Chapter One

Hezza leaned back in her chair and let her eyes close most of the way.

To really sell the idea that she was relaxed and indifferent to what was happening, she made a conscious effort to slouch down in her chair as far as the restraints allowed.

The pair of overzealous dock security dipsticks had cuffed her hands and feet to the chair. Not only that, but they’d placed her in a room with bare plasteel walls, a floor liberally covered in mysterious stains, and three shabby, dented metal furnishings. One was the chair she sat on. The other two were a table with a matching chair on the far side. As far as she could tell, all of it was bolted to the deck to prevent the inhabitants from what? Throwing it at the walls? Using the chair as a weapon? Probably both.

This was the kind of place where you housed a dangerous fugitive, and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in a supernova she fit that description. It was strangely flattering but hardly an accurate assessment. She was a smuggler, not a killer. The only things she was capable of murdering were fried foods and ice cream.

The thought made her smile, which she had no doubt the cameras would catch and display to whoever was watching her. Someone would be watching. They always did. Anything she said or did now would be tossed back in her face once the questions started. She knew how the game was played. This was the waiting period, when she was left on her own to marinate in her fear. No one would show up until she was tenderized and compliant. At least, that’s what they taught the rent-a-cops in places like this.

Carnax was like every other back-system station she’d visited. They barely broke even on refueling contracts and providing replacement parts to any ship unlucky enough to break down this far from civilized space.

She wasn’t here for fuel or repairs, though. She’d been here for a job. It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out cargo pickup—easy work, no fuss, no muss, and no questions asked.

Looking back now, she probably should have asked some fraxxing questions, starting with who had made the request in the first place. When she got out of here, she’d have a long, colorful chat with Sasha. Either he was getting sloppy, or he’d been paid to set her up. Either way, she’d make sure his reputation as a broker tanked after this.

If she got out of whatever-the-void trouble this turned out to be. For the moment, all she knew was what security had told her. She was being detained for acts in violation of the Unified Galactic Agreement. Which was normally corporate speak for, “We’ll let you know what the charges are once we’ve determined how many credits worth of fines you can pay.”

This time, though, things felt different. Like maybe she was in serious trouble.

Hezza had to remind herself to stay relaxed as she pondered what this could be about. She’d always preferred to bend laws instead of breaking them completely. Sure, her current cargo included a few items she hoped port-sec didn’t inspect too closely. The embryos in the cargo pods were marked as domestic chickens destined for a colony world. However, odds were good they were something far more exotic, expensive, and only available on the black market.

Moving illegal cargo didn’t bother her, so long as it didn’t break one of her rules. She didn’t transport slaves, drugs, or weapons. Every broker she used knew this. Of course, most of the brokers she knew were already retired and enjoying a life of leisure, likely funded through years of skimming profits and pocketing bribes.

Now that she thought about it, most of her friends were retired too—some by choice yet others because they’d be incarcerated for the rest of their lives. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t much difference. Both meant staying in one place and doing the same thing day after day. No thank you.

The problem was, she couldn’t keep flying cargo forever. She wasn’t slow, but the Desperate Gambit couldn’t keep up with the newest ships out there. Both she and her ship were losing business to younger, hungrier pilots.

She slumped deeper into her chair. Getting old sucked.

Three minutes later, Hezza told herself to quit wallowing. She had more immediate problems to deal with. She went over the list of probable reasons she was in custody. The most likely cause was also the easiest to understand. No good deed went unpunished.

River was a decent being who’d had more than her share of suffering. The cyborg had come to her with money in hand and a contingency plan in case things went sideways.

Turned out, things hadn’t just gone sideways. They’d gone full nova. River’s contingency plan had kicked in, and Hezza made sure the cyborg made it to her chosen destination. Had she broken a few laws to do it? Yes. Would she do it again? Abso-fraxxing-lutely.

That didn’t mean she had no regrets. Things had gotten messy. Edge, the grumpy, self-appointed leader of the cyborgs, had demanded Hezza reveal where River had gone. Then the damned fool had gone after her. One cyborg leaving the colony was a problem. Two? That set off all kinds of panic. Various factions had learned of her involvement, and she’d had to lay low.

Apparently, she hadn’t laid low enough. A message from River had caught up with her a few days ago. The good news was that she and Edge were fine and had handled the asshole hunting River. The bad news? The fallout from their actions was still ongoing. Nova Force was still looking for Hezza, and it would be best if she stayed out of sight for the time being.

If she’d been smart, she would have taken the warning more seriously. She should have gone dark and drifted somewhere in the big black. Instead, she’d gotten cocky and assumed no one could find her.

Hezza uttered a sigh. Given her current situation, it was apparent someone had found her. That left her with two questions. Who had set this trap, and what did they want?

Odds were good she wasn’t going to like the answers.

She had no way to check the time, but it had to have been more than an hour since someone had made an appearance.

She’d been listening for footsteps outside the door to her cell or at least a click as they let themselves in. Instead, she heard a low, electronic hum followed by a soft chuckle.

“That does not look comfortable,” a familiar voice drawled.

Hezza’s eyes snapped open, and she straightened in her chair. “Phylomenia Harrington, what the fraxx are you doing on my wall?”

The silver-haired woman on the monitor laughed. “Your wall? Did you take over the port security office already?”

“I could have, but they gave me some pretty bangles, so I’ve decided to behave.” She raised both wrists as far as the cuffs would allow, to show off the restraints.

“Qarf. They weren’t supposed to do that.” Phylomenia turned to glare at someone out of view. “Did you tell them to restrain her?”

“I told them she was a potential flight risk,” a deep male voice replied.

“And you wonder why people distrust those in authority. This is why, Scott Archer. You and I are going to talk about this.”

Archer. Hezza felt like she should recognize the name, but nothing popped into her head. Phylomenia had left the life a few years back. Whoever this guy was, she must have met him after she went straight.

“So all of this is your fault,” Hezza stated. It had to be true, but it made no sense. Phylomenia was not exactly a friend, but they’d been in the same orbit most of the time. She was someone whose word you could trust, and they’d had a few laughs and drinks over the years.

Phylomenia gave her a rueful smile. “All of it? No. You got yourself into this mess, Hez. I’m here to offer you a way out.”

“From what? No one here will tell me what I’m charged with.”

“That’s because they weren’t given the details. And you’re not under arrest. You’re being detained for questioning.” Phylomenia arched a brow. “And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. You helped not one but two dangerous cyborgs escape from Haven colony.”

That made her laugh. “They’re no more dangerous than anyone else you and I have done business with. Hell, they’re a lot better than some I could name.”

Phylomenia’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t just help them out for money? You actually like these cyborgs?”

Hezza raised her head and stiffened her shoulders in response to Phylomenia’s tone. What did the woman have against cyborgs?

 “They’re decent beings who got a raw deal from the day they climbed out of their maturation vats. So yeah, I like them.”

“Enough to help one get off the planet she was legally required to stay on, and to hell with the consequences?” Phylomenia asked.

“Keeping them on Liberty was a bullshit call that should never have happened. As for what I did? It wasn’t about the money. River needed help, and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in a supernova that anyone from the corporations or the military was going to step up. It was about doing the right thing.”

She leaned forward as far as her restraints would allow. “Was a time you’d have done the same thing. What changed?” It wasn’t the question she should have asked, but it was out of her mouth before she could reconsider.

Instead of the rebuke she expected, Phylomenia’s expression softened, and she chuckled again. “Sorry, Hez. I needed to be sure you were on the right side of this mess. I didn’t change, but you could have, and that would mean you’re not the one we need right now.”

“I heard a lot of words, and none of them told me a damned thing. What in the void is going on, Phyl?”

The woman on the screen gestured with both hands, and two men joined her. They were older but still fit with neatly trimmed gray hair and a physical presence that screamed of military training.

“These are my husbands, Scott Archer and Garrett Michaels. Archer negotiated the original deal with the Vardarians for Liberty.”

“They got the planet for colonization, but they had to take the cyborgs the rest of the galaxy was too scared to deal with.” Hezza knew the story. “Which means he’s the bakaffa who made it so none of the cyborgs could ever leave.”

She intentionally used the Vardarian insult to remind the others of her ties to the colony. Her daughter and her mates all lived in Haven.

“It was necessary at the time,” one of the men said. She assumed he was Archer.

“And it was never intended to last forever. You know what corporations are like, Hez. Everything is a negotiation. They wanted to try for more before agreeing to anything else.”

“How much longer will they be stuck?” Hezza asked.

Archer answered, “That’s being discussed right now. I can’t give you an answer because I’m retired and out of the loop. But it won’t be long. Too much has happened.”

Well, that was good news. It didn’t explain what they wanted with her, though. “I’m glad to hear it. Now what does this have to do with me?”

Phylomenia’s expression turned stormy. “There’s another research base. The Interstellar Armed Forces are sending a small fleet to investigate. Scott called in some favors and got us added as consultants. It’s not that we don’t trust them to make the right call…”

Hezza understood immediately. “They’re military, which means they’re going to make decisions based on their training.”

The other man grunted in agreement. “To a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

Scott Archer shot the man a dirty look. “I’m not a hammer, thank you very much.”

“But sometimes you’re a tool.”

Phylomenia sighed. “Please ignore them. Their idea of flirting leaves a lot to be desired.”

Hezza grinned. “It’s kind of cute. I still need to know why we’re having this conversation, though. And I’d really like to get out of this chair.”

“Here’s the deal, Hez. We’re going on this mission, but we can’t interfere too much. We’re just advisors. We need someone who can do something if things go nova.”

“You want me along as your backup plan. I’m interested, but I still don’t understand how you’re going to convince the IAF to let me tag along.”

“That’s easy. This is likely to be another cyborg research and development station. The cyborgs of Haven have requested representation on this mission. Since none of them are allowed to leave the planet yet, they’ve designated someone to speak for them.”

“Me?” Hezza nearly choked on the word.

“You,” Phylomenia confirmed with only a hint of a smile. “The job’s yours if you want it.”

She couldn’t turn down the offer or the honor it represented. Still, she did have a reputation to live up to. “I’m interested,” she said, trying to sound casual. “But first I need to know. What does this gig pay?”

Releasing October 3rd!

Get your copy: https://susanhayes.ca/book/her-alien-cyborgs/