My Cyborg Savior (Crimson Romance) (20 page)

“Well, I want to get laid. We’re on the same wavelength here.”

She turned in his arms and glared at him, but could quite manage it over the tenuous smile breaking across her face.

“You’re lucky you’re hot.”

He scooped her up and tossed her over her shoulder. “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, please do me.’ You won’t be disappointed.”

“I never am.”

Honoria Ravena lives in north Texas. With a cat for a pet who insists on helping her type her stories, she enjoys yoga, belly dancing, a growing addiction to cosmetics, and reading many types of fiction. You may find her on Facebook and Twitter, but do not be surprised if her cat answers you instead, as Honoria never sits still long enough to be found. Visit her at
www.honoriaravena.com
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Reisen Four

Behind enemy lines

Earth year 5037

To save what ammo she had, Lyra Markham jammed the butt of her photon rifle into the face of the charging Condorian. The resulting thud was exceedingly gratifying.

Her foe fell into an awkward heap. His head lolled to one side and his eyes immediately assumed a deathly, hollowed glaze.

It’d been a very good hit.

She tossed her empty rifle aside. It was added weight she couldn’t afford.

A quick search of her dead foe’s arsenal proved pointless. Though the fool was out of ammunition he’d still had the balls to charge, brandishing a horrific looking, ten-inch boot blade. Aside from that weapon, which she summarily shoved into the barrel of her tall desert boot, there was nothing else to be scavenged from his body. No ammo. No grenades. Nothing.

Scrambling sounds made her glance backward.

Unfortunately her dead enemy’s nasty-looking friends witnessed her attack from about a hundred yards away. They grouped for the chase.

As they ran toward her, firing, she ducked and took off northward, as fast as her body armor allowed. She now counted seven Condorians breathing down her neck.

Sweat poured down her face as she gazed ahead, hoping to get to the far, rocky hills where she’d have the advantage of being on higher ground.

As Lyra ran, she was forced to jump over the bodies of Delloids, Capricans, Startsur warriors, and Freermen. All of them were Earth allies in the war against the Condorians. All were spilling blood just as freely.

No matter how many allies came to the front, intending to beat back the enemy ravaging the entire galaxy, the Condorians kept bringing more. The only thing that kept her world and other allied planets from being overrun were these desperate stands in space — diversions meant to slow the enemy while allied commanders fell back and reassessed battle strategy.

Annihilation was only a matter of time. She knew it; so had all the dead lying around her. But no one was giving up. The Condorians wouldn’t take hostages. Innocent inhabitants from hundreds of allied planets would die horrible deaths. It now came down to a matter of how one died. Her course was in battle.

She rounded an outcrop of rock and stopped to lean against it, dragging air into her lungs while she could. Every detail of this stinking, blood-soaked battleground blended together.

There were almost no colors on Reisen Four. Sepia-tones obscured some of the rocky escarpments in shadow. There was no grass, sparse plant life of a higher order, and precious little water. Whatever the cost, Lyra vowed not to be taken alive.

Approaching boot steps signaled her brief respite was over. She gripped her sidearm and ran again. She’d have taken her helmet off for better maneuverability, but the only long-range transmitter she had was built inside. Even though she was sure her superiors had given her up for dead, she couldn’t relinquish the last communication device available. And some part of the helmet might deflect incoming fire.

As one of thousands of Class M planets, Reisen Four’s air was breathable. Lyra and other allied fighters had been given orders to leave air packs behind. In this environment, the oxygen canisters would have weighed fighters down. That brilliant foresight helped her make good time now. But without filtered oxygen, the dirt in the air penetrated every part of her uniform, including the damned helmet. Still, she clung to the last hope that a signal might come from an allied vessel. With her own fighters scattered to the four winds, Earth Forces deployed in this battle were quite gone or dead.

There’d originally been three other women in her platoon. She was the last and had seen the remains of her friends and what had been done to them. That image was burned into her brain and was the only thing keeping her from turning around and shooting into the pack chasing her. Her pursuers had picked up the pace. She was pretty damned sure they knew she was female.

Hours went by. She dodged, hid, and ran but it made no difference. After only a few precious moments to rest in every few hundred yards of running, her foes kept up the pursuit. Their persistence had less to do with losing their friend to her rifle butt, and more to do with catching a woman and slaking their lusts before slowly slaughtering her.

It was now late into what passed for a Reisen Four night. The sepia-tones were only a little darker to delineate the passage of time. She had no idea where she was and didn’t care. The Condorians were still running her to ground like hounds on a blood trail.

With her body and wits taxed, she turned into a small, narrowing canyon. Without energy reserves, she suddenly realized she couldn’t climb up its side fast enough to keep from being hauled back down the rocky slope. It was there she turned to make what she assumed would be her last stand.

I’ll take a few of you bastards with me.

She squared her shoulders, determined to save one last round for her head. She’d be dead before they actually began tearing her apart.

As she raised her sidearm fear gripped her soul. It was then she realized she really wasn’t ready to die. A noise from behind signaled she wasn’t alone.

In an instant someone from behind clamped a large, strong hand on her shoulder. She was hauled off her feet and bodily thrown into a dark, cavernous space. Her weapon fell from her grasp and she scrambled to retrieve it.

Her attacker pulled her backward. That was the last thing she remembered.

• • •

It might have been hours or minutes later when she opened her eyes. She felt her neck being massaged by huge, gentle hands. When her foggy wits cleared, she eventually pushed herself away from the enormous, crouching figure next to her. Since she’d be dead if he was a Condorian; the reasonable assumption was that this darkly uniformed fighter was an ally. He’d most likely saved her life.

“Wh-what the hell happened?” she murmured through her helmet mouthpiece.

Her helmeted savior stared at her.

The huge megalithic creature before her tilted his black, armored head, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. She repeated her question and added more.

“I’m Lyra Markham … Master Sergeant, Tenth Earth Regiment. Who are you and what happened?” she demanded again.

When he kept staring down at her — his face as invisible as hers behind the anti-glare plexi-shielding — she kept trying. “Is your communicator working?” She tapped her head to indicate a communication device that should be located within his helmet.

Since learning that other races occupied the outer reaches of space many centuries ago, universal communication technology had been developed for the benefit of all who wished to speak freely. Unfortunately, better communication hadn’t worked with the Condorians. They had but one desire―to take everything and kill anyone who wasn’t one of them.

Lyra’s comrade continued to stare at her without making a single sound. “Can … you … understand … me?” she asked one last time, enunciating every word quite clearly.

He finally stood and backed away.

From where she sat, she felt at a decided disadvantage. The figure towering over her had to be nearly seven feet tall, as wide as a hatch on a cargo frigate. His shoulders, even without the black, unmarked armor, spanned the distance of a full yard and then some. Unlike her headgear,
his
had a pronounced front-piece that appeared very avian in nature. It was as if the designer was trying to emulate the head of a very large predatory flying creature. She’d never seen its like before. Still, there was no doubt in her mind that he was an ally.

Finally, she hauled her tired frame to a standing position then removed her helmet so he could see her more clearly.

Sometimes these alien beings didn’t take to speaking without eye-to-eye contact. She couldn’t afford to piss this mountainous person off. He represented the only help available.

Her companion simply tilted his head the other direction and kept staring down at her. She knew she wasn’t the most attractive human at the moment. Grime and sweat ran in rivulets over her face, neck, and body. She could feel it even if she couldn’t see it. Without oxygen canisters, the body armor was left unsealed so the user could breathe. That resulted in every bit of dirt getting in.

He seemed to study her uniform markings carefully. Even from a great distance, anyone as familiar with allied patches could tell she was an Earther and was ranked Master Sergeant. She’d only announced that fact along with her name and unit designation as a matter of habit. Still, the painted emblem of Earth, surrounded by its telltale starry circle, was clearly emblazoned on her right shoulder and over the left breastplate of her armor. Her helmet had the same emblem plastered all over both sides. He couldn’t mistake her origin, but he just wasn’t communicating.

She stood for a long moment considering what to do. Her last thought before blacking out had been of death. Not rescue. And this silent giant wasn’t helping her overtired brain make sense of the situation.

• • •

Soldar Nar had heard of Earth women being sent to fight on behalf of their world. But her sudden appearance in this desolate, lonely place was utterly astonishing.

Women from his home world of Craetoria simply didn’t battle.

Indeed, women in most of the Allied Forces were rare.
This
one was not only in the middle of a very deadly confrontation, but happened to be quite arresting despite the dust and sweat all over her face. Once her helmet was off, he took full stock of a suddenly beguiling sight, something surreal and incomprehensible in this horrible combat zone. Her eyes stared up at him questioningly. Because of the hazy, dirty atmosphere he guessed they might be bright blue. For a moment, he found his mind consumed with the hue. Then he mentally shook himself and considered the rest of her appearance. She didn’t seem harmed by his having jerked her into the cave.

Her short brown hair curled just beneath her chin and fell over her forehead in long, wavy wisps. She had a straight, perfect nose that spoke of fine breeding. Her cheekbones were high and elegant. Moreover, her full lips were slightly parted, as if she was about to speak again. Clearly she was as at a loss as he.

Right before he’d grabbed her, the woman had turned to fight her last. Her steadfast inclination to accept fate was apparent in the way she’d leveled her weapon against the oncoming enemy. She’d spread her legs and assumed a stance of absolute resolve. The exhibition of courage cemented his determination to save this noble ally. At that time, however, he hadn’t known this valiant fighter was a woman. He’d believed
her
to be a
he
of very small stature. Now he knew her gender, everything changed.

He felt parts of his body respond magnificently. Except for the absence of a left cheek mark, she could be any woman on his world.

More to the point, he had hadn’t seen a woman of
any
race in more than a year. If the Condorians had gotten their hands on this one, he couldn’t imagine what she’d have suffered.

Thoughts of his sisters, his mother, and other kinswomen came to mind. If anyone had touched them the way the Condorians would have ravaged this stunning creature, he’d have butchered every last one of them no matter how long it took.

How could Earthers allow their most prized citizens into the middle of battle? Were they really as foolish as others claimed?

He’d seen their men as gallant fighters. Why would they so risk their women? Why would this questioning beauty be in this Creator-forsaken wilderness, fighting all alone and with no hope for survival?

“It’s clear there’s something wrong with your communicator,” she told him. “There are no markings on your uniform but I know damned well you’re no Condorian.” She suddenly coughed to get a thick layer of dust out of her throat and mouth. When she recovered, she tried to communicate her intentions. “Look … I’m checkin’ outta here. You can try to get back to your unit or you can follow me. That second option is best since two of us are more likely to survive.” She raised one gloved hand and pointed toward the cave entrance. “We … can’t … stay … here. It isn’t safe. Those Condorians might be back and the sniveling cowards will come with company. Do you understand?”

He remained silent. His mind just wasn’t absorbing her presence. Something deep in his head told him she wasn’t supposed to be there. He kept searching for an answer to her presence but his intuition revealed nothing.

“Leave or stay … what’s it gonna be?”

He mentally shook himself back into reality and finally responded.

“The Condorians are all dead,” he electronically blurted in perfect English. “They didn’t call for backup or reinforcements would have been here by now.” His helmet speaker blocked more of his voice than hers had. His mouthpiece made his response sound quite automated.

It was her turn to be taken aback. He saw her brows rise. Her pretty, bow-shaped lips fell open, probably shocked to hear him speak her language so proficiently. He was still struck by the twisted situation. Her presence was wrong. He couldn’t dispel the shock of it.

Finally, he haltingly raised his hands and considered removing his helmet. This Earther might have never seen a Craetorian’s face. His people were ordered to keep their helmets on and speak as little as possible to allied brethren. It was thought that fraternization might prove demoralizing. His superiors believed it was hard enough watching those from one’s home world die. How much more difficult would it be to have troops inflicted with the site of newly befriended, slaughtered allies. All this considered, the circumstances surrounding his presence — and hers — called for creativity. His mission came first. He must do what he must. She wouldn’t find his face shocking. His features would be the same as her human countenance with but a singular difference.