WarriorsWoman (2 page)

Weirdly, the other two coldhearted bastards didn’t say a word or even pause. Neither did she. Sighting in on the closest creep, she took a second head shot. He dropped.

A tiny shift brought her weapon a few degrees to the right and put the last man in her sights. Faster than she would have believed possible, he flipped a metal face shield down. Her shot ricocheted off his strange helmet. She adjusted her aim and fired at his chest. Again, the bullet careened after hitting whatever body armor hid under his shirt.

His pace stayed steady as he narrowed the distance between them.

Minka sighted in on his right knee.

The prototype behind him shimmered and vanished.

She fired.

Distracted by the vehicle’s disappearance, she’d pulled her shot and missed.

His fingers clamped her wrist. Her bones cracked, snapped and crunched. The sounds made her wince and silently swear. And then she couldn’t hang on to the gun.

The HG hit the ground.

Batzorg, one of three, triad unit 341926, crouched and rolled out of the ship before the portal had opened all the way. He zeroed his Annihilator 2300 in on the enemy hurting Minka. Curses filled the silence of his mind when the cyborg turned, keeping her in front of him. The scrap metal piece of scum used Batzorg’s Minka as a fragile, living shield.

Of course Batzorg’s ownership of Minka was not a matter of technical accuracy. The woman had never met him. He had adored her since his introduction to the founders’ biographies as a mech trainee.

She had always been a bigger-than-life hero to him. Now next to the towering cyborg, she seemed very slight—her delicate frame no match for the powerful enemy gripping her.

Shaken by her fragility, he fought to focus on the current problem. Any distraction, even fear for his dream-woman’s survival, was unacceptable. Her life depended on him. With ruthless calm, he evaluated the battle zone.

They were a dozen meters away. At this range, he hit targets with one hundred percent accuracy, but he had no clean shot.

The triad’s mission remained clear and unchanged—rescue Minka and transport her back to their time where she would be kept safe in suspended animation until she could be reinserted in her own time in a location nearer the California compound with fewer hazards. To avoid altering the course of future events, her memories of him—of all her experiences with the mechs—would be erased.

A mech warrior did not fail, especially not a triad leader. There had to be a way to save her from the scrap metal excuse of a cyborg—not even a weapons specialist. Fortune smiled on the triad in this instance. If the enemy had been armed he would have blown Batzorg to particle dust.

Flipping down his face plate, Batzorg focused the video input receptor to enable his onboard processor to find a shooting solution.

“A throat shot would eliminate the target. The damage to the woman’s head should be within acceptable limits,” the computer’s artificial voice spoke directly into Batzorg’s mind.

Not acceptable to me.

Then Minka slumped in the cyborg’s grasp. With no hesitation, Batzorg locked on the enemy’s neck and fired. His weapon whined. The cyborg’s throat vaporized and the remainder of his helmeted head toppled off his shoulders. A good kill.

Minka slid into the snow.

Batzorg ceased breathing on the sprint toward her. He knelt beside her small body and sought a pulse. His finger’s sensor on her slim wrist registered her heart rate at one hundred fifty beats per minute. Too fast. Already swelling, her right forearm changed color, darkening to deep-purple bruises. Her lips were too pale. She might have serious internal injuries. The ground was too cold for her. He wanted to hold her and comfort her, but he feared moving her. She needed a full med-scan.

He flipped up his face shield with an impatient yank.
Where the hell is Vilmos, two of three, the triad med-tech?

She rolled to her left and used her uninjured arm to prop herself to a half-sitting position. “If you’re not going to kill me, then back off so I can check on Nigel.”

Who the hell is Nigel? Did she know one of the cyborg scum?

“You lost consciousness. You will wait for a medical evaluation.”

“I’m fine. I just pretended to faint to give you a clear shot. Now either help me up or get out of my way.”

In an effective demonstration of her determination, she struggled to her feet in spite of her injured arm. To Batzorg’s dismay, his choices narrowed to restraining her, possibly aggravating any undetected internal damage, or assisting her.

Still reluctant, he helped while he eyed the three dead bodies littering the snow and brooded about which one was Nigel and wondered how long the cyborgs had been with her. Had they lied to her? Hurt her? He wanted to kill all of them again. This time slower and much more painfully. He unclenched his jaw enough to say, “There are no life signs.”

Without a word of complaint about her own wounds, she marched past the fallen enemies. Her steps did not slow.

Batzorg caught up with her in two long strides and watched mystified as she crouched by a patch of dark fur.

Icy gusts of wind blew flurries of snow at them. Her teeth clacked from the cold and snowflakes caught on her thick lashes. She turned toward him with tears streaming from her beautiful silver eyes. “Nigel’s not breathing.”

Her tears made him desperate to ease her distress, but he could do nothing to lessen her unhappiness. This weakness left him uncomfortable and ashamed of his inadequacy—a new experience that triggered an illogical anger. Smashing a boulder or two should bleed off some of his fury, but such actions might frighten Minka. So he gritted his teeth and stayed still. “I regret your sorrow.”

Helpless to alleviate her pain, Batzorg positioned himself to shelter her from the wind and turned up his thermal output to keep her warm.

The patch of fur was an animal, logically her pet. He searched his data bank for information and found a match. A cat. Nigel was her cat. Not one of the damn cyborgs.

He had read every account of her life so many times he had memorized several long passages. There had been no mention of her cat in the founders’ histories. He shifted his considerable weight, uneasy with an inaccuracy in their records.
What other vital details had been omitted?

Vilmos stepped around him, med-scan already moving over Minka’s slender back. “I will repair your arm as soon as my readings are complete.”

She turned and stared open-mouthed at Vilmos for a long moment. Then asked, “Can you actually fix my arm?”

“As soon as I am certain there are no more serious injuries.” Vilmos continued his usual thorough examination, pausing to peer at the results every other second.

She tugged on Vilmos’ sleeve with her left hand, her attention zeroed in on her pet. “Never mind my wrist, help Nigel.”

“The cat,” Batzorg explained aloud for Minka’s benefit.

Vilmos finished his scan, looked at Batzorg for instructions. When Batzorg offered him no guidance, the med-tech blinked at her. “I have not been trained in veterinary medicine.” He turned back to eye the cat with what Batzorg always thought of as a scientist’s keen focus. “However I’ve always been intrigued by different animal forms.”

“Try, please.” Minka turned her tear-stained face toward Vilmos again.

Irrationally disturbed by her tears, Batzorg spoke gruffly to Vilmos, “The attempt would do no further damage.”

Vilmos nodded soberly, exchanging the scanner for a cell repair unit. He stood and crossed to the injured cat and began working.

While his second hovered over her fallen pet, Lorcan, his third, joined them. “Why’s Vilmos treating an animal when Minka is hurt?”

“The cat is her cherished pet, Nigel,” Batzorg informed Lorcan evenly. “What detained the two of you?”

“Unstable craft. We got caught in a time loop back at—” He changed his focus to where Minka and Vilmos huddled, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder toward the transporter. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Headquarters for several minutes. I’m not sure how long the craft will be stable in this period.”

Batzorg’s attention turned toward the time transporter. Without a functioning craft, they were trapped in a past filled with extreme hazards. Worse, so was Minka.

Lorcan’s tension indicated he had more to add. When he did not speak, Batzorg opened the triad mind link.

Our orders have changed.

Concern about what would happen to Minka if they were forced to abandon her flooded through Batzorg. With an effort, he made the necessary mental adjustment to concentrate on the information his third transmitted over the triad’s telepathic connection.

You aren’t objective about Minka.
Lorcan’s shock echoed as clear as his third’s accusation.

He ignored Lorcan’s condemnation.
Explain the changes to the triad mission.

The mission changed?
Still treating Minka’s pet, Vilmos joined their mental conversation.

I only caught part of our new orders,
Lorcan admitted.

Vilmos disliked any change to protocol or assignment. Worry underlay his thoughts.
I do not understand. I heard nothing about new orders.

You were busy trying to stabilize the timeline,
Lorcan reminded the med-tech with his usual, easygoing patience.

Ah, true the craft’s instability distracted me. Speaking of distractions, Nigel displays some most unusual anomalies on a cellular level.

The cat’s peculiarities will wait.
Batzorg didn’t bother softening his irritation.
What are the changes to the mission?

Lorcan took a step back in response to his gruffness.
We’re supposed to stick with Minka and protect her during the trip to the founders’ first compound in California.

They had orders to stay with Minka. Relief coursed through Batzorg so fast that he grew dizzy and swayed.

We would have to leave the transporter unguarded.
While Vilmos remained focused on the cat, his horrified surprise vibrated along the link.

His third shrugged.
I only caught part of what he said, but the craft is unstable.

Batzorg angled his head to view their transporter in time to watch as it shimmered and vanished. He walked over to Vilmos and clapped his shoulder.
This will be a
chance to meet the founders.
He directed his thoughts to Lorcan.
How soon are we to deliver her?

Three of three shifted his heavy metal frame from side to side.
Next summer.

That is a long time to keep her safe without her cooperation.
As soon as his words entered the mind link, Batzorg regretted thinking quite so publicly. He needed to consider their new assignment before sharing his thoughts.
This is not the time to discuss the matter.
He slammed
the mind link shut, turning his attention to Vilmos. “How is Nigel?”

Before his second had formed an answer, the cat’s amber eyes opened, found Minka, and a soft, throaty rumble issued from his throat.

She scratched gently between his ears. “You definitely used up another life that time, pal.”

“Pal? I thought his name is Nigel. Did I misunderstand?” Batzorg asked.

“His name is Nigel. Pal is just a friendly way to refer to him, like calling someone your peep or bud.” Minka watched Batzorg intently while Vilmos used the cell repair unit on her wrist. “I can’t place your accent. Where are you guys from anyway?”

Batzorg shook off the enchantment of her beautiful eyes and debated how much information to share. “The future.”

“As crazy as the first group,” she muttered under her breath. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

Vilmos finished treating her arm. “Do not overuse the joint for the next twelve hours.”

She stood, flexed her healed arm, and turned to Vilmos with a stunning smile, which made something in Batzorg’s chest tighten until it squeezed his heart.

“Thanks for taking care of Nigel and me, Doc. That was amazing. Did you work in experimental medicine before the pandemic?”

“Uh, no… After. I trained after the contagion disaster.” Vilmos stumbled through his brief answer, plainly awestruck by Minka’s beauty and sweet voice.

Clearly not flattered by his adoring regard, Minka looked at Vilmos as if he presented a threat to her safety, gathered the cat in her arms, and stood. “Whatever. It’s been great meeting all of you, but I need to get moving.”

She marched over to her camp and began gathering her things.

Batzorg joined her, shaking the snow off her blanket and helping her into a warm coat. He’d begun folding the thin survival tarp when Minka plucked it from his hands.

“Thanks, I’ve got it.” She bundled the blanket, sleeping bag and a pair of light-gauge socks into a bulky backpack.

He reached for the pack. “I will carry that.”

Her pale eyes glinted with shards of frost as she swung the heavy bag away from him and settled it over one shoulder. She spoke with deliberate emphasis, “I said that I can handle it.”

She turned toward Vilmos and Lorcan. The pair of mechs looked as stunned as Batzorg felt. With a brisk wave, she said, “Thanks again, see you around.”

Did she really intend to walk away from their help?
Had they frightened her?
Had they offended her?

He reviewed every word and action and found no cause for offense. Vilmos had resuscitated Nigel and healed her wrist. Batzorg had answered her question honestly. Yet she believed them insane and was plainly unhappy with their company.

She moved past him in an even, ground-eating pace.

A whisper-thin dart whizzed by his shoulder and lodged in Minka’s back. She reached to brush it off, but she was too late. The anesthesia took effect immediately. Her knees buckled.

Batzorg leapt the distance between them and caught her before she hit the ground.

She had maintained her hold on Nigel. The cat arched his back, hairs stiffened in displeasure at being jostled.