Born

He’d almost believed her words, that she wanted him to run away with her, but he’d been no more than a curiosity to her. Something to do, to pass the time—the forbidden fruit. She’d played with him as a barn cat would an injured rodent, until her owner had come along to scoop her up and step on the pest.

For a moment he believed the shaking was coming from within him, that he would crumble into dust from the agony of losing the only thing he’d never possessed, yet was unable to live without. But when Allora hit the floor and cracks formed in the chamber’s bedrock walls, he realized the source, smelled the gasoline being sucked through an engine, only to be spit out again as a cloud of death.

The Bred were forbidden to build machines and the Born were too afraid of possible repercussions.

His eyes went wide as he realized what was coming.

Earth mounded up at a forty-five degree angle, big chunks of rock displaced by something larger, more demanding. Trapped inside the shatter-proof tube, Cormack could only watch as the tip of a sub terrain drill emerged from the hole, its helix nose whirring faster than even his Bred eyesight could see.

The Born audience trampled one another in a rush for the doorway. The mortician abandoned Lara’s body and shoved the kitchen supervisor into the path of the drill. Her scream cut off as the metal nose tunneled through her chest, raising her bulbous body up into the air and whirling it around like a propeller.

Allora had rolled onto her stomach, her hand pressed against the glass tube, her lips moving. The commotion was too great for him to hear her words.

More lies, more games. His chest ached and he forced himself to look away from her.

The engine cut off mid-whine and the metal hatch opened with a hiss. With a creak of leather a Cyborg rose from the cockpit and stared at the dead woman impaled by his digging machine. “That’s the last time you drive, Rothguard.”

“Sorry, sir, haven’t quite got the hang of it yet.”

Rothguard rose as well and made a face at the dead woman. “Orders, Commander Tuck?”

The first one stared out of his mechanical eyes.

Cormack had never seen such a chilling look. “Get that shit cleaned up before it corrodes the burrower.”

“Yes, Sir.” Rothguard saluted and jumped over the side, landing with the grace of a cat. Kicking rubble away from his boots, he agilely scrambled up the mound of rock and gripped the corpse by the ankle. One tug and the body flew across the room, leaving a dent in the opposing wall.

Commander Tuck disembarked as well, rolling over the side as though rolling out of bed instead of falling twenty feet. From what Cormack could see he was more machine than man, with an artificial arm, both legs, both eyes and one ear. And that was just what was readily visible. His expression inscrutable, he stared down at a device embedded in his mechanical arm while circling around the tube that held Cormack. He stopped directly in front of Allora, metal feet inches from her.

“You, what is your designation?”

She clamped her jaw shut, undoubtedly falling back on her training. The Cyborgs thrived off of information and the only weapon human kind had against their superior strength and advanced technology was to slow the flow of usable data until they could escape.

As was typical with Cyborgs, he showed no feeling as he bulldozed ahead. “My readout indicates you are the one we are seeking. Is your name Allora and are you twenty nine years old?”

A pit of ice formed in Cormack’s gut. “What do you want with her?”

The coating over the Cyborg’s eyes made them appear totally white, no iris or pupil to speak of, yet Cormack felt sure Commander Tuck could see better than he could, gauging pulse, respiration, perspiration with a single glance. A walking lie detector, who could act as judge, jury and executioner within the span of a heartbeat.

“She possesses what we seek.” Unlike the humans, the machine abominations did not withhold information if they thought sharing would further their aims. “It was prophesized by Cassandra that we were to claim her as one of us, making a crucial move to end the war between the three factions.”

Cormack’s mouth fell open. He never, in a million years would have thought the Cyborgs would believe in Cassandra’s prophesies. And that Allora was part of one? What could she possess that would unite the Bred, the Born and the Cyborgs?

The journal.

That must be it. And the Cyborgs would torture her until she told them where to find it. His hands clenched into fists, hating her and needing to protect her from this threat all at once. If he could escape the tube, he could fight the Cyborgs. The Breds had been created to combat them in the first place, and no overlord would choose to breed that ability from them.

He raised his hands and pounded on the thick glass of his prison. “Let me out of here and I will tell you where to find what you seek.”