Cyborg Corps

by J N Chaney

  Each cyborg was soon equipped with a rifle and an ammo belt, on which were two extra ammo packs. Warren gestured for a second belt, which Lukov passed him, and slung both across his chest.

  “Is anyone’s HUD populating?” Warren asked. “Mine’s empty.”

  “Negative,” Lukov and Cooper said in unison.

  Both men stared at Warren, who felt the pressure of leadership return after more years than he could remember. He loved it, but the feeling didn’t make it any easier. It was time to wade into battle.

  “Cooper,” Warren said. “Head to the bridge, but don’t go in. Stand guard outside and look scary. The war computer might come online any second, but if it doesn’t, stay there and stop anything that looks suspicious. Follow your gut.”

  “I don’t have any guts,” Cooper quipped.

  Warren raised one finger and prepared to chew the man out, but Cooper had run from the room.

  “Where do you want me to go?” Lukov asked.

  Warren brought up the ship’s schematics in his HUD and studied them for a moment. “We’re sticking together, you and me. Aside from the bridge, it looks like the engine room is the next priority. Specifically, the power plant. According to the HUD, it’s more prone to attack. If they can’t get in, or they get scared away, they might try to detonate one of the missiles.”

  Lukov sprinted out of the room, narrowly missing a sailor from the fire suppression team. The man had been running through the passageway just as the cyborg left the armory, though Warren hadn’t seen any sign of smoke or other indications of onboard fires.

  Warren followed Lukov, shoving past the fireman who’d just managed to regain his footing after the Russian bowled him over. It felt good to be in charge of his own body again, making decisions for himself—right or wrong.

  The moment the pair arrived at the power plant, an order appeared on Warren’s HUD. It directed him to Deck 5, several levels above him.

  We need to defend the damned power plant! The compulsion chip icon in his HUD began blinking, warning him he was about to get zapped. Fucking idiot war computer.

  Lukov sighed. “The master has spoken.” He hurried to the nearest stairwell.

  Warren followed, but he wasn’t happy about it. Nothing about following orders issued by a computer, or not being allowed to make his own decisions, sat well with him.

  A dull thunk, followed by a soft rattling under Warren’s feet slowed his run. The sound echoed through the ship and repeated several times. It was the defense system. If those were coming online, the ship was under attack.

  As he approached the area the war computer had assigned to him, Warren’s HUD updated, directing him to a three-meter section of the outer starboard passageway. In the center, along the bulkhead, was an emergency access hatch.

  Lukov stopped in front of another one about a hundred meters further down.

  “What are they expecting?” the Russian asked, glancing toward both ends of the hallway, then at his hatch.

  “I think we’re here to make sure the ship doesn’t get boarded,” Warren said.

  Thunk.

  Another impact against the ship’s hull, louder this time, was answered by an explosion. The sound echoed down Warren’s end of the passageway. A closed hatch about fifty meters away burped a gout of yellow smoke.

  Warren took three steps toward the explosion before lightning shot through his body and dropped him hard to his hands and knees. His compulsion chip icon was blinking red again. “Damn it!” He hurried to return to his assigned location. “Our war computer was designed by a fool! That explosion’s only fifty meters away. I could get there, save a life or two, and be back before anyone has a chance to kick this hatch in.”

  “Agreed,” said Lukov. “Unfortunately, the war computer does not care. Is interested only in efficiency and making us to kill many things. Fighting the machine only make for you to be shocked, but please feel free to keep trying. Is funny for me.”

  Warren wished he could see what was happening—just to settle his mind if nothing else—when his HUD became overlaid with a wireframe diagram of the ship. He watched as several members of the Ruthless’ crew tried to gain entry through the damaged hatch into the compartment. When they couldn’t open the buckled portal, they hurried down an adjacent passageway.

  One person was inside the room. Four more were entering. According to his HUD, the new arrivals were members of a fire suppression team. Based on what he could see, they knew what they were doing.

  “The squishies do have their uses, I guess,” Warren muttered.

  “They do,” Lukov agreed. “Someone has to oil our joints and give us hearts after we meet the wizard, no?”

  Warren laughed. He felt like he’d heard the joke somewhere before but couldn’t place it.

  “I’m watching them fight a fire while we sit here with our thumbs up our asses,” Warren replied.

  “It is the way it is. There is nothing we can do, so it is best to accept these things.”

  There was a click and short beep in Warren’s ear, then the HUD informed him that Lukov had opened a private channel.

  “Has any your memory returned?” asked the Russian.

  “No.”

  “Maybe it will return. In the end, it does not matter. You are still Warren. I am still Lukov.”

  Unwilling to be satisfied with that, Warren merely shook his head and went back to watching the fire suppression team. The damage looked like the enemy had managed to rip a hole through the outer hull into a small machine room—possibly water filtration from Warren’s interpretation of the diagram. When he focused directly on the room, his HUD gave him an update with more information. The damaged areas were highlighted in yellow, with surrounding areas reading either green or red.

  Good, bad, or completely destroyed, he guessed.

  The crew had managed to extinguish the fire, but one of them had been injured. Things seemed to be under control—at least for now.

  When he turned around to inspect the hull behind him, the wireframe updated. Glittery edges of the external outline of his ship became more prominent, giving him more details about the bigger picture, including some basic information on what was happening outside the hull. An enemy ship was closing with them. It was smaller than the Ruthless, but not by much. Unlike the sleek lines of the Republic vessel, the other was all sharp angles and jagged lines. It looked like it had been constructed following the design of some primitive 1980s video game.

  “Do you see this?” Warren asked.

  “Yes,” replied Lukov. “The war computer is correct. They are preparing to board us. Now is our time to do the fighting. We will kill many CoWs today.”

  Based on the red and yellow circles along the hull, the defense systems near Warren had all been destroyed or disabled. Those further out were still under attack, but the damage the Commonwealth vessel had already done provided it with plenty of room to slip in.

  “Here they come,” Warren transmitted to the other cyborgs. “They’re extending an umbilical. Damn it. They’re headed right toward my hatch. I need help! Tell me someone is heading my way.”

  He didn’t know how the information came to him, but he was glad it did. Space battles were definitely not something he’d been familiar with in his old life. Now, if the rest of his memories would return, that would be awesome.

  “I have received new orders from the war computer,” Lukov said as he strolled over. “I am to assist you in repelling the invaders. We are to smash them to pudding. Or shoot. Whichever is most convenient.”

  “Me too,” Cooper said over the comm.

  Since the man was out of view, the HUD provided information about who was talking.

  “Yeah, I’m on my way, too,” Craig added, sounding bored. “Let’s see if these CoWs have any real challenge in ‘em. These ones look like they might actually have some balls. Big ones. Trying to invade a Republic ship full of cyborgs is the craziest thing these bastards could do.”

  “Think he’s
over his shit?” Warren asked Lukov.

  “I don’t know,” the other cyborg admitted as he stopped at the far side of the hatch. “I am hoping so.”

  “If he gets me killed, remind me of everything that happened so I can remember to kick his ass.”

  “That I will do,” Lukov promised.

  A HUD update containing new orders came in. They were instructed to repel the invaders and capture their vessel. Once the cyborgs seized the ship, a prize crew would come over to relieve them.

  “I doubt this CoW ship is the only one attempting to board us,” Warren said. “It’s too small. Probably some kind of fast-attack craft. It might hold a hundred crew, including whatever assault forces they have. We need to move fast, stay smart, and not get killed.”

  How had he known that? He didn’t have long to ponder that question because Craig wandered up a moment later, looking bored. “I’m here,” he said. “For whatever it’s worth.”

  Warren and Lukov exchanged an uneasy glance.

  “Craig is not all bad,” Lukov said using the private line. “He is a rare kind of cyborg. He kills. He has been in many battles. Not as many as you, but many. I believe he is not meant for war. I don’t believe he likes to kill. Destroy, yes. Maybe kill the CoWs who threaten the crew. But not kill everyone. It does not sit well in his heart.”

  Warren filed the information away for later. It was a starting point for speaking to Craig, though he couldn’t begin to speculate where it might end, or if he could do anything at all for him.

  The Commonwealth ship was close enough for Warren to start picking out details his ship’s sensors had discovered. The vessel looked like a new design. The war computer assigned it a code number, rather than a name.

  The expected adrenaline dump never happened—another effect of being a cyborg. It gave him the advantage of a cool mind and clear thoughts, so he focused on trying to recall any training he could still remember. Everything he could remember came from his US Army training—stuff he’d learned hundreds of years ago. Without anything to compare it to, there was no way to tell if the doctrine or methods had changed. If they had, he might confuse his fellow cyborgs. It might also confuse his enemy. That was never a bad thing.

  The war computer had mercifully left him with few details on how to accomplish the capture of the CoW vessel, meaning Warren could make some decisions. “We’ll wait for them to make the first move,” he said.

  “We usually just rush in and kick ass,” Craig said. “Did the war computer kick the bucket and assign you as our leader?”

  “Since Warren is one with plan,” replied Lukov. “He knows what he is to do. You should listen.”

  Craig stared at Warren for a second, then shrugged. “Okay, not like I got anything better to do. Let’s see what you got.”

  Despite the situation, Warren wanted to smile. A slight shift in the other cyborg’s demeanor told him that Craig’s interest was caught by the new dynamic. Maybe only mildly, but Warren would take that over Craig being suicidal and getting them all killed.

  He turned to glance at the expressionless faceplate of Craig’s helmet. “We’re waiting. They won’t expect it, and I want to see what they’re planning.”

  “Yeah, fine,” Craig said. “It’s your funeral. Mine, too.”

  “Cooper, I want you to hang back and join us when it’s clear,” Warren ordered. “If this goes sideways, get us some backup.”

  “Got it,” the cyborg replied.

  “The enemy has attached umbilical,” reported Lukov.

  Warren knew the term but realized with a start he didn’t know how it worked. He ordered the HUD to give him more information. To his relief, it did. It wasn’t exactly a YouTube video, but the short description gave him a rough idea.

  The umbilical would attach to an airlock and create its own seal. From there, the boarders would perform their breach operation. Not glamorous, but it obviously worked.

  “I believe they will attempt to hack through the electronic exterior lock,” Lukov announced. “It may prove too much for them.”

  “Good,” Warren sneered. “If so, they’ll be focused on what they’re doing. We’ll be able to take them unawares then.”

  “This is too easy,” Craig said.

  A soft thump announced the umbilical had been connected.

  “What do you mean?” Warren asked as he watched four CoW soldiers cautiously make their way through their tube.

  “They’ve got to know we’re in here, yet they’re still coming,” Craig said. “It’s like they want us to kill them. There’s no way they don’t recognize this ship. I mean, the Republic’s got a lot of ships, but they have to know we’re here.”

  “He is correct,” Lukov said. “The enemy has a trick they will attempt.”

  “What do the CoWs have that works on cyborgs?” Warren asked.

  Lukov was silent for a few seconds before he answered. “Electromagnetic pulse grenades. It stuns cyborgs. If you are hit, you may become immobile. If they have improved their technology, it may cause us to become on fire. Or cause us to be reset.”

  None of that sounded good to Warren but there wasn’t time to ask how they could counter that kind of attack.

  “Get ready,” Warren said. “If I get stunned, everyone else rush the umbilical. Go in hot and be ready for whatever backup they have—maybe grenades.”

  The tell tale sounds of the airlock being opened reached them.

  “Wow,” Craig said, sounding almost perky for the first time. “That was quick. CoWs got some mad skills.”

  There was a hiss as the airlock’s seal broke. Their enemy had divided themselves into two teams. A Commonwealth soldier was readying a small object in one hand.

  Warren tensed as the soldier tossed it toward the airlock and the waiting cyborgs. He kicked it as it passed through, sending it past their enemy and into the vessel on the other end. It hit something metallic and detonated.

  For a moment, Warren was overcome with dizziness. The electromagnetic blast had to penetrate two bulkheads and still had enough power to stun him.

  His vision cleared a moment later and Warren charged around the corner and into the umbilical, the others close behind.

  Three CoW soldiers went down with fresh holes in their foreheads. The last managed to open his mouth in surprise before Craig used the man’s tongue for target practice. Pink mist filled the tube ahead of Warren’s charge.

  Two more stepped out from their cover. Craig and Lukov dropped them with precision shots to their heads—one advantage of being partly machine.

  Warren grunted as the electronics in his body transmitted pain signals to his brain. He’d been hit several times, lighting his HUD up with damage indicators. He cut the pain input in half. It would allow him to keep moving while reminding him his enemy weren’t bad shots either.

  “Follow me!” Warren ordered. “Craig, you’re my slack, but for now stay in the rear. Don’t let any of the enemy sneak up on us.” Being the slack was an important position. With Warren in the front, he was effectively operating as the point. It was the job of the slack to watch the point’s flanks.

  “You got it,” Craig said, his voice sounding clear and focused. “Maybe I’ll go ahead and survive this one.”

  Warren smirked but didn’t respond. The cyborgs were performing with the kind of disciplined caution he remembered from his days with the Ranger Battalions. They moved smoothly, gliding onto the enemy ship like they’d done it a million times. Warren motioned for them to stop when he reached an intersection. He had to decide whether he’d lead his team left or right.

  He imagined flipping a coin, but his HUD intercepted the thought, ran a random number generating algorithm, and gave him the result. Before he could act on it, he lost all strength in his limbs, went numb, and collapsed to the floor.

  He stared at the ceiling in wonder, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He tried to move, but his limbs only twitched, spasming uncontrollably. When he attempted to access
his HUD, it displayed an icon he didn’t recognize.

  A second later, Warren’s circuits lit up, translating into a strange, tingly kind of sensation. It didn’t hurt, it just felt strange, like his foot had fallen asleep, but everywhere at once.

  “What the fuck was that?” Craig asked. “I can’t move!”

  Warren couldn’t see his enemy, though he could still see. He couldn’t hear them, though his auditory inputs now showed green on his HUD. If it was a grenade, it wasn’t as powerful as everyone made it out to be.

  Lying flat on his back, he struggled to move, when he noticed a dark gray circle on the ceiling. On a ship that consisted primarily of sharp lines and angles, it seemed out of place. Scratch marks on the rust-colored metal suggested someone had installed it in a hurry.

  He slowly lifted his weapon, a feat of sheer willpower. His arms moved, but his other body parts refused to respond to his mental commands. He watched the gray circle above him with trepidation. It blasted him again and his vision went pixelated for a second, but he managed to keep his arm moving. Normally, his HUD would overlay a targeting reticle to show him where his rifle was pointed, but it looked like everything was offline. He’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.

  Warren squeezed the trigger and missed his target by centimeters. After adjusting his aim, he tried again. The ceiling sprouted a second hole, but this time sparks fell from it, so he began pulling the trigger as quickly as he could make his finger move. When his last slug left the barrel, his perseverance was rewarded by a loud pop, followed by a plume of smoke billowing out from where the bullet hit. They poured over him like a dozen people were all welding in the same spot at the same time, and it was the most beautiful thing he could remember seeing.

  Warren’s HUD rebooted a few seconds later, and every system showed green. He sat up just as Craig lifted his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The projectile flew by Warren’s head and nailed a Commonwealth crew member in the groin. The man shrieked and fell to his knees, his hands trying to stop the blood flowing from his groin. Warren lifted his rifle to finish him off, but Craig interrupted.

  “Let the bastard bleed out.”