The Cyborg Bounty Hunter: In the Stars Romance

by Miranda Martin

  The Cyborg Bounty Hunter

  An In the Stars Romance

  Miranda Martin

  Contents

  1. Lily

  2. Cole

  3. Lily

  4. Cole

  5. Lily

  6. Cole

  7. Lily

  8. Cole

  9. Lily

  10. Lily

  11. Cole

  12. Lily

  13. Cole

  14. Lily

  15. Cole

  16. Lily

  17. Cole

  18. Lily

  19. Lily

  20. Cole

  21. Lily

  22. Cole

  23. Lily

  24. Cole

  25. Lily

  26. Cole

  27. Lily

  28. Lily

  29. Cole

  30. Lily

  31. Cole

  Miranda Martin

  About the Author

  1 Lily

  Neon bulbs pulsate, lighting up the Temis Station storefronts and recreational areas by the entry platform. The shine from the buffed metal and glass surroundings makes me wince. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been anywhere so pristine. The combination of the intense glare and sheer commotion from new arrivals gives me some warped kind of motion sickness. I clutch the handrail and focus on inhaling and exhaling. The metal is cool to the touch. It’ll be okay, I think, as my hand slides along. I play a loop of that mantra in my mind. My breath plumes out of me like a lace mist. It’ll be okay.

  Of all the places in the galaxy, Temis Station is the safest harbor for me to take shelter in. I’ll need a job, of course, and it’s unclear how I’ll do on that front, but the important thing is that I’m here. So far, my escape is going according to plan. The next step depends on raising the funds to flee to Verna. Once upon a time, I didn’t relish the thought of living there indefinitely. Now, though?

  Now it sounds like paradise.

  After all, how many places are there for me to skip off to? The galaxy is full of trash bin stations and ransacked planets. Some locations had even been abandoned due to mismanagement of utilities and resources—garbage was a never-ending problem. Not to mention, Temis is among the few sites that Donner never expressed interest in. It’s sorely lacking in potential heist-level or criminal networks with coffers big enough for him to plunder, so of course it doesn’t show up on his radar. He said so himself, slimy bastard that he is. And Verna, well, there he would be deprived of life. It’s a small blessing that his kind can’t survive in that habitat—the atmosphere’s inhospitable for him but not for me.

  Suffice it to say, I’ll sleep better once I get there.

  Which brings me back to the issue at hand, namely, that I need to find shelter. Temis doesn’t exactly cater to those outside of the upper class. Starting from zero has a way of preying on your mind when you’re trying to take the first steps into a new life. But I can’t get lost in self-pity and misery, and I push forward.

  I step up to the customs kiosk and insert my identification chip into the thin, illuminated slot. The azure glow around the reader fades.

  “Welcome, Lily Ahlberg!” The kiosk chirps out my real name, and my eyes dash to either side, checking to see if anyone heard. “Citizen 1A4Z76O of the Virgo Overdensity to Temis Station.” The kiosk went on with a full commercial display of all the station’s amenities and upcoming events, but when the attention transitioned to residence, I froze. “Here on Temis it is against the law to be homeless. All visitors must have suitable accommodations. Please let us know where you plan to stay while on Temis Station.”

  My hand shakes as it rises. With one finger, I flip through the several pages of hotels and long-term rentals. The prices about make me faint. There’s only one set of housing I can afford, and they are unavailable more often than not. I tap ‘Terminal D: Low-End Rentals’.

  The screen shifts in hue and a dotted pinwheel shows in the center: processing. After a few seconds, it shifts into a confirmation page. There’s only one available unit, and I snag it right away. The down payment is deducted from the measly number of credits I have before the kiosk issues me a yellow key card.

  “Thank you for your time, and we hope you enjoy your stay with us, Ms. Ahlberg,” the programmed voice calls after me as I continue onward with clenched teeth. My name can’t get out. I immediately hop on the transfer shuttle nearby, desperate to get out of there.

  But my resolve is short-lived: the sutures that hold me together, concealed under my garments, send shooting pains through my body. I grit my teeth and fight like hell to suppress my wince.

  Damn it.

  I should be elated, I tell myself as the transporter flies from terminal to terminal. Between the dread that’s clouding my mind and the urge to look over my shoulder and scan the place for possible threats (for the millionth time, I should add), I’m straddling the line between my past and my future. How freaking poetic. As for the present? It’s got me in stitches.

  Literally.

  When the shuttle comes to stop at Terminal D, I take a few tentative steps out of the main car and onto the platform. My jaw clenches, and my hand presses against my side, just over the epicenter of the pain. The agony sweeps through me with every stride. Eventually, the shakiness in my gait simmers down, and another pang of self-doubt hits me. I pass through countless hordes of humanoid aliens who are here for either life or leisure, but I don’t pay them any attention. The air around me is thick with tension as my anxiety mounts. Not knowing if there’s anyone I should worry about behind me is too damn distracting.

  Oh, just look already.

  I sneak a peek, quick as a shadow. More of the same creatures, stretching as far as the eye can see down the platform. Nothing suspicious beyond that.

  For the first time, I study their expressions. Well, expression, singular; every single individual in the crowd shares the same detached look. Neither particularly happy nor visibly miserable. Indifference isn’t a bad thing. Hell, it could even work to my advantage as I embark on my mission of fitting in and not raising any alarm.

  My eyes linger, aimlessly cataloging their traits. Their features. The expression may be the same, but their faces sure aren’t.

  Temis is a place people come to when they finally manage to scrounge up enough capital. It’s a refuge, an escape from the galaxy beyond. A distraction. Here, they never have to let their minds stray or contemplate the true perils that too many suffer day in and day out. Class friction between the haves who keep taking and taking and taking from the have-nots. It’s a divide that’s entirely too clear on other stations.

  And here these fuckers are, buying their complacency. It isn’t hypocritical of me to be this outraged; until very recently, I was under Donner’s thumb, kept compliant by the devious piece of technology that had once been implanted in me. I brush my fingers over my abdomen and feel the outline of the bandage. Every second of pain is worth it.

  I clutch my yellow key card and take note of everything else in my surroundings as I leave the platform and enter Terminal D proper—the home for the station’s less than desirable occupants. Underneath my peaceful stance and serene exterior, my mind whirs to life as I suck in every last piece of data that I can extract from the Temis systems. It’ll come in handy once I can parse through the volumes of information, not only for securing employment but also for figuring out what my game plan will be.

  I have to play this safe. Keep my head down, even as I try to move as quickly as possible with funding my trip. Even with the protection of a new alias.

  I round the corner, and the station’s pristine inter
ior fades. Small piles of garbage line the walls. The lights flicker in places, and one or two of the long glowing bars have been shattered. A few humanoids and an AI stand on a corner in revealing outfits, asking those that pass by if they’re in need of any company. And then there’s the smell. I can’t quite place it. It’s somewhere between putrid body odor and decay, but it’s pungent nonetheless.

  It’s not long before I arrive at my rental, a five-by-seven-foot prison. I’m thankful it’s on the outer edge of the terminal, saving me from D’s dirty heart. The unit is about what I expected: enough room for lounger-to-bed sleeping, plus a single-column hot-plate kitchen and likewise a single-column bathroom nestled toward the back.

  The walls are an unpolished metal that covers both the ceiling and floor as well, wrapping the entire room in a never-ending bland gray. In the middle, a glowing circular fixture lights the room with an eye-aching cool white color.

  I sigh. It’s a box but it’ll serve its purpose. Neura-jobs drain untold amounts of energy, both mental and physical. All I need is a place to crash and recharge, and this will do just fine.

  I drop the unaffected social mask that’s kept me safe so far. Gingerly, I peel back the blood-soaked bandages that dress my wound, all the while hissing out in pain. It’s a relief to not be among the other passengers, stifling the agony that the gash in my abdomen still inflicts. I inspect the amateur stitches that are all that stand between my guts staying inside me and spilling through my mangled flesh. Swiftly, I douse the area with anti-infection remedies and clean the tissue before sealing in a fresh gauze with a brand-new, water-resistant bandage.

  Another tremor of pain surges through my body. I snap my eyes shut and wait for it to pass. If it hurts, it means it’s healing. That’s what I have to keep telling myself. It’d be worse if the tracker were still inside me, doubling as a shunt that delivered narcotics to my system. That was the double whammy of being Donner’s prized possession—precise location technology always pinging signals off me, and staying submerged under a fuckload of drugs, so that nothing as pesky as my conscience or my free will ever got in his way.

  My mind flashes back to the first few weeks of withdrawal, an inferno that started hours after I removed the implant. I thought I was going to die. It’s a huge step forward that my will to live is restored. It’s early days still, and I’m not back to my old self, sure, but there’s a spark. A muted flame emerging from the curtain of a slow-fading fog. The same fog keeps memories I don’t want at bay, lurking at the back of my mind.

  I splash some water on my face and my body, and I call it a shower. I buzz through my modest quarters and exchange the wig I wore on arrival for a lighter, more functional one. The synthetic tresses tumble over my small breasts, just peeking over the pale blue blush of my nipples. For my information-gathering mission, I settle on simple, understated clothes: leggings and a form-fitting top that’s torn in all the right places. With this attire, I’ll fit right in with all the other middle-class girls giggling and playacting the demure maiden while they enjoy their summer vacation.

  Time to rally, Lily.

  Fal9 bar, here I come.

  My first, unwitting informant is a goon. He’s looks like a local from this side of the galaxy—squat, wide-eyed, and with a reddish hue to his flesh. I couldn’t have planned it better if I tried. He gives me a once-over, pupils dilating as his eyes roam over my breasts, past my tiny waist, and stop at my thighs. It’s always easier to trick a mark who thinks of me as an easy piece of ass. And well, pale-blue girls have a reputation in these parts.

  “You’re lucky to have found me,” he says, eyes fixed on my lips. “I’m the right guy to know around these parts.”

  “Is that so?” I bat my thick eyelashes at him and take a ladylike sip from the drink in front of me.

  “Oh, yeah.” The moron runs his fingers through his wavy hair and smirks. “I have all the right connections around here. I’ll help you get on your feet.”

  More like you want to bend me over and fuck me nice and good.

  The asshole has no idea—and doesn’t even suspect—that all those nasty thoughts rising in his beta-mind are right on my wavelength. Neurapaths are rare. I doubt he’s ever met one before. At least, not one who blends in and doesn’t call attention to herself.

  “Like what?” More flapping of those eyelashes. Males are suckers for big boobs and shapely asses, but the real way to get them to engage is to maintain contact through half-lidded, heavily made-up eyes.

  “You want me to give you the goods just like that?” He mock-pouts. “Don’t I get a little something first?”

  I lick my lips, buying myself enough time to sort through all of the non-pervy intel that flows through his beta-mind. There’s a name that keeps cycling through his consciousness: Blake. Apparently, he uses telepaths of various sorts to handle info jobs for him. The only potential problem is that this Blake fellow is near the top of the hierarchy here.

  Hm, that could be promising.

  I access and retain the data while he’s consciously recalling it. The more we delve into this sexual tension he thinks is blooming in the air around us, the less likely I am to get anything good out of him, so I latch on before it fades beyond my reach. Within seconds, Blake’s position high up on the ladder isn’t a problem anymore—I have all the names on the rungs that I’ll need to climb and the grades I’ll need to pass through in order to get to him.

  My eyes drift from the temporary-infobank to the scene playing out at the nearby droid bar: an utter and mundane quasi-spectacle of other men picking up women, of laughter, shrieks, and stuttered voices trying seductive words on for size. The space is dimly lit, but my mind fills in the blanks. A faraway memory beckons me, flooding my mind with flashes from the distant past, back before my forced labor, before Donner, and before my coworker, even. Back when I still had dreams, a luxury I can now no longer afford.

  I snap back, and my mood transforms, going from passive to irritated. All of these semi-productive people throwing their wages at liquor and bad dates as they feign ignorance about the widespread famine and the disenfranchised masses living in poverty in the galaxy. I understand the urge to put that reality out of one’s mind, but... Who is wrong, me or them? Are they smart to let everything else fall away while they drink and whore their way to oblivion? Or is all of this just proof that their moral compass and their hearts had been destroyed in exchange for shiny, blind eyes?

  I rise in my chair, shaky and suddenly ill.

  “Hey, where ya going?” asks the red infobank, knitting his brows together.

  “Nice chat, but I’ve got places to be, uh...” I trail off. Damn it, I forgot his name.

  “Aaron,” he says, eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Right. Aaron.” I offer him a joyless smile. His crestfallen expression wins him a wink and a pat on the back. “I should go. Nice to meet you.”

  I spin around and head off. The din permeating the bar drowns out his blubbering protests. Poor sod. He’ll be fine though. Even if I were in the market for a romp, he’s a little too meathead muscular for my tastes.

  Good thing I’m not looking for sex. Like I told him, I have places to be.

  2 Cole

  I yank the nav-wheel sharply to the left, swerving out of the path of the incoming cluster of asteroids. Relief floods through me, but it’s short-lived.

  The vessel shakes like it’s got a life of its own from the violent turbulence.

  “Shit,” I grumble.

  A metallic screech shrieks in my ears as a rock claws its way across the tail of my vessel.

  “Assfucking shithead!” my bounty hisses. He struggles against the NionSteel cuffs that bind his taloned hands together before letting out a blood-curdling cry.

  I smirk, suddenly appreciative of the tumble the vessel took. This particular bounty was a tricky one to capture, with razor-sharp knifelike fingers swinging at me as I approached him.

  My ship beeps at me, lighting up the ship’s tail on
the control console.

  “Acknowledged,” I say to make it shut up, but the beeping continues. I sigh out my annoyance as the pings of tiny rocks play an irritating melody against the vessel’s metal shell. “Acknowledged!” I yell at the ancient AI.

  The obnoxious beeping draws to a close, but the memory of the aggravating sound echoes in my ears. I hold my breath as the ship flies out of the asteroid belt, hoping for a smooth exit.

  The alien resumes scraping his claws that might as well be cutlery against the NionSteel cage, same as he did all night. The shackles are hooked tightly to the bars of my bounty’s cage, giving him a limited range of movement. A pathetic and low-grade ruckus is all he can do by way of protest.

  I take comfort in the bastard’s discomfort. He gave me a fair fight when I captured him, and for a second, I thought he might prove deadly, but then I subdued him. It’s a good catch, nonetheless, even if he’s a thorn-in-the-hide sort of beast, which is just as well because it’s a useful distraction.

  I turn the volume dial on the switchboard. As the regulatory-scanners inform me of the recent crime reports, I crack open a vitamin cocktail. Keeping abreast of these seedy activities comes with the job, and the scanners give me a glimpse of what punishments and delayed incarcerations await the recently apprehended. It’s from that pool that my next bounties will originate.

  Weird as it sounds, listening to the monotonous string of names and charges as well as status updates provides mild entertainment. Aside from the Taloned Menace’s cacophony, it’s the only thing to fill the dreary few hours I have until we arrive at Temis. I’ll deliver my catch to the local lawmen, the bastard will be carted off to face justice, and then I’ll have to find my next prey.