Mated To The Cyborg General (Celestial Mates)

by Kit Tunstall

  He was confused and seemed mildly disgusted. “You refer to breeding.” For a moment, his eyes flicked rapidly, and then he spoke again. “Sex. How humans reproduce.”

  “I think there’s more to being mates than that,” she said tentatively. “Do Cyborgs have sex?”

  “Yes, we do.” He sneered at her. “And this is why you came here, human? For sex with a cyborg?”

  Carrie glared at him. “Don’t flatter yourself. You make it sound like I had a choice in the matter. Remember that Rote guy just showed up in my living room and kidnapped me and my dog? I don’t know why I’m here, but it isn’t by choice, and it certainly isn’t to have sex with you.”

  Though she delivered the words in a scathingly blistering tone, and they were technically true, she couldn’t help admiring the physique revealed by the tight black pants and vest he wore. It left part of his torso and arms completely bare, and she wasn’t strong enough not to appreciate the view. After all, she still had a pulse. That didn’t mean he needed to know that, so she quickly returned her gaze to his face as she attempted to keep an expression of disdain to match his own.

  “Why did Rote bring you here?” He shook his head, and the short black hair on top of it didn’t move at all, since it was so closely cropped to his skull. “How can you be the key to winning the war?”

  “What war?”

  The general arched a brow, sounding skeptical when he asked, “What do you mean, what war? The same war that’s raged between cyborgs and you humans for the last seven decades.”

  She inhaled sharply. “You’re at war with humans? Why would Freydon Rote bring me here?” Panic was spreading through her again, and she almost wished the little peach alien was there to do that trilling sound that calmed her down—and take her back to her living room.

  “Of course. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

  She shook her head. “There’s not been some war going on for the last seventy years, at least not in my world. What planet are we on?”

  “Earth. Are you claiming you come from a different planet?”

  Carrie shook her head. “No, I’m from Earth too, but not this Earth. The only war I know that’s currently going on is human versus human, and it’s over religion and oil. There aren’t even cyborgs on my earth.”

  “Why would you fight over oil?”

  “To power our vehicles and economic reasons… It’s stupid, really.”

  “Vehicles powered by fossil fuels have been obsolete since twenty fifty-seven. It makes no sense to fight a conflict over something no one uses.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Twenty fifty-seven? What year is it here?” Her stomach clenched as she braced herself for his answer.

  “It’s twenty-four forty-eight. Are you claiming to be from a different time?”

  Feeling nauseated, Carrie reached out for Penny, who came over and put her head on her lap. She started stroking the dog and found a small measure of comfort. “I’m from the beginning of the twenty-first century.”

  He took a step back, clearly startled by her words. There was still skepticism in his expression, but at least he didn’t accuse her of lying. “What possible value would a woman from your time period be for ending the war between humans and cyborgs?”

  She shrugged, trying not to take offense at the way he classified her as a commodity that could be valuable or not. “What war?” she asked again.

  He started pacing. “In twenty-two ninety-six, Maurice Frankel made a breakthrough in cybernetics. People had been using robotic prosthetics for at least a hundred years, but he found a way to bond human and machine on the cellular level. He started creating cyborgs to serve humanity, recruiting many with the lure of money. The planet was vastly overpopulated, and millions suffered without jobs, adequate food supply, or enough clean water. He found a plethora of volunteers.

  “Initially, governments of Earth were somewhat resistant to the idea, until they discovered how useful cyborgs could be. We existed in a gray area that didn’t clearly define us as autonomous beings. We were at their mercy and forced to do their bidding. As word spread about the conditions cyborgs lived in, Frankel found it difficult to find volunteers.”

  “Did he start stealing people or something?” She hung on his words, wishing he was simply weaving a science fiction story for her rather than Earth’s history—or her future, from her perspective.

  He shook his head. “No, that was unnecessary. The Allied government simply issued a new guideline. Any soldier who died during active duty could be reanimated as a cyborg using Frankel’s techniques. When that wasn’t providing enough numbers for him, they modified it further, allowing soldiers to be drafted from the military to undergo conversion to a cyborg.”

  Carrie’s mouth gaped open. “They couldn’t do that. It had to have been illegal.”

  “They were the government. They could do what they wanted, though the human soldiers did resist. They staged an uprising, but the cyborgs quelled it.”

  “And that’s how the war with cyborgs and humans began? You were sent in to stop people from resisting becoming like you?” Her nausea further increased. How could the alien matchmaker expect her to be mates with someone like that?

  “No, that’s not what happened. They ended the rebellion, but Frankel’s measures to suppress their consciousness and own awareness were failing. The cyborgs saw the injustices committed, that had also been inflicted upon them, and the rebellion stirred anew, though it was cyborgs fighting that time. Some humans fought alongside us, and cyborgs quickly fell out of favor for obvious reasons. Being a resourceful egomaniac, Frankel switched direction with his research. Within three years, he’d created the first synth warrior prototype.”

  “What’s a synth warrior?”

  “A synthetic human, created from a mixture of materials. They don’t have emotions, so they aren’t driven by fear or empathy or compassion. They follow orders, no matter how atrocious. There have been conflicts for decades, and the humans who controlled the synthetic armies gave them a simple directive—destroy all the cyborgs and our human allies. Cyborgs are far more difficult to destroy than humans, as you can imagine. It didn’t take long before it was almost completely cyborgs fighting the synth warriors.”

  “Is that why the planet look so awful? Or at least the part of it that I’ve seen?”

  He shrugged. “Partly, but that’s mainly due to a weapon the humans deployed sixty years ago. It was meant to kill cyborgs in a single swoop. From what we pieced together, it was designed to dissolve the ionic bond between human and synthetic parts, but it must’ve malfunctioned. Instead of destroying just cyborgs, it started to disjoin the bonds between purely organic matter.

  “Some cyborgs were affected, but none of us died. Our healing mechanisms were able to counter the damage, no matter how extensive. We watched the few remaining humans fighting at our side simply dissolve away. The humans who wanted our destruction had already withdrawn into their safe havens. We haven’t seen a human in sixty years, but the fighting has grown even more brutal. The synthetics don’t stop, and we can’t afford to, or we’ll be annihilated.”

  “And Freydon Rote told you I would end the war?” At his nod, she couldn’t help a scathing laugh. “How am I supposed to do that? Maybe I should crochet them all gun cozies?” That was if she still had her crochet bag. She didn’t remember if she’d held onto it during the transition from her living room to this new nightmare, or if she had dropped it along the way.

  “I’m not… I can’t…?” She trailed off and suddenly found it difficult to breathe. It felt like she had inhaled a lungful of dust that raged outside in the whipping wind. She coughed, but it did nothing to improve her ability to breathe. Carrie slumped forward, head between her knees, in an attempt to conquer her panic and breathe.

  A moment later, he crossed the room and stood beside her. His large hand fell solidly on her back, and it was unclear if he was trying to give her a comforting pat or clear her blocked respiratory tract. H
is awkward pat was too hard to be one of pure comfort, but not hard enough to be effective for helping her breathe. Each time his palm connected with her back, it jarred through her.

  Finally, she was able to draw in a deep breath, and she endured a couple more of his awkward attempts to help before she was able to sit up, gently disengaging. Despite the slightly rough way he’d slapped her on the back, she found herself missing his touch as he moved away, putting distance between them.

  Carrie rubbed her eyes, blinking back tears that tried to fall. “I just don’t understand any of this. Why I’m here, or why he told you I could help end the war. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know anything about strategy or fighting. I have no knowledge of robotics. I can’t even set up my own modem. I had to have the cable company come out to do that. Why would he say we’re supposed to be mates? If I had him here right now…”

  The general surprised her with a small chuckle. “I have a feeling he’s too wise to show his face here again, at least if he has any inkling of self-preservation. He must realize he’s not popular with either one of us.”

  A spark of hope shot through her, and she lifted her head. “Do you have time travel abilities? I mean, it’s four hundred-plus years in the future. You must have something like that.”

  He looked regretful as he shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. I’m certain if the humans had it on their side, they would have used it by now in some way to complete the destruction of the cyborgs. I’m afraid you’re stuck here, Carrie.”

  The tears threatened to fall again, and she blinked several times, refusing to yield to them, at least for now. “What do I do then? I have no friends or family here, and it’s obvious cyborgs hate humans, so how do I stay here?”

  She broke off abruptly when she realized she was presuming a lot. He might not even allow her to stay despite Rote’s words that they were meant to be mates. She wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work either. Her cheeks felt hot as she had the thought.

  Of course she understood the physical mechanics of such a joining, assuming he still had all of his functioning parts, but she didn’t understand the purpose behind their union, or how the matchmaker could be certain they were supposed to be together. “Do you know where the other humans are? Maybe I could go there.”

  His mouth tightened. “No.”

  “You don’t know where they are?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t, but you aren’t going there. You’re staying here.” He spoke firmly, as though the matter was already decided.

  “I can’t stay here. You hate me. It isn’t safe for me here, and I don’t want to be surrounded by people who hate me. It’s no way to live.”

  “You’re staying, and that’s final.” Without another word, the general stormed from the room, the door closing behind him with a hydraulic hiss.

  She got up from the hard surface on which she had been seated and moved across the room. She stood in front of the door and tried to figure out how to open it, but it refused to yield. For the time being, she was stuck there until or unless he came back to her. “Overbearing jerk,” she muttered before moving away from the door.

  Once more, she sat down on the hard, flat surface, hoping this wasn’t meant to be a bed, though she feared it might be. Judging from the dimensions of the room, and the complete lack of creature comforts, it seemed pretty obvious she was in the equivalent of a holding cell.

  That was a strange experience, considering she’d never even been sent to the principal’s office in school, or had as much as a speeding ticket as an adult. Things had certainly changed, and definitely not for the better—no matter how attractive her so-called mate was. That alien who had gotten her into this mess had a lot to answer for if he ever bothered to show his face again.

  Chapter Three

  DVS went to the main command room, unsurprised to find JSN already in attendance. His friend and comrade would have naturally stepped in while he interrogated the prisoner.

  A dart of discomfort shot through him at the idea of describing Carrie that way, but it was the most apt descriptor. She was currently a prisoner, and he had been attempting to get answers from her. That she was supposed to be his mate made no difference, and he still couldn’t see Rote’s logic to that.

  What value was a mate to a man like him, one embroiled in a war for their very survival? Rote had promised DVS a way to end the war, but had simply delivered a human female from the distant past. There was no value in the union, and he needed to ignore the physical urges leading him to want to claim the human as his.

  “Did you learn anything of use from the human?” asked JSN. His lips turned down into a frown. “She is completely human, isn’t she?”

  DVS arched a brow. “I assume so, but I didn’t give her a thorough inspection.”

  JSN gave him a knowing smirk. “You would have had time to, and she is your mate. Perhaps you can overlook the fact that she’s human. She’s not completely unappealing. If you don’t want her, there might be another—”

  Before he’d realized it, DVS’s hand shot out and wrapped around his friend’s throat, squeezing hard enough to keep him from speaking. “None will touch her.”

  JSN didn’t seem unduly worried as he lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. He didn’t speak until DVS withdrew his hand. “It’s like that, is it? I’m surprised you’re back already then and not consummating your union.”

  “I have no intention of touching her. I simply want to ensure her safety. She’s an enigma, and if Rote is telling us the truth, she might be the key to ending the war. We just have to figure out how she’ll serve that purpose. We can’t do that if she’s injured by one of the cyborgs, or harmed in any fashion.”

  JSN chuckled. “I don’t believe she’d be harmed by any who might claim her as a mate, though she might not walk straight for a while.”

  DVS struggled to control his temper, uncertain why his friend’s ribald comments were irritating him in such an extreme way. He shouldn’t feel at all protective or possessive of the human. He’d never agreed to take her as a mate. He’d simply agreed to meet Rote at the appointed time, and he’d been lured there with the promise of ending the war.

  In point of fact, he had paid little attention to Rote’s insistence that he was bringing him his destined mate. He had focused on having the upper hand to finally end the vicious conflict with the synths and the humans. So why did the idea of one of his cyborgs claiming her offend him so greatly?

  He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thoughts. “She’ll be safe here, so spread the word that she’s off-limits.”

  “And will she be staying in the brig, General?” There was a knowing gleam in his friend’s eye despite the deference in his tone when he phrased the question.

  “Of course, at least until I figure out what value she might be, or what her fate will be.”

  “I’ll spread the word then, General.”

  He turned away from his friend, planning to focus his thoughts on the tasks before him. There were offensives to plan, data to sort through from the reconnaissance teams, and myriad other tasks that went with coordinating and commanding a large army. Any of the duties before him should have been enough to occupy his thoughts and keep him focused solely on what he needed to do.

  It was disconcerting to have the human’s face continuously slipping into his mind. Her delicate heart-shaped face and big brown eyes were an unwelcome distraction. Thoughts of running his fingers through her long mane of dark brown hair were inappropriate as he tried to focus on the reports from the recon scouts.

  The idea of allowing his hands to roam freely over all her soft curves instead of focusing on what he should be doing was practically a dereliction of duty. He should write himself up, but it would be too humiliating to have such a report appear in his records. Despite a monumental mountain of tasks before him, he accomplished precious little in the intervening hours as he tried repeatedly to get the human out of his thoughts.

  ***
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  Poor Penny was pacing urgently around the confines of the room, pausing to give Carrie a pleading look every few steps. Carrie was irritated on the dog’s behalf, and once again, she started pounding on the door through which the General had disappeared more than an hour before. “You need to let my dog out.” She shouted the words as she took a break from trying to get someone’s attention as she’d been doing for at least the last twenty minutes.

  Despite the sides of her hands hurting from where she had formed fists to pound on the door, she was determined to keep at it until someone responded. It was bad enough to lock her in here, but completely unacceptable to do this to Penny. She knew the dog would be traumatized if she was forced to potty inside. She clearly had better manners than the cyborgs holding them prisoner.

  Suddenly, the door opened, making Carrie stumble back as Penny moved forward eagerly. Carrie called out to the dog, who was trained enough to stop, even though she was clearly desperate to relieve herself. She didn’t want to risk Penny running out into the hall and being hurt by one of the cyborgs for trying to escape.

  The person who stood on the other side of the door was a bit of a surprise. Carrie was average height, and so far, the cyborgs she had seen had all towered over her. That was not the case with the shorter female cyborg in front of her. She was petite, and her pixie cut only served to further enhance her delicate appearance. Though she was the same light blue as all the others, with the luminescent vascular/circuitry system, she seemed to glow with a different light entirely. There was also kindness in her eyes, along with curiosity.

  “Hello.”

  “Um, hi,” said Carrie a bit uncertainly. “My dog needs to relieve herself.”

  The cyborg tipped her head slightly, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

  “She needs to go outside. If I’m not allowed to leave, could you please take her and bring her back?”

  She smiled. “Of course, but you can come with us.” She spoke with unwavering confidence.