"If that's what it takes."
"It is."
"Fine."
Rodar turned and wandered around Sabre, studying him from every angle. "If stature was a prerequisite, you wouldn't even qualify. Fortunately for you, it's not. There are a number of tests, however."
Tarl snorted, and Sabre swung to glare at him. "Cut that out."
Rodar shot Tarl a hard look. "Your servants lack discipline."
"That one's going to get a thick lip if he doesn't shut up."
Rodar nodded. "Do you wish to rest before we start the tests?"
"No."
"Yes." Tassin pushed past Tarl. "He does."
Rodar cocked a brow at Sabre, who sighed and shrugged. "A few hours will suffice."
"Very well. These men will escort you to a room, where you will remain until you're summoned. Food and drink will be provided if you wish. For now, you're a guest of the Eagle Clan. Fail the tests, and you'll be put to death."
Rodar marched out with his followers, and the two uninjured members of the original group waited at the door. Hallel nursed his injuries and glared at Sabre as he headed for the door.
The men took them to a pokey cabin with two hard bunks that folded into the wall and a washroom the size of a cupboard. It must have been an officer's quarters, since Sabre was sure the men slept in dormitories with communal ablution facilities. There were no luxuries on a warship such as this. The décor was grey and utilitarian, like the rest of the ship, with a scuffed metal floor and walls stained from years of hard use. A table and two benches folded out of the wall when the bunks were stowed. As soon as the door closed, Sabre turned to Tarl.
"I don't appreciate your attitude, and it isn't helping."
"I'm only trying to boost your image."
"Well you're not. You're making a fool of yourself, and me by association."
Tarl scowled and flopped down on a bunk. "Hell, I'm only a bloody servant. Who cares what I say?"
"What else could you be?"
"A friend?"
"Trykons don't associate with non-combatants. They’re little more than slaves. Claiming you as a friend would jeopardise the entire plan."
Tarl grunted and lay back, closing his eyes. Sabre glared at him, then sat on the other bunk, his limbs leaden. Tassin sat beside him and took his hand, rubbing his reddened knuckles.
"You should eat, then get some sleep."
He nodded, and she found some food bars in Kernan's pack for him.
****
The flashing red light in Sabre's mind woke him. He roused Tassin, who dozed on the narrow bunk beside him, and sat up as she stretched, knuckling her eyes. The door opened, and Rodar filled it, flanked by his two followers.
"It's time,” he said. “Commander Atrel has taken an interest in your tests, and delayed rejoining the battle to watch them."
Sabre stood up, and Tassin scrambled off the bunk. Kernan rose from where he had been sitting on the floor and Tarl swung his legs off the other bunk. Rodar headed down the corridor, his warriors falling in behind the quartet. Tarl dug in Kernan's pack and thrust a food bar into Sabre's hand, and he ate it while he walked. Rodar led them back to the combat room, where a muttering group of huge men waited.
They fell silent when Sabre entered, turning to measure him with disparaging eyes. The largest, who topped Rodar by several centimetres, glared at Sabre with flinty black eyes that matched his hair and short beard, the former tied back in a tight braid. He had a brow band with an optical enhancer covering one eye and a metal hand, and his tattooed arms bulged with hard muscle. Polished partial chest armour revealed the knobs of brawn that ran down his belly. A gold band encircled his neck, the symbol of his rank, Sabre assumed. One of his officers murmured something, and he chuckled, as did the others.
Rodar turned to Sabre. "Stand in the centre of the room and be ready."
Sabre obeyed, noting that Tarl had drawn Tassin over to the wall by the door, out of harm's way. The officers muttered as the commander signalled to a warrior who stood next to the wall. The man lifted the crossbow he held at his side and aimed it at Sabre. The string twanged, and Sabre's hand flashed up of its own accord, a response honed by years of painful training to a split second, involuntary reflex, one of many he had. He looked at the bolt he held, and then tossed it on the floor.
The officers muttered again, and the commander nodded to the warrior, who picked up a metre and a half-long steel bar, walked over to Sabre and handed it to him.
"Bend it," Rodar ordered.
Sabre hefted the bar, which was three-centimetre-thick steel. "Any particular way you'd like me to do it?"
"No."
Sabre gripped the bar near the ends, placed his foot in the middle and pulled. The metal creaked as it bent, and once it gave, he removed his foot and twisted it until the ends crossed, then handed it back to the warrior. The commander scowled and nodded at the waiting warrior, who put down the bent bar and went over to a section of the wall that was devoid of old weapons and banners. He opened a sliding panel to reveal an eighty centimetre-square metal plate. Sabre knew that behind the plate were sensitive instruments to measure the force of a blow, and the digital meter beside it would display it. A shiny brass plaque next to the meter was inscribed with a list of names and numbers, recording the prowess of past contestants.
"Punch the plate as hard as you can," Rodar instructed.
Tassin jumped as Tarl murmured, "If he hits that as hard as he can, he'll break it."
"What about his hand?"
"He'll sustain some damage."
"They've already tested his strength with the bar, what's this supposed to prove?"
Tarl shrugged. "The power of his punch."
Tassin's heart twisted with anguish and pride as Sabre approached the plate, flexing his right hand. She longed to avert her eyes as he drew back his fist, not wishing to watch him cause himself so much pain, but could not. Sabre's right arm shot out in a flash, and the plate vanished into the wall with a terrific bang. The digital readout flashed a string of numbers. Sabre turned away, nursing his hand. Blood oozed from his split knuckles, and he clasped them with a grimace. The Trykons frowned, and the warrior who stood beside the destroyed plate gaped at Sabre.
The commander recovered first. "There will be no more tests. He is a member of the clan, with the rank of group leader, in charge of Hallel's group."
Sabre turned to him. "I challenge for command of the ship."
Commander Atrel eyed him. "Of course you do, but first you have to face those amongst my officers who feel they can best you." He glanced at the men beside him. "Who accepts his challenge?"
The officers glowered at Sabre, their eyes filled with resentment, but none of them gave any sign of volunteering.
Atrel nodded, turning to face Sabre again. "So, it seems my officers are willing to accept that you can beat them. You have only to face me."
Atrel looked around as the door opened and three huge women entered, all beautiful in a large-boned, strong-featured manner. Short leather skirts, lace blouses and gem-studded golden armour clad their muscular forms, and their long hair was braided and bound with gold wire and jewels. They reminded Tassin of the Andorans she and Sabre had encountered on Omega Five, except for their finery and the fact that only one was blonde; the others were a brunette and a redhead. All three wore swords strapped across their backs, and the blonde had a tiny crossbow buckled to her thigh. The tension in the room rose to palpable levels upon their entry, and the commander turned to frown at them.
He gestured to the redhead, the loveliest of the three. "My spouse, Diarda. This is our newest clan member, Sabre."
Her sharp green eyes raked Sabre with a scathing glance, and she spoke in Anglo, following Atrel's lead. "Are we accepting dwarves now, Atrel? And who broke the punch power meter?"
"He did."
She placed her hands on her hips. The other two women halted behind her as her eyes found Tassin and lingered upon her. "What is she, a toy?
"
Atrel shrugged. "His doxy."
"Just as well he's so small. A Trykon man would split her in two."
The officers chuckled, and Atrel smirked. Tassin opened her mouth to retort, but Tarl tugged on her arm and shook his head.
"Don't start anything with her."
Diarda eyed Tassin for a moment longer, looking superior, and then turned to Atrel. "I heard there was amusement to be had in here."
"More than you bargained for, I'll wager. Sabre has challenged for command."
Diarda giggled. "You jest."
"No."
"I could snap him in half."
"He has already defeated three warriors."
Diarda looked coquettish as she approached Atrel. "Then I shall enjoy watching you kill him."
"You know full well that a command challenge is not to the death."
"A pity, in this case."
"Since none of my officers will accept his challenge, even if I beat him he will become first lieutenant."
The blonde glanced sharply at Rodar, and her eyes glittered. "Have you turned coward, Rodar?"
"I'm not a fool, is all," the first lieutenant said.
Diarda glared at Atrel. "If you beat him? He's a runt! I'll wager that under that dirty rag he wears, his chest is thinner than a child's. He has almost no scars, and few enhancements. How can such a weakling even dare to challenge you?"
Atrel nodded. "And yet you haven't seen him fight. Neither have I, for that matter, but, from what I've heard, the reason for his lack of scars is that he's seldom struck."
Diarda frowned at Sabre and strolled over to stand in front of him. She was at least twelve centimetres taller, but Sabre refused to look up at her. Diarda took hold of the front of his vest, preparing to rip it off and expose his childish chest, Tassin assumed. Before she could, he gripped her wrist and raised his eyes to meet hers.
"I'd prefer you didn't do that."
Diarda tried to tug her hand free, but found that her wrist was gripped in a vice-like hold. Her nostrils flared, and Atrel watched the encounter with narrowed eyes. Clearly Sabre's strength surprised her, and he released her arm when she let go of his vest. Diarda stepped back, rubbing her wrist, then swung away, frowning.
"I shall enjoy watching you beat him, Atrel."
The commander nodded, his hand caressing the hilt of the sword at his side. "Do you wish to tend to your wound before we begin?"
The cyber glanced at his bleeding knuckles and shook his head. "Let's get on with it."
"Choose a weapon."
"I choose to fight unarmed."
Diarda said, "He mocks you, Atrel."
"A foolish decision, little man," Atrel said. "What makes you so bold?"
Sabre sighed. "If I explain what I am, and convince you that you have no chance of beating me, will you step aside without a fight?"
"No."
"Then we're just wasting time."
Atrel drew his sword with a hiss of steel and stepped forward, holding it in a manner that spoke volumes of his years of experience with the weapon. Sabre stood relaxed, waiting for the attack, and Atrel smiled, shaking his head.
"You're the challenger. It's you who must attack."
Sabre tilted his head, as if re-assessing the situation, then circled the commander. Atrel turned to face him, the sword held ready. Diarda murmured something to the blonde woman that made her giggle, and Tassin shot them a glare. Sabre feinted left, then attacked right, throwing Atrel off balance. The commander reacted swiftly, however, and his sword hissed past a hair's breadth from Sabre's shoulder as the cyber skipped aside.
In a cyber’s typical fighting style, Sabre continued to move with fluid grace. A normal man might have paused to consider his next move or re-think his strategy. He spun under the next slash of Atrel's weapon and dropped backwards, kicking upwards with a foot that struck Atrel's sword arm a glancing blow. Atrel leapt at him, his kick missing as Sabre rolled aside. He regained his feet with the peculiar flip that brought him upright in a smooth motion. Diving into a forward roll, Sabre kicked Atrel's legs out from under him and sent him sprawling with a crash. Atrel rolled away as Sabre aimed a kick at his head, his sword scraping on the floor and almost becoming tangled in his arms.
The big man cursed and scrambled up, blood oozing from a self-inflicted cut on his chest. Sabre regained his feet with cat-like grace and leapt at Atrel in a spinning kick. His foot hit the commander in the side of the neck and sent him staggering sideways. He turned as Sabre attacked again, raised his weapon and slashed a little wildly with it.
Sabre ducked under it and punched him in the jaw, snapping his head sideways with a spray of blood. Atrel sprawled again with a clatter of armour, dropped the useless sword and rolled away as Sabre went after him. The cyber gave him no chance to recover, aiming another kick at his head. Atrel ducked and tried to grab Sabre's foot, but missed. Snatching a long dagger from his thigh sheath, Atrel slashed at Sabre's legs, forcing him to jump back while the commander leapt up.
Sabre dived into a forward handspring, bounced up in front of Atrel and punched him in the solar plexus with both fists, sending him crashing to the floor again. Pirouetting like a ballet dancer, Sabre drove his foot into Atrel's chest, and the dull pop of cracking ribs made Tassin wince. Atrel writhed and growled, flailing with the dagger as he tried to suck in air. Sabre gazed down at his fallen opponent.
"Do you yield?"
Atrel glared at him with flinty eyes, his face pale and drawn, still brandishing the useless dagger. Sweat beaded his brow and veins stood out on his neck. Sabre casually kicked the dagger from Atrel's fist, sending it clattering into the wall.
"Do you yield?"
The commander grimaced, and then his head jerked in a stiff nod. Sabre bent and offered Atrel his hand, pulling him to his feet. Atrel swayed and clasped his ribs.
"No man can beat you, stranger. Not even our clan leader, Targon himself, I'll wager."
Sabre nodded. "A safe bet."
"I will not yield to him!" Diarda shouted, drawing all eyes to her.
Sabre said, "Ah yes, to the winner go the spoils."
"I will die before I lie with a genetically inferior midget!"
"I don't want you, so go peddle your wares to someone who gives a shit," Sabre said.
"Ha! Of course you would not dare to try to satisfy a Trykon woman, small as you are." Diarda made a rude gesture, and some of the officers smirked.
Sabre's eyes flitted over them, and their sneers vanished. "I don't find women who look like men with breasts attractive, so you need not worry that I would ever be tempted by one such as you."
The blood drained from Diarda's cheeks, and she glanced at Tassin, who was unable to prevent her triumphant smile.
Diarda's brow furrowed. "Insolent non-com bitch! You dare to laugh at me?" She yanked two daggers from her belt and strode towards Tassin. "You are as dirt under my feet! I'll teach you to mock me!"
Tarl reached for his laser as the huge woman bore down on him, but looked unsure of whether he would die for drawing it, and cast Sabre a desperate look. Tassin raised her chin and thrust him aside, pulled her dagger from her belt and flourished it in a manner that showed that she knew how to use it. Sabre recovered from his surprise and reached her in a couple of bounds, imposing himself between them. Diarda stopped and glowered down at him, her nostrils flared and bosom heaving.
"Stand aside. This is women's business."
"She's a non-combatant, and if you touch her I'll make you sorry you were ever born."
"Yes, she's a doxy, a slave, and, as such, subject to my command. Since you've become a member of our clan, therefore so have your servants, so they're now subject to our laws. She's insulted me, the commander of the women, she must be punished."
"You were only commander of the women as long as you were the spouse of the ship's commander, but you're no longer that, are you?" Sabre glanced at Atrel. "I'm uncertain of your laws on this matter. What status does Diarda have now
?"
Atrel shrugged. "I'm now first lieutenant, and, since you reject her, she remains my spouse, and since you have no spouse, she remains commander of the women."
Diarda’s lips twisted in a smug smile. "Stand aside."
Sabre shook his head. "She's under my protection."
Tassin tried to push past him, furious. "I'm not a doxy or a slave you muscle-bound slut! You don't scare me!"
Sabre grabbed her as she went for Diarda, trying to pluck the dagger from her flailing hand. Tassin shoved him away.
"Tassin!"
Diarda's daggers flashed as she raised them in a scything motion, aimed at Tassin's face. Sabre thrust his arm between them, and got both daggers impaled in it for his efforts. Diarda jerked them free with a snarl, slashing at Tassin again, even as the Queen pressed home her attack. Sabre swore and gave Diarda a shove that sent her staggering back to sit down with a thud, grabbing Tassin again when she would have gone after her. Tassin growled and tried to jerk free, but this time his grip was too strong for her.
"Let me go!" she shouted.
"No! Are you nuts? She's twice your size."
"I am not a non-combatant! I've been trained -"
"Yeah, yeah, I remember. You're a warrior bloody queen, but you're not fighting her."
Tassin said, "I won't take orders from her, or insults!"
"You'll do as I damn well say."
She tried to wrench free, but only succeeded in pulling herself against his chest. "Let me go, damn you!"
"Don't be an idiot."
Tassin stamped on his foot, and Sabre grunted in surprise and pain, then ducked, pushing her out of harm's way as Diarda attacked again. Her daggers flashed past his cheek as she tried to slash Tassin's face. Tarl fielded the irate Queen and Sabre turned to deal with Diarda, grabbing her wrists. Diarda's face twisted with fury that rivalled Tassin's, and she, too, tried to wrench free, possessing the size and strength to make him stagger. She jerked up a knee, but he twisted aside, taking the blow on his hip. He released one of her wrists and slapped her, making her reel back with a cry of pain. Tarl cursed, and Sabre swung around in time to capture Tassin as she broke free and tried to dart past him. Pulling her into a firm embrace, he pinned her arms and frowned down at her flushed, furious face.
The Cyber Chronicles VI - Warrior Breed Page 10