The Last Cyborg 3: Code Name: ATLAS

Book 3 in The Last Cyborg Trilogy

T.R. Harris

Tom Harris Creations, LLC

THC

Tom Harris Creations, LLC

Edited by

Lionel Dyck

Sherry Dixon

Grammarly

And of course…

Nikko, the Grammar Dog

Copyright 2025 by Tom Harris Creations, LLC

All rights reserved, without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanically, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Novels by T.R. Harris

The Last Cyborg Series

The Last Cyborg

The Last Cyborg 2: Seek & Destroy

The Last Cyborg 3 — Codename: ATLAS

Technothrillers

The Methuselah Paradox

BuzzKill

Human for Hire Series

Human For Hire

Human for Hire 2 – Soldier of Fortune

Human for Hire (3) – Devil’s Gate

Human for Hire (4) – Frontier Justice

Human for Hire (5) – Armies of the Sun

Human for Hire (6) – Sirius Cargo

Human for Hire (7) – Cellblock Orion

Human for Hire (8) – Starship Andromeda

Human for Hire (9) -- Operation Antares

Human for Hire (10) – Stellar Whirlwind

Human for Hire (11) -- I Am Entropy

Human for Hire (12) – Earth Blood

Human for Hire (13) – Capella Prime

The Human Chronicles Legacy Series

Raiders of the Shadow

War of Attrition

Secondary Protocol

Lifeforce

Battle Formation

Allied Command

The Human Chronicles Legacy Series Box Set

The Adam Cain Saga

The Dead Worlds

Empires

Battle Plan

Galactic Vortex

Dark Energy

Universal Law

The Formation Code

The Quantum Enigma

Children of the Aris

The Adam Cain Saga Box Set

The Human Chronicles Saga

The Fringe Worlds

Alien Assassin

The War of Pawns

The Tactics of Revenge

The Legend of Earth

Cain’s Crusaders

The Apex Predator

A Galaxy to Conquer

The Masters of War

Prelude to War

The Unreachable Stars

When Earth Reigned Supreme

A Clash of Aliens

Battlelines

The Copernicus Deception

Scorched Earth

Alien Games

The Cain Legacy

The Andromeda Mission

Last Species Standing

Invasion Force

Force of Gravity

Mission Critical

The Lost Universe

The Immortal War

Destroyer of Worlds

Phantoms

Terminus Rising

The Last Aris

The Human Chronicles Box Set Series

Box Set #1 – Books 1-5 in the series

Box Set #2 – Books 6-10 in the series

Box Set #3 – Books 11-15 in the series

Box Set #4 – Books 16-20 in the series

Box Set #5—Books 21-25 in the series

Box Set #6—Books 26-29 in the series

REV Warriors Series

REV

REV: Renegades

REV: Rebirth

REV: Revolution

REV: Retribution

REV: Revelations

REV: Resolve

REV: Requiem

REV: Rebellion

REV: Resurrection

REV Warriors Box Set – The Complete Series – 10 Books

Jason King – Agent to the Stars Series

The Unity Stone Affair

The Mystery of the Galactic Lights

Jason King: Agent to the Stars Box Set

The Drone Wars Series

BuzzKill

In collaboration with Co-Author George Wier…

The Liberation Series

Captains Malicious

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1

“Sir, I don’t know anything about my ultimate mission.”

The general looked at me for a long moment before poking a finger at my chest.

“It’s simple, son: You’re going to win the war for us.”

Needless to say, I was a little taken aback.

“Excuse me, sir. Could you repeat that?”

“I said you’re going to win the war for us, Sergeant Ashe. Did you think we built you just for shits and giggles? No, sir. There was method to our madness. Unfortunately, we have a problem. It seems our Azincor friends have learned about you, and now there’s a credible threat to your life. If we don’t get you out of the hospital pronto, the mission may end even before it begins.”

“They know about me? How?”

General Matthews glared at me. “That’s what we need to find out. You mentioned in Colorado that there were file cabinets full of documents in your basement hiding place, and that your friend Abby Kent took some of them with her. After hearing that, I sent people out there to get them, and they were gone. Every last file.”

“The Azincor found them?”

Matthews raised his eyebrows. “It wasn’t my people or any of the other Human commands at Cygnus Station. Luckily, those were your medical files, with only a brief overview of the mission. The operational files were moved to another location during the invasion since they were housed in a different part of the hospital. So, for now, the mission is still a go … if we can keep you alive. Now, step to it. There’s a ship waiting for us at Miramar.”

I hesitated at the door to my hospital room. General Matthews and his people stopped, all eyes glaring at me. They were not a very friendly group. “If they know about me, wouldn’t they also know about my team? Aren’t we taking them with us?”

Of course, I was more concerned with Abby Kent, my once—and hopefully future girlfriend—than I was with any of the others.

Matthews stood about six foot-six, lanky and with a jaw that looked as if it had been carved out of granite. He now hovered over me. “Son, the sooner you forget about the life you once had and accept the fact that Alan Ashe died nine months ago, the better off you’ll be. We can’t have your mind clouded with memories that no longer matter. You’re a friggin’ cyborg now, one of the most advanced ever built. And you were built for a very specific mission, and it wasn’t so that you can relive a past life that was destined for the mundane, the ordinary. Instead, son, you’re destined for greatness—if you aren’t killed in the interim. Now, stop questioning me. They’ll be plenty of time for talk on the way to Sanlos Station. Now … move it!”

Although I didn’t want to, I fell in step with the general and his entourage, while running through in my head all the things that were wrong with his diatribe.

First of all, what’s wrong with longing for a mundane life with a wife and children you love? Isn’t that what keeps the species going? Secondly, I didn’t ask to be reborn as ‘the most-advanced cyborg ever built.’ And if you didn’t want me to have feelings, dreams and ambitions beyond my bionic parts, then you shouldn’t have left my brain fully intact, memories and all. So, in a way, how I was acting was General Matthews’ fault, not mine. We had thousands—no, millions—of androids who will do you whatever job they’re programmed to do without complaint. But when you make a near-perfect duplicate of a Human being, you’re going to get Human emotions, including stubbornness and doubt.

Even so, I had to believe the general when he said the yellow-skinned bastards knew about me. I’d just played a major part in thwarting their plans to release an extinction-level biological weapon on the planet Earth. I’m sure that had to piss them off. But I thought we’d eliminated the nest of alien infiltrators, led by the Azincor cyborg Leona Wilson and her clones. But now, it seemed as if there was more going on than I realized. I had to be patient. If my life was in danger, then keeping me alive had to take priority. Luckly, I had a whole squad of trained killers looking out for my wellbeing.

We poured out into the corridor, armed military and serious-looking civilians clearing the way. Hospital personnel were shocked at the surge of activity that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. But more than that, the sight of an Azincor dressed in a hospital gown was even more off-putting. I wasn’t really an Azincor, but I sure did look like one. Although a few of the staff knew me, most didn’t since I had been locked away in a secure section for the past month as my body healed. Only authorized personnel were allowed into my room. Now, I was being paraded down the main corridors for all to see, heading for the front exit. The startled faces of the hospital staff were painted with shades of confusion, even fear.

All except one.

I noticed the steely-eyed stare of an orderly dressed in a blue smock. There was no fear, no confusion on his face, only determination. I locked my gaze on him just as he stretched out a sinister grin. Using my cat-like cyborg reflexes and telescoping eyesight, I scanned what I could see of his body. He was standing behind a small group of nervous nurses; even so, I could tell he had an object hidden behind his body. He now brought it forward; it was a Mark IV Slugthrower, a medium caliber railgun.

“Gun!” I shouted while diving forward, sending the general and his lieutenants to the floor with me on top. The assailant had the weapon leveled and was already unleashing white hot metal slugs on the packed crowd of hospital staff and military personnel. Blood sprayed into the air.

I jumped to my feet, running headlong toward the shooter. My cyborg muscles were fully engaged and I used jerky movements at blur-speed to dodge a couple of slugs sent my way. In truth, all the slugs were sent my way but so far, none had found their mark. Now, a few of the more astute soldiers had their own railguns up and were spraying lead toward the active shooter.

The assassin was faster than I expected, which was a mistake on my part to make such an assumption. I should have suspected he was a cyborg—like the Leonas—and with reactions to match. He now ducked and ran forward himself, alternately firing the slugthrower or using it as a battering ram against the helpless people between me and him. And then, as we closed to within a few feet of each other, three powerful slugs impacted the alien’s chest, pressing him upward and in full view of the other soldiers. I fell on my stomach as a hail of railslugs tore into the attacker’s body, ripping it apart. Metal parts and pieces rained down on me before the shell of the would-be assassin fell to the floor. His head was barely there, and that’s when I saw he was an android, not a cyborg. His shattered skull was full of circuits and wires, and not a flesh and blood brain as mine was.

I heard Matthews’ powerful command voice barking orders and several hands gripped me, pulling me to my feet. The general ran up, taking a quick visual inventory of my condition. Seeing that I was unharmed, he screamed at the soldiers to get me out of the building.

I had no option but to join the parade of determined security personnel as they manhandled me out of the Balboa Hospital in San Diego and to a trio of waiting passenger vans. To the front and rear of the small caravan were a pair of Vector APCs with dual 80 railguns mounted on rotating turrets. General Matthews was serious about getting me to the spaceport, and after the attack in the hospital, I didn’t consider his precautions to be overkill.

Even so, if the Azincor knew I was in the hospital, then they also had to know I would be taken to the Miramar Spaceport. That was ten miles away and along major surface highways, of which many would be clogged at this time of day with normal San Diego traffic. Just then, a pair of hovercopters appeared overhead, floating above us on cushions of air while waiting for the caravan to pull from the parking area at the hospital. If the aliens were going to get to me, it would take a major effort on their part.

Within seconds of my bionic butt hitting the leather seat in the middle van, we were racing down the bluff, heading for the spaceport. Sirens screamed and horns blared as the parade of military vehicles forced its way down the access road before skirting along the shoulder of the onramp to the 405 freeway. Several cars were sideswiped by the much wider APCs but there was nothing the owners could do about it. The tan-colored tanks raced away from the accident scene, not stopping to give insurance information to the irate drivers.

I was in the middle van, alone except for the driver and another soldier riding shotgun. I found it amusing that General Matthews chose to take another van, and not the one with the primary target aboard. He was no fool.

I craned my neck, looking toward the sky, seeing the escorting hovercraft easily pacing us. Somehow, the word had gotten out about the caravan, and the roads were mainly clear ahead of us, allowing the drivers to punch the speed up to around eighty. Still, that would leave the caravan out in the open for several crucial minutes.

We transitioned from the 405 to the newly constructed 58a Highway that skirted along the southern border of the massive spaceport. The facility was easily twice the size of the ancient Marine Corps station that the spaceport was built upon. Local housing had been moved away from around the port, allowing for the noise associated with landing and lifting spaceships. But this was a military facility, and in a time of war, it had priority over such mundane considerations as neighborhood noise levels.

“Heads up!” the soldier in the passenger seat called back to me. “Drone swarm coming from the west. It could get dicey from here on out.”

As if my leaving the hospital wasn’t dicey enough.

I glanced to my left, over the verdant hills of La Jolla at a hazy black cloud moving low over the rooftops of obscenely expensive homes. At first, the cloud looked like a flock of birds, but using my telescoping eyesight, I could make out individual quadcopters, maybe a couple of hundred of them.

Where did the Azincor get so many drones … and so fast? I began to suspect that the alien presence on Earth was much greater than I was led to believe—as everyone was being led to believe. I considered the sophistication of the android at the hospital. He even grinned at me, showing a level of emotional sophistication rarely seen in androids. I suppose it was possible to make robots that could completely mimic people, but why? Humans didn’t need to do that, but obviously, the Azincor did. If they were going to make androids capable of infiltrating Human facilities, they would have to be the best the aliens had to offer. Now, it made sense.

I watched as the hovercraft peeled off, heading toward the swarm of drones. Immediately, weapons lit off and tore into the cloud of tiny attack UAVs. Several went down, but already I could tell it was a losing proposition. There were too many of the tiny killers and only two hovercraft. Simultaneously, both aircraft exploded, raining debris down on East La Jolla.

Our air cover was gone, at least for the moment, but the closer we got to Miramar, the sooner the spaceport’s defenses could take over. Being a military base, even this swarm of drones wouldn’t be able to penetrate the shield. That’s what the defenses were designed to protect against.

But we were still five miles out before the shield would protect us. Even so, the air was already filling with miscellaneous defenders sent ahead from the base. The sky was now streaked with dozens of individual dogfights as drones engaged drones in a battle to the death. But in spite of all that, it still wasn’t enough—

A pair of thin contrails ran out from a group of drones to the rear of the convoy, targeting my van. The driver had a split second to react, which wasn’t enough. The back of the vehicle suddenly surged upward, pinning me to the seat before flipping over in the air. I braced my arms against anything I could find, locking myself in place. The driver and his backup didn’t have the strength that I did. They tumbled around the front of the van as glass broke and safety belts ripped from their brackets. I lost sight of them as the top of the van collapsed in on me.

We skidded on the roof of the van, which now sandwiched inward to half its former height, pressing me into the cushion of the seat. My arms strained, keeping the metal from crushing me. Fortunately, I won the contest, and as the van settled down on the ravaged roadway, I relaxed, even though I was now encased in a narrow, two-foot wide gap between the seat and the crushed roof.

Tires squealed around me, as the rest of the caravan skidded to a stop, forming a defensive circle around my van. I couldn’t see out, but I heard the almost constant gunshots and missile launches as it became obvious that the enemy drones were now on target and wailing away at anything they could get a lock on. There was also another level of lower-pitched humming joining the mix. These would be the spaceport’s larger octocopters arriving on scene. They carried more firepower and, from the increased tone of the slugshots and missile trails, I could tell they were doing a job on the smaller enemy drones.

I snaked my way to the left door of the van, which looked more like a metal accordion than a door. Slamming my fist against the twisted metal, I was rewarded when the panel fell away. As I looked out through a cloud of black and grey smoke, the smell of ozone, gunpowder and burning rubber filled my senses. The battle was nearly over, as the humming in the sky quickly faded away, replaced by gravelly voices barking orders and calling for medical services. Apparently, my van wasn’t the only vehicle damaged in the attack, and although I couldn’t tell from where I lay, I wasn’t too optimistic about the fate of my other two van mates. I also wondered about General Matthews. Although I wasn’t particularly fond of the man, he seemed to be the only person who knew what the hell was going on when it came to me and my future. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, not until I had some answers.

I pulled myself out of the van and was immediately surrounded by a ravaged squad of armed soldiers, some bloody, some not, but all with a look of deadly determination on their faces. People had died that day on the roadway; they didn’t want their sacrifices to be in vain by having a lone surviving drone take me out.

General Matthews came up to me, the left side of his head covered in blood.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Impatiently, the general answered, “Yeah, I’m fine. I love the taste of my own blood. It tells me I was in the game. Now, follow me. There’s a car waiting. We’ll access the flightline through a back gate. We have to get off the planet before the assholes can mount a follow-up attack.”

“There seem to be a lot more Azincor on Earth than I thought,” I stated as the general and I ran to a waiting black SUV. We jumped into the back and the vehicle was moving before we could buckle up.

“Yeah, no shit,” Matthews answered. “During the month you were laid up in the hospital, we learned the true extent of the bio-weapon plot. The bastards had people renting warehouses and jets and scoping out disbursement locations along with air currents and other weather patterns. It was a major operation. Already, we’ve taken out over seventy of their androids.”

“That guy in the hospital was an android,” I pointed out.

Matthews looked over at me. “I know. And by the way, we did autopsies on those Major Wilson characters you killed in the warehouse. They were androids, too.”

“Wilson said she was a cyborg.”

“Probably did that just to mess with your mind. But the one thing that’s true; the Azincor have a much more advanced android program than we do, and the bastards are almost impossible to detect. They’ve managed to infiltrate dozens of commands; in fact, we don’t know the full extent of the damage.” He shrugged. “Where we went the cyborg route, they went with robots. And with androids, they can be mass produced. Also, there’s no fear and no questioning orders. They do what they’re told.”

I could tell the last sentence was aimed directly at me. It’s not that I’d disobeyed any orders up to this point; Matthews was just making sure I understood the command dynamic between me and him. I did, to a degree. Since being transformed into a cyborg, I’d been in my own chain of command. And now this stranger was assuming control of my actions and my future. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that…

The SUV raced through an open and guarded gate at the west end of the massive transit field of the Miramar Spaceport, aiming for a grey-metal destroyer where a dozen uniformed personnel scrambled, securing exterior hatches and pulling away power and fuel lines, preparing the craft for liftoff. The SUV squealed to a stop at the base of the rear loading ramp, followed by two others. Already, Army personnel were moving crates and suitcases aboard the ship. This would be Matthew’s staff. The general kicked open the door of the SUV and slipped out with me close on his tail. We didn’t run into the starship, but we also weren’t taking a leisurely stroll. Even before we got up the ramp, it was already closing.

Matthews slipped into a cargo net seat along the starboard bulkhead, motioning with his head for me to strap in next to him. I counted ten others also ensconced in the nets along the bulkheads. We weren’t even waiting to move into the main part of the ship before lifting off.

I’d experienced many a liftoff while in cargo nets, so this felt right at home. Rumbling noise roared around me and then came the buffeting as the ship raced for the heavens through pockets of turbulence. It took eight minutes to reach space, punctuated by a brief period of weightlessness before the internal gravity was activated.

The moment I felt my weight return, Matthews was out of his seat and heading toward the cargo bay exit and into the main part of the warship along with the rest of his staff. He didn’t even look back, expecting me to follow like an obedient puppy. Which I did.

Members of the Navy crew were just now setting about their duties having secured from liftoff stations. Eyes stared and mouths fell open as the general and I moved forward through the ship. The sailors weren’t shocked by the presence of a general aboard; rather, it was the presence of an Azincor on their ship that they couldn’t understand.

I did my best to look non-threatening, but it didn’t matter. The eyes told me everything. I was not welcomed here. Period.

We passed through the hatch to Officer’s Country, where the general corralled a passing ensign. “Get this man a private berth and then post a guard at his door. No one is to enter without my permission.”

“Sir? Do you mean the Azincor?”

“That’s exactly who I mean,” Matthews growled.

The caked blood on the side of the general’s face and covering the collar of this khaki uniform told the junior officer that Matthews meant business. The ensign opened a side door. “He can stay here.”

Matthews led me into a tiny compartment and looked around. “This will do.” Then, he looked at me. “We need to do something about that damn yellow skin. I’ll send someone down to take care of that.”

“You can change my skin color?” I gasped.

“To just about any color we want,” he confirmed. “But at the moment, let’s get you looking more Human. It will make the journey to Sanlos Station a little less … tense.” He turned to the gawking ensign. “A member of my staff will be down in a few minutes. Let him in.”

And then Matthews left the room. The ensign looked at me, confused.

“It’s a long story,” I said with a grin.

Then I stepped up to the doorway, pressing my hand gently against the officer’s chest until he was out of the room. Then I slowly closed the door in his face. I’d always wanted to do that to an officer, but Third Sergeant Alan Ashe never had the balls. Now, I did, even if they were bionic.

2

Ilooked around my compact stateroom. Not bad. I’d never had my own room aboard a warship. I was always in an open bay and usually with built-in racks or hammocks. Hell, this wasn’t half bad. And there was also a wet room; a place for doing my business and taking a shower all in one enclosure. I thought about taking a quick shower, imagining how refreshing it would be on my cybernetic body, but then I hesitated. All I had on was a soiled hospital gown to put on afterward.

Ah, what the hell.

I slipped the garment from my shoulders and stepped into the bathroom, closing the folding door behind me. There was a toilet, a sink and a showerhead attached to a flexible hose and with a drain in the center of the deck. I adjusted the water temperature in the sink before switching the feed to the showerhead.

I had no soap or shampoo, but that didn’t matter. My cyborg skin—although near impervious to pain—did have sensors that allowed me to feel the warmth of the water as it cascaded over my naked, yellow-skinned body. Then I aimed the nozzle so that the stream flowed over my head, soaking my longish hair and soothing what I imagined should be tense shoulders. The truth: my shoulders weren’t tense; in fact, none of my body was the worst for wear after the attacks in both the hospital and on the highway. That’s what being a cyborg gave you; a constant sense of wellbeing, even when you didn’t want it.

I was still in the shower when someone rapped on the door to the stateroom.

“Just a second,” I yelled out, having forgotten that the general was sending someone to change the color of my skin. I really needed that to happen, especially since I didn’t know it could be done.

I turned off the water and stepped back into the main suite. There were towels in the bathroom, and now I frantically wiped myself dry. With a towel wrapped around me, I answered the door.

An Army captain was there, holding a shoebox-sized container and a plastic package with clothing inside. He looked me over quickly and then stepped inside the cabin.

“Close the door,” he ordered.

I obeyed.

“Let me get on some clothes,” I said, seeking out the hospital gown.

“Don’t bother,” the officer said. “I need you naked.”

He moved to the small fold-up desktop in the bulkhead and opened the box. Inside was a light like the one Abby found in the basement that she used to turn my skin yellow. We had the light with us aboard Boz’s starship, which raised a question.

“So, my skin color can be changed anytime you want?” I asked, frustrated that we didn’t know that before. Damn, I didn’t have to spend all that time looking like a freakin’ asshole…

The captain held the light, making adjustments on a control panel. “That’s right. Now, step over here.”

Unabashedly, I stood before the man as he began running the light along my skin, sparing no wrinkle, crack or crevasse. My bionic eyes scanned the illumination, seeing a white light with a faint bluish outline.

“Are there two lights at work?”

The officer looked up at me with a startled look. Then he shrugged. “That’s right. Your skin has pigment receptors that have to be activated before accepting a new color. It’s done simultaneously with this device. I’m giving you what’s called a C-3 tint. It should be close to what you had originally coming out of processing.”

“How long does it last?”

“This color, indefinitely. Yellow is the unnatural color, so it only lasts for about three to four months. We’ll color you back up again before you go on your mission.”

“To Davas,” I probed.

Abby had read a small entry in the documents she found in the basement that simply referred to me going to ‘Davas’ to ‘deliver a weapon.’ That was as much as I knew about my ultimate mission. I was desperate for more details now that—theoretically—the mission was once again a go.

The captain shook his head. “Good try, sergeant. That’s classified. You’ll have to get that information from the general.”

The process took about ten minutes, including a couple of minutes for the colorization to take effect. Then the officer touched up a few places he’d missed, places that were intrusive to inspect. I tried to picture him as a doctor, and that made it a little more tolerable.

Then he handed me the small packet of clothing vacuumed sealed in plastic, along with a pair of soft-soled shoes. “These will get you started. We’ll pick up more clothing for you from the ship’s store. The whole getaway thing was spur of the moment. We didn’t have a lot of time to prepare.”

I tore open the package and had the dungaree pants on almost before they finished reconstituting after the vacuum packing. Then I stepped into the head to check myself in the mirror. Even after a couple of months of looking like this, it was still a shock to see a stranger staring back at me.

Although I resembled the three-hundred-year-old actor Antonio Banderas, it was such a stark change from the shorter, red-haired and slightly pudgy man I’d been before that I still wasn’t used to it. The engineers didn’t set out to make me look like the handsome Spanish actor; instead, I was made to look like the average Azincor, yellow-skin and all. The aliens were so close to a clone of Humans that, overall, the skin color was the only real difference. A lot of Humans had shoulder length black hair, dark eyes and Latin skin. I had to admit, it was a relief having normal skin color again. I didn’t feel as self-conscious as before.

Of course, aboard the destroyer, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. I still had longer hair than anyone aboard, and by now, word of an Azincor being among them would have circulated to all the crew. And if we were to take this ship all the way to Sanlos Station, we had three weeks to get to know each other—if I’d be allowed outside my stateroom.

The officer packed up his gear and left the room. As he did, I noticed that an Army sergeant had taken up guard duty outside the cabin. He reached in and shut the door after the officer left.

Okay, here I was, on a spaceship, tearing its way out of the solar system, taking me to an uncertain future. I took out the rest of the clothes and dressed. The shirt was the ubiquitous blue denim color that had been worn by sailors for centuries. The shoes weren’t really shoes, but cotton pullovers. There were no socks or undershorts in the stash, and the pants were about two inches too short, as were the shirt sleeves. I couldn’t button the cuffs, so I rolled them up instead. Obviously, the generic uniform didn’t fully conform to the larger Azincor dimensions.

I jumped when another knock came to the door. Perhaps it was the general coming back to give me a more thorough briefing. It wasn’t. Instead, another low-ranking Army officer told me to gather my belongings and follow him. The guard simply nodded, telling me this was an official visit.

The lieutenant and I moved three doors down the corridor and into another stateroom. I noticed the guard stayed by my original accommodations.

“Just precautions,” the officer said. “The guards can still watch your door from their station.”

“Are you afraid of assassins onboard the ship … a Navy ship?” I asked incredulously.

“One can never know. For now, just relax. We’re still getting a feel for the ship and the crew. You’ll be meeting with the general in a little while, so, until then, get some rest.”

I didn’t need rest; in fact, I’d just spent a month in a medically-induced coma which was the only true sleep a cyborg ever got. What I needed were answers. And some food. I could sense the cravings beginning. From experience, I knew where this was headed. I told the LT before he left.

“I’ll get something brought down. It will go to your old room first, then the guard will bring it over when it’s safe.”

“Make it a lot,” I amended. “I’m really hungry.”

The food arrived an excruciating long twenty minutes later and was barely enough to satisfy my cravings. Unlike combat cyborgs, I wasn’t powered by a cold fusion reactor. Instead, I had a working stomach and digestive system that converted biomass to energy. However, when I had to eat, I couldn’t think of much beyond that. I’m not sure the engineers took that into consideration when they designed me. Still, eating made me feel more Human, although my power requirements were demanding, and ultimately, distracting.

I had an internal clock in my body that accurately kept track of time, telling me that forty-eight minutes passed before the Army lieutenant came to my new cabin and escorted me to the Captain’s quarters. The cabin was about ten yards down the corridor beyond my current stateroom. I knew these ships intimately, although most of my duty was aboard larger cruisers. CSTs—Cyborg Support Teams—often transited aboard destroyers heading for combat zones. We didn’t always travel with our cyborgs for security reasons. Besides, for journeys of a month or more, the cyborgs were put into electronic sleep.

The captain’s quarters had direct access to both CIC—the Combat Information Center—and the bridge. With my cabin in the ‘neighborhood,’ I knew I was occupying a stateroom reserved for an O-4 or above—a lieutenant-commander or higher in the Navy.

As we neared the last door along the corridor, my bionic hearing picked up a couple of familiar voices. One was General Matthews. The other was…

The lieutenant gave a quick knock on the door and was rewarded with a curt “Enter” from the other side. As we entered, I quickly scanned the interior until I saw him.

“Samir!” I blurted, ignoring the sea of senior officers in the room. I rushed up to him and we embraced. Although I was glad to see Doctor Samir al-Bukhari, what his presence here really portended was the possibility that Abby was here, too. I knew that was too much to ask, but at least it was a beginning. If Samir was here, then maybe my full team was on the way.

A man cleared his throat. I turned awkwardly toward General Matthews.

“Sorry, sir. It’s just that Samir—Dr. al-Bukhari—wasn’t at the hospital this morning. I’m glad to see him.”

And that’s when it hit me. It had only been a few hours since Abby, Boz, Darren and George were in my hospital room. And now, here I was in space after having survived two attempts on my life.

“Well, he’s here now, but the reunion will have to wait.” The general turned to a Navy captain wearing a casual khaki uniform and looking beyond perturbed. He was balding with salt-and pepper hair around the crown and piercing blue eyes. The eyes were currently piercing on me at the moment. “Captain Evans, this is Agent Atlas.”

“Agent Atlas?” the captain questioned. He took a step toward me, looking me up and down. “Is this so-called Agent Atlas prepared to tell me what this is all about? And am I to assume he is the one who boarded my ship disguised as an Azincor warrior? And was it only a disguise? Looking at him now, I doubt it.” He now turned to Matthews. “Sir, two hours ago, the Bainbridge was in port for a three week layover and refitting. Now, we’re back in space, heading for a classified location and after I had to leave a third of my crew stranded on Earth. I don’t mean to be a bitch about things, but I really need a fucking explanation. The orders came directly from Fleet Command, so I obeyed. But I’m not happy about it.” He turned back to me. “Can you make me happy about it, Agent Atlas?”

My mouth hung open. I was not expecting to receive the brunt of the officer’s diatribe, but that’s what happened. Besides that, I was almost as much in the dark as he was.

“Captain, I can explain,” Matthews said, coming to my rescue. “At least part of it.”

“You’re saying the confiscation of my ship is above my paygrade, general?”

“No. Commandeering your ship was a target of opportunity. Agent Atlas was under direct threat by the Azincor and had to get off the planet as soon as possible. Your ship was the most space-worthy at the time.”

“Direct threat from the Azincor—on Earth? What does that mean?”

“It means the Azincor have a much more active and invasive infiltration operation underway than we knew. This has only come to light over the past month.”

“What form is this infiltration operation taking, General Matthews?”

“Androids, and of incredible sophistication, indistinguishable from real people without a medical examination. They have found their way into nearly every command, possibly even your crew.”

“My crew! Are you crazy? Why would they do that? I didn’t even know you were coming aboard before two hours ago.”

“You said you had to leave a third of your crew behind. Did you take on any new members after you got notice you were lifting again?”

The captain hesitated.

“How many?” Matthews demanded.

“Five,” Captain Evans said.

“Actually, it was six,” the XO corrected. “We got the new crew from the ground personnel. We asked for volunteers.”

“Who would volunteer for an open-ended mission like this?” Samir asked.

“We offered a double-pay bonus.”

The general was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “All right, captain, get all six of these new recruits in the cargo bay; tell them it’s for orientation since they’re new to the crew. Don’t raise any alarm. We’ll have Agent Atlas there with them, in case one is an android. It may be nothing, but we have to be sure.”

“If there is an enemy android aboard, what is Agent Atlas going to do about it?” the XO asked. “Androids can be as powerful as cyborgs.”

Matthews stepped closer to the two naval officers, towering over them as he did most people. “This is information of the highest classification,” he began. “But since we’re going to be together for the next three weeks as you take us to Sanlos Station, you deserve to know the truth—at least some of it. Agent Atlas is a cyborg, utilizing what’s called a full-capacity Human brain. He’s been designed to infiltrate Azincor territory for a highly classified mission. The Azincor have learned his identity and are actively out to destroy him before he can carry out his mission. That is why we had to get him off the planet. And now that he’s aboard your ship—and the Azincor know it—I have to assume your ship will be a target, as well. Destroy the Bainbridge, destroy the cyborg. And I wouldn’t put it past the Azincor to have androids working at Miramar, if for no other reason than to track our warships coming and going. It wouldn’t be too hard for them to place an asset aboard your ship.” Matthews studied the shocked faces of the officers. “Does that bring our current situation into a little better focus? The Azincor know how crucial Agent Atlas’s mission is to the war effort. That’s why they’ll go to any length to stop him. I hope I can count on your complete cooperation from here on out, Captain Evans.”

“Of course,” the captain stammered. “That’s all I wanted, a little clarification. I think I deserve that.”

“You do, and now that you’re up to speed, how about getting that orientation session going. The Azincor—if they’re aboard—are not going to wait around to act. Let’s get your new crew members screened before we put our guard down.”

Evans nodded to his executive officer, who rushed out of the room to make preparations for the screening test of the new recruits.

“You said we’re taking you to Sanlos Station,” the captain said. “I can tell you right now, we don’t have the supplies or fuel for a trip that long. We will need an underway replenishment.”

“I figured as much,” said General Matthews. “Right now, there should be no record of where we’re going. I have to assume the Azincor are going to be monitoring communications. Make the arrangements for the UNREP, but do not tip your hand as to our destination. Mr. Evans, we may be running a gauntlet getting to Sanlos. Once we know your crew is secure, we need to be ready for any contingency.”

“I understand, general. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to command.”

The officer slipped through a side hatch that led to the CIC. From there he would begin planning out the journey. Sanlos Station was on the planet Donovan, located three weeks from Earth and just on the other side of the Pegasus Gate. I’d been to the planet five times before and knew that there wasn’t much between here and there except a lot of open space. Once we got to the Gate, we should be safe. The main entry and exit points were swarming with Human military. Still, that left about two weeks of open water where anything could happen.

Once the captain was gone, Matthews turned to me. “Sergeant, put all that hair under a cap and get down to the cargo bay. Find a place to observe things without being seen. I don’t know why, but I have an itch on the back of my neck telling me that at least one of these new recruits is going to be an android. If he gets cornered, he could make mincemeat out of a half dozen crew before we can take him out. I need you to be there in case we need your cyborg abilities.”

“Roger, that, general. I’ll get down there.”

I looked over at Samir. “Come see me in my cabin after this is over. It’s great to see you again. They told me you were jumping all over Earth working on containing any escape of the Azincor virus. What are you doing here?”

“That’s not important now, sergeant,” Matthews interrupted. “Get moving. They’ll be time for reminiscing on the way to Sanlos.”

3

Iheard the announcement over the 1-MC for the new crewmembers to report to the cargo hold for orientation. I’d been aboard enough naval vessels to know this was common and it sounded innocent enough. They called out each crewmember by name. There were six of them.

I made my way into the cargo hold where half a dozen Marines were lounging around the periphery, trying to look casual. Their sidearms were carefully hidden. I was relieved when I noticed how they treated me, having been notified of my status. They could have easily mistaken me for one of the new crew.

I scoped out the chamber, looking at a stack of supply crates that I nonchalantly walked over to and then quickly slipped behind. If there was an Azincor android aboard, he may know what I look like. Having me there would have been a dead giveaway that something was up.

The new crew members began to filter in. There was a designated area with chairs laid out and an ensign was leafing through a datapad, running through slides on a monitor. It all looked legitimate. Hell, to the officer, it may have been. For me and the other waiting Marines, it was anything but.

After a few minutes, five of the six seats were occupied. An announcement sounded throughout the ship for petty officer Johnson to report to the cargo bay. I tensed. They were singling him out. If I were him, I would suspect that my cover was blown, and if that were the case, what would I do?

I jumped from my cover spot just as the other Marines stood, now revealing their weapons. These weren’t slugthrowers—they were too dangerous to be used aboard starships—but rather the weaker Forcel laser pistols. It was true, the laser beams couldn’t penetrate hullmetal; but they also couldn’t penetrate the skeleton of Azincor androids. I had experience fighting them. All the lasers did was piss them off.

“Secure the engine room,” I yelled to the Marines. I was sure they had no idea who I really was, but my command voice was enough authorization for them to obey. They rushed from the chamber. The ensign and the other five crewmembers looked at me confused. Good, they were supposed to be.

I sprinted along the spine corridor toward officer’s country. If the android’s mission was to kill me, he might try to catch me in my cabin. By the time I reached the door to my fake room, it was too late. The Army guard lay dead in a pool of his own blood and the door was ripped off its hinges, telling me that I was dealing with a truly dangerous machine.

The door to my real stateroom was intact, so I knew the android didn’t know I’d been moved. But not finding me in my cabin, what would the android do next? His mission was to kill me, and with no regard to his own welfare. That meant destroying the ship, from the inside out.

I was prescient to send the Marines to the engine room; however, when I got there, I felt horrible for their untimely deaths. The android arrived after the Marines took up positions, but he tore through them like they were nothing. Burn marks on the side walls told me some of the Marines got off laser shots, but it didn’t help. That was predicted as well.

I barreled into the engine room and immediately spotted the android at the far end of the room and wielding a heavy wrench, preparing to slam it into the casing of a gravity generator storage battery. I didn’t know enough about how gravity generators work to know how much damage that would cause, but I didn’t care. The alien machine had to be stopped.

The android saw me as I entered the room and hesitated in his swing. I was his primary target, and now here I was.

Again, I marveled at the sophistication of the Azincor machines. The expression on both the mouth and in the eyes were startlingly real; without knowing, I would have never guessed this ‘man’ was an android. But he was, and now he rushed at me, preparing to use the heavy metal wrench as a cudgel.

I already knew the android had phenomenal strength, as witnessed by his demolition of the stateroom door, along with the nonchalant slaying of five Marines and one Army guard. And now he also had a weapon. I rethought my plan of racing headlong into the speeding hunk of metal.

Instead, I jogged to my left and dropped to a knee, just in time to avoid the blur of the wrench as it sliced the air above me. But just as efficiently as I changed directions, so did the android. He spun on his heel and brought the wrench down hard on my back. Something cracked, but I was still able to function. Diagnosis would come later—if I survived.

Now, I spun on my knee, the grates in the floor decking ripping into my new blue dungarees and peeling away artificial skin. I sensed the injuries but ignored them. I reached out with my right hand and grabbed a fistful of clothing, pulling the android on top of me. That may not have been the smartest move, but it did keep him from hitting me again with the wrench.

Now our arms fought each other in a test of mechanical strength. To my surprise, I won the contest and was able to twist the alien arms backward as I rolled on top of the android. Straddling the creature, I pulled both arms across his chest, holding them in place. Steady eyes stared at me, showing no fear. That changed when I lowered my head and smashed my forehead into his nose, crushing the artificial appendage and deforming the brow above his left eye. Flesh-like material draped over the eye, blinding it. That still left one good eye.

I tried duplicating the attack but the android bucked out of desperation just as I dipped my head, causing my forehead to hit higher up on the face. Then a strong knee crashed into my side, sending me rolling to the deck.

Now, the android was on top of me, after somehow recovering the wrench. But he didn’t use the tool as a club. This time he pressed it down on my neck. If he knew what I was, he would have known choking me would not kill me. At least I didn’t think so. But breaking my neck would definitely do the job.

Just then, sailors rushed into the room and piled on top of us, attempting to pull the android from on top of me.

“No! Get away!” I yelled, but it was too late for one of the sailors.

While substituting his forearm for the wrench that was pressing on my neck, the alien machine swung backward with the tool, catching a young sailor cleanly across the side of his head. A quarter of his skull came away with the club and a fair portion of the man’s brain spilled out on top of me. My Human brain felt the effects of the revulsion, something the alien machine didn’t feel. Instead, he kept pressing.

By now, the other sailors had heeded my warning and stepped away. They were unarmed, since sailors aboard starship don’t normally carry weapons on them. But they soon gathered up other tools and four of them returned a few moments later and began wailing away on the android. He tried to catch more of the sailors with the wrench, but by then, the sailors had the range and avoided the swipes.

A few seconds later, the accumulated beating the android was taking took its toll. I felt the weakening pressure on the neck and was able to push the machine off of me as I crawled away. I rolled on my side and watched with satisfaction as four enraged sailors pummeled the android with metal tools. Weak and broken limbs attempted to shield the mechanical body from the attack, but it was too late. Eventually, the machine wound down and lay motionless on the deck while the sailors continued to beat the device until it was barely recognizable as a wannabe Human.

To my surprise, no one came to help me stand. I did that on my own, my Navy cap long since gone and the flowing mass of dark black hair cascading to my shoulders. Although I no longer had yellow skin, the sailors still knew me as the possible Azincor who was aboard their ship. They’d been ordered to help, but that only meant doing enough to keep me from being killed. It didn’t call for courtesy on their behalf. And I got none.

Still, I thanked the panting sailors as they hunched over their tools/weapons on weary arms, as well as the shattered remains of the alien android. There was too much going on around them to comprehend what just happened. Explanations would come later, and even then, there would be redactions.

I slipped from the engine room and made my way back to my cabin. I was fairly beat up myself and was sure I had a couple of broken artificial ribs. I didn’t know what that meant, at least in the interim until we got to Sanlos Station. Would the damage heal on its own, or would it take specialists, like those who patched me up back on Earth?

I wasn’t hurting, although I knew I should be. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had a tear in my forehead and both my shirt and pants were ripped. My knee, where I’d spun on the deck grating, looked raw and ugly, with inch-long strips of flesh bleeding slightly. I’d been cut before, so I knew I would bleed, but not nearly as much as a real person. It was more for show than anything else. I didn’t have that much artificial blood running through my artificial veins. Still, I wasn’t worried about the knee. In a day or two, it would be completely healed. And I was fortunate my broken ribs weren’t affecting my breathing.

Could I survive without breathing? As I was being choked, I concluded I couldn’t. After all, how many of my internal systems were reliant on fake bodily functions, such as breathing? Most, I’m sure, were just for show. To the contrary, I knew I had to eat; that brought in the biomass I needed for energy. But was breathing necessary? In a way, I thought it would be ridiculous if it was. Maybe someday, I’d find out for sure.

I squeezed the gaping cut on my forehead closed and was pleased when it stayed together. I didn’t have another set of clothes, so all I did was strip down, take another quick shower and then dress again in my torn and stained clothing. Now that we were in space, I’d have to make a trip to the ship’s store for backup clothing. Of course, I’d have to borrow money from either Samir or the general since I had nothing on me.

Just as I finished dressing, a knock came to my door. “Who is it?” I yelled out. I didn’t want to be bothered for frivolous reasons.

“It’s me, Samir.”

I stepped to the door and flung it open. “Come in,” I offered enthusiastically. At last, a friendly face. “Excuse me if I’m not good company. I just had my ass kicked by an Azincor android.”

“I heard,” said the scientist as he pressed pass me. “But I heard it was the other way around.”

“I was on the floor getting choked out when the sailors came to my rescue. They all deserve medals.”

“I’m sure accommodations are being made as we speak.”

Samir took the only chair in the room leaving the twin-size bed for me. I gratefully sat on the edge of the bed before whipping off my shirt and turning my back to my guest.

“Can you see the wound back there? Does anything look, well, bad?”

Samir snorted. “You mean other than the six-inch gash in your back and the depression in your skin? Nah, you look fine. Doesn’t even warrant a Band-Aid.”

I put the shirt back on and then laid back on the bed, propping a pillow behind my head. “Good. I didn’t want to get blood on the sheets.”

“So, do you think that’s over?” Samir asked. “I mean the assassins?”

“I can’t see how the assholes could have gotten more of them aboard in such a short time. I think we’re okay.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want the ship to blow up for no good reason, especially when I’m an innocent in all this.”

“You’re anything but an innocent, Doctor al-Bukhari. You’re neck-deep in this whole affair.”

I saw Samir’s expression turn dour, his eyes sad.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Samir nodded. “It’s just that you’re more right than you know.”

I didn’t like the ominous tone in Samir’s voice.

“We need to talk,” he said solemnly.

I remained silent, but still I nodded. Samir had something to say and I wanted him to feel free to do it at his own pace.

“I have a confession to make,” he began. “All this is going to come out once we get to Sanlos Station, but I just want to clear the air ahead of time.” He expected me to say something, but when I didn’t, he continued.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you. When I said I was with you during your rebuild simply as an observer, that wasn’t entirely true. In fact, you, my friend, are entirely my creation.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the idea of a using a full-capacity cyborg for a mission to Davas was mine, all mine, and has been since the beginning.”

“For this mysterious mission no one will tell me about?” I stared at the scientist, anger growing in my full-capacity brain. “I hope you’re finally going to spill the beans, Doc.”

“I will tell you some—” he held up his hand at my protest—“but it will be more than you have right now. Let me start at the beginning. A year before you died, we began looking for the right candidate for a full-capacity transfer.”

“Doesn’t full-capacity simply mean my memories weren’t erased?”

Samir laughed. “Not hardly. There’s so much more that goes into it. Consider why we remove the memories—”

“To leave instinctual processes without interference from an active mind.”

“That’s true, but consider what instinctual processes really mean. Take a psychopath, for instance. Do you think someone like that becomes a killer because they want to be? That’s what being a psychopath means; it’s part of the psyche, part of those instinctual processes you mention. Finding a suitable brain, even for a combat cyborg, is a long, complicated—and often thankless—task. Sure, there are plenty of observable traits that tell us if a brain is unsuitable to become a cyborg. But when you strip away the logic and control that comes from a thinking brain, that’s when you discover all the underlying, hidden traits that far too many of us have. Most people have issues—serious issues—but we control them. However, when you strip away that control, there is nothing holding them back. That’s why we don’t have a million combat cyborgs. In truth, only one in five ever make it to full implementation.”

He paused and looked harder at me. “In your case, we were going to leave those checks and balances in place, but we still needed to know if you had any of these hidden inclinations lingering in your brain. Before finding you, we tried twenty-five other brains. None passed muster.”

I smiled, sickly. “So, I have a special brain, a one in a thousand.”

“Not quite so many, but yes. You, my friend, are what we call normal. And believe me when I say it, normal wasn’t easy to find.”

“What, wait? Normal?”

“You would be surprised how rare that is. I know you may not think so, not with all the internal agony you’ve been going through since becoming a cyborg. But what you’re feeling is normal. And that’s just what we needed, but that we also had a hell of a time finding.

“And one other thing. Since the process of finding suitable brains has become so laborious, expensive and uncertain, it’s been decided that from now on, we’re going to concentrate on the android program. The technology is becoming so refined that their almost indistinguishable from the real thing.”

“You’re telling me,” I blurted.

Samir smirked. “So, because of that, you, my friend are the last cyborg. Now that is something that makes you truly unique.”

I sat up on the bed, propping the pillow now against my damaged back. “Okay, now that I’m the last of a dying breed, and with a one-in-twenty-five normal brain—something you can leave intact without fear of it going berserk—what was I made for? What is this ultimate mission everyone keeps talking about?”

“You already know most of it. You’re to deliver a package—a weapon—to Davas, while disguised as an Azincor.”

“Okay, that sounds simple enough. What is this weapon?”

Samir grinned. “Knowing me, you should assume it has something to do with biological or chemical warfare.”

“And it’s not?”

“No, it is. But that’s where it gets complicated. I’m not going to tell you anymore until we get to Sanlos Station. There’s a lot of background information you need to know first. I just wanted you to know that what you’re going through is entirely my fault—”

“Samir, it wasn’t your fault I got my body blown in half.” I lowered my brow and cocked my head at the scientist. “It wasn’t, was it?”

Samir laughed. “No, it wasn’t. That one’s entirely on you.”

“So, all you did was give me another chance at a life, even though it’s been kinda shitty up until now. And from the sound of things, it’s not going to get much better. But why all the cloak and dagger? Don’t we have spies—even androids—that can go to Davas? Why do you need a full-capacity cyborg?”

“We have sent Human spies and robots to Davas. The problem is the Humans are found out almost immediately—something having to do with the scent … and other considerations. And with the androids, we know so little about Azincor society on Davas that it’s been impossible to program them for all contingencies. That’s what we need you for. A thinking Human who can improvise, adapt—”

“And overcome,” I interrupted. “Yeah, I know the Marine motto.”

“In this case, it’s a matter of life and death. You need to be able to modify plans or come up with new ones once you get to the planet. And if you’re able to deliver the package, then it will be only a matter of time before the war is over. In truth, it’s a pretty important mission.”

“So, I’m a cybernetic deliveryman. Delivery guaranteed by 10 am or it’s free.”

Samir laughed, not wholeheartedly, but at least he made an effort at my lame joke. “Something like that.”

I slipped over to the side of the bed, almost placing our knees together. Samir winced at the sight of my mangled skin. “I appreciate you telling me this. Obviously, this package you want me to deliver is a real threat to the assholes. That’s why they’re going through such an effort to stop me.”

“They know that if you make it to Davas, you can blend in with the billions of other Azincor, making it harder to find you. Nip the problem in the bud—kill you now before you get to the planet.”

“The Azincor are nothing if not sensible.”

“That they are,” Samir said sinisterly. “That’s why we have to be vigilant. The assholes are not going to give up. You can bet your bottom dollar they’ll try again … and again.”

I stood up. “And on that happy note, what say you spot me a few bucks and let’s go to the store. I need some new clothes, and we can have dinner while we’re out.”

Samir stood, too. “How about this: I go to the store and get you some new clothes, and then we have dinner brought to us in here. I don’t think the crew is ready for the mysterious stranger among them to be sitting on the mess decks with them, especially after seven people just died. And we’ve only been in space for three hours. Who knows what else this journey has in store for us—and them?”

“Foreshadowing, Doctor al-Bukhari? You would have made a great suspense novelist.”

“My secret ambition. You’ve found me out, Sergeant Ashe.”

4

The next seven days passed like molasses in winter. I wasn’t allowed out of my cabin, having meals brought to me and with only Samir as an occasional visitor. I didn’t see the general during this time; he never came to my stateroom. Samir hinted more about this great training session I was to go through on Sanlos Station before heading for Davas. One would think that with this much free time during the transit, the lessons would have begun early. You would be wrong if you thought that.

The ship underwent an UNREP—underway replenishment—seven days into the journey. Although I couldn’t tell for sure, but the guard outside my door told me in confidence that the crew was nervous, something about a mysterious, intermittent contact that seemed to be following the Bainbridge. By now, everyone knew who I was, at least partially. They knew I was a Human and not an asshole. From where they got this information, well, it had to come from Matthew’s staff. I laughed, knowing that would piss off the flag officer something fierce. It wasn’t like I had any great animosity toward the man. It’s just that I felt like a pawn in his and Samir’s game with the Azincor. And you know what happens too often to pawns. They get sacrificed.

That wasn’t fair. Until now, the general had done everything he could to keep me alive. My sacrifice might come later. After all, there was no talk about how I was to get off the planet Davas after completing my mission. I began to wonder if that was even in the cards.

And speaking of cards, I was frustrated.

Samir had been hanging out in my cabin for several days, doing his best to teach me a new card game called Cristch, or something like that. From my now extensive Azincor vocabulary—a vocabulary I didn’t know I had until recently—I knew the word meant Dragon in the asshole language. Samir explained how the Azincor made almost a religion out of the game and that I had better learn to be proficient at it if I expected to survive on Davas.

He still wouldn’t give me more details about my mission, telling me to be patient for a few more days. There were multimedia presentations at Sanlos Station that would put things in better perspective. But that didn’t stop him from showing me how to play Cristch.

There were ninety-six cards, consisting of eight groupings with various creatures on the face. No two cards were alike, which made memorizing what each stood for daunting, to say the least. Even Samir had to refer to a datapad now and then when questions arose. In the end, it was like an elaborate video game but in card form. There were dice and ancillary cards that assigned powers and health levels and set missions. It was hard to play with only two people, and that may have been the biggest drawback. With how social the Azincor were, the game was not played individually, but in ever-shifting teams. That was also something weird about the game. You could start with one set of teammates and end the game with a whole other group.

More than once, I threw down the cards and told Samir I was done. But he always got me back in the game, extolling me to learn it … or die. He didn’t say it exactly in those words, but that’s what he meant. I got the feeling he didn’t want to go too far with letting me know how dangerous my mission was to be. I already had a pretty good idea.

The good doctor didn’t realize at the time that I had little fear of dying. I’d done it once before, and it wasn’t that bad. I’m only kidding, of course. It was horrible! But now that I’d been reborn, I was having trouble planning much beyond the next day. I’d emerged from the rebirth looking completely different than my old self; I’d lost my girlfriend, my career and then even my Humanity when they turned my skin yellow. Can you blame me for being a little skeptical about my future? I was at the mercy of others, and if I had to die—again—so be it. At least then the uncertainty would end.

There were times, however, when I forgot about my troubles and enjoyed being alive for a second time. That mainly revolved around feeding time. I love food now more than ever. And it didn’t matter what it was. Things I would have passed on before—like sauerkraut—I now wolfed down when it was available aboard the ship. I made arrangements with some of my handlers for extra portions, telling them I needed it to keep up my energy reserves. That wasn’t true. By whatever system my body converted food to energy, it did a bang up job, even with the minimum intake. The kicker was I never became satiated. I could keep eating for days and never feel full or bloated. And I never gained weight. After all, where would the fat go? In fact, what would the fat be made of? Sure, I urinated and defecated, which is probably where all the excess went. But overall, I was an efficiently running full-capacity cyborg. Kudos to the engineers who designed me.

On that note, I kept thinking about what Samir said about him being my creator. That wasn’t exactly true. He created the plan that used me, but not me per se. I learned from him that Humans had been experimenting with full-capacity cyborgs for years but never got it right. It wasn’t the process that failed them, it was the Human brain itself. As Samir explained earlier, brains are a complicated mess of conflicting emotions. We’re all killers and pacifists, and both at the same time. We have doubts and we had confidence in spades, with the extremes played out constantly. There was no such thing as a stable personality, only a personality that was under control, at least according to conventional social conventions.

As the days passed, I began to see my normalcy as a defect rather than something special. Why was I so even-tempered? Why did I not have all these radical extremes in emotions and desires? Samir explained that I did, and without all the exclusionary phobias and neurosis. In a word: I was boring.

At least my brain was. As Samir explained, that was why I got along with just about everyone, and how I accepted people for who they were. Sure, some people got on my nerves, but I normally didn’t let the feelings linger for long. Hey, live and let live, that was my motto.

Now I know why I felt that way. Because I had a boring, average brain, which, when it counted, turned out to be a rare thing indeed.

I gritted my teeth and looked at the grouping of cards I held in my hand. The images were colorful, and I had four dragons. That was good, if I could remember in what way. What do I do now? Challenge or move? Damn, I liked card games just like the other guy, but what do you do when you stop having fun? You fold, which is what I was about to do when the door to my cabin suddenly burst open and General Matthews stuck his head in without knocking.

“Come with me, both of you.”

His voice was tense, leaving no room for questioning or noncompliance. Samir and I dropped our cards on the table and rushed out. I grabbed my cap on the way out and in the corridor began fighting with the mass of black hair on my head, trying to get it all stuffed underneath.

“Don’t bother with that,” Matthews growled at me. “Hurry.”

And hurry we did, along the corridor of officer’s country, heading toward the bridge. There was a side entrance into the room at the end of the passageway, and as we entered, I immediately sensed the palpable tension. There was about a third more people than normally manned the stations and everyone was huddled at their stations. Captain Evans and his XO, Lieutenant Commander Jamar Jurgens, were at the tactical station, studying the screen. Matthews walked up to them, with me and Samir looking around the taller officer at what everyone was looking at.

“There are three of them now,” Evans reported to Matthews. “The one to the rear, and now these two blocking our way. They have EMP dampers, so we’re not going to be able to maintain well-integrity for much longer. It looks as if they intend to fight it out right here.”

“And the McArthur Group, where are they?” Matthews asked.

Captain Evans reached down and ran his finger along the screen. The image shifted to the right and grew smaller. Eight bright dots appeared. “They’re here, about two hours out. Unfortunately, we may not have two hours.”

The captain led his small entourage back to his command chair as the main tactical screen lit up along the upper half of the forward bulkhead, above the viewport. I saw that we were still within an event horizon by the singular dot of intense light directly ahead of us. Normally, computers created a representation of true space outside the ship without all the deformations of bent space/time. But that was gone now. There was no need to fool the senses anymore.

A pair of petty officers came onto the bridge and started passing out packages of slipover pressure suits while others handed out compressed air breathers. I blew out a sharp breath. This was serious. The Bainbridge was about to go into combat, and the crew was getting ready to dump the air. That was standard procedure and would help prevent catastrophic cabin depressurization in the event of a hull breach. I took my pressure suit and air supply and began fluffing out the suit. I’d been through this drill dozens of times in the past. It was something we practiced constantly while aboard starships. However, I’d only ever been in one actual space battle, and that wasn’t much of one. We’d come up on a trio of asshole warships and descended on them like a flock of vultures. There was nine of us and three of them. The fight didn’t last long.

And now it looked as if the Azincor had a three-to-one advantage in the upcoming fight. Besides that, I had no idea what size of ships we were going up against. The Bainbridge was classified as a mid-destroyer, not the smallest but also not the biggest of the class. That did not bode well for our chances.

Not only that, but the assholes were known to be almost suicidal in their battle tactics. Their industrial capacity was such that they were able to crank out two ships for every one we produced. I know, that seemed odd, considering the industrial might of Humanity. But that was how the Azincor did everything—en mass. They needed more ships to carry more of their brothers into battle. And with the aliens, numbers meant more courage, fostered by the unifying fragrance they gave out. We called it ‘The More the Deadlier’ phenomenon with the species. Because of that, the assholes would resort to kamikaze attacks if the opportunity presented itself. Knowing how determined the assholes were to stop my mission, I’m sure that tactic was already foremost in their yellow-skinned heads.

Matthews suddenly turned to Samir and me. I was helping the doctor put on his environment suit; I don’t think he’d ever worn one before.

“This is Lieutenant Aronson,” the general said, indicating a slender young Naval officer. “Both of you are to go with him to the aft cargo hold and lifeboat number one.”

“You’re going to jettison us … sir?” I stumbled.

“Not if we can prevent it. But with the importance of your mission, if it looks as if the Bainbridge is going down, the lieutenant is to get the two of you into space and racing toward the rescue fleet. Your signature will be small, but even then, it may not be enough. We’re going to try to buy as much time as possible for the main fleet to get here, but in a worst case, I want the two of you ready to go.”

I looked desperately around the bridge, almost in a panic. I didn’t like going into a fight while blind. I panicked, imagining sitting in a tiny lifeboat without knowing what the hell was going on around me. Matthews sensed my nerves.

“We’ll patch the bridge monitors into the lifeboat, sergeant. If you’re going to be jettisoned, you’ll know about it.”

I smiled weakly. “Thank you, sir.”

Matthews nodded, shook Samir’s hand and then squeezed my shoulder. “Good luck, both of you.”

“The same to you, general,” I said sincerely. The man was willing to risk his life to keep my mission alive. That spoke volumes, both about my mission and about the man.

Samir and I raced after the lieutenant the full length of the Bainbridge. In the aft cargo bay, he led us to a pressure hatch in the bulkhead and spun the wheel, The iris opened and we climbed inside.

From inside the bay, you didn’t realize there were six lifeboats lining the bulkheads. They were kept in a cavity between the inner hull and the outer. If launched, metal panels would blow off and the tiny vessels would shoot away. They didn’t have star drives, only chemical rockets, which meant they weren’t designed to go very far and definitely not very fast. They were used simply to get crewmembers away from a disabled starship and then wait for rescue. Even if we did deploy and head toward the incoming fleet, the amount of distance we would close wouldn’t even register as a rounding error. All Matthews wanted was to give us a chance to survive by getting lost in the vastness of space. Within the clutter of the battle, it might be possible for the lifeboat to be mistaken for debris. It was Lieutenant Aronson’s job to make sure we didn’t become real debris.

Our suits inflated as the atmosphere was dumped, both in the main ship and in the lifeboat. And then the gravity died. We strapped in, anticipating radical maneuvering that would still subject us to centripetal force. Gravity became a hinderance during space battles.

And then we dropped out of light speed.

It was easy to tell when that happened, just as it was easy to tell when we entered. The three passengers of the lifeboat nearly vomited, which happened to about ten percent of everyone, even veterans. The covering headgear had reservoirs for this. Fortunately, none of us needed them.

But to be more correct with the vernacular, we didn’t drop from light speed; instead we dropped from within the event horizon of the series of microscopic black holes that gave us our movement. The horizon protected the ship and its occupants from the effects of relativity, not so much because of some mysterious counterforce, but because of the compaction of space while in the quasi-interdimensional state. Space on all sides of the singularity was drawn in, effectively shrinking the distance that had to be traveled to only a fraction of that through normal space. To travel a light-year was now reduced by a factor of several thousand percent. This also meant the ship never had to come close to the speed of light while in normal space, which was where most of the effects of relativity were found. Instead, we let the singularity do all the work. Once formed, we simply adjusted the focal length to where the gravity generator was within the event horizon. After that, we just fell toward our destination.

Still, gravity drives could affect travel in normal space as well, just not as much. It still warped space, giving us something to fall into. That was how most sub-light travel was done, at least when you didn’t want to take decades to get anywhere. However, the lifeboat didn’t have even rudimentary gravity drive. We would have to blast through space the old fashion way, by reactive jets of chemical exhaust.

The ship surged suddenly, throwing the three of us to the left. The Bainbridge was changing course, and in a hurry. And then we lit off a series of laser blasts. I knew this because the generators were in the rear of the ship. They had to charge and then discharge with a deep, rumbling hum.

Lt. Aronson had the screens lit up in the lifeboat, mirroring the tactical screen on the bridge. The image was reduced to include the entire battlefield, showing the Bainbridge surrounded by three glowing white lights. Yellow lines filled the screen which were the tracks of the metal slugs that had also been released. They didn’t travel nearly as fast as the laser beams but were used mainly to create attack channels. One did not want to venture into a cloud of heavy metal slugs traveling at twenty-two thousand miles per hour. That could definitely put a few dents in even the strongest hulls. I was being facetious; entering a cloud would literally rip a ship to shreds. Because of that, these discharges were closely monitored.

They also greatly restricted maneuvering space, which is what the Azincor warship were trying to do. So far, the Bainbridge hadn’t released any of her slugs. She wanted to keep space as free of debris as possible to maintain maneuvering room. The ship was letting off countering laser blasts, not so much to damage the enemy, but to keep them at bay. Speed was her only advantage at this point, but with more slugs cluttering the battlefield, that was quickly becoming a moot point.

Repeatedly, the three passengers of the tiny lifeboat were jostled back and forth as the destroyer spiraled and twisted her way through space. I could handle the pressures better than anyone, but even I was becoming disoriented. I looked over at Samir, glad to see that he had mercifully passed out. He was still breathing, which was a good sign. The naval officer was conscious; however, his face was a study in torment as he fought against the incredible G-forces tugging at his body. If the lifeboat was ordered away, it would happen automatically. But once in space, it would be up to the lieutenant to steer us away from the Bainbridge. If that happened, it wouldn’t be wise to stay in the vicinity of the destroyer. She would be only minutes from exploding, and that wouldn’t serve our purposes too well.

“Leading … edge!” Aronson groaned.

I looked at the screen and saw the first two contacts of the support fleet now on the main screen. It was now three to three—until one of the new contacts disappeared, having crossed a slug field. But soon, more contacts appeared.

The Azincor were fully aware of the reinforcements and now they became more blatant with their tactics. All three ships engaged shallow gravity-wells, aimed directly at the Bainbridge. They intended to ram the ship.

I was pressed down in my seat as the destroyer shot upward, forming a gigantic loop in space. Her own gravity generators were engaged, attempting to counter the wells of the alien starships. The continuum in this part of space was torn and warped in such a convoluted way that it would be impossible to navigate properly. Because of that, all the ships in the battle zone now twisted away at odd angles, basically surfing the warping of space. Perhaps computers could keep track of the torrent, but I couldn’t imagine Human beings capable of such a feat. Nor alien, it seemed.

One of the Azincor ships exploded as it, too, wandered into a slug field. The other two ships continued to bore in toward the Bainbridge, with one getting strafed by laser fire from a pair of the Human ships from the MacArthur Group. The warp field around the enemy vessel suddenly evaporated as their gravity drive was knocked out. After that, it only took a few more strategically-placed laser beams to cut the ship into scrap metal.

The remaining ship didn’t give up, even though its mission was impossible. It raced through a gauntlet of laser beams before its singularities evaporated. Then, in an act of defiance, the Azincor ship exploded, the result of its own overloaded generators. Fortunately, none of the Humans ships were close enough to feel the impact.

Carefully, the Bainbridge and the other ships of McArthur Group left the battlefield, an area of space which would be marked as contaminated for several years to come. This part of space was now littered with dangerous debris that would be hazardous to any passing ships. If it was closer to the main travel lanes, cleaners would move in, and using their gravity drives, they would vacuum the area clean. But this was too far out for that to happen. Instead, we would let natural momentum diffuse the slug fields until they were no longer a threat.

The Secure from General Quarters notice sounded throughout the destroyer. Lt. Aronson and I helped a recovering Samir al-Bukhari to his feet and out of the lifeboat. Gravity was restored and the ship repressurized. General Matthews met us in the launch bay.

“That was close,” he admitted. “I had my finger on the launch button right up to the time the first relief elements arrived. Even then, I kept the button close. Those crazy bastards were going to ram us.”

“I saw that,” I acknowledged.

The general looked at me knowingly, while also scanning the disheveled look of both Lt. Aronson and Samir. He knew I felt no effects from the battle, either during or afterward. He had come through it okay himself, but it was different when you were in the room where all the wild maneuvering was taking place. He knew what to expect. Not so the rest of the crew—and the passengers. Everyone looked haggard but relieved.

“What now, general?” I asked.

“Now, we get you to Sanlos Station, but this time with a full escort. No more of this going it alone bullshit.”

I nodded. “Good. I’ve never been too keen on space travel anyway. But now, how about some chow? I’m starving … sir.”

5

The planet known as Donovan’s World was so much like Earth that for most of its history it was called Earth Two. It’s located only nine light-years from the Pegasus Gate, making it the largest Human settlement on the far side of the Pegasus Spur. Humans discovered the planet within weeks of the first passage through the Gate a hundred and fifty years ago and have been there ever since. There was no advanced indigenous life at the time, so it was easy to colonize. At least in the early days.

After coming in contact with the Azincor, the yellow-skinned bastards played nice with the Humans for about seven years. At the time, we didn’t know they were studying us, learning from us. Humans were the premier fighters in this part of the galaxy, a skill the Azincor sorely lacked. But they were quick learners and devoted their entire industrial might and culture to becoming warriors in their own right.

When the time was right, they lashed out, not only at the Humans, but a dozen lesser species in the Pegasus Spur. For a time, they barreled over everyone they came in contact with. Although Donovan never fell completely to the Azincor, it did suffer horrible damage. This was unusual for the assholes, who normally went out of their way to preserve vital infrastructure so they wouldn’t have to rebuild it themselves after their victory. But Donovan was different. When the Azincor realized they couldn’t conquer the planet, they set out on a literal Scorched-Earth campaign. That campaign ended fourteen years ago. Since then, Donovan, and the massive military base, Sanlos Station, had recovered.

My first CST was homeported here, although in those days, as the Humans were making leaps and bounds against the assholes, I didn’t spend a lot of time there. But still, I knew the place fairly well, so this was a form of homecoming. I smirked as the Bainbridge set down in the second-largest landing field in the Human Union, remembering some of the wilder times I had in the neighboring city of Langston. I was younger then and new to the service, new to the galaxy and with all the piss and vinegar that went with youth. I smirked a little more watching the dust settle around the ship. I was twenty-seven now—if one is still counted years after death—and yet I felt like an old man compared to those early days, being wise beyond my years.

I had to admit, I’d been through more than most. Even so, it was a good bet the vast majority of these youngbloods would be around long after I’m gone … again. Still, it was kinda neat coming back to what I considered my second home.

I still called Manados my home away from Earth. That was due mainly to Abby. Nowadays, when I thought of the planet, all I felt was pain and regret. Let’s face it, for a moment, I was free of all these worldly distractions. I’d lived my life, and then I died. In that, I wasn’t unique. But unlike other people, I knew the agony of a do-over, when that do-over turned into a nightmare.

The general and his people were the first off the ship, with Samir and me shuttled off in our own vehicle for government housing. There were multi-unit structures for the enlisted, with duplexes and single-family structures for higher ranking non-coms and the officers. Samir and I were taken to the ritzy part of base housing and given a duplex. I’d never been treated this well during my living years in the Marines, so this was cool. But even as I strolled around the interior of the house and looked out the window to the street, armed guards were taking up positions outside. I wasn’t sure if this was to keep the bad guys out or to keep me in. Probably a little of both.

I noticed there was a car parked in the half of the driveway allocated for Samir. I didn’t get a car. I’m sure either Samir or armed guards would take me where I needed to go. That was all well and good, to a degree. As I said, I knew the city of Langston fairly well, and I was anxious to visit a few of my old haunts. The general probably wouldn’t let me do that, not without half the Marine garrison going with me. So, that wasn’t going to happen. Too bad. If this was to be my last hurrah, why not let me enjoy myself while I could?

As a cyborg with a cyborg metabolism, I found myself bored senseless being locked in the duplex. I didn’t need to sleep or rest. I could watch the broadcasts, but the programs they showed didn’t hold my interest. They seemed trivial in light of what I was facing, what we all were facing. Either I was going to win the war for Humanity, or millions more would die. And with recent changes in asshole strategy regarding the use of androids, there was no guarantee we would come out the victors in any prolonged war.

I went outside to give Samir a visit when I noticed his car was gone. At least he had something to do. I went back into the house and raided the refrigerator—again. If they were going to leave food in my kitchen, then they would soon learn that the shelf-life of food in my house was something like two hours before needing to be restocked. That was the only good thing about the accommodations. I had my own kitchen.

Three hours fourteen minutes later, as relayed subliminally to me by my internal clock—it was actually just a feeling I got—an Army escort arrived to whisk me away to places unknown. I didn’t protest; I was ready to get whatever training program I had to go through started. The sooner I started, the sooner … I could what? Die? Probably.

I know, death was always only a breath away in my thinking, which was a morbid way of existing. But I was born from death, so, in a way, it made sense. I would have to work at creating a more positive attitude…

I was taken to one of the myriad non-descript pale green military structures at the business end of the massive base. There was no designation on the building, not even a number. But there was a fair number of people moving about. Cars were lined up in the parking lot out front and the double door entry barely had time to close before someone either came or went.

What shocked me was the attention the people were giving me. I normally got this much attention only when my skin was yellow. But it seemed most of these people—mainly military—already knew who I was. They could have been preparing for this moment for a month already, and now the star attraction had arrived. It was time to get the show on the road.

An Army major escorted me inside the building and to an elevator. I was mildly surprised when we went down instead of up. There was obviously more to the building than met the eye.

I eventually made my way to a large conference room with a single long table set close to the front and with six monitors attached to the wall. There were a couple of desks at the front of the room with half a dozen chairs placed around them. The table had only one chair. I didn’t have to be shown where to go; I went straight for the lonely chair at the lonely table.

The major left, and I spent the next five minutes looking around impatiently. I wondered if my ‘instructors’ realized I never slept or grew tired. I could continue the ‘training’ around the clock, if I had the instructors to do so. That was the way I preferred it. Otherwise, I’d be back at the duplex, climbing the walls from boredom.

Then the entourage entered; it consisted of two men and two women. The men wore sharp military uniforms and the women had on lab coats, telling me they were the brains of the operation. Don’t tell the men I said that.

One of the women, a slightly overweight lady with serious green eyes and too short hair, came to the table and placed a small plastic cup in front of me with a greenish liquid in it.

“I’m Doctor Harriet Simpson,” she introduced. “I’ll be monitoring this part of your programming.” She indicated the other woman with a wave of her hand. “That is Doctor Amrita Durga. The gentlemen are Lieutenant-Colonel Glenn Jones and Captain Kenneth Franks. I need you to drink this.” She pushed the plastic cup closer to me.

“What is it?” I asked. I lifted the cup and smelled the contents.

“It’s a memory enhancer.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Where was this when I was in school?”

My training staff took their seats as the screens activated on the wall. All they had on them was the Fleet Command logo.

“Sergeant Ashe,” Harriet began. “You may not be aware, but since your Human brain does not have to facilitate as many bodily functions as a normal person has, you have more free space for memory retention and recall. In fact, at this moment, your IQ is somewhere around 200.”

I was stunned. I’d never been that smart of a guy, at least not book smart. But this was, well, unbelievable.

“Are you sure?” I gasped. “I don’t feel any smarter.”

“You haven’t had any call for it. But now you will. We have a lot of information to go over and you need to memorize everything. This data needs to be so ingrained in you that it’s as if you were born with it. You need to learn all it means to be an Azincor. Their race is so focused on being Azincor that any deviation will be noticed and questioned. And since we don’t have much time, we can only go over this information once.”

I looked down at the cup of greenish liquid. Harriet noticed.

“With that, your IQ will increase to something close to 300. You will acquire an eidetic memory—a photographic memory—and then using other appliances we’ll implant in your brain, you’ll be able to link with Azincor computers to learn what you need to, almost on the spot. You’re supposed to be an Azincor native, born into a fanatic society where worship of self and species in paramount. You won’t have time to think before you react. The memory enhancer will help with that. Even then, you will be tested.”

“You mentioned we don’t have much time. Why not? It is because the Azincor have learned of my mission, what I’m supposed to do once I get to Davas?”

LtCol. Jones stepped forward. “Sergeant Ashe, I’m with Army Intelligence. I’ve been monitoring Azincor communications and actions over the past couple of months, ever since you showed up on Manados. As far as we can tell, the aliens know that an operation is underway involving a Human infiltrator and a secret weapon of some kind. Then with your interactions with the Leona Wilson androids, they found out you’re a cyborg. They know you’re different from other cyborgs and they know you look like them. That’s where the urgency comes in. They realize how hard it will be to find you once you get to Davas. That’s why they’ve made such an effort to stop you now. Those efforts will only increase until the Azincor conclude that you must have slipped past them. At that time, they’ll focus their efforts on Davas. We have no idea what steps they’ll take to find you there. That’s why you need to blend in seamlessly with the natives. You can’t stand out in any way.”

I shrugged. “Well, I’m all for that. That’s kinda the story of my life.”

“Your old life, sergeant,” the colonel corrected. “Right now, you’re the most wanted man in the galaxy.” He turned back to the desk but kept talking. “The Azincor know you’re here, and if you haven’t noticed, the assholes have started using androids more than ever.”

I huffed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. They seem to be everywhere.”

“And if there’s one thing we’ve noticed about these robots, they never look like Azincor. It’s basically against their religion to create mechanical versions of themselves. That’s only complicated things. Their androids can come disguised as any species. Believe me, it’s a lot easier to make an alien android than it is to make an alien cyborg.”

Jones nodded to the other officer, Captain Kenneth Franks. He took center stage and activated the larger center screen.

“Please drink the enhancer, sergeant,” he said. I’d forgotten about the liquid and now I downed it. It was sweet, like Gatorade. “It will take a few minutes to kick in. Later, you’ll also be fitted with a wireless brain interface. It will help you learn faster. In the meantime, we’ll start slowly with an overview of Azincor society.”

I grimaced. I’d been fighting the assholes for seven years, and before that, I grew up hearing about the yellow-skinned bastards every day during my teenage years. The war had been going on for seventeen years. What more could I learn about Azincor society?

As if reading my mind, the captain began.

“We know very little about the Azincor, relative to what they know about us. As you recall, we encountered them long after they acquired FTL travel and even now, no Human has ever set foot on their homeworld of Davas, at least none that lived long enough to report back. At first, this was accepted by Humanity. Their world is twelve hundred light-years away and accessed only through a series of off-shoot wormholes. Then when the war started, it became even more difficult getting close to Davas. That wasn’t the same for us. Humanity is a goddamn open book, more than willing to let the aliens know everything there is to know about us. Hell, the aliens could download the entire Library of Congress and learn anything they want to know for the cost of an internet subscription. But there was no reciprocity. This wasn’t because of any diabolical scheme on the part of the Azincor. This is just the way they are … and the way we are. As you know, the assholes don’t give a shit about other races. They have absolutely no interest in comingling, learning from others or exploring new lands and new cultures. All they want is land for their people. That’s it.

“But they’re also shifty little bastards,” the officer continued. “They will play the game if it’s to their benefit, like when they studied our ways of war. But once that was over, they haven’t been that interested in us, except to kill us.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Harriet Simpson interrupted. “From studying some of the androids we’ve recovered so far, the Azincor appear to be following much of our technological advances. And our advances have been impressive.” She looked at me. “In fact, Sergeant Ashe, after this mission, they’ll be no more Human cyborgs. You’re the last. We’re replacing all cyborgs with androids. Sure, there will still be a few combat cyborgs around, but as they’re killed off, they won’t be replaced. As you well know, we don’t retire combat cyborgs. They remain in use until they die, which can be a pretty long time in some cases.”

“What about me? What’s my life expectancy?”

The look on the startled faces of my instructors was priceless. They looked at each other, to see who would answer the loaded question. The hapless job fell to Colonel Jones.

“That’s hard to say, sergeant. You may have heard of Cy 182. He lived to be 118 years old. However, he didn’t die in combat, but in an earthquake when the building he was in collapsed on him. So, you can still have a long and fruitful life. But as with anyone, we have no idea how long that will be.”

They were lying through their teeth, and they knew I knew it. It was obvious to everyone that my mission was a one way trip. I just wish they’d tell me what it was all about.

However, there was something else the people in the room didn’t realize about Third Sergeant Alan Ashe. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight, not this time. I now have an IQ of 300, a body with phenomenal strength and endurance, and a full-capacity Human brain. So, unlike before, the next time I die, it’s going to take all the screaming demons they can find to drag my yellow ass down to Hell, and then even more to keep me there…

The captain nodded, unphased by the interruption and the correction. “That’s correct, Mrs. Simpson; the assholes are still learning from us … by stealing our tech. And with the proliferation of androids throughout Human space, that’s becoming a real problem. And that’s why the urgency, Sergeant Ashe. These fucking androids are showing up everywhere; undoubtedly, they’re even on Donovan.” He smiled. “They could even be in this very room. The point being, the longer we keep you on the planet, the better chance the assholes will have of getting to you. We need to complete your training as soon as possible and then send you on your way.”

The colonel looked at me and smiled again. “Are the drugs kicking in yet? Do you feel any smarter?”

I was smart enough to know the man’s sense of humor by now. I grinned and nodded. “Full Einstein level, sir. Genius on deck! Let the learning begin!”

6

Over the next two days I learned a lot more about the Azincor than I ever imagined we knew about the yellow-skinned bastards. It was pretty shocking.

“The Azincor race is made up of two genders, male and female,” Dr. Amrita Durga was saying. I found out she was an ex0biologist and an expert in Azincor physiology. “All Azincor babies are born female, and then they transition to males between ages twenty to twenty-one.”

Of course, I knew this; everyone did. Even so, we didn’t know a lot about the females since it was only the males who left the planet. As it turned out, the briefing got very interesting very fast.

“The females all live in a fifty-mile-square section of Davas which when translated to English means The Core. They never leave the planet and rarely leave the Core, and there are about eighty million of them at any given time.”

That, I didn’t know. Durga continued.

“All females can become pregnant between the ages of twelve and fourteen and can produce between one to four children. They gestate asexually. The number of children they have depends on the environment. A favorable environment with a lot of resources, they will have three to four. But in a more hostile setting, only one to two. Since the Azincor have only been expanding to other worlds over the past one hundred fifty years, there hasn’t been enough time for their genetics to change to where more children could be produced to fill in the greater demand for males, which the aliens call the Brinn. I suspect that will happen eventually.”

Dr. Amrita was a cute, slender woman of Indian descent. She had a good sense of humor but was all business when giving a lecture. With my newfound intelligence, I found I only had to half listen to the classes and still grasp everything being said. With Amrita’s lectures, I paid closer attention. She was cute as a bug.

“Once a child is born, she is immediately taken away from the mother and turned over to the community, which will then nurture, educate and train the child. By the age of three, the child begins school. Then, around nine, skill training is added to the curriculum. Here, the children are taught electronics, computers, engineering, as well as construction and other trades. Since all education and training carries over after transitioning, there’s a continuity of knowledge. The Azincor—as they see it—have only one gender, Azincor, and they’re simply going through phases in their development. They see male and female as one, just different versions of the same thing. But let me speak a little more about the transition from female to male.” Dr. Durga projected a slide on one of the screens.

I’d heard the same thing half a dozen times before—actually only four times, my photographic memory told me. My uncompromising super brain was becoming a nuisance. I could no longer exaggerate without internally correcting myself. I prayed this phase in my development wouldn’t last much longer before I put a stop to it.

“The transition phase—called the Crossing—is a horrible, two-month-long affair where the estrogen-like hormone that has dominated the Azincor’s life to this point goes away and is replaced by a surge of heavy testosterone. The Crossing is extremely painful and debilitating for the Azincor and is done in Crossing Centers located long the outskirts of the Core. Here, their bodies becomes taller, more robust, bones become denser and personalities change, often becoming more aggressive. For those who survive, recovery is fairly quick—”

“Survive?” I asked, jolted by the word. “You mean some don’t?”

Only Doctors Durga and Simpson were in the classroom at the time. They now looked at each with furrowed brows.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I probed.

“It’s not that we’re not telling you, Sergeant Ashe,” said Harriet Simpson impatiently. “It’s that we haven’t gotten to that part of the training yet. But now that you’ve brought it up…” She nodded to Amrita.

The slide changed on the screen. I hadn’t seen this one before. It showed an X-Y graph with columns of varying heights, two sets placed next to each other.

“Yes, Sergeant Ashe, Azincor die from the transitioning, and in substantial numbers” said Durga. “In fact, for thousands of years, around five percent of all females didn’t survive the conversion, dying agonizingly painful deaths. But there’s more. About half a percent of the females never transition at all.”

“Never?” I asked, stunned. “They remain female?”

“That’s right. This class of Azincor is called the Lors and they are very rare. Let me give you some background. As you know, the females transition to Brinn around the ages of twenty to twenty-one. But because the transition is so stressful, it essentially burns out the body, leaving the males to rarely live another fifteen years after the Crossing, making the total lifespan of an Azincor around thirty-five years. However, the Lors, since they never go through the Crossing, can live sixty to seventy years. Because of this continuity of life, they are tacitly regarded as the leaders of the Azincor race, the Elders if you will.”

“No shit?” I blurted. “I often wondered who was running the show. I assumed it was the males.”

“On the surface, that’s the way it is. The Brinn build and run all the factories; they are the soldiers, the farmers, as well as all the skilled and unskilled labor. They build the housing for themselves and for the females and provide food and utilities to the Core. While the females are busy birthing babies and raising them, the males do everything else. Also, there’s normally very little interaction between the genders, except by necessity, and always strictly on a professional basis.”

“So, no fraternization.” I bounced my eyebrows lasciviously.

“Sergeant,” Dr. Durga said sternly, “there is no sex in the Azincor species.”

“I know that,” I defended. “They can become pregnant on their own.”

“It goes far beyond that. There is no sex, no sexual desire, no nothing. And that goes for homosexual activity, as well. To an Azincor, sex and desire are foreign concepts. Yes, there are millions of other species on the planet that do engage in sex, including plants. The Azincor know what sex is, but to them, it’s meaningless.”

I shook my head. “How do you know all this? Up until two days ago, I thought we knew next to nothing about Azincor females, and only a little more about the males.”

“We will get to that later. But like everything we’re doing here, there is a reason and an order to things. Now, if you will let me do my job…”

Dang, the petite scientist can get testy. I liked it. I leaned back in the chair and pursed my lips. “Please, continue.”

“Good,” said Amrita Durga. “Now, look at the chart. The first column details the five percent of deaths and the half-a-percent of Lors creation. Those are historical numbers, steady over the past five thousand years. The next column is what’s happening now.”

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table. I know I promised to stay quiet but this information confused me.

“They’ve both gone up, and dramatically.”

“Exactly. Currently, the death rate for transitioning females is over twelve percent and climbing. And the Lors rate is up to three percent, even a larger percentage increase than the dying females.”

“And that’s going on right now?”

Durga nodded. I didn’t ask how she knew about this, not again. I figured she would tell me eventually.

“Do you know why this is happening?”

Durga looked at her partner. “There is a reason, but it’s complicated. Suffice to say, the decrease in transitioning females has been noticed by the Brinn, and they’re in panic mode. The result has been the increased attention to, and use of, androids in Azincor military operations and other tasks, as well. With males already having a shorter lifespan than the females, even this slight decrease in their population is being felt.”

Dr. Simpson took up the lecture. “That was why what you and your friends did on Manados had such an impact. In the course of a few hours, two hundred thousand Azincor males died, the most deaths they’d suffered at any one time throughout the war, and by a longshot. It had an impact, accelerating the deployment of advanced androids. They’re even using them on Davas and Kalix as service bots. The male population is suffering, and it’s only getting worse.”

“And we’re going to make it even worser,” a familiar voice announced off to my left. I looked over as Samir entered the room, followed by the venerable General Matthews. The officer had been scarce these past few days, so his showing up now had to mean something.

“Thank you, doctors,” Samir said to the ladies as he took his place in front of my too-long table. I always felt self-conscious sitting here by myself.

“Alan, this is the crux of the mission, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Are you ready to be shocked?”

I scowled. “Is it a good shock, or a bad shock?”

Samir chuckled. “We’ll see.”

He turned back to the chart. “The reason more females are dying, and fewer males are being made, is because it’s been planned that way.”

Okay, that was a shock, not only from the facts but the implication.

“By you?”

Samir looked at General Matthews and laughed. He shook his head. “No, not by me. At least, not yet.”

“Then who? Who would want the population of male Azincor to go down?”

“The Lors, Alan, that’s who.”

He now had my full attention. “The Lors? You mean the females who never transition? That’s … crazy.”

“Is it, really?” Samir asked. “These are females who never become males and who live almost twice as long as the rest of the Azincor. They see things from a different perspective.”

“But why? Don’t they need the males as much as the other females?”

“One would think so. But let me go on.”

Dammit! He was going to play the same ‘build up the suspense’ game as the other ‘doctors.’ Was this a ‘doctor’ thing? Never give all the details at once, dole it out in bite-size morsels?

“You’ve been wondering how we have such detailed information about the Azincor when we never had it before. That’s because we’ve been in contact with Unan Carr, the head Lor herself, the figurative leader of the Azincor race.”

I looked suspiciously at the general then back to Samir. “And I take it this is unusual?”

“Any contact with the Azincor is unusual,” the general answered. “After the war began seventeen years ago, the Azincor broke off all contact with us and our allies. They have refused all our overtures to negotiate for a ceasefire, a truce or peace in any form. In fact, until Unan Carr contacted us, we didn’t even know the Lors existed. It’s because of her that we know what we now know.”

“Again, why?”

‘Why’ covered a multitude of topics. I didn’t know which to begin with.

Samir continued. “Unan Carr and her other Lors are in a unique position to observe Azincor society at arm’s length, and over the full spectrum of an Azincor lifespan. Normally, the females see life as the period from birth to the Crossing, and the males see it differently from then on. It’s how it has always been and everyone thinks it’s just fine. The females do their thing, and the males do theirs.

“However, recently, Unan and the other Lors have watched the Azincor culture suffer tremendously from the war with Earth. They see it as pointless and counterproductive, and they want an end to it.”

My heart leapt. Could this be a prelude to the end of the war? Is peace on the horizon?

“The problem is the males like it this way, and they’re becoming more aggressive with each year the war continues.”

I was about to ask another why, when Samir explained.

“As you know, the males give off a particular scent that is soothing to them and essentially helps control their aggressive nature. Before star travel, this worked great as a way to reign in the often self-destructive tendencies of the males. It kept them in check. But as the race has spread outward, to other planets and traveling in tiny starships, the dominance of this fragrance has lessened, and with it the aggressive tendencies have increased. The Lors have seen this, and they’ve also read the tea leaves. This is only going to get worse as the race spreads farther out.”

Amrita Durga stood up from a chair at one of the desks. “You have to realize, Sergeant Ashe, the females have never been off the planet, nor do they wish to be. The outward expansion of the Azincor is all a male thing, and Unan Carr is trying to put a stop to that.”

“How?”

Samir spoke next. “A few years ago, the Lors began a program designed to limit the transitioning of females to males using a chemical procedure. It worked, if you consider having fewer males because more females were dying. Of course, Unan had to keep this program a secret. If the males learned of it, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill the Lors. And the other females wouldn’t have a problem with that. They exist in their own little bubble where transitioning is the norm. It is, but what the males have become since leaving the planet is something the Lors can’t tolerate.”

I frowned. “Okay. I understand all that. But how are we involved? If the Azincor want to destroy themselves from within, well, join the party. Humans been doing that since … forever.”

Samir laughed, nodding his head. “So true, my friend. But this is how we became involved. Since the Lors knew of Humanity’s proclivity for exotic weapons, such as biological and chemical warfare, they contacted us for help in refining their transitioning-stopping drug.”

My mouth fell open and I think I gagged a little out loud. I was in too much shock to notice. “You’re shitting me? They came to us for help. That is crazy. What did you tell them? I hope you told them to pound sand.”

General Matthews grinned broadly. “To the contrary, sergeant,” he said proudly. “We jumped at the chance. The call got routed to me, and I eventually assigned the problem to our good friend, Doctor Simar al-Bukhari, who was currently stationed at the Combined Medical Facility on Manados.”

“You helped them?” I gagged. This time I knew I did it.

“Just think for a minute, Alan,” Samir began. “Think about what this would mean. Unan said it best when she described a future Azincor race consisting of all females—Lors—who never transition into the more aggressive males and have no desire to leave their planet. That would be preferrable to what we have now, wouldn’t it? It would mean an end to the war and the saving of millions of lives, on both sides.”

“I don’t care about saving Azincor lives,” I blurted. My superior mental brain was already shouting at me about how all of this made sense, but the animal side wasn’t about to surrender so easily. “These assholes deserve to die. Every last one of them, male and female.”

The general nodded. “Believe me, son, I felt the same way … at first. After seventeen years of untold death and destruction, along with the years of backstabbing and betrayal they spent before the war, I wanted a genocide, just like you do now. But seriously, how much can we blame the females? All they did was what they’ve always done, their biological duty. It’s the males who are responsible for the war, not the females.”

I looked squarely at Samir. “What did you do? You helped them, didn’t you?”

Samir nodded. “You’ve seen some of the results, back on Manados. Once Unan provided us with detailed data about Azincor biology, chemistry and genetics, we set to work. The first thing I did was try to increase the estrogen-like hormone the females produce, thinking that if I could keep it viable in later years, then the testosterone would not have the ability to dominate. There would be no transition.”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately, I found that either reducing or increasing estrogen had the effect of making the females sterile. A critical balance was needed for the females to reproduce asexually. I didn’t have much experience with such biological systems, not until I brought Doctor Durga onto my team. We shelved that product and then moved onto the testosterone component.”

Dr. Durga took over. “At this time, we were trying to tweak the formula the Lors gave us. It helped, giving us a head start. But then we dumped everything and started from scratch, but this time knowing Azincor physiology and chemistry. That’s when Dr. al-Bukhari developed the virus that would kill Azincor males.”

“That was by accident, by the way,” Samir acknowledged. “It wasn’t that hard to develop once we knew their chemistry. But the first batch, as you know, Alan, also kills Humans. It was only as a side project that I developed the strain that would only kill the Azincor. That was the virus we sprayed on the Enclave. I thought I had the solution, but it turned out that implementation was impractical. With the males spread throughout the Spur, using the virus to kill them was too big of a job. So, we went back to working on the non-transitioning drug as our primary method.”

“Did you do it?”

Samir cocked his head and nodded. “To a degree. What Dr. Durga and I have developed cuts transitioning by eighty percent.”

“And the other twenty percent?”

“These females will still attempt to transition, but our studies show that half will die.”

“And the other half, the last ten percent?”

“They become males. That can’t be helped. But consider what would happen if the Azincor male population was only a tenth of what it is today. Bottom line: Unan Carr and her Lors love the formula. They can deal with having a few males around. They might even prefer it that way.”

“What about Azincor society?” I asked. I was more curious than concerned. “The males produce everything, except babies.”

“The females are fully capable of running the society, including the factories, the infrastructure and farming. Remember, they’re trained at all these skills and professions while they’re still female. After normal transitioning, the Brinn have a couple of years of specialty training before they’re fully qualified to take their place on the line, whatever line that happens to be. Unan Carr assures us, it won’t be a problem. The females can handle it.”

“Whoopie for them,” I said sarcastically. “I’m relieved to learn the Azincor are going to come out of this just fine. What about the families of all the people the fucking Azincor have killed? Will there be no justice for them?”

General Matthew’s face went stern. “Sergeant Ashe, in times of war, we don’t always get everything we want. But, son, a victory is a victory. And what you do over the next four weeks could end the war for us, and not just for now, but forever. If the Lors are able to take Samir’s drug and give it to the females, we’ll never have to worry about the assholes again.”

“And what exactly is my mission, general? What am I supposed to do?”

Samir turned to a screen and activated it. “You are to deliver a concentrated amount of the non-transitioning drug, what we call the NTD, to Unan Carr on Davas. Since the production of the toxin is very complicated and takes a lot of specialize equipment and effort from teams of specialists, it cannot be produced on their planet. The males would surely find out. We have to deliver the finished product to Unan. She will take it from there.”

“Okay, that sounds simple enough,” I said, confused about what all the precaution was about. “You said she’s the head of the government. Shouldn’t I be able to be cleared straight through to her without a problem?”

Matthews blew out a breath. “If only it were that simple, sergeant. We said Unan is tacitly the leader. The main governing body is as you suspected, a council of senior males, the Brinn Council. And, according to Unan, they have become suspicious of the Lors, especially in light of the sudden uptick in female transitioning deaths. She’s under constant watch. On top of that, the Azincor found your medical records on Manados.” The officer looked accusingly at Samir.

“Sir, that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tell them to put the files in the same hiding place as Alan. That was a mistake made in the confusion of the invasion.”

“It’s all right, Samir; I know.” Matthews looked at me. “Fortunately, the operational files were kept somewhere else and they weren’t found, so the aliens don’t know the details of your mission. All they know is what you know, or that you used to know until a few minutes ago: You were to go to Davas disguised as an Azincor and deliver a weapon of some kind. They don’t know what kind of weapon it is, or who you’re to deliver it to. But according to Unan, the males are getting closer to the truth. Given time, the Council will put the puzzle together and the life of all the Lors will be in jeopardy, as will any possibility of peace. As it is, the assholes know you’re coming. They already know you’re on Donovan and they even have a rough timetable for when you’ll be heading for Davas. They will be looking for you.”

As I considered the startling revelations that had been laid before me, I began sorting through the pile of questions to find the most pertinent. I started with this: “How big is this package I’ll be delivering?”

Samir switched slides on the screen. “It’s actually pretty small,” he said, pointing to a thin, tan-colored satchel about ten inches long, four inches wide and two inches thick. “That’s what you get when you’re working with a product measured in nanos; you can get a lot into a small package. And as with most of my other products, this one is self-replicating, as well. All that needs to be done is for the virus to be introduced into the atmosphere of the Core and it will linger for years, infecting the females and making it so that they never have the ability—or desire—to transition.”

“No shit?” I said, staring at the small container. “That’s it? And what do I do, wear it like a money belt around my waist?”

“That’s one way,” General Matthews said, smiling. “But we’ve disguised it to look like a standard article of assigned military gear.”

“And how do I get to Davas? We barely even know where the planet’s located.”

Matthews grimaced. “That’s the tricky part. You’ll need to hitch a ride aboard an Azincor military ship.”

I thought on that for a few high-IQ seconds before asking: “Where, when, and how long will the trip take?”

Matthews smirked at my cluster-question. “Let’s see, where: We’re going to set you in a lifeboat near one of our most recent naval battles and along their colony replenishment routes. As you know, the Azincor run constant replenishing missions to their colonies where they bring in new males. None of the settlements are self-sufficient. When males die off, they have to be restocked with new one from Davas. You’ll send out a signal and hope to be rescued. When: You leave in five days. How long will it take to get to Davas, that’s the tricky part. We estimate you’ll be aboard the Azincor ship for up to three weeks.”

The impact of that last sentence hit me like a pie in the face. Three weeks confined aboard a Azincor starship, constantly rubbing shoulders with my mortal enemy, and all without me revealing my true identity. In light of that revelation, the mission went from no problem to oh shit in about half a second flat.

“Do you think I can pull off this charade for that long, general?”

Matthews shrugged. “You’re going to have to, son. It’s the only way we can get you to Davas. It’s why we’ve been teaching you how to be an Azincor without having to think about it. With how buddy-buddy the assholes are, there will be no avoiding close contact. And if you try to be alone, that will only make you standout more. You’re going to have to be a friendly and gregarious asshole, just like everyone else, while sitting right in the middle of the hornet’s nest. It’s the ultimate baptism by fire, son, to add another metaphor to describe your mission. Are you up for it?”

“What if I say no?” I teased.

“Then we’ll repossess your Marine Corps brain and start over. But next time, we won’t be so nice about it.”

My mind scanned through the past year of me being a cyborg, trying to find a time when Matthews was nice about anything. I let it drop, knowing I wouldn’t find any.

The general took a step toward my table. “Now, you know why we’ve been so adamant about you learning your lessons until they become rote. That goes for the game of Cristch, as well. The assholes play it all the time. It’s a bonding thing with them. So you better get it down.”

I looked at Samir and smirked. The doctor smirked back. “Hey, I was doing the best I could,” he blurted. “I’m just learning how to play it myself.”

“That’s where computers come in, son,” Matthews told me. “From now on, you’ll be playing against artificial intelligence. To be considered proficient, you’ll need to beat the machine nine out of ten times.”

I know I’ve said cyborgs don’t get tired. But we do get weary. And boy, was I weary. Ask and ye shall receive, right? I wanted to know what was going on, and damn, if they didn’t tell me. Most of it was straight forward and made sense. But that last part was batshit crazy. So much was riding on me being able to convince a crew of Azincor sailors that I was one of them, and to carry out the deception for three friggin’ weeks. Hence my codename: Atlas. The weight of the whole Human race was riding on my soon to be again yellow shoulders. The rest of the mission I was pretty sure I could handle. But playing an asshole—and for that long—well, I guess I didn’t have a choice, now did I?

I wondered if this was how Atlas felt, like he was screwed. Hey, buddy, I can relate.

7

Iknow I said I could go through training 24/7, but at the moment, I needed time to digest all I had been told. I caught a ride back to the duplex with Samir. We traveled mostly in silence, but then the good doctor invited me to his place for a drink. I drink—as does everyone—but not to get drunk, only for hydration. I don’t think Samir had the same goal in mind.

Don’t get me wrong. I can get drunk, since I have a Human brain. It’s just that I didn’t see the purpose in it, not anymore. I need my brain sharp and in focused. Clouding it up with alcohol seemed counterproductive.

Samir knew I didn’t get drunk, not normally, so he didn’t waste his liquor on me, giving me cold water from the refrigerator instead. Then he mixed himself something tall, caramel-colored and neat. He brought the bottle with him to the coffee table as he sat down.

I could tell something was bothering him, and I had a pretty good idea what it was.

“Listen, Samir,” I began. “I’m okay with what you did. It will probably end the war, if I’m able to do my part. You don’t need to feel bad about working with the assholes. I would have done the same if I was as smart as you.” I snickered and then winked. “Which now I’m even smarter. Take that, Doctor Big-Brain al-Bukhari.”

I knew Samir would take the statement for what it was, a joke. We’d spent enough time together to feel comfortable around each other. Even so, my lightheartedness didn’t brighten his mood. Instead, he downed his drink and then poured another.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sensing there was a real problem Samir was trying to work through.

He looked at me with moist eyes. “I’m sorry, Alan, but I consider you a friend.”

I snorted. “I consider you a friend, too, Doc. In fact, you’re probably my only friend, the only person who sees me as more than just a machine.”

“And that’s why I feel so bad.”

The conversation was getting heavy, and I didn’t even know what it was about.

“It’s okay. I was built for a mission, and now I know what it is. I know it’s going to be risky, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The second round of liquor seemed to do the job, at least of letting Samir relax a little. He went to the kitchen and got a bag of Doritos which he poured into a bowl. My constantly famished body zeroed in on the target immediately. I’d wolfed down two handfuls before Samir finished nibbling on his first chip.

“Let me fill you in a little more,” the scientist began unexpectedly, “about how you were made.”

“You made me,” I smiled. “At least that’s what you told me … daddy.”

That didn’t go over too well, but still, Samir soldiered through his anguish.

“Yes, I did. It was my idea to use a full-capacity cyborg to make the delivery. As I said, we went through a lot of brains before we found yours. For a cyborg like you, it was going to take about eight month to build, and I was under a lot of pressure at the time to perfect the transitioning drug, the NTD. We still didn’t have it when your construction began, and already, the Azincor Brinn Council was poking around Unan Carr, suspecting her of being behind the increase in female deaths. Everyone was coming down on me something fierce to come up with a solution.”

“And now you’ve done it. Great job. It’s because of you that the war will be over soon. Hey, I’m just a delivery vehicle. You’re the one who made the product, as you like to call it.”

“You don’t understand the full picture. The NTD was not our first option. That was something else.”

“What?”

“The sterilization drug. Remember, I perfected that first as I played around with estrogen levels. And just like with the NTD, all it takes to work is to have it released in the air of the Core. The Azincor will all become sterile, no matter what age. It’s something that stays with them. But unlike the NTD, this one will wipe out the entire race. If the Azincor can’t have babies, they will die out, leaving nothing in their wake. It would be a genocide.”

I had to think about that for a moment. I was still under the belief that the Azincor didn’t deserve to live, and that meant all of them. If the females—meaning the Lors—didn’t want war, I’m sure there was something they could do to stop it. I knew what the play Lysistrata was all about, even if there was no sex among the assholes. I’m sure the females had some power, something they could hold over the males to keep them from fighting. After all, what were the males going to do? They had never warred with each other. Would they now start killing the females? That didn’t make sense. There are fewer males being made … so let’s go kill the male-makers.

And if the Lors could convince the other females that war is not in their self-interest, would they join in the protest? Again, the males aren’t going to start killing off their females. That would be stupid. In light of all this, I still didn’t understand Samir’s body language.

“Are you really concerned there might be a genocide?” I asked incredulously. “Morally, I see your point, but these are Azincor we’re talking about. They wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to us. Just look what they tried to do on Earth a couple of months ago. If they all die, then I say fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke. So, why all the guilt?”

“This isn’t about what I’m doing to the Azincor, Alan; it’s what I did to … you.”

Okay, it had already been a weird day, and now it just got weirder.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I let my mind go blank. I couldn’t even guess what he was getting at.

“It was me and Matthews, and only us. We figured that once you were built, we couldn’t let this opportunity pass us by. That’s why we did it. And if Fleet Command finds out, we’re screwed.”

“Did what!”

“Alan, we put the sterilization virus inside you. And it’s still there.”

“Excuse me? It’s in my body? As we speak, it’s in my body? Like in my veins, or what?”

“No. It’s in two small pouches disguised as kidneys. We figured that if I couldn’t develop the NTD, then at least we’d have a way of killing off the species … through sterilization. Of course, after I perfected the anti-trans drug, the other toxin wasn’t needed. I’m so sorry, Alan.”

I leaned back in the chair and waved my hands. “Hey, I’m okay with having a little sterilization virus in me,” I told him. “Really. You know how I feel about the assholes. The only good asshole is a dead asshole, male or female. I don’t care how they die, just so they die.”

“But the virus is still inside you.”

“I understand. As I said, I’m okay with that. You’re forgiven. But if it bothers you so much, then go in and take it out. Believe me, I won’t feel a thing.” My smile was genuine.

But Samir’s eyes were full of tears. “I can’t, Alan … not without killing you.”

Okay, that was a shock, but not completely. “Okay then, leave it in. What harm is it doing?”

“You don’t understand. If anyone tries to remove it, even if they’re just probing around, taking scans, the sacks will explode, and in a pretty powerful explosion guaranteed to give the widest dispersal of the toxin. And the bombs are made to be tamper proof. They’re also set to go off if you die. Alan, you were never meant to return from your mission. You were always going to die on Davas.”

I snickered. “I figured that one out on my own, Doc. It’s okay. Even now, no one is talking about an exfil plan—of getting me off the planet after I make my delivery. So, either I’m on my own, or now, I go boom. Remember, buddy, I’ve already died once. I’m not afraid of dying again.”

Samir dried his eyes with a napkin and then studied my face. I saw a modicum of relief on his dark, bearded face.

But then I probed deeper. “Are you afraid I’ll sterilize the females, even after delivering the trans-drug, the NTD?” I smiled wickedly. “Well, I’d say that’s almost a guarantee, knowing what I know now. I’m sorry, but I don’t subscribe to the same sense of fairness as the good General Matthews. I say let the Azincor reap what they sow. Let them all shrivel up and die. And if Unan Carr is upset that I won’t go along with her plan, then let her sue me for breach of contract.”

“Are you serious about not being afraid to die?” Samir asked. “I would think that you, of all people, would fear it the most.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I should, but let’s look at things objectively. I lost my girlfriend, and not only that, but she also wants nothing to do with me because I’m a goddamn machine. In her mind, I’m still dead, and nothing is going to bring the old Alan Ashe back to life. And then there’s the fact that I’ve lost my whole sense of being, who I once was, and now I’m someone else. Every time I look in the mirror, I’m shocked.” I grinned sheepishly. “I have to admit, it’s an improvement, and with time, I could get used to it. But for now, it’s a shock. Another thing, I lost my career and, more than that, I’ve lost my Humanity. I can never let anyone know what I am, which is something non-Human. As I said, a fucking machine with a brain.

“And speaking of that, do you think Matthews will just let me walk away scot-free when this is over? You heard him say that I’m nothing more than a Marine Corps brain that he can repossess anytime he wants. He thinks he owns me, and in a way he does. And now, you tell me I have a bomb in my body that might go off if I have a friggin’ CAT scan. That makes me a menace to society. It wouldn’t be safe for Matthews to let me out on my own. So, Doc, tell me: What do I have to live for?”

I saw the anguish return to Samir’s face. “Relax, Samir; this isn’t your fault. In a way, I’m grateful that you gave me a second shot at life, a shot no one else gets. And with it, I get to do something heroic, something meaningful. I have no regrets, not really. Just a bunch of whining and self-pity. But we all have some of that.”

I reached over and took the bottle of whisky before Samir drank it all. I took a symbolic swig, toasting to my misfortune. The doctor smiled weakly. He was on his third glass and I could tell he was getting sleepy. Not me. I had a long, boring night ahead of me.

I really did need a hobby, something to occupy my time. Fortunately, the way things were going, I wouldn’t need the hobby for very long.

The next two days went by more or less as expected. I was drilled on Azincor language, mannerisms, greetings, even bathroom habits. I was anatomically correct, and according to my instructors, even exercising necessary bodily functions seldom came with any privacy. I could understand being comfortable around someone else, but there had to be limits, right?

Late that afternoon, there came a murmur throughout the base. It filtered all the way down to the underground classroom as Harriett and Colonel Franks stepped out in the hall to ask what was going on.

It was horrible. The Army garrison on Ren’al Mor had been attacked and nearly wiped out. Over two thousand soldiers died with only three hundred fifty escaping in four rescue ships. The starships had just come through the Gate and would soon be landing at Sanlos Station. There was an all-hands-on-deck call for emergency personnel to help with the dead and injured.

But the most shocking news of all: The attackers were natives of Ren’al Mor, or at least they appeared to be. In fact, they were Azincor androids designed to mimic the four-armed creatures. This told me the assholes had their android factories running at full capacity and so refined that they could make robots that could pass for just about any race. We were lucky on Donovan’s World that there were no advanced indigenous life they could copy. But it did make me question every Human I came in contact with, thinking they could be another Leona Wilson—or three.

General Matthews stormed in and ordered Franks and Harriet to rush over to the hospital annex. The main hospital couldn’t handle the incoming. There were two auxiliary triage centers being set up in anticipation of the overflow.

He turned to me. “I want you to report to M.A.”

My head rattled. “Mortuary Affairs? Why … sir?”

“I want you to remember what we’re fighting for, and to realize how important your mission is to the war effort. If you fail, there’s going to be a million times more deaths that just happened on Ren’al Mor.”

“I know that,” I, ‘Atlas’ Ashe, told him. “I’m taking the mission seriously. Trust me on that.” I didn’t need any more pressure placed on my shoulders.

“I’m sure you are. But a few hours of hauling bodies out of starships won’t hurt. Now, go.”

I followed the orders, even though I thought they were stupid. I’ve seen my share of death over the past seven years—my own included. I wasn’t shocked my death. I figured this had to be some kind of test or lesson the general thought I needed.

As I entered the cool evening air, I had a morbid thought. In the old days, with this many deaths, medical crews would have been combing the bodies, fishing for useable brains. Until recently, I didn’t realize how hard it was to find good candidates, even for run-of-the-mill combat cyborgs. Now, it was all moot. I was the last cyborg that would be made, combat or otherwise.

I grimaced. Damn, I was so close of getting out cleanly when I died the first time, just a simple fade-to-black and poof, nothing. No more worries, no more pain, no more broken hearts. It was just my luck that I would be the last person to be spared … while being denied relief. Unlike the lucky souls I was about to carry off to the morgue. Lucky bastards.

8

Three days later, and my time on Donovan’s World was drawing to a close. Matthews had said I head out in five days, but I got the feeling that the day we spent helping clean up after the massacre on Ren’al Mor might add a day to the timeline. That was later confirmed. In fact, now I had a date with a departing starship in three days’ time. It was becoming real, and now I was about to begin the downhill slide. Once I was placed in a lifeboat to be rescued by the Azincor, that would be the last time I’d be with Humans … unless, by some miracle, I figured a way to get off Davas after my mission was completed. That didn’t hold much promise. Very few races—ever—had been to Davas, and then always under close guard. I’d have to go out the way I came in, in disguise … or I’d go out in a bodybag.

And then I thought why go through the effort? I had a secret. A secret inside me. Even if the transitioning drug worked, would I leave it at that? Would I be content with letting the Azincor females live? It was true, they never did anything to me, or to any Human for that matter. They never left the planet so they never took up arms against Humanity. But still, the temptation to end the race with one tiny explosion was pretty great.

Of course, if I got caught and the assholes killed me, I would still release the toxin. Whether it would be anywhere near where I had to be for the virus to work, we’d just have to wait on that one. But thinking about what would happen to me if I didn’t escape and I wasn’t caught, well, that was a nightmare, too. Did I want to live out the rest of my indeterminant lifespan living as an asshole? That would be a fate worse than death. So, it was inevitable. As Samir said: I’m going to die on Davas. The only saving grace: I was going to take a lot of assholes with me when I did, one way or another.

I was in the classroom with Harriet Simpson, listening to her drone on about the events on Manados. Since I’d lived said events, she wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. Instead, she was probing back to the early days of my cyborgness, asking how I was able to cope without anyone being around to guide me. She was checking my mental stability, to see if I might lose it somewhere between here and Davas. She knew about Abby, and was speaking about her now. That part of the session was painful, but by then, I was getting used to it. Already, my mind was nine hundred light-years away, locked in a fantasy where all the damn assholes are lying on the ground, gasping for breath like beached fish, deep in the throes of agonizing deaths. I knew that wasn’t how it would happen, but a guy can have his wet dreams, can’t he?

“We’re fortunate the Azincor didn’t find the documents Abby took from the basement on the day she found them,” Harriet was saying. I snapped out of my reverie momentarily at the mention of Abby’s name. “They contained information about a biological weapon being developed. That might have set them after Dr. al-Bukhari.”

I simply shrugged. After recovering a handful of papers and the special light that turned my skin yellow, Abby, Samir and I had left the basement, never to return. According to Matthews, when he sent people to retrieve the documents, they were gone. They said they were my medical records, but I didn’t know exactly what that meant. Were there plans for how to build a full-capacity cyborg in the files? Did they speak about how I was to be the last cyborg Humanity ever built? In hindsight, none of that mattered. In a month or so, it will all be moot—hopefully.

“Abby sure is a sweet girl,” Harriet said under her breath. I wondered if she knew about the relationship between us. She had to know, right?

“Yes, she is,” I agreed. “Have you talked to her?”

“Oh yeah. We talk quite often.”

I found that interesting. I didn’t know Abby was so involved in what was happening at Sanlos Station. “How is she doing?”

The last I’d seen Abby, she was on Earth, standing next to Boz Lipton, the internet VidKid with more money than he knew what to do with.

“She’s doing great; in fact, she says she’s engaged to that cute blond guy from the videocasts.”

Ah, damn. I didn’t need to hear that. When did that happen? I’d only been away from Earth for a couple of weeks. Was this in the works when she came to see me in the hospital?

“When did you talk to her last?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

“Oh, let’s see. It was before the massacre. It had to be Tuesday. We had lunch at that BBQ place just off the base. You know the one, Reilly’s Grill.”

Having a 300 IQ made for some weird thoughts. Emotionally, I didn’t hear what I heard. Logically, I hung on every word. My eyes must have looked like spotlights as I glared at my instructor.

“You had lunch with her?” I gasped.

Harriet nodded. “Uh ha, Reilly’s—”

“She’s on Donovan?”

I must have asked the question like a laser blast, because Harriet’s mouth suddenly dropped open and the size of her eyes grew to match mine.

“Oh, my god. Did you not know that? I am so sorry.”

I could tell by her reaction she knew she was in some major shit. If Abby was at Sanlos Station, and I didn’t know, that was because people were told—no ordered—not to tell. Harriet must not have gotten the memo, or she just screwed up royally.

I was on my feet by then, leaning on the long, lonely table on clenched fists.

“How long has she been here?”

“I don’t think I should say any more,” Harriet stammered. “You really should talk to General Matthews about this.”

“Does Samir know?”

Harriet’s bottom lip trembled and her eyes averted mine. “Really, you need to talk with General Matthews.”

Dammit, Samir knows, and he didn’t tell me. Obviously, the general knows. Hell, probably even the fucking Azincor know. Everyone but me.

I was halfway to Matthew’s office when he and Samir came out of the green-colored building, heading for the classroom. Harriet must have alerted them. They stopped when they saw me, both men trying to gauge my emotions. They knew I could rip both of them into pieces if I wanted, and at the moment, I wanted. But first, I needed answers.

“Sergeant, calm down,” Matthews ordered when I was twenty feet away. “That’s an order. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“How can I do anything stupid?” I yelled back. “I have a 300 IQ, for what good it’s done me. I’ve let all of you lie to me, to keep things from me.” I stopped in front of Samir. He had a little more confidence in our friendship, confidence that I wouldn’t rip his spine out. Matthews didn’t, so he stayed behind the scientist and five feet away.

“We thought it best that you didn’t know,” Samir stated.

“About what?” I demanded. “That Abby was on the planet, or that she’s engaged to that scrawny little weasel?”

Samir looked back at Matthews who scowled. Harriet Simpson was indeed in a lot of trouble.

“How long has she been here?”

“Honestly, everyone is here; Boz, George and Darren. We brought them here for their own protection.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean a couple of weeks ago, we discovered that both my apartment as well as Abby’s back at the Enclave had been ransacked. It had to be the Azincor looking for the missing documents. That means there are still Azincor androids in the Enclave, and now they know about me and Abby and our relationship to you. Boz was taking everyone back to Manados when we diverted his ship to Donovan. Abby started helping Harriet with questions she had about your early adjustment to cyborg life. They hit it off as friends.”

“And nobody told me? What does Abby think about all this? Does she want to see me or not?”

Samir grimaced. “Actually, she doesn’t know you’re here, either.”

“What!”

“C’mon, Alan, you’re training for the most important mission of the war, and no one is supposed to know you’re here. Abby thinks you’re somewhere else, hidden away until we send you on your mission.”

“I am somewhere else, in a building about a hundred yards from here. Where is she? Where is she staying?”

Samir glanced back at Matthews again. They both looked defeated. They knew they had to be careful with me. If I threw up my hands and walked away, they could probably put me down, recover my brain, and start over again, but I had no idea what that would do to the Lors’ timetable. It may blow it all to hell, making carrying out any part of the mission impossible.

I grimaced, trying to temper my anger. It wasn’t their fault that I still had these emotions for Abby, even after she made it clear it could never be. Dammit, there was that genius-level logic again, telling me I would have done the same thing in their place. But for Christ’s sake, at least let me have an emotional breakdown now and then…

“Just tell me, Samir,” I said calmly, with as much resignation on my face as was on the other two.

“Boz and her are at the Langston La Mirage, penthouse suite. Alan, she’s with Boz now, and she seems happy.”

“Hell, I’d be happy too if I was sleeping with a multi-millionaire surfer-like model.”

I know that sounded petty but how about cutting me some slack. This was going to take a little getting used to. After all, Abby and I had been almost officially engaged at one time. Almost.

“What do you want us to do?” Matthews asked, surprising me. He normally didn’t ask questions. All he did was bark orders.

I shook my head. “Can you at least ask if she wants to see me, just one more time. I know I leave in four days. I want, well, you know.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But, son, you need to keep your eye on the prize. Don’t let this distract you.”

“Sir, I can be pissed, hurt and betrayed … and still be focused on the mission. You made me that way. And in a few days, all this, all this Human life, will be over, at least for me. I just want to take a little bit of what it means to be Human with me when I go. I just want to say goodbye.”

“Just be careful of security—”

Samir cut him off. “He knows, general. He’s not going to reveal any secrets. Grant the man a little closure.”

“Make the arrangements, Doctor,” Matthews said. The officer half turned away, hesitated, and then finished his turn and walked back to his office.

“I’ll look after her,” Samir promised. There were artificial tears in my eyes; his were real.

I blew out a breath. “I’ll be glad to get this goddamn life over with,” I growled. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

9

It was the next afternoon before the arrangements could be made. We were to meet at the Shilo Steakhouse inside the La Mirage Hotel. It was the best steakhouse on the planet, or so I’ve been told. I could never afford to go there. In fact, I’d never even set foot in the La Mirage. They wouldn’t have let me in even if I tried.

This time, however, Boz Lipton had made reservations for the three of us, so I had no problem getting into the restaurant. Besides, I was the devilishly handsome Antonio Banderas by now. That, by itself, would have opened more doors than my former body would have managed.

I was shocked with how fast my artificial heart was pounding in my artificial chest. It had to be a direct result of how my mind was spinning out of control. It had only been about a month since I’d last seen Abby, but it seemed like years. So much had happened since then, and with so much more getting ready to take place. I knew I couldn’t tell Abby and Boz about my mission, or even that I didn’t expect to return afterward. But they were smart people. I probably wouldn’t have to say anything on that subject.

I steeled my resolve as I was led through the sparsely populated restaurant to a corner booth away from the others. This was mid-afternoon, between lunch and dinner, so the restaurant wasn’t crowded. I wondered if people had been warned to keep innocents away from the dining room lest they become collateral damage of the rampaging cyborg who was on the way.

Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to lose it. Not here anyway.

My bionic eyes twitched when I saw Abby at the table. It was as if there was a spotlight on her and all other objects in the room disappeared. It was strange, but I didn’t fight it.

Abby saw me about the same time I saw her. She bounded from the booth and ran to me, enclosing me in a full body hug. She even kissed my lips. I felt awkward, not sure how much passion I should give in return. I glanced over her shoulder and saw Boz’s thin, tanned face looking at me. He wasn’t angry; instead, he looked sad.

Yeah, everyone felt sorry for the lonely, cyborg loser, the guy who always seems to come out with the short end of the stick.

Eventually, Abby let me go and she slipped back into the booth, sliding over so she would be between me and Boz. Before I sat down, I shook Boz’s hand. I felt the trepidation in his grip, wondering if I was going to crush the appendage into mincemeat. I didn’t. But I wanted to.

“So, here we are,” I blurted as I sat down. “Who would have guessed we’d see each other again.” I looked at Abby. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Don’t be silly, Alan. Of course, I wanted to see you. I was so pissed when they told me you were here. We had no idea.”

“Yeah, I was a little upset myself.”

Boz snorted. “I can imagine. That must have scared the shit out of them when you found out.”

I tried not to glare at him but I was having trouble. It’s something common with men, that when their former girlfriends start dating someone they know, we usually don’t get too upset with the guy. We can understand why the guy would be attracted to our woman. What we often questioned was what she saw in the new guy? But that wasn’t the case with Boz Lipton. He was barely twenty-one, filthy rich, both from inherited money, as well as from wealth he’d earned on his own as one of the top video personalities on the internet. And then to top that, he spent his time chasing thrilling adventures across the galaxy like some surfer-dude Indiana Jones. In a way, he was larger than life.

Begrudgingly, I had to admit Abby could do worse. Like being in love with a damn machine. Who would wish that on their worst enemy?

“I’m told you’re leaving Donovan’s World,” I said, leaving the statement open.

“That’s right,” Abby said. “We leave the day after tomorrow, going back to Manados. Then we’re moving to Earth, of course.” She looked embarrassed. Boz had a huge estate in the mountains of Colorado. That was better than a one-bedroom apartment in the Enclave. “Samir’s going with us to Manados and then to Earth.”

“I heard. Why is he doing that?”

“For one thing, all his stuff is there. And then he also has some research material at the CMF.” Abby used finger quotes around the words research material. “All of his operations are moving back to Earth.” She smiled grimly. “I shudder to think what his research material consists of.”

I had some idea; formulas for extinction-level events, probably. If you thought about it, the good doctor was one of the most dangerous people in the entire galaxy.

“What do they have you doing here?” Boz asked innocently. He knew a little about my mission, mainly that I was going on one. But like most people, he had none of the details. Hell, I only learned the details a few days ago.

“Just a bunch of nothing mostly, as they try to figure out what to do with a full-capacity cyborg.” I snorted. “The other day, I was hauling bodies to the morgue after the Ren’al Mor disaster. I guess they thought I could handle death better than most people.”

“That was horrible,” Abby acknowledged. “It’s all over the news. A couple of thousand people slaughtered, and it wasn’t even a real battle. All those so-called natives just started hacking people to death. Turns out they were Azincor androids, just like what was on Earth, but these looked like the natives. It seems like the whole war has changed. It’s not Humans against Azincor anymore, but Humans against alien androids. That’s really scary. But I bet you know all about that.”

I nodded. “It is scary. The assholes even made a couple of attempts to kill me over the past month.”

“A couple?” Boz questioned. “We heard about what happened in San Diego. There was another attempt?”

I nodded. “In space. They tried to destroy the ship I was on.”

“What happened?” Abby gasped.

I smiled at her. “They failed.”

She pursed her lips. “Smartass.” Then she returned the smile.

It was an incredible smile, displaying her deep-set dimples and sparkling blue eyes. I had trouble pulling my eyes away from her face.

Fortunately, the next few minutes were filled with ordering food and drinks. Then, before the food arrived, there was more small talk. They told me that George and Darren were on the base, too; in fact, they weren’t too far from where I lived, at least for now. I had no desire to look them up. This dinner was awkward enough.

“So, they tell me you’re engaged,” I said, finally bringing up the elephant in the room. Abby wasn’t wearing an engagement ring, and I wondered if she did that on my behalf. After all, it wasn’t like Boz couldn’t afford one.

Abby smiled awkwardly. “That’s right. It was all kind of sudden and inevitable, in a way. In fact, it didn’t happen until we got to Donovan last week and got confirmation.” She looked at Boz and squeezed his hand. “He was trying to be all cool about it while we were in space, but I knew something was up. Then we got diverted here. After we landed here, he popped the question.”

I was confused. Confirmation about what? What was she talking about?

Although I now had the face of Antonio Banderas, Abby knew me well enough to read the concern in my eyes. Her mouth dropped open and she raised a hand to her face. “Oh my god—you don’t know. I thought they’d told you when you found out we’re engaged.”

“You’re pregnant!” I guessed. It didn’t take someone with a 300 IQ to figure that one out.

“It wasn’t planned,” Abby announced, for what reason I didn’t know. She always wanted children, so I knew she was keeping it. There was no question about that.

There was a long—and I mean a long—breathless pause at the table until I pursed my lips and held out a hand to Boz.

“Congratulations, Boz. I guess we have a lot to celebrate today. You’re to be a husband and a father. You never do anything half ass, do you?”

Boz hesitated taking my hand this time. He was right to do so, because as we shook, I didn’t let him go. Instead, I pulled him halfway across the table until our faces were only inches apart.

“You know how I feel about Abby. You’re getting a good one. But just a word of warning. You better treat her right … or you’ll answer to me.”

“Alan, stop!” Abby yelled.

I ignored her while staring unblinking into Boz’s pretty blue eyes. I had bionic eyes; I could win any staring contest. But Boz wasn’t up to the challenge. Instead, he nodded emphatically.

“Don’t worry, Alan. I love her, and I love kids. I’ll take good care of everyone. You have to trust me on that.”

I let go of the hand. It had the desired effect, like if Superman told you to have his daughter home by ten. Trust me, you will have her home by ten.

I looked around the restaurant and patted the table. “Okay, then, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

The food came and the conversation was just as awkward as before. I disguised my pain with stupid jokes and a casual attitude, as if nothing weird was happening. It was amazing, that after all the years Abby and I had been together, we found nothing meaningful to talk about. I’d already concluded that insisting on this dinner was a bad idea, a horrible idea. Abby was my past, and I was hers. Her former boyfriend died a year ago, and there was no going back from that.

Besides that, I couldn’t tell them about my mission, about how it could potentially destroy an entire species, and that there was a ninety-nine point nine percent chance that I wouldn’t be coming back from it. Alan Ashe was destined to die, again, and this time for good. And because of that, I no longer gave a shit. Why agonize over things that no longer mattered, like old girlfriends and old dreams? They were just echoes of memories in the still functioning brain of Alan Ashe. Echoes which I couldn’t wait to shut down.

So, when all was said and done, there was nothing important to talk about, and small talk was a waste of time. As it was, the dinner only made everyone feel sorry for hard-luck Alan Ashe, including Alan Ashe.

What the hell, I had my shot at life, like everyone else is given. Sure, my life was cut short, but that also happens, and to a lot of people. I didn’t know what I expected from those around me. What I expected from myself?

When the early dinner came to a close, Abby and I hugged for a full two minutes, fourteen seconds. That damn internal clock of mine kept track of the time. Boz stood a few steps away, respectfully letting us have our moment. I would say it was very mature of him, but I won’t. After all, it’s easy to be magnanimous when you’re the one getting the girl. What does he have to be upset about?

There were tears in both mine and Abby’s eyes as we parted. She mumbled a shaky goodbye and then raced from the restaurant.

Boz spent another moment with me. We shook hands again—this time like men—before he said to me in a voice that sounded older than his chronological age, “Good luck, Sergeant Ashe. Our prayers are with you, as are the prayers of the entire Human race. And don’t worry about Abby. I got this.”

And then he left.

I know he didn’t have specifics, but the timbre of the meal was that of a tearful goodbye, a last farewell. They knew I was built for a specific mission and that mission was about to get underway. They were right.

And as for my future? Considering who and what I was, they knew I was expendable. I snorted. Humanity will move heaven and earth to save a single person, but not so much a machine. Those were usually discarded along the side of the road, a bucket of rust. That was to be me, and Abby and Boz knew it. Also, Samir knew it. And I knew it, too.

So, if ever there was a classic movie ending sacrifice, this was it. By the time I left the restaurant, Abby and Boz had already taken an elevator up to their penthouse suite. I didn’t see them again. I never would.

As for me, a black military limo was waiting for me at the curb when I left the hotel. It had brought me here, and it would take me back to the duplex.

Although I hadn’t bothered being vigilant during dinner, I knew there had to be twenty or more security personnel in and around the building. General Matthews couldn’t risk his prized cybernetic delivery boy getting hurt, especially with how sneaky the assholes had become recently. Already, scanners had found eighteen Human-looking androids on Sanlos Station. Everyone was now required to go through a biometric checks before entering and leaving the base. And all incoming starships were screened for androids. The effort hadn’t expanded into the city of Langford yet, but that was coming. It had to.

Samir and Matthews pulled strings so I was never biometrically scanned. For one, it would show I was a cyborg/android, and unless the screeners knew what a cyborg brain looks like on the scans, they would treat me as just another robot and sound the alarm. And two: We were all a little nervous about electronic scans around me. Even Samir wasn’t sure what it would take to set off the bombs in my body.

That also raised the question about what security measures the Azincor would use aboard their ships and on Davas. It was reasoned that since Humans never sent android fighters against them, there would be no need to screen for such. And our combat cyborgs were easy to detect; they acted more like machines than the androids did.

In the end, it was a risk I’d have to accept. The saving grace throughout all this discussion was my scent.

As I was being built, the engineers synthesized the narcotic-like scent of the Azincor males. I would—should—be automatically accepted into their ranks based simply on my smell.

It was hard to downplay how important the fragrance was to an Azincor; so much of their social structure was based in it. It was even rumored the assholes could tell each other apart by the smell, considering that each individual scent was as unique as fingerprints.

I didn’t know if I believed that, but it did present a potential problem. To date, I hadn’t acquired any particular talent at recognizing the difference in the scents. I’d been given tests using multiple variants, but one smelled like all the others. If I was expected to use scent as an identifier aboard the warship, that could be an issue.

Again, it was another one of those wait and find out elements of the mission.

When one thought about it, that was how most of this mission was being planned: Wait and find out.

I have to ask: Is this any way to run a genocide?

Focusing on the mission—with all its uncertainty—helped take my mind off of Abby during the ride back to the base and my boring duplex. I thanked the guards and then slipped inside. I noticed Samir’s car was gone; he was probably huddled up with General Matthews somewhere, coming up with new ways to make the mission even more complicated and uncertain.

Even so, tomorrow would be a big day. That was when I was going to turn yellow again. It should have happened today, but they had to wait until I met with Abby first. But now, there was no putting it off. Tomorrow, I would become an Azincor and, more than likely, I would stay that way for the rest of my miserable life. I wasn’t looking forward to it. It was odd enough seeing the face of Antonio Banderas looking back at me in the mirror. Now color him yellow and tell me how you would react. That was me.

I laughed fatally. I often talked about getting used to my new look. Honestly, I didn’t think I was going to live long enough for that to happen.

10

They flew me out of Sanlos on a sleek commercial flight in the dead of night. For two days, they’d hidden me away. After the slaughter at Ren’al Mor, the last thing anyone wanted to see on the base was a yellow-skinned asshole prancing around, especially one being catered to by a friggin’ general.

Samir had already left with Abby and the rest of the team, heading back to Manados, my second home. I envied them. Hell, I envied everyone these days. But here I was, finally heading out to get this damn mission underway.

We bolted away from Donovan’s World, heading toward a lonely point in space five hundred light-years away. It took two short wormhole jumps to get there, and when we arrived, we hooked up with a Navy cruiser called the Gandalf. That’s right. Gandalf, like from Lord of the Rings. It seemed sixteen years ago, some Chief of Naval Operations got a wild hair up his ass and named six ships after his favorite characters from the books. He didn’t last long in the post, but the names stuck.

Personally, I had no problem with it. For too long, the Navy had been recycling names of old Revolutionary and World War Two heroes. It was getting monotonous. Five ships named after the same dead guy … move on, already.

The Gandalf took the sleek transport ship into its hold and then pressurized the landing bay. I had a couple of new handlers with me, Naval officers and both lieutenant commanders. They were funny. They spoke fluent Azincor and spent the eight days it took us to get to the Gandalf trying to trip me up. They primarily spoke Azincor but would occasionally throw in some English just to mess with me. I admired their tenacity, if not their tact. I was in full alien mode by now and never screwed up. I played the part, even though most Azincor had universal translators and would understand English. I still feigned confusion, asking in fluent asshole what they were saying. After a while, the officers gave up. My 300 IQ and direct-to-brain language programming gave me an edge.

Once the atmosphere was back in the landing bay, I followed my handlers to a small room set off to the side of the near-freezing compartment. The officers were bundled for the cold. I just shrugged it off, as only a cyborg could do.

In the room was a sterile, aluminum table, like those you find in morgues. That was appropriate, because there was a semi-frozen body lying on the reflective surface. It was an Azincor. He was dressed in a uniform with the dot and two strips of a third lead flight engineer. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was locked open in an everlasting scream. It was obvious he’d been exposed to the cold of space in an instance and frozen solid seconds later. It was a hell of a way to die … but not as traumatic as having your body blown in two and with you looking out at the bottom half smoldering a few feet away. Believe me. I’d been there, done that.

“Meet the new you, Sergeant Ashe,” LCDR Jack Nash said in Azincor. I didn’t think he was being pretentious. I hadn’t spoken a word of English since leaving Sanlos Station, even when they tried to trip me up. By now, asshole was our official language.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Flight engineer Zark Nunis, formerly of the tactical cruiser Blue Sixteen. Nine days ago, we fought a small battle here, right about the same time as the fucking androids were slaughtering the people on Ren’al Mor. The planet is only eight lights from here. Third Lead Nunis was part of the supporting group that brought the androids to the planet. Needless to say, the encountering force was a little pissed at the time. They took no prisoners, which is a shame. We really needed a live asshole to grill him for background information. Instead, we had to settle for a frozen corpse. Fortunately, he had enough papers on him for us to build a viable legend for you.”

I frowned. “A legend? Is he famous?”

“He will be someday,” Nash said, smiling. “No, a legend is the background of an operative, information you’ll need to pass as him. Have you never read a spy novel before?”

“What’s a novel?” I surveyed the body. “Zark—cool name,” I said.

The alien did look like me, but in reality, most of the Azincor looked like me. More correctly, I looked like them. I learned more about this trait during my training, about how there was virtually no biodiversity among the Azincor. They reproduced asexually without the input of any new DNA. The males then came into existence from these pure female bloodlines. The result: Just about everyone looked alike. I was warned that Azincor could tell each other apart, and not just from the scent. It was like Humans. We had no trouble recognizing each other, even though we all shared the same basic features. But an alien would have trouble telling us apart. Then again, unlike Azincor, Humans were biodiverse on steroids. We came in such wonderous variety … at least to us we did.

“We’ll go over his papers in a little while, let you get familiar with his story. Then, you’ll be loaded in a lifeboat we recovered from the debris field. There are still a few Azincor ships in the area, but we’re shooting for one of the colony routes ships. Those ships will be returning to Davas sooner than the warships. We’ll get you moving in the right direction, and then hopefully, you’ll be rescued.”

“That is the plan,” I confirmed.

“Now, let’s check out your kit.”

I followed Nash into the main part of the ship—the warmer part—and to a room that looked almost like a laboratory. It seemed odd to have a lab aboard a Navy warship, but here it was. On a table were several items spread out on top of a tan canvas cloth. It was the personal kit all Azincor warriors carried with them., consisting of grooming items, individual electronics, emergency provisions, medical supplies and even a vacuum-sealed pouch with articles of clothing. Theoretically, an asshole could survive for a couple of weeks just on the items in his kit, if he ever got separated from the pack. That didn’t happen very often since the Azincor rarely did anything alone. Except in the case of Flight Engineer Zark Nunis. He died alone.

The Carry Kit—as it was called—was sacred to the Azincor. They never left home without it, and if anything could be called personal property for an asshole, it was their CK.

I picked up the clothing pouch. It was ten inches long, four inches high and two inches thick. It could be folded over to fit neatly in the kit. I looked at Nash, who shrugged and cocked his head.

“Yeah, it’s in there; the NTD everyone is craving these days. Deliver that to the powers that be, and your job is done.”

I liked the young officer. He was smart and friendly and really knew his stuff. Still, I put him on the spot.

“No one has said a word about how I exfil?” I stated with a thin grin. “I guess that’s up to me.”

“Sorry, sergeant. Frankly, it will take a miracle just to get you to Davas, let alone figure a way for you to get off the planet. We actually discussed this, figuring that as a full-cap cyborg, you might be able to find a way.”

“But it’s not mission critical.”

The officer shook his head. “No, it’s not. Getting this toxin to the Lors woman, that is. And getting it to her without the males knowing about it, that’s essential. There’s been a lot of chatter having to do with you recently. By now, the assholes figure they’ve lost you, and they’re now turning their attention to Davas. Unan Carr has been feeding us a little information here and there, but things are getting dangerous for her, too. The males are freaking out. They know something bad is headed their way. They know who, they just don’t know what or when.”

I surveyed the kit again, before expertly folding it into the canvas wrap and throwing the single strap over my shoulder. I was ready to go, as soon as I learned more about who I am. Nash nodded, knowing that as a cyborg, I didn’t sleep or rest. I was ready to go—anxious to go, in fact. The sooner we started, the sooner the mission would be over. Besides, with all the ifs associated with the operation, I was ready to start improvising, adapting and overcoming, as only a Fleet Marine could do.

The lifeboat was much smaller than the one aboard the Bainbridge. I snickered thinking about the Bainbridge. It was the twelfth ship named after Commodore William Bainbridge, who commanded the frigate U.S.S. Constitution in the War of 1812. The ship was a perfect example of why the Gandalf was so cool. It would be the one and only cruiser ever named after Gandalf the White, which made it unique.

As I waited for the lifeboat to be readied, I looked around the landing bay. Cruisers were the Navy ships I was most familiar with, since this was how most Cyborg Support Teams made beachhead landfalls. I felt pangs of nostalgia surveying the grey metal walls and watching the dedicated sailors as they went about their tasks. Although I now looked and even acted like an asshole—hell, I even smelled like one, you know what I mean—in my mind’s eye I still saw myself as one of the them, as a Human. And although the Marines had officially split from the Navy Department two hundred years ago to become the Fleet Marines, I still felt a kinship to the Navy. We may be separate departments now, but our missions still meshed seamlessly. In fact, the Army and Space Force had been essentially folded into Naval operations, since it was Navy starships that plied the space lanes. The military couldn’t get anywhere without the Navy.

I gnashed my artificial teeth in frustration. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. I should be thinking of the mission and not all this nostalgia bullshit. In reality, I had thought about the mission about as much as I could tolerate. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I wanted to do it. Which meant saying goodbye to all that was familiar in my life, be it personal or material. Hell, I was even going to miss my two officer companions, although I’d only known them for eight days.

A pair of petty officers stepped away from the open hatch of the lifeboat, signifying that it was ready for me. I was dressed in an Azincor emergency environment suit, like Zark Nunis would have been wearing if he was able to make it to a lifeboat.

A small entourage milled around the lifeboat, including commanders Nash and Cashman. They shook my gloved hand as I walked by, followed by shoulder pats from four of the sailors. Although this was a classified operation, some people had clearance, including most of the crew of the Gandalf. Once I was away, the ship would bolt from the area, entering the nearest wormhole for a quick jump into secure Human space. After Ren’al Mor, this part of the Pegasus Spur was classified as no-man’s-land. It wasn’t safe to linger here for long.

I knew a major operation was being planned not too far from here to act as a distraction. If we rolled up all operations in anticipation of my success, that might raise some bushy alien eyebrows. I felt sorry for the men and women who would lose their lives just to keep up appearances. It made my resolve for the mission success even firmer.

The hatch closed and the atmosphere was evacuated. I hooked my spacesuit to the supplemental air supply so the tank wouldn’t run dry. This is how it would be if someone was stuck in a lifeboat for too long. I had no idea how long I’d be adrift in space, but the beacon was strong, and if there were any asshole ships within a light-year, they would come for me. It’s just what the Azincor did. Never leave an asshole behind, that was their motto. Actually, I’m sure it wasn’t, but it sounded good.

I was spit out the back of the Gandalf and pushed away by a reactive rocket drone that then spun around and returned to the cruiser. Then, at a safe distance, the starship disappeared. It took off so fast under a shallow gravity-well that tracking it visually was impossible. Besides that, by now, it was a hundred thousand miles away and increasing well-depth. Soon, it would be entering the event horizon and farther away than the Human mind could logically comprehend.

I was truly alone, more alone than I had ever been in this life or the first. There was no gravity and no sensation of movement. The stars that blazed steadily in the black of space were not moving. Everything was impossibly still.

I activated the emergency beacon, let it run for an hour and then shut it down for another two. I kept repeating this pattern around the clock. I did this to make it seem as if the beacon was intermittent; otherwise the Azincor may wonder why they were only now picking up the signal. The battle occurred nine days ago. What had I been doing in the interim?

11

The worst thing for a full-capacity cyborg is to give him nothing to do. That’s when he begins to think, and about all kinds of weird shit.

Of course, I thought about Abby, wondering what kind of life she was going to have with Boz. I didn’t have to imagine too much. After all, what couldn’t you do with all the money in the world? I know he didn’t have that much, but he had enough. My girl would be happy, secure and loved, as would be her child … and with many more to come. What more could I want for her?

I thought about my parents back on Earth. They were still alive and doing great. They had a spacious log home outside of Tacoma, Washington. My dad still worked as a rep for Amazon Two and my mother ran her music review channel on the internet. Combined, they made a boatload of money. I was an only child, and I often felt guilty about leaving the family to pursue a career in the military. But there was a war going on at the time, and joining the service seemed like the right thing to do. I’d had my fill of Washington and Earth. I needed a change of pace.

So … I went out and got myself killed.

I’d call that a radical change of pace. I’m not sure if I’d do that again…

The damn clock in my head told me twenty-nine hours passed before the light on the control console flashed once, then twice, before going steady. Someone was locked onto my position.

My Human brain sent a signal to my artificial heart to start pounding a little harder. This had to be the Azincor coming to rescue one of their own.

The light flashed three times in succession. I returned the favor. This was the signal that there was a survivor aboard and that the rescue ship wasn’t coming to find a derelict. Knowing someone was alive would hasten my recovery.

“Holy shit,” I said aloud. “This is finally going to happen.”

On purpose, I spoke the words in English. They would be the last English words I ever spoke. I wanted to make them count. I grimaced, not sure if ‘holy shit’ would rank in the annals of literary immortality.

Four hours later, a sleek and glimmering alien starship suddenly appeared out of nowhere and closed fast on my position. It had just dropped out of a gravity-well and was approaching on chemical drive. I used my telescoping cyborg eyes to examine the sleek lines when it was still miles away.

The Azincor built good looking ships; I couldn’t fault them for that. In fact, their ships were a lot nicer than ours, with flowing hulls, decorative fins and strategically placed portholes that gave their vessels almost smiley faces. For the most part, the only Azincor construction outsiders saw were their spaceships. Since the aliens had a nasty habit of inhabiting existing buildings on the planets they conquered, no one knew much about Azincor architecture. I was vaguely curious what I would find on Davas, if I made it that far.

The starship stopped abruptly before spinning ass-end to the lifeboat. Then the rear landing bay doors spread apart. Magnetic lines shot out and connected with the outside of the lifeboat. I was pulled inside.

The entire recovery took three minutes, and then the starship was off again, disappearing into a new event horizon.

Well, no turning back now, as if that had ever been an option. I firmed my resolve to play the role of the best Azincor asshole I could, worthy of whatever award they may posthumously give me.

It was showtime.

Gravity was reestablished and then the hatch on the lifeboat cycled open. I unhooked the supplemental oxygen tube and pulled off the helmet of the environment suit before stepping onto the deck of the alien warship. It was cold in the chamber, and a trio of bundled up Azincor came rushing toward me, carrying a puffy coat. They draped it around me before leading me to an airlock. We cycled through using only warm air before stepping into a brightly lit anteroom where four Azincor officers awaited.

“Are you well?” asked a Master Lead without preamble. He would be the captain of the ship. That’s what Master Leads did.

I nodded. “I am well, my Lead, and extremely grateful you have found me. I was running low on my emergency air supply. I only had a few hours left.”

“What is your name?” The officer could tell from my uniform that I was a third lead, basically a corporal in the Human military.

“I am Flight Engineer Zark Nunis, of the Blue Sixteen.”

The officer nodded knowingly. Of course, he would know of the demise of the Blue Sixteen.

“Are you aware of any other survivors?”

“I cannot say, my Lead. I barely managed to escape before the termination explosion. I believe my communication beacon was damaged in the blast.”

“We only recently received your signal. It was intermittent. You are fortunate to be alive, my brother. Welcome aboard the Green Four Ten. I am Master Lead Moris. Once you have been medically checked, you will become a part of my crew.”

“I have no injuries and no adverse conditions, my Lead. I am ready for duty. I shall not burden the medical staff without cause.”

We knew this might come up—the possibility of a medical check. I was prepared with a stock answer.

The officer leaned in closer and took a deep breath of my lingering scent. He nodded.

“Very well.” the ship’s captain said. He turned to an officer to his right. “This is First Lead Davad. He manages the flight crew. We are currently fully staffed in that department, but having a relief flight engineer aboard will be welcome. It will allow more communal time for the collective. Lead Davad, please assign Third Lead Nunis sleeping quarters. It is good to have your scent among us, Zark Nunis.”

“And I am glad to have yours nearby, as well. It will be savored.”

Damn, this was going to be torture! Although I’d studied my cybernetic ass off, learning this weird-ass alien syntax was going to be a bitch.

First Lead Davad—along with four other Azincor—accompanied me down a series of corridors to a sleeping compartment. As I’ve mentioned before, the Azincor rarely did anything alone. My enhanced memory helped me remember the way, since I was supposed to already know the layout of this class of starship. The assholes had a slew of ships, but not that much variety. There were only four major classes of warship based solely on size. This was one of the larger colony replenishment ships. It wasn’t even a warship per se, although all of them carried asshole warriors, ready for a fight.

In the past, Humanity blew the hell out of a fair number of alien warships, although we’d recovered only a few to make extensive surveys. The damn assholes had self-destruct ordnance aboard and they weren’t afraid to use it. That was what happened to the Blue Sixteen. When the battle became untenable, the assholes simply blew up their ship. I was lucky to get away when I did. At least that’s the story—the legend—being presented.

I pushed the thought out of my mind as we entered the sleeping compartment. It was fairly large and with rows of stacked and extremely wide built-in bunks, much wider than the average Azincor would need. And then I noticed some of the bunks were occupied—by up to three Azincor males, all huddled together, some even with their arms draped over each other. They were asleep and appeared perfectly content with the arrangement.

“This will be your compartment,” Davad whispered so as to not wake up any of the sleeping assholes. “I apologize there are so few of us, but we are on our return trip to Davas for more. However, the communal room should be fulfilling. Now come with me. I will show you the pilot level.”

I wasn’t assigned a specific bunk. Come rest time, I was expected to climb into any available space and snuggle up with my crewmates. Of course, it sounded weird, but not to an Azincor. There was absolutely nothing sexual about the practice. Up to three assholes at a time would crowd into a bunk and then fall asleep, savoring the calming effect of their mutual scent.

I prayed my scent met muster; otherwise, this could be a very short trip.

12

My next challenge came with the flight deck. I was supposed to be a flight engineer which encompassed the positions of navigator, helmsman and even weapons operator if need be. It was a catch-all rating that had a lot of importance on the bridge. Because of that, I had to know a lot of different equipment at the various consoles.

I was greeted warmly by the bridge crew, who sat at stations so close that the operators often rubbed elbows while doing their jobs. All this touchy-feely was foreign to a Human, but I had to shove all my trepidations to the wayside and get into the role if I was to survive. I would have to act as if I liked being close to my fellow crewmembers, and I mean really close.

I scanned the control stations, using my photographic memory to make visual records for later on. I’d played around with my neural-link attachment while at Sanlos Station, hacking into the computer systems in the training building. It took some getting used to, not from accessing the systems but in figuring out how to absorb the knowledge. I could close my eyes and visualize entering the computers, even digging into the memory circuits. But then the data was encrypted into a series of electronics pulses. These were quantum computers, so they arranged data on multiple levels that could be accessed simultaneously. The trick was getting my brain to form this data into visual representation. We dreamed visually but we thought vocally. If you think about it, memories are like little movies, while we listen to our thoughts. It was a challenge learning how to use the neural link, although I did get halfway proficient with it, enough to form brief mental pictures of data. I would need that if I was to learn how to fly an alien starship and do it in a day.

Fortunately, all the stations were filled at the moment since no one knew a backup flight engineer was suddenly going to show up. But over the next couple of days, I would be slipped into a variety of stations and be expected to take over without missing a beat. The one saving grace was I was only a Third Lead, so I wasn’t expected to be that advanced. I would be given simple tasks, which at the moment were like Einstein math formulas to me.

After getting a tour of the pilot level—the bridge—I was taken to the communal room, which was a large, circular compartment in the center of the ship. There were a myriad of couches and chairs and even sitting mats on the floor, with food processing stations along the perimeter. This was both the galley, the mess decks and the crew’s lounge all rolled into one. The space was large enough to hold a couple of hundred Azincor. Although only about a third that many aliens filled the room, it was still too many for my liking. And no one was sitting alone. They were in groups, and with two simultaneous games of Cristch being run.

The teams were obvious and the action fluid. The room was alive with electric energy as players worked to collect cards and power levels, before trading them off for collective points. The team with the most collective points won. And collective points were just what one would expect from the Azincor; proximity cards meaning the team was closer to each other than the others. Everyone was struggling to get as close to one another as possible.

No wonder Samir and I had trouble grasping the objective of the game.

But by now, I was a master at Cristch. I’d gotten so good that the computer at Sanlos Station could only beat me every twelve games. That was because of the enhanced memory. I could count cards like nobody’s business, and that was the key to winning in Cristch, knowing how the cards were distributed among the players.

First Lead Davad left me on my own at the edge of the communal room. Looking awkward standing by myself, I moved over to a food processor and prepared a meal. I was famished, having only munched on a few alien rations in the lifeboat. I had to be judicious, since I had no idea when I would be rescued, if ever. It took a lot of willpower not to simply wolf down everything I had in one sitting.

But now I had free run of the ship’s menu. I could have anything I wanted and as much as I wanted.

I took a full plate of alien food to a table with two other Azincor. There were empty tables around, but that would not have been kosher for me to sit by myself. I introduced myself to my tablemates. They knew who I was by reputation, seeing that I was the only rescuee aboard the ship at this time. I began eating as the others watched a nearby Cristch game being played.

The meal consisted of a variety of items which I was familiar with, having learned them through my language programming. By now, I didn’t think too much of what I consumed for energy. I’d eaten some pretty gross shit as a cyborg. I was used to it by now.

I had synthetic taste buds so I could still taste food. I just didn’t care too much what it tasted like. Not surprisingly, the Azincor food was horrible, by Human standards. Most of it was slimy and seemed barely cooked. I could swear, some of it was still moving. But I didn’t care. I wolfed it all down with glee and then went for a second plate.

A few minutes later, the lights dimmed in the communal room indicating the ship was entering evening mode. As with all creatures governed by circadian cycles, the Azincor observed periods of night and day, of being awake and for sleep. The ship ran on an Azincor 26-hour cycle, so all the stations would be manned. It’s just that activities slowed down and most assholes headed off to their berthing compartments to snuggle with their crewmates.

I joined a sizeable crowd as they left the communal room. It would have seemed odd for me to stay behind with only the night crew wandering in and out. At the compartment, I entered with about thirty other Azincor, watching to see how they picked their bunks. I needed to see if they slept mainly with the same two bunkmates or was it purely random. Since this was my first night on the ship, I had nothing to gauge it by. So, instead, I watched the reaction of the people already in the bunks. Was permission asked before jumping in or was permission implied? No one seemed to go out of their way talking with others in the bunk as they climbed in. In fact, often conversations would continue with others in racks on the opposite side of the row. All you did was find a bunk and crawl in.

Of course, that was after you took off all your clothes.

That’s right, to make things even worse, all the assholes were buck naked.

Even though they slept with blankets, this could still be a problem. Although the Brinn had fully-formed male genitalia, they weren’t functional. They never were. I wondered why they were there in the first place, reasoning that thousands or even millions of years ago, they did work, and were needed. Not anymore. Now they just hung there.

The problem with my genitals was they were fully functional. I had tested them out—alone—when I expected to be with Abby again. Now I hoped—prayed—I didn’t have some instinctive reaction to a warm naked body lying next to me, even if it was a male alien. You know how guys can be. That would be hard to explain.

But not only that, but the Azincor weren’t ugly aliens. As I’ve mentioned ad nauseum, I looked like a handsome Hollywood stud from the glory days of movies, when the actors were real and not creations of artificial intelligence. The only difference between me and the real/deceased Antonio Banderas was I had yellow skin. And even that I was getting used to.

Eventually, however, I would have to test the waters. I stripped down and then moved to a bunk with only one other person in it. All the other bunks were to full capacity, and I hoped the two of us could be the odd pairing. At least then I could keep a little distance between us.

Immediately, my bunk mate introduced himself. He was named Bacin and he was a regular member of the crew. As it turned out, they all were, so this practice of musical bunkmates was common for them. Bacin was late getting to the compartment and had to take what was left. He was glad to have me join him.

I pulled the blanket up and let it fall between us. Bacin didn’t react; instead he rolled toward me and turned out his individual overhead light. I turned away from him, facing into the open corridor and turned out my light. It was decently dark in the compartment, which helped. At least it would have if I had any intention—or ability—to sleep. Instead, I would use the dark hours to remotely probe the ship’s computers for instruction manuals on how to run the bridge equipment I was expected to know how to run. That would pass the time and hopefully keep my mind off of where I was, and what was lying a foot away.

I had just settled into the mind-calming mantra required to access the neural-link when a body suddenly rolled over me and fell into the gap between Bacin and me.

“I apologize for being late,” said my new bunkmate. “My shift ran long. I am Granor. I am a processor tech two.”

Azincor didn’t shake hands in greetings. Neither did they bow. All they did was say hi. I introduced myself.

Granor’s face lit up. “You are the brother we rescued earlier. I feel remorse for what happened to your brothers aboard the Blue Sixteen. We have operated with the ship before. A fine crew. But the service you provided was meaningful. You should be proud that the others died with honor.”

“I am. As I am proud to have survived to fight another day.” I had a lot of learning to do this evening, which meant I couldn’t stay up all night chatting with my new best friend. So, I took a chance. “Pardon me, my brother, but I have had a long and stressful day. I am in much need of sleep. Perhaps we can talk in the morning.”

“Of course. I feel the same.” Granor pulled his blanket to his chin. “I shall savor your scent as we sleep.”

“As I will do with yours.”

And then it was quiet, as quiet as a compartment with over a hundred sleeping aliens could be. As with all biological creatures, bodily functions continued even as they slept, with farting and grunting, as well as a variety of coughing and wheezing. My enhanced hearing heard it all until I dialed back the sensitivity.

And then I concentrated again, probing electronic circuits until I found what I was looking for. It was essentially the alien internet. Since it was a private network available only to assholes, there were no restrictions on who could access it and what information was available. The Azincor committed no crime against their brothers, and since there was no money in Azincor society, there was no fraud and no theft. Anything and everything was available at one central hub.

Of course, that made finding anything an almost mission impossible. There was so much information here that it took half the night to even find the manuals I was looking for. After that, I had to scan each data file and convert it into visual representations. My mental files grew, even though I didn’t have the time to study any of the data before reveille the next morning.

It wasn’t called reveille, but it served the same purpose. Lights came on in the compartment and sleep ravaged aliens began to slowly come back to life. I was encouraged to see this. I was half expecting the assholes to pop up out of bed anxious and ready to start the new day of being the best assholes they could be. Instead, they were just like us, like Humans. Although I didn’t need any, I was sure there was the Azincor equivalent of coffee being brewed somewhere on the Green Four Ten.

I dressed quickly before making my way to the communal shower, head and grooming station. I relieved myself next to a dozen others and then took my Carry Kit to a sink to shave, brush my teeth and comb my luxurious long black hair. The ship was waking up and the volume of conversation climbed steadily. I used my hearing to listen in, seeking information, anything I could use.

All I heard was general discussions about daily chores, problems with the ship’s systems and then a little mention of what would happen when they got back to Davas. I still didn’t have a timetable for arrival, but I was sure I could find that out since I was a member of the bridge crew—if I was called to fill in. I hoped that wouldn’t happen for another day since I had whole volumes of data to absorb. They were stored away in my oversized memory, but so far, I’d done nothing with the data.

I finished dressing and was heading for the communal room and some much needed breakfast energy when First Lead Davad tracked me down.

“After meal, come to the pilot level. I am sure you are anxious to get back to work. I will have you relieve Norak on steering for half a day. We are on a steady path so it will not be very challenging. Have you ever worked aboard a stocker before?”

“I have not; only mid- and full-liners.”

“Then this will be simple for you. Report to Second Lead Kalos when you arrive.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Steering didn’t sound that difficult, especially when we were on a steady course. And I could spend my breakfast time doing a crash course on helmsmanship. Once I filled in for a few hours, then maybe Davad would leave me alone for a while. I quickly corrected myself. That was Human thinking. For an Azincor, being left alone was punishment. I would want to be assigned another job, and then another. How could I exist without constant interaction with my brothers? It was horror to even think that way!

In the communal room, I gathered a breakfast and then slipped into a seat at a table with six other Azincor. I was finding that if I wanted to be left along, go where there were a lot of assholes. They kept themselves occupied with each other while I feigned attention. I slowly ate my breakfast while dividing my attention between the images of the bridge stations and the instruction manual I had locked in my mind. I only had time to study the helm; the various controls and computer programming required to get the ship moving and then keep it moving on the right course.

Eventually, I had to report to the bridge, where I purposefully stepped to the steering console displaying all the confidence of a seasoned veteran.

“I am Third Lead Zark Nuniz,” I said to a Second Lead sitting next to the current pilot. “I was told to report to you.”

“Yes, Third Lead. We have been expecting you. I am Second Lead Kalos, the watch flight controller. I will have you relieve Third Mensi until mid-break. I am sure you have experienced unease regarding your lack of investment in the crew’s scent. We shall integrate you today.”

“I appreciate that, my Second. I was told you are fully staffed in this position, but do you anticipate other opportunities I may have before we reach Davas?”

I was desperate to learn of our arrival schedule, and how long I would have to put up with this torture.

“There should be more,” Kalos said. “Unfortunately, we will be at Davas in only six days. Perhaps if you are permanently assigned to the Green Four Ten, we can find you a more stable position.”

I wanted to shout out with joy: Only six days of this bullshit instead of the three weeks I was anticipating. But I maintained my composure and slipped into the seat as my fellow Third Lead Mensi offered it to me.

“Since rescuing you, we have resumed our original course and speed,” he said. “If you are not familiar with this section of space, there is a registered debris field which we will be skirting in thirty minutes. This may require a slight deviation. If so, you will be instructed.”

I nodded and turned to the controls. Most piloting was done by computer input, however, there was a joystick directly in front of me that was used for rapid course corrections, such as during battle. But for now, I didn’t have much to do except monitor the readings to make sure no rogue gravity sources were throwing us off course. That happened all the time, as the fabric of space was never smooth, but always like a churning sea filled with myriad disturbances created by both large and small objects. Our passage through this section of space was often the greatest catalyst for such disturbances as the constant series of miniature black holes that we were falling toward bent space in odd ways, but mainly to draw objects—and space itself—in toward us. Because of that, my job wasn’t as simple as watching a dial to make sure it never deviated. I would have to make course corrections every few minutes, and with major ones coming from direction of the watch captain.

Mensi left and Second Lead Kalos went back to his navigation duties. As I mentioned before, although the bridge was spacious, the workstations were not. I had an asshole to left of me and an asshole to the right. In fact, they were so close … I could smell them. I guess that was the purpose.

I’d known about the Azincor smell for years, even before I joined the Fleet Marines. In the days before the war, the aliens even had a cult following on Earth—mainly of women—who spent time and money to be around the rare Azincor on Earth just so they could smell them. Studies were done showing that Humans had no actual chemical or mental reactions to the fragrance, so the attraction was purely psychological. But that didn’t stop some cosmetic companies from coming out with their own lines of Ode de Azincor scent. They sold like hotcakes—until the war started. Even then, the cult didn’t go completely away; instead, they moved underground where scent-parties were held in private homes, using the artificial perfume as substitutes for the real thing. I assumed the parties were still going on, even seventeen years into the war.

I was impressed with how easy it was for me to learn how to be a helmsman. Of course, it was a pretty easy job, and since I knew the Azincor alphabet and dictionary—probably better than the average asshole—using the computer to tweak the course was a piece of cake. Occasionally, Second Lead Kalos would look over at me and glance at the readings before nodding approvingly and then go back to his duties. I was obviously doing a decent job.

There were clocks on the bridge and I was counting the ticks before mid-break, which I assumed would be lunch. My stomach was reminding me that I hadn’t eaten in a couple of hours, and with an unlimited food supply ready for the taking, it had been more active than normal since my arrival on the alien ship.

A quick glance around the bridge told me I still had a lot of training to do. Hopefully, I’d be given enough heads up before having to assume a station. Six days still left a lot of ‘fill-in’ duty, and at a variety of workstations.

With about fifteen minutes to go before being relieved, Master Lead Moris came onto the bridge and took over from the watch captain. “Steering, plot a course for Ren’al Mor. Engage on my order”

I flinched. He was talking to me!

I hunched over the computer board and punched in the Azincor word for Ren’al Mor. To my relief, a set of coordinates showed up. I locked them into the computer.

But the shock and surprise didn’t go away. Wasn’t Ren’al Mor the planet the Azincor androids had just laid waste to? Why were we going there … and why not Davas? What was going on?

Fortunately, I didn’t have to ask why we were going to Ren’al Mor; the former watch captain did that.

“We have been given permission to do a little Human hunting on the planet,” the captain bubbled with enthusiasm. “Not much, just enough to scare the aliens and remind them that we still control this region. Although the Human military garrison was effectively destroyed, the main settlement was left intact. The Humans have brought in recovery units, concentrating all their efforts on the area in and around the military base. However, we have learned of a small settlement on the other side of the planet that is now completely unguarded. There are not many Humans there, four or five hundred, but since we are a stocker vessel, and seldom get the chance to wet our hands in the blood of our enemy, I have been granted this privilege. Third Lead Nuniz, what is our estimated time of arrival?”

Dammit, the captain remembered my name from yesterday. Once again, I huddled at my station while racking my brain for instructions on how to get the information the officer demanded. It was basic—time to destination—but I hadn’t paid much attention to that aspect of my training up to this point. Hell, I couldn’t learn everything in half-an-hour. And it didn’t matter how smart you were, if you’ve never been exposed to something then you were just as ignorant as everyone else.

“Nuniz!” the captain prompted when I didn’t present him with the answer immediately.

Then something flashed in my mind. I pressed the upper right button on my screen and a set of numbers appeared. I was pretty sure they gave the transit time, but I wasn’t sure.

“Seven hours, sixteen minutes, my Lead.”

“Correction,” said Kalos immediately from the station next to me. “Seven hours is to the system; arrival at the planet is seven hours, fifty-one minutes.”

“Very well, Second Lead. Monitor the course and speed.”

I didn’t glance back at the captain but I knew his eyes were burning a hole into the back of my yellow neck. Just because the Azincor may be comfortable around each other doesn’t meant they don’t hold their brothers to uncompromising standards.

Then I remembered something I’d seen in the instruction manual. I leaned over to Kalos and said, loud enough for the captain to hear, “Forgive, I am used to the J48 version. I was not aware your system has not been ungraded. Military vessels—like the Blue Sixteen—have the newer version.”

I’d just told the Second Lead—and the captain—that because I was aboard a basic personnel carrier—and not a warship—I wasn’t working with the latest technology. It had the desired effect. Kalos bit his bottom lip, not from anger but from embarrassment. I was afraid to look at the captain.

“First Lead Foris, organize an assault party,” the captain announced from behind me. “No more than fifty or so. Find those with the most combat experience, including service aboard war vessels. The targets are civilians and located away from any technological centers. This should be an easy mission. You led the group … and take Third Lead Nuniz with you. I am sure he would appreciate the chance to exact revenge on the race of creatures who destroyed his warship.”

Now, I did look at the captain—beamed would be a better word.

“I would very much appreciate that, my Lead. Thank you!”

Landfall was still over seven hours away, which meant I had to finish out my shift. But then, I’d be prepping for an attack on a Human community on the planet Ren’al Mor. What the hell was I going to do? Kill my own kind?

I winced at the thought. Yes, I’m a cyborg now, but I’m a Human cyborg. And as I’d been telling everyone for several months now, as long as I had a Human brain I was still Human. No one believed me, but that was beside the point. I believed, and that’s what made this mission conflicted, to say the least.

Could I do it? Could I go into a community of peaceful civilians and gun them down like the assholes were planning? And if I couldn’t, what did that mean to the rest of my mission, my main mission? Would I jeopardize the Human race to save a few individuals, many of which, I’m sure, had never even been to Earth—like Abby.

Kalos was still recovering from his embarrassment when I was relieved. First Lead Foris had remained on the bridge and was going over maps of the proposed target area for the upcoming raid. He called me over and introduced himself.

“Do you have any experience on the planet itself?” he asked me.

“No, my Lead. Others assisted in the landing of the androids. I remained aboard.”

He patted my shoulder. “Then this shall come as a genuine pleasure for you. I will assign you to the lead unit, the ones who will guide the rest of us to victory.”

I glanced at the captain, trying to display a combination of satisfaction and savagery. The demeanor of the bridge crew had changed with the news of the attack. Gone were the gentle, almost dreamlike expressions, replaced now with an animal lust—a lust for blood, alien blood.

I’d fought enough Azincor throughout the years to know they were proficient and effective soldiers, displaying little fear, while adhering to an almost fanatical devotion to the mission. I’d seen their faces up close. There was nothing gentle or tame about the an Azincor in battle. So, what changed?

Was all this animal ferocity a release of pent-up male aggressiveness, an aggressiveness they couldn’t use on their fellow Azincor? That would make sense. They were fighting someone other than their own kind, and when they did that, they could be like every other species—blood-thirsty killers—like Humans.

And now they had someone worth killing.

Could I let it happen?

13

The Green Four Ten carried a standard crew of three hundred, with the capacity to carry another thousand assholes, all destined for deployment on various colony worlds to replace the dying males. It was the only way of sustaining the population since all new Azincor are born on Davas.

Also, all Azincor males are trained in combat techniques, although some continue with their training and join the military. Job selection in Azincor society was more or less a matter of choice. A male could change jobs at a moment’s notice, and if there was an opening, they would be accepted and trained for that position. And they could switch careers if they wished. Of course, this was contingent on ability. As with any race of advanced beings, some were more advanced than others. This hierarchy of ability was accepted without question by the Brinn, so they mostly chose jobs within their skill range. Since ego didn’t play a part, and they weren’t taking a job for money, prestige or to get women, there was no complaining.

That was why it would have been possible for me to switch to the Stocker-Corps if I wanted from the warrior class of starship. Or I could decide to become a baker. The choice—at least ninety percent of it—was mine.

However, since I came from the warrior class, and my ship—supposedly—had been blown out from under me, I was given lead in one of the squads going down to the planet. We would take a shuttle, all fifty of us, and then a small advance team would hike to the town and scout the terrain and population. I was given an Azincor slug rifle and a utility belt complete with the alien’s version of a Forcel laser pistol and a thin combat knife. We weren’t given any provisions since we didn’t plan to be on the surface for long. My stomach protested loudly when it got the news. My fellow assholes laughed when they heard the growling. In a way, this was good. Both cyborgs and androids don’t have growling stomachs. All except me.

The Green Four Ten didn’t go into orbit; instead, it parked itself near one of Ren’al Mor’s two moons and we took the shuttle to the surface. Human forces were rushing into the area of the Baskin Army Post and the town of Lumix nearby. The army of Azincor androids had been destroyed, but not before over two thousand soldiers and sailors died. Then the rampaging robots moved into the city. By then, an effective counterforce had formed, so only about two hundred people died in the city. In the aftermath, nearly five hundred of the four-armed natives were killed as the Humans took no chances on what was a native and what wasn’t. That didn’t go over very well with the locals, but at this point, the Humans didn’t care. All they wanted was revenge.

Our target village was called Lugano after a Swiss town where the ancestors of some of the original settlers came from. It was appropriate, since the village sat in a valley on the shores of a spectacular alpine lake surrounded by jagged, snow-capped mountains. It was Summer or Spring at this time of year—maybe Fall, I didn’t know—but a time of the year when the snow didn’t reach the village. The shuttle landed about five miles south of the town and the lead unit set off on foot.

First Lead Foris was with us, along with six other Azincor. The rest of the fifty-asshole kill squad was broken into groups of approximately ten each. Everyone was bouncing with excitement. It wasn’t often that the crew of a stocker got the chance to take Human scalps. They didn’t actually take scalps, but the effect was the same.

My mind was in anguish. I still wasn’t sure what I would do when the time came. Surely, I would be expected to contribute to the slaughter, and with how communal the Azincor were, it would be impossible for me to bow out. I’d be right there with the crowd, standing shoulder to shoulder, blowing my fellow Humans in half with railslugs.

With each step along the rocky path, surrounded by the absolute beauty of the mountains, I became more confused, more conflicted. Theoretically, I could take out this entire force. But then what? There would be no going to Davas and no stopping the Human-Azincor War. Millions would die and then continue to die for years into the future. In the end, I had no choice at all. Sacrifices had to be made…

With a signal from the lead Azincor, the scout team dropped to our knees and peered ahead. My cyborg eyes provided more detail, showing a decent-sized log home at the side of the trail, surrounded by a crude split-rail fence. There was a deep covered porch that ran along the front with several empty chairs placed on it and looking out across the valley to the lake. I sighed. If ever there was a picture-postcard setting for a bloody slaughter, this was it. The contrast was too great to ignore.

“First Lead,” I whispered. “Allow me the privilege of scouting the structure first. I have the most combat experience … and I am owed for what these savages did to my brothers.”

“Of course, Nuniz. Please, proceed. Javor, go with him.”

Shit! I should have known. The Azincor never do anything alone. I’m surprise I didn’t have someone wiping my ass for me back on the ship. Maybe that would come later, if I became a permanent member of the crew.

A near twin of me moved up, gripping his railgun with white knuckles. His dark eyes were manic, his mouth stretched into an evil grin. To Javor, this was almost orgasmic, his chance to kill Humans up close and personal.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting—maybe to warn anyone I found inside the house. But that was complicated by Javor’s presence. I would play it by ear…

We set off in a crouch. I instinctively switched into combat mode, which impressed Javor. He awkwardly tried to copy my stance and gait but failed miserably. I ignored him and made it to the side of the house without using any of my latent cyborg speed. I had to be careful of that.

My cyborg hearing picked up voices and sounds of movement inside the home, so I waved Javor to stay down and follow me. We moved along the front before coming to the stairs leading up to the porch. The wood creaked as I stepped on it. I froze as I heard steps heading for the front door.

I didn’t give the occupant time to pull the door open before I barreled through, gripping the railgun expertly in my hands. Javor was a step behind. I crash into the greatroom to find a startled family of four staring back at me. The father darted for his wife and kids, pulling them in close while trying to muffle the screams of his six-year-old daughter. The terror—and the resignation—was painted on their faces. The daughter and teenage son were in shock, while the color ran from the faces of their parents. Of course, they had heard of the massacre at the army post. Although that was carried out by androids, they knew what Azincor looked like. Everyone knew that. And coming face to face with two of them, the Humans knew their fate; in fact, I was surprised they accepted it so graciously.

“Please, make it quick,” said the husband.

I glanced back at Javor, wondering what he was about to do. He smiled and nodded to me. “You may have the honors, Zark, in memory of your fallen brothers.”

I sized up the situation, knowing that there were forty-eight other Azincor waiting for my signal. A slug round would certainly set them off.

I slung the rifle over my shoulder and then pulled the stiletto combat knife from its sheath.

“I wish this to be up close,” I said as I stepped around Javon. “I wish to feel the warmth of their blood on my hand as I—”

As I whipped around and buried the tip of the knife into Javon’s heart. Then I crashed into him, covering his gaping mouth with my hand, pressing him to the floor before he fell. It only took another two seconds for the life to fade from his body.

I cocked my head around just as the older Human man made a dash for a side cabinet. There was a rifle inside, one of the old recoil models.

“Stop! Don’t do that.” I yelled in perfect English. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

My words and tone stopped the man in his tracks. I climbed off Javon and wiped the blood from the knife on the front of my uniform. “Listen to me carefully,” I began. The Humans were in too much shock to do otherwise. “Do you have a portable comm device in the house?”

The man nodded. “Get it, then I need you and your family to go out the back and into the woods. Once you get there, call the town, tell everyone else to do the same. Then call Baskin, tell them that a force of fifty Azincor are outside your town to the south. Tell them to get here as soon as they can.”

To his credit, the man understood the urgency of my message and gathered his family. The son went to a drawer and pulled out a black comm messenger. Then the man asked, “Who are you?”

“A friend. Now go. I assume you and all the villagers know the forest like the back of your hand. Make it pay. Go! Now!”

They were out the back a moment later.

I blew out a breath while surveying the room. I noticed a square panel in the wood floor and rushed over to it. Opening the door, I used my cyborg eyes to look down into the gloom. It was a large cellar or basement. A thought occurred to me.

I jockeyed the door until it stayed open by a couple of inches and then stuck the barrel of my railgun into the gap before lighting off a slug. The zing of the slug echoed from below and into the greatroom before escaping through the windows. It would be heard out to the perimeter of the split-rail fence.

I raced over to Javor’s body and pulled him into my chest, soaking the front of my uniform with even more of his blood. A moment later, First Lead Foris and the other four members of his squad burst into the room, weapons at the ready. Seeing me and Javor on the floor, they spread out, sprinting into the various side rooms. Foris knelt beside me.

“What happened?”

“I was checking a side room—Javor must not have seen him. The Human stabbed him in the heart.”

“Where is he now?”

“I am not sure, but I heard a door close. I believe he is there, down below.” I pointed to the cockeyed door leading to the cellar.

Foris gathered his troops, telling them to hold their positions around the cellar door. Then he called in another squad. They arrived a minute later, panting from the run up the slope and from the high altitude. The First Lead gave his orders and two members of the new squad produced compact concussion explosives and tossed them through the opening in the floor. The explosions caused the floor to heave up under us, producing geysers of dust all around. The air filled with a coarse haze.

Foris flipped open the now-shattered scuttle.

“My Lead!” I called out. “Let me go, let me go alone. I feel responsible for Javor’s death, and I would feel horrible if anymore brothers lost their lives because of me.”

“It was not your fault,” Foris corrected.

“Perhaps, but this is something I must do.”

The officer nodded.

I unslung my rifle and moved to the smoking entrance to the cellar. There were steep stairs leading down and I took them slowly and cautiously even though my cyborg balance, eyes and lungs could easily tolerate the environment. I even coughed a few times for effect. At ground level, I moved deeper into the room, finding a number of side cubbies where winter provisions and other supplies were stored. The room smelled of sulfur from the explosions, but at one time, it probably had the scent of carrots and parsley and even aging meat. This was a primitive community that savored the simpler life. There were electric vehicles parked outside and wireless antenna on the roof. But still, I envied the lifestyle. At least I did … up until about ten minutes ago.

I took my time in the cellar, even sitting on a crate for a couple of minutes until Foris started yelling down at me.

“I am well,” I replied. Then I moved to the stairs. “He is not here. Either there was another way out or he never came down here at all.”

I watched Foris’s yellow face turn a shade darker and his eyes burned at me.

“You have wasted our time, time the killer is using to escape.” He turned away and yelled into his wrist comm. “Bring everyone up. Assemble at the tree line. We will move in and find this killer. Do it now!”

I climbed from the cellar looking thoroughly chastised. “Forgive me my Lead. As I said, I was in another room when Javor was killed. I could only relate what I heard.”

“I understand, Nuniz,” the officer said reluctantly. “I am just upset that we have lost time in tracking the Human. How could he have so effectively surprised Javor while stabbing him from the front?”

I shook my head. “I can provide no insight.” I looked up at the open beamed ceiling. “Perhaps he was hiding up there and swung down on our brother before he was aware.”

Foris shook his head, not from doubt, but frustration. “We shall ask the Human once we find him, and moments before I embed my own Gors knife into his cold heart. Come now, let us join the search.”

We moved outside where the weather was cool and crisp and the air fresher than any I’d smelled on a dozen worlds, including Earth. I could see the appeal of this place, with its towering peaks and glistening lake. Now, all I had to do was make sure it did not turn into the site of another bloody massacre of Human beings.

I prayed that the father had warned the townspeople with enough time for them to run into the forest. Some would not get the warning, others would ignore it. I was under no false illusion that I had saved all the lives of Lugano. Saving even one was better than what the Azincor had planned for them.

Foris signaled for his long line of yellow assholes to begin moving into the native pine forest behind the house. There was about a fifty yard area of relatively level ground before the mountain rose up quickly. The tree line ended a thousand feet above as the altitude exceeded the habitat of the pines. The family would not have gone that high. By then the ground sloped up at almost sixty degrees and there was snow beyond that.

I used my hearing to detect any sounds of movement beyond the line of Azincor but could hear nothing other than normal forest noises. I was counting on the family having an intimate knowledge of the woods and able to move about it with ease, whereas the Azincor were having a hell of a time climbing the slope. First of all, they weren’t used to the altitude, which had to be around seven to eight thousand feet. The other, they weren’t used to trekking through nature. These creatures were the product of steel enclosures, purified air and limited walking. Already, many of them were leaning against trees or sitting on fallen stumps trying to catch their breath. Even Foris was suffering from altitude sickness, so he couldn’t drive his troops too hard.

It was almost a relief when the First Lead’s communicator sounded. I was next to him and heard the conversation. He then signaled for his unit to make haste back to the shuttle. They had to evac immediately. A signal was intercepted from the Baskin Army Post, warning of their presence. A military response was being planned and would launch in minutes. We didn’t have much time to get off the mountain.

My heart leaped as I watched the fifty—now forty-nine—yellow-skinned assholes scurry down the slope and run in a panic for the waiting shuttle. The rear compartment was a cacophony of coughing and wheezing as the craft lifted off, bolting for space.

I sat against a back bulkhead, none the worst for wear, and thrilled beyond words with the outcome. The only death was that of an Azincor. I know. It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning.

14

Needless to say, Master Lead Moris was furious at the results of his vainglorious excursion into actual combat. Sorry, buddy, but it ain’t as easy as it looks on paper. Especially when you have a traitor in your midst. But I wasn’t really a traitor, because I wasn’t really an asshole. I was a spy, a saboteur, a Bond, James Bond.

Yeah, I was quite familiar with the character, along with all the various actors who had played him throughout the years. It was telling that all the new versions created on computers today by random viewers were with Sean Connery playing the lead; in fact, some of the old movies had been recreated, substituting the dashing Scotsman for whoever was trying to fill his shoes at the time. It’s hard to beat the original.

I must admit, I was proud of myself. When I stabbed Javor through the heart, I had no idea what would happen next. I just knew that if I didn’t go through with the killing of the family, he would. It was either them … or him.

Still, I took an awful chance, and I could have jeopardized the years that went into planning and executing my ultimate mission, as General Matthews liked to call it. I would have to be more careful from now on.

That shouldn’t be too hard, seeing that on Davas there won’t be any helpless Humans who need rescuing. After all, today I earned my Merit Badge in Human Salvation. I would wear it proudly … for as long as I lived.

Five days to Davas, and the countdown to my final demise was getting shorter by the day. At least I’d made today count.

What followed over the next five days was a quirk of Azincor thinking.

The captain and Foris were furious over the debacle on Ren’al Mor. Although they couldn’t point their fingers directly at me for the screw up, they did feel I wasted too much time in the cellar, allowing the ‘killer’ to get away and inform the Army post. In reality, I probably saved all our lives.

If the squad had been farther into the forest, we may not have had time to get to the shuttle before the Human forces arrived, resulting in a slaughter, me included. But of course, the officers weren’t going to admit that. So, for punishment, I didn’t get any more fill-in assignments. Oh, darn! What was I to do now? I couldn’t be close to my fellow assholes.

The result, I had more time to hack into the computer system and learn about my destination. Humanity knew next to nothing about Davas, and once I was in the alien’s internet, I had free reign. It was all there for the asking.

Davas was a strange place. It seemed almost to be a more primitive planet than Earth, with a southern hemisphere racked by volcanism, making the area essentially uninhabitable. The two primary landmasses were moving over a series of geologic hotspots and had been for millions of years. That left all the twenty-five billion plus inhabitants to crowd into the two northern landmasses.

The Core was on the Western Plate, as they called it. It was smaller than the Eastern Plate but still have over half the population. The Core was where all eighty million of the females lived, surrounded by birthing centers and transition beds. All of this was confined to a fifty mile square section behind decorative walls. The barriers weren’t there to keep anyone in and out, only to define the territory. Males—the Brinn, came and went freely, although they were required to wear full-body cloaks while in the Core out of reverence for the Creators.

Surrounding the Core was a massive metropolis that grew throughout the centuries to hold eight billion Brinn. The rest of the males were spread out across the planet in well-defined communities numbering a half a billion in some cases. But all Azincor life was centered on the Core and the surrounding city of Cape.

There was a second planet within the system called Kalix, populated, of course, exclusively by Brinn. In the early days of their civilization, the Brinn developed crude space travel and moved millions of their kind to Kalix. After discovering star travel, that population grew to fourteen billion, relieving some of the overcrowding of Davas.

It was hard to overcrowd a society like the Azincor. They revered their closeness, making cluster housing the rule rather than the exception. In fact, if an Azincor acquired a home, it usually had a minimum of ten bedrooms where twenty or more assholes would crowd in for the night. This went for anyone and not just the residents of the house. If a Brinn is traveling from one part of the planet to another and needs a place to sleep, he just knocks on a door. There is usually a bed he can wriggle into.

And there was no money in Azincor society. All Brinn worked at various crafts, be it as tailors, as farmers, and H/VAC techs. They didn’t care. As long as they could be near others of their kind, they were okay. And if an Azincor wanted to change professions, he just did it, making sure there was an opening where he was going and that his replacement was up to speed on his old job.

There were restaurants, clothing stores, even amusement parks. The Azincor enjoyed a good rollercoaster ride. What was missing were banks and other financial institutions. If a group of Azincor wanted to build a housing subdivision, they simply went to lumber yards and hardware stores and reserved what they needed. Then the skilled trades came in and built the units. Then, through a lottery system, those wanting housing could apply. There was always an Administration for each house which would manage the structure and control the coming and goings of the tenants. This applied to commercial property, as well.

As for food, there were billions of farmers who grew food, raised livestock and then processed everything for consumption. Scientists worked on pesticides and new varieties of seeds, and veterinarians kept the animals healthy until time for slaughter.

Overall, Azincor society had everything Human society had except for the competition. It may sound like paradise, but I wasn’t into it. No fire existed in the souls of the Azincor, no burning desire to achieve. They lived their lives and then died. It was understandable, since none of them ever had a legacy of children to consider. Even the females who gave birth had the babies removed from them immediately. There was no bonding, no feeling of love for the children. Once born, the children became objects requiring care, schooling and training. And then they would all transition. There was no future for the females other than transition. And for the Brinn, there was no future, only labor to occupy their time and a drug-induced need to be near each other until the day they died.

I did consider their strange obsession as drug-induced. It was the damn scent. That drove everything. The Lors leader Unan had told General Matthews that the influence waned with those who left the planet, but if what I experienced aboard the Green Four Ten was waning, then I shuddered to think what Davas was like.

Still, the life of an Azincor was a perpetual dead end. There would never be a legacy, a heritage left behind for the next generation to build upon.

Abby and I talked constantly about our love of family and desire to have children. We both came from loving, nurturing families, so the concept was not foreign to us. More than anything, we both wanted children. And now, with Boz, that dream was coming true.

I didn’t want to go back down that rabbit hole again, but with a little time to myself, I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking about all the things that went wrong with Abby and me, and that was mainly timing. I was in my mid-twenties when we met and my life—up until the day I died—was constantly in flux, making it hard for me to commit. Even so, my next duty station was shore duty at Cygnus Station. At that point, who knew what would happen?

In a way, it was fortunate things worked out the way they did, otherwise, Abby would now be a widow and probably raising a couple of children on her own. Instead, she’d hit the relationship jackpot, a young, good-looking millionaire who was the father of her unborn child. And I’d been to Boz’s house in Colorado. What a fabulous place to raise a family, and far from the alienness of Manados. Good for you, Abby.

Over the next five days, I settled into a more staid routine aboard the alien troop carrier. I still sat with my brothers at mealtime and bumped butts with them in the sack, but the word must have gone out that I was persona non grata aboard the ship. That was fine; I was just a passenger and not a true member of the crew. I tried to look forlorn most of the time so the officers would think their silent punishment was working. But inside, I was ecstatic. The bottom line: Time flew by and the next thing I knew we were entering the Azincor star system, headed for Davas.

The Green Four Ten would be in port for two months for routine maintenance. That meant most of the crew would be on liberty, whatever that meant to an Azincor. They had no families to go home to, no children to get reacquainted with and no whores to chase. What did an Azincor do with their time off? Most suffer, I guess, longing for the close quarters again aboard the starship.

Actually, Azincor read books, watch movies and even played games, especially Cristch. There were major leagues set up that millions would watch on the broadcasts. But all Azincor games were non-competitive, if that made any sense, at least with each other. They had varieties that would simulate outsiders fighting against them. It was strange, because none of the Azincor took the part of the aliens. They would roll or draw for the opposing side and then move the players. But they never assumed that role. It was an unthinkable affront for assholes to complete with other assholes.

As with all the other crew members waiting for the ship to land and the gangway to be lowered, I stood with my new clothes and Carry Kit, ready to go. I was given a new uniform after my other one was soiled by the blood of the unfortunate Javor. I never learned his last name. It didn’t matter.

My Human brain was releasing endorphins that somehow reacted with other parts of my cybernetic body to give me tingles. I was about to get down to the nitty-gritty of my mission, something that could be so easy as going to an address and delivering a package. After that, well, things were a little fuzzy. Even if Unan and her Lors could pull off their evil plan, it would take decades for the last of the Brinn to die off. That meant I could be stuck here for a while, unless with peace came my salvation.

Even so, I prepared for the worst case scenario, one where I would be stuck on Davas for the duration.

Knowing more about Azincor life, I could see how I could fully integrate, learn a trade and work until the day I dropped dead. The problem, I had no idea when that would be. If I continued to eat and provide power for my body, I might live forever. Forever, here on Davas. Now that would be a living Hell.

And then there was the horror of not sleeping. I might raise some eyebrows if I worked around the clock just to conquer the sheer boredom of never sleeping. I had to use my superior brain power to figure a way around that, some kind of off switch, at least temporarily. I had confidence I could do it, and the challenge would give me something to do in my off hours, when I wasn’t baking donuts for my Azincor brothers.

The ship settled down and an electric energy circulated throughout the waiting crew. They had been in space for four months, so they were ready for a little R&R. Arms lifted to shelter sensitive eyes from the harsh light shafting into the landing bay. And then the surge began. I went with the flow and soon took my first step on the Azincor homeworld.

I looked around. We were in a massive spaceport populated with dozens of huge transports and warships. Ferries were lined up to take us to the main gate where we would disperse like dandelions spores in the wind. I crowded into a transport with my short-term shipmates and we took off.

“Where are you going?” I asked the asshole next to me. I didn’t know his name; I’d never seen him before.

“I am going to Tranis. I have brothers there where we share a home on the shore. You are welcome to join us.”

As I said, I’d never seen him before, and here I was being invited to his home.

“That is most kind, but I am going to Cap.”

The Azincor laughed. “Then you still have quite the journey to go. You must be linking with another ship here. Have a pleasant trip.”

I pursed my lips when he turned away, wondering what he was talking about. Why would I need to catch a flight to get to the city of Cap? Wasn’t this the main port for the capital city. It was certainly large enough.

All during the twenty minute ride I was kicking myself internally. I had done research on the city of Cap and the Core, but not much beyond that. And now I was aboard this land shuttle, and with no access to the Azincor internet to find out exactly where I was.

As we came to a terminal, most of my shipmates raced off toward the gate while I entered the building. It had the layout of a typical airport terminal, with placards and boards displaying arriving and departing flights. I could read the language like a native, so I had no trouble deciphering what I saw.

There were a lot of flights that said Cap, along with various other cities I recognized. But then there were a lot more I didn’t. And that’s when I got the shock of my life.

Kalix Receiving Center Information.

I stared at the sign above the door wondering what the hell was going on. Was I on Kalix and not Davas? And if so, how do I find out? As an Azincor Brinn, a creature born and then transitioned on Davas, I should be intimate with the planet. I couldn’t go around asking people where was the planet Davas and how do I get there? That would be a dead giveaway.

And I couldn’t ask someone when was the next flight to Cap. That was displayed on the boards. As for cost, transportation was free. Even so … flights would fill up.

I stepped up to a counter. “Are there any open flights to Cap leaving within the hour?” I asked the extremely old Brinn attendant—he wouldn’t be around to see the coming Purge. He checked his computer.

“All flights are filled until Night-Six-forty. Would you like to reserve a seat?”

“Yes. My name is Zark Nuniz.”

“Very good, brother. You are reserved for flight number N-19 leaving from Blue Eight. Enjoy your trip.”

“Where is the nearest computer terminal?” I asked, taking a chance that there would be open access to computers somewhere in the airport.

“Seven Four,” was all he said. Then he went back to his job just as another Brinn stepped up beside him and they both scanned a screen. A chill went through my body. All this intimate body contact was creeping me out. It had been for the past week.

And now I needed to decipher what Seven Four meant. Not seventy-four, just Seven and Four.

I checked a clock on the wall. I had over four hours before my flight with time to wander the concourse. I needed to find out what Seven Four meant, but first, I needed food. Lots of food, and looking around, I saw a plethora of restaurants around me. Choosing which restaurant I wanted to visit first was the problem. Oh, and all the food was free.

I walked into the nearest restaurant, surprised that it was quiet and subdued and with a darkened interior. Then I noticed the walls were moving. No, not the walls, but things on the walls.

I shifted to enhance lighting with my bionic eyes and nearly fainted when I saw two of the inner walls were alive with what looked to be giant snails, slithering along the surface, leaving trails of shiny yet runny slime. The walls glistened with the slime that flowed down to be caught in troughs at the floor. Tiny pumps were pulling the collected slime away, to be used for what, I couldn’t guess.

I quickly exited the restaurant thinking that I wasn’t that hungry. But at the next cafe, I encountered the same thing. What was this, some specialty delicacy that I’d never heard of, maybe something local?

My stomach growled. It didn’t care what I ate, just so I ate something, and having already entered two restaurants; it wasn’t going to quietly let me go to a third.

I slipped into a booth already occupied by two other Azincor, one with regular yellow skin and the other with a much lighter hue. They grinned at me while downing frothy mugs of a white liquid. But it wasn’t frothy; it was bubbly, like the air bubbles I saw percolating in the troughs. They were drinking the slime and seemingly enjoying it.

As always, my mind said this was disgusting while my stomach said Bon Appetit. A waiter sat a glass in front of me without my asking. My tablemates lifted their glasses in a social greeting. I did the same.

And then I tasted the snail slime.

Not bad. Not good, either, but it wasn’t as offensive as I imagined.

My new asshole friends read my expression. “Try the lazin juice combination. Exquisite.”

The waiter came back , leaving a menu datapad. I requested the lazin juice variety of snail slime and he nodded with approval. Hey, while in assholeland, do as the assholians do.

The lazin juice was a little spicier. I liked it; in fact, if I didn’t know it came from snails, I would even love it. I scanned the menu on the computer, choosing a meat dish that I read about in my research. The animal it came from looked something like a cow. I hoped it tasted like cow.

I asked my companions where the nearest public computer terminals were located. When they both said Seven Four, I gave up being coy.

“I do not travel much. What is Seven Four?”

One of the assholes laughed. “Ha, what does travel have to do with it? It is Seven Four. Did you not learn anything is skills spec?”

“I am but a simple farmer, my ability level is limited.”

I was playing the handicap card, having read that about five percent of all transitioned males have mental disorders as a result of the lack of biodiversity in the species. It wasn’t serious—the really bad cases resulted in the females dying. But there was a hierarchy of abilities within the Brinn community, and I could play dumb when I needed to … or when I really was ignorant on a subject. Like now. Like most of the time…

“Forgive us,” said one of my new friends. “But since you are here, you surely went through Seven Four.”

“Perhaps he does not remember,” said the other as reality suddenly dawned on him. “Do you remember skills training?” It was as if he was talking to a child. Of course, how would a Brinn know how to talk to a child? Was he channeling his former female self?

“Yes, I attended training,” I blabbered. “Was that Seven Four?”

“It was. What you are looking for is the training center on the second level. It is designated by the large numbers Seven Four.”

Now, I really did feel like an idiot, but since I was playing one, it fit.

“It is much appreciated. I will go there immediately after my meal. Thank you.”

“Where are you headed from here?” the lighter skinned Azincor asked me.

“I am going to Cap. I am reserved for Night Six-forty.”

Both the aliens—natives—raised their eyebrows. “Ah, to Cap,” began the native with the darker skin. “I have been there—obviously—and many times since the Changing. Such incredible scent. It is everywhere. We are going to Baggo’nor on the Night Seven train. We manage a residence there. If ever you go to Baggo’nor, you are welcome. You can find us at Eight-One-One Blue. It is easy to find.” They didn’t have to include even for someone like you, but the tone of voice said it all. I was one of the short-bus-kids in Azincor society.

The meal came and it was everything I wanted it to be. Real meat, steaming on a real plate, and all I could eat. And I could eat a lot. For a brief moment, I thought I could get used to this.

And then my new friends dismissed themselves and headed away. Although there were empty booths in the restaurant, another Azincor quickly slipped in next to me. I didn’t have to play dumb with him; in fact, I was eating so fast we barely had time to talk. He was disappointed.

When I finally pushed myself out of the booth, I was satiated, which was rare for me. This would hold me for a while. I went to the second level and explored the wonderous variety of shops and advertisements lining the concourse. It all looked familiar, except for the yellow skin of the natives. It appeared the Azincor were subject to promotional manipulation, just like Humans. I was confused. With everything in the society free, why did the Azincor advertise? Then it dawned on me. There was still an incredible variety of just about every product, and the products that were advertised the best were used by more of the population. This allowed the companies—the cooperatives—to employ more assholes. And, of course, the more the merrier.

I was halfway along the concourse when I saw the large numbers, Seven Four, standing twelve feet tall next to a large open portal leading into a workspace with dozens of individual computer stations. There weren’t a lot of people in the room, but the ones who were, had their heads buried in terminals with secondary datapads out, studying intently. This was a place where only one asshole at a time worked at a station unlike the communal party everywhere else. I could retire here and be happy.

I slipped into an empty station. I had a good grasp of how to use Azincor computers, even without needing to hack into them through the back door. And since I was now fully ensconced in the alien’s society, everything was open to me, including just about every database. Aboard the Green Four Ten, I did try to hack into their operational military databanks, but that was restricted. Everything else was an open book.

The first thing I asked the computer was simple: What is Seven Four? As it turned out, these were retraining centers where any Azincor looking to switch professions could come for classes. After transitioning, all Azincor males go through Seven Four training to receive advanced skills for their chosen profession. This was done at the main Seven Four facility in Cap. Then, throughout the empire—if you can call it an empire since there was no emperor—Seven Four retaining centers were located in nearly every large city and even in airports.

Next, I asked the computer: Where am I? It answered immediately. Sigan Spaceport, Esternon City, Kalix. Then I asked why my ship had docked here? It asked for the ship’s designation then reported that all Stocker class vessels are dispersed from this site. It’s from where all off-world colony personnel depart. That answered my basic question. We were always going to come back here because this was the Green Four Ten’s homeport.

I then asked for a map of local space in order to get my bearings. There were sixteen planets in the system, with two of them in the Habitable Zone around the central star—the planets Davas and Kalix. They essentially shared the same orbit and almost directly opposite one another. That was convenient. I assumed that in the early days of space travel, all one had to do was jump into space and then wait for the neighboring world to come to you. That was how the ancient Azincor initially colonized Kalix.

Next, I checked the flight time to Cap from my current location. Using gravity drive, it was only a ninety minute flight. I checked a clock. My flight didn’t leave for another two hours, so I spent the next hour researching more about Kalix, locating the two cities I had already heard of, Baggo’nor and Tranis. Tranis was the bigger of the two and even had its own spaceport. Both weren’t that far away and could be reached by high-speed rail or short atmospheric flights. A quick search of the planetary train system showed that it was intricate, widespread and utilized maglev bullet trains that could travel at almost four hundred miles per hour. My superior intellect converted the Azincor kullars to miles.

After a few more minutes of aimlessly surfing the internet, my stomach was demanding another session. I didn’t fight it. I was enjoying having all the free meals I could eat and with dozens of venues to choose from. I wondered if a cyborg could get fat? I didn’t see how. But then I thought about going to the bathroom. The more I ate, the more I’d have to excrete. That could get to be … bothersome.

I spent the rest of the time before heading off to my departing gate eating a meat something wrapped in fried bread and with a delicious sauce. I didn’t probe too deeply into what kind of meat it was or what the sauce consisted of. To drink, I had a more traditional carbonated beverage, rather than snail slime, although I was sure it wouldn’t be the last time I enjoyed snail slime on my mission.

15

The departure gate was crowded, which, as mentioned before, did not seem to bother the Azincor. The masses huddled together, soaking in their collective scents. Even so, the expressions on the alien faces seemed strange. They were not as happy as they should be.

Then I noticed why.

Everyone was being moved into a single line where a squad of four Azincor wearing red shirts were scanning each passenger individually. And backing up the cadre of asshole security personnel was a small army of humanoid androids. Since the Azincor never made androids that looked like themselves, the robots were easy to spot. I’d noticed a fair number of them in the terminal already.

I quickly looked at the other gates. Some were going through the same intense security checks, others weren’t. Those with flights going to Davas—and Cap in particular—had the most security.

That settled it. They were looking for me.

The security checks didn’t last long, just a sweep of a wand over the individual and they were waved through. Still, it was holding up the line and was unusual, as I could tell by the expressions. Even then, there was no complaining. The Azincor submitted to the checks and moved on.

But not me. I couldn’t go through a security check, not even a superficial one. The word was out that I’d left Sanlos Station and then disappeared. The next place to catch me would be in the star system. And since Sigan Spaceport was one of the major ports of entry, it made sense to concentrate security here. There were also a dozen other ports of entry on Kalix, and a hundred or more on Davas. I had to assume all of them would be closely watched, and especially the connecting flights heading to Cap.

Although the assholes didn’t have all the details of my mission, they knew it was focused on the capital city of Cap.

I spun on my heels and headed back down the concourse. Space travel directly to Cap was out of the question, while destinations other than Davas, especially those going only to Kalix cities, had hardly any security. But any security would be enough to stop me.

Perhaps … I could back my way to Davas, by taking a flight from an outlying city and going to a Davas city nowhere close to Cap. It was worth a try.

I rushed down the concourse to the Seven Four facility again. Slipping into a station, I had the computer active ten seconds later, checking cities and train schedules, both on Kalix and Davas. My enhanced memory helped me remember a few city names on Davas about as far from Cap as I could find and that were large enough to make in onto a planetary map. Hopefully, they would have spaceports nearby. Then I checked the local train schedules, praying there wouldn’t be as much security for trains, especially on Kalix. Trains couldn’t get an intruder to Davas. That’s what I was counting on. And even if there was security, it was easier to stowaway on a train than aboard a spaceship.

I reasoned that setting up a two-planet security search had to be daunting, even for the compliant Azincor. They would have to prioritize their efforts. If I could get to Davas—no matter where—I could eventually make my way to Cap, even if I had to go by foot. It would take longer, but as a cyborg, I could do it.

I pulled up the train schedules, finding the route to Tranis especially interesting. It was a large city with a spaceport. I got directions to the nearest train station and then bolted from the spaceport terminal.

Along the way, I noticed more of the red-shirted security agents, along with their android sidekicks. Were there more now than before? I couldn’t tell; I hadn’t been paying attention before. The agents were armed, but they also had the robots with them for extra backup. Azincor androids were every bit a match for me. I didn’t want to tangle with them, especially when they came in bulk.

The train station was on the same grounds as everything else at the spaceport since this was the major transportation hub for the planet Kalix. I rushed to an information booth to see when the next train for Tranis was leaving. Sixteen minutes. I looked around for a reservation station or somewhere else I could get a ticket, if they even gave out tickets. There was nothing. I checked the gate number and then rushed off to find it.

The trains were sleek and beautiful, looking as if they were already going two hundred miles per hour even when standing still. Passengers were already boarding the train and there didn’t seem to be anyone keeping track of them. The train was long, capable of carrying a thousand or more passengers. Perhaps they only took reservations during rush hour, if at all. And I bet the trains ran on time.

I fell in line and was soon aboard the luxury liner.

I was impressed right off the bat. Each car was made up of pairs of curved booths for seating clam-shelled together, capable of carrying up to four Azincor on each side. There was a small table in the middle making each seating arrangement an island unto itself. I scanned the passengers, looking for wandering red-shirts or androids and saw none. Even so, I move to the back of the car, near the passage to the next section to the rear. I wanted a way out if I needed one.

I waited until the passenger pod was almost full before taking the outer seat. I did my cursory nods and grins at my fellow passengers, noticing the strength of their scent. Subliminally, I’d noticed the smell for over a week already, but now I was paying more attention. It was stronger here, as it had been in the terminal. And with eight Azincor to each tiny enclosure, and in a train car with sixteen other pods, the air literally reeked with the scent.

It seemed to linger in the air even when an Azincor wasn’t near, probably the natural accumulation in the atmosphere of centuries of Azincor life on the planet. Besides that, I was sure the air was circulated in the car to keep the scent fresh and strong. It seemed to be working. None of the Azincor seemed that concerned—about anything. They barely spoke to each other, instead, either staring absent mindedly out the window or engaging in casual talk without substance. I looked across the aisle, past the neighboring pod, and out the window. This kept anyone in my pod from talking to me. That was fine; I was scanning the car fore and aft for any signs of security.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the train began moving. I could tell it did so by the movement of the landscape outside; otherwise, the train moved with hardly a vibration. It was deathly quiet, running of magnetic lifters, while the aerodynamic shape of the cars made air noise virtually non-existent.

Soon, the view outside was speeding by, moving through city streets in a blur. It was hard to look outside with objects racing by so fast, but that didn’t last long. Soon, we burst into the open, with verdant hills dotted by groves of thick, leafy trees taking the place of the congested cityscape.

I knew Kalix had a population of fourteen billion, so open space had to be rare, but somehow the Azincor found a way to preserve it. And then, off in the distance, I saw a jagged skyline of buildings, houses and factories about five miles away and on both sides of the track. The line of urban development didn’t let up for the ten minutes I paid attention, telling me that the train route ran through a greenbelt that bisected a much larger city. In fact, did the city even end, or were cities designated by only signs along the route?

The train slowed to a stop about thirty minutes later, pulling into a station. It stayed there for ten minutes before moving off again. I was fairly relaxed by then, figuring the further I got from Esternon City, the safer I would be. And that’s when I saw a pair of red-shirted Azincor enter the car from the other side, followed by two of their ubiquitous androids. They began scanning the passengers with their thin wands.

Shit! What now?

The train was moving again, working its way up to over three hundred miles per hour. I couldn’t very well jump to safety. At least not safely.

I moved to the rear door of the car, passing into the connecting platform between the cars. I slid the door closed and then looked through the window to see if anyone noticed my leaving. They hadn’t.

Swiftly, I moved to the next car. There were a few empty seats left in the pods and dark eyes were cast my way, wondering if I would be joining their little confabs. I didn’t stop; the red-shirts would search this car next.

I moved casually along the center aisle before passing through to the next car. When I boarded the train, I didn’t notice where my original car was in the line, so I didn’t know how far I could move before running out of train. I had just entered another car when the question became moot. Two more red-shirts were in the car, moving forward.

I turned back and reentered the connecting platform. There was a restroom here, as well as double doors leading outside for boarding and exiting. The floor was made of grated metal and it was much louder here than inside the passenger cars.

Looking up, I examined the overhead. As it was in so many movies I’d seen, was I destined to climb on the roof of a train moving at over three hundred miles per hour? That was crazy. Only Tom Cruise could do things like that … and live to talk about it.

I studied the decking, using desperate fingers to see if I could lift the grate, searching for a void area where I could hide. With a little cyborg coaxing, a panel came up. There was an open area, but only about eight inches high. I stuck my head in and looked to the side, using my enhanced eyesight to light up the scene. Two panels over, the crawl space expanded with enough room for me to squeeze inside. I set to work removing the panels using my cyborg strength. At one point, I bent a panel a few degrees off plumb and had to straighten by sight. The panels would have to be put back in place and fit perfectly. This last one would be a questionable fit.

I climbed inside the crawl space, laying on a connecting stanchion between cars. It was closed off from the open air below the car, but it was still dirty and hot. I didn’t care; now I had to replace the grate panels where I’d removed them. The problem, I’d broken all the securing bolts that held them in place.

I reached between the grates with my fingers and pulled down, doing my best to keep them from rattling. It was impossible, since I’d removed three panels and only had two hands. One of the panels rattled incessantly.

The door to the back car opened and heavy feet plodded on the grates. A foot settled on the third panel, the loose panel, quieting it from the weight. Then the Azincor moved on, followed by his partner and two androids.

I tensed when the androids passed over me. They had heightened senses—as I had—and there was a chance they could see me through the grating. But they didn’t hesitate as they followed the Azincor into the forward car.

Could I now assume all the cars behind me had been scanned? I had to take the chance.

I climbed from my hiding space, setting the rattling grates back into their slots. The chorus of all three creaking at the same time caused quite a racket. Hopefully, the security agents wouldn’t be coming back this way.

I passed into the car and was immediately stunned by the startled looks from the other passengers. I stopped, casually glancing down at my clothing. Was my fly open?

No, it was worse than that. I was wearing the formal blue and white outfit of a Stocker crewmember, which now looked like it was being worn by a backwater auto mechanic from back on Earth. While under the grating, my hands had become caked in black grease and somehow I’d smeared it on the front of my uniform and down to my thighs. I grimaced even more, knowing that I’d laid on my back, which meant I was probably covered in grease along my backside, as well.

I grinned awkwardly and then backed out of the car, returning to the platform. I looked through the window of the connecting door and saw the red-shirts slowly working their way forward. That was a relief. I had time to get cleaned up.

I slipped into the restroom and used the mirror in the tiny compartment to confirm the worst. I was caked in black, sooty grease, front and back Not only that, but now my Carry Kit was also marked, the satchel with Samir’s NTD inside it. I wet a towel in the sink, trying to wipe the grease off the Kit. All it did was smear the thick, black material. I was screwed. I couldn’t step into the public like this without drawing every dark eye to me. This was a tragedy.

I froze when I heard a door to the connecting platform. Was it a guard, a passenger? The door to the restroom suddenly burst open; in my rush, I’d forgotten to lock it. Then I noticed there was no lock on the door. Of course, there was no lock. Why would there be?

An older Azincor stood staring at me, a frown on his ruddy, yellow face. “Forgive me. I did not know the chamber was occupied.” And then he looked closer at my clothing. “Are you in need of assistance? You appear to have had an accident.”

Not really an accident, I thought. More like an on purpose. I scanned the Azincor up and down, seeing that he was about my size and build. I smiled warmly.

“Yes, I am in need of assistance, my brother. I need your clothes.”

The goofy smile on the native remained in place for a few awkward seconds until he realized I was serious.

“My clothing? I … I cannot do that.”

“Oh, I think you can.”

The old asshole didn’t see the quick stab I made with my pointed fingers into his windpipe, but the viper-fast strike was powerful enough to snap his neck in two. I caught the limp body before it fell and dragged him into the restroom.

There wasn’t a lot of room inside, but somehow I managed to get him out of his clothes and me out of mine. Then, I dressed quickly. This was good. He was wearing civilian clothes, while I had on a uniform.

I stepped out of the restroom, looking through both the door windows to see if anyone was heading this way. It was clear. Returning to the restroom, I lifted the semi-dressed body of the dead Azincor and stuffed him into the access space under the rattling grates. He still had on an undershirt and his shorts—he could keep those—and then I tossed my soiled uniform it with him. The grates were still a problem, but with a little effort, I bent a couple of the side rails to cut down on the rattling. They still rattled, just not as much.

Now, I had another problem. All the people in the back car had seen me in my grease-covered uniform, and the old Azincor had come from the forward car. Would anyone recognize his clothes or be wondering when he would return from the restroom? I only had one option. I went into the forward car.

A few assholes looked at me and smiled, still with that glazed-over look on their faces.

“Is this seat being held?” I asked an Azincor in the second pod from the rear of the car.

“No, it is open. Please be seated.”

I obliged while watching the other passengers to see if anyone was looking back, wondering when the old geezer would be coming back. Thinking about it, none of the Azincor have families, so they wouldn’t be traveling with relatives. Also, although the Azincor may have friends, every asshole was a friend to every other asshole. Would they even notice if one was replaced with another?

I relaxed, glad to be in the clear.

And then the train began to slow again, preparing to pull into another station.

Dammit! Would each new exchange of passengers initiate a renewed security sweep? I scowled. Why wouldn’t it?

And then I heard an announcement over the train’s intercom system. We were pulling into Tranis station, my exit.

I was on my feet before anyone else, self-conscious that the nearest exit from the train was through the passageway with the dead asshole lay under the floor grates. I stepped in, followed by half a dozen others. Apparently, Tranis was a major stop along the route. When the train slid quietly to a stop and the door opened, I was the first one out, moving rapidly to another group of Azincor, blending with the masses.

I continued moving, not knowing where I was going yet trying to get as far away from the train as I could. Eventually, someone would find the body and notice the obvious signs on a murder. A murder that never happened within Azincor society. Sure, accidents happened all the time, some even caused by Azincor where other Azincor died. But this was deliberate homicide. I wasn’t even sure if the aliens would know how to handle it. They obviously had no need for homicide detectives. Hell, the old alien’s death could start a trend. I already knew assholes had a blood lust. Now, they might start lusting after the blood of their own kind. Like we did on Earth.

Since the trip hadn’t taken as long as I suspected, I wondered if I would have time to catch a flight to Davas that evening? Not to Cap, of course, but to some isolated location on the other side of the planet from the capital. As expected, I wasn’t tired, and if the starships ran around the clock, I might be in business.

Of course, now I needed to find the spaceport … and that’s when I heard the roar of a launching spaceship not too far away. As with the Sigan Spaceport in Esternon City, the Tranis spaceport was the transportation hub for the area, including spaceship, aircraft, trains and ground units. I followed the crowds out of the train station and was soon looking out over a quaint landing field with a dozen ships dotting the surface. There was an air terminal to my right, being about a quarter the size of the Sigan terminal, which was like a small city unto itself.

I had an eye out for red-shirts and androids, seeing a few of each, but not nearly as many as were at Sigan. The assholes couldn’t be everywhere at the same time, both here and on Davas. Why bother looking for a Human infiltrator on flights going nowhere near his target area?

In the terminal, I scanned the boards, reading the destinations. Fortunately, the locations on the planet Davas were marked with the native symbol for ‘D’ meaning Davas. I matched some of the destinations with the cities I’d memorized earlier. Since I’d only memorized distant cities from Cap, I knew any of the ones I recognized would work. I checked the gate assignments and then set out on a scouting mission, looking for the gates with the least amount of security. Once I found a good one, I would book my reservation.

The plan went off like clockwork, and forty minutes later, I was strapped into a very comfortable seat with plenty of leg room, ready for a quick two-hour flight over to Davas. There was no security personnel checking the passengers going from Tranis to the city of Galan on the Eastern Plate. Even so, once I got to Davas, it would still involve me crossing an ocean to get to the Western Plate and the city of Cap. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it—pun intended.

My next hurdle would be landing at the Galan spaceport. Would there be heightened security there? One could check outgoing or incoming passengers. Just because no one checked me getting on the spaceship, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be waiting at the other end.

I tried not to dwell on the issue. At least I’d be on the right planet, and if push came to shove, I could use a little cyborg magic to escape and then blend with the population. After all, that’s why they made me look like an asshole, so I’d blend in. The mission may take longer to play out, but there would still be a good chance of success.

My seatmates were a gregarious pair of weather researchers going off to study the results of cold-weather gear they’d been working on. It was a passion of theirs, so they followed it.

I got to wondering who all the warriors were that I’d encountered. There seemed to be plenty of Azincor who had nothing to do with the war. They worked in restaurants, booking stations, and even invented warm winter clothing. But still, there were plenty of blood-thirsty killers among the population to feed the war machine. Besides, this was an illusion, a portrait of the Azincor while jacked up on high doses of the body scent drug. I’d seen the real Azincor, the aliens who couldn’t wait to kill, just so long as it wasn’t another asshole.

And it was this treatment of others that was of concern to the outside galaxy. No one—other than another Azincor—was safe from the yellow-skinned bastards. And because of that, none of them deserved a reprieve. At least in my humble opinion … as well as the rest of the civilized galaxy.

16

The ship came in for a smooth, lifting-jet landing, and once the smoke cleared, the spacecraft was towed to the terminal. I laid back, looking between bodies for red-shirts. Then, as I made my way along the connecting tunnel, I did the same at the end of the line. So far, so good. No red-shirts and no androids.

The tunnel ended at a boarding gate and the passengers quickly dispersed, making tracking them nearly impossible. I was one of the dispersees, merging with the relatively light crowd of other Azincor. There were a few androids around, but they weren’t security bots. They were behind counters, working in gift shops or waiting tables in the various restaurants.

And of course, I had to get something to eat. I was a slave to my stomach.

With only one other companion at the table, I surveyed the new dynamic I was witnessing. It wasn’t like this on Kalix, but on Davas, there were android workers everywhere and doing a full range of tasks. One even took my order—and yes, I ordered another mug of snail slime with lazin juice. What can I say … I like it.

I looked around the restaurant at the patrons, noticing that nearly all of them had datapads. That was what I needed, a pad with internet hookup. I needed to have a mobile way of getting information. It was critical, as I was about to move deeper into the belly of the beast.

After finishing eating, I walked the small terminal, looking for an electronics store. I was surprised to see that most of the stores were closed for the night. After all, it was three AM local time. I found a store, but it was closed. The sign on the window said they open at Day 7, seven AM. Four hours away.

With everything free, I knew I’d have no trouble getting a computer. All I had to do was point at one and then walk out with it. I would make sure I could get the internet before I left the store. In the meantime, I walked the concourses. If I chose a restaurant to hang out in, I would have to make small talk with my inevitable tablemate. I didn’t want that. Instead, I would walk … alone.

There were broadcast screens with programs running. Most in the main concourse didn’t have the sound on, replying on chyrons and closed captioning. I was amazed at how well I knew the language although I’d never taken a single lesson. Was this how all education was done on Earth these days? Just plug a student in, and voila, you know trigonometry. I know it wasn’t that long since I got out of school, so I was sure we hadn’t reached that point yet. But if they could do it to me, why couldn’t it be done with others? Sure, they may need to cut the skull open and directly place the electrodes on the brain. But I’m sure there would be a slew of students who would prefer that to the traditional way of teaching.

I was walking by one of these wall mounted TV monitors when I saw the word Human displayed in the caption. That probably wasn’t unusual, since the assholes were at war with us, but it did make me curious. I turned back to the screen and moved closer.

By the time I got settled in, that particular story was replaced with another. I’d missed it. What about Humans? Had we killed more Azincor somewhere in the Pegasus Spur, or did the assholes just score an impressive victory. I was sure their media was as slanted as ours, building-up even minor victories and downplaying the defeats. I moved on, resuming my multiple circuits of the small terminal.

When the store opened, I was the first through the door.

“I need a datapad with library access,” I told the still groggy clerk, one of three who had just opened the store. I chuckled. Some things were universal, like morning people and evening people. I was never much of a morning person myself.

“There is a variety,” the younger Brinn answered. “On aisle three.”

I didn’t know the models, and in the end, it didn’t matter. They were all free. I picked a compact unit that looked to be well made. I took it up to the counter.

“How do I access the Library?”

The asshole looked at me askew. “How?” He pointed to the on-off switch. “You press here, my brother. Please do not tease me so early. I am not yet awake. Would you like a bag for that?”

“No, I got it, thanks.”

I hurried from the store. Now that I was on Davas, I had to figure a way of getting to the city of Cap. With my new datapad, I could get to work.

I sat against a wall at one of the empty gates and next to a sleeping Azincor, slouched over in his seat. Two others were in the seats next to him, talking quietly between themselves. There were easily fifty open seats at the gate, however, everyone was crowded into this one section. It was annoying.

But with a wall behind me and a sleeping asshole to my left, I could work my new computer without curious eyes.

The first thing I did, as I had on Kalix, was figure out where I was. Well, bully for me, I was on the complete opposite side of the planet from Cap and the Core, and on a different continent. Next, I pulled up flight schedules. A quick hop from here to another city, still far from Cap but a least on the right continent. After that, I could take a car to Cap if I had to. It would take me a few days, but I had time. There was no deadline for when I had to meet with the representative of the Head Lors, Unan Carr. The females had waited thousands of years to get to this point in their history; they could wait another week if need be. Also, I was hoping the heat would die down around the search for the missing cyborg when they didn’t catch me and nothing happened.

Supposedly, even with the drug, it would take a few months for the effects to become fully known. Females were transitioning every day; even so, the exact date of when this would happen was unknown and spread over two years. However, when females suddenly stopped showing up to transition, that would get the attention of the Brinn right away. They already suspected the Lors of being up to something shady, so it could get a little tense here in Assholeland. By then, the damage would be done and with no turning back. According to Samir, the effects of the toxin were irreversible.

For some odd reason, it reminded me of a classic meme from an ancient television program that had survived through the centuries. “No transitioning for YOU!”

I didn’t quite understand the context, but while growing up, we used the phrase often, substituting ‘transitioning’ for a whole variety of other things, some polite, others not so polite, but mostly having to do with sex. The message was clear, even if the origin was vague.

I searched the Library for cities on the Western Plate. Nothing too big, in fact, the smaller the better. The Azincor employed aircraft and sub-orbital ramjets for quick hops around the planet. And as mentioned before, their train system was first-class. Transportation wouldn’t be a problem. It was avoiding the red-shirts and their android goons. If I got caught in a check-point with no way out, it could get messy, and then the assholes would know for sure that I was here. At the moment, I was more of a rumor than a fact—until they find the body on the train. Even though that happened on a different planet, the death of any Azincor by nefarious means was big news. Assholes didn’t kill other assholes. But a renegade Human machine surely would.

So far, there were no broadcast reports about the killing. There was a huge screen at the other side of the gate running a continuing newscast. I also had my datapad, which I used to search for breaking news out of Kalix. All was quiet. That was good, because once the body was found, the authorities would put two and two together and figure I hopped a flight to Davas from the Tranis spaceport. Within the timeframe, that would limit the flights to check. And with a literal scent to follow, every available red-shirt would be sent to investigate every arriving flight. Although security cameras were rare in Azincor society, they did exist. That would help law enforcement identify me.

At least that’s how I would do it. Maybe I should have been a detective instead of a Marine. I would have made a good one.

My question was whether or not the Azincor even had a police force. The red-shirts looked more military than civilian, even employing a distinctive haircut to set them apart. And with the low incidence of crime—if any—what would a police force be needed for? The military could probably handle any criminal investigations.

Out of curiosity, I logged onto the news stations to see what they were reporting. What would Human newscasters do if there was no crime and no sex? How many human interest stories could they do? Sure, there was news about the on-going war, which probably kept them busy, but there weren’t battles every day, or every week. Hell, I’d say notable engagements happened once a month and across a couple of dozen planets. Interstellar warfare moved at a snail’s pace.

Which reminded me, I needed my slime fix for the morning, as well as a hearty breakfast. I’d found a flight to an obscure destination called Winsla that was leaving in a couple of hours. I’d checked out the city. It only had a population of around nine million, which for an Azincor town was little more than a hamlet. There was only one flight all day to the city, and it was aboard a small suborbital flier that could land at a conventional airport. They didn’t even have a spaceport. What self-respecting foreign agent would even consider going there if it didn’t have a spaceport? This foreign agent … that’s who.

I closed the datapad and slipped it inside my grease-stained Carry Kit. While waiting for the store to open, I’d made enough circuits of the terminal building to know all the restaurants. There was one that advertised seventeen varieties of calcoa. Calcoa was the name for the snail slime, and since I like it so much with lazin juice, I was anxious to try it with other mixers. I hurried down the concourse as my stomach joined me in anticipating a delicious—and free—morning meal.

Along the way, I caught the tail end of the same newscast featuring the word Human. I missed the beginning again, promising that when I got to the restaurant, I would look it up in the Library.

And that’s when I froze in place. I whipped my head around and peered toward a distant screen a hundred feet away. My cyborg vision zoomed in. And that’s when my artificial knees went weak.

17

On the distant screen was a video of Abby Kent—my Abby Kent—being led into an official-looking stone building, surrounded by reporters and angry assholes. The caption on the screen read: Killers of Manados Scheduled for Public Execution.

I staggered to a bank of seating and slipped onto a seat before I passed out. My full-capacity Human brain was fully engaged, doing whatever it did to turn my glorious cyborg body into a quivering mass of uncontrollable torment. The assholes around me noticed, asking if I needed medical assistance.

I glared at them until they backed away. Then, I whipped out the datapad and scoured the newscasts for more on what was being displayed across the concourse.

It didn’t take long to find the story. It was just breaking and was now on every channel I checked. The Azincor didn’t go in for flowery descriptions or suspenseful buildups. They just reported the facts.

And the facts were this: A group of Humans, who the military said were responsible for the horrific massacre of nearly two hundred thousand Azincor on the planet Manados, had been captured and brought to Davas for justice. The reports gave them by name. Darren Adams, Samir al-Bukhari, Bosley Lipton, George Mandel, and the leader of the attack, the Human female Abby Kent.

The talking heads said: “Justice will be swift, as retribution for so many fallen brothers, who were killed in a grotesque and cowardly manner—by a sickening toxin and not by direct combat. The Manados Massacre is the largest single loss of Azincor life in recorded history, either in battle or by natural disasters. And it will be a glorious day when these evil creatures pay the ultimate price for their horrific deeds.”

I scanned more reports, looking to find out when the executions were scheduled to take place. All I got were vague references to the Common Period and that the executions would be staggered.

After exhausting the reports, I violently closed the datapad and glared out the terminal window. I wasn’t surprised that none of my brothers had come to sit by me. I wouldn’t want to sit by me either, not looking as I did. I was sure my eyes burned with insane anger and my square jaw was locked in place.

After taking several deep breaths, I calmed down … a little. I knew what was happening. The assholes had no intention of executing my friends. They were using them to get to me, and if they killed them, they’d lose their leverage. This was all for show. But what upset me so much was that the team was here, on Davas. How did that happen?

I bit my bottom lip and shook my head. The last I’d heard, the team was taking Boz’s ship to Manados, and they left a day or so before I left Sanlos Station. At the time, Azincor androids were showing up on Donovan’s World left and right, all trying to find me. Instead, they settled for my friends—and ex-lover—following them from the planet before capturing them in space. Both Abby and Samir’s apartments had been ransacked, so the Azincor knew who they were and how they were involved in the secret operation that was currently underway. Somehow—probably through another Leona Wilson-like undercover android—they learned of Abby and me and our relationship. And now Abby was being dangled out as bait to lure me in.

It was a great plan, telling me the Azincor know more about Human psychology than I gave them credit for. Even though there was no sex in their society, they knew what it was and how important a role it played in Human affairs.

And now Abby was right in the middle of this mess and scared out of her wits. And all because of me.

I kept telling myself they weren’t going to kill her, and that was probably true. At least not yet. But they could still torture her, and the others. I’d seen what the assholes do to prisoners of war, of which there were none on their side. When they caught enemy combatants, the fighters rarely lasted a day before they were often sadistically slaughtered. The Azincor had no time nor tolerance for prisoners. They were a bother, costing time and effort to maintain. It was best to do away with them after any important information was extracted.

But again, in this case, they would keep Abby alive. Kill her and they’d lose me forever. Keep her alive—and in public—and her wet-mate, as the assholes referred to traditional mating pairs, would come looking for her.

The sad thing: They were right.

All my past plans were now out the window. I could no longer take my time getting to Cap. I would have to go now, today.

But getting myself caught or killed—which were really one in the same—wouldn’t help Abby. I had to be smart, deliberate.

I summarized the situation: At the moment, the Azincor have no idea where I am. For all they know, I could be in Cap already. Still, that wouldn’t stop them from scanning every incoming flight to the capital.

Next item, I was still in Galan, on the other side of the planet. I could—possibly—take the short hop to Winsla, but then I’d have to go cross country, a journey of almost four thousand miles. I could take a car, but trains would get me to Cap sooner; however, they would be scrutinized just as much as the aircraft.

Whatever I came up with, there were too many stages to the plan taking too much time. But what other options did I have?

I hung my head between my legs and stifled a scream. It was a very un-Azincor kind of move, but by now, I didn’t care. I dared the yellow-skinned bastards to come over to console me. I hadn’t killed one of them in a day, and I was having withdrawals.

I lifted my head and gazed again out the window on my left. The Galen spaceport wasn’t very big, at least not when it came to passenger travel. However, scanning the near endless rows of stacked freight containers, with their gangly, crab-like transport cranes, it was obvious the port was a central hub for other kinds of cargo. The area around the spaceport must be an active manufacturing hub, and with a population of twenty-six billion, the planet needed a lot of manufacturing.

I noticed a freight liner being loaded close to the terminal. A six-wheeled forklift was running in and out of the back of the stretched aircraft, placing bundled crates into the cargo hold. The forklift was operated by an android. I found that ironic. But then again, what Azincor would aspire to become a forklift driver when he could be just about anything else his heart desired? Perhaps the androids of Davas weren’t here out of necessity, but out of convenience. Why waste a perfectly good asshole on a task done equally well by an android.

I wondered if some androids could fly? If so, then maybe a could catch a ride with them…

I stood abruptly, dropping my Carry Kit on the floor. The assholes around me noticed, but didn’t say anything. They sensed I was about to explode. I pressed my face close to the window glass and noticed more aircraft being loaded—with freight. Lots and lots of freight. A wicked grinned stretched across my yellow-skinned face. I bet some of that freight was going to the city of Cap. And who would search a cargo of freight after a five hour flight in sub-zero temperature looking for an enemy agent? I was about to find out.

18

After scooping up my Carry Kit, I moved to another part of the concourse where I wasn’t so well known. My prior temper tantrum had drawn too much attention. I needed to research cargo flights leaving Galen, to find which ones were heading for Cap.

As it was with everything in Azincor society, it was all there on the internet, flight schedules, crew assignments, even manifests for most of the contents, although some were restricted, probably military transports.

Armed with this information, I returned to the terminal window overlooking the airfield. Using my telescoping eyesight, I zeroed in on registration numbers to match up with what I knew. I was thrilled when I found three aircraft, currently being loaded for Cap, and within view of the terminal.

I packed everything back up in my Carry Kit, slung it over my shoulder, and set out for the tarmac.

Security at the airport was a joke. Where on Earth, everything had a security lock and needed a code to get through, all it took was a turn of a handle and I was into the labyrinth of conveyor belts and cranes under the terminal that channeled baggage from flight to flight. I wasn’t interested in any of this, I just used the walkway to get onto the landing field. No one even gave me a second glance. If I was here, it was because I belonged here.

It was approaching mid-morning when I stepped up to the first aircraft on my mental list. It was a huge sucker, larger than anything I’d seen on Earth. The massive cargo bay ramp was lowered and a veritable train of forklifts was loading identical crates, dozens of them, from an even larger stack stored under a portable canopy. Again, androids did the loading.

Not all androids are made equal. Some had the intelligence rivaling a biologic. Others were simple robots designed to do one specific job. That seemed to be the loading bots. They didn’t even look over at me as I moved to the rear of the aircraft and looked in. I tested their acuity by stepping in the way of an approaching forklift. The unit stopped, but the android said nothing. It stared ahead until I moved out of the way, and then it resumed loading.

Taking this as a sign, I strolled up the ramp as if I owned the damn airplane. No one stopped me. Slipping between already stowed piles of crates, I moved forward until I found a nice hiding place and sat down, waiting for takeoff.

That was easier than I thought.

I knew this flight was scheduled to leave in thirty minutes and with a flight time of only three and a half hours to Cap. It was a ramjet, meaning it could cruise at a hundred thousand feet and at close to Mach 5. Then it would coast down in a long parabolic flight path and land at the Janus Spaceport in the capital city. This wasn’t the main spaceport/airport, but one reserved for heavy freight. That was fine by me. Hopefully, the red-shirts would be concentrating on the commercial port of Falanon. I’d read where Falanon was the busiest spaceport in the Azincor empire, being the place where all Brinn are dispersed out into the galaxy, including Kalix. There were thousands of sorties per day, even though many of the flights were coming in empty. Although Cap had eight billion residents, there were still more people going out of the airport than were coming in. This was where the empire was supplied with their males.

The loading continued for another ten minutes before the forklifts left, scurrying off to load another flight, a process that ran around the clock. Like me, androids didn’t sleep, and they were never paid overtime.

The rear door closed and the lights went out. There was no need to illuminate a cargo hold full of inanimate objects. I enjoyed the dark, even though I could light the scene at any time I wanted with a variety of wavelength options built into my eyes.

Right on schedule, the plane lifted. It angle sharply into the air, wasting no time getting to ramjet altitude. I felt the pressure change, experiencing a moment of panic wondering if the cargo hold would be pressurized. I didn’t know how that would affect me if it wasn’t, but I was sure my brain needed to maintain a certain pressure to function. And I worried about the sacks of toxin I carried in my artificial kidneys. Would a sudden change in cabin pressure cause them to rupture and possibly set off the explosives tied to them?

This was a fine time to think of these things, while shooting for the edge of space.

I relaxed when I sensed a change in pressure, an increase, letting me know that the hold was pressurized. But what I noticed almost immediately: It wasn’t heated.

The temperature was dropping rapidly, and although temperature normally didn’t affect me, I’m sure I still had limits. I carefully watched my vitals, even flexing my hands constantly to make sure nothing was stiffening up. My exhaled breath from my artificial lungs condensed into thick, white clouds surrounding my head. It was fascinating to watch.

After a moment, the temperature settled out. It was cold—way below freezing—but certainly something I could handle.

The plane leveled out and then I heard and felt the ramjets kick in. There was a jolt of acceleration that quickly steadied out. I’d been on plenty of ramjet flights on Earth and other planets. They were essentially suborbital but not using rockets. The rockets shot higher and the trips were generally shorter.

With time to kill, I stood and switch my eyes to night vision, enhancing the minimal ambient light. I was curious what was in the crates. They were all identical, but that could simply mean the cargo was being moved in a standard type of shipping container. So … what was in the containers?

I pulled back a wrapping tarp on a stack of crates near me. There were four crates bundled together with heavy metal strapping. I had no way of cutting the straps, but that didn’t worry me. The crates themselves were made of plastic with flexible sides. That allowed me to unlatch a corner and pull up on the lid.

I took half a step backward when I saw what was inside the crate.

It was an android. Not a finished android, but a master, one needing exterior skin and a face. But an android, nevertheless. The bionic eyes were in place, open and looking blankly toward the ceiling. There was no power to the robots, but that was destined to change, I was sure of that.

I replaced the cover and then did a rough measure of the height and width of the crate, estimating that there were probably twenty androids in each. Counting the stacks took longer, but in the end, I figured I was sharing the ride with over five hundred of the silver-skinned bastards. I could call them bastards because they were now being employed to fight Humans. Maybe not all of them, but enough. That made all androids as much the enemy as the assholes.

And the thing is, there were mountains of these crates dotting the tarmac at the spaceport. Yeah, the assholes were going all out into their switchover to robots. From fearless, single-minded killing drones, to those programmed to mimic Humans perfectly, there was a sea change in military strategy taking place among the Azincor. I hoped Fleet Command was aware of this and was taking steps to counter it.

I smirked. Of course they were. That’s why I was on Davas and about to put an end to the war. And if I couldn’t, then it was about to get real nasty within the Pegasus Spur.

19

And now the moment of truth.

The plane had landed ten minutes ago and taxied to a location before shutting down the engines. All was quiet after that, making me believe that even the flight crew were androids. No one came to check on the cargo, and no one came to unload it.

Was this how it was; deliver the merchandise … and then wait a week for it to be unloaded. Surely not … right?

I prowled around the back of the cargo hold, listening with my enhanced hearing for any approaching work crew outside. I heard machinery and dozens of liftoffs and landings, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to this particular plane.

I checked the hatch leading to the cockpit. It was a secure pressure door, one of the few locked portals I’d found in Azincor society. Just my luck.

Next, I inspected the interior door controls at the rear of the cargo hold to see if they could be activated from inside. Maybe, but I wasn’t ready to start punching buttons all helter-skelter. I had a slim understanding of how aircraft were built—light material and thin sheathing. I suppose I could rip my way out of the cargo hold, but then that might defeat the purpose of sneaking into Cap. A gaping hole in the side of a recently arrived aircraft might attract attention.

So, I waited. I waited for a whole hour before someone finally came to unload the aircraft.

As light flooded in through the opening ramp, I felt like going up to someone and complaining, asking why did it take them so long? But I didn’t. Instead, I hid in the back, waiting for my opportunity to escape.

The problem became apparent right away. The forklifts at the Janus spaceport—at least these—were manned by Azincor, live Azincor. And not only that, but they all wore the same uniform, while I was dressed in civilian clothes. That meant I had to be careful.

I slipped along the side of the extended cargo bay until I was close to the rear ramp as I could risk. Drivers were coming in and out of the bay at a rate of every twenty seconds. And there were two of them entering and exiting at a time. They’d have the plane off loaded in no time.

And that’s when a driver noticed me. He pulled his forklift up next to me and leaned on the steering wheel.

“You should not be here,” he said. “It is dangerous.”

“I am aware of that,” I stated quickly. “However, I would like to ask about what it is like to be a loader/unloader. I am considering a change, and I figure you would have the best perspective. Will you talk with me?”

The asshole’s face lit up.

“Of course, I will speak with you, but please hop on; we must talk as I work. I am on a schedule.”

There were no questions about how I got here, both on the tarmac and in the plane. I was an asshole, and assholes belonged … everywhere and anywhere.

“I enjoy the work immensely,” the operator called back to me.

I was clinging to the back of the huge machine, hanging on for dear life as he drove the forklift with almost suicidal zeal. He and the other driver appeared to have a contest going to see who could unload their half of the plane the fastest.

Who said assholes don’t compete? Oh yeah, that was me.

“I have tried various occupations, but this one suits me best. I am outside most of the time and the work is challenging. Learning to operate a motorlift is rewarding, learning to be the best is gratifying.”

“I thank you for the insight,” I called to him. “I believe I have made my decision. I shall look into Seven Four training.”

“There is a facility in the terminal. Do you need a ride back?” my new friend asked. “As you can see, I will finish my half of the cargo first. I would be happy to drive you.”

“That would be helpful. Thank you.”

I have to admit, that encounter was fortuitous. I not only got off the plane without suspicion, I also got a ride over nearly a mile of the spaceport. I scanned the interior of the terminal for red-shirts. There were a few, but they weren’t doing scanning. Hell, I didn’t know what they were there for. At this point, I didn’t care. I was in Cap and desperate to find my team … and Abby.

I left the cargo port and merged with the general population of the city. It was a little unnerving—I’d never seen so many assholes in one place. But the overwhelming numbers made me feel more secure. Although not every Azincor looked like Antonio Banderas, enough of them did for me to blend in effortlessly. I located a park and slid onto a bench next to a pair of old Brinn. It was easy to tell the old ones from the young ones since Brinn aged so rapidly after transitioning. A thirty-year-old asshole looked more like a seventy-year-old Human. The difference was stark throughout the population.

I pulled out the datapad, and after getting my bearings and doing a little more research, I set off using public transportation toward a place called Brinn Castle—at least that’s what the Azincor word Sacenin translated to … the Castle. That’s where they were holding Abby.

In their transparent effort to lure me in, the Azincor had announced loud and often where they were holding my friends. They called out the address and ran video of the exterior, wanting to make sure I knew where to go to be captured.

Did they really think I would just waltz right in and start breaking things, trying to free my friends? I wouldn’t put it past them. The assholes had to be taught how to fight wars. Perhaps they had no experience with this type of action, either. They didn’t realize Humans start at a very young age learning how to be cops and robbers. And then we got advanced degrees through movies, books and television. Every Human was only a breath away from becoming either a cop or a crook. It all depended on our mood that particular day.

And that’s why I spotted the surveillance without even trying.

I’d been studying the red-shirts for a couple of days and noticed that they all have the same distinctive haircut—buzzed on the side and longer in the back. It was a designation of some sort. I still wasn’t sure what they did when they weren’t scanning for alien intruders. However, with such a crowded planet, there had to be constant accidents, crashes, industrial catastrophes and more. All of these events would need at least a cursory investigation, if for no other reason than to file a report. There would be no lawsuits and no punishment for accidents. Hey, they happened, and the Azincor would never think one of their kind committed an accident … on purpose.

As noted, Azincor never go anywhere by themselves, so when I saw four assholes with buzzcuts loitering at each side of the entrance to the building, I knew something was up. And they looked bored. There was no telling how long they’d been out there, in the sunshine and heat of what was late Spring in this part of Davas.

I approached the building, before suddenly changing direction to approach one of the lone security guards.

“Excuse me, my brother, but is this the building where I file applications? I would like to start a business enterprise. I was told it is around here.”

Surprisingly, the Azincor looked perturbed. “I am not aware. This is The Castle. I do not believe this is where applications would be filed.”

“Then where?”

“As I said, I am not aware.”

“Would they know inside?”

“I am not aware.”

“Perhaps then I will ask. I thank you for your time, brother. Enjoy the warm day. It is quite pleasant out here.”

The asshole scoffed while mumbling something vulgar for an Azincor.

I went to the front door and hesitated for a moment, looking at the address and then the writing on the side of the building. Out the corner of my eye, I saw the grumpy native nod to another on the right side of the doorway. This second agent turned away, resuming his scan of the courtyard in front of the Castle. I’d just receive clearance to enter without being hassled.

I entered the building, having no idea what I was going to do. This was simply a scouting trip to get the lay of the land. And the land was huge. This was a gigantic building that undoubtedly extended below ground, as well.

Since learning of Abby’s capture, I’d kicked around several scenarios. One, I surrender and then use my cyborg strength to surprise everyone and escape. That was problematic. The assholes may already know of my abilities and be ready for them. Besides that, there were androids everywhere, and although not all androids were superhuman, security bots surely would be. It wasn’t hard to beef up the strength setting on a machine.

The other plan called for bullshit. That was a skill I had more experience with.

I took out my datapad and approached an information counter near the door. Beyond lay a polished marble lobby that seemed to stretch for miles. It was packed full of Azincor, all sitting or standing, as if waiting for something. Along an interior wall was a bank of forty or so elevators. All the doors were color coded.

The pair of Azincor at the counter greeted me warmly.

“I have come from Kalix, reporting for Esternon City News Service. I would like to—”

“Yes, you may, and just in time,” said one of the two clerks behind the counter. “You may wait with the others in the lobby. The meeting will begin in about ten minutes. You were fortunate to get here on time. We are closing attendance because of room capacity.”

I stood awkwardly at the counter not sure what to say. What meeting was he talking about? And what was the topic? And why was I welcome?

The Azincor rubbed heads as they both went back to surveying the single computer screen.

“Excuse me,” I finally said. “I am confused.”

The rare blond-haired Azincor looked up at me. “You are here for the news briefing,” he stated, telling me why I was in the building. Really? “The notice went out yesterday, and already the room is full. You will stand in the back. The media room, green door, ten minutes. ”

A news briefing! Okay, I could deal with that. They were obviously going to talk about Abby and the others. I had to hear this.

Or did I? Was this another ploy: Hold a press briefing expecting me to be in the crowd? Would we all be scanned on the way in or out? If I were running things, that’s the way I’d do it.

I then looked around the lobby for a place to sit. I chose a bench with three other Azincor. We all snuggled in like good little bedbugs.

The lobby was packed and becoming more packed by the minute. The word truly had gone out, I just didn’t get it. My bench mates were reporters, as well, and we talked shop for a while—more like I listened to them talk shop—until the time came for us all to move to the media room. I watched closely for red-shirts. There were none in the lobby. That was a dead giveaway.

The auditorum was huge and, as promised, it was packed. The executions were big news, and it seemed every local media outlet sent reporters here. I had no idea if the Esternon City News Service actually existed, but it did have a nice ring to it. I shuffled along the wall until I found a spot—more correctly, a spot was made for me.

There was an electric buzz in the room which I didn’t understand at first, until I overheard others talking about the presentation that was coming. What presentation, I asked. The killers, they were to be presented to the press, today, here.

My artificial heart when spastic; I was going to be in the same room as Abby. And then I gnashed my artificial teeth. This had to be a trap, that just proved it. Even so, could I do anything about it? Should I slip out now and get away, leaving Abby and the others to the mercy of the Azincor? Or was it already too late?

The doors to the auditorium closed. I’m pretty sure they weren’t locked; Azincor doors seldom have locks. But they would be guarded, that much was guaranteed.

The asshole’s plan was too transparent. Parade the team in public and force me to make a move. Of course, they had no guarantee I was here, at least not for this show. They would hold briefings every day until I’m caught or killed. If so, would they blatantly scan the reporters as they leave? That would tip me off … if I wasn’t already in the damn room. Perhaps they would be more subtle. Unfortunately, the assholes didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle. Neither did I.

And then the room quieted as a middle-aged Brinn walked to the center of the wide stage. The thousand or so reporters were in stadium seating, looking down on the stage.

“I welcome all who have taken the time to come here today,” the Azincor began, his voice cracking slightly. He was wearing an official-looking uniform I’d never seen before. “I am Vannor Naz, chief legislator within the Brinn Council. Since these proceeding are so rare and unusual in Azincor society, I feel it best if I provide some context to what will happen next.”

His voice was clear and authoritative and the room’s acoustics made hearing him easy. Of course, I had no problem hearing him. In fact, I also had my eyes scanning every inch of his lying yellow-face from about fifty feet away, studying his body language. He looked nervous, and not from the public speaking. His eyes were shifting from side to side, surveying the crowd. He was looking for me.

I snickered softly. Vannor Naz was to be the sacrificial lamb, the official who would be the first taken out when the insane cyborg killer attacked to free his friends. Of course, there was no guarantee I would be here today, or tomorrow. But the assholes figured I’ll show up eventually. And because of that, they would have to keep the prisoners alive.

“Since the perpetrators of the horrific Manados Massacre are aliens, we have no laws that govern their status among us. In the past, when crimes have occurred against us, particularly on our colony worlds, we have dealt with the transgressors swiftly and without fanfare. We simply dispose of them.

“However, since the crime committed by these five creatures is so heinous, so impactful, we have decided to make a spectacle out of their executions. Since this is unusual, we on the Council have been discussing how to proceed for the maximum benefit of the population. Because of that, we have decided to stagger the executions, dispatching one prisoner per day, drawn from a lottery.”

Murmurs rose up in the crowd, not nerves, but from excitement. Naz attempted a weak smile.

“It has also been decided that since all in attendance today represent a vast array of the viewing public and can spread the results of these public executions to the far reaches of the Spur, the sentences will be carried out here, in this arena, and for all of you to witness.”

The room literally exploded in cheers, as blood-thirsty assholes reveled at the chance of seeing real life Humans put to death. for these animals, this was a dream come true, for everyone but me. There would be no protests, no screaming about civil rights and no squeamish stomachs. For the reporters in the room it was “Bring on the executions!”

All right, I had to admit, the assholes were making it hard on me. Could I stand by and watch one of my friends be killed, especially if that person could be Abby? I was still debating the conflict in my head when Abby led the four men through a side door and onto the stage.

My knees went weak when I saw her, shackles on her arms and on her legs, requiring a classic perp walk gait for her to cross the stage. Each of the prisoners were chained separately and flanked by angry looking red-shirts with their strange, yet distinctive, haircuts. The supposedly impartial news reporters cheered when the prisoners were brought on stage, changing instantly from observers of the event to advocates. They wanted blood, and they wanted it now.

I shuffled nervously in place, not sure what to do. If I charged the stage, I might get there, but then what? Kill a bunch of assholes before they kill me? I had no plan for getting my friends free, and no plan for after that. I was but one lonely cyborg on a dangerous planet. What could one person do—

I refocused my attention on the stage, my heart pounding wildly. This was getting real. I felt trapped. Correction: I was trapped. How as I going to get out of this?

The asshole Master-of-Ceremonies was still talking. “As mentioned earlier, the order of the slayings will be done by a lottery.” Vannor Naz turned as another Azincor rushed on stage with a small box. “Inside this container are the names of the five killers. I will now select who is to die first.”

The room went deathly quiet.

My jaw dropped open as I was overcome by shock and confusion. Was this where the order of executions would be revealed, or was an execution about to take place here … and now? I held my breath, just like everyone else in the room. Except I had a different reason.

Naz reached into the box and pulled out a plastic tab.

“Darren Adams!”

The room erupted with cheers. I went along with the celebration.

Okay, go ahead and call me shallow and an asshole, but you have to understand: It wasn’t Abby. Still, I didn’t know what to do. Could I simply stand by and let Darren die?

My logical brain took over, telling me that he was going to die anyway, no matter what I did. To do anything at the moment would be suicide. It was what the assholes wanted. And once I was put down, there would be no reason to keep the others alive. I had to stay alive … to keep Abby alive. Regrettably, all the others were expendable, at least in the eyes of the Azincor … and me? It was Abby they had to save until last. That’s what made me believe the lottery was rigged.

Darren was going to die no matter what.

To his credit, Darren stood stoic, his shoulders back and his back defiant. The prisoners didn’t have on masks to gags, allowing the Navy pilot to spit into the front row of the crowd. The savage reporters didn’t even react, too overcome by their bloodlust.

Abby, on the other hand, was apoplectic. She struggled against her restraints as red-shirts moved in to subdue her. She was tackled to the ground and a knee placed on her back, holding her down. Samir, Boz and George were right there with her, until only one Human was left standing on the stage: The proud and defiant Darren Adams.

Guards dragged Abby and the others to the other side of the stage away from Darren. I panicked. They were going to do it now, here on the stage. But how?

My answer came a moment later, as four additional red-shirts strode onto the stage carrying short swords about two feet long, which they displayed proudly above their heads. The reporters cheered, telling me the swords held some significance to the Azincor. The red-shirts pulled Darren back from the edge of the stage, either to keep his body from falling off, or to keep blood from spraying on audience. It was for both reasons. A wicker basket was brought in and placed in front of Darren. It was obvious what it was there for.

Without hesitation, one of the red-shirts swung his sword, slicing across Darren’s back. He groaned and bent backward, trying his best not to cry out. But then another guard sliced across his stomach. I saw the skin split apart and a portion of his gut spill out. This really riled up the crowd. Then, a third guard ran his blade across the back of Darren’s legs, severing the tendons. The Human pilot dropped to his knees, his head slumped forward. He remained like this only briefly. The fourth red-shirt now raised his ceremonial sword high above his head and then brought it down on the back of Darren’s neck, severing the head cleanly.

The head dropped obediently into the basket, accompanied by clamorous cheers from the crowd.

It was that quick, and that savage.

And it had all be done … for me.

If I wasn’t a cyborg, I might have vomited, but I didn’t. I was too pissed to vomit.

There were more red-shirts on the stage now, armed and surveying the crowd. They were looking for any sign of me. Again, they couldn’t be sure I was here. Still, they had to be ready if I was. Tomorrow’s show would be a repeat of today’s, and then after the four Human men were dead—and if I still hadn’t revealed myself—the assholes would try something different. Abby was their ace-in-the-hole…

Watching the crowded stage of armed guards, it was almost as if the proverbial light went off above my head. I nervously looked around to see if anyone else saw the radiating lightbulb hovering in the air above me. No one could, of course. Still … I had a plan! A glorious plan! And not just for the moment, but for everything.

But was it already too late?

It was now clear to me that the Azincor intended to screen the audience as they left, looking for the unhuman Human. I had to cause a diversion, something so disruptive I could slip away in the confusion.

I turned to the Azincor on my right. “You do know there is a Human combat cyborg within the auditorium,” I stated matter of factly. “They put on this entire show to flush him out. That is what the guards are waiting for. However, once the killing machine realizes that he is trapped, he will start killing everyone, everyone in the auditorum.”

The three reporters stared at me with their mouths hung slack, and then they started barking questions at me. I ignored them and turned to my left. “There’s a killer Human cyborg in the room. We are all going to die!”

I was amazed at how fast the news spread after that; but these were news reporters after all, and now they had become the story … and potential victims. And the strangest part, everything I said was true. If I didn’t get out of the auditorum, people would die. I just didn’t want one of them to be me.

When the doors opened, the last thing the staid Azincor red-shirt scanners expected was the incredible surge of panicking bodies that flooded through the portals.

Mobs take on a life of their own, and all it took was to get the mass moving. Once started, it couldn’t be stopped. The scanner crews were barreled over and trampled. There were only a handful of them against a thousand stampeding assholes. Most of the people pushing, shoving and screaming didn’t even know why they were running. But since everyone else was doing it, they might as well follow suit.

And I was right there with them, keeping low while also not using my cyborg strength to draw attention to myself. I was jostled, just like everyone else, even falling at one point before being rudely kicked by half a dozen Azincor as they tripped over me.

A firm hand grabbed my arm and helped me to my feet. The shock on my face was real … when I saw it was a red-shirt. He met my eyes with a sorrowful nod and then pushed me back into the river of bodies.

We flowed into the gigantic lobby, which quickly overflowed as the river split in two, with each half heading for a different exit. I was soon outside, just as the gathering gloom of evening filled the sky. Once in the open, the crowd quickly disbursed, even as it infected people outside the venue. They didn’t know what was happening, and because of that, they also ran. I didn’t slow down until I was four blocks away and on one of the continuously running trolly cars. I didn’t know where it was going, but I did have an idea where I wanted to be…

20

It was after dark when I reached the train station, checking furiously for departure times and tracks. I was looking for a group of trains all heading out at about the same time. That wasn’t hard to do. This station was the busiest anywhere in Azincorland, as was just about everything in the city of Cap.

Once I had a time, I found a public communications terminal. They were located throughout Azincor cities, where one could simply step up and make a call, either across town or to another star system. And, of course, it was free.

I had a number memorized, a number I was supposed to call to make arrangements to deliver Samir’s non-transitioning drug—the NTD. While studying the city of Cap on my datapad, searching for the Brinn Castle, I also located the Lors Castle. It was located in a circular compound within the borders of the Core, the land where only females resided. Males worked the Core, but none called it home.

The Lors, being the ultimate females in the Azincor caste system, maintained the central position in their society, with The Castle located at the very center of the Core. The core of the Core, if you will.

That was where I would find Unan Carr.

Of course, I was pretty sure the number I had didn’t go directly to her private cellphone, or whatever they used here. It would be to an intermediary who would give me directions for the drop off. According to the Druan—what the Azincor called the chief Lors—she was being watched, with the Brinn Council suspecting her and the other Lors of being involved in the decrease in transitionings. Everything having to do with the NTD would be done at arm’s length.

At least that was the plan. The original plan.

But plans change…

I punched in the code and the line was answered almost immediately. Most comms in the empire were video calls, and this one was no exception.

Now, I’m not saying I was shocked. After all, the Azincor internet was full of images and videos of female assholes. But this was the first one I’d actually talked to. I was not disappointed.

She had slim features and straight black hair that elegantly framed a pear shaped face. The yellow of the skin was darker than the males, and her eyes were green, where the males were nearly all black. Even though I didn’t have a scale to measure her by, I could tell she was much smaller than the males, both in height and in build. I had no idea how old she was, but if I had to guess, I would say mid-twenties, making her a Lors, a female who reached transitioning age but never converted. I wondered if she was disappointed she never made the change?

The female’s expression was neutral, so I didn’t know if she was expecting my call or not. She simply stared at me, waiting for me to speak.

“I am—” I didn’t know what to say. Should I give my real name, and would it make a difference if I did? Instead, I settled on my codename. “I am Atlas.”

This prompted a response, a raising of the dark eyebrows and a dropping of her bottom lip.

“Are you safe? Were you involved in the fracas at the Castle?”

News traveled fast. Good. Even so, I wouldn’t call the riot at the Brinn Castle a fracas. It was pretty intense.

“I was there, but I got away.”

“Are you sure you are not under surveillance?” the Lors demanded forcefully. “It is dangerous to communicate if you are.”

“I understand. I was not followed, and no one is watching me.”

I turned away from the phone camera as if scanning behind me, giving my contact a glimpse at where I was.

“That is good. Let me now relay the instructions on how to—”

“Wait; I have something to say.”

Again the eyebrows arched. Was it because I interrupted her or was it because it was a male who interrupted her? According to what little I’d learned, the females tolerated males even as they shunned them. They were what the females would eventually become, once the females had done all the heavy lifting of keeping the species viable, trained and educated. Males were simply an advance form of beasts of burden.

“What is it? The sooner you can deliver the substance, the sooner our affiliation will be concluded.”

“Yeah, about that. I want to speak to the Druan, to Unan Carr.”

The female recoiled. “That is impossible! Our communications protocols were established so she would not have to speak to you. There is no need to involve the Druan.”

“Well, I say otherwise. So, either I talk to Unan Carr now … or I’ll dump the toxin into the nearest river or ocean and see how you like that. I’m serious. Get Unan on the line.”

The nameless female was shocked into silence, her green eyes blinking rapidly as she looked from side to side. From the video, I could tell she was in a small room by herself, so I had no idea who she was looking at. She was confused and unsure. In a moment, her head would explode.

“Listen … calm down. This isn’t your fault. All you need to do is relay the message. Unan Carr will do the rest. Once you tell her that I will destroy the toxin unless she speaks to me, she will be more than happy to get on the line.”

“What line?” the female stammered, tears welling up in her eyes.

“The telephone line, this call. I’ll stay ‘on the line’ while you contact her.”

“I … I cannot contact the Druan.”

“Sure you can,” I corrected. “You’ve been entrusted with arranging the handoff of the toxin, so you know what’s going on. You have clout. Now, I suggest you put me on hold and start using some of that clout to make things happen. I’ll give you ten minutes, and then I’m flushing the drugs down the toilet.”

I had no idea if my lapse into Human-speak would be fully deciphered in the mind of the stern-faced Azincor, but I’m sure enough of the message would get through. Either I talk to Unan, or there will be ‘no drugs for you!’

I was relieved—concerned?—when the screen went blank. Had she hung up on me; no, this background was different. We still had a connection.

My internal clock counted down the minutes. The deadline I gave was a real deadline, sort of. In reality, I had thirty minutes, but that would include the conversation with Unan. And then I had to be off the line.

I was caught off guard when the close-up image of the prettiest Azincor I’d ever seen popped on the screen. She was dark-haired, oval-faced and wrinkle-free, with hypnotic green eyes that took my breath away. This is Unan Carr, the Druan of the Azincor? Holy shit!

She quickly backed away from the screen, revealing a more reasonable perspective, which only displayed more of her voluptuous form. Maybe I was getting used to yellow-skin, but damn, this chick was hot!

I thought about that for a moment. The Lors don’t go through the stress of transitioning, which is what gives them their longevity. It must also preserve their looks. I had no idea how old the Druan was, but she didn’t look much over thirty. For all I knew, she could be sixty or more. It didn’t matter. Because whatever she was, she was pissed, and she didn’t hide it in her dynamic expression.

That also made sense. People of her status didn’t like to be extorted. Or was it blackmailed? Whatever; we’d sort out the nomenclature later.

“Why are you contacting me?” Unan barked in a clear, commanding voice. “This is not what we agreed to. It is too dangerous. Now, tell me, Agent Atlas, why have you broken protocol? And be aware, I will be reporting this infraction to your superiors.”

Unan recoiled with batting eyes when I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said between chuckles. “But do you really think I give a damn what my superiors think? This is a suicide mission, and everyone knows it.”

Unan recovered. “It does not have to be that way,” she said with empathy.

“Sure, it does,” I challenged. “I’ve seen your society, and there’s no way I’m going to spend the rest of my life here, even if you let me. If your people don’t kill me first, I may do it myself.”

The Druan waved an impatient hand. “You have not requested this conversation so you can complain. What do you want? You told Kaila that you are withholding the toxin until you speak to me. Well, you are speaking to me. Now, give us the potion.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, about that. We are just beginning the negotiations—”

“What negotiations?”

“For the toxin, of course, for the magic elixir that will create a race of Lors and put you in absolute power.”

Unan looked genuinely confused. I wasn’t sure if she even knew the meaning of the word negotiation. She’d probably never experienced it before.

I’d intended to start off slow, maybe not piss her off so much, but we were beyond that now. Besides, I don’t think she liked me much.

“I’m sure you’re aware that some of my Human friends are being held by the Brinn, and they’re being executed.”

“Of course, I am aware,” the Druan responded. “I have nothing to do with that. That is a Brinn action.”

“Yeah, well, that’s too bad, because you’re not going to get the toxin until all my friends are safely back in Human space, alive and well.”

“I do not understand. They are scheduled to be executed.”

“I know. I want you to stop it.”

Unan stared at me for several seconds, her sensual mouth hanging limp. “What do you not comprehend?” She gasped. “I am not holding your companions. As fact, I did not even know they were your companions until now. All I know is they are purported to be responsible for the Manados Massacre. How are they associated with you?”

Was she kidding? Did she not know? Unless she was unaware that I was on Manados and involved up to my cybernetic neck in the so-called Massacre. For that matter, did she know it was Samir who developed the toxin—all of them—and that he was now on Davas? Had all of her communications been with General Matthews exclusively? If so, then I wasn’t about to tip my hand that the creator of the magic elixir was on Davas. That could get … complicated. I had to play it cool.

“They’re Humans,” I declared. “That’s enough for me. I don’t want to see them killed.”

Unan frowned. “Humans die all the time, as do Azincor. Why are you making such an issue out of these five?”

“Four; one was killed a couple of hours ago.”

“I am sorry, Agent Atlas, but there is nothing I can do. They are in the custody of the Brinn. I have no authority over them.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re the Druan. I thought you ruled this planet.”

Unan laughed. “That is an illusion. I am but an icon, an avatar, a representation of a class of beings, nothing more.”

This was getting me nowhere. It was time to play hardball.

I shrugged. “Frankly, Unan, I don’t give a damn what you think you can or can’t do. You’re going to make this happen … or you don’t get the toxin. It’s as simple as that.”

She appeared almost in tears. “Why have you taken such an attitude with me? I thought we were allies in our fight against the Brinn? We have the same goal.”

“To a degree,” I corrected. “But this item is non-negotiable. So, use whatever power and resources you have and get my people to safety. It’s a small price to pay for all you’re going to gain. I have the toxin … and it works. All your dreams are about to come true. Do me this one favor, and it’s yours. You have until this time tomorrow to make it happen.”

“That is impossible!”

I shrugged. “Well, with an attitude like that, I guess it is. Too bad.”

“You would let the war continue simply to save five—four—other Humans? I did not realize Humans are so irrational.”

“We can be. But now, make note of this: When I get to my destination, I will call you tomorrow at this same time. By then, the Humans will be on a ship heading for safe territory … or the toxin disappears and the Brinn learn about what you’ve been planning. It’s simple, Druan Carr; you even said it yourself: The males—the Brinn—are destroying the Azincor, and they will be the death of you, all of you. Save the Humans … and save your race. It’s a simple request for such a great reward.”

“It is not as simple as you make it out to be,” Unan grumbled.

I smiled. “I have confidence in you. Now, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. And next time, answer the phone yourself.”

“What is a pho—”

I hung up and stepped away from the terminal.

The platform was crowded, so I moved to the other side of the elevated walkway, looking down on the various bullet trains on their lifts. I was patient, being rewarded less than five minutes later when a horde of red-shirts flooded this part of the terminal. A team broke away and scaled the stairs, rushing directly to the station where I had been talking to Unan.

As suspected, Unan—and the Brinn—could trace my call, and now the police were here looking for the renegade cyborg. I was counting on it.

After finding the empty comm station, the agents bolted back down the stairs to the trains. At that moment, six trains were departing for six different locations. One of them was supposedly my ‘destination.’ Or so they thought.

Instead, I would be here, in Cap, when I made contact with the Druan again. Hopefully, she’ll have good news. If not, well, I still hadn’t decided. I didn’t want the war to continue and, in spirit, I supported what she was trying to do. I sighed. When all was said and done, I would probably turn the toxin over to her, even if she couldn’t save Abby. Even so, what I’d done today will give Abby and the others at least a fighting chance at survival.

As for me, well, I think that’s a forgone conclusion. One does not piss off the most powerful member of a species and be let off with a slap on the hand. As I said to Unan, I considered this a suicide mission. The only question was when.

21

Since I don’t sleep, I didn’t bother finding a crash house for the night. Instead, I made my way to the walls of the Core, finding them to be nothing more than intricate works of art, made up of tens of thousands of panels with colorful and whimsical designs. There were gaps in the barrier every hundred feet which told me the wall wasn’t there for security reasons. All it did was define the boundaries of the Core.

It was ritualistic, because even at this hour, males were moving in and out, either driving delivery vehicles or simply walking in carrying cases or nothing at all. However, they were all dressed in full-body brown cloaks with hoods, often taken from cabinets located at every opening in the wall. It made them look like monks, when I knew it was simply a show of respect for the Creators.

Every male came from the Core, having been born, nurtured, educated and trained within these walls, and they all had carryover memories from that time. But then they moved on and expanded their horizons. Not so the females. They rarely ventured outside the walls. There was no need. They had everything they needed in the Core.

I’d heard of the Core for most of my life. This strange dynamic between males and females in Azincor society—and biology—was unique among the many races Humanity had encountered since leaving Earth. It was studied, admired and even ridiculed, depending on one’s personal philosophy. For me, I didn’t give a damn one way or the other; however, I was part of the population with the most direct contact with the assholes., either killing them, or being killed by them.

Still, I had to admit I was a little awestruck that I was about to step into The Core. The Friggin’ Core.

I took a cloak and wrapped it around and over my body, making me look like all the other males. It was mid-morning by now, and the city within a city was fully awake and active. I observed the variety of buildings, finding them to all be pristine and exquisitely constructed works of art in their own right. Although most of the Azincor architecture I’d seen so far was adequate and of decent quality, within the Core it was a whole other story. It was like entering Fairyland.

There were females around, thousands of them, flowing along the roads like nymphs. They wore a variety of wispy outfits making them appear as Greek goddesses from the Temple at Delphi. The outfits varied but were of the same theme. There was something very feminine about them, which confused me.

There was no sex in Azincor society, only the distinction between male and female. So why did the females look so … well, feminine? The Brinn for their part, were more macho, with coarser hair, stronger features and rougher skin. They were taller and their muscles more robust. So, for all the Azincor’s lack of sexual desire—or even the means of procreating biologically—the distinction between the genders was evident. Why was it like this, unless way back in the history of the Azincor, there was sex and sexual relations between the genders. Nature did its part by defining the groups. It also erected a barrier between them by making the females asexual and the males eunuchs.

Too bad, I thought. Azincor men and women would have made gorgeous babies.

I was on a mission to find the Lors Castle, the home of Unan Carr, so I would be position when—if—she was able to free Abby and the others. I just wanted to get this over with. And since I’d given Unan such a narrow deadline, I would know soon enough if my plan worked or not.

During the long walk, I mentally tossed around the impossibility of the demands I made on the Druan. Was I being unreasonable? Should I have given her more time to work out a diplomatic solution? Probably, but that could have cost another life. It wouldn’t be Abby—I was sure of that. But it could be Samir.

Was I being crass … again? Did not Boz and George also deserve to live? Wouldn’t their deaths be just as tragic? Well, let me think on that. I’d never thought much about my hierarchy of friends and who was more valuable than the others. I’m sure I did it subconsciously. We all do. We had our best friends forever, and then the others. George and Boz fell into the others category. Of course, Abby was my main concern, and losing the others would break her heart. I couldn’t let that happen.

The Core is fifty miles square, meaning that the Castle was twenty-five miles in from the outer wall. Fortunately, just like outside the walls, there were automated trolly cars running around the clock. I hopped on one going in the right direction and clung to a support pole for the duration of the trip. Females and Brinn got on and off along the way, with both sets of Azincor talking only amongst themselves. I found it amusing how such attractive specimens of asshole genders could interact so closely together and show absolutely no interest in the other. That didn’t happen among Humans, or any other race for that matter. It was just another example of how different the Azincor were in the overall scheme of things. They were an anomaly.

I didn’t have trouble locating the Lors Castle, since it could be seen for miles around, climbing out of the skyline the closer I got, until it rose like the Matterhorn above the Alps. It was even shaped like the famous peak, only smoother and more symmetrical.

It was late afternoon when I approached the lower levels of the gigantic structure. It appeared to be only one humongous building, but one that was easily a mile on each side, climbing in stairsteps toward the sky. I had to use my bionic eyes to define the top layers, which consisted of wide balconies that circled the building and even a pair of fairly large landing pads jutting out of the sides.

I scoffed. And Unan said she didn’t have the authority to save Abby and the others. Bullshit. If she lived here, she had the authority.

Throughout the Core, I’d passed shopping centers and restaurants, parks and multi-family dwellings. The females occupied the apartments, living more comfortably as singles than did the Brinn. The females didn’t have a natural scent like the males, which freed them up to be more independent and self-reliant.

The Brinn supplied most of the goods that came into the Core, along with maintaining the infrastructure. But that didn’t mean the females didn’t have jobs. They were teachers and doctors and administrators. They also ran the shops and cooked and served the food, mostly to female customers; however, I occasionally saw a few Brinn seated in the restaurants, but at tables with automated service menus. Androids would then deliver the meals. The females were above serving food to the males, therefore, there was a plethora of robots throughout the Core.

There were over eighty million females in the community, with probably another twenty million males filtering in and out throughout the workday, making for a very crowded environment. Not surprisingly, it all ran like clockwork. No arguments, no fighting, no crime. Everyone went about their lives like a community of ghosts passing each other in the ether.

And I was the odd man out.

As expected, nearly all the Brinn I saw had at least one companion with them. Not me. I was prancing along, happy as a lark, and all by myself. That made me stand out like a sore thumb.

I ducked into a restaurant and found a table with a trio of Brinn seated by themselves. They acknowledged me and then went back to their conversation.

I scanned the menu, looking for my favorite slime drink. It was there, so I punched the button for one, along with a hearty-sounding meat meal. Needless to say, I was overdue feeding the beast in my belly. It was making its presence known.

I removed the datapad from my Carry Kit and checked the news broadcasts. I was curious if the murder on Kalix was being reported yet? As mentioned before, any murder of an Azincor would be big news anywhere in the system. I was wondering what was taking them so long to discover the body. It had to be smelling by now.

Then, I checked for updates on the Manados Massacre Humans. There were plenty of stories about the riot, along with a mention of the execution. The story was out about the combat cyborg that was on the loose in Cap, and that seemed to be shaking up the population a little. But the red-shirts assured everyone that things were under control and that soon the evil Human beast would be found. They would have been shocked to learn that he was in a restaurant, sipping on slime, and sitting right outside the Lors Castle, their most holy of holy sites.

I checked the clock on the datapad. My internal clock was also counting down the time, but I wanted to double check. I didn’t want to be late making the call.

One more hour. I could pass the time in the restaurant, filling my gut with two or three complete meals. Hey, they were free. But then someone might notice. So, I nibbled instead of gorged.

My three companions eventually excused themselves and left the restaurant. I sat awkwardly by myself for ten minutes before a pair of Brinn walked in. I wondered if it was the desperate, inviting expression on my face that caused them to slip into the booth. Probably not. They were going to sit here anyway.

Along the way to the Castle, I passed dozens of public call terminals. There was one outside the restaurant. Often, I saw females chatting on the phones. I’m sure the conversations weren’t anything like you’d find between Human females on Earth. Not even close. The same went for the Brinn.

At the designated time, I walked to the communication terminal and punched in the code. I was trying hard not to get my hopes up, figuring that I had a one in ten chance that Unan was able to do anything to help.

It was a good sign when the Druan answered the phone immediately. I tried to temper my expectations, but the animated look on Unan’s face made my heart leap.

“I have excellent news,” she said without preamble. “Your Human affiliates are safely aboard my private spaceship and about to enter the Eseen Wormhole that will take them to Zyphor.”

I knew where Zyphor was. It was only a short hop to the Pegasus Gate. They were almost home.

But instead of blurting out my joy, all I managed to stammer was, “You have a starship?”

The incongruity of the question made Unan laugh. “Yes, Agent Atlas, I have a starship.”

“Why?”

“To go places, of course. You would be shocked to learn that I have traveled extensively throughout the Spur, studying alien races. It is a hobby of mine. However, that is beside the point. Is this not good news … about your companions?”

It was, and more than I expected. At best, I thought they’d be at a spaceport somewhere waiting for permission to launch … after Unan got the toxin. Apparently, the Druan was more trusting than I was.

“That is great news,” I said evenly, while fighting the urge to scream with joy. “However, I will need one more thing before I give you the toxin.” I saw anger flare in Unan’s gorgeous green eyes. “It is a thing we call proof of life. I need to verify that they’re safe.”

Unan calmed down. “Of course,” said the Druan ebulliently. “I can link to the ship.” She nodded to someone off camera and instantly the scene changed to a luxurious lounge area with leather sofas and marble coffee tables. Abby and the others were there, with Boz seated close to Abby. Her eyes looked as if she’d been crying. She noticed me on the screen about the same time I noticed her, although her reaction was different than mine. She was scowling.

“Abby!” I cried out. “Are you okay?”

She leaned in closer to the screen, her forehead deeply furrowed. And then suddenly her eyes grew wide. “Alan?” she questioned. “Is that you?”

“That’s right, it’s me.” I keep forgetting I look like an asshole, and to Abby, I look like all the others.

Her mouth fell open and the tears flowed. “Where are you? What are you doing? How … what?”

I laughed, realizing Unan hadn’t told her why the team was released and placed on a starship heading for freedom. She had no idea I was even on Davas.

“It was me,” I said proudly. “I’m the one who got you freed. I’m on Davas.”

“You’re on Davas?” Her look of joy shifted immediately to one of shock. “Why?”

“It’s a long story, but I’m okay. I’ve been working with the Druan to set you free.”

“What’s a Druan?”

“The leader of—never mind. I’m just glad you’re safe. I was in the room when Darren was killed.”

“You were there?”

“I was, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, my ass,” George Mandel said, leaning in toward the camera. “We’re just glad you could do something to stop the rest of us from being hacked to death. That was … barbaric. Do you know where they’re taking us? We bounced in and out of a gravity-well an hour ago. I have no idea where we are.”

“Heading for Zyphor—”

The scene switched suddenly back to Unan. “Is that the proof you seek?” she snapped. “I mean not to be rude, but shall we conclude our business?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I gushed. “How did you do it? I thought you said it was impossible.”

“Does it matter how? I have fulfilled my part of your negotiations. Now, it is your turn. Where are you?”

I snickered. “I’m right outside your house.”

“My house? Do you mean the Lors Castle?”

“That’s right.”

“Where, exactly.”

“Hell if I know? I don’t know the names of the streets. But it’s near a restaurant with a green front and—”

“I know where it is. I am sending Kaila to get you. Do not move.”

I grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The screen went dark.

I know I should be shitting bricks about now. After all, I was about to meet the leader of a civilization and turn over to her my only bit of leverage. But at the moment, I didn’t care. For the last year I’d been living on borrowed time and whatever happened from here on out was okay by me. I’d just pulled off the miracle of miracles and I was feeling pretty good about myself. What better way to go out than with a win under my belt.

I leaned against the comm terminal for what had to be twenty minutes before the pretty Azincor from the day before came rushing up to me, flushed from the exertion. The Lors Castle was a monstrous structure. One didn’t simply descend its heights in a couple of minutes.

“Do you have the potion?” she panted.

I considered lying to her and saying it was hidden, and that I’d tell Unan where it was once I was safe, but then I thought, why bother? I was a fake Azincor on an Azincor world and with no real future. Why delay the inevitable? What will be will be.

“Yes, I have it with me.”

“Then hurry, come with me. We must not stay in the open.”

Kaila set off at a quick pace—for her—pressing through side doors on the street level of the Lors Castle. The part we entered wasn’t very impressive, just a bunch of narrow corridors that led to more corridors and finally to a bank of tiny elevators. Even the elevators were tiresome. We had to take three different cars before reaching our destination, which I assumed was the pinnacle of the building. Had the Azincor not heard of express elevators?

Each corridor we came to making new connections were a narrow and dank affairs, telling me this was a secret way into the Druan’s chambers, placed behind the more public walls.

Then we exited into a stairwell, where a doorway open into luxurious anteroom, something designed for show, something worthy the leader of a race of people. This area was much more impressive, with thick carpet, fancy furniture along the walls, artwork and even the slight hint of music playing in the background. Yeah, it was nice, but I wasn’t in the mood. In fact, I’m not sure what I was in the mood for. Being without a future was liberating. I had nothing to live for, and I was living for nothing. It was a strange feeling.

Kaila passed through a pair of thick wooden doors and into what had to be Unan’s living quarters. It was made in a semi-circle taking up what had to be almost half of the floor. We had to be in a circular spire high atop the Castle, as I said, the pinnacle.

The exterior wall was nothing but a continuous series of patio doors that opened to the circular balcony I’d seen from the ground. And one of the landing pads projected out from it, either for aircraft or spaceships, I didn’t know which. With the residence being that of an Azincor female, it was probably used only for aircraft, since the females never left the planet … although this particular female had her own friggin’ starship. Still, the incongruity bothered me. The Lors must be truly different from the other females.

I walked up to the windows and looked out. We had to be a couple of thousand feet high and overlooked the staggering metropolis of Cap stretching to the horizon and beyond. From here, I got a better perspective on just how big the urban sprawl was. I could see the boundary of the Core, and from there, the city just kept going. No matter where I looked from this high perch, all I saw was city. It had to be an incredible view at night.

“Agent Atlas!” said a warm voice coming from my left.

I spung around to finally see the Druan Unan Carr in the flesh. And what a waste of flesh it was. She was more impressive in person than on the video screen, decked out in a flowing blue and gold cloak of chiffon attached to the shoulders of a pure white gown, form fitting and obviously tailored to her every curve. As I said, a terrible waste of a female. A person like her shouldn’t be trapped in a sexless society. She was the very definition of SEX.

She walked up to me but stopped a few feet away. If she were any race other than Azincor, she would have embraced me in some formal greeting, possibly even kissing both of my cheeks. But that wasn’t how it was done on Davas. In fact, I’m sure not a lot of Brinn ever saw this room, except those who built and maintain it.

“My Druan,” I said with a slight bow.

I didn’t know if this was the way to address her, but it felt right. It certainly couldn’t be insulting. I was anxious to bury the hatchet with her after my little strongarm act the day before. From her demeanor now and on the video earlier, she seemed to be over it. I hoped so. If I was going to remain on Davas, it would be good to have friends in high places, and they didn’t get any higher than here.

“Kaila, please bring us refreshments. Today is a day of celebration. Let us start it off right with some Calorian Wine.”

The Unan’s assistant went to a cabinet along the far wall and began preparing drinks. The Druan waited patiently until the drinks were delivered and then she held up her glass to me.

“To peace,” she toasted. She saw the startled look on my yellow face. “Yes, I am quite familiar with Human traditions, as well as those on many other worlds. I find them quaint and insightful, revealing how other species interact with each other. That is of critical importance, do you think, Agent Atlas?” Then she frowned. “What is this reference within your coded name. I know it is not your true identifier.”

“It’s meant to represent a mythical god of ours who was once tasked with carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. They—General Matthews—thought, that with how importance my mission was, the name would be appropriate.”

“I agree. But what is your true name? I am curious.”

“Alan Ashe,” I answered. What harm could it do now?

“Does the name have significance?”

I laughed. “Only to my parents—the people who gave me life.”

“Yes, I know what parents are, Alan Ashe. Believe me or not, but we Azincor understand how unique we are. It is a topic we have investigated extensively for thousands of years. Understand, nearly all life on Davas reproduces in what you would term traditional ways. This made us curious as to why we were different.”

“Did you figure it out?” I asked. I really wanted to know.

Unan shook her head. “Sadly, all we learned was how our uniqueness made us … special. Because of the lack of sex in our society, we are better able to concentrate on tasks and to search for truth in all endeavors, knowing that our purpose is genuine and uncorrupted by base instincts. We learned this thousands of years ago, and since then, we have been content with how we are. Can you say the same about your species?”

I huffed. “Not hardly. We’re not content with anything. And I know what you mean by base instincts. It seems everything we do is because of sex. The cars we drive, the houses we live in, even the jobs we take, all revolve the need to impress the opposite sex. Of course, I’m speaking from the male perspective. But our females have the same hangups.”

Unan stared at me for a moment, a wicked grin on her face. “I find it odd to hear the manner in which you speak coming from the form of a Brinn. It is … unsettling.”

“Sorry. Sometimes, I forget sometimes where I am and what I look like.”

Unan stepped closer and reached out a finger, pressing it into my forearm.

“You are what is called a combat cyborg, is this correct?”

“Actually, no. I wasn’t built for combat. I was built for this mission and this mission only.”

“To deliver the toxin?”

“That’s right.”

“So, you are not modeled for war?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know why. Perhaps I wanted to keep some secrets from the Druan. Again, I didn’t know why.

“And now, shall we conclude our business. May I have the toxin?”

I pulled the Carry Kit from my shoulder and unwrapped it. Inside was the folded pouch that contained the non-transitioning drug that was the center of everyone’s attention. I handed it to her. Unan only took a moment looking at the pouch before handing it off to Kaila, who quickly left the room with the treasure.

“Such a small package for such a powerful effect,” Unan observed. “With the potion, the power and irresponsible behavior of the Brinn will be broken. It will not happen overnight, and there will be disruptions. But once the females stop transitioning, it will be noticed immediately. Charges will be leveled and blame assigned. But there will be nothing the Brinn can do. Once the effect takes over, it will only be a matter of time. And then everything will change…”

“Peace?” I asked.

I don’t know why I worded it as a question; maybe I read something in the manic look in her eyes. Unan wasn’t telling me everything; however, she was boiling over with the desire to do so.

“Peace comes in many forms, Human.”

I recoiled. It was the first time she’d called me by my species, and she did so with the tone of an insult. I looked around the room, barely grimacing when four red-shirts slipped in from side rooms, armed and staring at me with deadly intent.

“However,” Unan continued, “true peace only comes through victory, and today, you have provided me with the means. But it is more than success against the Brinn. It is also a victory against the Humans.”

“What are you talking about? I thought we were allies,” I said echoing her line from the day before. I had the sickening feeling that I had been fooled; that the Human race had been fooled. All I needed was a little more confirmation. Unan didn’t disappoint.

“You should know by now that the Azincor do not need allies.”

“What are you going to do?” I held my breath, afraid she would answer me.

Unan laughed. “What I have always said I will do. I will stop the transitioning and create a race of all-female Azincor, a race of Lors. And then we will be free to fulfill our true destiny, the destiny of domination.”

“The Lors want to dominate?” I asked. “Why? That isn’t how Azincor females act.”

“What do you know of Azincor females?” Unan laughed. “I will tell you. You know only what I have relayed.” She sipped her drink. “But you are correct. The vast majority of the females know not their true destiny because—for too long—they have been trapped in a cycle of servitude, servitude to expectations. They know they will change, so therefore, why plan for a future? Why care about what happens tomorrow?

“But Lors are different. We can see it all, all the potential of the Azincor race. And that is why, after the Brinn have been reduced to controllable, inconsequential numbers, I will take my android army and I will continue this war to its logical conclusion. Already, the pieces are in place. Our androids come in wonderous variety and have already infiltrated Earth and all your allied worlds. Once the Brinn have relinquished control of the war to me, the inevitable will happen rapidly. Earth will be lost … in truth, it is already lost.”

I pursed my lips, which Unan read as a sign of defeat. But that wasn’t it. I pursed them out of anger, along with unbridled determination. I knew something the Druan didn’t, that within my body was the means of sterilizing every goddamn female on the planet. And from this high perch, in the middle of the female Core, one couldn’t ask for a better place to release the toxin. Samir’s backup toxin. The toxin that would be released upon my death.

Now, all I had to do was to get the guards to kill me. That wouldn’t be easy—I’m kinda hard to kill. But I’m sure if I tried hard enough, I could get them to do it.

Then Unan moved quickly away, toward the bank of glass doors leading to the balcony.

“Ah, the timing could not be more perfect,” she said joyfully. “Please, Alan Ashe, come see. This will be most interesting to you.”

I could hear the roar of landing jets growing louder. A ship was on final approach and about to land on the disk-shaped pad protruding from the side of the balcony. I followed Unan outside with a terrible tightening in my artificial stomach. This tightening wasn’t from hunger, but from dread.

We stepped into the cool breeze of early evening at the higher altitude of the tower. I wasn’t affected by the cold, but Kaila arrived a few moments later with a thick, burgundy wrap for the Druan.

The starship was dropping rapidly, shifting position slightly to line up on the landing pad. We were far enough away, and with the wind blowing across the platform, that the landing smoke didn’t reach us completely. But I did pickup on the tart chemical smell from the exhaust.

“This is my private starship, the Stana.”

I looked up into the evening sky at the blazing jets of the landing starship. I knew who was on board. And that changed all the plans that I had percolating in my Human brain, the plans surrounding my pending death, recalling what Samir told me about the toxin hidden in my body.

As he said, once the sterilization toxin is released and the females are exposed to it, any pregnant females will spontaneously abort. After that, they would be permanently sterile. This went for all the females. It was based on estrogen, and estrogen alone. I looked again at the approaching starship, the starship carrying a pregnant Abby Kent, a Human female who also had estrogen coursing through her body. Would Samir’s toxin affect her the same as the Azincor? I didn’t know, not for sure. And because of that, I wasn’t willing to take the chance. At least not yet. Not if I had options.

The shimmering gold starship touched down on the landing platform. The jets died and the smoke quickly cleared. At this altitude, the wind blew steady and swift.

As predicted, when the side hatch opened, a pair of armed red-shirt goons led Abby and the rest of the team off the ship. They were confused, not knowing where they were. This obviously wasn’t where they expected to land.

Unan looked at me and smiled broadly, sweeping an arm out in a wide gesture in the direction of my Human friends.

“I believe you are acquainted,” she said stifling a laugh. “But for the moment, let us get back inside. It is cold out here.”

By the time I reluctantly followed the Druan back into the building, six more guards had appeared, each with slug rifles aimed at me. A moment later, Abby led Boz, Samir and George into the luxurious suite. Even then, none of them recognized me … except for Samir.

“Alan, is that you?” the scientist called out from across the room.

Abby jerked her head around and locked her gaze on me. She sprinted across the room, preparing to wrap her arms around me in a fit of passion. Or so I thought. Instead, she hauled off and slapped me across the face. She quickly regretted it, while rubbing her stinging palm.

“What kind of game are you playing? I thought they were taking us home.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” I said solemnly. “Obviously, our good friend, the Druan, has other ideas.” I turned my attention to Unan. “Abby, I’d like to introduce you the Druan, Unan Carr, the queen bitch of this miserable planet who just effectively screwed us all.”

Unan frowned, having trouble deciphering my words but eventually getting the message. She waved a hand at the guards who rushed in and corralled Abby and the others, moving them to the far side of the room. They could still hear the conversation, but they were no longer part of it.

“Since I have begun my story, allow me to finish,” Unan gushed. Having found a captive audience—literally—she was anxious to continue. “Let me give you a history lesson, Alan Ashe, one that begins twelve thousand years ago.”

The statement caught me off guard. How could something that happened that long ago be relevant today? But I would let her talk; it would give me more time to plan our escape. And at the moment, I needed all the time she would give me … since I had no idea how I was going to do it.

“I told you that thousands of years ago the Azincor knew we were unique. We reproduced without male input, and that was how it had always been. But we also studied the make-up of other species, and how each gender defined specific roles needed for survival. This arrangement worked well for everyone other than the Azincor. Do not mistake, the Azincor also survived without issue, but we also realized that as more species matured and became aggressive around us, we were at a disadvantage. We lacked the strength and protective nature of males, often falling victim to more dominant species.

“And that is why we made the Brinn.”

I could tell Unan was expecting more of a shocked expression from me when she made her big reveal, but my mind was on other things, like trying to figure a way to save our lives. Still, I smiled and nodded so she would continue. Her talking kept her distracted.

“That is correct. The Lors, as we called ourselves even then, began experimenting with changing our sex to produce a stronger version of ourselves. The result was the Brinn, which at first came from only a few select and manually transitioned females. But this continued for thousands of years, and more of the females accepted transitioning as their ultimate destiny.

“But then we discovered the fatal flaw in our plan. The Brinn, the creatures we created to protect and serve the Lors, were growing more aggressive, more dominant. It was in their nature, as we observed in other species on the planet. The Lors could not tolerate this. The Brinn were becoming a danger, not only to us but to themselves. There were constant battles between rival Brinn groups, often spurred on by nothing more than the desire to win. This could not continue.

“And that is when the Lors developed the calming scent, an inbred feature of Brinn biology that soothed their warlike nature, making them more communal and controllable. You see, Alan Ashe, all that the Brinn are today was created by the Lors. We made them, and now we will end them, at least most of them.”

She waved a hand around the room at the red-shirts with the guns. “A small cadre will still be allowed to exist, but only about ten percent of the current numbers. All other labor will be achieved by the androids, which have proven to be most beneficial. I must thank your colleagues on Earth for all their incredible breakthroughs in android technology. Without stolen files on your advances, none of this would be possible.”

Unan laughed. “As a fact, for a time, we considered cyborg technology as the answer to the labor shortage, but that proved too time-consuming to be effective. Now, we can produce a million androids in the time it would take to make one viable cyborg. This is a realization even the Humans are seeing. I was told by your General Matthews that you, Alan Ashe, are the last cyborg. And I am honored that you were built to help me fulfill the Lors destiny of domination within the Spur and beyond.

“But do not consider my ambitions to be extreme,” she continued. “All I am doing is guaranteeing the survival of my species. The Brinn were a worthwhile experiment, before the level of android technology had advanced to the point it is today. But now their usefulness has expired. And when they are gone, the Lors will rise again as we once were … the one and only Azincor race on Davas.”

“Whoopie,” I said. “I’m glad for you. You’re still insane, but I suppose you already know that.”

Unan shook her head. “Where in my dissertation did you detect insanity?” she barked. “I am simply preserving my race, just as any species seeks to do. Often that is done at the expense of other species. That is the way of nature. Nothing in my intent speaks of insanity.”

“It’s when you export your ambitions to other worlds, that’s when it becomes a problem. We don’t give a damn what you do on Davas, or even Kalix. But when you move beyond your system and threaten other worlds, that’s when your insanity shows.”

“Such high and noble words coming from a delivery drone. You have no standing to judge me or the Lors.” Then, Unan laughed—more like snickered. “And it was the Humans’ gullibility that will make all this possible. For that, I thank you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I said crudely. “Oh yeah, you can’t, and neither can anyone else.”

“You state that as if it is an insult. We see it as an advantage.” Unan stepped in closer, almost too close, tempting me. I could easily break her scrawny neck, but then I’d be killed. I couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.

“Since there is no crime among the Azincor, special arrangements have been made for you and your kind. The arrangements are only temporary. Soon, the executions will resume, but now there will be an additional head to add to the basket. Of course, I will save you for last. But for now … guards, take the prisoners to the eightieth level detention center.”

22

As we were led out, I traded non-verbal eye contact with both Samir and Abby. Abby was wondering why I wasn’t going all Cyborg on everyone, while Samir nodded slightly, confirming he knew what I was doing. We took two elevators down to the eightieth floor, as guards and prisoners had trouble crowding into the same small car.

Slug rifle-carrying red-shirts prodded us along the corridor to a room at the end of the hall. It had once been a conference room but now had two interior doors welded shut, leaving only one exit—the one that would have half a dozen guards stationed outside. I was surprised to see that the assholes had the foresight to place us in a room with a side restroom, anticipating our needs. There was no exit through the bathroom.

“What the Hell, Alan,” Abby barked as soon as the door shut. “Why don’t—”

I took her in my arms and held her close, whispering in her ear. “They don’t know I’m a combat cyborg.”

“Who cares?” she whispered back. “You could still take them all out.”

“All in good time,” I assured her. “But now is not that time. Trust me.”

I released her and she moved cautiously over to Boz, who wasn’t sure what was going on. The same look was on George’s face. Everyone knew what I was capable of. So, why were we all locked in a makeshift jail?

Only Samir knew. I sidled up to him, and we leaned in closer to have a conversation that couldn’t be heard, even by Abby, Boz and George.

“What do you have in mind?” Samir asked. “You know if we can’t get off the planet, there’s no need holding back. Abby is going to die anyway.”

“I realize that,” I snapped. “I’m just looking for options first. Do you think Boz can pilot Unan’s ship?”

“Probably. He can fly everything else. But even if he can—and you can get us aboard—all Unan has to do is order the fleet to blow us out of the air.”

“Let me take care of that. When the time comes, just make sure Abby leaves. She’s not going to want to.”

Samir looked around the room. “So, what now?”

I focused on one of the welded side doors. “I suppose I should test the strength of the welds. Then, I know of a series of back hallways that led to an elevator to the top. That’s how I was brought in. We may be able to get there without being seen.”

“We’re on the eightieth floor. How high is this building? It’s got to be twice that high.”

“We’re going to find out,” I told the scientist. “And we need to do it now before Unan moves her starship. I’m sure this isn’t where she keeps it docked. If she moves it, we’re screwed.”

“Yes, and no,” Samir said.

I met his eye, knowing what he meant. In a worst-case scenario, I could simply let myself be killed and blow up, releasing the toxin. The Azincor die off and all is good in the universe. The only problem, we’d all be dead, too, including Abby, Samir and the others. Knowing that there was a viable backup didn’t make me feel any better, but it did give me the impetus to try an alternative first. If that failed, well, so be it.

I broke away from Samir and made a quick, yet thorough, inspection of the room, looking for cameras. I used my bionic eyes, scanning through all the wavelengths, looking for hidden signals and miniature lenses. Surprisingly, I found nothing. As Unan said, the detention room was hastily put together. Later, we would be moved to a more secure facility, possibly to the Brinn Castle. The thought provide added urgency.

I moved to a side door as Samir stationed the others near the exit, listening for the guards, preparing everyone to begin talking loudly if I needed the cover. They all knew what I could do with a piece of metal. I saw the concern in their eyes, wanting me to do something, but then afraid that I might. The status quo—if even for a few minutes—was always the first choice. Doing something radically different was always the gamble.

The weld was crude, not even covering the entire length of the door panel. I gripped the knob and pulled with my left hand while bracing my right on the doorframe. Unfortunately, that didn’t work when the handle came off in my hand.

Everyone froze as the breaking metal made a high-pitched snap.

Samir turned to the others, and like a conductor, began moving his hands up and down, directing a heated argument between Boz and George about how stupid each of them were for believing they were going to be set free. The volume of the conversation rose steadily under Samir’s expert guidance.

I didn’t waste time. I reached into the open hole in the door where the handle had been and inserted my fingers. Even my fingers were bionic and stronger than most body-builder’s biceps. The door moved, coming toward me a few inches until a long section of weld broke loose and fell toward the floor.

With cyborg-like reflexes, I reached down with my right hand and caught the metal strip before it hit the tile floor, something that surely would have been heard in the hallway outside.

Boz and George stopped their argument, watching me, until Samir prompted them to resume the verbal concert.

I pulled the door open and looked inside the gray-lit room. It was nighttime now in the Core although there was still plenty of light filtering in through the windows from the sprawling metropolis below. I imagined it never got completely dark in this part of Davas. How could it?

The room was a mirror of the one we were in. I raced across the floor, past a long wooden table, to another door. This next room turned radically to the left, meaning it was now running along the side of the corridor where we had been led. Passing through another room, and I was past where the guards would be stationed. This would have to do.

I returned to the holding cell, where Boz and George’s voices were now hoarse from the prolonged shouting. I circled my finger, telling them to wrap it up.

The two men toned it down, then apologized and even hugged each other. They knew the fight was fake, even so, few things were said that could have been taken out of context.

Whether the guards outside had translators, it didn’t matter. Just the tone of the voices told them the fight was over. It was now time now to let tempers calm down. At least that was the plan.

The team and I raced through the three adjourning conference rooms before chancing a look into the corridor. Since the building was a spiral, the hallways curved. I looked toward the end of the corridor, unable to see the guards. The passageway was clear.

I led everyone toward the bank of elevators, which I passed before entering a side door. This was the stairwell. I wasn’t about to ask them to rapidly climb eighty floors, so I began checking the side doors, looking for the back channel corridors Kaila had led me through.

I found a short one that led to a narrow elevator door, narrower than those in the main section. This was the private elevator I took earlier. I pressed a call button.

I had no idea where the car would come from. The top, or the bottom, or whether or not it would signal a notice at either end? Or both? And if it was an unauthorized use, would the guards rush to check it out?

I had a sneaking suspicion that no one would care. This was the Lors Castle, located in the middle of the Core … and on a planet where there was no crime. Why would anyone suspect foul play, even with five vicious aliens in the building? After all, who even knew we were here?

The car finally arrived, and I tensed as it opened, ready to spring on anyone inside. It was empty. Okay, that was anticlimactic.

We piled in with barely enough room to breathe. The elevator was made for two people max, and two small Azincor females at that. I punched the top button. There was no designation on it, so that told me it was the penthouse.

We’d only been prisoners for half an hour and already I was leading the team back to the top of the spire. I’m sure that would catch a lot of people off guard. At least I hoped so. I shuffled around so I could be the first one out the elevator. There were no arguments. It’s good to be the cyborg!

The car stopped and the door slid open. I wasn’t expecting the elevator to open into the penthouse, but on the top floor. I instantly recognized the furniture and the artwork on the walls. This was the right place.

Waving my hand to follow, I sprinted out of the elevator and down the hallway to the double doors I knew led to Unan’s suite. There were no locks on the doors, so, I simply turned the handle and walked in as if I owned the place.

Kaila, Unan’s faithful assistant was about twenty feet away, seated at a computer console and typing away. She glanced over casually to see who had entered. It took her a moment to realize who she was looking at, even though not too many Brinn were allowed inside the private chambers, not without wearing a red-shirt or a brown cloak. By the time she realized what was happening, I had already laid her out with a swift hit to the jaw. I kicked myself for holding back, using only a fraction of my strength. But she was a girl, after all, and I wasn’t used to hitting girls. Even if she was a Lors.

The team raced in behind me, with Boz heading for the bank of patio doors. To our relief, the golden starship was still on the landing pad. The next question: Were any Azincor aboard?

Kaila had been the only person in the room, and now she was in la-la-land, laid out on the plush carpeting. With me in the lead, all the team of Humans outside, running for the starship. If there were Azincor aboard, I had tacit permission to wreak-havoc on them to my heart’s content.

I prayed some of the yellow-skinned bastards were aboard…

There weren’t. Again, anticlimactic. This dramatic escape was turning into anything but.

Boz raced to the bridge, having already expressed confidence that he could fly any starship ever made, by Humans or otherwise. After all, everyone got the same basic designed from the Superiors. None of the ship designs were very radical from the others.

Boz slipped into the pilot seat and began the start-up sequence. There were plenty of seats in the small bridge for the rest of the team, a consequence of the assholes never doing anything by themselves. And although this was Unan’s private ship, it had been built by the males.

Things were going according to plan … sort of.

I looked at Samir and he looked at me. Then, I moved to the exit and stepped off the ship.

Abby saw me and came rushing. “Where are you go? Get back onboard!”

I looked back at her with a solemn expression.

“I can’t,” I said nobly. “I have to stay here and make sure Unan doesn’t call out the calvary on you.”

“Screw that! We can make a run for it. Boz is a great pilot. He can do it.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

Samir had Abby by the shoulders, pulling her back into the ship. She struggled against him.

“What are you doing, Samir? You can’t let him stay.”

“It’s okay, my dear,” Samir said. “He knows what he’s doing.”

She stopped struggling while staring into Samir’s dark eyes, shock on her face. “What are you telling me? What’s going on?”

“It’s okay. It was always supposed to be like this.”

Now, Abby really started struggling, enough that George had to help Samir restrain her. He didn’t know what was going on himself, but he trusted Samir … and me. He also understood the soldier’s code.

Abby was still struggling when I heard Unan’s piercing cry from behind me. Seeing the Druan, Abby surrendered and fell back into the ship. The hatch closed and quadruple geysers of grey smoke exploded from under the craft. I’d moved far enough away not to be caught in the torrent.

The ship lifted off, before making a radical dive to starboard, dipping below the level of the platform before rolling to port and rocketing almost straight up.

I watched for only a second before turning my attention to the apoplectic Azincor bitch.

Unan was on the balcony, still wearing the glorious white gown but now minus the brown jacket. “You speak of insanity with me!” she yelled. “What do you hope to gain? One word from me and your friends will die horrific, fiery deaths. You have gained nothing.”

I nodded. “Well, maybe. But I have gained the opportunity to end your miserable, psychotic life … my Druan.”

I marveled at her apparent sense of invulnerability. After all, she was the Druan, and no one in their right mind would dare harm her. Well, almost no one. I stepped closer.

She firmed her jaw defiantly. “Oh, and what are you planning to do, you delivery robot? Do you intend to cause me harm? I should warn you; I am more powerful than you susp—”

Yeah, that’s when I hit her, square across the chin and not holding anything back. She flew into the room, where she rolled to a stop and lay still. One hit, one kill, the way it’s supposed to be. I know, anticlimactic, again. This was getting boring…

Until I saw Unan lift herself from the floor and square her shoulders, seemingly none the worse for wear.

I snickered. “What the hell are you?” I asked, although I already had a pretty good idea.

“It is not what you think,” Unan answered. “Yes, I have android parts, yet I still retain some of my former self. You see, Human, I am almost one hundred years old, and far wiser than any of your pitiful race. My enhancements are what have allowed me to reach such power within Azincor society and to extend my life.” She rubbed her chin in a very Human-like fashion. “In addition, I gauge from the strength of your hit that you were not truthful about not being a combat cyborg.”

“No, that part was true,” I smirked. “What I didn’t tell you is I’m better than a combat cyborg.”

She frowned. “In what way?”

I grinned. “I can get pissed off.”

I don’t know if she understood what pissed off meant, but I gave her a demonstration a split second later. We came together, with my superior mass making all the difference. She was once again thrown backward. But then she performed a prefect leap and loop in the air, landing behind me while planting a rib-bending fist to my back.

She better be careful there, I thought. If she ruptures one of my fake kidneys, it’s all over. But since I didn’t explode, I figured she hadn’t done too much damage.

I jumped away before turning to face her. She was a nimble little nymph and came at me again with one of those acrobatic moves. Normally, I get turned on by women’s gymnastics, but not when a pair of feet slam into my head and knock me to my knees. And then she was behind me a moment later, thin arms wrapped around my bionic neck, squeezing with all her might.

I’d been strangled before, and by an Azincor android. Unan was every bit as strong, making me question what parts of her were android and what parts were flesh and blood. I would save the questions until later. For now, I reached over my shoulder and grabbed a healthy bit of silky white dress and pulled. The fabric tore; even so, Unan still came with it. She was tossed across the room, rolling on the carpet before slamming into one of the many glass patio doors. The panel cracked but didn’t shatter.

I stood, biding my time, contemplating my next moves. Sure, I could let her kill me, and the resulting explosion may or may not take her out. That, I didn’t like. The other option was I continue with this show until she’s dead. At least then I’d be sure she couldn’t send her goons after Abby and the others. That seemed like the better option. And as long as she couldn’t make the call, I was okay with being patient. I’d taken her best shots and they barely slowed me down.

Unan may think she’s a badass, but she hadn’t met a Human badass before. Especially a Human badass cyborg.

But she was learning her lesson quickly. Her face was swollen almost to the point of being unrecognizable, and there was blood flowing from her nose and a cut on her cheek. At least that part of her wasn’t a machine. I was also pretty sure her brain was made of flesh and blood. That meant all I had to do was pummel the head, and that would do the trick.

The problem: I had to catch her first.

Having realized I was stronger than she was, Unan now executed a series of wild flips and bounces designed to keep her out of range. She was also resourceful, grabbing everything and anything she could and throwing it at me. This included lamps, knickknacks, small electronics and artwork off the walls. She bounded over to where Kaila lay unconscious on the floor and began throwing computer equipment at me, ripping the machines from their power sources, causing sparks to fly into the room.

It wasn’t enough. Soon, I had her cornered at the door to the balcony. She tried to sidestep me and I cut her off. Then I jumped forward, raising my right foot and planting it firmly in her gut. My legs are stronger than my arms, so she went flying farther than when I’d hit her earlier, tumbling across the concrete decking before crashing into the transparent barrier that surrounded the balcony.

I was growing tired of this game, so I stepped in quickly and did a blistering right and then left cross to each side of her head. Eyes rolled back and her legs gave out from under her.

With a face so hideous not even her mother would recognize her—which she wouldn’t anyway—Unan looked up at me and tried to grin. I was surprised she could still talk.

“You think that by killing me the war will end,” she said, or at least that’s what I thought she said. It was hard to tell through all the broken bones and spittle. “But the Lors are many layered. There are others who will carry out my plan.”

I smirked. “Yeah, I don’t think so. You see, my Druan, when I die—and I will on your stinking planet—I will release a toxin that will sterilize all the females, making it so that none of you can ever reproduce again.”

“You lie!”

“Why should I?” I huffed. “You know what we’re capable of. That little transitioning drug I gave you, that was just an afterthought. My mission has always been to destroy the entire Azincor race, and not just the males.”

Sure, I exaggerated a little on that last part, but there was no one here to fact-check me.

What was left of her bottom lip trembled, yet she said nothing. What could she say? What mental capacity she had left was running through the impact of what I just told her. She knew it was true, even though she didn’t want to believe.

And then her face scrunched into a horrific mask of pure anger and hatred, and all focused on me.

I smiled. “That’s what I wanted to see. It doesn’t make up for all the death and destruction the Azincor have caused in the Spur, but it’s close. And now…”

And now … I effortlessly lifted her from the deck and unceremoniously tossed her far out into the air, far enough that her falling body would miss any of the tiers of the Lors Castle. A hundred and sixty stories later … splat, and she was pigeon food, if the Azincor had pigeons.

I thought about following her over the side, falling to my death and with a few seconds to experience the sensation of flying. But I decided against it. Instead, I would let them execute me, hoping that the resulting explosion would be large enough to take several of the assholes out with me. Besides, all the newscasts would have video of it.

I’d go out with a literal bang.

23

Iwent back into the building to where Kaila still lay unconscious on the floor. I hoped I hadn’t broken her permanently. I needed her help.

I lifted her bloody head and patted her cheeks.

“C’mon, wake up. Kaila … wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered, and then slowly opened. At first they couldn’t focus, and when they did, they were on me. Eyed widened and a scream escaped her mouth. She panicked, kicking, trying to get away.

“Relax,” I soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you, not anymore. I need your help.”

I let her stagger to her feet, where she scanned the room with manic eyes, seeing the utter catastrophe it was in. Broken pieces of statuary, broken lamps and even computer equipment was strew everywhere. It looks as if a tornado had passed through.

Then her head darted around even more before locking on me.

“The Druan … where is the Druan?”

I shrugged. “Oh yeah, her. She’s about a hundred and sixty stories south of here. She took the express elevator to ground level.”

“I do not understand this term express elevator?” Kaila stated honestly.

“I mean I tossed her over the side.” My clarification made the back-up Druan go as pale as a yellow-skin bastard—I mean, bitch—could go. “Her body is probably spread over a couple of city blocks by now.”

“You … you killed the Druan?” Kaila gasped.

I recoiled. “What part of nose-dive off the balcony don’t you understand? Yes, I killed her, and now I need you to execute me. So, make whatever phone calls you have to make and let’s get the executing going.”

“What is a phone?”

I gave up and sat on a couch, patiently waiting until Kaila realized I wasn’t going to hurt her. She made calls, and within minutes, the room was swarming with red-shirts with guns. Unfortunately, no one took a shot at me—or multiple shots. That’s what it would take to kill me. Instead, shackles were applied and I was moved from the Castle.

Kaila had recovered enough from her shock to take command. It was obvious this was the way it was supposed to be. She was the Number Two Lors, and now she was Number One, after it was confirmed that the bloody remains splattered across over half of the Core were those of Unan Carr. At first, it was impossible to tell. There wasn’t much of a body left to identify, not only from the fall, but also from my beating. However, once it was finally acknowledged that the Druan was dead—and the I had killed her—things moved a lot faster.

I was taken from the Castle, but not from the Core. Several blocks away, there was some kind of entertainment venue that looked a lot like the auditorum at the Brinn Castle, only smaller and open to the sky above, more like an amphitheater than an auditorium. There was stadium seating that looked down on a semi-circular stage, and there were open sides which would allow anyone to enter. It was designed for plays and concerts, which the Azincor enjoyed, at least the females did. This was still deep in the Core, which is what I needed. If they had tried to move me to Brinn Castle, I would have pushed the issue a little more and forced my death. But seeing that I was still in prime spreading territory for the toxin, I relaxed and enjoyed the festivities.

Backstage was a series of dressing rooms and areas where props were stored. I was stuck in a dressing room with three guards inside with me and eight outside. The news circulated quickly that the killer Human cyborg had been captured, but not before he had already murdered the Druan. The guards, knowing the reputation of Human combat cyborgs, were being overly cautious with me, unlike how they had been earlier. That was fine. I was right where I wanted to be—needed to be. The rest would happen naturally.

A little while later, Kaila entered the room; the red-shirts remained. She had a serious bandage around her head and walked with a cane. Her gait was unsteady as she leaned against the wall next to the door, and about as far from me as she could get and still be in the room.

“As much as it sickens me,” she began, “I am going to grant you your wish.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused by the strange comment. “What wish? You mean to be executed?”

“That is precisely what I mean.”

I scoffed. “Well, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know it would be such an inconvenience. If you want, you could kill me right here and now.”

“Your impatience with wanting to die is perplexing,” Kaila pointed out.

I mentally grimaced. She was right. I had better tone it down a little; otherwise, instead of the death penalty, I may get life in prison without possibility of parole.

“However, you will have to wait a day,” the new Druan continued. “I am inviting our news services to attend, as well as many from the Brinn Council and the Lors Unity. What you have done is … unconscionable. The savagery with which you killed Unan Carr is horrifying—”

“And is it any more horrifying than all the millions you’ve killed in this war? Why is it okay for you to kill people, but I can’t?” I pouted, insulted that I was being treated unfairly.

Kaila laughed, and then quickly grimaced. Her face was in no condition to laugh. “There is no difference, only perspective. When Azincor kill, it is justified. When you kill, it is not.”

I blinked and recoiled slightly. “That’s a little unfair, isn’t it? After all, what’s good for the goose should be good for the gander.” I quickly moved past the statement, knowing she wouldn’t have a clue what I was talking about. “That’s fine,” I continued in fluent Azincor. I didn’t want my meaning to be misconstrued. “Keep believing the Azincor can do no wrong … but you are wrong.” And then I laughed. “And about these so-called executions of yours; remember, I saw one the other day. You use puny swords, wielded by weak, puny assholes. You do know we call your people assholes, don’t you?”

The frown on Kaila’s face hadn’t left since she walked in the room. Now, it deepened. “I am aware of the derogatory nature of the assignment. I am told it is a mental disorder on the part of Humans to use such vulgarity, a reflection of your lack of civil discord.”

“Even so, it fits. And do you really think your tiny swords can cut off my head?” I scoffed. “I’m a friggin’ cyborg, bitch. It will take more than your toy swords to cut off my head.”

“We have other swords!” Kaila exploded. “Be assured, your head will fall into the basket, just as will the heads of all your friends once they are caught.”

I breathed a mental sigh of relief. Kaila hadn’t mentioned the team until just now, so I wasn’t sure if they’d made it out or not. The words ‘once they are caught’ were music to my ears.

I winked at Kaila. “Okay, then! Let the heads roll!”

Kaila’s eyes went vacant. “You are the strangest being I have ever met. At one moment you are fighting with all your strength to survive. The next, you are begging to die. I have difficulty keeping up with your sudden mood swings.” She waved a hand and turned for the open door. “Again, Agent Atlas, you will get your wish. Tomorrow you will die. And rest assured, we will use the largest sword in our arsenal. It is guaranteed: Your head will roll.”

I smiled broadly. That was all I wanted.

24

They kept me in the room all night and most of the next day, switching out the guards every two hours. There was a couch in the room, where I sat calmly, my legs crossed, smiling at the guards. I snickered when one of them would occasional nod off as boredom overtook him. That’s why they were relieved so often. It was hard to sit staring at a passive object for that long.

I should know; I was bored, too. Dammit, let’s get this execution going! After all, how long does it take to organize something like this? I suppose it did take a little planning. Invitations had to be sent out, and RSVPs received. And then they had to book a band, and I didn’t know if the event was being catered or not. So many details and so little time.

I know, I was going stir crazy. But eventually, the time came. I popped up off the couch with a spring in my step, a move which startled the guards. Did they think they would have to drag me to the chopping block? No way. I’ve been waiting a year for this moment, even though I didn’t know all the details of how it would happen.

Finally, I would get some relief.

Oh, and also take a few assholes with me when I go.

I was flattered that so many people showed up for my execution. It was the cream of Azincor society, although I only recognized two people: Vannor Naz, from Darren’s execution, and Kaila what’s her name. I never knew her last name, and I never asked.

As I was led onto the stage, I scanned the crowd, seeing maybe three hundred people at most. There were others standing outside the two side entrances, but they didn’t have seats. The audience was a mixture of females and males, but mainly males, although it had been the females’ leader I’d killed. Perhaps, just like with Humans, the females weren’t too much into public executions. That was a guy thing. And, of course, all the Brinn were clad in the heavy brown cloaks, even Vannor Naz.

Was he to be the master-of-ceremony again? Was this like his thing, conducting executions? I doubted that. I don’t think there were too many executions on Davas, not until the Humans arrived. Now, they were a dime a dozen.

The reporters in the audience each had tiny, portable recorders, while larger cameras were placed along the top row, looking down. I was sure the proceedings were on every TV screen in the empire, and soon to feature the gruesome demise of the Druan’s killer, live and in living color.

Next, I looked around the stage. This one was set up differently than the one at Brinn Castle, being a little more formal, I guess the word would be. There was an actual chopping block; a round piece of wood about a foot across and three feet high. And at the base of the block was the proverbial basket where my head would fall. I wasn’t sure about that. If the executioner did his job, then the resulting explosion might upset things a little.

I had a momentary thought, one that brought a strange sense of joy. With the battery pack at the base of my brain, I may actually live long enough after the beheading to witness the aftermath of the explosion. That might would cool; to see what happens after I die.

But then I shuddered. I’d done that already, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Of course, the first time I wasn’t expecting to die. This time, I am.

Still in shackles, I was led to the block, and before the guards could force me to my knees, I knelt voluntarily, catching everyone off guard. Kaila walked up to me.

“Anxious as ever, I see,” she snarled. I could tell she wanted to revel in my fear and misery, but that wasn’t going to happen, and she was disappointed.

I grinned. “What can I say; I always love a good execution. But there is one request I have of you.”

This took her aback. “A request? Are you serious?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll like this. I would like to be looking in your eyes when they lop off my head. I want your ugly, asshole face to be the last thing I see.”

“I do not have an ugly face.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” I mocked. “What about it, Kaila? Will you grant a dying man his final request?”

Her face turned animated. “I will, indeed, but not because you want it. It is because I want it. I know not what your species expects to happen after death, but I assure you, if there is an afterlife, I want you to be forever haunted by my satisfied gaze. You will pay for your morbid actions. And after you are gone, the Lors will continue to fulfill our destiny, the destiny as defined by Unan Carr. There will be no salvation for your Human race, nor for any race within the Spur, and possibly beyond. The Azincor will reign supreme until we replace the Superiors as the oldest species in the galaxy.”

I laughed. “Yeah, whatever. So, are we going to do this or not?”

Angrily, Kaila stepped away, signaling to Vannor Naz to proceed. He motioned with his hand and a door at the back of the stage opened … and in walked the biggest damn asshole I’d ever seen. He had to be over seven feet tall and almost as wide. I didn’t know assholes came that big. But what really attracted my attention was the glimmering, curving sword he had slung over his shoulder. It had to be six feet long and two feet across at the widest part. As I mentioned, it was curved, reminding me of a big-ass scimitar like Aladdin might have wielded, although I doubt if the scrawny runt could have carried this behemoth. But the giant asshole had no problem. He sauntered up to my side and unslung his weapon. Unlike Human executioners, he didn’t wear a mask. Now, he smiled down at me, although it was more like a sneer.

My artificial heart was pounding harder than ever before, but not from fear, but anticipation. I knew I wouldn’t feel the cut. Instead, hopefully, everything would simply snap to black and this year-long living nightmare will be over. I’ve done some stuff, and accomplished some things, during my extended lifetime, but now it was time to get back on track. I died a year ago. Let’s reset the clock and get it right this time.

I laid my head on the block, placing my face sideways so I could look into the crowd. Although Darren hadn’t died like this, I’d seen enough movies with head-chopping that I was pretty sure this was how it was done. None of the Azincor questioned my placement. The basket was to the top of my head, a fairly large container for what would be a relatively small Human head. I guess it had to be big enough to catch the bouncing ball.

Kaila came around and knelt in front of the block, staring at me with a wicked grin on her bandaged face. I grinned back when I saw her wince from the pain of her crushed cheek bone. She was only about two feet away, which would provide her with a front-row seat to the exploding cyborg. The boom! The Big Bada boom, baby!

Beyond her was the audience, a sea of yellow faces chomping at the bit for the bloody climax. I was content with where I was and with what I knew, that in a few moments, the sterilization drug would be released into the atmosphere of the Core. At first, no one would know what’s happening. Then, within days, females would begin to miscarry and spontaneous pregnancies would be no more. At that point, the Azincor would be only one generation away from extinction.

So much for ruling the Spur, you assholes.

Using my telescoping eyesight, I ran my vision across the tapestry of yellow faces in the crowd, reveling in the fact that they didn’t have clue what was about to—

That wasn’t right.

I ran my vision back along the row of Azincor, before focusing in on a particular face, one which—although hidden by the hood of the heavy cloak—wasn’t yellow. Instead, it was brown, and with a black and white beard I recognized immediately.

Samir? Was that Samir?

For confirmation, an eye winked, and a sly smile escaped from the lips of the impossible apparition.

And then I heard the swoosh of the sword…

25

Finally. I was dead.

It was a long time coming, but now I was at peace.

Or was I? Something didn’t seem right.

I considered what awareness I still had, that of complete darkness. That fact alone raised more questions than it answered. Or did I now have definitive proof that there is an afterlife? Then again, the fact that I had thoughts about the afterlife meant there was a passage of time, because it took time to formulate thoughts.

I tried to reason what was really happening, while shrugging it off with a straightforward explanation. This was probably that split second between life and death when time seemed to go on forever. Could I live an entire life in this instance? Could I relive the one I just had?

If so, then why was it so damn dark? I could sense my eyes moving but could see nothing. It was the darkest dark I’d ever known…

Right up until the time I was blinded by the light.

There was no pain, just an incredible flash of white which my eyes quickly adjusted to. What I saw in the miraculous illumination was … the inside of a lid.

The lid swung open more and immediately, clouded figures closed in. The images resolved into faces and heads … faces and heads I recognized.

There was Samir’s smiling countenance, salt-and pepper beard and all. There was also Boz’s shaggy blond head and George’s pudgy baldness. And then a glowing halo of strawberry blonde hair framing a pale, freckled face and eyes of China blue.

What the Hell … was this Heaven?

“Alan, can you hear me?” I heard Samir ask. “If so, blink your eyes twice.”

Saint Samir sure did have a weird way of welcoming me through the Pearly Gates.

I blinked my eyes.

“Good,” said the ghost of Samir al-Bukhari. “Now, use your brain interface to link with the ship’s comm. You should be able to convert your thoughts to speech. C’mon, my boy. Give it a try.”

It took a moment for me to accept the fact that I was still alive and that this wasn’t just some blip of energy at the moment of my death. It was Samir … and it was Abby. But how?

I circled back to Samir’s words and his demand for me to link with the ship’s communication system. Which ship was this? Unan’s? If so, then … oh hell. There were too many questions to ask. I needed answers more than I needed more questions.

I knew how to search for local computer systems using my wireless brain interface. That gave me one answer right away: I still had a brain, my good old Human brain. That also meant my head was still intact. I concentrated, detecting electronic signals nearby that my Wi-Fi linked with. The timbre of the signals was familiar. They were Azincor. Once in the system, I sought out the communications programs, finding an intake protocol. Since all signals are received digitally and then converted to speech, I was able to do the same with my brainwaves, although I’d never tried it before.

“Samir, can you hear me?”

The head of the scientist still hung over me but was turned away.

“We’re getting something, but it’s garbled. Can you try focusing more?”

I returned to the circuitry, concentrating harder, strengthening the connection.

“Is this better?”

I heard a cheer go up beyond the borders of my sight.

“Yes! That’s perfect, my boy. Great job.”

Abby leaned in. “Alan, how are you feeling?”

I let out a mental laugh. “Feeling? I’m not feeling anything. Am I to assume I have no body left to feel?”

Abby laughed nervously before Samir crowded in again.

“That’s right. But we were able to recover your head.”

“That was you in the audience, wasn’t it?”

Samir nodded. “It was. Now, just relax, my boy.” He laughed. “Have I got a story to tell you…”

It was six weeks later and I was in a familiar situation. I was on a hospital bed with a plastic shield blocking the view below my head. It seemed odd that they would do this. I’ve been through the process before. I knew what was happening.

And what was happening was a team of doctors and engineers was rebuilding me … again.

As I lay there, my full-capacity brain kept recycling—an appropriate word—the story Samir had told me aboard Unan’s starship. It was incredible, unbelievable and heroic all wrapped up in one.

It was Samir hiding out in a thick cloak among the yellow-skinned assholes, waiting for the moment my head would be severed and the twin bombs in my body would go off. According to the doctor, the blast had the desired effect. Kaila was blown to bits, along with half a dozen others. And, as Kaila had guaranteed, my head did end up in the catch basket, thanks to the broad sword that was now imbedded in the chopping block, protecting my head from the explosion. Then, during the ensuing confusion and turmoil, Samir simply walked out with the basket … and my head.

He then managed to work his way through the panicking crowd to a stolen transport driven by George, who drove them ten miles away to a private compound where Unan kept her starship.

As I now found out, after leaving the landing pad on the side of the Lors Castle, Boz had flown the ship into space, circling around the Azincor moon for a few hours as a plan was worked out. Using George’s expertise with comm systems and computers, the team was able to locate Unan’s private spaceport where she stored her starship. It was within the Core and only ten miles from the Castle. Taking a chance that no one would question the arrival of the golden starship, Boz landed the vessel in the courtyard. There was no one around, since all the techs were Brinn, and they only came into the Core when needed. With an unscheduled landing, this wasn’t one of those times.

The Humans found a supply of brown cloaks in the maintenance building, and from there, the plan took on more form.

I interrupted Samir at that point, asking about Abby and her condition.

“We locked her in the airlock and fed filtered air to her, making sure any toxin wouldn’t reach her. By the way, she was livid when she learned that you did all this to save her and her baby. But that’s something the two of you will have to work out later. Good luck with that. Now, let me continue with my story.”

With news of the upcoming execution everywhere, Samir knew what I was planning. He and George stole a car and drove it to the Castle, where Samir wormed his way into the amphitheater before most of the crowd arrived, giving him prime seating for the upcoming show. With knowledge of the bombs in my body, along with their projected strength, he was ready the moment the sword swished down and lopped off my head.

After that, it was a race to keep my precious brain alive.

Back at the starship, Boz lifted off and bolted out of the system, aiming for the nearest wormhole that would eventually link the ship to friendly space.

In the meantime, Samir had a saline bath and electrodes ready for my head, while the team took turns donating blood to be circulated throughout my three-pound mass of gray matter. Because of how I’d been modified originally, I didn’t require a lot, and I could use any type of blood that was available.

That’s when Samir told me that the temporary backup battery at my brain stem had a sliver of its casing sliced off by the executioners blade. A half an inch closer to the head, and the battery would have been sliced in two. And then no more Alan Ashe.

As it was, we made it into Human space and eventually back to Earth, where my head was turned over to a new team of specialists. General Matthews came to see me several times after that. Every time he did, he left with tears in his eyes. It turned out, he was an old softy under that hard-as-granite exterior.

And that’s how my second life ended … and my third life began.

Epilogue

The harsh Caribbean heat was tempered by a cooling sea breeze cycled down from the north. It was early October, one of the better times to be in the tropics, cutting down on the humidity, and just at the end of the hurricane season

But none of that bothered me. I didn’t feel the humidity nor did the sun burn my deep brown Latin skin.

Yeah, somethings never change. After being instrumental in winning the war against the Azincor, General Matthews rewarded me with the choice of any new body I wanted. Call me vain, but I chose the handsome Antonio Banderas again. After all, I’d already lived one life in the body of the old Alan Ashe. I was anxious to try out another, while enjoying the benefits of having leading-man looks.

Because of that, I fit right in at the fancy resort. I was splayed out on a lounge chair, nestled under a palm frond canopy that was staked into the brilliant white sands of an island off the coast of the state of Beliz in the Panamanian States of America. I was soaking up rays, while flirting with bikini-clad tourists. Life was good for the dashing, handsome … cyborg.

I considered this my Summer vacation, even though it wasn’t Summer. Just a little rest and relaxation for a job well done.

As it turned out, Samir’s toxin did the trick, stopping Azincor asexual reproduction in its tracks. What followed was a groundswell of panic among the assholes that took all their time and attention away from the war. All they could think about now was how not to die. They frantically experimented with new estrogen-enhancing drugs to restart the pregnancies. They even contemplated modifying their bodies for more traditional forms of procreation. So far, nothing has worked.

Still, I wouldn’t put it past them to eventually come up with a solution. After all, they were smart little assholes. The only question is would they have time? The Lors went ahead and implemented their NTD, although on a limited basis. They needed more females now more than ever, and they couldn’t afford to lose too many of them to the Change.

The result of all this internal trauma was that the Azincor withdrew all their forces to the Davas system while also abandoning their army of androids. Without guidance, the robots simply went into hibernation mode, where Human forces could easily round them up and dispose of them.

After that, the war was over in a matter of weeks.

I glanced over as a familiar figure slipped onto the adjoining lounge chair, while handing me another fruity umbrella drink from the seaside bar. It was good, although not as good snail slime. That’s the only thing I missed about the Azincor, their slime.

“So, what’s the news?” I asked Samir.

“It’s all done,” he beamed. “Boz and Abby are now the proud parents of an eight-pound baby boy. They named him Antonio, after you.”

“No, they didn’t!” I gasped.

“You’re right; I’m kidding. They named him Lionel, after Boz’s grandfather.”

“Lionel Lipton,” I mused. “Antonio Lipton would have been better. Even Alan Lipton.”

“Lionel is just fine.” Samir presented his glass to me. “To Baby Lionel!”

We toasted to the newest member of our extended family.

“I’m glad everything worked out,” I said sincerely. “Abby deserves the life Boz can give her.”

“And how about, my boy?” Samir asked. “How long until you settle down?”

“Are you serious? For one thing, I’m a damn cyborg. That might be a little hard to hide from a wife. And second.” I waved a hand over my hairy chest and well-defined abs. “I want to play with this for a while.”

I had to admit, I’d never gotten as much female attention in my life as I do now. I was having the time of my life, even though I still looked vaguely Azincor-like.

Samier laughed. “How long do you think Matthews will let you keep the body before changing it out for something new?”

“That depends. I still haven’t told him if I want to join the super-secret intergalactic spy organization he’s putting together. I told him I’d let him know once my Summer vacation is over.”

Samir frowned. “Down here, Summer vacation is never over.”

I held up my drink and winked. “I know.”

The End

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Novels by T.R. Harris

The Last Cyborg Series

The Last Cyborg

The Last Cyborg 2: Seek & Destroy

The Last Cyborg 3 — Codename: ATLAS

Technothrillers

The Methuselah Paradox

BuzzKill

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Human for Hire (9) -- Operation Antares

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War of Attrition

Secondary Protocol

Lifeforce

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The Dead Worlds

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Dark Energy

Universal Law

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The Quantum Enigma

Children of the Aris

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The Fringe Worlds

Alien Assassin

The War of Pawns

The Tactics of Revenge

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Cain’s Crusaders

The Apex Predator

A Galaxy to Conquer

The Masters of War

Prelude to War

The Unreachable Stars

When Earth Reigned Supreme

A Clash of Aliens

Battlelines

The Copernicus Deception

Scorched Earth

Alien Games

The Cain Legacy

The Andromeda Mission

Last Species Standing

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Force of Gravity

Mission Critical

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The Immortal War

Destroyer of Worlds

Phantoms

Terminus Rising

The Last Aris

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