by Cynthia Sax
You know why I came for you. Ace grabbed his arms and yanked, pulling him upward. The warrior slung him over his right shoulder. Shrapnel was pushed deeper into Thrasher’s body, the pain making his head spin.
It was a strange sensation, being carried. He gazed down at Ace’s perfect ass. This mode of transportation had its benefits. It was certainly faster. Their surroundings blurred around them. But he didn’t like the feeling of helplessness. It irked him that he needed assistance.
And it wouldn’t be fast enough. They wouldn’t reach the ship before the battle station was decimated.
You came for me because our female is counting on you to bring me back alive, Thrasher guessed. And you’re an honorable warrior. You wish to fulfill her request.
I am an honorable warrior. Ace turned left, away from the docking bay, not right, toward it. But that’s not the reason, genius.
The warrior ran.
Thrasher struggled to think of another reason. His processors were strained, zapped from handling his body’s pain. I give up. What’s the reason?
The ass didn’t answer. He’d make him guess. Thrasher scowled. He’d—
I came for you because I love you. Ace’s transmission was muffled.
Thrasher’s mouth dropped open. Repeat that.
His auditory system must not be working. Ace would never admit to loving him.
Are you going to shoot the humans behind us or are you sitting out this mission?
Thrasher scowled. The warrior wouldn’t distract him with that taunt. He looked upward.
Fraggin’ hole. Thrasher drew his guns. There were humans behind them.
He fired, guns in both of his hands, protecting Ace’s rear. Ace killed the beings in front of them, shooting as gleefully. They left a trail of carnage behind them.
Ace didn’t slow his pace.
Thrasher grinned. You’re with me. His last moments would be spent with Ace. They’d been manufactured in the same batch, housed in the same training compound, and now they would die together. We’re killing the enemy. That was a task they both enjoyed. If our female was here, slung over your other shoulder, this would be the perfect way to end a lifespan.
She’s not here and our lifespans aren’t ending. Ace remained in denial.
They entered a section of the battle station. It was devoid of life. There were no beings to shoot. Thrasher reluctantly put his guns away. That left him free to focus on the doubt niggling at him.
Why was Ace insisting they’d survive? Normally he was the aggravatingly constant voice of logic, applying reason and calculation to every situation. Why aren’t our lifespans ending?
If you used your processors once in a while, you’d know why, genius.
Thrasher rolled his eyes. I don’t call you ass because your name is Ace. That wasn’t how his nickname for the warrior started. I call you that because you act like an ass.
This ass is saving your life. Ace reached an intersection and turned left a second time.
Away from their ship. Thrasher reviewed the blueprint for the battle station in his processors. They were running toward the exterior of the vessel. You’re heading to an escape pod.
Ace didn’t reply.
Because he was heading there. Thrasher did the calculations. It will be close but we might make it. You have to run faster.
I’m running as fast as I can.
I’ve seen you run faster. It was his turn to push Ace.
I wasn’t carrying you then.
He was too heavy, was slowing the warrior. Thrasher gazed down at Ace’s legs. They were both in full body armor, had weapons strapped to their forms.
Thrasher pulled his shoulder armor away from his body. Pain skittered across his chest and he winced. Shrapnel had pierced the protective garment, puncturing his skin. Removing the body armor ripped the sharp shards of metal out of his flesh.
If it saved their lives, that agony would be a small price to pay. Thrasher dropped the shoulder piece. It clunked against the floor.
What are you doing? Ace asked.
I’m getting naked. Thrasher grinned, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. They were trying to escape a soon-to-be-decimated battle station and he was stripping. It will lighten your load.
That won’t save much time. Mere moments at the most.
Mere moments might make the difference between life and death. Thrasher peeled off his other shoulder armor, removing a chunk of flesh with it. Use your energy to move faster.
He used the warrior’s previous words against him.
Frag you.
Thrasher chuckled. They still might not reach an escape pod before the explosives detonated but he was no longer alone.
He was with Ace, the male he loved, the male who loved him in return.
Thrasher still couldn’t believe ass had said the words.
The battle station shuddered. Their Carys was with them also, in her own way.
Their Commander was pounding the panels off the enemy’s vessel, being the fierce female they knew and loved. Thrasher stripped off his chest piece and most of his skin.
The three of them were together.
And he’d soon be naked.
It would be a good death.
Chapter Seventeen
Carys gazed at the image of the enemy battle station on the main viewscreen, willing a ship to exit it. Return to me, Ace and Thrasher. Damn it.
It wouldn’t be long before the structure failed. Panels and other debris floated in the space around it, peeled away by the bombardment of missiles.
Her males would leave before the collapse, she told herself. They were cyborgs, fast, powerful, intelligent. They’d be monitoring the situation, would realize they had to depart.
There were two of them. Ace would look after Thrasher. Thrasher would look after Ace. She folded her hands before her. They would be safe.
Her gut said otherwise, rumbling that something was wrong, that they were taking too long. She ignored that warning. She had to. She couldn’t deal with the idea that her gut was right.
Her males had to live.
But why hadn’t they left? Had she missed their ship?
Hope flared inside her. That must be it. She’d been distracted by other duties, perhaps by a request from one of her officers and hadn’t seen them depart.
“Space Traffic.” She opened communications with him. “Has--”
On the main viewscreen, there was a near-blinding flare of light, of orange, red, yellow flames. The Humanoid Alliance battle station exploded, blasted apart in a million different pieces, the fragments pushed outward.
That wave of energy hit them. Their battle station pitched backward, upward. Carys slammed against her chair. Pain shot up her spine. She’d be sore but she’d survive.
Judging by the rubble floating in space, no one on the enemy vessel could say the same thing. Ace and Thrasher, her smart, strong, capable cyborgs, had decimated the target.
Her crew cheered, jumping up and down, their arms raised in victory. They’d defeated the enemy, had lived through another battle, might have ended the war.
Jubilation bubbled inside Carys also. But before she could celebrate, she had business to attend to. She had to confirm that none of her crew were hurt. “Damage report.”
“The damage is minor, Commander,” her first officer relayed, a big smile on his face. “No one on board was seriously injured.”
Why hadn’t Ace and Thrasher checked in? They had set those explosives. They knew when they’d detonate, would have escaped in time.
That delay in reporting back to her was another thing she’d reprimand them for…while they were alone, in their private chambers. She’d order them to kneel naked. They’d gaze up at her, their eyes darkened with lust, their cocks hard.
Her nipples tightened at the visual forming in her mind.
“Space Traffic, has the mission ship returned?” Carys stood, prepared to run to the docking bay, to greet them, touch them, feel their hands on her body
, their lips on hers.
It wasn’t dignified but she didn’t care. Her males meant more to her than the respect of her crew, more than anything in this war-torn universe.
“Commander…” Her space traffic officer’s voice faltered.
A hard knot formed in Carys’ gut. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, knew it wasn’t good, knew…oh shit. She had to know.
“Report.” Her tone was harsh.
“We lost the mission ship, Commander.”
Lost? What? Carys sat back down with a thump. “You’re certain?”
She knew the answer to that question. Her space traffic officer wouldn’t make that report unless he had verified the loss.
“I’m certain.”
They had lost the mission ship. She covered her face with her hands, hiding from the gazes of others, from that harsh reality, holding back a scream.
They had lost Ace and Thrasher. The males she loved, the only beings in this cursed universe she lived for, were dead.
“First, take the bridge.” The threat to her battle station had been eliminated and even if it hadn’t been, she didn’t care anymore. About anything. Her entire being was numb.
“Commander?” Her first officer looked at the floating rubble and then at her.
He didn’t know what to do. Carys walked away, in a grief-encased stupor. He was an intelligent being. He’d figure it out.
She didn’t know how she made it to her private chambers. She was dimly aware of happy, smiling faces, beings speaking to her, but she didn’t answer, didn’t acknowledge them. Her males were dead.
Cyborgs were difficult to kill. Ace had told her that in his rational, clipped tones.
He’d lied. She slipped into the private chambers she’d shared with them. Cyborgs could be blown up like any other being.
They could die, leaving her forever.
Like Pimmy had, her dear darling girl, her baby.
Carys staggered to the container holding her most treasured things, kneeled before it, lifted the lid. She stared at the contents.
It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing.
Two daggers, large, masculine, impeccably maintained, had been placed carefully, deliberately inside the container, one positioned on each side of her daughter’s little boots. The weapons gleamed a warning under the lights, the message unmistakable.
Even in death, they would stand guard, protecting Pimmy’s memory.
Her warriors had left her this gift, this piece of them.
Because they loved her. They’d told her that, their eyes shining with emotion, with the promise of a long loving future, the three of them, together.
Carys hadn’t answered, hadn’t told them she loved them too, and now it was too late. She’d never see them again, never touch them, never hold them.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, dripped off her chin onto the tiled floor. Carys curled her fingers around the hilts of the daggers, seeking a connection with them, with Ace and Thrasher.
The weapons were warm. They were crafted from metal. They shouldn’t be warmer than the chamber’s air temperature.
Yet they were. It defied logic, didn’t make sense.
Like a human commander loving two cyborg warriors.
It was too much, too painful. Grief welled within Carys, building, building, until she couldn’t control it, couldn’t contain it. She tilted her head back and howled, releasing her sorrow, her rage, her frustration at the unfairness of it all.
The universe had taken her baby. When she refused to love again, it had given her two wonderful, caring, brave warriors no rational female could resist, offered her promises of an undying link, a connection surpassing any human’s.
Then the universe killed them, snatched them, that love, that happiness away from her, from them. Ace and Thrasher had known such horror in their lifespans, such torment, such pain. They had deserved more, had earned it.
Thrasher with his unbounded emotion, his open, caring heart. Ace, cautious, rational, no less passionate, no less needing of love.
Gone.
She’d never see their smiles again, one wide and unrestrained, the other adorably reserved. She’d never feel their rough fingertips on her face, hear their deep voices, fall asleep in their arms, lean on them for support, for advice, for comfort.
The grief poured out of her.
Carys howled and howled until her voice was ravaged, her throat was raw and hurting. Her chest hitched with short inhalations of breath, hiccups of pure sorrow.
Her males had called her strong, but this was too much for one being to handle. Carys petted the hilts of her warriors’ blades and nuzzled against the scuffed toes of her daughter’s boots. She couldn’t deal with this, wouldn’t live through it.
Didn’t want to survive it.
Her fingers lingered on the tip of one dagger.
The war was over. If the other Rebel commanders, the other cyborgs, the Retrievers had completed their tasks, there would be very few beings left to seek vengeance upon, to punish for her loss.
She wasn’t needed, would be relieved of duty, humiliated, the battle station taken away from her. And she had no one, would never have anyone. She couldn’t risk the heartbreak, not again.
Light reflected off the sharp blade, dazzling her, tempting her. If she slid her wrists over it, it would be over quickly. She’d join her baby, her males and—
Her emergency line buzzed, the viewscreens on the walls flashing red. Irritation swept over her. Her first officer could deal with it. He was competent, capable. The enemy was defeated.
Her focus returned to the dagger but the interruption had allowed doubts to creep into her mind. If she did this, there was no turning back, no undoing it.
She looked at her wrists, looked at the blade, thought of a lifespan without love, without her males, her daughter. Would it be worth living? Wouldn’t death be a kindness?
The line buzzed a second time.
She couldn’t not answer. She remained responsible for the crew under her command. Carys stomped to the viewscreen, carrying her males’ daggers, smacked one of them against surface. “Yeah?” she croaked.
There was a pause. The being on the other end must have been shocked into silence. She never answered a communication like that.
“We’ve located an escape pod in the wreckage, Commander,” her space traffic officer informed her.
Carys’ lips flattened. One of those bastards had survived. “Bring them on board. Call Security but he’s not to touch the survivors. I’ll deal with them.”
Carys held up the daggers. She’d strip every last bit of flesh from their bodies, torture them for planet rotations before she allowed them to die, have her vengeance.
Her bloodthirsty warriors would like that.
“We performed a lifeform scan, Commander.”
Ace and Thrasher had updated that system. Carys’ heart squeezed. The update allowed them to distinguish humans from humanoids and other beings.
She gripped the daggers tighter. Another part of them remained on the battle station.
“And what were the results of that lifeform scan?” How many beings would she be torturing?
“There are two survivors.” Her space traffic officer paused. “Both are cyborg.”
“Both are…” Carys blinked, her mind spinning, unable to grasp his words. “Cyborg?”
No. It couldn’t be. But there were no other cyborgs on board the enemy battle station.
“They are K Model cyborgs, Commander.”
K Models. Her heart leapt. That could only mean…
Ace and Thrasher, her resilient, clever, wonderful males were alive. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” She dropped the daggers and rushed out of the chambers.
The corridors were frustratingly crowded. Her crew members were celebrating their victory, rejoicing living through another battle, perhaps the last one they’d have to fight.
She didn’t have the time or patience to deal with them. �
��Move!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, pushing her way through the throngs of beings.
Her order echoed down the narrow space. Beings stepped aside, clearing a path for her. Carys sprinted forward, moving faster than she had in solar cycles, since that planet rotation the Humanoid Alliance had attacked her planet.
Because her warriors lived, the males she loved. They had returned to her.
Heads turned as she entered the docking bay. Her space traffic officer and a dozen members of his crew stood at the far side of the space. A small escape pod was being lowered to the floor. It was battered, dented. A long groove was dug into one side.
“Is it compromised?” She leaned over one portal, trying to peer inside the escape pod, unable to. The clear substance had been scratched beyond visibility.
“It doesn’t appear to be compromised, Commander.” Her space traffic officer waved at a male with a rescue tool, indicating he should use it. “They’re designed to withstand almost anything.”
They were alive. The lifeform scanning had communicated that. Carys breathed in, counted to five, breathed out, forcing herself to wait, to be patient.
The male found a leverage point and inserted the tool. She glowered at him. Why was he operating the device so slowly?
More crew members assisted him. They pried the lid off the escape pod. Air whooshed out, the whistle of depressurization reassuring Carys. The structure hadn’t been compromised. Her two males had oxygen during their brief stint in space.
Three of the crew members climbed to the top of the escape pod and looked inside the opening. Their faces paled and their eyes widened.
The largest male, a big brute of a warrior, turned his head, gazing away from whatever he’d seen. He covered his mouth with his hands, his cheeks puffing out, as though he was trying not to vomit.
What was wrong? What could cause that extreme reaction?
“Step aside.” Carys barreled between the waiting males, not waiting for their compliance. She scurried up the side of the escape pod, her arm and leg muscles straining with the effort, and she peered into the escape pod.
She saw a bloody, gouged, partially metallic, grinning face. Her stomach heaved. That face belonged to Thrasher. She’d recognized those deep blue eyes anywhere. They were both thankfully intact.
