Dawn of the Cyborg

by Marie Dry

  A sob burst from Aurora. “I have to go home.”

  The president shook his head. “Aurora, someone gave my agent that bow string. Let him find out more,” he said.

  “I want to go home. I have to be there when Ter comes home.”

  “You stay here,” Balthazar said.

  She turned on him. “If she’s dead, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born, and that goes for the president too.”

  “I only wanted to check in with you, Aurora, make sure you were all right.” He seems to trust you. Where did they get the items they traded?

  She couldn’t believe he had the nerve to try his sign language trick when all she could focus on was the evidence that Ter was alive.

  Aurora almost made a rude snorting sound. He didn’t care how she was doing. He just wanted his precious information. She was tempted to ignore him. It’s early days, but I think I can talk him into a permanent peace agreement.

  He didn’t react to that, and it worried her. Didn’t he want a peaceful solution?

  “I have to go,” the president said out loud and signed, “Find me a weakness.”

  “Find my sister.” She made sure he heard the threat in her voice. They both knew that, without her cooperation, it might be decades before they found a way to reach the cyborg ships.

  “We are doing everything humanly possible.”

  His image winked out, and Aurora turned to Balthazar, feeling guilty for not mentioning the possible off switch. She’d planned to use that bit of information to motivate the president to find Terra.

  “We will go to the mess hall now.” He took something out of a pocket, took her hand, and slipped her watch onto her wrist. His touch was warm, almost comforting. “I have repaired your watch.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and her voice echoed dully around the room. Everything around her dimmed. Even her skin barely registered his touch.

  He took her arm and steered her into the winding corridor. “Your solar technology stopped working when we went through the dimensional door. I have replaced it with Bunrika technology.”

  “Bunrika technology?”

  “It is similar to your pico technology?”

  Did he know what she carried in her hair? Was this a subtle way to tell her he knew about it?

  It was hard taking an interest in anything while, in her mind’s eye, all she could see was that pink frog. She forced herself to concentrate on what he said. Information had worth. She could trade it for Ter.

  “We are beyond what you call pico technology. On Tunria, we call it Bunrika technology. It is smaller and more advanced.”

  “Is it much different from ours?”

  “It is structured on a much smaller scale and involves the manipulation of what you call atomic nuclai and nuclear isomers. It took three clone reincarnations for Bunrika to develop it to a point where the technology was stable.”

  Her eyes nearly crossed at that technical explanation. The president had seriously underestimated him. She had the most awful feeling Balthazar knew about the picos and was waiting to see what she’d do with it. “How do you know so much about it? Did the Tunrians trust you to know their science?” She still couldn’t figure out how he could be in command of a spaceship when he was treated as little better than a slave by his people. Whenever she asked him about it, he flatly refused to talk about it, though she was slowly wearing him down.

  “Bunrika is the only scientist knowledgeable in that technology. He created me, and I acted as his assistant for many years.”

  She’d seen movies and read books about artificial intelligence, but she couldn’t fathom how it would feel if you knew your creator. If you weren’t the result of a birth, but of science. “He must’ve trusted you a lot. Did you like this Bunrika?” she asked.

  There was something in his voice, some anger and something she couldn’t identify whenever he talked about Bunrika. She wanted to bite off her own tongue. He’d told her before he’d killed his creator and that was not the kind of memories she wanted to stir.

  “He was a great man on Tunria,” he said. “He created me, told me how to find a soul, and then--”

  “And then?” She forgot about the pink frog, about the president who might or might not be playing with Ter’s chances of escape to manipulate Aurora.

  “He told me where to get my soul, gave me the codes for this ship.”

  He still spoke in that emotionless voice, but she could feel anger coming off him, as if he projected it in radio waves.

  “If he helped you, why do you hate him so? You said before you killed him.”

  Those reptilian eyes flashed. “He betrayed us.”

  No wonder he thought she’d betrayed him when they found explosives in her luggage. “Is that why you don’t consider yourself Tunrian?”

  “They made us, used us like slaves.” He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ground against each other with a loud metallic sound. “Hundreds of cyborgs died from abuse every year.”

  “Oh, no. Didn’t Bunrika do something about it?”

  “No, he only made more of us for the Tunrians to abuse. We were expendable machines. Slaves.” He said the last through clenched teeth. His eyes flickered between yellow and green. She’d never seen them do that before. His hands were clenching and unclenching, three-fingered hands turning the gesture into something almost lewd.

  So they were slaves looking to enslave someone else. History had shown former slaves to be merciless to their former taskmasters. If she had the chance, she’d--

  “How did you escape?”

  “We killed them and stole their spaceships,” he said with absolutely no emotion.

  So that’s how he came to be in command of this ship. Dread filled her whole being. How was she supposed to stop him if he planned to kill humans and replace them with cyborgs? “You don’t plan to kill everyone on Earth, do you?”

  “We are going to take your planet and make it ours.”

  “And the humans already living there? What about them?”

  “You will be safe, Aurora.”

  She really didn’t want her suspicions confirmed. “I suppose you have a name all picked out for your new planet.”

  “Yes.”

  His serious answer in response to her sarcastic statement sent chills down her spine. “I can’t wait to hear what name you came up with.” Probably some Babylonian name that took forever to pronounce.

  “We will call it Dawn,” he said with obvious satisfaction.

  She’d been prepared for numbers or some unpronounceable Babylonian name, but Dawn was actually a cool name. Was it a coincidence that it was also her name? From the moment the president’s goons invaded her office she’d been focused on Ter--saving Ter, asking forgiveness from Ter.

  Now she couldn’t afford that single-minded focus anymore. If she didn’t do what the president sent her to do, everyone she knew might die. Even Ter. Aurora thought of the way Balthazar tried to make conversation. The endearing way he said he would call Earth Dawn.

  “It’s not a bad name, but our planet already has a name.” If someone had asked her a month ago if she’d care if they changed the name of the planet, she’d have said no. Now she was prepared to fight for it. “Humans will fight to the death to keep our planet and our name for it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is ours. Because humans won’t allow themselves to be enslaved on their own planet. You know how it feels to be enslaved. Doesn’t it bother you that you will be doing the same thing to us?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think that I will allow you to touch me if you harm my people?” She knew they had the technology to win a war with Earth. But she seriously doubted if they had the man power. Or cyborg power.

  “You think you can stop me touching you, making you run for me?”

  Aurora swayed, the corridor tilting around her. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. After the kiss that first day, he didn’t try to touch or kiss her a
gain. She woke and went to sleep with him next to her most of the time. He was so neat that if she didn’t see him in bed with her, she’d doubt he ever entered the cabin. It was excruciatingly intimate to share quarters with him, but she’d come to trust him not to force himself on her.

  His hand tightened on her arm. “Why are you not talking?”

  They reached the mess hall. She jerked her arm free and sat down at the single seat at the head of the table. He lifted her and sat her down on the bench at the side of the table. Aurora glared down at the metal table. It gleamed as if someone had scrubbed it for hours. Balthazar sat down next to her, and she inched away from him.

  He shot out a hand and dragged her flush against him. “You will talk to me.”

  If glares were hot, the table would’ve caught fire at the gaze she gave him. She pointedly moved away when he let go of her arm. And the idiot dragged her back.

  “Why do you need me to talk? You can do with me what you want. Use my body any way you want. You don’t need me to interact with you for that,” she sniped at him.

  “You enjoyed sharing souls with me.”

  Seriously? “Can you not see the difference between mutual kissing and touching, and you forcing yourself on me--” she screamed at him. A sound, a kind of doof sound that came from the hall, interrupted her. She stopped screaming and turned to face the door. “What’s that?”

  “Cyborgs.”

  They filed into the room, their boots striking the deck with synchronized precision. The sound increasing in volume until she had to resist the urge to cover her ears.

  They marched single file, large fierce-looking cyborgs that took their places, spinning on their heels to face the table. They sat down on the benches in perfect synchrony. Each cyborg sat facing forward, their hands resting on their thighs.

  A cyborg with dread locks sat down next to her.

  Remember your mission, she reminded herself. Aurora smiled at him. “My name is Aurora.”

  He didn’t even twitch.

  Balthazar turned to her with a rumbling sound. “Why are you talking to him?”

  “It’s polite to talk to the person sitting next to you when you sit down to a meal.” This was unreal, talking about etiquette when, just now, he’d talked about destroying humans, taking their planet, and forcing himself on her.

  “You are my runner, I sit next to you.” Again that impression of the very young, so incongruous with his dangerous physical appearance, his intentions toward humanity. “You talk to me.”

  “I would like to get to know the people on this ship.”

  “You think we are people?” the cyborg next to her asked.

  She nodded.

  Balthazar stared at her, ignoring the cyborg next to her. “You will only run for me,” he said at last.

  “Of course,” she said through clenched teeth and forced a smile.

  A cyborg came out of the kitchen area. He also had black hair, but his was long and sleek down his back. He dumped plates in front of them--starting at the cyborg seated farthest from her--as if he didn’t give any thought to presenting the plates to his customers. Food flew all over the place. When he reached her, she quickly took her plate and placed it on the table with exaggerated care.

  All the cyborgs turned to watch her.

  She picked up the utensil that looked like a fork with three prongs. It was incredibly made, the tines round instead of flat, with symbols engraved over every inch of it.

  “This is beautiful.” It was an object of beauty with what looked like vines on the stem. Aurora took a bite and had to concentrate hard not to spit it out again. “You should’ve stolen a cook as well,” she mumbled and shuddered.

  She’d never get used to the way they pulped their food.

  “You do not like the food?” Balthazar asked.

  “No, it’s fine, though I suspect we prepare food differently from you. Did the guy who brought the plates cook?”

  From what she’d learned so far, she suspected they fed from tubes while in the stasis chambers in the cargo hold. That was the only explanation she could come up with for the texture they preferred. Again, she had to suppress sympathy.

  She kept seeing this picture of them back on their home planet. Fed from tubes while they stood in stasis pods and only taken out to be used as slaves.

  “Yes, Amukkan expressed an interest in cooking. He is also responsible for obtaining supplies for the mess hall.”

  “Where did you get supplies before you traded with the farmer?”

  “The Tunrians stocked each ship with ample supplies.”

  She smiled at the cook and then turned to the soldier on her left and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Aurora.”

  “No running for them and no touching,” Balthazar said, like a small thunderstorm erupting next to her.

  “Nebuchadnezzar,” the cyborg said without shaking her hand.

  Aurora dropped her hand and kept a straight face with difficulty. Which databases did they look at when they decided on their names? “Do you shorten it to Nebu?”

  “No.”

  Her cheeks hurt from the smile she forced onto her face. “Hi, I’m Aurora, pleased to meet you,” she said to the cyborg opposite her.

  “Nero,” he said without looking up.

  “Did you choose your name from our databases, Nero?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anatu,” another cyborg said, so curt, at first, she thought he was saying something rude.

  “Abdilkisu.”

  This came from farther down the table. She knew it was dangerous to see them as innocent and childlike, but the impression remained.

  “What were your Tunrian names?”

  The atmosphere chilled as all the cyborgs turned to face forward.

  She looked up at Balthazar who glared at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

  They must’ve seen their friends die from the way the Tunrians handled them. She shuddered to think of everything that happened to them on their planet. They didn’t say a word, simply sat quiet and swallowed the food without much chewing. She had the impression that, like Balthazar, none of them was used to consuming food by chewing and swallowing.

  “We had numbers,” Balthazar said after a long silence.

  She didn’t know what to say to that. She definitely didn’t want to make them any madder. To gain some time, she took a small bite, but shuddered at the bland taste and texture of food pulped together. Even when she lived on the streets, she’d stolen better tasting food than their cook prepared. “Have you considered stealing a human cook and getting better tasting fo--” Aurora bit her lip. Better not give them any ideas.

  The way they all sat perfectly still penetrated. Oh no, Aurora, you idiot, they’re going to kidnap a human cook, and it’s going to be your fault.

  Aurora touched Balthazar’s hand lying on the table, or tried to. He grabbed hers in a strong grip, so fast she barely saw him move.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  She drew her wrist out of his hold and knew she only managed it because he allowed it. It was almost a caress, the way their skins slid against each other. “I know my question upset you. I just wanted to comfort you.”

  “Why?”

  Her heart shattered, like a hard disk broken into thousands of pieces in a recycle factory. Had anyone ever showed him sympathy? Cared for his wounds or wiped his tears? Did cyborgs cry? “That is what a person does, Balthazar. If someone is sad, you comfort them.”

  He didn’t react, continued eating with methodical moves of his fork, his chewing still awkward.

  Not knowing what else to do, she resumed eating. It took a while before she realized that they copied all her actions, down to the awkward way they chewed their food.

  “The most important thing about eating is the conversation,” she told them.

  “You said we cannot eat and talk.” Balthazar narrowed his eyes at her, and she had to bite her lip not to laugh.


  “I said you shouldn’t talk with your mouths full of food. When you’re not chewing and have swallowed, you can talk.” If she lost her job at the foundation, she could be the ultimate inter-galaxy dorm mother or something.

  They continued eating, and she thought they’d decided against conversation when Balthazar spoke. “I say to Nebuchadnezzar, is there still an anomaly in the cryo chamber air supply?”

  She wanted to stand up and cheer because Balthazar did conversation perfectly.

  There was silent communication between Balthazar and Nebuchadnezzar--she could almost feel the frequency they talked at in the air.

  “I say, the anomaly is happening at different times in different sections of the ship,” Nebuchadnezzar said.

  “That is interesting. Why do you think it happens in different parts of the ship?” A thought occurred to her, and she could feel herself going green. “Please tell me you don’t have a leaking hull.” Visions of dying, her lungs starved of air flashed in front of her eyes.

  “I have verified that there are no leaks. It is most likely caused by rodents that came aboard with the supplies,” Nebuchadnezzar answered.

  “What kind of rodents do you have on Tunria?” Aurora eyed her plate, her appetite deserting her. Visions of foreign rats multiplying in hidden dark places on the ship flashed through her mind.

  “They are similar to your rats.”

  “Can you detect how much air even a small rodent uses? It’s a small rodent, right?” Visions of alien rats with pointy teeth coming out at night to nibble on her toes flashed before her. She’d jettison herself out of an airlock before she’d endure another rat bite.

  “If it is a rodent, it is at least a small family.”

  Balthazar slammed his fist down on the table, and Aurora jumped, her knife and fork landing on the floor with a clutter. “You speak to me now. You are my human runner.”

  She took another deep breath and turned to Balthazar, still trembling. “I like talking to you, Balthazar. It doesn’t mean I forget about you when I talk to the other cyborgs.” She breathed in and slowly out. “And there is no need to shout and abuse the table.”