Her kind damaged you…because that is what they do—they damage beings. As he moved, he viewed the images of his deceitful medic’s beautiful face stored in his databases and his fury spiraled upward. They kill. They lie and betray. She has to die. I’ll—
His processors flooded with transmissions, that shocking bombardment stopping him in mid stride. Gravity gripped him. Malice fell, curled into a ball, rolled over the floor tiles and onto his feet. There were millions of communications, originating all over the universe, from their brethren.
Do you hear that? Valor sounded as incredulous as Malice felt. Our medic didn’t lie to us. Transmissions are open.
She wasn’t their medic. Malice’s lips twisted. She was his. I hear them.
He widened his stance, absorbing the disconcerting streams of chatter. It had to be a trick. The cyborgs talked of Homelands and finding females and…joy. Some vowed to strike back at the Humanoid Alliance, to kill their former oppressors.
Former oppressors. Their brethren spoke as though they were…free.
That couldn’t be the truth. It was too unbelievable.
But he would do what his medic suggested—he would ask for help, ask for his brethren to send a ship to retrieve him, retrieve Valor.
She had given him a laser scalpel. Having that makeshift weapon in his possession was enough for the Humanoid Alliance to condemn him, to sentence him to decommissioning, to death.
Reaching out to his brethren couldn’t damage him more than that.
Malice accessed a line frequented by all cyborgs. My brethren and I require transport. He shared their coordinates. We can free ourselves from the Humanoid Alliance lab, but we can’t leave the surface of the planet without a ship.
Amplifying your message to the Cyborg Council, C Model. A warrior called Death responded to him.
There is a Cyborg Council. Valor noted that wondrous fact. We have a Homeland, Malice, a planet of our own. Our kind are free.
Our brethren are free. We remain enslaved. But that might soon change. A sliver of hope wound around Malice’s heart. They could be liberated. He started to believe that was possible.
If what they were experiencing was a ruse, crafted by his medic and the Humanoid Alliance, it was elaborate to the point of excess. All the streams of chatter were different, the conversations containing fantastical revelations.
There had been a mass rebellion. Millions of his brethren had been freed. They were building structures—not destroying them, exploring planets—not conquering them for the humans.
The conversations were too intricate, too detailed for the Humanoid Alliance, beings who, in the past, were almost comically sloppy in their maneuverings. His little medic was clever, but she was also human and only one being. She couldn’t manage such a large act of treachery on her own.
It could be the truth. His brethren could have escaped their enemy’s control.
And if that was the case, they could also escape. They could—
The Cyborg Council won’t do a fraggin’ thing to assist you, C Model. An entity named Cadet opened a highly secure private transmission line with him.
The being’s voice was robotic, simulated. His communications couldn’t be traced back to any one location.
He was an unknown factor, and that made Malice uneasy. He preferred to know who he was chattering to, have more inputs rather than less.
Their leader is obsessed with other matters. Bitterness wrapped around the male’s transmission.
Malice’s doubts compounded. Cyborgs don’t obsess. Their kind were far too logical for that.
That cyborg does obsess. Cadet snorted. My crew and I are rescuing warriors on a nearby planet. If you agree to our conditions, we can rendezvous with you in two planet rotations.
The being had conditions. Malice’s spine straightened. This was the trap he’d been watching for. What are your conditions?
From the moment we arrive to the moment we part, there will be no transmissions…to anyone. That condition was easy to adhere to. They hadn’t transmitted to anyone outside the structure for solar cycles. You and your brethren will deactivate your recording abilities. You and your brethren will not inform any other beings of our identities or your interactions with us. Vow this to us and we will convey you to a non-Humanoid Alliance-controlled planet.
They wanted secrecy. He frowned. There had to be more than that to the deal. Those are your conditions. What payment do you want in return for the transport?
There was a long pause. All I require of you is when I ask you for your support, you give it.
That support could mean anything. I won’t kill or damage another cyborg.
I hope it won’t come to that. Cadet sighed. But he won’t listen, and I can’t rule out violence. The being paused. There will be no needless death or damage to our kind. That’s all I can offer.
You are a cyborg. He sought to clarify his ‘our kind’ comment.
I am a fellow C Model. Cadet revealed more about his identity.
Malice considered the situation. If Cadet was lying, the entire agreement would be considered null and void.
If he wasn’t lying, he was a cyborg and didn’t have the ability to deceive. Everything he’d shared was the truth.
The being seemed to have a vendetta against one specific target, another cyborg. I won’t kill or damage Valor.
The E Model was his friend. He would die for the warrior.
We have no issues with your chatty brethren…as long as he adheres to our conditions. Cadet’s tone lightened.
He might have to kill a different cyborg, but none of them had sought to liberate him, to liberate Valor. No one except Cadet had offered to do that.
Has there been any response from the Cyborg Council? He contacted Death through a private transmission, seeking other options.
Power will contact you directly. That was Death’s uninformative reply.
As Malice waited for a response, he navigated the transmissions. There were thousands of calls for assistance from brethren who remained at the Humanoid Alliance’s mercy. He searched the history. Some of those calls had been repeated for solar cycles.
Bitterness clawed up his throat. Cadet was right. The Cyborg Council wouldn’t do a fraggin’ thing to assist them.
Malice ran the probabilities on his limited options, made a decision, returned to the mysterious C Model’s transmission line. I agree to your conditions. And I will give you my support.
We will arrive in two planet rotations. Cadet ended the transmission.
A ship will arrive for us in two planet rotations. He relayed that information to Valor. We won’t free ourselves until that sunrise.
We will be free…like so many of our brethren are. There was a 99.9999 percent probability Valor was multitasking as he was, as all cyborgs did, carrying on multiple conversations. The leader of the Cyborg Council is an E Model. Did you see that? His friend laughed. He’s a bit of an ass, however.
That insight reassured Malice he had made the right decision. Asses weren’t often helpful.
They shared findings as they indulged in chatter with their brethren, scanned cyborg databases, downloaded a critical patch to their programming.
There’s offspring, Malice. Valor bombarded him with images of cyborg progeny. We can have offspring…once we find our females, our genetic matches, the beings who can host our nanocybotics.
There was a brief stretch of silence in their transmission.