Cyborg Legacy

  “The major’s here,” Alvarado said, grinning despite his grievous injury. He even reached over to bump fists with Zimmer. “Maybe now we can get some beer.”

  “I don’t know, Sergeant. He’s got a… Sir, is that an imploder lance through your chest?” Zimmer asked, leaning his head to see around Leonidas’s back as he set down his rifle. “Blessed Suns Trinity, it went all the way through. Aren’t those supposed to be for taking down ships?”

  “Well, the major’s almost as big as a ship.”

  Leonidas only shook his head, not particularly wanting to explain how he’d been foolish enough to get hit. Oh, the part where he’d been pushing the admiral out of the way so he wouldn’t be hit by those damn assassins wasn’t embarrassing, just the part where he’d tripped over a body and been too slow to keep himself from being struck. By the suns, he was getting old.

  “There is a resemblance,” Zimmer said. “I can see how the enemy would have been confused.”

  “You two are awfully perky for injured men,” Leonidas growled, which turned into coughing up blood. The doctor frowned over at him—he’d paused to grab a couple of nurses to help with the armor removal, but he hurried over now and guided Leonidas to a bed next to Alvarado.

  “Barely injured,” Zimmer said. “Look, my skin is already growing back.”

  “Too bad that goo won’t do anything for your brain cells,” Alvarado said.

  “I didn’t get hit in the head.”

  “And yet… damage.”

  Zimmer glared at him. “Don’t think I won’t kick your ass just because there’s only one leg attached to it.”

  The doctor and nurses surrounded Leonidas’s bed, and he did not see the return glare, if there was one. More likely, Alvarado would stick his tongue out.

  The doctor pressed an auto-injector to Leonidas’s neck, some drug deploying with a soft, cold hiss.

  “You knocking me out?” Leonidas asked, feeling numbness creep through his body immediately.

  “To operate on you, yes.”

  “I didn’t ask for that.”

  “And yet, everyone here would prefer you unconscious. Your sergeant there accidentally knocked Corporal Rigger across sickbay when he touched a sensitive spot.”

  “He didn’t touch it,” Alvarado said. “He stabbed it with a tool sharper and pokier than the doc’s prick.”

  The doctor glared over at him and shook his head. “You people are as dangerous to your own side as the enemy.”

  “I should be awake in case the situation escalates again,” Leonidas said, ignoring the “you people” comment, though it irked him. It wasn’t as if they weren’t all human here.

  “The space station was blown to a zillion pieces,” the doctor said. “What’s left to escalate?”

  “We better be going after those damn anarchists,” Leonidas growled. “Targeting civilian installations. If we hadn’t been heading this way for an inspection…”

  “You wouldn’t have a spear sticking out of your chest.”

  “They would have gotten away with it,” Leonidas said. Some of them had, but many more hadn’t. Even though he’d only had a small squad of men here, he and the fleet soldiers aboard the ship had saved a lot of lives on the station—and utterly destroyed three of the four rebel ships docked there. If only that fourth one hadn’t gotten away… if only Leonidas hadn’t had to divide his men to make sure the admiral, who’d insisted on boarding the station, was protected…

  “We’ll get ’em back, sir,” Alvarado said, his voice sounding farther away than the next bed now that the drug was taking hold. “You wait and see. We’ll squash ’em like roaches under our boots. Alliance, they call themselves. They’re anarchists and terrorists. It won’t take long to flush ’em out of hiding and get rid of ’em all.”

  Leonidas, who had heard the reports from Intel, knew it wouldn’t be as easy as that, but all he said was, “You’re a good man, Alvarado.”

  “Nah, I’m just trying to cheer everybody up, especially the doctor there, in the hope that beer will be forthcoming.”

  Leonidas had a notion of ordering someone to find his man a beer, but the drug took over first, and he dropped into unconsciousness.

  Leonidas shook away his memories and refocused on the holodisplay floating over his netdisc. He pushed his hand through his hair, surprised how well he remembered that day. They hadn’t known it at the time, but it had been the opening salvo of the war. Alvarado had been in therapy for months, learning to use his new leg, and Leonidas had been wrong. He had been sent back to the unit. It had been clear by then that the empire needed all of its cyborgs for the war, even the less than optimal ones. When he’d been in his combat armor, Alvarado hadn’t been noticeably weaker than anyone, and he’d never complained, not within Leonidas’s hearing. And if he’d done it anywhere else, Leonidas hadn’t heard about it. Not like some of the other men, the ones who’d complained about splinters. And mental health issues.

  He looked toward the closed hatch of the small cabin he had been given. Jasim’s cabin was across the corridor.

  He sighed and forced uncharitable thoughts aside. He’d long ago learned that who lived and died had nothing to do with fairness or who was the better person, and that wishing it could be otherwise was an exercise in futility. Besides, Leonidas was well aware that he himself hadn’t been the best among his men, promotions notwithstanding. Nor was he without flaws. If logic and merit decided the fates of men, he never would have made it out of the war.

  And judging Jasim today based on the youth Leonidas remembered wasn’t fair. He hadn’t shied away during that skirmish on the promenade. Leonidas didn’t think he’d shied away from battle years earlier, either—at least, nothing like that had made it into the reports that came to his desk—which was surprising given how badly he’d wanted to get out of the military.

  Leonidas swiped a finger through the holodisplay, going back to the work he’d been doing before the memories made him pause. He had pulled up the names and last known addresses for as many of the men who had been in the Cyborg Corps during the war as he could remember. The roster wasn’t public information—he’d already checked—and the secure sys-net site where he’d once logged in to access imperial military data had been down for years. He was doing his best, however, so he could send warning messages to everyone he could contact. Unfortunately, fewer than half the men were easily found. Some had changed names, some were living off the grid, and some had simply disappeared.

  He thought of Malik, the sergeant who had turned pirate and slaver, and who was now dead. He also remembered Sergeant Lancer, who had died in Leonidas’s arms on Starfall Station. How many of his people, people who had been designed to be difficult to kill and who had survived years of battle, had died for no good reason after the empire fell? After the purpose for which they’d been created no longer existed?

  He sighed again, feeling lucky that he’d found another purpose. Even if he sometimes grew antsy traveling on the freighter, leading a largely sedate life as a family man, Alisa and the kids made him feel needed. Important. Still, he admitted that the peace and quiet of this ship felt extremely restful after having the twins around all the time. And Jelena wasn’t exactly a noiseless mouse either. Just last week, she’d talked Ostberg into helping her build a zip line in the cargo hold—without asking for permission. He felt a little ashamed for relishing the peace and the solitude—and enjoying the anticipation he felt for what could be a battle waiting for him.

  “Hm,” Leonidas murmured to himself, tapping a name on the display. “Here’s someone living on Dustor.”

  Rick Banding. He had started a pawnshop in Port Thorn a year earlier.

  Leonidas fired off a warning and asked Banding—Corporal Banding, he recalled—to comm him back. If the killer continued down the alphabetical list, Banding could be one of the next targets. That might motivate him to close down his shop for a few days and help with the investigation. Leonidas suspected he and Jasim could handle t
he murderer by themselves, assuming they could find him, but Banding might be less likely to be taken out if he was with them. Whoever was doing this had to be crafty. As Alisa had said, cyborgs weren’t easy to kill.

  A knock sounded at the hatch.

  “Yes?” Leonidas asked, shifting awkwardly to stand up without hitting his head on the top bunk. His tiny cabin did not have any furniture except for the two built-in beds and a couple of storage cabinets—and his armor case, which rested on the floor by the head of the lower bunk.

  “Was that an invitation to come in, sir?” Jasim asked from the corridor.

  “Leonidas,” he corrected, opening the hatch.

  Jasim stood there, his too-long hair pulled back into a sloppy bun. Leonidas managed to keep from curling his lip at the un-soldierly style.

  “I know, sir,” he said, his gaze shifting uneasily.

  Maybe he felt Leonidas’s disapproval. Leonidas tried to smooth his face. It was a silly thing to even think about.

  “But it’s an old habit,” Jasim continued. “We’re a few hours out from Dustor.”

  Leonidas nodded. Good, it wouldn’t take his message to Banding long to reach the planet, then.

  “Have you gotten news back on the drone?” Jasim asked.

  “Yes, Yumi sent me a complete report yesterday. She agreed that the contents of the injector were a deadly poison, but she cross-checked numerous sources and didn’t find anything out there like it, at least not in the public domain. She hypothesizes that the poison was custom-made to work on large people with fast metabolisms who process drugs quickly.”

  “Such as cyborgs.”

  “Such as cyborgs,” Leonidas agreed. “She opened up the drone casing with our engineer’s help and found extendable cutting tools, as well as an internal storage area.”

  “Cutting tools capable of removing a cyborg’s implants, I assume.”

  Leonidas nodded. “But there wasn’t any identification on the drone, not even a manufacturer’s mark. It seems it was also a custom piece.”

  “Our man has been planning this for a while. He must have more than one of those drones too. There were attacks on different planets at nearly the same time.”

  “It seems likely, yes.”

  Jasim didn’t say anything else, but he also didn’t back away. Did he want something more?

  Leonidas lifted his eyebrows.

  “Ah, I was wondering if you wanted to spar or do drills together, sir. There’s some open space near the engine room in the back.” Jasim waved down the ship’s single corridor.

  Yes, Leonidas had found the spot a couple of days ago. He’d been doing exercises back there on his own, being a little disappointed that Jasim didn’t have any gym equipment set up. But it wasn’t, he reminded himself, Jasim’s ship. Maybe his employer would object to cyborg comforts.

  “You don’t think those bikers we sparred with were sufficient to keep us in shape?” Leonidas asked, but he did flex his shoulders, interested in the idea. He wouldn’t mind pitting himself against another person, someone with the strength and agility to challenge him. He’d brought his hover pads along, but he had been busy researching the whereabouts of his former battalion for most of the trip.

  “I don’t know what we’ll face,” Jasim said, “and I haven’t had anyone to drill with in a while. I’ve been in fights enough, I suppose, but that’s not quite the same. And I wasn’t sure if you’d…” Jasim’s gaze shifted to the top of Leonidas’s head—to his hair. “You handled yourself well on Primus 7, of course, but it’s been a while since the war, and I wasn’t sure if you have anyone on your ship you can drill with either.”

  Leonidas let his eyelids droop. “Are you suggesting I might be old and out of shape?”

  It hadn’t occurred to him that Jasim might be judging him, even as he was judging Jasim. Even though Leonidas knew he was getting older, and that younger cyborgs had the advantage of more recent—and more technologically advanced—implants, as well as the speed of youth, he prided himself on staying fit.

  “I just—no, sir. What I meant to say was that I would be honored if you sparred with me and instructed me with the wisdom of your years.”

  Leonidas snorted. “You’re lousy at sucking up. It was better when you were implying I was old and out of shape. At least it was honest.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Jasim genuinely seemed to be—at the least he was being contrite around his former commander. Leonidas hadn’t yet seen much evidence of the prankster who had stolen other men’s undergarments in the middle of the night for fun. He supposed everybody grew up eventually.

  “I’ll get my hover pads and meet you back there,” Leonidas said, nodding toward the rear of the vessel.

  “Good.” Jasim lifted his hand, as if to salute, but stopped in the middle and turned it into a wave. Looking flustered, he jogged out of sight.

  Leonidas opened his armor case for the first time since leaving the Nomad. A delightful scent met his nose, one far different from the usual odor of sanitizer. He pulled out a container of brownies and a few folded pieces of paper, some with writing on them, others with colored pictures on them. He swallowed a lump that formed in his throat. Notes from Alisa and the kids.

  Since Jasim was waiting, he put them aside to read later. He felt touched that they had thought to prepare them—he now wished he’d left something behind for them—but he also felt guilty all over again for enjoying this break.

  Jasim was in the compact space in the rear of the ship, the last open space before the engine room. Luggage, supplies, and crates of non-perishable food lined the walls. After the spaciousness of the Nomad’s cargo hold, it was a cramped place to spar, or do anything, but Jasim had a battered set of his own hover pads out, punches connecting with the floating targets. They zipped and swooped about him to make it challenging.

  When he saw Leonidas, Jasim powered them down and tossed them into a corner. “Did you bring your wisdom, sir?” he asked, waving his fingers in invitation.

  “We’ll see.” Leonidas placed his own hover pads on a crate.

  They came together in silent agreement, starting with a series of jabs, punches, and blocks that were familiar drills for both of them. Leonidas hadn’t typically sparred with, or even instructed, the younger soldiers once he’d been promoted above lieutenant, but he had often worked out with other officers, and they had done similar drills. Performing them again now reminded him of those days, and he fell into the patterns easily. Neither he nor Jasim tried hard to hit each other during this warm-up. Unfortunately, the exercises also reminded Leonidas that most of those officers he had once trained with were now dead. It was uncomfortable to get to a point in one’s life when all of one’s peers were dead. Even though he barely knew Jasim, and he hadn’t been the shining star of the Corps, it felt surprisingly good to be around someone from the old unit again, someone with all the same problems that he dealt with, someone who understood what it was like to be a cyborg. To be both more and less than human, at least to the rest of the universe. Leonidas had never considered himself anything but a man.

  “Can I ask you something, sir?” Jasim asked after they had worked up a sweat.

  “Yes.” Leonidas stepped back and lowered his hands.

  It wouldn’t surprise him if more than a need for exercise had prompted Jasim to knock on his hatch. If nothing else, he had been expecting a question about how he had come to be married with children. He had already directed a few curious cyborgs he’d encountered to Dr. Tiang, the imperial-turned-Alliance brain surgeon who had operated on him. He had almost died during the operation, though, thanks to the traps the empire had planted in his brain to keep outsiders from tampering, so it wasn’t something to be undertaken lightly.

  “Your captain—your wife…” Jasim turned away and walked toward a towel he’d brought out with him. “Did you get a job working for her before you became… friends?” He grimaced, looking as uncomfortable as he sounded.

  Leonidas
wasn’t sure what to make of the question. It wasn’t the one he had expected.

  “Technically, yes. We were flying in some dangerous areas right after the war. A cyborg security officer is a boon on any team, if a slight demotion for a former imperial officer.” Slight was an understatement, but by the time he’d accepted Alisa’s offer, the Star Nomad had been on the hunt for an ancient Starseer artifact and the missing Prince Thorian, both objectives that he had believed necessary to pursue. The prince because Leonidas had given his word to the emperor that he would make sure his son was kept safe, and the artifact because he hadn’t wanted it to fall into Alliance hands. The Alliance had enough power these days.

  “Security officer.” Jasim grimaced again. “Is that what you were? I thought… never mind.”

  “Security, yes.” Leonidas frowned. Surely, Jasim wasn’t judging him for that. It wasn’t as if repossessing people’s valuables was some far nobler and loftier employment.

  “Was there ever any question of… was the captain nervous about you being around her daughter?”

  Leonidas’s frown deepened. What was he implying? “No.”

  “She trusted you not to hurt anyone or be… inappropriate because you were a soldier? A cyborg soldier? Someone who had…” He lowered his towel and studied the palms of his hands. “Someone who had killed.”

  Leonidas forced the frown off his face, realizing this wasn’t about him. Jasim probably wasn’t trying to insult him. He was curious about something, but Leonidas didn’t quite know what.

  “She knew me well by the time her daughter came aboard,” Leonidas said.