Chapter Eighteen
Did she still have Vincere’s flowers, or were they gone? What was the vase life of cut florals, anyway? Carter consulted the database in his brain. Cut flowers will begin to wilt in three to five days unless treated with a chemical rejuvenator, came the answer.
A week had passed since he’d returned to Cy-Ops from the field. Vincere, the sneaky bastard, probably had had the flowers prepped so they’d last. A diplomat, the secretary general probably sent flowers and political gifts to many people. It could be innocent. Why did he obsess over it?
If a flirtation was occurring, it was all on Vincere’s part. Carter had no doubts on that score. He trusted Beth, and with the exception of gym time, she’d spent every waking hour not involved with Cy-Ops business in his bed.
However, she’d been injured, he’d gone away, and another man had sent her flowers.
I should have sent flowers.
Because he couldn’t fix his screwup, he did the next best thing—he threw a punch at her.
She anticipated the swing and danced out of range, caught his arm, and flipped him onto his back.
Instead of courting her, he was teaching her how to protect herself.
She bounced on her feet, grinning triumphantly. Damp hair clung to her scalp, and her face glistened with perspiration.
“Good job,” he said. She’d never looked more beautiful. Well, except in bed when the exertion of their sexual workouts left them both panting and perspiring. He’d taken to ordering his nanos not to dampen his natural biological reaction. He wanted to be as fully human as he could be when he was with her.
Carter started to leap to his feet. Before he could rise to a standing position, she attacked. He jerked away from the kick she directed at his head, but she swung around and connected with his shoulder, knocking him on his ass.
She aimed another kick at his face, but this time he caught her leg and tossed her onto the mat. It pained him to do so, but he let her fall naturally instead of easing her down. Her grunt hurt him more than if he’d fallen, but in a real situation, she had to be able to handle herself. Striking wasn’t sufficient; she had to learn how to take a hit, too.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.
She rolled away and sprang up. “Do I look like a sissy? Come on, big boy. Hit me with your best shot.”
She didn’t realize it, but he’d tempered every punch. She couldn’t take his best. His unchecked blow would shatter bone. Fortunately, any attacker she might encounter would not be a cyborg with nano-infused strength.
He would do everything in his power to insure no attacker got close enough to do anything. His instruction served only to prepare her for the worst-case scenario. As the incident at Luna Center had proven, sometimes the unexpected occurred. She had to be able to defend herself, and he needed the peace of mind that she knew how.
For the past week, they’d been sparring in the Cy-Ops gym, where he’d put her through the paces of defensive and offensives moves.
He feigned a blow to her left cheek. She fell for it, and he grabbed her in a chokehold, using average strength.
She turned her head to ease the pressure on her airway then stomped on his instep while driving her elbow into his solar plexus. He released her, as an ordinary man would have, but allowed his cyborg reflexes to deflect the punch that would have broken his nose.
“Well done,” he said, pleased by her progress. She had natural athletic ability and quick reflexes.
During the first few training sessions, she’d had to work on overcoming inhibitions. Her blows had been too tentative, too gentle to be of any deterrent to an attacker. She’d resisted hitting him “for real.”
“You can do better,” he’d coached her.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she’d protested.
“You won’t—but you need to try,” he said. She had to gauge how much force to use to do damage. “Don’t worry about injuring me. I’m a cyborg; I can take it.”
She’d conquered her hesitation and then some. She’d developed a hell of a right hook. He winced with pride. “So, what’s rule number two?” he asked now.
“The best defense is a good offense,” she replied.
“And rule number one?”
“Stay alert so you never need to use rule number two.”
“That’s right. Be observant. Avoid situations that could put you in harm’s way. Listen to your gut, to your instinct. If something raises an alarm, pay attention. Leave the scene.
“Cyborg field operatives don’t run.”
“You’re not a field operative.” He wanted her confident, but not cocky. Sometimes achieving the mission objective did require a strategic retreat. “Run first. If you can’t escape, then fight to win. You won’t get a second opportunity, so make the first one count. Hurt him so he can’t hurt you.”
“Is that what you teach your cyber operatives?” she asked.
“More or less,” he replied. “Careful observation is critical, and much of what we do is covert. If we can sneak in, grab the victim, and sneak out, we do. However, we’re also the force of last resort. By the time we’re called in, negotiation or retreat has failed. Operatives must expect a fight.”
Her face clouded. “You could be killed.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he joked, but she was right. Being a cyborg provided them with an edge, but it didn’t make them invincible. “I don’t go into the field often, anyway.” Generally, that was true, although lately, Cyber Operations was stretched thin. He needed every cyborg he had—even Swain went into the field on occasion.
“Let’s practice with the photon blaster, now,” he said.
She hugged herself and rubbed her arms. “I hate blasters. I don’t like handling them. Why do I have to learn this?”
“A precaution. For safety reasons, anyone around weapons should know the basics.”
She still looked doubtful. “I’ve been blasted. I couldn’t do that to somebody. If I’m attacked, I have no problem breaking his nose or his kneecap, but I couldn’t shoot him!”
“Chances are you’ll never be in a position to have to,” he reassured her. “But, you should be cognizant that not every sentient being has a nose or kneecaps. Don’t assume an attacker will be Terran—or even humanoid.”
If a situation went south, her role was to take cover. He’d emphasized and reemphasized that point throughout training. However, he never would have guessed she’d come between the president and an assassin. Though the odds were slim, just working for Aym-Sec posed a risk. He had to be able to sleep at night—so, she had to be trained.
“If I was incapacitated, wouldn’t you use my blaster to defend yourself?” He used his best argument to gain her cooperation.
Her chin came up. “If you were attacked, I would shoot him for sure.”
“So there is an instance in which you would use a weapon.”
She sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.”
Carter laughed. “Most people do.”
From the gym, they proceeded to the firing range where he signed out three blasters from the weapons master and laid them out on a shelf. “All blasters send a stream of electromagnetic energy to disrupt the neural impulses of the body. The greater the quantum of energy, the greater the disruption and potential for permanent damage. The simplest blaster like this one”—he picked up the largest of the three weapons—“has two settings. Stun and kill. It emits a preset burst of energy. You can’t alter the duration or the intensity.”
She grimaced as he placed the blaster in her hands and showed her how to hold it, adjusting her grip. “This is the release.” He pointed out a small toggle switch, and then the trigger. “And you squeeze here.”
“Got it,” she said.
“We keep this type of blaster for instruction only. It’s not sophisticated enough for field use. This type model is commonly used by petty criminals because it’s cheap and easy to use.
“These other two require more training because the photon stream is activated with a slide, which varies the intensity, allowing the shooter more control. Some alien life forms can absorb a short stunning blast with little, if any, reaction. Like Lamis-Odg. An incapacitating blast to a human would hardly slow them down. Slime crawlers are completely immune—however, they don’t pose any danger to anybody.”
“How about cyborgs?”
“We’re especially vulnerable due to our electronics. A stunning blast will shut us down for hours.”
She looked horrified.
“We almost never get shot,” he said quickly, and then quipped. “That’s our motto—don’t get shot.”
“That’s not funny.” She glared.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Cyber Operations is dangerous, but we don’t take unnecessary risks.” Not quite true. They took risks all the time, but they were always necessary. “We stay out of the line of fire.” As much as they could.
He looked at her. “Let’s get back to how the blasters work. For as long as you keep the trigger depressed, the weapon will continue to fire. So, even if the blaster is set to stun, if the photon stream lasts long enough, it will be fatal. Besides getting a feel for the weapon, part of your training will be learning how long to hold the trigger.”
She frowned. “Then why have a kill setting at all? Or a slider?”
“More flexibility and options,” he said. “You can tailor the intensity to the target. Also, in an ambush by multiple attackers, the lower charge extends its life so you don’t lose firepower in the middle of the shootout.” Beth wouldn’t experience any of that. Her training was an insurance policy she would never cash in.
He pointed to a line of androids at the end of the range. “You’ll practice stunning and killing on the robos. They’re programmed to respond like typical humanoids.”
“I can’t kill anybody!”
“They’re robots, Beth. Machines. You’re not going to hurt them. They’ll reboot.”
She twisted her hands. “All…right.” She looked up at him. “Is this necessary?”
“It is,” he said grimly.
* * * *
“Did I hit them?” Beth asked, afraid to look.
“Open your eyes and see,” Carter said.
Preparing for the worst, she peeled back her eyelids. The five androids were still standing, but the wall beyond them glowed red. “Oh,” she said. She’d missed every single one.
“You have to keep your eyes open when you fire the weapon. Or at least one. You can close one eye to line up your target, but you need to keep the other one open.”
“I’m sorry.” She hoped he wasn’t too disappointed in her.
There were five android targets: a human, a thick-necked, blue-skinned Malodonian, a heavy-browed Lamis-Odg, a six-eyed Arcanian, and a scary panther-like creature on all fours Carter had referred to as a Ka-Tȇ. That one she could shoot. The others? If not for their blank expressions, they could be real, live humanoid sentients. It seemed so cold-blooded to shoot at them.
During the physical self-defense training, once she’d overcome her fear of hurting him, she’d enjoyed the maneuvers. Knowing she could defend herself filled her with confidence. I can take care of myself! I am clone, hear me roar!
No, I am woman, she reminded herself. Her beginnings may have occurred in a laboratory, but she’d come to accept she was a full-blooded, organic human female. Carter reacted the way a man responded to a woman. In his arms, she was all she needed to be.
As much as she had enjoyed the sparring, she hated firing the blaster, disliked even touching it. She knew firsthand the damage it could do. She eyed it, her lip curling with distaste. The vast majority of people went their entire lives and never used a weapon. Never handled one. Very few owned them.
On the other hand, most people didn’t work for a security firm or a secret cyborg force that faced daily threats to their lives. Although she wasn’t a field operative, she worked with them, and, by association, she could become collateral damage. Very few people had ever been shot. Yet, she had the distinction of being one of them. Sometimes unlikely scenarios did occur.
She should work harder to overcome her aversion.
He took the blaster from her unresisting fingers and set it aside. Gentle hands dropped onto her shoulders. “If a situation arises in which you need to fire a blaster and you shut your eyes, you could hit an innocent person.”
She’d never forgive herself. “Let me try again.”
“Aim for the center of mass.” He handed her the weapon and stepped back.
This time, she kept her eyes open. She took out the Lamis-Odg first, measuring the blast to stun, rather than kill. The android hit the floor, and she fired on the weird panther creature next. To that one, she delivered a killing stream of photons. The Malodonian. Thud. The Arcanian. His six eyes rolled in different directions. Lastly, the human. They all fell, their programming causing them to twitch the way their sentient counterparts would.
“That’s my girl!” he said. “Damn, you’re a crackerjack shot when you keep your eyes open.”