by Cynthia Sax
The remaining shifts were allocated to the cyborgs’ shared mission. He collected the genetic data of the settlement’s residents. Truth updated him on the monitoring of the modified freighters. No one had taken possession of them.
Dissent was happy. He saved each interaction, each encounter, each breeding in his databases and organic memory.
Future joy wasn’t guaranteed. A lifespan filled with battle and death had relayed that. His blissful state could terminate at any moment.
As though seeking to reinforce that truth, his female glanced at the closed doors. She peered at the exits less often now than when they first met.
But she still thought of escaping, of leaving him, and that damaged his heart.
He clenched his jaw. Greer would accept him and their connection with time. She would say the human love words to him…eventually. He had to be patient with his damaged female.
“You’re safe in the chambers.” He’d reset the sensors around the structure. “And I will protect you when you venture outside.”
“If I ever venture outside.” His female grumbled that complaint.
He was 95.6989 percent certain Zloy, her former master, was watching the structure. She was more easily safeguarded within its walls.
“This will give you an extra layer of security.” He extracted a small gun from one of his holsters. It had been custom fabricated for his little human’s hands. “I’ve set it on stun.”
He pressed it into her palms, guided one of her thumbs to the controls, calibrating the weapon for her use. Only the two of them could now shoot the gun.
She stared down at the weapon, holding it lightly as though it was a living creature and she was concerned about damaging it. “You’re allowing me to use your gun?”
“It’s your gun.” His lips quirked upward. It would look ridiculously tiny grasped by his much larger hands. “Have you utilized one?”
“I’ve never held one.” She looked up at him. Lines were etched between her eyebrows. “I’m a slave. Beings don’t allow slaves to utilize guns.”
They had deprived her of that joy. His lips flattened once more. “You’re no longer a slave.” He showed her how to hold the gun. “You line up your target here.” He indicated the sightlines. “You tap this to shoot them.” He indicated the trigger. “Grasp it tightly. There will be some recoil.”
“I could shoot you.” She frowned.
“You could shoot me.” He nodded. The probability she’d do that unintentionally was 40.5963 percent. She’d never utilized a gun before now. Her skill level would be low.
There was also a possibility his defiant female would target him intentionally. That probability was 21.4785 percent.
But the probability that giving her a weapon would earn him her trust was 89.5621 percent.
He’d take the risk.
“Why would you give me your gun?” She held it out to him. The muzzle was pointed at his chest.
Fraggin’ hole.
He grabbed the weapon. That immediately lowered the probability of being stunned to 0.0000 percent. “It’s your gun. See.” He pointed at the handle.
The fabricator, upon his request, had engraved his female’s name into the metal. Images of vegetation framed it. His human was beautiful. She deserved a beautiful gun.
Her green eyes widened. “That’s my name.”
“That’s your name.” He dipped his head once more.
“It’s mine?” Her gaze locked with his. “When I leave, I can take it with me?”
When she left, she would take him with her. “It’s yours. You own it.”
She ran her fingertips over the engraved letters.
Moments passed.
Did she like his gift? He shifted his weight from his right booted foot to his left.
“I own it.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “It’s mine.”
Her gaze met his. A sheen of tears covered her eyes.
Panic filled Dissent. Had he emotionally damaged her? “If you don’t like it—”
“I like it.” His female rushed to reassure him. “I love it.” She upgraded the intensity of her emotional response. “It’s mine.” She hugged the gun to her chest. “I’ve never had anything that was truly mine.”
She gave him a watery smile.
Those were happy tears. His trepidation vanished.
“When my father owned me, I thought I had possessions.” She honored him with more sharing of her past. “But after my father died, those possessions were taken from me. I was left with nothing, no garments, no devices, not even a pair of boots. I hadn’t truly owned those things. They belonged to my father.”
Her father lacked all honor. Anger rose within Dissent. “The gun is yours.” He would replace everything she’d lost. “Once you become skilled with the weapon, no one will ever be able to take it or anything else from you.”
He’d ensure that didn’t happen, would kill anyone who sought to obtain her possessions.
“I want to become skilled.” She held the gun in her right hand, placed her other palm on his forearm.
He felt that contact all over his form. His skin warmed. His simulated spine straightened. His cock hardened, pressing against his body armor.
“I’ll train you.” His voice was gruff.
He set up targets, stood behind his female, showing her how to hold the gun, how to aim, how to fire. They practiced again and again and again. Her confidence and her skill increased with every shot.
She had a superior vision system and a steady hand…for a human. His chin lifted with pride. “With more training, you’ll be the equal of a Humanoid Alliance male.”
“I want to be the equal of a cyborg male.” She grinned at him, her beauty stunning him more effectively than any weapon could.
“You’ll never be the equal of a cyborg male.” He laughed, amused by her bravado. “We’re manufactured for battle, have trained all of our lifespans for it.”
“You have a little bit of an advantage.” She dropped her pitch. He noticed she usually did that when she was being sarcastic.
She didn’t literally mean what she had said. His female realized he had more than a little bit of an advantage.
“Yes, we have a little bit of an advantage.” He drew his guns, set them on stun. “Shoot.”
She complied. He pressed his triggers at the same time, combining the energy from his gun with hers. She shifted her aim, shot again. He did the same.
“You’re a show-off.” Her eyes danced.
“I show off for you.” He holstered his guns. “You’re the being I want to impress.” He brushed a curl away from her face. The strand was decadently soft. The light over their heads made it glow.
She no longer flinched when he touched her. Instead, she leaned into him. He silently celebrated that progress, held it and her close to his heart.
In time, she would grow to trust him, would want to stay by his side.
“I should practice more.” She wiggled out of his arms. “I won’t defeat you by merely thinking about it.”
He watched her as she shot at the target. She celebrated after every hit, cheering, bouncing on the balls of her bare feet. Every part of her jiggled.
His lips curled upward. She was glorious. He could observe her all—
Dissent. Truth contacted him through a private transmission line.
Did Chuckles’ female give you the item? She had crafted a gift for him to present to Greer.
It’s in one of my holsters. That’s not the reason for this communication. The D Model’s tone was serious. I require your assistance on another matter.
You have my assistance. Dissent assured him.
The lack of details communicated the task concerned the rebel cyborgs. They might be listening to their transmissions.
Meet me here. His friend sent the necessary coordinates.
Dissent recognized the location. It was the pathway near the structure they were monitoring. The rebel cyborgs must have returned to the facilit
y, seeking to collect their modified freighters.
I’ll be there in a moment. After he had dealt with Truth’s situation, he would stop at the market and pick up the rest of the gift he’d arranged for his female.
Be there sooner. Truth ended the transmission.
“You’re leaving.” Greer had stopped shooting, was gazing at him.
Dissent stared back at her, shocked that she had processed his intentions. “My expression should be blank.”
“That’s how I know.” She nodded. “You always revert to cyborg mode before you leave.”
Fraggin’ hole. “You’re observant.” He was impressed with his clever little human.
“Slaves have to be observant.” She shrugged, dismissing his admiration. “It keeps us alive.”
He gritted his teeth. “You’re no longer a slave.” He’d say that as often as she needed to hear it.
“Can I leave?” She lifted her chin.
“It isn’t safe for you to leave. Not yet.” He had to deal with Zloy, her former master, first.
“That’s a no. I can’t leave.” She rolled her eyes. “If I was free, truly free, that would be an option.”
He was tempted to tell her she could leave but she might do exactly that, seeking to prove a point to him. Dissent would never forgive himself if she was damaged in any way. “If you were a slave, truly a slave, you wouldn’t have a gun.”
She opened her mouth, paused, shut it again. Her gaze lowered to her weapon. She drifted her fingers over her name. Her belligerent stance eased.
His female had accepted she wasn’t a slave.
If he’d known owning a gun was all the proof she required, he would have given her a weapon the first moment that topic arose.
Though that would have increased the probability of being stunned to 97.6989 percent. His rebellious human would have immediately shot him and fled the domicile.
“Train while I’m gone.” He lowered his head, brushed his lips over hers. His nanocybotics bubbled on her decadent flesh. That pleased him.
“I’ll stun you when you return.” His female was forever defiant.
He adored her feisty words, liked her message even more. She would be in the chamber when he returned, wouldn’t try to escape, wouldn’t place her lush form in peril.
“You can try to do that.” He drew her closer to him. “But you won’t succeed.”
Her lips parted, protest sparking in her eyes.
He kissed her again, harder, longer, invading her hot mouth. She moaned, that sexy sound flowing over him, coiling around his balls. He twined his tongue around hers as she clutched his body armor-clad shoulders.
Dissent. Truth’s transmission was edged with urgency.
He reluctantly broke away from Greer. I’ll be there soon.
You should be here already. The D Model pushed him. Are you damaged? Is that why you’re moving at human speed?
I was delayed. By his beautiful female and the want and need swirling inside him.
Dissent gazed down at her.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were soft.
It took all of his restraint to leave her side. He dashed out of the structure, running as fast as he could toward the designated meeting site.
The side mission Truth was leading was important. The rebel cyborgs could be a threat to his female. Breeding with her, kissing her senseless would have to wait until he uncovered what his friend required from him.
The warrior was waiting in the darkened pathway. “They’ve returned.” He spoke at levels only Dissent could hear. “The first thing they did was destroy the recording devices. They’re skilled.”
“They’re cyborgs.” Dissent’s lips twisted. “They would be skilled.”
Their opponents were their own kind. They were some of the best warriors in the universe, beings manufactured to kill, to evade capture.
He squared his shoulders, readying himself for the challenge of tracking them.
“I approached the structure and couldn’t detect them with my lifeform scans.” Truth shook his head. “The walls must be shielded.”
“We enter, prepared for anything.” They would be going into combat blind, not knowing what to expect, who they were facing.
That prospect made Dissent uneasy, but the two of them had encountered more dangerous situations in the past and had survived.
“This will be fun.” His partner in this risky mission grinned.
Fun wasn’t the descriptor Dissent would use. He followed Truth along the pathways. The D Model was correct. None of his scans picked up lifeforms inside the structure.
They entered through a side door. As soon as that exit closed behind them, Truth abruptly stopped.
Dissent ceased moving also. All the transmissions that constantly flowed through his processors had gone eerily quiet. They were cut off from the other cyborgs in the universe.
But they weren’t alone.
Truth lifted one, two, three, four fingers.
Dissent nodded, confirming that count. That was the same number of cyborgs he had detected.
There were two C Models directly ahead of them. A D Model was positioned to the left. To the right, there was a…B Model?
Dissent pointed in that direction, unable to process that reading.
Truth rounded his lips in exaggerated surprise and then nodded.
His lifeform scans weren’t malfunctioning. There was a B Model in the structure. According to the databases, all of those warriors had died.
That information must have been incorrect.
“Our guns are drawn and aimed at you.” An artificial voice informed them. It originated from the C Models’ position.
Fraggin’ hole. The warriors had been waiting for them. Dissent froze in place.
“Retreat.” The voice issued that command. “Delete all traces of our existence in your databases. And we won’t take any additional action against you.”
“You’d shoot your own kind?” Dissent frowned at the darkness.
“You’d rebel and leave some of your own kind behind?” The voice countered with that argument. “You’d allow your own kind to remain in the clutches of your enemies?”
During the mass rebellions, warriors had been left behind. Not every cyborg had been able to escape. “Those warriors are being retrieved.” He assumed that was the truth. The alternative was unprocessable.
“You’re correct. Those forgotten warriors are being retrieved.” The voice verified that fact. “But not by your precious council. Power, your leader, values exploring planets over rescuing his brethren.”
Power. The unnamed warrior assigned blame to the head of the cyborg council.
There was a 96.5698 percent likelihood that was where the blame belonged. Power was extremely arrogant, repeatedly insisted his strategies be the only ones considered. But Dissent found it intriguing that the owner of the voice had singled out the E Model representative.
If he had to make a projection, he’d state the warrior had a private issue with Power.
“You’re currently on one of the planets we’re exploring, oh mysterious voice.” Truth’s mocking tone would get them both shot. “Is that why you need the modified freighters—to rescue our brethren?”
The vessels would be ideal for that. A freighter would draw less attention than a warship. The modifications would allow them to shoot their way out of any dangerous situation.
“Leave.” The voice barked that order. “This is your last warning.”
Cyborgs couldn’t lie. Dissent exchanging a speaking look with Truth. The warrior hadn’t answered the question because they weren’t utilizing the freighters to rescue their brethren.
The other possibilities alarmed him. “If you attack the Homeland—”
A blast of energy slammed into his chest and crackled over his form. He couldn’t move his mouth, his jaw, his arms, his legs. His auditory and vision systems continued to work.
The fraggin’ warrior
s stunned me. He transmitted that information to Truth.
They stunned me also. Truth’s laughter had a sharp edge. We’re at their mercy.
The rebel cyborgs could kill them easily. That realization hit Dissent like a missile to his gut.
He didn’t care about his own lifespan. His female’s fate was his sole concern.
He had locked her in their structure. She would be left alone, unprotected. No cyborgs, other than Truth, who was standing right beside him, knew where Greer currently was.
Because he had insisted on safeguarding her himself.
His blasted pride had put her in peril. Dissent howled through the silent transmission lines, unable to do anything except express his frustration, his alarm, his regret.
You do process that I can hear your bellowing? Truth’s tone was dry. And, if they wanted to kill us, we would be dead?
Capturing them would have the same result as killing them. Dissent stopped howling. He would be parted from his female, unable to protect her.
“Your flippant friend is correct, warrior.” The owner of the voice must have been listening to their transmissions also. “Our fight isn’t with you.” There was a pause. “At the moment.” The warrior made that amendment. “If you attempt to follow us, that will change.”
Footsteps fell around them, deliberately heavy. Mechanical joints creaked. That must be the B Model. That malfunction had been common with those older warriors.
Their targets were leaving.
Dissent’s fears for his female eased. The rebel cyborgs hadn’t killed, captured, or bound them. The effects of the stunning would soon wear off. He could then return to Greer.
Calling me flippant was a bit harsh. Truth grumbled through the transmission lines.
Cyborgs can’t lie. Dissent reminded him of that fact.
His friend was flippant, often at the worst of times. It was part of his programming, as the need to protect was part of Dissent’s.
It was still harsh. The D Model huffed.
Engines rumbled. The noise was loud at first, then quickly faded into silence. Dissent’s scans no longer detected the rebel cyborgs.