The Cyber Chronicles VI - Warrior Breed

by T C Southwell

  "Stay back," Sabre ordered. "When we have the fuel, you get the women."

  Shouts went up from the Spraylanders, and half of them sprinted back to their ramshackle city. Atrel moved closer to Sabre.

  "These are your harsh, bitter men? They're like schoolboys at a spring festival gathering."

  "I think there's a shortage of women here."

  Atrel's brows rose. "You jest, Commander."

  Sabre smiled. "Cut out the sarcasm, Atrel."

  The first lieutenant grinned, and Sabre wandered over to the women, who eyed him with as much suspicion and wariness as they had accorded the Spraylanders.

  "You understand what's going to happen to you?" he enquired.

  They nodded, and one spat.

  Sabre went on, "These men don't speak your language, but they've promised to treat you well."

  "We were told that we're to be wives," a pretty blonde girl said.

  "That's correct."

  "Then that's a damn sight better than being whores."

  "So why did only seven of you volunteer?"

  She looked him up and down. "The other three weren't allowed. Their warriors are on the ship, and prevented them."

  "They wanted to come?"

  "Yeah, who wouldn't?"

  Sabre turned to Atrel, who had followed him. "Contact the ship. I want the other three women."

  The first lieutenant nodded and spoke into the com-link again. Sabre faced the Spraylanders, who gazed at the women with puppy dog eyes.

  "There are three more women coming," Sabre told them. "We want twenty crystals of fuel."

  A pair of men ran off, and a few minutes later two carriers came into view on the winding road, surrounded by running men. The carriers stopped nearby, and a bearded man approached Sabre, darting a glance at the women.

  "Twenty crystals of neosin for ten women."

  "Three more are on their way."

  "They shouldn't be made to walk, carrying stuff. Let us go and fetch them."

  "No."

  The man muttered a curse and stomped off to rejoin his cohorts. Sabre settled on his rock again, and the women sat on their bundles. Another hour passed before the last three women trudged up, escorted by a scowling warrior.

  Sabre stood up. "Let's move out."

  Atrel shouted orders, and two men ran to the carriers. The Spraylanders approached the Trykon women, their attitude ingratiating, and took their bundles with grave chivalry, murmuring words of admiration and assurance. Sabre decided that the Trykon women would be far better off with the Spraylanders, even if the planet was dull and unpleasant.

  ****

  Tassin leant forward to top up her glass from the bottle of wine on the table. "More wine?"

  She sat beside Sabre on the sofa in her cabin, and he turned to her and smiled. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

  “We're just celebrating our proximity to Omega Five."

  Sabre’s eyes drooped. "This stuff has an amazing affect."

  "It's supposed to."

  "There are two of you."

  "You've only had three glasses."

  "Well, apparently that's two glasses too many." He stood up, swayed and tripped over the table, sprawling with a crash. "Shit."

  She giggled. "Are you all right?"

  "Can't walk."

  Tassin went over to crouch beside him. "Come on, let's get you to bed. This wasn't such a good idea, it seems."

  He rolled onto his back, rubbing his face. "What have you done to me?"

  The door's entry-call buzzed, and she called, "Enter."

  Tarl came in, his brows drawing together as he hurried over to kneel at Sabre's side. "What's happened? What's wrong with him?"

  Tassin snorted. "He's drunk."

  "Drunk?" He stared at her. "Are you nuts? You can't do that to a cyber."

  "Why not?"

  Sabre reached up and gripped the front of Tarl's jacket, yanking him down to inspect him at close range. "Tarl. It's you."

  "That's why," Tarl said, trying to pry Sabre's fingers loose. "He's never had alcohol before, no cyber ever has."

  She giggled. "Actually he has, on Omega Five."

  "And how many people did he kill?"

  "None." She frowned at him.

  Sabre tightened his grip on Tarl's jacket, twisting it until the technician coughed. "I'm nodakilling machine."

  "Yeah, you are, bud. Let go."

  "Nope." Sabre chuckled. "Make me."

  "Please."

  "Nope. Gotcha now."

  Tarl coughed again. "Tassin, do something."

  "Sabre, let him go."

  Sabre sighed and released Tarl, who sat back rubbing his neck, then moved out of range. "Cybers are hyper-sensitive to alcohol, something to do with the alien DNA, apparently."

  "He only had three glasses of wine."

  "And he's dead drunk."

  "Cheap date." Sabre chuckled.

  "Help me to get him to bed," Tassin said.

  "No way, I'm not letting him get hold of me again, and I recommend that you stay away from him as well. Why did you give him wine?"

  "A little celebration, that's all."

  Tarl's eyes narrowed. "You're treading on dangerous ground. This could have blown up in your face. Lucky I came."

  "He's just drunk," she said.

  "Which has lowered his mental age to that of a six-year-old, or worse. A six-year-old with the strength of ten men, who, fortunately, seems to be falling asleep."

  "Why shouldn’t he have a bit of fun? All he ever does is fight and save people. I didn't think it would be a problem, and it's not. He's fine. He'll sleep it off."

  Tarl shook his head. "Don't give him alcohol again, please. I can't imagine anything worse than a drunken cyber."

  She gazed down at Sabre, who snored softly. "He's asleep now. Help me with him."

  Tarl carried the cyber into the bedroom and dumped him on the bed. As he came out, he cast Tassin a hard glance. "Stop playing with fire."

  "I only want him to learn what it is to be human."

  "And you think getting him drunk is going to help?”

  "Why not? It relaxes him. It’s something people do for fun, and he’s never had any fun – or at least, not much. Maybe it will make him think less like a machine.”

  “He also has computer-induced blocks in his brain.”

  “He told me that the beings of light healed his mind, and in time the barriers the cyber erected will disappear."

  Tarl looked thoughtful. "That may give you more hope, but there's still the possibility that he won't be able to deal with what's behind those barriers."

  "What's behind them?"

  "The rest of his humanity. The part that deals with those things he's never experienced, and was never meant to." Tarl shook his head. "Right now his mind is as pure as driven snow. He's in for a tough time."

  "So... that's why they called him the pure one."

  "Partly. It must be hard for you to understand. Hell, it's hard for me, and I know what was done to him. You know a hell of a lot more about life than he does."

  Tassin eyed him. "What do you mean, partly? How else is he pure?"

  Tarl scratched his head. "How do I explain it so you’ll understand? He seems like this super soft guy with a loving nature who likes to play and enjoys new experiences. The sort whose dating profile would say things like ‘loves fluffy pets and long walks on the beach at sunset’. The reality is, he has a mind like a steel trap. Machine trained."

  Tassin shivered, rubbing her arms. "You make him sound like a freak."

  "He is a freak. He has a soft side, which he's wary of exposing, although he has with you. He trusts you now, and me, a little. You helped him when he got free on Omega Five, and he fell in love with you. Not only did you not betray him, you found him and freed him again, thereby reinforcing his love and trust. I have no doubt Sabre would kill anyone or anything that hurt you.

  "You're his world. He would do anything to please you; cut off his own arm
if you needed him to, and the fact that he may not be able be what you want could kill him. Right now it's upsetting him, but he still has hope, and your promise that it's not important to you. Don't change that. Please, don't rush in with hobnail boots where angels fear to tread."

  She nodded, sinking down on the sofa. "I was being selfish, only thinking of what I wanted from him, and not what he needs from me. I didn't mean to hurt him."

  "You haven't, yet. But I think you're putting him under a bit of stress. He wants to please you so much, but he's just not designed for that." Tarl sat beside her. "Sorry."

  "It's not your fault."

  "I was part of the world that created him. I feel partly responsible."

  "That's why you're trying so hard to help him now."

  "Yeah, he was right about that. I'm trying to make up for what I did back then. I do feel guilty. And all I have to offer is my expertise in his cyber abilities, which he detests. I'm a constant reminder of what he is, and he'd rather try to forget it. It's like he's the rope in a tug of war between us. You're trying to speed up his conversion into a true human; I'm trying to slow it down, for his sake. Only trouble is, he wants to be human more than anything, and one reason is because he knows it's what you want.

  "That's why he was so happy when you admired his acrobatic prowess in the combat room. He found something you admire, at which he excels. But you've got to face facts. He'll never be normal. The sooner you accept that, the better." He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "He'll come close. He's already doing well, but there will always be little differences, not least of all his abilities."

  Tassin frowned, shaking her head. "But he is a human."

  "No. He's a cyborg. He's not even entirely human genetically, but his genetic enhancements don't affect his thinking. That's affected by the way he was designed and trained. His sole purpose, until he got free of his control unit, was to be a killing machine.

  "That's all he knows. Even now, his limited experience of human emotions hasn't changed him all that much. You've seen it. You can't be that blind. Put him in a dangerous situation and he takes charge. He pits his wits, skill and brawn against the enemy, and wins at all costs, or he'd die trying. Put him in a room alone with a girl, and he's totally clueless and more than a little uncomfortable."

  She nodded, bowing her head to gaze at her hands. "Why does he look at his hands so much?"

  "It's not his hands he's looking at; it's the scars on them."

  She grimaced, rubbing her brow. "Of course. I feel like such a fool. And I wish you'd talk to him. I think you could help him."

  "No. Absolutely not."

  "Why?"

  "He resents me enough already, partly because I'm a technician, partly because I'm what he wants so much to be. If I start giving him lectures on how to be human, I'd probably get my head stuffed down a toilet. If he asks me something, I'll tell him, but I'm not going to sit him down and try to explain the facts of life to him."

  Tassin nodded, sighing.

  Tarl stood up. "Well, I'll leave you to think about it." He headed for the door.

  "Thank you."

  "Sure thing. I'm always happy to answer your questions."

  Tassin stared into space for a while, considering what she had learnt. Although the information was helpful in her dealings with Sabre, and undoubtedly correct, it was also depressing. She began to understand why Sabre disliked Tarl, despite their friendship. As a font of information on cybers, he was excellent; it was the information itself that was so disheartening. Nevertheless, she resolved to do as he advised. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Sabre.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Sabre opened his eyes to find a silken roof mere centimetres from his nose. A searing chill pervaded him and froze his gut. Objects, some sharp, pressed in around him, and he was paralysed. Terror crawled up his spine like a claw-footed snake, its tail curling in his gut and its head spitting venom into his silently screaming brain. He strived to move with all his might. His desperate yearning to get out of the casket grew with every passing moment, and a howling madness nibbled at his sanity. He broke free of the paralysis and punched through the top of the casket, ripping silk and scattering weapons. A savage cry of triumph burst from him.

  Sabre kicked and punched the casket, tearing out the silk lining in an orgy of destruction. An irrational, but powerful urge to utterly destroy the instrument of his torture pounded at his brain. Something touched him, and one of his automatic reactions kicked in. He grabbed it, a niggling doubt as to its identity and a flashing red light in his brain preventing him from crushing it. A piercing shriek cut through the fog of savagery that clouded his mind, then pain flashed in his skull and he opened his eyes. He was crouched over Tassin, his hands around her throat.

  "Shit!"

  Sabre released her and sprang away, tumbled backwards off the bed and sprawled on the floor. Swathes of torn bedclothes hung from the bed, and the bulkhead beside it was buckled and dented. For a moment he lay still, gasped and rubbed his head. The full horror of what he had almost done slammed him in the gut like a sledgehammer. Desperate to make certain that he had not hurt her, he jumped up, switched on the lights and gazed down at her.

  "Are you okay?"

  Tassin stared at the ceiling, panting, her hands clasped around her throat. Sabre eased himself onto the bed and reached out to touch her hands.

  "Let me see."

  She gulped. "I'm all right."

  "Let me see!"

  Sabre tugged her hands away and leant closer to examine her throat, somewhat surprised to find no marks on it. Relief made him dizzy, and he bowed his head, rubbing his face. A touch on his knee made him lower his hands.

  Tassin gazed at him with deep sorrow and concern. "You didn't hurt me."

  "But I could have. I could have killed you."

  "No." She sat up and reached for him, but he jumped up and moved away. "You barely touched me," she said. "I woke up when you yelled and started destroying the bed. I grabbed you and tried to shake you awake. It was my fault. You grabbed me, and I slapped you, then you woke up. I just got a fright, that's all."

  He stood with his back to her. "You should be frightened."

  "Come back."

  Sabre shook his head, and Tassin slid from the bed and came over to slip her arms around his waist and press her cheek to his chest. She wore the simple thigh-length silk shirt she always slept in. A lump clogged his throat and pain shot through his heart as he held her, sorrow and dread weighing on him. The venomous voice awoke to shout its poison in the back of his mind. Cyborg! Killer! Apparently he was at it again, trying to become human, the ambition it scorned so much.

  "I'm sorry." He bowed his head and held her tighter.

  "It's okay."

  "No it's not. Next time I might kill you. You've got to sleep somewhere else."

  "No." She leant back to gaze up at him. "You don't usually have nightmares when I'm with you. This time you didn't know I was here. I joined you after Tarl put you to bed, but you were too drunk to know. It was my fault. It won't happen again. Besides, you didn't hurt me. You woke up when I hit you."

  He avoided her gaze. "I didn't feel that. The cyber woke me. It can still inflict pain, it seems. I did the unthinkable. I attacked a person with command privilege."

  "Then you can't harm me. The cyber won't let you."

  "Any one of those blows that dented the bulkhead could have killed you, and the cyber wouldn't have been able to stop me in time."

  "This isn't going to keep us apart. I'm prepared to take the risk."

  "I'm not," he said.

  "Don't make me sneak into your bed after you're asleep, because I will if I have to."

  "I'll wake up."

  "I feel safe with you," she said. "What if something happens to me while we're apart? What if you hadn't been there when that explosion happened? How would you feel then?"

  "The chances of something happening to you are a lot less than the
risk of me smashing your skull in my sleep."

  "I don't think so. I want to be close to you, where you can protect me."

  "Then we'll bring in another mattress and share the room."

  She considered that, clearly unhappy. "All right. You can stop shaking now, it's over."

  Sabre realised that his hands trembled from the rush of adrenalin his dream had released, and grimaced. "It'll stop in a little while."

  "What did you dream about?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "I want to know. Tell me," she said.

  "I was in a casket. Frozen. Paralysed. Trapped."

  "That must have been horrible."

  "But it makes no sense,” he said. “Cybers aren't awake in a casket. It's never happened to me."

  "It must be a secret fear you have."

  "It is. I used to wonder what it would be like to wake up when the lid was closed, usually just before I was put into one."

  "How do cybers get into a casket then? Are they put there after the cyber is... what do you call it?"

  "Shut down. No, they climb into it themselves." He rubbed his eyes. "We do. We get in, and as soon as we lie down the cyber puts the host into cold sleep. We're injected with chemicals that paralyse and prepare us."

  "How do you breathe in there?"

  "Re-breathers and scrubbers. The caskets are airtight, but there's an oxygen supply in the base, and the carbon dioxide is scrubbed from the air."

  "What happens if the oxygen runs out?"

  "An alarm sounds and lights flash. It's very loud. If the oxygen still isn't replaced, the casket automatically opens."

  She nodded. "That's good. So a cyber can never suffocate in his casket."

  "Not unless it malfunctions."

  "Why are they sealed? Why not just let outside air in?"

  "It's a safety feature, in case there's a hostile atmosphere outside. Gas is sometimes used in chemical warfare. Otherwise it would be easy to wipe out an army of cybers with gas while they were still in their caskets. There's a couple we can't be immunised against, which combine with oxygen and make the air unbreathable, like the fire extinguishers on Triumphant."