The ladys cyborg, p.1
The Lady's Cyborg, page 1
The Lady’s Cyborg
Galactic Storm Book 2
Candice Gilmer
Contents
Can peace ever be reached
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Turn the page
The Mistress’s Cyborg
Dear Reader
About the Author
Other Books by Candice Gilmer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Flirtation Publishing
Wichita, KS
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The Lady’s Cyborg
Copyright © 2021 by Candice Gilmer
Cover by The Book Brander
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All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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Can peace ever be reached
between the Terrans and the Cyborgs?
The Terran Empire is at war with The Rhimodian cyborgs. The Terrans believe the cyborgs have stolen a system of planets from them. At least, that's how it started.
It degenerated into hatred and fear.
Lady in Waiting Freya will always support the Terran Imperial Princess Caoimhe. Including on her mission of peace.
Even if it seems fruitless.
The Rhimodians will not yield and the Terran Empire will not stop. When Freya is nearly killed en route to the negotiations, she winds up with on ally to get her to the peace talks.
The Rhimodian, Kian.
He must get the petite Terran to safety. A simple program. Master System insists. His people’s future depends on it.
He must be careful, though. The Craving is growing and with every moment he spends with her, it gets stronger.
If she keeps looking at him like that, she will break his protocols. For good.
Prologue
"And you're sure this is what you want to do?" Lady Freya asked Imperial Princess Caoimhe Bron as they both ran through their morning exercises. The routine they both knew by heart kept them both limber.
But it also gave them a chance to speak less formally.
Protocol was less important with one's leg in the air.
"More than you know," Caoimhe said as she grabbed her foot and stretched toward the ceiling.
Freya did the same.
"You always get your leg straighter than mine," Caoimhe said.
"I do. But that's not what we're talking about," Freya replied while twisting into the next pose. "We're talking about you flying into a warzone to negotiate peace."
A nightmare in Freya's mind, for certain.
"I know."
"And?"
"And I know what I'm doing."
She said it with such conviction that it gave Freya pause.
Caoimhe's determination was one thing that Freya adored about the Imperial Princess. But that determination would occasionally position her in spots that were not good for her.
Freya attempted to talk her out of those situations whenever she could.
Like marrying that awful suitor from the Delvin system; why he'd even been entertained, Freya didn't know.
Well, she had her own ideas of why. The Delvin system had plenty of assets and exports that the Terran Empire would have acquired had they combined the two governments.
It would have put more systems in the Terran Empire.
And the Emperor always wanted to expand the Empire. Forever growth and all of that.
"I worry about what you're doing, though," Freya said. Peace with the Rhimodians? It seemed a long shot for the thieves.
"I know you do. But there's more to this than you and me and protocol."
"You really must explain it to me."
The princess glanced at her. "Really. This time, you have to trust me."
Freya nodded. "As you wish, Majesty."
Freya pulled the cloak around her shoulders, adjusting the hood, so it covered more of her face.
The palace was quiet. Most all had retired to their rooms for the night.
In the distance, she heard the bells from the temple softly chiming as the overnight Sacrament began, as it did every night.
Freya paused just long enough to recite a short prayer, honoring the gods. After she finished, she hoped they would not forsake her because of what she was doing after curfew.
Even in the palace, curfew was enforced.
There was a war going on.
One that she, as well as the rest of Princess Caoimhe's inner circle, would be thrust into in a matter of a few hours.
To say that Freya was nervous was an understatement. Regardless of the idea that peace could be reached, their Empress had been killed in Rhimodian territory years before.
Why the Imperial Princess dared to return, Freya didn't understand. There had to be more to it. Something had to be pushing Caoimhe to do this.
Especially now.
When the war was near the end.
The Terran resources were dwindling. So were the Rhimodians'. If reports were to be believed, the Rhimodians had lost a significant number of their species. They were on the verge of being eliminated altogether.
Why try for peace now?
Something was undoubtedly afoot, and it made the hairs on the back of Freya's neck stand up. There had to be a reason this came about so rapidly.
It was almost overnight, or so it seemed, Caoimhe's determination to create peace between the two.
Freya wanted answers.
How else could she best serve her princess as the Lady in Waiting if she didn't know all the information?
She continued down the darkened corridor.
A fine line existed between looking like one belonged and sneaking somewhere where one didn't belong. Freya had learned a long time ago the necessity of learning how to move unseen.
Yet tonight, even the shadows in the hall seemed to know she wasn't supposed to be there, shifting as she walked past.
Her hands trembled under her cloak, for she could be seriously reprimanded for being out past curfew.
She knew where she wanted to go--to the study, to access the mainframe.
Back in pre-space travel days, a study was considered a man's domain to run his household or some such nonsense. In the Imperial Palace, now, the room was a place for the technology to live.
And when one knew how to do it, open the systems and find out what was going on.
Freya had that skill.
One of the few skills that all the etiquette and protocol had not beaten out of her.
The walk to the study led her down several ornate hallways, draped in gold and red, the Emperor's favorite colors. Fabric draped from the ceiling in an homage to the royals of old who had such opulent taste that they had illustrated it in every way possible.
Freya hated the arrogance of it.
Yet this was her life.
The life she'd managed to secure for herself so long ago.
Voices from ahead gave her pause. She was very close to the study, but she didn't want to get discovered here in the hallway at this time of night.
She stepped into one of the tall shadows, hoping her dark brown cloak blended in well enough for the speakers to pass without noticing her.
The voices grew closer, revealing themselves to be night patrol guards. She had forgotten about them. Night guards roamed the hallways and ensured everything was protected.
No one was going to get into the Imperial Palace. It was far too secure, but the Emperor insisted on guards on patrol as well.
However, these two?
They did not seem concerned about palace security. Instead, they discussed the latest sporting event and what team they preferred. Neither looked for anything out of the ordinary.
She rolled her eyes.
Boys.
Did they never grow up?
In a moment, they had moved on, neither one noticing her in her shady nook.
A few more steps and she was at the study. The door, locked, as usual, was no challenge.
She pulled a small key fob from her pocket and touched the handle. It released the lock, as it would any locked door in the palace.
No, it was not issued to the resident Lady in Waiting, either. Freya had created her own and kept it with her always. One of those old habits from her life before she had secured her place at the palace.
Inside the study, she was greeted by the hum and whirl of the processing data systems.
This was the hub of all information that traveled through the Terran Empire. Simple in design. Tubes ran up and down the walls, leading to several terminals for access. However, the one central hub point was to her left, where all th e tubes led to.
It wasn't that long ago that Freya would have given her right arm to be in this room.
The information that poured through this system was startling. Anything that used the Terran Empire's conduits came through here in some form or another.
She crossed to the central hub.
Something had spooked Caoimhe, pushing her hard toward bringing peace between the Terran Empire and the Rhimodians.
And Freya was determined to find out what it was.
In the distance, she could hear the bells still ringing.
She took it as a sign she was in the right place.
1
Kian held his arms out.
The gauntlets on his forearms plugged into the wall.
And he felt it.
Or instead heard it.
Both.
Neither.
Master System.
Data flew through his neural net, into the cybernetic parts of himself that enabled him to process data faster than any humanoid in the galaxy.
He downloaded all new significant information about the coming negotiations.
Inside the data, he felt the touch.
Master System.
Different than data.
None of the others in his unit experienced the same sensation. And it was a feeling, more than a logical understanding. More than what he comprehended. Instead, more than what others understood.
Kian, however, carried more than most of them realized. His systems operated on a separate program—the nanite technology used an upgraded function that allowed him different mental cognition.
His ability to process and conclude worked more how a humanoid would think. It also made him more emotional. The emotions made him able to process things uniquely.
More like humanoids. Less like machines.
While still a cyborg, Kian wasn't as dependent on his mechanical side to think and comprehend for himself and not based entirely on the current running program. A hybrid of what the builders had created, their original design for bigger, more vital workers, and completely compliant ones. That was what they had been intended? Created? to be many generations before.
As the generations developed, there were changes to the programming.
Kian was from the last batch of experimental upgrades. One of a few embryos that were manipulated before the Rhimodians left their homeworld.
A different kind of connection with Master System, but more independent than many of the other cyborgs.
While they all were from a humanoid base, they were cyborgs that ran on programming.
Most were.
The few in his series were advanced. At least, that was how Kian considered it. There were so few remaining, Kian believed they were some new development for the future of the cyborgs.
Because, unlike the others, Kian felt Master System.
The voice that was always there.
Guiding him through his programming.
Your mission is clear, Master System sent.
Kian nodded.
The coming Ambassadors must be protected at all costs.
"Yes, Master System," Kian whispered.
You will lay down your life for the Terran princesses if necessary.
Kian nodded again.
There is to be no question. Peace cannot falter.
"Yes, Master System," Kian whispered. Data flew through his mind, preparing him for the escort mission.
It was time for him to join his unit to escort the Ambassadors to Sol-3 and begin.
Peace to end the war.
Kian snapped on his helmet and tapped the gauntlet on his forearm. As the edge met his flight suit, the lysteel bonded with the helmet, creating a quick suction sound as it sealed.
Now his organic tissue was prepared for space flight. He and his fellow pilots in the unit were in various stages of preparing for their mission to escort the Terran Ambassador's ship to Sol-3, their main populace world.
The mission was simple. Protect the arriving delegation, and the action would add to the Terran's trust of the Rhimodians, thus fostering more likelihood of peace between the two.
Peace was necessary.
The Rhimodians had developed their last batch of cyborgs. Once they were fully mature, there would not be more.
War was going to eliminate them entirely. They'd already lost thirty-eight percent of their people due to wartime.
They had to find peace, a solution, or the war would be nothing more than an execution.
A long, drawn-out execution.
Kian adjusted his suit, his clothing wrapping around the gauntlets on his arm. The liquid fabric covered his hands, so he was sealed inside in case of exposure to outer space.
He shivered as it secured, the impulse reaction from his humanoid side, one of those involuntary actions that some humanoids did.
Or so he'd been told. At least it wasn't a malfunction.
The blue stripe on Kian's helmet and down his suit marked him as part of the -An series. A secondary type of cyborg was created as an advance among their people.
He glanced at the one other -An series member of the unit, Bahran, who had yet to put on his striped helmet.
Bahran had Tarnished himself. The downside of their different programming systems. They did not operate and process like the others.
And that could cause issues.
The lift door opened, and Wrathin stepped out. He was the last to arrive in the launch room.
Kian grimaced because it seemed that Wrathin was always slow.
"Are you flying with this unit today?" Kian asked through the communicator in his helmet.
"Do you plan on following uploads?" Wrathin replied, his own voice the static hardness of the communicator.
Why Wrathin's jab hit him so strong today, Kian couldn't grasp.
Just that it did.
He charged.
"Shall we see who is strong enough to be here?" Kian said as he hit Wrathin. Wrathin was larger than him but not as fast.
Wrathin barely recoiled and threw a punch into the side of Kian's head.
Kian's mask flew open.
Adrenalin pumped through him as the air hit him almost like a slap.
Wrathin loomed in his face. "Shall I count the ways I have defeated you?"
"You have never defeated me," he said as emotions bubbled through him. Wrathin's skin shifted through colors as his emotions boiled as well.
"Enough, you two," Bahran said, a bark to his voice.
Kian glared at Bahran, glaring at his interference. "The Tarnished speaks."
Bahran lunged forward, a growl in his throat. His skin shifted dark, making him appear the color of a mire.
"Enough." Harbin glared at them all. As the oldest and the leader of the unit, they listened to him and his orders. Most of the time. He was, however, respected among them. "None of you want to do this mission, but that is not your choice. You will—"
"I do." Jedriek, the largest of them all, crossed his arms. In his armor, he looked like a monstrous beast, even by Rhimodian standards. Every generation was larger than the last. Jedriek was the youngest in their unit, as the youngest and the last generation of Rhimodians.
Harbin sighed. "You always want to, Jedriek."
Jedriek smiled.
Harbin continued. "This mission will not be exciting. But it is important. We are doing it. Every one of you will make sure the Ambassadors get to Sol-3 so that negotiations can begin."
"Connect," Harbin said.
Kian stepped away and touched a nearby port. The lysteel in his gauntlets formed thread-like tentacles that linked into the port's systems.
