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

artificial lighting and signs, and the fact that there didn’t seem to be a great many people moving about the streets.

Maybe it was later than she’d thought? Or maybe it was just that this particular area wasn’t frequented that much at night?

The buildings, not surprisingly, were all new looking and yet she noticed as she began to focus on her surroundings that most of the structures had a good bit of ornamentation about them—surrounding doors and windows, edging the roof lines and, in the cases of multi-storied buildings, delineating one floor from the next—more reminiscent of ancient structures she’d seen in the cities than modern architecture.

It struck her as odd, at all, that they would’ve modeled their structures along the lines of centuries old Earth architecture instead of the sleek, practical, and ultra conservative modern buildings of the times and stranger still when it dawned on her that the architects of the city were cyborgs. She would’ve thought they, being creatures of logic far more than humans were, would’ve been more inclined to build strictly utilitarian structures. It couldn’t be avoided that they hadn’t, that, by some odd quirk, they’d gone to great lengths to beautify everything around them.

Otherwise everything was as neat and orderly as she would’ve expected, and yet far more so than one would see in a city built and occupied by humans. There were no stray bits of trash here and there--discarded containers or partially eaten food tossed aside, no overflowing trash containers, no stray animals wandering around to scavenge … or homeless human scavengers.

There were no detectable defects in workmanship in anything that she saw—no slightly off kilter curb or leaning signs. The streets, curbs, and sidewalks were arrow straight from what she could see, the buildings too—the lines of windows, and doors, and walls were absolutely perpendicular. Even the ornamental designs were absolutely symmetrical—every leaf, flower, curlicue, and animal carved in relief was even, precise.

There were no vehicles along the roads, no sign that the roads were used for vehicles. She supposed they must have them, else why the roads? But undoubtedly the roads were primarily for servicing vehicles, not personal ones, because she didn’t see any and even if it was late, it seemed that she would.

Aside from that, the craft had set them down at the edge of the city. The soldier had already carried her several blocks.

Her mind had wandered from that thought to wondering where the base was that Gideon and the others had been taken to when she noticed the soldier turn and head directly toward a building several stories taller than the others around them. This one had the definite characteristics of a med center. Wide sliding doors opened to a brightly lit waiting area that was deserted except for the man she could see seated at a desk just inside.

The man looked up disinterestedly as the doors opened for them, did a double take and then stood up. “This is the earth doctor of children,” the man carrying her announced as the receptionist came around to greet them.

She supposed he was a receptionist. He was dressed in a medic’s uniform—no name tag.

“A human?”

The soldier turned his head to her and allowed his gaze to flicker over her face. “Yes. A human female, injured.”

Bronte was about to object—she was mostly healed, after all—but she didn’t doubt she was suffering some malnutrition from their limited diet, exposure since they’d had no shelter, exhaustion, and god only knew what else.

He didn’t ask her name or give her his any more than the soldier had. Obviously they weren’t prone to waste a lot of time with frivolous social chatter. “I’m Dr. Bronte Nichols.”

Both men stared at her blankly, almost as if a dog had suddenly talked. If she hadn’t already guessed that neither of them hailed from the Hunter class, she knew it then. “And you are?”

“Medic Brent MCS78206.”

“Master Sergeant, Caleb CS95031.”

Bronte looked from one to the other in surprise as they both spoke almost at the same moment.

“I will take her to the examination room.”

“I will take her,” Caleb responded coldly. “I am ordered to keep her within sight.”

Uneasiness moved over Bronte as the two men stared at one another. There was nothing challenging about the expression of either, and yet she had the distinct feeling there was a latent battle of wills in progress. Finally, the medic turned, passed through another set of double doors, and led them to a room just a few yards from the entrance.

“You will undress,” Medic Brent informed her as he passed the examination table and moved to the control panel of the scanner at one end.

It was standard medical procedure and yet the moment Bronte realized that Caleb had every intention of monitoring the proceedings discomfort settled over her. She stared at him for several moments after he’d settled her on the examination table and withdrawn to a position near the door, assuming ‘parade rest’. He stared back at her unblinkingly.

Mindful of how angry Jerico had been at the possibility of anyone else seeing her naked, Bronte looked around a little hopefully for a hospital gown. There wasn’t one. There wasn’t even a sheet on the examination table.

She saw when she turned to look at the medic that he was waiting for her to comply. “There aren’t any gowns?”

He exchanged a look with the sergeant, seemed to consider it for a moment and then replied, “No.”

She wasn’t ordinarily terribly self-conscious, particularly not in respect to a medical examination. She was abruptly acutely conscious of the defects of humans in general and her in particular, however. The cyborgs, due to superior genetics, were as perfect as the city they’d created, virtually flawless. She’d been a long way from perfection before the accident. She shuddered to think how far she was from physical perfection now and she didn’t especially want to expose it for them to examine it.

Somehow, though, she didn’t think she had a choice, and beyond that she knew she needed medical attention.

Sucking