Cyborg Nation

by [Cyborg 3] Cyborg Nation (lit)

  “You will undress,” Medic Brent informed her as he passed the examination table and moved to the control panel of the scanner at one end.

  It was standard medical procedure and yet the moment Bronte realized that Caleb had every intention of monitoring the proceedings discomfort settled over her. She stared at him for several moments after he’d settled her on the examination table and withdrawn to a position near the door, assuming ‘parade rest’. He stared back at her unblinkingly.

  Mindful of how angry Jerico had been at the possibility of anyone else seeing her naked, Bronte looked around a little hopefully for a hospital gown. There wasn’t one. There wasn’t even a sheet on the examination table.

  She saw when she turned to look at the medic that he was waiting for her to comply. “There aren’t any gowns?”

  He exchanged a look with the sergeant, seemed to consider it for a moment and then replied, “No.”

  She wasn’t ordinarily terribly self-conscious, particularly not in respect to a medical examination. She was abruptly acutely conscious of the defects of humans in general and her in particular, however. The cyborgs, due to superior genetics, were as perfect as the city they’d created, virtually flawless. She’d been a long way from perfection before the accident. She shuddered to think how far she was from physical perfection now and she didn’t especially want to expose it for them to examine it.

  Somehow, though, she didn’t think she had a choice, and beyond that she knew she needed medical attention.

  Sucking in a shaky breath, she focused on removing her makeshift garments and lay down on the table, staring up at the ceiling and trying to block out the certainty that both men were looking her over with eyes that missed nothing.

  The medic set the scanner and took up a position in front of the vid as the instrument began its trek down her body. Surreptitiously, Bronte watched his face, although what she thought he might give away of his thoughts she had no idea. Professionals in general were trained to keep their thoughts to themselves to keep from alarming a patient unnecessarily so it wasn’t at all likely that the medic would give anything away even if he saw something. And, considering he was a cyborg, it was only that much less likely he would be horrified by anything he saw.

  The scanner stopped at her toes. “First scan complete,” the computer announced. The scanner began the back scan.

  Bronte’s thoughts shifted abruptly to the one thing that had been worrying her for weeks. Try though she might to keep her thoughts from affecting her, she felt her heart rate pick up with anxiety a split second before the computer announced it.

  “You have nanos,” the medic said. There was no noticeable nuance of surprise in his voice but the fact that he’d announced it at all meant he was.

  Bronte swallowed with an effort against the dryness in her throat. “Yes. I was hurt in the crash. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel all contributed some of their nanos to keep me alive.”

  “They have repaired the damage from the crash.”

  They’d also, to her certain knowledge, repaired her defective eyesight. When he stopped the scan over her abdomen, she waited for him to tell her what else the little bastards had been up to once they’d run out of things to fix.

  Despite her certainty that he wouldn’t give anything away, he did. She just wasn’t certain what his expression denoted as he studied the screen with frowning intensity. “Gestating,” he finally said slowly, flicking a glance at Caleb.

  Bronte followed the direction of the medic’s gaze, stared at the taut faced soldier a moment and looked at the medic again while that slowly sank in. “Are you sure?” she demanded, tensing to sit up to look at the monitor herself and then forcing herself to relax again.

  The medic looked at her strangely. “I am certain. There are three. This makes it difficult to ascertain time elapsed.”

  Bronte stared at him blankly. “Three what?”

  His face went taut, his lips tightening. “Cyborg/human fetuses.”

  Bronte thought for several moments she would faint. She closed her eyes as the shock rolled over her in a cold wave. Instead of fainting, however, she burst into tears, sobbing loudly in spite of her efforts to stem the excess of emotion. It was ridiculous, she knew, to get so emotional over relief, but she’d worked so hard to convince herself that she had to face the likelihood that something was terribly wrong with her it was as if the abrupt lifting of her certainty of horrible death had broken the dam holding back everything she’d tried not to feel. “I don’t understand,” she wailed when she finally managed to find her voice. “The crash … how could I still be pregnant when I was hurt so badly? I was sure even if I had been that it would’ve been terminated by the injuries.”

  Needless to say, the medic couldn’t answer that question any better than she could. She discovered, though, when she’d mopped the tears from her eyes so that she could see that the medic and the soldier had retreated to the hallway outside the examination room. It occurred to her abruptly that they probably thought she’d come unhinged from everything that had happened. She tried harder to regain control over her emotions but it seemed beyond her. The dam had broken and she had no control over the emotions pouring out.

  She more than half expected the medic to dash for a sedative, but then she realized that probably wasn’t something they would keep on hand. They weren’t human. She doubted they’d ever dealt with hysteria. Eventually, it leveled out on its own. She wasn’t certain if that was because she’d exhausted the pent up emotions or if it was the realization that the two cyborgs were discussing her, but when the soldier abruptly turned and disappeared, she leashed the tears and began to regain some semblance of calm.

  Apparently heartened by that, the medic re-entered the room. Grabbing up her clothes, he thrust them at her and then pulled the scanner away so that she could sit up.

  Revolted as she was at the necessity, she used one edge of the material to mop her eyes and nose since no one had thought to give her a tissue. She almost started crying all over again at the sense of misuse that caused her.

  She was among cyborgs, she thought miserably. No one was going to understand or empathize with her situation.

  The medic waited until she dressed herself—or maybe he’d just been waiting until she appeared calm enough to understand him.

  “The injury to the supporting structure of the leg has left that area weakened, but there is new growth of cells there and it appears that it will grow stronger as these cells reach maturity. There is also a great deal of new cell growth in the other area of injury, and the new cells have also not reached full maturity. These will also be weak until they do mature fully. There is some overall dehydration which will require drinking liquids to replenish.”

  Bronte nodded, feeling pretty much divorced from everything around her as her emotional turmoil left her.

  The soldier reappeared in the doorway. “I am to take her to her quarters if she is not in need of medical assistance.”

  The medic nodded. “I can not see anything to indicate that her natural healing abilities and the assistance of her nanos require interference. They are slow to do their job, but they are performing adequately. She will need to use caution in the use of the leg until it has grown stronger.”

  Bronte couldn’t help but think he sounded almost disappointed.

  Caleb approached her. His gaze was on her face, but he spoke to the medic. “She should not be allowed to walk to her quarters then?”

  Bronte glanced at the medic. “I need to walk on it to build up the strength.”

  He considered it. “Short distances only to begin with. If you are building strength, then you must use it only a little at first.”

  That, apparently, settled it as far as Caleb was concerned. He scooped her off the table. Exhausted from her outburst, Bronte struggled with the urge to slump against him for a few minutes and then decided she was just too tired to care what he would think about it and dropped her head to his shoulder as they left the medi
cal center again.

  She was too tired to think, either. All she wanted was privacy, a bed to lay down on … maybe a bath and food, but she wasn’t as interested in either of those at the moment as she was the bed and time alone, and that was the limit of her interest in her quarters.

  He took a new direction when they left the medical center. This one passed through a section of the city where people were stirring, she discovered.

  They stared. She didn’t know if it was because the soldier was carrying her like a child, or if it was because they knew, somehow, that she wasn’t a cyborg … or because they didn’t pass any women at all. Uneasiness pierced her apathy, however, when she noticed and she tightened her arms around the man’s shoulders, hiding her face against his neck, wishing she could vanish altogether.

  By the time she’d decided they’d passed beyond inspecting eyes and lifted her head to look around and see if she was right, they’d traversed the blocks of the business area and entered a residential section. Halfway down the block, the man turned onto a precisely perpendicular walkway lined with, of all things, flowers, and was approaching a smallish structure that looked like it must be a single family unit dwelling. It looked too big for one, and too small to accommodate living quarters for more than three or four individuals.

  Mounting several steps, he crossed an open, sheltered area and entered.

  Bronte looked around curiously when he set her on her feet.

  “These quarters were assigned to you,” he said, lifting his head and glancing around to encompass the large room with his gaze. “This room is set aside for entertaining guests and relaxation.”

  He paused long enough for her to examine the furnished room briefly and then strode to a doorway opposite the entrance. Feeling strangely detached and bemused, Bronte followed him.

  “There are two sleeping chambers,” he continued. “One on either side of the hallway and a private bath off of each of those.” He gestured toward the doors on either side of the short hall, waited until Bronte had peered in both doorways and then continued to the rear of the structure. “This area is for food preparation, dining, and relaxed entertaining.”

  Bronte looked at everything he pointed out, trying to absorb what he was telling her.

  “A male doctor was anticipated so although care was taken to provide comfort, it is not likely this will suit your needs, but it is all that is available at the moment. When you choose mates, they will provide a domicile large enough to accommodate a family unit. The office where you will work is in the med center. You will be allowed time to rest, but it is hoped that your health will allow you to begin working within a few days.”

  Her mind snagged on the comment about mates. She’d already opened her mouth to inform him she’d contracted when sudden doubt stopped her. If he didn’t know that when he seemed to have been well informed of everything else, then Gideon hadn’t told them yet.

  The argument she’d had with Gideon just before they were rescued abruptly flooded her mind.

  She hadn’t meant it, though. She’d only said it because she was afraid they wouldn’t want her anymore if they found out something was wrong with her.

  They had to know she hadn’t meant it!

  “Are you hungry?”

  The question distracted her from her thoughts. She met his gaze for a long moment and looked away, glancing around the food preparation area. “There’s food?”

  “The domicile was fully prepared for your arrival. There will be clothing for you in the larger sleeping chamber. I will prepare food while you bathe and dress.”

  She didn’t know why he’d want to do that, or why he would’ve been ordered to do so, she supposed, but the suggestion that she bathe and change hit fertile soil. Nodding absently, she turned and moved carefully back down the short hall. She didn’t realize he’d followed her until she’d pulled the makeshift top off and turned around to discard it.

  A jolt went through her when she saw him standing in the doorway of the bath.

  He looked her over frankly and then crossed the room to inspect the window. “Unattached females are generally quartered in a secure location,” he said by way of explanation as he turned to her again.

  That statement, as coolly as it was delivered, carried connotations that pierced her apathy. “Am I safe here?” she asked uneasily.

  “Yes. I am to guard you and to report any unauthorized attempts to enter your quarters. We are only ten minutes from the barracks. Assistance can be summoned quickly if deemed necessary.”

  Oh that was really comforting! “Why would you need assistance?” she asked uneasily.

  “I should not.”

  She crossed her arms over her breasts as it finally filtered into her mind that his gaze hadn’t lifted to her face since he’d turned to look at her. The movement seemed to break the spell. He met her gaze. “Why do you think you might need help?”

  “I do not.” Frustration joined her anxiety. “What threat are you guarding me against?” she tried again.

  “Hopefully none.”

  “Why do I need a guard at all, then?” she demanded, beginning to wonder if he wasn’t there to protect her at all but rather to keep her prisoner.

  He tilted his head curiously. “Because you are a female … and you are a person of primary interest to the people besides.”

  Trying to communicate with the cyborgs was a little like beating one’s head on a brick wall. They spoke absolutely directly to every question without elaborating one iota and actually providing any information. Either they just didn’t grasp the subtle nuances beyond the specific question, or they deliberately ignored them.

  “Are you going to stand over me and watch me while I bathe?” she demanded testily.

  Something flickered in his eyes. As quick as thought, she saw a flash of desire, and then it was extinguished just as abruptly. “I can if you wish it.”

  Her lips tightened. “Well, I don’t wish it!”

  He nodded and strode from the bathroom.

  She waited until she heard sounds from the food preparation center and then removed the loincloth and examined the bathing unit. Like those on the ship she’d grown accustomed to, this also used water. After adjusting the temperature, she stepped beneath the spray and simply stood allowing the water to pelt her for a while before she finally, reluctantly, looked around for soap to wash with. The scent was delicate, cleaning smelling and pleasure welled within her as she took up the bathing cloth provided and scrubbed herself thoroughly and then washed her hair.

  As good as it was to feel really clean, the longer she stayed the more drained she felt of emotion and energy. She was almost tempted to curl up on the floor of the unit and go to sleep. Rousing herself finally, she shut the water off and got out. Too weary to make much of an attempt at drying, she patted the drying cloth over herself haphazardly and wandered back into the sleeping chamber to look around for the clothes Caleb had mentioned.

  There was a clothes locker built into the wall next to the bath that was large enough to walk in to. About a dozen medical uniforms had been hung in a neat, precise row—and all of them were big enough it didn’t take a great deal of thought to figure out they’d been meant for a man—her father. There were other garments folded neatly on shelves. Deciding it must be underclothes, she took the garments out and examined them.

  There wasn’t much to them, she discovered, but it was easy enough to see that one triangle of fabric was intended to cover her genitals and the double ‘patch’ like garment was for her breasts. She was studying the swatch of cloth she was apparently expected to cover her femininity with when Caleb returned to check her progress. She covered herself with her hands instinctively when he appeared in the door way.

  “Uh … these don’t look very familiar,” she said uncomfortably.

  “They are designed to enhance the womanly figure. This goes here,” he said plucking the triangular shaped garment from her hands and pointing to her mound. “This covers these pretty
things.”

  Bronte’s jaw went slack with stunned surprise when he casually reached out and cupped a breast in either hand. He’d already withdrawn his hands, however, by the time she recovered enough from her shock to consider slapping his hands away. “I will help you.”

  Bronte snatched the garment out of his hands. “I don’t think so! I can figure it out by myself—could, if I wanted to. I think I’d just as soon wear the uniform without them.”

  “The uniform will not fit. It is male clothing in any case. These were brought when we reported that a female doctor had been brought instead of a male as expected.”

  Bronte’s eyes widened. “I’m expected to wear only this?”

  “There are skirts, as well,” he informed her pulling one from the shelf and displaying it.

  She could’ve read a book through it—both sides! “What is that for?”

  “Allure.”

  Somehow, if everything the men had told her was true, she doubted the women needed to worry about enhancing their femininity by going around the next thing to naked! They could’ve looked like … trogs and she was pretty sure the males would still have been just as interested. “I think I’ll wear the uniforms anyway,” she said mutinously. “My men wouldn’t like me wearing anything like this,” she added pointedly, tossing the skimpy garments back on the shelf and grabbing one of the uniforms.

  “Your men?”

  She didn’t look at him. She was too busy climbing into the jumpsuit. Caleb was a gorgeous male. There was no doubt about that, and she could see he was way more interested than just a little. She didn’t want to tell him about the contracts because she was worried that they might get into trouble, and because she had this awful fear that Gideon might have taken her seriously when she’d suggested he throw the contracts away. But he needed to know that she was taken and off limits.

  “I contracted with Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel before we … uh … crashed.”