Claiming Cure (Dauntless Cyborgs #3)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Drift flew the modified freighter toward Cancri B.

Cure remained by his side, monitoring his mission partner’s specs, adding more data to his increasingly comprehensive file on G models.

The pilot’s heart rate increased whenever another ship appeared on their enhanced monitoring systems. They easily evaded detection by the vessels and his heart rate would slow again.

There was a prolonged burst of excitement when they spotted a giant shelled creature consuming an asteroid.

And Cure temporarily had an additional being to observe. He gathered as much information about the lifeform as was possible to accomplish remotely.

That was frustratingly insufficient. He couldn’t explain how it survived in open space.

A tissue or blood sample would have been more illuminating. But they maintained a respectful distance from the creature. And eventually parted ways with it.

The remaining voyage was…boring by comparison.

Cure communicated with C several times a planet rotation. The male refused to agree to a meeting time or place. C was focused on possible treatments for the tumors.

There were a few situations Statis required Cure’s input on. All of those issues were administrative. None were critical to the functionality of crew on the Dauntless.

He had trained the medic well. Statis was fully capable of holding the role while Cure was off ship.

Once the modified freighter was within one planet rotation of their destination, Cure ended his monitoring of his mission partner’s specs. He removed the sensors from Drift’s form.

“I’ve been freed. Woot.” The pilot raised his arms in a mock cheer. “I projected you’d leave them on me for the entire mission.”

Cure stared at the male. “I didn’t project that was an option.”

The data he’d obtain would be vast and varied. The insights he gained from it might change his methods of repairing his brethren. Lifespans could be saved. He?—

“It isn’t an option.” Drift laughed. The male was rarely serious.

Cure’s enthusiasm deflated. Slightly. “It would be unintrusive.”

“I’m not meeting my contact with a sensor stuck to my forehead.” The pilot rolled his eyes.

“I won’t reattach that sensor.” It was relaying important information, but Cure could attach additional sensors to other parts of the male’s head.

“You’re not reattaching any sensors.” Drift’s tone was firm.

Cure frowned. “The data?—”

“Until we’ve completed our mission.” The male added that input. “Nothing can interfere with our assignment. It’s too important to all cyborgs everywhere.”

Cure could configure the sensors so as to not interfere with their assignment.

He opened his mouth to tell his mission partner that truth.

“We should have visuals of Cancri B soon.” Drift’s attention returned to the main viewscreen. “As per our plan, I’m dropping you off first. With all your gear. And then I’ll rendezvous with my contact.”

That was the logical order of events. Drift had more need of a ship than he did.

“Relay your meeting coordinates.” The male placed his palms on the controls embedded in the modified freighter’s console. “I’ll enter them in the system.”

Cure didn’t have his meeting coordinates. C, his contact, refused to set the location. “I’ll consult with my contact.”

He opened communication lines with C.

You read my mind, medic. C’s excitement was palpable. I was just about to reach out to you.

You’ve set our meeting location. Cure relaxed. That task had finally been accomplished.

What? No. C snorted. Focus. This is much more important than that.

Cure was always focused.

Currently, he was focused on obtaining the meeting coordinates.

I only have eleven planet rotations of results, but the growth of 95 percent of the tumors have slowed by 0.5 percent compared to the previous formulation. C’s focus, however, was on his possible repair.

I’ll review those results when we meet face-to-face. Cure postponed the debrief. I’ll be arriving in 0.2083 planet rotations. They would rendezvous then. Relay the landing coordinates.

If we increase the Plimm 5-1 by 1 percent, the growth should decrease by a greater factor. The male’s processing remained on the repair.

Wait until I arrive to do that. Cure would assist the humanoid.

We talked about this, Cure. C sighed. Everyone on the planet has these tumors. If you land here, you’ll become a future patient. He returned to an argument he’d presented previously. You’re safer and more valuable where you are.

Where I am is 0.2082 planet rotations away from Cancri B. Cure did agree, however, that he was more valuable where he had originally been—in the medic bay of the Dauntless. I’m landing on your planet. That’s non-negotiable.

The tumors plaguing the locals wouldn’t impact him. He was a cyborg. His kind didn’t become ill. Their nanocybotics repaired any damage their forms encountered.

Give me the meeting coordinates. He repeated that demand.

Cure had tracked C’s communications back to their origins. He processed the coordinates the male was sending his replies from.

But he projected that location was the site of C’s medic bay.

It was disrespectful for a medic to show up at another medic’s medic bay uninvited.

Land wherever you want to land, then. C made an aggravated sound. But I won’t be meeting with you. I’m busy with patients.

“Did you decide on a meeting location?” Drift lifted his eyebrows.

“He says he’s too busy with patients.” Cure scrubbed all irritation from his voice. His mission partner shouldn’t have to deal with his excess emotion. “I’m telling him I’m a medic.” He entered that reply into his handheld. “I’ll assist him with his patients.”

That wasn’t his mission. And the patients would be humanoid.

Cure wasn’t skilled in dealing with fully organic beings.

But it would obliterate C’s excuse.

And Cure missed repairing beings. Drift had been a regretfully functional partner.

How will you assist me? C’s manufactured tone was incredulous. You don’t know enough information about my patients’ cases to do that.

“He now says I don’t know enough information about their cases to assist him.” Cure informed Drift.

C’s response was both illogical and insulting.

“I’m telling him I’ll read their case files.” Cure entered that reply.

He was one of the best medics in the universe. He processed how to read a case file.

That document should contain sufficient data to treat the patients.

You say that as though that’s the solution. C snorted. It’s not. Medics can’t treat patients based on their case files alone. And no, I don’t have the time to explain why that is.

“He says he doesn’t have the time to explain to me why medics can’t treat patients based on their case files alone.” That was another illogical response. Cure hunched over his handheld. “I’m telling him if he kept better records, it would?—”

“Stop.” Drift barked. “Delete that.”

There was no reason to delete it.

Because… “It’s the truth.” Cure looked at the G Model. “The male is incompetent.” With recordkeeping. In other areas, he was…adequate.

“ The male has information we require.” Drift relayed intel Cure already processed. “Delete it.”

Cure was tempted to ignore that order.

Good recordkeeping was critical for patient management.

Drift didn’t process that because he wasn’t a medic.

But the situation with C wasn’t progressing. The male refused to meet with him.

If a treatment of a patient failed to repair them, that treatment had to be modified. He acknowledged that truth.

“I’m deleting it.” Cure would try Drift’s treatment. “It’s not logical but I’m doing it.

He then waited for the male to relay the message he should communicate.

Silence stretched.

Drift flew the modified freighter toward Cancri B.

“Tell your contact you’re bringing him medical supplies.” The pilot finally spoke. “And giving him the temporary usage of machinery to assist him with his patient load.”

Cure jutted his jaw. “My skills should be sufficient.” He shouldn’t have to bribe the humanoid medic with supplies and usage of machinery.

“Tell him that.” Drift wouldn’t move on his stance.

Cure stared at him.

His pride screamed not to do it.

But their mission was more important than his organics. The intel he extracted from C could protect the entire cyborg sector. It could save millions of lifespans.

“I’m relaying your words to him.” He suppressed his misgivings and entered that response into the handheld. “Though all of that intel isn’t required. Having usage of the Rayan Skin Restorer is sufficient.”

“Ah yes, who could resist the Rayan Skin Restorer?” Drift’s tone was mocking.

He didn’t process the importance of that piece of medical machinery.

“No one with functional processors could do that.” Cure did process its value.

If he’d had a Rayan Skin Restorer while he was under Humanoid Alliance control, hundreds of his brethren would be alive now. They wouldn’t have been decommissioned because their nanocybotics hadn’t repaired the minor yet highly visible damage to their skin with sufficient speed.

There was a pause in communications with C.

Which was ridiculous.

Only a fool would turn down medical supplies, usage of medical machinery, and a skilled medic’s assistance.

C was incompetent with his recordkeeping. He wasn’t a fool.

Okay. Okay. I’ll meet with you. The male’s manufactured tone was begrudging. I’m sending the coordinates. Cure received them. I’ll be arriving from the south in a beat-up land transport with an additional cargo hold attached. That should convey all your stuff.

“As projected, he couldn’t say no to that offer.” Cure nodded. He was pleased with the results. “He has agreed to meet with me. And he has sent the coordinates and some other unnecessary details.”

He relayed those coordinates to Drift.

“We have visuals of the planet.” The male displayed that image on the main viewscreen.

It was…a planet. Cure had seen many similar to it.

Places didn’t interest him. Beings, however, intrigued him. And Cancri B was the home of the Cancris, fully organic humanoids, prone to tumors and other damage.

“I’m performing a lifeform scan.” Cure swept his hands over his control panel. “There are 23,525 humanoids and 92 humans on the planet.”

That ratio reduced the probability the Humanoid Alliance, their human enemy, was operating on Cancri B to 12.4744 percent.

“Either the Humanoid Alliance is blocking our lifeform scan or they don’t have a presence on Cancri B.” Drift had reached the same conclusion. “The development of a superweapon would require a base. And they wouldn’t operate a base with only 92 humans.”

“No one has hailed us.” Cure had included that input in his probability calculations. “They wouldn’t have a base with no security.”

“They have to have some presence on the planet.” Drift’s words were relayed with certainty. “The vessel sold to the Powluks was a Humanoid Alliance Class A warship.”

Cure didn’t agree with that projection. “We have Humanoid Alliance Class A warships.” There was no Humanoid Alliance presence in their cyborg-controlled sector. “The vessel could have been taken from a base on another planet by another being, flown here, and then the contact stole it.”

There were other less-probable explanations. But in his experience, the most probable explanation was the correct one.

“Fraggin’ hole.” Drift cursed. “We could have flown here for no reason.”

“I’ll have to deal with the medic for no reason.” Cure gazed down at his handheld.

The male had closed communications.

“And we will have to meet with our contacts.” Drift sounded as regretful as Cure felt.

The modified freighter shook slightly as they entered the atmosphere.

Drift steadied the vessel. “We can’t assume, based on a lifeform scan alone, that the Humanoid Alliance doesn’t have a presence here.”

Cure agreed. That was insufficient proof. “We have to investigate further.” He nodded.

* * *

Three orbits of the planet added very little to that investigation. They detected some Humanoid Alliance ships. There were humans situated close to those ships.

But there were no visible Humanoid Alliance compounds, no detectable base.

The ship’s speed slowed.

“We’ve reached your meeting coordinates.” Drift hovered the modified freight above…bare, harsh, lifeless terrain.

Fraggin’ hole. “There’s nothing located here other than rock and sand.” Cure waved one of his hands at the image on the main viewscreen.

C had sent them to the middle of nowhere.

Drift narrowed his gaze at the image. “There’s nothing located on the surface here other than rock and sand.”

Cure ran a lifeform scan. “I’m not detecting any lifeforms within human walking range of these coordinates.”

C had chattered about arriving before he did. The male wasn’t currently situated anywhere close to the meeting site.

“We’re landing here.” Drift lowered the modified freighter to the planet’s surface.

Moments passed.

They waited.

C didn’t arrive from the south in his beat-up land transport with attached cargo hold.

Cure would have remained in their modified freighter until that happened. He had inputs about the tumors to review and the intel he’d gathered about Cancri forms to study.

But Drift had other projections.

His mission partner rose to his booted feet. “I’m exiting the ship.” He swept his hands over his body armor. Every holster and sheath built into that protective garment was filled with a weapon.

That was the cyborg way. Cure’s body armor sported a similar arsenal.

He stood also and physically verified that truth. “I’ll accompany you.”

They moved toward the exterior doors.

Cure performed multiple lifeform scans as they walked. The results remained the same.

C hadn’t arrived.

Cure pressed his lips together, suppressing his irritation. That was…disrespectful.

Drift reached the modified freighter’s main exit first. He drew one of his guns and opened the doors.

The ramp lowered. Hot dry air rushed into the space.

Cure took more readings. “Oxygen levels are within human range. The air is compatible with human life.”

That was expected.

C had shared data about the Cancris. The humanoids required those oxygen levels, and they had lived on the planet long before they ever experienced technology.

Cure followed Drift down the ramp. Once he reached the surface, he crouched, pointed his handheld at the stone by their booted feet, and ran another scan.

“Let me make a projection.” Drift’s gaze remained on the terrain around them. “The rock blocks lifeform scans.”

“That hasn’t yet been determined.” Cure would perform a test to verify that.

He covered his hand with a layer of sand.

“I detect one cyborg male with your dimensions.” Drift must have run a lifeform scan. “Minus one hand.”

“My scans relay the same results.” Cure tossed the sand back onto the ground and dusted off his hands. He straightened. “The stone and the sand block lifeform scans.”

Drift pointedly looked around them. “We’re surrounded by stone and sand.”

“My contact could be situated under our booted feet.” Cure stared down at his footwear.

There could be a fully functional medic bay there. With patients.

“ The Humanoid Alliance could be situated under our booted feet.” Drift shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other. The male was nervous. “They could have fabricated a massive compound underneath the ground, and we wouldn’t process it.”

“They would have attacked us by now.” Cure wasn’t as concerned as his mission partner about that possible threat. “And my contact wouldn’t have suggested this location if the Humanoid Alliance were situated here. He wouldn’t put the Rayan Skin Restorer at risk.”

Plus he was a medic. Most medics were squeamish about killing other beings.

Cure was an exception to that non-violent stance. He’d been forced to wage war for the Humanoid Alliance and had been a warrior long before he had held an official medic role.

“You might have been manufactured in a vat, Cure—” Drift sounded amused. “—but you are one of a kind. It’s a privilege to undertake a mission with you.”

Cure studied his mission partner.

The male must be mocking him. Again.

But he couldn’t verify that.

Drift had donned the blank mask their kind had perfected.

“I project your comments aren’t serious, but I don’t process what the joke is.” Cure shrugged. That failure was unimportant. They had tasks to complete. “We should unpack the supplies and the equipment. My contact is due to meet with me within 811 heartbeats.”

His contact had chattered about how busy he was. He wouldn’t want to wait at the meeting site for a long duration. The medic would seek to return to his medic bay as soon as possible.

Cure processed that urge. He wished to return to his own medic bay.

And he would do that.

Once he and Drift had completed their assignment.