Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor (english readers TXT) 📗

settled on it, trying to decide what to make of the discussion. It was hard to make heads or tales of it, though. In the first place, she was hungry. The battle had interrupted the meal and now the entire galley was a wreck and there was no telling when any of them would get anything to eat. In the second, despite Gideon’s certainty that she wouldn’t hear them in the hold, she could hear a good deal of noise emanating from the bowels of the ship. And, in the third—well it just didn’t make any sense at all.

The way they had been discussing contracts, she had thought at first that they were talking about a co-habitation agreement—as bizarre as that seemed even at the time. But they had talked as if they were all wanting to contract and that could not be done at the same time.

They must have meant something else, she decided. She didn’t know why she’d leapt to the conclusion that it was a co-habitation agreement, except that it was clear they wanted sexual rights, but she had to have been wrong.

Jerico opened the door and stared at her for a long moment. “Are you hungry?”

Bronte eyed him doubtfully but finally nodded.

“Good! I have cleared the dining area and prepared food for two.”

Bronte didn’t bother to ask him why he’d only prepared food for two. She got up and followed him back into the galley, settling on the bench he’d wiped down and glancing around at the wreckage as Jerico set two plates on the table and settled across from her.

“Gideon and Gabriel are rearranging the supplies in the hold,” he said coolly when they heard a sudden, loud crash that made Bronte jump, followed by a good bit of roaring and cussing. “I believe the load shifted on take off. We were a little rushed when we were on loading.”

“My things from my office?” Bronte gasped in dismay.

He looked uncomfortable. “Those are in the forward hold,” he said smoothly.

Bronte narrowed her eyes at him, certain he was lying. She had no desire to go below and defend her property from Gideon and Gabriel, however. Trying not to think about the crashes beneath their feet, or her things, Bronte focused on eating. It grew almost ominously quiet in the hold after a little while. Bronte found herself listening intently, more uneasy about the silence than she had been about the fighting. After a few minutes, however, she heard the definite sound of feet moving up rungs and a moment later, a hatch near the bridge popped open. Gideon emerged, raked a hand through his wild hair, and, after eyeing Bronte a moment, almost seemed to shrug. “Gabriel is ‘resting’ in the hold,” he said significantly. “When you are done, Jerico, mayhap you should just check to see if he … uh … needs a hand down there.” Moving somewhat stiffly, with one arm pressed tightly against his ribs, he limped past them, heading for the facilities.

Jerico got up when Gideon had disappeared into the rearward cabin. Moving to the hatch Gideon had left open, he stared down the hole intently for several moments and finally returned to his seat.

Bronte deduced from that, and also because Jerico seemed in no particular rush to finish his meal, that Gabriel at least appeared to still be breathing.

Her nervous stomach wasn’t particularly conducive to digestion, but she finished her meal anyway. As she worked at chewing and swallowing food that had little taste or appeal, she found herself listening for any sound that might indicate Gabriel was up and about, fighting the urge to go and look for herself to see if he was alright. Jerico and Gideon had been at pains, though, to pretend there was nothing going on below and she was fairly certain Jerico would find a way to stop her if she tried.

When she’d finished, she decided to help with clean up since it would give her an excuse to linger in the galley to see if Gabriel came up. Food had been strewn all over the galley, even slung up on the walls and ceiling, evidence that someone had already prepared, or been preparing, a meal before the battle.

“That will not be necessary,” Gideon said coolly and Bronte glanced up to see he’d emerged from the cabin. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, but one eye was swollen nearly closed. His lower lip was split and thicker on one side than the other. There was a reddened knot on one cheek bone and another on his forehead, and there were fist and foot sized bruises all over his chest and belly. “We clean up our own mess.”

Bronte lifted her brows questioningly.

He shrugged. “It is a matter of maintaining discipline.” He colored faintly at her look of disbelief. “It is easy enough for a soldier who has never seen battle to sit on his hands when there is nothing useful to do, much harder for soldiers like us who have spent far less time outside of a battle than in one,” he added tightly. “If they have no other outlet, they will fight among themselves.”

Bronte had the distinct feeling that that comment was a jab at her—as if it was her duty to put out so that they wouldn’t feel the need to beat each other’s brains out!

She was almost more angry with herself for feeling guilty about it than she was with Gideon. Without another word, she dumped the trash she’d gathered, wiped her hands, and headed into the cabin to read.

She’d read the same page nearly a dozen times when the door opened. Gabriel stood on the threshold for several moments, weaving drunkenly and finally headed toward the bed where she was sitting. With a pained grunt, he dropped to sit on the edge, hesitated as if he was gathering himself, and finally turned around and lay down, letting out a long breath as he lifted one arm and draped it over his eyes.

She couldn’t help