The Cyber Chronicles Book II: Death Zone

by T C Southwell

  Sabre had to ward off two more swamp denizens before they reached a clump of stilt trees as the first pale pink light brightened the sky. He crawled through the roots in search of a hiding place amongst them and found four trees that grew close together, their interwoven roots forming a platform. Heaving himself onto it, he helped the tired girls up beside him, and they reclined on the roots with sighs of relief, dripping ooze.

  Tassin started to wipe off the mire, and he said, "Leave it. We'll have to hide here until night falls again, we need the camouflage. Those men aren't going to give up so easily. They'll increase their search in the day, hoping to find us stuck in the mud."

  Tassin nodded, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion. The Andarons settled down, and Sabre found a fairly comfortable niche between two roots, wedging himself into it. Tassin crawled to his side and pillowed her head on his chest. Sabre leant back with a sigh as sleep washed over him in a welcome tide.

  The cyber woke him, and he opened his eyes to peer through the stilt trees at the sunlit swamp. A raft approached, its occupants scanning the clump of trees and muttering in angry tones. He glanced at the girls, meeting many scared eyes as they looked to him for guidance, and he raised a finger to his lips. The swamp mud had dried to a light grey that matched the trees' muddy roots, and even he could hardly see them.

  Only Tassin still slept, her cheek on his chest, her arms wrapped around him. He waited while the men on the raft peered into the trees. They drifted off, and the girls relaxed, shifting to more comfortable positions before settling down again. Tassin sighed and squirmed closer, her arms tightening around him, and he wondered what made her cling to him in her sleep. He shifted to restore the circulation to one leg, then settled back once more.

  When he woke again, shadows crept across the swamp as the sun sank below the horizon, trailing streamers of crimson cloud. Many of the girls picked dried mud off each other and conversed in whispers, but Tassin still slept, now almost in his lap. Sabre smiled at the Andarons, cracking the mud on his cheeks, and some of them giggled. Their eyes flitted to the comfortable Queen, whose limbs were entwined with his. He shook her awake, and she sat up with a start, disentangling herself.

  Sabre consulted the scanners, finding that the Orokans still searched the swamp, though none were close to them. Glancing at Tassin's mud-caked face, he grinned, for the hard grey sludge had cracked in a grotesque mask. She grimaced, cracking it further, then reached through the roots and acquired a fresh handful, which she clapped on his face, smearing it over his nose and mouth. The girls burst into giggles, and Sabre smiled, wiping the excess off. As the Queen turned to grin at the Andarons, he scooped up a handful and reached around to plaster it on her face.

  Tassin gasped and reached for more sludge, even as Sabre scooped up another handful. Soon a full scale mud fight was in progress, and the girls joined in, slinging muck at each other. Muted giggles escalated to soft shrieks, and Sabre signalled for silence, which they managed with difficulty. Tassin scored a hit in his eye, and he squashed a glob down the front of her dress.

  Tassin retaliated with a slimy handful down his trousers, until there was not a scrap of clean skin on any of them, even under their clothes. He grabbed Tassin's wrists when she tried to plug his ears with muck and held her at bay until she calmed down, putting an end to the fun. The distraction had served to pass the time until it grew dark, but now it was time to move on. The girls quieted, realising that they were hungry and thirsty, but their spirits were lifted and they were all covered with wet mud, a painless procedure when done playfully. Sabre released Tassin and climbed down through the roots into the sludge. She groaned and followed.

  Amongst the trees, they were able to pull themselves along with the roots, and made good progress until they had to cross open patches. More trees loomed out of the darkness, and the mud became a little firmer, allowing them to crawl on their hands and knees. The cyber's scanners tracked the progress of the men now searching the edge of the swamp. A group approached, and Sabre signalled his charges to lie flat and still, watching the bobbing torches.

  The men shouted and swore while they blundered through the trees, tripping over roots and cursing when they sank into patches of wet mud. As soon as they passed by, Sabre moved on, clambering through the roots when the footing grew firmer. The moons rose together, and their combined light made the cyber's infrared vision unnecessary.

  A soft shriek made him whip around in alarm. A girl on the fringe of the group, who had evidently been crawling under a root, lay prone, struggling to free her arm. She grunted with effort and whimpered with pain and fear. Her distress drew the others to her aid, and Sabre climbed over the roots towards them. Belatedly consulting the scanners, he found a purple dot next to her, indicating an alien creature.

  Moving faster, he reached the girl, whose arm was clamped in the jaws of a blunt-headed, ugly grey animal. Its neck emerged from a hole in the mud, and he guessed that there was a lot more of it underground. The Andorans beat it with their fists, but it merely closed its eyes and tugged at the girl's arm, trying to drag her into its lair. Sabre shoved the girls aside and bent to grip the creature's armoured head. Slipping his fingers into its mouth, he hooked them onto its serrated teeth and pulled.

  The swamp beast writhed, striving to keep its jaws closed, and the girl whimpered as blood oozed from her wounds. Sabre cursed and yanked the animal's jaws apart, snapping its lower mandible with a dull crack. The girl recoiled, and the creature flailed until he broke its neck with a quick twist. Dropping the corpse, he turned to the Andaron girl, who clutched her arm, blood seeping between her fingers. She stared up at him with scared, amazed eyes, and he dug in his medical pouch for a roll of bandage.

  The girl shrank back when he reached for her arm, and he beckoned to Tassin, holding out the bandage. "Here, someone will have to wrap that wound. We don't want to leave a blood trail for everyone to follow."

  One of the girls near Sabre took the bandage and bent to tend to her friend, shooting him an unreadable look. He moved away and sat down to wait, and Tassin joined him. As soon as the girl's arm was bound, they set off through the roots once more, and the going became easier when they moved further into the trees. They floundered into a few deep puddles of mire, but for the most part they were able to walk and crawl through the trees with comparative ease, the worst behind them. When the ground grew firmer, he urged the girls into a trot, splashing through pools of clear water as they drew near the edge of the swamp. Tassin puffed beside him, her dress heavy with mud.

  "Why are we running?" she panted. "They're not chasing us."

  "We've left a trail out of the swamp that even a brain-damaged monkey could follow. They'll be after us soon."

  "Then what? Do we run all the way back to the village?"

  "I don't know. Maybe they'll give up if we get far enough ahead."

  Sabre knew that he would, in all likelihood, have to kill their pursuers. Tassin kept up with the pace for a while, then slowed to a walk to catch her breath. The swamp trees gave way to open forest, moonbeams dappling its leafy floor. When they stopped to drink at a stream, the Queen sat on the bank and washed the mud off her face. Sabre caught many of the girls staring at him with a mixture of wariness, curiosity and bewilderment, and sympathised with their dilemma. When their thirst was slaked, he urged them on, helping Tassin with a hand under her elbow.

  Dawn found them walking, exhausted. Tall, grey-barked trees with pale foliage populated the forest, and red-gold leaves carpeted it, interspersed with patches of moss and clumps of ferns. Sabre called a halt, and the girls collapsed with weary groans. After a rest, some of them foraged, and Sabre made a brief foray to bring Tassin a fruit. The Andorans stretched out and fell asleep, and Sabre's eyelids drooped.

  The control unit's alarm jerked him from his doze, and he sat up. The scanners showed over thirty men on their trail, only one and a half kilometres away, approaching fast. He shook Tassin awake and shouted at the girls, who sat up frow
ning and knuckling their eyes.

  "Get going!" he yelled as he dragged Tassin to her feet and propelled her through the trees. In the time it had taken to get the girls moving, their pursuers had gained half a kilometre. Tassin stumbled beside him, and Sabre supported her when she tripped over roots, her feet dragging. The Andorans ran ahead, then waited for them, and the scanners told him the men were catching up rapidly. Tassin's pace was far too slow; her tired legs buckled with every step, and she growled with frustration. Sabre picked her up, ignoring her mumbled protest, and increased his pace as only a cyber could, his feet flying over the ground.

  The girls made a valiant attempt to keep up, but were soon left behind, forcing Sabre to slow down. He matched his speed to theirs, but although it was a lot faster than Tassin's, their pursuers still gained on them. Sabre could have out-sprinted the Orokans, even carrying Tassin, but if he left the girls behind they would be recaptured. Although they were not his primary concern, he wanted to save them as well, and knew he could.

  The scanners showed that the soldiers were only a few hundred metres behind now. He wanted to urge the girls to greater speed, but knew they were exhausted, and the only way they would escape was if he stopped their pursuers. The soldiers' shouts rang through the forest, mingled with the crashing of heavy boots, and the girls darted fearful glances behind them. They entered a grassy, sunlit glade. Ferns bordered it, and animal trails criss-crossed it. Men burst from the trees, sprinting after them in a horde of yelling, sword-brandishing brawn.

  Sabre shouted, "Run!"

  The Andorans scattered like startled deer, and Sabre stopped. Putting Tassin down, he pushed her away and turned to face the first warrior, who charged him with sword raised. Sabre ducked under it and lunged, sending the Orokan flying backwards with a punch that lifted him off his feet. Half the men chased the Andorans, leaving fifteen to deal with Sabre.

  They attacked in a roaring rush, impeding each other in their eagerness to reach him. He smashed aside any who came close enough, spinning to face every threat, his movements too fast for the eye to follow. This was a supreme test of a cyber's combat skills, though not the ultimate one. The only fighter who could hope to match him was another cyber. He was a killing machine, the hated, mocking voice in his mind told him. This was his purpose. He was good for nothing else. Cyborg! His mind became detached and calm, slowed the frenetic pace and allowed him to partially compensate for the number of foes.

  The cyber switched to full combat mode, and a faint green grid appeared in Sabre's vision. On it, the predictive targeting data flashed in soft red lines as the supercomputer calculated each warrior's potential action and plotted it, supplying a recommended countermove in a flash of violet text. Sabre's brain, trained to react to the prompts, followed the control unit's strategy without any effort on his part. When the cyber had been in charge, he had been unable to see this data; the supercomputer had controlled his motor cortex. For the most part, he followed its directions, and often his reactions were identical to those of the control unit, a legacy of his training.

  The cyber warned him of weapons aimed at his back, which gave him another advantage. One he needed when pitted against so many. Swords stabbed and slashed at his belly, forcing him to twist away. He drove his foot into a man's ribcage, sending him flying from the melee. A sword shaved past Sabre's side as he evaded it, and a gasp from behind told him that an Orokan had taken the thrust. He used his full strength to smash faces, break bones and send warriors sprawling with dented armour. As the mob closed in, he glimpsed Tassin standing in the forest, watching him with wide, horrified eyes.

  "Run!" he shouted.

  Many tall men blocked his view, and hands gripped his arms and twisted them in an attempt to overpower him. Using them for support, he kicked in one man's ribs and sent another reeling with a crushed face. Sabre ducked a sword stroke aimed at his neck and wrenched an arm free, a meaty crunch rewarding his backward elbow jab. Another sword bounced off his skull, and blood ran down his neck. He avoided his attackers with swift, lithe movements and slew them with brutal efficiency.

  A cyber's combat reflexes were natural and graceful, but their deadliness was evident in the number of warriors who fell around him. Since he was unarmed, the brow band became a weapon, and two men dropped dead with oblong indentations in their skulls. He was a weapon all on his own, quite capable of taking on many armed opponents with his fists and feet. A blade sliced across his belly, the barrinium mesh just under his skin deflecting it.

  The four men who held his arms twisted them until his shoulder joints popped, and he dragged them about in his efforts to avoid the weapons. A brawny arm slid around his neck from behind, and he jerked his head back, cracked the man's skull and sent him staggering. Sabre grunted when a knife gored his side and jerked his knee into the warrior's solar plexus, smashing another man's nose with a head-butt. A fist hit him in the stomach, and his kick sent the man sprawling. Sabre threw himself forward, using his weight to twist his arms free. Completing the roll, he leapt up and punched a warrior in the throat.

  Only five men stood against him now, and they gave him a wide berth, their swords held before them. The scanners tracked them as they manoeuvred behind him, and he picked up a fallen sword. Two attacked, and Sabre stepped aside, grabbed a man's head and snapped his neck with a skilful twist. A sword sliced his belly as he jumped back and kicked, breaking the warrior's jaw before he could recover his balance.

  The remaining three retreated to hold their ground until their comrades returned, but Sabre went after them. They were clearly surprised that a wounded man would carry the fight to them. Sabre dropped into a roll to avoid the swords that slashed the air where he had been a moment before, then leapt up in a spinning kick that flattened two. The last man fled, and Sabre turned to follow Tassin. Before he had taken three steps, the warriors who had pursued the Andarons emerged from the forest empty-handed, and he faced fifteen again.

  Once more they closed in, and Sabre drove his foot into an Orokan's face, felling another with a backhand slash to the throat. A sword skittered off the internal armour on his belly, opening a shallow gash, and a knife slashed his back. Twisting, he punched the knife-wielder in the head, crushing it like a rotten pumpkin, then kicked another man in the jaw, breaking it with a sharp crack. He stabbed and slashed, forcing his foes to jump back to avoid his sword, and wounded some. Sweat and blood ran down Sabre's face, stung his eyes and blurred his vision.

  A flashing red light in his brain warned him that the cyber's host analysis was critical. A soldier jumped in front of him and thrust his sword into Sabre's chest. It struck the metal plate on his sternum and drove him back into the men behind him. A knife sliced into his throat, and he kicked backwards, rewarded by the crack of breaking bone. The warriors flung themselves at him and bore him to the ground, rendering his sword useless. He kicked one in the ribs and another in the belly. Dropping the sword, he gripped the head of the man who had him pinned and broke the warrior's neck with a savage twist.

  The world swam around him, and he fought on pure instinct, no longer able to comprehend the data the cyber supplied. He relied instead on the years of training that had honed his reactions to immediate retaliation without thought or hesitation. A blow on his thigh made him lash out, killing the man who had sliced it open. He pushed the dead man off his chest and tangled the legs of another warrior with his own, bringing the man down, then killed him with a blow to the back of his skull. A wave of blackness washed over him, and lights danced in his vision.

  The battle had become a blur of movement dulled by a red haze of fatigue and blood loss and punctuated by the crunch of breaking bones as his fists and feet found their mark with unerring accuracy. A warrior tried to drive a sword into Sabre's gut, and he rolled onto his side. The blade slid off, inflicting another wound. He gripped the man's arm and yanked him closer to smash his face with a full power punch. A tide of weakness engulfed Sabre, and he rolled to his feet, his head spinning.
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  Fallen warriors littered the ground, some twitching and groaning, while others held smashed faces or broken limbs. The rest lay still in tangled, impossible positions, weapons abandoned amongst them. One man stood at the edge of the clearing, looking back. When Sabre glanced at him, he turned and trotted away, clasping his ribs. Sabre sank to his knees, then back on his haunches, bowing his head while he gasped. Lowering himself to the ground, he flopped onto his back and closed his eyes as the chill of shock and blood loss crept through him.

  Trickles of blood and sweat ran across his skin. Some of his wounds burnt and throbbed while others remained numb. Fighting to stay conscious, he rummaged in his med kit and extracted two ampoules. With shaking hands, he broke the seals and injected the clotting agent into his thigh, flank and belly, then lay back again, his lungs straining for air. He could not remain here; some of the men were merely unconscious. If he passed out, they might wake and kill him. The cyber's host status light was a steady red, indicating that his condition was critical. Only adrenalin kept him going.

  Sabre struggled to his feet, tottering. Blood oozed from his wounds and sweat blurred his vision, as well as periodic waves of star sprinkled blackness. Stumbling over prone soldiers, he reeled into the forest, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Using the cyber's video feed, since his eyes were not working so well, he walked into the undergrowth. Pain shot from his thigh at every step, and he clung to passing trees whose branches offered aid. He kept going for as long as he could, then collapsed and crawled under a bush before he passed out.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Sabre woke, the air cooled as the sun sank. He drifted back into the harsh reality of his situation, and the forest welcomed him with its gentle greenness. The lilting song of woodland birds was a soothing counterpoint to the faint croaking of frogs. As soon as he moved, pain flared from his wounds, and his gut clenched when he sat up. A crust of dried blood covered his abdomen, and the scabbed wounds in his thigh and flank oozed afresh. Most of the dried mud had been scraped off during the battle, and what was left mixed with the blood, some of which was not his, in a brown paste.