Cyborg Assault

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The cramped chamber reeked of disinfectants and other, more sinister chemicals. The walls were white, and they shivered from the ongoing pulse of the ship’s fusion engine.

The chamber contained three people: an arbiter, a technician and a wretched prisoner. The last was a naked woman strapped to an articulated frame. A dozen cables adhered to her bruised skin, some providing nutrients, other stimulants and the rest compelling obedience.

“She’s too stubborn,” the arbiter said. His name was Octagon. He wore a white uniform with red tabs on the shoulders and a double row of crimson buttons on the front of the jacket. He had narrow features and suspicious eyes, and like most Jovian men, he was bald.

“I suspect she’s undergone sphinx therapy,” the technician said. He was a small man in a blue gown and with a deferential manner.

Octagon scowled. “You know I detest technical jargon.”

The technician grew pale, and he spoke quickly. “They must have tampered with her brain, Your Guidance. It’s likely impossible for her to tell us what she knows.”

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