The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin

by T C Southwell

Chapter Eleven

  Sabre spoke in a flat, emotionless tone. “I’m a genetically enhanced clone, a copy made from the cells of a man long dead. He was a great fighter, a warrior, so when they started making cybers, they used his body. It’s supposed to be perfectly proportioned and balanced, enhancing the ability to fight. I was born from an artificial womb, a machine that nurtures embryos. I, along with my many brothers, was fitted with the cyber at one year of age. The cyber is a computer imbedded in the brow band, linked into my brain and powered by the tiny amounts of electricity present in my body.”

  “What is a computer?”

  He glanced at her. “It’s a machine that can think. It was what you spoke to initially.”

  She nodded, longing to ask what a machine was, but unwilling to reveal the depths of her ignorance.

  He continued, “Fortunately, I was too young to remember that operation, but I know they drilled holes in my skull and pushed wires into my brain, where they’re now hooked in. I became aware of my lack of control at about the age of five, at which time we were placed in tanks filled with fluid. Machines oxygenated our blood and fed us with intravenous nutrition. It was like being back in the womb, I suppose; same technology, at any rate.

  “It was a time of sensory deprivation. I was in utter darkness, with no sense of sight, smell, taste, hearing or touch. That was when the cyber established its domination over my brain, since anyone subjected to sensory deprivation withdraws, and parts of the brain atrophy from lack of use. That didn’t happen to me, though, because the cyber takes over those parts.

  “I have no idea how long I was in the tank, but I remember when they took us out and counted the failures. In some, the domination had failed, and they were raving lunatics. In others, catatonia had robbed them of all function. Many would have emerged blind, although that wasn’t counted as a failure, since the cyber uses scanners and artificial optics, not the eyes.

  “I was lucky. I retained my sight and my sanity, but I lost control of my body. Out of the fifty in my batch, eight were failures. The control units were disconnected and they were allowed to grow to maturity, then put into cryogenic suspension, to be used as spare parts. It is, I suppose, one of the joys of being a clone. If a serviceable cyber is damaged, parts from his failed brothers can be used to fix him.” He paused, his jaw clenching, then drew a deep breath.

  “After that, I became a spectator, able only to observe what happened to me, although not very well, since I couldn’t focus my eyes. Combat training started at ten, by which time I was already well developed, due to drugs and hormones. Some drugs encouraged muscle development; others speeded up my growth rate. At fifteen, I was almost fully grown. After eight years of training, when I was eighteen, I went to the operating table to be fitted with the reinforcing. They had to wait for me to stop growing before they could do this, or it would have had disastrous results.”

  He frowned, and his soft voice took on a deep note of rage and hatred that made her shiver. “They do it all in one go. They cut me open with lasers, so there’s little bleeding, but they don’t bother with anaesthetic. All the major bones are reinforced, and the skull and ribs. Two ribs on either side are plated with barrinium, which is welded to the plate on my sternum.

  “When the cyber fought the King, two ordinary ribs were cracked. The reinforced ones prevented my ribcage from being crushed. Internal body armour, made of barrinium mesh, was implanted under the skin of my torso. I was sterilised, although not castrated, since male hormones are necessary for muscle development.

  “I’m very difficult to kill. My skull can withstand two tonnes of pressure before it collapses, and my bones are almost unbreakable. If they do break, they only have to be straightened, if the plating’s bent, and I can function again. Right now, for instance, I think I have several hairline fractures in my legs, ribs and arms, from the fall. That won’t hamper me, though, and they’ll heal in a few days.

  “I can be killed if I’m stabbed in the eye or ear, and with a laser, although not as easily as a normal man. My limbs can still be dislocated or ligaments torn, and I can be knocked unconscious, although with difficulty, due to the increased viscosity of my cerebral fluid, a genetic enhancement.

  “My respiratory system is my greatest weakness. I can be drowned, gassed or asphyxiated, but I can hold my breath for up to ten minutes, and that’s while I’m exerting myself. In a dormant or inactive state, I can survive without air for about twenty minutes. I’m difficult to strangle, due to a reinforced windpipe, and my jugular is protected with barrinium mesh.

  “I can be poisoned, starved, bleed to death or die of thirst or disease, although I’m immune to almost every disease known to man, quite a few poisons, and a number of toxic gasses. If I’m not already immune to it, I have a genetically enhanced immune system that can produce antibodies or serum for just about any disease or toxin within a few hours.”

  His voice grew bitter. “You didn’t have to worry about me hurting myself by tugging at the brow band. It’s attached to the reinforcing on my skull. It can’t be pulled off.”

  “But you made it bleed again.”

  “That’s nothing; some damage done when I hit the rock.”

  “It is terrible, what they did to you.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, at the age of twenty, I was considered a finished product. I had to heal for several weeks after the operation, then I did a finishing course in combat to adjust to the added weight of the reinforcing. I was packed into my natty casket and sold. I don’t remember the time spent in the casket. I was unconscious. My next memory was waking up in a rich old lady’s house. She needed a bodyguard, and so she bought me. I was with her for five years, during which time I killed four would-be assassins. Then she died, and I was sold again, to the man who brought me here, I assume, unless he sold me. I woke up in your dungeon, and the rest you know.”

  Tassin regarded him with a mixture of pity and sorrow. She had understood little of the technical jargon, but clearly he had suffered horribly at the hands of his creators, and she was ashamed that he had been through all of that only to end up here, almost a slave.

  “The cyber said it was voice imprinted, or something, to obey me, but that does not apply to you, does it?”

  Sabre shot her a mirthless smile. “No, I’m afraid not. Without the cyber to control me, like Mother Amy said, I’m as free as a bird.”

  “What will you do now?”

  Sabre’s smile faded, and his eyes grew puzzled and lost. “I’m not sure. I assume you didn’t buy me, so I still belong to whoever loaned me to you. Unfortunately, that means they’ll return for me some day. There’s nothing I can do about that. They’ll have me fixed and put back into service. My freedom is only temporary.” He paused. “I’ll help you to get to wherever it is you’re going, then perhaps I’ll be able to enjoy myself for a while.”

  Tassin sagged with relief. She had been afraid he would want to leave straight away. “I am glad.”

  He shrugged, looking away. “It’s also possible that the cyber will take over again, and you’ll have me anyway.”

  “I do not want that. I thought it was broken.”

  “It is, but not completely. Cybers are tough, and this one still tries to take over now and then, as you know. It’s a strange battle.”