Machine: A Sci-Fi Cyborg Tentacle Romance Read online

  Machine

  Lizzy Bequin

  Machine

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events reside solely in the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters are eighteen years of age or older.

  © 2020, Lizzy Bequin. No portion of this work can be reproduced in any way without prior written consent from the author with the exception for a fair use excerpt for review and editorial purposes.

  This title is for adults only. It contains explicit sex acts, adult themes, and material that some folks might find offensive. Please keep out of reach of children.

  lizzybequin.com

  Table of Contents

  Newsletter

  Chapter 1: Zoe

  Chapter 2: Eon

  Chapter 3: Zoe

  Chapter 4: Eon

  Chapter 5: Zoe

  Chapter 6: Eon

  Chapter 7: Zoe

  Chapter 8: Eon

  Chapter 9: Zoe

  Chapter 10: Zoe

  Epilogue 1: Zoe

  Epilogue 2

  Also by Lizzy B.

  About the Author.

  Join My Newsletter!

  Sign up for my newsletter and snag a FREE sci-fi romance story now!

  CHAPTER 1: ZOE

  “There,” Norris says, pointing. “Dead ahead, about a hundred klicks out.”

  I squint, but all I can see is the black void of space splashed with the billowy pale luminescence of the Milky Way. It doesn’t help that this cramped and stuffy cockpit is hot from the overworked navigational computers, and fat drops of sweat are running down my face and stinging my eyes.

  I pop my glasses off and wipe the sleeve of my coveralls across my face. The steady throb of the ship’s propulsion systems rumbles up through the metal grating of the floor, not so much a sound as a felt vibration. The air is thick with the stink of B.O. and machine grease from Norris and the other two space pirates crammed into the tiny cockpit with me.

  I’d rather be just about anywhere else at the moment. Unfortunately, I don’t have any choice in the matter.

  The reason for that is Norris. He’s the jerk sitting in the pilot’s chair in front of me. From where I’m sitting, all I can see of him is a bald head criss-crossed with thick pink scars and the steel rim of the bionic socket where his head plugs into the ship’s flight-controls.

  At least it’s better than looking at his face, which is even uglier.

  Norris is technically my stepfather. After my real dad died when I was only nine, my mom spent the next ten years getting mixed up with increasingly bad men, and Norris might be the worst of them—he’s a pirate, mercenary, and all around piece of shit. Personally, I’d rather not have anything to do with the guy. A few months ago, however, my mom ran off without a trace. She just happened to take a whole bunch of Norris’s money with her too.

  Now I’m the one stuck paying the debt. Norris forces me to work for him as his personal hacker. And when we’re not working a heist, he keeps me locked up like a slave in his basement.

  So far he’s only been interested in my skills as a hacker. Lately, however, I’ve caught him casting lewd stares my way, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he tries something.

  That thought makes me shiver with disgust.

  Once I’ve got the sweat mopped out of my eyes, I give my glasses lenses a good wipe as well before popping them back on my face. Again I squint out the dingy windshield, trying one more time to find what Norris was pointing at.

  This time I see it.

  A tiny, oblong shadow floating slantwise across the glowing nebulae. As we draw nearer, the shape grows and grows until at last is it practically taking up the entire view from the cockpit.

  It’s a gargantuan spaceship drifting through the void of space. With all of its lights off, it’s just a huge silhouette, and with no other frame of reference, it’s difficult to determine the exact size of it.

  God, the thing must be at least a kilometer from prow to stern, though.

  Vaguely fishlike in shape, its surface bristles with thickets of antennae and masts, giving it the appearance of some terrifying deep-sea creature, like a spiny puffer-fish crossed with a great white shark on steroids.

  What the hell is this thing? And why doesn’t it have any lights on?

  “Larz, you picking up any signs of life?” Norris turns and says to the man squeezed in beside me.

  Actually, man might not be the best word to describe Larz. His entire body is a cybernetic exoskeleton composed of scratched and pitted steel. To look at him, you’d think he was an android. After about a zillion battle wounds, amputations, and bionic augmentations, the only organic matter that’s left of Larz is the pink brain encased within his metal skull.

  But that’s no ordinary brain in there. Larz is a psionicist, which means he’s gifted with powerful telepathic abilities. Right now, he’s directing those powers toward the hulking, shadowy craft in front of us, scanning it for psychic activity—brain waves, signs of life.

  “Nothing, Boss,” Larz’s synthetic voice is cold and creepy. “Ship’s dead for sure. But there are...echoes.”

  “Echoes?”

  “Yeah, Boss. Psychic echoes. Bad shit happened here. Lots of pain. Lots of death.”

  Norris casually holds up one hand and rubs his fingers against his thumb.

  “Lots of money,” he says flatly. “That’s what the client is paying us. So we’ll just get in and get out as fast as we fucking can.” He turns to the woman in the co-pilot’s seat wearing a black tank top. “Oxana, get a light on that heap.”

  Oxana’s gloved fingers move over the control panel, and a spotlight paints a bright circle against the side of the derelict ship floating in front of us. As she rakes the light along the dark leviathan’s hull, I see the name of the craft stenciled in vast white lettering.

  R/V Von Neumann.

  R/V. So it’s a research vessel then. But what the hell is it doing way the hell out here in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere? And more importantly, why is it deserted?

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

  “See if you can find someplace for us to dock,” says Norris.

  Oxana nods, face stoic and emotionless. Outwardly, she looks more human than Larz. Aside from one red bionic eye, the rest of her severe, sculptural face framed by short, dark hair looks entirely human.

  Looks can be deceiving, however. Oxana has had extensive work done on her brain. Inside that shapely skull of hers, Oxana is more machine than woman. She doesn’t experience pain, discomfort, or emotions of any kind, except perhaps a sadistic enjoyment of inflicting harm on her enemies. But her brain augmentations were performed illegally by a second-rate cyber-surgeon using black market parts. As a result, Oxana has a tendency to glitch out from time to time. When she does, bad shit happens.

  As you might imagine, being trapped in an enclosed space with her is a bit disconcerting.

  The beam of the spotlight licks over the surface of the giant derelict ship, revealing an opening on the side. A docking bay. Norris eases our own small craft toward this entrance.

  “Huh, that’s weird,” Norris grunts.

  As we draw nearer to the docking bay, I notice what he’s talking about. The opening is wavering eerily, kind of like hot air over the surface of a road in summer.

  “The vacuum shields are still operational. I thought this hunk of junk was supposed to be abandoned.”

  “There’s nobody here,” Larz says. “I would sense them, Boss.”

  Oxana punches some keys on the control panel. She speaks in a cold contralto voice tinged with a Russian acc
ent.

  “Some of the ship’s basic systems are still online—atmospheric shielding, gravity generators.”

  Norris shrugs

  “Fuck it. I guess that makes our job a little easier.”

  He pilots the ship toward the docking bay.

  The entrance of the hangar glimmers faintly with energy. The atmospheric shield that Oxana mentioned. A thin force field designed to allow ships to pass through while still keeping the breathable atmosphere contained inside the ship.

  A fat drop of sweat trickles down the channel of my spine, and I shiver again.

  “Norris, something about this doesn’t feel right,” I say.

  “Shut up,” Norris snarls. “Nobody asked you.”

  I do as he says and shut my mouth. But as we fly closer to the massive ship, I can’t help thinking that the open docking bay looks like a gaping mouth just waiting to swallow us alive.

  While I’m a hacker by trade, my real passion is plants. When my real dad died, just about the only thing he left me was a set of books on gardening and botany—his favorite hobby. I’ve read them all cover-to-cover more times than I can count. The place where I live in Norris’s basement doesn’t have windows, and Norris won’t let me install grow-lights, so I don’t have any real plants of my own. All I’ve got is the imaginary garden in my mind, composed of all the plant species I’ve read about in Dad’s books—flowers, herbs, and thorny cacti.

  But my favorites, by far, are the carnivorous plants. Venus fly-traps, Drosera capensis, and the like.

  Now, as Norris steers us toward that yawning docking bay, an image flashes in my mind’s eye of a pitcher plant. It’s one of the most ingenious predators on Earth—maybe even the whole galaxy. Instead of stalking its prey, the plant passively lures insects in with nectar before trapping them and digesting them alive.

  Right now, as our ship passes through the vacuum shield and enters the too-convenient docking bay, I’m feeling very much like an insect.

  But surely Norris and the others know what they’re doing, right?

  Once the ship is fully inside the hangar, Norris extends the landing pistons and sets us down with a gentle clank. He powers down the engines and unplugs the cable at the base of his skull that connects the ship’s controls to his central nervous system. He turns to Oxana.

  “Readings?”

  “Atmosphere is breathable.”

  “Good. Okay let’s get this over with.”

  We step out into the dark hangar. The air in here is cold, a relief after the hot, stuffy cockpit. Gantries and cargo cranes are barely visible in the inky shadows overhead, and enormous metal containers and crates are stacked in the corners and along the walls.

  There are no signs of life.

  Still, the mercs are cautious as we cross the hangar on foot. Their eyes scan the shadows, looking for any sign of movement or danger. Norris has a pair of pistols. Oxana is even more heavily armed with a Bulgakov heavy plasma rifle that has a five-shot Behemoth-class grenade launcher attached to the underside. Larz’s bolt guns are built right into his steel chassis.

  The only one without a weapon is little old me.

  Instead of weapons, I’m armed to the teeth with the tools of the hacker’s trade. Various cables, plugs, and high-tech devices dangle from the utility belt looped around the middle of my coveralls.

  At the side of the hanger, we come to a heavy steel door. Closed and locked. Norris taps it with the barrel of one of his pistols. It makes a dull metallic sound.

  “Solid,” says Norris.

  Oxana hefts her weapon. “Want me to blast it open?”

  Norris shakes his head.

  “It’s too strong, even for grenades.” He nods in my direction. “Let’s see if the nerd can finesse it open.”

  I ignore Norris’s little insult—I’m used to it at this point—and I set to work on the door.

  Kneeling in front of the dead control panel, I take the necessary tools from my belt and set them beside me on the floor. With some screw drivers and mini-pry bars, I make short work of the panel, exposing the wire and circuitry inside. It only takes me a few seconds to find the necessary contact points so I can connect my electronic multi-tool. I’ve also got a battery pack on hand to provide power to the door.

  But as the multi-tool’s display screen lights up, I pause.

  “What’s the matter?” Norris asks.

  I shake my head. This is weird.

  “The door is still drawing residual energy from somewhere. Just like the vacuum shielding. There must still be some kind of auxiliary power system running.” I shake my head. “Norris, I don’t know, I’ve really got a bad feeling about—“

  “I don’t give a shit about your feelings,” Norris cuts me off. “All I care about is getting that fucking door open. Now, can you do it or not?”

  His fists tighten around the handles of his pistols.

  I take a deep breath, adjust my glasses, and get to work bypassing the door’s security codes. It only takes half a minute.

  Easy. Too easy.

  There is a thunk of well-oiled steel pistons disengaging, followed by a pneumatic sigh. The door yawns open, exhaling a breath of cold, stale air. Once again, I get the impression of a predatory mouth beckoning us inside like a bunch of foolish little insects.

  “Let’s go,” Norris says, leading the way.

  I quickly gather up my tools and follow them into the dark corridor.

  We don’t get far before my nose is assaulted by the sickly sweet stench of death and decay. I can tell that the others smell it too, although the stench doesn’t seem to bother them at all. They’re used to it. They’re killers after all.

  Oxana has a flashlight attached to the barrel of her plasma rifle, and Larz also has a swiveling spotlight mounted onto his metal shoulder. The twin beams of light lance into the shadows of the corridor, licking along the metal walls and floor.

  There are signs of a battle here. Scorch marks. Bullet holes. Some of the metal panels have been torn away from the ceiling, and thick insulated cables droop like entrails.

  A few paces ahead, the lights stop. They’ve found the source of the smell.

  It’s a dead soldier, slumped against the wall beneath a spatter of dried blood. Beneath his tilted combat helmet, his decaying face is twisted into a morbid grin.

  Nobody says anything. Norris just spits on the floor and continues ahead. The rest of us follow after him. As we go, I steal one last glance back at the dead soldier as he is swallowed again by the shadows behind us.

  I shudder and hurry to catch up with the mercs.

  Farther down the corridor, we come to an intersection. The stench of decay is stronger here. Oxana and Larz scan their lights around the walls, disclosing more death and destruction. More dead soldiers, dozens of them, sprawled on the floor and piled against the walls. A sour taste surges into my mouth as I struggle to keep my breakfast down.

  “Told you, Boss,” Larz buzzes. “Lots of pain here. Lots of death.”

  Weapons are strewn about the floor where they were dropped by the dying soldiers. Heavy duty weapons. Whatever these guys were protecting here was no joke.

  Or maybe they weren’t protecting anything. Maybe they were keeping something from getting out.

  Larz’s metal face is unreadable, and Oxana is wearing her typical stoic expression, totally unfazed by the scene of carnage. Norris, however, is beading with sweat, despite how cold the air is here.

  And then there’s me. I’m practically shitting my coveralls at this point. I’m no mercenary, I’m just a little hacker. I’m not cut out for this. And I’m getting a creeping feeling that we aren’t alone here.

  We’re being watched.

  A few minutes ago, all I wanted was to get out of that stuffy cockpit. Now, all I want is to go back.

  “Norris, I—

  He cuts me off with an angry glare.

  “We keep going,” he says, and nods down one of the corridors. “The main bridge should be this way.
That’s where we’ll find the—“

  Oxana holds up one hand and cocks her head, listening into the darkness.

  “Quiet,” she whispers. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Norris hisses, trying to cover his fear with annoyance. “I don’t hear any—“

  Before he can finish, he’s interrupted by a series of loud bangs. It’s the sound of the overhead lights turning on, one section of corridor at a time. Soon the whole place is flooded with blinding white light.

  “What the fuck?” Norris stammers.

  Hidden compartments on the ceiling swish open, and metallic forms start to drop into the corridor. Flat, rounded bodies atop spindly legs. Each one is armed with a small Gatling gun and drooping ammunition belt. They scuttle toward us, pointed feet clicking on the metal floor.

  “Spider drones!” Oxana shouts.

  “Blow them away!” cries Norris.

  Larz and Oxana are already ahead of him. They both start blasting. The corridor fills with the roar of gunfire. The sudden light and the bursts of noise are totally disorienting.

  The drones fall beneath the withering gunfire.

  But there are too many of them, and they have us surrounded. Their Gatling guns power up, spinning silently for half a second before they start firing.

  Empty casings rain onto the floor. Bullets spark and ping off the walls.

  In the blink of an eye, the whole area erupts into total chaos. Bullets and plasma beams whistle past my head.

  Several rounds whang into Larz’s metal body.

  Norris is flung backward amid a mist of blood.

  Oxana screams as the drones close in on her.

  I’m going to die. Oh God, I’m going to die...

  The path back to our ship is completely closed off now. There’s only one corridor off to the side that is unblocked. In a state of panic, I rush toward it.

  My breath is shallow. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it will explode.

  I steal a glance over my shoulder. I catch a glimpse of drones dragging my comrades’ dead bodies away.

  I face forward and pump my legs with every ounce of energy I’ve got.