Page 2 of Human Reform (Cyborg Planet Alpha #3)

TWO

DAXON

I stared at the holographic display of Dr. Alora Bridges’ vitals.

Her heart rate was elevated, and her neural patterns had spiked in jagged red lines across my screen.

She was awake now, and she was afraid. My fingers hovered over the interface, tracing the erratic pattern of her heartbeat without actually touching it.

“I thought the sedative would last another hour,” I muttered, watching as she tested her restraints on the video feed.

The security center’s dim lighting cast everything in shades of blue, including my own reflection in the glass of the display. I looked tired. I felt… something else. Something I couldn’t quite name.

“She bit you?” I asked, turning to Aeon who stood surveying the central operations hub. The glow of displays illuminated the sharp angles of his face.

Aeon rubbed his hand reflexively. “And kicked me somewhere considerably more vulnerable. Your candidate has spirit. I’ll grant you that.”

A laugh escaped me before I could contain it—short and unexpected. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed. “Spirit seems like an understatement.”

“You seem amused, Daxon.” Aeon’s eyebrow arched with suspicion. “That’s an unusual response from you.”

I straightened, schooling my features back into their normal stern position. “I am merely… impressed by her self-preservation instincts. She’s resourceful, which confirms my selection was optimal.”

“Of course.” Aeon didn’t look convinced. “Her heart rate is concerning, though.”

“She just woke up restrained on an alien world,” I said, surprised by the defensive edge in my voice. “Elevated vitals are to be expected.”

I toggled between her bio readings and the actual visual feed from her room.

She was beautiful—more striking in person than in the file image I’d studied.

Long dark brown hair fell around her shoulders, and her gray eyes flashed with defiance rather than fear.

My body responded in ways I couldn’t rationalize.

Heat spread across my chest, settling uncomfortably lower.

This reaction was… inefficient. Distracting. Yet I couldn’t stop watching the rise and fall of her chest as she took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

“I should go assess her condition,” I said abruptly, standing from my workstation.

Tegan snorted from across the room. “Assess her condition or assess something else?”

“Her psychological state impacts our mission,” I replied, too quickly.

“Sure. That’s what has you all… tense.” Sage’s eyes flickered to my clenched fists.

I ignored them, focusing on regulating my breathing. This wasn’t like the glitches—the sudden bursts of aggression and war memories that had been plaguing us for months. This was different. Quieter. More persistent.

“You selected her because she’s the leading expert in neural framework development,” Aeon said, studying me carefully. “And because she voluntarily left CyberEvolution three years ago. She might be sympathetic to our cause.”

“She wrote the original wartime killing code,” Tobin reminded us from his corner workstation. “The same code that’s somehow reactivating through our systems.”

“Yeah, and then she walked away,” I countered, surprising myself with my vehemence. “She must’ve recognized something was wrong with her actions.”

The security center hub fell silent. We all knew what Tobin meant. That code had taken our free will and made us weapons, made me a weapon. The same code was now causing random aggression episodes among our people, threatening the peace we’d built these past two and a half years.

“You seem rather defensive of someone you’ve never met, Daxon,” Commander Helix said, entering the security center with her characteristic silent grace. “Someone who helped enslave us.”

“I’m just being logical,” I insisted. “She has the skills we need to figure out how to fix these glitches, and her departure from CyberEvolution suggests ethical boundaries. She’s our best option right now.”

Helix’s emerald eyes missed nothing. “And this sudden interest in Dr. Alora Bridges has nothing to do with other… factors?”

“I don’t understand your implication,” I lied.

The medical alert on my screen chimed—Alora’s heart rate had surged again.

“I’m going to the medical bay,” I announced, already moving toward the door. “She needs to be briefed on her purpose here.”

I walked out of the security center with my datapad clutched in my hand so tightly that it might as well have been welded there. The soft glow of the screen illuminated my face as I scrolled through Alora’s file for the dozenth time.

Supreme skills in neural architecture. Specialized in adaptive algorithmic systems. Left CyberEvolution abruptly three years ago—no warning, no explanation.

That last part bothered me. People like Alora didn’t just walk away from prestigious positions without reason. Something was there—something important—and I intended to find out what.

The looks Sage and Tegan had exchanged as I’d left burned in my memory. The way Commander Helix had studied me like I was compromised equipment. I wasn’t used to being the subject of scrutiny rather than the one doing the scrutinizing.

“Damn it,” I muttered as I cut through the central plaza, weaving between colonists. A young child—one of the first born on Planet Alpha—darted across my path. I sidestepped easily, but the brief interaction drew sympathetic smiles from the nearby parents.

When had I become someone people smiled at? And why did that suddenly matter?

The evening was settling in, casting long shadows across our settlement.

The twin moons hung low on the horizon, bathing everything in silver-blue light.

The jungle’s familiar night chorus was beginning—clicking insects and the occasional screech of nocturnal creatures—but I barely registered any of it.

My mind was fixed on gray eyes with silver flecks and the curve of her indignant mouth.

What the hell was happening to me?

I’d spent years—my entire twenty-year existence—maintaining emotional distance.

Logical prioritization. Even after the reprogramming two and a half years ago, when we all gained freedom of thought and choice, I’d chosen to remain detached.

Yet here I was, practically sprinting to see a woman who didn’t know me, wouldn’t trust me, and had every reason to hate what I was.

I paused outside the medical bay entrance, taking a deep breath. The standard protocol would be intimidation. Make her fear the consequences of resistance. But the thought of causing her more distress made something twist painfully in my chest.

The door slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, the curved corridors were lit with that gentle, adaptive lighting that responded to presence—warm and inviting rather than harsh and clinical.

I entered the code at her door, steeling myself for what would undoubtedly be a confrontation.

Alora was waiting—no longer restrained, per the request I sent to Olivia when I was walking over to the medical bay.

Alora’s long dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and those gray eyes glared daggers at me the moment I appeared in her room.

She stood tall and defiant beside the bed, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Who the hell are you people? And what gives you the right to kidnap me?” Her voice filled the room—strong, clear, and furious.

I’d prepared for anger but not for how it would affect me. Her rage was magnificent, and something primal in me responded to it.

“My name is Daxon. I’m the systems overseer for Planet Alpha.”

“Planet Alpha? Is that what this place is called?” She crossed her arms, her glare intensifying. “Well, congratulations on the creative naming, but I’d like to go home now.”

I found myself almost smiling. Almost. “That won’t be possible just yet.”

“Let me guess… I’m your prisoner.” Her chin jutted upward. “What do the big bad cyborgs want with me?”

That word—cyborg—from her lips sent something cold slithering down my spine. I recalled what we once were—what she had helped make us.

“We need your expertise.” I kept my voice carefully neutral. “During the war, you wrote a specific neural framework for CyberEvolution’s combat models.”

Her face went pale, a flash of genuine fear crossing her features before she masked it.

“I don’t work for CyberEvolution anymore.”

“Which is precisely why you’re here.” I moved closer, watching how she tensed at my approach. “Something in that code is… reactivating. Causing behavioral anomalies.”

“You mean the killing protocols?” Her voice was softer now, almost vulnerable.

Something hot and dangerous flared inside me. My vision edged with violet as memories of what we’d been—what we’d been forced to do—crashed through my mental barriers.

“Yes,” I growled, my voice suddenly not my own. “The code that turned us into mindless weapons. Made us kill?—”

The surge came without warning. Rage—pure and unfiltered—exploded through me. My arm swept out, sending a tray of medical instruments crashing to the floor with a deafening clatter.

Alora jumped back, her eyes wide with terror now.

Horror washed over me as I stared at the destruction I’d caused. At how close I’d come to harming her.

“That,” I said, my voice shaking as I backed toward the door. “That’s what’s happening to us.”

I turned and fled, leaving her alone with the mess I’d made in more ways than one.

I burst through the medical bay doors and into the night air, my chest heaving like I’d run kilometers rather than meters.

The metallic taste of adrenaline coated my tongue as I gulped down the rich, humid atmosphere of Planet Alpha.

The jungle’s evening chorus—clicking insects and distant animal calls—felt absurdly normal compared to the storm raging inside me.

“Get it together,” I growled to myself, running my hand through my short black hair. My fingers trembled. Unacceptable.

I paced the stone pathway outside the medical facility, the smooth rocks cool beneath my boots. The twin moons cast my shadow in duplicate across the ground—two dark silhouettes of a man losing control.

How could I have let that happen? Years of perfect restraint shattered in an instant. The look in her eyes—fear replacing that magnificent defiance—burned into my memory like acid.

“Damn it all,” I snarled, slamming my fist against the wall of the medical bay. I didn’t even wince at the impact. The pain felt deserved.

A passing colonist gave me a wide berth, their eyes averted. Great. Now I was frightening my own people.

Just like I’d frightened her.

Something about her face, framed by that dark hair, made my chest ache in a way I could not analyze or categorize. I wanted her to look at me differently. But why did I suddenly care what this human woman thought about me? She was a means to an end—the solution to our glitches. Nothing more.

Yet I couldn’t stop replaying the moment. The way her gray eyes widened when I lost control. The subtle arch of her brows. The fullness of her lips as they parted in surprise.

“You’re losing it,” I muttered to myself as I headed back toward the security center, taking the longer route to clear my head.

The night market was winding down, the few last vendors packing away their wares under the glow of the illuminated pathways. A couple strolled past, their fingers intertwined, laughing at some private joke. I watched them, feeling strangely hollow.

I’d never understood the point of such connections. They were inefficient and distracting.

So why did I suddenly feel incomplete?

By the time I reached the security center, I’d composed myself. At least outwardly. Inside, my thoughts continued to circle like predators around one undeniable truth. I needed to see her again.

The security center hummed with quiet activity when I entered. Sage glanced up from her workstation, her blue eyes narrowing as she assessed me.

“That was fast,” she remarked, her fingers never pausing on the holographic interface.

“It was sufficient,” I replied, taking my seat at my station and pulling up the surveillance grid.

Without conscious thought, my fingers found the medical bay feed, zeroing in on Alora’s room. She was sitting on the bed now, her knees pulled to her chest, and her face contemplative rather than afraid. Something loosened in my chest at the sight.

“Checking on our guest?” Sage’s voice carried a knowing edge that grated on my nerves.

“Monitoring a potential security risk,” I corrected, not looking away from the screen.

“Sure.” Her tone made it clear she wasn’t buying it. “And that’s why you’re ignoring the seven other security alerts that just pinged your station?”

I reluctantly turned to the alert panel and cleared the minor notifications—perimeter sensor adjustments, communications checks, and standard protocol updates.

But my eyes kept drifting back to her feed.

Alora had moved to the window now, studying the alien landscape beyond with analytical intensity. Her fingers traced the glass, following the outline of the distant jungle canopy. I found myself wondering what she was thinking.

“You know,” Sage said with infuriating casualness, “staring at her isn’t going to fix whatever happened.”

I turned sharply. “What makes you think something happened?”

“You’re breathing differently. Your posture’s changed.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “And a medical supply requisition that just came through for room twelve.”

My jaw clenched. “I had an episode.”

“In front of her?” Sage whistled low. “Bold strategy for a first impression.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” I growled, the frustration rising again.

“None of them are.” Her voice softened. “That’s why she’s here. Remember?”

I nodded, forcing my attention back to the security protocols I should have been reviewing hours ago. But as the night deepened, I found myself watching Alora through the night, memorizing her movements, her expressions, and the way she finally curled up on the bed—not sleeping, just waiting.

Something was happening to me. Something I couldn’t control or rationalize. And for the first time in my existence, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.