by Cynthia Sax
Once she was claimed fully, she’d host their nanocybotics. Other males, including Power, would find kissing her, touching her, breeding with her distasteful.
She’ll kick our ass for holding back information. Ace didn’t relish betraying her.
She’ll kick our ass. Then she’ll forgive us and we’ll breed again. Thrasher was undaunted. She’ll be ours.
Don’t tell her that. She’s a being, not a possession. The reminder of her feistiness made Ace grin.
Thrasher chuckled through their transmission lines.
* * *
Planet rotations later, Ace and Thrasher weren’t laughing. There was nothing amusing about their current situation.
They were sharing a ship with the one cyborg they trusted less than Power.
Crash had been the warrior who had hunted down Death. He had held the swords, prepared to execute the rebellious male, acting on the cyborg council’s orders.
The E Model and his female had volunteered to accompany them, arguing that the female had clearance for the battle station, that the crew knew her, wouldn’t question her unscheduled visit. They’d drop Ace and Thrasher off. There wouldn’t be an extra ship in the docking bay.
It had been the logical decision but Ace hadn’t liked it.
From his seat along the back wall of the tiny bridge, he kept his gaze on Crash, on Crash’s female, watching for any signs they’d betray him, betray Thrasher.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop glaring at my fuckin’ male.” Crash’s female didn’t take her hands off the control panel or her gaze off the main viewscreen. “He didn’t want to kill anyone. He was following those assholes’ orders.”
“He could have refused.” Thrasher curled his top lip at Crash.
“That’s what I told him.” The E Model’s female shook her head, her short bright orange hair sticking straight up. “But no, you warriors are programmed to obey.”
They implied my female would be in danger if I didn’t comply, Crash transmitted. I’d do anything to protect her.
Ace glanced at Thrasher, that logic resonating with him. They’d do anything to protect their female also. Does your female know that?
Are you and every other warrior hunting us right now? Crash snorted though the lines. My Safyre would never allow the council to control me through her. The planet rotation she discovers that truth, we’ll leave cyborg-controlled space and vanish. You’ll never see us again.
What he was referring to was rebellion. The cyborg council would hunt them down, execute Crash, and imprison his female.
Why would you trust us with that information? Thrasher asked.
The trust has to start somewhere. Crash shrugged. And if you successfully complete your mission, the cyborg council will no longer deem it necessary to threaten my female. They’re restricting our movements to keep our brethren safe. Once those warriors are liberated, we’ll truly be free.
We will be successful. They wouldn’t fail their brethren.
“They’re all a bunch of assholes but Power is their Ruler.” Crash’s spirited female vented, oblivious to their private conversation. “This one time, you have permission to leave the Homeland.” She mimicked Power’s curt tones. “Fuck you.” She slapped one of her palms against the console before her. “We have a ship, you bastard. You can’t ground us.”
Does your female know the consequences of rebelling? Ace couldn’t imagine putting their Carys in peril like that.
Being grounded is a fate worse than death for my female. Crash lifted his chin. I won’t allow anyone to clip her wings, not while there’s breath in my body.
You’d die for her right to fly? Thrasher sounded as incredulous as Ace felt.
If I had to, yes, I’d die for her right to fly. It’s part of who she is. Crash gazed at the fuming female, his black eyes shining with pride, with love.
Being in command, in control, is part of who our female is. Thrasher relayed to Ace via their private line, excluding Crash from the conversation.
We must accept that. Her subordinates would always require part of her time and she’d continue to put her lifespan at risk. We’ll protect her.
And they’d support her, as Crash supported his Safyre.
The E Model stood, nodded. “Warriors.”
He approached his female, drifted his fingers over her shoulders. She grinned at him, cursing him out good-naturedly. The male claimed the chair beside her and helped her pilot the ship.
Ace missed physical contact. He looked at Thrasher. The male was looking at him also. He raised one eyebrow in silent inquiry.
Ace shook his head. The fewer beings entrusted with their secret, the safer they’d be.
And soon they’d have the privacy they needed. The battle station, home to their Carys, loomed on the main viewscreen.
“Captain Safyre of the merchant ship Mesh requesting permission to dock.” Crash’s female communicated with the battle station personnel.
“Voice verified.” A male responded. “Along with the visual.” He chuckled. “Rumors said you didn’t survive the last mission, Captain Safyre, but those rumors are clearly wrong.”
“You always were a clever one, Dan.” Her tone was dry.
The male chuckled. “I see you installed new panels on that mess of a ship of yours too. What happened? Did you finally crash it?”
“Fuck you.” Crash’s female scowled. “I’m the best pilot in the universe. I don’t crash ships, not unless I want to crash them.”
“You claim you operate solo also.” The male teased. “Yet the lifeform scan says you have three other beings on board.”
“Your lifeform scanner is bovine shit. It’s just me and the containers.” Cyborgs might not be able to lie, but their human females certainly could. “Are we going to exchange pleasantries all fuckin’ planet rotation, Dan, or are you going to let me dock?”
The male laughed again, clearly enjoying Crash’s female’s tough talk. “It’s good to have you home, Captain Safyre. You have permission to dock.”
The male ended communications.
We’re upgrading the battle station’s security. Thrasher expressed his disgust with the lax measures, a disgust Ace shared. Their female was on board the vessel. They had to protect her.
While Crash assisted his female, guiding their ship into the battle station, Ace hacked into that vessel’s main systems. They were ancient, barely functional. These require upgrading also.
Our female needs us. Thrasher’s tone was smug. She doesn’t know it yet but she does.
They worked together. Mere moments were all they required to take the security systems offline, replacing live footage with static images, giving them access to every area of the battle station. They were cyborgs. Systems were their strength.
But it was too simple for Ace’s comfort. With Thrasher’s assistance, he’d overhaul everything, ensure no one else accessed their female’s systems.
“Give me your face.” Ace grasped a small container of black pigment.
Thrasher leaned forward. Ace dipped one of his fingers into the container and dragged it across the male’s right cheek, covering his model number. He did the same with the other cheek, savoring the contact, the connection with the male’s skin.
It was safe, platonic, logical. He could accomplish the task more efficiently than Thrasher could. No warrior would argue against that action.
“There.” Ace admired his handiwork. “You now look as savage as you act.”
“What you call savage, I call passionate.” Thrasher grinned, taking the container from him. “And you’ll soon look as passionate as I do.”
He drifted his right index finger over Ace’s cheeks, his marking slow and sensuous. The pigment was cool. His skin was warm. The combination enthralled Ace.
Thrasher’s blue eyes glittered. The male knew what he was doing to him.
You’re a bastard, Ace transmitted over the line he shared with Thrasher alone, irked to be responding to him.
Th
rasher’s gaze dropped to his lips. He leaned forward.
Ace froze, torn between excitement and panic. Not here and not now.
Thrasher glanced at Crash and his female. Not now. He pulled away and disappointment clenched Ace’s stomach. But soon.
He set the container on the console, the click punctuating his declaration of intent.
They had never kissed, had never progressed past quick fervent touches, or long, heated glances. Our female might not understand. She might judge them as others did. We have her. We don’t need anything else.
Don’t we? The engines quieted and Thrasher stood. Aren’t you tired of hiding?
Of course he was. But the alternative might result in death.
There had been another malfunctioning couple in their batch, two warriors with the same type of bond. The Humanoid Alliance trainers had seen them touching, kissing, expressing their caring.
The males had been sentenced to death, decommissioned at different times. One of the males was forced to watch the other being sliced and diced, his mechanics removed piece by piece.
It was so traumatic the male couldn’t close his transmission lines. He had broadcast the sights, sounds, emotions.
Every cyborg had witnessed the horror.
Ace wouldn’t survive if Thrasher were harmed. He rose to his booted feet. Hiding has allowed us to live this long.
Is this living?
Concentrate on the mission. Ace attempted to focus the warrior on the task before them. They had to reach their female’s chambers undetected.
Ah, yes, the mission. Thrasher drew his guns. I’m shooting at least one being during it.
Put the setting on stun, Ace advised. These beings are our female’s crew.
If they’re male—
She still won’t appreciate us killing them. Ace scanned the area around the ship. It was devoid of life. Crash. He switched transmission lines. Once we leave, depart.
My female is ready. She hasn’t lifted her hands from the controls. The warrior’s black eyes gleamed. Liberate our brethren. Keep my female safe.
We will complete our mission, Ace vowed.
“Males.” Crash’s female looked over her shoulder, her gaze locking with Ace’s. “This commander granted me and the beings I love… or loved… sanctuary.” Sorrow reflected in her brown eyes. Crash’s female had lost beings also. “She gave us a place to stay when we needed it the most. Hurt her and I’ll kick your ass.”
Crash’s little human female dared to threaten two much larger cyborg warriors, seeking to protect their Carys. Pride warmed Ace’s chest. Their Commander had earned the loyalty of that fierce being. Their female was strong, worthy.
“We would never damage her.” Ace spoke from his heart.
“You’d better fuckin’ not.” Crash’s female’s head dipped, her orange hair waving like a banner.
Their Carys was theirs to safeguard. No being would ever damage her.
Ace glanced at Thrasher. Are you ready to claim our female?
Frag yeah. The male, as impetuous as always, stormed out of the ship, down the ramp, guns in both of his hands.
Ace removed two guns from his hip holsters and followed him, more cautious but no less eager to see their female.
Chapter Three
Carys’ gut, instinct, subconscious, whatever one called it, had helped her become one of the best battle station commanders in the Rebels’ ranks. Right now, it was telling her something was terribly wrong.
The last time that happened, twenty-two planet rotations ago, the Humanoid Alliance launched a universe-wide stealth attack on her and her fellow Rebels. She’d lost many valuable crewmembers and ships in mere moments of fighting, but not as many as the other battle stations had lost.
Because she had listened to her gut.
That was why, when her space traffic officer told her there was a ship in their docking bay, a ship that shouldn’t be there, a ship that shouldn’t exist all, she’d immediately placed the battle station on high alert and notified her security officer.
Only to find out her space traffic officer was having exhaustion-fueled hallucinations.
“Captain Safyre’s ship was right there.” The furry blue Ungarian male gestured to the empty space in the docking bay. “I verified its existence with my own eyes.”
Those eyes were rimmed with circles, evidence of missed rest cycles.
Carys knew firsthand what a lack of sleep could do to a normally keen brain.
“Captain Safyre has been missing in action for over half a solar cycle.” It was a struggle to keep her tone level and her face expressionless.
Safyre had been a vivid personality, one of their best pilots, and her loss had affected everyone on board, including Carys. She’d grieved privately for planet rotations, feeling the colorful female’s absence.
Now, rumors of a ‘ghost ship’ would spread across the battle station, distracting Carys’ crew, a crew who should be watching for other danger.
Her gut was rarely wrong. If this wasn’t the crisis, something else was.
“I didn’t imagine her ship.” Her space traffic officer insisted. “I’m not crazy.”
Her security officer huffed behind her, expressing his opinion without words. She’d wasted his time. He should be overseeing his personnel, ensuring they were prepared for the real emergency.
“Return to your other duties, Officer.” Carys dismissed him. “Remain on high alert.”
“Yes, Commander.” The male saluted, turned, walked away.
“I can prove the ship was here.” The space traffic officer was in motion also, rushing toward the small chamber dividing the docking bay from the rest of the battle station. “It’ll appear on the footage.”
It would appear if the monitoring devices were working properly. Carys followed him. During the last attack on the docking bay, the footage had shown nothing.
She hid her impatience, as he scanned through the feed.
She seemed to be waiting for everything lately—proof of the ship’s existence, indications of what the next crisis might be, orders from the Rebel Assembly, the return of her dream lovers.
Carys had experienced faded versions of her initial erotic fantasy. None of those dreams were as stimulating, as satisfying as the original.
That was sexually frustrating. The bubbling inside her, however, was disturbing. It hadn’t dissipated and that concerned her.
She couldn’t become ill.
Carys had to be in top form. The Rebel Assembly would soon order the next strike.
She had crafted a detailed plan for them, proposing action, stressing that now was the time to advance. The Retrievers were hunting down and executing high-ranking Humanoid Alliance officers. The enemy was confused and leaderless.
They should attack the Humanoid Alliance before they recovered.
“I don’t understand it.” Her space traffic officer turned to her. “The ship doesn’t appear on any footage. The communication with the docking bay personnel is missing also.”
Of course, there was no proof of his ghost ship. “How long has it been since you had a rest cycle, Officer?”
“Three shifts, Commander, but--”
“Once we’re off high alert, take one.” Everyone was overly tired and under tremendous stress, having seen multiple battles, not knowing if they’d live to witness another planet rotation.
Her space traffic officer was newly bonded to her communications officer. She’d officiated at that happy occasion five solar cycles ago. He was even more concerned about security than the others, trying to keep the male he loved safe.
She had no such distractions. That should make her happy.
It didn’t. She felt empty, lonely, and it was her own imagination’s fault. The two dream males had been too real, too perfect.
“The ship was here.” Her space traffic officer waved his blue furry hands, insisting he was right. “I’ll speak with the other personnel. They’ll verify it was.”
“Th
ere will be no speaking to the other personnel.” They had wasted enough resources on his claim. “Did you receive the communications regarding the increase of our fleet?”
She was preparing for the orders to attack, recalling some of the ships. They’d need every berth available.
“Yes, Commander.” He nodded.
“That is your priority. I’m counting on you to make the recall as seamless as possible.” She turned and walked away before she said something she’d regret.
Because the bad feeling in her gut hadn’t vanished.
She stalked along the corridors. Crewmembers straightened as she approached. Lines were etched around their lips, between their eyebrows. They waited as she did for impending danger, looked to her for any indication it was coming.
Her overly eager first officer had the bridge, reveling in her temporary command. The females and males stationed there would look for the obvious signs of attack.
It was Carys’ responsibility to search for the subtle clues.
That was best done in private. She stopped at her chambers, accessed the control panel and strode through the doors.
The two warriors from her dream stood in the space. They were naked, their muscular forms golden, hairless, large all over, and erect.
“Oh shit.” The female in her was thrilled to see them, her body humming with awareness, her nipples growing taut. The commander in her was not. “How in the stars did I fall asleep?” Had she been that exhausted?
“You’re not asleep, Commander.” The brown-eyed warrior, Ace, moved toward her, his tread soundless, smooth, his cock bobbing up and down. “We’re here.”
“We’ve returned to you.” Thrasher, the blue-eyed male, walked with the same predatory gait, his cock as hard. “As we vowed.”
“No. No. No.” Carys drew a dagger from her boot. “I can’t do this right now.” As much as she wanted to. “I have a battle station to protect.”
She had to wake up. Carys placed the dagger on her palm and closed her fingers around the blade. Pain coursed through her, sharp, swift, intense, and she sucked in her breath.
It felt real, too real.
“Stop.” Thrasher roared, surging forward, his body blurring. “Foolish female.” He pried her hand open. Two deep lines of crimson marked her palm. “You’re damaging yourself.”
