Claimed by the Cyborg (Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance Book 5)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  March Fellows assumed he had all the time in the galaxy to pursue a relationship with Jules, an alien exchange student from Xenia, until she vanished without a trace. After years of searching, he finds his lost love on the eve of her arranged marriage.

  The daughter of the Xenian emperor, Julietta, never meant to fall in love with a Terran man while visiting Earth. Leaving to fulfill her responsibilities on her home planet opened up a hole in her heart that could never be filled. When March, now a cyborg, unexpectedly shows up just before she is to be bonded, she struggles to find the courage to turn him away a second time and follow through with her duty.

  Before she can act, the lovers are thrust into a political conspiracy that threatens the Xenian empire and their lives.

  Claimed by the Cyborg

  Copyright © January 2017 by Cara Bristol

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN: 9780996839020

  Editor: Kate Richards

  Copy Editor: Nanette Sipe

  Proofreader: Meredith Gurr

  Cover Artist: Sweet ’N Spicy Designs

  Formatting by Wizards in Publishing

  Published in the United States of America

  Cara Bristol

  http://carabristol.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  March gripped the nav stick of the ZX7M and hailed Xenia’s control center. “This is Marchand Fellows of Moonbeam Remanufacturing requesting permission to dock at the imperial palace, manifest delta charley echo nine nine five.”

  “Manifest confirmed. Permission granted,” came the reply. “What is your ETA?”

  “Estimated time of arrival is twenty minutes,” the ZX7M’s computer answered for him.

  “Is this your first visit to Xenia?” Flight Control asked.

  “Yes.” He had tried for years to get entry credentials, but permission had been denied. Only recently had the Xenian emperor begun to admit a few offworlders. The upcoming imperial wedding would be the first time a large number of aliens set foot on the planet. If all went well, perhaps restrictions would be lifted.

  “Set docking coordinates to zero three, seven three.”

  “Roger that,” he said, closing the comm link, and releasing his breath in a shaky whoosh.

  What if he succeeded in locating Jules? What would he say? Funny meeting you again. Long time no see. How’s life? Why the hell did you leave without a good-bye?

  Nanos put a brake on his racing pulse, but memories of the woman who’d burned a hole in his heart spun in his head faster than the energy coil in the ship’s engine.

  He told himself he needed to be realistic. Not get his hopes up. If he hadn’t located Jules in five years of searching, the odds of finding her now were slim. He didn’t even know her parents’ names. With so little to go on, he couldn’t approach Xenian authorities, and since the planet had been closed to outsiders, he hadn’t been able to canvass her home world himself. Still, his exhaustive database search should have turned up something.

  He’d been ready to concede defeat when his boss at the spacecraft factory had offered him a chance to deliver the luxury ship to the emperor of Xenia.

  When Jules first disappeared, he’d been frantic, fearing something terrible had befallen her. But, as time had passed and no reports of tragedies involving her had surfaced, he had been forced to assume her disappearance had been a voluntary act. She didn’t want to be found. Still, the need to confirm she was okay had persisted.

  Liar.

  He wanted answers. Why had she left without explanation or a hint of her intentions? Was it something about him that had caused her to run? Had she cared for him at all?

  He wished he had more time, but his limited visa granted him only enough to conduct his business, so he’d have to make the most of those few hours. It was probably a futile endeavor anyway. Factoring in population and the shortness of his visit, his cyborg brain calculated the odds of locating her at one-tenth of one percent.

  Then again, he’d faced worse odds as a field agent for Cyber Operations. I shouldn’t give up hope before I even get started.

  March keyed in the landing coordinates provided by the control center and switched operation to the computer. He could pilot a ship blindfolded through an asteroid belt backward, but Emperor Dusan expected and had paid for a ship that could pilot itself, so having the ZX7M fly in and dock under her own power would demonstrate her capabilities. An entire fleet of the ships was in production at Moonbeam.

  Xenia appeared, a huge pink orb, its color arising from an atmospheric gas that turned rosy when shot with starlight. He’d heard that at dusk, pink shifted to lavender and then darkened to purple. The spacecraft entered the troposphere and then leveled out, zooming over the ocean. Land appeared as fields of persimmon and periwinkle, and in the distance, the gray swath of a runway.

  Adjusting coordinates, the craft lined up with the landing strip. It touched down without a bump and taxied toward the hangar at the imperial compound. After cutting the engines, the computer opened the hatch.

  A man and woman in identical crisp dark-purple uniforms stood at attention outside. Terrans had a name for the color—the microprocessor in March’s brain pulled the information from his database. Eggplant. A species of nightshade with edible fruit indigenous to Earth. Xenians knew nothing about eggplants and called the color huber, and only those connected to the emperor wore it.

  So they were guards, albeit unarmed. The pacifist Xenians had done away with warfare and weaponry a millennium ago. Perhaps their defenselessness was what made them so wary of outsiders.

  “Welcome,” the woman said. “Did you have a pleasant trip?”

  “Very nice,” he replied.

  “Glad to hear it. If you’re ready, we’ll escort you to the palace.”

  “Great. Thank you.” March descended the few steps to the dock.

  “You did not come with baggage?” the male guard asked.

  He lugged plenty of baggage, but not of the suitcase variety. He shook his head. “I won’t be here long.” Only for a pit stop to deliver the ship and steal what time he could before he notified his boss to pick him up.

  “So you’re not here for the imperial bonding?”

  “No, just delivering the wedding gi—ship.” Maybe the gift was
a secret. Wouldn’t it be his luck to cause a political incident by spoiling Dusan’s surprise wedding gift to his daughter and her consort-to-be. Dale Homme, Moonbeam’s owner, and Carter both would have his head. His boss wanted to maintain smooth working relations with his biggest customer, and Cyber Operations director Carter Aymes had been finagling for a Cy-Ops outpost. Located midway between Terra and Lamis-Odg, Xenia was prime galactic real estate. Everyone wanted a piece of it: Cyber Operations, the Association of Planets, the Terran government, and the Lamis-Odg terrorists.

  Pacifist, but also isolationist and fiercely protective of its culture, the planet had avoided galactic interaction until AOP Ambassador Penelope Aaron had convinced the emperor to join the alliance. Carter hadn’t been so lucky with his negotiations. Though civil and hospitable, Emperor Dusan had refused to allow any alien bases on native soil. However, the Cy-Ops director had high hopes—and the man pursued his goals with relentless dedication.

  March had been on the receiving end of Carter’s ambitions. The director had been working on him to re-up with Cy-Ops, but he had held firm, occasionally tossing Carter a bone by accepting a freelance assignment.

  “Come this way, please,” the female guard said. “The PeeVee is waiting.”

  Most personal vehicles held a single row of passenger seating behind a front cab. Twice as long as a normal PeeVee, this one’s back passenger area held two banks of seats with spacious room in between to stretch one’s legs. From its gleaming exterior to its padded interior, the vehicle proclaimed luxury and wealth.

  The male guard got in the cab; the female joined March in the back, sitting opposite him. “Computer, take us to the imperial palace,” the male ordered.

  “Acknowledged. Prepare for departure,” the PeeVee responded.

  As smooth as a ZX7M, the vehicle launched, skimming over rooftops. With a bird’s-eye view, March admired the order and cleanliness of the imperial shuttleport. From the databanks in his cyborg brain, he knew the public transport depots were equally maintained.

  Squat arboreal plants, their version of trees, in jewel tones of green, plum, rose, and azure, dotted the landscape. A herd of feathered antelope grazing in a field of purple grasses stampeded as the PeeVee buzzed overhead. Pink-tinged water tumbled in meandering streams. The planet looked as Jules had described it—colorful, vibrant, exotic.

  She had said the urban areas were as pristine as the rural ones since great attention had been paid to develop and preserve garden areas. There were no concrete jungles. Had Jules lived in the country or the city? Had she returned home at all? He didn’t know.

  “Your planet is very beautiful,” he said.

  “Thank you.” The guard’s smile radiated pride. “Our emperors have been great stewards. We did not do as so many others did and develop our technology at the expense of our natural resources. How can you survive if you pollute and destroy your home?”

  “Problematic,” he agreed. Terra had followed that route for centuries until the planet governance united under one president who had reversed the course. Much of Mother Earth had healed herself, but some injuries ran too deep to repair. Like some betrayals. I never should have come here. What is the point? Obviously, she doesn’t want to be found.

  “I suppose if one ruins one’s planet, one could find a new one,” she suggested.

  “Some people have tried.” Some races did abandon their polluted worlds and venture into the galaxy for a new homeland. However, planets most hospitable to life were already inhabited—and indigenous populations didn’t always welcome interlopers. One branch of the AOP devoted itself to resettlement assistance.

  The PeeVee banked right and then slowed to a sedate speed as it flew over a pedestrian promenade leading to the massive imperial palace. A ground crew strung boughs of pink and plum blossoms along the walk, while others shot floating flowers high into the air. As the PeeVee advanced over the promenade, color exploded on both sides as if welcoming them to the palace.

  “Is there a festival going on?” he asked.

  “No, we are preparing for the imperial bonding ceremony—the day after tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t realize the wedding, uh, bonding ceremony, was so soon.”

  The guard nodded. “It follows the Sha’A’la.”

  “The bride fight.” March nodded. A woman’s mate proved his worthiness by battling a challenger. The Sha’A’la harkened to the days when warring tribes stole brides from rival clans, although it was purely ceremonial now, part spectator sport, part theater.

  The guard arched her eyebrows. “You’re familiar with the custom?”

  “I’ve heard a bit about it.” Jules had mentioned it in passing, and the database in the microprocessor embedded between the two hemispheres of his brain filled in the details she’d omitted. “My understanding is marriages are arranged, so it’s predetermined who’s going to win?”

  “Correct.” The guard grinned. “But, we like to pretend it could go otherwise.”

  “I see,” he lied. There was no such thing as a mock fight in Cyber Operations. When he had fought, his opponents had died. No pretense. His cyborg brain had recorded every death. The enemies he’d disposed of didn’t bother him, but the innocents he’d been unable to save did. When the atrocities he’d witnessed had gotten too much to take, he’d resigned from Cy-Ops and gone to work for Moonbeam before he burned out. A university professor, he’d never planned to become a cyberoperative. No one did. They all came to Cy-Ops the hard way—a tragedy, a visit from Carter then reconstructive cybernetic surgery.

  “Is this your first visit?” the guard asked.

  “Yes. But I met someone from here.” He paused. “Her name was Jules. Do you know her?”

  “My sister’s name is Jules,” she said.

  March swept his gaze over the woman’s face. Other than her piercing eyes, the irises solid black, there was no resemblance, but his heart hammered anyway, and he had to ask. “Did your sister study off planet—on Terra?”

  The guard laughed. “Not yet—she is only fifteen solar cycles—but she wants to. She’s convinced this is the most boring planet in the galaxy. ‘There’s nothing to do here!’ she complains.”

  He forced a chuckle. “Teenagers are the same everywhere, I guess.”

  “Jules is one of our most popular names,” the guard added.

  He knew that. His search had turned up thousands of Juleses, but none of them was the right one.

  Ping! Ping! An encrypted wireless message from Cyber Operations shot into his brain. Though he only freelanced, he was still connected to the cyborg network. Once a cyberoperative, always a cyberoperative, even if you weren’t on the regular payroll.

  Have you arrived on Xenia yet? Carter asked.

  Just got here. On my way to the palace. Had arrived at the palace. The PeeVee pulled up to an imposing columned structure. The way it sparkled under the pink light suggested the construction material may be crystal. Cybervision recorded the image, and his microprocessor analyzed it. Yep. Xenian crystal. With a hiss, the PeeVee lowered to ground level. What’s up?

  I need a favor.

  March’s human sixth sense warned the favor would cost him, but how did you say no to the man who had saved your life? Sure. What is it?

  I need you to attend the bonding ceremony of Princess Julietta and her consort.

  He laughed aloud.

  The guard looked at him.

  “I’m sorry. My mind wandered,” he apologized, and shot back to Carter, I’m not on the guest list. I can’t crash the emperor’s daughter’s wedding. But if he could extend his visit, he’d have more time to look for Jules.

  You’re on the guest list now. Penelope Aaron got you an invite. And, remember, it’s called a bonding ceremony. Xenians don’t marry, they bond.

  Right. He knew that. Marriage was a legal status that could be dissolved with the agreement of both parties. A bond could not be broken for any reason, not even if one’s mate turned out to be a homicidal maniac. F
ortunately, Xenians were a gentle, peaceful people so they didn’t need to worry.

  The PeeVee opened, the guard gestured, and March exited the vehicle.

  What’s so important about the ceremony?

  The ceremony itself—nothing. However, every VIP on the planet will attend, including the councilors who advise the emperor. See who might be favorable to an outpost. Plant some seeds.

  I’ll do what I can, but if Brock and Penelope are here, why do you need me? He’d never been able to tell Carter no, but he tried to wiggle out of attending the wedding. In the little time left before he had to report back to Moonbeam, he needed to look for Jules. But he couldn’t if he was stuck at some bonding ceremony.

  Everyone knows Penelope is with the AOP, and many had opposed Xenia joining the alliance, but since you won’t be representing anyone, people might be more apt to speak freely, Carter said. The more eyes and ears I have, the better the chance of getting some useful intel. I’ve already cleared the extra time with Dale.

  What Carter wanted, Carter got. Everyone owed him, and Moonbeam’s boss was a cyborg on the Cy-Ops payroll. Okay.

  Stay unobtrusive. Don’t get involved; don’t draw attention to yourself.

  Roger. If anyone asks about me, what’s my cover story?

  The truth. You came to deliver a spaceship.

  The truth minus a few details. Sounds easy enough.

  Great. Thanks. I wish you’d consider reenlisting in Cy-Ops. We need you.

  “This way, please.” The male guard gestured for March to precede him.

  Hey, I have to go, he said. Cyborgs could carry on a cyber-conversation while doing almost anything, but he tired of telling Carter no all the time, and probably the director wearied of hearing it. I’ll keep you posted.

  With flourish, two liveried servants swung open the massive doors to the palace. The doormen weren’t military, as they would be on almost any other planet, where they would also be armed.

  His escorts had behaved more like hosts or tour guides, welcoming him to their planet with a friendliness and curiosity on the wane everywhere else. With Lamis-Odg terrorizing the galaxy, many planets had become wary of alien visitors.