Warrior's Wife (16 page)

The voice was vaguely familiar. His answer was unsatisfactory, but one Horace anticipated. “You’re a mech.”

“That is irrelevant.” The disembodied voice grew cooler, a sign he was uncomfortable with his second-class status.

Suddenly he placed the mech’s voice, Nigel’s new assistant. How in the hell had he been made an acting director? Horace was certain he hadn’t spoken aloud. Maybe Sebastian read minds, because a jolt of pain knocked Horace’s elbows out from under him. He spent the next few minutes retching on the clean floor. Had that zap of pure hell come from the friendly whisperer? Or were there others watching him?

The penalty stick’s blast of power was no fun, but memorable. The punishment tool worked like a disrupter with settings from stinging to total destruction. He’d been zapped repeatedly as a cadet. In the hands of an experienced wielder, he could live a long time and the agony would never lessen.

His head cleared long enough to recognize he’d gotten more confirmation that his interrogator’s unnatural human status was a hot topic. God, he missed Nigel. Had the former director argued for them and lost his position for supporting their triad? He’d been a longtime proponent of equal rights and full citizenship for mechs. It had never been a popular position.

“You are the triad’s bioengineer and capable of rational thought. Explain the unit’s incompetence that allowed the cyborg to capture the survivor, Victoria Dawson a second time.”

Horace caught the implication the second capture had condemned their unit as fuckups. No argument there. Hell, he still felt guilty for letting the fucking cyborgs snatch her. He creaked to his feet, locked his knees and managed to stand. “We gave her privacy when she asked for it. By the time we discovered she was missing she’d been abducted.”

“One of three’s non-functioning mind link wasn’t a factor in the protection failure?”

Tightness bracketed Horace’s mouth in response to the well-informed question. “I couldn’t say.”

How the hell had they learned about the triad’s mental connection failing? As far as Horace knew, Nigel was the only one who might have known their weakness. Had they tortured the director for information? Nigel had powerful friends on the governing board. Up until now, Horace would have sworn he was untouchable. But then how likely was the restorers’ choice to send three different cyborg teams after Tori? Not to mention the current interruption of an officially sanctioned mission was dimension leaps from standard protocol.

For reasons he didn’t understand, Tori was more critical to both sides than he’d realized. Time travel wasn’t cheap. Moving this quantity of muscle, to say nothing of the prototype in the backyard, and God alone knew how much other equipment had taken some serious juice.

Horace’s mind buzzed from rearranging the pieces of data he’d acquired so far, seeking the explanation that made sense of the random clues and would enable him to protect her. Instead of the tidy answers he needed, his questions multiplied.

“Is the survivor, Victoria Dawson, pregnant?”

God, I hope so.
Horace swallowed his fervent prayer and went with the unvarnished truth. “I don’t know.”

“Let us hope not.” His tormentor cleared his throat and continued. “You don’t seem to know a great many things that you should, Three of three. It is abundantly clear the entire unit is substandard. Your ill-advised mission is a prime example of the former director’s misplaced favoritism. Unit 642837 was the wrong triad for this operation.”

He’s wrong, damn it. Nigel knows his shit and he’d sent them to rescue Tori.
Horace’s ears roared with white noise and he stayed upright only by the grace of his titanium-reinforced skeleton.

“Remove him.” The interrogator’s mild words sounded too much like a death sentence. Horace didn’t have the energy to care. Unless he found a way to keep Tori safe, he didn’t want to live.

Strong arms bound him tightly and he didn’t have to worry about standing.

Chapter Nine

Tori searched anxiously for her warriors as the unfamiliar mechs used careful firmness to shuffle her through the crowd. All the nearby faces were covered by blank shields. She hadn’t decided whether the new armor-plated triad was protecting or caging her. Whatever their intention, their sheer bulk dwarfed her and blocked the view. She stretched her spine to add a half inch and infused her voice with plenty of nurse-says attitude. “I want to see Gideon, Marcus and Horace, right now.”

“They’re being checked out for damage.”

“Have they been injured?” Her words came too high to carry clout.

“Standard procedure.”

For some reason the matter-of-fact tone didn’t do a thing for her. In fact she had the impression he’d held back vital information. But she didn’t have a lever to pry it out of him. “Where are you taking me?”

“Medi-scan.”

“Why can’t I be examined with,” she hesitated, not sure how to refer to her mechs, finally finishing with a weak, “friends?”

“Mechs don’t have friends, sweetheart.” The metal-clad soldier tugged her wherever he was really taking her.

She gave him a scathing once-over for presumption, she wasn’t his sweet anything. “You’re wrong. I’m their friend.”

“Then you’re the first.”

Her best filthy look hadn’t intimidated him even a tiny bit. She swallowed her pride and softened her approach, willing to beg for information. “Please take me to them.”

He shook his head. “Your presence would only make their debriefing longer and more strenuous.”

That time his reply had the ring of bitter truth, startling her into a stumble. A warm hand fastened around her waist, steadying her. “Easy there, you’re walking for two.”

I’m pregnant?
No, that was crazy. Even if she were carrying her warriors’ child, it was much too soon for them to be able to tell. Her thoughts and her feet tangled to a halt. She gaped at the mech’s face shield. “Are you serious? How do you know? I haven’t been examined.”

He didn’t respond, sweeping her off her feet and holding her against his chest armor. “New formation. Same destination. Double-time. Go.”

The two soldiers closest to him stepped up their tempo, keeping pace with the one carrying her. She was barely jostled as they trotted across the grounds to what appeared to be a shiny new spacecraft. Visions of alien probes skittered through her mind’s eye, causing a rash of chill bumps.

She snapped her head back on task. If she were lucky enough to be growing their baby, then ensuring its daddies’ safety was more critical than ever. Her reinforced determination to find her warriors took her nowhere. She was hustled into a stark, brightly lit room and arranged with firm efficiency, which she resented, on a flat metal surface. Another disturbing disembodied voice issued instructions from the ceiling. “Take a deep breath, hold it and remain still.”

A lit panel lowered and rolled over her feet. The apparatus kept going to the top of her head. The same voice said, “You may breathe normally.” After a brief pause the panel reversed directions and lifted, returning to its starting position. “Your exam is complete. Your health is excellent, fetus developing normally and your bots functioning well. You are free to leave.”

Bots? Actually, active nanobots healing her injuries and keeping her fresh made a lot of sense. She should have guessed. Horace must have injected them when they first met. Aside from the confirmation of pregnancy and the bots there’d been no surprises, a very good thing. Tori sat up and dangled her legs. The announcer’s free-to-leave comment struck her as way too optimistic. Between the exam table and the exit, her entourage stood with arms crossed and legs shoulder-width apart. Their reflective face shields all aimed at her. Good luck sneaking past them.

She stood anyway and crossed her own arms. “I want to see my friends.”

“Don’t you want your exam results?” the center soldier asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m healthy. Let’s find Gideon, Marcus and Horace. I’m worried about them and they’ll be worried about me.”

“I believe that.” The one on the left snickered.

The middle soldier tilted his neck, as if he were listening to someone. “Forget about it, sweetheart. They’ve been reassigned.”

Reassigned?
Tori clutched at the metal table, seeking an anchor.

The other day she’d been devastated by learning her seduction was the triad’s mission. Now her heart pinched because they had a new mission. She knew she was more than an assignment to them. All three of her warriors cared about her. But they were a military unit and orders were orders. She understood having to do a job no matter how much it hurt. “I’ll never forget the triad.”

The one on the left, said, “We’ve been assigned to protect you.”

Good to know. Here she’d been thinking they were jailors. “Exactly who reassigned my triad?”

“Sebastian Crawly.” The soldier on the right spoke for the first time.

His tone was so cold it made her shiver. She forced herself to meet his face shield. “Take me to him.”

None of her new protectors moved or said a word. In fact, they stood so still she could have mistaken them for shut-down droids. Something in their posture made her certain they were communicating, either with each other or someone else. Since she didn’t know where her warriors were, she had nowhere to go. She waited.

Finally the center mech said, “Come with us.”

His voice was neutral. The lack of any teasing hinted he wasn’t pleased with whatever decision had been reached.

She drew a deep breath for courage and followed his lead. A maze of narrow walkways and different levels connected by a rapid elevator system left her disoriented and more than a touch dizzy by the time the lead mech rapped on a closed portal. The entrance retracted, widening like a giant camera’s aperture. She stepped through the opening into what appeared to be a command center.

The equipment display caught her attention. Light trails whizzed overhead, clear panes dropped, flashed bright-colored sequences and retreated, all at apparently random intervals. The muffled whine of high-powered engines revving caused new chill bumps to pop. She stayed frozen just inside the portal—afraid to move.

Every soldier wore the same metallic silver armor with touches of black. Now an all-black-clad figure with small silver accents swiveled an armored head toward them. “Secure your survivor, triad.”

His words dripped irritation, as if she were an inconvenience that interfered with the smooth running of his domain. He’d made at least one mistake already. She did not belong to this triad.

Her temper flared, unfreezing her limbs. She opened her mouth to demand answers. Rising engine noise cut her off with a deafening roar. The ship shuddered violently. A seat unfolded from the wall. Her guards strapped her in and quickly took adjacent slots, fastening restraints. The craft’s vibrations increased, pushing the ship upward in a straight vertical line.

Flying wasn’t her favorite thing. This was aviation amped to an insane level. Terror pinned her in place more effectively than the safety harness. She squeezed her eyes shut as they pulled away from the Earth’s surface. The sheer pull of gravitational force melded her into the firm seat.

The ship leveled off. Her belly continued to roil. She swallowed, waiting for her stomach to catch up with the rapid change in altitude.

“Takeoffs are a rush,” one of the new triad volunteered with reckless enthusiasm.

Her stomach lurched. Aware speaking might involve losing her last snack, she swallowed, pried her fingers from their death grip on the upholstery and gave him a jerky nod of acknowledgment.

The black-clad soldier appeared before her, bowed and extended his gloved hand. “Victoria Dawson, I assume. Allow me to introduce myself, Sebastian Crawly, acting director for the Guardians of History Agency.”

Totally creeped out by his disconcertingly respectful tone, she nodded, allowing him to gently pump her hand. Worry about her warriors overrode her strange reaction to his cordial manner. She spoke deliberately, seeking the most effective approach. “I am concerned about the well-being of the first triad assigned to me.”

The ship’s engines whined again as the craft decelerated. He strapped himself in across from her and nodded.
Encouragement?
The face shield made his reaction impossible to gauge.

“I’ve been told they were reassigned?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he said blandly.

She drew a shallow breath, fighting nausea again. “It’s important to me that they are unharmed.”

“An understandable sentiment from a natural human such as yourself. Nevertheless, these are soldiers whose missions put them in dangerous circumstances. I regret I can’t guarantee their comfort or safety.”

Can’t or won’t?
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tart question from blurting. Every instinct shouted he was playing games with her warriors’ lives. She chafed against the manipulation, forcing politeness into her tone. “All I want is to know they’re well. Please allow me to see or at least talk to them for a few minutes.”

He patted one of her hands. “They’ve moved on. For your own good and that of the child you carry, forget about them.”

Tori glanced down and found her hands balled into fists at his loathsome touch. She unclenched her fingers and softened the corners of her lips in what she hoped passed for a reasonable expression. “They would not have left without a word to me, not willingly. With all this,” she waved to include the light show around them and appeal to his pride, “you must have the ability to communicate with your troops.”

He stiffened and his face shield lifted. Deep-set, icy gray eyes met hers. More startling than his gaze, his skin shared the same shade and metallic texture as his armor.

“I do. Pity the neural net is not something you are equipped to access. I must leave to supervise our landing. My regrets.”

Landing?
They’d only been in the air a few seconds. She set aside the startling information, refusing to be distracted. She didn’t believe for one second he regretted a damn thing. Fresh temper surged through her veins. Before she’d framed a reply, he bowed again and disappeared.

* * * * *

Sebastian’s parting words slammed Gideon worse than the fucking penalty sticks they’d used to break his body. “Triad 642837 is unfit to travel in the time dimension and therefore useless to the Guardians of History Agency. In addition, you failed to protect your assignment from the cyborgs on two separate occasions. If you survive and ever contact Victoria, I will ensure you’re executed and no one will question the decision to eliminate mechs so damaged they violated a lawful no-contact order.”

He had no illusions about Sebastian’s level of malice. If the crazed assistant could’ve gotten away with it, he would’ve ended them. All mech deaths were investigated by a truth reader, which was the only reason they were alive.

If they wanted to claim their mate, they had to get strong again. Healing the worst effects from Sebastian’s interrogation sessions took more than a month. Marcus still remained uncharacteristically somber, Horace had a new stutter, and Gideon wore a permanent scowl to match his mood.

Finally they rolled to a stop in a vacant driveway about a mile from the old mission the founders claimed as their headquarters.

“G-good?” Horace carefully pulled the big rig deeper into the overgrown shrubbery and set the emergency brake.

Gideon nodded. “Yeah, we need to block the wheels.”

“I’m on it,” Marcus volunteered.

“We have a camouflage blind to build, bud.” Gideon grabbed a machete and climbed out of the cab.

“D-do you think anyone patrols this far away from their compound?”

“They might.”

Marcus joined them, weaving brush into the mesh fencing they’d secured behind the rigs.

“What kind of troop numbers are we looking at?” Gideon asked Marcus.

“Two triad teams, along with a handful of survivors, historically. Now, who knows? Sebastian tossed out the timeline. I don’t have a fucking clue.”

“W-were we one of the triad units before?”

Marcus swiveled toward Horace with something like his old grin. “Seems likely.”

“No way to know, mechs aren’t identified by unit number. Sebastian had plenty of troops to replace us,” Gideon muttered.

“T-Tori would never go for that.”

Gideon gave Horace a friendly tap on the shoulder. “I hope you’re right. Let’s scope it out.”

About a billion stars lit the night sky. The triad quickly left the street and the remnants of civilization behind, cutting through a forest. The woods, once a wildlife preserve, seemed primeval. Gideon signaled for silence. They prowled through the wilderness with no more disturbance than shadows.

The compound was easy to spot. It was the only place lit up for kilometers in any direction. Gideon argued the merits of allowing illumination in his head. Decent lighting was a necessity for many tasks and said good things about their resources. The brightness also acted as a beacon, for survivors. Not so great, the lights might attract roving gangs of feral men.