way to go.
Clicking down the button on the side, he spoke. His voice when it issued was higher and more whining than before. A perfect match for the guy whose neck he’d done a one-eighty on.
“Wait your fucking turn. We’re not done yet,” he snarled as he strode over to the first officer’s station at the back of the bridge. “She’s a hot piece of ass, though. Pity you’re locked down until we drop out.”
His fingers danced over the controls as he started to isolate the source of the comm signal. Where were they?
The comm erupted with foul curses, most directed at Welch and his comrade about their supposed carnal enjoyment of Milly. Johnny ignored it as he narrowed down the signal. Yes, there. They were on the ventral hull, near the stern, a small shuttle attached to the armored plating like a parasite.
Leaving them just a laugh to think about, he cut the comm and crossed back to the pilot’s station. The seat was obviously designed for a smaller man, or a woman, but he crammed his tall, muscled frame into it and flicked the displays up. Their jump course overlaid a star-map, a counter in the corner counting down to the end point. They were about halfway through the jump, so he didn’t have much room to maneuver.
“Computer, change jump destination point to coordinates seven-seven-alpha-zero-niner by nine-three-juliet-two-five. Authorization Locke-sierra-seven-nine-four. Please confirm.”
Silence greeted his words. He’d shortened the jump, which would drop them into normal space within a couple of minutes. He reclined in the chair as he waited for the computer’s response as it worked out the new drop point. He could practically hear it crunching the numbers. Hell, they really needed to get the flame’s mainframe updated. The fun Cyn could have with a whole ship to play with…
“Warning, alteration of jump destination will jeopardize fuel consumption rates for onward journey. Do you wish to proceed?”
“Acceptable. Confirm course change and drop us.”
“Confirmed. Dropping to normal space in one minute, twenty seconds.”
There were many stories about the ruthlessness of cyborgs when they went into combat. Merciless killers, they’d been bred in a lab, matured in tanks and gone under the surgeon’s knife before they’d achieved consciousness for the first time.
Most of that was true, Johnny acknowledged as he strapped weaponry around his body from the small weapons cache kept on the bridge. He checked the power pack on the pulse assault carbine in his hands and shoved it home before activating the weapon with practiced movements. Another carbine was slung crosswise over his back, he had pistols on both hips and a small shotgun in a spine sheath. A trench knife played peekaboo from the top of his boot as he strode across the bridge to the lift.
No, far from the hardened psychopaths they were labeled, all cyborgs were “born” from the tanks a blank slate. Like a terran pitbull forced to fight in the ring, it took intervention and cruelty to create a monster. He flicked the safety off the carbine as the lift doors slid shut in front of him, rage surging through every cell in his body.
He’d spent years serving the fleet and he’d never once stepped over the line from thinking, feeling soldier who just happened to be cybernetic to cold, heartless cyborg killer. Attacking Milly was one step too far, as the two life signs he’d picked up in the shuttle were about to find out.
It took him less than ten minutes to traverse the length and depth of the ship, his boots pounding the metal deck plates at a dead run that would have taxed his system had he been merely human. But he wasn’t, he was a cyborg and unlike his organic systems, the tri-sappherium crystals that powered his combat chassis never tired.
He swung into the corridor they’d breached and plastered himself to the wall behind a support strut. The corridor was dark. It had taken some arguments with the Starflame’s old
Clicking down the button on the side, he spoke. His voice when it issued was higher and more whining than before. A perfect match for the guy whose neck he’d done a one-eighty on.
“Wait your fucking turn. We’re not done yet,” he snarled as he strode over to the first officer’s station at the back of the bridge. “She’s a hot piece of ass, though. Pity you’re locked down until we drop out.”
His fingers danced over the controls as he started to isolate the source of the comm signal. Where were they?
The comm erupted with foul curses, most directed at Welch and his comrade about their supposed carnal enjoyment of Milly. Johnny ignored it as he narrowed down the signal. Yes, there. They were on the ventral hull, near the stern, a small shuttle attached to the armored plating like a parasite.
Leaving them just a laugh to think about, he cut the comm and crossed back to the pilot’s station. The seat was obviously designed for a smaller man, or a woman, but he crammed his tall, muscled frame into it and flicked the displays up. Their jump course overlaid a star-map, a counter in the corner counting down to the end point. They were about halfway through the jump, so he didn’t have much room to maneuver.
“Computer, change jump destination point to coordinates seven-seven-alpha-zero-niner by nine-three-juliet-two-five. Authorization Locke-sierra-seven-nine-four. Please confirm.”
Silence greeted his words. He’d shortened the jump, which would drop them into normal space within a couple of minutes. He reclined in the chair as he waited for the computer’s response as it worked out the new drop point. He could practically hear it crunching the numbers. Hell, they really needed to get the flame’s mainframe updated. The fun Cyn could have with a whole ship to play with…
“Warning, alteration of jump destination will jeopardize fuel consumption rates for onward journey. Do you wish to proceed?”
“Acceptable. Confirm course change and drop us.”
“Confirmed. Dropping to normal space in one minute, twenty seconds.”
There were many stories about the ruthlessness of cyborgs when they went into combat. Merciless killers, they’d been bred in a lab, matured in tanks and gone under the surgeon’s knife before they’d achieved consciousness for the first time.
Most of that was true, Johnny acknowledged as he strapped weaponry around his body from the small weapons cache kept on the bridge. He checked the power pack on the pulse assault carbine in his hands and shoved it home before activating the weapon with practiced movements. Another carbine was slung crosswise over his back, he had pistols on both hips and a small shotgun in a spine sheath. A trench knife played peekaboo from the top of his boot as he strode across the bridge to the lift.
No, far from the hardened psychopaths they were labeled, all cyborgs were “born” from the tanks a blank slate. Like a terran pitbull forced to fight in the ring, it took intervention and cruelty to create a monster. He flicked the safety off the carbine as the lift doors slid shut in front of him, rage surging through every cell in his body.
He’d spent years serving the fleet and he’d never once stepped over the line from thinking, feeling soldier who just happened to be cybernetic to cold, heartless cyborg killer. Attacking Milly was one step too far, as the two life signs he’d picked up in the shuttle were about to find out.
It took him less than ten minutes to traverse the length and depth of the ship, his boots pounding the metal deck plates at a dead run that would have taxed his system had he been merely human. But he wasn’t, he was a cyborg and unlike his organic systems, the tri-sappherium crystals that powered his combat chassis never tired.
He swung into the corridor they’d breached and plastered himself to the wall behind a support strut. The corridor was dark. It had taken some arguments with the Starflame’s old
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