Page 13 of Her Alien Cyborgs (The Drift: Haven Colony #10)

“It’s an old saying that means everyone always has their own version of events.

That’s because those of us without enhancements have to rely on our organic memories, which are unreliable at best. In this case, there are two very different stories about what happened to my parents, and every other adult living in the colony where I was born.

According to Dynamex, there was a cascade failure in the colony’s environmental controls.

Toxins in the water supply, air quality issues, stuff like that.

No one knows for sure because Dynamex just happened to be the ones who heard the colony’s distress call.

By the time they arrived, most of the population was dead or dying.

The only survivors were the kids. The adults put us all into the safest building and gave us all the untainted food and water. ”

She tapped her chest and sighed. “I was maybe a year old at the time. I don’t remember much, except being in a cramped room with other kids. We were scared. Some of us were crying. Someone came. There was shouting. That’s all I remember.”

Kalan found himself reaching across the table to take her hand. It was not something he’d ever done before, but it felt like the right thing to do.

She squeezed his fingers tightly. “This all happened a long time ago, and like I said, I don’t remember much.

I have a few fragments of memories from my life before that.

A man I think was my father holding me high in the air.

A woman singing while she rocked me to sleep.

That’s it.” She looked at him and then at Fyr’enth.

“I know that’s more than either of you ever had.

You woke up floating in a maturation pod and climbed out to discover you were prisoners. I cannot imagine what that was like.”

“It was unpleasant,” Kalan said. “But we survived, and so did you.”

“Now, tell us the other side of the story,” Fyr’enth said. Then he belatedly added, “Please.”

“Since when do you say please to anyone?” He couldn’t resist taking a shot at his brother’s sudden act of politeness.

“You’re one to talk. You’re still holding her hand,” Fyr’enth shot back.

Hezza—No. Alyssa—eyed them both for a beat before continuing as if she hadn’t caught them talking to each other. He didn’t know how she could know, but she did.

“As I said, I was too young to remember much, but there were a few older children. One of them was sent to the same orphanage as me. They remember things differently. There was no environmental failure. His parents told him that bad people were coming to make them leave, and they were going to resist. They brought him to the colony’s creche and told him to stay there until they came back for him. ”

He squeezed her hand again in silent support, and she squeezed back. The simple but intimate gesture filled him with a deep need to protect and care for this female.

“That’s the story I believe. I think Dynamex found out about the colony and told them to leave.

They were stupid enough to try and fight back.

My parents and every other adult there died because they thought they could take on a fraxxing corporation.

My parents were idiots. They should have left.

Instead, they got themselves killed, and I was shipped off to an orphanage sponsored by the same assholes who made me an orphan. ”

“Dynamex paid for your upbringing?” Kalan asked. “Why would they do that?”

“Because to them, we weren’t children. We were seized property and a source of future income.

Once I was old enough, they sent me for aptitude testing so they could figure out what job I’d be best suited for.

That’s what happened to every kid. They tested us and assigned us jobs.

Since we worked for the company that sponsored us, they held back most of our pay in order to pay off the debts we incurred while growing up.

They call it sponsoring, but it’s really just a loan. We had to pay it all back.”

“And what if you didn’t?” Kalan asked. To him, this sounded like another kind of prison sentence.

“We’re tagged.” She pulled her hand from his so she could roll up the sleeve of her shirt.

She showed them a small scar on the underside of her forearm.

“Anyone who tried to leave their assigned area was identified, tracked down, and punished.” She smoothed the fabric back over her arm.

“I was one of the lucky ones. I showed an aptitude for piloting, so they sent me for training. I had to pay for that, too, but there are other ways to make money when your job is transporting freight from place to place. I made enough to pay off my debts before I turned thirty-five. After that, everything I earned was my own.” She patted the table. “Including the Gambit .”

“That’s why you became a smuggler,” Fyr’enth said. “It was the only way to pay everything off quickly.”

“It was. I did it for another reason, too. If something happened to me before I paid everything off, my daughter would have inherited my debts.”

Despite everything he knew about corporations, that revelation surprised him. “What? How?”

“That’s the way it works. I might have bent a few laws here and there, but those assholes are the real criminals.”

“They are,” he agreed.

“But that still leaves me with one question,” Fyr’enth said.

“What’s that?” Hezza asked.

“Why do you call yourself Hezza?”

The female seated across from them grinned broadly. “When I was young, I had a lisp and couldn’t say my name properly. Over time, I started calling myself Hezza instead, and the name stuck.”

“Alyssa,” Kalan spoke her name slowly, letting it roll off his tongue. “I like it. You can keep calling me Kal if I can call you Alyssa.”

“Same for me,” Fyr’enth chimed in.

Hezza pretended to look thoughtful, but he already knew what her answer would be. She liked nicknames, but he wondered if anyone had ever given her one before.

“Alright. But I’m still working on another one for you, Kal. After all, Stormy here already has two.”

He blinked at her and then turned to stare at his brother. “Stormy?”

“I told her what my name meant.” Fyr’enth lifted his wings in a shrug. “I don’t think it struck the note of fear I was hoping for.”

Kalan’s only response was to laugh long and hard.

When he was finished, Hezza fixed him with a stare that could have made a charging gharhstu find somewhere else to be. “So, Kal. What does your name mean?”

Fraxx . Something told him she wasn’t going to be impressed with his name’s meaning, either.

“The executioner,” he said.

Sure enough, her lips twitched as she tried to suppress a grin. “I see that subtly isn’t something either of you is familiar with. I can respect that... Cutie.”

“Cutie?” He nearly choked on the word.

“Sure. Executioner. Cution. Cutie. I like it.” Hezza got to her feet and picked up her plate. “Cutie and Stormy, would you please help me with my least favorite part of any meal?”

“Of course,” he said, still trying to understand her logic.

“Wonderful. In that case, watch and learn the fine art of loading up the dishwasher.” She pointed to what looked like a cabinet door. “A glorious invention, right up there with bacon and faster-than-light engines.”

He turned on his stool and recorded everything she said and did for future reference.

Which was a good thing because he didn’t pay attention to a word she said.

All he did was watch her move and wonder when he’d get another chance to kiss this amazing female who had scars and experiences that mirrored his own.

She was nothing like the females he’d imagined finding if they ever got free, and more than he’d ever dreamed of.