using your brain’s synapses. But Peyton, even before you came to me, you were already proving that assumption to be false in some ways. It was just taking your human mind a bit longer to figure out how to exert itself alongside your constantly running cybernetic programs.”
Peyton set down the reading device and stood to pace. It was an action he’d been repeating for the last five hours. His logic chip said the small, walking movement provided nothing beneficial. The other unexplainable motivation compelled him to keep walking until something changed. He decided both reactions were equally frustrating.
“I hate being mentally pulled in two widely varying directions. Every decision now is excruciating. I was just mentally debating whether or not pacing was beneficial. What kind of fucking shit is this to live with? Is it going to be like this forever?”
Kyra sighed at his complaint because she couldn’t answer it. “I don’t know. So far I’ve had a sixty-six percent failure rate with restored cyborgs. I’m hoping you’ll live for a very long time and be able to give the world enough data to eventually answer those sorts of questions.”
Walking back to sit, Kyra swallowed the knot of guilt in her throat and turned to face her keyboard. She switched screens to make a note about what he’d said. Her fingers slipped from the keys when she heard a loud bang behind her. She turned back toward him just as Peyton hit the bars with his fists again. Her gut clenched in disappointment over his show of anger. She waited until he’d calmed enough to go back to his bed and sit before asking her question.
“Are you trying to escape, Captain?”
Peyton shook his head. “No. I’m just blowing off steam. Guess I’m a little louder about slamming around than the average scientist you’re used to seeing get angry.”
Kyra swiveled back and forth in her seat. She hated having to chastise him, but she had to share the information. “You have a chip capable of advising you about acceptable levels of force appropriate for each situation. The software in the chip measures PSI quite efficiently. There’s no reason your new processor can’t access that chip for the necessary data whenever you have need. Are you trying to do so and failing?”
Peyton glared. There was smart and there was smartass. He doubted Kyra Winters knew the difference. “Sure, Doc. I’m failing to access my chips. Why not use that excuse to explain my frustration?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Why don’t you tell me what you think is happening?” Kyra ordered calmly.
“Okay, I’ll tell you. I have an urge to rip a couple of these prison bars out of their sockets. Then I want to go find the ones who made the decision to fuck with my life and beat the shit out of them.”
Knowing she was one of those people, Kyra turned calmly back to her keyboard to hide her realization. Obviously Captain Elliot was too emotional at the moment to answer her queries with any degree of rationality. It was promising that he felt so strongly, but at various points she had seen high levels of emotion in both Marshall and Alex too.
Hearing Kyra typing rapidly, Peyton smacked his cybernetic hand loudly on the bars to get her attention again. “Doc—if you write any of that crap fest of whining down, I swear I’m going to spank you hard when I get out of here. If you expect to get anywhere with me, you need to learn the difference between a pissed-off comment and a serious answer.”
“That’s quite a statement coming from the non-emotional cyborg who just became an irrational human again yesterday,” Kyra said, continuing to type her note. “And swearing at me under your breath is not going to get you out of that cage any sooner, Captain.”
Peyton snorted at Kyra’s starchy reply. A part of him—especially the one below his belt—was secretly pleased that, despite being a crybaby, the woman was ballsy enough to talk back
Peyton set down the reading device and stood to pace. It was an action he’d been repeating for the last five hours. His logic chip said the small, walking movement provided nothing beneficial. The other unexplainable motivation compelled him to keep walking until something changed. He decided both reactions were equally frustrating.
“I hate being mentally pulled in two widely varying directions. Every decision now is excruciating. I was just mentally debating whether or not pacing was beneficial. What kind of fucking shit is this to live with? Is it going to be like this forever?”
Kyra sighed at his complaint because she couldn’t answer it. “I don’t know. So far I’ve had a sixty-six percent failure rate with restored cyborgs. I’m hoping you’ll live for a very long time and be able to give the world enough data to eventually answer those sorts of questions.”
Walking back to sit, Kyra swallowed the knot of guilt in her throat and turned to face her keyboard. She switched screens to make a note about what he’d said. Her fingers slipped from the keys when she heard a loud bang behind her. She turned back toward him just as Peyton hit the bars with his fists again. Her gut clenched in disappointment over his show of anger. She waited until he’d calmed enough to go back to his bed and sit before asking her question.
“Are you trying to escape, Captain?”
Peyton shook his head. “No. I’m just blowing off steam. Guess I’m a little louder about slamming around than the average scientist you’re used to seeing get angry.”
Kyra swiveled back and forth in her seat. She hated having to chastise him, but she had to share the information. “You have a chip capable of advising you about acceptable levels of force appropriate for each situation. The software in the chip measures PSI quite efficiently. There’s no reason your new processor can’t access that chip for the necessary data whenever you have need. Are you trying to do so and failing?”
Peyton glared. There was smart and there was smartass. He doubted Kyra Winters knew the difference. “Sure, Doc. I’m failing to access my chips. Why not use that excuse to explain my frustration?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Why don’t you tell me what you think is happening?” Kyra ordered calmly.
“Okay, I’ll tell you. I have an urge to rip a couple of these prison bars out of their sockets. Then I want to go find the ones who made the decision to fuck with my life and beat the shit out of them.”
Knowing she was one of those people, Kyra turned calmly back to her keyboard to hide her realization. Obviously Captain Elliot was too emotional at the moment to answer her queries with any degree of rationality. It was promising that he felt so strongly, but at various points she had seen high levels of emotion in both Marshall and Alex too.
Hearing Kyra typing rapidly, Peyton smacked his cybernetic hand loudly on the bars to get her attention again. “Doc—if you write any of that crap fest of whining down, I swear I’m going to spank you hard when I get out of here. If you expect to get anywhere with me, you need to learn the difference between a pissed-off comment and a serious answer.”
“That’s quite a statement coming from the non-emotional cyborg who just became an irrational human again yesterday,” Kyra said, continuing to type her note. “And swearing at me under your breath is not going to get you out of that cage any sooner, Captain.”
Peyton snorted at Kyra’s starchy reply. A part of him—especially the one below his belt—was secretly pleased that, despite being a crybaby, the woman was ballsy enough to talk back
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