The Cyber Chronicles VI - Warrior Breed

by T C Southwell

  Sabre approached the doors, forced back the wall of warriors and cut down any who did not retreat fast enough. A man died with a gargling scream as Sabre's blade sliced through his throat, and he jerked it up to deflect a descending spiked club. The sword shattered, and he dropped it, drove his foot into the club-wielder's shin and smashed the bone with a dull crack. The club glanced off Sabre's shoulder when the man fell, and the cyber scooped up a fallen sword without pausing and drove it into the enemy warrior's chest. Jerking it free, he stepped forward, only to find that the wall of brawn had moved away, and no weapons threatened him. The Wolf Clan warriors retreated into the boarding tube, and a roar of triumph went up from the Eagle Clan as it rushed after them.

  Aboard the enemy ship, another brief, fierce battle ended after only a few minutes as the enemy dead piled up around Sabre. The Wolf Clan warriors backed away and lowered their swords, their faces grim. Sabre jumped when a hand clasped his shoulder, swinging around with his sword raised. Atrel stepped back, looking wary, and Sabre lowered the weapon, frowning.

  "I told you to stay out of my way."

  "We've won, Commander. It's over. They've surrendered."

  Sabre glanced around. "Good."

  Dropping the sword with a clang, he turned and marched back into the boarding tube, shoving aside any who did not get out of his way fast enough.

  ****

  Atrel gazed after him, then glanced at Viorn as the third lieutenant came to his side.

  "He's a strange one, that's for sure. I've never seen anyone fight as well as him."

  Atrel nodded. "I suspect, Viorn, that you never will again."

  "I will never call him small again." Viorn paused, looking pensive. "He could be the one our legends speak of. The one who will unite the clans and end the wars forever. He could be the Supreme Warrior."

  "He could."

  "He must have killed fifty men here today."

  "More."

  A grizzled, badly scarred blond man wearing a gold torc approached them, his pale green eyes filled with impotent rage. He stopped in front of Atrel and eyed him, noting his silver torc.

  "Where's your commander?"

  Atrel shrugged. "He left."

  "Why does he not accept the honour of my surrender? Does he insult me?"

  "I think he's a bit pissed off right now, but I'm sure he'll accept it later."

  "You were outnumbered three to one. How did you win?"

  "Our commander... did a lot of damage."

  The enemy commander drew himself up. "I will not surrender my sword to you. Fetch your commander at once."

  "I don't think he wants to be fetched, so you can keep it until he's ready to accept it."

  Atrel gestured to his men, and they collected the defeated warriors' weapons. Enemy non-coms cleared away the corpses, loading them into the nearest disposal chute. The Wolf Clan commander glared at Atrel, caressing the hilt of his sword as if he longed to draw it and slice off Atrel's head. He had the look of a veteran of many battles, a big man even by Trykon standards. Atrel wondered what he would think of Sabre, and smiled at the prospect of their meeting. Although some things about his new commander still mystified him, he had grown to respect the smaller man deeply.

  ****

  Sabre marched along the corridor to his cabin, ignoring the men who stepped from his path. He wiped away the blood that ran down his face with a shaking hand. Unbuckling his armour, he dropped it. He wanted to wash off the gore more than anything. The cabin door opened, and he headed for the washroom. Tassin and Tarl sat on the couch, where they had evidently been waiting for him to return from the battle. Tassin jumped up with a cry of horror, running to him.

  "Are you all right? Sabre?"

  He stopped when she grabbed his arm, but stared ahead. "I'm fine. It's not my blood."

  "What happened?"

  "The ship was boarded. There was a battle. We won. I need a shower."

  "You're not hurt?"

  "Not much." Sabre pried her hand off his arm. "Let me go."

  Tassin opened her mouth to protest his rudeness, but Tarl, who had risen from the sofa and followed her, took her arm and drew her away.

  "Leave him now. Let him wash."

  Tassin turned to him as the washroom door slid shut behind Sabre. "What's wrong with him?"

  "He's a bit hyped up. He'll be fine, just let him wash off the blood and calm down."

  "What do you mean, 'hyped up'?"

  Tarl drew her over to a chair and persuaded her to sit. "He's just been in a battle. He's full of adrenalin, his nerves are on edge, and he's not in a very good mood."

  "What can I do?"

  "For now, leave him alone."

  Tassin fidgeted, chewing her lip. Since the boarding alarm had gone off, what seemed like hours ago, she had been in a state of high tension, her concern for Sabre gnawing at her gut. Only Tarl's rather forceful insistence had made her remain in the cabin, otherwise she would have gone to make sure Sabre was all right. The brief glimpse of him had not satisfied her hunger for his presence, and after a few minutes she could bear the waiting no more. Jumping up, she headed for the washroom.

  "I need to see him."

  "Hey, you can't go in there."

  Tassin slipped through the door and shut it in Tarl's face. Steam filled the room, and water ran in the tortured glass cubical. She made out a shape on the floor.

  "Sabre?"

  His silence concerned her, and she slid open the door. Sabre sat staring across the cubicle with empty eyes. Blood ran from a cut in his neck and another across his ribs. Several smaller ones oozed red trickles down his chest and back. Switching off the water, she took a towel from the rack and climbed in with him, mopping the water and blood from his face.

  "You're bleeding."

  He closed his eyes, his expressionless mien worrying her. "You shouldn't be in here."

  "We're going to be married one day." She wiped his cheeks. "What's wrong?"

  "I just killed sixty-one men."

  "You saved us."

  "I didn't want to do it."

  "You had no choice. You were protecting us."

  He shook his head, covering his face. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be a bloody killing machine!"

  "You're not. You're a brave man who fights to protect those who are weaker."

  "I don't want it. I hate it."

  "You can stop as soon as we get to Omega Five. Then you'll never have to hurt anyone again, I promise."

  His shoulders hunched. "It was so easy... Tarl's right. This is all I'm good at, and all I'm good for."

  She longed to embrace him; his anguish tore her heart. "No, he's wrong. You can be much more. Anything you want. You have many skills. You know a lot of things, and you're clever and gentle."

  "I'm a killer."

  "Hey..." She tried to tug his hands away from his face. "Look at me." He shook his head, and she put her arms around him. "Don't do this to yourself. Don't think like that. A killer has no conscience... Why are you shaking?"

  "Leave me alone, please."

  "No." She moved closer and hugged him until his brow band hurt her shoulder, stroking his wet hair. "I love you."

  Shudders racked him, and she looked down at him with growing concern. She tried to pry away his hands again and growled in frustration when her efforts proved futile.

  "Move your damned hands."

  He let her pull his hands away, and she studied his face. Moisture streaked his cheeks, and for a moment she thought it was water, but it overflowed his eyes. He had the look of a little boy lost and alone in a dark forest. She wiped away his tears, her eyes stinging, and kissed his cheek.

  "It's all right. I'm here. I'll never leave you."

  His arms slid around her, and he wept against her neck while she held him and stroked his hair, murmuring meaningless words of comfort. The cubicle cooled and the steam dispersed. Her jeans grew wet from the water on floor, and still she held him while he wept. Thirty years of
pent-up anguish flooded out in a tide of misery so intense that it shocked and dismayed her. She had not realised how much grief and pain was dammed behind the wall of conditioning within him. Emotional scars so deep that they cut to the core of his being fuelled the tears that ran down his cheeks and the shuddering sobs that racked him. She hoped that this outpouring would bring some measure of healing to his wounded soul.

  It seemed like hours later when he raised his head.

  She studied his face. "Are you all right?"

  He nodded, rubbing one eye. "I feel numb."

  "That's good."

  "It doesn't feel so good."

  "It is, believe me." Tassin discovered that her sleeve was glued to the side of his neck with drying blood and eased it free. "You should let Tarl stitch your wounds."

  "It can wait." He leant his head against the wall and dragged the towel across his lap.

  "Then you should rest. You must be exhausted."

  He nodded. "Drained. But I couldn't sleep now."

  Tassin shifted into a more comfortable position. "It's battle fatigue, I think."

  "Yeah. I'm coming down from a chemical high."

  "A what?"

  "Never mind. I keep seeing all those men..."

  She took his hand and held it. "If you hadn't killed them, they'd have killed us, wouldn't they?"

  "Probably."

  "So what makes you so much worse than them?"

  "It's so easy for me." He looked down at the hand she held. "Too easy."

  "Just because you're a great warrior doesn't mean you're any less human."

  "So many men died, and for what? Some stupid war that rages on forever."

  "That's not your fault. They chose to be like this."

  He nodded. "That doesn't make what I did any better."

  "You protected us, and for that I'm grateful. I'm proud of your abilities, and you should be, too."

  "Proud to be a killer?"

  "A warrior who protects the weak."

  "So now you're weak? I thought -"

  "I was talking about Tarl and Kernan."

  He smiled. "Oh, right. You could have defeated them, I suppose."

  "I would have fought them, and if I had defeated them I would have been proud."

  A knock came from the door, and Tarl called, "Are you two all right in there?"

  "We're fine," Tassin yelled. "Go away."

  "I should get dressed," Sabre said.

  Tarl said, "If Sabre has any wounds, they need to be stitched now."

  She studied Sabre's cuts. "He's right."

  "Yeah, I know."

  Tassin rose and let herself out. Tarl had a selection of antiseptic dressings and medical equipment laid out on the table. A few moments later, Sabre emerged, wearing his shorts.

  Tarl studied him. "Sit on the table."

  The cyber obeyed, and Tarl examined the wound in his neck first, clicking his tongue. "The mesh armour saved you from a severed head."

  "Just stitch it up," Sabre said. "We don't need a running commentary."

  Tarl picked up a needle and thread as the door opened and Atrel entered. His gaze raked Sabre, and he failed to hide his amazement. Apart from the shallow cuts in his neck and side, and a few red marks that would turn into bruises, the cyber was unscathed. Tarl glanced at him, then reached for the wound in Sabre's neck. Tassin grabbed his wrist, and he raised his brows at her in surprise.

  "Use an anaesthetic," she said.

  "Oh, right."

  Shooting Sabre an apologetic look, he picked up a bottle and sprayed the wound.

  Sabre cast Tassin an amused glance. "I was going to let him stick that needle in, then smack him."

  "I wish I hadn't stopped him, then."

  Atrel came closer, studying the wound in Sabre's flank, which revealed a glint of gold. Rough bandages swaddled the first lieutenant’s right arm, chest and thigh, and he limped. "I'm glad to see that you're not badly hurt, Commander."

  "Me too. What do you want?"

  "A feast has been arranged to celebrate our victory. It's in the combat room in four hours’ time."

  Sabre shook his head. "I'm not coming."

  "The commander of Invincible wishes to surrender his sword to you."

  "Let him surrender it to you."

  "He's refused, as is his right. It's traditional that he surrenders it to you."

  Sabre glared at him. "Fine, I'll come and get it."

  Atrel nodded, casting a last incredulous glance at Sabre's wounds, and departed. Tarl finished the neck wound and picked up a fresh needle, sprayed the wound in Sabre's flank and started to sew.

  Tarl glanced at Tassin. "So what were you two doing in there for so long?"

  "None of your business."

  "Hey, I'm only concerned for Sabre's well-being."

  "Ask him then."

  Tarl hesitated, shooting the cyber a wary look. "Well?"

  "None of your business."

  "Right." Tarl sighed. "Has it not yet occurred to either of you that I'm the best qualified person here to deal with Sabre's issues?"

  "Has it not yet occurred to you that you shouldn't stick your nose into my business unless I ask you?" Sabre retorted.

  Tarl pulled a stitch tight with a jerk. "Why do you resent me so much?"

  Sabre glared at him. "You're annoying, you're a cyber tech, and if you do that again you're going to be missing a few teeth."

  "You don't scare me; I know you're bluffing. Oh sure, you bully me, but you'd never do me any serious harm."

  "I don't consider knocking out a few teeth serious harm."

  Tarl smiled and shook his head. "You know, I'm the one who's going to have to pick up the pieces when you fall apart."

  "Why the hell should I fall apart?"

  Tarl tied the last stitch and sprayed the wounds with antiseptic. "Do I really have to explain it to you again?"

  "You've explained it before?"

  "Yeah, you know, the whole bit about your past, what you went through and all that."

  "You have no idea what I went through."

  "Not from your point of view, no."

  Sabre looked mollified. "I still don't see why I should fall apart."

  Tarl packed away the medical supplies. "That's already a problem. You're way too normal. You're burying your problems under something; self-loathing would be my best guess. Maybe disassociation, or both. You're also very defensive."

  "I thought you were a cyber tech, not a psychiatrist."

  "When I tried to free that young cyber, I studied psychology. I knew if he got free he'd have a lot of problems."

  "What would you have done to help him?" Tassin asked.

  "Counselling, mostly, but there are some drugs that could help."

  "What would you counsel?"

  "That would depend on his symptoms."

  "I don't have any problems," Sabre said.

  "How many men did you kill today?"

  "A few."

  "And how does that make you feel?"

  "Like I should add you to the tally."

  Tarl snorted. "Rubbish. You're being defensive, and your macho bullshit doesn't fool me."

  "He feels guilty," Tassin said, avoiding Sabre's hard glance. "He feels like a killing machine."

  Tarl nodded, closing the lid of the medical kit, and a short silence fell. Sabre watched him, clearly interested in the answer despite himself. Tarl looked up. "Then it's time you accepted that that's what you are, bud."

  "No!" Tassin said, scowling. "He's not -"

  "Tassin, you're not helping by trying to persuade him that he's not a combat cyborg. He'll be better off if he just accepts it." He turned to Sabre. "I don't mean you should enjoy it. I don't even mean you should want to be one; all I'm saying is accept it. It's what you were designed to do. You can't run away from it. Whenever there's a dangerous situation, you're going to be the one who kills people, for all the right reasons, I hope. It's what you're best at, and there's no reason to feel guilty about it. You're
the one who's keeping the rest of us alive, and that's something to be proud of."

  "That's what I told him," Tassin said.

  "And you're right. Look, most people don't like to kill, and can't, and those who do enjoy it are psychopaths, so at least you're not one of those." He picked up a dressing and stuck it over the wound in Sabre's neck. "You enjoy your abilities, I know you do, and there's nothing wrong with that, but at the same time you hate them, don't you?"

  "Mostly I resent the fact that even though I'm capable of it, I can't snap your neck."

  "Ah, here we go with the macho bullshit again. So why can't you do it, bud? Hmmm?"

  Sabre glared at him for several seconds with eyes as hard as polished silver. Tarl thrust his face closer, tapping the side of his neck. Tassin held her breath, unnerved by the fury in Sabre's eyes, but to her relief the cyber lowered his gaze to the floor.

  "Because I hate killing."

  Tarl leant on the table and bowed his head. "You have no idea how happy you just made me."

  "Why should that make you happy? You knew it before."

  "But you admitted it. I suspected it, yeah. I can see you're not a violent man." Tarl gave a bark of laughter and straightened, running a hand through his hair. "What the hell am I saying? Look at you. You're a warrior born and bred, but you're not a killer. There's a difference, and I want you to see it. I've seen it in your eyes, but you can't. You're too close to the action."

  "I'm a killing machine, but I'm not a killer."

  "That's right. What you're capable of and what you want to do are two entirely different things. You see?"

  "And that makes killing people okay?"

  Tarl nodded. "Yeah, when they’re trying to kill us."

  "I killed sixty-one men today, to keep you safe. How is that a fair thing? When do the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, in this case?"