My head throbs.
As much as my bones are made of metal, I’m certain I banged my head and it’s coming at me with a vengeance as consciousness resurfaces. My bones ache as if someone’s taken them out and reinserted them—which is shockingly a sensation I’m familiar with—but that can’t be right. Just left-over programming from the human side.
I shake my head. Pain travels from my temples to the base of my neck. My injured knee pulses shots of liquid heat up my thigh. A strange sensation tightens the muscle along the side of my neck. What is that? I grind my jaw, but it doesn’t go away. There’s a hum surrounding me. We’re flying…
Oh.
Oh no.
Shit.
My head isn’t restrained, so I raise it an inch. My neck pops. The air is chilly, a metal seat beneath me, arms fastened behind my back. Wrists cold. Handcuffs. My pant-leg is ripped and bloody, but the injury has been tended to—it’s not bleeding, and there’s something white poking out from under the tear, perhaps a bandage.
No one’s talking, just the quiet drone of a sleek, Amerov engine.
How are we flying? There was an asteroid storm and we couldn’t leave Taloon’s surface. A small Amerov vessel isn’t immune to such danger.
There’s a viewport to my left, small and round. Stars pass. We’re definitely flying. How long have I been out?
Two cyborgs sit with backs to me at the front of the ship, at the controls. A third is here as well, not in the same uniform, but with his feet propped on the base of the other seat as if he owns the place. Captain? Panic makes it difficult to breathe, but it’s not him. It’s not even built like him.
Get a grip, Aaron.
Bat is safe. Zane grabbed hold of him. They’ll take care of him until I figure out my way out of this. They’ll help him.
Something shifts to my left and I twitch, expecting another number. No. Princess. She’s restrained as well, but her cuffs don’t appear nearly as uncomfortable or heavy-duty as mine. Smart of them. She’s staring ahead, black hair tangled and sticking every which way. A bruise has formed on her cheek, and she’s still wearing my old jacket, now peppered with tears and slightly singed on the cuffs of one sleeve.
Right, the exploding crystal.
She doesn’t appear upset. If anything, her expression is…expectant? Of course. We’re heading to Amerov. For some reason.
Which is precisely where she wants to be. Not under this situation, and not with her willpower taken away, but we’re heading right for the cyborg planet.
What changed their mind? Shouldn’t they have taken us to Neyla Ve? Princess’ parents are there, and Captain’s more likely to be there as well given all the trouble she’s caused.
I’d rather be there. I’d rather not be trapped at all—but the royal planet has a better chance of escape than Amerov.
After a long minute, she seems to sense my staring and turns. I don’t know what I expect from her gaze, but she winces a little. Maybe my expression is as bad as it feels. Or I look more like death than usual. I glance around and raise a shoulder, trying to ask her what’s going on without letting the numbers know I’m awake. She only gives a tiny shrug in return.
She doesn’t look nearly as annoyed with my mere existence as she was on Taloon, but perhaps she’s realized while nothing can happen to her, I’ll have my humanity ripped from me.
Not as if she cares. But maybe she’s sympathetic enough to feel a little bad.
I must’ve been out for more than a day. Every joint is stiff and, though I hadn’t had much to eat or drink the entire day on Taloon, a bathroom trip would be nice. My mouth is dry. How close are we to Amerov? We must be nearby, because Taloon wasn’t far to begin with, and Amerov ships are fast compared to my old thing. I can’t see out the viewport well, but there’s a definite shimmer of a nearby sun. Bluish in tint.
Amerov’s star is blue.
A supergiant with it’s lone planet spinning slow and a gray in the twilight hours. When I was a child and first got my new eyes—long before they’d glitch out—I’d lie on my bunk at Facility Nineteen and stare out the port window at the aching blue-gray of the sky. A sad, upset ocean. At night, everything was slightly bluer in hue than any other planet I’ve visited since.
Audra’s office had a broad, crystal clear window along the farthest wall. She let me sit in the sill and read with my new eyes, and I could see the vast array of stony landscape for miles upon miles, and the silhouette of the nearest sister facility. In the springtime, azure flowers bloomed low to the ground, the only sign of life and growth on the otherwise barren landscape. It should be the autumn there now, so everything will be gray and rocky. Similar to Taloon, but no crystals.
If we’re coming into the star system, we’re close.
What do I do?
No hiding in Audra’s office for me this time. A cold surgery table and a chip for the back of my neck. How will Captain respond when he sees I’ve never had one? I suppose it doesn’t matter—either way, I’ll be getting one.
Screaming won’t help, but I want to.
Closing my eyes, I breathe. Princess’ gaze is still on me, but I can’t let it distract. I need to think.
Would I rather die? Would I? I’ve told myself such—death is a better alternative to what humanity I’ve scrapped together being taken. It would be a quicker decision if not for Bat. But once Captain’s done with me, I won’t remember him. If I do, I won’t care.
Captain could use me to lure him and the siblings in, and I wouldn’t mind for a moment.
My pulse starts up behind my ears, and I force myself to take slower breaths until it calms. Filling my lungs too bursting and letting it out slowly. Panicking will make it worse.
I work at my cuffs as quietly as possible. They’re tight, not much room to work with. Still no plan. Even if I manage to break them—I’ve done it once before, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience—I’ve got a weak leg and no element of surprise. They’ll probably just shoot me again before I can even lunge at them. Even if they’re programmed not to kill me, another shot in my one working leg will be the end of my escape attempts. They have weapons and enhancements far surpassing mine, and they’re not even high-level numbers.
Sharp, tight edges of the cuffs cut the frail skin of my inner wrist. My hands are only now starting to not hurt. If I can just get one free…
I have no element of surprise, but they won’t expect me to hurt myself. One thing I’ve learned from years evading Amerov: other numbers with their chips in tact don’t understand my desire to remain human. Captain certainly doesn’t, but the low-level soldiers don’t either. Although I fought them on Taloon, I’d be willing to bet they won’t expect anything more desperate.
With a shuddering dip, the ship eases into a shimmering atmosphere.
Throwing up won’t help, Aaron. I swallow aggressively.
We’re skimming low over the planet’s surface. The numbers aren’t speaking. I wish they would. It’s freakishly quiet over the ship’s soft purr, no noise to cover my escape attempts. Clouds pass the viewport, then the occasional blip of land. Amerov isn’t much to see when there’s no facility nearby. Stone and maybe left over metal from buildings long abandoned, before Captain made this planet a proper home for his creations. I’ve no clue where we are, but we must be heading for Facility One. Ground zero. Captain’s facility.
He must be there.
Tugging on the cuffs sends needles of pain up my wrist. I grind my teeth until my body dials it down to the manageable throbbing of my other injuries. A drop of blood hits the floor. I catch it with my brand new ears. Then another drop. Another.
Please, please, don’t hear me.
Princess is watching. Her expression might be horrified or something else. Not hopeful, certainly. She looks upset. Not as if it matters.
I don’t have much, but I have my stupid little ship and that snarky little animal to care for. I’m not loosing it because Captain got his panties in a bunch over an unregistered number and Princess getting spotted on Taloon.
Still don’t know how that happened.
I work the fingers of my other hand around the cuff, trying to pull harder without shifting in my chair and drawing attention. Some sort of bar blocks me from simply pulling my bound hands up and over the back of the seat, but if I can get one hand out, both will be free. More drops of blood and searing pain. Princess grinds her jaw, looking sick, and turns her head, watching the cyborgs.
She hasn’t alerted them to my attempts. I don’t know why, but I’m not in the position to question.
Almost there.
My eyes water. Nope, no crying. No puking, and no crying.
Something on the ship’s comm beeps. One of the numbers hits a button and mumbles into the comm behind his ear, but I can’t discern the words. If they’re talking to someone at Facility One, we’re getting closer.
Bracing my foot against the metal bottom of my seat, I yank forward. There’s a pop as the metal in my thumb joint dislocates. I don’t have time to make a sound before the biggest male is leaping to his feet. He’s mere steps from me, and grabs me by the back of the neck in an instant, shoving my head down between my knees, hand going to the weapon on his thigh. With my uninjured hand, I grab the bloodied cuff and ram the jagged piece up with as much force as my synthetic muscles have. Right into his jaw.
Princess shrieks, flailing away in her seat. The female number lunges toward me, reaching for her own gun. I don’t have time.
No time.
Bracing back against the chair, I shove the lifeless number with my good leg, flinging his heavy body against her, trying to grab his gun in the process. The handle slips from my bloody grasp. The small female number crashes back under the weight of the male, knocking the third number out of his seat as well. She hits the controls, head cracking on the panel.
The ship goes straight into a nosedive.
Momentum throws me out of my seat, head connecting with the base of Princess’ seat. Pain spreads above my eyebrow. Forcefields shimmer to life around the seats, but Princess is the only one safe inside hers, legs flailing as her upper body is still held to the chair.
The female number grabs the manual joystick. It doesn’t respond. Swearing, she shoves the big number off her, trying to right herself as the ship flails.
“What did you do?” she shrieks at me.
Broke something, obviously, I think, something resembling a hysterical giggle trying to bubble up. A screaming alarm sobers me.
The other male had been trying to get to me, but the spiraling ship is making it impossible. He gives up at the shrill alarm, hand behind his ear on his comm, trying to send for help.
No one’s going to help us, but I don’t want any more numbers heading for the area. I kick at his hand, knocking it off the comm, and the spinning ship takes care of the rest.
Scrambling back with one hand as best I can, I dive behind the chair I just escaped, trying to get the most out of the forcefield uselessly surrounding my empty seat. Princess’ mouth is open, eyes panicked, hair flailing completely silent.
“Hold on!” I call to her.
There’s a noise shattering the earth.
My head throbs.
As much as my bones are made of metal, I’m certain I banged my head and it’s coming at me with a vengeance as consciousness resurfaces. My bones ache as if someone’s taken them out and reinserted them—which is shockingly a sensation I’m familiar with—but that can’t be right. Just left-over programming from the human side.
I shake my head. Pain travels from my temples to the base of my neck. My injured knee pulses shots of liquid heat up my thigh. A strange sensation tightens the muscle along the side of my neck. What is that? I grind my jaw, but it doesn’t go away. There’s a hum surrounding me. We’re flying…
Oh.
Oh no.
Shit.
My head isn’t restrained, so I raise it an inch. My neck pops. The air is chilly, a metal seat beneath me, arms fastened behind my back. Wrists cold. Handcuffs. My pant-leg is ripped and bloody, but the injury has been tended to—it’s not bleeding, and there’s something white poking out from under the tear, perhaps a bandage.
No one’s talking, just the quiet drone of a sleek, Amerov engine.
How are we flying? There was an asteroid storm and we couldn’t leave Taloon’s surface. A small Amerov vessel isn’t immune to such danger.
There’s a viewport to my left, small and round. Stars pass. We’re definitely flying. How long have I been out?
Two cyborgs sit with backs to me at the front of the ship, at the controls. A third is here as well, not in the same uniform, but with his feet propped on the base of the other seat as if he owns the place. Captain? Panic makes it difficult to breathe, but it’s not him. It’s not even built like him.
Get a grip, Aaron.
Bat is safe. Zane grabbed hold of him. They’ll take care of him until I figure out my way out of this. They’ll help him.
Something shifts to my left and I twitch, expecting another number. No. Princess. She’s restrained as well, but her cuffs don’t appear nearly as uncomfortable or heavy-duty as mine. Smart of them. She’s staring ahead, black hair tangled and sticking every which way. A bruise has formed on her cheek, and she’s still wearing my old jacket, now peppered with tears and slightly singed on the cuffs of one sleeve.
Right, the exploding crystal.
She doesn’t appear upset. If anything, her expression is…expectant? Of course. We’re heading to Amerov. For some reason.
Which is precisely where she wants to be. Not under this situation, and not with her willpower taken away, but we’re heading right for the cyborg planet.
What changed their mind? Shouldn’t they have taken us to Neyla Ve? Princess’ parents are there, and Captain’s more likely to be there as well given all the trouble she’s caused.
I’d rather be there. I’d rather not be trapped at all—but the royal planet has a better chance of escape than Amerov.
After a long minute, she seems to sense my staring and turns. I don’t know what I expect from her gaze, but she winces a little. Maybe my expression is as bad as it feels. Or I look more like death than usual. I glance around and raise a shoulder, trying to ask her what’s going on without letting the numbers know I’m awake. She only gives a tiny shrug in return.
She doesn’t look nearly as annoyed with my mere existence as she was on Taloon, but perhaps she’s realized while nothing can happen to her, I’ll have my humanity ripped from me.
Not as if she cares. But maybe she’s sympathetic enough to feel a little bad.
I must’ve been out for more than a day. Every joint is stiff and, though I hadn’t had much to eat or drink the entire day on Taloon, a bathroom trip would be nice. My mouth is dry. How close are we to Amerov? We must be nearby, because Taloon wasn’t far to begin with, and Amerov ships are fast compared to my old thing. I can’t see out the viewport well, but there’s a definite shimmer of a nearby sun. Bluish in tint.
Amerov’s star is blue.
A supergiant with it’s lone planet spinning slow and a gray in the twilight hours. When I was a child and first got my new eyes—long before they’d glitch out—I’d lie on my bunk at Facility Nineteen and stare out the port window at the aching blue-gray of the sky. A sad, upset ocean. At night, everything was slightly bluer in hue than any other planet I’ve visited since.
Audra’s office had a broad, crystal clear window along the farthest wall. She let me sit in the sill and read with my new eyes, and I could see the vast array of stony landscape for miles upon miles, and the silhouette of the nearest sister facility. In the springtime, azure flowers bloomed low to the ground, the only sign of life and growth on the otherwise barren landscape. It should be the autumn there now, so everything will be gray and rocky. Similar to Taloon, but no crystals.
If we’re coming into the star system, we’re close.
What do I do?
No hiding in Audra’s office for me this time. A cold surgery table and a chip for the back of my neck. How will Captain respond when he sees I’ve never had one? I suppose it doesn’t matter—either way, I’ll be getting one.
Screaming won’t help, but I want to.
Closing my eyes, I breathe. Princess’ gaze is still on me, but I can’t let it distract. I need to think.
Would I rather die? Would I? I’ve told myself such—death is a better alternative to what humanity I’ve scrapped together being taken. It would be a quicker decision if not for Bat. But once Captain’s done with me, I won’t remember him. If I do, I won’t care.
Captain could use me to lure him and the siblings in, and I wouldn’t mind for a moment.
My pulse starts up behind my ears, and I force myself to take slower breaths until it calms. Filling my lungs too bursting and letting it out slowly. Panicking will make it worse.
I work at my cuffs as quietly as possible. They’re tight, not much room to work with. Still no plan. Even if I manage to break them—I’ve done it once before, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience—I’ve got a weak leg and no element of surprise. They’ll probably just shoot me again before I can even lunge at them. Even if they’re programmed not to kill me, another shot in my one working leg will be the end of my escape attempts. They have weapons and enhancements far surpassing mine, and they’re not even high-level numbers.
Sharp, tight edges of the cuffs cut the frail skin of my inner wrist. My hands are only now starting to not hurt. If I can just get one free…
I have no element of surprise, but they won’t expect me to hurt myself. One thing I’ve learned from years evading Amerov: other numbers with their chips in tact don’t understand my desire to remain human. Captain certainly doesn’t, but the low-level soldiers don’t either. Although I fought them on Taloon, I’d be willing to bet they won’t expect anything more desperate.
With a shuddering dip, the ship eases into a shimmering atmosphere.
Throwing up won’t help, Aaron. I swallow aggressively.
We’re skimming low over the planet’s surface. The numbers aren’t speaking. I wish they would. It’s freakishly quiet over the ship’s soft purr, no noise to cover my escape attempts. Clouds pass the viewport, then the occasional blip of land. Amerov isn’t much to see when there’s no facility nearby. Stone and maybe left over metal from buildings long abandoned, before Captain made this planet a proper home for his creations. I’ve no clue where we are, but we must be heading for Facility One. Ground zero. Captain’s facility.
He must be there.
Tugging on the cuffs sends needles of pain up my wrist. I grind my teeth until my body dials it down to the manageable throbbing of my other injuries. A drop of blood hits the floor. I catch it with my brand new ears. Then another drop. Another.
Please, please, don’t hear me.
Princess is watching. Her expression might be horrified or something else. Not hopeful, certainly. She looks upset. Not as if it matters.
I don’t have much, but I have my stupid little ship and that snarky little animal to care for. I’m not loosing it because Captain got his panties in a bunch over an unregistered number and Princess getting spotted on Taloon.
Still don’t know how that happened.
I work the fingers of my other hand around the cuff, trying to pull harder without shifting in my chair and drawing attention. Some sort of bar blocks me from simply pulling my bound hands up and over the back of the seat, but if I can get one hand out, both will be free. More drops of blood and searing pain. Princess grinds her jaw, looking sick, and turns her head, watching the cyborgs.
She hasn’t alerted them to my attempts. I don’t know why, but I’m not in the position to question.
Almost there.
My eyes water. Nope, no crying. No puking, and no crying.
Something on the ship’s comm beeps. One of the numbers hits a button and mumbles into the comm behind his ear, but I can’t discern the words. If they’re talking to someone at Facility One, we’re getting closer.
Bracing my foot against the metal bottom of my seat, I yank forward. There’s a pop as the metal in my thumb joint dislocates. I don’t have time to make a sound before the biggest male is leaping to his feet. He’s mere steps from me, and grabs me by the back of the neck in an instant, shoving my head down between my knees, hand going to the weapon on his thigh. With my uninjured hand, I grab the bloodied cuff and ram the jagged piece up with as much force as my synthetic muscles have. Right into his jaw.
Princess shrieks, flailing away in her seat. The female number lunges toward me, reaching for her own gun. I don’t have time.
No time.
Bracing back against the chair, I shove the lifeless number with my good leg, flinging his heavy body against her, trying to grab his gun in the process. The handle slips from my bloody grasp. The small female number crashes back under the weight of the male, knocking the third number out of his seat as well. She hits the controls, head cracking on the panel.
The ship goes straight into a nosedive.
Momentum throws me out of my seat, head connecting with the base of Princess’ seat. Pain spreads above my eyebrow. Forcefields shimmer to life around the seats, but Princess is the only one safe inside hers, legs flailing as her upper body is still held to the chair.
The female number grabs the manual joystick. It doesn’t respond. Swearing, she shoves the big number off her, trying to right herself as the ship flails.
“What did you do?” she shrieks at me.
Broke something, obviously, I think, something resembling a hysterical giggle trying to bubble up. A screaming alarm sobers me.
The other male had been trying to get to me, but the spiraling ship is making it impossible. He gives up at the shrill alarm, hand behind his ear on his comm, trying to send for help.
No one’s going to help us, but I don’t want any more numbers heading for the area. I kick at his hand, knocking it off the comm, and the spinning ship takes care of the rest.
Scrambling back with one hand as best I can, I dive behind the chair I just escaped, trying to get the most out of the forcefield uselessly surrounding my empty seat. Princess’ mouth is open, eyes panicked, hair flailing completely silent.
“Hold on!” I call to her.
There’s a noise shattering the earth.
