Stranded with the Cyborg (Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance Book 1)

by Cara Bristol

  He had felt real. Nothing like the AIs she’d encountered. Their artificial epidermis looked like skin, but felt and smelled like industrial polymers. They didn’t sweat. They didn’t have body hair. They didn’t bleed. They didn’t come.

  She and Brock had had sex; everything about him had been human: his musky man scent, the feel of skin, the way he’d perspired, the scratchiness of his body hair. His cum that had trickled down her legs, spilled into her mouth.

  No, not a droid.

  In her mind, his claw hand juxtaposed itself with his burns. In the brief glimpse he’d permitted her, she’d seen his back: muscle and tendon, the whiteness of ribs attached to his spine. So he had real bone. But a metal hand.

  She recalled his incredible strength enabling him to toss the Arcanian and move the heavy debris from the gouge, his speed, how his burns had healed in a matter of hours. Androids could be strong and fast, but, if they were damaged, they didn’t heal themselves. Humans could heal, but not that quickly.

  What if he was…a cyborg? She’d heard of cybernetic organisms that were part human, part machine. If Brock was one and his motives were good, why hadn’t he told her what he was? Whose side was he on?

  Before the computer had announced the shuttle would self-destruct, Brock had gotten them refreshments, which had required accessing the computer. What if he had hacked into the central unit, and he had initiated the self-destruct sequence? What if the captain couldn’t stop it, and that’s why he’d abandoned ship? Cowardly, but not murderous. Brock had tried right before launch to hustle her off the shuttle. What if his plan all along had been to prevent her from reaching Xenia?

  Then why stop her from filling the canteen? The pool had been acid. If he hadn’t pitched forward, she would have submerged the container and most likely come into contact with the acid. What if she had managed to not touch the liquid, but capped the container and shoved it into the bag—then taken a gulp later when she got thirsty?

  He’d shouted for her to stop.

  Brock had saved her life.

  Just as he’d done when he’d shot the MED out the airlock, and again by piloting the space shuttle before it blew.

  Pia buried her face in her hands. She’d wronged him. Again. Worry, anxiety, fear were no excuses for jumping to conclusions the way she had, for reacting like that. She’d grabbed a stick and would have attacked him.

  He wasn’t a machine, a thing. He was a man—as real as the wounded look in his eyes. As real as the agony contorting his face. In her panic, she’d assumed he would chase her—but maybe he couldn’t.

  Could his cyborg body repair an injury of that magnitude? The healing of his burns had seemed nothing short of miraculous, but the acid had corroded his hand to the bone. Could he grow new muscles? Tendon? Blood vessels?

  He’d lurched toward her, and, in her fear, she had perceived a threat. Now she realized he’d been unsteady. Swaying, racked by pain. He could be lying unconscious at the pool.

  I’ve got to help him.

  * * * *

  Penelope rested her palms on her knees and gulped air. Her mouth was parched, but perspiration dampened her clothing. Sweat trickled down her temples and between her breasts. A moment’s rest, and she’d be good to go again. Distances were deceptive. In her mad dash to get away, she’d traveled farther than she’d realized.

  But I would have thought I’d be back to the pond by now.

  She lifted her head and her gaze fell on a smooth, straight trunk.

  No, don’t tell me.

  The trees grew gnarled—like the one she and Brock had spent the night in. This species grew straight and tall, its trunk so uniform it almost appeared to have been debarked, just like the one that had caught her attention a half hour ago.

  Don’t let that be the same tree. Oh universe! Have I been running around in circles?

  She straightened and studied the forest. Everything looked alike—except that one denuded tree.

  By now, she should have arrived at the pool or come out onto the gouge.

  I’m lost.

  Before, she’d always followed Brock. He’d unerringly figured out which way to go.

  I should have paid more attention!

  Tears of fear and frustration threatened, but Penelope sucked them back. She had to stay strong for Brock. She had two choices for a possible way out of this mess: stay put or keep moving. If she forged onward, she could get more lost, end up deeper in the forest. Maybe, if she stayed put, Brock would come looking for her.

  But could he? His injury had been so severe, she doubted even a cyborg could recover. The acid could have traveled up his arm to the rest of his body.

  What if she was closer to the pond than she realized? What if, somehow, she’d circled around to the back side?

  “Brock! Brock! Can you hear me?” Her voice thudded dully in the woods. Thick tree trunks and the heavy leaf base on the ground absorbed the sound. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Brock!” She screamed, straining her throat. “Brock, it’s me, Pia!”

  Idiot! Of course, it’s you. Who else would it be when there’re only the two of you on an entire planet?

  If only there weren’t so many trees. If only she could see over—

  Duh! Pia picked out a tall tree with sturdy branches. Digging a toehold, she hoisted herself up. Hugging the trunk, pushing with her legs and pulling with her arms, she climbed. Rough bark scraped her hands and face and tore at her clothing. When the trunk and branches narrowed to the point where she feared the limbs might snap under her weight, she halted. The tree she’d chosen wasn’t the highest one, but it was tall enough to allow her to peer through the leaves and get a bird’s-eye view—of more trees. No pond.

  Hooking an arm through a branch for security, she twisted her body to peer behind her. In the distance—the opposite direction from the way she’d been headed, she spied a small gap. Big enough for a small acid pool?

  If that wasn’t the right place, she had no more options. Penelope fixed her gaze on the small barren spot and then glanced up at the day star to get her bearings. She cupped her hands around her mouth again and yelled Brock’s name. Listened for an answering bellow, but none came. Only silence.

  Branch by branch, Penelope worked her way down. When she had a meter and a half or so, she jumped the rest of the way, landing in a crouch on the leafy padding. A pair of boots came into view.

  Penelope ratcheted her gaze upward.

  “So good to see you again, Ambassador,” Captain Urgak said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Urgak marched through the forest with Penelope slung over his shoulder. Every stomp of his boots sent pain spiking into her skull. She stared at the backs of his legs, seeing one set of limbs, then two, her double vision fuzzy. Nausea rose in her throat again.

  Her left cheek ached. Cramps racked her muscles. Her arms, heavy and useless, swung like pendulums.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” he said. She couldn’t imagine hating a voice more. Had he always sounded so slithery and evil?

  She opened her mouth to scream, but a gargled whisper came out. Tears of terror and rage trickled from her eyes.

  He laughed. “Cat got your tongue? Isn’t that a saying on your planet? Don’t worry. The drug’s effects will wear off. You’re no use to me if you can’t talk.”

  When he appeared, she’d taken one glimpse of his menacing expression and bolted, but he’d caught her and dragged her through the woods. She’d dug at his face with her fingernails. His punch to her head had knocked her flat. Before she could recover, he’d injected her with a muscle paralyzer.

  “After I kill you, I’ll hunt down your husband and take care of him.”

  He’s not my husband. He’s a cyborg. She didn’t doubt she was going to die, but Brock would be harder to kill. Maybe. Could a one-handed cyborg outmatch a terrorist with two good arms? Brock had no weapons other than his body; Urgak could have a small arsenal aboard the escape pod.

  Without warning, Urgak dumped
her. Leaves softened the fall, but not the kick that collided with her ribs. A sharp, breath-stealing pain shot through her side. She cried out and curled up into a ball.

  “Get up! You can walk now.” He loomed over her, and she rolled to her feet. Her legs wobbled like her bones had no strength, but she managed to stay upright.

  “Move!” he barked.

  She staggered forward. Tremors racked her body, residual effects of whatever he’d shot into her. Penelope slipped her hand into her pocket to find the rocks she’d picked up at the acid pool. Mementos of DeltaNu9084. She’d never live to take them home. Oh, Brock. I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t freaked, if I hadn’t run…

  Then what? His back had healed, but the effects of the acid had been much, much worse than the fire. How could a critically injured Brock fight a surprisingly powerful Urgak? The Malodonian had hidden his strength behind an affected self-effacement.

  Penelope squeezed one smooth oval stone.

  “What are you holding? Show me your hands!”

  Penelope removed her fist and uncurled her fingers.

  “What is that?”

  “R-r-rock.” She could hardly force out the word, her vocal cords still affected.

  He snatched it from her palm and threw it away. “You don’t need that.” His shove would have felled her again, except she slammed into a tree. “Move it.”

  On leaden feet, she wobbled forward. She peered behind her at the rock. It gleamed stark white against the green and brown leaves. Penelope slipped her hand into her pocket and counted.

  Five stones left. If she used them judiciously—it wouldn’t make a difference. Stupid idea. Brock would have to be capable of hiking then he’d have to want to search for her. After the way she’d acted, he might choose not to. She’d seen the anguish of betrayal in his eyes. How could she have been so stupid?

  She would die at the hands of this terrorist. It was only a matter of time. Her single hope of survival was to engage him in conversation she’d been taught in her ambassador training. Get him talking. Find some common ground. Get him to see her as a person.

  Urgak pivoted his head, as if searching for something. When his gaze landed on a huge tree, its trunk at least half the diameter of Penelope’s PeeVee, he grabbed her arm and shoved her to the left. “That way.”

  “Where are you taking me?” There wasn’t anything on this planet but trees. And acid ponds.

  Oh universe, did he plan to toss her into a pond? Her throat closed up with horror. She’d prefer he killed her right now.

  He didn’t answer, and she’d feared that was what he intended to do. She didn’t think they were headed toward the pool she and Brock had found, but she’d lost all sense of direction. There could be hundreds of small corrosive liquid wells on DeltaNu9084.

  No wonder the ground around the pool had been barren of everything but rock and sand. The acid had prevented vegetative growth. She withdrew a stone and pressed her fist to her mouth. I’m going to die.

  “To the escape pod,” Urgak finally answered.

  She dropped the rock. “It’s still intact?”

  “Of course.”

  Of course. Because it hadn’t been the landing that had caused the explosion, but the self-destruct program that Urgak had activated. A tiny pod could land anywhere. One could zip it through the woods like an aero PeeVee.

  “The pod has enough fuel to leave the planet?”

  “Don’t be stupid. Escape pods operate off emergency fuel cells.”

  So why go there? Shelter maybe?

  “The pod doesn’t have enough fuel to get to an outpost, but it is equipped with a communication system. I deactivated the distress beacon and modified the programming to allow the broadcast of a vid-message throughout the galaxy.

  “You, Ambassador, are going to send a warning to the Association of Planets,” Urgak said. “Your death, watched by denizens of every world within the galaxy, will serve as an example of what will happen if the AOP continues to advance its agenda.”

  * * * *

  Wrists and ankles tied, Penelope knelt in the leaves. Blood trickled down the side of her neck. One of the many blows Urgak had delivered to her head had ruptured her tympanic membrane. Her ears still rang. Tears streaked her face as Urgak set up some sort of camera he’d retrieved from the escape pod. To her left, he’d placed a large container of liquid.

  When he’d led her to his camp, she’d tried to break free again, but he’d caught her, pummeled her, tied her up, and beat her again.

  “We’re ready now.” He stepped away from the camera lens, and her puffy, bloodied image appeared on a computer screen. One eye had swollen shut. Urgak pushed a button, her image vanished from the screen, and words appeared.

  “You might be able to kill me, but you won’t get away with this,” she said.

  “My comrades are en route to extract me. But if I’m captured by the enemy, I would be proud to die, knowing I’d helped Lamis-Odg to stop ethnic contamination.”

  Keep him talking.

  She held no hope that Brock would get to her, but she intended to fight to live every last second. “But you’re Malodonian! Your planet is hosting the AOP Summit.”

  “I am ashamed to be Malodonian. Our leaders have become puppets, duped by the AOP. They do not deserve the positions they hold.” He spat on the ground.

  “Why me? I’m nobody.” Though her title didn’t reflect it, she was a junior level ambassador in the diplomatic corps. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to execute somebody more important?

  “Because you contacted Xenia.”

  “They’re one small planet.” While recruiting them represented a giant leap for her career, it advanced the goals of the AOP by only a small step. That’s why she’d been given the assignment. Of course, the association wanted all the planets to join the alliance, but Xenia was a bit player.

  “A strategically located one. We were close to convincing the Xenians to allow us to establish an outpost when you contacted them and caused them to reconsider.” Urgak slipped a hood over his face. Only his eyes, lit by fanatical zeal, were visible.

  “Lamis-Odg will establish a base of operations on Xenia,” Urgak said. “If not by negotiation, then by force. Your death, broadcast across the galaxy, will warn others not to interfere.”

  She shifted her gaze to the container.

  “Yes, it’s acid from the pools. Lamis-Odg is familiar with DeltaNu9084; we’d considered this planet for a military base until we discovered its inhospitable environment.” His eyes glowed. “But it’s still useful.”

  She and Brock had pegged Urgak as a low-level recruit in Lamis-Odg, but now she wondered. He knew too much about the workings of the organization—and he hadn’t blown himself up on the shuttle—he’d escaped. Urgak was no suicide bomber. In military or terrorist organizations, generals were never sacrificed, only the foot soldiers.

  But she doubted he masterminded the outfit. While no one knew the identity of Lamis-Odg’s reclusive leader, the head of the organization would not concern himself with personally eliminating one woman. So, probably, Urgak was a captain of a sector.

  He punched a button on the computer, a light came on, and he pointed at her. “Begin reading.”

  Her mouth dried, and her throat closed. She couldn’t force the words from her lips. As soon as she finished, he would douse her with the acid, and she would die a horrible death.

  “Read!” He cuffed her in the head, and she fell over, her face planted in the leaves. She started to sob.

  He yanked her upright by the hair. “I do not have to kill you quickly. I can do it slowly. Your choice.” He stepped back so she could see the monitor.

  “M-my n-name is Penelope Isabella A-A-aron.” She choked out the words he’d keyed into the Vidmonitor. “I am an ambassador to the Association of Planets and the daughter of the former president of Terra United. I’ve been taken into custody by Lamis-Odg. Shortly, you will witness my–ex-execution.” Terror clawed at her as she read from t
he script.

  “To the members of the AOP, I urge you to heed the warning of my death and cease further cultural desecration. Disband the Association of Planets. If you ignore my words…”

  Chapter Fourteen

  What the fuck? Brock groaned and pried open his eyelids. He squinted at the sunlight drilling onto his face. He curled his fingers into…gravel?

  Pebbles dug into his shoulders. Sand. He lay on the ground. Why? Scooting his feet, he bent his knees. From elbow to fingertip, his prosthetic forearm ached like a motherfucker.

  He lifted his right arm. What the hell? Raising the left, he compared the two. Left arm tanned, covered with a mat of dark hair. Normal. Right arm: hairless, the skin smooth, baby pink. Brand new. Like when he’d awakened in the cybermed facility after the attack that had nearly killed him.

  He jerked his head, and the pool shot into view. Memories uploaded into consciousness. Tripping. Agony. Forearm corroded to metal bone. Pia’s horror and flight. Falling. Blackness.

  Brock scrambled to his feet. His computer brain reported he’d been unconscious for three hours, seven minutes. “Pia! Pia!” Somewhere, she was out there alone. DeltaNu9084 could harbor other dangers besides acid pools.

  The container she’d been about to fill lay uncapped and empty in the sand. The acid explained the absence of animal life, and why the planet hadn’t been colonized. Dangerous acid pools. In the shuttle’s database, there had been no mention of water. He wondered if the planet had any or if the large leaves absorbed moisture from the atmosphere. Did it even rain on DeltaNu9084? They couldn’t wait to find out. As a cyborg, he could last quite a while without hydrating, but Pia? No more than three days. He had to get her off this planet.

  The barren gully where he’d landed the shuttle was a dry acid river bed, he realized. At some point in the geological history, corrosive liquid had bubbled from the planet’s core to eat away the vegetation and form the furrow.

  He’d almost made the connection too late. The absence of verdure around the pool had struck him as odd. Normally, one saw an increase of plant growth around a water source—unless it was briny. As Pia had knelt beside the pool, a bad premonition had erupted from deep inside.