by Cynthia Sax
Ghost, I have to hack into your machine. Do I have your consent? He would have complete control over the other male. No capable warrior would ever agree to that.
Ghost was far too gone to resist. Ugh.
He could be infected with a virus, Thrasher cautioned.
That was a possibility. Something had damaged the warrior.
Then close your transmission lines, genius. Ace had already closed his other lines.
And leave you? Never.
One of us has to protect our female. It was no longer merely the two of them. Their Commander was a consideration.
Thrasher hesitated.
If this goes wrong, I’ll need you to recover me. You can’t do that if you’re infected also.
You’re an ass, Thrasher grumbled.
He closed the lines, severing the connection between them.
Ace missed his presence immediately. Since the planet rotation they’d been manufactured, Thrasher had been in his processors, constantly sharing his often-colorful insights.
Now, it was eerily quiet, cold, lonely. Ace gritted his teeth and hacked into Ghost’s processors. His systems detected no virus. Something else had fried Ghost’s circuits and fragmented his databases.
Ace couldn’t locate the source of the damage. He also couldn’t explain why the warrior’s nanocybotics hadn’t repaired the malfunction.
It almost seemed as though the destruction had been self-inflicted.
Had the C Model shut down his machine? That required a strength of will few warriors had. It was unprecedented for a cyborg.
But two cyborgs bonding with the same female was also unprecedented. And that had happened. Ace was linked with their Carys and Thrasher.
His female and male continued to direct the battle, a battle they’d lose if Ace was unsuccessful. He couldn’t allow them to be damaged, to be killed.
That loss would shut down his own machine.
Permanently.
Ace repaired the cyborg’s fingers and palm interfaces, reconnecting the circuits. Ghost’s nanocybotics were stimulated by the activity, reviving slightly, but they didn’t interfere with Ace’s patches. They must have realized they were too weak to fight him.
Once those repairs were completed, Ace tapped into Ghost’s circuits. Accessing the warship’s systems was easy to accomplish, their relatively functional state a relief from the mess within the warrior.
The doors slid open. Ghost lurched forward, looked to the right and to the left. There were no guards. All of the crew must have been diverted to battle duties.
Kill every being you see. Ace kept his instructions simple.
Kill must have been a command the warrior understood. Ghost flung back his head, released a deafening roar, and rushed forward.
At that point, Ace lost all control of the C Model. Ghost tracked the beings by their scent, battered through doors and walls to get to them, ripped off the humans’ and humanoids’ skulls, arms, legs, scooping out their entrails and splattering the gore against the gray wall panels.
The warrior’s prey shot at him. Projectiles riddled his form; the pain was embraced, almost bizarrely savored by the huge cyborg. Nothing stopped his killing frenzy, his anger gushing out of him, coating everyone he encountered in crimson.
Beings screamed and begged for mercy. The words didn’t penetrate Ghost’s processors, didn’t affect the C Model at all. He ended their lives with no hesitation.
The battle outside the warship was forgotten as the humans and humanoids fought for their lives, facing the horror Ace had unleashed. They were no match for the perfect weapon the Humanoid Alliance had manufactured and partially dismantled.
“The second warship is no longer firing at us.” Their Carys touched Ace’s arm, drawing him back to his own physical form. “You did it. You bought us time.”
She didn’t understand the full impact of what he’d done. The second warship flowed with rivers of blood, the stench of death transmitted through the lines. Ghost hunted for survivors. Only one command ran through his processors, repeating over and over, on an unending loop—Kill. Kill. Kill.
The first warship’s shields are failing. Thrasher re-opened their transmission lines. Fraggin’ hole. Is he eating that human?
He stays on the second warship. Ace wouldn’t allow Ghost entry to their battle station. He’s not going anywhere near our female.
Agreed. Thrasher, for once in his contrary existence, didn’t fight his decision. Can he be recovered?
I don’t know. If the warrior was Thrasher, Ace would do everything in his power to recover him. But this was Ghost, an unknown entity. They didn’t know what he had seen, what he had experienced. It might be kinder to end the warrior’s lifespan, put him out of his misery.
“The first warship’s shields are down,” the weapons officer announced.
“They’re retreating,” the navigation officer added.
There was nothing more he could do on the second warship. Ace focused on the activities on the bridge.
“Chase them, Navigation. Don’t allow them to escape.” Their Commander’s stern voice was edged with satisfaction. “Hammer them with all guns, Weapons. Let’s end this battle quickly.”
Their Carys extended no mercy, earning more of Ace’s respect. They were at war. Any warship they spared this planet rotation they would face in another battle, losing more crew, more ships.
The first warship was unable to retreat quickly, having already suffered damage. The Humanoid Alliance vessel took hit after hit.
A missile finally connected with the engine’s core and the warship exploded. Flames lit the darkness of space, fueled by the oxygen inside the vessel. The force swept debris outward.
The battle station rocked. Ace and Thrasher instinctively reached for their female, sheltering her with their bodies.
Ace savored the excuse to touch both of them, to feel their warmth, their contrasting strengths. He had seen so much death through Ghost’s eyes. The contact soothed him.
The crew on the bridge cheered, their relief palpable.
“Let me go.” Their Carys batted their arms. Her voice was soft, husky, her verbal reprimand semi-private.
They reluctantly released their proud Commander. Ace yearned to take her back to their chambers, strip her clothes off her lush form, confirm for himself that she was physically fine.
It wasn’t the time for that. Not yet.
Their Carys changed the image on the main viewscreen to the view on the other side. The second warship appeared intact from the exterior, whole, undamaged.
Ace knew the interior told a different story.
Their female gazed at the vessel. “The second warship--”
“Only Ghost, our brethren, remains alive within it.” The warrior had killed every other being. “He’s dangerous.”
Ace didn’t want him to be situated anywhere near their female. He was achingly aware of how fragile her human form was.
“This Ghost being is a threat to our battle station?” Lines appeared between their Carys’ eyebrows. “You said he wouldn’t fire upon us.”
“Ghost isn’t a threat to the battle station. He may be a threat to any being who boards the warship.” The male was more beast than machine. “He’s following one command at the moment—to kill, whether that target is ally or foe isn’t a consideration for him.”
Their Carys’ head tilted. “Navigation, hail the second warship.”
Ace didn’t expect any other action from their Commander. She was responsible for all of the lives on board the battle station. She’d want to assess the situation for herself, determine what or whom they were dealing with.
“The second warship is not responding, Commander.”
“I’ll force the communication.” Thrasher tapped on his control panel.
“I authorize that action.” Their Carys’ tone communicated her message. They should have asked for her permission first.
Display the chamber Ghost is occupying, Ace advised. Ma
ybe she’d focus on the warrior and not on the horror around him.
It won’t be pretty.
It wasn’t. Entrails were draped over multi-level horizontal supports. The walls, ceiling, floor were painted crimson. Ghost crouched where the human’s stomach had once been. He transferred the dead being one internal organ at a time to a pile of gore beside him.
The first officer gasped. The communications officer bent over, retching into a waste container.
“Stars,” their Carys whispered.
Ghost’s head turned. His shaggy black hair dripped red. None of his gray skin showed. “Ours,” he rumbled.
“No, not yours.” Ace extracted two wicked blades from the sheaths on his chest. He would fight the big male to keep their Carys.
“You won’t touch her.” Thrasher lowered his form, assuming battle position. “She belongs to us.”
The crew on the bridge gazed at them and then at the C Model.
“No one is touching anyone.” Their Carys spaced those words out, emphasizing each one. “And I don’t belong to anyone. I’m your commander.”
“Ours.” Ghost stalked closer to the viewscreen. “Ours.” He rubbed his fingers over it, smearing blood across the surface. He squinted, his nose almost touching the surface. “Ours.” He wiped his face, removing some of the grime from his skin.
Revealing his model number.
“He’s a cyborg,” the weapons officer yelled.
“It’s C345925.” Their Carys sat with a thump in the Captain’s chair.
“Ours.” Ghost pushed against the screen.
How does she know him? Thrasher asked.
Ace had his theories. He gazed at their female. She glanced at him. He lifted his eyebrows in silent question.
“He’s the warrior who blocked the exit from the cave,” their female explained.
“Ours.”
The cave. The cave on her home planet. Ace read that truth on her pale face. Ghost had prevented their Carys from returning to her domicile, from warning the others, from saving Pimmy, her offspring, her beloved daughter.
For half of her lifespan, their female had blamed the warrior for Pimmy’s death. The truth was, he had saved her.
Ace looked at the C Model. Drops of blood ran down the male’s battered face. Flesh had been gouged from his cheeks. His silver frame shone, reflecting the light.
We owe him. Their Carys was alive because of Ghost.
He’s not touching our female.
Ace was no longer concerned about that. If she was his female, he would have taken her solar cycles ago.
She wasn’t Ghost’s. She was theirs.
“I dreamed of this moment, of facing him again, of him being at my mercy.” Their Carys’ right hand hovered over the control panel, her fingertips a whisper away from her missile launch override. “With one tap of my fingers, I could end his life as my daughter’s life was ended.”
“Ours.”
“You could.” Ace watched her, trying to read her intentions. Did their female still seek vengeance?
If she did, he would support that decision. As would Thrasher. It might be a kindness. Ghost could be damaged beyond the possibility of repair, might never recover.
“I should end his life.” Her face hardened.
“Ours.”
Ghost repeated that word every time their Carys spoke. Had the male somehow sensed she was meant for one of his brethren, that she had the compatible genetic anomaly? Was that why he had risked his life to save hers?
“But I can’t.” She moved her hand away from the control panel and clenched the arm of her chair. “This warrior, this cyborg, saved all of our lives this planet rotation.” She met the gazes of the beings on the bridge one by one, reinforcing that truth. “He brought us one step closer to victory over the Humanoid Alliance, his former masters.” She locked gazes with Ace. “And he saved my life those many solar cycles ago.” Her gaze moved to Thrasher. “Although, at that time, I didn’t want it to be saved.”
“Ours.”
“And now?” Thrasher asked the question Ace didn’t dare to voice.
“I’m glad he saved me.” Her eyes were soft with emotion.
She was glad because they now shared her lifespan.
Their female cared for them. Ace’s heart expanded almost to bursting. She might not be ready to say the human love words but she held great affection for them.
“Ours.”
Their Carys winced. “Is that the only word he knows?”
“Ours.”
“He’s been severely damaged.” Ace paused. “He’s also violent. He might attack any being who approaches him.”
“I see the proof of that.” Her tone was dry. “What do you advise--we leave him on the warship?”
“Ours.”
“He could regain enough functionality to fly it. Eventually.” Ace doubted that would happen but it was a possibility.
“Eventually.” Their Carys’ lips twisted. “The Humanoid Alliance could find him before that happened. They’d enslave him, might kill him. The warship would be returned to their fleet.” She was unhappy with that solution.
“Ours.”
“Give me command of the warship.” The first officer suggested, her eyes shining with excitement. “I could fly it, Commander.”
“Mine,” Ghost bellowed. “Mine.”
“Great.” Their Carys pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s learned a new word.”
“Mine.” The C Model rushed at the viewscreen. Primitive warrior and advanced technology collided. Fracture lines feathered from the point of impact. “Mine.”
Thrasher looked at Ace and then at the first officer. “She’s his.”
“His female.” Ace understood.
“No.” Their Carys held up her right index finger. “Don’t start with that ‘my female’ business again. The warrior has clearly lost all control. None of my crew are going near him.”
“Mine,” Ghost roared.
“Communications, mute him,” she barked. “He’s not adding anything useful to the conversation.”
“He won’t hurt her,” Thrasher explained. “We would rather die than hurt the being or beings…” his gaze slid to Ace’s face, “meant for us.”
Ace scowled at him. They should be focusing on Ghost and that situation, not on anything else, especially not while they were in public, with their Commander’s officers watching them.
“You’re cyborgs too.” The first officer’s mouth dropped open. She looked at Ace, at Thrasher and then back at the male on the viewscreen.
“Yes, they’re cyborgs too.” Their Carys’ voice rose to encompass all of the bridge. “No one, and I mean, no one, speaks of our alliance with the cyborgs.”
Ace glanced at Thrasher. He appeared as bemused as Ace was.
That was the first they’d heard about an alliance between their two factions. Ace suspected her Rebel Assembly and their cyborg council would have been as surprised as they were by their female’s declaration.
“Erase cyborg from your vocabulary.” Their Commander laid down the rules for her crew. “No one on my battle station will speak that word again. It doesn’t appear on communications. It doesn’t get relayed to the Rebel Headquarters. The fate of the war and the lives of millions of beings depend on our discretion.” She glanced at Ace, then at Thrasher.
The millions of beings were cyborgs, Ace realized. She was protecting their brethren.
Fraggin’ hole. The cyborg council would not betray her trust or they would answer to him. His gaze slid to Thrasher. To both of them.
“I have the best, the brightest, the most loyal crew in space.” Their Carys built up her crew’s confidence. “That’s why we’ve been given this role. Let’s ensure we’re worthy of it.”
Her crew cheered, hope lighting their faces.
We’re not worthy of her, Thrasher murmured.
They’d strive to be worthy of their female in the future. “Ghost is no danger to your first officer.” Ace
agreed with Thrasher on that point. Even in his damaged state, he recognized the female as his. “He is a danger to any other being, human, humanoid or cyborg.”
“It’s an A Class Warship, Commander.” The first officer glanced at the main viewscreen. Her gaze rested on the warrior. “I don’t need a crew. I can fly it alone.”
The first officer wanted more than the warship. Ace smelled her arousal. She was attracted to the C Model, even in his primitive state.
The Humanoid Alliance demanded perfection. They would have deemed Ghost, Thrasher, Ace to be defective males and would have decommissioned them.
Human females could be more accepting of damage. Ace glanced at their Carys. But that was improbable. Their female was known for mentoring the best crew, had little tolerance for errors, expected everyone around her to perform at the same level of perfection she aspired.
Or, human females had a different definition of damage, seeing no malfunction in Ghost’s actions, in Ace and Thrasher’s link.
That was more probable.
The Humanoid Alliance weren’t infallible. They had been wrong about cyborgs having free will. They could be wrong about defects.
If that logic held, if his connection to Thrasher wasn’t a defect, could their female be right? Could it be a strength?
“It’s an A Class Warship, Commander.” The First Officer repeated with awe. “You know how rare that is in the Rebel fleet. I would kill for a ship like that.”
“You might be killed for a ship like that.” Their Carys blew out her breath. “Warriors.” Ace and Thrasher straightened. “You’re certain he won’t harm her?”
Their female would never ask defective beings for advice.
Ass? Thrasher relayed the responsibility to Ace.
He did the calculations, using his knowledge of Ghost’s processors and circuits, combining that with the research done on cyborgs and their females. “We’re 93.4% certain.”
She frowned, clearly unhappy with that answer. “What happened to ‘A cyborg would never damage his female’?”
“He’d never damage her physically,” Ace explained. “He could damage her emotionally.” He didn’t know if Ghost was capable of loving another being.
“The warrior has coated the entire ship with blood and guts.” Their Carys shook her head. “That would damage anyone emotionally.”