Aramus (6 page)

One by one,
Aramus had the prisoners taken to be bathed, dressed, and then brought in for questioning. With the exception of the mute women, and the still comatose male, they all told varying shades of the same story. They were lured with promises of a great job that required utmost discretion. Once segregated from their friends and family, they found themselves whisked to destinations unknown where they were forced to work, under abusive conditions. Where their tales differed was in their specialties.

The male with the irritating speech impediment named Percy was a biologist. He
took and reviewed tissue and bodily fluid samples. Problem was, while he’d gotten a first-hand look at the before and after results of the experiments, speaking with him left Aramus irritated. He decided to leave the questioning of him to Einstein and Joe, especially once he realized the male knew nothing about the cyborgs being held prisoner.

The female, Carmen, a psychologist, proved more interesting.

She entered with a flip of her hair and a defiant expression. Seating herself before him, she made a show of crossing her legs and leaning in such a way as to put her décolletage on display. As if her feeble attempt at seduction would distract Aramus from doing his job.

They went through the basics. Name, occupation, her interactions with the prisoners. She answered without hesitation
, and even when told she was on board a cyborg vessel, her demeanor remained unchanged, unlike Percy who had sweated and stammered even harder at the news.

“You say you spoke with one who might have been a cyborg?
” Aramus leaned back in his chair and fixed her with a stare.

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. He wasn’t like the others, that’s for sure. He was a lot cockier for one, as if unworried by the fact he was a prisoner.”

“Did he give you a name?”

A shake of her head implied no. “I asked,
but he just smiled and said if I wanted to know I’d have to give him something in return.”

“As in?”

“What does any man want of an attractive woman?”

No coyness here. “
So you refused to have sex?”

“I wasn’t given the opportunity. After that session, I never saw him again.”

“Is this the male you spoke to?” Aramus called up an image of Avion before the torture that left him so scarred.

She shook her head. “No. The one I spoke with had dark skin and eyes. I’d wager he was mulatto or Puerto Rican.”

An unknown then, as Aramus’s databanks showed no cyborg with those characteristics either missing or presumed dead. They spent some more time, going back and forth, him fishing for answers, her answering seemingly without guile, all the while flirting. In the end, though, she knew nothing of import. “That’s all for now. You may leave.”

“Are you sure you want me to?” Carmen leaned forward, far enough
that her breasts practically fell out of her jumpsuit. “It must be lonely out here in space. I noticed a definite lack of women.”

“Because females are disruptive to missions.”

“Not all of us. Some of us would be happy to stay out of the way until we’re
needed
.” A lick of her lips completed her less-than-subtle invitation.

A moue of distaste twisted his lips. “No thanks. Unlike human males, we control our bodies
, and the mission always comes first.”

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” With a glance meant to be sultry
thrown over her shoulder, the brazen female left with swish of her hips.

She’s trouble
, that one.
With a capital T. While Aramus found it easy to ignore her overtures, he couldn’t deny others might find her and her offer appealing. Not everyone had his iron control when it came to keeping their lust in check.

Cyborgs were a lot of things
, strong, fast, enhanced, and lusty. Very lusty, especially once the military programming controlling their every move was eradicated. It seemed good soldiers needed testosterone, lots of it, so while certain parts of them were replaced when they got changed from human to cyborg, the things that gave them their edge, like cock and balls, remained intact. And very functional.

For a logical society, even Aramus couldn’t deny they were a horny bunch. Cybernetic units liked to fuck. A lot. It was why they kept a standing
arrangement with a few space brothels. It kept the fighting amongst units down. But there was no whorehouse in this section of space he could travel to, which meant Carmen and her flirtation would probably find takers. He could already predict the trouble that would cause, especially if she didn’t restrict her sexual favors to a single male.

I hope I don’t end up having to smash a few head
s together.
Then again, he could always use some exercise.

But enough of that. He’d deal with that problem once it cropped up. Back to his current task. Questioning the prisoners.
He called the last one in, the petite female he’d rescued and whose hopeful stare had remained with him long after he’d dropped her off.

Why her gaze
stuck with him, he couldn’t have said. He’d not found anything particularly extraordinary about her other than her diminutive height. Such shortness seemed defective to him. Then again, he’d noted in the case of at least two of the female cyborgs they’d rescued in the past that those in charge of the cyborg project seemed to prefer experimenting on smaller females.

But
the prisoner is not cyborg.
She was a human, or so the scans indicated. A human doctor who’d willingly, or not, possibly experimented on his kind and the mutated beings they’d yet to decipher.

He didn’t immediately look up when the door to his private chamber slid open, occupied with glancing over the last radar reports that showed no activity in the area. Then again, as they well knew, their technology wasn’t always reliable when it came to seeing what was truly out there.

“Um, hello?” Her hesitant query brought his gaze up and the sharp retort to quiet until he was ready, died on his lips as he beheld her.

What had happened to the dirty waif he’d rescued?
The woman he’d saved stood before him, and he couldn’t help but stare. Her shoulder-length hair brown hair shone in the fluorescent lights, the ends uneven and curling slightly with dampness. Scrubbed clean, her skin exhibited an even creamy tone, except for her cheeks, which pinked as he continued to eyeball her. He couldn’t help himself, especially when he noted how the jumpsuit they’d given her hugged voluptuous curves not meant for the slim outfit, making the cleavage that strained at the front enclosure more pronounced. A lick of her full lips caused the most surprising chain reaction because, during that momentary peek of the tip of her tongue, he couldn’t help imagining sliding his mouth along those plump lips, sucking on them, and this vivid visualization caused him to harden in a most unforeseen manner.

Stand down.
He ordered his cock to behave. And it did, mostly. Drumming his fingertips on his desk, he glared at her. Undaunted, she stared right back, her gaze flicking to the top of his head.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You are a cyborg.”

For some reason her observation stung.
“Of course I am. What else did you think I was?”

The coloration in her cheeks deepened. “I wasn’t sure. When you rescued me you had on
a space suit so I couldn’t see your face, and it’s not as if you introduced yourself.”

Her well
-reasoned answer still didn’t ease the sting at the way she’d reacted to the discovery of what he was. Then again, what did he care what one human thought? “I did not realize that introductions were necessary. Perhaps the next time I save your ass I should wear a sign saying, I am a cyborg.”

“There’s no reason to be rude.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I didn’t know cyborgs could do that.”

“Do what? Wield the English language?”

“No
, make jests.”

Sarcasm wasn’t making fun. It
was a way of expressing himself. “I do not joke.”

“
If you say so. What happened to your head?”

Blunt, but as a male who didn’t like to pussyfoot
, he couldn’t disparage her directness. He could however fuck with her. “It’s partially metal.”

“I can see that, but why? I’ve seen cyborgs before
, not in person of course, but on the newsfeeds, and while some have sported mechanical legs and arms, I’ve never seen one with a—”

“Metal skull? It was a present from a woman.” His first meeting with a female cyborg did not go well. She’d shot him, obeying a buried command given to her by the military. Lucky for him, she
had bad aim—or as Seth claimed, he’d used up the horseshoe stored in his ass—and he’d survived. Half of his head didn’t. He rather preferred his new bald pate and metallic crown. He felt it enhanced his cyborg appearance. And gave him better reception.

Th
e female’s eyes widened. “Someone shot you in the head?”

She seemed genuinely appalled.
As if a mere human cared. He didn’t believe her act for a moment. “Among other places. I’ve also been shot in the torso, back, arms, legs. Most didn’t leave lasting scars, as my nanos healed the damage.”

“
You sound so nonchalant about it.”

“Because it’s a fact of life for cyborgs. It’s why we were created. To take as much damage as possible and still keep fighting.”
Him, bitter? Always.

“Did they hurt?” Again, her concern and curiosity seemed authentic.

“Only the first few times. Then you learn to shut off the pain and move faster.” Not to mention improve your aim so that the bastards shooting died before they did something irreparable. Cyborgs could sustain a lot of damage, but nanotechnology could only heal so much. And why exactly was he answering her questions anyway? He was the one in charge here, not her. He was the one who needed answers—not pity. “As if you give a shit. You can stop pretending.”

“Who says I’m pretending? You were shot. Numerous times by your account. I’d have to be inhuman not to feel something.”

“Or cyborg.”

“So it’s true what they say? You don’t feel emotions?”

“Oh, we feel. Right now, I feel annoyed, violent, and a tad bit hungry. Military rations really aren’t fit for anyone.”

The ghost of a smile
on her lips at his slip of tongue irritated him more than his unexpected jest. Irritated, because he wondered what a full smile would look like on her face.
Get your mind back on task, soldier.
Her facial expressions were not a concern. What she did for the military or the corporation, though, was.

Pulling up her file, he concentrated on the contents he’d downloaded to his BCI earlier. It was incomplete
, given the damage done to the records by the hard drive wipes. He began his questioning by confirming the basics. “Your name is Riley Carmichael.”

“Yes.
And you are?”

“Asking the questions.”

“And again being rude.”

He glanced up from his summarized report. For some reason it didn’t please him when she wouldn’t hold his stern glare.
“I am not your friend.”

“I’d say that was obvious.”

Did she sulk? Her tone seemed to indicate she did. He chose to ignore it. “You are twenty-seven years old. Single. A paltry five foot one, one hundred and forty-five pounds.”

“What do you know, all that starving paid off.”

He ignored her and continued. “You have a degree in forensic anthropology. Did an internship at a morgue. Attended—”

“Yes, yes and yes.
Does any of this really matter?”

“Facts are important.”

“To you, maybe. I’m more interested in other things, such as why have you taken me prisoner?”

Every time he thought he had her pegged as weak and timid, she surprised him by speaking out.
He found he preferred her small bouts of courage to her hunching when he scowled at her too long.

“
I took you prisoner because you are the enemy.”

“Enemy?” She uttered a short laugh. Peering down at herself, she gestured to her body, something he refused to look at
—the size of her breasts and hips not necessary for this interrogation—before returning her gaze to him. “Exactly how am I a danger to you?”

Because
, even though he kept his gaze on her face, she made his cock stir when it should remain dormant. He ground the heel of his palm into it, to no effect. “You are human.”

“And so are you.”

Thanks for the reminder.
He grimaced. “Not anymore.”

“But you began that way. Surely the machines they melded you with haven’t completely eradicated who you are
, or were?”

“No, the military
, with help of the company, did that with their training.”

Her brow creased.
“I don’t understand.”