Hostile Genus: An Epic Military Sci-Fi Series (Invasive Species Book 2) by Ben Stevens (historical books to read TXT) 📕

finding supplies where they were, and in establishing a time to initiate a two-way conversation with their friends in Home, hopefully planning out some kind of rescue operation.

At one point during the construction required for the execution of Maya’s plan, Carbine had spied Lucy struggling with bent bars intended for the frame of a caravan they meant to build. She was clearly attempting to juggle more things than she had hands to hold.

She’s not used to only having the two arms. He paused in his work, secretly watching her for a minute. He couldn’t help himself; there was something mesmerizing about the warrior woman. He didn’t mean to be a creep about it; he was simply fascinated by her, and furthermore, a small ember of sympathy had begun to smolder within him. What a cruel, sick joke they played on her.

After abusing her for years, the brutal men that had broken her body had then aimed to possess it fully, trapping her mind in a robotic shell, a caricature, a sculpted body, a misogynistic mockery of who she was and who they’d wanted her to be. Plainly put, she was unrealistically sexy—a robot fantasy from the perverted mind of a chauvinist; a mechanical playmate crossed with the painted Saint of Death. Carbine didn’t have to ask to know that parts of her were non-existent. She had never known, and would never know the bliss of making love by her own choice and free will. Cruel indeed.

Can I blame her for being so angry all the time?

He watched her struggle with her lack of extra limbs and the caravan’s frame for a few seconds longer, then threw all caution to the wind. Screw it.

He let go of his half of the canopy that he and Jon were stretching—much to Jon’s chagrin—and strode over to her with confidence in his step.

“Lucy. Please, let me help.”

Her cybernetic eyes flashed with white-hot rage, then narrowed as she snapped her head around to glare at him. Her nostrils flared, revealing the amazing workmanship put into her artificial body.

“Walk away. Walk away now or face my wrath.” Lucy’s voice trembled.

“I just want to—”

“I will cut your balls off,” she hissed.

“Doesn’t it get old? Ya know? Don’t you get tired of acting like a bitch all the time?” Carbine’s pulse quickened when her eyes opened wide in shock and rage.

She released her arms and hands from their designated task and turned on him. He ducked, then caught the two blows intended for his face and head.

“I. AM. NOT. YOUR. ENEMY!” Carbine managed to get out through the sheer exhaustion of keeping Lucy from killing him.  She stared at him, her face a wicked mix of pure loathing and sheer bewilderment. At this point, everyone else in the camp watched, while doing their best impressions of marble statues. You could hear a mouse cough.

Carbine stared back into that painted face, his steely resolve unwavering.

“I just want to be your friend and help you, okay?” And with that, he released her wrists and placed his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.

The strike never came. Lucy wavered. Her lips parted, and she made like she might say something, but closed her mouth again after a moment. She blinked twice, her eyes softening. She inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly.

“You military guys are thick in the head,” she said matter-of-factly, with no hint of defeat or humor in her voice. “Lash these two together while I hold them in place.”

Carbine did as bid, and soon, much to everyone’s surprise, they had finished the task.

“Carbine,” she said flatly. “Thanks.”

At this, Carbine almost smiled, but knew better than to push it. “Don’t mention it. We’re battle-buddies. That’s what we do—help each other.” And with that, he’d nodded to her and gone back to work, helping Jon with Maya’s palanquin.

Now he watched Lucy from afar.

One click forward on the scope, and he saw her long raven hair tied tightly into a knot. He moved the gun slightly to Ratt and saw the kid’s lips moving. Three clicks backward and he could take in the whole front gate area, his trio of friends in and on their machines, the guards atop the carefully piled rubble wall, no longer pacing but training their primitive firearms on the newcomers below.

He moved the reticle of the scope to somewhere near the middle of the spread-out sentries. Clicked out as far as he was, he could see all who could see his friends as well as the gate itself. He would have to click forward again to improve his aim if and when the time came, but for now, he needed to see the big picture.

“Just try it, assholes.”

“Woooooow,” Maya said, drawing the word out long and slow. “This wall sure looks bigger up close.” She projected her voice as if speaking in a town hall and tucked her tiny chin down toward her breastbone when she spoke, trying to make sure the necklace she wore picked up her voice loud and clear. Jon, a good klick and a half away, flinched a little, as Maya’s voice came over extremely loud and garbled.

“Umm, hey, Maya,” Ratt meeked out. “I assure you, you don’t have to do that. The mic will pick up your voice fine. In fact, it’s probably picking up mine fine too.”

“Not to mention, you’ll give us away and blow our cover. Please, my lady, behave as you would normally. Act casual,” Lucy added.

“Oh! Of course!” Maya tittered, blushing slightly.

“With all due respect, my lady, it would seem that the graver a situation is, the more amused you become. I don’t care for putting you in danger any more than Jon. The only difference between him and me is that I am somewhat used to it. I see it as nothing more than the changing of one season, one I like, into another, which I loathe. I’m not sure if it’s because you are immortal, or what…”

“Let’s just call it high wisdom.”