Theta: Intergalactic Dating Agency (Cyborg Cowboys of Carbon County Book 4)

by Elsa Jade

  She lifted her chin. “Speak for yourself. My light fingers and quick tongue added nicely to my nightly wages from Jed. And as for you… Remember, the consortium never caught you.” She shot him an impish smile. “I did.”

  For a moment, the little space around them seemed silent, as if they were back on the moon alone. She was being ridiculously, impossibly, willfully blind in a way that had nothing to do with the cataracts over her eyes.

  And she was splendid.

  The part of him that was a gambler was impressed by her boldness, and the part that was a cowboy—failed, yes, but still a cowboy—appreciated her bullheaded folly. And the part that was just Troy Lehigh knew he couldn’t let her go.

  Because she’d probably go without him.

  He let out a slow breath. “We can’t do anything without my activation code from the empress.”

  “How convenient I can show you to the royal safes.”

  Because robbery had turned out so well for both of them last time. Resigned and intrigued, he followed her.

  Chapter 10

  When they sneaked into the tree-lined corridors of the private royal quarters without triggering any alarms, Troy snorted in disapproval. “Her guard should be spaced for letting us infiltrate so easily.”

  “Yes, she should get a shroud for her personal defense.” Nell narrowed her eyes at him in mock surprise. “Oh, wait a second…”

  He snorted again. “I already told you. Shrouds were never intended for protection, only destruction.”

  “Well, I’m an old childhood doll, so I’ve always had run of the place.” She swiped her palm across a comm pad that opened a portal onto another wider corridor.

  Casting a wary gaze around them, he fell into step beside her. “There must be some sort of security here.”

  “She has other toys and games now, the kind that no one else needs to see.” Nell shrugged. “Anyway, there’s no risk here. There’s a freedom of sorts in courtly exile. As long as she doesn’t make a play for Tartaula, she can mourn the past with as many feasts and galas as she likes and none of her enemies will oppose her in that.”

  He stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “And you couldn’t be as satisfied?” His voice turned beseeching. “Let me go alone, face the consortium by myself. If I live, I’ll return and bring you back the tech you want. If you still want it.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t stay here. I’m done with being left behind, remember?”

  “Done with living too?” he asked harshly. “The consortium isn’t like those long-ago Tartaulan rebels who let the emperor’s family fly away into the night.”

  Glaring back, she shook off his grip. “I’m not that doll anymore either.” She stepped up into his space, her hips bumping into his. “I see the silver all around you. You’re regaining your power. Give me some of those, for now.” She skimmed her fingertips up the black expanse of his pseudo-shroud armored chest and laced her fingers through his unbound hair.

  The kiss was electric, with incalculable electrons jumping into higher orbits and charge flowing through them.

  The kiss tasted of rain pouring across the faraway Earth desert, ionic and dangerous.

  Nell couldn’t get enough of the sensation flooding through her, and she didn’t care if it drowned her.

  But after a heartbeat that lasted an eternity, Troy set her down. When had he lifted her up against that strong chest? She let the strands of his hair unwind from her fingers. The bronze locks hung in ringlets for another moment.

  He stared down at her through half-lidded eyes. “Don’t get too cocky. A few more nanites won’t save you.”

  “But a few less might save you.” When he glowered at her, she bit her lip, as if she might lick up a stray microscopic robot or two. “Arrogance took down the emperor. Don’t let it get you too.”

  With a lazy smile, he said, “It’s only arrogance if you’re not that good.”

  “So let’s find out.”

  The century-old plantings on the barge had been meant to recall the Tartaula homeworld, but the alien trees were similar enough to Earther species that it felt like a walk in the park. Delicate lights shimmered in the broad leaves overhead, as if sunlight was peeking through the canopy. Nell’s senses buzzed from the infusion of nanites. Or maybe it was the danger that was growing strangely addicting.

  No, it was just Troy, she admitted to herself, and his kisses.

  She couldn’t wait to be full shroud, cold and calculating, so she didn’t have to dread the inevitable moment when he left her behind.

  For now, though, he was at her side, striding between the tall trees and then up the handholds—almost as deep as stair steps—carved into the wide trunks to the upper levels. A few Tartaulans lingered in these private halls, but most had already gone down to the feast. Those that remained were either staff, who nodded to Nell as an equal, or lesser nobility dodging the empress for their own reasons, who avoided any glances.

  Following the ever-widening avenues through the branches, she led Troy to the upper reaches of the largest tree.

  “These are the empress’s own rooms,” she said quietly. “Although I’ve been here many times, we’ll not want to be seen—”

  A thick tangle of vines parted and Her Most High Excellency, the Lady Eletanvine the Seventh, swept between them, trailing a dozen courtiers behind her. “—And at the dancing, I expect to see at least half the mourners fall when the effigy of my grandfather explodes. The plummeting may be from lower branches, but I want none of that complaining about bruises like last year. Of course the past of our royal saga means a bit of bloodshed.” She spotted Nell, who quickly genuflected, hissing at Troy to do the same.

  From the corner of her eye, she noted he dropped easily into the Tartaulan gestures—of course he did—while slanting her a sardonic glance at the same time.

  “Little Nell.” The empress frowned, the biolums in her short fur darkening. “What are you doing here?” She glanced back at her retinue. “Bruises! A bit of blood! No complaining. See to it. And make sure the feasting troughs never empty. It’s a demise-feast. My grandfather died in battle, not of hunger.”

  Most of the courtiers parted to do her bidding, but three remained, still styling her fur, tipping the plush with streaks of color. Other than angling herself to their preening, the empress didn’t acknowledge them, continuing to frown at Nell. “I thought you were in the toy room.” She flicked a glance at Troy. “And why is that here? You already gave me this gift.” Impatiently, she gestured for them to stand.

  Nell scrambled up more gracefully than she was scrambling for an excuse. “Ah, yes. I thought you might want him at your side for the gala. But he should be turned on.”

  Eletanvine eyed him. “It seems a little dull and sad for a gala.”

  “A Theta can do bruises and blood,” he offered. “Also, demises.”

  Nell restrained a wince. “What shrouds lack in merriment they more than make up for in mayhem.”

  “Mayhem does invigorate a gathering,” Eletanvine mused. “Very well. Have it explode with the emperor’s effigy.” She extended her long arms to her stylists again.

  “Ah, Your Most High Excellency,” Nell risked. “When your grandfather purchased the shroud matrix, he should’ve been given extra codes to enhance the functionality when he took possession of them. Perhaps there might be…other, less exploding duties this gift could undertake for you if he was properly activated.” She dredged up a smile. “I went quite a long way to find him for you.”

  “Perhaps.” Eletanvine shrugged and turned back to her stylists. “Add some silver lines like the cyborg’s. Those are quite intriguing.”

  “He’d be even more intriguing if all his shroud programming was initiated,” Nell prodded with forced nonchalance.

  Scrutinizing her adornments, Eletanvine seemed more than willing to gossip. “Sadly, the fortunes of the Tartaulan royal family had been in decline for generations before my grandfather. His decision to spend the last of
it on an aftermarket matrix to punish the Secondus rebels was wasted.” She rotated to give the stylists access. “The shrouds he purchased were rebuilt and overhauled from failed missions, and they shipped with available programming in place. Which is why we weren’t able to replace the matrix when it went missing. The consortium had no interest in these vanquished cyborgs.” She finished spinning and stared at Troy again. “This is all it will ever be.”

  Maybe it was because she shared his nanites, but Nell felt the shock go through Troy as if it were her own. “No activation codes at all? No enhancements?”

  “Little Nell.” The empress’s neck fur ruffled—a warning that she was getting bored. “You are my oldest, favorite toy from my beloved grandfather. I don’t need another.” With her bulbous black eyes, it was hard to tell where she was looking, but when she reached out to run a long, clawed finger down Troy’s arm, her sudden focus was clear enough. “That’s all the matrix was: another toy.”

  He stiffened under her touch. “War was a game to your grandfather?”

  “One he lost.” She jostled the stylists aside and stepped toward the edge of the wide branch. “The demise-feast is a reminder that as far as we’ve fallen, there is always more to lose. I suggest you not make the same mistake.” Grasping one of the vines, she glanced back at Nell. “Oh. When you called for rescue and reported the shroud, the royal treasurer found the keyholder crystal in the armory. Fetch it from there, won’t you, before you bring the cyborg to the effigy explosion? We’ll need to lock in its obedience, but from what I understand, even secondhand shrouds can mend themselves. So if it provides sufficient entertainment, we can make its demise by explosion a yearly event.” Her vague black stare encompassed them both. “I’m told there will be Earther coffee desserts tonight. That should be tasty.”

  Unfurling the vine, she stepped off the branch and descended out of sight. The stylists retreated into the royal apartments, taking their furtive whispers with them.

  Nell stood frozen. “This…is it?”

  Troy laughed softly. “A secondhand shroud.” He raked one hand over his head, tangling through his hair.

  She slanted a wary glance at him as she reached out to touch his clenched fist. She’d seen him lie, cheat, and steal, but she’d never seen him overcome. She wouldn’t have thought it even possible that the charming, clever Theta could be undone. How ironic that the programmed pretender was brought low by a simple truth about him, that his illicit past was instead more pitiable than he’d known.

  “Troy.” She slid her fingers inward to wedge between his, trying to loosen his tension. “This changes nothing. Our plan goes on.”

  Though he didn’t jerk away from her, neither did he respond to her comforting grasp. “The same?” he drawled. “A minute ago, I was the feared if not proud inheritor of centuries of power. Now…” He laughed again, with a harder edge. “I told myself I was only waiting until I had the right code to be something more, what I was meant to be. Instead, I’m even less than I believed. How can I save my brothers now?”

  She pulled their joined hands toward her chest, as if she could yank him back from whatever dark place he was going. “You said your brothers decided to stay on Earth, to be Earthers. Well, this is what they chose. No code, no magic to become someone special. Just doing what we have to do.” She stared at him hard. “And what we have to do is go after the consortium.”

  He took a step back from her, toward the edge of the branch, pulling loose from her. “We can’t go after the consortium now,” he snarled. “We only ever had a chance if I was fully activated, with all the lethal skills of a shroud. But there’s nothing more to me than this.” He swept his hand in disgust down the fake shroud armor. “I don’t remember whatever my last mission was, but apparently it was a failure.” He shook his head hard. “It all makes sense now, why the consortium never came to recover us after the crash. They didn’t want us. We were garbage even before our transport went down in flames.”

  Nell followed him. Below them, the deck was a long way down through a hundred layers of leaves that would do little to break a fall. “All the more reason to go after the consortium,” she said firmly. “To take back the heritage you were denied.”

  He swiveled to glare at her, his green eyes glinting. “Did you not listen? Nothing was our heritage. We lost it because we failed.”

  “So you try again,” she said impatiently. “Our escape shuttle is prepped and ready to go. In your previous crashes, you never burned out your command lines. There’s no limit on your number of reboots. There’s only how many times you’re willing to try again.”

  “If we go after the consortium without the power of a fully activated shroud, we’ll be dead,” he said flatly. “No more tries, no more hope.” There was nothing charming or manipulative about his sneer. She didn’t even think it was directed at her. “No more inspirational pep talks.”

  “So, then, wouldn’t that be worth it?”

  He stared at her. “You heard I was a failure, discarded as trash. I’m telling you I’ll fail again. And yet you still want to do this? Why?”

  “You know what’s worse than being a failure? Worse than being left behind as refuse? Realizing you threw yourself away. Never getting what you want, not because you failed or because you were too greedy or bad and undeserving—but because you never even knew what it was.”

  Slowly, he reached out, unfurling his tight clenched fist to cup her cheek. He brushed his thumb over the curve of her lower lip, and the caress sent a shiver through her blood and bones. “And now?” he asked softly. “In your extra century and lightyears of wisdom and experience, do you know now what you want?

  Despite the gentleness of his caress, there was a threat in his silky words, and her shiver went deeper. “

  “I want to be strong and fearless,” she whispered. “I want to be unstoppable when I go after what I want. When I fight, I want to win.” She swallowed hard. “I want to not feel.”

  “You think that is a shroud?” His long fingers slipped back under the locks of her coiled hair, gripping her nape with a strange sort of urgency.

  “It’s what you are,” she clarified. “And you are a shroud, so…”

  His mouth crashed down on hers in a violent kiss that rocked them both toward the edge of a fatal fall. She wrapped her arms around his neck, recklessly willing to go. He breathed his fury and his nanites into her with an exhilarating surge that fired through her veins. She moaned against his lips and writhed against the hard thrust of his thigh between her legs.

  She gave back as much as she took. Oh, maybe not the power of his nanites, but the ferocity of her own desire. Maybe she’d been too long floating, uncertain of her own destiny, but she knew she wanted this now, and in the endless turnings of the vast universe, every moment was a new day somewhere.

  They broke apart with a shared gasp, staring at each other.

  “I shouldn’t let you do this,” he growled.

  “I’m done with being left behind,” she snapped back. “To the armory. And then to the ship. After that, I’ll let you show us the way.”

  Chapter 11

  She was magnificent. And a menace.

  Thetas were supposed to be the sly and charming ones. Literally silver-tongued devils. But she had beguiled him in ways beyond any designation. Maybe he’d given her a touch of his charm along with his nanites, but the sashay—her version of a shroud’s arrogant swagger—had been with her from the very start.

  She would’ve made an excellent shroud.

  Not that he’d actually let that happen, of course. Not before, and definitely not now that he knew how ill-suited he was—had always been.

  A secondhand shroud, a refurbished failure sold to a scrooge who’d squandered his place in the universe so carelessly that even his descendants were doomed to roam the void, fueled mostly by an aimless anger.

  As Troy followed Nell through the bustling barge, a twinge of dismay cramped his innards. Was he making the same mistake as
that long-dead emperor? That was worse than being the long-dead emperor’s mistake.

  Maybe they were all just following their programming.

  Their route through the barge to the escape ship she’d chosen took them along an upper balcony overlooking the landing bay. The bay was the one place in the barge large enough to hold the gathering of all the celebrants for the demise-feast. Troy couldn’t help but look down as they pressed between the scurrying attendants.

  The festivities were grander than anything he’d ever seen in Montana, or in any of the cities on Earth that he’d visited before always inevitably returning to the orbit of his matrix brothers. Multilevel tables of foodstuffs were arranged around a cascading waterfall of some sweet-tart beverage falling from the upper reaches of the bay.

  As they passed the source of the fountain, he swiped one finger through the flow and tasted. “Pixberry wine,” he mused. “Not much better than what I fermented.” He peered over the banister to a central stage where holographic ships flickered in some sort of battle reenactment. The show was complete with real pyrotechnics that sent waves of heat wafting through the upper levels of the bay, reaching even to their high perch. “I suppose that is where I would’ve burned for her amusement.”

  Nell nodded. “For decades she would choose a lucky”—she curled her lip in a sneer at the word—“royal descendant to portray the emperor. It was considered quite the dubious honor.”

  “I imagine so, considering that the emperor died in the fighting.”

  “So did too many of the reenactors. Her advisors finally convinced her to stop using her closest blood relatives.”

  “Seems reasonable when the holograms are clearly good enough to serve the role.”

  Nell scoffed. “She just uses her sycophantic followers instead. There are still plenty who’ll risk their lives for her favor.” Her expression darkened. “As I did.”

  “And now you’re still risking your life.”

  “For my own glory this time.” Nell shook back the tinted locks of her hair. “The irony is that she killed off more royal family than the rebels did during the war. There’s not enough of the Tartaulan pure blood left to sustain a royal claim on their homeworld even if they had an army of shrouds.”