Containing Malice (Rebel Cyborgs #1) - Cynthia Sax Page 0,20

have they? He stomped over the wall panels, denting the metal surfaces. They remain slaves to the Humanoid Alliance, are as confined as we are.

We won’t be slaves for much longer. Valor clung to his optimism. We don’t require our brethren’s assistance. We’ll free ourselves.

Malice hadn’t yet determined how to do that. He pumped his arms as he ran, pushing his abilities to his limits, seeking to leave that problem, his concerns behind him.

Frag. The E Model sighed through the transmission lines. It will be nice to be fully functional again, to have use of my arms and legs.

His friend had been reduced to a fraction of a warrior, and that angered Malice. The medic deserves to die for that cruelty alone.

My arms and legs were removed long before she entered the lab. Valor, for some illogical reason, came to Illona’s defense. She tried to graft some of my organics onto my limbs. Numerous times. My nanocybotics refused to recognize the arms and legs as being mine. He blew out his breath. I will always be damaged.

To repair properly, a cyborg’s severed limbs had to be reattached before their skin and flesh and nanocybotics fully died. The E Model’s arms and legs had been removed for solar cycles. They were fully mechanic now.

That neglect enraged Malice. He ran higher along the walls, propelling himself forward at a speed he’d never before achieved. His muscles burned with the strain.

Her kind damaged you…because that is what they do—they damage beings. As he moved, he viewed the images of his deceitful medic’s beautiful face stored in his databases and his fury spiraled upward. They kill. They lie and betray. She has to die. I’ll—

His processors flooded with transmissions, that shocking bombardment stopping him in mid stride. Gravity gripped him. Malice fell, curled into a ball, rolled over the floor tiles and onto his feet. There were millions of communications, originating all over the universe, from their brethren.

Do you hear that? Valor sounded as incredulous as Malice felt. Our medic didn’t lie to us. Transmissions are open.

She wasn’t their medic. Malice’s lips twisted. She was his. I hear them.

He widened his stance, absorbing the disconcerting streams of chatter. It had to be a trick. The cyborgs talked of Homelands and finding females and…joy. Some vowed to strike back at the Humanoid Alliance, to kill their former oppressors.

Former oppressors. Their brethren spoke as though they were…free.

That couldn’t be the truth. It was too unbelievable.

But he would do what his medic suggested—he would ask for help, ask for his brethren to send a ship to retrieve him, retrieve Valor.

She had given him a laser scalpel. Having that makeshift weapon in his possession was enough for the Humanoid Alliance to condemn him, to sentence him to decommissioning, to death.

Reaching out to his brethren couldn’t damage him more than that.

Malice accessed a line frequented by all cyborgs. My brethren and I require transport. He shared their coordinates. We can free ourselves from the Humanoid Alliance lab, but we can’t leave the surface of the planet without a ship.

Amplifying your message to the Cyborg Council, C Model. A warrior called Death responded to him.

There is a Cyborg Council. Valor noted that wondrous fact. We have a Homeland, Malice, a planet of our own. Our kind are free.

Our brethren are free. We remain enslaved. But that might soon change. A sliver of hope wound around Malice’s heart. They could be liberated. He started to believe that was possible.

If what they were experiencing was a ruse, crafted by his medic and the Humanoid Alliance, it was elaborate to the point of excess. All the streams of chatter were different, the conversations containing fantastical revelations.

There had been a mass rebellion. Millions of his brethren had been freed. They were building structures—not destroying them, exploring planets—not conquering them for the humans.

The conversations were too intricate, too detailed for the Humanoid Alliance, beings who, in the past, were almost comically sloppy in their maneuverings. His little medic was clever, but she was also human and only one being. She couldn’t manage such a large act of treachery on her own.

It could be the truth. His brethren could have escaped their enemy’s control.

And if that was the case, they could also escape. They could—

The Cyborg Council won’t do a fraggin’ thing to assist you, C Model. An entity named Cadet opened a highly secure private transmission line with him.

The being’s voice was robotic, simulated. His communications couldn’t be traced back to any one location.

He was