“Professor Diego Cortez, right? I got my sister a book of your poetry when she was… unwell.” Skylar debated whether she should share that her sister had since passed away, but decided that was too personal a thing to discuss with a stranger. “She always loved the man-versus-nature and man-versus-space themes.”
“Ah.” He glanced toward the view screen again, as if something on that asteroid was riveting, far more riveting than she.
A twinge of rejection went through her, even though it shouldn’t matter what this stranger thought. She was well-respected in her field, she’d won countless awards and grants, and she did work that mattered, work that helped humanity. She’d proven herself again and again, and she had no need to prove herself to some stuffy cyborg professor.
“I hope she liked them,” Cortez added, looking at her again. “Or at least found them useful as a sleep aid. My students have occasionally used them as such.”
He shared a quick smile, and she forgot her feelings of stung rejection. He’d been handsome before, but he was riveting when he did that. She decided she wanted to give him a reason to smile again, less briefly.
“I believe she liked them. She was always a cerebral sort, and your poetry is known to appeal to intellectuals.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “You’re not cerebral, Dr. Russo?”
Her cheeks warmed again, mostly because he was admitting that he knew who she was. She hadn’t introduced herself as a doctor. Though maybe he’d simply guessed from her lab coat? She felt silly traveling in it, but Keiko had suggested it, saying that she didn’t know the new guards that had been placed on her shuttle for this run, and Skylar might find it useful to wear something that hid her figure and connoted authority.
Keiko wore a leather jacket, cap, and scarf, like some WWI biplane pilot. Skylar didn’t know if that meant she was following her own advice or not.
“Not in a words-and-literature kind of way,” Skylar said. “I like numbers and math. They’re simpler, and I have simple tastes.”
“I see.”
Cortez turned away from her again, and she wished she’d said something more intelligent, something that would have kept the conversation going. Why did other people have an easier time chitchatting about mundane things and finding social comfort in doing so?
Cortez looked toward the guards standing around the open seating area, all armed, all wearing black clothing, almost similar enough to be a uniform. Maybe the private transport company that owned the shuttle ordered its employees to dress in black to look intimidating.
The men all watched Cortez intently. Did they think he would cause trouble? Just because he was a cyborg?
Skylar felt indignant on his behalf. He was an Earth Colonies hero. It wasn’t as if he’d come here to stage a prison break. He’d come for… Actually, she didn’t know.
“What brings you to Antioch Asteroid, Professor?” she asked.
“I’m writing a book,” he said promptly. “One that will detail the lives of many of the cyborg soldiers who served bravely but then ended up here.”
A perfectly legitimate thing for a literature professor to do, but Skylar found herself frowning, thinking the answer had come out sounding rehearsed. Maybe he’d had to explain his desire to come numerous times to numerous people. It wasn’t as if ordinary civilians were permitted out here to tour the infamous prison.
“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Skylar said. “These men were heroes. For them to end up here… It’s hard not to feel that society failed them.”
Cortez turned toward her again, and for the first time, his full attention was on her. His eyes were intense as they gazed into hers, and a tingle of warm energy went through her.
The dying refrain by the Unknown Soldier played over the speakers, and he opened his mouth to reply, but the communications panel pinged first.
His eyes narrowed, and he stepped away from Skylar and closer to the pilot. The guards watched him like hawks, and again, Skylar felt that urge to snap at them, to say that he didn’t deserve their scrutiny.
A burst of static came over the comm.
Keiko grumbled, thumped on the panel, then piloted them around the asteroid until a large opening leading into the asteroid came into view. The sensor display showed that a forcefield covered the opening.
“This is the Eager Beaver,” Keiko said, naming their shuttle. “Terrain2Space Transportation pilot Sasaki flying. I’ve got some munchies for you if you let me in. Transmitting passcode now.”
“Munchies, LT?” came a man’s dry drawl over the comm. “That’s not the official line you’re supposed to give.”
LT? As in lieutenant? Was Keiko also a veteran of the war? Skylar supposed it made sense that many of the civilian pilots out there today had fought to protect Earth and its colonies.
Despite the man’s objection, the sensor display beeped and showed the forcefield disappearing. A large but completely empty hangar bay waited inside, it and the rest of the facility carved into the rock of the asteroid. Skylar wasn’t surprised by the lack of ships, as she had heard this was the kind of place where nobody came and nobody went, outside of the deliveries made by these monthly supply shuttles.
“Fine, fine,” Keiko said, “I am officially transporting supplies, myself, ten guards, one scientist, and one professor. We are requesting permission to land.”
Cortez tensed and leaned forward, his fingers twitching. He almost looked like he wanted to reach for the comm.
To what end? Why was he so edgy? The forcefield had already been lowered, and Keiko was sailing into the bay.
“LT,” the man replied, his voice less relaxed now. “Did you say a professor?”
“Yup, I’ve got Professor Cortez with me. The famous cyborg that commanded troops in the war and now regales women with his poetry skills.” Keiko winked back at Cortez.
He didn’t respond. He wasn’t moving at all.
“We don’t have him on the guest list, Lieutenant,” the man said. “You’ll have to—”
Cortez blurred into action, slamming his fist down on the comm panel so quickly Skylar didn’t know what was happening until it spat smoke and sparks. She jumped back, smacking into one of the guards.
She imagined them shooting at Cortez and blurted, “Don’t!” even though she didn’t know what was going on.
Strong hands gripped her arms, making her gasp in pain as she was lifted from her feet. What the hell?
Keiko lunged for a stunner at her belt, but Cortez knocked it out of her hand and lifted her out of her seat. He whirled, passing her off to one of the guards. The guards that were, Skylar realized as if her brain was processing everything in slow motion, not attacking Cortez.
He bent over the seat, taking the helm.
“You can fly this thing, right, sir?” one of the guards asked.
“I’ll get it landed. Just be ready to jump out. They’re going to prep a team and have it up here in seconds.”
“We’re ready, sir. We didn’t expect this to be easy.”
Keiko roared, kicking toward Cortez. But she wasn’t close enough to hit him. Her captor, one of the guards who also held her off the deck, had her around the waist with her arms pinned. That didn’t keep her from whipping her head about and trying to plant her boot on anyone nearby.
Skylar wondered if she should be flailing and trying to escape too. She felt too stunned to grasp what was going on. It probably didn’t matter. All the big, burly men had gathered around the cockpit area, all armed. There was no way Skylar or Keiko would escape, at least not right now. The man holding her didn’t even appear inconvenienced by Keiko’s struggles. He merely watched Cortez land the shuttle with more experienced hands than his words had suggested.
“What do we do with the women?” the man holding Skylar asked.
“Lock them in those cabinets in the back,” Cortez said. “We’re going to need hostages, so we don’t want to lose anyone.”
“Hostages?” Skylar blurted as Keiko thrashed and
roared, “Cabinets?”
Cortez met Skylar's eyes briefly. Something akin to regret lurked in them, but there was determination also, a determination that overrode any regrets. He broke eye contact and nodded at one of the men.
One of his men, Skylar realized. These guards weren’t just big and burly like cyborgs. They were cyborgs.
As her captor toted her toward the cabinets, she had no idea how that knowledge could help her.
2
Cortez expected resistance as soon as his team left the shuttle and entered the bay, but they made it into the corridor outside before he heard the heavy clangs of armored boots on the metal deck.
“Can openers ready,” he told the ten men behind him, some of whom he’d served with and knew, some of whom he’d reached out to when he’d learned they were still in the fleet and could arrange the fleecing of security at the shuttle port back on Antar 12. He’d expected it to be much harder to suborn men loyally serving their new commanders, but his reputation—no, his mission—had swayed them. And now, he might be leading them to their deaths. “They’ll be armored.”
“They always are, sir,” Pip drawled from behind him, sounding excited to go into battle, not seeming to care that they were fighting humans today instead of the Hrorak.
They were, Cortez reminded himself, humans who were keeping their people imprisoned. Still, he prayed—naively, perhaps—to end this without killing anyone. The can opener grenades would cut through their enemies’ armor, and the stun gas would do the rest.
He hoped.
“Follow me,” he said, as the clangs grew louder. Their enemies were running toward them.
Cortez also broke into a run, a plastech rifle in his left hand and three of the can opener grenades in his right. He had the guards to thank for supplying him with the weapons.
For a moment, he felt ridiculous heading into battle wearing the same tweed suit he taught freshman English in, but as adrenaline surged through his veins, he forgot everything except his goal, everything except the men whose lives he was here to save.
He threw the can opener grenades before he saw the enemy, angling them to bounce off a wall and around a corner. The first men in blue combat armor leaped around the corner at the same time as the grenades went off. Shrapnel and smoke exploded, that shrapnel edged with a corrosive acid that would eat through the men’s suits.
Knowing that would take time, Cortez dropped to one knee near the wall and fired as the men behind him did the same. Grenades hurtled down the corridor as plas-bolts streaked into the smoke.
Return fire came immediately, bullets rather than bolts. Cortez and his men weren’t armored—it had been challenging enough to get his people aboard the shuttle with weapons—so they had to be extra careful. Fortunately, with their superhuman agility, speed, and reflexes, along with eyes that could track objects moving at extreme velocities, they could do what would have been impossible for unaltered men, shooting the bullets out of the air before they struck their targets.
Cortez focused on that, letting the others shoot at the prison guards. Plas-bolts bounced off armored chests and shoulders.
Then the first curse came from around the smoky corner. Someone’s armor being pierced?
Judging that to be the case, Cortez let his rifle dangle from the strap around his torso and hurled his next weapon, a stun-gas grenade.
“Hold your breaths,” he ordered in a whisper his men would hear even over the cacophony of the battle.
He threw the grenade, then fired at it, ensuring it would explode right where he wanted it. The defenders fired several more rifles, incendiary bullets streaking at the intruders. Cortez swept his rifle back up and calmly picked two of them out of the air, his plas-bolts melting the bullets before they struck. Beside him, Pip took out even more projectiles.
The firing stopped. Cortez waited, his weapon trained on the smoke ahead.
Through the haze, he made out the armored forms of the guards, all of them on the floor. He kept holding his breath as silent seconds ticked past. He and his men were far enough down the corridor that the gas shouldn’t affect them, but he didn’t need to be the idiot who knocked his team out with his own gas.
Finally, when he was certain it would have dissipated, Cortez jumped up and ran to disarm their enemies. As the smoke cleared, he picked out eight armored men, all on the floor.
“They didn’t send nearly enough to handle the likes of us,” Pip said. “Sir, didn’t you comm ahead and let them know what to expect?”
“No.” Cortez turned, waving for one of the guards, who happened to be his old computer hacker from back on the Black Star, to come forward.
“That’s a mite inconsiderate, don’t you think?” Pip asked.
“Nobody ever accused me of being considerate to the enemy.”
“True, I remember them Hrorak claiming you were particularly uppity and rude. Such as that time when you didn’t turn our ship over so they could torture us all to death.”
Cortez patted Pip on the shoulder—he was glad to be working with the sergeant again—but he didn’t have time to share banter with him now. There was too much at stake.
“Tek Tek,” he said as his hacker came up, a specialized cyborg who could do more than beat up aliens in combat. He had ports and wireless interfaces for accessing all manner of computer equipment, human and alien. “Take Driggs and Ahmed and get up to C and C. I want the entire asteroid locked down so they can’t muster all their people against us. Encode the communications station too. Nobody comms out except me.”
“Yes, sir. Just like we planned.” The usually taciturn ex-lieutenant grinned, maybe feeling some of Pip’s glee at being in a battle situation again. Or maybe just pleased to be doing something to help their brothers.
Cortez thumped Tek Tek on the back as he and the two other cyborgs ran off. “Grunbaum, Potter, cut these men out of their armor, tie them up, and stuff them in a closet somewhere.”
“Do maximum-security asteroid prisons have closets, sir?”
“They have to keep the mops somewhere. Everyone else, with me. We’re going down to the detention center.” Cortez knew exactly where that was since he’d memorized the map of this place with obsessive focus.
“To free our men, sir?”
Cortez nodded. “Especially those scheduled for execution today.”
“Yes, sir,” several determined voices said at once.
“Stay alert. They’ll have more trouble to send at us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cortez took his remaining men and jogged down the corridor in the direction of the lift. He glanced at his wristcomp, the time displaying along with other stats. It had already reset itself to local time. Noon here. From the intel he’d gathered, he knew the executions were slated for one, but what if the prison staff was particularly efficient? What if Jerick and the others were already buckled into chairs or chained to slabs like corpses in a morgue, lined up and waiting for their needles?
There were more than three dozen cyborg prisoners here that he meant to extract, but Jerick had been his head combat sergeant on the Black Star for years and had saved his life three times in battle. He was a cocky loudmouth and sometimes an ass, but he was also the reason Cortez was doing all this. The reason he had to do it.
They reached the lift, and one of his men stepped forward, as if to enter it, but if security was on the ball, they would be quick to locate the intruders and lock down the lifts. Cortez fired at the control panel instead, causing smoke to waft out. He ran a dozen paces past the lift and ripped open a panel with a wrenching of metal. Inside, an access shaft led deeper into the asteroid.
“Can’t ever do things the easy way, can you, sir?” one of the men asked with a snort.
“Bullies break the pens of predictable pedants,” he said.
“That one of your poems, sir?”
“One I wrote as a kid. I had a fondness for alliteration then.”
“Alli-what?”
“Nothing.�
� Cortez skimmed down the rungs.
As his group descended, an alarm started clanging throughout the facility. He wasn’t surprised. He had expected it earlier.
“What happens after we get everyone out, sir?” the man descending just above him asked. “We can’t fit everyone in that shuttle, and even if we could, it’s slower than a slug. The fleet’ll have an armada of ships in the system before we can get to the wormhole.”
“I know. I’m counting on Fleet arriving in a timely manner.”
“Oh?”
“That’s why we took hostages.”
“Hostages?” the man asked, confusion in his voice.
Cortez paused since he’d reached the bottom of the shaft. He ripped open another access panel.
“Oh, the girls in the shuttle, sir?”
“The girls in the shuttle,” Cortez confirmed, though they were both women in their thirties.
He hoped his men had secured them well, as it would be tedious if they had to go hunting to find them. The pilot had been particularly feisty. That hadn’t surprised him—he’d looked up her record and knew she’d been decorated in the war, that it had only been her tendency to mouth off to superior officers, and everybody else around her, that had kept her from achieving a higher rank than lieutenant. She was what he’d expected.
The other woman, the neuroscientist, wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He’d read about all the research she’d done and papers she’d published, and he’d assumed she was in her fifties or sixties. At least her forties. But that woman couldn’t have been any older than he, and she’d been far more appealing than he’d imagined. Not some stuffy academic, but a cute woman with a shy smile.
One whom he’d instantly wanted to know better as soon as she made that sympathetic comment about cyborgs.
It was amazing how rare that sympathy was. Throughout history, people had appreciated soldiers, thanking them for their service and sacrifice, but throughout history, soldiers had struggled with returning from combat and fitting into civilian life again, a life where they couldn’t solve problems with violence. This last conflict had been worse. The military had turned young men into super soldiers with great strength and speed and endurance. That had given humanity an advantage in fighting the alien conquerors, but when the war ended and those soldiers were turned loose in society, still having all that strength… the problems had started.
Unchained_ A science fiction romance adventure Page 2