Cyborg Nation Kaitlyn O'Connor (books to get back into reading TXT) 📖

nanos hadn’t been designed for human physiology and might not be up to the task of fixing her even if there were enough to repair the damage.

She didn’t want to think about the possibilities of permanent, irreversible damage at the moment, though. She had enough to worry about.

Like whether or not the nanos would be able to prevent infection from killing her or if the rod had so severely damaged her intestines she would die slowly of the poisons seeping into her body, or if there’d been any other vital organ so damaged it couldn’t be repaired. And saying she actually survived, her reproductive organs were still in tact enough to have children.

They hadn’t said anything to her about that, not directly, but she’d overheard enough to know that that was their single most powerful motivation for wanting a mate—her—the hope that they might be able to have off-spring.

If it came to that, she had wanted a child, or perhaps two or three. She’d even obtained a license to reproduce, which had granted her permission to have her birth control surgery reversed. The fact that she hadn’t managed to find anyone she’d wanted to father a child hadn’t changed that. She’d expected to find a man, eventually, that met her standards—or came close.

Unwilling to dwell on those depressing thoughts, she struggled to shift enough to watch Gabriel and Jerico work, chafing at not being able to do anything at all to help. She realized after a little while that their main focus was on recovering as much of the things from her office as they could find. Noticing she was watching, they began to bring the things closer and form a growing pile.

It occurred to her after a while that they were prioritizing what needed to be taken.

“How are we going to get all of this back to civilization?” she finally asked Gabriel.

He paused. “We can not leave anything of importance here. The trogs will take what they want and destroy the rest.”

Dismay filled her. They were going to be bogged down not only with her but all this, too? “I can manage without most of this,” she said decisively. “Focus on the instruments and medicines. Forget the books—I know what’s in most of them anyway. Forget the files and the larger pieces of equipment. Chances are they’re too badly damaged to be of any use anyway. Most of it was fairly delicate electronics. Even if it looks like it might not have too much damage, it probably has.”

Nodding, looking vastly relieved, Gabriel returned, discussed it briefly with Jerico and they began sorting the pile they’d already collected.

Gideon returned late in the afternoon. Bronte was so glad to see him she had to fight the urge to weep with relief. Seeing she was awake and watching him, he tossed two long, gleaming blades to Jerico and Gabriel and strode toward her purposefully, crouching beside her and examining her carefully with his gaze. Bronte took her own inventory. If he’d been wearing bandages at all, he’d already discarded most of them. Dozens of dark pink patches on his chest and arms, legs, face and neck told of newly closed wounds. One on his thigh and the place where he’d cut himself to help her were still bandaged. There was a cut extending across his forehead from his hairline, as well.

He was wearing something she’d never seen him wear before. Something like a belt crossed his chest from shoulder to waist and seemed to extend to his back. Above his left shoulder, she saw a metallic handle of some kind.

He had tossed two long blades to Gabriel and Jerico. Undoubtedly, that was what this was, a sheathe to carry his own blade.

Abruptly self-conscious about her own appearance, she averted her gaze, wishing she could just pull the cover over her head. “I must look terrible,” she said uncomfortably.

His gaze flickered over her face. “Far better than yesterday,” he said. “It is good that I did not yield to the impulse to secure you in Jerico’s seat. That side took the brunt of the impact and I do not believe you would have survived it.”

Considering the battering she’d taken, she thought he was most likely right. It occurred to her even as she realized that that it was not mere chance that her side of the craft had been spared the brunt of the impact. “It took the brunt because you made sure it did,” she said.

A flicker of discomfort crossed his features. “It was a logical decision. Given that I had little time to assess the situation, I feel that I made the only decision I could have. Jerico and I were more likely to survive than you, and I knew that if we did not you would have Gabriel to take care of you.”

A knot of emotion hardened in her throat. “It didn’t occur to you, I suppose, that I might not want to survive if you didn’t?”

He frowned, giving her a strange look.

“I would have grieved if anything had happened to either you or Jerico, whether you believe it or not. I’m very glad that you’re alright.”

Confusion, doubt, and pleasure flickered across his features in rapid succession, and then more doubt. “Why?” he asked curiously.

Dismay filled her. She didn’t know why she’d interpreted everything he’d done as signs he cared about her when she knew better, knew he was still far more a creature of pure logic than emotion. Not only did he not feel any of the things that had begun to grow inside of her, he didn’t understand why she would feel them. Instead of trying to answer his question and possibly embarrassing herself more, she changed the subject. “Is that a … knife you have strapped to your back?”

He frowned, obviously not happy that she’d ignored the question, but he allowed the subject to drop. “Of a sort. It is called a sword.”

“You had those on the ship?”

“We always have them with us, though they are only