Authors: Eve Langlais
Adam
Copyright © February 2015, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey © February 2015
Edited by Devin Govaere
Copy Edited by Amanda L. Pederick
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
1606 Main Street, PO Box 151
Stittsville, Ontario, Canada, K2S1A3
ISBN: 978 1 927 459 67 6
Adam
is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
On Earth, when a rebel cyborg leader is drawn into a search for answers, he doesn’t expect things to blow up. And he’s not just talking about his house. Somehow his heart explodes, too, with the last thing he ever expected—love.
Adam survived the great cyborg purge because the military made a mistake, a mistake they lived to regret. They crossed the line when they decided to take away his free will and turn him into a machine. They erroneously thought him a slave they could command. However, their biggest screw up of all was when they didn’t terminate him at the first sign cyborgs were regaining sentience.
As the rebel cyborg leader on Earth, Adam is doing everything he can to rescue others of his kind. Part of his current, undercover mission involves infiltrating a top secret military facility where he comes in contact with a human scientist. A sexy scientist whom he’s ordered to protect.
What should have been an easy job turns into a fight for his life because it’s not just bullets and hit squads he’s got to worry about, but his heart.
How can one fragile female mean so much? It’s almost too much for a rational-minded cyborg to understand. When the choice is given, escape or let her die, he lets his heart decide, and that's when things begin to explode—literally.
Bang
!
The sharp, cracking sound startled the intern in the lab. As she stepped away from her microscope, she eyed the open door leading to the hall. It wasn’t unusual to hear explosions in this wing, as students experimented, sometimes with disastrous results.
Bang
!
Bang
!
The echoing pops approached.
Should she take cover?
The expected alarm that would have signaled a lockdown never rang. Was the popping sound she heard the freshmen playing with firecrackers again? Every year there were some clowns who thought getting people to dive for cover was hilarious. Until they got suspended.
Yells, indistinct yet comprised of several voices, interspersed the occasional crack. The commotion drew nearer. Biting her lip, she peeked around for a spot to hide. If it were campus security chasing down pranksters, she’d feel foolish, but if it weren’t…
Better safe than sorry.
Decision made, she searched in earnest for something to shield her. However, the lab provided no adequate cover. Before she could think to simply duck behind a counter, a large shape filled the doorway.
Her shoulders relaxed upon seeing the familiar visage of unit CG311, the cyborg guard who patrolled this part of the campus. Ever since the university had contracted his services, campus violence, especially against women, dropped.
“Hey, CG, what’s going on outside?”
His gaze tracked over to her. “You need to hide.” While his expression never changed, his words expressed worry.
Emotion from a robot? How strange. “From what?” she asked.
“Hurry.” No denying the panicked thread in his voice.
Before she could duck out of sight, soldiers sporting visored helmets and padded chest armor poured into the room.
Unlike the friendly guard, these newcomers did cause a tremble, especially since they all bore weapons. A smoky smell followed them, permeating the air. But thicker still was the menace emanating from them.
What’s going on?
“Unit CG311, kneel with your hands over your head,” barked a guy with military stripes sewn to his sleeve.
The cyborg did as told, lacing his fingers behind his head.
She couldn’t help but frown. “What’s going on?” she dared to ask.
“This is a military matter, ma’am,” replied the soldier in charge. “Please evacuate the premises. Corporal Kelly, escort her out.”
“But…” The protest she might have voiced died on her lips as they trained their guns on the kneeling cyborg. A defenseless man who did not question why. She craned to see, even as the soldier pulled her away.
She noted the resigned expression in his eyes. Saw the emotion. He didn’t flinch when the order was given. She flinched enough for the both of them.
“Terminate him.”
“No.” She never knew if she said it aloud or screamed it in her head. All she knew was she would never forget the blood—
oh god the blood—
that spattered from the cyborg as a half-dozen weapons fired at close range.
At her sobs, the cold military official rebuked her. “Stop those tears. He was nothing but a machine. A defective fucking bot.”
But robots shouldn’t bleed.
For a long time, she relived in her nightmares the horror of seeing the cyber unit terminated without a trial, without mercy. A man gunned down, whose only crime was being made into something more than he was born as.
It proved a defining a moment in her life. It was the day the military declared war on all cyborgs and the killing ensued. So much killing.
It was the day she realized that sometimes evil lurked beneath the surface of even the most unsuspecting veneer. From that moment forward, she made it her life’s mission to find a better way to deal with cyborgs. One that didn’t involve the savagery and blood that forever stained the floor in the lab—and her soul.
She works too much.
Adam would know, given he’d watched the petite scientist for a few weeks now. But not for any perverted stalker reasons, although the fact she liked to nibble her lower lip was something he duly noted even if it bore no relevance to his mission.
Dr. Laura Cowen was intriguing for reasons beyond her cushioned buttocks, the lazy strands of hair escaping the messy bun atop her head, and the glasses she continuously pushed up on her pert human nose.
The curvy doctor was in charge of a very special project, one involving the highest level of security, where she and she alone had access to some very intriguing samples.
Samples Adam wanted to get his hands on but had yet to figure out how to acquire. The closest he’d managed was having himself assigned as a security detail to this lab.
Guard duty. Yay.
Not.
It was the epitome of boring, and he could do it while using less than one percent of his processing capability. The only excitement and danger he’d encountered so far in his duties revolved around the fact that he was a cyborg working undercover right beneath the military’s nose.
In your face, bastards.
Talk about sticking one to them.
But now wasn’t the time to gloat over his awesomeness. He’d received a coded text message on his phone before he’d gone on duty that had his mind looping.
Things were about to get interesting.
Long time no talk. I’m coming to town and was thinking of popping in for a visit with a few friends. Think you can put us up for a few nights
?
Signed,
A
.
A as in Anastasia, his ex-girlfriend and the closest he’d ever come to a normal relationship. Or at least the human equivalent of one. Some things were hard for him to grasp, such as love and commitment to one person.
In his world, people, even cyborgs, served needs. In this case, Anastasia fulfilled a coital purpose. Pleasantly, he might add, and while he did miss having a partner he didn’t have to hide from, he didn’t mourn her loss like so many humans did when a partner moved on.
Not missing her though didn’t mean her return didn’t cause a blip of interest. Why was she back? And who did she bring with her? Last he’d heard, she was on a deep, undercover mission aboard a military vessel in space, determined to find those who’d made her into an enhanced cyber unit, and once she located them? They’d pay. Anastasia wasn’t one to show mercy.
Nor was she one to pop in out of the blue. Something of import must have brought her back to Earth. But what?
Questions and more information as to her sudden reappearance required addressing. However, he dared do so only through secure channels. A top secret military operation buried a few levels deep wasn’t the place to make inquiries, even if he could wirelessly tap into their network. Given that might compromise his cover, he refrained and kept his mind on his work.
Work? Ha, as if guarding the lovely doctor presented any kind of chore. On the contrary, imagining what the lovely doctor would look like with fewer layers of clothing helped pass the time, and pleasantly.
Exactly eight hours and three minutes after he began, his shift ended. His replacement—late as usual—arrived to guard the lab, and still the petite doctor worked.
She works too much for a human.
But what she did, or didn’t, wasn’t his problem. He had other affairs that merited his attention more than the working schedule of a human scientist.
Adam submitted to the different levels of security as he clocked out. Unlike some of the other soldiers, he opted to live off the premises, something the military had to allow given their barracks within the hidden installation had suffered an unfortunate fire that had taken most of the living quarters.
What a shame.
Rats in the wiring was the official verdict—unofficially, the rats were excellent carriers of tiny bombs that left nothing of their origin. Such a fortunate turn of events—for him. A lack of living space within the facility meant he could come and go instead of being forced to live under constant watch.
Exiting the last layer of security—which involved invasive pat downs of his body to ensure he didn’t smuggle anything—he collected his cellphone, which had no new messages, along with his other gear, from his locker. Given he could regulate his body temperature, he didn’t technically need the jacket. However, given his human pretense, he wore it for the sake of appearances.
Exchanging polite pleasantries with other soldiers delayed his departure, but despite his urgent desire to leave, he maintained a normal appearance. Undercover work meant playing a role. In this case, he needed to fake being a human, and he did it to the best of his ability.
Why, he’d even say he was more human than many of the men he worked with. Less modest, though.
After some promises of gathering for a few beers later that week, and hey, they should get together and watch the game, he was striding through the dark parking lot to his car. A super boring Acura four door. All a common soldier could afford on his salary—with a few hidden modifications.
The metal body was lead-lined to block intrusive outside signals, but lest that rouse suspicions, it was also coated with a specially enhanced paint. The innovative clear coat sheath on his vehicle could create a pingback so scanners registered his body, and any other cyborg occupants, as human and also made sure detection units ignored the fact that he had a missile strapped against his muffler. A cyborg never knew when he’d have to blow some shit up.
His seeming stock radio, set to a popular country music channel, contained a powerful computer, which fed him information and gave him access to the Internet and cell signals.
As for the cooled interior of his armrest, did it refrigerate stolen samples or hold deadly viruses? Not quite. But he insisted on having it for his stash of Coca Cola and chocolate bars.
Even cyborgs had junk food vices.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, Adam started his car and pretended to fiddle with the radio channels as he scanned for bugs, tracking devices, or bombs. Complacency was a cyborg’s enemy.
It took him only a few minutes to return with a clean verdict. Satisfied, he drove to his lair, which he referred to as his cy-cave—just not out loud lest his cyborg allies mock him.
They would mock me because they’re jealous.
Like a certain superhero’s, his cy-cave contained an array of supercomputers, wickedly cool gadgets, and a modified muscle car that, while lacking a rocket booster engine, could go from zero to sixty in less than two seconds.
If he were a plain human, he might have gotten a boner the first time he was pressed against the driver’s seat with almost g-force. As he was more evolved than that, he allowed himself only a wide grin.
Where was this most amazing lair you might wonder? Under a mountain? In the city sewers? Carved out in the tunnels linking their subway transit system?
Unfortunately, he wasn’t so fancy. Adam’s super-secret hideout was in his basement. An expanded basement existing below the crawl space of his home, a small bungalow he rented from a corporation, which, under several umbrellas of identity, technically belonged to him.
The perk of being the rebel cyborg leader on Earth.
The revolution, which he first started in his basement apartment once he began his new life after escaping the military’s clutches, had evolved since its inception, especially as he brought other cyborgs on board, or at least those he didn’t smuggle off planet. He also allowed some humans sympathetic to their cause to help.
With their aid, he and the other survivors of the military extermination carved out their secret hideout and then, over time, furnished it until it now rivaled any command center the military owned.
Pulling into his driveway, Adam scanned his neighbors before exiting his vehicle. His heat sensors didn’t detect anything out of the ordinary, unless the small squirrel perched in the tree was a spy.
Possible. Look what he and his kind had done with rats and robotic flies.
Much as Adam wanted to rush to his subterranean hideout, he held himself back. One never knew who might be watching. Who might be recording his movements and reporting them. When a person worked for the government and military, especially at his level, the layers of security proved many and varied.
Big brother spied. And big brother eliminated. It was up to him to stay ahead of the game and to fool them into thinking him the perfect human soldier.
Like any man coming off a long night shift, he shed clothes upon entering his home and turned on the television, a sports channel of course. He microwaved a barely palatable meal. Thank goodness he didn’t rely on just that for nutrients. He’d starve for sure. No wonder so many humans were unhealthy.
He also cracked a beer, but that was more for his personal enjoyment. He turned off his metabolic processor for alcohol and allowed himself to feel the buzz that came from ingesting fermented barley and hops.
While he performed these mundane tasks, his BCI—short for brain computer interface—pinged his detection network, which comprised hidden cameras and microphones, not just in his home and yard but also spanned the length of his street at intervals. Clever spies always watched from a distance.
Nothing blipped his radar. All appeared in its place. He’d made it through another day. His cover appeared intact. Time to put his human persona to sleep.
Teeth brushed, peeing with the seat down, and stripping naked, he scratched—even though he didn’t itch—on his way to bed. He crawled under the covers and feigned sleep.
He checked around him, casting out his wireless senses. All clear.
Flip time. Literally.
Under the guise of turning over in his sleep, Adam turned over in truth. His bed acted as a secret entrance—only one of many—that dropped him into a chute that led directly down to his command center.
Did he allow himself a tiny thrill as he slid down the ramp? Yes. One of his fractured memories was of him as a child doing the very same thing at a park, the exhilaration of flying down the plastic chute and then soaring as he hit the bottom was one of his purest remembered moments of actual joy, a joy from when he still retained his innocence.
His expression showed nothing of his inner glee as hit the floor with his two bare feet and stood without a stumble. As if his cybernetic reflexes couldn’t handle such a simple maneuver.
Adam stepped into a pair of track pants he kept on a hook by the slide, not out of any sense of modesty—nothing to be ashamed of down there—but more out of respect for the humans he worked with who seemed more acutely aware of nudity.
Betcha Dr. Laura would blush to see me in the flesh.
Although he’d rather see a blush on her face because of passion. Would she moan as he caressed her body or bite her lip to hold back any sound?
Months of practice allowed him to control an erection at the thought, but he really wished his tech team would find and correct the error in his programming that made the control necessary in the first place.
“I’m here,” he announced.
“Duh,” replied Rosalind, who never turned from her console.
“No respect,” he muttered.
“Bite me,” was her retort.
It made Adam grin. How he loved the feisty nature of the woman who acted as his eyes and ears when he was away. Rosalind had come a long way since he’d found her.
The petite, dark-skinned female was a cyborg he’d rescued from a human brothel, their trash disposal bin more specifically. When an overly enthusiastic client damaged one of her organic eyes and detached an arm—for what fetish, Adam never did ask when he held the bastard’s throat, crushing it as the man’s eyes bulged—they left Rosalind, previously known as Project R969, for dead.
Thanks to a tip, Adam arrived in time to save her.
Seeing her leg disappear into the maw of the garbage truck, with its deadly crushing gears, he’d sprinted to the rescue, knocking the attendant unconscious, stopping the teeth from churning, and lifting the broken body from the refuse.
The fleshly wounds healed quickly due to her nanos, but the severe ones, like her eye and arm, took months to replace. Finding cybernetic limbs on the black market wasn’t easy. After the great cyborg purge a few years back, all things mechanical, even for the benefit of humankind, came with a stigma. No one wanted to be accidentally considered a cyborg, lest the military, or vigilantes, come after them.
Foolish superstition. Cyborgs were more than cybernetic arms, legs, and eyes. Even an electronic heart didn’t count. A true cyborg had not only a giant chip in its brain but also nanobots in their body. But apart from that, they were still human. They could bleed. They still retained fleshly tissue and organs, most of the time. In some cases, those were replaced with more efficient units. Just having a few mechanical parts didn’t make someone a cyber-unit. Only those governed by the alien tech were the true cyborgs.
And yes, he’d said alien. But that was a heated discussion for another time.
“About time you got here,” Rosalind purred in her sex-kitten voice, which she knew grated on his nerves. Originally programmed for coital services, she retained some aspects from her previous life, the sultry voice being one of them. “You’ll never believe who sent us a coded message.”
