by Audrey Grey
Stiffening, she seemed unsure how to respond at first, gaping at him with those big golden eyes, nostrils flared. Finally, a squeak fled her throat.
Then ire twisted her face—slowly, though, as if she still really couldn’t believe he dared touch her. He was so entranced by her changing expressions—the curling upper lip, the elegant eyebrows arching to form a deep crease between her eyes, expressions he hadn’t seen replicated on any mock—he nearly missed her reach back to deck him.
Before she could strike, he clamped onto her bicep with his left hand, pinning her free arm. He was careful not to use all his strength, half of which could easily crack her humerus bone.
When she realized she was trapped, she changed tactics, bucking and wiggling and hurling insults at him as she thrashed like a wild animal.
He chuckled, enraging her further. But there was little she could do beyond screaming. He was made of metal instead of bone, his muscles created from a meshwork of carbon nanotubes that made him ten times stronger than a human male twice her size. She could squirm all she wanted—she wasn’t budging.
“Where are you taking me?” She practically spit the words. Strips of her auburn hair were plastered across her sweat-drenched face, her teeth bared. She’d finally stopped struggling, her insults giving way to panting. A cardinal-red flush darkened her cheeks, reminding him of a child throwing a tantrum.
Flesher, of course. A mock would never act so silly.
His lips stretched into a grin as he ignored her, his silence eliciting another round of thrashing, this time accompanied by snorts of rage. Part of him knew he should stop toying with her human emotions and allow her a shred of dignity. But the other part of him was enjoying this way too much to stop.
With a final grumble, she puffed out her bottom lip and stared at the wall. “You have no idea how much trouble you’re going to be in for this.”
He swallowed down a laugh and decided not to respond. He didn’t want to encourage her delusions.
By the time they entered the galley, calm rage had settled over her face. She’d gone still in his arms, like a soldier meditating before a battle, her lips pinched and eyes slits of ochre.
Now that his anger had mostly cooled, a surge of pity rose for her. There were other ways he could have handled this. And this would be demeaning for anyone. But then he recalled her insolence, the haughty way she rolled her eyes, and he tightened his hold on her arms, determined to see this through.
The air was heavy with the smell of grease and burned beef as they entered the kitchen. Will wrinkled his nose at the metallic scent, meaning the meat was synthetic. Again. Stars, they needed to resupply soon.
Leo glanced up from a steaming grill, spatula in hand. His mouth parted at the sight of Ailat trussed up in Will’s arms. Of course, the second they entered, she’d situated herself to hang limply, as if he’d actually hurt her.
One of Leo’s thick blond eyebrows inched up. “What’s this?”
“Brought you another hand.” Will dumped her unceremoniously by the oven, enjoying himself a little too much as she smoothed her tunic and fixed her hair. If she wasn’t going to admit her fault in this, he wasn’t going to treat her gently. “She’s happy to help.”
Her mouth flew open in protest, but she hesitated, flicking her gaze back at him, and then gave Leo a stiff nod.
Leo belted out a rumbling laugh. “Yeah, she looks practically overjoyed.”
Huffing, she marched over to the grill, ripped a dingy blue apron from its peg on the wall, and began stacking plates, casting nasty looks at Will the entire time.
He found himself grinning as he made his way to the bridge. His chest warm and arms tingling where her flesh had touched his. Her exotic smell still lingering on his shirt. He’d thought picking her up would have felt satisfying, but instead, something different had sparked to life. An urgency buried deep inside. And as much as he tried to listen to Lux talk about trade routes and less conspicuous entries into Oberon airspace, his mind wandered back to the way her eyes burned like liquid gold when she was furious. The way she took these little, ragged breaths, her chest heaving.
No—her humanity was intriguing, but that was all. Her weak, bruisable flesh and breakable bones. She reminded Will of the part of him that died at the hands of other humans. Before mocks took him in and made him one of their own.
Shutting his mind off to Ailat’s image, he forced himself to focus on Lux as they discussed plans to enter Calisto unnoticed. Xander was smart enough to have an alert out for the Odysseus, but there were ways around that could be handled when they docked at the port. Once on planet, they would split up and search the marketplace for anyone who recognized the symbol. Will would scour the massive library there as well. Surely, between all of them, they could discover something about the symbol, or why Xander wanted it so badly.
And if they couldn’t, then Will assured Lux he’d be the first one in line at the slaver’s market to sell the lying flesher. In fact, he couldn’t wait to rid himself and his crew of her and return things back to normal, one way or another.
Chapter 16
Talia
Talia finished cleaning the last of the steel plates after dinner and then consoled herself with the knowledge that when this kidnapping crew of rebels was finally caught, Will would be at her mercy. Stars, he’d be sorry for treating her like a common slave. Risking telling him her identity might be worth it just to see the fear flash over his face when he realized who she really was.
They might be rebels, free to pretend this tiny corner of the solar system was theirs, but her family had ruled over the Seven Planets and all the galaxies in between for centuries. Their war wouldn’t last another month—but the Starchaser Dynasty would remain forever. They were too powerful to fall.
Her family was comprised of the first earthens to look for habitable planets outside their home solar system, despite being labeled delusional—and worse. The Starchasers accomplished all that before hyper-drive capabilities, and three whole generations of Starchasers lived and died on board the Columbus spacecraft before they discovered Calisto, the first inhabitable planet of the Seven. Five years later came the Thoros discovery. The rest of the Seven followed within ten years. If not for the vision and sacrifice of the first Starchasers, humanity would have perished with their dying Earth.
With an annoyed sigh, she yanked the disgusting apron over her head, crushed the garment into a tiny ball, and threw it on the floor. Her hairnet was next. The nerve it took to think all that history and accomplishment could be erased with a few fighter crafts and droids. And for what? Had the mocks not been treated well under her family’s rule?
Leo picked up her apron, smoothed it, and then tossed the crumpled fabric onto the wall beside his. A smile followed. A girl could drown in that sugary grin—hundreds of women probably already had. “Need an escort to my room?”
Stars above, how many women had heard that line?
“Why?” she snapped, picking bits of dried dough out of her hair. “Is your unhinged captain lurking in the shadows, waiting to assign more chores?”
He chuckled and pushed open the galley’s double steel doors for her. “Probably not. He retires at night to the uppermost point of the ship.”
Hadn’t she seen the captain’s quarters near the crew bunks? “To sleep?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what he does up there. He just . . . disappears after dinner and reappears before breakfast. Doubt he sleeps much though, from the racket.”
Racket? She didn’t dare ask what a crazy mock like that might do in the shadows. “Don’t mocks need to update in the evenings?” They were at Leo’s door, the purr of the engine room settling into her chest and tugging her eyelids. She knew there were exceptions, but every mock in existence had to recharge and update at some point.
Leo lifted his burly shoulders in a vague shrug. “Some more than others. But . . . our captain is different. He started off like you, a flesher.”
Impossible.
Could such a thing really happen? She tilted her head, sure she’d misheard him. “He was human? And now he’s one of you?”
“Yeah.” Leo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed against his thick chest. “It’s a long story, and I barely know the half of it so . . .”
“Right.” She opened the door partway and then hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t mind me using your room?”
“Nope. Hardly sleep anyway. We use our bunks more for meditative purposes.”
She swallowed back a snort as holo-girl greeted Leo with a girlish squeal. Meditative her ass. At least instead of her skimpy bathing suit, she was mostly covered in a silk kimono with a flowery pink pattern—although when holo-girl clapped her hands, Talia realized the girl was wearing nothing underneath.
Talia averted her eyes and whispered, “Any way to turn her off?”
Holo-girl hmphed and turned around, arms crossed as she pouted, her golden hair hanging nearly to her waist.
Leo scratched his cheek and tossed the holo-girl a sheepish grin. “Tandy, go to sleep now.”
Holo-girl, aptly named Tandy, slid a hurt look back at Leo before making a dramatic show of lying on her side.
“Thanks, Leo. Naked, chatty holo-girls aren’t really my thing.”
Leo winked. “I understand.”
As if in response, the light from Tandy’s holo-poster went dark.
Talia sat on the edge of the bed, but as soon as her butt touched the hard mattress, her heart stuttered into an erratic rhythm, and she clapped a hand over her chest. Just the idea of lying down inside the dark room and closing her eyes, with its tight, thick walls blocking out all sounds, sent her spiraling into a panic.
Her body must have some residual trauma left over from being confined for so long. A week stuck inside a steel coffin. She tried to shake off the growing hysteria, but the emotion was as instinctual as her fear of spiders, water, and Grandmother’s disapproval.
Leo flicked on a dim nightlight, casting a buttery half circle of light across the wall. “You okay?”
The concern evident inside Leo’s voice was surprising. Someone must have taken great care with his programming for him to notice the subtle tics that indicated human distress.
“I’m fine,” she said, shrugging off her fears, the momentary panic replaced by curiosity. “Leo, can I ask you a question . . . about your programming?”
A flush reddened his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “Normally that’s something you only discuss with someone you’re . . . intimate with, but sure. Ask away.”
Behind her, holo-girl scoffed, but Talia ignored the dark poster. She didn’t want to bed Leo, just understand how he was so different from the mocks she knew. “Okay. How many program interfaces do you possess?”
He blinked down at her, puzzlement wrinkling his forehead. “There’s no way to know something like that.”
“But, surely they told you when you were made?”
“Well, yeah. I started with the standard 2,732,000 programs. But now I can’t even imagine what that number is up to.”
Up to? Her lips parted with another question, but then the implication hit her, and she froze. Intergalactic law stated a mock’s programming couldn’t surpass a certain number. She couldn’t remember the exact amount, but it was well below a million. That safeguard was for humanity’s benefit.
From what he’d implied, the rebels had somehow found a way to not only double the acceptable number, but allow their programming to grow.
She inhaled sharply. “So, your programming is open-ended?”
An open-ended program would allow mocks to surpass humans in every way possible. That kind of tech wasn’t just illegal, it was potentially catastrophic. Human defenses wouldn’t hold up against such a threat.
“Yeah.” His eyebrows flicked up as he spoke, like he expected her to know all this already. “Our programming builds on our life experiences, which is why some of us are so unique. Present company included.”
She would have laughed at his last remark, if the implications weren’t so terrifying. How had the forces of the Seven not figured this out yet? Or maybe they had, and she simply hadn’t been told. That made more sense. Up until last week, she’d been kept out of the loop.
Still, there was a chance her forces really didn’t know what was happening with the rebels. Which made her all the more determined to escape and inform them.
Leo slid his gaze to the door, his lips pressed into a line that hinted at a frown. “You’ll be okay if I go?”
“Yep.” She ran her hand over the rough blanket. “Tandy will keep me company.”
Her heart raced as she stretched out on the bed, faking a yawn. No sooner did the door click shut then she was up, pacing the room and counting. Five minutes passed. Then ten. She forced herself to wait another five and then slipped out of the chamber, closing the door softly behind her.
Dark shadows drenched the hallways, the dim blood-colored lights rimming the baseboards making eerie half circles she felt the need to step over. The corridors were freezing compared to her room, and ivory clouds spilled from her lips. Climate control must be set to only heat the rooms at night. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she crept toward the bridge, wishing she’d thought to grab a robe as gooseflesh pricked her arms.
She could only hope most of the crew was meditating—or whatever they did in their rooms at night. Ailat had never slept either, but the complexity of her programming meant she required the full four hours to update while humans rested. Did this crew have to plug in? It would make them traceable and leave them vulnerable to attack, so probably not.
Muted-yellow light announced the bridge. She paused just outside the half-propped open doors, listening for voices or the sound of movement. After waiting through a few minutes of silence, she crept inside.
The nav control panel was near the middle of the console, the buttons and switches illuminated by a pale-blue underglow. Pushing aside the nav chair, she crouched down, searching for the ship’s tracking chip. The underside of the console was darker, and it took a few minutes of fumbling before she found the slot where the chip should be.
Empty.
She felt around until the edges of a compartment caught her attention. Surely the tracking chip would be inside—but the compartment was locked. Frustration warmed her cheeks, and she checked the urge to stamp her foot and come up with another idea.
A careful search didn’t turn up any keys nearby, and the paperclip she found and straightened failed to do anything but scratch up the lock. Before Talia could look anywhere else, a woman’s voice sounded from just over Talia’s right shoulder.
She spun around to face the fact she’d been caught and discovered the lieutenant, Jane, smacking her head on the console. The mock sat slumped sideways in the co-pilot’s chair—which is why Talia had missed her in the first place—one hand clawed over the chair’s arm. The other hand hung loose. Jane’s head was cocked sideways, staring past Talia at some invisible spot in the wall. Even from here, she could make out the bizarre dance of the mock’s pupils from dilated to pinpoint.
She was glitching.
Ailat had glitched once, when Talia was twelve. After an extended vacation on the resort moon of Aegaeon, Ailat was overdue for examination and updates. Talia thought nothing of it until that last day on the shuttle, when Ailat began giggling and wouldn’t stop. Her pupils had done the same thing, fluttered wildly. Afterward, when the episode was over and Ailat was fixed, Talia could never hear her friend laugh without being reminded of the incident.
Jane’s gaze rolled to the ceiling, a sequence of nonsensical words tumbling from her lips. “Potato. Clouds. Baby . . .”
Talia crept over, praying Jane didn’t have a recall function that would allow her to review footage from her glitches. Not that it would matter if Talia could reinsert the tracking chip and guide her rescuers to this location.
“Cruel,” Jane whispered. “So cruel.”
Ignoring the malfunctioni
ng mock, Talia carefully felt around the utility belt circling Jane’s waist. Something delicate and hard clanged beneath Talia’s fingertips. A key ring.
Heart in her throat, she twisted the one key loose that looked like it would fit inside the compartment lock and then slunk back to the nav panel.
The key didn’t work.
“Come on,” Talia muttered, jamming the key in for another try. “Thank the stars.”
She hardly dared breathe as the compartment door creaked open. Inside she found a few documents, a silver flask, and the chip. Before she could think about what she was doing, she inserted the chip into the slot. Hopefully no one would notice until it was too late, and she’d been found.
Right as she went to close the compartment door, something caught her eye in the very back. A dark, gleaming object. She had to shove her arm up past her elbow to reach it. Heavy and cold, it felt strangely familiar as she retrieved it.
But as she pulled it out, adrenaline spiked her veins. A gun. Similar to one of the antique weapons her father kept in a glass viewing case inside the vault at the palace. She’d never held it, but somehow she recalled that the older earthen weapons required metal objects called bullets. After a few tries, she found the cylinder of the gun and opened it. Three bullets peeked back at her from their grooves.
The gun went into her pants pocket, which was wide enough to conceal the weapon. Now that she had a gun and a plan, breathing became a bit easier.
Before she left the bridge, she found a mud-brown wool blanket and covered Jane.
“The queen,” Jane muttered, still staring off into something Talia couldn’t see. “The queen, the queen—”
“Babies and queens,” Talia whispered, helping Jane to lie back. “Those must be some interesting dreams.”
Talia practically skipped on the way back to her room, absentmindedly patting the weapon weighing down her pants. Her rescue shouldn’t be long from now. She just had to survive until then.