The Cyber Chronicles 02: Death Zone

by T C Southwell

  "I'm looking for Belom."

  The second man, a brawny fellow with a thatch of black hair and a flattened nose, released the saw handle. "Who're you, and what do you want with me?"

  Sabre glanced at his companion. "Can we speak in private?"

  Belom nodded and walked away, leaving his partner to mop his brow and sip water from a pottery jug. As soon as they were out of earshot, Belom turned, but Sabre shook his head.

  "Let's walk in the forest a bit."

  Belom followed him into the trees, and when they were out of sight of the wood mill, Sabre stopped.

  "This is far enough."

  Belom leant against a tree. "So, what's the deal?"

  "Do you remember assaulting two Andaron girls?"

  The big man smiled. "Yeah, we 'ad fun with them. Boy, they didn't half fight, too!"

  "Five men against two girls."

  "They were Andarons, an' one of 'em still escaped."

  "What happened to the other one?" Sabre enquired.

  "She died, silly bitch."

  "How?"

  Belom shrugged. "I dunno. Someone must 'ave thumped 'er too 'ard. Why do you want to know?"

  Sabre tensed. "I have a message for you from the one who lived."

  "Do yer now?" He grinned. "Does she want another go around then?"

  "She wants your head, and I intend to give it to her."

  Belom's jaw dropped, then he bellowed and swung a fist. Sabre ducked and retaliated, not holding back this time. His fist hit the side of the man's head with a dull crunch, killing him instantly. Sabre stared down at the crumpled corpse, his gut knotted with revulsion. For him, killing was too easy, and doing it of his own volition, no matter how justified, only served to remind him of what he was; something he longed to forget. He used Belom's hunting knife to sever the corpse's head, and wrapped his grisly trophy in the dead man's shirt. Adding it to his pack, he tucked the knife into his harness and returned to the village to find his second target.

  Sabre made sure that each man confessed to the crime without remorse before killing them. By sundown, he had five heads in his pack, which he hid in the forest between executions, and a sickness in the pit of his stomach, partly from killing the men and partly from the details he learnt about the crime. Although they deserved to die, he was glad when the last one was despatched with a quick neck twist. On many civilised planets, they would have been executed for murder, but he did not like being an executioner. He used the dead men's money to buy a meal before he set off for the Andaron village.

  Tassin reclined in her hut, nibbling a bowl of cooked tubers in sweet sauce. Although Sabre had only left the day before, she already missed him. Shouts and screams outside made her pause, her blood chilling in alarm. Putting aside the bowl, she went outside to investigate the ruckus. Armoured men boiled into the village, and the warrior women rallied to engage the marauders, but the men were clearly good fighters. They divided their forces, and some fought the women warriors while others dragged screaming pubescent girls from their huts. Tassin turned to make a dash for the safety of the forest, and almost bumped into a man with a brand. She drew her dagger and thrust it at his belly, but he blocked it, receiving a gash on his arm.

  Dropping the brand with a bellow, he knocked her down. The blow made lights flash in her eyes, and he twisted the dagger from her grip. When her vision cleared, she found him crouched over her, the dagger at her throat. She thought he would kill her, but he yanked her to her feet and hauled her towards the forest. She kicked him as hard as she could, making him grunt in surprise.

  The warrior twisted her arm behind her, making further struggle futile. She screamed for help, but the women were locked in battle with the armoured raiders, outmatched in strength, skill and weaponry. The men used swords to cut down the Andarons, who had only spears, with merciless savagery. Tassin glimpsed a black-furred creature, which resembled a massive, deformed cat with tusks, chasing fleeing women. It looked like a Death Zone monster, yet its presence was strange, especially since it only seemed to attack the Andarons.

  A knot of warrior women protected Molla and Mishra, and, although some men fell, more women died. Girls were dragged into the forest while the women fought the contingent of men whose purpose it was obviously to prevent any would-be rescuers from reaching them. Burning huts added to the confusion and forced the girls who hid in them to flee their shelter. The men captured unarmed girls and dispatched the older women who tried to defend them.

  The warrior took Tassin into the forest, ignoring her shouts of abuse and struggles, and the arm-lock prevented her from fighting. He pushed her through the undergrowth, branches and thorns scratching her. Leaves slapped her face and rough bark scraped her arms. The pain of her twisted arm made her sick and faint, and when she sagged, the man gripped her other arm and forced her to keep walking.

  The warrior thrust Tassin into a clearing where several men waited, each holding one or two struggling, wild-eyed girls who kicked and bit their captors. One prisoner's hysterical struggles tripped her kidnapper, who almost lost his grip. She bit him in the ensuing tussle, before he subdued her. Hauling her upright, he slapped her, glancing sheepishly at his grinning fellows.

  More warriors emerged from the forest, some with captives. Many of the men were wounded, and tended their injuries while they waited for their comrades. The girls quieted once their hands were bound, and Tassin's captor added her to their number. He fastened a rope around her neck, and she glared at him, tossing back her hair, which had escaped its bonds.

  "You're going to regret this, you mindless ape!" she snarled.

  The warrior grinned, but her words caught the interest of an older man, his temples touched with grey. He wandered over, a hand on his sword hilt, to inspect her.

  "Where did you get this one, Trom?" he asked her abductor, who shrugged.

  "In the village, coming out of a hut."

  "She doesn't look like an Andaron." His eyes fell on Trom's bleeding arm. "She cut you?"

  "Just a little knife she had."

  Tassin said, "You're all going to be very sorry if you don't let me go right now!"

  The greying man, who seemed to be the leader, raised his brows. "And why is that?"

  "I am a queen! You cannot treat me like this. My abduction will be avenged, even if I don't slit your throat first."

  "Really?" The leader smiled. "By whom?"

  "Someone you don't want to meet, even in your worst nightmare."

  He snorted. "One man? Look around; how many men do you see here?"

  "I don't care how many men you have! He'll kill you all for this, and I'll help him."

  "A little thing like you?" He chuckled. "You won't be killing anyone, my pretty. I'd like to meet this man, if he exists, but unfortunately we must be going."

  The leader walked off, and her captor tied her to the other girls and led them into the forest.

  Gearn glared at Murdor, who leant on his sword, smirking. It had taken two days to find the trail that led away from the river, despite the wolf's keen nose, for the frequent rain had washed away the scent. Murdor had chanced upon the pile of ash left by a campfire, yet he looked as smug as if he had used magic.

  The wolf sniffed around the ashes, but the trail blazed out of the clearing was obvious, although older than it had been before. Gearn scowled at Murdor, who grinned, clearly enjoying the magician's exasperation. After two days of following Murdor through the dense undergrowth, Gearn's aching legs, scratched arms and scraped shins soured his mood. Murdor had not bothered to create such a wide, easily-traversed trail as the warrior mage had.

  Shooting Murdor a last angry look, Gearn followed the wolf down the track, glad to be following the wider one again. Murdor tramped after them, swinging his sword and whistling, something that he had discovered annoyed Gearn, so he did it almost constantly.

  Sabre did not make such good time on the return trip, and arrived at the Andaron village in the afternoon, four days after his departure. Ev
en before he came within sight of the village, the stench of death carried to him on the breeze, and he quickened his pace, foreboding chilling his blood.

  A few huts stood amongst the charred ruins of those that had been torched. The paddock was empty, and the vegetable gardens trampled into the mud. The bodies of several big, black-haired, bronze-skinned men were nailed to posts on the perimeter. Their bellies had been slit to allow their entrails to spill out in a gory mass, and carrion birds had started their grisly feast.

  Young boys stood in hollow-eyed, apathetic groups, and a few girls huddled together, their eyes red and puffy. The foetor of blood and entrails thickened the air as he walked towards the central square, where a funeral pyre blazed. Andarons wandered amongst the wreckage, collecting debris to feed the fire. There was no sign of a jet-maned head amongst them, and a strange ache filled his chest as he approached Tassin's hut.

  Charred wood and crumbling walls marked the spot where it had stood, and his stomach clenched. Shizana stood nearby, watching him with narrowed eyes that glinted with hatred. Sabre opened his mouth to ask her what had happened to Tassin, then remembered that he was forbidden to speak and closed it.

  If he broke the rules after the Andarons had been so recently raided, they might well try to kill him. Turning away from Shizana's baleful glare, he called Mishra. Shizana gasped in outrage, but before she could do anything else, the princess stepped from the midst of a group and walked closer. She frowned, her eyes darting from him to Shizana. He unslung the pack and emptied the heads at her feet, each one wrapped in a bloody shirt.

  "There's your justice," he said. "Where's Queen Tassin?"

  Shizana started forward, her spear aimed at his belly. "You are forbidden to speak!"

  He addressed the princess. "You ordered me to speak, Mishra."

  She scowled at him before glancing at Shizana. "I did."

  Mishra pulled the shirt away from one of the heads, and Shizana lowered her spear. The princess stared at the dead face, then unveiled the next, studying each one before looking at Sabre again.

  "Did they suffer?"

  "They knew why they died."

  She nodded. "That will do."

  Her eyes filled with tears, and Shizana put down her spear to hug the sobbing girl, stroking her hair. Sabre shifted, anxious to find out what had happened to Tassin, and Shizana deduced his need.

  "Your queen is alive. The Oroka have taken her."

  Relief washed through him, easing the knot in his stomach, and he swung away.

  "Wait!"

  He turned to find Mishra facing him, brushing tears from her cheeks. "What will you do?"

  "I'm going to get her back."

  Mishra walked closer, gripping the hilt of her knife. Spotting his new weapon, she plucked it from his harness and handed it to Shizana, who had picked up her spear again. The princess studied him, and her scrutiny puzzled him.

  "There's not a mark on you." She frowned. "You killed those men with your bare hands, and they didn't even land one blow? You have no bruises, no cuts, nothing. Perhaps they were already dead, and you just stole the heads?"

  "No, I killed each one alone."

  "All of them were bigger than you!"

  "Size isn't important."

  Her eyes narrowed. "I hope you're right, if you're going after your queen. The Oroka are savage men. They stole eighteen girls."

  "How many did you kill?"

  "Eight, but we lost fourteen warriors. The village will feel their loss for years to come. Tarren had two daughters stolen, but luckily for her, she's dead. Entill had four younglings, two boys and two baby girls. Now others will have to foster her daughters, and the boys will go to the men's village early. It will be bad for them; the men will abuse them. Twelve girls are orphaned, eight boys. Many more will suffer for this day's work; not only those who died and those who were stolen. This is what men do!" She spat on the ground.

  Sabre inclined his head in commiseration. "I grieve for you, but I must find my queen."

  Mishra nodded. "Go find your queen, if you can, but they've been gone for three days already. If you don't find her, don't return, for without her you're not welcome here."

  "I'm not like those men, Mishra. I think women should be cherished and protected, not abused and butchered. I understand how you feel, and I'll get Tassin back if she still lives."

  Mishra snorted. "She lives, rest assured."

  Retrieving his knife from Shizana, she held it out. Sabre took it warily, careful not to touch her hand, then turned and trotted away. He would have liked to have had his sword back, but did not want to push his luck by asking for it.

  The raiders had left plenty of tracks, and he followed them to a fresh trail at the far end of the village. There were about twenty men in the raiding party, and the trail headed west. A set of clawed tracks mingled with the men’s', as if some sort of monster had accompanied them. Sabre settled into a fast lope, anxious to make up for lost time. With three days' head start, the raiders might reach their destination before he caught up, and the thought of Tassin suffering at their hands drove him on even after night fell. He did not doubt that the raiders' reaction to the Queen's barbed tongue would not be pleasant.

  The cyber's infrared vision made travelling at speed in the dark forest easy, so nightfall did not slow him. Before the silver moon rose, he passed through their first camp, and a few hours before dawn he came across the second one. He was gaining on them rapidly, but by dawn his leaden limbs forced him to rest for half an hour.

  The mile-eating lope he employed was part of a cyber's training, faster than a trot but not as tiring as a run. At noon, hunger forced him to rein in his anxiety long enough to kill a bush pig and cook it, knowing he would be useless if he did not have the strength to rescue Tassin when he found her. After the meal, he slept for four hours, and woke strengthened and refreshed.

  The trail crossed areas of thick bush and open forest glades, the terrain becoming more diverse. Several times it became difficult to follow, and he lost time scouting around before he picked it up again. The Oroka made no effort to hide their tracks, evidently not expecting pursuit, which, judging by the fatalistic acceptance of the Andarons, they had never had before. Since the women stood no chance of defeating so many armed warriors, their disinclination to try to rescue the stolen girls was wise.

  By dawn the following day, he had slowed to a trot. More than thirty-six hours of fast loping with little rest or food taxed even a cyber's stamina. He had encountered a third and fourth campsite, yet despite the women the Oroka made good time, and he worried about Tassin, who was not as fit or robust as the Andaron girls. Again he hunted, ate, and slept. If he caught up with the Oroka before they reached their destination there would be a battle at the end of the trail, and he did not want to be too exhausted to win it.

  Chapter Eight

  Tassin stumbled behind the girl to whom she was tied, too tired to take note of where she was, or care. Never had she walked so far, so fast. Sabre had set a reasonable pace and stopped to rest when she grew tired, but her captors moved fast, prodding the staggering girls along.

  Since her abduction, it had been a nightmare of stumbling through thick undergrowth, tripping over roots and being whipped by the branches that the girl in front pushed aside. Twice she had fallen, and the line had halted while a warrior dragged her to her feet and helped her on her way with a push. When they had stopped for the night, she had collapsed, her muscles jumping with weariness.

  Now she reeled forward with dragging feet, fatigue numbing her mind. Her legs and arms ached, and she prayed for the journey to end before she passed out from exhaustion, afraid of what might happen if she did. She tried not to dwell on what may await her at the journey's end. Numerous nasty possibilities had already presented themselves, all of which were frightening. She cursed Sabre. Why had he gone off to kill those men instead of staying at her side? What had taken him so long, and where the hell was he?

  The control unit's
warning light woke Sabre, and he sat up in alarm, glancing around. The sun sank behind the trees, and he cursed. He had slept for too long, craving rest, and, although he was stronger for it, he had lost valuable time. A glance at the scanner information revealed no danger in his vicinity; the cyber had used its warning only to rouse him. After finishing the remains of the meal he had cooked in the morning, he moved on at a fast lope again.

  The terrain grew damper, pools of stagnant water glinting amongst the trees on either side of the trail, which became a well-worn track. There was little undergrowth, since the ground was too wet to support anything other than the strange tress, which stood on huge roots. Furtive movement in the mud and water made him wonder what kind of creatures lived in this swampy environment.

  Safe on the road, he increased his pace further, his feet flying over the ground. With a cyber's stamina, he could keep up this pace for hours. Only the need for food or sleep would slow him down. His bio-status was not that good, however. It hovered at about eighty per cent, and had not been at a hundred per cent since he had stepped out of the casket. As the hours passed, it dropped.

  Through the fog of weariness, Tassin became aware that branches no longer whipped and scratched her. With an effort, she raised her head to look around. Tracts of swamp, populated with odd-looking trees, bordered the road on which she travelled. Her aching feet trod a dusty surface devoid of the roots and rocks that had tripped her on the forest's leafy floor. Her breath rasped in painful gasps, and her lungs burnt. The Andarons trotted, apparently tireless, but she could go no further. Her head spun, and the world floated around her like a bad dream, then she collapsed.

  The rope around her neck jerked tight, and dragged her for a short distance before the girls stopped. She rested her head on the dirt and closed her eyes. Her limbs seemed to be made of lead, and all she wanted was to let lassitude claim her in a blessed tide. She longed for the comfort of Sabre's presence, and wondered where he was. Now would be an excellent time for him to appear.