The Cyber Chronicles VI - Warrior Breed

by T C Southwell

  "How long can a cyber be kept in a casket?" she asked.

  "It's recommended that he be taken out every ten years and given food, water and exercise, if the owner wants to keep him in good condition. But a cyber has been known to survive for twenty-two years. He was in pretty poor condition when he came out, though."

  She hesitated, as if reluctant to make him talk about things that might upset him. "So you're not frozen?"

  "No. Our body temperature is lowered, and our metabolism slowed to the point where it's almost non-existent. It's a bit like hibernation."

  Tassin glanced at the shredded bed. "And that's what you'd have done to a casket if you'd ever woken up in one?"

  "I wouldn't have been able to move, so no. That's what I'd like to have done, though. In my dream I could move after a while, and I smashed my way out."

  "Did that make you feel better?"

  "Yeah, I guess so. Kind of like wish fulfilment. Until I woke up."

  She placed a hand on his cheek. "I'm fine, stop feeling guilty."

  Sabre pulled her into his arms again and stroked her hair. "I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If I don't die trying to save you, I'll end it myself. The cyber can't stop me anymore."

  Her arms tightened. "No. Don't do that. I don't want you to. I didn't go to all the trouble of finding you and freeing you just to have you throw it all away if I die. I want you to live, and enjoy your freedom."

  "How could I enjoy it if you're not there?"

  She looked up at him. "Find ways. Explore the universe, become Ravian's agent, or Fairen's. Destroy Myon Two. Do something useful with your life. You have so much to offer. Perhaps you'll meet another girl and find love again."

  "Would you do that if I died?"

  "Yes."

  Sabre almost checked the scanners to see if she was lying, but stopped himself. Tassin would not lie to him. The image of his hands around her throat flashed through his mind, and he looked down at them, hating them. How could he ever live with the guilt if he was the one who killed her, even by accident? He could not risk it. She must sleep apart from him, even though he enjoyed having her close, especially now that he no longer had the warning lights in his mind. He spread his hands, frowning at them, and Tassin took hold of them.

  "You have nice hands."

  He fought the urge to tug them free and hide them. "How can you say that?"

  "It's true."

  "They're ugly."

  "I disagree. They're nice... the hands of an artist." She looked up and smiled.

  He frowned at his hands again, a little embarrassed by her praise. "They're mutilated."

  "No, they're not. The scars are barely visible. I didn't notice them for several days after I met you. I had to look closely to see them. They're beautiful, just like the rest of you."

  This time he did check the scanners, and cursed himself. She was telling the truth, even though it was hard to believe, but then, there had to be something about him that she found attractive. Still, her words rankled. "I guess you like scars, then."

  "Not particularly, but yours aren't ugly. The ones from when the scientists put the metal on your bones are so faint, and there's no sign of stitches. How did they do that?"

  "They glued them together."

  She looked puzzled. "Glued?"

  "Yeah. They use sticky tape, stick it to one side of the incision, then pull it across so it holds the wound closed. No stitches."

  She leant forward and touched his chest, probing for the mesh under his skin. "I can't feel the armour, can you?"

  "Sometimes it twinges. You can feel it here." He guided her hand to his flank, where the mesh could be felt over his ribs.

  Tassin explored the area, looking enthralled, then raised her eyes to his face. "At least they made the brow band attractive."

  He fought another urge to check the scanners. "Attractive."

  "Yes. It's quite ornamental, with the gold metal and black crystals. And the flashing lights are pretty."

  Sabre snorted, finally amused. "You think it's pretty?"

  "It looks a bit like a crown. Perhaps I should put some flashing lights on mine when we get home. My consort can't have a better crown than mine."

  Sabre smiled and shook his head. "You're kidding, right?"

  "Not at all. My crown gives me a headache if I wear it for too long. At least you don't have that problem."

  "Your crown is a symbol of rank. This is a badge of slavery."

  "Not anymore. It's your slave now."

  He inclined his head, wondering what had brought on this sudden spate of admiration. "I know I've asked you this before, but do you really think you could tell me apart from one of my clones?"

  She made a disparaging noise. "How do you think I found you? I knew you straight away."

  "The scars from my battle with the Core."

  "No. They only confirmed what I knew the moment I saw you."

  "How did you know it was me?"

  "I don't know, exactly. I just did. I looked at quite a few cybers before I found you." She glanced away. "I was afraid I wouldn't know you, so I was checking for the crack in the brow band, but I didn't need to check it when I saw you. There's something different about you, something unique."

  "I'm glad you think so. But don't you wish I didn't have this?" He tapped the brow band.

  "Not really. I hated what it did to you, but now that it's just a tool, no, I'm glad you have it. It's useful and pretty."

  Sabre studied her, wondering if she was trying to boost his ego. It was working, at any rate. He did feel better about himself. "Do you really mean all that?"

  She shrugged. "Why don't you check your scanners and find out?"

  "Why don't you just tell me?"

  "If you think I'm lying, it could just be another one."

  He nodded. "I'm trying to believe you; it's just a bit hard to."

  "Do you really think I have such bad taste in men?"

  "It could just be my character you like."

  She smiled. "I do, but I like the rest of you as well. I consider myself lucky. Some girls fall in love with ugly men with great characters, or handsome men with bad characters. But I got the best of both, a handsome man with a wonderful character."

  "Handsome." He nodded, eyeing her. "Now I know you're kidding."

  "No I'm not. I'm pretty fussy in that department."

  "What did you think of me when I first stepped out of the casket?"

  "I thought you were a handsome dolt, but that was because I hadn't met the real you, only that stupid machine."

  "And when you met the real me, you didn't like me much, did you?"

  "I thought you were rude, but I liked you."

  Sabre looked down, wondering if he should ask the question that was burning in his mind, afraid of the answer, yet longing to hear the right one. "What about my ability to fight? How much do you like that?"

  "That's a bonus. It's great, but it's not why I love you."

  "So it doesn't impress you."

  "Of course it does, but if you were ugly and a bastard, or handsome and a bastard, I wouldn't love you no matter how well you could fight."

  "And if I was ugly but likeable, and couldn't fight?"

  "That would be okay."

  Sabre studied her again, puzzled. "I'm surprised. I thought my abilities were a large part of the attraction."

  "Why would they be? How much less would you love me if I wasn't a queen?"

  "None. But... my abilities are surely the most impressive thing about me."

  She leant forward and took his hands. "Your abilities are very impressive, but I love you because you're a wonderful, gentle person who also happens to be very handsome. I do also love the fact that you can beat anyone who dares to challenge you, but if you were crippled tomorrow I wouldn't love you any less."

  He gazed down at his hands, not hating them for the first time. He was almost glad he
owned them, especially when she was holding them. "And I wouldn't care if you were a pauper, or ugly. I fell in love with you first, you know."

  "I wouldn't count on that. I was too naive and stupid back then to know what I was feeling, and I had this silly notion that it was impossible because you weren't noble, but you're far nobler than any of the primping lords on Omega Five."

  He smiled, absently caressing her hands. "Thank you."

  "When I was searching for you, I was so afraid you would be killed before I found you. I don't know what I would have done if that had happened. I had these terrible images of you being torn apart by monstrous alien beasts or killed in some stupid battle. I never imagined you wouldn't remember me. Were you aware that I was there, before we freed you?"

  "Not really. After I was sent back to Myon Two I buried myself so far in the darkness I was hardly aware of anything."

  "Yet when I called your name, you reacted."

  He shrugged. "Your voice did sound familiar. It did kind of wake me up a bit, and then I heard you telling me to free myself, which I thought was really dumb, since I had no memory of ever being free."

  Her hands tightened on his. "But you did try."

  "Yeah."

  "At least that can never happen again."

  He pulled a wry face. "If Myon Two ever get hold of me, I reckon they'll figure out a way, and if they can't, they'll kill me."

  "They can't, two Overlords have forbidden it."

  "What the Overlords don't know won't hurt Myon Two, and they have a lot of power."

  "Without that tracking thing, they'll never find you."

  "Unless I'm betrayed."

  She frowned. "Who would do that? Not the Trykons. They don't even know who you are."

  "No, not them, but possibly Ramadaus, or, more likely, Manutim."

  Her eyes took on a distant look. "And he knows about Omega Five."

  "Yeah."

  "We could be heading for a trap."

  "We could, but now I have Fairen's distress beacon, and they don't know about that."

  "Would they dare?"

  He nodded. "Oh yeah; Myon Two don't like the Overlords. They could never stand up to one of them, but they'd definitely sneak around behind their backs."

  Tassin yawned and knuckled her eyes. "I think we should get some more sleep."

  He rose. "I'll get another mattress. You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

  "You're not going to have another dream tonight."

  "We can't be sure of that. Go to sleep. I'll be right back."

  Tassin climbed into the bed, shooting him a mournful look. His unusual show of affection had surprised and delighted her, and she wished he would do it more often. It was worth almost being strangled, although she had to admit that his hands had barely tightened on her throat. Still, it had been frightening, especially after Tarl's lecture on killing machines. That fact did come to bear when the killing machine in question had his hands around her throat.

  The conversation seemed to have calmed him, as she had intended, although the earlier event had clearly rattled him. It had driven yet another wedge into their fragile relationship, making his struggle to become normal even more difficult, and she cursed the torturers who had crippled him so badly while making him into a weapon. She would have happily traded all his fighting abilities for a chance at a life without the fetters of his conditioning and training, and the trauma of his monstrous past. Their arrival at Omega Five seemed certain at last, and, although the wild roller-coaster ride of Sabre's development had taken a bad turn, she hoped things would improve with time. He was undergoing a lot of difficult adjustments to his new life, but they deserved to find happiness at the end of this long and torturous journey after all they had been through. Closing her eyes, she allowed the gentle tide of sleep to rise and wash her away into its dark ocean of slumber.

  ****

  The Cyber Chronicles saga continues in Book VII, Sabre, Book VIII, Scorpion Lord, Book IX, Precipice, and many more as yet unwritten.

  About the author

  T. C. Southwell was born in Sri Lanka and her family moved to the Seychelles when she was a baby. She spent her formative years exploring the islands – mostly alone. Naturally, her imagination flourished and she developed a keen love of other worlds. The family travelled through Europe and Africa and, after the death of her father, settled in South Africa. T. C. Southwell has written over forty novels and five screenplays. Her hobbies include motorcycling, horse riding and art, and she earns a living in the IT industry.

  All illustrations and cover designs by the author.

  Contact the author at demonlord07@hotmail.com

  Acknowledgements

  Mike Baum and Janet Longman, former employers, for their support, encouragement, and help. My mother, without whose financial support I could not have dedicated myself to writing for ten years. Isabel Cooke, former agent, whose encouragement and enthusiasm led to many more books being written, including this one. Suzanne Stephan, former agent, who has helped me so much over the past six years, and Vanessa Finaughty, good friend and business partner, for her support, encouragement and editing skills.