The Good, the Bad, and the Cyborg

by Honey Phillips

  The next order of business would be to find that partner. Even with the wages they had been willing to pay, it had been hard to find men to work the claim with them. The small population of Mars consisted primarily of settlers, miners, and power plant workers, along with scientists and government employees. The other settlers were intent on their own claims while the miners all hoped to find a treasure trove of minerals. Which left the power plant workers, and the only ones available for hire had already been fired for their drunkenness or their unwillingness to work. They had been through three hands in as many months. Still, putting up with a drunken layabout was better than losing her land. Adding a rifle to her armament, she went to prepare the rover for a trip to town.

  “What do you mean I don’t have any credits?” Harriet stared at the banker in disbelief.

  “Um, it’s not that you don’t have them. The account is still intact. However, your husband’s family has frozen all of his assets.”

  “They decided to contest the will after all?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Alliston gave her a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, my hands are tied. I received the communication this morning.”

  What a coincidence. First Quilby, then this. Weariness swept over her, but she forced it back. She was not going to be defeated by a bunch of snobby bastards who weren’t even on the planet.

  “The terms of the will were quite clear,” she said as evenly as possible. “You know that, you saw it.”

  “I agree, but…” He shrugged helplessly. “I can’t overrule a court order.”

  That meant she needed a lawyer. She shuddered. New Arcadia had a grand total of one lawyer and Mr. Hanover preferred drinking to legal work. He wasn’t much of a choice, but he was all she had.

  An hour later, she fumed as she left Hanover’s office. He had agreed to represent her—for an exorbitant percentage of any recovered funds—but he didn’t think he would be able to get the hold order lifted any time soon. Basically, she was still in the same situation. She needed a partner living on the claim as soon as possible, and if she couldn’t pay for one… What was that her mother used to say? There was more than one way to skin a cat.

  Leaning against the wall of Hanover’s office, she studied the town. New Arcadia had been built inside one of the Martian canyons so that the domes enclosing the town only needed to span the distance between the sides of the canyon, with airlocks at either end. The buildings sprawled between the central main street and the rock walls. At one end of the wide street, the neatly stacked white blocks of the GenCon headquarters bore the only resemblance to the idealistic images of Mars so frequently presented on Earth. The other buildings were a hodgepodge of metal sheets recovered from abandoned rockets, blocks made from compacted regolith—Martian soil—and iron frameworks covered by inflated panels. With the exception of Madam Cherry’s gaudily painted building, everything was covered with the pervasive orange dust. The small collection of businesses was as varied as their materials but since the town had originally been founded to support workers and miners, bars predominated.

  Raising her chin, she stomped down the dusty street to the first bar and charged inside before her courage failed her. If the outside had been shabby and disreputable, the inside was even more so. A weird mishmash of salvaged ship parts and the cheap plastic furniture produced by the 3D printers, it looked like something from an old movie. As soon as she walked through the door, the men inside turned to look at her. A quick scan showed no other females in the place.

  “I need a partner,” she said boldly, glad that her voice didn’t shake.

  No one responded at first, then a skinny man shoved his companion on the shoulder and wandered over. Unshaven and unwashed, he might have been handsome once, but his clothes hung on his thin frame and his blue eyes were bloodshot.

  He seemed a little shaken by the fact they were of equal height, but he gave her a cocky smile. “I’m Nick. What kinda partner you looking for, lady?” He ran his eyes over her appraisingly in a way that made her skin crawl. “Kinda old, ain’t you?”

  “I’m looking for a partner on my claim,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

  “Whatcha paying?”

  Several of the other men approached when he asked, and her hand instinctively moved to the butt of her gun.

  “I’m not paying anything except the chance to own one half of the land once the homestead period is over.”

  Nick sneered, and the others looked bored. They moved back to their original seats and a low thrum of conversation resumed.

  “It’s good land,” she said quickly, raising her voice. “We—I already have three greenhouses producing.”

  “That might not be too bad,” Nick said thoughtfully. “If the work’s already been done.”

  She knew she should agree and take him up on it, but despite her earlier impulse to take anyone, she needed a partner who would stick it out for five years. She needed someone who was prepared to put some effort into the place.

  “No. There’s still a lot to be done. More greenhouses will need to be built. The crops have to be monitored and produce collected. We also have to finish covering fifty percent of the land with lichen.” One of the homestead requirements was improving the soil on the claim.

  “Are you part of the deal?” He flashed her what she thought was supposed to be a charming grin, but it made her shudder instead. “Been a while since I had a woman.”

  “I most certainly am not,” she said, her hand gripping her gun more firmly.

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a proposition to me.”

  “Then you’re not the right man for the job.”

  He laughed harshly. “Maybe not, but I don’t see anyone else willing to take on a lot of hard work for an uncertain future and a skinny woman.”

  “I’m willing.” The deep voice cut through the noise of the bar and she turned to see a man—a cyborg—step out of the shadows. The cyborgs had been used to do the initial work of terraforming the planet. As the environment eventually became more suitable for humans, many of them were repurposed into ranger squads that administered what passed for law and order. Of course, she had seen cyborgs in town before, always dressed in black, so obviously not human, but this one in particular had always drawn her attention. He was just so big and broad that she couldn’t help but notice him. At least that’s what she had always told herself. No decent woman would feel an attraction for a machine, would she? Especially not a married woman.

  “I am Ranger M-231, at your service.” He lifted a metal hand to tip his hat to her.

  “Yeah, well, you can’t do it,” Nick announced. “You ain’t human.”

  “Is that a requirement?” the ranger asked, looking directly at her and ignoring the man. Her heart beat a little faster as she met those pale grey eyes, striking against his weathered brown skin. She actually had to tilt her head back to look up at him.

  “I don’t think so, but I would have to check with the claims office to find—”

  “Dammit, he’s a fucking machine,” Nick interrupted. “What is wrong with you women? I’m a much better bargain than that heap of metal.”

  He started to reach for her arm, and she flinched instinctively, but he never touched her. The ranger intercepted his hand, snatching it high and wringing a pained cry from the man.

  “You do not touch her. You never touch her. Do you understand me?” M-231 looked around at the rest of the men in the bar, all of whom were silent and staring. “That goes for all of you. She is under my protection. Is that understood?”

  There was a smattering of nods and muttered assents. The ranger abruptly released Nick, who clutched his hand and glared at the big cyborg but didn’t say anything.

  “Shall we go?” The ranger offered her his arm. Still shocked by the rapid turn of events, she could only stare at him. Something flickered across his face—something that could have been hurt. He started to withdraw his arm, but suddenly, impulsively, she put her hand on his elbow. Even thro
ugh his shirt, she could feel the firm muscles and the heat of his skin. Her body responded instinctively to all of that masculine strength and for the first time in a very, very long time, she was suddenly conscious of herself as a woman in the presence of an attractive man. Firmly suppressing the thought, she gave him her best polite smile.

  “I’m ready.”

  Ignoring the gaping bar patrons, together they turned and walked out of the bar.

  Chapter Three

  M-231 couldn’t believe that he had a woman touching him—and not just any woman, but her. He had been obsessed with her since he had seen her departing the ship with the initial group of settlers. Tall and slender with graceful movements that reminded him of a flag waving in the wind, the weak Martian sunlight had sparked golden lights in a cloud of soft brown hair. Mine. The thought had appeared from nowhere, but he didn’t think to question it. He had started to step forward and then she had turned to assist a human male. Also tall and thin, the male appeared almost fragile, and her obvious solicitousness made their relationship all too clear. He had withdrawn back into the shadows he preferred.

  Even knowing she was not for him, he had not been able to resist hacking into the computer to find out more about her. Harriet Lewis. He didn’t think the name suited her and, in his mind, she had become Hattie. Although he had wanted to dislike her husband, he had heard nothing negative about the man. A shy, soft-spoken man, he treated everyone with a quiet dignity despite his obvious upper crust background. M-231 had resigned himself to the fact that there was no hope—yet many a night he found himself riding out to their homestead to check and make sure that all was secure, that Hattie was safe.

  When he heard that her husband had died, an apparently weak heart finally giving way, he had wanted to go to her, but he had no reason to expect that she would welcome him. Instead, he had contented himself with watching her from afar, spending many of his nights patrolling her land. He had followed her into town today as well. Last night he had seen tracks—not of the mechanical horses that the rangers used, but of the rovers the humans drove. Most of the humans avoided travel during the freezing nights and the fact that someone had gone out in the bitter cold just to visit her claim made him strangely uncomfortable.

  They entered the Claims Office and Hattie removed her hand, leaving a cold emptiness where it had been. Smith, the claims officer, looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of them.

  “Mrs. Lewis. Ranger. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to ask you about my claim filing.” Hattie approached the desk with her quiet, graceful step and he had to force himself not to demand that Smith step back.

  “Ah, yes. I remember this one.” Smith took the paper, then peered at her over the top of a pair of old-fashioned spectacles. “Most unusual.”

  “But it’s legal, isn’t it?” she asked anxiously.

  “Definitely. The wording was approved before it arrived. Your husband, poor soul, made quite sure of that.”

  “What does it mean by partner?”

  Smith looked from Hattie to him. “It means someone who lives on the claim and works the land. You can claim a half portion at the end of the five years. The other portion isn’t available until your partner has also spent five years on the land, but the rights to the land go to you, not him.” He paused thoughtfully. “Or her, I suppose. There is no specification regarding sex.”

  He saw the speculative look cross her delicate face and his chest ached. No doubt she was trying to decide if there was a female she could ask in his place.

  “And the ranger, is he eligible?” she asked, surprising him.

  “Hm.” Smith peered over his glasses again, then went to his computer. After a quick search, he nodded slowly. “It would appear so. Since the land will only be in your name, the fact that he is a, um, cyborg, isn’t a factor. But of course, the other rules apply—occupancy and working the land.”

  “Then I guess it’s settled. That is, if you’re sure?” Hattie turned and smiled at him, a little uncertainly perhaps, but with enough warmth that he could feel his body responding. Desperately forcing his unruly cock under control, he managed to retain a neutral expression as he nodded. He had made the offer impulsively, driven by the desperation on her face, but he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Does this need to be registered?”

  “Of course.” Smith’s long fingers flew over his keys before he frowned and looked up. “Do you have a name, Ranger? A human name?”

  “Morgan Gentry.” The words sounded strange on his lips. He had only spoken his name once in the past twenty years and that was to a fellow cyborg.

  “Morgan,” Hattie said softly, and the sound of his name on her lips sent a surge of excitement to his cock. “It’s a nice name.”

  “Thank you, Hattie.”

  “Hattie?” She looked shocked, then laughed. “I haven’t been called that since I was a little girl.”

  “It had been a long time since I have heard my name as well.”

  “That’s kind of nice. Like we’re both starting over.” Her smile was more certain this time.

  “Okay. The records have been updated. I need a… fingerprint?” Smith cast a doubtful glance at his cybernetic hand and frustration filled him when Hattie’s eyes followed the same path.

  Gritting his teeth, he held out his left hand, which looked more human. “Here.”

  “Of course, of course.” Smith laughed nervously, then passed him a small touch pad.

  He dutifully pressed his finger to it, even though any of the cyborgs would be able to replicate the print, and the claims officer nodded.

  “That’s it. Everything is in order.” He looked between them again. “I dated this today. You will take up residence immediately?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly, covering Hattie’s slight hesitation. He would need to make arrangements about his ranger duties, but he didn’t want to leave her alone any longer.

  “I wish you both the best of luck.” Smith started to extend his hand to Hattie and M-231 found a low rumble coming from his throat.

  “Did you just… growl?” Hattie asked, her eyes wide.

  “A slight malfunction,” he said quickly, then, greatly daring, took her arm to escort her out of the Claims Office before the agent made another attempt to touch her.

  “Are you really going to move in today?” She peeped up at him from under her lashes.

  “Yes. It is best to start right away. That is, unless you object?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “It’s been awfully quiet around the place. I think it might be nice to have some company.” Her cheeks turned pink. “But I, um, don’t have a second bedroom. You’ll have to sleep on the couch and it’s not very big. Maybe I should give you the bedroom…”

  Fighting down the inevitable reaction to the word bedroom coming from her sweet lips, he shook his head firmly. “I do not need much sleep and I can rest in any position.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened. “You don’t have a bed?”

  “I do now,” he said briefly. He wasn’t about to tell her of the many long, lonely nights he had spent with nothing but a rock against his back. Even that had been better than his initial trip to Mars, crammed into a small stall that bore an unmistakable resemblance to a coffin—because cyborgs didn’t need to move or breathe or to be treated as human. The reminder made his face harden.

  “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. I will escort you to retrieve your rover and then I will get my horse and meet you at the South Airlock.”

  “How did you—oh, of course. How else could I get here?”

  Her startled look faded and he breathed an internal sigh of relief. She didn’t need to know that he had been stalking her.

  “Okay, Morgan. Let’s go home.”

  Morgan escorted Harriet to her rover, then left, assuring her he would be back shortly. She stared after him, still stunned by the events of the morning. The knowl
edge that she might lose her claim, the seizing of the bank accounts, and then this—the cyborg ranger she had thought about one too many times stepping up to help her. Her eyes followed him, noting the broad width of his shoulders in the faded black shirt and the long, confident stride. And he was going to be living with her all the time? A mixture of excitement and trepidation sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Everything all right, girlie?” Cyrus, the man in charge of the supply depot where she had left the rover, asked. A stocky, grizzled man with a brusque air that hid an unexpected layer of kindness, she had always found him pleasant to deal with.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I think perhaps it is.”

  “Sorry to hear about your husband.”

  “Thank you.” Unexpected tears filled her eyes. She might not have loved Winthrop in a romantic sense, but he had become a good friend and companion over the past months, and she missed him. Was everyone she cared about going to be taken from her?

  “Don’t like thinking of you alone out there.”

  “I’m not going to be. Since it’s a double claim, it needs to have two occupants. One of the rangers volunteered.”

  A bushy eyebrow rose. “You don’t say?”

  She tensed, waiting for the same type of vitriol the man in the bar had spewed. She knew the cyborgs were regarded with distrust and suspicion by many, but all Cyrus did was scratch his head thoughtfully.

  “Might be a good thing at that. Ain’t no one gonna mess with you with him around.”

  “Mess with me?”

  His mouth opened, then closed abruptly. After a noticeable pause, he muttered, “Not many women up here.”