Chapter 6

6

" E ntering atmosphere in three… two… one…" Ryke's gravelly voice sounded over the comm.

Covak virtually vibrated with anticipation as the combat shuttle detached from the Lady's Dream and dropped through the atmosphere like a stone. Through the viewport, he watched as the cerulean orb of the human planet raced to meet them, its swirling cloud patterns reminding him of the creamy froth atop a mug of Vorrtan ale.

"I fucking hate these drops," Davis muttered.

Covak grinned, baring razor-sharp fangs as he gripped a nearby support strut. The G-forces pressed against him, but his Vorrtan physiology was hardier than any of the more squishable beings in the shuttle, easily withstanding the pressure.

"Whoohoo!" he bellowed. "Nothing like a little death-defying descent to get the blood pumping, eh?"

Davis shot him a withering glare. "Speak for yourself, you overgrown adrenaline junkie," he muttered, his knuckles white as he clung to the strap above his head.

"Yeah, some of us prefer our internal organs to remain internal," Anson grumbled.

The Vorrtan chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

As they hurtled toward the surface, the shuttle's ancient hull groaned in protest. Covak ran a hand along the worn bulkhead next to him, feeling every dent and scratch. This old bird had seen better days, but she was still kicking. She was an older imperial model they'd salvaged from a scrapyard and updated. Despite her age, the basic design hadn't changed in years. The Lathar were still using an updated version of the same design. And by updated, they'd just switched out the engines.

The Lathar.

Bitterness twisted his gut. His people had suffered because of the frexxing Lathar. They'd been created as soldiers to use in a war the empire couldn't win, treated as little more than weapons to be aimed at an unbeatable enemy. Yet… the shuttle's responsiveness, its ability to withstand the rigors of atmospheric entry, all part of a war machine that had kept the Lathar on top for millennia. He hated to admit it, but when it came to combat, the frexxing bastards knew their shit.

The turbulence increased, rattling his teeth. Adrenaline rolled through him, his muscles coiling with tension as his body prepared itself for battle.

"Debus in T minus thirty seconds," Ryke bellowed over the din. "Lock and load, gentlemen!"

Covak rolled his shoulders, adjusting the straps of the oversized shoulder gun nestled along his spine. The weapon's weight was comforting, a reminder of the raw power at his disposal. But the gun wasn't what made him dangerous. He flexed his fingers, and his claws dropped free with fleshy snicks. No, what made him lethal was the beast that lurked just beneath his skin…the Vorrtan super-soldier, bred for combat and honed through generations of genetic manipulation for war.

The shuttle landed with a bone-jarring thud, and his enhanced hearing picked up the startled cries of nearby humans. The back ramp dropped, and he winced for a second against the bright sunlight before his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

"Go, go, go!" Ryke barked, and the Reapers poured down the ramp.

Covak's boots hit soft earth as he stormed out of the shuttle and scanned their surroundings. They'd landed in some sort of park in front of the compound. His gaze swept the area, cataloging potential threats and escape routes with an ease that was literally genetically coded.

A group of human children stood nearby, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. One little girl's ice cream slipped from her cone to splatter on the ground at her feet. A pang of guilt surged through him. They were just kids. They shouldn't have to witness this.

He winked at them, hoping to ease their fear, before turning his attention to the compound.

His high-tech glasses flickered to life, projecting a heads-up display that revealed the gun emplacements atop the walls. His lips curled into a snarl.

"Going hot," he warned over the comm, shrugging the massive shoulder gun into position.

The compound's defense guns registered the new threat and swiveled toward them, but they were too slow. Covak's enhanced reflexes kicked in, and time slowed as he targeted the nearest gun emplacement. His finger squeezed the trigger, and the big weapon roared to life, leaving a smoldering crater in the wall where the gun emplacement used to be.

"Frexx!" he snarled. The gun's recoil would have taken one of the others off their feet, but it barely registered against his Vorrtan strength as he aimed again, quickly taking out the other two guns. "There's a frexxing playground right here! Don't these assholes care about younglings getting hurt?"

Ryke's only response was to fire the assault cannon they'd liberated from a Krynassis arms dealer. The air hummed with energy, and then the weapon discharged. A second later a section of the compound wall wasn't there anymore, leaving a gaping hole for them to enter through.

They raced forward. His nostrils flared, drinking in the unfamiliar scents of the human world. Under the sharp tang of weapons fire lay the sweet perfume of flowering plants and the mouth-watering aroma of food being cooked nearby. Maybe this… barbeque was what the human holo-media mentioned all the time. It was intoxicating, and for a moment, he found himself wishing they had time to explore. Maybe grab a little lunch.

"Covak, come on!" Ryke bellowed, urging him forward, and he ran to keep up.

They had no time for sightseeing. They had a mission to complete and a beautiful woman to rescue. He was particularly interested in the after-the-rescue part, namely the part where she was grateful for his aid…

As they breached the compound, Ryke barked orders, "Split up, just like we planned. I'll create a distraction. Anson, find a terminal."

Ryke veered off with Davis to sow chaos and confusion among the guards as Anson sprinted the opposite direction down a corridor.

Covak shook his head as he watched the B'Kaar go. Despite being the team's medic and having scanned Anson on numerous occasions, he still couldn't make heads or tails of how his abilities worked. The ke'lath embedded in Anson's systems defied explanation, and the smug bastard was never forthcoming with answers. One of these days, though, he was going to find out. Whether Anson liked it or not.

Following the plan, Covak took another corridor and made his way through a series of tunnels, emerging from them into a small house. He paused for a moment in curiosity. Part of him wanted to explore, to see how humans lived their daily lives. But the mission came first.

The house turned out to be at the end of a quiet street. He jogged down it, his mind wandering to their target. Jane. Even her name sounded exotic to his ears. He'd only ever met one other human female before, and his imagination ran wild with possibilities. Especially as they knew Jane wasn't really human. Human-like, but not human, like Zero on the Warborne… who looked more Lathar that most Lathar did.

He shook his head. All that shit gave him a headache when all he wanted to do was think about Jane. Would she be frightened of him? Impressed by his strength? Maybe she'd be so grateful for her rescue that she'd fall madly in love with him on the spot.

He chuckled. He had to save her first.

It didn't take him long to reach his objective. Within minutes he approached the house where Jane was supposedly being held but then slowed down, his unease growing with each step. The street lay silent, not a single soul in sight. Odd. He turned in a circle, using his glasses to scan the area and noting the parked vehicles and empty sidewalks. The doors and gates of the target house stood wide open, the latter creaking gently in the breeze.

His eyes narrowed as he tightened his grip on his weapon. He needed eyes in the back of his head, watching everything in case this was a trap. The house looked deceptively peaceful with its tidy lawn and flowerbeds. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers, and there… the faint tang of gun oil.

Something wasn't right. His instincts all screamed at him to stay alert.

He moved cautiously toward the house, eyes and ears wide open. He stretched his senses to pick up any signs of movement, but there was nothing. Then he realized this house wasn't the only thing that was silent.

He hadn't heard a single gunshot from Ryke and Davis's position.

"Guys, what's going on?" he said into the comm. "Did you all decide to take a nap on the job and not tell me or something?"

Silence greeted him, broken only by the soft whisper of wind through the bushes nearby. He swore, his hand tightening on his weapon. Something was very, very wrong.

Suddenly, a bright flare streaked across the sky. Just a flash of light, but that wasn't a human flare. He squinted, catching the encoded flicker in its trail. It was a command to switch comm channels. The moment he made the change, Anson's voice burst into his ear. "—umans are jamming us. They're far more advanced than I realized."

He grinned, unable to resist needling the B'Kaar. "My gods, was that the famous Anson B'Kaar admitting he was wrong? Should I alert the media?"

Covak skirted down the side of the property. No way was he walking through that open door. His grin widened as Anson cursed in his ear.

"Asshole Vorrtan! I'll shove your head so far up your ass you'll be able to see your own tonsils," Anson growled.

"No need for that," he threw back. "Just keeping things interesting."

He pushed open the back door to the house cautiously, entering what appeared to be a kitchen. The room was spacious and well-lit with granite countertops and gleaming stainless-steel appliances.

"Status?" Ryke's voice cut in, tense and urgent.

"In the house now," Covak responded, his eyes scanning the room. There were wood cabinets above the counters and ceramic tiles underfoot.

"Looks like a standard kitchen. Place is obviously lived in. No signs of struggle, but something feels off."

He sniffed the air, cataloging the variety of smells. The sweet scent of baked goods lingered, mingled with the sharper smell of cleaning solvents. But underneath it all lay something else—a scent that made his heart race and his mouth water. It was floral and musky, utterly captivating.

Please, let that be Jane, he prayed. It would really suck to find my soulmate only to discover she's the enemy trying to shoot me.

Pushing the tantalizing scent from his mind, he focused. "So what's the plan?" he asked, moving out of the kitchen and into a hallway. Doors led off to other rooms and stairs climbed up to a second floor. "I'm at the house, and it looks like our bird has flown the coop."

"Working on it," Anson replied, his voice clipped. "These bastards have layer upon layer of encryption. It's like trying to peel an onion made of tri-dueranium."

Before he could reply, Ryke's voice came over the comm. "Something's not right here. These humans are acting weird."

"Weird how?" he asked in curiosity.

Davis chimed in, "They're pulling back. It's like they don't even care we're here."

"Maybe they're just scared of your ugly mug."

"I'm serious," Davis snapped, the words punctuated by the sound of gunfire. "We've got a clear shot at their command center, and they're just… leaving."

Ryke's grunt of agreement came through the comm. "It doesn't make sense. They're more interested in getting out than stopping us. Keep your eyes open, people. This stinks worse than Covak after a three-day bender."

"Hey!" Covak protested, but he was already moving, his powerful legs eating up the distance as he ran to join his teammates.

"Update on the package," Rann's voice cut through the chatter. "Looks like she's given her captors the slip. She's on the move."

"Frexx!" Covak swore, skidding to a halt. Suddenly, the humans' strange behavior made sense. "That's why they're not engaging us. They're not after us; they're after her."

"Rann… please tell me you can track her."

An amused chuckle filled his ear. "Of course I can, with a little help from our friends on the Warborne. Head for the north gate of the compound. I'll lead you right to her."

A route appeared on Covak's heads-up display, the glowing path leading him toward his quarry. He grinned, baring his fangs as he shouldered the big gun and broke into a sprint. His powerful muscles bunched and released with each stride, his body thrumming with the thrill of the hunt.

"Ready or not, my love," he muttered as he charged toward the north gate, "here I come."

Jesh's heart thundered in her chest as she tore through the suburban streets. Despite the fear that rolled through her system, making her shoulders tight and the skin between them crawl as she expected to be shot in the back any moment, she ran smoothly, the powerful muscles in her legs pushing her forward far faster than any human could run.

Turn left here, the voice in her head ordered, and she veered left instantly, running up the driveway of an imposing house.

She glanced at the manicured lawn and pristine exterior, narrowing her eyes as she checked for any signs that someone was home.

"What if someone's home?" she hissed. "What if they see me?"

There are no vehicles in the driveway, and power to this property is massively reduced compared to its neighbors. All indications suggest the owners aren't home."

That made sense. Without thinking, she launched herself effortlessly up and over the six-foot wall. The rough texture of the bricks beneath her fingers registered dimly in her mind, but then she was over and dropping into the space on the other side. A paved area wound between the house and the wall of its neighbor, seemingly a utility area if the coiled hose on the wall and the bins were any indication.

Stop, the voice ordered before she could take a step. She froze, every muscle taut as she listened for any signs of pursuit. But she heard nothing. If they were following her, they'd lost the trail streets back and moved on. All she could hear were her own ragged breaths and the frantic pounding of her heart. But as she noticed them, her breathing evened out, and her heart rate slowed to a steady rhythm, as though she hadn't just run what felt like a mile in under two minutes.

One minute, forty-nine seconds, " the voice informed her calmly.

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"But… that's not possible."

She'd spent endless hours in the hospital with nothing but holo-magazines to occupy her time. One had an article about Dastan Edeck, the fastest man alive. He was famous for holding the Earth Alliance record for running a mile… in two minutes and nine seconds.

"There's no way I could beat a record like that."

Engines roared in the distance, growing louder by the second. Jesh's heart leaped into her throat as she flattened herself against the wall, as if trying to meld with the bricks.

They'd found her. How?

Shielding system readings , the voice in her head announced calmly.

She held her breath, every muscle tensed for flight. But the sounds of pursuit rolled right past her as if she'd somehow turned invisible to their scanners. She blinked as the sound of the engines faded into the distance. How had they missed her?

"How did you do that?" she murmured in confusion. But then she noticed a smear of red on the right where she'd been leaning. "Ah, shit… I'm bleeding."

She turned her arm and hissed through her teeth. The gash on the back of her forearm from when she'd thrown herself out the car was deeper than she'd thought. She wrinkled her nose as she looked at it. It was gnarly, the edges of the skin split open again to reveal… shit, was that… was that… metal? Her eyes shot open wide. Where she should have seen bone, instead metal glinted at her beneath the blood. She twisted and flexed her arm, watching with morbid fascination as the muscles within the cut moved and shifted, hiding and then revealing the metal within like some kind of macabre hide-and-seek.

She had metal bones.

"Shit. Why do I have metal bones?"

Go into the house, the voice said. Scans indicate a defibrillation unit.

She flinched. "I have a cut…" Understatement of the century there, but she didn't have the words to argue with whatever was living in her head. "Why do I need a defibrillation unit?"

Often a first-aid kit with suturing supplies will be nearby. It sounded slightly irritated, like it was dealing with an awkward toddler.

"Oh, okay." At least that made sense. Not much else did.

She approached the back door, slowly. Warily. It was solid with what looked like armored glass and no lock that she could see, just a blank panel to the side.

"How am I supposed to get in?" she whispered, her fingers hovering over the panel uncertainly.

Place your palm on the scanner.

She hesitated for a moment and then pressed her hand against the cool surface. A tingling sensation spread through her palm as the panel lit up, scanning her hand.

"Now what?" she murmured, looking up and around for security cameras. She found none and relaxed a little.

Scanning… bypassing security protocols, the voice said neutrally. It seemed to flick between irritation and emotionless. Perhaps it was broken, just like her? That would make sense since it was in her head.

Enter the following sequence , it instructed. Seven-two-nine-Alpha-Echo-three .

Her fingers danced across the panel, inputting the code, and after a second, the door clicked open with a soft hiss.

Security system disabled, the voice confirmed.

She slipped inside, her enhanced senses immediately on high alert. The house was quiet, broken only by the soft padding of her feet on the polished hardwood floors. She inhaled deeply, picking up the sharp odor of lemon-scented cleaning products mingled with the faint, lingering aroma of a home-cooked meal.

Her stomach growled loudly. She frowned as she rubbed her hand over it, trying to calm it down. She'd eaten only a few hours ago, but she was starving again. The thought of food made her mouth water, but she pushed the hunger aside. She could find something to eat when she'd stopped bleeding everywhere.

She padded into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room. A dish rack by the sink held clean plates and glasses neatly stacked.

Spotting a row of hooks near the refrigerator, each holding a different-colored kitchen towel, she grabbed a dark blue one and pressed it firmly against her wound. The soft fabric quickly grew damp and warm with her blood.

She hissed through her teeth as she saw red droplets on the tiled floor. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed a paper towel from a nearby roll and bent to wipe up the evidence. The movement made her head spin, and she steadied herself against the counter.

The towel was already soaking through. Her expression tightened. She needed to deal with this wound fast. Gritting her teeth, she wrapped the towel tighter around her arm and headed back to the cloakroom, leaving a trail of tiny red splatters in her wake.

Her footsteps were silent on the plush carpet when she crept through the dimly lit hallway. The air was cool against her skin, heavy with the scent of lavender air freshener. To her left, a half-open door revealed a glimpse of a pristine living room, all sleek leather and polished wood.

She glanced to the right, catching sight of a small cloakroom. Moving that way on silent feet, she slipped inside, her hand fumbling along the wall until she found the light switch. The sudden brightness made her squint.

Coats hung neatly on hooks, and a shoe rack lined one wall. She scanned the room, her gaze landing on a white cabinet above a small sink. Yanking it open, she rummaged through bottles of cleaning supplies and rolls of toilet paper until her fingers brushed against something plastic and square.

She pulled out the first-aid kit, its red cross standing out against the white case. Bingo. Setting it on the edge of the sink, she flipped the latches and opened the lid. Inside, neatly organized compartments held an array of bandages, antiseptic wipes, and other medical supplies.

She spread the contents of the first-aid kit before her, grumbling, "Look, I've never done anything like this before."

But as the words left her mouth, her vision shifted. A faint blue glow appeared around the edges of her sight, and then small text boxes materialized next to each item.

She blinked rapidly, shaking her head to clear her vision. The pop-up explanations stayed firmly in place, though, hovering over each item in the first-aid kit. As her eyes focused on the gauze, a small text box appeared: "Sterile cotton gauze, 4x4 inches, for wound dressing." She shifted her gaze to the antiseptic wipes, and another box materialized: "70% isopropyl alcohol, for cleaning wounds and preventing infection."

Her frown deepened as she scanned the rest of the kit. Each item had its own little blue box with an explanation, usage instructions, and potential alternatives. The scissors were labeled "Medical shears, capable of cutting through clothing." Even the adhesive bandages had a note: "For minor cuts and abrasions, waterproof."

She reached out, her hand hovering over the suture kit. The pop-up expanded as her fingers neared it: "Sterile needle and thread for wound closure. Use with local anesthetic if available." Beneath it scrolled a set of step-by-step instructions on suturing techniques.

The information felt familiar, as if she'd known it all along but had forgotten until this precise moment.

Leaning against the vanity, she looked up at the ceiling and breathed out. Her head ached, and she blinked hard to clear all the crap out of her vision, but when she looked down, the blue glow was still there around each item, the pop-ups hiding and waiting to accost her at any moment.

"Seriously. How do I know all this shit?" she muttered again, reaching for the alcohol to clean the wound. "I've never done anything like this before."

Incorrect. J10-10M3E. Designation: battlefield medic.

"What?" She unwrapped the kitchen towel from around her arm. The bleeding had slowed to a sluggish trickle.

"Okay, so J10-10M3E is me. Right? So I am… I was a medic? For who? What battlefield?" The questions tumbled from her lips as she cleaned the wound with practiced efficiency.

Correct. J10-10M3E. Designated unit medic, section 10, the voice confirmed.

Okay, so now they had section 10. She was getting the hang of talking to it and tried a different tactic as her fingers prepared the suturing kit without the apparent intervention of her brain.

"What unit is J10-10M3E unit medic for?"

The silence stretched out.

Data not available, it finally said.

Hmm, okay… so whatever the voice was, it didn't know everything.

She stared at the gaping wound on her right arm, her brow furrowing. She was right-handed, and the wound was on her right arm.

"Shit… how am I supposed to do this?" She flexed her left hand uncertainly.

She reached for the suture kit, and something took over. Amazement filled her as her left hand moved with unexpected precision and began to close the wound. The needle pierced her skin, and she winced, expecting pain. In and out, the needle punched through her skin, each stitch perfectly spaced and pulled taut with what looked like the correct tension.

"What the actual…" she whispered, transfixed. The gash slowly disappeared beneath a line of neat, even stitches.

She blinked rapidly as she tied off the last knot as if coming out of a trance. Running her left hand over the fresh sutures, she felt the slight ridges beneath her fingertips. The skin around the wound was already less inflamed, and the bleeding had completely stopped.

"This is amazing," she breathed, twisting her arm to examine her handiwork from different angles. The stitches looked professional, far better than anything she'd thought she was capable of. A chill ran down her spine as she realized how much she didn't know or understand about herself.

But the voice didn't give her a chance to admire her handiwork.

Locate home access terminal, it ordered, and a map of the house appeared in her mind. Using it, she made her way to the study and slipped inside. She took a deep breath, picking up the faint scent of cologne. A man's office, then.

A fleece jacket hung over the back of the chair, and she slipped it on to cover her torn clothing and freshly stitched arm. Family photos on the desk caught her eye—a happy couple with three smiling children. Curiosity shot through her. Did she have a family? The Hargroves were obviously not her real family… and Amanda had called her a robot. Could robots have families?

"Am I a robot?" she asked aloud as she logged into the access terminal. She didn't even need to hack it. The access code was written on a note stuck to the bottom of the screen. As she logged in, her fingers took over, flying across the keys as she searched for local maps and transport routes.

J10-10M3E physical composition: seventy percent cybernetic, thirty percent biological .

Her breath caught in her throat. "I'm a cyborg?"

Before she could process this information, a voice from the corridor outside the study made her freeze.

"Dad? Are you back already?"

Shit, someone was home. She glanced at the family photos again. The children in the pictures were much younger than the voice she'd just heard.

With the silent grace of a predator, she slipped out from behind the desk and slid behind the door, holding her breath. A small giggle and the scrape of shoes against the floor said two people were in the corridor.

"I thought you said your dad was away until Monday." The second voice was young and female, sounding about the same age as the boy.

"He should be. Come on, hurry up before he catches us."

Jesh let out a silent sigh of relief as the pair moved past. She waited until she heard a door close further down the corridor along with music blaring and then slipped out of the study like a wraith. She padded on silent feet toward the bedrooms, her enhanced hearing picking up the sound of giggles and whispers from behind the closed door. The sounds coming from the other side said neither of the occupants was going to be emerging for a while. Good. She could make her escape.

She crept back into the kitchen, her footsteps barely audible on the cool tile floor. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the room in a harsh glare. Her eyes, squinting slightly against the brightness, scanned the space methodically.

A glint on the granite countertop caught her attention. She moved closer, her hand reaching out instinctively. Her fingers closed around a set of keys, the metal warm from the sunlight. The keychain clinked softly as she lifted them, and she froze, listening intently for any sign that the noise had alerted someone.

Silence.

Without hesitation, she slipped the keys into her pocket. She turned, her gaze finding the door that led to the garage. Three steps brought her to it, her hand hovering over the handle for a moment before she turned it slowly.

The door opened with a soft click, revealing a dimmer space beyond. The scent of oil and rubber wafted out, and she stepped within, her eyes already adjusting. She smiled as her gaze landed on a dangerous-looking road bike that made her heart skip a beat. The machine was all sleek lines and polished chrome gleaming under the garage's lights.

NeuroPulse ZX-750 , the voice told her. Hybrid plasma-electric engine. Zero to one hundred kilometers per hour in two point three seconds. Top speed: three hundred and eighty kilometers per hour, electronically limited for civilian use.

She nodded. It would do nicely. Very nicely.

Adaptive suspension with neural interface , the voice continued. Adjusts in real-time to road conditions and rider input. Carbon nanotube frame, fifty percent lighter than traditional materials with two hundred percent increased strength.

A smile spread across her face as she swung her leg over the machine. The seat molded to her body instantly. Her hands found the handlebars, and a jolt of recognition shot through her. It felt right, as if she'd ridden this bike or one like it a thousand times before.

Stealth mode available , the voice added. Reduces engine noise by ninety percent and masks heat signature. Active camouflage system can blend with surroundings at speeds up to eighty kilometers per hour.

As she settled onto the bike, more information flooded her mind. The heads-up display projected onto her retina showed fuel levels, speed, and a real-time map of the surrounding area.

Her smile widened, and with a gentle touch, she engaged the engine. The bike purred to life, a low, almost imperceptible rumble. The vibration beneath her was minimal, but she could feel the potential energy coiled and ready to explode into motion.

The garage door whirred to life, slowly rising. Jesh leaned forward, her muscles tensed, ready to bolt. Her eyes widened as a figure filled the opening, blocking her escape.

He was huge. Massive. Her eyes widened.

He wasn't human. He couldn't be. No human could be that big.

She stared, taking in his alien features. Sharp angles defined his face, both familiar and utterly foreign. Piercing eyes met hers, filled with intense curiosity and intelligence that seemed to bore into her very being.

Her gaze flicked to his mouth, where sharp fangs peeked out from beneath surprisingly soft-looking lips. Massive hands hung at his sides, tipped with wickedly sharp claws that caught the dim garage light.

But the enormous gun slung casually over his shoulder drew her attention most. The weapon dwarfed anything she'd ever seen, its sleek design hinting at devastating power.

His lips curled into a smile that was both predatory and charming at the same time.

"Hello, beautiful."