The Cyber Chronicles 08: Scorpion Lord

by T C Southwell

  The fight had been in progress for three hours now, and sweat streamed down him. It dripped from his elbows and soaked his vest, ran into his eyes and sprayed from his chin. His heart was cruising at two hundred and twenty beats per minute, and his blood pressure was up to a hundred and fifty over a hundred and twenty, normal for a cyber in full combat. Adrenalin coursed through him, but his bio-status had dropped to seventy-two per cent. The cyber came at him again, leaping into a spinning kick. Sabre jumped high to smash his heel into his opponent's head.

  Once again the young cyber was flung off balance, spinning to the ground. Sabre landed beside him and lunged as he sprang up. The cyber threw himself backwards in a classical evasive move, jerked up his legs and kicked as Sabre grabbed his right wrist. The terrific wrench made Sabre's shoulder burn, and a rib cracked with a dull crunch. He hung on, bore his foe to the ground and bent his wrist backwards with both hands. The joint gave with a dull pop, and the young cyber tried to punch him with his left fist. The dislocated shoulder impaired his mobility, and he missed.

  Sabre held the cyber down, threw a leg over his thigh and pinned it. Recalling his fight with the Corsair, he strived to entangle his opponent, using brute force to grip him. His head pounded as blood vessels swelled with the strain. The cyber heaved and writhed, making Sabre's joints creak and his muscles burn. He shifted his hold to his adversary's elbow, bent and twisted it savagely. The young cyber turned and jerked his head forward, striving to smash Sabre's face, but he avoided the blow. Handicapped by his dislocated left shoulder, the cyber strained against Sabre, staring through him with blank eyes.

  With a terrific wrench, the cyber jerked one leg from Sabre's grip and kicked him in the chest, punching him backwards. He hung onto his opponent's arm, his joints burning and creaking under the strain. The cyber writhed and rolled, forced Sabre onto his back and pinned him down. Sabre punched him in the face, and blood sprayed over him from the broken nose and split brow. The young cyber retaliated with his left fist, smashed it into Sabre's cheek and split the inside of it, causing blood to gush into his mouth. Sabre arched his back, heaving mightily, and rolled on top of his adversary again. The cyber hooked a leg over Sabre's shoulder and pushed, bending him backwards until he thought his spine would snap.

  Hanging onto the cyber's right wrist, Sabre bent it, trying to dislocate his shoulder. His foe twisted sideways, forcing him onto the ground, his leg hooked around Sabre's neck. The strain was massive, and his bio-status dropped to sixty-eight per cent. The savage test of strength drained his resources swiftly, and was one reason cybers did not favour close contact combat. Gritting his teeth, Sabre twisted his head out from under the cyber's leg, released his right wrist and sprang away. The cyber regained his feet in a lithe bound, his left knee wobbling.

  The young cyber now had a dislocated left shoulder, a broken right wrist, a severely sprained right elbow and a smashed patella. Sabre had two cracked ribs, a sprained shoulder and torn ligaments in his elbows and wrists, but the fight was far from over. The young cyber would fight until he was too incapacitated to continue, was ordered to stop, or was dead. His injuries would slow him, however, giving Sabre a slight advantage, even though he was similarly hampered. He had to end it soon, but there were not many ways in which to kill a cyber, and he glanced around for inspiration.

  The slice-wire was too high, and the young cyber would easily counter the walls. His skull could not be smashed, anyway. Testing the sponginess of the foam, Sabre took a couple of bouncing steps and leapt at his enemy, aiming for a scissor neck hold. The young cyber dropped and rolled, as Sabre knew he would. Sabre kicked into a backflip as soon as his feet touched the ground, tucking in his legs to spin through the air. Landing in a crouch beside his still-rolling foe, he flung himself at the cyber, grabbed his left arm and twisted it behind his back.

  Pinning his adversary face-down, Sabre held him there with a knee on the back of his neck, trying to force his face into the floor and cut off his air. The cyber heaved, then twisted his head to the side, freeing his nose and mouth. Sabre rolled him, forcing his hand up behind his neck, the dislocated shoulder joint tearing with an ugly sound. Once again his face was pressed into the spongy foam, his neck twisted at an acute angle. Sabre gripped his opponent's right arm and forced it to joint its partner behind the cyber's neck. He heaved again, sweat making him slippery, and Sabre struggled to hold him in position.

  Sabre knew that the young cyber's bio-status was ticking down rapidly now, warning lights flashing at the lack of oxygen in his blood. His metabolic rate was in overdrive to provide the energy he needed for the fight, which meant he was using oxygen at a terrific rate, and would run out all the sooner because of it. Even so, it would probably take between five and seven minutes for him to die. Pushing harder, he ground his opponent's face into the floor, holding both arms pinned behind his neck. The young cyber kicked backwards, almost dislodging Sabre, who hung on. He sensed his foe's strength dwindling. The cyber's struggles grew weaker, and he made strange gurgling noises as he struggled to breathe. It was a savage way to die, and Sabre hated it, loathing the men who forced him to kill his twin or be killed himself even more.

  The cyber writhed again, more weakly, his chest heaving as he strived to breathe. Sabre held him, knowing that unless his owner ordered him to stop, the youngster would only keep trying to kill him. One of them had to die, and Sabre did not want to be it. Muttering came from the audience, which he had almost forgotten about. Six minutes ticked past like hours. Sweat ran down his face, and his breath came in harsh gasps. His bio-status dropped to sixty-four per cent.

  The young cyber heaved once more, then jerked and twitched, going into the convulsions that preceded death as his control unit made a last ditch effort to resuscitate him by dumping adrenalin into his system. Sabre could sense the young cyber's heart racing, probably at over three hundred beats per minute now, his increased blood pressure causing vessels to bulge on his neck. Without oxygen, however, all the control unit's efforts would be in vain. The youngster stiffened as his heart stopped, and then went limp. Sabre held him down for another minute, then released him and rolled him onto his back. The brow band blazed red. His lips were blue and his eyes bloodshot.

  Sabre rose and walked away a few steps, sank to his knees and back onto his haunches, bowed his head and closed his eyes. He panted, his heart hammering, and sweat dripped from his nose and chin. Silence filled the arena as the audience tried to absorb the horrific and impossible death of a peerless fighting machine at the hands of what they thought was an unaltered man. More fool them, he thought bitterly, such a thing could never happen. Even one cyber killing another in this fashion had not happened before, simply because they would never use the brutal tactics he had employed.

  The gate onto the arena floor opened, and a man stepped aside to allow Martis to trot over to Sabre.

  "Are you okay?"

  Sabre shook his head. "What do you think?"

  "Right, not, but let's get out of here, please?"

  "Give me a minute."

  Martis fidgeted. "I hope we have a minute."

  With a grunt, Sabre climbed to his feet and headed for the gate, Martis following. The balding procurer appeared and led them back towards the exit, where the two tall, well-dressed organisers waited. One held out a pouch of wafers, which Martis snatched before retreating behind Sabre.

  "What you did tonight was impossible," the other man drawled in a rich baritone. "We lost a lot of money on that fight."

  "You lied," Sabre said. "Not only was that an A-grade, you were supposed to stop the fight at first blood."

  "You weren't supposed to live to complain, and your sidekick wouldn't have been able to do much about it. Perhaps you aren't in any condition to do anything about it either."

  "Try me."

  "How did you do it?"

  "You were watching, weren't you?"

  The mogul nodded. "I saw the impossible happen. Cybercorp will pay a great deal for that v
idimage. Perhaps I can recoup my losses."

  Sabre inclined his head. "And if they tell you how I did it, it will surprise you."

  "I look forward to it."

  "I'm so glad I could give you something to look forward to. Enjoy the anticipation."

  Sabre brushed past him and headed for the exit, Martis close behind. In the street, Sabre took a deep breath of fresh, humid air and set off towards the hotel. Martis fell into step beside him.

  "We have to find Estrelle."

  Sabre stopped. "Right."

  Martis glanced back. "Do you think they'll try to get their money back?"

  "Maybe. They know I'm hurt." Sabre consulted the scanners and turned to the right, in the direction of a shiny building. The scanners led him to a narrow, dark doorway at the side of the structure, where they found Estrelle huddled, clutching the pouch. She jumped up with a cry of joy, her smile swiftly fading at the sight of Sabre's battered face. He swung away and set off across the square. Late night revellers thronged it, most wearing very little, some nothing, and all of them drunk or drugged. Sabre thrust them aside when they came too close, and Martis elbowed others away. They reached the hotel and slipped inside, Sabre relieved to get off the street without incident.

  In the hotel suite, the cyber sank onto the red-quilted king sized bed with a groan. Martis hovered, looking worried. Estrelle stowed the money in a cupboard, then sat beside Sabre.

  "Where does it hurt?"

  "Everywhere."

  Estrelle reached out to touch his swollen cheek, recalled Martis' warning and stopped, biting her lip. "You should shower and get out of these wet clothes, then Martis can do something about your injuries. How badly are you hurt?"

  "Two broken ribs, torn ligaments in my elbows and wrists, a sprained shoulder and lacerations to the inside of my cheek. And a lot of bruises, of course."

  Martis said, "I don't have the necessary drugs to fix that, but I can strap your ribs up."

  Estrelle looked up at him. "He probably needs a painkiller, to start with."

  "Right." Martis went to the medikit and dug in it.

  She turned to Sabre. "Now you know what a broken rib feels like, huh?"

  "Estrelle..." Sabre took hold of her collar and tugged her closer. "Do you really imagine this is the first time I've had a broken rib?"

  "Um... I guess not."

  "That would be a safe guess."

  Martis came back with two painkillers, and Sabre sat up to take them, wincing as bruised muscles and strained tendons protested. Estrelle helped him to peel off the sopping vest and tug off his boots and trousers. When he was stripped to his shorts, he went to shower, glad to wash off the dried sweat that prickled his skin. Martis waited with three rolls of bandages when he re-emerged, and Sabre sat down while he strapped his ribs. That done, the cyber stretched out on the bed and tried to relax, his muscles thrumming in the fight's aftermath.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jorran cursed and glared at the cyber who was clamped to the scaffold. Blood seeped from deep burns on the clone’s chest, and Jorran signalled to Rond to show the clients out. When he had found that the free cyber had put himself back under cyber control, it had surprised him somewhat, but now he knew the truth.

  "Cyber Seventy One, what was your designation prior to this one?"

  "Cyber Twelve."

  Jorran cursed again, swinging away. Now he also knew why Estrelle and Martis had not been at work for the last two days. At first, he had not noticed their absence. Estrelle worked in another department, and Martis, he had assumed, was working in another part of the lab. Today, however, when he had ordered them to attend the demonstration and they had not responded, he had made enquiries and discovered that neither of them had been seen for two days. Even then, he had not been alarmed, thinking them truant.

  The free cyber was gone as well, though, replaced by this one, which could only mean the two young techs had somehow engineered his escape. They could not leave Myon Two, so it was only a matter of time before they were caught. A cyber was easy to hide, however. There were hundreds in the centre, new ones and old ones that were used for experiments before they were destroyed, and finding him would be a mission. Still, as long as he was on Myon Two, he would be found. Jorran was glad now that all access to the Overlord frequency had been forbidden on this world and many of the other planets that owed allegiance to Myon Two.

  Returning to his office, he ordered a planet-wide search for the cyber and the two techs, also glad that he had fitted Sabre with a new locator. He checked his messages, and found a strange one from a mogul on Eden Five. It demanded a large sum of money for a vidimage of what it claimed was a free man killing a cyber in unarmed combat. Jorran snorted and almost dismissed it as a not too clever con, then reconsidered. Was it possible that the two techs had somehow got Sabre off Myon Two? It would explain such a vidimage, and he authorised the payment.

  When the file arrived in his datanet, he watched it with horror and disbelief. There was no doubt that the man with the white silk around his brow was Sabre, and the brutal way in which he killed his opponent turned Jorran's stomach, but also excited him. It proved that the free cyber was even more formidable than a normal one, able to use tactics that a true cyber would not, to great effect.

  Jorran watched the last few minutes of the fight several times, then contacted the enforcers and informed them of Sabre’s whereabouts before leaning back with a smile of satisfaction. The free cyber's little jaunt would be a brief one, and had divulged some interesting information. The traitorous techs would pay dearly for their mistake, and he was curious to know how they had got off Myon Two.

  ****

  Kole stepped out into the muggy, humid air of Eden Five, drawing in a deep breath with a smile. The door whined shut behind him, and he patted Striker's sleek silver hull before heading for the travel port buildings, a bounce in his stride. This was just the sort of place he needed to visit after six months on a drab rock.

  After passing through lax port controls, he wandered down a bright, wide street between towering glass buildings, soaking up the ambience. Everything was available on Eden Five, and he looked forward to sampling many of its pleasures. The plethora of beautiful women parading along the street promised an endless supply of eager partners. He smiled at three pretty girls, who giggled and came over. To his delight, they hugged and kissed him, tugging him towards a shiny building. At the entrance, he freed himself from their fondling hands just long enough to enter a Net booth and leave a message for Sabre, using the return address on the one he had sent.

  The girls tugged him into a lift that shot up to a luxurious penthouse furnished with vast cushions strewn across a padded floor, where they filled glasses from drink fountains on the walls and sprawled on the cushions. Kole grinned as the girls pulled off his clothes.

  ****

  Tassin fought the tears that stung her eyes, refusing to give in to the despair that besieged her. The Olgaran mage stood with a bowed head, his hands clasped before him as he admitted defeat. Two hours of chanting, clapping and hand gestures had failed to raise the bracelet from the inky depths of Orvalin Pit. Tarl patted her shoulder and went to mount his horse. Words could no longer express her anguish and despair, and he seemed to be similarly stricken.

  Turning away from the pit that had swallowed her last hope of contacting Fairen, she walked back to Falcon and allowed a knight to help her into the saddle. Long shadows crept across the land as dusk fell, the sky streaked with pink and orange behind streamers of gloomy cloud. Tassin raised her head, glad the dimness hid the tears that slid down her cheeks, no longer able to stifle them. Perhaps this time he was lost to her forever, returned to the torturers who had created him, destined to suffer for the rest of his life. The thought made her want to be ill. She picked up her reins and tugged Falcon’s head around as the rest of the party moved off.

  A flashing light in the sky caught her eye, and she reined in, staring at it. It drifted above the trees, another
flashing light becoming visible beside it. A dark shape hung behind the lights, indistinct in the gathering gloom.

  "Tarl."

  The repair tech pulled up his horse and glanced back. "Yeah?"

  Tassin pointed. "What's that?"

  He looked up, a frown knotting his brows, which then rose in surprise. "It's a ship."

  "A ship?" Tassin gave a choked sob. "You're sure?"

  "Absolutely. That's a ship!" Tarl grinned and gave a whoop that made the horses shy and some of the men jump. "It's a bloody ship!"

  She clamped a hand over her mouth, convinced that her heart was about to burst. "We must follow it!"

  Tarl gazed up at the lights, calming his cavorting mount. "It's going to land somewhere nearby, that's why it's so low. It must be homing in on the bracelet's beacon."

  Tassin watched the lights, afraid that if she looked away they would disappear. They drifted lower. Tarl urged his horse towards them, for they seemed to be moving towards a meadow on the other side of a narrow belt of forest.

  "Come on!" he yelled.

  Urging her horse after him, Tassin tore her gaze from the lights. They thundered through the grove, the soldiers following, and burst onto a broad meadow where the ship, now discernable as a boxy black shuttle, settled on the ground. Tassin stopped her horse and jumped off to trot towards the vessel. Tarl ran up to fall into step beside her. Five soldiers dismounted and hurried after them, catching up as they arrived beside the shuttle.

  The door cracked open with a squeak, sank inwards and glided aside, allowing warm yellow light to flood out. Two men stood silhouetted in it, and walked down the ramp that slid out to provide egress. Tassin’s heart pounded with joy despite Tarl's disappointed, wary expression. She stepped forward with a smile when the strangers reached the bottom of the ramp.