Cronus

by K. A. Finn

  Erin takes Bray's hand. 'His eyes changed colour when we were taking Alpha. They must have changed back again.'

  'Whatever's going on with him may have been taking a bit of time to adjust.'

  'Is he going to be okay?' Erin asks.

  'Again with the questions,' Evie says. 'Is the eyepiece the only modification he has?'

  Sayber shakes his head. 'Chest too.'

  He helps Evie pull Bray's t-shirt up and steps back to give her room. After less than a minute she shakes her head. 'Well, seems he's taking after his brother. It's operational.'

  'In what way?' Morgan asks.

  'His heart rate is being controlled.'

  'Damn it!' Sayber shouts, kicking the wall beside him. 'He's had them for a year. Why would this happen now? This can't be a coincidence.'

  'Shocking thought, but I actually agree with you.'

  Sayber bares his teeth at the small woman. 'Thanks,' he replies sarcastically.

  She walks around the table and pats him on the arm. 'You're welcome, dear. I think it would be best if I give him a thorough examination. Get Felix in here. I'll call you when we're finished.'

  'I'm staying.'

  She shakes her head at Sayber. 'You are most certainly not staying.' She points to Rua. 'She can keep an eye on Bray. Go now.' She ushers them all from the room and the door shuts in his face. Sayber rests his forehead against the metal and closes his eyes. He jumps slightly when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

  Morgan smiles apologetically at him. 'You look like you could do with a drink.'

  'You read my mind.'

  FOUNDATION HQ

  Garvan's heart races, threatening to burst out of his chest when the door to the lab hisses open. He clenches his fist, digging his fingernails in the palm of his remaining hand. He barely notices the pain. He's about to lose his brain to a machine. Pain is going to be a constant in his life in a few minutes.

  He tries to slow his breathing as he listens, but the mystery guest remains silent. It definitely can't be Harvey. That man couldn't stop gloating if his life depended on it. He turns to look towards the door, but he can't move his head far thanks to the strap around his neck. He licks his dry lips and waits.

  A few seconds later a guard moves into his line of vision. The guard is new. Very new if the expression of confusion mixed with a dollop of horror on his face is anything to go by. 'You want something or just like what you see?'

  The frown deepens and the guard takes another step towards the gurney. He tilts his head to the side and looks down at Garvan. Instead of saying anything, he shakes his head then lifts the gun in his hand, slowly at first then faster as the door opens again. He dives out of view. Garvan doesn't know what's happening and he really couldn't care less.

  He hears two of the doctors entering the room, muttering to each other. No doubt about what piece to take off his body next. One of the doctors steps up to him and pulls the side of the bed out. Garvan's restrained arm moves out with the edge of the bed, giving the doctor clear access to what's left of his limb. He swallows the rising bile and focuses on the ceiling, willing his brain to get with the program and knock him out.

  The doctor freezes then crumples to the ground. He hears a dull thud to this left as another body hits the ground. The guard appears again and pulls a blade from his jacket. He grips Garvan's arm and slips the tip of the blade in the flesh on the underside of his arm.

  Garvan hisses and the guard digs around for a few seconds before he pulls the knife out. He picks up the tiny Foundation transmitter from the tip of the blade, places it on the counter beside him and crushes it under his gun. He returns to the table and fumbles with the locks. Once Garvan is free, the guard disappears from view again.

  'Get up.'

  Garvan would like nothing more than to comply, but even moving his eyes is a struggle. He turns his head to the side, and watches in confusion as the guard secures the doctors to a unit with sets of restraints. He tucks his gun in his waistband and faces the table again.

  'You have to get up.'

  He rolls on to his side and, after three failed attempts, balances on the edge of the bed. He squeezes his eyes shut as his head pounds. He barely manages not to disgrace himself all over the floor. He looks up as the guard takes his arm and helps him off the table. He supports Garvan's weight as he adjusts to being upright again. Ignoring the painful protests from his abused body, he puts one foot in front of the other, but progress is slow and painful.

  The guard props him against the wall then opens the door, checking both sides of the corridor. 'We're good. Time to go.'

  Garvan shakes his head to try and clear his vision. 'Be right with you.'

  The guard stands in front of him and keeps checking the corridor to either side. 'I know you're in pain, but you have to help me get you out of here. I can't carry you.'

  Garvan nods. 'I hear you.' Everything tilts, but he manages to stay upright as the man ducks under his arm and leads him out to the corridor. The guard lowers Garvan to the floor outside the maintenance lift as one of the cyborgs comes around the corner. The man fires at her, hitting her in the arm.

  'Target her eye.' The guard does as Garvan says and the next round takes her down. 'There'll be more coming.'

  Garvan is guided through the endless maze of tunnels, and again, finds himself completely lost. It takes him a good five minutes to realise he's not being taken to the lab.

  The guard takes him to a large underground parking lot and directs him over to a maintenance transport sitting in a corner. Before he can ask what the hell is going on, the side door opens and he is unceremoniously shoved inside.

  The guard opens a large crate labelled LAUNDRY. 'Get inside.'

  'What?'

  'If you want to get out of here in one piece, get in there and keep quiet.'

  Garvan looks from the guard to the crate and back again. 'A laundry truck? You're seriously breaking me out in the back of a laundry truck?'

  'Do you want to get out or not?'

  Garvan shrugs. 'Last time it was a garbage truck. Guess this is a step up.' He climbs inside and shuffles down so the guard can close the lid.

  The transport starts and Garvan spends the next who knows how long being thrown around the inside of the crate like a damn rag doll. Anything that didn't hurt before, hurts now and he may have picked up a case of claustrophobia on the way.

  The transport eventually comes to a stop and the lid is taken off the crate. Garvan pulls himself over the side and unceremoniously lands on the floor of the transport. He lies on his back breathing in fresh air as he tries to convince his stomach and his pitiful last meal to stay friends. After a few deep breaths, they come to a slightly uneasy truce and he sits up.

  The guard is sitting on a fence beside the transport, staring at him with a confused look on his face. Garvan wants to get up and get the hell out of here, but he barely has the energy to stay awake let alone stand. He sits on the cold metal floor and looks around the forested area outside the transport.

  Tall trees line a narrow track winding through the forest. He immediately thinks of Ultar. He didn't realise such an unspoilt area still existed on Foundation Earth. He breathes in the earthy tones surrounding him and can't help but smile. The trees sway in the gentle breeze and the birds fill the air with their song. It's heaven after where he's just been.

  He looks back at the guard, but half of his face is hidden under the shadow of his cap. 'Didn't know—' he stops as a coughing fit wracks his body. He winces, squeezing his eyes shut as the pounding returns. 'I didn't... know the Foundation took prisoners on field trips. Not that I'm ungrateful, just wondering what exactly is going on here.'

  The guard slowly takes off his cap, showing Garvan his face. A name instantly comes out even though he knows it makes no sense to say it. 'Zeke?'

  A small smile tugs on the man's lips and he nods slowly. 'Hey, Dad.'

  28

  DIXON SPACE STATION

  Bray feels too big for his
body. He doesn't have a better way to describe it. The pain has dulled, but it's still there. A band of pressure squeezes his eyes and around the back of his head. He doesn't even attempt to open his eyes. He's quite happy in the dark.

  He gingerly lifts his arm off the bed and moves his hand up his chest. His fingers brush against the plate on his bare chest and he bites back the groan of pain. He swears there's a weight thumping against the plate, keeping perfect time with his heartbeat.

  'You okay?'

  Bray inwardly groans at the sound of Gryffin's voice. 'What do you want?'

  Leather creaks as the Nomad moves to his left. 'Terra told me to stay until you woke up. Wasn't worth arguing with her.'

  Bray laughs, instantly wishing he hadn't. He licks his dry lips and takes deep breaths to calm the thumping in his head. On top of everything else, something must have crawled in his mouth and died while he was asleep. 'Yeah well you can go. I'm fine.'

  Gryffin actually has the nerve to laugh at his comment. 'That's my line. Whether you like it or not, I can help you. Open your mouth. I've got some water.'

  Even though he wants his brother to leave, he wants the water more. Bray greedily sucks the liquid through the straw before rolling onto his back again. 'Damn it. What's wrong with me?'

  He hears Gryffin take a long, deep breath and instantly knows he's in trouble. 'Your implants have come online. Technically, you're an operational cyborg. The Dixon woman examined you when you were out. The mods the Scientist gave you were dormant, not obsolete. Don't know why, but they've come to life. Your left eye is artificial, but it's a damn good copy. Far more hi-tech than mine. Until the mechanics turned on, it looked real. Your other eye is like mine too - real outside with components inside.'

  Gryffin's words echo in Bray's head. His worst nightmare has come true. 'What else?' he whispers.

  'Chest plate is on too. It's regulating and supporting your heart. The Dixon's don't have anything that can help remove or undo it at the moment.'

  'So, you're saying I just have to suck it up?' Bray replies sarcastically.

  'Yes.'

  Bray pushes up to his elbows, groans in pain, then flops back on the bed. 'I can't just accept what was done to me and move on.'

  'You have to. Nothing you can do to change it. Believe me.'

  'I'm not human anymore, Gryffin. That's a fucking big deal.'

  Gryffin silently watches him for a minute. 'You don't think you're human now?'

  'Of course not. Well, not fully.'

  'Right. I've got a hell of a lot more components than you do. What the fuck does that make me?'

  Bray turns away from him. All the answer he needs.

  ,'Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Bray. You've got two state-of-the-art eyes. If you'd stop whining and open them, you'd realise it's not that bad. Open your eyes.' Bray instinctively squeezes them shut. 'Damn it, Bray. You're worse than useless if you can't even open your eyes. You're a Hunter. Start acting like it.'

  'This has nothing to do with being a Hunter! I'm a cyborg. I didn't ask for any of this. I just want to be myself again.'

  'If you're looking for a hug you're talking to the wrong person.' The edge of the bed tips as Gryffin leans on it. 'You're no good to the Hunters if you're lying in a bed. Open your eyes!'

  'Leave me the hell alone!'

  Gryffin's hand clamps around his neck, cutting off his air supply. He leans on Bray, pushing him back in to the bed. 'You either open your eyes or I'll keep squeezing 'till your neck snaps. Your choice.'

  Bray ignores the band of pain spreading across his chest and forces his lids up. He blinks, trying to clear his vision. Images swim and tilt as his new eyes assault his brain with information. He slams a hand against his left eye and the sensation slows to a more bearable level. Everything looks clearer, more defined, like he's looking at the world through a high-resolution lens.

  Gryffin's face appears in front of him and he releases Bray from his grip. 'Well?'

  Bray rams his fist in Gryffin's jaw, but the damn man barely flinches. Acting as if the punch never happened, Gryffin pulls Bray's hand from his eye. Bray curses and tears his hand from Gryffin's grip to cover his eye as the stomach churning sensation hits him again. He breathes through his nose and swallows deeply. 'Can't do the left eye. It's too...'

  'Weird?'

  Bray nods, regretting the movement as soon as he makes it.

  Gryffin sits down in the chair and massages the skin above his metal covered stump. 'Your brain will learn to deal with your eye.' He taps the side of his ocular implant. 'It was maybe a week or so until I got the hang of this.'

  How his brother can talk about his implants like he's talking about a ship report he doesn't know. 'Great. Something to look forward to.'

  Gryffin leans forward, bringing himself closer to Bray. 'Look at my eye.'

  'I'm not in the mood—'

  'Will you just shut up with your complaining and look at it?'

  Bray sighs and focuses on Gryffin's robotic eye. 'You want me to compliment your eyes or something?'

  Gryffin sighs and glares at Bray. When he looks at Gryffin's eye he sees the inner workings spinning slowly. 'What are you doing?'

  'It'll take getting used to, but you'll be able to zoom in and out. Everything else is the same as a normal eye. You'll just have to train yourself to use it.'

  'Let me guess — after a while I won't even notice it's not real, right.'

  'No. But it's what you've got.' He gets up and throws a shirt at Bray. 'You can't get Garvan back if you're wallowing in bed. As much as I don't want to say it, we need to work together to tear them apart. That means you getting your shit together. You're a cyborg. That stopped being a big deal months ago. We're all over the damn place now.'

  He holds his hand out. Bray stares down at Gryffin’s outstretched hand and wonders if his vision is messed up more than he thought. Gryffin doesn’t touch people unless absolutely necessary. Offering his hand to anyone, let alone a Hunter, is one hell of a shock.

  Bray squints as he tries to focus on Gryffin's hand. His vision clears and Bray can make out details he never noticed before. Small scars and scratches in the palm of Gryffin's hand, tiny cracks in the leather cuff wrapped around his wrist, tool marks from whatever was used to fix the rivets holding the cuff in place. He can see it all like he's looking at it magnified.

  'Useful isn't it.'

  Bray accepts Gryffin’s gesture and takes his hand. Gryffin pulls him out of bed but the room tilts, forcing him back against the edge of the bed so he doesn't fall on his ass.

  'It's no good if I can't stand up without everything spinning.'

  'Won't last. Just got to force your body to deal with it.' Gryffin sits back down on the chair and stretches his legs out. 'What the hell you waiting for. Walk.'

  'What if I fall on my ass?'

  'Get up and go again. I'll stay in case you knock yourself out when you fall. I'm not going to hold your fucking hand though.'

  'You'd make a great motivational speaker, you know that?'

  'You had no control over what was done to you. None of us did. This part you have control over. The implants are painful. Nothing you can do about that. The only thing you can do is put one fucking foot in front of the other and force your body to deal with the mods. It's what I've done for over two decades.'

  Bray doesn't want to think about having operational implants for two days let alone two decades. Gryffin has a point though which doesn't help his mood. If he can deal with dozens of implants for as long as he has, Bray can deal with his two.

  Bray opens his eyes again, swallowing to keep his stomach from showing him up, then puts on foot in front of the other.

  ARES

  Gryffin sits in his command chair and leans back against the worn leather. From his seat he watches Heath's men working in the cargo hold of Cronus. The larger ship may be more sophisticated, more powerful than Ares, but he wouldn't swap. Tried and tested is better than new and unproven. Kind of like his
mods and those of the new cyborgs. And now Bray's implants.

  It shouldn't bother him that Bray's implants came online, but it does. Whether it's the fact there's another cyborg or because he's his brother, he doesn't know. It's probably the former.

  He looks down at his stump and pulls the casing off the end. Still to this day, the sight of the crude connectors sticking out of what's left of his arm turns his stomach. He forces himself to keep looking. Forces himself to relive how he lost the limb in the first place.

  It's time he stops fooling himself. Since the minute Rayde found him, he's been living a lie, pretending to be something he's not, and all it's done is prolong the agony for himself and those around him. The creature the Scientist created out of the remains of Daegan Sawyer was meant to be an emotionless cyborg.

  When Rayde saved him, he threw that thing to a world it was never meant to be part of. Even if they do manage to take off the implants and rebuild his body, it's still a lie. Those body parts are no different to the implants. They would be made in a lab and fitted to him. The ones he was born with are gone forever.

  He massages his thigh as a dart of pain shoots up his rotting leg. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, his leg needs to go too. It's beyond saving. Gryffin runs his hand down the worn leather arm of the command chair. He knows the decision he's come to is the right one, but he's not looking forward to the upcoming conversations as a result.

  He hears Terra coming a few minutes before she arrives on the command deck. She stops in front of him and leans against the railing. 'You wanted to see me, Captain.'

  Great start. She's still angry at him. Then again, maybe it's better to tell her while she's already pissed off at him.

  She frowns at him when he doesn't respond. 'You okay?'

  Gryffin wants to get up and hold her. He'd give his other arm to have one more night with her, to feel her soft skin, to taste her, to look in her eyes as she moans his name and tears at his back with her nails. But that's in the past. No matter how much he wants her, she won't want him. Not after the upcoming chat.