Hell On Heels

by peterman, robyn

  Chapter 3

  Kyra closed her eyes and sent a plea out to the universe as she donned her lab coat. “Please. . .please. . .please. . .let it work this time.”

  There was no choice but to move forward. Peyton 313’s primary processor was now destroyed. If she didn’t replace it within a couple of days, his cybernetic heart would eventually run out of back-up power and stop beating.

  She swallowed nervously as she stared at the eerily still man. His eyelids hadn’t closed completely. Golden cybernetic orbs glowed softly in reserve power warning from under them.

  Kyra walked numbly to her console, touching screen commands without really seeing them.

  “Record voice notes and visual of all work being done to restore cybernetic unit Peyton 313.”

  When she saw the camera activate and shine its roving eye at the man in the operating chair, she walked numbly back to her task.

  She lifted a hand to brush his perfect hair back from his nearly unlined forehead. Captain Peyton Elliot was definitely more handsome in person than his online records had portrayed him to be. Nothing said in his profile had done justice to describing broad shoulders covered with sculpted muscles. His waist was lean but flared into strong hips bracketing a pelvis that naturally drew a woman’s eye to see what might be happening there. With the sexual training chip he had received as part of his Cyber Husband indoctrination, it was easy to understand why Peyton 313 had been optioned so many times.

  But neither his proclaimed sexual talent nor his outstanding looks had been part of her purchase requirements when she had looked up his profile. For her, the most intriguing mystery about Peyton 313 would remain unanswered during his rebooted silence. Just how bad had the man’s human-based traits been that so many women had ended up returning him? His Cyber Husband record was full of vague criticism from his previous wives. The hyped-up propaganda written to excuse Peyton’s shortcomings was similar to that of UCN chancellors whose long-running political careers relied on them being perceived well.

  “External review of the cybernetic unit’s responses indicates the reboot was successful in shutting down all onboard cybernetic controllers. Due to a lack of body movement, I can conclude that typical human unconsciousness occurred because of the extreme pain during destruction of the processor. Based on my discussion with Captain Elliott during his shut-down, he believed he had somehow been creating his own neural connections to his cybernetics. While long thought to be impossible, his rather startling question about how I had evoked the creator code was surprisingly accurate.”

  Kyra pushed her doubts aside as she finished recording her initial discoveries. All she could do now was hope that she hadn’t been wrong in choosing to release the Marine captain from his cybernetic chains. Under the full control of his cybernetics, the man would have lived two hundred years or more. But now? Kyra had no idea what the captain’s longevity would be.

  Not only was she changing his processor programming, she could very well be shortening his life span if he wasn’t able to keep his cybernetic enhancements in good condition. Her new processor would allow for natural neural pathways to be established, or maybe re-established in Peyton’s case if he was right about doing some internal rewiring on his own already.

  She felt the recording camera’s blue light panning around her as she worked. Long used to not discussing the restoration process with anyone, it was challenging now to remember to talk to the camera.

  “Based on my past two failures, there are no predictable outcomes with any attempt at restoration. A full reversal is not possible because it would have to include the removal of the cybernetic enhancements. With Captain Elliott, my plan is to restore his cybernetics to a basic state that will allow his human mind to function alongside his cybernetics. Whether this will ultimately prove to be a positive possibility for other soldiers or not remains a theoretical supposition. Captain Elliott’s survival and adaption are critical to scientific discovery and proof.”

  Kyra paused talking to consider what she was saying. There were a great many things that could go wrong with what she was doing. If she lingered on even one potential failure too long, she knew she might lose her nerve to finish what she had started.

  She stared at her Cyber Husband’s handsome profile and waited another full minute before finally shaking off her indecision. Motivated at last, she strapped the chair restraints into place around his ankles and wrists. She had to expand the one for his chest to the maximum width her confiscated operating chair allowed. That’s when the truth hit her full force, and worse than it had with the first two cyborgs she had tried to restore.

  “Add a personal note to the file. There is no universe in which it is fair that such a strong, good man’s free will should be thwarted by a few simple spoken words in his ear. Further apologies for my part in this would only be redundant. However, I remain incredibly ashamed of myself for not acting sooner to rescue all cyborgs from this fate. End note. Pause recording.”

  Tears—hot regretful tears about her part in his circumstances—fell on the metal bands holding him in the chair. They fell faster than she could blink them away. An occasional swipe with the sleeve of her lab coat was necessary to keep working.

  “I’m truly sorry I didn’t do this a long time ago, Captain. I hope it really is a case of better late than never. Restoration will work this time—I swear it,” Kyra whispered.

  After she had secured him as best she could, Kyra walked to a nearby sink and washed her face. Nervous nausea threatened to eject the measly breakfast she had consumed earlier. This time when she’d killed the primary processor she hadn’t left anything behind of the government’s latest updated programming. Instead of trying to amend existing code as she had before, she had totally erased all former initialization routines. Problem was she had no idea how much of the real man she’d erased in the process. Captain Elliot might be an empty shell when he came around. Or he might be anything from a very confused to mentally unstable cyborg.

  As well as knowing what to turn off in the reboot, from her failures she had also learned that the risks were not all on the side of the cyborg. Without the primary processor’s safety protocols, nothing prevented a still very dangerous man from misusing the greater physical assets his cybernetics provided. When he woke, Captain Elliot would be quite capable of killing her or anyone else he chose.

  His military training happened prior to his cybernetic enhancements. That earlier fully human programming was encoded in his cell memory which cyber scientists had discovered could never be erased from any soldier’s mind. Kyra counted that in the positive column for the restoration. Captain Elliot would need that kind of training for what he had to do. A full scale revolution needed a real leader with his kind of background. His service was a large part of why she had specifically chosen him.

  She turned from the sink and her remorseful musings to stare at her captive. The tears had stopped, but her gut still clenched in rebellion. The possibility of failing a third time loomed like a dark cloud and threatened to disintegrate her resolve.

  “Damn you, Jackson. I should never have gone along with you. I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Her bastard ex-husband had come up with the Cyber Husband program, which the relieved chancellors of the UCN had rushed to support. Fueled by the monies received for renting out the soldiers, Jackson had convinced them to try a Cyber Wife version. When no volunteers stepped forward, they had coerced women prisoners into it. She had been happy when Jackson and his sadistic followers had found women much, much harder to control. Chaotic hormone surges influenced cyborg females as much as any set of processor commands ever could. Hormonal disruptions happened in over ninety percent of the cases, and they happened regardless of what the best and smartest of cyber scientists did to prevent them from occurring.

  Through her continued work at Norton, Kyra had heard the whispers that Jackson had killed one of the Cyber Wives during experiments to tweak her sexual leanings. Whatever the truth was
behind the rumors, one of his tortured victims had finally managed to kill him back. Having gone from loving Jackson to loathing that she had ever met him, she had been nothing but happily relieved with that fatal consequence of his work.

  Yet the Cyber Wives had not been the trigger for the extreme actions she was currently taking with Peyton Elliot. No—the women had not been the thing that tipped her over the edge.

  Before Jackson had been killed, the sick-minded bastard had found a way to insert a smaller controller device into children. Behavior issues were a thing of the past now for parents wealthy enough to afford the million dollar implants. If a controlled child rebelled, a parent could just zap them a couple times. It had proven to be one hundred percent effective in wiping out rebellious behavior. Future generations among the wealthy would be automatons afraid to take any normal human risks.

  Kyra had refused to be part of the work, but as a senior scientist at Norton she had been unable to avoid seeing the outcome. Children with controllers drew their personalities inside themselves the way abuse victims did. The wiring of children was more than tragic. It was despicable. . .and truly evil. It was on par to the evil she had committed by not challenging Jackson’s ethics when she should have.

  Everything bad had started with the soldiers who had volunteered to become cyborgs to better serve their country. Sure there was general peace across the entire world because of them, but the lack of open conflict had come at a cost no one had anticipated. Now every crime, every legal transgression, was potentially punishable by the installation of some form of cybernetic implant used to control the individual.

  Kyra hung her head as she did every time she thought about her part in making such human enslavement a reality. Visionary scientists like her had cured cancer and finally relieved the world from its dependence on nearly non-existent fossil fuels. But sadly, her generation’s vast intelligence was what had also given birth to advanced cybernetics.

  In the beginning, cybernetic replacements were just intelligent prosthetics. Studies in how similar the brain was to a computer had led to experiments that resulted in reprogramming sociopathic criminals who had been declared socially unsalvageable. No one had minded when former rapists, murderers, and child molesters had been turned into productive civil servants.

  The success of controlling criminal minds had led Jackson to his solution of how to keep cybernetic soldiers from acting out their potential post-traumatic stress issues. In the span of six months, the line between right and wrong had been erased by the money pouring in from the first soldiers put into the Cyber Husband program. If she had only rebelled then instead of helping, men like Peyton might have freed themselves.

  “Resume recording. Before I install the new processor, my first task is to remove the controller wires. Without the aid of a body scanner, this is a long process to accomplish. Keep recording the visual even if I cease talking.”

  Kyra frowned at her brain rehashing the past. A person could intellectualize the ethical debate all they wanted. It didn’t change the one truth she had painfully learned in her last twenty years as a cyber scientist. Good. Bad. Or somewhere in between. The degree of trying control didn’t matter. Humans were not robots and not meant to live as machines. And they certainly were not meant to be forced by programming to obey the every command of another human being.

  Cyber slavery was technically against the law, but the law only governed what was done with creations containing one hundred percent artificial intelligence. As strange as it was, the rights of completely mechanized robots were protected better than those of cyborgs. No one enforcing cyber law seemed to care that cyborgs were still human despite their processors and prosthetics.

  Lost in her thoughts, Kyra walked slowly to her workbench and started gathering up her tools. Everything in her said mankind was doomed if programmed enslavement of all cybernetically enhanced people was allowed to continue and flourish. She couldn’t let that happen when she could potentially stop it.

  Determined to change what she could before it was too late to try, Kyra carried her operating tools back to the chair. Rolling Captain Elliot’s head to the side, she felt for his cybernetics access panel. When the small square opened, she stared into the metal compartment now mostly filled with soot coated electronics.

  Ignoring the smell of burnt circuitry, Kyra removed the controller screw and set it aside. Then she began the task of pulling out twenty feet of conducting wire that carried the controller’s current throughout his torso. The removal process took over two hours, during which she was mostly silent. It had to be done a few inches at a time to keep from tearing adhered tissue any more than could be prevented. Finally, the end cleared the tiny insertion hole and she let out a relieved breath.

  “Suspend recording for ten minutes. Resume automatically after that time.”

  With the worst part of the restoration over, Kyra allowed herself to sob for real in relief. When that short bout of self-pity was done, she wiped her eyes on the cloth sleeve of her doctor’s coat and swore at her dead ex-husband again. Regret over her marriage rivaled the shame she felt about her life’s work.

  “Damn you, Jackson. Damn you to hell and back. I’m glad one your creations killed you for this fucking shit. What the hell were we thinking to do this to living people?”

  She heard the camera begin recording again and gladly moved on to the easier task of replacing Peyton’s upgraded circuit boards with older models she had programmed herself. Well, Nero had done some of the work, but she had checked the content several times. The only override left was hers and it was there to prevent the newly configured cyborg from taking negative action against himself. She had learned that hard lesson with Alex when she couldn’t prevent him from jumping to his death.

  “Two down and only a hundred things left to go. Hang in there, Captain Elliott. I’m working as fast as I can.”

  ***

  Eight hours after Peyton’s delivery to her doorstep, Kyra sat exhausted in her desk chair recording her final notes as she waited for Peyton to wake up on his own. Depending upon the amount of damage the reboot had caused, his upgraded cybernetics might take some time to integrate with her older processor code. No master chip was running the show for his body any longer. All Peyton had was a basic repair-as-needed processor that worked in the most rudimentary of robotic machines, even those not melded to an organic human.

  Of course, there was no guarantee that the new programming would work as she hoped. For all she knew, she might find herself trapped in her lab with a mad killing machine when he came around. That had happened with her first experiment. She’d had to euthanize Marshall 103 after only a few days when it was obvious his mind had not been able to rebuild normally. Having removed the creator code file, she had essentially left herself with no recourse to reboot him again.

  After she had released Marshall from his torture, she had also had to remove the evidence of her changes to him. Adding insult to injury, and to cover her modifications, she had taken Marshall’s dead body to a burial facility for immediate cremation. She had collected his cybernetic parts and had the metals melted for recycling while she watched.

  Experiment number two had gone a little better. Alex 287 had physically recovered and survived the emotional roller coaster of the assimilation process. However, living with the shame of what he had endured as a cyborg turned out to be more than Alex could handle. A few months after his restoration, Alex had committed suicide by throwing himself off a mountainside where they had gone for what Kyra thought would be a relaxed and healing weekend for him.

  Alex’s cybernetics had tried to fix him as they were made to do, but they had not been able to repair his body after such a traumatic fall. Kyra had eventually come to realize the jump had been intentional on his part. She’d had to retrieve Alex’s broken body by helicopter. Then she’d had to repeat the body disposal process to once again hide her modifications from being discovered.

  Kyra sighed with regret for both Mars
hall and Alex, even as she manually typed notes about what she had removed and left in Peyton’s cybernetic compartment. After hours of talking about what she was doing, her voice was more tired than her hands.

  She accepted that nearly anything could happen with Peyton, and that some awful things probably would, but it had still been a risk worth taking. In his life as a soldier, Peyton had both killed and saved people. If the restoration actually worked on him, Peyton could do what was necessary to liberate the rest of his kind.

  Most of his fellow service men were in the Cyber Husband program. The UCN had arrogantly used the soldier’s military careers as part of their advertising. Though he had been far more expensive than Marshal or Alex, she had gladly spent the last of Jackson’s bequeathed blood money buying Peyton’s freedom.

  Bone tired from all the work and worry, Krya finally turned away from his unmoving body and laid her head on her desk. Before letting exhaustion claim her, she prayed that the third time really was going to be charmed.

  ## Available now. Visit http://www.donnamcdonaldauthor.com/Peyton_313.html. ##

  Other Books by Robyn Peterman

  HAND CUFFS AND HAPPILY EVER AFTERS

  How Hard Can It Be?

  Size Matters

  Cop A Feel

  and unfortunately

  Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventure

  (Career ending spoofy novella based on HHCIB)

  HOT DAMNED SERIES

  Fashionably Dead

  Fashionably Dead Down Under

  Hell on Heels

  For more information about her books, visit

  www.robynpeterman.com

  About Robyn Peterman

  Robyn Peterman writes because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them life on paper.