Page 3 of Her Alien Cyborgs
Well, that was good news. It didn’t explain what they wanted with her, though. “I’m glad to hear it. Now what does this have to do with me?”
Phylomenia’s expression turned stormy. “There’s another research base. The Interstellar Armed Forces are sending a small fleet to investigate. Scott called in some favors and got us added as consultants. It’s not that we don’t trust them to make the right call…”
Hezza understood immediately. “They’re military, which means they’re going to make decisions based on their training.”
The other man grunted in agreement. “To a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”
Scott Archer shot the man a dirty look. “I’m not a hammer, thank you very much.”
“But sometimes you’re a tool.”
Phylomenia sighed. “Please ignore them. Their idea of flirting leaves a lot to be desired.”
Hezza grinned. “It’s kind of cute. I still need to know why we’re having this conversation, though. And I’d really like to get out of this chair.”
“Here’s the deal, Hez. We’re going on this mission, but we can’t interfere too much. We’re just advisors. We need someone who candosomething if things go nova.”
“You want me along as your backup plan. I’m interested, but I still don’t understand how you’re going to convince the IAF to let me tag along.”
“That’s easy. This is likely to be another cyborg research and development station. The cyborgs of Haven have requested representation on this mission. Since none of them are allowed to leave the planet yet, they’ve designated someone to speak for them.”
“Me?” Hezza nearly choked on the word.
“You,” Phylomenia confirmed with only a hint of a smile. “The job’s yours if you want it.”
She couldn’t turn down the offer or the honor it represented. Still, she did have a reputation to live up to. “I’m interested,” she said, trying to sound casual. “But first I need to know. What does this gig pay?”
CHAPTER 2
The musclesin his arms burned as his shoulders felt like they were about to tear loose from their sockets, but he kept going.
“Four hundred,” he announced as he reached the milestone.
“How is that possible? I’m matching you rep for rep, and I’m only at three hundred and eighty-six.” His companion shot him a disgusted look from the other side of their cell. “If you’re going to cheat, try not to be so obvious about it.”
“I’m… not… cheating,” Fyr’enth said, adding a rep between each word. “You… can’t… count.”
Bickering was another way to alleviate the boredom, and it took less effort than the vertical push-ups they were doing.
Burning off energy wasn’t easy when they spent most of their time confined to a cell. In the beginning, it hadn’t been like this. The days had been filled with combat drills, weapons training, and a litany of tests designed to gauge their physical and mental toughness.
Back then, the entire cell block was full of beings like them. Test subjects, their creators called them back then. Now? They were referred to as failures.
Fyr’enth understood why they saw him that way. Physically, he and Kalan were exactly what their creators envisioned. In test after test, they’d proven themselves to be the strongest and fastest. The other subjects were good, but the two of them were better.
Their bodies weren’t the problem. It was something about their minds. They fought their programming and found ways around their orders. It was the same for all the others.
Over time, the assessments piled up, and the entire cohort was declared a failure. Now he and Kalan were the only ones left. Even some of the ones created after them were gone. Why was he still alive? He had no idea, but in the quiet times, it gnawed at the corners of his mind. Better to stay busy.
“Do you think they’ll feed us today?” Kalan asked, his tone as pointed as his fangs. Every word they spoke, either aloud or via their implants, was monitored. The question wasn’t intended for him. It was a shot at whoever was listening and a reminder that even cyborgs needed to eat occasionally.
He managed another five reps before replying. “Hungry already, Seven? It’s only been three days.”
Officially, they didn’t have names. Seven was the first digit in his companion’s identification number. He was Six. They’d chosen names for themselves more than a year ago, though it had been months before they’d had the opportunity to tell each other what they were. In a life of constant surveillance, every element of his world was controlled by someone else. The thoughts in his head and his name were the only things that truly belonged to him.
“Even experiments have needs, and I’m not getting most of mine met.”
While he didn’t disagree, Fyr’enth wasn’t interested in antagonizing their creators. That inevitably led to punishment of some sort.
