Crash and Burn (Cyborg Sizzle #3)

by Cynthia Sax

  Crash peered around the rock. The battle was fierce. Two enemy forces collided, hundreds of males fighting, projectiles from the guns ricocheting off the stone.

  The warriors defending the entrance to the tunnels were predominantly Tau Cetians, their faces striped with green and brown pigment. Hairy blue Ungarians and six-armed Palavians joined their forces, linked by a common enemy. They battled with a ferocious wildness, hacking away at their foes, their movements fluid, their strategy non-existent.

  Their opponents, Humanoid Alliance warriors, were more organized, having a semblance of a line formation and some deference to rank. They were also better equipped, their faces covered with protective masks, armor shielding their bodies. But they lacked the conviction, the passion of the rebels.

  The two forces were evenly matched, each side losing warriors. Beings fell, stepped on by their brethren. The scent of blood was thick in the air.

  I’m going after her. Gap stood.

  Get down. Crash grabbed the collar of his body armor and yanked him back behind the boulder. The warriors fighting around the entrance of the cave didn’t notice the cyborg’s lapse in judgment. Your female is human. We have to clear the area first. If we don’t, the enemy will fill her fragile body full of projectiles.

  The three of you can clear the area. Gap vibrated with anticipation. Let me go to her, Crash. She must be scared and alone.

  Safyre was alone also. Was she scared? Crash fought the urge to return to her, to reach out to her through their private transmission line. The mission had to be his focus. The four of us will clear the area quicker.

  He’d have to fight, to kill. Crash had known that when he agreed to the rescue mission. That he hadn’t hesitated told him the level of his caring.

  He loved his Safyre.

  He’d do anything for her, even break his vow to himself. She was more important to him than honor, than his life, than his cyborg soul.

  Crash touched the orange hair wound around his dagger’s hilt. He squared his shoulders, resigned to the killing.

  Menace’s and Mayhem’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. They looked forward to the bloodshed.

  Gap thought only of his female. He danced impatiently by their sides.

  Clear the space directly in front of the tunnel, Crash instructed. Then you can retrieve Nymphia.

  I’m retrieving my Nymphia. Gap heard half of the transmission. He barreled forward, clasping guns in both of his hands, shooting the warriors in front of him, clearing a path.

  Fraggin’ hole. Crash followed his friend, unable to stop him. We’re attacking. He attempted to cover the young warrior’s back, was only moderately successful at doing so. There were too many opposing warriors and Gap’s progress was slow. Projectiles riddled his body armor, his form jerking with each step.

  G models are crazy. Menace plastered himself to Crash’s spine, shooting the warriors behind him. End my lifespan if I ever act like that.

  You always act like that. Mayhem shot the attackers to Crash’s left. I’ll end your lifespan when we’re finished here.

  You can try. Menace laughed.

  Gap made it through the last line of defense, his armor torn all to frag. Kill them quickly, my friends. I’ll be back soon. His blood scented the air yet he sounded ridiculously happy.

  The J models laughed again.

  Perhaps his friend was crazy. Or truly in love, as Crash was. Because here he was, exactly where he swore he’d never be, taking on the task of killing hundreds of beings.

  And he was okay with that because the killing was for his Safyre, for their future. Crash shook his head and concentrated on the job he had to do.

  He shot and rolled, shot and ducked behind boulders, picking off warriors two by two, weapons in each of his hands.

  Not wanting to see them as beings, he didn’t look at their faces. They were targets, nothing more, and it was kill or be killed.

  He felt no regret. The warriors weren’t Endeavor, his friend. They were threats to his Safyre, to her friend, to Gap. Crash shot, his guns humming in his hands.

  The warriors were outmatched, unable to equal the cyborgs’ speed or skill, but they continued to press forward, newcomers marching on the skulls of the fallen. The Tau Cetians defending the entrance to the tunnels were annihilated, caught between the cyborgs and the Humanoid Alliance forces.

  How did you miss that warrior? Mayhem teased Menace. He’s slower than your processors.

  He was my present to you, Menace retorted. You need the practice.

  My kill rate almost equals yours.

  The key word is almost.

  While Crash fought, he listened to the two cyborgs’ banter, Gap’s musings about how good Nymphia smelled, and his Safyre’s interaction with the rest of the teams. His little female directed her warriors with a heartwarming care, urging the retrieval team to return quickly, reminding the males guarding the transport to be wary.

  A projectile skimmed his cheek, blazing a trail of pain. Frag. He had to heed that warning also. Crash returned fire, downing the large warrior.

  This would be more fun if we used daggers, Menace suggested.

  It would also be more bloody, the kills slower, more personal. No daggers. Crash wanted distance between him and his target. Our mission is to clear the area as quickly as possible.

  I’ve located my Nymphia, Gap shared this information. Fraggin’ hole, Crash. She’s beautiful. Do you see her?

  He saw her. Gap was transmitting everything he experienced. But Crash couldn’t ponder the appeal of the dark-haired female. I’m fighting, my friend. Grab her and leave.

  Gap didn’t listen, chattering with the girl, showing her the scarf Safyre had given him. She isn’t frightened of me, Crash. She thinks she’s dreaming, dreaming of me. His voice lilted with wonder. I’m the male of her fantasies, all she has ever wanted. I smell how much she wants me.

  Frag it all. Crash shook his head. Nymphia was Gap’s female.

  That they were a genetic match defied all logic. It was a miracle like Crash’s cyborg brethren, Green, finding a red flowering plant growing in an ash-covered battlefield or his friend, Rage, creating offspring with the human female, Joan, a feat no being thought possible.

  Or his Safyre caring for him, the scary-eyed cyborg warrior who’d captured her.

  Crash would be thankful for that miracle every planet rotation.

  Act on your wanting for your female later, he advised. Retrieve her and return to the mouth of the tunnel. We’ve cleared a space.

  She’s touching me and I feel alive, more alive than I’ve ever been. His friend was lost in the marvel of his female.

  Gap.

  She’s soft all over and she tastes like bliss. This is what happiness is, Crash. You were right. I didn’t realize what it truly was until now. All these solar cycles, I thought I knew about joy but I didn’t.

  Crash was happy for his friend but he worried about the situation. He’d seen battles shift in a heartbeat and that shift always resulted in death. Gap, you don’t have time for this now. Return to us. Carry your Nymphia if you can’t stop touching her.

  One more moment. My Nymphia’s scared. She heard the gunfire. I’ll comfort her and then—

  The warriors are retreating, Menace observed.

  Crash gazed around them. The cyborg was right. The Humanoid Alliance forces were backing up. One of the leaders tapped his right earpiece with his index finger and waved the other warriors away from the tunnel.

  Why would they give up ground they had fought so hard for?

  There was only one reason he could process. Crash’s gut rolled. Something bad was coming their way.

  Gap, get out of there, he barked. Now. He turned and ran toward the tunnel.

  The scent of fluid filled his nostrils. A rumble shook the ground, a crescendo of sound, building in loudness.

  Green flames burst out of the tunnel’s opening, the force of the explosion flinging him backward, launching him high into the air. Crash la
nded flat on his back and skidded to a stop behind a boulder.

  That green and brown rock saved his life, blocking him from the brunt of the heat. The reduced impact melted his armor and burned his hair. The top layers of his skin bubbled and popped, the pain excruciating.

  Gap’s severed transmission hurt more than any physical injury inflicted upon him. The silence sliced through Crash like a sword, cutting him into two.

  Gap. Gap, he yelled through the lines, the quiet, the blackness terrifying. Respond. Fraggin’ hole. Respond, you reckless illogical love-crazed cyborg.

  Crash. The softness in Menace’s voice threatened to undo him.

  He survived it. I know he did. Crash lurched forward into the heat. The green flames had been extinguished but the elevated temperatures remained, scorching him to his frame. I have to—

  No. Menace dragged him back. The cyborg’s face was burned. His eyebrows and eyelashes were missing. He smelled of torched flesh. He’s gone, Crash.

  He’s not gone. Crash punched and kicked, trying to free himself, needing to help his friend, to protect him. Not Gap. You don’t know him. He escaped the Humanoid Alliance, freed himself from our tormenters. And he found his female, despite the odds against it. He couldn’t have— Died in a fraggin’ tunnel on some cursed planet. Crash couldn’t transmit those words.

  He’s dead. Mayhem pinned one of his arms to the ground. Menace pinned his other arm. It took both of them, all of their cyborg strength, to hold him down. That was Erinomean Green Fire. No being could have survived that blast.

  He did. He survived. Crash threw his body backward, managed to lift his shoulders off the ground.

  You saw what we did. Menace slammed him back down on the rock. Pain radiated over his burned skin. Replay the transmission.

  No. He couldn’t. Because he knew.

  He knew.

  Yes. Menace showed no mercy. I’m replaying it. The cyborg transmitted the footage, forcing him to watch it, slowing the motion. Crash saw the green flame engulf his friend, strip away his skin, melt his mechanics.

  Erinomean Green Fire was rarely used as it was extremely unstable, more likely to obliterate the user than the enemy. But, in the tunnels, it had been gut-wrenchingly effective. The narrow rock-lined space had controlled and concentrated the blast, making it more powerful than the diluted force Crash had experienced.

  Gap couldn’t have survived it.

  Crash’s heart ached. Another one of his close friends was dead. Gone. He would never talk to the kid again, never hear about females in birthing classes needing males to protect them, upping kill rates, the color of Nymphia’s hair.

  Nymphia. His pain grew. Safyre had given him one task—to save her friend and he’d failed her. Crash’s eyes stung. She’d never forgive him, never love him.

  He’d lost everything this planet rotation. His two closest friends. Rage would blame him for Gap’s death. His female. His honor. His future.

  He had nothing left.

  Nothing except pain and anger.

  The human warriors will be back soon. Menace released him. Are we returning to the freighter or are we fighting?

  Crash stood. His form shook with the rawness of his grief, with a fury so great, his vision system turned red. We’re fighting. He tossed his guns aside. They were partially melted, unusable. He grasped his daggers. With blades. The lock of hair Safyre had wrapped around the hilt was gone, burned to nothing. The humans had taken that from him also. They all die. Slowly. Painfully. They would pay for killing his friend, for destroying his future.

  Menace and Mayhem grinned.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Where the fuck was he?

  Safyre fielded questions and directed operations and tried to hide her concern. The newly manufactured cyborgs were being loaded into the freighter. The perimeter around the ship had been maintained. The Humanoid Alliance had contacted her four times.

  Crash hadn’t returned.

  She was tempted to reach out to him through their private transmission line but she worried she’d distract him in the midst of a battle or during a key point in the rescue.

  She also didn’t want confirmation that she might have killed the male she loved.

  Retrieving Nymphia was an impossible mission. Safyre hadn’t expected to live through it. She’d thought she would die, had thought that before she knew about the Humanoid Alliance’s Erinomean Green Fire and the World Ender.

  Crash was a cyborg. He was partially a machine but he was also partially human. He had weaknesses. He could be hurt, killed.

  Oh fuck. Why had she allowed him to take the mission, to risk his life to save her friend?

  “Death, update on casualties.” He’d say none and she could relax.

  Death didn’t respond.

  Safyre looked at the warrior seated beside her. He stared straight ahead, his jaw jutted, his expression as grim as always.

  “I know you heard me.” She narrowed her gaze. “You have enhanced senses.” As Crash did. That should help him during the mission…shouldn’t it? “Have we suffered any casualties?”

  Death turned his head and met her gaze. “There have been two confirmed casualties, Crash’s female.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. “Two?”

  “One human, one cyborg,” he confirmed, his voice purged of all emotion.

  “One human?” She frowned, perplexed, frightened, unable to think about the one cyborg casualty. “How’s that possible? I’m the only human on our team.”

  Death didn’t answer.

  Because she wasn’t the only human. “Nymphia.” Safyre realized. “She didn’t make it.”

  Death nodded, the motion curt, almost robotic, as though the human part of him had retreated, leaving only the machine.

  She wished she had that ability. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like her heart had been ripped out of her chest.

  Because fuck. Safyre closed her eyes. Her friend was dead.

  Dead. Nymphia. How could that be? She hadn’t yet lived. Nymphia was young, too damn young, to be dead.

  Safyre remembered the first planet rotation they met. It didn’t seem that long ago.

  Nymphia’s eyes had shone with hope and longing. The hand she’d placed in Safyre’s had been tiny, soft, fragile, trusting.

  Are you my new mommy?

  Safyre sucked back a sob.

  Had she died alone? Had she been afraid? In pain?

  Safyre’s sorrow built up and up and up until she couldn’t contain it any more. She stuffed the freshened cleaning cloth into her mouth and released everything she felt.

  She screamed until her throat and lungs were raw, the sound muffled by the cloth. Tears streaked down her cheeks. Her eyes stung. Her heart ached.

  She grieved for Nymphia, the kindest, gentlest being she’d ever met, a pure soul who would never have a future, never have the offspring she’d always wanted.

  And she worried about Crash’s continued absence. Because she wasn’t a fool. She knew which team had lost a warrior.

  The cyborg retrieval team had returned without a single fatality. Death would have informed her if the perimeter team had been attacked.

  The cyborg casualty had come from the rescue team. It could only be one of four warriors—Menace, Mayhem, Gap or Crash. Nymphia had died. Crash would have tucked her between Gap and himself.

  No. She couldn’t think that way. It wasn’t Crash. It couldn’t be him. She loved him, didn’t know how she’d survive without her warrior. Safyre rolled up her sleeve and slid her fingers over the strap he’d wrapped around her arm. They were connected. He wouldn’t have left her alone.

  She would have sensed that, wouldn’t she?

  Safyre spat out the cleaning cloth. Death’s expression didn’t change. He acted as though a female hacking up fabric was normal.

  Fuck caution. She had to know. Crash, she transmitted. Are you there?

  The doors slid open behind her. A rush of energy swept over the bridge and relief filled Safyre. “Cr
ash.” It had to be him. Only he affected her this way, arousing her with his mere presence.

  Safyre turned her chair.

  And shrieked.

  Crash stood on the threshold, covered with crimson from his head to his boots, his fists clenched, his feet braced apart, dripping blood. Only his eyes were black, a flat nothingness that scared her to death.

  She’d broken her cyborg. The mission had shattered an integral part of him.

  “Death, check on the loading of the cyborgs,” she ordered.

  “I have—”

  “Verify the progress with your own eyes.” She needed to be alone with Crash.

  Her male stepped to the side. Death strode through the exit. The doors closed.

  “I failed you, female.” Crash’s voice was deep, hollow, as though the sound had originated in an endless empty cave, as though there was nothing left in him, no hope.

  “I’m not a female.” She grabbed the cleaning cloth and walked toward him, snapping the fabric, purifying it. “I’m your female.”

  “I failed you,” he repeated. “I’m unworthy of a female.”

  “You’re worthy of this female.” Safyre wrapped her arms around him, not caring that the blood soaked through her flight suit.

  Nymphia’s death tore at her, clawing at her guts, but she had to concentrate on the living, on him. She needed to touch her cyborg, to confirm he was real and not an apparition, and she had to comfort him, to somehow repair the damage she’d caused.

  “It was an impossible mission,” she shared. “I knew that when I started.”

  “Your friend is dead.” He didn’t hold her, his fists remaining balled by his side.

  “I know.”

  “You said you’d never forgive me if she died.”

  Curse her temper. “I said I’d never forgive you if she died alone and I didn’t mean those words either. I was angry at the time.” She wiped a section of his body armor clean and rested her cheek on it. “You did your best, Crash.”

  “No, I didn’t.” He pushed her away from him. “I made mistakes.”

  “I don’t expect perfection.”

  “I killed them,” Crash bellowed. “Watch.” He flung one of his bloody hands toward the main viewscreen. An image of Gap’s back appeared. “And you’ll see.”