by Naomi Lucas
She willed herself not to flex the non-existent muscles of her arm but couldn’t help doing it anyway. Once a thought seeded in her head, whether it was to swallow, to grind her teeth, or in this case, test her muscles, she subconsciously did it anyway.
Completely undisciplined.
The screen before her flashed red, bringing her out of her depressing thoughts. She leaned forward and expanded the screen.
Error. Error.
A valve in the engine room had loosened. Not a big deal.
But the gas it was slowly releasing could damage nearby machinery and consequently change the overall optimal temperature of the room. It needed to stay cold.
Reina pulled up the piece on the screen, zooming in on the red area, inspecting it. What she thought would have been an easy fix became marginally more difficult.
She rubbed her lower lip in thought.
I’m not a mechanic nor an engineer. The valve sat between several fuel pipes. She turned her schematic layout toward them. The pipes ran hot, really hot, she had to get around them to get to the valve and she would have to do it tired.
She transferred the blueprints onto her handheld console and strapped it to her arm before making her way toward the supply and spare parts unit. She quickly located a wrench, eye protection, and triple-padded environmentally-resistant gloves.
“You should take the welding torch with you.”
Reina jumped. “Why?” She looked around, trying to locate the source of Atlas’s voice.
“The metal of the valve expanded. You could wrench it shut, but it may not hold.”
She picked up the torch and extra flux and added them to her supplies. Her steps were the only sound that followed her as she made her way to her destination, spinning open a hatch.
The effort made the exhaustion running through her veins more apparent. Her arm ached as she carefully descended the ladder. It didn’t help that one side of her was heavier.
Her feet hit the floor with a soft sigh. Lights powered on around her up and down the underbelly passageways. A pilot, such as herself, had no reason to ever be in this part of a ship. In fact, regulation locked her out of many of the machine rooms.
Reina brought up the blueprint and made her way to the appropriate chamber. She soon found herself in a very cold, very crowded space. The hum of her ship’s organs was a welcome one. Reina put on her goggles.
At least the room is well-lit.
And there were the pipes, perfectly erect, shiny, and at first glance stark. Reina looked them over warily, knowing that though they looked cold, they were instead scalding hot. Just standing next to them kept her warm.
She turned to her side and with cautious, breathless movements, side-stepped between them. When she was clear of them and caught her breath, the putrid scent of burnt hair greeted her.
Reina carefully made her way through a maze of machines before she found the row of valves. She eyed them as she put on her gloves.
“The third one on the left,” Atlas answered the question she hadn’t asked from somewhere above.
She looked up. “Thank you.” Her hands reached for the handle and twisted it shut. Reina jerked it several times for good measure. Her arm shook out next to her, the joints pained from overuse. The incision burned and the metal underneath her skin needle-pricked her with charged currents.
She lifted the sleeve of her flight suit only to quickly cover herself again.
My skin...
Her lungs filled with cold air as she took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves.
She fingered the welding torch and struck a spark.
“Atlas? Are you able to see the valves?” Her voice echoed off the walls.
“Yes, Captain. What do you need?”
Reina shook her head, “Nothing, I was just curious.” She stopped herself from peeking at her arm, hoping the sentient intelligence hadn’t caught a look.
A few minutes of awkward silence passed as she maneuvered her body into position. When the torch flashed green, she assumed it was go time. The flux began to melt over the twist. It was slow going.
“Are you still here?” she asked hesitantly.
“I am, as well as at the bridge.”
She couldn’t imagine it, being a person, then being nothing more than a... program? The flux heated and dripped. She frowned as some of it dropped off. Thinking about Atlas distracted her from her arm.
“Do you need something, Captain?”
I need you to distract me. She leaned up to let the flux cool.
“Will you talk to me? Will you tell me a story?”
“A story? Why?”
Reina wiped her goggles on her sleeve. “It’s quiet.”
“I’m not here to entertain you, Captain.” His voice was harsh. It made her feel like a fool. “I’m the first Cyborg you’ve met, aren't I?”
Reina winced. “Yes.”
“We don’t entertain. We don’t tell stories. If you had met me during the war, I guarantee you would want nothing to do with me. If you were near a Cyborg, for whatever reason during that time, you were near death.”
“The war is over.”
“And?”
“I’m lonely,” she added with a blush. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
A few damning minutes passed in silence. Her embarrassment grew at his lack of response and at her desire for a moment of companionship. Reina fidgeted, willing the flux to cool faster.
She didn’t know Atlas and now she had upset him. It was true, he was the first Cyborg she had ever met, and now she knew, if she had learned anything from him just now, that he was not to be messed with.
Being on the ship, alone, was a situation that had taken its toll on her. Even the most introverted of people could feel lonely, especially when they lost all choice in the matter.
Reina jerked when he broke the silence.
“There once was a man named Testicales–”
“Testicales? Really?” Reina regretted everything. She didn’t need Atlas to fill the void. Maybe she just needed a hobby. She wasn’t that lonely.
“Yes. Now listen. It’s a good one,” he chastised her.
She stiffened and sat down, her back to the valves, knowing she would listen regardless of the story he chose to tell her.
“There once was a man named Testicales. He was a young warrior outside the city-state of Sparta, an ancient Earthian dwelling. He was boring and typical, a normal boy but for one small mishap. Testicales had a handicap, you see: his balls were so large that he had to carry them in a sack attached to his belt.”
Reina rubbed her temple.
“Testicales did not have larger muscles than the other boys of his age. He had not gone on a journey to prove himself, nor did he have the attributes that would make him attractive to the girls of his community. He was one of the thousands of boys his age, a grunt in training to fight the wars brought to his land.
“Despite his terrible handicap, and his overall average self, he became the greatest fighter in his village. He was unbeatable, and soon word of his prowess spread across the land as warriors from all over the world sought him out in challenge. One by one, he defeated them all. This went on for many years. Testicales became a great hero. He brought prosperity and renown to his home, as well as glory and fortune for himself and his family. The people thought he was the son of the god Ares: a grandson of Zeus himself. And soon, what everyone thought of as his gross handicap became a symbol of strength.”
Reina sighed.
“One day, like any other, a younger, fitter warrior traveled to Testicales’s village in hope of proving his worth by defeating the unbeatable hero. This untried youth challenged Testicales to a duel. The fight went as any other but Testicales was older now, and the young warrior fought with remarkable frenzy and endurance. They clashed swords for hours, until everyone in the town had gathered to watch the spectacle. It was the battle they had all been waiting for–had all been hoping for–but had all dreaded.” Atlas pa
used. “Right at sunset, when the land was cast in twilight, the young warrior thrust his sword in one last, exhausted attempt to fell the hero. He landed a blow to the sack, spearing it straight through the center. Testicales crumpled to the ground and the townsfolk grew silent. Their undefeatable hero had been vanquished. The son of a god had lost to a nobody. However, Testacles did not die.
“Many years later, Testicales, having long since laid down his sword and retired, faded from legend to myth. He was no longer a demi-god in the eyes of the townsfolk, but an old man who had little left to offer but the seemingly exaggerated stories of his youth.
“Testicales was an old man when a young boy walked into the bathhouse and spotted him naked. Testicales, in his haste, covered himself with a towel. ‘Grandfather,’ the boy asked, ‘where are your balls?’ The hero turned away and donned a robe, leaving his sack on the chair with a sigh. ‘I never had any balls,’ Testicales admitted to his grandson. The old hero went on, ‘I made it up.’ The young boy, confused, asked, ‘Why?’
“‘Because a made-up weakness was my biggest strength, my son. I won every fight because of my weakness. Every warrior tried to use it against me. I always knew where they would aim their weapons.’”
Reina waited for more but Atlas didn’t continue. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No one ever does. Testicales needed a made-up weakness to win but what really won all of his battles was intelligence.”
“Why, of all stories, did you choose that one?”
“Because, Captain, you sounded sad and not all things in life are sad.”
She smiled, got up, and melted the rest of the flux, sealing the pieces together. Reina was pleased by her first welding job since academy, even though it looked a mess, it would work. “Done.”
“Good job. You have several missives waiting for you.”
She inwardly groaned. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“Would you like me to take care of them for you?”
Reina clipped on her tools. “Would you?” she asked hopefully. “It may take me some time–”
“Communications access,” Atlas stated more than asked.
She sighed, knowing she fought a losing battle. The console on her arm lit up and she gave him what he wanted. What can having network access do? Reina briefly felt like a tyrant for denying him even that pleasure. Don’t Cyborgs have their own network access?
“Done.”
She could’ve danced for joy if she wasn’t so tired. “Thank you, Atlas.”
“Well, I can Answer Transmissions Loquaciously, Automatically, and Superbly.”
Reina smiled, finding the glimmer of humor of her sentient intelligence endearing.
A short time later she was ascending the ladder, with her thoughts on her strange crewmate and his odd choice in story, and that he had achieved exactly what she wanted.
A distraction. As if he knew.
“Captain Reina, may I ask a question?” His voice stopped her in her tracks. He continued without her response, “Can we talk later? I understand loneliness, better than most.”
“Yes.” She stopped and thought about it. “I would like that.”
“There isn’t a Cyborg out there who hasn’t killed thousands. You should remember that if you ever meet another,” he warned.
Reina hurried her steps, bypassed the storage unit and went straight to her quarters, unnerved. Confused.
Worried.
The skin on her arm was spotted with red rashes and the skin around them was a pale, bruising blue. Atlas’s final words echoed in her head.
Fear ran up her spine like a serrated knife.
Chapter Five:
‘Captain Reina, please give us a status report on your recovery. We await your response from the medbay.’ Dr. Estond. Reina read the note several times before she registered what was requested of her. Refusing to look at her raw lump of flesh, yet like that subconscious tic, she did it anyway.
“Are you okay, Captain?”
He always knows when I’m at my most vulnerable.
She registered Atlas’s robotic, and oddly authoritative, voice long before her motor reflexes moved to create an answer for him.
“Yes.” It drawled out of her like slow, wet sand. She couldn’t even turn to face the light. It seemed like hours before Atlas acknowledged her answer, and she thought, once again, that she had been dismissed by him.
“I believe it is in your best interest to get a full night’s sleep.”
“I don’t believe I asked for your opinion,” she snapped. Her back went straight, remembering his words from the day before. “Sorry,” Reina quickly added.
A strong, metallic laughter answered her. It shocked her out of her waning state of mind, and the dark cloud that followed her every thought, the fact that her arm was not healing.
She focused on Atlas like a lifeline.
“Can you see my arm? Even with me turned away from the projector?”
“I can. And it does not look good.”
Reina tried to wrap her head around his answer and a slow-burn alarm began, followed by an acceptance. “Can you see me everywhere on this ship?” She asked carefully. He could lie. She thought about sending a request to Estond and his team for a full write-up of him.
“I can see you in all public access areas. The ship has been designed to allow me to monitor all interactions and reactions.” His deep robotic voice paused. “You are worried if I am watching you. I am. But to settle any unease you may have with this, I do not have access to private access areas without permission.”
“My quarters? The lavatory?” Reina rested her head on her hand.
“Yes. They are private.”
“That’s good to know. I should have inquired about it before.” Reina frowned and looked down at her bedraggled self. Another ping sounded through the intercom but she ignored it. “Can you smell as well?”
“I cannot smell but I can remember with such precision and accuracy that if you tell me what something smells like, I can recall it. You really should get some sleep.” Reina looked up relieved and then turned to face the source of Atlas’s incredibly demanding voice. It sent an odd rush through her.
The S.I. had a deep, incredibly addictive, masculine tone, with an exotic robotic undertone. It slithered over her like a hot blush.
Reina wanted to excuse his allure but it was difficult when the only sounds to fill the vacuous space were the chimes of communication, herself, and him.
She looked down at her body again.
Atlas was a man. If he had emotions, wants, needs, and retained most of his senses... could he remember what it was like to be human? With a clarity that would evoke more? Reina knew the inflections of his voice changed like any other being. He had not started speaking to her in such a sensual way until they were alone.
“I see a thousand questions on your lips, and even more in your eyes.”
Reina looked at the beam with curiosity and felt the subtle bloom of guilt at thinking of Atlas as a man who had needs. Her curiosity spiked but her courage withered.
“I do have a lot of questions,” she stated warily.
“I am intrigued, but would you believe my answers?”
“What could you gain from lying to me?”
“A question with a question, you like to skirt me.” He laughed in that low, sensual way. “Have you read my file?”
Reina smiled, and the game they played began to relax her. “I have.”
“What did you think? What did it say?”
She mulled the brief page of information about her crewmate over in her mind, recalling every detail. There was not much stated about Atlas, at least not in writing or on the public channels, but that was the norm for all cybernetic beings. Even now, without having to look at it, she knew her file would omit her enhancement. The fake muscles of her arm flexed again.
“Well, it said you were created during the Galactic War, and you were one of the first Cyborgs brought to life.”
She flinched at her terrible choice of words. “Sorry. You served as part of the Shield and Disruptor Division but it did not state your exact abilities or purpose.”
“Would you like to know?”
“Yes!” The eagerness in her voice couldn’t be hidden. She didn’t even try.
“Give me what I want and I’ll tell you.”
“Hah, no. They gave me complete control over you. I’m not relinquishing it that easily.” Reina smiled.
“Do you like having control over me?” The teasing undertone didn’t go unnoticed to her. Nor the insinuation.
“I...” She thought about it. “Do, but I’m confused as to why. You don’t seem like a controllable being to me. And you’re a Cyborg, couldn’t you just crack the systems?”
“I could, but it would be detrimental and could hurt your recovery, and control is a virtue to Cyborgs. Control and Cyborgs are synonymous.”
“Then tell me why the Council needed me on this mission? I know you know more than you’re letting on.”
She was answered by another ping and then a thunderous, sly laugh. “They are afraid I will take over the ship and disappear.”
“Would you?”
“I thought about it but no. If you gave me access to the entire ship, we would continue as we are, zipping through empty space, heading for our deaths.”
Reina didn’t know what to say to that. It was the first time the notion was said out loud, the niggling thought that this was a suicide mission. One that was grasping at her hope of success, whether it a small one or enough at all.
“Couldn’t you channel back into the network?”
“I could, and I believe that the Earthian Council is hoping for that outcome if all else fails. But I have never been in the dark before. I could be trapped out there as easily as you. But whereas you would die, I might live on forever as a floating conscious, stuck to this ship for eternity until I am linked again.”
Reina ran her tense fingers through her disheveled hair, cutting through stray tangles that weaved it into a messy nest. That sounds horrible.
“I knew they weren’t telling me everything. At least the cybernetic doctor was upfront with me about being a key.” It wouldn’t have changed anything; she had sealed her fate the moment they offered her a way out of her mundane life. A way to step from the overbearing, oppressive opinion that she should choose a man and have children. She was, after all, fertile. If not willing. Reina didn’t want to just be seen as the glaring labels her medical records put on her. “So why are you here? Except for the opportunity to commandeer the ship?”