Syn-En: Registration Page 18

  Chapter 24

  Groat stood on the command deck of the Striker-class Terbium. Sand frothed around the hull. Thick cannons jutted from thinner lines of projectile guns. The dome over the Scaperian embassy sparked and fizzled.

  Soon it would cave in, burying everything under the sand.

  Emeralds winking on his cape, Mopus paced the deck. A jeweled tie held back his long hair. “I do not see the reason for such wanton destruction. Those servants could be recycled.”

  “And risk word spreading about Humanity’s thwarted registration?” Groat adjusted the striker’s bearing, bringing him alongside the dome.

  “They’re inferiors.” Mopus flapped a thin arm in dismissal. “Who listens?”

  “Other inferiors.” Groat’s claws clacked before he got them under control and locked them behind his back. Could the Muncian be blinded by his own arrogance?

  “Exactly. No one.”

  “The Skaperians listened.” Groat resisted the urge to knock his helmeted head against Mopus’s soft one. “Their petitions to Intergalactic court on behalf of sixteen protected species is still talked of today.”

  Mopus rolled his brilliant green eyes. “Talk by the inferiors can be ignored.”

  “Talk is dangerous. Many Scraptors died—”

  “Yes, and we’ve improved your armor.” The willowy green alien picked a piece of dust from Groat’s shoulder.

  “I am not your pet.” Groat growled. His claw whipped around his back and latched onto the Munician’s wrist. Just a little more pressure and he’d slice bone and tendon.

  “Of course not.” Mopus tugged on his hand.

  Not releasing him, Groat squeezed, stopping the circulation to his comrade’s hand. “Then do not touch me.”

  Mopus inclined his head. “My apologies. I believe I shall recommend some kind of anti-dust improvement to your armor. It’s a shame to mar such a magnificent appearance.”

  “We’re marching into battle, not a parade.” Groat opened his claw, freeing the Munician. These scrumming scrumpers. They were completely ignorant of basic military tactics, yet they often directed Scraptor missions.

  “Without the dust, I don’t think you will be as irritable.”

  Groat’s nose twitched. His body relaxed and his anger fled. He really shouldn’t be so irritable. Mopus was only trying to help. Mopus…. Scrum! The Munician was using his stink against an ally. Groat clamped his claw around his arm and pinched. Pain overrode the pheromone madness stewing his thoughts. “Turn off the stink or I will pitch you overboard.”

  Mopus rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting.”

  “I am doing what is necessary for the good of the Founding Five.”

  “By cutting into our profits? We haven’t had a fresh supply of Ck’son, Padgows or Humans in forever. They will fetch a tidy sum at auction despite the universal economic downturn.”

  “We will gain all the supply we want. In thirteen axis spins, Skaperian protection of Earth ends.” Groat maneuvered the Striker into range of the shield. The ship hovered over the dunes, warping them. “Ready arms. All aft batteries.”

  “Aye, Superior. All Aft batteries ready.”

  Groat stared at the glowing screen before stroking it.

  Mopus clucked. “Must you? I mean, what is the difference between these Humans and the ones we will collect from Earth?”

  “The difference is time.” Groat straightened. “The fresh supply will think their governments imploded naturally. They won’t see us manipulating their destruction. These will know that we prevented the registration, and there’s always some do-gooder sentients that will look into it.”

  “We’ll cover our tracks as we always do.” Folding his arms over his thin chest, Mopus flopped down onto the seat. “I really need a Ck’son for my garden. The one I have is old and inbred.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I have already sent ships to begin Earth’s downfall.”

  Mopus parted his long hair into four sections then began weaving them together. “I know. I had our ships follow.”

  Groat spun on his heel. “You what?”

  “The mission requires great diplomacy and intelligence. It’s not something you’re designed for.” Mopus swept the end of the braid over his jaw.

  “Scraptors aren’t designed. We’re created, sentient, just like you.” Groat spit the words out between his stiff mandibles.

  “Not like us.” Mopus flipped his braid over his shoulder. “Our methods are more elegant and deft. You excel at brute force and intimidation. Those things tend to leave traces.”

  Scrum. Scrum. Scrum! The Munician treated him as an equal. Perhaps the Scraptors’ place in the Founding Five needed to be reevaluated. He whipped about, facing the dome. “Fire.”

  The striker rocked under the first salvo. Bursts of light exploded on the dome. Again and again.

  Seven rounds.

  “Shield still holding, Superior.” The soldier’s hand hovered over the controls. “Shall I reload?”

  Groat stomped to the center of the room. “Bring energy disrupters online.”

  Mopus leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together. “What do you plan to do with the female you killed?”

  “I plan on dissecting her.” Groat hoped her corpse was not easy to slice. A little exercise would go a long way to dispel the energy building inside him. “But I’ll save one or two specimens from their new ships once we board them.”

  “I suppose that will do.” Mopus yawned.

  The weapons Scraptor faced Groat. “Disrupters online, Superior.”

  “Fire at will. Bring the energy field down.”

  In the distance, the dome glowed blue, then yellow lines wiggled across it.

  Groat hit the com button. “All teams move out. Kill everything, but I want the Amarook alive if possible.”

  After a bit of sport, the animal’s hide would look nice on his office floor.

  Chapter 25

  Bei shoveled dirt into the bucket near his feet. Four full pails surrounded it. Job had been right. Moving ten tons of ore would kill at least one of the Deutche clan. The youngest were the most vulnerable, and, thankfully, the easiest to hide. He’d already moved the toddlers to the side, placing them behind a boulder so they could sleep. He just needed to figure a way to do more.

  Ruth had stumbled six times in the last fifteen minutes. Her clothes were torn and her knee bloody. Three more youngsters slept in the darkness near the ore cart, nearly two hundred meters away.

  Two guards had replaced the first one. Fully charged electric whips snaked in blue lines down their legs and across the floor. The air reeked of ozone and blood. Human blood. And he was powerless to stop it.

  Bending over to pick up two buckets, Job groaned. “Let me know if you need a spell from shoveling.”

  Bei eyed the shovel propped in the corner without slowing. “Any sign of Abraham?”

  The traitor hadn’t been in the pleasure rooms, and he wasn’t working the new vein.

  “None. We could use the help, but I don’t miss the rat.” Crimson smeared the handles of the new pails. Job’s blood. “If they keep working us like this, we’re not going to live to see freedom.”

  “You will.” Bei drove his shovel into the slag pile, filled one of the new pails then picked up all four full buckets.

  “They’re going to donkeywork us to death.” Job shook his head. No dust settled around his hair.

  Keyes had been right. This tunnel wasn’t a new find, the vein wasn’t fresh. Even on their most sensitive setting, Bei’s sensors hadn’t been able to find evidence of recent drilling or explosion. This must be a trap. But why?

  “If anyone doubted you came from Earth, they don’t now.” Job shifted to the right and moved to follow his wife.

  “Why now?” Why hadn’t displaying his camouflaged skin been enough?

  Around him, adults hauled double loads to spare the children and end the shift sooner. Four hours in, they’d already moved five tons
. But the Scraptors hadn’t allowed the men to lay rails to roll the carts closer, or the children to rest. In fact, the bug-uglies seemed to delight in targeting them.

  One of the guards cracked his whip. Blue streaked through the air, hitting Ruth on her shoulder.

  The young girl cried out and dropped her pail. Slag scattered across the floor.

  The guard raised his whip again.

  Bei moved to intercept.

  Job stepped in front of him. “Don’t. You’ll make it worse for her.”

  Worse? How could it be worse? The metal handles bent in Bei’s grip.

  The first guard pulled back his hand to strike.

  A second Scraptor moved in his way, caught him about the wrist. “Once is enough.”

  “You are too soft on the inferiors.” The guard tugged on his wrist.

  The second held tight. About the same height, she shoved her face into the others. “This is my quota and the Deutche shall fill it.”

  “Scrumper.”

  The second guard shoved the first one backward until he slammed against the wall, then touched her electrified whip to his chest. “Insult me again, and I’ll rip your armor off your miserable hide.”

  She released him.

  He sagged against the wall.

  Ruth hurriedly scraped up the slag and hustled forward, holding her pail with her uninjured arm.

  Bei walked quickly to close the distance between himself and the girl. He would not allow her to be abused again. “Is that normal?”

  “Loach has been attached to our clan for as long as I remember. She’s light on the discipline provided the tonnage is moved.” Job set one bucket on the ground and dumped the other into the cart. “But she really hates ambitious cornborers who focus on daily quotas, not long term ones. With us and her other team, she always wins the award for yearly production. Winning that scratch makes her happy and keeps our skins intact.”

  Not exactly a friend, but in this life, the clan couldn’t afford to be choosey. Using the lip of the cart, Bei tilted his pails and dumped his slag, filling the sixth cart.

  Addressing his wife, Job reached down for his other bucket. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s exhausted.” His wife knelt in front of Ruth, tugging the burnt fabric from the charred skin. “But the cut is cauterized. She shouldn’t get an infection.”

  Ruth’s shoulders shook and tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I disappointed you, Father.”

  Bei squeezed his eyes closed. To hell with his anti-revenge subroutines, that bastard guard would pay.

  Job cupped Ruth’s cheek, swept his thumb over the moisture. “I’m proud of you, child.”

  Edging beside the couple, Bei crouched on the girl’s right. “In my…clan, such bravery deserves a reward. Would you like a reward?”

  Nodding, she firmed her quivering lips.

  Bei shoved his sleeve up his arm and flipped open the compartment.

  Her eyes widened. “Chocolate!”

  “Indeed. My wife is very fond of it.” Reaching inside he pulled out a piece. It molded to his finger. “Looks like it’s melting.”

  “I don’t mind.” She pulled it off his finger and nibbled on the edge.

  Others gathered around. After a few startled glances most took a piece of candy. When the supply ran low, the adults broke theirs in half to share while the children received a whole piece.

  Dietrich grunted. Moving his jaw back and forth, he worked out a shiny stick and held it out to Bei. “I don’t think this is supposed to be here.”

  “My apologies.” Bei accepted the five millimeter drill bit before sliding it back into its storage slot. Other bits, forceps and transmitters were missing. “I keep a few spare parts handy.”

  Coughing, Job slapped his chest. “I think I swallowed one.”

  “It shouldn’t harm you. Although passing it might be uncomfortable.” Bei resisted scanning the man. The arm compartment had unsettled a few of them enough and they still had four tons to move.

  Ruth picked up her pail and shuffled back toward the slag heap.

  Bei gathered his buckets. “Shouldn’t she sleep?”

  Shaking his head, Job followed. “Not now. She’s caught the Scraptor’s attention. She’ll have to work another hour before we can set her in an ore cart and let her rest.”

  Checking over his shoulder, Bei counted empties. Four more tons.

  Job’s wife reached inside and pulled one sleeping child out and moved him to another cart. Dietrich started pushing the full cart along the rail, while Alfred maneuvered an empty one in its place.

  The line of clansmen snaked toward the heap of ore at the end of the tunnel.

  Bei shuffled after the slow moving line.

  The elevator doors opened and two Scraptors exited. The four guards squared off in the center of the tunnel. Guttural sounds flew faster than their two arms and two clawed appendages as they argued.

  “That can’t be good.” Job jerked his chin toward the Scraptors.

  Admiral?

  Keyes? Bei’s avatar popped up in cyberspace. Alien wingdings streamed past him in a rainbow of colors. In the distance, a Doberman bayed. Great, ET’s antivirus had their scent. What the hell are you doing contacting me now? Rome isn’t due to show up for another hour.

  He isn’t showing up at all. Across the whitespace from him, Keyes tugged on her black curls. They’ve cancelled his pleasure room visit and are taking the men on a double shift.

  The Doberman’s barking grew in volume.

  Bei’s pixelated skin crawled. He’d seen the antivirals rip avatars apart. Activate Rome. Now.

  No need. He activated himself. Keyes forced her arms to her side. The damn dogs had chewed off one leg and part of an arm before I dispersed them.

  Is he damaged? Squeezing between the line of people and the wall, Bei resumed his place near the slag pile and yanked out the shovel. Rocks tumbled down, exposing a dark opening. Sensors picked up the flow of cold air.

  Job nudged his shoulder before holding up his wet finger to the hole. “The legend is true. Generations ago, the clans chased a vein. Just as it neared the end, part of the wall collapsed and fresh air flooded in. That passage leads to the outside.”

  Why the hell would they have you clearing a tunnel that could lead to freedom?

  Because it is trap. For all of the Deutche clan or just him? Report on Rome.

  He’s fine. A little numb in the extremities, but, Admiral, he found personal files.

  The hair on the back of Bei’s neck stood up. Should he take the bait? But where would he go? And how could he abandon the Deutche clan now?

  Job picked up two full pails. “That exit must be why they brought extra guards.”

  “I don’t think so.” Filling a pail halfway, Bei checked the guards.

  Three forced one into the elevator. The one was Loach.

  Ruth stumbled forward to pick up the half full pail.

  Bei stayed her with a hand on her arm. “Wait.” What did the files say, Keyes?

  His communication officer fidgeted. They’ve found the energy signature of our ships.

  Fuck. Bei’s avatar glared at the stream of blue data. Touching the stream, a shock dispersed his hand. Have the ships been captured?

  Negative, but they’re closing in.

  Setting down his pails, Job crouched down to fiddle with his boot.

  The three guards separated. One bumped into Dietrich and knocked the pail from his hand.

  “Sorry.” Ducking his head, Dietrich stooped to pick up the empty bucket.

  “Worthless inferior.” The second brought his whip across the man’s back, splitting open the skin.

  Dietrich tensed and gathered the bucket close.

  Alfred sidestepped around his friend.

  The third guard cuffed him upside the head with his claw.

  Dropping his pail, Alfred raised his arms to catch himself. Blood poured from his split scalp, rivulets carved up his cheek.

&nbs
p; Around Bei, people shifted. Adults shuffled children behind them and looked to Job for instructions.

  Job rose to his feet. Pain darkened his eyes as he watched the men under his care fall under the abuse.

  The Scraptors took turns lashing the men.

  Dietrich went down first. Swaying, Alfred staggered to help his friend.

  What else?

  Keyes waved her hands, creating a net. The Skaperian embassy has been destroyed.

  He hadn’t expected the embassy to be standing. Bei tensed. His pixelated officer stared over his shoulder. All of it, Commander.

  Groat, the Scraptor in charge is planning to carve up an enhanced human corpse.

  With Rome, Keyes and himself accounted for, there was only one enhanced human left. His wife. Get down here. Now.

  We’re already on our way. Computer overload commencing on my mark. Mark.

  At the first stab of loss, Bei activated his armor. Ridges formed along his arms, sliced open his sleeves. Since the Scraptors wanted to test their armor against a Syn-En, he’d grant their wish.

  It would be their last.

  Chapter 26

  Bei slammed the shovel handle against his bent leg, snapping it in half. He handed one piece to the man on his right. The end with the spade, he gave to the woman on his left. “Aim for the back of their necks.”

  The two nodded.

  Around Bei, the Deutche clan quietly filled their pockets with potato-sized rocks.

  Job hefted his own. “What do you want us to do?”

  Bei jerked his head at the leader’s wife. “Get into the opening, clear it out then get the children through.”

  She shook her head. Her coronet shook loose and braids tumbled around her shoulders. “I will fight. Ruth will go. She is a digger born and bred.”

  The little girl bit her lip before nodding. Hands lifted her up. Without a backward glance she wiggled through.

  Bei strode to the front. “Stay behind me until we reach the bug-uglies. Then I want you and you,” he pointed to the two pregnant women. “to wake the other children, get them down here and to safety.”

  They nodded and shifted to the side.