Here is an excerpt from one of the books in my upcoming Diaspora Worlds: Cyborgs of Arden series. So far I have four planned: Salvage, Rogue, Altered, Becoming. These are essentially about cyborgs colonizing a planet.
|Stock photo Inspiration!|
This is an except from Rogue:
New Reset Instructions
You are on a six month space journey aboard transport ship Verity Hope. During this time, cyborg maintenance will be unavailable so your bios have been returned to human normal. You will be served nutritious meals instead of wearing nutripacs. Hygiene facilities are located in your room for daily cleansing and waste disposal. When you enter the hygiene chamber you will receive a pop up for basic instructions on use.
You and your companions have access to two rooms, the bedroom room with hygiene facilities and a common room where you will eat and exercise.
In an emergency you may press the yellow panel on the door. It will bring the medic.
No designation or job title.
She got out of the bunk. There were three other cyborgs, still asleep. In the hygiene chamber she followed instructions, which seemed oddly familiar, but somehow she knew it had been many years since she had used human facilities. Her face and form in the mirror were unfamiliar. She had a brief glimpse— a memory?-- of a thinner woman, with paler skin. But the woman in the mirror was smoothly muscled and sturdy of bone structure. Wide cheekbone, large dark eyes and full lips, tan skin. Dark straight hair, about three centimeters long. That would mean...three months from regular cyborg maintenance? She touched the hair. It was smooth, almost slick.
Thin knit bras, underwear, and plain loose two piece tunics and leggings were the only clothing available, though there was a choice of color. She pulled on plain grey clothing. Autofit footwear, pull ons.
A rejuv of some sort? Her body looked strong, with muscle. A physical upgrade without a technology upgrade?
She walked to the common room and received a pop up concerning food. The instructions were simple and soon a cup full of some type of hot gruel glided into the small food chamber.
After sitting, take a small sip. Swallow completely, the pop up told her. She carried it to the table and sat down, again assailed by the odd familiar-unfamiliar sensation.She sipped.
Flavor. That was what this was called. She took another sip. Descriptive words flew by. Salty. Sweet. Grainy. Creamy. She knew these terms from long ago.
These were terms from her human childhood.