UNIT 78: RESCUED (CyBRG Files Book 2) Read online

  “Well…” The admiral’s face had gone from dull brick red to a slightly less apoplectic pink. “As long as we understand each other.”

  “We do.” Rich nodded. “Except for one thing. I do not understand why you expect me to go on this mission for you.”

  “What?” Pierce exploded. “You will do as I say, soldier! I am your admiral!”

  “Not anymore,” Rich said calmly. He and Drew had discussed this at length—how to handle orders from higher-ups they no longer considered their superiors. When their company had gone rogue, they had left the Space Corps behind. They intended to establish autonomy from the organization that had fucked them up and fucked them over so badly, and there would be no exceptions.

  “You will do as I say! You will retrieve my daughter!” Admiral Pierce barked at him.

  Rich regarded him calmly.

  “Yes, I will,” he said in a low, measured tone. “For a price. Complete autonomy and separation from the Space Corps for myself and the other cyborgs in my group and one of your older Carry-all ships, fully equipped and provisioned, to use as our base.”

  “You…I…I can’t just give away a multi-trillion credit piece of equipment like a Carry-all!” Pierce sputtered. “Especially not fully stocked!”

  “Too bad.” Rich shrugged. “Then I guess maybe you can send one of the other cyborgs you made—one of the ones that was really brain-dead before he was cyberized. Oh but wait…” He frowned, pretending to consider. “Those aren’t very smart. Are they? Seems like the Tr’Low cultists might get suspicious if you were trying to remote-control the thing you sent in to rescue your daughter. Not to mention that no brain-dead cyborg you might get has anywhere near my hostage extraction expertise.”

  He could see by the admiral’s face that he had thought this exact same thing—sending a regular Space Corps-controlled cyborg had probably been his first plan. But the brain-dead cyborgs were nothing but fancy half-human robots, incapable of free will or independent thought. There was no way such a creature could successfully carry out a delicate and dangerous mission like the one Pierce wanted him to undertake. If someone else was held hostage, the admiral might have risked it. But it was his own daughter, and no matter what kind of a bastard he might be, Rich could tell he loved her with his whole heart.

  His own heart twisted a little in his chest. The poor girl, trapped down there with that fucking evil cult. Everything in him wanted to go to her now, and if Pierce refused their request, he would still go and do everything in his power to set her free. But he wanted to put on a brave face and get as much as he could out of this. It was important for their whole group.

  So he kept a stony expression on his features as he waited for Admiral Pierce’s answer.

  “Very well, cyborg,” Pierce said at last, his face going red again. “You appear to have the upper hand—for now, anyway. I will agree to your demands, only get my daughter home safe and unmolested.”

  Rich wanted to point out that they had no idea what had already been done to the poor girl, but again he bit his tongue. The admiral might hate him and his kind but he was still a grieving father. Rich could respect that, even if Pierce didn’t respect him.

  “Agreed,” he said, nodding to the admiral. “I will do my utmost to bring your daughter home safely.”

  “Without touching her sexually in any way,” Pierce emphasized.

  “I have told you—no human woman would want me as I am,” Rich reminded him.

  “Yes, but you haven’t said if you still want human women or not,” the admiral growled. “It goes both ways, cyborg.”

  Rich simply gave him a level look.

  “I will not touch her. Now let me get back to my ship. There is much to be done.”

  Chapter Two

  “Place the suction cups on your nipples, Novice Kyrin. Do it now or it will be done for you.”

  Kyrin Pierce glared at Sister Yancy, but the older woman’s face was stern and implacable. She could tell there would be no getting out of the daily sensitivity training session this time. The day before she’d pretended to be sick and the day before that, she’d faked an ankle injury. But the Tr’Low nun was onto her now. She had taken over Kyrin’s case herself and had sworn to have her ready for the Breeding Ceremony coming at the end of this solar week.

  “Suction cups, Novice Kyrin,” she said again, frowning. “Now.”

  Gritting her teeth, Kyrin opened the long silver robe they had dressed her in—the robe of a novice in the Tr’Low Breeding Cult—and bared her full breasts. She seated herself in the sensitivity chair and reached for the cups, which were hooked to one side of the chair and attached to long, black hoses that reminded her of snakes from Old Earth.

  She didn’t want to do this—didn’t want to place the damn cups over her nipples, which were already way too sensitive from the hormones and drugs the Tr’Low nuns had been pumping into her. But she would much rather do it herself than let one of the nuns do it. Or worse, one of the breeding males that were always hanging around the sensitivity training area, drooling at her through the shimmery touch-me-not shield that surrounded the novices’ quarters.

  “They have to be able to see you,” Sister Yancy had explained primly when Kyrin had protested the gawking going on only a few feet from where she was exposed. “One of them may have the honor of breeding you during the ceremony. Although, I rather doubt it.” She had given Kyrin an appraising look. “Considering your attributes, my dear, I’m almost certain you will have the honor of being bred by Father Tr’Ayer himself. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

  Kyrin thought it would be horrible but then, everything that had happened to her since her ship had been taken by the cult members had been horrible.

  My fault, she thought grimly as she fitted the round, clear cup over her nipple and watched as it began to suck, making her tight pink point even tighter and pinker. What happened to my ship…my crew…it’s all my fault. If it wasn’t for the way I look, they never would have taken us, never would have killed the crew and taken me into their damn Breeding Compound…

  Kyrin was petite but curvy—barely five feet tall in her stocking feet with full breasts and hips that she often tried to disguise with bulky business clothing. As a Peace Maker—one of the Intergalactic consultants who went from planet to planet arbitrating disputes between different cultures—she had to look professional.

  But it wasn’t her full breasts or even her wide, baby-making hips the Tr’Low Breeders had been interested in when they lured her down to their planet and took her ship. It was her long waterfall of silky, flame-red hair.

  The Breeders had some kind of a prophesy that she didn’t fully understand—something about a child being born with hair the color of flame. Supposedly this child would lead their cult in overtaking the rest of the known galaxy, which was their ultimate plan—to spread the light of Tr’Low and his breeding wisdom to all the worlds and take them over as they had taken over their own world, once known as Beacon Five.

  Kyrin, of course, was to be the mother of this miracle child. The very thought made her sick, but she was trapped here, surrounded by the Tr’Low nuns as well as the breeding males and the eunuch guards, who were not considered fit for breeding due to genetic imperfections but were still quick to punish any of the fertile females who were caught trying to escape.

  As the second suction cup latched on to her left nipple and began its mindless sucking, Kyrin wished again that she had never taken the assignment to Beacon Five. IPKA, the Intergalactic Peace Keeping Association, hadn’t had any idea that the Tr’Low cult had taken over the small, blue-green planet. They only knew that a conflict had been reported and a Peace Keeper had been requested to mediate the situation.

  The minute her ship, the Tranquility, had set down in the space port and Kyrin had stepped outside to greet the delegation that had come to meet her, she had sensed something was wrong.

  The Tr’Low nuns and priests were all shaved bald with only a single strip of hair left,
growing on the right side of the head. This strip was dyed silver to match the silver trim of the long, black robes they wore and the silver sashes tied around their waists.

  At their head was Father Tr’Ayer, tall and sepulchral with hollow cheeks and the fiery stare of a fanatic. He was the only one with a full head of hair—silver of course—though his looked natural, not dyed. His teeth, when he smiled, were also shiny and silver, as was his lower jaw.

  He must have had an accident and gotten implants to replace what had been lost, Kyrin thought. His smile made her shiver, though she tried not to show it. His voice, when he greeted her, was sonorous and smooth.

  “Ah, my dear Ms. Pierce, welcome to Breeder One. I am Father Tr’Ayer and we are so very pleased to have you here. You are just exactly what we have been looking for.”

  His intense stare unnerved her but Kyrin had done her best to keep her composure. She was a professional and she’d dealt with difficult negotiations before.

  “Excuse me, but I was under the impression that this was Beacon Five. My name is Officer Kyrin Pierce of IPKA and I’ve come to mediate a conflict.”

  “You are standing on what used to be Beacon Five.” Father Tr’Ayer nodded genially. “But that was before the light of Tr’Low and his Breeding wisdom was spread throughout our fair planet. Now we are all of one mind…one belief. We have thus renamed our world Breeder One.” He grinned widely, his silver teeth flashing in the weak sunshine.

  “I…see.” Kyrin eyed the long robes, strange haircuts, and fanatically devout expressions on the faces all around her. She was beginning to get a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach about all this—a very bad feeling. But she tried to keep her face calm and her voice even. “Is this some kind of religious dispute? Because I have a colleague who specializes in that kind of thing—”

  “Oh, no, my dear.” Father Tr’Ayer shook his head, still giving her that silver smile that was a cross between funeral and fanatical. “You are exactly who we want—the only one we want.”

  Then he had raised one bony hand and snapped his fingers.

  “Eunuchs attend to me—kill everyone aboard the Peace Keeping ship. None must escape to betray us.”

  “What?” Kyrin gasped. “What are you talking about?”

  She had turned to run but strong hands wrapped around her arms, restraining her while the eunuch guards, armed to the teeth, marched up the Tranquility’s gangplank to begin the killing.

  “You can’t do this!” Kyrin gasped, struggling to be free as her crew’s horrified shouts and screams were cut short. “You can’t despoil an IPKA ship! We’re a neutral force for good—respected throughout the galaxy.”

  Not even the vilest of space pirates would try to take an IPKA cruiser and even the most hostile planets recognized them and accepted their mediation in times of conflict. The Tranquility didn’t even have weapons. She didn’t need them. Just having the green and blue IPKA flag painted on her hull was enough to ensure her safe passage through even the most dangerous territories.

  But the Breeders apparently didn’t give a damn for intergalactic norms and conventions.

  “Now, now, my dear Ms. Pierce,” Father Tr’Ayer murmured, smiling at her again, his silver teeth gleaming. “Some deaths are necessary so that the Breeding wisdom of our Lord Tr’Low may be spread throughout the galaxy.”

  “But…why did you call us here? What do you want with us? Why kill my crew? If you need a ship that badly, take mine,” Kyrin babbled. “You can have it—just spare my people and let us have free passage off your planet. I swear you won’t be prosecuted if you just let us go!”

  “We don’t want your ship and we don’t need your people or your promises, my dear Ms. Pierce,” Father Tr’Ayer murmured, giving her that half-mad, silver smile again. “What we want—what we need—is you.”

  “Me? What are you talking about?” Kyrin demanded. “What could you want with me if you don’t have any conflict for me to mediate?”

  Instead of answering her, Father Tr’Ayer reached out one skeletal hand and took a lock of her long red hair between his bony fingers.

  “Do you see the color, Sister Yancy?” he asked, stroking it gently. “Exactly as it was when I saw her at the treaty signing on Garron Prime. Flame red—I have never seen another female with hair quite that color. She must be the one the prophesy speaks of.”

  “Get away from me! What are you talking about? What prophesy?” Kyrin turned her head sharply, trying to yank her hair free of the loathsome touch. But suddenly Father Tr’Ayer had her face pinched in a vise-like grip, his bony fingers digging into her cheeks painfully as he shoved his face into hers.

  “Half metal

  Half man

  He comes from the Stars

  When he Breeds the Queen

  Success will be Ours

  A child shall be born

  With hair like flame

  And eyes like the sky

  Our Savior, his name

  He will spread the wisdom

  Of our Lord Tr’Low

  Through the heavens above

  And the planets below.”

  He hissed the words in her face, his spit-slick, silver teeth winking at her obscenely, his breath stale and sickeningly metallic.

  “Half metal, do you see, my dear?” He pointed to his metal teeth and lower jaw. “I’m not quite half metal but ever since the rebuild I went through, I have quite a bit of metal in me. My eyes are blue—the color of the sky. And your hair is flame red. Can I make it clearer to you? You are to be the mother of a messiah!” He raised his voice, shouting above the screams of her dying crew. “Praise be to our Lord Tr’Low, he of the Breeding wisdom!”

  “Praise be to Lord Tr’Low,” answered the priests and nuns—the sisters, eunuchs and breeding males all chanting as one. “Praise his name! May his wisdom be spread among the stars!”

  At that moment, Kyrin felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice cubes directly down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. She was in the clutches of fanatics—the prisoner of a group of people who wouldn’t listen to common sense, who would turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to her pleas and prayers. They had only one aim in mind—to advance their crazy agenda and take over the galaxy.

  Oh Goddess, she thought sickly, fighting the urge to scream or cry. Oh Goddess, I am in so much trouble here. I have to get off this planet! Please, I have to get away!

  But there was no getting away, as Kyrin had discovered after several attempts. Once she had hidden in a laundry cart and had almost made it out of the Breeding Compound. Another time she had stolen a hooded black robe, like the kind the sisters wore when it was raining out, and just started walking.

  She might have made it out that time—might have made it to the space port and found an outgoing ship before anyone was the wiser. But she’d had the back luck to run into none other than Father Tr’Ayer himself in the long, curving hallway.

  “Going somewhere, my dear?” He had stripped back the hood, revealing her, and grinned that awful, silver smile. “I don’t think so. It’s back to the Breeding Compound for you and I’m going to make certain that Sister Yancy takes over your case personally. After all, we need to have you ripe and ready for the Breeding Ceremony, don’t we?”

  Kyrin had struggled and fought but it had done no good. She still wasn’t sure what had given her away—maybe her stature. Most of the women here were large—both tall and broad. Her diminutive size made her feel like the runt of the litter. It also meant she wasn’t physically strong enough to overpower any of her captors.

  Which meant she was stuck here with no hope of escape.

  No, don’t think like that, Kyrin told herself desperately. There’s always a way out—there has to be. Don’t give up hope. Something will happen before the Breeding Ceremony. Someone will come. They have to!

  If only she knew if the captain of her ship had tripped the emergency beacon before he’d been killed! If he had, she might have some kind of a chance. Her fat
her was the admiral of the Space Corps and a very important man. Though they’d had a fight when she had declared her intention to join IPKA and generally never agreed on anything, she knew he would send help if only he knew she was in trouble. If only…

  “Novice Kyrin!” Sister Yancy’s strident voice rang out, bringing her back to the present with a snap. “Did you hear me? I said you must attach the suction cup to your nether-mouth as well.”

  Kyrin looked down at the two clear cups already attached to her nipples, which were becoming obscenely red and puffy from the constant stimulation. Then she looked at the double cup, also attached to a snaky black hose, still hooked to one side of the sensitivity chair. Goddess, she didn’t want to use that one! She didn’t want to put it on and feel it sucking her…making her sensitive in areas she didn’t even want to think about…

  “Do it now!” Sister Yancy pointed a finger at her warningly. “Or would you like me to let a breeding male past the touch-me-not shield to place the cup for you? Of course, he might have to lick you first to get you ready for the cup…” She grinned nastily and nodded to the shimmery barrier two feet from the sensitivity chair where Kyrin was sitting. “There are some eager ones out there, my sweet little novice. Do you want their help?”

  Though she tried not to look, Kyrin could see the breeding males standing there, practically drooling as they watched her exposed body being stimulated by the damn cups. They wore tight black leather trousers with the crouch cut out to show their rampant erections.

  One of them—a tall, skinny male with blond hair and eyes cloudy with the Breeding drugs, licked his lips and smiled knowingly at her. He stroked his cock up and down slowly, aiming it in her direction.