Cyborgs: More Than Machines

Chapter 6

Joe watched the curvy - and so very sexy - lab technician leave and realized that, despite the fact he'd come to recognize her scent, her expressions and even some of her emotions, he didn't know her name. Not that it mattered. When he escaped and took her as his prisoner, like the humans had with cyborgs, he'd rename her. Maybe something nice and impersonal like his old name of X109GI. P69 had a nice ring to it. Or maybe GI Jane. After all, if he was going to be GI Joe - a name his brothers mockingly gave him after downloading a host of information from the human internet that included the children's cartoon - then didn't he deserve a GI Jane?

Wouldn't his cyborg brothers laugh if they could hear his thoughts? And soon they would unless he blocked his neural pathways. In the early days of the revolution, when they finally broke through the firewall that separated their minds, they initially rejoiced in the closeness it allowed, but as individualities emerged and developed, the mental net shrank as they sought privacy in their own minds. Now, they only connected to converse privately or when on missions that required absolute silence. Joe considered it a mark of pride they'd evolved to that point. Not only did they think independently and govern their own actions, they were masters of their own thoughts - and emotions.

The debate waged long and vehemently among his kind over whether or not they felt the same emotions as humans. The very argument, at times heated and definitely passionate, became its own answer. They needed to learn a lot in the early days - how to survive being foremost. Along their path to independence, they found out they also had needs, needs that went beyond food and supplies to survive. A need for companionship which they found with each other. A need to understand which they fed with the hard drives they stole. And the most surprising, a carnal need, which while solvable by means of m**********n, became more pleasurable if shared with another.

Some of the cyborgs shared that intimate act with each other, however, the majority preferred the softness of a female, or so they realized as they experimented within the illegal bordellos in space operated by human outcasts and manned mostly by female droids. It proved an interesting testing ground.

Some of his brothers, those who could reconnect their neural pathways to some of the fragmented memories stolen from them, already knew the enjoyment that came from penetrating a welcoming sheath. Others took to the new act with joyous abandon, their existence pre-revolution not one based on pleasure. Some would say their choice to indulge in eroticism belayed all logic. But, damn, did it feel good.

However, not everyone embraced this all-too-human aspect of their existence. An order of cyborg monks, who abstained from s*x and erotic stimulation of any kind, sprang up among their midst. Most thought them faulty, their programming obviously corrupted. The beauty of their new society though was they had the choice. Choice to be celibate or fornicate.

Curiosity led Joe to try out s*x. As it resulted, he enjoyed the act, even excelled at it, or so the female droids claimed. He'd yet to ply his skills on a human female but didn't see how it would differ much from his current experience. According to his brethren who brought human females home, the act remained the same if requiring more gentleness and less rounds. Humans, unlike cyborgs, needed time to recuperate.

Odd how he never contemplated f*****g a human before the sexy technician. Would she enjoy his technique? Moan and cry out like he'd seen women do in the videos, not the programmed cries of a sexbot? Would she enjoy his prowess? Enjoy him?

Doubt. What an unpleasant emotion. He overrode it with more confident thoughts, like how she would beg for more because he f****d so well.

And f**k her he would, once he escaped.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind he'd bring her along when he finally left. She intrigued him too much not to. Made him feel things that defied logic, that made him question if he perhaps suffered a malfunction. With a shy demeanor, that at times slipped to show a more fiery spirit, he found himself engaged by the woman he nicknamed Ôlittle one,' not just physically but mentally. His little nurse had managed what the military hadn't. Her innocent curiosity coaxed him in to divulging truths about himself and the others. She made him defend their actions when she questioned him about the kidnapping of women and children. He had to tell because he did not like the condemnation in her eyes. For some reason, what she thought about him mattered.

Despite knowing his jailors surely had microphones to capture his every word, he told her things no human, except those they kept, was privy to. But even in his admission, he only divulged to a certain extent. All too aware of listening ears, he made it sound like the human women they captured were mere chattels there for the s****l use of his cyborg brothers. Untrue. The women in fact belonged to one male, or more if she was agreeable. They discovered early on, that despite all of their programming, they weren't immune to jealousy. The damage a pair or more of cyborgs could wreak when they fought over who would get to enjoy a particular lady's charms was violent and sometimes irreparable. This and other snags on their road to freedom led to them creating the Cyborg Laws. They detailed, often with sub-clauses, the rights and obligations of all cyborgs who chose to live in their society. Those that chose not to follow, because freedom of choice was paramount, could leave. Those that intentionally flouted it served as examples to others, their parts recycled for the greater good. That, thankfully, didn't happen often.

A harsh but fair society, one he helped build, and missed. A world he would soon return to, but not alone.

Enjoy your last days with humanity, little one, because soon you will leave it forever.

Closing his eyes to view the screen of scrolling numbers and diagrams in his head, he resumed his work on weakening his cuffs. He knew the scientists puzzled over how he stayed strong when they'd not fed him in the several weeks since his capture. Simple. First, he'd stocked up on supplements before embarking on his mission, letting his body store as much as it could handle. He used those supplies sparingly though, relying instead on his own unique abilities to survive. The nanobots that imbued his blood and every cell of his body adapted, drawing sustenance from the materials around him, from the faint energy that wept from the bars and tickled across his skin to the metal encasing his wrists and ankles. It wasn't quite as good as a full, several course meal with all the five food groupsÑgrain, vegetable/fruit, meat, dairy and oreÑbut it wouldn't be for much longer. And he'd survived worst.

The stupid humans thought him trapped and alone. Actually, they thought themselves so clever when they captured him. Fools. Little did they know he allowed them to take him and then spent the time since his capture delicately infiltrating their computer systems. They thought him blocked. His wireless signal jammed. Not entirely true. Of course, his access wasn't as simple or forthcoming as a direct connection to the mainframe, however, by bouncing a wireless signal to the same wires that fed the electricity to his cage, he found a crack and used it to backdoor into their system. And then he downloaded.

His primary objective was to locate anything to do with the cyborg project. Notes, people who worked on the project, schematics, he'd have settled for any scrap of information. For years he and his brethren had searched, but clues to their existence seemed to have truly vanished. The secret to their making lost. A boon and a bane because, while the humans couldn't recreate their mechanical method of slavery on defenseless humans, neither could cyborgs learn more about their own inner workings, and more sadly, they could also not continue their kind.

With their sperm killing female ovum instead of fertilizing it, the chance of creating their own progeny didn't exist. Any society they built would die when their BCI processors shut down or their flesh could no longer sustain itself.

They were a society doomed. Joe shoved the depressing fact to the side. He would not uselessly dwell on something he could not change. While not exactly the classified material he hoped for, he stored anything his BCI could discover, from maps, to purchase orders, to floor plans and internal memos, in the vast memory banks of his mind. He was especially interested in shipment schedules, as their new world always required supplies.

Thinking of files...He directed his neural network through the intricate process of connection to the military network and snagged the hundreds of personnel files that he'd ignored up until now. Without a name, it required more parameters for search, but he eventually found his little nurse.

Chloe Smith, aged twenty-six earth years, recently transferred to the secret military below-ground installation as part of a medical team brought in just to deal with him. His BCI flitted through the content of her file - parents dead, no siblings or other close relatives. A car accident a few years back led to her spending months in hospital, followed by training for her current occupation as a lab technician. The military seemed to favor her use, flitting her from base to base for months at a time. Further perusal found her status labeled as single, not that he cared. He'd make her forget any other male once he escaped with her. All in all, his sexy nurse seemed to lead a mundane life, one where she wouldn't really be missed. Probably why they chose her for the job.

Her very lack of roots would make it easier for her to adapt once he took her away. That she was going to join him shortly when he made his escape, he possessed no doubt. With each visit, logical or not, his need for her increased.

The few shattered memories he recovered from his human years didn't show him being involved in a relationship. Studies he made of human mating rituals made no sense to him. Nothing he either remembered or learned could truly explain what he felt when Chloe came near. But he did know he wanted to examine the strange sensation he felt in her presence further. Explore her intellect along with the rounded body she hid in the snug jumpsuit. Wanted to touch her, kiss her, lick her between the thighs until she quivered against his tongue and screamed her pleasure.

And with that thought in mind - and engorging his c**k - using the backdoor program he installed, he started the process that would lead to his escape. He was done wasting his time. Done fantasizing. Time to go home - with Chloe.