Captured by the Cyborg (12 page)

“You have one million credits?” the Barbadian scoffed.

“One million? I only owe Mr. Jennetta half a million.”

“That was last week.”

“Please…”

“Enough!” The alien henchman hauled him up and swung him by his bad arm. The Terran screamed.

This was too easy. Alonio allowed the Terran to dangle in agony and terror while he adjusted the lapels of his jacket then he lifted into the air and glided down the corridor to land beside the two men. He folded his wings to his body. When pulled tight, they resembled two swords mounted against his back.

The Barbadian dropped the Terran into a heap. “What do you want?” he snarled. His breath smelled as bad as his body odor.

“Gentlemen,” Alonio said, though neither was, “I confess I overheard part of your conversation and believe I may be of assistance.”

“This isn’t your concern.” The henchman spit, and the noxious glob landed on the toe of Alonio’s white boot.

His arm tingled from elbow to fingertip, but he smiled through the rage. The Barbadian deserved to die, but killing him wouldn’t make his case with the Terran, and, unfortunately, he needed the sniveling coward’s assistance.

“He’s going to kill me!” the Terran blubbered. “He wants money that I don’t—that he won’t give me time to get—”

The Barbadian kicked him. “Silence, you useless sack of excrement!”

“Now, nobody’s going to kill anybody. Not when we can settle this like gentlemen.” He unclipped his Personal Communication Device from his belt and tapped into his account. “Allow me to cover his debts. One million, payable to Mr. Christopher Jennetta, correct?” Alonio already knew the particulars, having researched the situation prior to selecting the Terran.

“Thank you, thank you,” the Terran sobbed.

The Barbadian scowled. “As I said, this isn’t your business. I don’t have authorization to deal, and Mr. Jennetta insists on seeing him.” He yanked the Terran to his feet. The man emitted a piercing girly scream.

The Terran shrieked again when Alonio marshaled his energy and, in a burst of flame and light, transformed his right forearm into a sword.

“Perhaps I could convince you that it is in your best interests to accept the credits on Mr. Jennetta’s behalf,” he said in a soft voice.

The Barbadian didn’t flinch but he eyed the saber. “I might be able to talk to Mr. Jennetta—if you care to make it worth my while.”

There was no requirement to offer the Barbadian anything. One swipe of the sword would end this discussion, but he admired a man who stood his ground, a man who stood for
something
, not like the cowering Earth alien who’d wet his pants. A million credits. Five hundred million. A billion. Credits meant nothing when you were born into one of the wealthiest families on Faria.

“One mil to Mr. Jennetta and another mil to you, perhaps?”

“Deal.” The Barbadian grinned, his yellowed, dirty teeth revealing the source of his halitosis.

Sword became flesh again. “Your name, sir?”

“Harber.”

Using his PerComm, he transferred one million credits to Jennetta and another million to Harber. “Done.”

The Barbadian eyed Alonio’s sword arm before saluting with a small wave. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He sauntered away.

The Terran shuddered. “Thank you. I owe you my life. You saved me. I promise I’ll repay every centicredit—”

“I don’t want your money. I have no use for it.” Alonio waved away the offer.

The man gazed at him with something akin to hero worship. And more than a little lust. This wasn’t the first time he’d attracted a male’s interest. Among the peoples of the galaxy, the Faria were considered the most attractive, and Alonio bore no modesty, false or otherwise, about his exceptional looks.

“Are you all right?” He gazed into the Terran’s eyes and flashed him a calm, concerned smile. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“M-my arm,” the Terran said. It hung crookedly from the shoulder.

“May I examine you?”

“All right.”

He probed the Terran’s dislocated shoulder. “I think we can fix—” He snapped the joint back into place.

The Terran yelped and grabbed his arm, but then his expression relaxed. “It’s better!”

“Glad I could help.” He focused on radiating reassurance to camouflage his disgust. He preferred the malodorous Barbadian over this creature. The henchman had been right. The Terran was a sack of excrement. But a useful sack of excrement.

“Look, Mr.—”

“Alonio.”

“Mr. Alonio. I owe you my life. I want to repay—”

His body humming with energy, he stepped back and released his sword again, holding it high and turning it so that the blade caught the light with a beautiful and deadly gleam. An awesome force of nature. The Terran fell back, his gaze riveted on the sword with equal parts fear and fascination. Alonio itched to do the galaxy a favor by ridding it of this pathetic wretch, but that wasn’t why he’d come. The sorry excuse for a life-form could provide him with something he needed.

He transformed the saber back into flesh and bone. “If you would be so kind, there is a
small
matter you could help me with.”

* * * *

“Dale—Sonny Masters. Sonny, this is Dale Homme.” Carter Aymes, Cyber Operations director conducted the introductions.

“Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.” Dale sized up Sonny. The dude could be mistaken for a thug. Injuries pre-dating his transformation to cyborg marked his face. A scar zigzagged from his left eye to chin, and his nose appeared to have been broken more than once. Nanocytes, if injected promptly, could repair or reverse many injuries, but not those sustained years prior.

“Happy to help out a fellow cyborg.” Sonny’s perma-glower vanished under a warm, lopsided smile.

“Quite an impressive installation and operation you have here.” Carter nodded approvingly as the three men descended the dock. The director whistled through his teeth as he spotted Baby sitting pretty, ready for delivery later that afternoon. “Wow.”

“That’s why I called for backup.” Dale ran a hand across his head and looked at Carter. “If I was dealing with a civilian customer, any of my pilots could deliver Ba-the ZX7M. However, this is Xenia’s emperor, and I have to personally present it to him. We’ve been working toward this for months, but the timing could be better.”

“From what I can see, your security is rock solid—literally,” Carter said.

“I’d like to think so, but more is at stake than proprietary technology. I won’t take any chances with her life.”

“She’ll be safe,” Sonny said. “I’ll guard her with
my
life.”

“I know you will.” He slapped the other cyborg’s back. No one wanted to die, and avoiding it was generally the plan, but each and every Cyber Operative would defend his or her protectee with his or her life. They would throw themselves on a microexplosive device if they had to.

“Holy crap, is that what I think it is?” Carter gaped at a Lamis-Odg military ship.

He grinned. “Yep.”

“How the hell did you get that—no, don’t tell me. It’s better if I don’t know.”

“Don’t ask. Don’t tell,” Dale quipped.

Chattering in their native language, two Arcanian techs in coveralls rushed by them. One of them bumped Carter as he passed. “Excuse, excuse,” he muttered, darting away with his companion.

“Hold it!” Dale ordered.

The two workers froze.

He glowered at the one whose six eyes blinked at different intervals. “Whatever you stole, Jesse, give it back.”

Jesse glanced at his companion then sighed and slipped a webbed hand into his pocket and extracted an expensive-looking universal tool.

“What the hell?” Carter snatched the gadget.

Dale crossed his arms. “All of it.”

His expression sheepish, the Arcanian produced a titanium Terran United presidential medallion, which had been awarded to Carter’s now-deceased father. On the secret interplanetary market, the metal alone would net a pretty sum.

“Get back to work,” Dale snapped.

Jesse and his co-worker made themselves scarce.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“Son of a bitch.” Carter pocketed the items. “That’s it? He robbed me, and all you say to him is ‘get back to work’?

Dale shrugged. “Thievery is almost a genetic compulsion with Arcanians. I think their brains are hardwired that way. They’re good employees, but I do regular pat downs and searches of their quarters to recover
lost
objects.”

“They sound like they’re more trouble than they’re worth,” Sonny growled.

“Most people think so, which is why almost no one will hire them.”

“Why is that one named Jesse? That’s not an Arcanian name.”

“No. Another employee who’s a history buff nicknamed him. Jesse James was a notorious bank robber centuries ago.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Carter commented, “but it sounds appropriate.”

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Illumina before I head out.” He’d held off delivering Baby until Carter and Sonny could arrive.

“How much does she know?” the director asked.

“She understands I’m a cyborg, that I used to work with other cyborgs, and that I’ve called in some friends, but I didn’t tell her about the organization.”

“Good.”

“Any progress on the objective?” he asked, although he guessed the answer. If the target had been neutralized, Carter would have said so by now.

The director compressed his lips. “Not yet, but we’ll get him. He’s a bit wilier than we expected. We get a lead, but he vanishes before we get there. The assumption is that since he’s a moderate-level sensate, he’s planted tracking cookies that tip him off, so we flooded the cybernet with false trails to confuse him.

“We restored most of the deleted files about the attack and forwarded them to the AOP. The Alliance has initiated an investigation. There’s an interplanetary warrant out for his arrest.”

Dale hoped Cy-Ops got to Alonio before the AOP. Either way, justice would prevail, but he preferred it to be the swift and decisive cyborg kind and not dragged out for years by bureaucratic red tape.

Ping!
A hail from Charlie’s PerComm shot into his brain.

Hey, boss! I’m ready to return to work if you’ll a send a ship.

Thank goodness! Only two days had passed since his assistant’s departure, but he didn’t think he could endure another hour of Serena’s assistance and had concerns about how she would handle matters in his and Charlie’s absence. Twice she’d deleted important transmissions, and he had to call in tech support to retrieve them. With Charlie to lend a hand to Carter and Sonny, Dale had one less worry on his mind.
You contacted me in time.
I think I can catch the regular shuttle on its return sweep. It’s picking up Giorgio anyway.

So soon? Why? What happened?

He didn’t say. Just that his R&R plans had fallen through.

Hope he’s not in trouble this time.

Me, too,
Dale said.
Work hard, play hard. Sometimes Giorgio played too hard
.
If the pilot had fucked up again, he’d be on his own. He had more important things to worry about than a space jockey who loved to raise hell as much as he loved to fly.
Can you get to the drop-off planet?

I’m already there.

He tagged a pickup ticket priority and shot it to the employee shuttle coordinator and asked Charlie,
What’s the news on your grandmother?

Meemaw surprised us all.
She rallied and pulled out of it. She’s tough.

Good to hear. I have to leave to deliver Baby to Xenia, but I already alerted the shuttle coordinator.

Thanks, boss.

March will be in charge while I’m gone, and a couple of buddies of mine, Carter Aymes and Sonny Masters, are visiting Moonbeam. Take care of them, will you?

You bet.

They disconnected the transmission.

“Problems?” Carter asked.

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve been around cyborgs enough to recognize the look.”

“Actually, it’s good. My assistant Charlie has been on leave. He’ll arrive tomorrow. If either of you need anything, he’s your go-to person. He practically runs this place.” He beckoned with a wave. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll have March and Illumina meet us there,” he said, and messaged the other cyborg.

Be there in a few
, March replied.

Upstairs, the two men admired the bird’s-eye view through the window. “You get a chance to fly most of those craft?” Sonny asked.

He thought of his joy flight with Illumina. “A few.” To rib Carter, he said to Sonny, “If you get tired of making nice-nice with terrorists and criminals in the galaxy, I’d be happy to put you to work as a test pilot.”

“Yeah?” Sonny said.

“Fuck off, Homme.” Carter glowered.

Dale and Sonny laughed. All three men watched as March and Illumina strode across the shop floor. Actually, all eyes were on her. His included.

She was beautiful. And tiny compared to the cyborg. Was that how they looked together? A giant and a fragile sprite. She glanced up at the window and stared right at Dale as if she could see through the glass, although the two-way mirror prevented it.

March said something to her, she laughed, and Dale’s stomach tightened.
It doesn’t mean anything
.
What do you expect, she can only laugh with you?
Awareness of the irrational nature of his jealousy didn’t eliminate it.

“She’s pretty,” Carter commented, making it worse.

Just pretty? A bizarre tangle of emotion shot through him—another surge of jealousy that the director thought she was attractive—and a contrary annoyance that he didn’t notice that she wasn’t pretty, she was beautiful. “Yeah, she is,” he bit out.

Moments later, March and Illumina entered.

“Hey!” March and Carter greeted each other with back-slapping hugs. Handshakes ensued between March and Sonny.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Sonny’s grin transformed his face from thug-like to charming.

Carter shook her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I recognized you from your stillvid,” she replied.

Eyebrows arched, Carter glanced at Dale.