by Eve Langlais
The next cabinet held bins filled with metal bits, bolts, and wiring. Spare parts.
She hit success at the fourth attempt, finding an oversized shirt, but the pants were hopelessly large for her frame in spite of her full hips.
Underwear and shirt would have to do.
Eyeing the ladder that popped just above the floor level, she wondered where he was. A nameless cyborg. How many people had he killed?
Or was he a misunderstood, wounded soldier like the ones the conference talked about? A metal man with a beating heart in need of a woman’s touch.
She shook her head. Not my touch. The man, robot, whatever the hell you called him, was a monster.
Yet she couldn’t forget the kiss. That moment where, for a second, everything felt perfect, passionate, full of possibility. Then he’d rejected her, shattering that fantasy.
Throwing the blanket over the ladder and the hole, the fabric giving her some warning should he arrive, she yanked off the boots first and sighed as her feet got to breathe. The pants were next, not dreadfully uncomfortable, but her skin revived as air hit it. Air from where?
She turned around and looked for a vent as her hands began playing with the knot in the corset. The string parted, and she began cracking its ribs, her chest expanding. It peeled off, and she let it fall to the floor. She never planned on wearing that again.
Her thin chemise clung in ways that were not appropriate, not to mention she’d sweated under the confining vise.
The damp fabric brought a moue of distaste.
A wet cloth would be nice for a wipe down. But where would she find one? She ran her hands along the counter, looking for a sink, conscious she wasted time and yet loath to change without at least trying.
Halfway around the room, a panel slid open. A sink appeared, undermounted, the material a seamless match for the cupboards. She didn’t see a faucet. She rubbed the edge of the sink. Then waved her hand inside. It triggered a little waterfall, the fluid lukewarm, not quite clear. But it didn’t stink. A hand brought to her nose and a strong sniff showed it lightly scented, something pleasant and clean.
She peeled off her shirt and soaked it before rubbing it on herself, over her breasts, down her belly. She even stuck it in her panties for a quick wipe. Interestingly enough, she didn’t have to pee. Underwear was dry. She must have been dehydrated.
Feeling refreshed, she donned the large shirt. Just in time, the sheet over the ladder billowed.
It got sucked down the ladder out of sight, and he arrived, as wide as she recalled, a smirk around his lips. “Did you really think a sheet would stop me?”
She doubted an armored tank could. “You!” she exclaimed.
“Yes.” He hooked a thumb in his belt and leaned against the glass dome, which proved a freaky effect given the stars whizzing at his back.
“You knocked me out,” she accused.
“I did.”
She waited. It didn’t happen, so she prodded. “This is the part where you apologize for your actions.”
“But I’m not sorry.”
The flat truth stole some of her righteous thunder. “I guess you’re not sorry for kidnapping me either.”
“Not particularly.”
“Do cyborgs not have a conscience?”
“It’s pronounced Siyborgh,” he specified.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You used a slang pronunciation. The true name of my people is Siyborgh.” He slowly enunciated each syllable with a twirl at the end.
“Poe-tay-to, poe-tah-to,” she mocked. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?
“Do you have a conscience?” Possibly not the brightest thing to ask. Because if he didn’t have one, then she could be in serious trouble. The deadly kind. The gear thing ripped out of her face and her carcass ejected into space.
When he did finally answer, it did not assuage any fears. “We do what must be done.”
“Even if it hurts people?”
“Who did I hurt? It was not I who attacked first. I merely defended myself.”
And he was splitting hairs again. “Are you going to kill me?”
At that, he presented her with a slow grin. “And finally, we come to the heart of your true concern.”
“Well?” Asked impatiently as she resisted an urge to tap her foot.
“If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
The scenery at his back kept changing. Moving. “What are your plans for me? What happens next? You’re taking us somewhere.”
“What gave it away?” He arched a brow.
“Don’t be a dick. Where are we going?”
“A place with the medical knowledge to deal with the cog in your head.”
The reminder sent her hand to her cheek. The metal sticking out of it was warm, and was it her imagination or did it seem deeper than before, more embedded in the skin?
“Is it far? Where is it?” A better question than asking what would happen when they removed it.
“A useless question.”
“I want to know,” she insisted.
He shook his head and made a noise. “What will knowing do? Any name or coordinates I mention will mean nothing because we are going somewhere that your Earth has not even imagined, let alone seen.”
He spoke as if he were alien. Looking at him, knowing what he was capable of… “You’re a cyborg.” Only the tightening of his face let her know she’d mispronounced. “Sorry. I don’t know you by any other name.”
“You shouldn’t know of us at all.”
Being careful with her pronunciation, she said, “The only Siyborghs I know of are those in the movies.” She didn’t mention the fact it often wasn’t a flattering comparison.
“Theater production?” His lip curled.
“Cyborgs don’t exist.” She slipped up.
His lips pressed tight.
She hastened to add. “In the movies, they’re a meld of man and machine.”
“A crude method to describe my people. We are much more complex than that.”
“Didn’t you call me a barbarian?”
“Just telling the truth.” He shrugged. “Your planet is primitive in many ways.”
Dissed for being human. It roused her planetary pride. “If you ask me, you’re the barbarian. What kind of evolved society accosts women? Only a misogynistic one.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at how you’ve treated me.”
A sneer should have been ugly, not sexy. “You’re right. I haven’t treated you like I would a male. I saved you from getting shot. And I also didn’t slit your throat and peel the cog from you. Are you so simple minded you’ve yet to realize there are two ways this can end?”
The hard swallow was impossible to stop. “You can’t kill me.”
“Why not?”
“Because that wouldn’t be nice.”
At that, he snorted then chuckled. “Nice. Why would I be nice?”
“Because you’re human like me. Kind of. With extra metal bits.” Hard to miss the moving mechanical parts when he peeled the glove from his hand.
He tossed the glove onto the counter. It sank in and disappeared.
“Where did it go?”
“Do not distract with basic ship function questions. We will address your erroneous thought that we might be related. The Siyborgh are not human.”
“Are you sure? Because you look pretty human.”
Definite tic by his eye. Vein jumping or clogged oil duct?
“We are both bipedal organisms, with similar limbs and general structure, but that is it.”
“Dude, you have two eyes, one nose, one mouth, cheeks, eyebrows. That’s more than a few generalities.” Aggie felt a need to point it out. She wondered, if he got mad enough, would steam would come out of his ears?
He didn’t combust. But he did argue. “The Ikor also have the same parts, yet we are not related.”
> “Or are you?”
Rather than explode, he flatly stated, “We are not related.”
He could say it as many times as he liked. She had a hard time seeing him as an alien. But he, apparently, had no problem. As a matter of fact, his attitude reeked of elitism, which was why she decided to mess with him. “I’ll bet Earth is a long-lost colony of the cyborgs. Probably explorers, originally, who crash-landed on Earth, lost all knowledge and contact. Reverted to more primitive ways. Maybe this is the reunion we’ve been waiting for.”
The disdain in his expression proved eloquent. “Utter nonsense.”
“No, it’s not,” she huffed defensively. “I’m pretty sure I read about something similar to that happening before.”
“Read?”
“In a book. You know paper bound into a rectangular object.”
He shook his head. “Barbarians.”
“If you’re so advanced, how come we’re not at this planet yet?”
“Space travel takes time.”
The nonchalant way he said didn’t make her faint again, but she did feel dizzy. She sat down on a chair and placed her hands in her lap, hoping to keep the shirt from riding up any farther.
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Like pulling teeth,” she muttered. “Could you be any vaguer?”
He didn’t reply.
Eyeing him, she saw the amusement in his face. Now he was doing it on purpose.
She touched her cheek. “Are you sure this won’t come out if we tug it or maybe rub oil or lemon juice on it?”
A shake for each suggestion. “It is bonded to your flesh. Only surgery or death will remove it.”
Neither appealed. Then again neither did having a big ol’ gear in her head. Why me? What had she done to deserve this crazy ride?
She rubbed a spot between her eyes. “You know, all I wanted was a nice girls’ weekend. Find some new books to read. Maybe let loose a little bit. I didn’t ask to be kidnapped by a steampunk cyborg.”
“Your own fault. If you’d handed over the medallion when I first asked, then I would have left before being accosted.”
She glared at him. “Don’t you dare blame me. What else was I supposed to do when a strange guy tries to grab my boob?”
“Enjoy it.”
Heat flared in her at the idea. He had very big and capable hands.
Violent hands.
Which should have been a turn-off.
Tell that to her wet panties.
“Guess I don’t have much of a choice.”
“About time you realized it.” The sarcasm was strong in this one.
“Where’s the rest of your crew?” A not so subtle way of inquiring.
“Just me.”
“What are we supposed to do?”
“We,” he stressed, “are doing nothing. I will fly this ship.”
“Ship? That seems kind of overreaching given it’s like a giant egg.”
“What other shape would it be?”
Off the top of her head. “Saucer.”
“Yes, there are some that prefer that style to the sphere.” His sneer said what he thought of those people.
“What about the great big death stars with stormtroopers?”
He eyed her.
“Ordered around by a dude in a black cape who breathes hard?”
“Are you going to ask a discernible question at any point?”
“Yeah, what’s your name?” Because repeatedly calling him “asshole who kidnapped me” might not be conducive to her continued good health.
“Jwls Vrr’n.”
“Excuse me, did you say Jules Verne?”
“Your accent is off. It’s Jwls. Vrr’n.” He repeated it slowly, the consonants rolling with a strange burr.
Having read all her classics, she snickered. “Please don’t tell me your ship is named the Nautilus.”
“The vessel has no name.”
“How do you identify it then?”
“It’s mine.”
“But all ships have names.”
“Not this one.”
“Can we call it Nautilus then?”
“No.”
“How about Notti?”
He glared.
She couldn’t help but push one more button. “Do you know a captain named Nemo?”
A shake of his head and a sigh. “So much nonsense. I can see why PISS is all over. Your people are much too behind to join the rest of the universes yet.”
The plural on universe intrigued, but a more pressing question struck her first.
“How come, if you’re not human, and not from Earth, you speak such good English?”
He tapped the shell of his ear. “Auditory cog of linguistical comprehension.”
She blinked at him.
“Embedded translator means I hear speech in a way I can understand and, because of my lingual gear, speak the native tongue.”
Handy. And he’d said something interesting. “You said cog. As in a machine part. You have one of these in your body?” Again, she lightly touched the piece in her cheek.
“Many.”
“Why? Are you sick?” she asked. Because Earth had its share of artificial replacement parts, but people only used them if the organ failed first.
“We take the tech into our body to enhance ourselves.”
“You get rid of flesh for metal parts on purpose?” She wrinkled her nose.
“Only if we can find the right latmevilium part.”
“What is lat-me-vil-ium?” She tried to pronounce the odd tongue twister.
“In simplest terms, living metal. If properly cast and carved, it can elevate certain aspects of a biological being.”
“I take it this is made of that special metal?” She tapped her cheek and the gear stuck to it.
He nodded. “A highly prized piece.”
“So it’s normal for it to attach itself?” Said with a wrinkle of her nose. Parasite metal. Now that was some alien shit.
“All it needs is an open wound and blood.”
“How many do you have?” she asked.
“As many as I can afford.” He shrugged. “The Siyborgh begin acquiring cogs as teens once our growth is deemed done.”
“Why not before?”
“It can stunt our development.”
“I’m having a hard time grasping why you voluntarily put metal pieces in your body. Why?” Because the very idea baffled.
“Each new gear enhances aspects of my performance depending on the quality of the cog.”
“What’s this one do?” Her fingers traced the hot edge of hers.
He shrugged. “Not sure if it does anything on its own. It’s part of a larger set. The creator had the pieces scattered.”
“And you came to find it.” The spot between her brows still throbbed with all the information. “I am assuming this thing is valuable. You want it something fierce.” Susan and Viola wanted it, too. And yet… “Mina wanted it gone, though. Why?”
“Myriad reasons. The first being what happened. A less than discreet battle over possession of it. PISS takes its business seriously. But the bigger reason is the metal is sentient and, under the right conditions, can be invasive, corroding all other metals around. Without proper containment, it can possess organisms. It must be controlled.”
“Sounds bad and yet you’re putting it in your body.” She couldn’t help but mention.
“Because, if properly handled, it can mean the difference between life and death.” He pushed away from the window. “The latmevilium is life for the Siyborgh. Before we found it, we were a people suffering. Years of famine, the residue of war, left us sickly. Imperfect. Then we found the first gears. Making use of the cogs has taken away disease. Healed injuries once considered catastrophic. It makes us better than we are.”
“Almost sounds like a drug.” With no side effects other than failing the metal detector at the airport.
“There is a certain euphor
ia attached to the living metal in our body. Surely you feel it?”
No, she mostly felt anxious and sick about everything that had happened. And her stomach was cramping. She really hoped her period didn’t choose to start this very second.
“Does it hurt?” Because, while her skin no longer ached, her humanity cried for what it lost.
“The first one can be agony, especially the more powerful gears. It is recommended the first be a minor cog. Something to ease the transition, easily upgraded later.”
“Upgraded as in cutting it out and having another one take its place?” She cupped her cheek. “Is that what they’ll do to me?”
“I am not a doctor.”
A sidestep of an answer. “It’s weird. And wrong. You shouldn’t be doing weird shit to your body.”
“Do you not subscribe to self-improvement as a goal?”
“I don’t think stuffing alien metal parts into your body can be considered a goal. Speaking of stuffing, why did it melt into my cheek? It was touching my cleavage just fine.” And a gear in her boob was a lot easier to hide than her face.
“The latmevilium needs blood to activate. Blood feeds the metal. Starts the bonding process.”
“A vampire cog. Even better.” She sighed. “This is just great. My choices are to die or possibly end up with a hole in my face.”
“I don’t understand your complaint. You lived.”
“I’m on a spaceship, wearing your clothes, heading to somewhere freaky, to get a leeching cog out of my face. Surely you see my problem.”
He eyed her, lingering on her bare thighs peeking from the hem. “That’s my shirt.”
“Yup.” She crossed her arms. “Me wearing your clothes is what happens when you abduct me and don’t let me pack first. Would it have killed you to at least grab my suitcase?”
“I can fix the clothing issue.” He circled around her to a cupboard, one she’d yet to explore. He pressed his palm on the surface, and it lit with a screen a little higher tech than the stuff she’d seen below.
A glowing symbol appeared in the air, and a voice spoke, the sound of it tinny and agender. “What would you like to construct today?”
“Show me garments.”
All kinds of images appeared in front of him, hanging like fat and oddly colored blobs. So many of them, some impossibly shaped.
He grumbled, “Sort to show only garments that will fit a bipedal organism.”