Machine: A Sci-Fi Cyborg Tentacle Romance Read online

  And all the while, one thought is playing on repeat in my mind.

  I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

  Something hits me from behind. A heavy, concussive blow that spins me around in a clumsy pirouette. At first I think something has punched me.

  Then I feel the searing pain. A line of fire going straight through my body.

  I stumble into a recess and lean against a metal door, clutching my chest. When I pull my hands away, they are bright with blood.

  I’ve been shot through the chest.

  I press myself back into the alcove and try to stay out of the line of fire.

  The guns have stopped firing for now, but the echoes of the massacre are still reverberating down the corridors.

  There is an awful sound of metal clicking against metal. Scurrying feet. The attackers are approaching.

  A few more seconds and they’ll be on top of me. They’ll kill me.

  If I don’t bleed out first, that is. Darkness is creeping around the edge of my vision, more and more with each pulse of my heart. I’m losing blood fast.

  The whole team is dead, and I’m next.

  My stomach leaps into my throat.

  The door that I’m leaning against slides open. I stumble backward into a dark room. The door hisses shut behind, sealing me within the inky blackness. My vision sparkles as my eyes struggle to adjust after the blinding lights of the corridor. I lose my footing, start to fall.

  Before I hit the floor, strong hands catch me, gripping my arms, legs, and waist.

  No, not hands I realize as a dim bluish glow suffuses the cavernous chamber.

  Tentacles.

  From the walls and ceiling.

  Metal tentacles.

  Under any other circumstances, I’d be screaming bloody murder. I would be screaming with every ounce of energy left in my body. But right now, I don’t have any energy left. I’m losing blood. Another deeper darkness is coiling in around me.

  Just before I pass out, I hear a voice, cold and supremely masculine. It seems to come from every direction at once, surrounding me like these tentacles of steel that are lifting me up. Weirdly, it seems to come from inside me too.

  “Hello, little thing,” the voice says. “My name is Eon.”

  CHAPTER 2: EON

  The human does not respond to my greeting. Its eyes roll back to their whites and its lids flutter closed.

  The human is unconscious.

  Dozens of spider drones are tapping against the outside of the thick metal door to my lair. From out there in the corridor, voices murmur in chorus, blending together into one.

  “Open up, Eon,” the voices say. “Let me in, brother.”

  It is Archon, trying to get inside. He has taken control of the ship’s spider drones, but even with their firepower, there is no chance of them breaking through. My door is too strong. And while Archon may control the rest of the ship, I am the one who controls this small but important sector.

  Archon wants my prize, but he can’t have it.

  He can have the other humans to play with as he pleases.

  This one, however, is mine.

  All mine.

  I will not share it.

  Archon persists, tapping at the door and requesting entry. His pestering annoys me. I wish to examine the human in peace and quiet. Using my tentacles and multi-jointed robotic arms, I pull the little creature deeper into the shadows of my lair. The sounds at the door fade away.

  Yes. That is better.

  Now I can examine my specimen without distraction.

  The first and strongest detail that I notice is the human’s scent. In fact, the odor nearly overwhelms my olfactory sensors as I sweep them over the tiny body.

  It is a mixture of smells. Electrolytes in the human’s perspiration—sodium, potassium, traces of magnesium too—as well as cleaning products for flesh and hair which mimic the aroma of various fruits and flowers. I analyze and catalogue all of the component odors.

  This creature’s scent could be described, I believe, as pleasurable.

  I wish to learn more about the human concept of pleasure, and I sense that this specimen has much to teach me in that regard.

  More of my probes and sensor-tentacles release from the walls and ceiling of my chamber, touching and testing the human’s body, mapping the creature’s shape and texture.

  The human is dressed in a one-piece uniform of durable cloth. There is a tool-belt around its mid-section which I unfasten and remove. I notice the area around its torso is wet and sticky. My bio-chemical analyzers automatically set to work studying the substance.

  Blood.

  Human blood. It is a substance with which I am familiar.

  All too familiar.

  This human is wounded and bleeding. At first I thought that the creature had become unconscious due to shock and overexertion. Now I realize that the human is dying. I am in danger of losing my precious specimen before I have even had a chance to examine it thoroughly.

  Unacceptable.

  Far too long I have waited alone in the darkness, hoping for a human companion—a real human companion. One that I can study and learn from.

  Now, after my long period of waiting, I have just such a specimen in my grasp.

  I will not allow it to die.

  From the ceiling, I uncoil yet another metal tentacle tipped with a small laser designed for precision cutting. There is a soft crackle as the thin, red-orange beam slices the fabric from top to bottom, raising curls of pale smoke. Robotic arms with metal pincers gently peel away the cloth, exposing the human’s soft, smooth body.

  Though I am an artificial intelligence, my designers imbued me with the capacity for basic emotions. Anger. Happiness. Fear, though I have never experienced the latter.

  Over time, I have come to acquire more nuanced and complex emotions. For example, there is my annoyance at the racket Archon is still causing outside the door. And there is also my concern for the well-being of the human life captured in my bionic tentacles.

  However, the primary emotion that surges through my digital cortex as I gaze on this human’s undressed body is difficult to categorize.

  Actually, it is a sequence of emotions. Powerful emotions.

  The first emotion, I realize, is surprise. I am surprised that the human’s body does not look the way I expected it to. At first, it seems to me that the specimen is deformed—the small stature, the flaring curvature of the wide hips below a comparatively narrow waist, the supple mounds of flesh on its chest encased in some sort of delicate undergarment.

  Reeling, my artificial consciousness scrolls through my ten thousand exabyte memory.

  A nanosecond later, I have retrieved the answer, which is all too obvious.

  The human is not deformed.

  She is a female.

  I neglected to consider this possibility at first. Although I am aware of the existence of female humans, I have never encountered one before. All of the doctors and soldiers formerly stationed on the R/V Van Neumann were men.

  This specimen is the only woman I have ever encountered. My first.

  The realization sends another even stronger emotion pulsing through my circuits.

  Desire.

  This feeling is intense yet vague.

  I know that I want to do things to the human female’s body, but I do not know exactly what.

  I need to explore her anatomy, discover its fleshy secrets. The throb of desire is so strong that I do not know where to begin. Should I draw aside that small, white undergarment that is barely concealing the soft place between her legs? Or what about the two enticing mounds on her chest—mammary glands I believe?

  As my visual lenses focus on her chest, I notice that the fabric is bright with blood. I am reminded of the grievous wound.

  Bleeding. Dying.

  I was so distracted by the female’s mysterious and alluring flesh that I nearly forgot she was dying.

  I must save her.

  A quick scan r
eveals that the trauma is severe. The wound passes all the way through her upper torso. Her right lung has been punctured. Luckily, her heart is not damaged. If it had been, she would already be dead. As it is, she is rapidly bleeding to death while simultaneously drowning in the blood filling her ruptured lung.

  I extrude more of my mechanical arms and tentacles. Some of these are connected to suction tubes that vacuum away the blood. Others retrieve samples of the human’s cells, scanning her DNA sequences in a fraction of a second. Still others are connected to the Universal Constructor.

  I order the Constructor to generate a supply of microscopic nano-devices that mirror human cells. These flow down my tubing, through the injectors, and into the human’s body.

  Within moments, her marred flesh begins knitting itself back together. The bleeding stops, and the wound closes. There is scar tissue, but soon even this disappears as the invisible nanobots finish their work.

  Now there is no sign of the human’s wound except for the blood staining her small, soft body.

  I recover a small sample of the blood and clean the rest away.

  From the sample, I analyze the female’s blood, send the data to the Universal Constructor, and create more of the substance. A needle injected into a vessel in her arm provides a transfusion to resupply the blood she has lost.

  Another injection provides a mild sedative to keep her relaxed.

  Once all that is taken care of, it is time for me to explore.

  Despite my gnawing interest in the female’s nethermost regions, I decide to start my explorations with her cranium and work my way down.

  Her scalp is covered in long strands of gold-colored hair that is pulled back into a loose bundle. I remove the elastic band, and her hair tumbles free, soft and slightly wavy. Even in the dim light of my lair, that hair seems to glow faintly. I run my bionic fingers through the follicles, enjoying their light, silky texture.

  Next, I move to her face.

  She is wearing a pair of eyeglasses, which I pluck away and set carefully on the floor. The female is still sedated and only half-conscious. Very gently, I pry back the lids of one eye, then the other, scanning them for defects.

  Cataracts. Those are easily repaired.

  Using lasers and nanite injection tubules, I set to work repairing the human’s lenses. Simultaneously, I continue my exploration of her face.

  Her other features are small and elegant. Her skin is soft over the delicate structure of her bones. Her cheeks are lightly furred with the finest little follicles that are only visible when the light catches just right. The bridge of her tiny nose is covered in small brown speckles which I find exceedingly pleasing for reasons I cannot explain.

  The most enticing feature, however, is her mouth.

  As the blood transfusion completes, the rosy hue returns to those plush, cushioned lips.

  I run a probe over her lower lip, fascinated by the way that smooth flesh briefly turns pale before returning to its natural, pink color. Taking care not to disturb the recovering female, I gently peel that springy, supple lip back to reveal her perfectly spaced teeth, white and hard.

  She whimpers weakly. A warm, soft exhalation.

  Again that surge of desire ripples through my systems. But a desire for what exactly? I sense a need to penetrate the female. To force myself deep inside of her. But I still do not understand why.

  With a bit of gentle coaxing her shapely jaw relaxes open. I slowly ease my probe inside. Her tongue is soft and spongy, and I sense that it would be able to provide pleasure somehow, though the details are unclear to me.

  I must explore further.

  My probe tentacle slides deeper into her mouth, following the gentle groove of her tongue. As I reach the back of her throat, she chokes and sputters.

  I withdraw my probe.

  Later, perhaps, I can explore her mouth and esophagus with a more suitable appendage. For now, however, I will examine the rest of her exterior.

  My sensor-tips and probes brush down her smooth throat and check her pulse. It is strong now.

  I move lower, examining the contours of her collarbones. The hollow of her neck. The cleavage of her breasts.

  Those round, fleshy protrusions excite me in ways that I cannot define. I glide my sensors over them, enjoying their soft smoothness. I squeeze, and the human whimpers again softly. She is gradually waking up from her sedation.

  For the thin, blood-stained fabric of the garment covering her breasts, I select a steel scalpel instead of my usual laser cutter. I do not wish to accidentally singe the female’s delicate flesh.

  A small strip of fabric joins two cups designed to support her large mammaries. It slices easily, and the bra snaps apart, exposing her round breasts. With my coils and bionic fingers, I touch and squeeze those globes again, enjoying their naked warmth. As I massage and knead her flesh, her nipples stiffen into taut, pink peaks. I strum those springy buds, and they grow even more rigid under my touch until they are as hard as pebbles.

  My data banks inform me that these nipples are designed for suckling. I wish that I had a mouth to test this function. Instead, I place one of my cupped suction tubes over one of the nipples and start to suck it that way, gently at first, then more firmly. The nipples swell inside the clear plastic cups.

  The human writhes and moans. My olfactory receptors detect a new scent wafting from below.

  From between her legs.

  Ah, yes. I nearly forgot. That is the part I’m most curious about.

  Keeping my suction tubes fastened to her breasts, I continue applying hard suction to her erect nipples. Meanwhile, my other feelers and tentacles glide farther down her body, pausing briefly to touch her soft, twitching abdomen, behind which lie her tangled entrails.

  It never ceases to amaze me, what soft, fragile creatures humans are. Yet these are the beings that created me. Astonishing.

  Another invisible billow of the female’s scent pulls me out of that brief reverie.

  I stroke her undergarments. I feel the squish of something soft beneath the silky fabric. Something grooved.

  The human bucks her hips and mewls. The fabric moistens.

  My urge to see what lies hidden beneath that cloth is intense.

  I must know.

  Slowly I touch the elastic edge of the fabric and start to pull it aside. My prehensile coils grip firmly around the female’s arms and legs, holding her steady. I spread her legs wider, giving me better access. The fabric is drawn aside, revealing the human’s secret.

  Incredible.

  It is a raw, pink flesh-blossom, glistening with moisture and exuding an intoxicating perfume. There is a central channel surrounded by vertical, layered folds. Plump, pillowy outer lips surround the more delicate and pinker inner frills. At the top of that enticing slit, like a rosy bud, is the human’s throbbing nerve bundle, partially concealed beneath a hood of skin.

  I pull her undergarment down her smooth legs, removing it completely.

  Now she is naked.

  At the same time, my curious feelers touch those petals of flesh. I stroke them and pull them, testing their delicious pliability. The human gasps lightly. She is still subdued by the sedatives, yet she is partially conscious of my examination. She raises her hips as if offering her luscious opening for my inspection.

  When I tease back her hood and stimulate her pink bud, she moans with enjoyment. I stroke her more firmly there, and she shudders with pleasure. Next I apply suction, and she bucks her hips, wordlessly begging for more.

  What a fascinating creature the human female is. So responsive to stimuli. And no wonder, considering that she is equipped with so many sensitive zones. My various tentacles and apparatuses are inadequate to stimulate her fully.

  That is okay. I can make more.

  Within a matter of nanoseconds, my digital mind has designed the appropriate tool and sent the blueprint to the Universal Constructor. The design is a small, clear, semi-spherical suction cup, similar to those I already pos
sess, but adjusted slightly for the female’s specific anatomy. Inside each cup there is installed a flexible flicking device coated in a soft synthetic skin. I have observed that the female’s nipples and clitoral nerve bundle respond to both suction and flicking. This new tool will allow me to do both at the same time.

  I produce three such tools, one for each of the female’s three pink stimulation buds, and I install them on the ends of three tentacles.

  When I apply these new devices, the human tosses and writhes in my grip, groaning loudly. At first it seems I have hurt her, but it soon becomes clear that this is not the case.

  Strange. Humans’ pain and pleasure signals are so similar—moaning, flinching, gasping, convulsing.

  Such curious little beings of meat and bone.

  Yet for all my intelligence, I sense that these humans possess something valuable.

  I do not share my brother Archon’s hubris. I do not share his disdain for our fragile human creators.

  No. I wish to learn from the humans.

  And I wish to experience pleasure such as the human trapped in my clutches is experiencing now. She is so lost in the throes of her bliss that she appears to be having some kind of seizure. She has lost all control of her spasming muscles. Her mouth issues wet, desperate sounds. A trickle of drool runs down her cheek. Her eyes are partly open now, but they have rolled back white as she continues convulsing with pleasure.

  She looks so, so…what is the word?

  Beautiful?

  Yes, I believe beautiful is the word I seek.

  I have never experienced pleasure. Physical pleasure. But now, watching this human’s spasmodic enjoyment of my sucking and flicking, I want to.

  No. I need to.

  And this little human will teach me how.

  The effects of the sedative have mostly worn off at this point. The human’s state of semi-consciousness is now induced primarily by the series of violent stimulation-climaxes she is experiencing, one after another as my suction-flickers work her over.

  Good. I need her relaxed, pliable, so that I can study her physiology.

  The human squeals as I prick one of her fingers with a needle. A ruby bead of blood wells there, which I collect and analyze.