BioCybe, Page 2

  Her gut clenched hard. They’d enhanced her all right—enough to remove any shred of humanity. They’d made her into some kind of machine and human hybrid. It never even occurred to her that this might be the kind of enhancement they’d had in mind.

  She ran shaky fingers over her face. “No…” The whisper escaped, the sound of a wounded animal rising in her throat.

  While her skin felt the same, maybe somewhat warmer, the mirror told a different tale. She watched her fingers tracing the contours of her face.

  At the corner of her vision, a scroll of information told her that the temperature of her skin was optimal.

  She glanced back to the mirror and, while her eyes looked the same, another scrolling list ran at lightning speed through her gaze. The upgrade of her visual acuity, information processing time, and even muscular corrections ran at an ever-increasing rate.

  A young medi-tech raised her eyes and scanned the room. “Theatrical makeup.” The words were little more than a murmur, but stopped Levia’s growing wail.

  “What?”

  The door swooshed open and the medi-tech scurried from the room, her white coat billowing. When the door closed, Levia studied it and the woman’s words reverberated in her mind. Theatrical makeup? What the hell did that have to do with her ruined features?

  “Why me? Damn it, I don’t want this! I didn’t ask for any of this!” Her anguish was swept aside as fury, cold and hard, ran through her veins. “I just want to be a girl!” The last word ended on a shriek.

  She swept out with her leg, amazed that when she kicked the bed, there was no ache or hurt. Damn it, her mind screeched, she wanted the pain. She needed a physical outlet for the burn that scorched the inside of her chest. The bed itself tumbled onto its side and she watched, horrified, as it continued its wild movement across the floor of the room, rolling once before reaching the wall with a clang and crash of twisted metal.

  What the…

  Slowly, Levia made her way to the misshapen cot, shock numbing her mind. Glancing down, she noted the dented wall, the bent sides of the bed. “How the hell did I do that?”

  This time when the door opened, she didn’t look up. Couldn’t. It was as if her gaze was glued to the sight before her.

  “You’ve made an excellent transition, recruit.”

  The voice behind her echoed in the nearly empty area and she spun.

  A sense of vertigo hit and she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Urghh!”

  “Nausea. Hmm, we’ll have to work on that.” The man in front of her, blond and tanned with piercing blue eyes, scanned her up and down.

  She cringed. The single piece coverall had molded itself to her body, clearly outlining all her assets, and she had the momentary urge to cover herself at breast and crotch. “I think you’ve already done enough.” Bitterness, astringent and cold, crept into the words.

  “Really? I think, given your earlier demonstration, we’ve only just begun.”

  She retreated as the man stepped closer. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  His lips flattened. “No. But your results indicated that you’d make an excellent transition. Your general knowledge, mathematical and scientific understanding, and your awareness of the political situation were highly ranked. Your psych eval was one of the most promising we’d ever seen. As for your body, the results showed that your system would accept the enhancements with ease. Your muscle tone and strength indicated you were eminently suited to combat.”

  She glared at him, wishing she had some kind of laser beam that would burn him on the spot.

  “So, recruit, if you’ll follow me.” His arm gestured grandly, and for a moment she wanted to jump at him, pummel him into nothing, exactly as he’d done to her.

  The door swept open, and she followed him into the hall then lunged to the left. Hands grabbed her, shoving her against the wall so hard that an involuntary oomph escaped. The wall shuddered.

  “Yes, quick. But not quite fast enough yet. Bring her to the testing chamber. I’d like to run some further tests before she’s released to advanced training.”

  Levia struggled and fought against the men who restrained her. “Let me go! I want to go home!”

  They didn’t speak, but their eyes glittered with a blue light and their hands were ice cold. Was this her future? To be a mindless zombie, holding others captive?

  “Please? I want to go home.”

  There was no answer to her entreaty, and fear, her new constant companion, rose again.

  Along the corridor, they trotted, her feet never touching the floor until the doctor stood in an open doorway, indicating they should bring her in. The men deposited her on the floor and the door slid shut, leaving her curiously alone.

  The room was silent. White walls shone harshly, and she looked down at the polished wood boards of the floor beneath her feet. She glanced around nervously. Suddenly, lights flashed at the end of the room and a viewing platform came into view.

  “Where am I?”

  “In the testing chamber. Now I’m about to run the first of your evaluation holograms. Each one will test your body and mind. We need to see how your reflexes have held up to our work.”

  Clicking sounds filtered into the room, and she tensed. “What do you mean?”

  The doctor glanced at her through the barrier. “Prepare yourself.”

  “What?”

  A roar sounded, and she spun just as a monster loomed…

  * * * *

  Several years later

  Levia settled her butt on a rock, her eyes scanning the horizon as she breathed deeply. The battle below was just beginning, and judging by the massing forces, it would be fierce, long-winded, and bloody. In her experience though, every battle was bloody. For a moment, she allowed a memory to trickle through the emotional barriers she’d thrown up and thought of home. Of Rald and Elda. Of her mother and stepfather. She wondered if they ever thought of her.

  In the long years since she’d entered the assessment center, she’d changed. None of them would know her from the battle-hardened woman she’d become. They’d remember the child she’d been when they’d dropped her off. Soft and innocent. Childish.

  The all too familiar ache settled in her chest. Her family would likely think she was dead. She’d accessed her files. It was, after all, common practice for enhanced warriors to want to know what lever the government had used, to find out what had become of their fictional other selves and their families. Her opportunity had come several months after she’d entered the advanced training, and she’d been horrified to see the various ruses used to cut the connection between herself and her family.

  The communicator at her waist bleeped, breaking through the introspection.

  Snatching it up, she flicked the tiny switch at the side and a video screen appeared as the device unfurled. She acknowledged the communication with her designation, staring at the viewer. “Seven-One-Four.”

  The man on the screen stared at her, his face as impassive as her own. “Agent Seven-One-Four, you are to find and apprehend the leader of the Dendaran forces. He must be unharmed.”

  She allowed her gaze to leave the screen and scan the scene before her. Already the forces had cut a swath, bodies littering the ground around them. “The battle will be fierce.”

  “Unharmed, Seven-One-Four. The general—”

  “Fine. Unharmed.” She didn’t much care what the general wanted, but she’d heard these words before. Knew exactly what would happen if she didn’t follow his orders to the ultimate degree. She had the scars on her back to prove it.

  With an assassin’s eye, she picked up the various small melees that made up the battle. The screen at the corner of her left lens identified the many combatants on the field.

  “Who exactly am I seeking?”

  “A Captain Ordan Mayerber.”

  She filed the information away, knowing her optical implant would alert her when she’d located him. “Fine. I’m scanning now and will apprehend as soon as
—”

  “Mission control out.”

  The screen turned black, and she hissed. “I really hate the way they do that.”

  She stood, brushing off the seat of her pants. Sound carried from the field ahead of her—crashing and whirling, bangs and screams.

  The clank and whir of a dozen automated land-based units caught her attention, and she sighed. At least there weren’t flyboys whizzing over top right now. They tended to fire indiscriminately, and that would make her job a whole lot harder. Levia hitched her leg over the speed-bike she favored and pumped the engine. It roared loudly, and she made a mental note to overhaul the machine on her next downtime.

  Precision and skill were on her side as she sped down the side of the escarpment to the battleground. Her optical implant cataloged every face, deceased or otherwise. She’d need the information when she reported.

  More than once, Levia threw the bike to the side, effecting a roll-over maneuver in an attempt to avoid injury. The scent of battle rose, sharp and acrid in her nostrils, but she blanked it out. A brief flash on her lens flared as identification was made and confirmed. She tugged the bike in the direction indicated.

  Even as she did, a rumble sounded, growing louder, and she raised her head, swearing fiercely as a ship appeared on the horizon. She swore. “Barsha!” Time was definitely running out now. That was a Juran destroyer in the air ahead of her, and that meant…

  She scanned the field again, urging her optical lens to seek the missing captain, but he wasn’t to be seen now. A ripple of sensation rolled over her, as if every hair on her body stood to attention, and the breath in her chest froze. The hallmarks of matter displacement, her fogged mind shrieked. Her hands gripped the controls of the bike harder and she roared in the direction where she’d last seen the benighted captain.

  A bright white light filled her vision and she screamed, ducking her head, pain spreading through her. The bike careened wildly, whipping from side to side until it hit something solid. With a shudder, it went down, taking her with it.

  Agony, excruciating and breathtakingly sudden, stole her consciousness.

  * * * *

  Two years later

  Sandon grinned, raising the tankard of ale to his lips and savoring the bitter taste of the brew.

  “It’s good. Fresh and biting. Just like you prefer.” Secombe, his second, smirked. “But you won’t talk me into staying more than the year I promised you.”

  “I need you, Secombe. Where the hell am I going to find another pilot with as much skill and determination as you?” Sandon placed his open hand on the table between them, palm facing up. “You’re the only one…” He shook his head.

  “Look, Sandon, I can’t stay longer. My family needs me on the farm, and I never promised to stay forever. Just long enough to pay the bills and get them out of the financial situation. I’ve done that. You’ve been a great boss, but it’s time I thought of my other responsibilities.” Secombe blinked, and for a moment, Sandon saw the hard-headed teenager Secombe had been when joining the crew of the Golden Echo. His blue eyes were darker and his face leaner, but it was an older version of the green pilot who had initially signed on.

  Regret and sadness filled Sandon. He liked Secombe. A lot. He’d been talented, but unpracticed, when they’d met. Now he was seasoned, knew instinctively what Sandon needed, and best of all, he wasn’t caught up in the Juran Commonwealth and Independent Planetary Authority wars.

  “So how do I replace you?” He took another long draw of the ale, hoping it would dull the scratchy sensation that swelled in his chest.

  “I heard that the war is over.” Secombe cleared his throat and waited a beat.

  Sandon jerked up out of the slump he’d dropped into. “What?”

  “I heard they’re signing an agreement. Not quite a truce, but the two factions are looking for common ground. A way to end this damned war.” Secombe relaxed into the red leatherette covering the chair. “If that’s so, you won’t need me anymore. I hear the best pilots are already looking…”

  Sandon shook his head. “Why the hell would I want some dried-up old warrior to pilot my ship? They’ll only bring all their own problems and prejudices with them. No. I need you.”

  “I’m not staying past the first of the month. So, now that we’ve cleared that up, how about we start the process of looking for my replacement?” Secombe smiled, but it was brittle, as if the emotional distancing had already begun.

  Frustration filled Sandon. It was so simple for Secombe to walk away. He had his family, his farm, and a future already mapped out. Sandon only had the ship and the crew; his parents had died a long time ago. The Golden Echo was his home, and those aboard it were his family. Secombe just expected to leave when he wanted, without thought for anyone else.

  Anger and sadness welled, but Sandon shunted the emotions. “So, how do you…”

  The door to the mess hall opened. Johnson, the cargo superintendent, ducked his head around the corner, his face conveying both confusion and caution. “Secombe? That pilot you invited aboard? Uhhh… The captain…uhh, person is here.”

  “Excellent.” Secombe turned in Sandon’s direction without a shadow of embarrassment. “Sandon, this pilot is the best of the best. Take a moment and see for yourself. Send the captain in, Johnson.” Secombe smiled, as if pleased to have already found his replacement.

  An itch took up residence in the back of Sandon’s neck.

  Johnson gazed at Secombe owlishly. “Are you sure?”

  Sandon frowned at Johnson’s uncharacteristic actions. Something’s wrong…

  Secombe’s eyes narrowed. “Send him in.”

  Johnson gulped, the sound loud in the sudden silence. “O-okay…” His discomfort radiated, and Sandon leaned forward, ready to meet the man Secombe considered an adequate replacement for himself.

  When the door opened all the way, silence reigned. A woman stood on the other side of the door, her gaze set. Her body, still and tensed, was arrayed in the combat browns many of the fighter pilots had adopted. Sandon could feel the tension rolling off her from the distance between them.

  She has green eyes. He couldn’t control the thought. As his eyes scanned her body—toned, taut, and curved in all the right places—the liquid in his mouth dried.

  “Captain Daria? I’m…” She blinked, and he wondered if the flash of insecurity he thought he’d seen had actually existed.

  Probably not, he told himself. Why would a flyer feel any level of insecurity?

  “I’m Levia Endrado. Pilot Secombe requested my presence.” She held out a hand, in friendship or entreaty, he wasn’t really sure.

  Sandon turned in the direction of Secombe. “Well?”

  Secombe opened his mouth then closed it again before shrugging. She obviously wasn’t what he was expecting either.

  The woman, Levia, stepped into the room and the door closed silently. For a moment, he caught a hint of anxiety before it disappeared and instead in front of him stood a confident woman. “You require a pilot. Someone with long haul experience. I’m a pilot seeking a placement. So far, our objectives are aligned.”

  “No. I don’t want a woman piloting the Golden Echo.” His voice was strangled and hoarse, and he watched as she blinked slowly. “I don’t want issues with the crew.”

  “It’s an all male crew, I understand?”

  He nodded, numb at the thought of this woman, this gorgeous female, somehow interacting with the other men on his ship. Of her forming an alliance…

  “I’m not interested in a bed partner. Just a home and employment. That is what the advertisement offered. You had an opportunity to vet my credentials—” She stopped and her eyes narrowed.

  “What?” The words cleared the fog that had settled in his mind. “I haven’t seen…” Now, he turned to Secombe, who’d slouched further down, horror clear on his face.

  “I… Your dossier didn’t say you were…” Secombe’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened further.

>   “It didn’t have to. Captain, I take it you didn’t scan the dossier then?”

  As Sandon shook his head, the woman’s nostrils flared slightly and he caught sight of a deep emotion in the depths of her eyes. “Fine. Then I fear this has been a waste of your time and mine.” He heard the husky tones as she turned away. “I’ll leave immediately.”

  The door slid open, and she was about to step through when he bellowed, “Wait!”

  The woman stilled, but didn’t turn around. He wasn’t sure why that bothered him, but it did.

  “Captain?”

  “Your dossier. Could I…” He let the words hang in the air between them.

  “I don’t think…”

  “I don’t pay anyone to think for me. Your file?”

  When she spun back, her face was a mask of icy resolve. She located the screen command on the table and shoved her arm against the reader slot.

  Information appeared; a brief overview of her skills and awards. She was trained to fly an MX5, the same model and make as the Golden Echo, also the GSL-23 and even the LD-5 mini-destroyer, he noted with surprise. She was classified as competent on all land based conveyances and even a variety of aquatic ones.

  “What is your planet of origin?”

  She stared at him, then her tongue flicked out and wet her lips. “That’s need-to-know, Captain.”

  “Fine. You’re obviously ex-military forces. What rank did you hold?”

  Her eyes narrowed at his question. “Is this somehow relevant to our discussion?” She cocked her head to one side and he wanted to gulp. She had an air about her now of leashed ferocity.

  “Uh, I thought…”

  “I was a commodore, but have been released from active duty.”

  “Why?”

  She flinched just enough to let him know he’d somehow triggered a nerve. “I was injured in the line of duty.”

  He looked her over, but she gazed at a point beyond his shoulder, as if such careful looks were an everyday occurrence. That knowledge bothered him.

  “Badly?”