The Bionics (The Bionics Series Part 1) (3 page)

Everyone is glad we didn’t encounter the M.P.s, especially with the scared and likely malnourished refugees in the back of our craft. We are all capable of fi
ghting when necessary, but our R
esistance is a peaceful one and we try not to kill when we don’t have to. The round, steel portal carved into the side of the ca
nyon opens to allow us entrance
and we are soon hurtling through
the d
im metal tube that leads to
headquarters and home.

As we shoot out the other end of the tube, the citadel that was built into the red mountains as a haven for our kind comes into
view.
Jenica
dodges other
crafts and steers us toward
Hexley
Hall, the living quarters of all refu
gees. There are so many of them
that
Hexley
Hall
is
filled to over capacity. These people will likely have to share space with some of our other residents until construction is finished next door on Regent Hall. For now, I’m sure these folks are just happy to have a place to lay their heads without fear of arrest or execution.

Jenica
lands the crafts and unbuckles her harness, turning to
ward the scared people huddled at
the back of the aircraft.

“All refugees come to the front of the craft, where I wi
ll document you and pass you on
to
the matron of
Hexley
Hall,
Milica
Brady. She will see you all settled into your quarters and provided with food.”

“What a
bout the others?” a voice calls
from the back of the craft.

I whip around in my seat to put a face to the masculine voice.
A blond head appears from behind the others, followed by a
broad pair of shoulders, and
deep blue eyes that lodge my heart in my throat. The refugees part to reveal him and I can only stare, slack-jawed. He is as large and wide as
Dax
, with smooth skin and features
that seem
chiseled from stone. His brow is furrowed over eyes narrowed on
Jenica
. I look across the aisle to find
Dax
staring at me quizzically, and then back at the stranger.

“Excuse me?”
Jenica
asks,
her tone sharp. “What others?”

“W
hen do we help them? The other B
ionics stuck out there?”

Jenica’s
jaw hardens and her hardware hums as she narrows both eyes, human and machine. “We don’t use that term here,” she says, referring to
President
Drummond’s nickname for us. The Bionics, they call us
—
humans modified by govern
ment equipment. They created us
and now they hate us, fear us, force us to go into hiding to protect ourselves and our families. Because
Jenica’s
hardware isn’t as easily hidden as mine, I know that the term is especially
sensitive for her
, though it doesn’t really bother me. In fact, most of us use the term in reference to each other and others like us. It’s being called a Bionic by
‘the
normies
’
that puts some of us on edge. It’s the implication that we are not human because of our modifications. It reminds me of the word ‘nigger’, which over the thousands of years that word has existed, has not lost any of its power. People with dark skin continue to call each other by the moniker, closing off the rest of the world from saying it and getting offended when the word comes
from
white lips. It is the same with this word, this epithet that labels us as different from everyone else.

“I’m sorry,” the stranger says, running long, slender fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Jenica
nods once, but I can tell she’s still not fond of him. She’s not fond of anyone who speaks out of turn. “I am sure you didn’t. You should be more careful about throwing that word around. As far as the other
victims
go, that is not your concern Mister…”

She looks up at him pointedly, pen poised over her
clipboard, human eyebrow raised.

“Gage,” he answers.
“Gage Bronson.”

Jenica
writes
something in her neat, precise scrawl. “Mister Bronson, rest easy. The very capable field soldiers you see in front of you are working hard every day to rescue those of our kind that need it.”

Gage doesn’t miss
Jenica’s
emphasis on ‘our kind’; it’s obvious by the pulling of muscles around his mouth and flash of defiance in his eyes. He swivels those eyes toward me and I am frozen in his
stare
, unable to look away. We
look
at each other just long enough for me to notice there’s a rim of silvery gray around the outside of his blue irises before I
tear my gaze from him
, embarrassed. Gage doesn’t say anything else to
Jenica
, but he has definitely made his presence know
n
,
and I’m officially curious.

What is he doing here? He’s obviously not one of us; he looks like he belongs in one of the metropolitan areas, those unaffected by nuclear war or radiation. He has none of the desperation in his eyes that most of us carry in our fight to stay alive. There’s determination there, though, and
I can’t help but admire that.

Jeni
ca
motions the refugees forward
and they step up one at a time to register. I wait patiently in my seat as she records their names and other stats, including their bionic appendages. When she get
s to the dark-skinned girl I locked
eyes with earlier, she answers that her skin has been genetically modified to have the hardness and durability of Kevlar. I see
Dax’s
eyebrows shoot up and several of our other crew members whistle and murmur to each other. A girl with skin made of Kevlar would be an amazing addition to our team. She says her name is
Yasmine
Zambrano
and I make a mental note to remember it.

When she gets to Gage, of course he lists no bionic appendages, confirming what I suspected. What he does next, though, blows me away. He reaches down and picks up a little girl, one I hadn’t seen before now and holds her against his chest.

“
Agata
Schwenke
,” he says. “Seven
years old.
Bionic spinal cord and
bionically
en
gineered
left brain.”

If
Yasmine’s
revelation was enough to stun everyone, this was definitely one to blow that right out of the water. I look into the soulful, wide eyes of little
Agata
and see intelligence there. Part of her cerebrum, the
segment
that computes logic, math, and speech, has been
bionically
enhanced.
Agata
is more than likely smarter than everyone on this craft. The
Professor
will want to study her, I’m sure.

Gage and
Agata
are last, and
Jenica
leads them all toward the opening and ladder, where they climb down and are
met
by
Milica
Brady
. I watch from my window as
the matron
greets them and then
motions them toward the front doors of
Hexley
Hall,
Jenica’s
notes in her hand.

As they disappear into the building, I wonder about Gage and the little girl. Is
Agata
his sister?
His daughter?
Whoever she is, I can’t help but think him brave for bringing her here. If the Military Police ever found out he had been here or helped a Bionic escape, he would receive the death penalty.
She must be someone important if he braved co
ming to the very center of the R
esistance to save her.

Jenica
boards the hovercraft again and my thoughts leave Gage and little
Agata
. I will seek them out later, but decide for now to think about a hot meal and my warm bed.
Jenica
steers the hovercraft toward the Mosley building, where the ‘foot soldiers’
, as she likes to call us, live
.
At some point I know I need to visit the Professor and talk with him about adding
Yasmine
to our team but first, a shower and a hot meal are calling me.

***

“I don’t trust him.”

I already know who
Dax
is talking about, but I don’t want to let on that
Gage has been popping in and out of my thoughts since I clapped eyes on him earlier, despite my attempts at changing the direction of my thoughts
.
Clad in only a bra and clean pair of pants after a shower, I’m rifling through my dresser for a shirt.
Dax
is reclining on my bed, his hair still damp from his own shower, his long legs propped up on my footboard. He’s watching me get dressed, but I take my time. I have no reason to be a prude around
Dax
; he’s seen a lot more of me than just my bra. Not on purpose, but that’s just kind of the way things are when you share a bathroom with a girl but don’t know how to knock.

“Who’s that?”

I turn to face him and
Dax
purses his lips and tilts his head. “Yeah, okay, like you haven’t been thinking about him?”

My cheeks get hot and I tug on the hem of my shirt. “What? I have not! I mean…you know…”

Dax
grins. “Relax, Blythe, I just meant that I know you’re curious about him and that little girl.
A bionic
brain
?
It’s unheard of.”

I
turn
toward my mirror, plucking the uncomfortable contact lens from my eye with a sigh.

“The
P
rofessor is going to love that one,” I say as I blink a few times, allowing my robotic eye to
re
focus on my reflection. It gives me a reading of all my vitals and I blush when I realize my heart rate has spiked during our conversation about Gage. I let my wavy hair down and run my
fingers
through it, feeling much more like myself now that I’m in my room
, showered
and wearing clean clothes.

“Ready?” I ask.

Dax
leaves his reclined position on my bed and stands, his head nearly scraping the low ceiling of my room. I’m lucky enough that I don’t have to share quarters with anyone, but
Dax
might as well be my roommate since he’s always here. He drops his pilot’s jacket over a chair and removes his sweater, revealing a gray, sleeveless undershirt that showcases his barrel-wide chest and powerful arms. I roll my eyes at the sight; now the girls will be mooning at him over dinner and
asking me to introduce them to him when he’s not looking.

“What?” he asks with a shrug at my annoyed expression. “I’m hot.”

Fucking perfect.

“Let’s go,” he says, patting his empty belly. The sound of his titanium ribs echoes in his chest and the
clanking
of his footsteps are heavy
. H
e’s taken off his boots and is walking barefoot
, his prosthetics peeking out from under the cuffs in his cargo pants
.
The titanium echoes on the floor as we walk, falling in with the other members of our t
eam who are leaving their rooms for the dining hall.
Mosley Hall is a mishmash of outcasts, half-human half-robots, who have all shed their disguises.
Titanium gleams everywhere as the sound of hardware echoes from the walls. Eyes glow, cogs whiz and whir and I feel more at home surrounded by these
sights
and sounds than I do anywhere else.
Energy levels are high and it seems that
Dax
and I are the only ones who have come back empty-handed.

Olivia McNabb, a spunky
eighteen year-
old with bionic adrenal glands and
a titanium
right hand
runs up beside me in a blur of blonde hair. Anytime I feel a rush of air whipping around or past me, I always look for Olivia. Her enhanced adrenal glands give her an extra boost of adrenaline, giving her lightning quick speed and reflexes. She’s removed her polyurethane glove and uses her robotic hand to push her messy bangs back from her face.

“Hey, how’d it go out there?”