creator that he had a hard head.

  A soft bleating sound scratched his ears.

  Elvis paused and sniffed. Nell’s scent
. His markers. Anwar’s. Pet’s, and… something else. He padded forward, turning his head left and right. He caught the smell.

  Caprinae.

  Only a few heartbeats away. His stomach growled and saliva pooled in the mouth. If the wooly animals were close, then the embassy must be nearby. A new surge of adrenalin warmed him, and he cantered toward the sound. His ears rotated, tried to pick up more sounds.

  One bleat answered another.

  Water gurgled.

  The energy reserves in his toes exploded through his body and he shot forward. If the caprinae still lived, the others must as well.

  Bouncing off a wall, Elvis rounded the corner. Light glowed in the distance. A caprinae bounded out of the light and into the shadows.

  No sounds of fighting.

  No stench of blood.

  Just human, caprinae, Ck’son and Padgows undertones.

  He’d made it. He’d reached the embassy. He kicked with his hind legs and raced up the incline. Round street lamps pushed against the darkness. Light filtered through the dome, coating everything with an orange hue.

  The storm wasn’t over.

  His nails clicked on the pavement before fading to the crunch of dead grass. He sped by row upon row of empty homes. Blackened windows.

  Everyone must still be sleeping off last night’s celebration.

  He turned the corner, heading into the center of the embassy. Green leaves swirled in his wake. Broken glass glittered on a marble stoop.

  His heart stopped. Something was wrong. What had he missed?

  Veering off the street, he leapt a hedge and gulped air into his lungs. He landed on something soft and his paw curled under. Rolling, he glanced about.

  A patched doll lay discarded on the ground.

  The hair on his scruff rose. He processed the scents as he gained his feet. Shish. Padgow. Caprinae. Ck’son. Human.

  And… something else.

  Something…

  A net flew through the air. Elvis dodged left, raced under a tree. The weights clattered to the ground, wadded up the ropes.

  Where had it come from? Hunkering low, he scanned the area.

  A shadow skimmed his vision.

  The second net closed around him, tangled with his legs and brought him down.