Cyborg Nation

by [Cyborg 3] Cyborg Nation (lit)

  “And I am not the only one who wants you or who has a right to want you. As much as I would like to ignore Gabriel and Jerico and only concern myself with my desires, we can not make this agreement between us work if we do not consider every partner equally.

  “If I do not consider the danger to you, I can not expect them to. And while I might be able to be careful enough of you to do this, they will also expect to have you, and I trust them less than I do myself. In battle, I trust them implicitly. With you, I do not. I know that they would not want to hurt you, would never deliberately hurt you, but they are accustomed to being told what they can and can not do.”

  Mollified, Bronte ceased trying to pull away from him.

  Not that it had done any good to try except to let him know that she wasn’t willingly allowing him to hold her.

  It was annoying, though, that he always seemed to be right, always made her feel as if she was being unreasonable.

  Maybe because she was much of the time, but then that was because emotions tended to be unreasonable and she couldn’t help being governed by them anymore than he could help that he didn’t have them to govern him, but had cold, hard reason instead.

  The temptation to see if she could push him beyond his control was thrumming through her, though, in spite of the fact that even she didn’t think she was up to having sex with all three of them.

  It was unfair. She knew it was, but she didn’t especially care about being fair at the moment.

  While she was considering how little she cared about the fairness of getting her way at the moment, Gideon stroked a hand across her belly and cupped the mound there. “What is this?”

  There was no surprise in his voice as if he’d just realized there was a rounded mound there when there hadn’t been before. He’d taken advantage of her distraction and proximity to examine what had been bothering him for some time.

  Her heart thudded uncomfortably, but this time not with desire. Bronte swallowed against the sudden knot in her throat that was a combination of fear and reluctance in having to face something she didn’t really want to face. “I don’t know,” she said finally.

  “It is not … right, is it?”

  She gnawed her lip for a moment. “I don’t think so,” she admitted reluctantly. “But as you pointed out, I don’t have any way to check.”

  There was anger in his voice when he spoke again. “When did you think that you should tell us?”

  She broke his hold on her and turned to look at him angrily. She’d been scaring herself with horrible possibilities for weeks and the anger and accusation in his voice broke the dam she’d been trying to hold. “When I knew something to tell you!” she snapped.

  His lips tightened. “You believe you do know!” he growled accusingly. “Can I not even trust you to guard your health? To uphold the terms of our agreement and keep us informed of things that affect all of us?”

  It made her angrier that he was right—again—that she couldn’t even defend her behavior. They did have the right to know if her health was an issue that could affect all of them, and she had been willing to risk sex when she had no idea what was going on inside of her beyond the fact that she didn’t hurt anymore. She just hadn’t wanted to think that having sex might cause more damage than her body could take. “So I’m in breach! Throw the damned contracts away for all I care! You might as well, because I’m pretty damned sure the crash destroyed any chance I might have had to have children and I probably can’t have sex either because I’m totally fucked up! You could hire anybody to do what I can do now!

  “And I don’t care if it was unethical not to tell you before. You know now. I’ve told you in plenty of time to just throw the damned contracts away and you won’t even have to go to all the trouble of taking me to court for breach!”

  She would’ve loved to have delivered that speech and then stalked away without giving him any opportunity of a rebuttal. Unfortunately, there was no stalking anywhere when she was breast high in sea water.

  Particularly since Gideon, as furious as he was, wasn’t about to let her try it. He did let her have the last word, though, mostly, she thought, because she’d so thoroughly pissed him off he couldn’t think of anything to say. Scooping her up into his arms despite her furious resistance, he stalked to the beach, set her oh so carefully on the sand, and then strode away. He didn’t stop until he’d reached the edge of the woods. She didn’t think he would’ve stopped then except that everyone’s attention was caught by a sound all of them had begun to think they would never hear again—the sound of an engine.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Bronte was so stunned when she turned toward the sound and saw a craft heading directly toward them, or at least toward the beach, that she simply stared at the thing dumbly as if she’d never seen one before. Jerico brought her back to awareness by dropping the blanket around her shoulders and pulling it snugly around her.

  The look of censure in his eyes took her aback. “There will be men on board.”

  Bronte blinked at him in surprise. It was the first time he’d behaved the least bit jealous or possessive toward her and it hadn’t occurred to her that he felt that way about her—not that she’d realized she was still stark naked. She’d been too shocked to think. “I was just surprised,” she said uncomfortably. “I didn’t think....”

  His gaze flickered over her face. Some of the tension left his expression. “I will carry you into the edge of the forest to dress.”

  Nodding jerkily, Bronte took the clothes he handed her and looped her arms around his neck when he bent to pick her up.

  As little time as it took to cross the beach and dress, the craft landed while she was dressing. She heard the engine die and moments later the voices of strangers. She couldn’t see anything. She hadn’t gone far into the woods, but Jerico took care to block her from the view of the men exiting the craft and that ensured that she couldn’t see either.

  He examined her critically before he picked her up to carry her back. That look unsettled her almost more than the first. She’d always thought of Jerico as the ‘easy going’ one. She didn’t know what to make of this heretofore unseen side of him until she noticed the speculative gazes of the men they approached.

  It would’ve been easy to guess they were military only by their bearing, but the uniforms certainly seemed to cinch the identification. The discussion, whatever it covered, was over by the time she reached the men. Without a word, she was carried into the craft. Jerico settled her into a seat and helped her with the restraints and within a few moments everyone was aboard and the craft rose from the beach.

  Her stomach knotted with terror the moment she felt the craft rise. She hadn’t had time to consider how frightening it would be to climb into another ship of any description after their crash. It was probably just as well, she thought wryly, and yet she hadn’t even had time to brace herself, or to try to focus on ‘good’ thoughts, or give herself a pep talk. All she could think about as she heard the engines roar to life and then rev until she could feel the vibrations running through the ship was those minutes that seemed like days when they’d been falling. Struggling against hysteria, she focused her panicked mind the best she could on trying to breathe slow breaths, curling her fingers into the arm rests.

  Jerico had left her once he’d adjusted her safety harness. She glanced around hopefully for Gideon or Gabriel and discovered that neither of them were seated close to her either. The stern, unyielding faces of complete strangers was all that met her gaze. Reluctant to allow anyone to notice how terrified she was, Bronte turned to look through the viewing window near her seat, but looking out the window didn’t help at all. Her panic rose as the craft did, threatening to engulf her. She could hear fragments of conversation around her as the men who’d found them questioned Gideon and the others about the crash. The noise of the ship itself, however, combined with the roaring of blood in her ears and her rasping breaths to chop bits and pieces from the dialogue and that m
ade it impossible to follow what they were saying even if she could’ve focused enough of her mind on the conversation for the task.

  Once it reached the goal altitude, the ship skimmed the air so fast the world outside the window blurred sickeningly. She closed her eyes against the dizzying sight, struggling against nausea as well as fear then. She began to cramp after a while from the rigid tension that held her entire body.

  It wouldn’t take long, she told herself. No matter how far they still were from civilization, it couldn’t possibly take very long when they were traveling at such a speed and directly toward their destination rather than having to follow the winding course nature allowed them to follow. Soon, she could be really clean again, sleep in a bed instead of on the sand, shivering half the time even with a man on either side of her to help to keep her warm.

  She would have access to medical equipment even if there were no doctors to help her—she knew if they had a city, they would have to have some sort of medical facilities.

  Those thoughts eased her stress over the flight more than thoughts of creature comforts had. Soon, whatever it was that was wrong with her, she’d know, and not knowing was more scary than knowing would be, she assured herself. Even if knowing still meant she couldn’t do anything about it, she thought it was the suspense and the unknown that was most frightening.

  It was night by the time they arrived. That wasn’t surprising since they’d already stopped to make camp for the day and prepare a meal as they usually did before dark because once they’d begun to have to supplement their food by hunting, they’d also had to have fire to cook it, and Gideon didn’t allow fires after darkness fell. It had been dark, though, for several hours by the time she saw the lights of the city.

  Four hours, maybe, flying? It could’ve been as little as two, she supposed, because she was a nervous wreck and not in any condition to judge, but even if it hadn’t been but two, that meant they’d still been probably a thousand miles from civilization, weeks more of walking if they hadn’t been picked up.

  It must have been a military patrol, she decided. She hadn’t heard them say, but it didn’t seem likely they’d been out looking for them.

  Then again, they might have. They could’ve found the crash site and have been looking for them since. If they’d found anything to indicate there were survivors and decided to look, Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel had left a trail of trog bodies behind them as evidence of their passing. It couldn’t have been too hard to track them.

  She was so weak with relief when the ship finally landed she didn’t think she could’ve walked if she’d had to. To her dismay, however, it wasn’t any of her men who helped her from the craft. Instead, one of the soldiers scooped her up and leapt from the craft, catching her so by surprise she only had time to look around for Gideon and the others, to catch a fleeting glimpse of them and then the door closed and the craft rose again.

  “What’s happening? What’s going on?”

  “You are in need of medical attention. I am taking you to the med center.”

  Bronte peered at the man in the dim artificial light. She couldn’t tell much about him beyond the fact that his profile was lean and uncompromising. Cyborg, she thought, feeling her stomach tighten into a little harder knot. “But … what about the others? My companions, Gideon and Jerico and Gabriel?”

  “They will be debriefed.”

  Bronte stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Debriefed?”

  He didn’t volunteer anything at the questioning lilt to the word, didn’t even glance at her.

  “What does that mean?” she tried again.

  “Questioned.”

  “About what?”

  “The crash.”

  “Oh.” Anger displaced some of Bronte’s uneasiness. “They’re not even going to let them rest first?”

  He looked directly at her for the first time and Bronte’s stomach executed a little flip flop, partly from surprise, but mostly because he far more handsome than she’d expected. Were any of the cyborgs not handsome, she wondered?

  She must have been brain dead when they’d put her on the ship not to have noticed him before.

  But then, she hadn’t really looked at any of the men. Jerico’s display of jealousy had been enough by itself to discourage her from looking with any interest, but she’d known if Jerico felt that way then Gideon and Gabriel certainly would be and she hadn’t wanted to arouse their sense of possessiveness. And, once she’d gotten on board, she hadn’t been able to focus on anything but her fear of flying.

  “They are soldiers. They know what to expect.”

  She wished she did. Beyond what he’d told about the med center, she had no idea what to expect. Her companions hadn’t enlightened her, but she hadn’t particularly worried about it because she hadn’t expected to be separated from them.

  Realizing she wasn’t likely to get anything from him that was going to ease her mind, she allowed her curiosity to divert her and looked around. It was too dark to tell much about the city. There was some artificial lighting along the streets, but only a sprinkle here and there that illuminated small patches of building and street, signs mostly and there weren’t very many of those. In some ways, it looked very little different from any other city she’d ever seen—except the notable dearth of artificial lighting and signs, and the fact that there didn’t seem to be a great many people moving about the streets.

  Maybe it was later than she’d thought? Or maybe it was just that this particular area wasn’t frequented that much at night?

  The buildings, not surprisingly, were all new looking and yet she noticed as she began to focus on her surroundings that most of the structures had a good bit of ornamentation about them—surrounding doors and windows, edging the roof lines and, in the cases of multi-storied buildings, delineating one floor from the next—more reminiscent of ancient structures she’d seen in the cities than modern architecture.

  It struck her as odd, at all, that they would’ve modeled their structures along the lines of centuries old Earth architecture instead of the sleek, practical, and ultra conservative modern buildings of the times and stranger still when it dawned on her that the architects of the city were cyborgs. She would’ve thought they, being creatures of logic far more than humans were, would’ve been more inclined to build strictly utilitarian structures. It couldn’t be avoided that they hadn’t, that, by some odd quirk, they’d gone to great lengths to beautify everything around them.

  Otherwise everything was as neat and orderly as she would’ve expected, and yet far more so than one would see in a city built and occupied by humans. There were no stray bits of trash here and there--discarded containers or partially eaten food tossed aside, no overflowing trash containers, no stray animals wandering around to scavenge … or homeless human scavengers.

  There were no detectable defects in workmanship in anything that she saw—no slightly off kilter curb or leaning signs. The streets, curbs, and sidewalks were arrow straight from what she could see, the buildings too—the lines of windows, and doors, and walls were absolutely perpendicular. Even the ornamental designs were absolutely symmetrical—every leaf, flower, curlicue, and animal carved in relief was even, precise.

  There were no vehicles along the roads, no sign that the roads were used for vehicles. She supposed they must have them, else why the roads? But undoubtedly the roads were primarily for servicing vehicles, not personal ones, because she didn’t see any and even if it was late, it seemed that she would.

  Aside from that, the craft had set them down at the edge of the city. The soldier had already carried her several blocks.

  Her mind had wandered from that thought to wondering where the base was that Gideon and the others had been taken to when she noticed the soldier turn and head directly toward a building several stories taller than the others around them. This one had the definite characteristics of a med center. Wide sliding doors opened to a brightly lit waiting area that was deserted except for the man she coul
d see seated at a desk just inside.

  The man looked up disinterestedly as the doors opened for them, did a double take and then stood up. “This is the earth doctor of children,” the man carrying her announced as the receptionist came around to greet them.

  She supposed he was a receptionist. He was dressed in a medic’s uniform—no name tag.

  “A human?”

  The soldier turned his head to her and allowed his gaze to flicker over her face. “Yes. A human female, injured.”

  Bronte was about to object—she was mostly healed, after all—but she didn’t doubt she was suffering some malnutrition from their limited diet, exposure since they’d had no shelter, exhaustion, and god only knew what else.

  He didn’t ask her name or give her his any more than the soldier had. Obviously they weren’t prone to waste a lot of time with frivolous social chatter. “I’m Dr. Bronte Nichols.”

  Both men stared at her blankly, almost as if a dog had suddenly talked. If she hadn’t already guessed that neither of them hailed from the Hunter class, she knew it then. “And you are?”

  “Medic Brent MCS78206.”

  “Master Sergeant, Caleb CS95031.”

  Bronte looked from one to the other in surprise as they both spoke almost at the same moment.

  “I will take her to the examination room.”

  “I will take her,” Caleb responded coldly. “I am ordered to keep her within sight.”

  Uneasiness moved over Bronte as the two men stared at one another. There was nothing challenging about the expression of either, and yet she had the distinct feeling there was a latent battle of wills in progress. Finally, the medic turned, passed through another set of double doors, and led them to a room just a few yards from the entrance.