Cyborg Legacy Read online

  “Everything all right?” Maddy asked.

  “Yes… and no. Will you get in touch with Arlen McCall for me?”

  “The weird skip tracer whose dog is more likely to answer the comm than she is?”

  “That’s her. Just send a message, ask her if she can look up our target and find out if Adams has any family and if so, where they are.”

  “You killed him?” Maddy asked, no hint of reproof in her voice.

  “No. Someone else did. Three days ago would be my guess.”

  “And they didn’t take his yacht?”

  “I don’t think they took anything,” Jasim said, glancing at the crates in the warehouse.

  “Give me a couple minutes.”

  Jasim tapped the button to unlock the back door, and it opened without any security requirements. Apparently, if one got past the cyborg, exploring the rest of the compound was easy. He found the button to lower the forcefield protecting the ship and walked to the sleek yacht resting in the dust. There wasn’t so much as a dent. Aside from missing payments, Adams looked to have taken care of his baby. Maybe he had enjoyed the auto-massager.

  As he approached, Jasim hoped it would be as easy to get into—it wasn’t uncommon for people to booby trap their ships when they knew the repo men were coming. If they couldn’t have it, they didn’t want anyone else to have it either.

  But he boarded it without trouble. The hatch opened welcomingly for him, and the AI called him “sir” when he walked up the ramp. Already familiar with the layout and operations, he headed for the yacht’s version of NavCom. He sat down and fired up the craft. His piloting skills were limited, and he wouldn’t want to deal with the gravitational anomalies out in space between the system’s three suns, but The Pulverizer had sent him to a quick training course, and he could get most vessels through local air and to the transport stations where they would be loaded with other freight and returned to their originators.

  “Antar?” Maddy asked over his helmet comm. “You have your netdisc with you?”

  “No, but my armor can hook up to the sys-net if there are local satellites that don’t charge by the second.”

  “No promises about that, but your buddy is just over at Bronos Moon, so there wasn’t much lag. Looks like she got your message immediately. Or the dog did. I’m not sure. But a text message came back through. I’ll forward it to you right away.”

  “Right away?” Jasim asked. “Is there something alarming in it?”

  “Only if you’re a cyborg.”

  “Well, thank the sun gods there aren’t any of those around here.”

  Maddy snorted. “You’re an odd boy, big man, but I’m still going to finish knitting your scarf.”

  “The gods are shining triply upon me today,” Jasim said, while holding back a grimace. The hat she had made him, a gift she had given him after their first mission together, made his head itch. And other body parts too. Wool. Horrible stuff. He hoped whichever colonist had thought it would be a good idea to freeze sheep embryos and bring them on the voyage from Old Earth had fallen into a volcano and died as soon as he stepped out of his ship.

  “Clearly,” Maddy said. “Meet you at the transport station?”

  “Yes.” Jasim tapped the thruster controls and lifted the yacht into the air, hoping no more locals with grenade launchers would take pot shots at him.

  His helmet beeped softly, and a message started to display on his faceplate. It paused after only a line. A polite flashing warning told him that he needed to pay to see the rest of it, and would he like to authorize charges?

  “Authorize,” he grumbled, wondering if the effort—and expense—to find Adams’s family was worth it.

  Yes, he decided. It was bad enough he was leaving the body behind, so they wouldn’t be able to hold a proper funeral. But CargoExpress forbade the shipping of corpses, as he’d learned on another occasion, and he doubted The Pulverizer would authorize Maddy to take him on a two-week trip to deliver a body. Knowing the boss, he would have another assignment ready for Jasim before he had this yacht secured and ready to ship.

  After informing him that funds were being withdrawn from his account, the message displayed.

  Sergeant Matt Aaron Adams, it read, originally from Zeta Colony on Sherran Moon. Surviving family, grandmother Jessica Adams, Zeta Colony. Possibly more pertinent information? Fourth former Cyborg Corps soldier killed in the last month.

  Jasim blinked. “What?”

  Of course, he did not receive an answer from the recorded message. But if McCall was on or orbiting Bronos Moon, he could get one soon if he sent the question to her. The message continued for a few more lines.

  Others deceased: Mahir Abadi, Stefan Albrecht, José Luis Alvarado. I’ve attached a file with the reports. Most are just one-line obituaries. All of the cyborgs died of mysterious causes and in their sleep, and their implants were removed, presumably after the fact. Only Alvarado’s death was investigated. He worked for Senator Bondarenko on Perun. An unidentified substance was found in his bloodstream, believed to be a poison or venom. You better watch out. You’re an A too.

  ~McCall

  “I’m an A too?” Jasim asked, puzzling over that before it dawned on him. His surname. Antar. All of the dead cyborgs’ surnames started with the letter A. “What in the suns’ fiery hells?”

  Was someone going down the Cyborg Corps duty roster? And if so, why? If they were being targeted so their implants could be sold on the black market, what did the order of deaths matter? Wouldn’t it be easier for the murderer to simply pick the closest cyborgs available?

  A hollow chill went through him, and he was glad no thugs on rooftops fired at the yacht, because he was barely paying attention to his route. He had pulled a lot of guard shifts with Alvarado. They were next to each other on the roster. Did that mean he was the next target?

  Jasim rubbed his face, not sure if he should flee to the far border worlds, go about his normal job while taking precautions, or try to find out who was behind this. The latter appealed to his sense of nobility, but where would he even start? McCall could perhaps help him with research, but who knew how much she would charge? He was surprised she hadn’t mentioned a fee already. The Pulverizer always paid her invoices when they needed her to find people who had gone off the grid with their stolen belongings.

  A bump behind his seat made Jasim jump. For a second, he thought someone had stowed away, but it was just Adams’s armor case, still hovering where he’d left it after boarding. Seeing the cyborg armor jarred a new thought into his mind. An unsettling one.

  Earlier, he had been wondering where his old battalion commander, Colonel Adler, had gone after the war. He was an A. Had he already been targeted? Already been killed? It could have happened somewhere remote and not been reported to the news organizations yet.

  Jasim hadn’t known the man well—in fact, he was somewhat terrified of him, both because of his reputation and because he’d made a bad impression on the colonel early during his enlistment—but maybe he would know what to do about all this. At the least, he should be warned that someone might be after him. If they hadn’t already gotten him.

  Trying to set aside that grim thought, Jasim recorded a message to send to McCall.

  “Thanks for the help, McCall. Let me know how much I owe you for the information. And I have one more request. Can you find out where Colonel Hieronymus Adler is currently located?”

  Chapter 3

  Hieronymus “Leonidas” Adler strode into NavCom on the old freighter he co-owned with the pilot—who was also his wife—Alisa. He touched her on the back of the head, letting his fingers linger while he glowered at the view screen. A converted transport ship had come into range of the rear camera. The vessel had been heavily modified, given extra shielding and enough weapons to blow a hole through a small moon. Perhaps a large moon.

  “Our cargo is being threatened, my stalwart business companion,” Alisa said, not appearing overly worried as she smiled up at him.<
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  After they’d married, she had given him half of the shipping business she’d formed, even though his entrepreneurial aspirations were primarily focused on keeping pirates, mafia, thieves, and other thugs off the ship and away from their cargo. And his family. He still thought of himself as the security officer, one who occasionally put his engineering degree to work by installing upgrades to the clunky old ship.

  “Have they commed us?” he asked.

  “They’re just admiring our sexy ass right now.” Alisa raised her eyebrows, perhaps inviting a comment about the irresistible appeal of her backside.

  Normally, he would make it—and agree with the sentiment—but when trouble loomed, he preferred to stay focused on that. He was never one to underestimate enemies, especially when their ship, the Star Nomad, had considerably fewer weapons and probably couldn’t outrun that vessel. He had more than cargo to protect. Jelena, Alisa’s daughter who had also become a daughter to him, and their twin girls were on the ship, along with the rest of their crew and comrades.

  “They’re matching our speed right now?” Leonidas asked.

  “They are.” Alisa turned back to the control panel, not appearing offended by his preference to stay focused. After more than four years together, she knew him well. “I see you’ve come prepared for action.” She waved toward his armored chest. He wore his full suit, save for the helmet tucked under his arm, and he had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “I’m always prepared for action.”

  “I’ve noticed that about you.” Her smile turned a touch lascivious as she winked at him. “It’s one of the reasons I said yes so quickly when you asked me to marry you.”

  She understood his preference for focus, but that didn’t keep her from deploying her preference for irreverent comments, no matter how dire the situation. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He enjoyed their life together, even if endlessly traveling on a freighter, hauling cargo from moon to planet to station, sometimes made him miss the excitement of his days in the Cyborg Corps. In addition to the constant action, he’d mattered to a lot of people then. Now, nobody outside of this ship relied upon him. Sometimes, he wondered if he’d made a mistake in retiring. Not that there had been much choice after the empire fell. A couple of times, he’d been offered a position in the Alliance Army, but he had never considered the option. That would be betraying his principles, along with too many old friends, too many dead comrades.

  He shifted his attention to the view screen again. Had the other ship drawn closer?

  Anticipation for a possible battle thrummed through him. It had been months since anyone had picked a fight with the Nomad. He shouldn’t long for battle, not when his family was aboard, but he couldn’t help it. Even if wrangling children—in particular, two three-year-olds with a penchant for naughtiness—kept him on his toes, it wasn’t the same. There was no outlet for his excess energy. Peering into forgotten nooks and opening cabinet doors to hunt for Maya and Nika’s latest hiding spot wasn’t the same as bashing enemy heads together in battle.

  “They must know we’ve got a juicy payload,” Alisa added, also watching the ship. “Isn’t it funny how pirates always seem to know when our hold is empty versus when it’s full?”

  “I didn’t realize tractors and backhoes constituted a juicy payload,” Leonidas said, silently daring that ship to come forward and try to board them. That was his opportunity for battle. Oh, he didn’t mind manning the co-pilot’s seat and firing at enemies while Alisa dodged return fire, but he preferred to meet man or machine on an open deck, pitting himself against them and whatever secret weapons or sly tactics they brought with them.

  “They’re expensive tractors for a farmer on Epsilon Seven. I almost agreed to take on some cattle for a rancher there, too, but I was afraid the kids would get stepped on.”

  “Is that true? Or were you afraid Jelena would use her telepathy to befriend them and not want to let them go?”

  Alisa smiled, but there was a hint of a grimace there too. “It’s true that we don’t need any more animals aboard.”

  Jelena had developed Starseer talents at a young age, and Alisa’s father, Stanislav, was handling that part of her education. He hadn’t yet convinced her that people were more interesting to befriend than animals. Maybe if Leonidas could telepathically communicate with dogs and chickens, he would find them more interesting too.

  “Be glad she hasn’t talked you into a horse yet,” he said.

  The comm flashed with an incoming message.

  “Hah, that’s them.” Alisa slapped a button. “Greetings, stalkers. Have you commed to apologize for breathing up our butts for the last twenty minutes? Unless you’re going to polish the rust off the hull while you’re back there, we don’t appreciate your presence.”

  “As charming to enemies as always,” Leonidas murmured.

  “Technically, they haven’t committed to being enemies yet. That’s just an armed ship without an ident flying too close for comfort.”

  “So your greeting was perfectly apt?”

  “Perfectly.” Alisa grinned at him. “Why don’t you come closer? Right here next to me, please.” She waved at the space between the seats, which happened to be within range of the comm camera if she turned on the video. Her eyes twinkled the way they did when she had some mischief in mind.

  “Because,” he said, bestirring himself to make a joke since she seemed in the mood for them, “you’ve been pining without my masculine presence close enough to touch?”

  Jokes did not come naturally to him, whether it was a serious moment or not, and early in their relationship, he’d often frowned at her knack for sharing them at inappropriate times. But when he put forth the effort to make them, it always seemed to tickle her.

  Indeed, her grin widened. “Always.” She patted his armored wrist, then gripped it and pulled him up to the console. “Also, I want to transmit your image to our stalkers. The war may be long over, but seeing a cyborg in imperial combat armor still has a tendency to make people wet themselves.”

  “You know this from personal experience?” Leonidas allowed himself to be positioned in front of the camera, even though he would have preferred to be a surprise to their enemies if those pirates tried to board them. He knew Alisa hoped to forestall boarding or contact of any kind, and agreed that was a wise move, but against all logic, he craved that battle. Since their Starseer crew member Abelardus had married Young-hee and moved back to the Arkadius temple, he didn’t have anyone on board he could challenge to sparring matches, not ones where he could potentially lose.

  “I’ve passed a few puddles people left behind after you walked by,” Alisa said.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “You didn’t think I saved my charms for my enemies, did you?” She reached for the comm, but paused halfway to the button. “Wait, can you turn sideways a bit, so that sticker isn’t visible?”

  He grunted and did so. Thanks to the children, his fearsome red combat armor was currently adorned with a prancing purple unicorn and a box of donuts that, when tapped, emitted the smell of baking pastries. Jelena had started the trend years earlier, and just when he’d thought she had grown past the age of stickers, she’d taught the twins the delight of pasting them on his armor. And most of the rest of the freighter too.

  “And maybe put your helmet on?” Alisa added, waving at his head.

  He narrowed his eyes to slits. “You better not be pointing at my gray hairs.”

  “I think there are more of them today than there were yesterday.”

  “Because I had to get up to round up the twins in the middle of the night. Twice. They decided to go camping in engineering by flashlight. Apparently, Ostberg leaves cookies down there sometimes, and they know it.”

  “You’re blaming the children for your hair? You commanded hundreds of men before you met me. Surely, that must have been more trying than being a father to small children.”

  “Well, they are your children.”
r />   “And yours. I refuse to believe my genes are more troublesome than yours.”

  “I don’t know how you can say that with a straight face,” Leonidas said, resting a hand on the back of her head again, tempted to remove his gauntlet so he could feel her silky hair against his skin. But he had better look fierce to scare off the pirates first. He lowered his hand and gave the camera a hard look. He did not put his helmet on. His gray hairs were just as fierce as he was.

  Alisa didn’t manage to keep her face straight. That grin crept out again. Shaking her head, she tapped the comm. But the other ship banked, thrusters flaring orange as it streaked off in another direction.

  “What happened?” she asked. “I hadn’t shown you off yet.”

  Leonidas, his sensitive ears catching footfalls and a familiar jangle of metal in the corridor behind them, could guess.

  “Did I hear my family’s genes being insulted?” Stanislav asked, stepping into NavCom.

  “Leonidas thinks our children’s troublemaking tendencies come from our side of the family,” Alisa said, looking back, then looking Stanislav up and down. “I can’t imagine why.”

  About a year ago, Stanislav had, at Alisa’s urging, purchased some “normal” clothing, and had stopped wearing his black Starseer robe all the time. Unfortunately, he had done his shopping on the ranching planet of Epsilon Seven, choosing some of the preferred wear of the hands there, including snagor-hide boots and chaps over denim trousers. Today, he was also wearing one of the plaid shirts and a wide-brimmed hat that served no discernible purpose on a spaceship. Alisa dropped her face into her hand often when he walked by in the full getup.

  “I must argue that my genes are not troublesome,” Stanislav said. “I just informed those pirates that we have three Starseers on board, as well as a cyborg in full imperial combat armor. They seemed alarmed by hearing my voice in their heads and decided to practice their ruthless ways elsewhere.”

  “Three Starseers?” Alisa asked. “You, Ostberg, and are you counting Jelena? She’s only twelve.”