by Liz Crowe
“That was fast.” Crash waved a handheld over his nape, pausing the recording mechanism. “Are the Mantidae growing weaker?”
“I’m stronger.” He flexed his arms.
“We’ll need that strength.” The E model cyborg returned to his rebuild of the guidance system. “According to Zip, there’s only one more deployment until the battle station repositions. He intercepted a bulletin.”
“My female relayed the same timing.” Rage sat on a boulder and picked up a gun. Could the rest of her information be correct? He couldn’t take the chance that it might be. “She also said there are three tracking devices on each cyborg and five on each ship.”
“She’s a human,” Gap scoffed. “I searched the ship and there were only four.”
“Search again,” Rage ordered.
“But--”
He leveled a hard glance on the young cyborg.
Gap blew out his breath. “I’ll search again.” He stomped up the entry ramp.
“You told your female about our plans?” Crash didn’t gaze up from the circuits. “You trust her that much?”
“I don’t trust her at all.” That didn’t feel like the truth. “I told her nothing.”
“Then how did she know them?” His friend looked toward the ship.
“She doesn’t.” Though she suspected. Rage had seen the speculation in his clever female’s eyes. “It’s what she would do.” She was a survivor, as he was.
“Should I look for a third tracking device?”
“We’ll wait until Gap completes his search.” He didn’t relish being poked and prodded, not by Crash. While his female had a light hand, spraying injured areas with pain inhibitors, his friend didn’t. He doubted the cyborg knew pain inhibitors existed.
If Gap didn’t find a fifth tracking device on their ship, there might not be a third device within them. There’d be no reason to search.
They worked in silence. Crash modified the guidance system, ensuring their plotted course wouldn’t be reported back to the Humanoid Alliance. Rage pieced together more weapons, the firepower needed during their escape.
“You’re calmer since you’ve been paired with her.”
Rage grunted. He was fighting and breeding as he was designed. What was there to be angry about?
“There’s no need to kill your female immediately.” Crash’s voice was soft. “A human hostage might be useful.”
If she was his hostage, she could continue to serve him. The thought appealed to him. Too much.
Rage slid his gaze to his friend’s downturned face. “She can’t come with us. Humans aren’t welcome in the Homeland.”
“We’ll have to dispose of her before we arrive there.” Crash dipped his head. “But until then, we could hold her prisoner.”
Rage said nothing.
“Having her on board would benefit all of us. I didn’t relish being stuck in that small space.” He tilted his head toward the ship. “With you for multiple planet rotations. When you’re not fighting the enemy, you’re nasty.”
“Frag you.” Rage scowled, recognizing the truth in his friend’s words. If he had to go planet rotations without fighting or breeding, he’d hurt some being.
“That’s what I’m trying to prevent.” Crash flashed a grin. “You need an outlet for your anger, my friend, and I prefer that not be me. If you don’t take your female, that leaves the kid and you know how easily he breaks.”
He did need an outlet for his anger but to take Joan hostage? That was… He processed it some more. Not the most idiotic idea his friend had ever had. Did it matter if she died in two planet rotations or ten?
It mattered to him. He wasn’t ready to kill her. Not yet.
She had to die. He couldn’t take her to the Homeland and she already knew too much about cyborgs. She’d put future escapes in jeopardy, stop his brethren from seizing their freedom. He wouldn’t allow that.
But she didn’t have to die until they reached the planet.
“Gap does break easily,” Rage conceded.
“I’ve found nothing yet.” The cyborg in question trudged down the ramp. “I’ll search the outside, though that’s unlikely.” He closed the ramp. “Take off would… fraggin’ hole.” He stared at the underside of the metal surface. “Yes, make that five tracking devices.”
His female hadn’t lied about that. Rage was both pleased and irritated, because that meant there might be a third tracking sensor on his body. “You’ll have to search me, Crash, but not now.” He picked up his favorite gun. “Turn the recording back on. I’ll clear the territories first.”
He’d vent some of his building anger on the Mantidae, allowing him to better handle the pain.
*****
He didn’t kill enough of them. When Crash sliced him open for the sixteenth time, finding nothing, Rage’s circuits threatened to overload.
“I could have sworn I felt something in there.” His soon-to-be-dead friend stuck what felt like a burning hot dagger in Rage’s right ass cheek and pushed his inner mechanics around.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Ass.” He gritted his teeth, the agony excruciating.
“I will. I will.” Crash removed the grippers.
His skin pulled together, healing. Not fast enough for Rage’s liking. “Don’t we have any pain inhibitors?” he grumbled.
“Pain inhibitors.” Gap laughed. “That’s a good one.”
Rage narrowed his eyes at him.
The kid stopped laughing. “Oh, you were serious.” Furrows formed on his forehead. “They make those?”
“Let me guess.” Crash prodded his lower back. “Your female has been spraying pain inhibitors on your boo boos. You’re getting soft, my friend.”
“I’m not getting soft.” He glowered. “I cleared all three of our territories this deployment.” That was a first. Normally even he needed help. “I’d like to see either of you do that.”
“How did you do it?” Gap leaned forward. He was obsessed with upping his kill rate. “Do pain inhibitors make you stronger?”
“My female upgraded my mechanics.” That didn’t explain all of his improvements. It was as though the more nanocybotics he gave Joan, the more he produced.
“I wish I had a female.” The young cyborg sighed. “My handler isn’t a good human.” He shifted on his rock.
“There are no good humans,” Rage said that because they expected him to. He didn’t know if he still believed it.
“Judging by how content you’ve been, your little human is very good,” Crash murmured. “You lucky bag of bolts.”
Rage ignored his friend’s comment.
“Do I have to kill my handler quickly?” Gap asked.
He understood the younger cyborg’s desire to inflict pain on the human who was torturing him. “The faster we kill everyone, the sooner we escape, the more likely we are to reach the Homeland without being recaptured.”
“Oh.” Gap slouched.
“We won’t get far if we don’t find that third tracking device.” Crash sliced Rage’s left shoulder blade open.
“Fraggin’ hole.” He grimaced, the pain nearly blinding him. “Do you know how to detect the tracking devices?”
“No.” Crash stuck the grippers into his shoulder, pressing it to the left and to the right, ratcheting the torment skyward. “I’m guessing.” He sighed. “And I guessed wrong again. Did your female say where the tracking devices were located?”
“Would I tolerate your search if she did?”
Crash removed the grippers, allowing his wound to heal. “I could continue to look or you could ask her.” He felt Rage’s nape. “She knew there were three. She’d know where they were.”
Joan was a clever female. She would know where the tracking devices were. “By asking her, I’m confirming we plan to escape.”
“You’re confirming you plan to escape.”
That was true. He’d only be placing himself at risk. The humans would decommission him…or try to. He wouldn’t die quietly and the others would be saf
e.
“If we don’t find it and we move forward with our plans, we could be placing all of us in jeopardy,” Crash pushed. “Hundreds of cyborgs could die, cyborgs that are looking toward us to successfully lead this mission. You’re our top warrior. They believe in you, in our freedom. Would you let them down?”
Crash knew he wouldn’t. Rage’s lips twisted. To save the others, he’d have to trust her and ask for her help. Both prospects made Rage uneasy. Because trusting his little female gave her the power to hurt him.
“She’s a human.” He had to remember that.
“She smells more and more like you,” Gap contributed. “Will she become a cyborg if you transfer enough of your nanocybotics to her?”
Rage gazed at him. Was the kid serious? A constant influx of nanocybotics would stop the aging process and extend her life, but they would never change her. “She’ll always be human.”
“Your little human might be our only hope.” Crash stood. “I’ll transmit the information about the fifth device on the ships to the others.” They communicated on a secure frequency, accessible only by fellow cyborgs. “Warn them there might be a third device on their frames. They might have heard something about where it might be.”
The cyborg strode behind the ship, looking for an optimal transmitting location. That would decrease the number of relays needed and lessen the chance of discovery.
Rage donned his armor, wishing his little female were there to assist him. She’d touch him with her gentle hands, gaze up at him with those big brown eyes, treating him as though he was her suns, moons, planets rolled into one.
“Rage?”
“Yes.” He braced himself for another idiotic question from the kid.
“I’ve never seen a female cyborg. Are they soft and round like your female?”
Rage had never seen a female like Joan. Thinking about her breasts and hips made him hard. He adjusted his body armor. “The female cyborgs I’ve met.” Bred with. “Were strong and firm, tougher than many males.”
They were fierce, fighting him for dominance, taking his cum and giving as little as possible in return, caring nothing for his pleasure. They wouldn’t kneel at his feet, wouldn’t call him sir, wouldn’t obey his commands.
“Oh.” Gap’s lips turned downward. “Are there many females?”
“No.” The failure of the breeding program eliminated the need for females.
The kid stared straight ahead. Judging by the grim set of his unblemished face, whatever he saw on that war-ravaged horizon wasn’t pleasant. “I’ll never have a female of my own, will I?”
Rage gazed over his shoulder. Where was Crash? His friend was better with the reassuring words. Rage had no patience for it.
The kid sighed, the sound pitiful.
Fraggin’ hole. “Stand tall, warrior,” he said gruffly. “You’re young and handsome.” Rage slapped the cyborg’s shoulder, shaking his slighter frame. “Many females prefer that in a male.” Not his female. He lifted his gun. She desired him, a big, scarred, battle-worn male. “Didn’t you once say you’d never be free of the Humanoid Alliance?”
“Yes.” Gap’s head lifted.
“And yet, this repositioning, we’ll make our escape.” Rage tossed the handheld to Gap. The kid caught it. “Never say never.”
He waited.
The kid didn’t move.
“Restart the recording,” he barked, his patience frayed.
Gap jumped to do his bidding.
Rage scowled. Would he find another female, a cyborg female, like Joan? Or would he also spend the rest of his lifespan alone, never to breed again?
Because he’d rather not breed than go without the sweet submission and tenderness she’d shown him.
Blasted Gap, putting those ideas in his processor. Rage rushed toward the encroaching Mantidae forces, seeking to lose himself in the fight.
Chapter Seven
Joan crept into the meeting chamber. Heads turned. Voices buzzed, phrases such as ‘cyborg slut’ and ‘stupid female’ repeated.
She slipped her hand in the pocket of her flight suit and touched cool metal. Rage’s dagger was there. She wasn’t without protection.
Joan claimed a seat on the perimeter, giving herself a path to escape should that become necessary. She’d received the bulletin moments ago. Commander Lewis wished to speak to all of the off-duty cybernetic engineers.
It could be about the repositioning, but the gurgling in her stomach told her otherwise. Had the Mantidae taken the planet? Was Rage dead?
“You’re fidgeting, Tits.” Plank sat behind her, his buddies filling the seats around him. “Did your cyborg give your ass a workout last night?”
Denny, her friend, looked away, his expression grim. The other engineers sniggered. One of them yanked on her hair, the pain bitterly sharp.
The comments continued, the males becoming more and more vulgar. Joan ignored them. If she didn’t respond, they’d eventually become bored and leave her alone.
That was what had happened at the academy. The first two solar cycles were torture. By the end of the fourth solar cycle, she’d earned some respect, gained some support.
Not from every being. Plank had been a rectal wipe on planet rotation one and continued to be one now.
Commander Lewis strode into the chambers, his boots ringing on the floor. They jumped to their feet. “Sir.” They saluted him.
“At ease, Engineers.” His smug expression troubled Joan. That was his I’m-about-to-hurt-some-being look.
She didn’t have to wait for pain. Plank punched her between the shoulder blades as they sat. Shit. She winced. That hurt.
“This information will be broadcast in a bulletin after repositioning, but let me be the first to congratulate you.” Commander Lewis’ smile held no goodwill. “In twenty planet rotations, you will be responsible for a fleet of K model cyborgs, the best and the newest the Humanoid Alliance has to offer.”
A wave of excitement swept over the audience. The K models were top-of-the-line. Any engineer would be thrilled to be paired with one.
Any engineer other than her. Joan only wanted to be paired with Rage. She raised her hand to ask the first question, dreading the answer.
“Cadet Tull?” The Commander’s eyes gleamed.
“What will happen to our current cyborgs, sir?” She was proud of how steady her voice was.
“They will be decommissioned.” He confirmed Joan’s suspicions and the room swayed under her feet. Rage, his friends, all of the cyborgs would be killed. “We’ll take them apart, using every circuit we can.” The Commander leaned forward. “This is war. We can’t afford to waste any mechanics.” His gaze lifted. “Cadet Plank?”
“Sir, will they be terminated before they’re taken apart?”
“They’ll be given a prolonger so we can verify that the mechanics are operational. It makes no sense to keep parts that don’t work.” Commander Lewis’ gaze returned to Joan. “To answer what I’m sure will be the next question, we won’t waste valuable pain inhibitors on the decommissioned cyborgs. They’re machines.”
“They’re half human, sir.” Joan couldn’t remain silent. “They’re living beings who fought for the Humanoid Alliance, risking their lives to save ours.”
She looked around the chambers, seeking support. She found none. The other engineers glared at her.
“Surely they deserve to be treated with more dignity,” she pleaded.
“They don’t deserve anything, Cadet Tull.” Commander Lewis’ face hardened. “They were manufactured to fight. They served their purpose. Now, they will be decommissioned.”
Now, they’ll be tortured before they’re killed. She felt faint. As a reward for their service, the cyborgs will be scrapped for parts, artificially kept alive while they’re dissected. They’ll see their bodies carved into pieces, feel every cut, every wound, their dying extended.
“Better use his cock while you can, Tits.” Plunk slapped her shoulder hard.
Joa
n suppressed the urge to slap him back. She had to respond intelligently, not emotionally. She might not be able to save all of the cyborgs from this fate but perhaps she could save Rage. She raised her hand.
“What is it now, Cadet Tull?” The Commander didn’t hide his irritation.
“She’s going to cry about her precious machines,” Plank sneered. “This sensitivity shit is why females don’t belong on a battle station.” That line sounded like something the Commander would say.
The other engineers laughed.
They were all clones of their leader, cruel and uncaring. It made Joan sick to her stomach and a bit desperate. She had to protect her cyborg.
“I haven’t cried since I was eleven solar cycles.” Though she felt like crying now. “C899321 holds the number one position for enemy kills. Surely the Humanoid Alliance wouldn’t decommission such a valuable asset?”
“You’re correct. C899321 won’t be treated like the other cyborgs,” Commander Lewis conceded.
Thank the stars. Joan’s shoulders lowered.
“The Central Archives has requested his shoulders and head for display in their war equipment collection.”
They requested his head and shoulders only. Tour guides would parade children in front of her cyborg, talk about him as though he was merely a weapon to be used. Bile rose in her throat.
“The Academy, the same one you attended, has asked for the rest of his frame, for study.”
They told her the cyborgs they studied had been slain in battle. Joan gripped the edge of her chair, remembering the frames she’d examined. Had they all been decommissioned, tortured and killed by the humans they fought for?
And she’d poked and prodded at them, disrespecting them even more.
Rage was right. She was like the others.
Engineers asked questions, inquiring about whether or not they’d receive promotions, an increase in daily credits, if they could be present to view the decommissioning, the slaughter of the cyborgs they were paired with.
Joan pushed away her horror, and focused on the situation. This was war, as the Commander bluntly stated. She didn’t have the time or resources to dwell on her mistakes. She had to move forward, devise a plan to ensure Rage survived, that he didn’t end up dead in some macabre exhibit. He was her responsibility. Her first loyalty was to him. If she saved other cyborgs while saving her male, then that was a bonus.