Home > Stone Cold Cyborg(3)

Stone Cold Cyborg(3)
Author: Cara Bristol

 “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It doesn’t hurt much, though, right?”

 “Of course, it hurts!” he snapped. “Why would you think it doesn’t?”

 “Don’t you have those nano thingees to dull the pain?”

 Her fellow colonists were staring, watching the interchange, waiting to see what would happen. Would the captain toss her into the brig? Airlock poor Sparky?

 “All of you, disperse!” He waved at the gawkers, and they fled for their cabins. She wished she could slink away to her quarters, too, but she knew without being told, there was no way he would dismiss her yet.

 Captain Stone regarded her from his immense height, muscles bunched and corded under his uniform, gaze forbidding, features chiseled. Rock was softer than his expression.

 Her anger had faded, and without fury to give her courage, her knees shook. Staring eyeball to eyeball with him was almost as bad as facing down the Tyranian in the greenhouse. No—no one was that bad. The alien had been hideous. Its red eyes had glowed with malice. And it stank.

 Sparky had saved her. The K9-500 had leaped into the air and attached itself to the creature’s scaly arm. As the Tyranian had attempted to shake off the bot, she’d decapitated the attacker with a scythe. Then, she’d grabbed her dog and fled. She’d been on the run for a month, scavenging for whatever native flora she recognized as edible, which wasn’t much, and hid wherever she could, until the Crimson Hawk had arrived, fought off the aliens and rescued the survivors.

 She shuddered as remembered terror clogged her throat.

 A muscle twitched in the captain’s cheek.

 “I did not realize the canine wasn’t organic.” His gravelly voice almost sounded apologetic. “But I can’t allow a bot to run amok and attack people.”

 “You’re the only one he bit.” Other than the alien who didn’t count. She hugged Sparky tighter.

 “You’ve only been aboard since yesterday afternoon. It hasn’t had a lot of opportunity.” He raked a hand over his military buzz cut. “If you’ll agree to keep the bot deactivated, I’ll allow you to keep it.”

 “I will. I promise,” she said.

 “You should have it reprogrammed when we reach SSO15.”

 “I’ll take care of it,” she lied. The aliens had destroyed everything she owned. Everything everybody owned. Sparky had been a gift from her father, who’d died when she was a teenager. He’d programmed the K9-500 with his unique personality. She wouldn’t change one mannerism or one synthetic hair on his little doggie body. Sparky wouldn’t be Sparky if he was reprogrammed.

 She fidgeted and shifted him in her arms. Due to his mechanical and computer innards, the bot was heavier than he looked. She’d never had a real dog, never had seen one other than in vids, but imagined they were just like him, except for his electrically charged metal teeth. He’d probably given the captain a shock while biting him.

 “You can set the bot down.” Stone’s mouth twitched. “It’s safe from me.” His token amusement vanished when he asked, “Have you eaten? You’re too thin.”

 She blinked at the about-face. “I, uh just ate.” She’d lost nearly two stone. Food had been one of the first items the crew had offered the survivors, but she’d been in no condition to eat when she’d first boarded. The horrors of Verde Omega had left her shell-shocked, unable to process even simple tasks. She and Althea, her cabin mate, had huddled in their quarters. In the morning, they were feeling a little stronger emotionally so they’d ventured to the mess hall where Miranda had eaten her first meal in weeks.

 “Good. If you require anything, contact Mr. Ochoa or Lieutenant Commander Brack, my first officer. You’ll see her around the unit. She’s here to facilitate your recovery.”

 “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said, both anxious and oddly reluctant to escape his stern presence. She had no idea where she’d found the courage to challenge him and why she would want to spend even a second in his company. The man was scary, and yet….

 “By your leave, then. Remember, the bot is to remain off for the remainder of the journey.” Captain Stone strode away.

 

 

Chapter Three

 


 Curled up next to Miranda’s feet, Sparky shot off the bunk. Yip, yip, yip, yip! The K9-500’s piercing bark could probably be heard in the adjacent cabins and in the corridor.

 “Ssh! Quiet!” she ordered.

 Barking—and snarling now—he flew at the door.

 “What is wrong with you? Why are you acting this way? Stop it, immediately!” She grabbed his harness. “Hush! Somebody will hear you!” She’d promised to keep him deactivated. If a crewmember heard him and she got reported, the captain might make good on the threat to shoot him to the space station or even airlock him since he now knew her dog was a robot. She’d hoped to encounter the captain again—but not if it meant losing Sparky.

 Dante Stone had insinuated himself into her thoughts, and though she tried, she couldn’t scrub him from her mind. He fascinated her. She found herself watching for him, but he hadn’t returned to the colonists’ area. Were all cyborgs like him? He was the only one she’d met. He could be intimidating, but she recalled how his mouth had twitched with amusement at one point. What would he look like if he smiled for real?

 Perhaps it was better that she not find out. She didn’t need another confrontation with Sparky. The captain might not be so forgiving the next time. She had intended to obey his order, but a week had passed since the meeting and the loneliness had become overwhelming. She had no family, and all her friends, everyone she’d known well, had been killed by the Tyranians. Having her doggie bot activated provided companionship and comfort—especially since the woman with whom she’d shared a cabin had disappeared two days ago.

 Unfortunately, Sparky was barking much more than he ever had, and there was a different quality to the sound. She didn’t understand what was triggering him. When they reached SSO15, she’d have him inspected at a robotics lab. Reprogramming was out of the question, but if a minor software glitch could be repaired, she’d do it. Several times, just like now, he’d run to the door snapping and snarling at nothing.

 “Silence. That’s an order,” she commanded. “Return to your pad.” She pointed to the recharging unit where she kept him when he wasn’t in use. “Sit!” He had no sooner settled on his docking station, when a communication hail sounded. Growling and barking, he charged at the door again.

 Her heart thudded. Who would be hailing her? Had somebody heard the noise?

 Since the colonists had begun to relax and feel safe, they’d also started to complain. They’d been restricted to three areas: their quarters, the mess hall, and the observation deck. Armed guards barred them from other sections. “We’re like prisoners!” they grumbled. Most likely they’d applaud her flouting the captain’s edict as a way to “put one over” on the Crimson Hawk crew. They’d keep her secret.

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