Nine planet rotations and one hundred and eighty-four messages later, Hoarse had finally convinced the fabricator he was serious about being trained. The fabricator, Arlicia, communicated solely through text and images of ulus, or as she called them, dolls.
In some of those images, he could see her hands. Her fingers were long and pale. She had short neat fingernails. Her skin was immaculately clean.
He liked the way she cradled her dolls. She was gentle with them, almost loving.
And he liked her comments. They were often blunt and to the point. That appealed to the warrior in him. But her feedback also contained humor and understanding.
She was patient with him, was more accepting of his mistakes than he was.
He was fortunate to have her for a trainer.
To repay her kindness, he had accessed her systems and increased her horrifyingly lax security. Arlicia was careful not to share her location or travel schedule or other private details with him, yet anyone with any skill could uncover that information through their connection.
He installed layers of virtual barriers around her data, continuously reinstalled it as the fabricator moved from site to site, from system to system. She appeared to have no ship, no structure of her own. Her communications, which he scanned for threats, signaled no close attachments to other beings. She received messages from merchants, from experts at academies, from admiring offspring.
And from him. He was currently her only trainee.
Humbled by that honor, he considered her to be under his protection.
No one would harm his little doll fabricator.
He would guard her as he guarded his fellow brethren on board the battle station.
“We’re approaching Nereid Negative One.” Relay, one of those brethren, announced that fact to the occupants of the bridge. His voice rose with excitement. “That’s where Truth met his female.”
“We’re not landing on Nereid Negative One.” Captain’s tone was dry. “Due to that warrior’s antics on the planet, its occupants are now hostile toward cyborgs.”
“Yes, Captain.” Relay’s shoulders drooped.
The E Model might be disappointed, but Hoarse was relieved. He hadn’t mastered the skill of ulu fabrication, wasn’t worthy of meeting his female.
Not yet.
I’m ready for the next lesson. He sent that message to Arlicia, the doll fabricator, through his private viewscreen. The inputs for an ulu, a doll, were set on the console before him.
Captain had lifted his eyebrows at that arrangement but had said nothing. He processed how important the training was to Hoarse.
Have you completed the form? The doll fabricator’s words scrolled across his private viewscreen.
It is completed. He carefully cradled the ulu in one of his hands, treating it with the same tenderness Arlicia bestowed upon her dolls, sent that image to her.
It is perfect. Her response filled him with pride. And you finished it quickly. I’m impressed.
He had impressed the skilled doll fabricator. Hoarse’s chin lifted.
The next step is the hair. She had a set order for fabrication, and that appealed to the machine side of him. The hair is…difficult to show in images. She sent him nine images in rapid succession. Ugh. This doesn’t illustrate it properly. It is one long movement.
I will connect the images into footage. He proposed that action to her.
Or I could simply send you the footage. There was a pause. Promise me you won’t share this footage with anyone.
She was requesting a vow of secrecy from him.
He had told Arlicia, the fabricator, very little about himself. She hadn’t attempted to track his communications. The probability she processed who he was or where he was located was 3.6982 percent.
Yet she was relying on him to keep a promise, to behave honorably toward her.
Hoarse frowned. That was dangerous.
She required safeguarding, required him.
Requesting permission to leave the bridge, Captain. The other warriors might hear his fabricator’s voice, see the footage. That would damage his agreement with her.
Permission granted, Second. Captain’s expression was blank as he gazed at the main viewscreen, listened to Relay chatter about nearby planets.
There was nothing positioned within monitoring distance of the vessel.
That was projected to continue. Their battle station patrolled the border of the cyborg-controlled sector. The rest of the universe avoided the space and avoided them.
They could venture for several planet rotations without seeing another vessel.
Hoarse’s presence on the bridge wasn’t necessary. He placed the doll-fabrication supplies in a pack, grasped it and his private viewscreen, and exited the bridge.
A working chamber was situated within a few strides of the bridge. He claimed that location, sat behind a horizontal support and arranged the supplies on the flat surface before him.
Are you still there? That message from the fabricator appeared on his viewscreen. Did the talk of promises scare you away?
I’m here. He was a warrior, had experienced horrors few fully organic beings could have survived. Mere talk of promises couldn’t scare him away from her. I’ve relocated to an unoccupied space. They would have the privacy they required. Your footage won’t be shared with anyone else. I vow that to you.
Okay. Here goes. An out-of-focus bright-red object appeared on the viewscreen. “Oops. That’s not it.” Those words, spoken in a light, feminine voice, were followed by a bubbly laugh.
Hoarse’s cock hardened. His muscles flexed tight. All his systems became active all at once.
There was only one being in the universe who could cause him to react like that.
His female.
The fabricator, his trainer, Arlicia was his genetic match, was the being he was destined to claim, to protect, to manufacture offspring with.
Joy burst inside him. That happiness was edged with lust, longing.
And despair.
While he was convincing Arlicia to train him, he had shown her many of his suboptimal ulus, had shared with her his lack of skill at doll fabrication. He projected that would have no ramifications on his future. She was merely his prospective trainer.
Except she wasn’t merely anything. She was his female. When he had convinced her he lacked proficiency in doll fabrication, he had also relayed he was unworthy of having a female.
He was unworthy of her.
Fraggin’ hole. Hoarse gazed at the viewscreen as the image of a red fabric came into focus. He had revealed his deficiencies to the one being in the universe he most wanted to impress.
“That’s not what you want to see.” The view shifted upward. The image of a human female’s face flashed on his screen. It was only there for a heartbeat.
But that was a long-enough duration to see her. Clearly.
And, being a cyborg, he had captured her image in his processors for all time, would never forget the sight of her.
Brown, chin-length hair framed full, pigment-streaked cheeks. Her lips were plump and pink.
Her eyes shone. One of them was blue. The other one was brown.
She had the same coloring as the ulu he’d purchased, the one she’d fabricated.
That plaything had touched his heart. His female’s presence caressed his soul, stroked his shaft, pushed him to take action.
He leaned closer to the viewscreen, wanting to touch her, hold her, claim her.
That wasn’t possible. He hadn’t yet earned the right to be with her.