Resurrection Heart: Robotics Faction - Cyborg Mercenaries

by Clark, Wendy Lynn

  He dropped his lips to one pointed nipple and put it in his mouth.

  Delicious agony squeezed between her legs. She moaned.

  He helped her turn and straddle him, writhing closer in the tight space.

  She caressed his powerful knee. Every stroke of his tongue drove her to higher ecstasy and every rub of his palm deepened the ache of her need. She shifted on his knee, rocking gently, rubbing herself on every inch of him.

  He made the noise again, masculine need.

  She arched in his arms. The world tipped backward.

  He stilled. Holding her tight, but close, without passion.

  She took longer to bring her body back under control of her brain. “What is it?”

  “You fell out of the tree.”

  “What?” She suddenly realized the arching was so easy because she was going with gravity, swinging off the branch ledge and into the unknown darkness.

  She laughed and clawed at his suit to help herself back up.

  He helped her back into place, wedged against him again, in the safe crook of the tree. “We are nuts.”

  “You’re the nut,” she said, letting herself rest her head under his chin, hearing his heartbeat. “But I’ll crack you yet.”

  His chest rumbled. “You already have.”

  “Good. Wake me for my shift.” She started to nod off.

  “Talia.”

  She twitched. “Hmm?”

  “Sorry.” He stroked her arm gently. “Where I grew up, nobody bailed you out if you made a mistake. They didn’t have the strength to care. I was in a Hazard Five unit where they wouldn’t even help their own teammates.”

  “Bastards,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I saved those kids because I saw you wanted to stop the motorcade. You were willing to take on the CO and anybody else who told you not to care. That woke me up. You called me strong, but I think you’re the strong one.”

  Sparkling lights glimmered in her chest. She didn’t know what to say.

  He held her.

  And because it was Logen, she didn’t have to say anything at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Despite descending deeper into the pit of the deadliest uncharted jungle, moments of beauty struck Talia, bringing out the brilliant sunshine that had taken up residence just behind her still-beating heart.

  It was because of Logen.

  They crawled out of a black swampy goo infested with squishy worms, and then they rested on the edge of a field of sparkling moths and jewel-toned butterflies. Gigantic dinozoids easily capable of crushing them underfoot trudged across the field, releasing the moths and butterflies in brilliant clouds of color. While they sat in the sunshine, resting and pulling squirmy creatures off each other, this terrible situation almost felt like an adventure.

  “Tell me we’re getting somewhere,” she finally begged, on the late afternoon of their fifth day since leaving the Supply Depot. Everything ached, and hunger made her shaky. “Tell me we’re at Base Two already.”

  “We’re far from everything,” he said, using his knife to cut open the bamboo-like stalks that held potable water and offering one to her. “Maybe two more days. Try to hold on.”

  She groaned and filled her belly with lukewarm liquid.

  “All right? Come on.”

  The exoskeleton pinched, but it did allow her to walk faster now, almost as fast as Logen’s long stride. She used his original spear for a walking stick; he had carved another one for himself to wield. Don’t whine, don’t whine, don’t whine.

  “Don’t become a whiner,” he said, reading her mind.

  “I know,” she snapped. “It’s hard when you’re so chipper.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Surprise shared space with amusement.

  “You are,” she said. “I’m about ready to murder the entire robot army with newly invented psychic rage powers, and you’re just-one-more-mile Mr. Cheerful over there.”

  He laughed aloud, startled as much by the mirth as by her statement.

  It transformed him.

  She stopped.

  He stopped too, rubbed a hand over his face as though testing to see whether the smile had damaged his unused muscles.

  “I feel like I should clap,” she said softly. Because a smile on him pierced her heart with happiness. Sunlight exploded outward, a flash of genuine joy matching the warmth in his smile.

  “Don’t,” he said, almost back to normal except for the lingering disbelief. “It’s already gone.”

  “I didn’t know you could smile.” She stepped forward to take his hands. “You look gorgeous.”

  He snorted.

  “Hot,” she insisted. “Smiling is a good look for you. When was the last time?”

  He shook his head. Unsure.

  “Like I said before,” she said, “I’ve been experiencing more things like I used to. I used to be a chatterbox, and then basic training annihilated my voice. I think I’ve spoken more since we left Base One than in a century of assignments.”

  He gentled and rubbed his thumb across her cheek. “Words are coming easier for you.”

  “It’s my old life coming back,” she confessed. “It’s been a long time since I said anything beyond the yes-sir-no-sirs. Since we both did.”

  That was because of spending time together. Not in their own rooms, her hating life, counting her money obsessively, planning when she could leave. Now they were constantly in each other’s company, pressed together like socks.

  He seemed to feel the same way. He set his feet and traced her cheek.

  She pushed her advantage. “So about those ‘physiological reactions’... are you sure that’s all it is?”

  His expression flipped to wry. Again, it was a new emotion, and she loved experiencing it even though it caused him to turn away from her with a tossed off comment. “Sooner we get moving, sooner we reach somewhere.”

  Walking tortured her. “Tell me it’s today.”

  He did roll his eyes this time. “Two days. Keep marching.”

  Less than an hour after his dire prediction, they ran into the waterfall.

  She hobbled into the clearing. Wonderful disbelief filled her lungs with grateful relief, and she laughed aloud in delight. The glistening shimmer of water streamed down into the beautiful lagoon of her memories, even more beautiful in daylight. The same old ground rooters snorted and munched rotting vegetables and detritus. Aquapedes surfaced, rippling the pond, and small butterflies flittered through shafts of sunlight.

  They caught an aquapede using the method of Logen charging into the stream and spearing one, and ate it raw. Health and vitality seemed to flow back into her limbs.

  She wiped her mouth and tossed the last piece of carapace. The last bites were a little questionable, but she was still ravenous. “Let’s cook the next one.”

  He glanced around. “Here’s the fire ring.”

  The memory of what had happened the last time they went to the fire ring heated her.

  He stood too close behind her. She felt his presence like a shaft of sunlight, burning bright on her skin.

  She knelt down in the exoskeleton and sifted her fingers through the ashes as though sifting for memories. “Feels like last week.”

  He was looking out over the lagoon, but her words drew his unstoppable gaze. Heat kindled in his eyes.

  She bonded to the spot.

  He reached out. Every muscle in his arm flexed in a perfect ripple. His wide hand moved to stroke her head. Tremors started in her belly. Physiological reaction or not, framed by the gorgeous waterfall, she wanted to fall into his embrace and—

  He retracted his hand, tugging a little. A gross chunk of white insect shit stuck to his hand.

  Great. She grabbed her hair. There was crap all over it.

  His amusement glinted as he raised a brow and flicked off the sticky crap. “Hit the showers?”

  “Me first!” She headed to the waterfall, stripping off her suit. “Stick to the shallows. We don’t hav
e scanners.”

  He snorted, as though she didn’t have to caution him twice, and headed off downstream.

  While she picked the shit from her hair and scooped up sparkling green water to wash it off, she tried not to think about his gorgeous flexing abs and the muscles she had felt, and would love to get a good eyeful. She hadn’t seen him naked since the Supply Depot.

  Maybe, if she hurried to finish up, she could sneak up and surprise him.

  She was half-dressed and cinching down the exoskeleton when a fat old ground rooter waddled out of the underbrush.

  In comparison to the teethed and poisonous creatures in this jungle, ground rooters weren’t dangerous. They preferred trash and small dead things easily scooped into their bill-shaped lips.

  She gave it a wide berth anyway. Its bag-like gut was the size of a storage locker, and harmless or not, alien fauna weren’t too safe. No one ever knew when it would change its habits in response to foreigners.

  Ah, there was Logen.

  She quickened, moving easily in the exoskeleton, and her heart raced. Shirtless, he turned away from her, just visible through the brush. His well-muscled torso—

  The ground rooter cut in front and turned to face her. Tiny eye spots reflected the sun.

  She stopped short. “Don’t try it.”

  Its nose-antennae twitched as it snuffled up to her boots.

  She backed up a step.

  Her spear was uselessly far, over by the fire pit. Logen’s rested against a nearby tree. The rooter stood like a solid city barrier between her and Logen’s spear.

  Logen had disappeared below the rise to wash off.

  The ground rooter’s nose-antennae twitched, then stilled. Its head moved away.

  Good.

  She started moving again, going behind it on land—

  The rooter wheeled and smacked her on the backs of the knees.

  The exoskeleton folded and she went down.

  Her elbows broke her fall, shooting gasping tingles up her funny bone.

  The rooter’s hard plate scooped under her boots. Its maw opened to reveal a slimy black pit lined by hard, white molars.

  Fear sliced through her pain. She rolled away.

  The molars crunched down on her shoulder. They bashed like little rocks, cutting off her breath. Its rope-like tongue lashed around her legs and yanked her into its belly. Slippery goo coated her exposed skin.

  She scrabbled inside the throat.

  The tongue yanked her to the inner cloaca. Her boots went through and touched sizzling stomach acid. The exoskeleton weakened and started to disintegrate.

  Her boots rested on a disintegrating mass of garbage in the rooter’s gut.

  She pushed herself out, standing on the garbage, and gripped the flat lips.

  The ground flashed out the sides of the mouth.

  She hooked her hands on the gums and yanked herself half out. “Logen!”

  The rooter snapped down on her, biting her belly and back in its bruising grip.

  She jabbed her elbow into its eye spot.

  It dropped its jaw, stunned.

  She scrambled out of its mouth, got her slimy feet under her, and pushed herself up to run. “Logen—”

  The rooter flopped on top of her.

  She hit her head on the shallow rocks and saw stars.

  The rooter crushed out her air, scooped her up, and started eating her stunned, unresisting body.

  And then Logen was there, forcing the rooter to spit her out.

  His bare fists landed like hammers, his legs flexing like pistons. He rolled the beast off.

  She crawled free.

  The rooter whipped around and butted into Logen’s exposed legs.

  Logen fell forward, onto his knees, in the shallows. The beast stomped Logen while he was down, flattening him into the water. He struggled to rise.

  The beast pushed him deeper, off the shallow ledge and into thigh-deep water. He disappeared beneath the surface.

  His arms flailed.

  The beast stood on his chest.

  She crawled away.

  There, Logen’s spear. She grabbed it and hobbled back, leaning heavily on the blunted end.

  Logen’s fists pounded desperately on the beast, which seemed content to stand on him under the water.

  She aimed for the vulnerable black eye spot and stabbed.

  The beast feinted toward her.

  She missed, hitting the reinforced hide next to her target. The spear bounced off. Its sharpened point snapped off and fell into the water, leaving her with nothing but a wood dowel.

  She thrust the dowel into the eye spot.

  The rooter’s mouth opened.

  She whacked it twice, three times, four.

  Logen’s fists disappeared under the waves.

  Fuck.

  She lost her footing and started to fall to her knees. The rooter came at her, sensing she was going down. She gripped onto the dowel. As she fell and it came for her, she smacked it one last time.

  It struck in the dead center of one beady black eye spot.

  The rooter scrambled back and sideways, wheezing and screeching. It splashed away furiously and climbed onto the shore.

  Logen burst to the surface, coughing and spluttering.

  She landed hard on her knees between him and the monster.

  The rooter shook its head, stumbling back away from the water. The tender, vulnerable throat beneath its heavy, armored jaw flashed in the sunlight. It righted itself, reoriented, and clapped its flat-billed lips at her.

  A threat.

  She gripped her dowel.

  It paced back and forth on the land as though calculating its angle of attack.

  Then it plowed toward her.

  She rolled to the side and whacked it on the nose again.

  Even though she missed its eye spot, it aborted and stumbled backwards, cringing as though she had hit true.

  While it was distracted, she crawled past it and grabbed her spear from the fire ring.

  The rooter followed more slowly, clacking its bill.

  She put her back against a tree and dug into her position. Angling for the exposed jaw. Adjusting her grip.

  The rooter ducked its head and circled back and forth in front of her.

  It feinted toward her right.

  She dodged to the left.

  It swung the opposite direction and brained her with its jaw.

  The jungle rang like a gong and the sky wheeled overhead. The rooter came at her, backed away, came at her again. She gripped the spear, keeping the point at her shoulder, and lay still.

  The rooter approached cautiously, clacking its bill. It backed away several times, then moved decisively to scoop her up. The vulnerable weak spot behind its jaw flashed.

  She jammed her sharp-tipped spear into the jaw.

  The spear missed.

  Of course, because she was a fucking spotter. Not a Gun or a Grunt.

  The rooter jerked back in shock, squealing. The spear caught on the edge of the armored jaw, and, as the rooter jerked back, embedded in the thick hide. The rooter felt its tug and yanked harder, freaking out. It jerked away, forcing the spear from her hands.

  Oh shit—

  It thrashed away from the spear, bobbing its head up and down furiously.

  The dowel jammed into the hard earth. The spear dislodged, fell off, and clattered on the grooved mud.

  Fuck.

  The rooter shook its head once more. Now freed, and her weaponless, the rooter snorted, put its head down, and charged.

  She scrambled up on her butt.

  It charged over the spear, stomping on the wood. The handle bent and the sharp tip rose up. The rooter charged right into it. The spear buried itself into the soft, vulnerable throat.

  No fucking way.

  The old rooter gagged on the impaled spear, coughed, walked in a death spiral, wheezed in agony, and then died.

  Talia sat on her butt, staring at the dead creature.

&n
bsp; Behind her, Logen coughed and threw up. The whole fight had taken less than five minutes; the last portion, less than thirty seconds, and it felt like an eternity that she now stared at the dead beast.

  Rooters never attacked anything. They were built to run from the snakezoids, their natural predator, and recycle everything they found on the ground. Not to attack. The biologists had never even witnessed a dominance fight, although several rooters had almost fought each other over a particular piece of tasty garbage.

  What was that in the grass?

  She dislodged the dowel and used it to move aside the skin flaps of the dead animal. Garbage half-consumed over the last weeks spilled out and, amongst the rock and other indigestibles, she saw a single lavender-purple barrette just like the packet her brother had given her for her last birthday.

  No fucking way.

  She cut the creature open and sorted through the rest, finding the tread to a boot and a woman’s chronometer, also like the style she’d gotten from her mother in a care package for her big second-century birthday.

  No wonder the creature had attacked. She smelled exactly like its last meal.

  Logen groaned behind her.

  She returned to help.

  He sat and struggled to catch his breath, but aside from bruises and scratches, and a few tooth marks here and there, he seemed much better.

  She cupped his face.

  He looked up at her. Communication passed wordlessly between them. He trembled—no, she did. They both did, in shock and relief. His eyes darkened with feeling.

  She was an idiot.

  Wanting him to tell her about his past, worrying he didn’t trust her, worrying she didn’t trust him. Everything she needed to know about Logen was already right here, in front of her. His past, his childhood, and his future were nice extras that someday she hoped he would share. But her feelings weren’t for maybes or memories. Her feelings were for the man.

  And the only thing that had held her back was fear.

  Not fear of him.

  Fear of herself.

  But they were out in a deadly jungle, hunted by robots, with no hope of rescue and barely any of survival. Now was not the time for fear or self-doubt. Now was the time to live.