Kyra turned from the sink and her remorseful musings to stare at her captive. The tears had stopped, but her gut still clenched in rebellion of what she had to do. The possibility of failing a third time loomed like a dark cloud and threatened to disintegrate her resolve.
“Damn you, Jackson. I should never have gone along with you. I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Her bastard ex-husband had come up with the Cyber Husband program, which the relieved chancellors of the UCN had rushed to support. Fueled by monies received for renting out the soldiers, Jackson had convinced them to try a Cyber Wife version. When no volunteers stepped forward, they had coerced women prisoners into it. She had been happy when Jackson and his sadistic followers had found women much, much harder to control. Chaotic hormone surges influenced cyborg females as much as any set of processor commands ever could. Hormonal disruptions happened in over ninety percent of the cases, and they happened regardless of what the best and smartest of cyber scientists did to prevent them from occurring.
Through her continued work at Norton, Kyra had heard the whispers that Jackson had killed one of the Cyber Wives during experiments to tweak her sexual leanings. Whatever the truth was behind the rumors, one of his tortured victims had finally managed to kill him back. Having gone from loving Jackson to loathing she had ever met him, she had been nothing but happily relieved with that fatal consequence of his work.
Yet Jackson’s tweaking of the Cyber Wives had not been the trigger for the extreme actions she was currently taking with Peyton Elliot. No. The women had not been the thing that tipped her over the edge.
One year before Jackson had been killed, the sick-minded bastard had found a way to insert a smaller controller device into children. Behavior issues were a thing of the past now for parents wealthy enough to afford the million dollar implant. If a controlled child rebelled, a parent could just zap them a couple times. It had proven to be one hundred percent effective in wiping out rebellious behavior. Future generations among the wealthy would be automatons afraid to take any normal human risks.
Kyra had refused to be part of the work, but as a senior scientist at Norton she had been unable to avoid seeing the outcome. Children with controllers drew their personalities inside themselves the way abuse victims did. The wiring of children was more than tragic. It was despicable... and truly evil. It was on par to the evil she had committed by not challenging Jackson’s ethics when she should have.
Everything bad had started with the soldiers who had volunteered to become cyborgs to better serve their country. Sure there was general peace across the entire world because of them, but the lack of open conflict had come at a cost no one had anticipated. Now every crime, every legal transgression, was potentially punishable by the installation of some form of cybernetic implant used to control the individual.
Kyra hung her head as she did every time she thought about her part in making such human enslavement a reality. Visionary scientists like her had cured cancer and finally relieved the world from its dependence on nearly non-existent fossil fuels. But sadly, her generation’s vast intelligence was what had also given birth to advanced cybernetics.
In the beginning, cybernetic replacements were just intelligent prosthetics. Studies in how similar the brain was to a computer had led to experiments that resulted in reprogramming sociopathic criminals who had been declared socially unsalvageable. That had been the focus of her graduate work. No one had minded when former rapists, murderers, and child molesters had been turned into productive civil servants. Her self-righteous about the ethics of those criminal conversions had died a hard death right after she’d come to terms with what she’d helped do to the Cyber Soldiers.
Her success in controlling criminal minds had led Jackson to his solution of how to keep cybernetic soldiers from acting out their potential post-traumatic stress issues. In the span of six months, the line between right and wrong had been erased by the money pouring in from the first soldiers put into the Cyber Husband program.
If she had only rebelled then instead of helping make sure it worked, men like Peyton might have freed themselves a hell of a lot sooner.
“Resume recording. Before I install the new processor, my first task is to remove the controller wires. Without the aid of a body scanner, this will be a long process. Keep recording the visual even if I cease talking.”
Kyra frowned at her brain’s habit of endlessly rehashing the past. A person could intellectualize the ethical debate all they wanted. It didn’t change the one truth she had painfully learned in her last twenty years as a cyber scientist. Good. Bad. Or somewhere in between. The degree of trying control didn’t matter. Humans with free will were not meant to live as robotic machines. And they certainly were not meant to be forced by programming to obey the every voice command of another human being.
Cyber slavery was technically against the law, but the law only governed what was done with creations containing one hundred percent artificial intelligence. As strange as it was, the rights of completely mechanized robots were protected better than those of cyborgs. No one enforcing cyber law seemed to care that cyborgs were still human despite their processors and prosthetics.
Lost in her thoughts, Kyra walked slowly to her workbench and started gathering up her tools. Everything in her said mankind was doomed if programmed enslavement of all cybernetically enhanced people was allowed to continue and flourish.
She couldn’t let that happen when she could potentially stop it.
Determined to change what she could before it was too late to try, Kyra carried her operating tools back to the chair. Rolling Captain Elliot’s head to the side, she felt for his cybernetics access panel. When the small square opened, she stared into the metal compartment now mostly filled with soot coated electronics.
Ignoring the smell of burnt circuitry, Kyra removed the controller screw and set it aside. Then she began the task of pulling out twenty feet of conducting wire that carried the controller’s current throughout his torso. The removal process took over two hours, during which she was mostly silent. It had to be done a few inches at a time to keep from tearing adhered tissue any more than could be prevented. Finally, the end cleared the tiny insertion hole and she let out a relieved breath.
“Suspend recording for ten minutes. Resume automatically after that time.”
With the worst part of the restoration over, Kyra allowed herself to sob for real in relief. When that short bout of self-pity was done, she wiped her eyes on the cloth sleeve of her doctor’s coat and swore at her dead ex-husband again. Regret over her marriage rivaled the shame she felt about her life’s work.
“Damn you, Jackson. Damn you to hell and back. I’m glad one of your creations killed you for this fucking shit. What the hell were we thinking when we did this to living people?”
She heard the camera begin recording again and gladly moved on to the easier task of replacing Peyton’s upgraded circuit boards with older models she had programmed herself.
Well, Nero had done some of the work, but she had checked the content several times. The only override left was hers and it was there to prevent the newly configured cyborg from taking negative action against himself.
She had learned that hard lesson with Alex when she couldn’t prevent him from jumping to his death.
“Two big ones down and only a hundred things left to go. Hang in there, Captain Elliott. I’m working as fast as I can.”
Eight hours after Peyton’s delivery to her doorstep, Kyra sat exhausted in her desk chair recording her final notes as she waited for Peyton to wake up on his own. Depending upon the amount of damage the reboot had caused, his upgraded cybernetics might take some time to integrate with her older processor code. No master chip was running the show for his body any longer. All Peyton had was a basic repair-as-needed processor that worked in the most rudimentary of robotic machines, even those not melded to an organic human.
Of course, there was no guarantee the new programming would wo
rk as she hoped. For all she knew, she might find herself trapped in her lab with a mad killing machine when he came around. That had happened with her first experiment. She’d had to euthanize Marshall 103 after only a few days when it was obvious his mind had not been able to rebuild normally. Having removed the creator code file, she had essentially left herself with no recourse to reboot him again.
After she had released Marshall from his torture, she had also had to remove the evidence of her changes to him. Adding insult to injury, and to cover her modifications, she had taken Marshall’s dead body to a burial facility for immediate cremation. She had collected his cybernetic parts and had the metals melted for recycling while she watched.
Experiment number two had gone a little better. Alex 287 had physically recovered and survived the emotional roller coaster of the assimilation process. However, living with the shame of what he had endured as a cyborg turned out to be more than Alex could handle. A few months after his restoration, Alex had committed suicide by throwing himself off a mountainside where they had gone for what Kyra thought would be a relaxed and healing weekend for him.
Alex’s cybernetics had tried to fix him as they were made to do, but they had not been able to repair his body after such a traumatic fall. Kyra had eventually come to realize the jump had been intentional on his part. She’d had to retrieve Alex’s broken body by helicopter. Then she’d had to repeat the body disposal process to once again hide her modifications from being discovered.
Kyra sighed with regret for both Marshall and Alex, even as she manually typed notes about what she had removed and left in Peyton’s cybernetic compartment. After hours of talking about what she was doing, her voice was more tired than her hands.
She accepted that nearly anything could happen with Peyton, and that some awful things probably would, but it had still been a risk worth taking. In his life as a soldier, Peyton had both killed and saved people. If the restoration actually worked on him, Peyton could do what was necessary to liberate the rest of his kind.
Most of his fellow servicemen were in the Cyber Husband program. The UCN had arrogantly used the soldier’s military careers as part of their advertising. Though he had been far more expensive than Marshal or Alex, she had gladly spent the last of Jackson’s bequeathed blood money buying Peyton’s freedom.
Bone-tired from all the work and worry, Kyra finally turned away from his unmoving body and laid her head on her desk. Before letting exhaustion claim her, she prayed that the third time really was going to be charmed.
Chapter Four
An insistent female voice kept asking him questions and interrupting his attempts to run diagnostics. Peyton rolled his head, trying to get his eyes to open so he could see who was speaking. His uncooperative eyelids were still organic, but his actual eyes had been replaced with golden orbs that could read infrared as well as see flawlessly in the dark. The military had spared no expense giving him premiere implants. He must have been damaged in the field again. If true, then the woman talking to him must be a field medic. It was the most logical deduction.
“Hey... Doc. Can’t... open... my eyes. How... damaged... are they?”
Peyton heard himself struggling to form simple words and was surprised. His mouth was dry, which meant he was also dehydrated. Running a quick check, he realized he’d not taken in any liquid in thirty-seven hours. He didn’t need much since the cybernetic gills in the back of his neck took in moisture from the air. They must not be working optimally either.
“Can... I have... some... water?”
Peyton was gratified when a cup was instantly lifted to his lips in response to his request. He tried to reach up to hold it, only to find his wrists restrained. Fighting off panic as he had been taught to do, he sipped long on the straw that slid between his lips. The moment the water hit his stomach, his mind cleared enough to start running diagnostics on what he was ingesting. A nearly one hundred percent answer that it was just filtered tap water returned fairly quickly. It reassured him that he was not in immediate danger and the quick answer meant his diagnostic programming was still in place.
So now on to the next dilemma. Had he been captured by a military unfriendly? He tested his restraints discreetly as he sipped again.
Kyra saw her captive struggle, winced inside, but pushed away her guilt. “Easy there, Captain Elliott. I can’t take the chair restraints off until I’ve made a full determination of your condition. You’re not going to be harmed any further. Most of the physical pain is over for good as well.”
Peyton was quiet for a moment while his neural processor scanned her words for meaning and tone. Again, nothing alarming returned. “Your explanation is accepted for now. Where am I? I sense no others in the facility except us.”
“This is not a normal medical facility. You’re in my home. I’m helping you resolve a problem with your cybernetics that couldn’t be addressed elsewhere. How do you feel? Can you determine the extent of your damage?”
Kyra pulled the cup away from his mouth and set it aside. She checked the readout on the homemade EEG machine that she had wirelessly connected to his neural processor. So far, so good. Peyton showed no escalating signs of mental or physical agitation. There were some minor signs of fear, but even blind and partially paralyzed, the man gave no real indication of being overwhelmed. An accelerated pulse was the only clue she had that his human side was becoming aware of his incapacitated situation.
“Try to relax, Captain. You’ve suffered a recent head injury,” Kyra explained. The statement wasn’t really a lie from her point of view. Plus it was to her advantage to keep him as calm as possible.
Peyton made himself relax and ordered his neural pathways to report any strange anomalies. They fired and leapt over all circuits unhindered. Hiding the shock of his newly discovered freedom, he hastily ran the cyber doctor’s requested checks.
Would he be able to lie about the controller being dysfunctional? Could he hide such a thing from a cyber medic?
“I am currently functioning at ninety-seven point three percent efficiency on most systems. I can’t open either of my eyes though I read no damage to the implants. It seems to be my eyelids that lack the ability to perform as I desire. Based on the lack of nerve sensitivity below my hips, I would say my legs are also paralyzed. Genitals are still responsive. Paralysis appears to be partial.”
Kyra patted his hand. “Any paralysis you detect should be temporary. At least it was in the others.”
“What others?” Peyton asked.
“Others who have suffered your same level of damage,” Kyra said softly, giving nothing away. That would come soon enough. “May I check your vitals and draw some blood?”
She watched Peyton wrinkle his face with confusion. When was the last time anyone asked the man’s permission to do something to him? Probably before his cybernetics were installed.
“Captain? May I do my checks?”
Peyton frowned. Why did the doctor’s softly asked questions make him angry at her and at himself? It was highly illogical. His genitals twitched and provided a potential explanation. Her scent was alluring and distracting. Plus her voice caused him to have a strong physical reaction to her.
“I’m a soldier, not a medic. Proceed as necessary, Doc. By the way, when did I get a cybernetic heart? No injury in my service records merits that replacement.”
Kyra swallowed nervously. The discrepancy between his human memories and his cybernetic data bank was already beginning to make itself known. “The heart transplant didn’t happen during your normal military service. Several years ago a woman stabbed you with a kitchen knife. You wisely left the knife in place until help arrived. To fix you, they had to replace your human heart with a cybernetic one. It must have been traumatic for you. I’m not surprised you don’t have immediate recall of the incident.”
“Traumatic?” Finding the word amusing, Peyton laughed at her term. “I’m a Marine, Doc. Traumatic shit is the least of what I signed up for, right?”
<
br /> He listened to her walking around and heard her tapping on some sort of keyboard.
“I think my left eyelid is twitching. Make sure you write that down in my record. I don’t want them to give me cyber eyelids that blink a thousand times a minute without stopping. It took me months to get used to my new eyes.”
Kyra snorted at his joke. “When we met, the first thing I liked about you was your sense of humor. I’m glad to see it survived your cybernetic programming being severely altered. I’m not sure why the rewiring process affected your visual implants. That’s a new side effect. But no worries, I can probably fix that if it lingers. I feel certain your legs will return to normal now that you’re conscious again. Want some more water?”
“Yes. Please.” Inspired to be nice to the lady doctor with the sexy voice, Peyton tacked on the polite word, glad to hear himself sounding normal. He cleared his throat after two more swallows. “So tell me—are you half as dead sexy as you sound?”
Kyra nearly dropped the water cup in surprise at his question. “Captain Elliott—are you flirting with me?”
Peyton laughed at her genuine surprise because it mirrored his. “I honestly don’t know where that comment came from. There’re not a lot of women out in the field and I don’t think I’ve had leave in a while. At least, I can’t remember if I did. You smell really good and I could listen to you talk all day.”
Kyra frowned as she studied him. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”
Nate's Fated Mate: Aliens In Kilts, Abduction 2 Page 18