Cyborg Corps Complete Series Boxed Set

by J. N. Chaney

  The scene had calmed a bit before Warren arrived. Cooper was standing in between two sets of people, each appearing to be allied to their own cause, and each in direct opposition to the other.

  “Silence!” Warren boomed, amplifying his voice to make sure he could be heard over the others. Both sides quailed under the cyborg’s glare.

  “I don’t know what this disagreement is about, but before you tell me, I’ve got something to say.” He waited to see if anyone was going to be stupid enough to try to interrupt him as he spoke. Both sides clamped their mouths shut.

  “There are people out there who want to kill you just because you’re Reotian. It’s the worst time to start fighting among ourselves. Set aside your differences and show them we’re united and will punish anyone who tries to separate us.”

  Again, he waited to see if anyone wanted to argue about it. Both sides watched him with open mouths. They glanced at each other then turned back to Warren and nodded.

  “Good,” said Warren. “We shouldn’t leave this unsettled, though. It’ll only create bad feelings later. What happened?”

  An older woman with long hair sitting to one side raised her hand. She began to speak when Warren nodded to her.

  “This side says that side needs to stop being lazy—in so many words. This side says that side needs to relax. That was all fine and dandy until Rooster came up and accused that guy of stealing something.”

  “Rooster?” Warren asked, scanning the crowd.

  An unassuming man stepped forward. He was thin, just under two meters tall, and was the only male Warren had seen on Reotis who wore his gray hair long. It was pulled back and tied at the base of his neck.

  “They call me Rooster,” the man said.

  “What’s come up missing that you think may have been stolen,” Warren asked.

  “I don’t think,” the man said. His tone was one of sadness, not anger as Warren had expected. “I know. A few of us went out and gathered some of those robots that were attacking the base. We take parts wherever we can find them. I inventoried the parts as they came in, but when we made it back to the Dome-6 workshop, two parts were missing. Everyone was there except for him.” He pointed to the man who’d spoken out of turn.

  “Was someone with the parts the whole time?”

  “No,” Rooster said. “We dropped each set off before going back to get another. Four trips in all.

  “I didn’t mean to accuse him. I was asking, and he seemed to be hiding something. I don’t like conflict.”

  “What parts are you missing?”

  “Two undamaged arms,” the man replied.

  The parts the micro-rockets are launched from. Even though Warren’s stomach was purely mechanical, he thought he felt an icy spike land there.

  “Heads up!” another cyborg transmitted to all the others. “Techs just spotted another ship coming in.”

  29

  The alarm system went off a second later. Everyone present froze in place, then turned wide eyes to Warren.

  “Go to your duty stations,” the cyborg said. “Wherever you were before. If you don’t have one, head to the hangar and find someone who could use your help. Looks like we’ve got another fight.”

  Not bothering to check to see if any of them were doing as they’d been told, Warren hurried to the hangar. “What details do we have?” he said. “Republic or Commonwealth?”

  “Neither,” the cyborg said. “Tech is telling me it’s a civilian vessel. Looks like a cargo hauler.”

  “What? Are they expecting a delivery?”

  “Not exactly,” the cyborg said. “They say this happens once in a while. Ships come in unannounced from other systems. Could be full of refugees.”

  “From where?”

  “No idea,” he replied. “The tech says they’ve given out transponder codes to a few of their operatives on other planets. If anyone needs to flee, this is one of the places they can go. Somewhere else just like Reotis. Somewhere they keep getting their asses kicked because neither side can hold on for very long. Kinda stupid if you ask me, just moving from one war zone to another like that.”

  Warren thought so too and shook his head. “Inform the Gun Chief to hold his fire unless they do something aggressive.”

  “Refugees?” Lukov asked, cocking his head slightly to one side.

  “Yeah, that’s what he said.”

  “Anonymous refugees?”

  “Yes,” Warren said, not following the Russian’s train of thought.

  “And there have been others?”

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Warren asked.

  “It would be convenient way for spy to arrive,” he said. “Pretend to be one of refugee Maybe kill and take place of one. Back in Russia, this was something the Spetsnaz did. Effective.”

  The more Warren thought about it the more it made sense. He tapped a finger thoughtfully on his chin. “And there’s no way to tell who might be an infiltrator. We don’t have records on these people. No photos, no way to check their backgrounds. We’re blind.”

  “Not so much,” Lukov said, waving Warren’s concern away. “Spetsnaz trains for interrogate. Lies from truths. Must corral new refugees to interrogate.”

  “Interview,” Warren corrected.

  “Right, interview. If they are not a spy, no problem. If they are, we interrogate then. I must meet this ship and... interview passengers. Maybe all people on Reotis to find saboteur. Is easy with cybernetic. Dilation of pupil. Micro expression. Heart rate. Skin temperature. Easy to touch and feel these things. Like lie detector, but many time more sensitive.”

  “Do it,” Warren said. “It’s too bad the Republic didn’t have an interrogation module for me to load into everyone, so this is a skill you’ll need to train others on. Add that to your to-do list, but don’t worry about training anyone at the moment. Let’s get these people processed.”

  The ship came in for a soft landing inside the hangar thirty minutes later. Warren was surprised the thing had made it the entire distance between systems. It looked like it had been made completely of scrap, welded and riveted together into something resembling a huge, steel tadpole.

  Didn’t anyone in the galaxy have a halfway decent vessel anymore?

  The rear half of the craft was taken up by its stardrive engine, and even that seemed to have been cobbled together from parts. A mismatched ramp lowered to the ground, but no one disembarked.

  Warren and Lukov, flanked by two other cyborgs, approached the craft.

  “Hold your fire until one presents a clear threat,” Warren said. “And someone kill that alarm. If there are any spies among them, he or she will need to be captured rather than killed, if we can help it. I don’t want anyone getting trigger happy.” Three acknowledgments appeared on Warren’s HUD.

  The other two cyborgs he’d brought tensed. Warren felt himself tense a bit as well.

  The first person to come down looked to be the pilot, if her uniform was any indication. She had a small data pad attached to her right leg just above her knee and a Republic-gray flight suit, but no name tag or other unit markings.

  She brushed her long blond hair away from her eyes and muttered something that sounded like a curse. Then she raised her hands in surrender. “Hey boys, I didn’t expect to see you lot here. So this is a Republic colony now? Listen—about the uniform—I can explain.”

  “This is not Republic colony,” Lukov told her. “This is private and independent colony. We are the new Reotian Defense Force. We have returned the planet to the people and tolerate neither Republic nor Commonwealth. If you have loyalty to either, we will return you to ship and offer safe passage from the planet after interrogation. But you may not remain here.”

  The woman looked confused. “Reotian Defense Force? Uh... don’t you guys have to do what the war computer tells you to do?”

  “Not anymore,” Warren said. “Everyone will have to be screened before they are allowed to stay. It’s a new policy. I apologize for
the inconvenience.”

  Keeping her hands raised, the woman, who Warren guessed was in her mid-thirties, hurried to where he’d indicated she should stand. She watched him with wide eyes but didn’t cower or try to hide behind her arms or hands like she was afraid. It was a look of wonder and curiosity. She had a lot of questions buzzing around in her head. Likely, so did everyone else. Rather than having to answer the same ones over and over by others who would ask the same thing, Warren would speak to them as a group.

  Another 32 people exited the craft. Far more than it should have been allowed to carry, he noted. One had to be carried by two others. It looked like his leg was wounded. There were bandages, but the care he’d received looked to be rudimentary.

  “He needs a doctor,” the pilot said. “We did what we could, but our escape wasn’t as flawless as we’d hoped.”

  “I will summon the doctor,” Lukov said. “Where did you flee from?”

  “DT 2991d,” she said. “We called it Copa—short for cornucopia because we all hoped it would be something more than a war zone. It’s the most Earth-like planet the Republic has ever found. It was supposed to be a new start. It was more of an ending. A bad one.”

  “Yeah,” one of the passengers, an angry man with reddish hair and a short beard, said. “Turns out everyone wanted it for themselves and screw anyone who was already there. Now we have to come to this shithole to try to survive.”

  “Does anyone see Hendrose?” Warren transmitted over the general channel.

  “He’s here with me,,” another cyborg replied.

  “Send him to the hangar,” Warren said. “I need him here.”

  “Roger that,” the cyborg replied, and Warren turned his attention back to the refugees.

  “So, are we prisoners now?” the angry man asked.

  “Not yet,” Lukov said, clearly trying to contain a smile that didn’t look at all friendly.

  The red-haired man gulped.

  “Not at all, unless you give us a reason to incarcerate you,” Warren said. “But we’ve had some trouble here recently. As such, we’ve needed to institute new security measures. For now this cyborg will determine which of you is allowed to stay. His name is Lukov, and so long as you don’t do anything dangerous, and you aren’t here to cause any trouble, you won’t come to harm.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to do what we say?” the man retorted, getting brave again. He stepped out from the tightly packed crowd. “Since when do the cyborgs make the rules?”

  “Since about a day ago,” Warren said. “We’re free. We no longer have to obey any war computer.”

  “We are slaves no longer,” Lukov added, donning an annoyed face.

  The man continued to look defiant for a moment before seeming to realize he was outnumbered, outgunned, and out everything else as well. He melted back into the crowd.

  “As I was saying, Lukov here is trained in lie detection,” Warren continued. “And, because he’s a cyborg, he’s also very good at it.”

  Warren scanned the crowd. Of the 33 people, including the pilot, he detected 27 that were nervous, 2 who might be, and the injured man was impossible for him to read. Lukov had his work cut out for him.

  “Line up here,” Lukov commanded. “Single file. Each will be interviewed one at time. Do not leave area until given permission.”

  Hendrose walked up to Warren as the cluster of people formed themselves into something resembling a single file line.

  “Here,” the tech said. “Whoa. Is this what the alarm was about?”

  “Yes,” Warren said. “Is this normal? Having refugees show up like this?”

  Hendrose shrugged. “I’ve seen it before, but it’s not like I got to spend a lot of time here after I joined the Republic Navy. But yeah, it happens.”

  “What do you do with them once they arrive?”

  Hendrose shrugged. “Send them to the least-occupied dome. There are plenty of empty homes. We could probably fit another five or six thousand people here.”

  “What about duties?” Warren asked. “Who assigns them?”

  “Like I said, it’s been a while,” Hendrose said again. “Leadership has been kind of sparse around here for a long time. I guess they just fill in wherever they can. Someone probably used to assign them, but I have no idea who does it now—if anyone. We get by, so nobody really has any drive to improve things.”

  “I know I’ve been asking a lot of you, but with this batch, I want you to find out what they’re good at and assign them yourself,” Warren said. “You’ve got to be Human Resources until we find someone to do it permanently. Think you can handle it?”

  “Sure,” he said and started walking toward them until Warren took his arm and pulled him back.

  “Not yet,” Warren said. “Lukov needs to interview them first. We’re looking for spies among—”

  An intense feeling of shock from Lukov and several gasps from refugees snapped Warren’s attention back to the queue. Some refugees were frozen in place. The rest were running toward the airlock or toward the center of the dome. Two other cyborgs had their rifles raised, but nobody was shooting.

  “Flee!” Lukov said as he dove onto the ground.

  Warren instinctively snatched Hendrose from where he was standing and shielded him with his own body. A second later, the loud crack of an explosion washed over them. His back and legs were peppered with small stones, but none had enough velocity to break through his tough cyborg skin.

  Warren turned around. It only took him a second to uncover what had happened. One of the refugees had brought an explosive device with him or her into the dome. They’d used it as a distraction by throwing it nearby. Lukov had jumped on it.

  The other cyborg wasn’t moving, but no KIA message had appeared on Warren’s screen either.

  “Ouch,” Lukov grumbled.

  “Stop them!” Warren shouted, even as he snagged a female refugee who tried to run past him on his left. “Don’t let any of them leave!”

  Then to Lukov, he said, “Did you see who threw it?”

  The other cyborg transmitted an image of the perpetrator. It was the angry man who’d asked about why they weren’t obeying a war computer anymore. Of course.

  Warren forwarded the image to all the cyborgs with an order to capture him alive, if possible. It only took minutes to track him down. The cyborg Anna DeFranc had seen him heading toward Dome-2 and had captured him alive.

  “Bring him here,” Warren ordered as his vision settled on his friend, the cyborg Lukov, lying on his face on the ground.

  Hendrose hurried to Lukov’s prone form and began inspecting him.

  “I can’t tell how bad it is,” Hendrose said. “But it’s got to be bad. Hey, can you get up?”

  “No,” Lukov said.

  “Someone get me a data pad,” Hendrose ordered.

  A nearby woman unhooked the small data pad from her flight suit, hurried to the tech, and handed it to him as she stared at the cyborg lying on the ground.

  Hendrose began tapping commands into the pad while the pilot watched. DeFranc arrived soon after with her hand clamped firmly around the caught refugee’s wrist. “I think I have something you’re looking for,” she said, one corner of her mouth twisting into a smile.

  The spy was beating on her armored fist, trying to break her grip. He gave up when he noticed Warren’s stern expression.

  “Obey me, cyborg,” the man spat.

  “Fuck off,” Warren retorted. To DeFranc, he said, “Take him to the closest empty house in this dome. If there’s not one here, try Dome-2. Let me know when you’ve got him secure. Don’t kill him, but don’t feel like you have to be too careful with him, either.”

  DeFranc’s lips curled into a sneer. “That’s what I like to hear,” she said, slowly turning her eyes to the man. “You and I are going to get to know each other pretty well, I’m thinking.”

  “Fuck you, bitch!”

  DeFranc laughed. “Wow, what a potty mouth. I guess your mama didn’t
teach you any manners. Don’t worry. We’re about to spend some quality time together—really get to know each other. I’m sure we can find those manners. They’ve got to be hidden in there somewhere, right?”

  Warren watched in dark amusement as DeFranc spun the man around, let go of his wrist, and grabbed his ankle. She dragged him from the others as he clawed the dirt and continued to scream obscenities at her—some of which Warren had never heard before but understood, nonetheless.

  “Hendrose,” Warren said. “How does he look?”

  “I’m still running diagnostics,” he said, sounding frustrated. “I don’t know yet. Nothing critical, but he’s going to need some parts replaced. I think his motor functions are damaged.”

  “Not completely,” Lukov mumbled, his face still in the dirt.

  “What’s that?” Warren asked, smiling. “I thought I heard something. Hey Lukov, you lying down on the job?”

  The other cyborg lifted his right arm and made a fist with all the fingers except the middle one. “See? I am not completely paralyzed.”

  Warren laughed. “Oh, that’s what you were saying.”

  Activating a private channel, Lukov continued the conversation. “I can still process the refugees, but will need someone to help. Vision, hearing, sense of touch in left hand operational. Yes, I can do this.”

  “I appreciate that,” Warren said as he stepped forward to help the cyborg to a sitting position.

  “Wait,” Hendrose exclaimed. “You could make it worse!”

  “He will not,” Lukov argued. “Damage is already done. Will not be worse unless there is more bomb. Not catastrophic. Will get new body when done interviewing the people. They should not be made to wait. After complete, I will return to Ruthless. Then get fixed up—fit as violin.”

  Hendrose turned to Warren, his eyes searching for confirmation.

  “Agreed,” Warren said. “Lukov has a unique skill set we can’t get anywhere else. I need him back at one hundred percent as quickly as possible, but these people need to be processed first.”