by Cynthia Sax
Once she forgave him.
He surveyed the blackness of space. That might take a solar cycle or two.
She cursed at him through their private transmission line, calling him an arrogant, ungrateful male, vowing to ‘show him’.
Crash doubted she planned to show him her glorious breasts.
He still didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
“Rage knew Joan was his female the first time he smelled her.” After that miraculous occurrence, the kid had pestered Rage with question after question, straining the less talkative cyborg’s temper. “If our transmissions conveyed scent, we could find our females faster.”
If cyborg transmissions could be tracked, he would find Safyre faster. Crash’s gaze settled on a speck of light. It was a freighter filled with his cyborg brethren. They were being repositioned to Tau Ceti, a battle-scarred planet.
Cloaking hid their ship from the crew of the freighter. Those personnel were humans. Crash was a cyborg. He could penetrate any concealing mechanism. His strength was systems, communications, strategy.
It was that systems ability that had led him to Safyre. He’d been scanning seldom used B model communications channels, searching for more cyborgs to free, not expecting to find any transmissions. No cyborg had seen a B model brethren in seven human lifespans. More modern models used faster, less crowded frequencies.
Then he had heard her messages. I’m commanding all cyborgs to respond. Respond J052148. I’m commanding all cyborgs to respond. Respond J052149. She’d repeated that communication for each of the J Model cyborgs on the freighter.
His human side had reacted to her husky voice, awareness flowing through his circuits. His cock had hardened, as it did now merely thinking about her.
His more logical machine side had been outraged. She dared to command cyborgs, the best warriors in the universe. Clearly she was human or humanoid. She had their false belief that cyborgs were unable to process for themselves.
Her device had also belonged to one of his B model brethren. That warrior would have had to die for her to utililize it.
Was she attempting to harm more cyborgs, luring them to her with her sexy voice?
During his servitude to the Humanoid Alliance, Crash had seen how cruel humans could be. His handlers had abused, tortured, tormented him, and derived joy from it.
He assumed she was the same.
But then she never closed the transmission line. Not being a cyborg, she must have had no concept of how the device worked. Everything she said or heard was communicated to him.
He uncovered endless information about the female, including the purpose for her transmission. She was searching for another being named Nymphia. The human female had last been seen on the war-torn planet of Tau Ceti, the location of a cyborg manufacturing plant. Safyre was desperate to reach the surface and sought to hitch a ride on the repositioning cyborgs’ freighter.
It was a foolhardy plan and Crash had ignored it. Then she had investigated the possibility of commandeering the shuttle on her own. She, one human female, was planning to battle a crew of human males and a thousand cyborg warriors. It would have meant certain death for her.
Unable to allow that, Crash had responded to Safyre’s transmissions. He had tried to talk her out of intercepting the freighter but she’d been gloriously stubborn.
And he found himself wanting to capture her, to restrain her, to claim her as his.
He’d deal with her anger. Female.
What part of I’m not talking to you don’t you understand, warrior? Her grumpiness intrigued him. Cyborgs rarely showed emotion. Safyre overflowed with it. Why don’t you talk to that other female of yours, the one who is too precious to you to risk?
Ah. That was the source of her anger. She wanted him to herself. Her revelation warmed his chest. That other female isn’t mine. She belongs to another male.
I don’t care. Leave me alone.
Crash waited. She mumbled to herself about conceited, full-of-themselves males and betrayal.
He would betray her. Guilt niggled at him. I never vowed to take you to Tau Ceti.
But you will.
No, I won’t. Tau Ceti was in the midst of a war. He was done with battle.
Go away. Her anger had returned.
“Humans are irrational beings,” Crash observed out loud.
“I agree.” Gap nodded. “I can’t process why we’re waiting to kill the humans on the freighter. We could be upping our kill rates right now.” The younger cyborg shifted in his seat, as restless as always. “Death says the cyborgs have removed their tracking devices and their restraints. They’re ready to escape.”
Crash didn’t care about kill rates. That skills competition didn’t interest him. “Be patient. The humans aren’t going anywhere.”
“I’ve been extremely patient.” Gap crossed his arms. “Have we tracked down the females in the birthing class? No, we haven’t. Those females have no warriors to protect them. Remember what happened to Rage’s female when he waited to claim her.”
Joan, Rage’s female, had barely survived that delay. Crash thought of Safyre, of her desperation to locate her friend. “There’s no certainty our females were in that birthing class.”
What would happen if his female were in that birthing class, if he met her three planet rotations, ninety planet rotations, ten solar cycles from now? He’d have claimed Safyre. His honor wouldn’t allow him to discard her. But he’d have to claim his true other half. His soul would demand that.
Why was he pondering the possibility of having too many females? Crash shook his head, feeling foolish. He would be fortunate to have one.
“You don’t know that you’ll find your female in the birthing class,” Gap mumbled. “I do.”
“I—” Crash paused, feeling another presence in the sector. He reached out with all of his enhanced senses, tapped on the controls, searching with the ship’s technology too. “There.” He put the image on the viewscreen. A rundown, barely operational, refuse bin of a ship crept closer to larger freighter.
Fraggin’ hole. That patched ship contained Safyre. He knew that without verifying it. She was reckless with her lifespan.
“Who is in that ship?” Gap leaned forward in his seat.
“She’s mine.” The words flew out of Crash’s mouth before his processors could stop them. “The female in the ship is my target,” he amended.
“Your target is hailing the freighter.”
Crash tapped into that hail, putting the feed on the viewscreen. It was fuzzy, interference scrambling the image. He worked to clean it up.
“Captain Safyre of the merchant ship Mesh requesting permission to dock.” Her sexy voice filled the space and Crash’s cock pressed against his body armor.
Then her face appeared on the viewscreen and he almost came. He’d seen images of her, having sourced them from databases and merchant shipping records, but they hadn’t captured the full extent of her beauty.
Safyre’s face was round and soft and pale, dotted with tiny spots of pigment. Those freckles were situated in the most intriguing locations, on the tip of her nose, at the left corner of her pink lips, on her chin. Crash wanted to kiss them all, to taste her skin.
And he could gaze into her big brown eyes for a human lifespan. They sparkled with intelligence and determination. The tuft of orange hair sticking up from her head glowed like flame, a beacon calling him home.
“Your female has hair like a comet.” Gap stared at her, open with his admiration.
Crash’s fingers folded into fists. He wasn’t a violent cyborg but a part of him wanted to strike the male appreciation off his friend’s face. “She’s my target.”
“Don’t kill your target immediately. She could be my female.”
“She isn’t.” Crash’s knuckles whitened. “She didn’t attend a birthing class.” Safyre had very little formal education, her knowledge gained from action, not reading.
“She might be another cyborg’s female
,” Gap pressed. “She’s beautiful. You don’t want to waste her.”
He wouldn’t waste her. The female was his.
“Captain Safyre of the merchant ship Mesh requesting permission to dock,” she repeated. “My ship is in distress and requires repairs.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Captain Safyre,” a male voice responded and Crash’s irritation increased, the male’s tone too familiar for his liking. “I thought you wanted to visit me.”
“You know me too well, Captain Kray.” She smiled and Crash stared, temporarily stunned. Her beauty was without bounds. “I’ll perform the necessary repairs after we renew our acquaintance.”
After they renewed their acquaintance? Crash leaned closer to the image, instinctively wishing to shield her from the captain’s view. No other male would touch his female.
“The Humanoid Alliance can’t hear about this,” Captain Kray cautioned. “They’re being tight asses about security.”
“I understand.”
“My crew can be trusted to remain silent.”
“I’ll give them an incentive to do that.” She smacked her lips.
“I figured you would.” The male laughed. “Bring your ship and your sweet mouth on board.”
The transmission ended. Safyre’s image faded from the viewscreen but not from Crash’s processors. She wouldn’t use those lush lips on any other male. He’d prevent that from occurring.
“What is her plan?” Gap asked.
“I don’t know.” Crash waited, watching as her tiny ship entered the much larger freighter. His discomfort grew. The captain and his all male crew had been cruel to the cyborgs they were transporting, violating them not only with their cocks but also with daggers and other weapons.
The warriors had endured that excruciating agony. Safyre didn’t have their self-healing nanocybotics. His fragile human female wouldn’t survive the experience.
She greeted the captain. They exchanged breeding talk. Crash gritted his teeth, forced to listen as she flattered the male, talking about how big he was, how he tasted delicious. Captain Kray treated her with an infuriating lack of respect, calling her a fat slut, vowing to use her hard and then give her to his males.
No being would use her. Crash growled softly.
Safyre tolerated the verbal abuse, the strain in her voice barely detectable. The captain didn’t notice her lack of enthusiasm for his plans, didn’t suspect her motives. He agreed to take her to the bridge, where they could be alone.
His female was cunning and reckless, separating her target from the other males.
We’ve detected a female on board, Death, the warrior coordinating the cyborgs on the freighter, transmitted. His image accompanied his words. Being a more modern J model, the male resembled a human. He didn’t have Crash’s gray skin or his black eyes, eyes many beings found frightening.
Safyre would prefer Death. She’d wish for him to claim her.
That wouldn’t occur. Crash would fight the J model for the right to breed with his female.
We also detect blood.
Blood. Tension crept up Crash’s spine. It couldn’t be hers. He reached out to her through the transmission lines. She was laughing.
There was a pop, the thump of something hitting the floor tiles, and silence.
Was she dead?
Open the docking bay, he barked, panic filling him. Don’t harm the female. All other beings are yours to kill.
It’s time? Death asked for verification.
It’s time.
A cheer rocked the transmission line.
“Fraggin’ hole.” Gap propelled their ship forward. “They’ll kill everyone before we get there.”
Crash didn’t care about everyone. He cared about one reckless female. Female.
Not now, warrior. Her voice settled like a warming cover on his emotions.
She was alive. His shoulders lowered. He filled the sheaths and holsters on his body armor with weapons, listening as she communicated with the freighter’s guidance system. His savvy female was seeking to lock the system, ensuring he didn’t access it.
She wouldn’t be successful. There wasn’t a system in operation that he couldn’t access, locked or not.
Fully armed, Crash took the controls, assisting Gap with the approach. The docking bay was open. The cyborgs had secured that part of the freighter.
He guided the ship into the opening, eased it down in the berth beside his Safyre’s junk heap of a vessel. Her means of transport leaned alarmingly to the right. Panels curled, one fastener away from falling off. Crash cut the engine and rushed down the ramp. She was fortunate to be alive.
The two humans the J model cyborgs had cornered in the docking bay wouldn’t be as fortunate. Warriors toyed with them, slashing them with their daggers, inflicting shallow, non-lifespan-threatening wounds on their former captors.
Blood pooled around the humans’ booted feet. Their faces were striped with crimson. Their flight suits were sliced, the fabric soaked. They’d be killed slowly, painfully, retribution for past crimes.
Crash wouldn’t stop it even if he could. Although he got no pleasure from ending lives, he recognized the need for their deaths.
“What should we do with that?” One of the cyborgs inclined his head toward Safyre’s ship.
“Dismantle it.” Crash had a ship. Two weren’t required. “We’ll use the ship for parts.”
“That’s a ship?” The cyborg’s eyebrows lifted.
Only his female would label it as one. Crash strode through the docking bay.
“I have no interest in dismantling a ship,” Gap grumbled, following him. “I require a fresh fraggin’ kill.”
“You can have the captain.” Crash tracked the female’s delicious scent through the freighter. She smelled like desire, like warmth, like vaporized seduction, and he sucked her fragrance into his lungs, allowing it to coil around his mechanics.
The scent stopped outside closed doors. A human was slumped against the wall. Crash’s gaze flicked over the bars on his uniform. That was the captain. “He’s yours.”
“He’s not conscious.” Gap wrinkled his nose. “Killing him presents little challenge.”
It also lacked honor. “Trade him for a conscious crew member.” Some cyborg would enjoy waking the captain. Crash grabbed the human’s wrist, dragged his limp form toward the doors and slapped his palm on the access panel. The doors opened.
He stepped inside the bridge. The female stood before the giant viewscreen. Her shoulders straightened as he entered.
She knew he was there.
The doors closed behind him. Safyre didn’t turn around. Her lush form was barely contained in a navy blue flight suit. Her bright orange hair defied gravity. A pack rested by her booted feet. She wore a covering on one hand, had it placed on a panel.
“Rights and access functions are locked, Captain Kray,” the guidance system’s robotic voice relayed.
She’d transferred the captain’s palm print to the covering. That gave her authorization to change the system.
Crash dipped his head, impressed. She was a clever female.
“You’re too late.” She swayed.
He moved closer, inhaling deeply. The scent of blood hung in the air. Was his female damaged?
“You’ll need his palm print if you want control of this ship.” She leaned over the console, clutching the edge. “The covering only works with my hand. I assume you’ve killed the captain--”
“I don’t need him alive.” And he didn’t require her covering. “A bolt of energy coursing through his severed palm will fool the system.”
“Oh, fuck.” A crimson drop landed on the console. “Then you don’t need me.”
“Not to control the ship.” He needed her in all the ways a male needed a female. “There isn’t a system in this universe I can’t manipulate. I’m the best.”
His skill with systems might offset his dislike of fighting and his ‘scary’ eyes.
Crash hoped so becau
se he wanted to win his Safyre. Completely. The scent of her enthralled him. The need to claim her surged through his circuits.
“Shit. You would be good at systems.”
He frowned. She sounded angry, not impressed. “That’s a valuable skill.”
Human females followed around males with advanced systems knowledge. Rage’s Joan had relayed that insight.
“Your valuable skill fucked-up my plans.” Safyre wasn’t one of those females. Crash doubted she’d follow him anywhere.
He stared at her, not knowing what to do, what to say.
She exhaled, her breath ragged. “I can’t. Oh shit. I can’t.”
What couldn’t she do? He took another step toward her.
“I’m sorry, Nymphia.” Safyre fell.
Crash reached her before her head hit the console. He swung her into his arms. Her eyes were closed. Blood streamed down face, gushing from her nose.
His processors went offline.
“What did you do?” he bellowed.
“Like you said, asshole, you don’t need me.” She blew red bubbles with each word. “Not alive.” She winced. “That’s a good thing because--”
Crash covered her lips with his, unable to hear about her dying. Safyre gasped. He pushed inside her, sliding his tongue along hers.
He kissed her. The female was unresponsive, passively allowing him to explore her mouth, to relay as much of him to her as possible.
Moments passed.
Her long eyelashes fluttered. Her eyes didn’t open. “You tingle.”
“I’m a cyborg. Those are my nanocybotics.” They were unique to every warrior, helping them repair their damage.
“You’re a cyborg.” Her laugh held no humor. “I’m hallucinating.”
“You’re not hallucinating.” He licked along her plump pink flesh, removing the blood. “Let me fix you.”
“Yeah.” She reached up blindly, framing his jaw with her hands. “Fix me, cyborg Crash. It doesn’t have to be a permanent fix. I only need a few planet rotations, long enough to reach Tau Ceti.”
“You’re not reaching Tau Ceti.” He couldn’t allow that.