Hijacked by Lolita Lopez
Chapter One
“If you don’t hurry up and get that lock open, we’re going to die,” Branko snarled.
Misko ignored his brother’s unnecessary remark. With the chaos surrounding them, he barely heard him anyway, even with his amplified hearing. So many of his fellow cyborgs were attempting to bust free from their locked cells on the prison transport. The electrical grid and computer circuits controlling the ship were overloaded with competing signals from the cyborgs who hadn’t yet been decommissioned.
Misko and the rest of the cyborgs in his cell weren’t so lucky. They had been among the first to be forced through the deprogramming device that wiped their processors of the ability to access higher levels of weaponry and tech. The lasers built in to his eyes would have been incredibly useful right about now. Realizing it was futile to attempt to break the lock using tech, he growled, “Andro!”
His burly younger brother strode forward, pushing aside Branko to access the door. After studying the door for a moment, Andro used his incredible brute strength to tear one of the bracket mounted benches right out of the floor. He swung the heavy metal bench at the door, battering the reinforced slab until it crumpled. With a roar of exertion, he kicked the door twice and sent it flying into the hallway.
Two cyborgs escaping the cell across from them caught the door across their lower legs. Both of them fell, slamming their freshly branded faces against the floor. Misko rushed out to help them, getting both to their feet. Neither seemed to register the blood gushing from their noses. Considering their current situation, he didn’t find that odd at all.
“This way.” As the captain of a tight-knit recon and intelligence squad, Misko was used to being in charge. Others fell in behind him—his two brothers, the two new injured cyborgs, and Marks and Cable, two members of his squad—all of them trusting that he would lead them to safety. His group’s orderly evacuation contrasted wildly with the civilians who ran through the ship’s corridors, reeking of desperation and panic.
“Leave them,” he ordered when they came upon an injured group of civilian men.
“Sir,” one of the bleeding cyborgs, protested. “Our protocols—"
“Can get fucked,” Misko interrupted. “We have a few precious moments to get off this ship before the detonations begin. They will slow us down.”
“Yes, sir.” The cyborg nodded and fell back into line, stepping around the wounded humans.
Certain that most of the fleeing prisoners would head for the nearest station of pods, Misko led his group in the other direction, toward the medical unit on the prison transport. There were fewer prisoners there which meant there would be more chances to find an empty escape pod. Whether any of his fellow cyborgs had the same idea, they would soon discover.
They quickly traversed the twisting corridors, breaking down doors when necessary, and finally arrived at their destination. It quickly became apparent they weren’t the only group to seek pods in this sector of the ship. There were a handful of shuttles remaining, some of them full and ready to launch. Misko led his men to the very last one and discovered a group of pregnant women and their children, including some very young infants and toddlers, huddled together inside.
“Sir,” a dark-haired female cyborg who seemed to have taken a leadership role among the women and children greeted succinctly. “Specialist Oona, EOD,” she quickly introduced herself. “The escape pods are failing to launch. I’ve tried rebooting. No joy.”
Branko, an aviation systems engineer, rushed to the control panel. He quickly diagnosed the problem. “There’s a malfunction in the launch clamps. Probably due to overloaded circuits and lines.”
“Can you fix them?”
Branko shook his head. “They’re on a different system digitally fenced off from the shuttle interface.”
“There should be a manual override,” one of the pregnant civilians interjected. She ran to the back of the small ship and flipped up a floor panel. She couldn’t quite get flat on the floor with her round belly, but she managed to dip her head through the access panel. “I can see it, but—shit. There’s fluid on the floor. Hydraulic fluid from the sheen of it.”
“What does that mean?” Misko asked, joining the human female at the access panel.
“That it’s going to take an extraordinary amount of power to move those clamps by hand,” she explained. “Two or three of us, at least.”
“I’ll go,” Andro volunteered.
“So will I,” Misko decided. He eyed the pregnant woman he suspected was a mechanic. “You’re not going down there. It isn’t safe for you or the child.”
She didn’t argue with him. “It’s clearly marked. There are two levers, both with orange handles. Once the locks on the clamps disengage, the ship will start to roll. You won’t have time to get out of the pod’s mechanical deck before we launch.”
“Understood.” He glanced back at the crowd gathered in the shuttle. “Is anyone a pilot?”
A heavily pregnant civilian raised her hand. “I am. Eight years in uniform. Three years in the private sector.”
“You’re in the cockpit.” He glanced at Branko who had the knowledge and skill to quickly handle any system issues that might arise. “You’re flying co-pilot.” His gaze landed on the female cyborg. Her explosives expertise would be useful in the future, but right now, he needed her calm, levelheadedness. “Get these civilians in their seats and harnessed.”
Pointing at Marks and Cable, he said, “You two help her get the ship secure for launch.”
“You two,” Misko pointed at the pair of cyborgs with broken noses. “Get out in the corridor and see if there are any female or child stragglers.” He accessed the countdown to the detonation on the dashboard projected in front of his eyes and grimaced. “We’re at two minutes. Move!”
It was a tight fit down in the mechanical bay of the escape pod. Something was wrong with the cooling system. The heat radiating off the engine was nearly impossible to handle, and he worried the engine might not work much longer. The ship was barebones, a life boat for space, and built by the lowest bidder using the cheapest materials. Whether it could withstand the shockwave of the impending explosion was anyone’s guess. Still, they had to try.
“Careful!” Andro shouted as he pointed out the thick pool of slippery fluid coating the floor. “Here.” He located the manual levers to release the clamps. “Ready?”
“Hold,” he instructed and contacted Branko via their secure link. Status?
Securing doors. There was a pause in Branko’s transmission. Secured. Ready to launch on your go.
Received.
Misko nodded at Andro. “Now.”
The levers were incredibly difficult to move without a working hydraulic system. Misko pulled and Andro pushed, both of them grunting and swearing until finally the lever moved from its upright position to parallel with the floor. The second lever was just as difficult as the first, but they managed it quicker this time.
Within seconds of lowering the second lever, the escape pod rocked violently. A moment later, the explosives planted on the transport ship by the emperor’s secret forces detonated. Without warning, their escape shuttle slipped out of the larger ship and dropped like a rock, sending Misko and his brother airborne. They both slammed into the ceiling before bouncing off of pipes connecting various systems from one side of the escape craft to the other.
Just as the pilot righted the ship, a series of powerful shockwaves blasted the craft. The entire ship flipped wildly, first onto it’s back and then onto it’s belly before veering roughly to the right in a sustained roll that made his stomach pitch. He grunted as he ricocheted off of the walls, ceiling and machinery, each painful blow sending warnings of physical damage to the dashboard reflected in his field of vision.
When he was at the point of nearly blacking out, the ship finally stopped rolling and flattened its angle of flight. He dropped to the floor like a rock, hitting the puddle of hydraulic fluid and sliding into the overheating engine. He hissed in pain as the metal case around the engine seared the skin of his lower arm. The agony of the burn overrode the urge to vomit after that horrific spinning.
Trying to catch his breath and regain his balance, he waited a moment before standing on shaking legs. “Andro?” He glanced left and right. “Brother?”
His gut clenched when he spotted a giant boot dangling over a pipe crisscrossing the ceiling. He rushed to his brother’s aid, climbing up the pipes and shelves to reach him. He swore under his breath as his hands slipped in his brother’s blood. Finding a better handhold, he hefted himself up and onto the suspended platform where Andro had landed.
“Andy?” He used the nickname his brother hadn’t answered to since their childhood. “Brother?”
He tried to connect with Andro’s processor to get a medical readout, but there was no signal. He felt his brother’s neck, finding his pulse and counting his respirations. Both were within normal limits. Needing to see where all the blood was coming from, he latched onto his brother’s shoulder and hip. He cautiously rolled Andro toward him and looked for injuries.
He winced at the sight of a broken shaft of metal embedded in his lower back. It looked as if it had missed his spinal column, stabbing in closer to his hip than his midline. There wasn’t much blood around it, though. Scanning his brother’s body, he finally found the source of all the blood on the platform. The back of his head had a terrible gash in it, the wound so deep he could see the metallic glint of the super-strong alloy coating his bones.
Carefully so as not to jostle him, Misko propped his brother on his side, relieving the pressure on his head wound and the metal shard embedded in his back. Knowing he needed to get help, he shifted his weight to climb down off the platform, but his knees, both coated in hydraulic fluid and blood, slid out from under him. He fell forward, and desperate not to land on Andro and cause further injury, he reached out for the wall to brace himself.
As his bloody, fluid coated skin touched the metal wall, an agonizing jolt of electricity zipped through his fingertips and arced through his body. The burst of energy blew him off the platform and onto the floor where he landed in a heap of bruised bones and burning nerves. Panting and clutching his sides, he cringed and tried to pull air into his battered lungs.
Something was wrong. He felt...strange. Unsettled. Nervous. Hungry. Jittery. His medical data flashed before his eyes, but there was no critical damage. There was only a small fault alarm in a portion of his brain implant that controlled his emotions. Maybe it was an adrenaline dump causing him to feel this way?
“Captain?” Marks called out. “You okay? Sir? Shit! Cable, he’s hurt! So is Andro.”
When Marks and Cable reached his side, he waved off their attention. He pointed with a trembling hand toward the platform. “Andro has a penetrating injury in his lower back and a head laceration.”
“Sir, you don’t look so good,” Cable wavered.
“I got electrocuted.” He held up his still shaking hand to stop the onslaught of questions. “I’m fine. My medical readout is clear.”
Cable seemed unconvinced but didn’t waste time arguing. He hurried to Andro’s side and started his triage. They all had some advanced first aid knowledge, but Misko feared this was beyond any of them. Marks held out his hand, and Misko took it gratefully, finally managing to stand. His legs wobbled a bit, but he slowly recovered his strength and stability.
He helped Cable and Marks get Andro onto a collapsible stretcher from the emergency supplies. Carrying him up to the main cabin wasn’t easy. Eventually, they figured it out and moved his brother to a spot where he could be tended. He didn’t want to leave Andro’s side, but he needed to check with the pilot and Branko.
Up in the cockpit, Branko glanced at him with worry evident on his face. “How is he?”
“Not good,” Misko answered. “He’s still unconscious.”
“Mom’s gonna kill us,” Branko said, his fear of their mother worse than his fear of the emperor and the death squads that would surely be sent to hunt them down.
“Wait,” the female pilot interrupted, “you’re brothers?” She looked between them, probably trying to figure out why Misko had red hair and Branko and Andro had dark, nearly black, hair.
“Different fathers,” Branko explained. His glanced at her belly. “What about your baby’s father?”
Her face fell, and her pale green eyes darkened with sorrow. “He was killed on Bionus. Right after we found out I was expecting,” she added, her voice tight. “He was one of you.”
Misko felt a strange surge of sympathy for the widow. The sensation was alien and unsettling. Still, he attempted politeness. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She turned her attention back to the dashboard of the escape pod. “We always knew it was a risk, especially with him being a cyborg.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier,” Branko remarked, his own long-buried grief coloring his voice. The pilot seemed to understand he had lost someone he loved, but she didn’t ask invasive questions. Maybe she could recognize the pain of losing a spouse in his brother.
“Every woman and every child on this ship belongs to a cyborg,” the pilot informed them. “We were all living in the same neighborhood, right near the base. They rounded us all up and used us to pressure our men.” She swallowed hard and looked back toward the cabin where children cried and mothers desperately tried to reassure and calm them. “I don’t know how we’re going to reunite them with their husbands and fathers.”
Misko didn’t know either. Their main communication link had been compromised and shut down. The small squad level links between a handful of cyborgs remained in place. Information could still travel, but it would be exceedingly slow as that information moved from one trusted group to the next not by quick digital uplink but by old-fashioned word of mouth.
Not wanting to get lost in things he couldn’t control, Misko focused on what he could. “I’m going to draw up a manifest and take stock of our supplies. What’s the ship’s status?”
The pilot tapped a few screens and made her report. “At current top speed, we have approximately—shit. Can you check the fuel cell gauges on your display, Branko? The launch may have damaged my sensors.”
Branko leaned forward and checked his independent gauges. He frowned. “I show thirteen hours at this speed. Yours?”
“Eleven,” she said, swiping to another screen. “We either sustained damage, or the shuttle wasn’t properly charged.”
“Considering they planned to kill us all,” Misko interjected, “it stands to reason they decided it wasn’t worth it to waste the energy during the pre-flight checks.”
“The bigger issue isn’t how far we can get or how fast,” the pilot said. “Our life support systems are running at 107%.” She glanced up at him. “We have too many passengers for the oxygen and CO2 scrubbers.”
“Fantastic,” he said dryly. “Search the nav charts. Find suitable options for a ditch landing.”
“On it,” Branko said, already accessing the navigation screen.
Leaving the two pilots to their work, he returned to the main cabin. Every eye in the room looked to him for guidance. That bizarre sensation of sympathy returned, and he tried to shake it off like a bad cramp. It wouldn’t leave him, and he wondered how badly that electric jolt had damaged his neuroprocessors. Feeling emotions like this was useless at best and distracting at worst.
Ignoring the weird and uncomfortable desire to comfort the crying children and scared wives, he embraced the coldness that had always served him best. Hard decisions would have to be made soon, and he couldn’t risk hesitating when the time to make those ugly decisions arrived.
You’re a cyborg, not a pastor. Leave that emotional shit to weaker beings.
“What the situation, boss?” Cable asked quietly.
“Not good,” he grumbled. “Low power. Overtaxed life support systems.”
Cable took in that information and let it marinate a bit. “I guess there’s only one real option, sir.”
“And what’s that?”
“We lure in a bigger ship with an emergency beacon and hijack it.”
It was a crazy idea, but then again, he and his team had accomplished wilder feats. “Get up to the cockpit. Work out a plan.”
Cable nodded and took off toward the front of the ship. Left alone, Misko scanned the cramped cabin of the emergency shuttle. He surveyed all the little faces, their eyes wide with fear, that stared at him. Most of these children were the offspring of his fellow cyborgs or related to them in some very close way. He vowed he would get them to safety. No matter the cost, no matter how much blood he had to spill, these children would survive.
