The Cyber Chronicles Book II: Death Zone

by T C Southwell

  "I'll speak to my mother. Perhaps she'll agree to keep some boys and see what happens."

  "Even if she doesn't, you'll be queen one day."

  "Yes. I thank you for your council, Queen Tassin."

  With a final, thoughtful glance at Sabre, Mishra took her leave. His eyes opened, and Tassin set aside her sewing to rise and go over to the bed.

  "You were awake the whole time, weren't you?"

  He smiled. "I'm afraid so."

  "I thought your snoring was a little louder than usual."

  He tried to sit up and winced, relaxing again with a sigh. "That was a sad story, but I thought it would be something like that."

  Tassin perched on the edge of the bed. "Yes, I suppose at the time, all they wanted was to be free, but now they're still preyed upon."

  "Your idea is good. I hope Mishra considers it, after what happened to her."

  "I think it's you who have influenced her a great deal,” she said. “In you, she can see that some men are good. In fact, I would even go as far as to say that Mishra is torn by her feelings. Judging by the way she looks at you, I'd say that she has fallen a little in love, in spite of her hatred, her upbringing, and her experience."

  "You must be kidding. She hates my guts."

  "Not so. When you're asleep, she doesn't look like she hates you at all. Why do you think she comes here?"

  "In the hope she'll find me dead."

  Tassin smiled. "She stands for hours beside your bed and just looks at you, as if she's trying to understand you, or come to terms with her feelings. The man-woman relationship is the most natural in the world, and she's attracted to you."

  Sabre gave a disbelieving snort. "She already tried to kill me."

  "That was before she got to know you. Although these women appear happy, and they seem to satisfy each other's need for companionship and love, what they have can never compare to what a man and a woman share together."

  His brows rose towards the flashing brow band. "I didn't realise you knew so much about it."

  She shrugged, looking away. "I know enough. Unfortunately, as a queen, I doubt that I'll ever experience it."

  Sabre’s eyes drifted closed again, and she returned to her chair to resume her needlework.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gearn sat in the rude shelter Murdor had built and glared at the rain sleeting through the forest. The wolf was stretched out nearby, his belly bulging with the meal he had just eaten. Murdor sat at the back of the shack, carving a piece of wood, his brutal face rapt as he whittled his crude creation.

  They had been camped here for four days, since following the trail back to the village, and Gearn was growing impatient. The wolf had made sure their prey did indeed reside in the Andaron village, and Murdor had wanted to rush in, but Gearn had pointed out the nature of the strapping women who lived there. Murdor would have a difficult time fighting all of them as well as the warrior mage, Gearn insisted, and the big man had grumbled, but subsided.

  Soon the warrior mage would leave the village, for Gearn was sure Queen Tassin would not want to live amongst such savage women. Until then, they would wait.

  Sabre sat up on the narrow bed, wincing as the healing wounds in his thigh and arm twinged. After seven days, most of the pain had abated. His appetite had returned several days ago, and he had regained most of the weight he had lost. The infection that had caused the flash fever had come from the graveyard in which he had woken. A virulent bacterium had entered his system through his wounds, and the cyber had put his metabolism into overdrive to counter it. The bacterium was a flesh-eating variety that would have killed a normal man, but Sabre's enhanced immune system had manufactured antibodies during the two hour fever that had prevented the infection from spreading.

  The midwife's efforts to cool him down had been counterproductive, and forced the cyber to increase his temperature even more, which caused his subsequent debility. Sabre had never been in any danger from the infection, but the control unit was programmed to retaliate aggressively to any biological threat, since cybers were often used in alien environments and exposed to dangerous microbes. This particular bacterium had been alien and unknown to the cyber, causing its extreme reaction.

  Evidently Omega Five, so long isolated from the rest of the space-faring galaxy, was home to microbes that had not been logged into Myon Two's vast database, nor had cybers been immunised against them, since it was a restricted world. Considering the hundreds of inhabited planets and billions of biological threats that were already catered for, it did not surprise him that Myon Two had neglected to include bacteria from a backwater planet where a cyber was never supposed to go. Since his immune system was well able to deal with most unknown threats, the oversight had not endangered him.

  Sabre tore his mind from the clinical thoughts, which depressed him, reminding him of what he was. Cyborg! He gazed at the wall, trying to blot out the hated word.

  Two days ago, Tassin had removed the stitches he could not reach. The wounds in his belly had healed well, since the internal body armour had prevented deeper damage. The injuries in his thigh and arms still hurt, and he was careful not to tear the fragile flesh.

  Since then he had done a little more each day, helping Tassin with her chores, stretching and strengthening muscles stiff from disuse. Only Mishra knew of his progress, and after she had found him awake, she had stopped visiting. Tassin wanted him to stay in the hut, but he was bored. After pacing about like a caged cat until he could stand it no longer, he went for a walk, longing for fresh air.

  On his stroll through the village, he found that none of the Andarons glared or spat in his direction, which made a pleasant change. Many refused to look at him at all, while some stared blankly, but a few nodded in a friendly manner, and one or two even managed a timid smile. These, he suspected, where the mothers of the girls he had rescued, attempting to show a little gratitude. He smiled and nodded back at them, stopping in surprise when a young girl flew out of a hut and ran up to him, grinning. Although he did not recognise her without the coating of mud, he knew she had to be one of the ones he had rescued. She was about twelve years old, and squirmed shyly, blushing. Sabre lowered himself to one knee, favouring his wounded leg, and smiled at her.

  "Hello, little one."

  The girl reddened further, shooting him shy glances. "You helped us."

  "Reckon I did. We had a grand mud fight, didn't we? Maybe sometime we'll make a big patch of mud and do it again. We'll use less smelly stuff this time, hey?"

  She giggled. "It was fun, but my mum would kill me if I played with you."

  "That's a shame. I like mud fights." Sabre thought of the childhood he had missed.

  The child reached out and fingered the control unit, clearly fascinated by the flashing lights. "This is pretty. I wish I had one."

  "If I could take it off, I'd give it to you, princess."

  "I'm not a princess."

  "But you're pretty enough to be one."

  "My mum says men are nasty." It came out in a rush, and she gulped.

  He sighed. "Well, some of them are. You have to be really careful who you trust, always."

  She raised shy blue eyes. "You're nice. I like you."

  "Thank you. That's the best thing anyone's ever said to me."

  She reached for the brow band again, fingering it for a moment, then slid her hand down to his cheek in a shy gesture of affection. "I'm glad you're better. Mum said you were very sick."

  "I was, but I'm all better now." Sabre looked up to find a vast blonde woman bearing down on them, her eyes flashing blue fire. "Uh oh, here comes mum."

  The girl looked around and grinned. The big woman ground to a halt a metre away, her mouth opening and closing as she surveyed her daughter standing within touching distance of Sabre. He regarded her warily.

  Her eyes bulged. "I... You... I..."

  Conflicting emotions chased each other across her face, and he understood her quandary. Here was the enemy, talking to
her daughter, for which he should be flogged, hung, drawn and quartered. The very same enemy had saved her daughter from a fate worse than death, however, and should be thanked. He was curious to see what she would do. It looked as if she would pop. Her face reddened, then she grabbed her daughter and marched to her hut, slamming the door.

  Sabre stared after her, wondering what she would tell the child. That men were bad? He had saved her though, the daughter would argue. How did you explain it to a child? He wished he could treat the girl to a mud fight, they would both enjoy it. Rising to his feet, he continued his walk, limping to the end of the village and back.

  On his return to Tassin's hut, he found his bedding outside next to the wall, and the Queen waiting, arms akimbo. He wondered why she looked so angry, since he was the one who had to sleep outside now, not her.

  She confronted him when he walked up. "Shizana saw you, and she informed me that since you're well enough now, you must sleep outside again."

  He shrugged. "I was expecting it."

  "Why couldn't you stay in the hut?"

  "I needed some fresh air."

  She snorted. "Fresh air! Now you have to sleep outside again. I hope it was worth it."

  "If it wasn't for Molla's decree, I'd stay in the forest."

  Tassin huffed, clearly unable to think of a suitable retort, then stormed into the hut and slammed the door. He seemed to have a knack for making women slam doors, he mused. Spreading his bedding, he settled down on it, wondering what difference it made to her if he slept outside. Now she could sleep on her bed again, instead of the mattress on the floor, so she should be pleased. The walk had tired him, and he rubbed his aching thigh for a while before lying down.

  The next day, he went into the forest and cut some of the broad palm leaves they used for roofing, using them to build a crude shelter next to the wall. The scanners picked up two human life signs in the forest some distance from the village, but he shrugged it off as a couple of women engaged in some secret female ritual, upon which he definitely did not want to intrude. They were more than two kilometres from the village, so he had not noticed them before. He did not try to even guess at what they were doing.

  "Why do they let the little man stay with them?"

  Gearn glanced up from the book he had conjured, startled by Murdor's question. "What do you mean?"

  "You said they hate men, so why do they let him stay there?"

  "Ah." Gearn nodded. It had taken more than a day for Murdor to arrive at this revelation. "He's not alone. The women allow the Queen to stay, and so therefore so does the warrior mage."

  Murdor's ugly face creased in a frown. "What queen?"

  Gearn sighed. He had not seen any reason to mention the Queen before, but now he gave a brief account, and Murdor smiled.

  "So it's Queen Tassin yer after. No wonder yer want the warrior dead." He looked thoughtful, an alien expression on his blunt visage. "If Torrian gets a kingdom out of this, p'rhaps I should've asked fer more reward."

  "The King will give you whatever you want for this service."

  Murdor nodded, smirking. "I'll see that 'e does."

  Gearn glanced at him and shuddered. The gladiator could become a problem when this escapade was over, and he hoped the King was pleased enough to recapture Tassin that he would satisfy Murdor's demands. Then again, what else could he have done? His mission was to bring Tassin back by whatever means necessary, so Torrian would have to deal with Murdor.

  Gearn had chosen to camp far away from the village, since the Andorans mounted constant patrols around their home. The wolf scouted around the village every night, searching for a trail. The rest of the time he made himself scarce, possibly hunting further away. He returned each night and flopped down panting, but gave no indication that the Queen had strayed from the village. It was only a matter of time before she did, however, and Gearn was prepared to wait.

  Tassin put aside her empty bowl and watched Sabre, who had finished his meal and now ground a boar tusk into a spear head. He was rarely around these days, and she missed him. Each morning he vanished into the forest, to return at dusk laden with meat and fruit, which he cooked and shared with her. A week had passed since he had been banned from her hut, and, apart from the fading scars and a lingering limp, he was back to normal.

  He glanced up at her. "Are you thinking of moving on yet?"

  She looked down, rearranging her ragged skirts. "Yes. They're good people, but I don't fit in." Tassin had discovered that, amongst the Andarons, foreign queens had to fend for themselves to a certain extent. "I would like to find a truly civilised people, where I can live comfortably for a while."

  Sabre nodded, bending over his work again. "Good. Maybe we'll find a society where men are accepted too. I'm getting tired of living in a dog box."

  "Yes, you must be."

  "Are you planning on settling in a similar culture to your own then?"

  Tassin shrugged, watching his deft swiftness as he turned and polished the tusk. "What choice do I have? I can't return to Arlin. If I can find a decent people who will treat me according to my station, I suppose I'll be content enough."

  "Soft beds, hot baths, servants and princes?"

  She ignored his teasing. "Just the comforts I'm accustomed to."

  "Naturally."

  "So we will leave tomorrow."

  He performed a mocking bow without bothering to stand up. "Yes, Your Majesty."

  Tassin scowled at him. "I thought you wanted to go?"

  "I do."

  Tassin looked mystified by his mockery of her high-handed manner, and Sabre returned to his polishing, shaking his head in amazement at her lack of understanding. She ordered people around without even realising it; it came so naturally to her. It still amused him, and he hoped his teasing would eventually mellow her into a more normal person. He glanced at the scanner information, as he did from time to time, noting the continued presence of the two human life signs in the forest, which had hardly moved since he had first noticed them.

  The following morning, Tassin went to the mansion to bid farewell to the Andaron Queen, and returned with an assortment of gifts. Two women carried bags of dried food, water skins, and two leather tents that the grateful mothers of the kidnapped girls had made for her. Sabre's worn belongings, which had survived the Orokan raid, were amongst the baggage. He had demolished his crude structure, and eyed the bags with a jaundiced eye, knowing he would have to carry it all. Shizana accompanied Tassin, and approached him, holding out an intricately carved, ivory handled knife.

  "A gift from Mishra. You lost yours."

  He took it with a nod. "Thank her for me."

  Sabre studied the weapon while the women dumped their burdens and left. Shizana ignored the fact that he had addressed her directly and drew Tassin aside.

  "Mishra spent weeks working on that," Shizana confided to the Queen in a murmur Sabre was clearly not supposed to hear. "She can't thank him, but this is her way. Ever since her ordeal, she's been consumed with bitterness and hatred, frustration and shame. She was plagued by terrible nightmares, and many feared she would lose her reason. Now that the men who did it are dead, she's at peace once more. For this, we're all grateful."

  Tassin smiled. "I'm glad, and Sabre will be pleased too."

  Sabre shouldered the heavy packs, pulling a wry face when Tassin made no effort to help. Shizana escorted them to forest's edge and watched until the vegetation swallowed them up. He glanced back as the leaves closed behind them. Mishra stood beside a hut, gazing after them, looking confused and forlorn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sabre set a leisurely pace in the pleasant coolness of the green gloom under a canopy of huge, spreading trees that shaded tracts of ground carpeted with golden-brown leaves. Streams meandered through it, edged with lichen-covered rocks and frilly ferns. His wounded leg still ached, although almost a month had passed since his battle with the Oraka. He glanced at the cyber's scanner information and noticed three points of ligh
t following, two kilometres behind. One of them was a wolf-man like the ones who had attacked him on the mountain, and he stopped, turning to Tassin, who looked up at him.

  "What is it?"

  "Your King Torrian hasn't given up after all." She looked alarmed, and he added, "It's only two men and one of those wolf things. They shouldn't be a problem."

  "They crossed the Death Zone after us."

  He nodded. "Must have followed our trail, or they'd be suffering from radiation sickness by now. How they got through the Death Zone is a mystery, though."

  "What should we do?"

  "I'll have to get rid of them, I guess."

  "But you're not well yet."

  Sabre raised his brows. "I'm touched by your concern, but I assure you, I'm well enough to deal with two men and a pseudo-wolf."

  He went over to two trees growing close together and dumped the packs behind them.

  "Take the sword; you might need it,” Tassin said.

  "I don't want to kill anyone if I can help it, and with a sword I will. I'd rather discourage them; send them packing with a few cracked ribs and bruises."

  "They'll have weapons; you could be hurt."

  "I know what I'm doing, okay?" He fixed her with a steely gaze. "Wait here. And if you interfere this time, I'll definitely put you over my knee, understand?"

  She nodded, but her eyes were defiant.

  The scanners showed that the men were approaching quite fast, one lagging behind. Leaving Tassin to guard the packs, he walked into the centre of a nearby glade and waited, folding his arms.

  The wolf entered the clearing first, nose to the ground. Spotting Sabre, it veered off and moved around the edge of the glade, its yellow eyes seeking Tassin. Sabre watched it for a moment, then his attention was jerked away as a giant strode into the clearing. The brawny goliath towered over two metres tall, clad in a chain mail breechclout and gladiator’s sandals, and the hairs on Sabre's nape rose. The giant stopped a couple of metres away, his scarred face splitting into a gap-toothed grin. He drew a battered broadsword, and Sabre unfolded his arms, letting them fall to his sides.