by Cynthia Sax
No one could get to them but they couldn’t get out. Arsenal had to access the rest of the superweapon. That was necessary to destroy it.
She pursed her lips. “Should I blow a hole in the wall?” That would create an exit, allow him to leave.
“I’ll do that.” Her cyborg stood, looming over her, tall and broad and hers. “The smaller the hole, the harder it will be for the enemy to enter.”
He placed his right palm on one of the embedded viewscreens. She suspected he was transferring data, perhaps copying the schematics for the World-ender.
“What should I be doing?” She stood also. Her heart beat hard against her chest. Aware of the danger, her body was in fight or flight mode.
“You should stay alive.” Her cyborg’s voice was gruff. “That’s your mission now.”
He was concerned about her safety. She was concerned about his.
“That’s your mission also.” Vicuska followed him through the shuttle craft.
The small ship was their sole means of leaving the World-ender. Her role was to protect it while he dashed through the superweapon, setting explosives.
That was the logical division of duties, a sound plan they’d both agreed upon.
But her gut now said to change it. She should stay with him. Splitting up was a mistake, might kill both of them.
“I could go with you, help you.” She kept her gaze fixed on the width of his shoulders, the tightness of his ass.
The weapons he had strapped to his fine form would immobilize a human. Her cyborg walked with a fluid grace, conveying them with no visible effort, his tread soundless.
“Nora could protect the shuttle craft.” She could instruct the guidance system to do that. “She has that ability.”
“You’ll stay here.” He stopped inside the doors. A pack filled with explosives had been set there. “Seal the shuttle craft after I leave. Don’t open it until I return.”
“I should accompany you.” She touched her stomach. It was fluttering, warning her of danger. “I can’t explain why I should do that.” Her certainty that it was the right thing to do wasn’t based on facts or reasoning. “It’s a feeling I have.”
“Feelings get cyborgs killed.” Arsenal faced her, his countenance blank. “This type of mission is where I excel. Do as I say and stay here.”
He did have more experience plus he had the shared knowledge of all his brethren in his databases. “But—”
“You’re too slow.” Her cyborg’s bluntness stopped her protest. “You’ll get us both killed and I won’t allow that to happen.”
His words hit her like a slap in the face.
“Oh.” She pressed her lips together.
The foreboding inside her hadn’t relented but maybe he was right. Maybe she was risking both of their lives because of a feeling that might be intuition but might also be fear.
The thought of him dying, of her not being there to save him, terrified her. That had happened with her family. She couldn’t allow another loved one to die that way, alone, without her by his side.
And she did love him. Vicuska gazed up at him. She realized it now, might have always known, since that first glimpse of his image in those Rebel files.
“Arsenal.” She should tell him.
“No.” He barked and her spine straightened. “You’re not accompanying me.”
She swallowed. Hard.
“You’re too important to me to risk losing, my female.” His tone softened. “Stay here and protect the shuttle craft.” He captured her face between his big hands, his palms rough and warm. “I’ll return to you as quickly as possible.”
“Don’t die.” She allowed all of her feelings to show.
“I won’t die.” His eyes glowed. “I have too much to live for.”
He hooked one of his arms around her, pulled her to him, slamming her body against his. She gasped. He captured her lips with a breath-stealing savagery, the impact driving her head backward.
His cold countenance was a lie, a façade he showed strangers, beings he didn’t care about. This passion was the truth. Her cyborg churned with seething emotion, the fire in his soul scorching her to her bones.
She danced in those flames, her worries and forebodings burned to ash. He ravished her mouth until her lips throbbed and her head spun.
Then he stepped away from her, the coldness making her shiver.
“Stay here.” He picked up the pack, opened the doors.
In a blur of motion, her cyborg was gone. She closed the doors, hurried back to the bridge, wanting to see him one more time.
She was too late. An Arsenal-sized hole had been punched in the wall.
Fuck. He was fast.
She touched the handle of the dagger he’d given her. “Our mission is to protect the shuttle craft, Nora.”
“Should I lock the machine out of the system, Captain?” the guidance system asked.
Was she making a joke? Vicuska didn’t know. She didn’t take a chance.
“Do not lock Arsenal out of the system, Nora.” She shook her head. “Redirect our interior usage guns to the gap in the wall.”
They waited. Vicuska watched the opening.
Shooting Arsenal wasn’t a possibility. He moved too quickly for her to hit, would be expecting the projectiles, know to avoid them.
The first Humanoid Alliance male poked his head through the opening. He held a long gun in his hands, gazed around the space.
If he was looking for an easy target, a helpless victim, he wouldn’t find one. Vicuska shot him, shot the next male who entered and the next and the next.
The Humanoid Alliance’s minions kept coming. She kept shooting them.
The wall situated before the shuttle craft shook. It cracked. Pieces of it fell.
The enemy was attempting to widen the gap, make the docking bay easier to access. They didn’t use missiles, likely wanted to minimize the damage to their valuable superweapon.
The males didn’t know it would soon be blown into tiny pieces.
She and Arsenal would succeed in their mission. Their actions would save millions of innocent beings, prevent the Humanoid Alliance from destroying another life-supporting planet.
Someone else’s safety-seeking mother, peace-loving father, risk-avoiding brothers wouldn’t die. Those losses wouldn’t leave a gap in hearts, a hole in the universe.
Vicuska’s jaw jutted as she shot the next male. He fell, his body convulsing. Blood pooled on the floor tiles.
That death was for her family. She peppered another male with projectiles. That was for her cyborg’s brethren.
She dedicated each death to a fallen loved one as she waited for the warrior she adored. After this mission, her war would be over.
Vicuska would turn her back on violence and retribution.
She’d embrace love and a long peaceful future with Arsenal.
Chapter Five
All his lifespan, Arsenal had fought because he was told to fight. He had completed the missions he was assigned, killed the beings he was designated to kill.
This planet rotation, he fought for his female. He battled to keep her safe. He would kill for their future, for the offspring they might have, for the happiness they’d share.
A Humanoid Alliance male entered the hallway. He shot the head- and body armor-wearing human in the neck, that tiny part of his form exposed.
Blood gushed. The male gurgled, clasped the wound, and fell.
Arsenal strode forward, his pack slung over one shoulder.
More males streamed into the narrow space. Projectiles clipped his body armor. He returned fire, downing them one by one. The more beings he killed, the fewer would target his female.
He would complete his task as quickly as possible, return to her. She should be protected in the shuttle craft, had its guns at her disposal.
Arsenal rolled and shot, setting the explosives at regular intervals. The detonation was delayed. That would give him enough time to place the remaining charges,
circle back to the shuttle craft and leave before the World-ender was blasted to bits.
He hid the tiny devices under bodies, in alcoves, in other shadowy places, not wanting the Humanoid Alliance to spot them. His goal was to give the enemy as little forewarning as possible. He wouldn’t allow them to save themselves.
They didn’t deserve to live. Every being on board the superweapon was partially responsible for the death of millions of beings.
Some of those beings had been his brethren. According to his lifeform scans, there were no other cyborgs on board the World-ender.
The male who had spoken to Vicuska said they’d been decommissioned. That must have been the truth. The cyborgs had been killed in the most painful way possible—sliced and dissected while they remained alive.
He’d avenge those warriors. A projectile skimmed his cheek, etching a deep painful groove into his skin. He shot the enemy in the forehead. Brains splattered on the gray wall panel. The male toppled, his body gyrating.
He didn’t attempt to conceal his presence. His tread echoed along the hallways, each placement of his booted feet upon the floor tiles deliberately heavy.
He wanted the enemy to chase him, to not target his female. His form was designed for battle. Hers was not.
Another projectile grazed his skull. He pressed his lips together, sucking back that agony, and calmly, coolly killed the male.
Beings followed him. He accelerated, moving faster than any human could replicate, leaving a trail of dead bodies behind him. Sirens wailed and lights flashed. More males tumbled into the hallway.
They were disorganized and ill prepared. He killed them easily but not without enduring return fire.
The humans couldn’t lock onto him. He ran too quickly for their inferior vision systems.
The barrage of projectiles aimed in his direction, however, meant a few of them striped his face with hurt, chipped away at his body armor. That was expected. It was one of the many reasons his fragile female couldn’t assist him.
She was safe in the shuttle craft. He slid along the floor, avoiding a spray of projectiles, planting an explosive near a closed door. His female would live, wouldn’t be damaged.
He ran at top speed, downing the enemy as he progressed, completing his deadly delivery. The routes through the World-ender were long and unbroken, had been designed to be navigated quickly.
That was a common mistake the humans made. Short hallways with many intersections would have complicated his mission, slowed it.
He made the huge circle through the superweapon. As he approached the hidden docking bay, he spotted Humanoid Alliance males crowded around the opening, guns in their hands.
They were targeting his female. His circuits surged, his rage red-hot and fierce. A growl escaped his lips.
They wouldn’t damage her. He sought to calm himself. She would be shielded by the reinforced walls of their vessel.
But they had dared to target her, his female, the source of his happiness, his reason for being. For that, they would die.
He aimed his guns toward them.
They suddenly turned and ran, shouting. Some sprinted toward him. He greeted them by shooting them in their heads.
A boom stressed his auditory system. The World-ender shuddered under his booted feet. Debris shot along the hallway.
He threw himself to the floor. Heat and fragments of ship rushed over his body armor-covered back.
His female had no such protection.
Terror shredded his processors. “Female,” he yelled, jumping to his feet.
Dust clouded the air. He leaped over rubble, dashed toward the hidden docking bay.
The wall that had once concealed the space was gone. It had been ripped to pieces, savaged by the blast. Live wires snapped, hanging from the ceiling.
Some of the haze cleared. Arsenal clenched his jaw so hard it ached. The remnants of the shuttle craft were embedded in the far exterior wall. There was little left of the vessel.
There was no sign of his female.
“Female.” He bellowed for her again, grabbing pieces of the shuttle craft and tossing it aside, looking for her, hoping she had somehow survived.
She had to have survived. He had ordered her to stay on board. That was the safest place for her. Who would use explosives on their own vessel?
No one rational would do that but humans weren’t logical and they had used explosives and there was so little of the shuttle craft remaining, so little.
His lifeform scans detected nothing. No other living beings occupied the space. His processors also told him his female hadn’t survived the blast.
She was dead.
His female, the only being he cared about in this cruel harsh universe was dead. He fell to his knees. Sharp jabs of hurt shot up his legs. He ignored them. The agony in his heart was worse, much, much worse, superseding any physical torment.
His beautiful, smiling, always-chattering female was dead. He tilted back his head and howled, the pain flowing out of him, unending and severe.
Clenching his fingers into fists, he pounded them against his upper thighs again and again and again. The explosives throughout the World-ender were set, would detonate soon, blowing him and the superweapon up.
He didn’t care.
His female, his reason for living, for being, was dead. His eyes burned. Wetness streamed down his cheeks. He howled until his throat was raw, pulverized the flesh on his thighs with his fists, waited for his own death, welcoming it.
Life without the female he loved held no appeal for him. It would be devoid of happiness, of caring, of everything that made living worth the struggle.
He’d rather be dead than spend one moment without Vicuska. Part of him had already gone dark, his senses numb, some of his systems shutting down.
A weight struck his back. It wasn’t enough to move him. He didn’t care what it was, didn’t care about anything at all.
His female was dead.
A familiar musk teased his nostrils. He breathed in and his heart twisted. The air smelled of her.
That gave him some comfort. He wouldn’t die alone. She was with him, would be with him until the end. They’d be together.
“It is you. Thank the stars. I thought it was, but then you made that horrible noise and I wasn’t certain.”
Fraggin’ hole. He was hearing her voice now. It was loud, a little too loud. Losing her had damaged his processors and his auditory system.
Her death had destroyed his heart, his soul.
“Did you set the explosives?” His female’s beautiful face filled his vision system. Dust had dulled her vivid red hair, coated her pale skin. Her green eyes, however, gleamed. Nothing could hide their shine. “You must have. You always complete your missions.”
He didn’t care about missions, about anything other than her. Didn’t she realize that?
“Female.” His voice was harsh. He touched her chin. She felt real.
“Your face is wet. And fuck.” She grabbed his right hand. “What happened to your fingers?”
The skin over his knuckles were split. Silver was visible through the blood. He’d damaged them down to his frame.
“Malfunctioning.” He must be malfunctioning. His female was fragile, human. She couldn’t have survived the blast.
“There’s no time to malfunction, cyborg.” She clucked her tongue. “We have to get off this cursed World-ender.”
She stood, pulled on his hand. He got to his feet, obeying her without conscious thought, many of his systems down.
She felt, sounded—he inhaled deeply—smelled real. “My female?”
Could it truly be her? Had she survived?
“The next docking bay is too far away.” She drew her guns. The dagger he’d given her remained strapped to her thigh. “We won’t make it even if you carried me and ran at cyborg speed.”
He frowned. Her chatter was too logical to be manufactured by damaged processors. “You’re not dead?”
Her gaze f
lew to his. “Do I look dead?” She balanced on the tiptoes of her tiny boots, bringing her face close to his.
He shook his head.
“Then snap out of it.” Her curt tone hardened his cock and rebooted his systems. “You promised to protect me.” She grabbed the collar of his body armor. “I expect you to do exactly that.” She shook him, her passion thrilling him. “Figure out a way to get us off this fuckin’ Humanoid Alliance death machine.”
His female was alive. Even if his lifeform scans, now functioning, hadn’t relayed that truth, he would have known it. She was demanding he act.
His circuits sparked, joy filling him.
Projectiles whizzed past his head. He pulled his female in front of him, shielding her with his body. She wouldn’t be alive for long if he didn’t focus.
“Arsenal.” She tapped her guns against his body armor. “We’re running out of time.”
“Escape pods.” There were some within reach, particularly if they moved at cyborg speed.
He scooped her into his arms. Nothing felt as good, as right as her body pressed against his. He thought he’d never experience that again.
But he would…because she was alive. His female was alive.
“I can run.” She waved her guns.
“You can’t run as quickly as I can.” And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. Ever. “Shoot anyone in our way.” He gave her a task. “We’re staying together. You were right about that.”
She had almost died because he hadn’t listened to her.
“I’ll protect you.” She smiled at him.
“And I’ll protect you.” His heart swelled with love. “Are you ready, female?”
“I’m ready, cyborg.” She raised her weapons, her expression so blasted earnest he wanted to kiss her all over.
He’d do that once they were both safe. Arsenal turned. A projectile grazed his shoulder. He folded his body over his female’s smaller form, covered as much of her as possible with his arms.
“Die, you bastards.” She shot at the males, downing one, causing the rest to retreat. Pride swept over Arsenal. His female was skilled and brave and stunning.
He ran into the hallway, carrying her. She blasted the enemy with projectiles, adding words to her assault, her chatter entertaining him, reassuring him she was alive. She was with him.
