Thirteen
Ghost had fought thousands of battles. Being the ultimate warriors, cyborgs were designed for combat, manufactured for the sole purpose of ending lifespans. Killing the enemy gave him great satisfaction.
That satisfaction was clouded by other emotions. During battle, he would feel anger at the Humanoid Alliance for their dishonorable actions, rage that they were the masters he had to serve. He would experience guilt and devastation over not being able to protect the females he sensed belonged to his brethren.
He had never felt fear.
Not until now.
The thought of risking his female’s lifespan yet again, terrified him.
Ghost donned his irritatingly tight flight suit, yearning for the body armor he’d once worn. He refastened the boots his female found for him. She called them a gift, and that was why he tolerated the footwear.
His little female dressed also, covering her agonizingly fragile human form with a thin layer of useless fabric. His lips twisted. That wouldn’t protect her against a gentle breeze.
Protecting her was his mission, his top priority.
She refastened her boots and sat in their captain’s chair. Alone. They had to focus.
Ghost stood beside her and scanned Deneb 9 for activity. The fighting encompassed the entire planet, flares of heat signatures on the surface denoting activity.
“Landing sites.” He circled the three locations with the least activity. All of them had too much fighting for his liking.
“One of the moons is near this site.” She indicated her choice on the main viewscreen. “I can use it to conceal part of our approach.”
“Humanoid Alliance attacks. We retreat,” he warned. They couldn’t defend themselves against the Humanoid Alliance in the air and the Rebels on the ground.
“Agreed.” His female nodded. “They won’t attack us. This is a Humanoid Alliance warship, one of their top vessels. Unless they hail us, and they wouldn’t do that in the middle of a battle, they won’t know we’re not one of them.”
He didn’t share her confidence. “Plotting course.”
“Take us close to the moon.”
They worked together, planning the descent. He plotted it. His little female, having more flying hours and the space battle experience he lacked, tweaked it to her satisfaction.
Ghost changed the destination to Deneb 9. “Authorize.” He gave her one last opportunity to change her mind.
“Authorization granted.” His stubborn human was determined to save the strangers.
And he would assist her. He changed their course, steering the warship toward the planet.
They passed the moon. Its image dominated the main viewscreen, the gray crater-strewn surface devoid of life.
“Mercury Minor only had one moon.” His female’s voice was soft. “It wasn’t shining the planet rotation of the invasion. That might have been why no one detected the ships until it was too late.”
They wouldn’t have that advantage this planet rotation. There was no darkness to conceal their approach. The sun shone on their landing site.
The airspace around the planet was crowded. Humanoid Alliance warships flew in and out of battle stations. A couple of ragged Rebel ships darted forward. Their brave but foolish captains fired missiles and retreated.
A merchant ship heading to open space from the planet exploded, decimated by the Humanoid Alliance. Ghost gritted his teeth.
“They’re not allowing anyone to leave the planet.” His female said what he was thinking.
He grunted. She didn’t need a reply.
That realization would have frightened another captain. His stubborn female looked more determined. “We’re their only hope.”
The transmission noise from the surface was filled with frantic distress calls. The cyborgs, when they retreated, had taken any ships they could find. The Rebel vessels stationed on the planet had been the most accessible.
That had reduced the Rebels’ already small fleet, giving the survivors no means to escape Deneb 9. They were being pounded with missiles, annihilated more and more with each passing moment.
A squadron of Humanoid Alliance warships flew toward Deneb 9. “We’re joining them.” His female accelerated to catch up with the squadron. Then she adjusted the warship’s speed to keep pace.
Every time they changed course, she did also. The delay between their movements and hers was mere heartbeats.
She was fast for a human. Ghost’s lips curled upward. And she could fly.
The communications system beeped. One of the warships was hailing them.
“Ignore that.” She broke pattern, headed toward their designated landing spot.
Missiles from the ground arced around them. The floor below Ghost’s booted feet slanted to the left and right as his female avoided the bombardment.
One missile connected. The warship shuddered, the shields holding. He stepped closer to his female.
“Damage report?” she asked.
“No damage.” He rotated the guns, pointed them toward the ground, fired missiles back at the Rebels. The warship jerked with each round.
“Stop shooting at them,” she ordered. “We’re on the same side.”
“Shooting at us.” He didn’t listen to her, continued firing. “Protect you.”
“They can’t get past our shields.”
“Now.” As they neared the landing site, the missiles from the ground lessened. “Land. Shields lower.” They couldn’t land with the shields up.
“Which is why we’re landing here.”
The ground attack abruptly stopped. The sky was devoid of missiles and the silence was eerie. He didn’t trust the sudden peacefulness.
“Do not land.” He scanned the area. “Beings on ground.”
“Don’t shoot them, cyborg,” she yelled. “Those are survivors, the beings we’re seeking to save.”
He hesitated. “Threats.”
“If they were threats, they would be shooting at us.”
Her logic was sound but, during his long lifespan, he’d seen humans act in illogical ways. “Trap. Clear the space.”
“Ghost.” Her voice grew even louder. “Those aren’t cyborgs. Those are humanoids. They’re scared and exhausted and fighting for their lifespans. They aren’t setting traps for anyone.”
“Mine.”
“If they shoot us, you can shoot them,” she relented.
That was a deal Ghost could accept. He lifted his hands from the control panel. One or two missiles shouldn’t compromise the warship’s structural integrity.
But he would add a layer of protection. He scooped his female out of her seat.
She yelped. “Stop it.” She batted his arms. “I’m flying our warship.”
He claimed her chair, set her on his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Fly now.” She could fly her warship while seated on him.
“You’ll distract me.” She hunched over the control panel.
Ghost hunched over her, not allowing any space between them.
His female huffed. She guided the warship downward. According to his lifeform scans, the beings directly below them moved. There was no other activity.
“Lowering shields,” he announced, bracing for possible impact.
Nothing happened.
“See.” Her tone was smug. “There isn’t anything to worry—”
Missiles shot upward, from all directions. Alarms sounded. The main viewscreen flashed red.
“Shit.” His female cussed, swerving the warship left and right, frantically trying to avoid the bombardment.
Ghost assisted her but he knew the task was doomed.
The Rebels had cleverly coordinated the attack, waited until their shields were lowered, until they were too close to the ground to escape the missiles.
The warship would be hit, the shields would collapse, and they would crash.
He folded his body over his female, creating a protective cage around her with his arms and legs, hoping that would be enough to save her life.
The boom temporarily shorted his auditory system. The panels peeled off walls. The main viewscreen shattered. A support beam fell, crashed against the console to their right. The warship bucked, thrown upward, to the right, to the left.
His female screamed and clung to him.
The warship dropped. The free fall pulled them toward the ceiling. His female’s skull cracked against his chin. Ghost absorbed that pain, tightened his grip on her, hooked his feet around the base of the chair. It took all of his strength to remain seated.
The warship connected with the ground. Only Ghost’s arms prevented his female from slamming into the console. Her breath rushed from her parted lips. He dug the heels of his boots into the floor tiles, the impact denting the squares.
Metal screeched. The support beam shot forward, piercing a hole through the main viewscreen. Pieces of the ceiling fell. The live circuits dangling above their heads snapped and popped. The stench of spilled fuel aggravated Ghost’s nostrils.
Before the warship stopped, he was out of his seat, his female slung over his shoulder. He ran toward the exterior doors. The vessel was a huge immobile target. The rebels would ensure there were no parts left to salvage.
He dodged fallen debris, kicked through doors, using his new boots as battering rams. There was no need to break down the exterior door. The warship had split into two, the entire right side missing.
He slid his female lower against his chest, ducked under a panel, and sprinted across the torn ground. A missile whistled above them.
Ghost flung himself forward, tucking his female under him as he fell, covering her smaller form with his larger body. A wave of heat, of pain, whooshed over him, stripping his flight suit, shaving off layers of his skin, burning his back, his ass, his scalp to his metal frame.
The agony was too much to endure. His human brain blacked out. Ghost transferred all of his functions to his processors, relying on his machine to stay conscious.
He had to protect his female.
She twitched. He pushed her arms closer to her body, covering them with his.
The torturous heat finally stopped.
Ghost lifted himself upward. His female’s gaze met his. Her eyes widened. Her face paled. Her bottom lip trembled.
She was horrified by his appearance but she was alive, her chest heaving, her blonde hair charred at the ends.
He cradled her in his arms and forced himself to his feet. Moving was torment. Hunks of his flesh fell to the ground with every step.
Must. Protect. Female. He placed one foot in front of the other. The Rebels might arrive, seeking to kill the survivors. He had to safeguard her.
His speed increased. The pain was excruciating. Only his primitive need to shelter his female from harm drove him onward. That was the sole thought in his battered processors.
Ghost rushed with her across the battle-beaten terrain, looking for shelter, for a place to hide, to repair. Domiciles had been demolished, some partially, some razed to the ground. Dead bodies were strewn everywhere. Fires burned in the remains, the black putrid-smelling plumes of smoke billowing upward.
Gray ash fluttered like falling vegetation downward, coating every exposed surface area. The scents of blood, of rotting flesh, of battle could be detected through the smoke.
The mix appealed to him. It was familiar, what he knew. Much of his lifespan had been spent on battlefields. But his mission on this planet rotation wasn’t to kill. It was to save.
Save his female.
He scanned his surroundings, evaluating threats, searching for refuge.
In the distance, ships hovered above the planet’s surface, pummeling those beings below them with missiles, the debris around him trembling with each strike.
Ghost ran in the opposite direction, carrying his female away from the fighting.
The structures were flattened, the area already thoroughly bombed. The Humanoid Alliance was unlikely to return to it soon. He sprinted. There were survivors but not many.
A female offspring, a local Deneb judging by her green skin and green hair, stood in the rubble, crying. Tear tracks marked her dirty cheeks. She clasped a severed hand.
Her sobs tugged at his big cyborg heart. She was female, offspring, alone.
But she wasn’t his. Ghost forced himself to continue moving, to run past her. Another being could protect the offspring. Only he could save his female.
The sound of gunfire grew louder.
He detected the source. Two factions of beings hid behind partially destroyed walls. They exchanged projectiles, intent on killing each other.
The beings didn’t aim at him. He traveled at cyborg speeds. To the humanoids, he would be merely a blur, a shadow streaking across the debris.
Ghost surveyed every demolished domicile he passed, looking for safety. At the one hundred and forty-second domicile, he found what he was looking for–a flat slab of stone on the ground. The covering was split, revealing the hidden subterranean storage chamber.
He held his female with one hand, pushed the stone to the side with the other. A grooved ramp led downward, the bryophyte-slickened surface made more navigable by the ash. Ghost descended with his little human, pushing the slab back into place above them.
His vision system adjusted to the decreased illumination. The space smelled musty but the air was cool and breathable. Multi-level supports filled most of the chamber, an eclectic collection of items displayed on the horizontal surfaces.
Ghost saw no weapons. Those would have to be obtained elsewhere.
First, he had to repair. He shoved some multi-level supports to the side with one hand, making room, and gently laid his female on the stone floor, cupping her head to ensure she didn’t bang it against the hard surface.
When he pulled away, a piece of his arm remained with her.
He hurt all over but she was safe. For now. “Mine.”
She gazed up at him. “Ghost.” Her teeth clattered.
That was a sign of strain.
His heart pounded with alarm. “Damaged?” Had she been hurt? His gaze swept over her.
The arms and legs of her uniform had been partially burned, the exposed skin covered with red welts. His female had been damaged. Outrage surged up Ghost’s chest, made more acute by his sense of failure.
She was his and he’d allowed her to be hurt.
He clamped his lips together, ruthlessly containing his roar. The enemy was positioned all around them. He couldn’t draw them to their location.
He had to keep his female safe, heal her fragile body. “Breed.” That was the solution.
He ripped off the remnants of his flight suit, removing some of his flesh with it.
She stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin white line. His female was in shock.
He’d repair her damage, ease her pain the quickest way possible—with his nanocybotics. “Stay with me, Mine.”
He shredded her uniform, revealing her quivering curves. Her dagger clattered to the stone floor. They had one weapon. His female was always armed.
“Hurts,” she whimpered.
“Repair.” He spread her legs. Even with her pain, with her trauma, her body responded to his presence, her pink pussy lips wetting, her scent reaching out to him.
She was alive. He would heal her. He hadn’t failed her as he had failed the others.
Ghost positioned himself at her entrance. His balls had been singed, that damage minor compared to the rest of his form. His cock was intact, not impacted by the explosion.
He gripped her hips with his fingers, holding her in place, and eased inside her, pushing deeper and deeper. Frag. His eyes rolled back in his head. She was wet, tight, warm.
She was also still, too still, his normally active female docile under him.
Ghost pumped her once, twice, breeding with her as gently as he was able. His balls swayed. Her inner walls enveloped him, an intimate hug for his tattered soul.
She was made for him, was his in all ways.
He would repair her. Ghost gritted his teeth and forced his release, flooding her form with his healing nanocybotics, his bliss tempered by his concern.
Coming zapped much of his remaining energy levels. Blackness licked at his vision system. His big physique throbbed with the most acute agony.
Ghost clenched his jaw, holding back the darkness with pure willpower, and he surveyed his female’s form. Her eyes were closed, her blonde eyelashes fluttering against her golden skin. The lines around her lips remained.
Her wounds were lighter in color, pink, not red, and the welts had flattened. Yet they hadn’t disappeared. She wasn’t completely healed.
His female needed more and, being a cyborg with a cyborg’s recovery time, he wouldn’t deny her. She was the very best part of him, the only being holding his shattered pieces together. Without her, his lifespan wasn’t worth living.
“Mine.” His voice was faint, unrecognizable to his own auditory system.
“Ghost.” She sighed, her eyes remaining closed. His female knew about his past, knew about his failures yet she trusted him to keep her safe, to stop her from hurting.
Ghost would never betray her trust. Preparing to give his female another round of breeding, he gathered the last lingering fragments of energy within him.
His arms and legs shook as he drew his hips back. The chamber spun around him.
He thrust once more. That was all he had, all he was capable of doing. He groaned, coming, giving everything he had to her, every final bit of himself.
He had nothing left, his balls empty, his vision system flashing light and dark.
His arms and legs shook, threatening to fold. That would damage his fragile human female.
Needing to protect her, even from himself, Ghost pushed his huge, hulking, heavy physique away from her motionless form. He rolled to the side.
His ravaged back hit the cold stone floor and pain flooded his senses, acute, harsh, unforgiving.
Fraggin’ hole. Ghost swallowed his bellow and continued rolling.
His undamaged chest touched the hard rock. The agony eased. He turned his head to face his female, rested his cheek on the makeshift floor.
She was so beautiful, her hair glowing like a comet against her face, her lips parted, her curves rounded, all of her soft. Ghost reached out and grasped her hand, needing to touch her, to assure himself she was close, safe.
“Mine.” He had her, would never let her go.
Assured she was protected, Ghost stopped fighting the darkness.
His processors shut down and his world went black.