by Cara Bristol
“Worse?” Despite the pain, he laughed.
“It’s not funny, damn you!” She thumped his chest with her fist. Her scarf fell away from her face.
He caught her wrists and pulled her into his arms.
“Let go of me!” She fought him. “I hate you!”
“You said you loved me.” His scarf fell, and sand stung his face. Bitter-tasting grit invaded his mouth.
“You would throw that up to me! I wish I could hate you. I wish you were the pickup I thought you were when we met.”
“I wish that, too.”
Her jaw dropped.
“I wish you were an anonymous woman with whom I shared a sexual interlude before we went our separate ways. Because, then, you’d be safe. As precious as this time with you is for me, I would wish it away if it would save you.”
“I would wish to be here. I would volunteer for this mission all over again.”
Sonny buried his face against her neck. She smelled like warm woman, vanilla, hopes, and dreams, and all the comforts he didn’t dare dream about. His chest ached, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Love me.”
“I do.”
“Hold me.”
“I am.”
“Kiss me.”
He covered her mouth with his and allowed pent-up need and longing to pour out. He crushed her lips and ground hard against them. She moaned and clutched at his shirt, digging her fingernails into his chest, as if hanging on for life. Her tongue tangled with his, spearing and lashing, and she tore at his mouth with her teeth.
He tasted love, the rusty tang of blood, and Lamis-Odg sand.
Help him, he wanted to drag her to the ground and take her right there. But he couldn’t. They had a mission to complete. They had to do what needed to be done. And he had to face the truth. Face his past.
He wrenched away. Chest heaving, he stalked off.
“What’s wrong?”
“My sister died because of me.”
“How? What happened?”
“The gang I mentioned I belonged to? We pretty much terrorized the neighborhood.” He twisted his mouth as epiphany bloomed. “Kind of what Lamis-Odg does, but on a smaller, more local scale. I was a criminal. I stole, I extorted. Threatened people. But I loved my sister, and after Mom died, I tried to care for her in my own half-assed way.” He swallowed and spun around. The least he could do to atone was stare Amanda in the face when he confessed the ugly truth. The worst part about himself. Why he’d joined Cy-Ops. Why he’d accepted this mission. Why it mattered so fucking much she survive.
“My gang had blasted a rival’s neighborhood. I didn’t shoot, but I went along in the PeeVee. We didn’t kill anyone—but not for lack of trying. One night, several days later, my sister was home alone.”
Amanda pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Yeah. Our rivals did a fly-by payback. I got home to find her dead. It should have been me! I thought I was such a bad ass, but I was a fucking thug. A killer in the making.” He rubbed his scar. “I should have moved us away from the neighborhood. Gotten as far away as I could.
“My mother died, and I couldn’t save her. I caused my sister’s death. Don’t you see why I need you to live?”
She closed the gap and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. His heart thumped. He closed his hands on her arms to hold her at bay. He didn’t deserve comfort, hadn’t earned her love, hadn’t earned anything except the privilege to live to fight another day, to give his life in exchange for those lives he’d shattered. He was still a selfish bastard because yearning fell before justice, and, instead of pushing her away, he hugged her hard and tight.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss and everything you’ve been through.”
What he’d been through? What about what he’d caused? Why didn’t she hate him when he’d hated himself?
“After my sister’s death, things went from bad to worse. I didn’t give a shit about anything and I had this burning rage. I kept taking bigger and bigger risks, hoping to be killed. The man I told you about? The one I mugged who then proceeded to kick my ass?”
She tilted her head back. Her gaze didn’t shy away, nor condemn.
“I picked him because I sensed his importance. If you strike a big enough target, the authorities crack down hard. In my messed-up head, I figured if I attacked him, the police would get involved. Suicide by police shooting, it’s called.” Sonny took a deep breath. “Only my ‘victim’ happened to be Harrison Aymes.”
“Aymes? Like…”
Sonny nodded. “Carter’s father. He was important—he was a government official, former Terran Special Forces. I never asked him or Carter—but I suspect he may have been a cyborg. I tried to mug him, but rather than call in the authorities, he beat the dog shit out of me. He rescued me from myself. Maybe I reminded him of Carter at my age.” Sonny shrugged. “But he took me off the streets and gave me the direction I needed. He saw something I didn’t see.”
An opportunity for redemption.
“You were fortunate to have someone who cared about you. To give you a second chance.”
“I was.”
“So you joined Cy-Ops?”
“I owe Harrison Aymes—and Carter, too—more than I can ever repay. Mr. Amyes’s connections got me into the Terran military, which channeled my aggression. But then I was injured, and Carter introduced me to Cy-Ops. I couldn’t undo the harm I’d caused, but I enlisted hoping to put some good back into the world. The tougher the mission, the greater the danger—the more I wanted it.”
“Still on a personal suicide mission,” she said softly.
Sonny exhaled. “Why should someone risk his life when I was ready and willing to die?”
“And now?”
“Now I want to live. I want to get Carter the info, get off this effing planet, marry you, and make babies. But if I don’t survive—you are going to live.”
* * * *
“Your turn!” Amanda plopped into the sand against her pack. It felt good to sit down.
“I’ll be right back,” Sonny said, and marched off to disappear around the dune.
Knowing with daybreak they would lose the protective cloak of darkness, they’d hiked all night. They’d stopped now for a bite to eat and to take care of bodily functions.
Her thoughts still reeled after his earlier bombshell.
Babies? He wanted babies? And marriage? A husband and family did not fit into the secretive, dangerous lifestyle of a Cy-Ops field agent. You couldn’t have a normal life. Couldn’t share what you were doing with your spouse. You could be called away on a moment’s notice, gone for months, incommunicado until you returned. If you returned. The home spouse lived with constant worry: would he or she survive this time?
Marriage and babies? Not an option.
Or could it be? In their case, there would be no home spouse. They were both cyberoperatives. They understood the demands, the needs of the job. There was one other couple in which both partners were field agents.
What if she and Sonny could be the second?
All her life, she’d fought to be first, but this time second could be good. Second could be amazing.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at how gooey inside the prospect of marriage and babies made her. Babies—he’d used the plural. He wanted more than one.
His pronouncement had shocked her at first, but she didn’t know what stunned her more—the way Sonny felt about her or how he had felt about himself. He carried so much guilt. Young men made mistakes. He’d been fatherless and motherless, scarcely older than a child himself when he’d shouldered the responsibility for his sister and chosen the wrong path. One right. One wrong. His sister’s death had been tragic, and yes, could have been preventable, but it had resulted in something positive: a crusade to save lives. Hundreds of lives. And, if this mission succeeded, potentially millions or even billions.
Time to le
t shit go and stop beating himself up.
Her, too.
Fear of her father’s disapproval had influenced her actions for far too long. She’d volunteered for an impossible mission, hoping, if she was successful, it would prove her mettle, prove her worth. Always, it had been in the back of her mind, would Father approve? Maybe this time she would measure up. No more. She had performed well, graduating at the top of her class at the academy, achieving rank in record time, and, after a devastating injury, enlisting in Cy-Ops for the betterment of the galaxy. And that wasn’t enough for her father? Screw him.
From this point forward, she would strive for success because she desired it, not to try to please a man who would never be pleased. Her father’s disapproval had tainted other relationships. With his criticism ringing in her head, she’d run out on Sonny on Darius 4. What if she had stayed, and they’d gotten to know each other better?
Maybe her fellow cyberoperatives had fully accepted her; maybe she’d only assumed they hadn’t. The barrier she’d sensed might have been one she’d constructed. It might have been a case of I’ll shun you before you shun me. Carter hadn’t hesitated to send her on dangerous assignments—the Cy-Ops director didn’t doubt her abilities. She’d viewed Sonny’s appointment as an insult, but the truth was, she had needed backup. Any field operative would have.
Sonny’s overprotectiveness didn’t stem from disrespect, but an overabundance of responsibility. He’d been wrestling personal demons. His own iwani. He and her father no more compared than the barren Lamis-Odg desert and the lush Xenian forest. Sonny believed in her. He loved her.
It was time to love herself.
Kilead’s death had put a bounty on their heads and complicated their mission, but had he lived, that wouldn’t have guaranteed their escape. Under the effect of Loquitol, he’d agreed to send her and Sonny home—but would he have followed through? Kilead was a terrorist. Not someone you could trust.
So, nothing had gone the way they’d planned. Shit happened.
All things considered, they’d done well. She had done well and deserved to be damn proud of herself. She was a force to be reckoned with.
So was Sonny. He was one bad-ass cyborg.
Together? Watch out! If there was a way off this desolate, inhospitable planet, they’d find it.
No maybe. They would get off this planet. They had babies to make!
Once they contacted HQ, Carter would do everything in his power to rescue them. Cy-Ops did not abandon its operatives.
Amanda took a cleansing breath, feeling light and hopeful. Red morning crept over the sky to taint the dunes. Lamis-Odg was sort of pretty in a stark, bleak, forsaken way. The landscape’s austerity framed and highlighted anything of beauty that did manage to appear: a sunrise, a sunset, a stunning, if dangerous, flower.
When the sun rose to its zenith, they would be subjected to searing temperatures over kilometers and kilometers of sand. Stirred by the wind, the sand was ever moving, yet ever monotonous. One dune looked like the next. A still-life tableau that was never still. Only Torva, looming larger now that they were within a half-day’s walk, remained constant.
She eyed the dune where Sonny had gone to take care of business. The wind had already obliterated his tracks. Shouldn’t he have been back by now?
Her feet slipped as she stood and dusted off her hands. Damn the grit. It crept into everything. Despite her clothing, her skin felt chalky. Granules had wedged in her ears, in the corners of her eyes, under fingernails, and other places she didn’t want to consider.
First thing when they got back to civilization, she would indulge in a long ChemShower. Second thing would be to hump Sonny properly. Baby-making practice.
What was taking him so long?
Are you okay? Though he was within shouting distance, she communicated via wireless as a precaution. Sound carried over surprising distances.
I’m fine. Trying to brush off some of this damn sand. I’ll be there in a sec.
She hadn’t really been worried. No rush. What kind of NutriSup bar do you want?
I don’t care. Surprise me.
How surprised would he be to find her naked? She grinned, enjoying the fantasy. It would have to remain a fantasy. They were getting down to the nitty gritty as far as their mission was concerned. And regarding gritty, having one’s nude body sandblasted did not appeal.
The wind whipped up an eddy, which headed right for her. She averted her face and tightened her scarf.
Sand stung her back. She squinted, focusing on the landscape about a hundred meters away. Was the ground moving? A trick of the wind. She crept closer and widened her eyes. The surface of the sand was undulating, flowing like waves in the ocean. A tremor from below vibrated through her feet. She swayed and caught her balance.
Do you feel that?
Feel what? he replied.
Does Lamis-Odg have earthquakes?
I don’t think so. Why?
Because the sand is moving.
It’s the wind.
No, the ground is moving from below.
Like something swam beneath the sand. Something large. Fast. Moving straight toward her.
“Oh shit!” She backpedaled, but her feet couldn’t move fast enough in shifting sand over trembling ground.
Searing pain shot through her ankle. A cold, spiked band snapped around it and yanked her off her feet. Her face planted in the sand, and she was dragged backward. Fighting, she twisted around. A gleaming, gray tentacle wound itself around her lower leg, digging spines into her calf. Fire raced up her leg. Her blood stained the sand.
Iwani! Oh fuck, they’re real.
She beat at the tentacle, tried to pry it loose, but the grip tightened more, strong as a manacle. Sand seemed to flow inward like a vortex as the creature’s limb slithered back underground.
“Sonny! Help!”
“I’m coming!”
She clawed for purchase, fought to hang on, but sand slipped from her fingers. As the iwani disappeared, so did she.
Knees.
Hips.
Waist.
I’m doing to die.
A hard jerk. Neck. Sonneeeey, I love you—
“Amandaaaaa!” He raced toward her.
The ground swallowed her.
Chapter Seventeen
“Amanda!” Sonny yelled. Amanda!
I’m coming for you. Hold on! She couldn’t be dead. Couldn’t be. He refused to allow it. Not now. Not again. Amandaaaaa!
He dove into the sand where she’d last been, shoveling frantically. Something sharp grazed his hands then jerked away. He lunged, grabbed onto it. Spikes pierced his palms, but he hung on and was yanked headfirst into the silt. Mouth closed, he held his breath. Sand invaded his nose, coated his eyes, rendering his cybernetic vision useless.
Coils snaked around both his legs. Blinded, he traced it with his hands. A tentacle. Sensors in his skin analyzed the composition, and nanos rushed the information to his cyberbrain. An alloy of aluminum and iron with a fiber-optic arterial system of silicone dioxide. No carbon. No hydrogen. The thing was inorganic, but acting organic, like a robotic boa constrictor, tightening around his legs.
Amanda! Speak to me! Were wireless transmissions blocked by the sand or was she already—
His human mind panicked at the lack of response, but his cyborg assumed command, unclipped his universal implement, and released the knife tool and hacked through the tentacle limb. Sparks snapped and crackled, singed his fingers.
The band released, and he kicked it away. Sand trickled into his mouth as he clenched the knife in his teeth. His photon blaster was useless. He couldn’t see to shoot. Couldn’t risk having the photon stream spray back at him—or, worse, hit Amanda. She had to be close. Had to be. How many tentacles did this machine have?
Nanos helped his hemoglobin to release oxygen into his blood, but his lungs burned. How long could she survive under here?
Hang on, Amanda!
Another tentacle snapped
against his shin. He grabbed it and hung on. If he could find the central processing unit and deactivate it… Hand over hand, spikes piercing his skin, clear down to muscle, he followed the synthetic creature’s limb. One meter. Two… How the hell long was it? He bumped something warm. Nano-enhanced hearing picked up a faint throbbing beat. Amanda!
He released the creature and closed his hands around her limp body. Ran them over her until he found the coils around her ankle. He hacked at the tentacle arm, stabbing viciously. Sparks shot out, and burning liquid oozed over his hand before the coils released. Clasping her limp body with one arm, slipping and sliding, he swam his way out of the sand.
He broke the surface and hauled her out. Lungs burning, gasping for air, he ran with her. Still functional, still there, the machine could rear out of the sand again, but Amanda’s condition was critical. Gently, he laid her on the ground several hundred meters away. Sand caked her eyes, filled her nose, her mouth. He turned her onto her side and with his finger, cleaned out her mouth. “Live! Don’t do this to me.” Tears welled, combining with the grit to coat his synthetic eyes and blur his vision.
He felt so helpless. CPR would force the matter into her lungs. He thumped her back, to expel what he could. “Live, damn you!” He thumped her again. And again.
He never should have left her alone. They couldn’t trust anything on this planet. Why had he assumed she’d be safe? Once again, a woman under his care had fallen to harm. The woman he loved. His Amanda. She hadn’t said she’d marry him, but the love in her eyes had told him what he needed to know. She couldn’t die now.
Why her? Why not him? “Come on, come on. Please.” Tears streaked his face. He pressed a hand to her chest. A faint—too faint—heartbeat fluttered against his palm.
Maybe the MediKit had a respirator! He swiveled his head. He hadn’t grabbed their packs. They lay close to where the creature had pulled her under.
A cough.
“Amanda!” His body went weak with relief. She choked and gagged. Hand shaking, he wiped her mouth and face as she spit.
“Sonny…” His name, a croak, was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
