The Good, the Bad, and the Cyborg

by Honey Phillips

  Although she suspected that he had originally intended to say something different, she shrugged.

  “I was already informed that I was too old and bony to be of interest,” she said lightly, even though the words still stung.

  He frowned. “Who the hell would say that? You’re a damned attractive woman.”

  She blushed, surprisingly touched by the gruff words. “Thank you, Cyrus.”

  He shrugged, his weather worn cheeks darkening also. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em. Still a good thing that the ranger will be out there with you. Which one is it?”

  “Morgan. I mean, M-231,” she added quickly.

  Cyrus barked a quick laugh. “Good choice. That one won’t put up with any nonsense.”

  As if in response to his words, Morgan appeared in the large door opening. He looked from Harriet to Cyrus, then crossed the space between them with unexpected speed.

  “Is there a problem?” he growled, stepping in front of Harriet.

  “No, not at all.” She frowned up at him, a little intimidated—and a little turned on—by his fierce protective stance. “Cyrus was just saying that you would look after me—”

  “I will.”

  “—although I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

  The two men exchanged a quick look but neither one responded. At least they had the sense not to openly disagree with her. She shook her head but didn’t bother to pursue it.

  “Shall we go?” she asked.

  “Yes. My horse is waiting.” He gave a low click and his horse appeared in the open doors.

  Not an actual horse, of course, but one of the mechanical constructs of the legendary Earth animals that the rangers used for transportation. Since the cyborgs didn’t require supplemental oxygen like the human settlers, they had no need for the enclosed cabins of the rovers. The horses were flexible enough to traverse most types of Martian terrain and much faster than the bulky vehicles. Many of the horses were composed of metal in a rusted hue but Morgan’s horse was made of a pale silvery material, glowing almost white in the artificial lights of the depot. This was the first time she had seen it up close and her breath caught as it approached, the mechanical stride oddly graceful.

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “He?” Morgan turned to look at her, a strange expression on his face. “It is a machine.”

  She shrugged, studying the metallic frame. “He looks like a stallion to me. Does he have a name?”

  “BH-495.”

  “That’s not a name.” Did he wince? She hurried on. “I think we should call him Ghost.”

  Running a hand down the rows of flexible tubes that made up Ghost’s mane, she smiled when the animal seemed to press against her hand, then turned to find both Cyrus and Morgan staring at her with almost identical expressions of amazement. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but she ignored it and gave a determined smile.

  “Shall we go?” she repeated.

  Morgan inclined his head, then opened the door to her rover. As she prepared to climb up into the big six-wheeled vehicle, her foot caught. Two large hands spanned her waist—one warm and human, one cool and mechanical—and he lifted her into the cabin with effortless strength. He released her immediately, but the feeling of his hands seemed to linger on her skin despite the layers of cloth that had separated them. She stared at him and the grey eyes that met hers no longer seemed cool and distant. The air between them thickened, then Cyrus coughed, and Morgan abruptly stepped back.

  Without another word, he pulled on a worn black duster then mounted Ghost in one smooth, powerful movement. The horse started for the entrance, but it wasn’t until he paused and looked back that she managed to get her wits together and start her engine. As she turned to close the rover door, she found Cyrus looking at her as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “Goodbye, Cyrus.”

  “Goodbye, girlie.” He looked from her to the silent figure waiting by the door and suddenly laughed. “Definitely think you made a good choice. Just watch your back, both of you.”

  Before she could ask what he meant, he turned and disappeared back into the depths of the depot. After a puzzled frown in his direction, she shrugged and went to follow her ranger.

  Chapter Four

  M-231 led the way through the airlock and out on to the barren plain surrounding New Arcadia. Even though the settlers had begun to establish their claims, they had made little difference as yet to the surface of the planet. The occasional small shelters and the increasing amount of lichen and other primitive plant life had done little to change the overall impression of rocky, red desert. But he had been one of the first on the planet and he could spot the subtle differences. His system no longer had to fight so hard to compensate for a lack of oxygen or sub-zero temperatures. Those first years had been hard, and he’d forced himself not to feel, to ignore the cold, the loneliness, the sense of betrayal that had haunted him since he woke up in the laboratory to find himself no longer human.

  And now… now his hand burned with the warmth of Hattie’s skin, with the softness of her slender waist beneath his touch. His other hand, his mechanical hand, was still curved in the shape of her waist and he had to force himself to let it relax into another position. She hadn’t flinched at his touch. Had she just been too shocked? Or did she genuinely not feel the disgust that most humans exhibited towards the cyborgs? Several of his fellow cyborgs hated all humans for that, but he had never hated individual humans—only the government that had stolen their lives. But he had buried even that emotion during the long, lonely years of work.

  He took another look at the woman riding next to him in the rover. She might not have recoiled from him, but he would be foolish to imagine that she would want more from him than his help. And yet, they would be working together, living together for five years. Perhaps as the years passed, she would realize that he was still as much man as machine. Even telling himself that he was a fool, he let part of his mind drift into foolish dreams, even as the rest of him kept an active survey of the surroundings. He noticed the strange tracks as they approached her homestead and immediately signaled for her to halt. To his relief, she obeyed, although she frowned at him through the windows of the cabin.

  When she started to put on her breathing mask and open the door, he shook his head.

  “Wait there. I want to see where these tracks lead.”

  Her chin came up, but she nodded. Keeping one eye on the rover and the other on the ground, he followed the tracks up a slight ridge overlooking Hattie’s claim. The homestead was nestled in a small valley and he could clearly see a strange rover parked next to one of her greenhouses. Even from this distance, he could see the plastic covering flapping in the wind, and he swore.

  They were trying to sabotage her means of making a living.

  He started to spur Ghost in their direction, but then he looked back at Hattie still sitting alone and possibly vulnerable in the rover. Pulling his gun from its holster, he fired a shot in the direction of the vehicle instead, but despite his excellent aim, the capacity of the gun was too limited, and he couldn’t reach that far. Still, the shot was enough to chase them away. A brief blur of movement and the vandal’s rover tore off in a cloud of dust. Even with their head start, Ghost could probably catch it, but he wasn’t about to leave Hattie defenseless.

  A moment later, her rover pulled up next to him and she pulled on her breathing mask and jumped out.

  “What happened?”

  “Vandals,” he said briefly, gesturing down at the valley.

  “I can’t see any damage.”

  “At least one of your greenhouses has been damaged.”

  “Fuck,” she swore, then glared up at him. “Why didn’t you go after them?”

  “I’m not going to leave you alone.”

  “I can take care of myself.” Her hand dropped to the butt of her gun.

  He dismounted and strode over to her. “Hattie, in one day you have been threatened with losing yo
ur claim, had your bank accounts frozen, and now someone is damaging your property. I think there is more going on here than we realize and until I know you’re safe, I’m not leaving your side.”

  “Oh.” She stared up at him, green eyes wide, and he realized that he was probably much too close to her, but he didn’t step back. The dry Martian wind swirled around them and her scent filled his head. He took another step closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her body.

  “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He lifted a hand and heard her breath catch but once again, she didn’t flinch. He gently adjusted the breathing mask across her nose, then turned her towards her vehicle. “Get back in the rover. We need to see what damage has been done and determine if we can make repairs before nightfall.”

  With her back to him, she nodded and returned to her vehicle. Her steps looked a little shaky and he berated himself for frightening her. And yet, she hadn’t looked frightened and she hadn’t pulled away. Pushing those facts aside to process later, he waited until she was safely in the vehicle, then turned to lead the way to her claim.

  Harriet increased the oxygen level in the rover and took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm her rapid pulse. Just a shortage of air, she decided, but as her eyes went to the tall figure on the white horse, she suspected she was lying to herself. When Morgan stood over her like that, grey eyes blazing, she hadn’t wanted to run away despite his obvious anger. She wanted to lean into him, to press her body against the long hard strength of his. But it was more than just his physical presence. For most of her life she had been a caretaker—first of her mother, then Winthrop. Having someone want to look after her for a change was annoying, but also unexpectedly comforting.

  He’s just doing a job, she reminded herself, even though the thought rang hollow.

  By the time they reached the first greenhouse, she thought she had managed to convince herself that they needed to keep their relationship professional. A conviction that went out of her mind as soon as she stepped out of the rover and got a good look at the damage.

  “Those bastards! Do they know how long it took me to build this?”

  The long building had a frame of Martian iron, covered with inflated plastic panels. Their third hand had quit while they were assembling it and she had spent the better part of two weeks painstakingly completing the assembly and covering the frame with the panels. Now the plastic on one end hung in tattered shreds from the frame.

  “It took you to build? You didn’t have any help?”

  “No. The worker we hired quit.” She sighed. “That was our last attempt at hiring help.”

  “But your… husband assisted you, did he not?”

  “No.” She started to pick up shreds of plastic, avoiding his eyes. “He was not well enough for physical labor. And he had a business meeting during part of the time I was building it.”

  “What business?”

  “Something to do with GenCon. He met with them at least every few weeks for several days each time.”

  “And left you alone,” he said grimly.

  “Well, yes. But I told you, I’m—”

  “—capable of looking after yourself. I know. But you don’t have to anymore.” Before she could respond, he frowned at the neat beds of bare ground inside the frame. “At least nothing appears to have been damaged. You have not planted crops yet?”

  “Oh, this greenhouse isn’t for crops. I’m growing dirt.” She laughed as he raised an eyebrow. “More specifically, I’m enriching the Martian regolith with organic matter and microorganisms so it can be used for planting. The different beds are experiments with different types of soil enhancements.”

  “Then it is undamaged?”

  “For now, but it won’t remain so overnight. The temperature drops too far.” Thanks to the initial terraforming efforts, the daytime temperatures could be quite pleasant, but they dropped rapidly below freezing after dark. “Each of the greenhouses has its own RTG—a radioisotope thermoelectric generator—to provide heat and keep the temperature high enough to prevent the plants from dying, but the area has to be enclosed.” She kicked the ground. “All of that work lost.”

  “Not if we can get it sealed by nightfall, correct?”

  “No, as long as the RTG wasn’t damaged—but it’s impossible.”

  “Is it?” He shot her a quick smile, the expression turning his face from stern to breathtakingly attractive. “Do you have more panels?”

  Despite her skepticism, by the time night fell, the greenhouse was once again safely enclosed. She had found enough panels to cover most of the destroyed section and Morgan had patched together a final piece large enough to cover the end. Working with him had been truly amazing. He moved with a rapid strength that made her feel extremely clumsy, but despite his attempts to get her to rest, she had insisted on helping him. They had settled—or rather he had reluctantly agreed—that she would inflate the panels while he added them onto the frame. But even with her more limited role, she was dirty and exhausted by the time the light disappeared completely and the temperature began to drop.

  Morgan started the heater in the greenhouse, then led her towards the habitat. As the inner door of the airlock opened, she heard the clucking and sighed.

  “I have to go tend to the chickens. If you want to take a shower—”

  “I will tend to them.”

  “You know, you really need to stop interrupting me.”

  “I’m sorry.” He bowed his head without looking the least bit abashed. “But I am not going to cleanse myself while there is still work to be done.”

  “Do you know how to take care of chickens?”

  “I assume you will tell me.”

  She shook her head. “It would be easier to show you. Come on.”

  The chicken coop was located in its own small dome down an enclosed corridor leading off of the main one. The small flock clucked excitedly when she entered and rushed towards her.

  “They seem happy to see you.”

  “They know I’m bringing them food,” she said dryly, and showed him how to scatter the pellets. While they ate, she checked for eggs, triumphantly producing three from the nesting boxes and finding a fourth hidden behind a corner of the coop.

  “Flora likes to lay her eggs back here for some reason.”

  “Flora?”

  “The small white one.” She laughed. “I think she likes keeping me on my toes.”

  As soon as the chickens finished eating, she dimmed the lights and herded them to their roosts.

  “I was not aware that any flocks were producing yet,” Morgan said as he followed her back down the corridor.

  “GenCon gave them to Winthrop when we arrived. They had already reached the age to lay eggs.”

  “A very generous gift.”

  “I realize that now. At the time, I was just trying not to panic at one more thing to figure out.” She walked across the main room to the wall of windows looking out over the homestead. Night had fallen and she could see little of their surroundings, only the outline of rocky hills etched against the sky. “Do you think they’re still out there?”

  “I suspect I scared them off. They departed very quickly.”

  “Why would someone want to do that kind of damage? Everyone knows how hard it is to establish a claim.”

  “Perhaps they are jealous.” He looked around the large dome and she followed his gaze. A comfortable couch, a well-fitted kitchen area, and even a dining table filled the space. “You have a nice home, chickens, greenhouses. Most of the other settlers are still living in one room and surviving on MREs and a few scraps of green from their hydroponic gardens.”

  “I work just as hard as they do,” she protested, fighting back the usual feeling of guilt. Winthrop’s wealth had overwhelmed her on Earth. The amount of luxury that he took for granted was almost obscene to someone who had spent her whole life fighting for more than the bare necessitie
s. She had thought that here on Mars the differences wouldn’t be as dramatic, but she knew how much further ahead they were than most of the settlers.

  “I know you work hard,” Morgan said.

  “How? You don’t know me.”

  “I have… seen you around.” Before she could respond, he gently took her hands and turned them palm-up in his. “These are not the hands of an idle person.”

  She had always had big hands for a woman and now they were scratched and calloused and dirty, but he cradled them as if they were precious. They looked almost dainty against his two big palms, one firm and human, the other of smooth bronzed metal. She stood looking at the contrast for just a minute too long, then hastily pulled her hands back.

  “Do you really think that’s what it was about? Jealousy?”

  “I don’t know.” Morgan’s face turned grim. “But I intend to find out.”

  “Could you see who it was?”

  “No. My vision is still human—enhanced to the maximum amount that human eyes can manage, but still fundamentally human. My… friend Clint has cybernetic eyes. I suspect he would have been able to identify them.” His mouth twisted wryly. “This is the first time I have ever wished to be more mechanical.”

  “Did you get to choose?” she asked.

  “Choose?”

  “When you volunteered. Did you get to choose which enhancements you received?”

  “I did not volunteer.” The half-smile disappeared beneath his usual stern mask. “I will make a circuit around your land to make sure that all is secure. I will lock the entrance behind me.”

  Before she could respond, he disappeared through the airlock as she stared after him in dismay. His words echoed in her thoughts before she finally shook her head and forced herself to move.

  He hadn’t volunteered? Earth Government had told everyone that the cyborgs were volunteers—men who chose to give up their humanity in order to help the human race. Of course, they had also been quite clear that the cyborgs were no longer human and shouldn’t be treated as such. Her head spun at the implications, but she was too tired to make sense of it tonight. With a weary sigh, she headed for yet another one of the luxuries that GenCon had provided.