Amukkan"s Prize: Tunrian Cyborgs, #3

By Marie Dry

Did she run from one monster into the arms of a bigger monster?

On the run to keep her four-year-old daughter safe from her monstrous ex, Marysol is determined to never again marry, never trust again, never love again. The last thing she expected was to be kidnapped by a cyborg who claims to be the cook on the spaceship.

But something must be seriously wrong with her because the more she gets to know Amukkan, the more she sees a lonely man instead of a dangerous cyborg. But would this handsome gentle giant who loves to cook, turn into the sort of monster her ex became?

Could he be something more sinister than a cook?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marie Dry
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215412442

Book preview

Chapter One

The diner that squatted in the backstreets of Washington DC reminded Amukkan of the squalor the naturals lived in, back on the planet Tundra where he was created by evil clones to do their evil deeds.

Escaping that cursed planet with his fellow cyborgs would always be the best thing that ever happened to him.

Every time his job as trouble killer for the cyborg nation—he liked that description—brought him to Earth, he always came here afterward. To look at her. The human woman with the pretty eyes and brown hair that she wore in a ponytail. Even with the ugly uniform she wore, she was beautiful.

Amukkan stood in the shadows and tracked her every move. He’d seen her on his very first mission to Earth. That day, he’d systematically quartered Washington, trying to find where the President of United Earth was building bombs. They knew the humans were building weapons that could destroy their spaceship. Given their history, they were probably building bigger and stronger atomic bombs. What Amukkan couldn’t find was where the humans built them.

He did a lot of the searches on his computer, on their ship The Rising Sun. But being on the ground allowed him to see more, to learn Earth culture. To stay in the shadows and watch for suspicious behavior. Already, he had a very good idea where one of the facilities were situated.

That day, when he first saw her, he did not expect his life to change. An hour before he’d planned to return to the ship, he’d seen her—a beautiful human with brown hair and pale skin. He’d known then that his life would never be the same again; he knew that down to his most intricate programming. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could barely think.

For one moment, he’d thought the clones had enslaved him again; he’d been unable to move, to speak, or to call for a dimensional doorway to make his escape to the ship. It had taken immense willpower to run a diagnostic. If the clones had somehow managed to get close enough to affect his program, he had to warn the others.

It took 1.07 seconds to realize that it was the sight of the human female that affected him in such an unnatural way. A dangerous way. And yet, every time he came to Earth, he’d returned here. He told himself he needed to know why she’d affected his program. Maybe the clones had reached Earth unnoticed somehow, and she was in league with them.

But instead of scanning her, of taking her to an isolated area for interrogation, he watched her. Only watched her as she served coffee and greasy-looking solid food to the tired humans that came to eat here. It was as if his program was taken over and forced him to keep coming here and observing. What would he do if she gifted him with ryhov?

Every cyborg on their ship, The Rising Sun, wanted that more than anything. And they all believed that if they took a human for themselves, that human would gift them with a soul.

Amukkan didn’t know if a human could gift him with a soul—the general got ryhov after he took a human female for himself. So, it might be true, for all he knew. But he didn’t want a soul. How would he be a trouble killer with ryhov on his skin that made him glow in the dark? He hissed derisively; he’d glow in daytime, as well. No, he wanted his own human, this human female, but he would inform her that she was not to gift him with ryhov.

In the weeks that followed after that first glimpse of her, he returned to collect information on this strange phenomenon. That was what he told himself. He was gathering facts, finding out if that strange reaction would happen again. It did. But the truth was, he enjoyed looking at her.

He crossed the road and stepped inside the diner. Broken light bulbs provided ample shadows for him to hide what he was. He’d dressed in jeans and black boots and a long, black coat that hid his weapons. Next to coffee, jeans were the best invention the humans made. They were comfortable and helped him fit in with almost any surroundings on Earth.

He pulled the black hat he wore whenever he came to Earth low over his forehead so that it hid his alien features. His hair could pass for human, but no one was going to believe him human if they got a close look at his skin and eyes.

When he was on Earth, he put on gloves and never took them off. Like his skin and eyes, his three-fingered, clawed hand was a dead giveaway.

The low conversation and the clink of knives and forks against cheap plates stilled. She stood with her back to him and stiffened, as if she scented a predator behind her. It happened every time he entered this miserable place stinking of grease and sweaty humans. He’d come to the conclusion that one big difference between clones and humans was the ability the humans had to feel danger.

If he’d entered a room filled with clones, they would’ve assumed he was there to serve them. That arrogance had made it possible for most cyborgs to escape Tunria.

He went to the booth in the corner where the light had gone out. He’d have the wall at his back and be able to pass for human, and at the same time, he’d be able to observe his human and the others.

Amukkan leaned back into the shadows, and at the same time, hunched his shoulders, making himself smaller, less threatening to his human. She could never be his human, so why did he torture himself by coming here? He should just grab a chef and get back to the ship.

By the time his female turned, he was in the booth already. He’d tried finding her online, but someone had scrubbed all traces of her from their online social networks.

When he’d researched the president of United Earth, he’d found a lot of information on the internet.

In Marysol’s case, he couldn’t find anything. Which could mean she was not as innocent as she seemed. After he’d thought about it for a while and observed her habits, he’d come to the conclusion that she was on the run.

She walked toward him, her uniform ending far above her knees, showing too much of her legs. Two human men watched her, their gazes moving from her legs and up and then down again. He wanted to kill them for daring to look at her with such a lack of respect.

She stopped well away from his table, holding a pen and a small piece of paper. What would you like? Her hands shook. Every time he came here, she acted afraid.

Coffee, he said and silently thanked Aurora for teaching them about eating and drinking and human customs. He’d gone down to Earth and observed the humans shortly after their spaceship, The Rising Sun, had arrived at Earth. But Aurora’s lessons in acting human had helped him. Though maybe she didn’t mean to assist him with his work of spying on humans. Hastily he added, Please.

She’d turned around already, but her step faltered slightly. She looked back at him and nodded. Aurora was right, saying please brought good results. Shortly, he would see if saying thank you had the same rewards.

She brought his coffee with shaking hands.

Thank you.

You’re welcome, she murmured and then retreated from him with unflattering haste. Every time she acted as if she was afraid of him, something dangerous inside him stirred. Something he didn’t understand.

A cunning thought occurred to him. Balthazar, the cyborg they had all chosen to lead them to freedom and who became their general, had instructed him to find them a human chef. A year after their arrival, Balthazar had seen a news article about a human woman who had saved a child. Balthazar had watched the short clip over and over.

Amukkan had not been surprised when Balthazar had demanded the human’s hand over that female. It is because of that female that Amukkan was on Earth now, trying to find a chef to take to their ship. The general was adamant that they needed a trained chef to cook for Aurora, his human female.

He drank his coffee and watched her go about doing her job. A crazy idea that had come into his head a few times,came to him again. Why not? This female could be the chef that cooked the food for the general’s human. She worked in a place that served food, after all. Surely, she would prefer to work on their ship—conditions were much better than in this dirty diner. If she’d only let him look at her, he’d care for her.

All humans seemed able to prepare the food they ate. He didn’t understand why the general’s running human did not appreciate his food, but if Balthazar wanted a chef, he could bring him one.

He drank the coffee slowly and watched her work. It was oddly relaxing to look at her. One of the human males who’d looked so rudely at her before made to touch her buttocks, but she side-stepped him with admirable agility. It took all his willpower not to crush his cup to dust. He’d deal with the human male later.

He knew Marysol—he savored the name on his tongue—was about to end her shift, and she kept glancing at him, obviously nervous about him lingering. Amukkan paid and got up and left. He kept going until he’d rounded the corner of the next derelict building. Then he turned and waited.

Marysol, he whispered, and her name caressed his tongue. He knew her name because the cook called out to her when he had orders ready. She tried not to follow a routine when she went home. Tried was the operative word. Alternating between three different routes would not protect her against being followed. What interested him was why she was so scared. Why she was not on the internet, why she took such care never to go home via the same route. At first, he’d thought it was a fear of him, but she never noticed when he followed her. Her apartment building was close to the restaurant, and she walked to and from work. She had to be anxious to get home because unlike the other times he’d observed her, she ran without bothering to check if anyone followed her.

He was about to follow her when he saw the human who’d tried to touch her private place on her body. He bared his teeth and followed him. It took less than a minute to teach him not to mess with Amukkan’s human.

It was easy catching up with Marysol, who still ran as if a temple security clone chased her. He’d seen which route she’d started on so he didn’t have to waste time figuring out which route to take. Why would she risk calling attention to herself by running like this?

He’d had decades to learn how to use the shadows to do his work at the command of the clones, and now, he kept to the shadows while he followed her.

If he was human, his jaw would’ve ached and his hands would’ve clenched into fists without him commanding them just at the thought of the years the clones used him to do their dirty work. Those clones made him kill innocents, and he wanted to wipe them out of existence. The horror of not being in control of his own body would never leave him. Knowing the clones ceased to exist would help. Killing to keep cyborgs safe did not bother him. Killing innocents at the command of a clone, having no choice in his actions, that had soiled him. Made him grateful that he didn’t have a soul.

Marysol ran into the dilapidated building which had no security features and many dangerous humans inhabiting it. He’d seen drug dealers come and go and had marveled at how similar this particular thing was to what happened on Tundra. The same furtive transactions, the emaciated users and swaggering sellers of the poison. Even the women and men who sold their bodies for a pittance were the same on both planets.

He stood across the street, behind a stinking dumpster, in the shadows and watched as the light came on. He could see her silhouetted and moving around through the small dirty window.

Amukkan called for a dimensional door. It was time to kidnap a chef for the Rising Sun. For him to have his own human.

Chapter Two

The dimensional doorway appeared, bright lights shining from the triangular form. A man dressed in old smelly clothes, who’d been going through the dumpsters, shaded his eyes, muttering something that sounded like UFO.

Amukkan ignored the human and stepped into the portal that made it easy to travel to any location on Earth and punched in the coordinates that allowed him to step straight into Marysol’s place.

He stopped and looked around. The small room was a hovel. His head nearly touched the ceiling, and the only furniture was a couch and a rickety table in front of it. It was the kind of place the naturals on Tundra lived in. It might be a different design on a different planet, but the hopeless poverty was the same.

Again, he had that strange reaction to her, not quite his rogue programming kicking in, but a reaction strong enough to lock him in place for a fraction of a second. Was he doing the right thing? Surely even such a one as he deserved a prize. Just this once. Even if he could have her only to look at—he might not deserve to have his own human, but he would take her.

She stood with her back to him, but he’d watched her stiffen the moment the dimensional doorway formed in her hovel. She stood absolutely still as if she thought if she didn’t look at him, he wouldn’t be there. The triangular doorway shone bright in the small space, and even with her back to him, she had to be aware of the harsh lights.

He was about to grab her when he saw movement on the couch. It was so slight, a human might have missed it. Amukkan took an instinctive step back. Offspring.

She had offspring.

The parasitic coding in his system rushed to his brain. Tried to take over him, and he froze. It took 2.3 seconds to gain control. This was different than when he’d first seen Marysol. The rogue program the clones had forced on him kicked in with a vengeance. It took every inch of willpower, of programming skill he had to resist. His skin pulsed as if it had ryhov. Evil ryhov. Kill, kill, comply, the programming insisted.

Instead of turning to face him, Marysol ran to stand in front of her offspring. Only then, with her body between them, did she turn and face him, her fear of him justified but ugly to see. Her body blocked his view of the part of the couch where the offspring sat. Not seeing it helped.

Please go away, she shouted as if she thought speaking louder would make him listen. She waved her arms as if to ward him off. I...I know what you are.

What am I?

A filthy cyborg, she spat out, hatred in her pretty eyes.

Amukkan straightened, knowing it made him look bigger, more dangerous, and took a step forward. I am a cyborg, and I am quite clean.

She flinched, but she didn’t move away from her protective stance in front of the offspring.

Mommy?

Quiet, Tansyn, and stay behind Mommy, she said without breaking eye contact with Amukkan. She shook with fear, and he could see her need to run from him, but she stood her ground, protecting her offspring. He respected her courage.

He glanced at the offspring who peered at him from behind her mother and looked away quickly when the ugly code the clones had programmed him with reacted.

You’re from the spaceship orbiting Earth. The one that bombed us, she said, barely above a whisper.

I need you to cook for the human, he told her, and he had to raise his voice to be heard over Marysol’s whimpering and the crying of the offspring. It was almost time to prepare the lunch meal; he could not waste any more time.

She paled as if he’d said something horrific. Y...you were in the diner. You come in every few weeks. She stumbled back from him, then checked herself and stepped in front of the couch again. You followed me home?

It was pointless having further discussions, and he grabbed Marysol and stepped toward the triangle. Mommy, the offspring cried shrilly, and Marysol kicked and screamed and fought with surprising strength. But she was no match for him and weighed little, so he easily carried her into the flaming triangle, her back held to his front.

No, let go, I won’t go. Tansyn, I’ll come back for you.

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"

She stilled in his arms, and he knew entering the dimensional doorway had affected her senses. The first time in a dimensional space was always more disorienting than normal.

For a few minutes, at least, she would be unable to see or hear anything. And she’d be unable to scream in his ear. If he had a soul, if he believed like Nebuchadnezzar, he’d have thanked the goddess that Marysol had stopped screaming.

Chapter Three

Marysol was in hell, a hell where her ears rang with a shrill noise in her head. She couldn’t see, couldn’t even feel her body. With all that, she still heard Tansyn’s screams in her head.

Her sense of touch returned; she could feel the alien’s arm around her waist, her back to his massive chest. At least the noise was down to the level of a shrill whistle. Marysol beat at the alien wherever her fists reached, and when that didn’t work, she started kicking, going for his knees. She was so mad and so frightened at the thought of Tansyn left alone, she didn’t feel pain when her fist hit his tough skin. It was like hitting a rock, and he didn’t show any sign that it hurt him.

"No, let me go. I can’t leave Tansyn—let me go—I have to get my daughter. Tansyn!" She screamed. Fear of what was to