Steampunk Cyborg (Mecha Origin Book 1)

by Eve Langlais

  Since the latter tended to kill on sight, he chose caution. He landed amidst some foliage near to where the last signal was recorded.

  Upon emerging from his ship, his nose wrinkled as his olfactory senses went into overdrive sifting the jarring scents. The feel of the air was so very different to the filtered stuff he was used to.

  This felt…dirty. He could taste it on his tongue. Feel it filming skin. The culprit? Old-style combustion, the kind that required burning and emitted smoke. Inefficient and planet wasting. Once upon a time, Jwls’s own people had relied on the same kinds of machines. Then they got smarter. They became the machine. But not before almost destroying their society.

  Disasters could take many shapes: storms, solar flares, meteors. However, the worst damage of all came via war. Even before Jwls’s people began taking gears, they were good at fighting. At one point in their history, the entire planet had been engaged in a battle that literally broke the land. Fields burned and left useless. Waterways poisoned. The very air carrying death. The resources they’d taken for granted, gone.

  For some reason, the more desperate the times were, the more people felt a need to create. In the midst of starving, their population exploded, which only made the food situation worse. Which led to a new kind of war.

  A war for survival.

  Starvation became the new enemy. Population took a hit via culling programs as their ruined world tried to settle on a number that could sustain itself, which wasn’t as many as you’d expect, and their numbers dwindled as birth rates plummeted.

  His kind almost died out. A group of them went looking for a new world. A new way. They found a place with rich soil, lush vegetation, and water for them all. They weren’t the first to live there. On that forgotten planet, they found an ancient tomb filled with the first known machines made of living metal.

  The settlers who found the treasure were the first to get upgraded. Accidentally, the histories told. A bloody fight over the shiny objects led to them seeing the potential. The fighting stopped, and the search yielded more. As tombs were uncovered, the cogs that could make you stronger, faster, the gears that could fix paralyzed limbs and help eyes to see, were in high demand. But there weren’t enough to please everyone.

  For every gear you get, you only realize how many more you still need to be…

  Be what? Was there such a thing as perfection?

  He rubbed his chest. That empty spot. Maybe just one more gear, the right kind of cog would fill it. Hard to believe, though, that Jwls would find it on a backwards planet that had yet to even achieve true space travel. Was he chasing a never-ending fantasy? A goal that could never be reached?

  Once he got the gear, what then? Would it be enough?

  He feared he already knew that answer.

  But what else could he do? Sometimes trying was all that remained.

  A turn of a dial on his belt and he activated the hologram that would conceal his ship. Someone would have to walk into it to even realize it sat there. Hopefully he wouldn’t be gone too long.

  A glance at his wrist piece oriented him as to the last known location of his tracker. Jwls strode toward his prize, leaving a wooded area with spongy undergrowth to a much noisier and bright place. The lights overhead glared, and the smooth, dark ground led off in many directions.

  His boots clomped as he strode across the strip of tarmac. Rapidly moving vehicles, with lights glaring, forced him to dodge, a fun endeavor that involved him darting and spinning. There was loud screeching as the conveyances swerved to avoid him. As for the one that let out a blart of displeasure? A rapid fire of his gun blew out the rubber wheel. A design flaw if you asked him. Reverse Magnetic Gravity was the only true method of ground travel. Hovering above ground meant a smoother ride. It also prevented the sudden swerving and screeching as the vehicle smoked to a halt, causing even more blaring of horns and screaming of rubber. A most noxious smell.

  Jwls ignored the chaos and kept moving toward the bright green sign. He dropped a translation monocle over his eye to read the signage that declared it to be an inn. There were people loitering outside. Humans he assumed, given that was what those of this planet termed themselves.

  Males and females sucked on cylinders, expelling smoke. He was surprised to note them garbed much as him, unlike those travelling in the rubber-wheeled vehicles. They had coats with intricate patterns. Goggles such as the pair seated firmly over his face. The crisscrossing of weapons harnesses.

  He rested a hand on his ray gun. But he didn’t draw it. None of those puffing carcinogens paid him much mind until he got close.

  Then only to remark, “That is one hot costume. You missed the contest, though.”

  “You meeting your wife?” asked another.

  He paused for a moment to appraise the group addressing him, many of them wearing cogs. Some dangled on fantastically shaped necklaces. Other gears were sewn into their very clothes in an ostentatious display of wealth. If the gears were real.

  Reaching out, Jwls plucked an intricate medallion free, ignoring the excited jabbering of the short humanoid blinking behind glasses. He should clarify that his auditory translator understood her words; he just didn’t feel like replying to demands of, “Give that back before I call the police.”

  Instead, he dropped his goggles down and held up the medallion so that the lens might scan it. Right away, he noted the sparse metal readings. The lack of energy signature. Wannabe. Just like many on his planet with their fakes. Not everyone could afford the real upgrades.

  He thrust it back at her with a sneered, “Pretender.”

  Since they weren’t a threat or of interest, he kept moving but heard the whispered, “Did Eve hire a model this year?”

  Who was this Eve, and whom did she hire? Thus far he’d approached easily, yet the warning possibly indicated sterner methods of defense inside.

  Upon entering, there was a cacophony of sound that took a moment to resolve itself into something resembling music. The man behind a long counter offered a smile. “Evening. Cool outfit. Where did you buy it? I wouldn’t mind picking one up for Halloween.”

  They thought him a pretender? Jwls might have taken offense except for the fact that fitting in meant no one sounded an alarm. It gave him more time to locate the God Gear.

  Spotting stairs to the second floor, he took them two at a time, passing some women coming down, the skirts on their gowns full, cleavage bared, sporting their wealth around their necks. The many cogs strung on a chain meant to be impressive.

  More fakes. They didn’t have the right signature. The lens of his goggles remained unimpressed.

  Arriving at the top, he noticed a backdrop of red fabric served as a place to pose. More of the pretenders gathered to smile and preen for a moment as a plainly dressed human pressed a button on a box. A moment later, tickets with rendered images spat from the box.

  A machine to take actual pictures. Primitive in appearance but a step in the right evolutionary direction.

  However, the stage for it was in his path. He strode past the women hugging each other, their lips stretched into smiles as they screamed, “Lickable abs.”

  As if there were any other kind. Although he’d never had them roasted.

  The females squeaked as he stomped past. Not in anger.

  “Dude, you have to get a picture with us.”

  A request followed by an attempt to curtail his steps. Jwls looked down at the woman hanging off his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “You look amazing.” Gushed with a rapt expression.

  “Of course, I do.” Modestly was for the less geared.

  “Please, you gotta let us borrow you for a second. We totally need your picture.”

  They needed his image? “Why?”

  “Because you are even hotter than a wet Jason.”

  He might have asked about this Jason, however bemused, and rather flattered, Jwls allowed himself to be led to the red curtain. Females surrounded him, of all heights, co
lors, and sizes to please a man who liked variety.

  Except he wasn’t here on a mission of seduction.

  When someone said, “Smile,” he scowled.

  It brought some squeals, and one groaned, “Damn.”

  He shrugged free of the women. “I must find something.”

  “More like a lucky someone.” Said with a sigh.

  “If she’s not interested, let us know. We can handle you.” The rejoinder was followed by a shocked exclamation. “I can’t believe you said that. He’s not a piece of meat.”

  Obviously. Only the dead fed the living. Hopefully seasoned and singed on a grill.

  The musical revelry increased in tenor as he approached an open set of doors. Inside, a large mass of tables, covered in white fabric, surrounded by chairs, some of them occupied. All ignoring him. Just as well given their gaudy accoutrements were obvious fakes. What was with this planet and their pretending to be greater than they were? His understanding was this planet had yet to truly hit enlightened evolution. Yet, here they mimicked the outfits and touted the gear shapes and tools of his people.

  Lights flashed at the opposite side of the room where bodies gyrated, some form of dance, possibly to entice mating. They might also be dying. With some species it was hard to tell.

  Humans were a strange lot, and given the difficulty in reaching them, few academic works existed. Of those few, Jwls didn’t bother studying because he really didn’t care about a primitive group that might have a similar appearance and build as his people but remained barbarically backwards. And prone to laughter.

  It kept erupting, low chuckles, boisterous guffaws. A pity he didn’t see any sampling of what they tasted. He would be interested in seeing if the drug they partook of worked on beings with a more evolved cortex system.

  A peek at his wristband showed the location of the tracker as being close. Nothing tingled. Perhaps one God Gear didn’t have the same effect when all alone. Perhaps it wasn’t even in this building.

  However, Jwls didn’t leave. Not yet. He didn’t know what to call the certainty he was in the right place. He just knew he had to keep looking.

  He navigated through the sea of tables, gaze darting from side to side, watching for sudden movement.

  On the dance floor, a gyrating body caught his attention. Short, much shorter than himself, with a trim figure and short spiked blonde hair accented with a stripe of color. The female wore a split ruffled skirt, heavy boots, and a corset that did great things for her cleavage. Humans, like his kind, only had two mammary units, one for each hand.

  The holster by the dancer’s side held a pistol. Probably another fake, given his lens didn’t light up in warning.

  Ignoring the jiggling bodies, Jwls pivoted, doing a full circuit on his heel, glancing around for anything that seemed out of place. A seated woman boldly met his gaze, her eyes vertically slitted and strangely glowing, her hair blue and silver. She almost looked like a Piktin bounty hunter, but she possessed a bosom and flat-edged teeth. Likely another costume.

  Moving away from the gyrating bodies—indulging in some kind of strange attack—he noticed a set of doors leading to another area. He sidled to the door and glanced out, noted a bartender behind a counter partially lined with bottles.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  There was temptation to ask the bartender to serve him something uniquely human. When would he next get a chance to see what kind of piss they drank? Only, the first rule of a hunt was no drinking. The second was no drinking alien stuff until you tested it first.

  Ray’s own dad had forgotten that rule, and there hadn’t been enough of the body left to be buried. The flaming Xruuru wine chewed him all up.

  The last rule was, if indulging in something potent, choose a safe place. Alone. Because friends had a tendency of being worse than strangers for pranks.

  A rattle of glass drew his attention to a table with sweating jugs fill with clear liquid and glasses alongside it.

  A woman poured herself a cup. He spent a moment admiring the worn smoothness of the duster, the way it hugged and flared around a very feminine shape.

  When she turned, he noted her pale complexion, the fine freckles on her nose, the graceful line of her neck showcased by her upswept hair and yet dangling messy threads.

  But even more fascinating, the medallion hanging between her breasts. The cog hung in plain sight.

  He didn’t need confirmation from his lenses lighting up to know this was the treasure he’d been seeking. He could feel it. Tugging on the metal parts inside him. A tingle of his sense.

  I must have it. A compulsion he didn’t control.

  Pretty. Shiny. Mine.

  Which was why he reached for it.

  The woman, who, oddly enough, bore a tag around her neck with strange characters on it, gasped and leaned away. “Excuse me. What are you doing?”

  He pointed. “That belongs to me.”

  “Does it really?” She clasped the chain and glared.

  “It does, and you will hand it over.” Jwls held out his hand.

  She didn’t drop it into his open palm. “I am not giving you shit. Given the stunt you pulled with that drone, you’ll be lucky if I don’t call the cops.”

  “The drone wasn’t mine. But that is.” He held out his hand and beckoned with his fingers.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Are you defying me?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

  If possible, her chin rose higher. “You were spying on me. And I’m going to report you.”

  “Report me to whomever you like. I just arrived, and I will depart as soon as you hand that gear over.”

  “I am not giving it to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She swept past him as if to leave. He’d not given her permission. Did she truly think she had a choice?

  He grabbed hold of her arm, his fingers a tight vise. “Hand it over.”

  “Let me go.” She struggled in his grip.

  “I think you need to cool it down, dude.” A tap on his other arm drew his attention to a woman with short hair and glasses. No gun. No knife. Not even a decently sized bodyguard.

  He smirked. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  The new female’s lips pursed. “Actually, it does. Apparently, you didn’t read the nametag. I’m Eve, the organizer of this thing, and I know for a fact you’re not registered. Not to mention you’re being a bit of a jerk. Unhand Aggie then leave.”

  “Do you think to order me around?” A chuckle escaped him, making him wonder if it was the air they breathed that made them giddy and stupid. “This female you call Aggie has something of mine, and I am not departing until she hands it over.” He glanced back at the medallion caught in the crevice of her bosom.

  “Dude, that was not the right answer. You are going to let her go. Now.” Eve bobbed her head, and he could have cursed as he realized the music masked the approach of two people.

  Releasing Aggie, he let his hand drift down to his holster. To his left he stared almost eye to eye with a tall female, her bearing that of a warrior, her hair a reddish brown. She wore a tightly wound bustier, tightened with buckles, her gauntlets went to her elbows and he noticed when she clenched her first, the knuckles became tiny daggers. Which he made a note to duck if they came near flesh.

  The female returned his stare, her goggles hiding the shape and color her eyes. True lenses or fakes? He couldn’t ascertain, just like he saw no signs of upgrades and only pairs of everything; arms, legs, breasts. Humanoid in appearance, and yet he had a feeling that was only a guise.

  As to her companion, he glanced to his other side. There stood a female, barely reaching his chin, who resembled a piktin with her jewel colored hair and glowing eyes. A round brimmed hat sat atop her head and matched the fabric of her finely tailored coat. The smile on her lips hinted of amusement and offered a dare.

  “I have no quarrel with you,” he stated.

  “Then you won’t mind walking away.” The smile never l
eft the piktin’s lips, but the hair draping her shoulders began to stir.

  Leave the treasure? Not likely. His gaze narrowed. “It’s mine,” he declared. Best to state it first.

  “Excuse me?” Aggie chose to exclaim. “The necklace is mine.”

  He flicked a glance at her. “I’m taking it, it’s up to you to decide if you’re coming with it or not.” Although he was more of the mindset of not. There were few people he couldn’t tolerate to travel with.

  The tall female he’d chosen to ignore, chuckled. “Dude, that was the wrong thing to say.”

  “No kidding. Get with the times. You can’t talk to women, actually anybody for that matter, like that.” Eve shook her head. “I’m afraid we cannot tolerate that kind of behavior. You need to leave. Now, please.”

  “I will gladly depart this barbaric world once she gives me what I came for.” He held out his hand to Aggie, only she clutched the gear in a fist.

  “She doesn’t have to give you shit.” Eve pointed. “The exit is that way.”

  He didn’t budge.

  “Stop being so nice. Move.” The statuesque female scowled at him.

  He scowled right back. For some reason the only one impressed by it was Aggie. Kind of insulting.

  “Viola’s right.” The piktin added. “Metal eating scum like him don’t deserve courtesy.”

  “We don’t eat it.” The very idea was insulting. The taking of a gear was a very religious experiment—according to Wulff. Jwls always found it more arousing than holy when he did it.

  “Doesn’t matter if he shoves it up his excretion hole. He needs to come with us.” The one called Viola prodded him with the nose of a gun, about the only thing he respected at the moment. Jwls moved away from his target, only to give himself more space to move. As he pivoted around, he saw Eve frown.

  “Viola, just because he’s a dick you can’t pretend to shoot him.”

  “Who said anything about pretending?”

  The jeweled hair of the other female began to lift and wave as if caught in an invisible breeze. “Let’s bring him to our room. I have ways to make him talk.”