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The other members of her team were humanoid. They didn’t have his speed. And carrying a second being would slow his pace. That would place his female in peril.
She could die.
He wouldn’t allow that to happen. “I’ll be including Cure on this communication.” He glanced at his female. “He processes much of the Plan already, and I didn’t relay those details to him.”
“Cyra is his contact, isn’t she?” His clever female had reached the same projection he had. “I suspected that during that first conversation you allowed me to overhear. She designed the treatment that slows the growth of the tumors.”
“Cure hasn’t confirmed she’s his contact.” His friend was being surprisingly covert regarding that detail. “Is Cyra part of the team?”
“She’s the failsafe, the second team, should the first team—ours—not be successful.” His female’s answer shouldn’t have surprised him. Her caution was processable. Yet it did. “The rest of our team doesn’t know about her. She doesn’t know about them. All she knows is her part of the plan, that she is to implement it when the explosives are detonated.”
That was a complication he hadn’t projected. “Are we to assist with her part of the Plan?” Were they to run, literally, from one dangerous situation into another?
“No.” His female shook her head. “We’re not to interfere with her plan. It would jeopardize its success.”
There was an 86.2552 percent probability Cure would assist his contact with the failsafe plan.
That would leave Drift as the sole cyborg on his female’s team.
“I’ll stress that the plan isn’t to be shared with non-cyborgs,” he assured his female.
“Your friend won’t know I’m listening.” She pointed out that truth. “We won’t know if Cyra is listening.”
“She could be listening.” He nodded. That was a possibility.
“I didn’t trust her…or anyone…with the entire plan because all beings, under extreme torture, eventually break and give up information.” His female’s tone was grim. “She can’t tell the Invaders information she doesn’t know.”
“If she’s listening to our communications, Cure trusts her.” His friend didn’t take other beings into his confidence indiscriminately. “And he’ll ensure she isn’t captured by the enemy.”
His female studied him for a moment.
He held her gaze.
“Is she his genetic match?” That projection was aligned with his also.
He grinned. They were in sync. “Cure hasn’t communicated that. But he also hasn’t disparaged her processing power since they met face-to-face. That’s…unlike him.”
“She could be his genetic match.” His female beamed at him.
And Drift’s systems flickered under that sensory onslaught. She was so fraggin’ beautiful.
“If they’ve fucked…if they’ve bred—” She utilized his word for that activity and that pleased him. “—she’ll have his nanocybotics. They’ll heal her. And she’ll survive also.”
“Those are quite a few ifs.” Drift warned her. He didn’t want her hopes to be raised only to be quashed later. That would emotionally damage her.
“We might not lose everyone on our team, my cyborg.” His female wouldn’t be cautioned. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” She reached over and squeezed his right body armor-covered arm. “Are you certain your nanocybotics can’t be given to other beings?”
His brave, caring female wanted to repair everyone.
That wasn’t possible. Not with the technology he processed. “Giving our nanocybotics to beings other than our genetic matches has been tested, and no, they immediately lose functionality.” He covered her hands with one of his. “Cure and Cyra, if she is his contact, will have to find another repair for the Cancris.”
“They can do that…providing they have more time.” His female’s voice rang with certainty. “We can give them that time by succeeding at our task.”
She slipped her hands out of his grip and sank into her seat.
Drift felt that loss of physical connection with her immediately and silently mourned it. “We’ll succeed at our task.” His brethren might assist them with their mission. “Are we ready to communicate with my captain?”
“We’re ready.” His female, once again, referred to them as one unit.
