Phoenix is at about 1500 ft elevation. You wouldn’t think that is high enough to effect the length of time it takes for a cake to bake. And yet, it does. Sure, I could blame my oven but I have a thermometer and probe and it’s pretty spot on with the temperature, so it has to be something else.
Usually, this doesn’t bother me.
Usually, my daughter doesn’t text me to let me know she’s getting out of class 15 minutes early. And I was trying to squeeze in making the cake after my Board Meeting.
So I was pressed for time.
And when the time came for me to leave to pick up my daughter, the toothpick was still gooey. Chocolatey gooey, but gooey none the less. And me without a spare child in the house to watch the cake. Naturally I did what other cooks have done, and that was turn off the oven, wedge it open a crack, and leave.
When I returned the oven door had mysteriously been closed all the way but the cake was baked through. So while I know cakes do eventually cook in my over while I hover about (it takes about 30% longer), this time it did so while I wasn’t watching.
Especially as it was a new recipe made with low-gluten spelt flour. Here’s the recipe: http://www.food.com/recipe/super-moist-chocolate-spelt-cake-379950
“Pregnant?” Nell shook her head and tried to step back. Her period had ended just a day ago. She was regular as clockwork thanks to her cerebral interface. “I can’t be pregnant.”
“I beg to differ.” Bei’s arm tightened around her waist and he drew her close. His palm caressed her stomach. The light in his eyes had nothing to do with his synthetic parts.
Chuckles reverberated around the conference amphitheater.
God, she’d almost forgotten about the delegates. Her blood heated and her cheeks burned with embarrassment at this intimate moment in such a public place. At least they’d found a room with a locking door during her morning break.
Bei wiggled his eyebrows. “I could provide video clip proof.”
He had better not! Nell fisted the front of his shirt and rose on tiptoes to look him in the eyes. “Okay, I could be pregnant but it would be only for a few hours.”
She dropped her voice to prevent the delegates from hearing. They already watched her like an untrustworthy pet. They didn’t need to know everything about her.
Hashmarks appeared between Bei’s almond-shaped blue eyes. “There is a heartbeat already.”
Doc squeezed between the conference table and Bei. He set his tan hand on her stomach next to Bei’s. His eyes darkened as he merged with the WA. “I’m running a comparison to see if I can estimate the fetus’s age.”
Two more hands pushed her husband’s aside. Nell pressed her lips together. Why did she feel as if she was in the middle of some game changing huddle, but someone else was the quarterback? The Syn-En were family, but her belly wasn’t some Aladdin’s lamp to be rubbed for luck.
Rome grinned before removing his touch. “Finally, my son will have a family member to torture. And Bei will be more sympathetic to my complaints about snot and diapers.”
Shang’hai shook her head. The beads in her pink dreadlocks clinked together. A wistful expression flit through her ebony eyes. “The second Syn-En baby.”
And Nell’s first. She had an outrageous bounty on her head. How could she even think to bring a child into this world? They were at war. Ohgodohgodohgod. Her heart raced and sweat slicked her palms.
Bei’s touch was a soothing balm inside her head. “I would move heaven and hell to keep you and our child safe.”
Yes, but were his implants that strong? The silver stripes on her arms widened. Her stomach cramps lessened. Combining her superpowers and Bei’s might be enough.
A pale hand appeared next to Shang’hai’s dark one. Apollie’s red eyes blinked away tears and her swollen belly protruded from under her EmpShield uniform. “I would be honored to raise your child, Nell Stafford.”
Bei’s fingers spasmed against Nell’s side. “All our children will be in the same cohort.”
Nell gritted her teeth. These two had better not start debating the merits of a Syn-En cohort or Apollie’s Skaperian child-switching method. So far, nothing was confirmed. She could have a really bad case of gas.
Apollie shoved her long yellow feathers out of her eyes. “Such a privilege would strengthen the bonds between our two peoples. My mate, Gaug is blessed with paternal instinct. He will nurture your son or daughter well.”
The whites returned to Doc’s eyes. “I estimate Nell is four months along.”
Elvis materialized on the conference table. The Amarook’s black feathers were swept back in an imitation of the King of Rock and Roll’s trademark do. “Four months and three days. That is when her scent changed.”
Bei glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”
The wolf-like creature twitched his whiskers. “We couldn’t identify the source of that peculiar smell.”
“Oh, hey!” Nell added her glare to her husband’s. The Amarooks ate heads and entrails. That stuff produced a noxious gas when excreted in cloud form. “Besides, that’s not possible.” Nell swept her hand down her stomach, pushing aside the others. Could there really be a baby there? Joy and fear played leapfrog inside her. “I’ve had my period for the last three months. I can’t be that far along.”
Doc shrugged. “Your physiology is closer to a Syn-En’s than a biologic’s but with your fermites… This is unknown territory.”
Bei glanced at Rome. So did Shang’hai, Apollie, and Elvis.
The Security Chief’s eyes widened. “I don’t bleed monthly. And neither does my wife.”
Doc flipped open his arm compartment with his syringes, IV solutions, and tubing. “The interference started four months ago, and it’s possible her cerebral interface and fermites kept the ovulation process going.”
“So I could be pregnant and still get pregnant?” That wasn’t right. In fact, it was downright mean. Good God, she could be pregnant forever! Just keep popping out babies. Nell’s knees threatened to buckle and she clung to her husband.
Someone cleared their throat. Tapping her walking stick, Ugu shuffled forward. The old Skaperian headed her people’s empire and their branch of the military. Aquamarine eyes twinkled out of a moonpie face. “First, Nell and Beijing, congratulations on the impending arrival of your offspring.”
“Thank you.” Bei bowed in deferment to her position, not her society’s belief that all men were only good for raising children.
“Given what a strong warrior Nell is and that you could almost be her equal, I’m certain your offspring will grow to be a formidable warrior and leader.” Ugu pointed to the crowd with an arthritic finger. “But this is a convention of war. All of our children are at stake. We should return to the task at hand.”
“Indeed.” After bowing again, Bei released Nell and rubbed his hands together. “We have much to discuss.” He brushed his lips across hers before holding out her seat.
Nell sighed. He’d moved her chair between his and Rome’s. She hoped this didn’t set a precedent. She wasn’t giving up her work. She’d done just fine so far, and that was in the critical months of the first trimester. Hooking her boot around the chair leg, she pulled it close as she sat. Her hands dropped to her belly. A baby. A real baby. How could she not have known?
Guenoc, the elephant-human hybrid alien, rose from his seat. “I think Nell Stafford’s pregnancy is very relevant to our plans.” He consulted the hide-bound ledger in front of him and twisted his quill. “We all know that the Syn-En have lost over a hundred-fifty men. The alliance will need more to win this war.”
“I agree.” Behind the front table where Apollie and Ugu sat, a pale delegate rose. Lanky near the point of emaciation, the humanoid male looked like the historical representation of a vampire. Red rimmed his green eyes and two rows of elongated teeth flashed behind his raspberry lips. “But I was under the impression the Syn-En were assembled in a factory on Earth.”
Bei stiffened. Rome’s hands clenched into fists under the table.
Nell set her hand on her husband’s rock-hard thigh. The base of her scalp prickled. The WA was alive and crackling. A bright side for him locking her out.
When Guenoc nodded, his oversized gray ears flapped against his bulbous head. “Wherever they come from, we need more of them. Lots more.”
A computer-generated voice squeaked from the back of the room where the tanks sat. “We need a Syn-En army to serve us like the Scraptors protect the Founders.”
“That’s right.” An insectoid alien pounded two of his eight hairy limbs on the table in front of him. “Humans have always served us. Why should they stop just because they’re sentient?”
They wanted Humanity enslaved again. All of them. Nell’s stomach cramped. To them, Bei and his men were nothing but exotic goods recently brought to market. Would they try to break the Erwar codicils at the end of this war?
The WA fell deathly silent. The Syn-Ens’ anger was a bare, high voltage wire in the room.
Nell sucked cold air through her teeth. The insectoids had bought up old and injured Humans for feedstock. Her gaze slipped to the vampire-like Picaroon. There were rumors these aliens liked their prey alive and kicking.
Omest smoothed his brown hair back from his widow’s peak and bared his elongated incisors. “Certainly, we’ve seen enough Humans repaired with machines. What more could be required?”
All expression drained from her husband’s face. The others were equally stone-faced.
Nell cleared her throat. She’d have to intervene soon.
Guenoc addressed the assembly. “Being that this is a convention of equals, I say we put it to a vote. How many members vote that every available Human be converted into a Syn-En, to protect our freedoms and worlds?”
“They didn’t protect my world.” Shoved to the right side against the wall, a hairless, mole-like alien picked green stuff from between his enormous front teeth.
Bei leaned close to her. “Isea. Their world was the first the Founders conquered.”
And the last battle they’d faced the Scraptor Army on the ground. Nell stood, using the back of her legs to scoot her chair away.
Eyes dropped to her belly.
She raised her chin. Let them look. But if they thought her child was their property, she’d push the babe out of her womb to kick their assorted alien asses.
The aquatic member in the back spoke through his computer interpreter, “I second the motion.”
Guenoc’s quill slid across the ledger as he scribbled the proceedings. “All those in—”
“No!” Ugu whacked her cane against the tabletop and pushed to her feet. Scars marred her apricot cheeks and her white feathers curled around a partially missing ear. Despite her hunched shoulders, she stood tall in her green EmpShield uniform. Red nearly covered her moulded breastplate attesting to her kills in battle. “Skaperians and Humans founded the Alliance. We allowed you in, thinking you could be of service. Instead, you wish us to die while you keep notes and worry about your next meal.”
The Skaperian leader flicked a knobby finger at Guenoc and the insectoid delegates.
Guenoc’s elephantine ears folded against his head and he glanced down.
The insectoid stroked his mandibles. “We should all be worried about food with the number of worlds the Syn-En have lost us.”
“The Alliance lost.” Apollie stood beside her superior. “We are all to blame for the failures. This will not be like the Skaperian Wars. We will not allow any of you to take advantage of the Humans like you did us.” The albino warrior pointed at the delegates, each in turn. “You all benefitted from our victory, but didn’t earn your spoils.”
Omest tugged on his gold earring. “What do you wish us to do? The Erwar Codicils prevented us from building anything but a World Guard Fleet. And most of that has already been destroyed.”
“And that which survived is needlessly thrown away.” Guenoc flapped a skeletal arm at the wreckage on the screen behind the Syn-En.
“I do not see how anything was thrown away.” Nell marched out from behind the table. “The assembly voted to destroy the convoy in the hopes of undermining support for the Scraptor army by making life uncomfortable on the Founders’ home worlds. We did so.”
Omest smoothed his slicked back hair. “But will you the next time? Apparently, not all the delegates in the Alliance are equal.”
The raptor claws on Apollie’s middle toes extended like when she prepared for battle. “When you send us men and women willing to fight, then your opinion will carry the same weight.”
Omest bowed in acknowledgement of the greater service and resumed his seat.
Waiting until the Skaperian sat, Nell continued her report. “The Syn-En have tested our new weapons and have successes and areas of improvement to report.”
At least, she hoped so. She had kinda slept through the mission debriefing.
Guenoc tapped his quill on his paper. “How can you expect any of us to contribute?” He slashed the air with his feather pen. “None of us have technology as advanced as the Skaperians or Founders. And few have been able to achieve anything close to the Syn-En or Nell Stafford.”
Heads nodded around the sloping amphitheater.
And there it was—the prize at the bottom of the crackerjack box: Technology. The Alliance had new technology. One that hadn’t been sabotaged by gremlins. Human technology was reliable, working time after time. Nell rolled her shoulders. Not for the first time, she wondered if the fermites had anything to do with it.
Yet the fermites needed a controller.
If the Founders had mastered the little atomic pests, the Alliance wouldn’t be here.
The insectoids rubbed their arms together, emitting faint chirps. “If we’d known Humans were so adaptable, we’d have improved them centuries ago.”
Nell snorted. “I don’t think salting us is quite the same thing as prostheses or false skin.”
A few in the audience twittered. The insectoid chirped in outrage.
Bei’s presence ghosted through the margins of her subconscious. We do need allies.
Maybe not the kind that see us as a snack. Nell clasped her hands in front of her stomach and paced the dais. “You asked what you can do to help. The answer is everything. Where I come from, when war came everyone pitched in to help. And everyone here will contribute to maintain their membership in the Alliance.”
Guenoc scratched in his book. “How will we be paid for our service?”
Paid? Paid? There were more important things than money or credits. Nell debated showing him a couple of flightless birds. Him and the rest of the chicken heads bobbing about the room.
Bei met her halfway across the dais. “You will be paid with your lives and freedom, if we win. If we lose, you lose everything.”
Ugu thumped and shuffled her way to their side. Her old bones creaked until she stood beside Nell. “I hope you have one of those speeches ready. This bunch will need it.”
Apollie’s red eyes glinted. “She and I have been watching lots of war movies after her shift ends in sick bay. There are many inspiring ideas there.”
Bei arched an eyebrow. “During your rest cycle?”
Nell laced her fingers through his. “Research. Besides it relaxes me.” And takes her mind off the patients she’d treated. “And not all my ideas come from movies.”
Just most of them. Everyone should be grateful that Hollywood and history highlighted some very creative people.
The rest of the Syn-En officers lined up on Bei’s left. Elvis sat directly in front of her. Now, she just had to make certain the united front wasn’t wasted. Great, no pressure. Any minute now, she might turn into a diamond. No, she had her baby to think about. Nell squared her shoulders. “We’ll need production lines to manufacture our new weapons.”
Ugu pointed to the three delegations. “Revtos, Ancers, and Towls had assembly lines well behind the battle zones. We will assess your equipment, assign weaponry, and relay quotas.”
The insectoid blinked his compound eyes. “We have no workers since Human liberation.”
Nell’s grip tightened. They wanted Humanity back in the yoke. Over her dead body. “You have hands, er, appendages that can manipulate tools. You’ll make them.”
“We will ask for volunteers to work in the plants alongside your people.” Bei opened the door to the WA. “But your people will work and I will post a Syn-En at every factory to ensure the workers are not mistreated.”
Several of the delegates snorted.
“We’ll draw up guidelines as to the conditions, hours, and acceptable treatment for any Human volunteers.” Nell had treated many of the refugees from the delegates’ worlds. She wanted absolute clarity of her expectations and little wiggle room. “We need raw materials. Raw materials that your worlds can supply.”
Each of the delegates’ desks glowed as their glass tops changed to a computer screen. Several fell away and swiped at their skin as if something crawled on them. But more leaned forward, entranced by the technology.
“I’ve divided the needed materials between many of your worlds.” Bei’s eyes darkened as he manipulated and sorted data in the WA.
“And who will mine this?” Guenoc’s oversized ears wiggled as he hurriedly copied down the information.
“As I—”
“The Iseans.” Softening her interuption, Nell squeezed Bei’s hand. Everyone had to contribute. Without a world, the Iseans had little to offer in the way of material possessions, but they had mining knowledge in spades. They had survived the Founders’ occupation and risen up to register as sentient on a planet everyone considered worthless. “Humans will work with such skilled miners possessing an impeccable safety record.”
The mole-like alien leaned over his computer. “I see you haven’t an available source for Scandium or Neptunium. We found veins of these in one of the Skaperian systems during their great sleep.”
Nell bit her lip to keep from smiling. If the Skaperians nap had lasted a week longer, they would have lost their home world even though they survived the Plague.
Ugu hissed. A moment later, she shook her head. “See me after the meeting. We will discuss what you need to begin the venture.”
Like a baseball scoreboard, the Iseans’ name appeared next to the two elements.
Nell took a deep breath. The major hurdles were over. In theory, but there was another higher one that might cut the whole enterprise off at the knees. “Those species who don’t wish to offer soldiers to fight in battle, must contribute recruits to the Land Army.”
The words bounced around the room as the delegates tried to make sense of them.
Rome snorted. What the hell is a Land Army? One made of rocks and dirt?
Ping him, why don’t you, Bei? Nell set her free hand on her hip. “We’ll need food, of many varieties and many of you already have agrarian worlds whgarbageere our technology will increase crop yields and efficiency.”
The light flickered in the room as the screens switched to foodstuffs, clothing, and sundries the alliance needed. Necessary tonnage was listed beside the items.
Guenoc’s quill snapped and he chucked it onto his desk, disgust caused his noseflaps to quiver. “We could never produce so much even with double the Human harvesters.”
The insectoid leaned back in his chair and folded two sets of arms over his thorax. “Human labor was never very efficient, no matter the incentive. How do we know these machines will be any different?”
Nell wanted to punch the delegate in the nose. But he didn’t have one, he was too far away, and Bei had hooked his thumb through her waistband. The alien should be thankful, she was being held back from opening a big ol’ can of whoop ass on him. “Our tech works. And our people will work harder, smarter, and faster than ever because they’re doing it for themselves and their children. We’ll give them a number and they’ll deliver. Hope has lit a fire inside each of them, and it burns so bright it’ll incinerate you if you stand too close.”
Bei tugged on her waistband. Don’t be promising things we can’t deliver.
Yeah. Rome’s avatar shouted from cyberspace. Most of our people aren’t in the best shape.
They’ll do it. You’ll see. At least, they did in the movies. And Nell wanted that Hollywood ending.
“Humans have not shown us this so far.” Guenoc spread his gray hands on the open ledger. “In fact, we’re losing the war.”
Heads nodded all around the room.
Bei stilled. If the ETs don’t believe we can win this war, then we won’t be able to.
And they might sue for a separate peace, Rome added, exposing our plans.
“The good guys always lose the war at first.” Nell smiled at as many aliens as she made eye contact with, despite the need to vomit at the sight of them. She knew what they had done to her fellow man. In some ways they were just like the Founders. If the Alliance didn’t need allies… “And everyone here is a good guy. We all expected the Founders to play by the Erwar Codicils because we did. So they caught us unprepared and gained victories. But those achievements are a double-edged sword. They’re getting cocky and overreaching their forces.”
Rome jerked his head toward the screen behind them. “They left valuable cargo undefended. They thought our ship so broken they allowed it past their defenses and suffered for it.”
“Everyone, stand united, do your bit, do more than your bit.” Nell’s attention stuck on the vampire alien. “We will triumph.”
Omest rested his pointy chin on his fingertips. “There are minerals on the list that have no source. Cerium salts and Iridium alloys for example. I might be able to recover enough, if I have the right ship and crew.”
Asshole. Rome’s avatar rolled his eyes and lightning bolts radiated from his pixelated body.
“Speak to Rome after the meeting.” Bei inched closer to Nell. “Now, if there are no further questions, we all need to focus on our assigned tasks.”
Guenoc raised his hand. “Since we Plenipotans have so little to contribute, may I offer our administrative abilities, to help coordinate and report production levels?”
Doesn’t the elephant-man know that’s what computers are for? Rome’s avatar fizzled out of the WA.
“Everyone is welcome to contribute.” Nell glared at the Security Chief. “If anyone has any other skills that might be of use, please let me know.”
The delegates nodded then one by one began to rise. They clustered in groups, slated to provide similar supplies.
Ugu’s grin creased her moon pie face. A white feather escaped her cornrows. “For the first time in six months, I don’t want to kick them out of the Alliance and fight the enemy with just our two species. You have shown Skaperian cunning, Nell Stafford. You’ve even made them excited to help.”
“Thank you.” Nell bowed. The older woman shuffled toward the side doors.
Apollie made an okay sign, but with two thumbs on each hand, it looked almost like an obscene gesture.
Nell flashed her a thumbs-up, much better suited to her species.
Bei leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Do you think Guenoc will still want to help when we replace his quill with a keyboard?”
She jabbed her husband in the gut. Her elbow stopped cold on his armor and pain raced up her arm. “Be nice.”
His blue eyes twinkled. “I will, but you have to do something for me.”
She shivered. He had quite an imagination without seeing Hollywood movies. Best of all, he was scheduled for a four hour break after the meeting. Their bed couldn’t have gotten too cold. “Name it.”
He kissed her nose. “Let Doc examine you.”
Her jaw dropped. “Of all the rotten, no good…”
Bei winked. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Oh, well, when he put it like that. Nell narrowed her eyes. “You’ll have lots to make up.”
Elvis slipped between Bei’s parted legs and wiggled his furry body into the space between them. Grabbing her hand, the Amarook licked it.
Nell tried to jerk her hand back.
Elvis held tight. His snout scrunched and his whiskers twitched. “It tastes…” He stuck his tongue between his fangs then shook his head. “It tastes like a boy. Healthy. Strong. Of course, I will have to sample other Humans to verify that.” He sniffed the air. His ears rotated, ruffling his feathery hairdo. “There is an aftertaste that is quite tangy.”
Doc held out his arm for her to take. “I don’t think I have tangy in my medical database.”
Nell touched him so her fermites wouldn’t shock his circuits. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You can learn much from tasting someone.” Elvis trotted close at her side. “But with your species deadened senses, perhaps it is best to stick with your software and sensors.”
A red bubble exploded in Nell’s head, blasting her equilibrium. She skidded to a stop. Bile surged up her throat. She quickly swallowed it down.
Admiral. Mechanic Montgomery Smith’s worry squirmed through the WA. The rescued Syn-En have arrived in Cargo Bay 2. They’ll confirm that we have a traitor in our midst.
kobo (coming soon)
Admiral Beijing York and his cyborgs are losing the war. With the Founders conquering world after world, desperate measures are called for. Preparing to make the ultimate sacrifice, he and his wife, Nell Stafford, set out on a mission that could turn the tide of battle.
Instead they are captured by the Meek, a race of tremendous power and ability, willing to join their cause. Is this new ally an answered prayer or a deal with the Devil?
Okay, I’m not really new. I still have those odd aches and pains that I had yesterday, but I always like to do something different before I begin a new book.
Usually I download music. Thursday, I cut my hair. Short. Shorter than I’ve had it in a while. It used to hang almost to the middle of my back. Now this:
But it’s all good, except that the cold weather came in.
And I even have bangs.
Now, I have to go and finish my research.
It’s funny how small changes can reenergize me.
But, I might still download a few new songs. Or old ones.
I keep hearing Shooting Star on the radio. My husband says it’s depressing. I find it brilliant, even if Johnny overdoses at the end. The Music is dead, long live the Music.
Chapter 6
Nell stretched on top of the mattress. Her toes skimmed the soft cotton blankets before emerging from underneath them. No warm furry body guarded the bottom of her bed. No downy feathers danced on the currents from the vents. Alone at last. Relaxing, she smoothed Bei’s side of the bed.
Empty.
Okay, so the moment wasn’t as perfect as she wanted. She squeezed her eyes closed. Although her husband should have checked on her once Doc tattled. Her fingers dug into the synthetic fibers of Bei’s pillow. Dragging it close, she curled her body around it. The spicy scent of his soap drifted through her senses. Maybe she should connect to the WA and call him.
With her luck, half the Syn-En aboard would come calling.
Mastering private communication in cyberspace wasn’t as easy as in the last century. But this era did have a six foot, blue eyed, black haired benefit. Rubbing her itchy nose, she opened first her left eye then her right.
Across the bed, their closet doors were open. Bei’s uniforms hung neatly in a row with his boots lined up underneath. One of her tunics sagged half-on, half-off its metal rod and her boots tumbled carelessly over his. A white feather clung to her bra on the deck.
Iggy and Elvis’s cubs had a fondness for her clothing.
Bei preferred they keep their puppy teeth to themselves, especially since they practiced hunting with him as prey. He didn’t appreciate being chomped on by invisible Amarooks.
Giggling, she rolled onto her back. Not that he’d ever hurt a puppy. He always held them by their scruffs and calmly explained why he wasn’t edible. Then he recommended they try chewing on Apollie and the other Skaperian EmpShields.
Nell’s chuckles swirled around the small room. Sensing her movement, the lights slowly brightened and the television screen embedded in the wall over the corner desk clicked on. Captain Pennig, the father figure of most of the Syn-Ens and her husband in particular, spoke calmly from the screen. He switched fluidly from one language to another without pause. Information was relayed to the refugees about where to find food, water, and clothing. Next, he explained how to search for loved ones and where to find their quarters, if they’d been assigned any.
The screen flickered then Nell stared at herself. She chucked her pillow at the image. If she’d known making public service announcements were part of her job description, she’d never have run for office. Heck, she hadn’t run. She’d been drafted.
An alarm blared, silencing her welcome message. Red ticker tape scrolled across the bottom of the screen: Alliance Debriefing. One hour, twenty-seven minutes overdue.
“What! Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Nell sprang from the bed. Fermites swarmed her feet, fitting her with socks and shoes as she walked. The double doors leading to the hall snicked open at her approach. Snatching a protein bar from the desk, she strolled out.
Low pile carpet muffled her footfalls, thudding hollowly down the empty corridor. Her skin itched, and she glanced over her shoulder. No one watched her. Still, horror movies started this way. The solitary heroine. Hallways of closed doors. All that was missing was the creepy musical score. “Snap out of it. This isn’t a movie.”
Heck, hardly anyone had even heard of Hollywood. Her footstep slowed at the tee. A quick glance left, then right. Nobody. Nada. Zip. “‘Cuz they’re already at the meeting. Where you’re supposed to be.”
She bit the corner of the foil wrapper and ripped it. Hunks of nuts and fruits bubbled under the coating of chocolate. Her stomach rumbled. She tore off a bite and chewed. Sugary sweetness chased aside the salty nuts. Man cannot live by chocolate alone.
Thank God, she was a woman with a chocolate survival gene.
At the next intersection, she turned left. Her chewing slowed. No one guarded the elevators. A Syn-En always stood sentry. This level housed all the leaders of the Neo-Sentient Alliance and their families. Access was strictly controlled and enforced. If someone took out this floor, the alliance was over.
And so was the war.
She swallowed her mouthful then allowed the biometric reader embedded next to the elevator door to scan her fingerprints and retinas.
The elevator acknowledged her command with a chime.
The skin between her shoulder blades tingled. Shifting to the right, she eyed the corridor behind her in the reflection of the stainless steel panel. Nobody. Perhaps she should stop watching horror movies for a while. A decade or two at the most. Her leg bounced with impatience. Okay, she could watch the occasional zombie movie.
Zombies weren’t real.
She didn’t think zombies were behind her. So what was watching her? Crickets chirped inside her head. Angling her body, she propped a shoulder against the panel and kept the hall in her peripheral vision. “Ghosts. I won’t watch any more movies with ghosts.”
Not that her vow helped now. Was that a black mass near the third door on the right? Had it just moved? Sweat slicked her palms. Her heart rate increased. “What’s taking so long?”
She pushed the call button again. A sliver of light grew from the top of the elevator and extended to the floor. The bell chimed again, and the doors slid open.
Six Syn-En stared back at her. The grim set of their mouths softened and the darkness left their eyes. As one they raised their right arms. Green diagnostic beams shot out of their wrists, washing over her.
Blond haired cadet London broke first. She tossed her slim arms around Nell. “You are here.”
“Yes, I’m here. I rested just like Doc said.” Where else would she be? Nell patted the young Syn-En’s back. Once released, she stepped inside, presenting them with her back. “And I ate.” She added knowing every word would be reported to Bei. “Now, I’m late for the meeting. Put bunny ears and a cotton tail on me and call me the White Rabbit.”
Bald Cartagena joined London placing themselves in front of her before the doors closed.
Nell shifted back and stepped onto Lieutenant Ecuador’s toe. “Sorry.”
The soldiers formed a close circle around her, like petals on a bud.
Uh-oh. They wouldn’t be so protective unless… Her mouth dried. “Has something happened? Is Bei alright?”
“The Admiral is unharmed.” London’s blond ponytail brushed her collar. “He wishes us to escort you to him. He doesn’t want you getting lost again.”
“Again?” Okay, maybe Nell had gotten turned around two or ten times. But that was at least a week ago. And to be fair, rooms and dead ends now stood where there had been throughways before. It was a very big ship, getting divided into small pieces to make room for all the refugees.
“Lost. Again.” London nodded. She stared straight ahead, red tinged her cheeks. “The admiral asks me to tell you that the next time you find yourself lost, to check in with the nearest station and ask for directions.”
Nell’s jaw swung open. “It’s a pretty straight shot from my cabin to the briefing room.” One she’d walked nearly every day for the last six months. “I hardly think I was in danger of losing my way.”
Although if Nell had known getting lost was a free pass on a meeting or two she might have used it before.
“But you—” London winced.
Cartagena hissed through his teeth and shook his bald head.
Nell’s nape prickled. Bei must have pinged his men, ordered them to be silent. She clasped her hands in front and unlocked her mental door to the WA. A wall of steel blocked her path. That was new. She tapped on it. The sound echoed hollowly around her. Why had he shut her out? What could possibly be so bad that… Her musing screeched to a halt. No. No way. London had said Bei was unharmed. Syn-En didn’t lie.
Did they?
The elevator coasted to a stop. After a heartbeat, the doors slid open. More Syn-En lined the hallways. All nodded to her as she passed but none uttered a sound.
Nell’s fingernails bit into her palms. Her legs twitched with the need to run. “Why are they lined up?”
The soldiers only put on such a display for enemy delegations and funerals.
Her legs wobbled. Oh, God. She hadn’t asked about Iggy, Shang’hai, or Rome. Could one of them have been seriously injured or wounded? Why hadn’t anyone called her? She would never forgive herself if she slept while one of them needed her. Silver streaked her hands and disappeared up her sleeves.
Without a word, London and Cartagena marched forward in lock step.
The other four soldiers waited a heartbeat then moved in formation, sweeping Nell along.
She shook out her hands, dispelling the tension. Bei was alright. The others were alright. Davena Cabo would have fixed them. She was on shift in sick bay. She… A memory niggled at the edges of Nell’s awareness. There was something about Davena… Something…
London and Cartagena side-stepped. The double doors opened to the conference room.
“I do not think we can continue to destroy one ship for every successful raid.” Delegate Guenoc’s voice boomed off of the shell-shaped ceiling and ricocheted around the amphitheater. With his elephantine ears and gray skin, the Plenipotan was a cross between an elephant and a Human. A seven foot tall Human. “While we appreciate—”
Nell stepped into the room and walked down the aisle toward her husband and the Syn-En team sitting on the raised dais at the front of the conference hall.
Facing the delegates, Bei rose from his chair. Wreckage filled the screens behind him.
Doc leapt to his feet and raised his arm.
Bei cleared his throat and shook his head once.
Doc didn’t scan her. He clamped his mouth shut and stood at attention.
Standing beside him, Rome winked at her.
Shang’hai grinned from her position at the far end of the table. Her pink dreadlocks cascaded over her right shoulder.
Heads turned. Murmurs rippled through the audience. A few pointed at her.
Nell squared her shoulders. She’d always had that reoccurring nightmare where she arrived late to take a test. This was just as bad. She glanced down. At least, she wasn’t naked.
One by one, the delegates rose as she passed.
She nodded to the aquatic Horix, bubbling in their tanks. Shook the tentacles of the spidery-limbed Thraxic. Waved to the four-finger humanoid Haracts.
Bei pulled out the free chair on his left. The motion was fluid. His features relaxed.
But she smelled the singed edges of his anger. It was an order. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Of all the days to sleep through the alarm, she’d picked the one where Bei needed her most. She eyed the wreckage as she climbed the two steps onto the dais.
Fabric rustled. Chair legs squeaked. The delegates were resuming their seats.
“Sorry.” Nell bit her bottom lip. “I overslept.”
Rome snorted.
Doc’s black eyes narrowed.
Great, they were playing good Syn-En, bad Syn-En.
Bei pointed to the chair.
Nell rounded the polished stone table. Leave it to her husband to add irate Syn-En to the volatile mix. She hooked her pinky through his.
He stiffened.
Wow! Okay. She’d let him be mad for a little while. Straightening her pinky, she began to lower onto her chair.
Bei caught her about the waist with one arm and flattened his free hand on her belly. His eyes darkened. “You’re pregnant!”
Why No One Retires to the NorthEast
Last weekend I did something I didn’t want to do. I bought a car. I was 5 payments away from paying the last one off.
But we’d been having problems with the vehicle almost from the day we rolled it off the lot. And by that I mean the battery went within 24hrs. 6 months ago, the transmission went. And we had a check engine light that kept coming on for nearly 3 years (the dealership said it was our gasoline that we were using and they’d turn it off for a while) But the last straw was a 5 year old vehicle failing emissions for a computer problem.
Put a fork in it, cuz it was done. I was breathing steam when I got home and told my husband the issues in a very loud voice.
Then, we had to decide if we wanted a new car with the extended payments or pay gobs of money to fix the unfixable. My husband very subtlety let me know he wanted a new one.
Since both of us knew we couldn’t count on Putin keeping gas prices down indefinitely, we went with a hybrid.
We had considered a Ford, but the last Ford we owned kept trying to kill us (which kinda turned us off for life on the brand). While I love my GMC truck, the last two Chevy’s we had were lemons. Giant lemons.
So had to pick between a Honda and Toyota. My folks have a Honda, and my friend plus a sister-in-law have a Toyota. We stopped at the Honda dealer first because it was on the right side of the road. 5 hours later we walked out with a Honda Civic hybrid and another 5 years of car payments.
My husband keeps singing the Jeffersons theme song and feels like he’s in a luxury vehicle. And it is nice.
I just hope it isn’t a lemon.
Chapter 5
“So the little Syn-En have teeth after all.”
Aricose Groat, Commander of the Fleet of the Founding Five Armies, dropped onto the captain’s chair of the Dreadnaught Lunaria. A puff of white shot from the pulverized cushion. His claw appendages thudded neatly into the groves six decades of Commanders had created. His Scraptor flesh itched under his polished red armor. Last year’s model. Yet, he was still paying on the upgrade he’d received six months ago.
Armor the Syn-En had destroyed.
He had yet to make the Human soldiers pay.
“Tiny teeth. Not even Scraptor baby teeth. But teeth.” Groat’s Second in Command, Tridit flipped and twisted knobs on the tactical station to the right of the captain’s chair. Arm-thick cables snaked across the dented deck and disappeared into the console. Tridit’s silver armor glinted in the pulsing emergency lights.
Good thing Tridit was Groat’s best friend. No subordinate should have armor an upgrade higher than his superior. Groat flipped open the side compartment and removed a bottle of oil. He opened the top and squirted a stream onto his upper arms. His stomach bucked at the sickly sweet smell. He didn’t like this new formula.
After admiring himself in his shiny armor, Tridit shoved a panel toward the ceiling of the circular bridge. The dented metal snapped off its hinge and skidded across the buckled deck. “I was afraid this war would end in another month.”
“As was I.” Groat massaged away the itchiness under his armor. Gumdrop lights glowed from the boxy tactical station. The other four stations were dark. They’d been dark since he’d boarded six months ago. Few things on the ship actually worked. His fingers dented his armor. He doubted the Syn-En had to deal with such stinginess. Saliva pooled in his mouth at their technology—cloaking devices, mechanized drones, and bubble-engines.
The Founders had believed such things were impossible.
Groat doubted the scientists had even tried to make them work. The Decripi believed in finding answers to prop up their fragile bodies and nonexistent immune systems. The Accumla cared only about items they could market to increase their revenue. The Unadul were happy to spend money on battle songs and commission portraits of the heroic victories, with their many-limbed selves leading the Scraptor Army. As for the Municians…
Groat hated the pointy-earred, stinky politicians. Especially the one he had aboard. The very one who had tried to blame Groat for starting this war. He rubbed his wrists, feeling the cold bite of manacles from his hours of imprisonment.
Mopus Argent would pay.
Groat just needed an opportunity. And fewer witnesses. His right eyestalk swiveled toward the camera dangling from an open ceiling panel. The red light at the bottom was off. But he didn’t trust that the thing didn’t work.
He’d underestimated Mopus once.
Groat would not do so again.
The double doors behind the captain’s chair squealed as someone turned the wheel to open them. Arcs of electricity danced along the bulkheads.
Groat’s nostrils twitched. A pungent musky smell invaded his bridge.
Tridit dropped onto the seat in front of the tactical station and fiddled with the knobs. The wreckage on the view screen faded out of sight.
“Can’t you hurry up?” Mopus’s deep baritone knocked a few extra ceiling tiles loose. The clatter of metal didn’t disguise the clomp of his hard-soled shoes.
Groat sealed his mandibles and counted to ten, then a hundred. He stopped at one hundred thirty—the number of ways he’d dreamed of killing the stinky politico.
In a swirl of gold-embroidered silk robes, Mopus stomped onto the bridge.
The Munician hadn’t even asked for permission to enter, standard procedure during times of war. Groat’s claws clacked restlessly at the sides of the chair. Many of his daydreams had featured him clipping the lime-green politico’s head off. In pieces.
“Why are you smiling?” Mopus’s skin deepened to emerald.
Groat settled his mandibles over his teeth. “I have confirmed that Beijing York is still in charge of the Human and Skaperian fleet.”
Mopus’s slanted eyes narrowed. “Is? As in present tense?”
“Yes.” When he leaned back in his seat, Groat’s armor creaked.
Spittle clung to Mopus’s worm-thin lips. “You let him live after he attacked the flagship of the Fleet of the Founding Five?”
Groat would pin metal on the Syn-En’s chest for destroying this heap of garbage. Lots of metal. Preferably molten metal. After the Human’s ability to neutralize pain was disabled. Groat cracked his knuckles. The emergency lights flickered off then on. “I didn’t let him do anything. You know that those abominations intercepted our fleet’s schematics on Surlat. I told the Commerce Board we needed to upgrade our systems, but they wouldn’t allocate the funds.”
Not one blessed credit.
Anger was a live wire under Groat’s armor. His muscles twitched. He would love to smash something. Preferably something green, fleshy, and smelling of pheromones.
Pursing his lips, Mopus adjusted his embroidered cuffs. “I have stood behind you, despite your numerous mistakes, but if it ever comes out that you deliberately endangered this ship, I will have to submit a vote of no confidence to Commerce Board about your leadership.”
Fear soured Groat’s mouth and ice formed a skin under his armor. He shook it off. Only five Scraptors knew of his plans. None of them would have betrayed him. They all wanted glory for the Scraptors, and an equal say in the running of the Board. Taking a deep breath, he rose from the chair.
He couldn’t lie to a Munician. The stinky politicos could smell a falsehood. Groat hated that about them. Hell, he hated everything about the smarmy, pointy-earred race. Raising his eyestalks to their full height, he stared at Mopus. “You never supported my nomination. So who would be surprised by the vote of no confidence?”
Mopus blinked. His skin faded from emerald to snot green. “But of course I supported you. That’s why I made certain you were present when the war started. The Commerce Board saw these new Humans as a threat. In a few years, they could dominate the universe, our universe. We arranged for them to stumble upon those crystals, so a war would start on our time table.”
Tridit covered a swear word with a cough.
Groat’s flesh crawled under his armor. It was too ridiculous to believe. And yet… The tactic had been used before. Against other races. “Commander Obko would have mentioned it in his briefs when he stepped down as leader of the Fleet.”
Mopus threw back his head. Laughter tinkled out of his slender throat. “Why would we leave a record of such a thing? If it ever leaked to the Board, we would all lose our heads.”
Groat’s claws trembled. The bastard had implicated him by relaying the conspiracy. “You did not support my nomination, Mopus. You had me locked up after the battle at Surlat.”
“That’s because you did not follow the plan. Thankfully, it worked, but it was a close thing.” Mopus shook a tapered finger.
Groat clicked a claw next to it.
Mopus jerked his finger away. “After that Skaperian vessel chased us through the wormhole, I made certain you had the opportunity to redeem yourself and prove yourself worthy to the Commerce Board. And you did.”
By running and hiding and ultimately scuttling his ship. Mopus’s answer made no sense, but political machinations rarely did. Groat’s eyestalk twitched. He preferred war, torture, and dismemberment. Straight-forward actions that yielded a direct result. His bridge stunk of lies. Lies he couldn’t prove.
But he could prove something.
He caught Tridit’s gaze. “Status of my ship.”
Not that he didn’t already know.
“All systems are offline.” Tridit straightened. His fingers hovered over the switch that would power the forward view screen.
Groat twitched his right mandible. He didn’t want his gambit revealed just yet.
“We have minimal life support.” Tridit’s hand relaxed on the panel but his pinschers clacked. “I hailed the Dreadnaught Sirius. She’ll be able to pick us up with an hour of oxygen to spare.”
Good. Their situation was dire. The flagship had been destroyed. Groat would put forward his request for the new ship’s design.
“What!” Mopus twitched like water on a hot branding iron. “You let them destroy our ship?”
“They invaded our systems. Their ship managed to slip past our outer shields.” The glitch had been timed so perfectly, Groat doubted even Beijing York had noticed it. Groat scratched his chin. It was a delicate line he tread—the enemy must appear strong, while he remained a match for them. “We managed to restore the inner shields but our systems didn’t recognize their intrusion and they overloaded our own weapons.”
Or at least that was his story until he and the Scraptors could figure out the new weapons the puny alliance had created.
Mopus’s nose twitched.
Groat locked his armor. Not so much as a twinge betrayed the lie under the truth. He just had to reel the stinky politico in a little more…
Mopus edged closer. A golden thread unraveled from his cuff. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“As political officer aboard, I—”
“Cut the crap, Groat.” Mopus sniffed through his aquiline nose. “You and I will either rise or fall together. You know it. I know it. Now tell me what you are hiding so I can begin to cover our collective asses.”
Ahhh, so that’s how it went. If Groat failed Mopus would pay the same price. He’d heard the rumors. The temptation to fail was almost too sweet to resist. Almost, but not quite. “The Commerce Board’s thrift is responsible for the losses.”
Mopus twirled about. His robes fluttered like tattered pennants behind him. “There was no reason to increase your budget.” An odd light blazed from his eyes, and he thumped his chest with his fist. “We are winning. We have taken hundreds of worlds. Hundreds, just waiting to be exploited.”
Groat snorted. Could he know something the politico didn’t? Excepting the most recent occurrence, of course. “Those worlds were abandoned. The Founders had plundered their natural resources centuries ago. They left them to the natives, believing they would become extinct within two generations.”
But they had survived. And those species had registered as sentient. Groat’s gut twinged. Was there a lesson to be learned? No, those inferiors hadn’t challenged the might of the Founding Five. But this new breed of Human might, especially when paired with the Skaperians. That threat assessment had come directly from the Scraptors.
And they had kept it to themselves.
Or had they?
“Groat.” Mopus snapped his fingers and tapped his polished shoe in impatience. “Aside from a slight rise in prices to finance bringing the new worlds up to snuff, we live as luxuriously as we always have. As we are entitled to.”
“Prices rose to cover the cost of purchasing pirated goods. Convoys of it.” Groat nodded to Tridit. “The Fleet stretched thin to cover our new territory and subdue the local population. We can’t cover every merchant’s pursuit of profit.”
Especially when it didn’t suit the Scraptors’ purpose.
Tridit flipped a toggle switch on his console. The forward viewer blinked awake. A few ships glowed like coals on a debris cloud of ash. The officer zeroed in on the emblem on one of the private yachts.
The Argent family crest filled the screen.
Mopus inhaled sharply. Covering his mouth with one hand, he raised the other as if to pluck the destroyed vessel from space.
Groat bit the tips of his mandibles to keep from grinning. He’d waited months to stage this. It had to be just the right convoy. Thankfully, his contact in the alliance had passed on the intelligence slip.
Mopus’s fingers curled into fists. “Overload the rest of the weapons batteries. Make it look like the Syn-En destroyed your ship, and I will personally see to it that you get an armada.”
“And I will personally see to it that Beijing York is brought to you.”
“No.” Mopus flicked his fingers. “You keep him. I want his wife. I will make certain Nell Stafford pays for a very, very long time.”
Groat shuddered. There was no honor in what the Municians did. He almost pitied the Human female.
These are from my friend in… you guessed it—Texas.
Enjoy!
Linda Andrews 