“They’ll destroy it.” She assured her friend.
“Then I won’t fail them.” Relief wrapped around the female’s words. “My death, my life, will mean something.”
“Your life meant something to me.” Illona forced a smile. “Yours was the first friendly face I saw in here. Remember when we first met?”
“I remember.” Medic Febris grinned at her the same way she’d grinned that first time. “I misjudged the speed of our not-so-accidental hallway collision and almost gave us both a concussion.”
“I didn’t know what you were doing and was angry as fuck.” That felt like a lifetime ago.
“You looked like you wanted fight me.” Medic Febris laughed. “I would have won that battle. I stand head and shoulders above you.”
“That wouldn’t have stopped me from fighting you.” Joy, along with Malice’s nanocybotics, bubbled within her. “Once, when I was in the field, I tackled a patient who refused to rest.”
They chattered about their pasts, about the lives they’d led before they were captured by the Humanoid Alliance, before their current nightmare began. Both of them had been so blasted young and naïve, intent on helping others, on making a difference.
They had been beings Malice might have liked—honorable and caring and strong. Illona wished he had met her then, wished she had known Medic Febris when she had been free.
But that wasn’t possible. Her cyborg would always hate her.
“I’m scared.” Medic Febris whispered that truth into the quiet.
“I’m scared too.” She hugged her friend. “But we all have to die sometime, and this will be a good death.”
“You won’t allow them to resurrect me.” Medic Febris said that as a statement. “I couldn’t—”
“You won’t be resurrected.” Illona would die before breaking that promise to her friend. “You accessed the door. They’ll detonate your implant before you do more damage to their precious lab.”
“Yes.” The female’s head dipped. “They won’t take that risk. They’ll detonate it.”
Medic Febris pulled the bits of cleaning cloth out of her nostrils. Blood flowed down her face, dripped onto the floor.
Illona reluctantly pushed herself to booted feet. “Are you adding drama to our mini-rebellion?” She held out her hand. “Making it appear more violent than it is?”
Medic Febris grasped her palm. “It needs more drama.” Her friend allowed herself to be pulled upward. “I’m ensuring they know it was me.”
The door access would relay that information. Illona studied the female. “I can’t hug you with you bleeding like that.” The crimson stains on her jacket would be a highly visible connection between the two of them.
“There will be no goodbye hugs.” Her friend’s smile was heartbreakingly fake. “No mushy words. No tears.” She walked toward the exit. Her stride was unsteady. “We face this as we would face a patient’s prognosis—calmly, logically, as medics, our emotions tucked aside until the steps needed to be taken are taken.”
She placed her palm on the control panel. They entered the hallway.
Illona swallowed her sadness, her grief, her despair, hiding it behind a serene mask, the one she donned around patients, others. “You are a great medic, Febris. I am honored to have served with you.”
“It was an honor for me also, Illona.” Her friend’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Make that service matter.”
Medic Febris pulled her white jacket around her too-slight frame, lifted her chin, and strode away without another word, without a backward glance, leaving a trail of blood droplets behind her.
Illona watched her go. Her heart threatened to break.
But she didn’t have the luxury of sorrow, the time to grieve. There were more tasks to complete, two cyborgs to free.
She squared her shoulders and walked in the opposite direction.
Chapter Six
Malice allowed himself to be stunned. It was a fate he, as a cyborg, could have easily avoided. And he endured the guard’s beating, not saying anything, not raising a hand to defend himself.
He had wanted to kill the male, especially after he looked at Illona in that lewd way. She was his target. No one else should gaze at her.
But ending Bonin’s lifespan would put the escape plan at risk. And it would imperil Valor. His friend could be tortured, decommissioned.
Malice gritted his teeth and tolerated the pain.
His gaze lowered to his right hand. Hidden under his folded fingers was a strip of Illona’s shredded flight suit. He had held onto the fabric the entire time.
Her scent was…soothing. It grounded him, carved away some of his anger.
When the guard finally left and Malice became mobile once more, he paced around the perimeter of the chamber, seeking to release some of his excess energy.
He was stronger, faster, had repaired from the beating before the impact of the stunning had worn off.
The benefits of the medic’s injection remain. He transmitted that information to Valor. My nanocybotics are super charged.
Tell our medic to give me an injection also. The E Model’s transmission was edged with excitement. If I recover from the stunning faster, I can break free of the sleeping support, shift my torso lower. I can reconnect my limbs. Then I can walk out of this fraggin’ structure when our brethren rescue us.
Our brethren aren’t rescuing us. Malice ran faster, achieving sufficient momentum to leave the floor, sprint along the walls. They aren’t free, don’t have the ability to fly here. Those were all lies.
It could be true. Valor’s enthusiasm dampened.
It isn’t true. Malice hated Illona for raising his friend’s hopes.
Fraggin’ hole. He loathed that she made him believe for a couple foolish moments in her words, in her.
If our brethren were free, they would liberate us. They haven’t fraggin’ done that, have they? He stomped over the wall panels, denting the metal surfaces. They remain slaves to the Humanoid Alliance, are as confined as we are.
We won’t be slaves for much longer. Valor clung to his optimism. We don’t require our brethren’s assistance. We’ll free ourselves.
Malice hadn’t yet determined how to do that. He pumped his arms as he ran, pushing his abilities to his limits, seeking to leave that problem, his concerns behind him.
Frag. The E Model sighed through the transmission lines. It will be nice to be fully functional again, to have use of my arms and legs.
His friend had been reduced to a fraction of a warrior, and that angered Malice. The medic deserves to die for that cruelty alone.
My arms and legs were removed long before she entered the lab. Valor, for some illogical reason, came to Illona’s defense. She tried to graft some of my organics onto my limbs. Numerous times. My nanocybotics refused to recognize the arms and legs as being mine. He blew out his breath. I will always be damaged.
To repair properly, a cyborg’s severed limbs had to be reattached before their skin and flesh and nanocybotics fully died. The E Model’s arms and legs had been removed for solar cycles. They were fully mechanic now.
That neglect enraged Malice. He ran higher along the walls, propelling himself forward at a speed he’d never before achieved. His muscles burned with the strain.