by Mina Carter
Zero’s Heart
Lathar Mercenaries: Warborne
Mina Carter
New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Copyright © 2020 by Mina Carter
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Also by Mina Carter
About the Author
1
“Jesh!”
Zero jerked awake, bathed in sweat and ready to kill.
He fought his sheets blindly for a second, even as his onboard computer informed him no one was in the room. No threat, just him. With a groan, he flopped back on his bunk, breathing heavily as his bio-organics calmed down.
It was the nightmare again. The one he always had filled with fire and explosions… with pain and faces he couldn’t remember. Faces distorted, the three men seemed familiar but didn’t register in his memory banks. Not anywhere. Shouting, they reached for him, concern on their faces, but he couldn’t hear them properly before he fell backward into darkness.
He closed his eyes and shoved his hand through the short spikes of his hair. The dream was always the same, like a memory even though he knew it wasn’t. Other than that, all he knew was that the men were real, not figments of his imagination and none of them were Jesh.
The problem was, he didn’t know who the fuck Jesh was, or why he screamed the guy’s name.
With a groan, he hauled his ass out of his bunk and padded over to the door.
Query, he directed to his internal systems. How long have I been asleep?
Duration of sleep period was three hours, twenty-five minutes and seventeen seconds, the smooth voice replied in his head. It was his “other” side, the computer buried in his brain that controlled the parts of him that weren’t organic. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Exhaustion pulled at him but there was no point staying in bed. He wouldn’t sleep again.
Recommend return to sleep cycle, the onboard insisted. He silenced it with a hiss of irritation. The last thing he needed when he was running low on sleep and high on frustration was a nagging little voice in the back of his head.
The door cycled slowly, irritating him even more, and he stomped down the corridor toward the galley. It was empty. Good. With the mood he was in, he’d rip the head off his crewmates if they so much as breathed the wrong way. And for a being who could literally hear the biological processes of his crewmates’ bodies—especially the day after curry night—the danger was genuine.
He didn’t need to search the freezer unit for what he wanted. No one would dare touch his triple-chocolate caramel fudge ice cream. Not if they valued their lives.
“Oh, baby… come to daddy,” he crooned, bending down to reach for it.
“Whoa! That was so not an image I needed! Pants, Zero. They’re a thing. My mate could wander in here.”
He stood, spoon already in his mouth to find Talent, the unit’s newest member behind him. The tall male was sleep-rumpled, his chest bare. Scratches on his chest and dark marks around his wrist announced he was mated. Zero instantly quashed the jealousy that snuck up on him. Not because he wanted Lizzie, Tal’s little human mate, but because he’d all but given up hope on any woman looking at him that way. What woman would want a half-machine monster?
“Is that ice cream?” Tal asked, his gaze sharpening on the tub under Zero’s arm. “Chocolate?”
“No,” Zero deadpanned. “It’s… iridean squash, with… err… cartorian bugs. Not tasty at all.”
Tal’s eyebrow winged up. “You know I can read Terran. Right?”
“So?”
“The tub says ‘triple choc’ on the side.”
Zero gave a mock-growl and sighed. “Lizzie wants chocolate?”
Talent wagged the field tin he held in his hand. “Sent me in to make field cake. She’s “peckish.” And it’s more than my life is worth to argue with the boss. So… make with the goodies.”
Zero grumbled under his breath and offered the tub. Wrapped in a thermo-sleeve, it wouldn’t melt too quickly.
“Thanks, brother. She’s very crabby when she’s hungry.”
“Hangry,” Zero supplied automatically. “Humans call it hangry. Like a cross between hungry and angry.”
He had no idea how he knew that; he just did. Like so many other things, the thought arrived, fully formed, from his memory banks. And that was just typical. He could remember random, useless information, but nothing important… like what the fuck he was or where he’d come from.
“Really? They have such an odd language construction,” Tal commented as he spooned ice cream into his field tin. He looked up, studying Zero suddenly. Eyes narrowing, his movements paused.
“Are you okay? You look tired… and I thought only the watch officer was up.”
Zero shrugged and plonked his ass down on the bench, waiting for his ice cream back. “I can’t sleep sometimes. No biggie.”
“As the medical officer aboard, I’ll make that decision,” Talent said firmly, still spooning. Zero got worried about the level of ice cream left. How much could one tiny human woman eat? Then what the guy said registered and he looked up, shaking his head.
“Uh-uh… yeah, no. For the rest, yes. Me? No.” He balanced the spoon on the end of his nose, crossing his eyes to look at it. “I’m not Lathar. Machine, remember? Don’t need a medical officer. I need a mechanic.”
Talent handed the ice cream tub back. Zero checked the level, and enough was left to send him into a sugar coma… for all of 2.3 seconds before his systems purged the spike.
“In that case, it’s a good job I have some engineering training. Isn’t it? Now talk. Or I’ll go get Lizzie. After you put some pants on.”
Zero blinked. “That’s low, using your mate as a threat.”
It was a viable threat. Lizzie was lovely, a genuine breath of fresh air and brightness that the entire Warborne crew had adopted immediately. But… she was relentless. If she thought there was a problem, she would not rest until she got to the bottom of it.
Within days of coming aboard, she’d cornered them all for a “getting to know you” chat. So far, T’Raal had actually been caught smiling, Red was sporting a new hair style and Skinny had learned a ditty in Terran that was so dirty it made Fin smile. Even the recalcitrant Beauty had a new plant on his bridge console.
Talent shrugged. “Whatever works. Now talk.”
“I have nightmares.” Zero hadn’t intended to admit that, but somehow, once the words started flowing, he couldn’t stop them. “It’s a memory, but I don’t remember it.”
“What do you mean you don’t remember it?” The Lathar slid into the seat opposite, his expression one of interest. “Don’t you have…” he waved toward Zero’s arm, “bits for that?”
“Bits? Is that the best you can do?” Zero barked a laugh. “Yeah, I have an onboard comp and memory storage.”
“Really?” Talent leaned forward, studying Zero’s face like he could pier
ce the skin with his eyes and see what lay beneath. “All cybernetic or do you still retain some percentage of organic brain matter?”
Zero shook his head. “Not all cybernetic, no. My cybernetics are integrated with my bio-organics, with approximately a sixty-forty split. Most memory functions are cybernetic, and that’s the problem.”
Talent shook his head, his expression blank.
“When T’Raal found me, years ago, I was damaged almost beyond repair. It took months before I could move properly and even longer before I could fight. This memory is from before then.”
“Okay…”
Zero sighed and scrubbed at the top of his head. “My memory banks were blank. Completely wiped. I remembered nothing before waking up on the Sprite. Yet this nightmare… the people in it… I know them. They’re trying to reach me, and I’m falling… I wake screaming some guy’s name. Jesh. But I don’t know who the fuck they are, or who Jesh is. And it’s driving me fucking crazy.”
❖
“I’m sorry, Ms. Archer, but I’m afraid I don’t have good news for you.”
Eris Archer only kept her expression level by dint of long practice. The doctor’s offices were not on her list of favorite places to be. She’d seen enough of them over the years. She knew better than to get her hopes up, but Doctor Reed’s expression killed any secret hope she’d been harboring deader than a dodo.
Doctor Reed was a specialist, the best in lower limb neuro-reconstruction, which was the reason she’d hired him. She’d hoped… prayed… he could help her.
“Okay, Doctor. How bad is it?” Her voice was level, which she was proud of. Silly little thing to be proud of, but there you had it. In situations like this, when her very ability to walk hinged on his answer, sometimes she had to hold on to the little things.
“We have your test results back and… well, can I be frank?”
She shrugged. “You can be whoever you like, Doc.”
Her attempt at humor fell flat, Reed’s expression not changing.
“I’m afraid the Markovian technique will not be an option.”
She nodded slowly, keeping her hands neatly folded in her lap. A veteran, she was used to being cool under fire, and her tenure as Tarantus Station Security Chief had ensured she could keep calm and professional…
Which came in real handy when all she wanted to do was scream about the unfairness of it all. She’d had so many dreams for her life, and none of them had involved being in a doctor’s office having a conversation like this. But she also hadn’t thought her military career would be over and she’d be forced to work for a second-rate outfit like Tarantus Station.
“We knew it was a long shot.” She squashed the bitter disappointment and wondered if the doctor would offer any alternatives. Without an end to her condition in sight, she couldn’t afford to pay for his services long. Not without financial help from her… yeah, she wasn’t going there. So not going there.
She didn’t glance down at her leg or the supporting brace hidden beneath her clothing. She supposed she should be grateful that exo-supports were easy to hide. None of her staff knew about her little… issue. That was the way she wanted to keep it. She didn’t want whispers behind her back or the pity when they looked at her. Which was the main reason she’d told none of them about her military service.
At least the support was nothing like the archaic scaffolding of yesteryear. It ached liked a bitch, but she ignored it. She lived with pain every day. It wasn’t getting any more attention just because of a little bad news.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Archer, but it’s a little more complicated than that.” The doctor, a small, neat little man with a dapper dress sense, regarded her steadily over the rim of his glasses. Such eyewear was unusual. Most people opted for nano-surgery to correct visual problems. Perhaps he had a condition that meant it wouldn’t work?
She dragged her attention back to his words. Words she really didn’t want to register because then she would have to…
“What do you mean it’s a little more complicated?”
There, the words were out. The ones she hadn’t wanted to voice.
The doctor’s expression shifted subtly, and her heart sank. She recognized that expression. It was the standard “soften the bad news” expression common to doctors the galaxy over. Crap.
“I’m afraid the results of your last round of tests were somewhat concerning,” he said gently. “The neuro-implant sites are beginning to deteriorate.”
She sucked a breath in, forcing herself to remain calm. They’d told her during her initial surgery the implants would last forever. They’d lied. The devices merged to her nervous system had never been produced with longevity in mind. The manufacturers had cut corners, counting on the soldiers being dead long before the implants gave out.
“Okay,” she nodded, not looking forward to another round of surgeries and mentally totting up what she had saved and how long she could afford to be in recovery. Good medical care was expensive, and she needed the best. “How long do I have? I’ll have to arrange some time off for the replacement.”
“I’m sorry to say it’s a little more serious than that, Ms. Archer,” the doctor said, his expression grave and sympathetic. “Your implant sites have already deteriorated beyond the scope of reconstructive surgery.”
She froze.
“I’m afraid once your implants fail, that will be it. You will lose the use of the limb.”
Eris didn’t catch the rest of the conversation as she left the doctor’s office. Oh, she knew he had apologized profusely and that she’d tried to ease his concerns…. Yes, she’d always known it was a long shot… the damage was too old… she was aware there was counseling available... He’d tried to soothe her, saying at least she wasn’t active service anymore because one more trip in a suit would finally paralyze her… but she hadn’t been mentally present for any of it. Her only goal was getting the hell out of there before she could break down and scream.
Finally, she was free and clear, ducking down a side corridor. Once she was alone, away from the hustle and bustle of the station corridors, she leaned against the metal wall, closing her eyes. A single tear sneaked past her clamped eyelids. She breathed deeply, forcing the frustration and panic down.
She could do this. She had to. She’d known this day would come. Ever since the first of them had developed problems in the field with their armored suits, they’d all known this day would come. The day when their implants finally stopped, and they were nothing more than cripples.
She turned, her back against the metal, and leaned her head against the wall. She’d trained so long and hard to get into the Armored Infantry. To be one of the chosen few to operate a Scorperio portable tank suit in the field. Ironic really, that something designed to give a soldier more mobility in tough terrain would be the thing to remove hers.
Hearing footsteps coming down the corridor, she swiped quickly at her eyes and pushed upright to start walking. She nodded to the maintenance officer who hurried past, toolkit in hand. He barely looked at her, obviously intent on where he was going. Not surprisingly, something was always breaking on the station.
Continuing down the corridor, she headed for her office. Regardless of her personal situation, she still had a job to do.
For as long as she could still do it…
❖
Her afternoon had turned into a complete and utter shitshow.
First, a group of loaders had gotten out of hand down in the docking bay. One of the Tarkan-four crew had clipped someone from the Serenity, the other big cargo ship currently in dock transferring shipments. The “disagreement” had turned into an all-out brawl right there in the loading bay. She’d never seen a fight with loading exos before, but they’d battered the hell out of each other in the middle of the deck.
Then, just as they’d gotten that sorted out, there had been a domestic on the westside habitation ring. It had resulted in a fatality, which had amounted to hours of paperwork, and her afternoon
plans to catch up on admin had hightailed it over the horizon. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel sorry for the guy whose corpse was rapidly cooling in the station morgue. His wife, one of the hull repair team, had caught him in bed with their neighbor. Given the wife was used to manhandling structural girders into place while out in deep space, the fact that she’d folded her cheating spouse into a human pretzel wasn’t a surprise.
She sighed as she headed toward the lift to the station crew habitation levels. Thanks to all the paperwork this afternoon, she had a shitload of work already lined up for tomorrow. Seriously, if anyone had told her how much paperwork there would be when she’d signed on as security chief for the station, she’d have run the other way. Fast.
“Hey, boss,” a voice behind her called out. She turned to find Officer Mills behind her, a broad smile on his face. As the newest member of the security team, he’d made no pretense of his interest in her, asking her out at least once a week in the two months he’d been here. She didn’t date. Not her staff, not anyone… not since her last lover had taken one look at the scars on her legs and shuddered. Oh, he’d quickly concealed the expression but not before she’d seen it. Now she could never unsee it.
So, even cute as Mills was, she’d knocked him back each time. It hadn’t dimmed his enthusiasm. She steeled herself for the expected dinner or date invitation, dragging up one of her many prepared excuses to the tip of her tongue. But rather than ask her out, he indicated the sports bag over his shoulder.
“Just heading to the gym to work out. I wondered if you fancied sparring or something?”
Okay, that was a little better than a romantic dinner. He was cute—tall, blond and handsome with a winning smile—but she didn’t date staff. That way led to issues with discipline and accusations of favoritism. But sparring… that wasn’t a date. Any other time she might have been tempted, but she was exhausted. The bone-weariness that pulled at her frame reminded her that allowing one of her staff to hand her ass to her on a plate, or worse, just face-planting on the mats wasn’t a good thing. It didn’t inspire confidence.
