Chapter One
A week later, at a hospital on Obsidion
“You want hand that stays on all the time, or one you can take off and make adjustments, whenever you want?” Pak Song looked up from the scarred stump where Conan’s right arm ended so abruptly.
Conan didn’t want to become a cyborg at all, since Pak Song hadn’t seemed at all certain that he could replicate his amputated genitals.
Still, if he was to earn his keep on some planet where its rulers would accept his modifications, he needed the use of two strong arms and hands. “What type of adjustments are you talking about?”
“Wrist and hand are complex mechanisms. Many components involved in making hand work. Bionic parts to wear out, malfunction. Pak Lin suggested, since you are engineer by training, you might like being able to make minor repairs yourself. Would save you from having to return here with every little problem.”
When the wizened genius showed Conan a schematic of a bionic hand and wrist, he saw the truth. They were dealing with a complex mechanism, one that might well require regular but simple adjustments he might be able to perform, even left-handed. “Let’s make it removable.” A fter all, there was no chance—no chance at all—that there might someday be a female in his life who might object to the fact that he could remove an appendage at will.
Not now. He was as impotent as any drone back on the Earth. A eunuch. He’d almost become accustomed to thinking of himself as one, but he hadn’t yet dredged up the courage to say the word out loud. He cringed with shame at the thought of his empty crotch and the clear tube he had to insert to pass his urine. He hated that his shame was broadcast to one and all by the hooded white robe decreed by law on Earth and by custom throughout the galaxy as standard apparel for creatures who were altered as he had been.
Fury practically overcame him, as it did every time he thought about what had been done to him. He clenched his fist until his fingernails dug into his palm, welcoming the pain. Welcoming the dull ache between his legs where they’d hacked away his manhood.
Conan hated the bitterness in himself almost as much as he hated the bastards who had ordered his mutilation. “I can see where being able to adjust the mechanism in the hand might come in handy,” he said, trying for a smile.
“Okay, Captain. My son thinks he may have figured how to give you a new cock. We may as well implant one at the same time I install the bionics to make your hand work. Will save you from having to make a second trip to surgery.”
“Lin figured out how to make a bionic cock that will work?” Conan couldn’t help doubting the ancient cyborg maker’s claim.
Pak Song grinned. “Is not so farfetched when you consider that we make cocks for sexbots every day. Lin sees no reason we cannot make one of them work for you.” He set a large, leather case on the bed, opened it and gestured toward a selection of colorful dildos like the ones Conan had seen in the old man’s sexbot emporium. “Lin says for you to pick any of these models that we designed for use in our most realistic-performing sexbots. Have testimonials from many happy ladies. Pick the one you like best.” Conan scanned the array of false cocks that ranged from almost natural looking to outrageous, from puny appendages the size of a finger to ones that would do justice to a bull. “That one in the middle, with the flashing green neon color in the veins, looks interesting.” It sure as hell didn’t look real, but then it wouldn’t be, whether it worked or not. The idea of having a working cock that looked as though it belonged on a bot appealed to his sense of whimsy. “While you’re at it, why not make me a new set of balls, too?” Pak Song gestured toward Conan’s robe. “I wish I could. A lso wish I could promise cock will work like real one. Like I said, we never tried this before, but we will do best we can.” He paused. “Lin consulted with a urologist here at hospital. He says he can connect what remains of your urethra to an artificial extension so new cock will function correctly that way. Now that Lin suggested it, I see no reason I cannot implant bionic cock that will work, almost as easy as hand. Will enjoy trying. Never had the chance before.” The old cyborg maker let out a sigh. “Most times, Earthling eunuchs like you—ones who have lost it all—get turned into drones and sent to the mines on Mars.” Conan supposed, when he thought about the mindless, emotionless blob of former humanity that he could have become, that he should be grateful to the rulers for leaving him with his mind. “I’ve already put myself into your hands. If you think you can make me a new cock, go ahead.”