I flicked the comms to open. “Captain Shepperd and his second, Francisca Olga.”
There was a brief pause while the Nine’s comms-jockey ran my voice through the ID filters. “Captain Shepperd, we were expecting you in a different vessel.”
I briefly explained about our change of plans and confirmed we’d stripped the harrier of any trackers. They scanned us again and granted us landing clearance on the Island’s southern-most dock.
“I’ll go ready the cargo,” Fran said, unclipping her belt, and headed for the rear of the bridge.
I eased the harrier down onto the docking pad, engaged her umbilical, and sat for a while, listening to the bird settle and sigh. She didn’t creak like Starscream. That creaking had frightened the fuck out of anyone unfortunate enough to fly with me, my brother included.
I lit up the comms once more. “Traffic control. Has Brendan Shepperd reported back?”
“Yes, Captain. He’s logged as on-board. Would you like me to hail his comms?”
My heart did an odd little stutter. Not for Bren, but for what his return might mean.
“No.” I didn’t want the whole of traffic control overhearing anything about One. “Did he bring anyone—anything with him?”
“You’ll have to speak to your senior.”
He was here. That had to be good. He wouldn’t have returned without One.
“Acknowledged.” I cut the link and sighed through my nose. I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear what had happened to One, so I turned my thoughts to the harrier and her array of controls. Sure, she was a fine piece of technology, but where was her character?
I left the seat, tucked my thumbs into my pockets, and bounced my attention around the empty bridge. I’d always wanted a warbird. The fact my brother had captained one needled me to no end, and yet, standing on the bridge of the Candes warbird, I couldn’t wait to leave.
“You can’t manufacture soul.”
Starscream was gone. I heaved a weary sigh and headed off the bridge.
Outside, wind and sea spray battered and lashed the elevated dock. I tucked my chin against my chest and hurried out of the elements.
Fran and me were processed through various scanners until I was sure the operators had seen parts of me I didn’t know I had, and then they ushered us through the color-coded labyrinth of levels and corridors.
I glanced at Fran a few times. She hadn’t said much since we’d stolen the harrier. She clearly had her own shit to deal with. Turner’s betrayal must have cut her, but then, he was a crazy Candelario. I might have asked her to talk it out, but it wasn’t as though we cared for each other, so why fucking bother with conversation? Her silence could also have had something to do with me pushing her for my thirty credits. If she was going to demand a fuck and then shut me down, I was going to charge. She was just another job that needed fixing. That’s what I told myself and I was sticking with it.
The old bird Sonya greeted us at the south assembly area, a deceptive smile on her wrinkled face. I’d met Sonya on a Mimir dock with a rifle in my hand and a whole load of questions on my lips. It would’ve been easy to like her—she had that warmth some folks radiated, the kind that drew others to them—but I wasn’t buying it. I didn’t trust easily, and all I’d seen from the Nine so far was their impressive operation. As shiny and well oiled as it all appeared, I knew the prettiest, most organized things almost always had a fuckload of chaos behind the scenes.
“There’s been a development,” Sonya said. “You’ll be pleased to hear Doctor Lloyd survived.”
Fuck, I’d hoped my brother might have found the balls to beat the shit out of the Doc. He deserved a lot worse.
“He’s here?” I tried to keep the growl out of my voice and failed.
“Yes.”
My fingers reflexively twitched into a fist. “And the synthetic unit?”
My heart thudded too fucking hard.
“That’s the development. Please follow me and I’ll brief you.”
“Perhaps we could shower first?” Fran asked. We’d left red footprints trailing down the passageway behind us, and now that she mentioned it, she reeked of metal and sweat, which meant I probably did too.
“All right.” Sonya turned to me. “Half an hour?”
“Do you have the synthetic?” I asked.
“Yes.” Sonya smiled, but worry tightened her brow. “Much has changed in your absence.”
“Can I see her?” Shit, I’d sounded needy. I coughed, clearing my throat.
“It might be best if you clean up—”
“I’d like to see her now.”
Sonya lifted her chin. The shrewd old bat was probably wondering about my connection to One and why she mattered to me. “Very well. Follow me.”
Fran tossed me a loose salute and left the assembly area, trailing dust in her wake.
I attempted to glean more information from Sonya as we strode down the corridors, but she was tight-lipped the entire walk to the residential section. If #1001, the synthetic, was functional, there was a chance Lloyd, or someone, could bring One back. Fuck, I’d make Lloyd do it. Stand over him with a gun if I had to. I couldn’t break his fingers, he needed those, but there were other ways. Whatever it took.
I spotted Bren up ahead, leaning an arm against the wall. He straightened as we approached and kept his face measured and reserved. Was that good or bad? I spotted a discreet arm sling and gave my brother a questioning look.
He started to speak but stopped when my attention wandered through a window to the naked synthetic unit inside a residential cabin. She was sitting rod-straight on the end of a bed, facing away. Red scars snapped and danced up her back like frozen, angry lightning. She’d been perfect, and the mob had torn her apart.
I ground my teeth, fighting the restless urge to lash out. “Where are her clothes?”
Sonya blinked at me like the question was absurd. “She’s a synthetic unit—”
I scowled back and jerked my chin at my brother. He was quick to understand and shrugged off his jacket, the action made all the more difficult by the sling.
“She’s volatile,” he said, holding out the coat and awkwardly shifting his wounded arm. The synth had done that to him.
I snatched his jacket. “Is she One?”
“Yes, we’re certain, given the things she’s had to say, but … she almost killed Lloyd.” He stepped forward as I reached for the door. “She’s dangerous, Caleb-Joe. Be very careful.”
I’d be fucking dangerous too if they’d shut me naked in a room with Doc Lloyd. “Does she know where she is?”
Bren averted his eyes, turning his attention to the room. “I hadn’t thought to ask.”
He was afraid of her, and gauging from Sonya’s artfully blank expression, so was she. Maybe if they’d tried talking to her like a person, she wouldn’t have lashed out.
I shook my head at them and opened the door. One didn’t move as I stepped inside. I engaged the lock with a swipe and then caught my reflection in the window. The wild man of KP92 stared back at me. I even had a touch of the Cande-crazy in my eyes. I hadn’t shaved in a while, and my hair stuck out at odd angles, matted with grit. Ah well. I figured One would know me by more than just sight.
Bren and Sonya blinked back at me, waiting to see if One tried to tear my arms out of their sockets.
I turned away from them and found my gaze tracing the scars cutting up One’s back. It would have hurt, what they did to her. Not physically, she could shut that physical pain out, but you don’t get to shut out emotional wounds. Those cut the deepest and took a whole lot longer to heal.
“Hey,” I croaked.
No movement. She stared at the opposite door, probably the bathroom. I cleared my throat and glanced at Sonya and Bren on the other side of the window. Bren nodded. Apparently he had faith in his little brother.
“You know who I am?” I spoke up, trying not to croak this time.
“Yes.” A simple reply. For all its smooth sound and per
fect pitch, it could have been an automated answer.
I shook out Bren’s jacket and approached the bed. “I’m going to wrap this around your shoulders. I’m not a threat, okay? It’s just me.”
“You smell like blood and sex.”
Shit, I should have showered. “I had to fix something for the Nine. Do you remember them?”
“Yes. I killed them.” Slowly, she turned her head. “There are more.”
Her silvery hair skimmed the tops of her fine shoulders and her brilliant blue eyes widened. A scar ran ragged from her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, across her cheek, and down her chin. I fought the urge to look away. I remembered all too well how I’d seen half her face disintegrate in front of me. Lloyd must have put her back together again. It was fine work, miraculous really, but her smooth Chitec perfection was gone.
“Caleb.” She smiled and something slightly uncomfortable but equally thrilling sparked alive in my chest. “You came.”
I eased the jacket around her shoulders, hoping she didn’t notice how my hands trembled. She pulled Bren’s coat tight around her, and that thing in my chest warmed, making me want to take her in my arms and crush her close. I had no idea what to do or say. I wanted to believe we were the same, both okay, but so much had happened. She’d killed people. It might not have been her, her coding or whatever made her tick had gone haywire, but it didn’t change what she’d done. Was she still the same One, or was she different now?
“Do you remember what I told you I do when I get scared?” I asked, easing around so I could crouch in front of her, bringing us level.
She blinked and drank in the sight of me. I tried to smile, but I doubted it looked like anything more than a twitch across my lips.
“Do you remember, One?”
“I tried to count the stars, but there were none.”
The hopeful warmth twisted into a sharp jolt of pain. I’d fucking kill Lloyd for this. But she remembered. She was One. Damaged, clearly, but definitely One. I rolled my lips together, hiding the quiver, and touched her face. My fingers left red smudges on her smooth cheek. Her eyes flicked about my face, probably reading every fucking thing in my expression, my racing heart, my clenched teeth, and my pointless attempt at hiding it all inside.
She leaned into my hand, brushing her cheek against my touch, and closed her eyes. She’d chase the data. Doc Lloyd had told me she liked to be touched. The thought of that lying bastard touching her tied my already squirming insides in knots. Me and him would have some quality time alone, during which I’d introduce him to my knuckles, repeatedly.
“You fear for me, but you’re not afraid of me.” Her eyes opened and targeted me. “You’re angry and afraid. I know these feelings. I had hoped if I killed Doctor Lloyd, the anger would pass.”
“Yeah, you’d think. But it doesn’t work like that.”
I lowered my hand, reluctant to let her go. What I really wanted to do was throw my arms around her, but we had an audience and she might not appreciate my filthy, ragged self anywhere near her.
“One, listen.” I cleared my throat. “The people here, they’re trying to help.”
She slid her analytical gaze to the window. “Is this Chitec?”
“Chitec?” Shit, no wonder she lashed out. “No. It’s a sanctuary. But they need to know you’re stable. That you won’t kill anyone.” Anyone else.
She stared through the window at Bren and Sonya. “I broke Bren’s arm.”
“He has another one.”
“I do not trust these people.”
“Did anyone ever tell you the quickest way to get yourself killed is by trusting someone in the black?” I straightened, strode to the window, plastered a grin on my face for Sonya and Bren to see, and snapped the blinds closed.
“I am learning that, Captain.”
I turned to find her smiling her typical One smile. She still looked unsettlingly vulnerable, but the glimmer of real personality was back in her eyes.
“It’s good to have you back, One.”
“Is it?” Her brow furrowed and her focus wavered.
“Sure it is. I missed your constant updates about my fucked-up state of mind.”
She didn’t respond but looked down and away. Her frown darkened. I struggled to read her at the best of times, and failed now. She’d always walked the line between terrifying and tantalizing. I could understand why the Nine, and Bren, might be concerned. But in the war against Chitec, she was their—our best asset.
A knock on the door drew our gazes.
“Brendan,” One said. “He’s alone.”
When I opened the door, Bren held out an armful of clothes. He looked as though he had something to say. Whatever it was, he hesitated too long, and I closed the door on him before shit got awkward.
“Hey, One.” I tossed the clothes onto the bed and shrugged off as much of the pirate gear as I could without stripping down entirely. “What d’yah say to a little excursion?”
“An excursion where, Caleb?” She stood and joined me beside the bed, and before I could answer with “anywhere,” she discarded Bren’s jacket and cocked her head at the pile of clothes.
I made a brave and concerted effort not to look at her body; there were a lot of places to look, lots of tantalizingly smooth curves and—stop there.
I gathered up my change of clothes and headed for the bathroom. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out.”
“I do not believe the Fenrir Nine will approve.”
“The Fenrir Nine can fuck off. You’ve earned it.”
Chapter Eight: One
Being put back together didn’t mean I wasn’t still in pieces. I’d seen the strangers—those who collectively called themselves the Fenrir Nine, although there were many, many more of them—and told them the truth, seen the look of horror on their faces, and then watched them leave my allocated room. Chen Hung is a synthetic. The truth was out. I no longer warred with myself. And yet, unease and suspicion undermined my hard processes.
I didn’t trust these people to do what was necessary. I didn’t trust anyone.
And then Caleb was there, dressed head to toe in a hood and cloak, caked with mud and dust, smelling of blood, sweat, and sex. He was real, unlike those who looked at me as though I were empty. Caleb looked at me and saw me. And in return, I saw the man he was: torn, confused, angry, but underneath all of that, hopeful. He had hope and trust for me.
While the shower hissed in the adjacent room, I shrugged on a tank top and stepped into a pair of sweatpants and then cracked open the bathroom door a few inches. I’d watched him like this before. Some of the times he’d known, but most times he hadn’t. Inside the steam-filled shower cubicle, water pummeled his upturned face and washed the red dust down his back and over his childhood scars in rivulets of red, like blood. I had scars too, inside as well as outside. Did everyone have scars, some more visible than others?
His eyes flicked to mine and held my gaze for a few pertinent moments, and then he continued to lather soap over his shoulders and down his back. He’d gained a few angry red wounds, one on his thigh that wept a little blood as he dragged his fingers across his skin.
His body displayed signs of arousal. Was it from being watched, or because I was watching him? A skitter of curiosity urged me forward, but I locked it down. Count the stars.
I’d been betrayed. That sting still burned. I had no intention of opening myself up to that attack again. What I felt for Caleb—those curious needs and redundant urges—were distractions, and distractions were dangerous.
He turned off the shower, ran his fingers through his hair, and flicked water from their tips before sliding open the door and stepping out. Steam rolled off his skin and water droplets glistened on the ripples of his abdominal muscles. He reached for a towel, allowing me to observe every inch of him. He had no fear. No anger. While his body clearly communicated arousal, his expression was one of mild amusement. His eyes appeared to ask: Do you want something?
Do I?<
br />
My need, it wasn’t sexual. I had no evolutionary protocol to reproduce, and if I did, it wouldn’t be via a method as inefficient as copulation. But to connect with someone beyond the apparent, on a level that required mutual need—for someone to see me as a living entity, as real? That was a human desire, and I owned that feeling, or it owned me. What would it be like for his hands to touch my skin? The few times he had—the touches fleeting—data had sparked alive, flooding my processes with delicious sensations. For him to want to touch me—the same as I ached to touch him, feel him, and willingly drown myself in those sensations—that was what I needed. It wasn’t Haley’s memories of the young Caleb Shepperd she’d loved; this curious and fascinating need for the older, harder Caleb Shepperd was all mine.
“Keep staring, One, and you’ll make me blush.”
He roughly dried his hair with the towel, dragged the damp fabric over his shoulders, and then tied it around his waist. I could have watched him for hours. Something in the architecture of his movements, in the unpredictable play of muscle and flesh, fascinated me.
He gathered up his clothes and moved as if to slip by me. I blocked his exit, still reliving the evocative images so I could file them away and keep them close. Life was fleeting in the nine systems. I didn’t intend to miss a second of it.
His eyes narrowed, just a fraction. He didn’t like to be trapped. “You goin’ to move or do I have to say the magic word?”
I swallowed and stayed rigid, deliberately pushing—challenging—testing him.
He stepped in closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him. I considered placing my hands on his chest, and my breath snagged in anticipation. These responses weren’t logical, yet that didn’t make my feelings any less real.
He tipped my chin up, his fingers hot against my skin, and said, “All you gotta do is ask.”
But I wouldn’t use him like that, like so many others had. I turned my face away and stepped aside. His brow furrowed slightly, from disappointment, regret? I recalled the last few moments, going over them again. I’d wanted to protect him from my selfish desires, but my denial had somehow had the opposite effect.
Girl From Above #4: Trust Page 4