Jenna McCormick - Born

“Indeed.”

“How is that possible?” Glancing down from the steep elevation of landing zone she could not take in all the blue. “The great lakes were engulfed by the northern polar ocean. There are no other source of freshwater on the planet this large.”

Rothguard surveyed her neutrally. “Is there a question coming?”

Wiseass Cyborg. Squaring off her shoulders she lifted her chin and ordered, “Lead on.”

Her eyes had to redefine color to take it all in, the vividness foreign yet so much more natural than the grays and reds and blacks she had known. Everything felt cleaner, brighter, bioluminescent plants in every color of the rainbow, including some she had no name for. No artificial light source sustained them, yet they flourished between cracks in the rocks, in the sandy soil, everywhere . She looked to Cormack, wanting nothing more than to explore this spectacular new world, buried deep within their old one, with him.

“Where’s the commander?” She asked, referring to Rothguard's cohort.

Rothguard didn’t slow his steady pace, leading them toward some sort of building that stood separate from all the others. “Home, with his family unit.”

This time Cormack anticipated her abrupt halt and stopped with her. Allora couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “You live within a family structure?”

“To some extent. Please, hurry she is waiting.”

“I thought we were going to see my father?”

As they neared the structure, Allora made out words written in the old language. Translating for Cormack she read, “For those who chose to step out of the shadows of ignorance and into the light.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Some sort of house of worship. I thought Cyborgs were atheists.”

Another familiar set of characters caught her eye.

“Not just any temple, one erected to Cassandra.”

“Is this some sort of joke?” Cormack tensed, ready for a battle. How dare the Cyborgs make a mockery of the prophecies! Allora fisted her hands on her hips and stared down the Cyborg. If the bastard sent her even a disrespectful look, Cormack would end his miserable half-life. Already he had sensed a leaking valve attached to the back of the creature’s neck. His first—and last—strike would land there.

The ocular implant swiveled to the temple while his one real eye remained on them. “The answers await you within.” The Cyborg spoke in a monotone, an oddly low key delivery for such a cryptic statement.

Cormack didn’t shudder at the words, but he wanted to. He shook his head, thinking of how wrong to have a place full of beauty inhabited by those who would deform themselves in such a barbaric manner.

Reaching for his hand, Allora turned to face him.

“You don’t have to come with me if this bothers you.”

It would bother me more to be separated from you. While he understood she was being considerate, neither would he leave her alone while they were in enemy territory. He’d been anticipating an attack since the door had opened on the shuttle, and he found himself wishing it would just come already.

This waiting gnawed on him like a rabid wolf trapped in his ribcage, consuming him from the inside out.

“Let’s get this over with.”

After ascending at least a thousand steps carved out of the igneous rock they reached the closed temple doors. Allora reached out a hand, probably intending to push them open but Cormack yanked her away.

“Let him go first.”

The monstrosity stared at him, its soft words revealing nothing useful. “No trap awaits you, but what lies within can be just as deadly if you do not receive it in the right frame of mind.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Allora shiver.

His task mistress perceived the threat like an oncoming storm, just as he had. Unfortunately, they had no ground to go to, no cover to take.

Rothguard pushed open both doors at once and Cormack made sure to block Allora’s body with his.

Her soft hand landed on his shoulder, her warm breath falling on his ear as she said, “If they wanted us dead, we never would have left the Born stronghold.

Let’s hear them out.”

Her lack of apprehension concerned him—he needed her on her guard for he could not kill Cyborgs and protect her at the same time. “Did no one teach you it is unwise to trust a Cyborg? They care about one thing only, annihilating us to continue their own depraved existence.”

“And who taught you that, soldier?” The male voice who challenged him rumbled from the shadows.

“It is wise to always look to the source of your information before blindly accepting it as truth.”

“Step into the light.” Allora commanded. Though her hands shook, her voice rang out clear as a bell.

Cormack’s chest swelled with pride. Was there ever such a woman?

The new Cyborg did, moving slowly, methodically until his face was illuminated by the overhead lighting. His hair was white blond in color, his eyes a familiar shade of purple. He wore no implants on his face or hands, no evidence that he was a Cyborg other than his placid mien.

“Who are you?” Allora stepped past Cormack.

“My name is Vitrolith. I am the one you would call father, Task Mistress.”

Her shoulders stiffened as though bracing for a hit. “You don’t look like a Cyborg.”

He didn’t even twitch. “Neither do you.”

Allora flinched, eyes blazing. “I am a Born woman, not one of your kind!”

“Actually, Allora, you are both.” Another voice said from high above them. Cormack looked up into the rafters, where a girl stood. Before he could ask how she got up there, she stepped off the ledge, plummeting thirty feet down until she stood stock still before him, absorbing the impact with only the slightest bend to her knees.

“Hello, soldier.” The child said, offering him a brilliant smile. “I’m happy to see it is all working out as it should.”

Like the one who called himself Vitrolith, this girl had white-blond hair and no visible implants. Though the way she’d managed that fall made Cormack believe she had some sort of biomechanical enhancement going on, even if his super keen senses couldn’t detect them.

Dismissing him, the girl turned to face Allora. “Do you know who I am?”

“Cassandra?” Allora shook her head. “”Tis not possible—you died when the world stopped spinning.”

“Who told you that, daughter?” Vitrolith raised an eyebrow. “I see the Borns are still spreading their lies, just as they did with your mother.”

“You will not speak to me of her!” Allora snapped, hand dropping to the whip on her belt. Cormack moved to her other side, providing her physical and emotional back-up.

Seemingly unaware of the danger to herself, the girl took one of Allora’s gauntleted hands in both of hers. “The soldiers told me you found the missing journal, the first one Cassandra ever wrote.”

Cormack scowled down at her. “I thought you were Cassandra.”

The girl grinned at him. “I’m only a replica, an incomplete copy of she who beheld what would be. My function is to interpret events that the real Cassandra saw and based on those prophesies; guide the survivors past this time of turmoil.”

“Then, you’re not real?” He couldn’t believe it, every pore, every wisp of hair, even her scent told him that this child was as alive as he was.

She shrugged. “What is real, soldier? Something that your senses tell you is there? The way one comes into this world? The knowledge we pass on, is all that real? I live, as you do, can die as you one day will. But I was engineered, not born or bred, same as my father.” Her gaze fell on Allora, who collapsed to her knees, her head bowed, shoulders shaking. “And my sister.”