The Cyber Chronicles 06: Warrior Breed

by T C Southwell

  Atrel fielded the torc, frowning. "That would be dishonest, Commander."

  "Well hell, we're being accused of dishonesty anyway. What does it matter?"

  "It matters." Atrel stepped closer to Sabre and handed the torc back.

  Sabre replaced it around his neck. "I'm not in the mood to beat some sense into him, so let him keep his damned sword for all I care. My food's getting cold, and I'm hungry."

  Sabre spun on his heel and almost fell over Tassin, who stood right behind him, absorbing the drama. Gripping her elbow, he steered her from his path and marched towards the food counter, the men parting before him. Several tried unsuccessfully to hide their mirth, and he halted next to a grinning group leader.

  "What the hell are you laughing at?"

  The big man's grin vanished. "At the enemy commander, Commander."

  "You find his difficulty to believe that I command this ship amusing?"

  "Yes - no, Commander."

  "Which is it?"

  "No, Commander."

  Sabre tilted his head. "Then what's so damned funny?"

  "His spouse looks old enough to be his mother."

  "Quick thinking, Group Leader." Sabre nodded. "If you were me, what would you do?"

  "Smash his face in, Commander."

  "Harsh punishment for being a fool."

  "He insulted you."

  A rustle behind Sabre made him glance around. Trival approached, and several officers moved closer to impede his progress. Tassin sidled past and headed for the counter a few metres away.

  "This farce is being taken to extremes," Trival said. "If you're the commander of this ship, prove it."

  Sabre shook his head. "I'm not fighting you. I don't have to prove anything."

  "Of course, a non-com would be too cowardly to fight a warrior. A test of strength will satisfy me."

  "I wouldn't advise it. I'm a bit pissed off right now."

  "As I expected, you won't accept my challenge because you know you'll lose."

  Sabre shrugged. "Fine, don't say I didn't warn you. What do you propose?"

  Trival thrust out his hand. "A simple test."

  "Ah, one of those. But I will hurt you."

  A gasp from Tisha distracted him. She raised a hand to her mouth, then turned and pushed through the men. He turned back to Trival, who waited, his hand extended, a nasty smirk on his face. Sabre clasped his hand and waited for the expected crushing grip. Instead, Trival yanked him closer. A dagger flashed in his left hand as he stabbed it into Sabre's belly. The barrinium mesh just under Sabre's skin deflected the weapon, which cut a long gash. Sabre grunted and doubled over as several Eagle Clan officers grabbed Trival and dragged him away.

  Atrel gripped Sabre's arm. "Are you all right, Commander?"

  Sabre clasped the wound, then opened his bloody hand and glared up at Atrel. "I've just been stabbed in the gut, Atrel. What do you think?"

  "Call the medics!" Atrel yelled.

  "It's not that bad." Sabre straightened and unfastened his tunic to examine the wound. "I just need more stitches now."

  "Let me through!" Tassin's angry voice commanded, and Sabre turned to find her struggling in the grip of a burly officer.

  "Let her go," he ordered.

  The officer released her, and she hurried to his side. "How bad is it?"

  "Just a scratch." Sabre faced Trival, who stood in the grip of two lieutenants, watching him with narrowed eyes.

  "You should be dead."

  "Well, as you can see, I'm not." Sabre stepped closer. "Proof enough, or do you still want that test of strength?"

  "Internal body armour. So, you're not a non-com, but neither could a warrior your size be a commander."

  Atrel said, "You've dishonoured the Wolf Clan, Trival."

  "I stabbed a warrior: a minor breach of etiquette."

  "No, you attacked an Eagle Clan commander."

  "When are you going to tire of this idiotic charade?"

  Sabre said, "Right, I've had enough of this. Let him go."

  The officers released Trival, who tugged his tunic straight and glared at Sabre. "Good, I've had more than enough of it."

  "After I crush your hand, you will surrender your sword to me."

  Trival glanced at Sabre's bandaged right hand. "Agreed."

  Sabre held out his hand again, and Trival clasped it, this time in a crushing grip. Sabre winced as the wounds in his palm flamed with pain, then gripped Trival's hand. The enemy commander grimaced, trying to exert more pressure, but his hand was locked in Sabre's grip. His scowl deepened, then his eyes widened when Sabre continued to increase the strength of his grip. Sweat popped out on Trival's brow, and his face creased with pain. Sabre squeezed harder, and Trival groaned.

  "Enough!"

  "You yield?"

  "Yes!"

  Sabre released Trival's hand, and he rubbed it, his expression furious and disbelieving. He drew his sword and held it out hilt first. Sabre took it and passed it to Atrel. With a last glare at Trival, Sabre went back to the counter and his plate of cold food. He pushed it aside and filled another with a fresh selection from the heated platters.

  Tarl frowned at Sabre's wound. "More stitching for me, I see."

  "Your scientists should have engineered me to heal in a few minutes."

  "They tried. Your rate of healing is five times faster -"

  "Shut up." Sabre glanced up as Tisha came to his side, looking relieved and a little puzzled.

  "I thought you would surely crush his hand to jelly," she said.

  "I may be a lot of things, but a sadist isn't one of them."

  "You could have humiliated him for his insults."

  "What I can do, and what I will do are two entirely different things," Sabre said.

  "Many would consider mercy a weakness."

  "Many are fools."

  She nodded. "I agree. A truly strong man does not have to prove it."

  "I'm glad we agree on something."

  Tisha smiled, looking coquettish, then moved aside as Atrel approached. The first lieutenant took her place beside Sabre, watching him eat.

  "There is another small matter, Commander."

  "After I've eaten."

  "Of course."

  "What is it?"

  Atrel leant closer. "It’s customary to reward the men who fought well, and were injured."

  "Medals?"

  "No. A mere handshake and a few words of praise from you is all they require."

  "Really." Sabre glanced at him. "Are you sure they would want to be congratulated by someone they have to look down on?"

  Atrel smiled. "The tale of your fighting prowess during the battle has reached every ear on the ship, and probably a few on other ships by now. They will be honoured." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Another rumour circulates, that you were seen to crush a shard of power crystal with one hand. Is this true?"

  Sabre held up his bandaged right hand. "A stupid exhibition."

  "But an impressive one. Such deeds are highly thought of amongst Trykons. Your name has been inscribed beside the power tester as the one who destroyed it, and it will not be repaired. A new one will be installed, but that one will remain as proof of your strength."

  "I'm flattered."

  "You shouldn't be. Such feats are rare, and highly prized. Our ship will gain much status from you. Doubtless you will be offered the command of a larger vessel, probably a battleship." Atrel hesitated. "Many of the men have asked if you would consider giving another demonstration."

  Sabre frowned at the food on his fork. "I'm not an entertainer."

  "Perish the thought, Commander. No one would ever think such a thing. We're proud to have a commander with your abilities, and the men long to see what you can do."

  Sabre shook his head. "The trouble with giving those kinds of demonstrations is they tend to hurt. Smashing your tester injured my hand, so did crushing that crystal. It's not fun."

  "Is there nothing you could do that wouldn't cause you inju
ry?"

  Sabre put down his fork and pushed away his plate. "Not at the moment. I already have injuries."

  "Of course. When you're fully recovered, perhaps."

  "I'll consider it. Right now, I should have this seen to." Sabre indicated his wound.

  "The medics are waiting."

  "Send them over."

  Tarl glowered at the two warrior medics who tended to Sabre's wound, clearly put out that Sabre had not asked him to do it. The Trykon medics used a simple strip of adhesive tape to glue the gash together, a more effective and advanced method. Trykon trauma medicine was highly evolved, Sabre reflected, because there was so much call for it in a society that was constantly at war. The Eagle Clan officers around him continued to talk and quaff their ale and wine. The enemy officers stayed in a tight group, muttered and glanced often at Sabre. The medics finished their chore and left, and he buttoned up his torn waistcoat. He asked the non-com behind the counter for a glass of water, causing many of the Trykons to look at him askance.

  For a short time he was left in peace to sip his water, then Atrel brought forward a young warrior with a missing hand and a bandaged chest.

  "This is Emrend, who slew ten men and paid a heavy price."

  Sabre looked up at a young, brown-haired giant who sported a side-mounted scanner on a silver skull plate. The warrior drew himself up and smiled, looking proud. Sabre studied him, then held out his hand.

  "Well done, soldier. Good job."

  Thank you, Commander. Your words of praise honour me."

  Sabre shook Emrend's left hand, and the warrior stepped back as Atrel presented the next hero, a strapping, shaven-pated veteran with a bionic eye, two scanners and a robotic right leg. His left arm was in a sling and his left thigh bandaged.

  "This is Trovan, who slew nine men and sustained severe injuries, including a broken arm."

  Sabre repeated his curt commendation and received the same reply. The next in line was Second Lieutenant Rodar, who had lost a hand, but only had seven kills on his tally. Atrel presented nineteen men in order of the number of kills they had made and the severity of their injuries, the last with only five kills, four broken ribs and a crushed foot. When he left, Atrel leant against the counter beside Sabre, who rubbed his aching right hand.

  Atrel said, "Now that we've captured an enemy ship and taken prisoners, we must return to the resupply vessels to hand them over as soon as our port side thrusters are repaired. Already a skeleton crew has taken control of Invincible, but she will return with us, as our prize."

  "Good. How long till the thrusters are fixed?"

  "Only a matter of hours."

  "And when we drop off the prisoners, we'll refuel, right?"

  "Yes, Commander. A high commander will be there to commend you for the victory as well."

  "Wonderful." Sabre put down his glass and straightened. "I'm going back to my cabin."

  "But the celebration..."

  "Carry on without me. I'm tired."

  Sabre left before Atrel could protest further, and Tassin and Tarl caught up with him in the corridor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sabre gazed at the approaching bulk of a massive super tanker and resupply ship that made Nemesis look like a toy. The tension on the bridge increased as they approached an empty docking bay. The crewmen were intent on their instruments, and Atrel gave instructions and received information in return. Invincible followed like a prisoner in chains, the flashing lights on her hull signalling her status as a captured ship, according to Atrel. This was to prevent enemy ships from sneaking up on the resupply ships in the guise of captured vessels, since only Eagle Clan officers knew the correct sequence of lights.

  When docking was complete, the injured soldiers were taken to hospital to receive additional treatment and bionic limbs. Fresh warriors came aboard to replace them and those who had been killed. Next, a high commander came to inspect the prisoners and oversee their disembarkation, coming aboard afterwards to commend Sabre. The short ceremony took place on the bridge, but the high commander had a much longer and more flowery speech than Sabre had given to the nineteen heroic soldiers. The huge, muscular man, whose almost shaven scalp was decorated with a complex swirling pattern of completely shaven lines, also sported two scanners, a bionic eye, robotic arms and a bionic leg, as well as numerous scars. He hid his incredulity at Sabre's size and lack of serious injuries quite well, but not his surprise at the cyber's kill tally.

  Atrel made a complete report, and the high commander examined the destroyed power tester panel, then left to inspect Invincible.

  Seven hours later, Nemesis was refuelled and resupplied, and they undocked. Atrel ordered the ship to return to the battle, and Sabre glanced around from his perusal of the screens.

  "No. Set course for the interstellar corridor 378-924."

  Atrel turned to him. "This is what you need the ship for?"

  "Yes."

  "As soon as we leave Trykon space we will be a target for every warship out there."

  "I'm aware of that."

  "You have a home amongst the Eagle Clan, Commander. You're one of us now. You've earned the respect of every man on this ship."

  Sabre nodded, gazing at the stars. "There's somewhere I have to go."

  "This is desertion."

  "The blame will be mine. You're just following orders."

  "A commander who gives a traitorous order is supposed to be arrested and taken before a high commander for judgement."

  "Are you going to follow my order, or not?" Sabre asked.

  Atrel turned to the pilot. "Lay in the course."

  Sabre faced Atrel. "You puzzle me. I would have thought you would resent me for taking your command. I'm an outsider, and small by your standards, yet you don't. Why is that?"

  "You don't understand Trykons as well as I thought. Your skills have earned our respect, and you are no longer an outsider; you're a member of our clan. Your lack of stature pales to insignificance when compared to your abilities. To the Eagle Clan, you're a great asset. I have no reason to resent you, and we were not raised to envy those who have greater skill than us, but to revere them."

  "So I can expect the co-operation of the entire crew?"

  Atrel shrugged. "If there is any opposition to your plans, it will be from the women."

  "What about other Eagle Clan ships?"

  "Soon someone will notice our heading and ask where we're going. What do you want us to tell them?"

  "Nothing. Don't answer."

  Atrel nodded. "They'll send a ship after us, but they won't leave Trykon territory, nor will they fire on us."

  "Good. Two hours to the end of Trykon space at sub light." Sabre stared out of the screens again. "Then we'll be on our way at last."

  ****

  Tassin glanced up from her vidbook as Sabre walked past.

  "Where are you going?"

  He stopped and turned to her. "To do some exercise."

  Her brows rose. In all the time she had known Sabre, she had not seen him expend energy for any other reason than to get them out of perilous situations. When he was not doing that, he was recovering from the resulting wounds and exhaustion. They had been travelling along a super light corridor for five days now, and he was fully rested. His wounds were healed and the stitches removed, and his bio-status was at a hundred per cent, thanks, in part, to Tarl's unwelcome supervision.

  In addition, on a warship with a crew of several hundred, there was little for him to do, and she had sensed his boredom for the last couple of days. Her attempts at conversation had been met with gentle smiles and single-syllable, noncommittal answers, from which she had deduced that he was not in a mood for talking. His mood had been hard to fathom, but he was certainly withdrawn. Since the precious episode after the battle, which she had feared would be a once-off aberration, he had joined her in her bed every night and fallen asleep holding her. She wondered if she had become a comforter for him, since he was always asleep within minutes of lying be
side her and drawing her into his arms. She did not care, as long as he wanted to be close to her. She would be whatever he needed, for as long as he needed it.

  She switched off the vidbook and stood up. "I'll come with you."

  "I don't need company."

  "That's not why I'm coming."

  Sabre shrugged and headed for the door.

  In the combat room, several young warriors stopped sparring and lowered their weapons when he walked in.

  Sabre jerked his head at the door. "Out."

  They started to file out, then paused in the doorway, where one said, "If you'd like a sparring partner, we'd be honoured, Commander."

  "No."

  The door slid shut behind them, and Tassin leant against the wall beside it and watched Sabre strip off his vest. He was clad once more in his cyber-issue clothes, which were a little ragged in places now. She often wondered why he insisted on wearing them, since he hated being a cyber so much and they were a constant reminder. Their stretchiness was probably part of the reason, for he needed that, and perhaps also their camouflage quality, but that did not seem sufficient reason when weighed against the terrible memories that must come with them. The scars from his most recent wounds were still red and angry-looking, and Tassin let her eyes roam over his perfectly formed physique, every muscle defined and symmetrical.

  Sabre walked to the centre of the room and took up a spread-legged stance, beginning a series of slow, flowing movements, his hands relaxed. At first he worked only his upper body, muscles writhing under his skin. Tassin's mouth fell open when he bent slowly over backwards until he could place his palms flat on the floor, his spine bent at what seemed to her to be an impossibly sharp curve. With the same slow, controlled grace, he kicked off with his feet and lifted his legs into a perfect handstand, his balance impeccable.

  After a pause, he folded his legs and lowered them in front of him, straightening them at the halfway point and continuing downwards until they passed his shoulders and were parallel to the floor. He held the pose for several minutes, then spread his legs wide and lowered himself to the floor in a split, making it look easy. Bending, he reached out to touch first one foot, then the other, showing remarkable suppleness as he touched his brow to each knee.