When we reach what must be his sleeping quarters, the guy plunks me down to sit on his unmade bed. I'm dizzy from hanging upside down and need to steady myself.

The guy stands in front of me, hands on hips. He's scowling. "Well?"

I don't know what he's asking, so I say, "Well what?"

"Suck my cock or something."

"No."

His head jerks back a little, then he gives it a shake.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

This fucking guy!

"I won't suck your cock just because you tell me to. I don't want to be here at all. You smell like a farm animal." With that I stand up, trying to leave, but he pushes me roughly back onto the bed.

"I don't know what you’re playing at, chickee, but you're not a real person. You don't get to say yes or no, and you don't get to complain," he says then reaches for the electric band of his sweatpants.

"Listen—" I try to stand, but he pushes me down again. "I don't know where you get the idea that I'm a cyborg, but I'm not."

"Ha."

"No, really!" I'm desperate to convince him or at least stall for time. "My name is Honey Mae Williams. I'm Shane's wife."

"I know all that. I also know that Shane's wife is a cyborg. So you can quit with the act." With that he pulls his sweatpants down. He yanks them off each foot, bringing his shoes off too. Then he just stands there, ridiculous and half-naked. I look away and try to hold my breath because oh my god, the smell.

"Go on," he gestures down at his junk which I still refuse to look at.

I take a deep breath and immediately regret it. Ugh. Does this guy never shower?

"Okay," I tell him, still stalling, "I can tell you actually think I'm a cyborg—" He nods. "But I'm not putting on an act. I'm really not a cyborg. I'm a regular woman, with an ocular implant just like billions of other regular people. But that doesn't make me a cyborg."

He's shaking his head at me.

"I can see you won't believe me–so we're at an impasse." I shrug my shoulders, feigning nonchalance then try to duck past him again.

He easily catches me, pushes me back down to sit on the side of his bed and grabs my chin. He's holding my face still as he glowers down at me.

"Now listen here, darlin'. It doesn't matter what you believe or say you believe. There's obviously something kooky going on with your programming. But I haven't fucked in four years." He rubs the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip, and I briefly consider biting him. "You're going to open that pretty little mouth and you’re going to suck my cock. You're going to do a good job of it and make me come and then you're going to swallow."

"Or what?"

"Or what, nothin'. You have no choice."

I'm tempted to punch him right in the dick. That would prove that I'm not a cyborg. But that could enrage him. So I just threaten him, "You put anything in my mouth, and I'll bite it off."

He's crowding me now and it's hard work not to look at his dick with it right by my face.

"You won't do anything of the kind. Your cyborg protocols won't allow it."

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I jerk my chin out of his grip, "Well, too bad for you I'm not a fucking cyborg!"

I can see disbelief and impatience flick across his face, but I also see a tiny bit of doubt. I decide to work on that doubt, so I ball up my fist and punch him in the side. It's not very good punch, I didn't have room to swing, but it does the trick.

He jerks back from me, wide-eyed. I nod. "See, not a cyborg."

"I see that your programming is all kinds of fucked up. That's what I see." With that he grabs me and easily flips me over.

I start screeching. I yell and cuss and kick and wiggle."I said no you smelly, rapist bastard! You motherfucker!"

He easily holds me down against his dingy bed. No matter how much I struggle, I can't stop him. He's yanking my leggings off. I keep up the screeching, but now my throat is feeling raw. Tears are stinging my eyes. And there's absolutely nothing I can do.

"You're a feisty one, huh? I like that." He slaps my ass and then squeezes a handful, "I like this too. You might as well relax, girl. No reason you can't enjoy yourself."

"Not possible! You're ugly and you smell like shit!" I renew my struggles, but everything is pointless. I can tell now that I've just been delaying the inevitable because there's no deterring this guy.

Then there's a crash. There’s a thud and a grunt and he's gone from behind me. I slump on the bed in relief.

I can hear Shane beating the crap out of this guy.

Thud.

Crash!

"Stop!" Jared yells.

More thuds.

"Listen! Christ! She's just a thing! Stop, you—"

I hear a crunch. A bone breaking, I guess. Then a high-pitched scream.

More thuds, but different. I glance behind me as I pull my pants up. Shane is kicking the dude as he lays curled up in the fetal position. He's out of breath, huffing.

"Piece of shit!" He says breathless. He stomps on Jared’s side and definitely cracks a rib, "She's my wife!"

I carefully move over to Shane and grab his arm, stilling him.

"That's enough," I soothe him.

"No—" He gets in another kick. "He put his hands on you!" Another kick. "He scared you!"

"Babe," I say and gesture to the guy's still form, "I think you've killed him."

We both stare down at the prone body until it takes a choppy breath.

I pull Shane away. He gets in one more kick, but he comes with me easily.

We walk back toward his area of the station, and I don't say anything. I'm waiting for him to talk. To question what I was doing there and why I left him.

It takes him five minutes to catch his breath and then ten minutes more to ask.

"What's going on Honey?"

I don't answer. I don't know how to.

"If you don't want to be with me, I can set you up in your own room. You don't have to run off."

How ridiculous. Shane pretending to offer me a choice when he's been inside my head, taking away my choices. If I tell him I want my own room, will I wake up tomorrow having forgotten about it?

I laugh. I laugh hysterically–and then I start crying. Because of what almost happened—and then Shane beat that guy so badly! He could very well die. And we're just leaving him there with no medical attention. I'm sobbing and I don't know why really. I don't care that a would-be rapist got the piss beat out of him. I don't, but—

"Shhhh," Shane wraps me in his arms, holding me tightly. He rubs my back soothingly, "Shhh, Honey. I got you. I won't let him near you, I promise."

I just cry and cry into his chest, gripping his uniform.

"It's okay. It's all okay now."

I take a deep breath and step away from Shane. Then I remember something.

"Where's Rick?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

"But didn't he tell you I needed help?"

Shaking his head he says, "No. I went to see what you were doing for lunch and couldn't find you. I tracked you here."

"Tracked me?"

"Yeah, I can track your implant because I have admin clearances on the station. As soon as you got online here I was able to track you," He glances at me and adds, "It's a good thing too."

I agree.

"Can you track Rick?"

He pulls out his portable screen, unfolds it and starts tapping on it.

"Huh.”

"What?" I ask. This can't be good.

"I don't see him. He must be offline somewhere."

"What do you mean? Why would he be offline?"

Shane must hear the suspicion in my voice because he folds his screen up and turns towards me, cupping my shoulders in his warm strong hands. He tells me, "I haven't done anything to Rick. I haven't seen him since this morning. I'm sure he's okay, though. We'll find him."

What am I supposed to do? How can I trust this man? But I do. I trust that he's on my side and he'll help me find Rick.

I see a movement over Shane's shoulder. It's so quick I don't have time to yell a warning before someone in an ugly white hoodie and mask is running up behind Shane. He's got something in his hand, and he jabs Shane’s arm.

Shane spins around, blinking, "What?"

The masked guy tries to run off, but Shane grabs the front of his hoodie and holds fast, "What the hell?" he asks. His words are a tiny bit garbled. He uses his other hand to grab the mask of the guy's face and toss it away.

It's Rick. Of course it's Rick. He's wearing that Faraday outfit so Shane couldn't track him.

Shane falls down on his knees and asks, "How?" Then falls over on his side.

Rick smiles.