I don't know what I expected, but leaving Shane is easy. I guess I expected it to be mentally or emotionally hard. The way I'd been reprogrammed combined with the real attachment I have to my husband should have given me pause, shouldn't it? But no. Rick and I got ready for a run this morning after Shane left for work. We jogged from one cafeteria to another. This is where we turned back yesterday, but we keep going. I keep expecting to be intercepted, made to turn back, but of course there's nothing stopping us.

Could it really be this easy? Can I really just decide to leave Shane and do it?

When we get to our destination, the biological sample storage bay, I start to feel really tense. There is a hard knot of anxiety in my belly, and I break out in a cold sweat.

"Ok, what are we going to say to him?" I ask.

"Well, we should just tell him the truth," Rick replies simply.

"It's a long story though, with some really complicated techno-jargon in there," I argue, "what is the first thing we're going to say to him, to get him on our side? Because it could seem like I'm an ungrateful spouse leaving my husband for a defective android companion."

That last part startles him and he looks at me wide-eyed. "Yeah, I guess that might paint us in an unsympathetic light. Alright, we'll just say things simply. Shane brought us to live with him, but we don't want to anymore. Hopefully, he'll just offer to help us."

"I'm still not sure what kind of help we want from him."

He's quiet for a moment and then explains, "We want a witness, someone on our side so Shane will think twice before he tries any drastic steps to get you back. I can't be counted on to protect you because my programming won't allow me to do violence to a human. He could just walk down here, pick you up and carry you back. I couldn't do anything about it."

The thought of Shane just scooping me up and carting me off has a certain dark appeal. I shake it off.

"Ok, alright, so no talk about cyborgs, programming, code or anything like that. He brought us up here, but we don't want to be with him anymore."

He nods. "Exactly. And if this guy won't help us, we continue on to the other side of the station. There's a couple there who oversee maintenance of this whole place, they might be more understanding."

"Okay," I take a deep breath, calming my nerves and then reach over to grab Rick's hand, entwining our fingers. "Let’s go then."

I step up to the door that automatically slides open, revealing the great, cavernous bay. On one side there are huge, paneled doors stretching up the whole wall with all kinds of warnings and instructions all over them. So I guess that’s the airlock and on the other side is the dock. This is where Rick, Borg and I were unloaded, when Shane came and picked us up.

Along the other wall are a few regular sized oval doors and a stairway leading up to a second level with small platform-walkway deal with a guard rail. I know from studying the map that the bottom level is where all the cryostorage and the top level consists of office space, living quarters and a small cafeteria. This area is meant to house a whole team of biologists, technicians and engineers–and it will, in the final phase of the terraform. For the moment though, there is only one guy running this whole bio-storage operation.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Where do you think he is?" Rick asks me quietly.

"Probably in the work area," I gesture toward the lower level doors, "or maybe in an office upstairs?"

What does he do all day? I'm sure there's some kind of work he must be overseeing, the question is where. We shouldn't just go poking about and startle him, that would be a bad first impression.

"Sir?!" Rick suddenly yells into the open echoing space, "Hello?!"

I squeeze Rick’s fingers, waiting for a response. I spin around when I hear the sound of a door clanging open, and there he is. This guy looks, well, a bit unkept. He's roughly the same height as Shane, about six-foot-four, and he is a light-haired white guy as well, but that's where the similarities end. Shane always looks neat with his trimmed beard, short-cropped hair and spiffy space uniform. This guy is wearing dingy sweatpants and a dirty t-shirt. His hair is long and stringy, just an oily mess. Attached to his lower face is the longest beard I've ever seen growing more than a foot down his chest. There are bits of food and other debris nested in it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He demands.

"Well, sir—" Rick starts explaining, but is immediately interrupted.

"Does Shane know you're just running loose? Gallivanting around the whole station?" this troll of a man demands, stalking towards us.

"No. You see—"

"Well he should keep better track of his toys! I'll tell you that much!"

"Toys?" I repeat, indignant.

"Yes! It's bad enough that he had his playthings delivered up here without so much as a by-your-leave. Now, he just lets you run loose all over the place!"

Rick and I take a step back from him as he approaches, his smell preceding him by a good foot.

Rick wraps his arm around my shoulder and starts leading me back toward the way we came in and says, "This was a mistake. Sorry for the bother. We'll just go."

The troll holds up an arm, stepping into our path, "Now hold on. I need to call Shane to come get you. I can't just let you loose."

I shake my head, "There's no need. Just let us get out of your hair and we won't trouble you further. No need to bother Shane."

"Of course I need to call him! You two shouldn't even be here in the first place!" He sighs and shakes his head, "Need to tell him there's something wrong with your programming or hardware or something. How else could you be so far off course? And who knows what kind of trouble you'd cause if I just let you go?"

"Programming?" I repeat back as a question. How does he know about that?

"Yeah, chickee," he rudely taps a knuckle against the side of my head, by my ear, "Your cyborg-sex-toy programming."

"What? I'm not a cyborg!"

He guffaws, "What do you think I'm stupid? Everyone knows about poor dumb Shane and his cyborg wife."

I shake my head again. This man is obviously insane. "Of course I don't think you're stupid," I decide to let the cyborg issue alone and try to deescalate this situation, "You can't hold us here. Please just let us be on our way."

"Now there's an idea!" His gray-brown eyes spark with glee, "I could hold you here…"

"What? No—" I take a step back, but he’s blocking the exit now.

"Who says I have to call Shane right away? Why should he have all the fun? I can just keep you for a couple days." He gives me a once over, moving his gaze down my body, the back up to leer at me. "I could have a lot of fun with you. Hubby won't know the difference."

I stand up straight, with all the dignity I can muster to say, "What a charming offer, but I’m afraid I'm not interested."

"Ha! What a joke. Like a cyborg has any real preferences." He points his dirty finger in my face. "You are a funny one. I like you already."

And with that he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder. I scream and yell, punching and kicking for all I'm worth. But it doesn't even make this guy flinch. He just keeps his arm clamped across the back of my thighs as he carts me off.

I struggle to lift my head and I see Rick just standing there.

"Rick! Help!" I yell.

But what can he do? He can't do anything to this guy. He should go get Shane. I much prefer Shane as a captor to this rude, disgusting troll.

Rick's looking around, wild-eyed, from me to the exit then back to me again as I'm being carried off by this gross yeti. I can see him struggling with indecision. Should he follow me or run for help?

I don't get to see what decision he makes because my captor turns to walk up the steps with me and I lose sight of Rick.