Trapped with the Cyborg

by Cara Bristol

  “Of course,” he replied drily. “Doesn’t the woman’s father negotiate that? I’m not old enough to be your father.”

  No, he wasn’t. She guessed he was close to her age. So, thirty, maybe? Thirty-two? “Our father is dead,” she related the cover story she’d established. “As the oldest brother, you’re the head of the family.”

  “Your brother.” So much meaning in his tone. She didn’t need to be a cyborg to see the wheels cranking in his head. The irony.

  Why couldn’t he have been some random stranger like she’d assumed? Why hadn’t she used the services of one of the androids? No, one of those hadn’t been good enough. She had to pick up a human—and brag about it for criminy’s sake! Why had she thought attempting to behave like “one of the guys” was a good idea?

  Bad move, Mansfield. Bad move.

  Although female cyberoperatives were a rarity, her “fellow” cyborgs—the ones she’d met anyway—had treated her as one of the team. Mostly. They had dubbed her “Manny” and were as likely to slap her on the back as pull out her chair. Yet an impenetrable barrier of reserve still existed. They respected her, they liked her, but she didn’t belong to their inner circle of brotherhood, and that bond counted for everything—it could mean the difference between life and death.

  So she’d tried a new tactic—acting like one of the guys by adopting a blasé attitude about sex—only to be caught with her pants down. Hell, all her clothes had come off. She’d had sex with her partner. Not a good way to get him to forget she was a woman. A poorer way to earn his respect. She wanted to thump her head on the dining table. Could she have fucked up any more?

  “I guess that will work,” he said.

  Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.

  “Sexy bastard,” she’d called him, bragging about a potential sexual conquest, not realizing she was boasting to the targeted sexual conquest. Would he remember? Of course he would. Cyborgs had perfect recall. Now he knew she had the hots for him. Of course, she’d never act on it again, but the information would be out there—in addition to her humiliating flight from his room. He might be an ass, but he’d given her the best sex of her entire life—and then she’d fled like a frightened, deflowered virgin. If she’d had to sleep with him, couldn’t she at least have been cool about it?

  “You can do better.” His joke had hit her hard and wrong, striking at an insecurity she’d thought she’d conquered. She threw back her shoulders. I will not be defined by doubt. I will defeat insecurity. I will succeed at this mission.

  She rubbed her eyes. Thank science for nanos. Without the robotic cells to boost her energy, she’d barely be able to function after the sleepless night. Her human brain had refused to shut off, replaying the sexual encounter: the good, the bad, and the ignominious. Holy crap he’d been good in the sack. Good against the wall. The man could fuck like nobody’s business. Then came the discomfiting cuddling followed by the self-inflicted humiliation.

  Of course, after she’d bragged about her conquest the previous night, “Samson” had expected details. She’d learned from her mistake and downplayed the episode to squelch his curiosity. Thank whatever ounce of common sense she possessed she’d opted for reticence and not embellishment this morning. What if she had regaled “Samson” with details? What a great lay! The man fucked like a stallion. And then they had met. She cringed. I guess it could be worse.

  Still, working alongside him would be uncomfortable. Lesson learned: don’t pick up men in bars and for goodness sake, don’t boast about it if you do. The only recourse was to proceed with the operation and treat him like any other cyberoperative. She would make it work because, for Amanda Mansfield, failure was not an option.

  “It will work,” she replied. “This is Cy-Ops’s best chance to locate Lamani.”

  She pushed away her uneaten breakfast. “When you’re done, we’ll leave. A two-person shuttle pod is waiting for us in the hangar. Once we’re underway, we’ll be given coordinates to rendezvous with an Odgidian transport craft.”

  “One of Homme’s?”

  She nodded. “Carter didn’t say, but I assume so. Only Dale Homme would have the connections to get his hands on a Lamis-Odg spaceship.” The cyborg had left Cy-Ops for a few years to operate a clandestine spacecraft remanufacturing plant. But, once a cyberoperative, always a cyberoperative. He’d reupped and now assisted Cy-Ops with transportation and vehicle acquisition. The man’s connections were legendary, second only to Carter’s.

  “If we get caught, Lamani will burrow further underground, and it will set back anti-terrorism for years—and we’ll be executed,” he said.

  “We won’t get caught. When you have only one shot, you do it right, and you don’t fuck it up,” she said.

  Chapter Four

  Seated at the shuttle command console, Sonny spun around as Amanda stepped onto the bridge. A heavy, reddened ridge ran across her forehead and down her temples, thickening her brow and pulling her eyes deeper into their sockets. A floor-dusting robe replaced the utilitarian tunic and trousers.

  “Am I ugly enough to pass?” she asked.

  Though ethnically insensitive to say so, the Lamis-Odg people with their harsh, rough features were not noted for their beauty. Amanda would never be unattractive to him, though it would be helpful if she were. “Yes,” he said.

  Her eyes, now tinted brown, showed no emotion, but the ridge pulsed. “Good.”

  She would pass muster as a Lamis-Odg female, but the facial forms couldn’t disguise her natural prettiness. Blonde hair had vanished, but the brunette locks tumbling over her shoulders were thick and glossy. With golden hair, she’d resembled the archetypal girl next door—if said girl happened to be a knock-out bombshell. With a dark mane, she appeared exotic, more sensual, if that were possible.

  Keep the situation mission-focused. “Pigment modifier?” he asked. Chemical supplements changed hair and iris color at the cellular level. “How long before your natural shade bleeds through?”

  “About thirty days.”

  “That should be long enough.” In a month, they’d be home—or dead.

  Despite the disguise, some of her Terranness showed, and Lamis-Odg might perceive her as homely. Her eyes were too large, her mouth too plump, her skin too smooth to meet alien standards of beauty. The cyberoperative in him hoped Kilead deemed her acceptable. The man in him wanted Kilead to find her so ugly he’d fuck a slime crawler before he did Amanda. He had traced their plan’s trajectory to its logical conclusion. Had she?

  “Have you considered what will happen if you can’t get the intel before the mating ceremony?”

  “I’ll have to have sex with him,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t plan on that occurring. I’ll get the info long before.”

  “What if you can’t? He’ll replace his father one day. I doubt he’ll say or do anything to jeopardize his future position.”

  “Maybe he aspires to become Lamani sooner…”

  “That’s your strategy? Appeal to his hunger for power? Help us eliminate Dad and you can rule?”

  “Maybe.” Her desultory shrug made him itch to shake some sense into her. “I’ll have to play it by ear. Reticence breaks down under the influence of lust.”

  The whole thing posed too much of a risk. No wonder the Cy-Ops director had asked him to volunteer. She couldn’t do this alone. Shouldn’t be doing it at all. Carter, the sneaky bastard, aware of Sonny’s history, knew no one would fight to protect Amanda like he would.

  “And how do you propose to appease the tiger once you wake him up? Lamis-Odg females do not deny their mates.” Not without a beating. Sometimes they got knocked around anyway. Rough sex occurred as the norm. Amanda had the ability to defend herself—she could kick Kilead’s ass into the next galaxy—but not without blowing her cover.

  “Do you doubt my ability to carry out this mission?” She bristled. “If by some slim chance I can’t get him to talk before the ceremony, I’ll do what I have to do, okay?”


  That’s what he feared. His gut tightened in contemplation of Amanda following through. Not because they’d slept together and he assumed a proprietary claim over her. She could sleep with whoever, whenever. Her personal life did not concern him. He worried about her safety. As her partner, he had her back. Protecting her meant anticipating and preventing problems—not just defending her when one occurred. No, he didn’t care who she chose to hook up with. Not at all. Didn’t bother him a bit.

  But sex with a Lamis-Odg male for the sake of a mission? Fuck that.

  No, don’t fuck that.

  Female cyberoperatives faced perils the men didn’t. He didn’t like this at all. Damn Carter for allowing her to do this! And damn him for withholding mission specifics. When you two meet, he’ll provide the details. The asshole had lied to him! Misled him into believing “Manny” was male. No way would he have volunteered if he’d known the truth. But, after meeting her, he couldn’t abandon her. The asshole had counted on that, too. Manipulative son of a bitch. If he survived this assignment, he would kill Carter.

  “What if the situation were reversed?” She planted her hands on her hips. “If you went undercover as an alien’s consort?”

  He’d do what the situation required. “That’s different. I’m a man.” That her nanos would protect her from pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases offered little comfort. “You’re a woman.”

  “Which is the problem I run into all the time,” she muttered. If not for his cyber-enhanced hearing, the engine hum would have obliterated her comment. She strode to the view window. Shoulders thrown back, hands clasped behind her, she stared into the black. “Computer!” she snapped in the harsh, guttural Lamis-Odg language. “What’s our ETA?”

  “Shuttle will arrive on Lamis-Odg in twenty-three hours, forty-nine minutes, and seventeen seconds.”

  Let the fun begin.

  “Besides, I slept with you, and it was no big deal,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  No big deal due to his not bad performance. Why should he care what she did anyway? If nothing else, maybe she could get her itch scratched. “I guess you’ve got it under control.”

  She swung around. “That’s right.” A measure of defiance retreated from her expression, and she jerked her head at the stern. “You need to come on back so I can apply the facial forms,” she said in a slightly softer voice. She touched her thickened forehead. “It can take hours to achieve full functionality, for the prosthesis to adhere to your skin and its embedded electronics to interface with your microprocessor.”

  * * * *

  “Brace yourself. This might be a bit uncomfortable.” She stood between Sonny’s spread legs and called on her nanocytes to calm her racing heart before his cyborg senses picked up on her nervousness. Nervousness? Lie to him, but don’t lie to yourself.

  Desire. The jerkwad still turned her on.

  Sonny Masters was an ass who probably would assign all female cyborgs to administrative jobs.

  But his smell. It conjured dirty sex and heated promises whispered among twisted sheets. She held herself rigid to prevent from leaning closer for a whiff. Why did he have to be so fucking hot? That scar roughening his features, the sexy facial scruff, his boyish grin. Why did his brand of masculine kick-start her libido? She’d never been attracted to other male cyborgs.

  Focus on what a jerk he is, not his sex appeal.

  “It won’t bother me.” He sat stoically on her bunk. Poor choice of venue. She should have done this in the galley, not that it was any bigger than her cramped cabin with its rock-hard bunk. Lamis-Odg didn’t go for creature comforts. Or elbow room.

  She had no choice but to stand between his legs where his warmth and scent could torment her. Where she noticed the rise and fall of his muscular chest. Remembered the scrape of his beard. The fullness of his… This was going to be a long mission.

  “Have it your way,” she said. He already had. His way had been standing, against the wall. He’d lifted her up like she weighed nothing, plowed into her, and elicited sensations from her body she hadn’t known she was capable of.

  With vengeful satisfaction she sprayed the combination adhesive and electromagnetic impulse conductor onto his forehead and temples. He didn’t flinch, even though she knew from having applied it to her own skin, the chemical compound stung like a motherfucker. Quickly, before it dried, she pressed the prosthesis to his skin. She patted the full length of the ridge to ensure it stuck and achieved a secure connection. “Once this cures, and the interface with your cyberbrain becomes fully operational, the ridge will pulse with your emotion. Remember, displays are considered a weakness.”

  “I understand. You’re not the only one who studied up on Lamis-Odg.”

  Somebody was a bit testy.

  Until cyberoperative Kai Andros had infiltrated the terrorist’s military space station, they hadn’t known the ridge was enervated. When a Lamis-Odg became emotionally aroused—positively or negatively—the ridge pulsed. Kai had gone undercover as an android, so his facial prosthesis hadn’t needed to react. Cybermed engineers had since developed the new facial forms. She and Sonny would be the first to use them in the field.

  She patted the mold. “How’s that?”

  “Clammy. And heavy.”

  “Yeah, it feels that way at first. You won’t notice after a while.” She leaned back as much as she could in the tight confines and sucked on her lower lip as she surveyed her work.

  His ridge pulsed, his eyes widened with surprise, and then the throbbing ceased abruptly.

  “Excellent! The connection is working fast. You have great control over the pulsing mechanism already. You just need to be able to do it without appearing startled.”

  “I didn’t—I mean, yeah. It’s working.” Gingerly he touched it. “When it pulsed, it felt like a line of ants marching across my skin.” His gaze met hers. His nostril flared, and the ridge pulsed again.

  The disguise should have been a turnoff, but even that wasn’t enough to squelch the attraction. Her pussy fluttered—and so did her forehead. She clapped a hand to her brow. “It does feel like ants.”

  He laughed, the rich, gravelly growl that shot straight to her clit and the stupid activated ridge. She tapped into her cyberbrain to instruct her nanos to switch off her libido. He couldn’t tell arousal had dampened her skivvies, but he would detect if the ridge throbbed like a samba dancer.

  “Am I done now?” he asked.

  “One more thing.” She grabbed an injector, pressed it to the right side of his chest, and pulled the trigger.

  “Ow! What the hell was that?” He rubbed the spot.

  “A microchip. Don’t be such a baby.”

  “For what?”

  “To fool the DNA scanners.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have one.” She pushed up the wide sleeve of her robe to show him the slight bump on the inside of her upper arm.

  “Why did you put it there?”

  “Because the bump can be palpitated. I had to put it someplace where it wouldn’t be discovered by touch.” She had no intention of letting Kilead grope her, but better safe than executed. Her stomach roiled at the possibility of sexual intercourse with a Lamis-Odg. If worse came to worst, she wasn’t sure how she would get through it, let alone fake it with a smile on her face.

  Sonny’s protests hadn’t made her situation any easier. Of course, she had anxieties about her plan. Did he think she desired sexual intercourse with an alien terrorist?

  He scowled, and the ridge bulged. “Carter is an absolute ass, and you’re a fool for agreeing to this assignment. This is more than anyone should have to do!”

  She was a cyberoperative. A decorated military commander. She would not back down. She would not fail. She tossed the injector onto the console. “Do your part and let me do mine.” Amanda strode from the cabin.

  Chapter Five

  “My name is Tetric,” Sonny said. “The female is Sumara. I am here to deliver her to Lam
ani-al-bon and discuss the terms of the dowry.”

  “Welcome to Lamis-Odg. Glory to the Great One and to Lamani, His Prophet and Incarnate.” The entry guard’s verbal greeting was warm enough. The photon blaster set to kill and aimed at his chest, not so much. If they got this kind of reception when they were expected, well, remind him never to drop in unannounced.

  Friendly bunch, aren’t they? Amanda transmitted.

  Like a nest of iwanai, stirred and shaken.

  “Your identity requires verification.” The guard motioned to a stone-faced colleague, standing beneath a giant flag. Three objects arranged in a triangle embellished a crimson background. A lamiknot, a symbolic representation of the Great One, crowned the top. Weighting the bottom left corner was a hala, the planet’s sacred flower. To its right, a photon blaster. If their banner didn’t herald the intention to convert others by force, what did?

  The guard under the banner moved closer and unclipped a PerComm from his belt.

  “Of course.” Sonny detached his communication device and transmitted their forged documents. The guard peered at his PerComm, his lips moving as he read, and then he tapped the device. Two holograms in their likenesses swirled over the machine. Both guards glanced between the spinning images and their faces. They nodded at each other.

  The photon blaster was returned to its holster. “You may proceed. There is a transport waiting for you outside the terminal. It will take you to the compound.”

  As they exited Customs, Sonny swept the area, his cybernetic eyes recording visuals to be stored in his microprocessor. No one from Cy-Ops had set foot on the terrorists’ planet before. No detail was too trivial. Who knew what might be useful later? The number of flags—twelve so far. Location and quantity of entries and exits. Ratio of military to civilian personnel. Shuttle arrivals and departure schedules.

  They exited the terminal to a furnace. Dry, burning daytime air blasted them as the doors slid open. If they hadn’t allowed for their facial prosthesis to meld to their skin, the forms would have melted right off. He directed his nanos to assist with cooling. How could non-cyborgs stand it?