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Most cyborgs had faced the prospect of near-certain death at least once in their long lifespans. They had been manufactured to fight battles and death was a significant part of war.
“Humans and humanoids process differently.” They hadn’t been fabricated with the knowledge others viewed them as being disposable. “The statement was an insult.” Drift paused. “And it was delivered in a manufactured voice.”
“I process he utilizes a manufactured voice.” Cure’s words were, once again, scrubbed of all -emotion.
“Are you 100.0000 percent certain the medic is a he?” Drift didn’t share that certainty.
“The attributes of the voice he chose align with those of a male speaker in 86.1482 percent of all instances.” The medic blasted him with data. “88.2235 percent of beings choose a voice that originates from the same biological sex as they do.”
“You’ve assumed the medic is male.” Drift had, in contrast, received confirmation from Strike that his contact was male.
“That’s the logical conclusion.” Cure returned his attention to his handheld.
The universe and the beings within it were rarely logical.
There was a high probability the medic would soon be reminded of that fact.
Drift kept that projection to himself.
He increased the modified freighter’s speed and threw himself into the circuit-buzzing thrill of going very, very fast.
CHAPTER TWO
Roshini lurked in the shadows outside the medic facility.
The moon on Cancri B was high in the cloudless sky, yet a long line of beings already waited for the place to open.
Roshini’s first reaction was to look for the fabric pattern that had been unique to her much-smaller home settlement. But none of those beings sported that handwoven cloth.
And part of her had known she wouldn’t see it.
After the Betrayal, the residents of her adopted home had scattered, disappearing into the numerous mountains. Gatherings were dangerous, they had learned.
They wouldn’t risk drawing the Invaders’ attention by joining a line. Even if they were hurting as the beings before her were.
Her gaze returned to the Cancri standing across the pathway from her.
The female used a scrap of cloth to wipe away the blood dripping from her infant’s nose.
Behind her, a female and a male leaned on each other for support. Both of their normally bright-orange Cancri countenances were ashen.
The elderly male next in line hunched over his steadying stick. He had a growth on the side of his neck visible the length of three land transports away. And he wheezed with every breath.
The sound was excruciating to listen to. Roshini swept one of her gloved hands over her cloth-covered midriff. The pain would be equally horrific.
None of those beings would have needed care if the Invaders hadn’t arrived. Her lips flattened. Soon, she and her team would drive that enemy and their illness-causing activities from their planet.
She circled the structure. The back door was locked as it always was. She inputted the 15-digit code into the control panel. The door opened and she entered the facility.
Only half of the overhead lighting was turned on. She navigated the empty hallways and walked into the chamber she’d utilized during the previous visit.
She knew the routine by now, and she stripped to her artificially-padded hips. Cool air swept over her bare chest. Her skin was coated in long-lasting pigment. The Invaders would believe her to be a Cancri humanoid female.
Sometime she forgot the natural color of her skin and who she truly was. She’d been shifting her appearance and changing her identify for too many solar cycles.
Cloth brushed against cloth. She grabbed one of her guns and turned.
“Put your weapons away.” Medic Cyra didn’t look up from her handheld as she walked into the space.
