Page 2 of Protector (Alpha Ties)
TWO
ADDIE
“This is where you train them?”
The incredulity in General Thompson’s voice makes me hide a grimace behind my tight smile. “Yes. All our data supports the need for as little stimulation during training and downtime as possible. It has proven the best way to manage any, ah, temperament issues.”
He snorts and moves closer to the protective glass separating us from the white-painted, sparsely equipped training room where my oldest remaining cyborg stands, eyes locked on some point behind us.
“By boring the man out of his skull? Please. Forty-six years I’ve served, and never have I heard of a soldier who sharpened up by being locked in a sterile room twenty-four-seven.”
“With respect, General, he is not a man; he is a lethal weapon. They all are.” I touch my fingertips to the data pad I’m clutching and flick the button activating AX2’s chip. A shiver travels down the large soldier’s body, imperceptible to the uninformed observer. “A simple scan of your biometrics and you can control him as perfectly as any missile. Would you care to demonstrate for our guests, sir?”
General Thompson exhales, an impatient sound, but the three CIA agents he has brought in to see AX2 shift closer. While their faces reveal nothing, it’s not hard to decipher their interest. After all, what self-respecting intelligence agency wouldn’t want to learn more about a lethal asset who can be controlled via a data pad?
The general takes the pad from me, his silent reprimand wiping the twitch of satisfaction off my lips. Right. He doesn’t find my work worthy of pride, even if I’m one of the main scientists responsible for the strongest soldiers at the Pentagon’s disposal.
I clasp my wrist in front of me and step back, schooling my expression as General Thompson scans his biometrics into my data pad.
“And now?”
“If you push the button for the microphone, you can give him whichever command you please,” I instruct. “His chip is set to limited autonomy, so you don’t have to be exact. He is trained to employ his best judgement in how to fulfil your orders, but he will be compelled to execute them.”
“Compelled how, exactly?” one of the CIA agents asks while the general instructs AX2 to do some warm-up stretches.
“AX2 is fitted with a chip capable of overriding whatever impulses his brain would generate on its own. If given a direct order, he will obey. It is no different than programming a computer to launch missiles, or steering a tank.
“The chip has three settings: complete autonomy, limited autonomy, or full remote control. Currently, the AX class operates in limited autonomy mode during missions, but we have found that after about half a year, their training allows for safe activation of complete autonomy during most of their downtime hours.”
I nod toward AX2 as the general commands him to begin the training course. He looks like a normal soldier in his fatigues and combat boots—or as normal as an alpha so hugely muscular can look. But when he grabs the rope dangling from the ceiling and leaps into the air to begin the course, it becomes evident he is anything but.
“How does he move so fast?” one of the visitors asks. Even her CIA training is unable to mask her incredulity. “That is… That should not be possible.”
I follow AX2 with my gaze as he scales a twenty-foot barrier in two leaps, then scrambles underneath the barbed wire in the blink of an eye. “It would be impossible, were he human. But he is not. He may look like a man, and if you were inclined to have a conversation with him, he may respond like one, but he is more a product of engineering than biology.”
“What manner of missions has he completed thus far?” the leader of the little group asks. “Is he calibrated for more… delicate matters?”
I glance at the general. “Discussion of classified missions is above my paygrade, I’m afraid. But the AX class is highly trainable. I see no reason why any necessary skills should be unattainable.”
“I will brief the deputy director on any details, should your agency decide to move forward with this… collaboration,” General Thompson says. “For now, I believe Dr. Green is waiting to show you some of our newer AX recruits. They should provide a demonstration of how quickly they can be trained.” He turns to the microphone again. “At ease, soldier.”
AX2 comes to an immediate standstill, his eyes flicking over the windowpane separating him from us before he looks straight ahead.
I refrain from grimacing at the mention of Green and shake hands with our visitors as they offer polite thanks for the demonstration. They leave, clearly eager to see further examples of my work, despite their coldly professional expressions.
Yes, my work. Fuck Green.
“I want to talk with him.”
I blink, surprised that the general is lingering here instead of following our visitors out. “With who? AX2?”
“Yes.” Without waiting for my response, he approaches the heavy steel door separating us and types in the code.
“Why?” I blurt, but he’s already moving through the now-open door with long strides, and I have to take two steps for every one of his to keep pace as he nears AX2.
General Thompson throws me a warning look over his shoulder. He doesn’t verbalize the reprimand, but he doesn’t need to.
I manage to stop myself from cowering as the instinct not to anger the alpha kick in, but I do correct myself. “Sorry, I meant: Why do you wish to speak with him, sir? We try to keep engagements to a minimum so as to not stimulate any unwanted responses. The AX model can be… challenging, if not kept firmly in check.”
He sighs, as if I’m a child who shouldn’t need to ask the obvious, and nods at AX2. “Because as much as you and the other doctors insist he is a machine, he was a man first. I’ve read the reports—what you call challenges with their biochemical balance looks to me like men in need of letting off some steam. Prisoners undergoing solitary confinement exhibit similar bursts of temper.”
I clench my hands into fists behind him—a small rebellion he’ll never see. What I really want to do is scream.
“Sir. We base our conclusions on vigorous scientific research?—”
The general silences me with a raised hand, his gaze locking with AX2’s. He is nearly as tall as the cyborg, but I know he couldn’t measure up to his muscular frame, even in his prime. No human can, alpha or not.
“Thank you for the demonstration, soldier,” he says. “I’m curious—if you had the option, would you choose to spend your free time among other soldiers? Or do you prefer the solitude of Dr. Thompson’s lab?”
“Sir,” I hiss, outrage heating my cheeks. My knuckles are white with the effort of containing my anger. “Please. You’ll undo months of traini?—”
Once again, he silences me with a raised hand without sparing me so much as a glance. “AX2?”
The cyborg’s green eyes flick to mine for the briefest second before he says, “I serve the U.S. government. My desires are unimportant.”
“See?” I all but growl. “He does not need to let off steam, General. He is a thing —a weapon.”
“Please,” the general scoffs. “Torture any man for a few months, and he would respond similarly.”
“Excuse me? I don’t torture ? —!”
“So far, we have employed the AX2 models on relatively simple missions. It is the desire of the powers that be that we expand upon their usage for more complex tasks, some of which will require working closely with other soldiers—missions we can’t employ machines for. For that, they will need to socialize. Relearn how to work as part of a team.” The general arcs both eyebrows at AX2. “Do you remember, soldier? What it’s like to be part of a unit?”
“No, sir,” AX2 says, the rumbly bass of his voice not betraying any hint of interest.
Because he has none, I remind myself as I scour his blank expression. He’s incapable of emotion.
But even as I think it, a flash of memory heats my cheeks and makes goosebumps crawl down my arms: the undeniable yearning in his eyes as his grotesque member swelled in response to my examination yesterday.
No. Not emotion. Instinct—basic biology. Even insects possess the drive to procreate. And I have yet to figure out how to strip that impulse from the AX class.
Green doesn’t see the need, but then I doubt he’s had to endure their leftover alpha urges while trying to get on with work.
“If you recall, we don’t know if AX2 has been part of a unit before,” I say, the embarrassing memory from yesterday stripping my ability to keep my voice sufficiently respectful. I’m done caring.
General Thompson arcs one eyebrow a millimeter higher at my insolent tone, but finally deigns to look at me. “He was a soldier long before you came across him, my dear. He’s got that look about him.”
I bare my teeth at the inappropriate moniker, the heat in my cheeks deepening. “Either way, he doesn’t need to be socialized to be capable of more complex missions. Tell me what you need him to do and I’ll make sure he’s ready. I don’t need your help to do my job.”
He sighs and pats my shoulder. “I know you’re a brilliant scientist, Addie, but some things you can’t learn from a book. What I need is for him and the others to be ready for full social integration so they can complete any mission the Agency requires. The Russians are becoming increasingly, ah, problematic. The AX class could prove an invaluable asset—they are miles ahead of any technology our enemy has on their hands, so far as intelligence can discern. But we need them to be more than machines. You need to make them into more than that. Understood?”
And if the AX class happens to be the solution to this Russian problem, he as the general in charge of this project will be lauded. There are only so many opportunities left for a three-star general to climb in the ranks, but I suspect he has ambitions for the next step. He always has.
“Understood. Sir,” I bite out.
The general shakes his head, but doesn’t reprimand me. My father is many things, but he is not a hypocrite.
He nods at AX2 and crosses the floor to the exit. Before he leaves, he turns to say, “Your mother wants you to come by for dinner tonight. Can I tell her you’ll be there?”
“I will.” I dig my nails into my palms as the door swings shut behind him. It’s not his fault. He’s an alpha—he’s never known what it is to have to fight for respect. To know that any glimpse of softness will ruin everything you’ve worked for.
I glance at AX2, who is still standing perfectly still, gaze trained on a spot on the far wall. There is not so much as a flicker in his expression to suggest he’s noted the unprofessional exchange between the general and myself.
But then, there shouldn’t be. He knows better than most that I have no softness to be exploited.