Malik’s mouth quirked before he nodded. “Where’s home for you?”
“Platinum 5.”
Malik arched an eyebrow. “Under the clan-lord’s eye.”
“My father was a space fleet pilot … and as soon as I was old enough, I enlisted.”
Malik observed the cyborg intently for a few moments. The brutal silver and black plate protruding from his right eye socket dominated his face; it was difficult not to stare at it. “So, you no longer have any loyalty to the Mir-Ferrins?”
Vic lifted the can of brew to his lips and took a sip. He then shook his head.
“None at all?”
“I deserted and stole one of their battle-droids … I’d say that speaks for itself.”
Malik continued to survey his companion. He’d worked alongside soldiers his whole life, had led them, and considered himself a half-decent judge of character. The cyborg had a direct communication style that Malik appreciated. It made it easier to take him at his word.
“How much of you is actually machine?” he asked after a pause.
Vic took another gulp of brew before replying, “My right eye, most of the frontal lobe of my brain … and my right lung.” He lifted his left hand and rapped something hard on his chest with his knuckles. “I also have a central processor, attached to my heart … to keep it beating.” Vic’s left eye glinted then, and when he continued, bitterness tinged his voice. “I always dreaded being badly injured in the line of duty … better to die than be transitioned.”
“But you agreed to it when you signed up, didn’t you?”
“I was seventeen and trigger-happy … I’d have signed away a kidney and a lung just to follow in my father’s footsteps.”
A hollow sensation settled deep in Malik’s chest at this admission. Vic had known his father, had looked up to him.
What must that feel like?
Malik had never known his own father—had no idea who the man was. His mother had refused to talk about him.
“So, what did go wrong?” he asked, pushing his own, unpleasant, memories away.
“No idea. I woke up in a hospital ward and was told I’d been transitioned. They observe you for a while, to make sure there aren’t any issues … but right from those first hours, I knew something was off. I never said anything because I knew they’d put me under again … and do the job properly this time … but I still felt like me.” He paused then, draining the last of his can of brew. “I’m different to before though. I’m stronger … my resting pulse rate is slower, and my body’s temperature runs hotter.”
Malik considered his words, trying to imagine—and failing—what it would have felt like to wake up from transitioning with your self-awareness intact.
Vic leaned forward, placing the empty can on the table. “Cyborgs are expendable. We sleep in stacks of cells, like a mortuary.” Resentment crept into his voice once more. “There’s no heating, and they feed you nothing but tasteless nutri-bars. Two weeks after going back to work, I deserted.”
Malik’s gaze flicked to where Obsidian was now plugged into the wall. Its head was bowed as it recharged. “Why steal a battle-droid?”
Vic glanced Obsidian’s way, his lips twitching into something that was the shadow of a half-smile. It was the first time he’d seen the cyborg show a facial expression of any kind. “Being part machine changes how you see everything,” he murmured. “Obsidian was assigned to me … before I was injured. After my transitioning, I discovered that we have a bond of sorts.”
Malik cocked an eyebrow. He had to be joking; no one formed an attachment to battle-droids.
Noting Malik’s expression, Vic’s hazel eye narrowed. “Obsidian and I understand each other,” he said, his tone cooling. “We have a partnership … and our freedom. We were both slaves once, but now we serve no one but ourselves.”
23. MY RUIN
JENNA ROLLED ONTO her back, rising from a deep sleep. Opening her eyes, she stared up at the darkness. It was deathly quiet, a sign dawn was still some way off. She was surprised she’d awoken—for she’d thought she’d sleep deeply until her alarm went off.
Fumbling for her tablet, she checked the time. There were still five hours to go.
I need to go back to sleep.
She closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to pull her down into its clutches once more.
But it didn’t.
