by Cynthia Sax
Rage didn’t care who saw his bare ass.
He watched his female’s curves jiggle as she hurried to the far wall. She pressed the panel. It opened to reveal his armor and weapons.
“The body armor first, little engineer.” His instructions were unnecessary. She was already been reaching for it. But he liked telling her what to do.
She liked it also, her tantalizing musky scent strengthening. He aroused her. Everything else might be a lie but her physical reaction to him, to his voice, his touch, was real. He didn’t know how to process it, had never had a female desire him.
“You can do this, Joan.” The pep talk the female gave herself entertained Rage. “You’ve carried similar sets.” She huffed and puffed yet managed to convey the heavy armor to him, her cheeks flushing with her efforts.
His female then vigorously rubbed the armor with her palms. He stepped forward, raised his arms and waited. She continued to chafe the black surface.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“The armor is cold, sir.” She gazed at him. “I’m warming it for you.”
She was warming it for him. Rage stared at her. No other handler had worried about the temperature of his armor.
“Give it to me.” He yanked it from her hands and lifted it over his head. The suit clicked into place, expanded, covering his torso, back, groin, ass. “Arm coverings next.”
She ran to the wall panel, selected them, and rushed back to him, her responsiveness to his orders gratifying. He held out his arms, allowing her to fasten them.
“Did you dress your C345925?” Where did that question come from? He didn’t care about her past.
“No, sir.” She retrieved his leg coverings. “C345925 was in full battle gear when he saved me.” She bent to attach them, sticking her plump ass in the air.
A cyborg saved his little engineer. That was her story, her attempt to win his sympathy. He grunted, watching her skeptically, his eyelids partially lowered.
His female suited him up quickly, efficiently, telling him about her imaginary rescue. She’d been eleven solar cycles when it happened, young for a human female. The cyborg’s orders had been to fight the Mantidae.
That, alone, exposed her lie. A cyborg would never abandon a mission, not unless he wished to be decommissioned. Every action while on deployment was monitored and any deviation was viewed by the humans as a malfunction. Saving her would have meant C345925’s death.
There was a way to hack the monitoring but that had taken Crash four solar cycles to accomplish. Rage doubted her cyborg had his friend’s advanced knowledge.
“Sir, did you… ummm…” The female chewed on her bottom lip. “Ever meet C345925?”
“There were hundreds of thousands of C models,” he said, unable to hold back his sarcastic tone. “We don’t all know each other.” And she would count on that possibility. He couldn’t refute her story.
“Oh.” She was a good little liar, his female, her disappointment appearing genuine. “Should I bring you your weapons now, sir?”
“Never touch a warrior’s weapons.” He strode to the wall panel and filled sheaths with daggers, strapped guns to his back, slung long guns over his shoulders. Any one of these could end his little engineer’s life, yet she fussed over him, straightening straps and brushing off his armor.
She wasn’t fearless. He smelled the terror radiating from her lush body. But she pushed past her fright and that earned his admiration.
He enjoyed her touch, too much for his comfort. Rage gazed down at her full breasts, his fingers twitching to cup them. They’d be soft, warm, heavy, in his hands.
He wrangled his desire under control. She was a disposable being, destined to die, and a deceitful human, planning to harm him. He couldn’t forget that.
“Dress.” His voice was gruff.
“Yes, sir.” She scrambled for her cyborg-gray flight suit, pulling the dirty garment over her white skin, covering her pert nipples. As she fastened the suit, fabric pulled tightly over her breasts and hips, accentuating her curves. “Am I presentable, sir?” She ran her hands over her out-of-control brown curls, her hair defying the artificial gravity of the battle station.
“No,” he answered truthfully. “You’re a mess.” Her suit was stained, her hair crazy. “In the future, you’ll keep clothing in my chambers.”
“Yes, sir.” Her round face turned as pink as her nipples.
Rage sensed a human’s presence outside the chambers. The battle station buzzed with an energy shield, limiting his monitoring of his surroundings and prohibiting any communication with his fellow cyborgs, but he could survey the hallway with his pulses.
“It’s time, little engineer.”
“Oh.” She straightened, her scent communicating excitement mixed with trepidation. “I’ll go first.” She pressed her palm to the panel and the interior door slid open. The humans thought this measure stopped cyborgs from escaping. They didn’t realize the palm didn’t have to be attached to a living being.
Rage followed her into the buffer area between the two doors.
Boyd, the weak wanna-be warrior, already stood there, heavily armed, the male not as brave as Rage’s female. He lifted his eyebrows when he saw them. “You survived, Cadet Tits.” His gaze dropped to her bloodstained knees. “I see how. You spent the shift servicing a cyborg.” He smirked.
The female’s blush deepened to a fiery crimson. “My name is Cadet Tull.”
Although it would save her pride, she didn’t lie, didn’t deny servicing him. She was claiming him. Pride warmed Rage’s chest.
“Maybe, after this deployment, you and I could come to an agreement.” Boyd leered at her.
She placed her palm on the sensor. The exterior door slid open and she stepped into the hallway. “My duty is to C899321, not to you.” His little female strutted along the hallway with the dignity of a Commander, her head held high, her back straight.
Entertained by her antics, Rage trailed her, his tread silent, his stride slowed to match hers.
“If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.” Boyd jabbed the muzzle of his long gun into Rage’s back, the armor dulling the impact. “It might extend your life expectancy… by a few planet rotations.” He snickered.
He expected her to die. Rage frowned. Boyd was too dumb to lie well.
“I’ll take my chances.” She accessed another control panel. Boyd did the same, two authorizations required for the hallway doors leading to the docking bay. Again, all that was needed were their palms. Foolish humans. “Thank you very much.”
She had no respect for the human male. Rage sniffed the air. And no attraction. That pleased him. He didn’t want another’s scent on her skin.
They walked through secured door after secured door. Rage monitored the hallway in front of and behind him, surveying the space for threats with his energy pulses, while keeping his gaze on the swaying ass of his female.
The closer he moved to the docking bay, the more of the hallway he could sense. As they passed through the final door, Crash and Gap connected with him.
They rewarded you with a female for killing your handler? Crash was the first to comment, using frequencies only cyborgs could access.
Fraggin’ hole. I should have killed mine. Gap, the youngest, blathered.
You wouldn’t know what to do with a female, Crash countered. Neither of them had been in breeding programs. They bemoaned that lack. Rage considered them fortunate.
She’s my handler. He attempted to shut down their breeding talk. That she’s female will make her easier to kill.
It was waste of energy. I didn’t know human females came in that size. Gap was irritatingly open with his admiration.
She’s built for a cyborg. Crash was as enamored with her.
But she’d be soft since she’s a human.
Her flight suit is the color of our skin.
Rage ignored their comments, listening instead to the chatter amongst the human handlers. There was shock
, surprise, speculation.
The female wasn’t supposed to survive. Commander Lewis would be angry. She must be fucking the cyborg. A female who’d fuck a machine would fuck anyone. Better get a piece of that ass before the cyborg kills her.
Rage didn’t understand this new development, having never seen human handlers turn on their own kind. Was this a trick to earn his sympathy? It involved too many beings for this to be probable. He closed some of the gap between him and his female.
A trickle of sweat dripped down her neck. She was aware of the looks, of the talk.
“You will limit your exposure to the human males,” he ordered, lowering his voice for her hearing only.
“Yes, sir.”
Her reply was repeated with wonder by the cyborgs. Respect from a handler was rare and never vocalized in public.
What did you do to your human? Awe wrapped around Gap’s transmission. She listens to you.
The two cyborgs waited next to their ship, their handlers and guards beside them. They were newer models, E and G, smaller in size, with human features. Crash’s eyes were a matte black, the result of an earlier unsuccessful attempt to mimic human eyes. The designers had succeeded with Gap, his eyes pale gray.
Some human females might have found the youngest cyborg sexually appealing.
Not his female. Rage didn’t sense any arousal from her.
She more than listens to you. Crash’s nostrils flared. Your scent is all over her, big guy.
You lucky bag of bolts. Gap perused the female a little too thoroughly, his eyes glowing.
A low growl escaped Rage’s lips before he could suppress it.
His friends inhaled sharply, expecting retaliation from the humans. Any sign of emotion was cause for decommissioning.
His female turned. Rage placed his hands on his weapons, preparing to defend himself, to kill as many humans as he could before they killed him.
She ignored him, glaring up at Boyd instead. “Did you touch him?” She demanded, her eyes sparking with gold. “Because if you did, I’ll report you. No one touches him except me.
“We all know how you touch it.” The human male sniggered. “Did you enjoying sucking that dim-witted machine’s—”
“Don’t call him that.” Rage’s little engineer took a step forward. “He’s more intelligent than you are.”
She was defending a cyborg to a human. His brethren chattered, expressing their astonishment through their private transmission lines. Rage didn’t know how to process her actions.
“It’s a machine.” Boyd took a step forward also. “A weapon to be used. One word to the Commander and he’ll be spare parts, decom—”
The little engineer slammed the heel of her hand against the male’s nose. Boyd howled. Blood spurted from his nostrils.
Rage stared at her with admiration. The female could fight.
Against a human. A cyborg could defeat her with one blow.
“Don’t ever threaten to harm my cyborg again.” The female bounced on the balls of her feet, her fingers folded into fists, ready to punch the male again. “He’s risking his life every deployment to save humans. You will respect him.”
I think I’m in love. Crash, the idiot, blathered.
I came in my armor. Gap added to the foolishness.
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, cyborg slut.” Boyd held his bleeding nose.
“If I do, everyone will know who’s responsible.” She proved her cleverness yet again. “They heard what you said. I should—”
“It is time for deployment,” Rage droned, all emotion erased from his voice. Any delay in deployment would bring his ship under more scrutiny, making their escape more difficult.
His female bowed her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I allowed him to distract me.”
He held out his wrists, not saying anything. She pressed the release buttons, giving him permission to leave the battle station and board his ship. It was an unnecessary step as Crash had already modified the failsafe, but the humans weren’t aware of that, not yet.
“Be careful, sir,” she whispered, placing her palms on his chest.
Be careful, sir. Cyborgs mocked him.
Don’t damage that ugly C model mug of yours.
Keep your cock in one piece.
Irritated by their comments, Rage turned on his booted heels, knocking his female away from him as he moved. She gasped yet didn’t protest his brutish treatment.
This, for some reason, increased his anger.
And the taunting.
Be rough with me, sir.
You know I like it like that.
You’re such an animal.
Frag off. He’d never hear the end of this. Rage grunted and stomped up the ramp. He should have killed his little engineer as the humans expected.
* * *
Midway into the deployment, Rage was in a better mood. Fighting always calmed him. He rolled on the ash-covered ground, shooting Mantidae left and right, his muscles aching, his arms humming with the recoil of his guns.
The insects were massive, requiring multiple shots to down them, and fast, requiring all of his cyborg speed. But they weren’t overly intelligent, their brains muddled by the need to reach their breeding planets and reproduce.
Rage, for the first time in his lifespan, knew how they felt, his cock aching for a certain engineer’s warm, wet pussy. He doubted she’d ever had a C model cyborg. There were few of his kind left. She’d fit tightly around him.
A projectile skimmed his arm, slicing through his armor. Fraggin’ hole. He blasted the Mantidae in the eyeball, exploding its skull. He had to keep his head in the game.
He cleared the last intruder from his portion of planet and then helped Gap, the youngest, protect his territory. The kid grumbled about doing it himself. Rage ignored him, not commenting when the cyborg mimicked his attacks.
He had been a young cyborg once, learning from the A and B models. That was something the humans didn’t understand. They tended to group the young cyborgs with their own models, not allowing the transfer of knowledge.
The last Mantidae fell and they strode back to their camp. Crash waited there. They’d cleared his territory first, allowing him more time to work on the human’s systems.
“You’re mellow today, Rage.” He grinned. “I wonder why.”
“Frag off.” Truthfully, he did feel more relaxed, almost happy. He rolled his shoulders, joints cracking.
“Sounds like you need another round of breeding.” The E model cyborg waved a handheld over their napes, pausing the recording mechanism. “Providing your handler’s still alive when we return.”
“I don’t care.” Rage hid his concerns under nonchalance. He didn’t like the thought of another being touching his female. “If they kill her, it’ll save me the trouble. They all have to die.” He lowered his ass to a rock.
“Yes, they do.” Gap gingerly claimed a makeshift seat beside him. He’d been favoring his backside all day.
Rage knew what that meant and it angered him. He could take the human’s torture but Gap was a young cyborg. He hadn’t yet built up the emotional defenses. “We’ll kill them quickly. Show them mercy they didn’t show us.” That would also speed their escape.
“Your female doesn’t act like the others.” Gap sorted through the supplies and weapons they’d retrieved from the dead Mantidae.
“She’s exactly like the others.” Rage had to stop that thinking immediately. “Human females are more cunning and deceitful than males.” He removed his armor. “They’re also crueler.”
“What’s her plan?” Crash sliced open Rage’s wrists.
Pain shot up his arms. “Don’t know.” He gritted his teeth as his friend poked into his mechanics. “Whatever it is, she won’t be successful.”
“The other handlers hate her.” Crash extracted a tracking device with his grippers. “I’ve never witnessed anything like that. Dislike, yes, but the males wish to kill her.”
“Many wish to breed wit
h her first,” Gap added.
“Or after.” Crash located the tracking device in Rage’s other wrist. “Whether she agrees to the breeding or not. They are sick beings, the humans.” He examined the tiny pieces of engineering, his forehead furrowing in thought. “This is complicated. I could take it apart, risk activating it.”’
“Sending the humans after us,” Rage rumbled.
“Or we could simply remove them before escaping.”
“And risk detection.” Neither alternative was good. “We could tape the sensors to our skin and kill the handlers before they remove our armor.”
“That could work.” Crash nodded. “I’ll tell the others.”
“Do we have to wait for repositioning?” Gap wiggled.
Rage understood his impatience. He wished he could kill the young cyborg’s handler now also. “We need a reason to load the Mantidae weapons and our other supplies on our ships. The lazy humans will assume the extra items are the remnants of our camps.”
“Repositioning is also chaotic.” Crash reinserted the tracking devices into Rage’s wrists. “They’ll be focused on external, not internal threats.”
Every cyborg would be on board the station, giving them the strength of numbers, and their handlers would be distracted. Not having an immediate deployment to prepare for, they would use that excuse to relax, drink too much, carouse.
Would his female allow herself to be touched, fondled?
Rage would kill her before that happened.
The wounds over his wrists healed, leaving strips of paler skin. His clever female would notice that, as she’d noticed the wounds on his groin. He’d ask Crash to cut his wrists every deployment so she didn’t suspect their intentions.
It would be painful, but that was life—pain and betrayal.
Soon, it would be freedom.
“Green wants to know if he can take Windy with us.” Crash cleaned his grippers. “I told him his plant would take up space and require resources. He said he’d rather stay on the battle station than leave her behind.”
“It’s his ship. He can do what he likes.” Rage didn’t care.
