Syn-En: Registration Read online

  Ruth inhaled sharply and clutched Miriam’s legs tighter.

  Rogues must be the solitary diggers. And feared. Bei was tired of being feared. He was the good guy, and soon they would all know it. In the meantime… “I shall join the Deutche clan.”

  “You so swear allegiance?”

  Bei nodded. “I so swear allegiance.”

  Shoulders relaxed. A few folks even smiled. Men and women disappeared into their shanties. Children sat on the ground around the electric cookers and accepted bowls of brown broth from the limping man tending the simmering pots.

  Retrieving his knife, Job strode forward. He leaned over Bei and sawed at the ropes. “I’m sorry to hear about your clan. If the Scraptors keep working us this hard, we’ll all be dead before too long.”

  Once free, Bei rubbed his wrists like he’d seen his prisoners do. “Then who would work the mines?”

  “Some other poor alien race. Once we heard Earth had been sterilized from the Surlat strain, we knew it was just a matter of time before we too were killed off.”

  A bell sounded three times in the cavern. Four dozen men, women and children shuffled into a line by the door.

  “I’ll never give up my dreams of being free.” Bei clasped his hands behind his back. Check the official story of Earth. A moment later two files popped up inside his head. One contained the Scraptor’s version of humanity’s demise. The other held the schematics of the guard’s armor. He pushed them aside for later.

  Job offered Bei a shovel. “Freedom comes when our chests are still and our hearts cease beating.”

  Not for much longer. Bei and his Syn-En would see to that. Accepting the shovel, he set the handle on his shoulder, mimicking the other diggers, and headed for the door. “Where do you want me?”

  At the back of the line, preferably, so he could slip away and find Keyes.

  Crooking two fingers, Job motioned for Abraham to join them. “Abraham will stick by you. He’ll let everyone know you’re one of us now.”

  The newcomer was lean, yet muscular. His close-set features crowded together as if afraid they’d fall off his face. “Unlike some other clans, we stick together.”

  Bei forced a smile. Of course, the spy would be sicced on him. Escaping would take a little more finesse than he thought. “Glad to have you at my back.”

  Abraham flashed yellow teeth. “Likewise.”

  Something tugged at his shirt. Bei glanced down.

  Ruth held a covered lunch pail up to him. “I brought your dinner.”

  “Thank you.” He hooked the handle in two fingers. Warmth radiated from the metal.

  Instead of staying behind, she picked up a bucket and walked at his side. Ropes of muscles banded the harsh angles of skin-covered bone. “Mom says if we get ten tons done today, we’ll get flour. Do you think you can do it?” She blinked at him. “It’s been ages since we’ve had bread.”

  Bei patted her head, smoothed her soft hair out of her face. So young to be forced to work in a mine. Even Earth wouldn’t allow it. “You’ll get your bread.”

  Abraham snorted. “Don’t be making promises you can’t keep.”

  “I wasn’t.” Bei switched the man to the watch list. His negativity wasn’t good for anyone’s survival. Hope fed the soul, freed the spirit. Nell had taught him that.

  He’d give them their ten tons, even if he had to dig it out himself. And while he worked, he’d finalize his escape plans.

  And, if Abraham got in the way, Bei would kill the traitor.

  Chapter 9

  Arms windmilling for balance, Nell slid to a stop. The welcoming committee didn’t seem very pleased to see her.

  Aliens lined both sides of the street. A half dozen, ten-foot tall, green ones with rectangular heads, glittering bubble eyes and sharp spines on their front arms reminded her of praying mantises. If praying mantises wielded pruning shears and looked like they wanted to lop off her limbs.

  Handfuls of orange, red and yellow mophead type aliens rolled back and forth in front of her, pausing long enough to snap their pointy beaks.

  With mouths like that, they probably didn’t need weapons. Nell would feel more comfortable holding a double-barreled shotgun. Or with some back up. Mom? Elvis?

  Nothing.

  Mom she could understand. But Elvis was under the embassy’s force field with her. Had they gotten to him first? Is that why she couldn’t feel the Amarook’s presence in her head? She took a deep breath. She could do this. She used to be an executive secretary for pity’s sake.

  “Hello.” Her voice sounded high-pitched inside the helmet. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

  The praying mantises shifted on spindly legs.

  One hooked a forearm around a marble column and scrambled onto the curved balcony. Thin mandibles curled and uncurled like a living Fu-Manchu mustache when he spoke. “What is it?”

  It? Nell stiffened at the deep baritone. She wasn’t an it; it was an it. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Nell Stafford.”

  Six mopheads rolled over to her. Half-inch thick, pink ropes slapped her boots before the raggedy creatures retreated and stacked themselves one on top of the other. The top fuzz ball could almost look her in the eye. “Armor. Shielding. Must be a Scraptor.”

  Unfortunately, Nell couldn’t see a single eye under the ropes. “A Scraptor?”

  Those ugly scorpion things? Why on earth would they think that? She propped her hands on her hips. Motion caught her eye. She blinked at her reflection in the picture window visible between the towering mantises.

  Good Lord, she was such an idiot.

  “This is a uniform.” Her gloved hands swept over her helmet then down her uniform.

  “A sickly Scraptor.” Fu-Manchu mantis gestured with his left forearm. The row of spines glinted in the sunshine. “I have never seen one so skinny.”

  “I’m not a Scraptor.” Neither was she particularly skinny, but she’d take the compliment and hope it wasn’t her last. Nell tugged on the straps of her helmet.

  The crowd backed up a few steps. The stack of mopheads scattered like billiard balls.

  Garden implements wavered in the Mantises’ spear-like hands.

  Guess they were more afraid of her, than she was of them. Although, it was a close race.

  “It’s okay.” A wave of sand washed down her back when she twisted off the helmet. Strands of her hair crackled with static electricity. Tucking her helmet under her arm, she smiled at the group. “See. I’m human.”

  The welcoming committee didn’t move.

  Was that a good or bad thing? “Do you know what a Human is?”

  She bit her tongue to keep from talking farther. She couldn’t take them all on; she was outnumbered by a lot. She would play nice, until another option presented itself.

  “Get Pet. He’ll know what to do.” Fu-Manchu leapt off the balcony and landed softly two feet in front of her. “You are deformed for a Human.”

  Two pink mopheads tumbled between the legs of the other mantises and bounced down the street.

  Nell hoped who or whatever Pet was, he was friendlier than this bunch. “I’m not deformed. I’m covered in survival gear.”

  Reaching up, she unhooked the first aid kit and slowly lowered it to the ground.

  A trio of mopheads swarmed it, moving in a froth of orange and red dreadlocks.

  “Medical supplies. Suitable for Humans.” They chorused in squeaky voices before retreating.

  Fu-Manchu stroked the box. “And your deformed back?”

  Nell unbuckled the clasp under her breasts and shrugged off the pack. “These are my survival supplies.”

  Setting it on the ground, she raised her hands to her side and backed up a step.

  The mopheads surged toward it.

  The helmet dropped to the street, bounced twice and landed right on top of a red mophead. It squealed like a pig, then the alien ran in circles. “Help! Help! I’m being eaten!”

  Its friends trembled on top of the pa
ck, while the rest of the crowd scuttled away.

  Nell clamped her hand over her mouth. Laughter lodged in her throat and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

  “Calm yourself, Idge.” Fu-Manchu flicked the helmet off the poor creature.

  “I was going to die. I know it.” Idge, the mophead, flipped over. Its beak parted as it panted.

  Fu-Manchu set his hand on the traumatized mophead. “A helmet is for protection, not nutrition.”

  Nell cleared her throat. Actually, the Syn-En gear could do both, but they didn’t need to know that. “Your friend is right. The helmet protects my head. It doesn’t hurt anyone. I am sorry that you were frightened.”

  Bending low, she reached out to Idge.

  He flipped over and scrambled backward.

  So much for being nice. Her fingers curled into fists and she straightened.

  Fu-Manchu rubbed his forearms together. “The Padgows don’t appreciate being touched by strangers. Their tentacles are quite sensitive.”

  Tentacles, not fur. She’d have to remember that. “I see.”

  The Padgows retreated from her backpack. This time they formed a double-stack. “We have found a weapon. Unknown design. Yet, suitable for human hands.”

  “The Torp SK-7 is standard issue and shoots only energy.” Enough to stun or kill an enemy. Who knew if it would work on these guys? Nell held her breath. She’d forgotten about the weapon. Maybe she earned brownie points for not carrying it.

  Fu-Manchu drew the spines of his forearm across the pack, slicing it open. His blade-like hands moved like chopsticks as they rummaged inside. Finally, he hooked the trigger guard and lifted the gun free. “Since when are humans allowed to carry weapons?”

  The crowd parted and a human male walked through.

  “Humans aren’t allowed to carry weapons.” No stubble clung to his rounded jaw and his black hair was bound rigidly behind his head. Brown eyes narrowed as they raked her from head to toe. Muscles rippled under his wooly tunic and leggings.

  Nell resisted the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. “Look, I—”

  Fu-Manchu clucked. “She is not one of yours, Pet?”

  Pet shook his head. His mouth turned down for a moment. “No.”

  Nell took a step toward him. If these guys would stop interrupting, she could tell them of her mission. “If you’ll just let me explain—”

  Rising on his double set of hind legs, Fu-Manchu raised one serrated arm. “Then we have no choice.”

  The dozen or so other mantises mimicked his posture.

  “Kill the Human female.”

  Chapter 10

  They were going to kill her. Nell’s heart shrunk into a hard ball in her chest and her mouth dried. She didn’t come all this way to end up dead. “Now just a minute!”

  Looming on her left, Fu-Manchu swung his forearm.

  Nell dove for the pavement. Air stirred her hair from praying mantis’s slashing. “I come in peace.”

  She mentally smacked herself. She just had to say the most overused movie line ever. One that was guaranteed to get her killed. She raised her chin.

  A dozen mopheads rushed toward her, beaks clacking.

  Bars of shadows crisscrossed her position.

  Good Lord, all the big bugs where getting ready to strike. She rolled across the street.

  Fu-Manchu chopped downward. The pointed tip of his arm pierced the asphalt.

  Nell swallowed hard. Padgow ropes lashed her face, raising stinging welts. She hissed through the pain and jumped to her feet. “You don’t have to kill me!”

  “Yes. We must.” Raising his other forearm, Fu-Manchu dropped the stun-gun.

  The weapon clattered against the pavement.

  She had to get that gun. It was her only option. Twisting sideways, she avoided another swipe.

  The Padgows regrouped and charged. Each tentacle stood on end as the creatures zoomed across the ground.

  The better to reach her, she’d bet. Nell booted the closest one.

  With a high-pitched squeal, the red mophead soared over the sole human, Pet.

  Too bad she hadn’t hit him square in the face. The guy deserved it for not sticking with his own species. Jerk. She bent backward like an olympic limbo contestant, narrowly avoiding another swinging forearm. “This is not a fair fight.”

  Not that fighting even one of the ten-foot tall, green slice and dice aliens would be a fair fight. Dictation, writing memos and photocopying were hardly lethal weapons.

  Pet crossed his arms over his thin chest. “If you stop dodging, the end will come quicker.”

  “No shit.” She didn’t want to end, that’s why she aped a Human pretzel? For her health? Well, actually… Focus. She had to find that weapon.

  A jolt of pain shot up her knee.

  Looking down, she spied two mopheads clinging to her boots, using their antennae to crawl up her leg. Damn, the buggers were fast. Leaping to the side, she shook off one Padgow. The other, she kicked into the swarming mob of pink and red.

  The balls rolled in all directions. Most stopped when they plowed into the legs of the praying mantises.

  The big green guys yelped and hopped to free their legs.

  Karma was a bitch. Doubled over, Nell sprinted through an opening. Metal glinted on her left. There. Two feet away. She dropped her arm. Her fingers skimmed the barrel just as something slammed into her side, sent her spinning through the air.

  The breath left her lungs. Dark spots ate at her vision. She turned in time to see another green arm swinging at her. Don’t look. Don’t look. Her eyes refused to shut. She was going to die.

  Elvis appeared in front of her. Teeth bared and claws outstretched, he latched onto the limb. Growling, he shredded and twisted, ripping it from the alien’s body.

  Fu-Manchu screamed and cradled the injury close. Blue blood dripped from the severed forearm, sizzled where it landed.

  Hitting the ground, Nell rolled unto her back, slid across the pavement. Heat burned up her spine from the road rash.

  Elvis spat out the carnage and tore into the Padgows.

  Their tentacles rained red, yellow, and pink confetti on the road as they squealed and glided away.

  Diving through the air, Elvis clamped onto another praying mantis. He twisted the alien’s knee at an unnatural angle. With one hind foot, he kicked the Torp SK7 at her.

  Images of her firing on the alien lynch mob filled Nell’s head. Like she needed to be told. Catching the cool metal barrel, she thumbed off the safety. The stun-gun hummed to life against her palm. Setting her finger on the trigger, she raised the weapon.

  Elvis lunged and spun, slashing and burning like a ninja with knives in each of his paws and hands.

  The aliens howled and retreated. Pruning shears, hedge trimmers, and scythes littered the pavement. The mopheads leap-frogged over each other, heading toward the topiaries near the marble porches.

  Pet’s brown eyes widened and his tightly bound ponytail stood straight up.

  Nell blinked. The mean aliens were leaving. The gun wavered in her hand. “Elvis?”

  Blue blood streaked the Amarook’s fur. Landing on all fours, he spat a wad of goo onto the street. “I do not know which tastes worse—the Padgows or the Ck’son.”

  The praying mantises were called Ck’son. Nell filed the information away for later. “I think we won.”

  He had tipped the fight in her favor. Amarooks were quite fearsome hunters. He could sing Elvis tunes at the top of his computer voice forever and she wouldn’t complain.

  The Ck’son leapt onto balconies, then rooftops to scurry away. Trails of blood clung like blue silly string to the marble facades.

  Elvis’s blue eyes narrowed. His hands stroked his fur, shedding it of the stinging tentacles while stalking toward Pet. “We should kill them all. Teach them not to mess with our alliance.”

  Pet blinked. “It’s…it’s an Amarook.”

  The guy wasn’t the sharpest Crayon in the box. Nell gathered her legs
under her body and pushed up. Pain girded her torso, scattered her thoughts. This was why she hated fighting—it hurt.

  “But… but they’re extinct.” Pet shook his head.

  Elvis’s hind quarters dropped as he hunkered closer. The hunter was back.

  “Obviously not.” Nell trained her gun on the man. He wasn’t smart enough to leave with the others, but he could still serve a purpose. He owed her for almost getting her killed. “Now, I want you to take me to…” She swallowed the words ‘your leader.’ That line never worked out well in the movies, either. “To the ambassador’s house.”

  Pet swayed on his feet. “Amarooks have trained humans to look after them?”

  Elvis rose on his hind legs, fisted Pet’s wool tunic and shook the guy. “Amarooks look after each other.”

  “But…But, she…” Pet pointed to her.

  Nell’s head started to throb. Did the Skaperian ambassador think stupid was an admirable trait? “Hey. I have the upper hand now, so stop ignoring me.”

  Pet blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Obviously.” Nell held her breath as she bent over and retrieved the first aid kit. The painkillers would have to wait. She needed to get to the ambassador, needed to get help finding and freeing Bei and the others. “I’m going to break this down into steps. Pick up my backpack.”

  She kept the stun-gun’s muzzle pointed at him.

  “Good idea.” Elvis trotted toward the corner. He flashed an image of his pack and a hedge of bushes at her.

  Pet walked forward calm as you please. “You can stop pretending that is a weapon. No master arms his slaves.”

  “I’m not a slave.” Nell dialed the Torp-SK7 to its lowest setting and pulled the trigger.

  Blue light burst over Pet’s arm. Gritting his teeth, he slapped at the spot. “That hurt!”

  “That’s the lowest setting. It can kill at higher ones, so don’t try anything stupid.” She smiled. Revenge had its merits.

  After raking spilled packages into the sliced bag, Pet gathered the bag up and stood. “If the Amarook isn’t your master, why are you with him?”

  “This too.” Nell nudged her helmet in his direction. The visor’s weight steered it to the right, away from him. “Elvis and I are part of a scouting party.”