Cyborg rising the cyborg.., p.1
Cyborg Rising (The Cyborg Option Book 2), page 1
CYBORG RISING
©2024 SCOTT MOON
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CONTENTS
Also by Scott Moon
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Thank you for reading Cyborg Rising!
ALSO BY SCOTT MOON
The Cyborg Option
Honor of Cyborgs
Cyborg Rising
Cyborg Ultimatum
Check out the entire series here! (Tap or scan)
Brothers in Arms
First Strike
13 Mercs
One For All
Check out the entire series here! (Tap or scan)
ONE
Lodonia’s mountains were everything I thought nature should be—larger than the imagination, powerful, and stunningly beautiful. My scout armor regulated body heat, though it would be of little use in a fight with the aliens we all called Mysts, short for mystery attackers.
Hubert Wasser’s scavenger team had been out too long. They would miss the last shuttle if they didn’t head for the temporary spaceport soon. The man had military training and should know better, but here I was searching for him and his subordinates.
I pulled closer to the ridge line without dismounting my hover bike. Power coils hummed just loud enough for normal ears to detect. For me, the subtle fluctuations in the thrum suggested this unit needed a tune-up.
Waiting and watching saved lives, especially in a place like this where mistakes were fatal. As it turned out, the planet had some wicked apex predators. The herbivores they fed on weren’t to be messed with either. It was a good thing neither me nor my sister had seriously considered staying here. One of these beasties would eat Silent, no matter how fierce the animal grew.
Stupid floppy ears. As irrational as it sounded, there was no way I would let something happen to the animal, even if protecting the mutt got me killed.
Myst scouts were what really worried me. From a distance, they seemed vaguely human. Encased in armor and environmental suits, they appeared to walk on two legs, carry weapons or tools with two arms, and face forward as we did. From a thousand meters, it was hard to know for sure, even with my enhanced vision and binoculars.
Seemed human. That was the thing to remember.
Moving closer wasn’t a good idea, especially since their extraction vehicles circled above them whenever they were on the planet’s surface. I wasn’t sure if their version of turbines and gravity coils were that loud on purpose, or if they were broadcasting an anti-personnel signal. Even from this distance, the noise twisted my guts. It almost felt like a dispersion weapon, something the Protectorate used to break up crowds from time to time. I’d seen that technology in action and never wanted to be near it again. Crowds of people collapsing from abdominal cramps while they held their bleeding ears was enough to convince me the Protectorate was evil, like I had needed additional evidence.
That was then. This was now. I had a job to do and a future to embrace.
Returning to Lodonia for resources had been necessary, but it still felt like a mistake. If everything went perfectly, we could slip free of the Myst strangers with what we needed for a long voyage and be gone. The Arcadia was just one ship, after all, and those invaders appeared to count their spoils in planets rather than more modest systems of measurement.
“Option for Wasser, how copy?”
“Wasser reads. We’re heading for the spaceport now. Thanks for checking on us. This is a good haul. It should really make a difference.” The man’s voice was distorted by static. I sorted the meaning easily enough. He’d found some goodies for himself and his picked people.
Spotting the man on the horizon was easy now. A thin plume of snow shot into the air behind Wasser’s fast-moving resource hauler. He hadn’t reported his movement. Was that because he was sloppy, or because he was worried about a raider hacking his comms and learning where to ambush him?
Who knew? I altered course and raced to cover his back trail. The Myst assault ship went silent. Maybe that was a good sign.
But probably not.
Enemy ground troops disappeared behind a rise in the terrain. The support ship soon vanished into clouds of falling snow.
“Great.”
“Something wrong, brother?” My sister waited at the spaceport, no doubt ready to sprint my direction on her hover bike.
“Everything is fine. Our enemies just vanished. Call it good news.” I wanted to go fast, but Wasser’s vehicle was much slower than mine, though he was pushing it as hard as possible. Its engines glowed when I viewed it with infrared optics.
A new shape appeared through the winter gloom. Small, fast, and heading toward me on an intercept course. I checked again for the Myst unit and didn’t see it. With luck, they’d gone the other direction in search of whatever they were looking for on this planet.
“Are you at the port, Delilah?” I asked. “Because I have a bike racing to cut me off.”
“That isn’t me.” Seconds passed. “Don’t see anything authorized to be out. It’s just you and Wasser holding us up. Get back here so we can put this rock behind us. We’re long overdue to be gone from this system.”
“Wasn’t Ulan fond of bikes?” I asked.
Delilah cursed.
“Language. I hope the kid wasn’t around to hear that.”
“I see it on radar. It is moving fast,” Delilah said. “Could be a local. More of the Lodonians who stayed behind are changing their minds. Watch yourself, but consider the possibility it’s friendly and in need of aid. Pray to whatever force you think might listen that it isn’t Ulan. This isn’t the time for a PSM duel.”
“You’re not kidding. Especially if I lose.” I checked my weapons to be sure everything was loaded and strapped in place until needed.
“If you’re gonna do that, make it quick. I’m coming your way.” Muffled wind could be heard through her helmet mic. The sound-canceling technology of her head gear only went so far.
I aimed for the top of a gently rolling hill and changed course. The mystery bike adjusted a second later. The rider was definitely coming on strong. Soon I would be able to confirm if it was Ulan or any of the PSM agents I hadn’t killed.
Whoever this was must be getting paid a lot. I stayed on my bike for about five seconds, then dismounted in favor of a rocky outcropping. Snow-dusted grass covered most of it, but I thought it would offer decent cover.
Quick movements. Constant vigilance. I unpacked my sniper rifle, checked the range, and put the crosshairs on… Ulan 1239, the ugly freak. His affectations weren’t as strange as some of my peers. There were no black-metal teeth for him or faces tattooed in the likeness of laughing kittens. I actually took my job seriously, and that often meant blending with crowds. Ulan held to the same standard, except that he relied on hoods, shadows, and electronic misdirection most of the time.
The expression in his eyes made him unappealing, no
A black cloak whipped behind the figure on the hover bike. Goggles protected his vision, but I recognized the face. There were worry lines around his eyes and mouth that hadn’t come from worry. Rage lines was a more accurate description.
I wondered what the universe had done to him to make him almost too murderous to be a cyborg assassin.
“Twenty minutes out,” Delilah said in my helmet speaker.
“You’re going to be late.” I eased my finger around the trigger and steadied my breathing.
Ulan steered into a gully and out of view. His profile only appeared at random intervals. Erosion had carved the terrain feature from the side of the hill I defended. There was a gap where I could still take the shot, but if I missed during his final assault, there wouldn’t be time to change weapons.
I snapped the sniper rifle into a new, simpler configuration and tossed the precision barrel into the gear bag on my bike.
“Where is Wasser and his team?” I asked.
“They’re clear,” Delilah answered. “Don’t worry about them.”
Ulan’s bike burst into view and raced up the hill. I sprayed him with bullets from my carbine. Several hit. The effect was hard to measure. If he died, that would be a clue, but I doubted he would go down so easily.
Light body armor was a favorite among PSM agents. Easily concealed with street clothing, there was no reason to go without it. I expected at least that much protective equipment on my adversary.
He rushed from a gully, shotgun blasting my position as he moved. I returned fire and caught a glimpse of someone watching us from the next ridge. With no time to identify the other player, I convinced myself that he or she wasn’t aiming a weapon, then filed the mystery player’s existence for later reflection.
Action was the only thing that mattered right now.
“Option!” His face twisted as he roared a challenge. “Fight me! Fight me and die. You killed men better than you.”
“You really are an idiot.” I put two rounds in his body armor, one near his head, and a final shot into his street sweeper. Had that been on purpose? I’d claim it if the slug disabled his weapon and I survived what came next.
He extended a bayonet and charged the last few strides.
I sidestepped, kneed him in the crotch, and slammed my weapon on the back of his neck. None of these strikes hit cleanly. He was too fast and too skilled. Morpheal and I had competed for the title of first and second deadliest cyborg assassins. He was definitely third.
After today, he might have that top spot that meant so much to him.
We separated, fired, and closed the distance again. This time, one of his rounds cracked my helmet visor while another bruised my ribs with breath-stealing ferocity. Body armor could only do so much.
My foot struck home, hammering upward between his legs and lifting him off his feet.
“Ooooof.” He collapsed, rolled sideways, and groaned as he struggled back to his feet. “You always use that dirty street fighting. Still hurts, even with protection.”
I slammed my fist into his mouth while he was still talking. The fight was going well until he pulled his nastiest trick, a tactic so filthy I had thought it a rumor until now.
He dropped a grenade while I was pulling back from the punch, then kicked my legs out from under me. Next thing I knew, he had me pinned on top of an imminent explosion.
I rolled hard to one side, hoping to reverse his position, but at least get away from the blast.
We tumbled off the ridge as a fireball shot upward. Snow swirled around the chaos. I hit every possible bump on the way down. Hopefully, Ulan was as battered as I was by the time we slid to a stop.
We stood in a gully. My gear was as tangled as his was, and we both limped. Shrapnel protruded from parts of my armor. Some had penetrated the flesh beneath, which made it seem like my protective gear was bleeding.
I executed a spinning back kick—right when he did. My heel impacted his other leg. His struck my ribs. We staggered gracelessly from the simultaneous impacts.
I dragged my gauntlets over the ground and flung ice and dirt toward his face. His goggles protected his eyes, but I was still glad to have obscured his vision for half a second.
He pulled a knife.
I stomped on his knee, grabbed his wrist to neutralize the weapon, and rammed my knee into his face. This time his eye protection was less effective.
His free arm flailed as he rocketed upward and back. I twisted his knife-wielding hand across my body, snapping the elbow and dislocating the shoulder.
Screams filled the Lodonia dusk. Predators howled in the distance as they came closer. I drew my knife and plunged it into his throat. Blood splashed across my body.
“Camden!” Delilah yelled in my ear. “Are you okay?”
I took a picture of Ulan with my palm and sent it to my sister.
“It’s not safe to view image data while driving,” she said. “But I get it. Check one more PSM agent off the Protectorate’s roster.”
“How close are you?”
“Ten minutes out. What do you need? A lift?”
I gazed at the figure standing on the ridge above me. “No. My bike is intact. I need to check something and I’ll be on my way.”
“Are you sure?” She sounded concerned.
“Yeah. Hold where you are and I’ll give you an update in a few minutes.” I strode toward the figure and tried to pretend he wasn’t holding an energy lance. It wasn’t pointed my direction. The exotic weapons should have been a clue to his identity. Few citizens could afford something like that. The only military units who preferred them, and had the budget, were in the Gray Fleet. Admiral Coraxis Glayn was famous for providing his troops the best of everything.
He held the weapon like a staff but wasn’t leaning on it. I didn’t know who he was but thought he looked far too confident on this planet full of deadly predators and Myst forward scouts.
I stopped at the last point of cover, a boulder that rested ten meters below the crest of the ridge. “We’re evacuating the planet. Do you need help finding a shuttle?”
“You must be the Final Option.”
I measured his profile, his tone, and his presence as a spectator to the latest attempt to assassinate me. “You must be Grayson Lorn.”
His grim chuckle sent chills down my cyborg spine. “You cannot resist destiny.”
“I don’t know what that means, but thanks. Why don’t you reflect on the message I delivered the last time we spoke. It stands.”
He hefted the energy lance but still didn’t point it at me. “This is your first and last warning, Camden 1192. Summon your sister and her child. Surrender Abel to my care and keep your sister out of it.”
I pointed toward a storm in the mountains. “He’s right over there. Start walking and you’re sure to find him.”
He laughed. “Oh, you really are the smart ass everyone says. I wanted to see for myself.”
“Risky.”
He shouldered the lance. “Agreed. But worth it. Now keep in mind, the next time we meet, if ever, things will go much worse for you.”
I dove for cover, but he was faster and more accurate than expected. Delilah had warned me. I should have listened. The last thing I saw before everything went black was a ball of lightning heading my direction.
TWO
The floor had been moving before I regained consciousness. That meant I was no longer face down in the dirt. The oppressive heat of the shuttle might have been a relief if my arms weren’t bound behind my back and connected to ankle restraints by a nylon cord.
I worked the gag out of my mouth. “Hard to breathe like this, you assholes.”
One guard actually jumped back and tripped over his feet.
His partner aimed a shotgun at me. “Don’t move.”
“Not even a little?” I asked.
“Shut up. You’re not funny, Option.”
