Avion (Cyborgs: More Than Machines, #7) (2 page)

Now, she was somewhere. With someone, Avion, her rescuer.

He’d stormed the military installation to find her. He’d climbed down into her prison and gotten her to leave her cell. How exciting. How frightening.
Father wouldn’t like it.
Father could kiss the perfectly shaped glutes he’d imprisoned.

Oh, how she’d eagerly stretched her hands to Avion, once she ascertained he wasn’t plotting murder.

She allowed Avion to draw her close—
he’s touching me, and not cringing—
and then thrilled at their ascent up that long shaft.

She emerged to freedom.

Freedom at last.

And a chance. A chance to live again and perhaps learn to trust again.

If they managed to escape this solar system.

A
vion didn’t need to see to know One had turned from the viewing window to approach him. While light on her feet, One emitted a certain esoteric frequency that he couldn’t help but tune in to.

Lying in the hospital bed, conscious for the moment, he wondered how much he’d missed during their great escape from the military facility that had imprisoned her. The last thing he remembered, he’d used his body as a shield against a bullet. He could only blame his currently over-taxed human self for managing only a hazy recollection of the events that followed.

Some hero I turned out to be.

Executing a rescue operation would have proven much more satisfying if he’d not gotten shot in the process. And for what?

To save a woman who could save herself.

One
, the enigma he’d saved from prison. A woman with powers that baffled his logical mind. She was tough, enhanced like the cyborgs, and could have easily absorbed the missile. Probably even a dozen or more. Didn’t matter. If he had to do it all over, he’d step in front of the bullet again to save her the pain.

Defective human logic.

There is something seriously messed up with my head.
Not so long ago, he would have performed a reboot of his BCI—the brain computer interface chip implanted in his head. All cyborgs had one because it was needed to control the nanotechnology. Or so they thought. Now, having met One, a woman with no metal parts, he wondered.

Are the metal and silicon upgrades necessary? Can the nanobots work on their own?

Wouldn’t that set their logical sides on an argumentative loop?

If there was one thing that galled an active guy like Avion, it was lying there like a useless stack of parts, unable to act. Know what else sucked?

Everything hurt.

No more could he just shut off pain receptors as his body went into overdrive using stored chemicals and energy to regenerate damaged tissue. Nano repair was so much better than IVs and bandages.

But only cyborgs healed so efficiently. Avion was back to being a regular ol’ human.

Which totally blew.

His body was broken. With the nanobots in his system dead, Einstein—a friend and cyborg scientist—had theorized as Avion’s system began to run less and less efficiently that parts of him would begin to shut down. Without the bots, his body would reject all his non-organic parts. But a slow, wasting death might lose to the oozing bullet wound. He’d spilled a lot of blood and wasn’t replenishing it at a quick enough rate.

Why can’t something be easy for once?
Since the world had gone dark as his inorganic eyes failed the quickest, despair, such a foreign emotion, became his daily visitor. At times, it even refused to leave.

Give up
, a part of him encouraged. The dark side of his psyche expounded on the chances of survival. Low. So low.
There is an easy path
, his insidious subconscious whispered.
Let go. Let it all go. Stop fighting.

It was tempting. The pain radiated intensely. The anger at his condition—and, yes, he was angry, even if the world never saw it—was at times hard to hold in. He wanted to yell at the unfairness. Curse such a blue streak that Aramus would applaud. Avion wanted to fight the cruel fate that had led him to this spot.

An invalid in a bed.

A bright thing came out of the ordeal at least. He’d kept his promise.
I freed One from her prison
. He only wished he could have truly seen her before he died.

I’ll bet she’s beautiful.

You do?

Her voice penetrated the pained haze of his mind, the touch soft—and unexpected. How was it that she could speak to him? He didn’t know, or care. He just accepted it, like he accepted her in all her strange beauty.

I know you’re beautiful.
Embarrassed by his reply, he spoke aloud, the tenor low and raspy. “Where are we?”

“We are in space.”

He laughed, even if it hurt. Then coughed, which hurt even more. “You’re funny, One.”

“Yet I didn’t make an intentional jest.”

“Which kind of makes it funnier,” he replied with a wan smile.

“You are distracting me with your verbal communication.”

“And I’m going to distract you some more,” said Aramus as the speakers embedded in the ceiling came to life. “I don’t suppose your freaky girlfriend knows anything about the weird ships currently tailing us.”

Avion waited for her to reply, and when she didn’t, he questioned Aramus. “Are the crafts military grade or private? Can you tell if they’re armed?”

“When I say weird, I mean fucking weird. These things ain’t like anything any of us have ever seen. Imagine a spaceship shaped like an inverted cone, but with spines sticking out of the narrow end.”

A rustle by his head tuned Avion in to her presence. “That’s the
D’zpi
.”

“The ditz-pie?”

“The
D’zpi.
It is not good that they have found us.”

“So you do know about these ships?”

“I know of their existence, but this is my first time encountering them. It does not bode well for this vessel. At their current velocity, they could choose to intercept in less than three hours and forty-three minutes.”

Aramus growled, the sound vibrating the metal grill of the speakers. “Are you telling me, lady, that you knew all this and didn’t think to tell me when I asked?”

“You asked for Avion’s girlfriend to reply.”

“Who did you think I was talking about?” said Aramus, his tone still low but getting close to snapping.

“I don’t have enough information about the personnel on this ship to provide an answer on that question. But, if I shed this signal quelling body suit, I could hook up to your main frame, peruse the flight attendance manifest, and probably correlate enough information to come within a ninety-six percent possibility of naming his girlfriend.”

Avion couldn’t help but grin as Aramus groaned and, judging by the slap of flesh Avion heard, the ship’s commander hit himself in the forehead.

Apparently One—whose name really sucked—needed a few lessons in cultural terminology. He saved her. “One, I think he wants to know what’s chasing us and why. If you know anything, could you tell us?” He also projected,
Aramus wants to keep us safe. Help him if you can.

“He should have asked me then instead of your
girlfriend.
”

The word emerged with a hint of an inflection. So some things did rattle her.

“Aramus isn’t always good at expressing himself. I, however, am. So would you mind holding my hand so I know where you are? It’s rather unnerving how you move so quietly. I’m afraid my mechanical heart will give out if you startle me one more time.”

She never hesitated. A bare second after he asked, her slender fingers slid through his. A tingle went through him. Electricity. Awareness. Whatever it was, he perked up a bit, the pain no longer so throbbing, his aches a little less.

“Thank you, vixen. Now, can you tell Aramus what you know of the vessels?”

“I know little other than their general appearance and who usually controls them.”

“So you’ve heard of or seen these spiked ice cream cone vessels before?”

“They are standard issue galactic wanderers. Made to travel great distances but also to provide an accurate defense and attack system, they are piloted by the
D’zpi
, a race that is bipedal in nature but in general appearance and, for comparison, more amphibious in nature.”

“And by amphibious you mean?”

“Scales. A tail sometimes. Usually a layer or more of pointed teeth. The variations in their appearance are diverse, as they often cross-pollinate their reproductive genes with other species they encounter during their travels.”

In other words, ugly. “They’re working with the military?”

“Working with or controlling. While the humans seem to think the
D’zpi
are their allies, I have to wonder why a more advantaged race would bother taking orders from those inferior to them.”

Avion didn’t wince at her insult, but it was close.
Is this how we sound when we talk about humans?
When he was cyborg, Avion had held a somewhat dismissive view of his birth race, but now... Now he had to wonder how much of his opinion was his own and how much the disdain of his nanotech.

“Why would they be coming after my ship?” Aramus asked. “It’s not like we’ve got anything of value on board. And you can’t tell me they give a damn if we don’t want to stay and say hello to the plasma cannons on the military battle cruisers.”

“They are following because they want to kill us. Or, more specifically, they wish to destroy me.”

O
ne
truly couldn’t understand their surprise. The
D’zpi
had partnered with the human military. Since the military wanted to eliminate all cyborgs, didn’t simple logic say their alien allies would want to kill them too?

“What the hell were you thinking bringing her aboard?” Aramus bellowed.

“You wanted things to explode. Ta-da. I brought you the biggest bomb of all time,” Avion replied, his voice raspy but the tone bright.

Had Avion made a jest? She analyzed it and concluded yes. Those in the room smiled and laughed in response, even the terse voice on the speaker system who wanted to talk to Avion’s girlfriend—
What does she look like? Maybe I’ll rearrange her features.

“Hold on a second. Speaking of explosions, how do we know your lady friend doesn’t have a super bomb hidden under her skin?”

This time she caught the reference and warmed at being called Avion’s friend. “I am not explosive,” she interjected. “Although I am capable of harnessing kinetic energy and disrupting nearby molecules.”

“What the heck does that mean?” Aramus quizzed.

The female named Anastasia replied. “Given what we’ve seen of her so far, she can move stuff, create force fields, and make fire. And I’ll bet that’s not all she can do.”

I can do many things. Most of them deadly.
Giggle.

“Next time we choose teams during a live attack practice, I want her on my team. You should have seen her, Aramus. The chick is unstoppable,” Seth, disheveled but still visually pleasing, announced with a wide smile.

“Oh really?” Anastasia’s tone practically dripped anti-freeze.

One’s voice analyzer suggested it came from jealousy. So many different emotions flying around, and she wasn’t sure what to make of them.

Sensory overload. Her mind, grown used to little stimulation, now found itself having to reconnect to the many subroutines and multitasking required to process extensive stimuli.

Sensing her turmoil, Avion squeezed her hand.

It’s okay. Stay calm. Let yourself slowly absorb the sensations.

She found herself taking deep breaths, forcing a calmness upon her mind. She tuned her focus to other things, such as those who dared follow and threaten her new freedom. Only they didn’t behave according to logic.

“The alien vessels have veered,” she announced quite suddenly.

“What the hell?” Aramus mumbled. “I’ll be back,” he announced through the audio system before it went silent.

“Are you sure they’re going away?” Anastasia asked.

“I am never wrong.” The nice thing about logic and facts. A pity not everyone appreciated it.

“I’m sure you’re not, but it’s certainly weird they’d call off the chase since they could have caught us. I’m going to the bridge to check on some things. Can you handle things for now?” she asked the male.

His name is Seth.

I know his name.
What was less clear was the bond she sensed between Seth and Anastasia.

He’s her husband,
Avion supplied.

A husband, a male whose marital status has him cohabiting with one person.

Living, eating, talking with, touching another person.

It sounded so inviting—and scary.

Not scary,
Avion replied, catching her thoughts.
When two people care about each other, it is the logical evolution in their relationship.

But what if the person who cares for you hurts you? What if I have to hurt them back?

Avion didn’t immediately reply, but he did emanate an emotion. Sadness. For her?

Vixen, I won’t lie and say that sometimes love doesn’t hurt, but love means forgiving. Love means making allowances for errors.

Not termination?

He chuckled aloud. “No, vixen. Just because someone hurts your feeling isn’t a reason to kill them.”

“But what if they hurt me physically, or try to kill me?”

His fingers gripped hers tight, and his voice emerged low and rough. “Then that person doesn’t care for you and forgiveness doesn’t apply.”
And I’ll kick their bloody asses.

One couldn’t understand the sudden warmth at his promised threat, but she enjoyed it.

A
fter his disturbing conversation with One, who harbored some rather psychotic ideologies, Avion struggled to hold on to consciousness as Seth kept an open and vocal channel with the bridge, giving them all updates.

“The alien ships have, indeed, broken off chase. The human military vessels kept going for a bit, but once we hit the outer ring of Venus, they slacked off.”