by Cara Bristol
She shuddered as remembered terror clogged her throat.
A muscle twitched in the captain’s cheek.
“I did not realize the canine wasn’t organic.” His gravelly voice almost sounded apologetic. “But I can’t allow a bot to run amok and attack people.”
“You’re the only one he bit.” Other than the alien who didn’t count. She hugged Sparky tighter.
“You’ve only been aboard since yesterday afternoon. It hasn’t had a lot of opportunity.” He raked a hand over his military buzz cut. “If you’ll agree to keep the bot deactivated, I’ll allow you to keep it.”
“I will. I promise,” she said.
“You should have it reprogrammed when we reach SSO15.”
“I’ll take care of it,” she lied. The aliens had destroyed everything she owned. Everything everybody owned. Sparky had been a gift from her father, who’d died when she was a teenager. He’d programmed the K9-500 with his unique personality. She wouldn’t change one mannerism or one synthetic hair on his little doggie body. Sparky wouldn’t be Sparky if he was reprogrammed.
She fidgeted and shifted him in her arms. Due to his mechanical and computer innards, the bot was heavier than he looked. She’d never had a real dog, never had seen one other than in vids, but imagined they were just like him, except for his electrically charged metal teeth. He’d probably given the captain a shock while biting him.
“You can set the bot down.” Stone’s mouth twitched. “It’s safe from me.” His token amusement vanished when he asked, “Have you eaten? You’re too thin.”
She blinked at the about-face. “I, uh just ate.” She’d lost nearly two stone. Food had been one of the first items the crew had offered the survivors, but she’d been in no condition to eat when she’d first boarded. The horrors of Verde Omega had left her shell-shocked, unable to process even simple tasks. She and Althea, her cabin mate, had huddled in their quarters. In the morning, they were feeling a little stronger emotionally so they’d ventured to the mess hall where Miranda had eaten her first meal in weeks.
“Good. If you require anything, contact Mr. Ochoa or Lieutenant Commander Brack, my first officer. You’ll see her around the unit. She’s here to facilitate your recovery.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said, both anxious and oddly reluctant to escape his stern presence. She had no idea where she’d found the courage to challenge him and why she would want to spend even a second in his company. The man was scary, and yet….
“By your leave, then. Remember, the bot is to remain off for the remainder of the journey.” Captain Stone strode away.
Chapter Three
Curled up next to Miranda’s feet, Sparky shot off the bunk. Yip, yip, yip, yip! The K9-500’s piercing bark could probably be heard in the adjacent cabins and in the corridor.
“Ssh! Quiet!” she ordered.
Barking—and snarling now—he flew at the door.
“What is wrong with you? Why are you acting this way? Stop it, immediately!” She grabbed his harness. “Hush! Somebody will hear you!” She’d promised to keep him deactivated. If a crewmember heard him and she got reported, the captain might make good on the threat to shoot him to the space station or even airlock him since he now knew her dog was a robot. She’d hoped to encounter the captain again—but not if it meant losing Sparky.
Dante Stone had insinuated himself into her thoughts, and though she tried, she couldn’t scrub him from her mind. He fascinated her. She found herself watching for him, but he hadn’t returned to the colonists’ area. Were all cyborgs like him? He was the only one she’d met. He could be intimidating, but she recalled how his mouth had twitched with amusement at one point. What would he look like if he smiled for real?
Perhaps it was better that she not find out. She didn’t need another confrontation with Sparky. The captain might not be so forgiving the next time. She had intended to obey his order, but a week had passed since the meeting and the loneliness had become overwhelming. She had no family, and all her friends, everyone she’d known well, had been killed by the Tyranians. Having her doggie bot activated provided companionship and comfort—especially since the woman with whom she’d shared a cabin had disappeared two days ago.
Unfortunately, Sparky was barking much more than he ever had, and there was a different quality to the sound. She didn’t understand what was triggering him. When they reached SSO15, she’d have him inspected at a robotics lab. Reprogramming was out of the question, but if a minor software glitch could be repaired, she’d do it. Several times, just like now, he’d run to the door snapping and snarling at nothing.
“Silence. That’s an order,” she commanded. “Return to your pad.” She pointed to the recharging unit where she kept him when he wasn’t in use. “Sit!” He had no sooner settled on his docking station, when a communication hail sounded. Growling and barking, he charged at the door again.
Her heart thudded. Who would be hailing her? Had somebody heard the noise?
Since the colonists had begun to relax and feel safe, they’d also started to complain. They’d been restricted to three areas: their quarters, the mess hall, and the observation deck. Armed guards barred them from other sections. “We’re like prisoners!” they grumbled. Most likely they’d applaud her flouting the captain’s edict as a way to “put one over” on the Crimson Hawk crew. They’d keep her secret.
However, the lieutenant commander and Warren Ochoa, the liaison, would report the violation.
The hail sounded again. What if the lieutenant commander had dropped in unexpectedly, passed by, and heard barking? Quickly she shut off the bot and plunked him onto his pad before running to the communication unit. “Y-yes? Who is it?”
“Althea.”
She sighed in relief that her secret was safe—and that her roommate had returned. She and the other woman had been acquaintances rather than friends on Verde Omega, but after sharing a cabin for five days, they had grown closer. Then two days ago, Althea had left one morning and not come back—until now.
Miranda flung open the door. “Why didn’t you just come in? Where did you go? I was getting worried—” Her jaw dropped at her roomie’s appearance.
Althea’s eyes were bloodshot, her hair was tangled and matted, and she wore mismatched, rumpled clothing—a man’s shirt with her leggings. The shirt was buttoned wrong. She looked like she’d had a wild few days.
“Oh…” Miranda hunched her shoulders and averted her gaze. No judgments. If Althea had found solace in sex, more power to her.
“Are you alone? We need to chat,” Althea said.
“Of course! Don’t stand outside. Come on in!” She couldn’t wait to hear the juicy details. Appearance alone hinted at quite a story, but she hoped Althea wasn’t planning to vacate their cabin and move in with whoever she had hooked up with. They’d been starting to become friends, and Miranda would miss her company. But you had to grab happiness when you could find it. She wondered if Althea’s hook-up was somebody from Verde Omega or a member of the crew? That would be interesting. She thought of the captain and knew without a doubt he would never fraternize with a passenger.
Her roommate hesitated, glancing up and down the hall.
Miranda peered around her. “Who are you looking for?”
“You.” Althea slipped inside, the door slid shut, and she leaned against the wall surveying their quarters. Her gaze sharpened as it settled in the corner. “You said you were alone.”
“I am alone.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That,” Althea pointed at Sparky. She had to be joking.
Miranda laughed, then frowned when Althea didn’t even crack a smile. “Are you all right?” She eyed her disheveled appearance with concern now. “Did something happen to you?”
“Nothing happened. I’m fine,” she said tersely and pushed off from the wall.
Miranda moved toward the K9 bot. She d
idn’t feel comfortable insisting Althea talk if she didn’t wish to, but her roomie had asked to chat. Not quite sure what was going on, Miranda said, “I think Sparky is malfunctioning. I need him to be quiet, but his vocal software keeps activating. Let’s see if he barks now.” She reached under his collar and switched him on.
Snarling and snapping, he leaped at Althea, going for her throat.
“Sparky! No!” Miranda caught the leash and yanked him back.
The other woman shot out of the cabin.
As if short-circuiting, the bot shuddered, snapping its jaws, fighting the lead, trying to chase the fleeing woman.
Miranda deactivated him, then dashed after her friend. “I’m sorry! Come back. It’s okay! I turned him off!” But Althea had disappeared.
Returning inside, Miranda picked up the rigid, silent bot. His teeth were bared in a frozen snarl, making him look vicious. She petted his synthetic fur. “Oh, Sparky. What is going on with you?” She felt sick. He’d bitten the captain and had tried to attack Althea. She could overlook one incident, but two had to be taken seriously. He could go haywire at any time and attack someone else—or even her. She had no choice but to do as the captain had ordered and keep him powered down all the time. With a heavy heart, she stowed him in a storage locker and shut the door.
* * * *
Beneath Dante’s feet, the Crimson Hawk hummed as it hurtled through space. Arms clasped behind his back, he stared through the observation window at the stars. When off duty he tended to avoid the public areas of the ship, preferring the solitude of his consult room or his cabin. Lately, however, he’d found himself drawn to the observation lounge.
Two weeks had passed since they’d rescued the colonists, and in another two, they would dock at SSO15, the New Utopians would get off the ship, and he’d never see Miranda Lowell again.
What would happen to her then?
Dante had looked into her background. Miranda’s mother had died of the plague when she was a baby. She’d lost her father in a spaceship explosion when she was a teenager. She had no siblings, no other close family. The New Utopians she had considered her surrogate family had been killed in the massacre. She hadn’t been lying when she said the robotic dog was the only thing she had left.
And he’d threatened to eject it from the ship. He’d never forgive himself for that.
Brack had been correct to try to deter him from interacting with the colonists. He assumed he used to have better people skills before becoming a cyborg, but that was so many years ago, honestly, he couldn’t remember.
As a young military cadet, he’d suffered from delusions of valor. Oh, the space soldier he could be! The cyborg program had promised to make him stronger, faster, more powerful, a better warrior. And it had. Except in losing his emotions, he’d lost his humanity.
The tradeoff hadn’t been worth it. But there was no going back. A human could become a cyborg, but a cyborg couldn’t become human again.
He had more in common with the canine bot than with the crew and passengers. Maybe cybermed should have given me a personality chip.
Would Miranda take her dog and resettle on another colony? Or would she remain on the space station? Only rarely did he use his R&R, and never at a space station, but he had accrued a lot of unused leave.
After the massacre, no one would fault the colonists for playing it safe and staying on SSO15. As massive as an Earth metropolis with all the services and amenities, the space station could provide one with a comfortable, full life. While not uncomfortable, the Crimson Hawk was built for war, not creature comforts. The “amenities” provided for basic needs only. No frills, except for the observation lounge, and even its seating was more utilitarian than inviting.
Dante sighed. A few married crewmembers had husbands and wives on board, but until now, he’d never considered how little military life had to offer spouses. If the Space Force had wanted you to have a spouse, they would have issued you one. There was a lot of truth in the old joke.
Just as well Miranda would be leaving the ship soon.
In a roundabout way, he’d tried to inquire about her welfare.
“How are the New Utopians doing? Any problems? Are they handling the confinement okay?” he’d asked Brack. He’d read the medical officer’s report verifying the colonists were free of communicable diseases, but the quarantine remained in place for their safety. There were many places on a military fighter where civilians shouldn’t go.
“They’re fine,” Brack had replied.
“No more incidents with the woman with the bot?” He’d told his first officer what had happened with canine AI, and that he’d allowed Miranda Lowell to keep it.
“No.”
Normally he appreciated a succinct answer, but her brevity on this matter frustrated him. He was forced to drop the subject for fear of arousing curiosity or a perception of impropriety. The captain should not take a personal interest in a specific passenger.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about Miranda, couldn’t forget her flashing eyes, her scowl, and her obvious affection for, and fierce defense of, the canine robot. She treated it like a pet. As a boy, he’d had a real dog once. He’d loved that animal so much. The K9 500 had looked and acted so lifelike, it had him fooled until she had revealed it was a robot—seconds before it sank its titanium teeth into his ankle. Since his legs were titanium overlaid with skin and regrown muscle, no permanent harm had been done, but the electrified bite had hurt like hell. He wondered if she’d obeyed his edict and kept the robot deactivated. He had a hunch she’d flouted his order.
In his mind’s eye, he pictured Miranda healthy and glowing, her curves filled out, her face serene and relaxed, and an ache filled him. How inappropriate would it look if he paid her a visit? As captain, he was responsible for every single person on the ship. He could seek her out and inquire about the other colonists.
Almost as if longing had conjured her presence, her reflection appeared in the observation lounge window. Dante spun around to find Miranda standing there, clutching a computer tablet.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “May I speak with you?”
His heart raced as pleasure rushed through him. He hadn’t had such a reaction to a woman since before the transformation to cyborg. He scanned the near empty room. No colonists were present, and the few crewmembers were on the other side of the lounge. Once the colonists had been medically cleared, the crew had been allowed to use the observation deck again.
The colonists had their own mess hall, so the observation deck was the only area where crew and refugees could mingle. Not that they did. He’d noticed the New Utopians rarely used the lounge, and when they did, they avoided the crew and kept to themselves.
He’d never encountered Miranda here, although hadn’t he secretly hoped? Wasn’t that why he’d started coming? Two weeks had begun to fill out the hollows in her cheeks and erase the dark smudges from beneath her eyes. She was still far too slender, but she looked healthier than the last time he’d seen her.
“I’m glad I ran into you. I’d asked to see you, but I was told it wouldn’t be appropriate,” she said.
No it wasn’t, but his heart thudded anyway. “What did you want to speak to me about?”
“Some New Utopians are missing.”
Of course she hadn’t sought him out because she desired his company. Why would she? He was a cyborg. Half man. Half machine. And they’d gotten off on the wrong foot. He’d threatened to airlock the K9 unit, the one thing she cared about. He straightened. “Missing, how? What do you mean?”
“They’re gone. I haven’t seen them in days.”
“There are 212 of you. It would be easy to overlook someone.”
She shook her head and waved the tablet. “I thought so, too, at first. But I got a manifest and went through it name by name, checking off everyone I’d seen. If I had trouble finding someone, I asked people they were close to, so I’m sure I’ve accoun
ted for everyone.”
“And you did this, why?”
“My cabin mate has disappeared. Althea Withers and I shared quarters, but after a few days, she vanished. She returned briefly, but now she’s been gone for more than a week. I asked about her, but no one has seen her lately, and people have reported others missing. I knew I would need proof, so I obtained the manifest.”
Dante gestured to a seating area. “Why don’t we sit down?” he said. With the quarantine in effect, it was unlikely colonists could have strayed—although it was possible. If they had managed to venture outside of their assigned section, then his crew had been derelict in their duty, and disciplinary action needed to be taken. Civilians couldn’t be allowed to wander on a warbird.
Most likely Miranda had miscounted or her fellow colonists’ observations weren’t accurate. Human memory was notoriously faulty. Just because you couldn’t recall the last time you’d seen someone didn’t mean he or she had vanished. The “missing” colonists were probably still in their section.
He and Miranda sat on hard metal stools.
She bit her lip. “I’m worried. What could have happened to them?”
“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for why you haven’t seen them around,” he said carefully. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t care or wasn’t giving her concerns consideration—but the colonists couldn’t have vanished. “With respect to your roommate, for instance, she probably just wanted time to herself. You said she’d left once before and then came back.”
“No.” Brown curls bounced with a vehement shake. “Althea is gone. The first time she’d left for only two days. She came back, but then ran away and I haven’t seen her since. Neither has anyone else.”