The Cyber Chronicles 09: Precipice

by T C Southwell

  "I am Tarvin. Be at ease, you have nothing to fear."

  "Why did you buy me?"

  "Ah, right to the point, I like that." He studied her, tilting his head. "I haven't decided yet. I heard that you claim to be royalty, and I was intrigued."

  She nodded, hiding her blistered hands in her riding habit’s skirts. “I am Queen Tassin Alrade of Arlin, Omega Five.”

  He seemed unimpressed, so either he did not believe her, or he did not care. “I was also told that you're truculent, and a bit of a handful, is that true?"

  "Aren't all slaves truculent?"

  "Not so much. I’m sure they are resentful, but usually they're too scared to betray their resentment, lest they jeopardise their lives. Slave owners seldom tolerate a rebellious slave, and they have ways of ensuring obedience."

  Tassin chewed her lip, her tension increasing. "I’ll repay whatever you paid for me if you'll let me go."

  "That’s a sizeable sum. I got into a bidding war with that uncouth primitive, Daone. He should have known better than to bid against me, so he's now licking his wounds, I would imagine."

  "Was it just a matter of proving that you have more money than him?"

  "Not at first,” he said, “but towards the end, I must admit I was growing annoyed with his persistence."

  "Endrovar probably planted him to push up the price, then."

  "Perhaps."

  “So if you weren’t looking for a slave, why were you even at the... What was it, a Net auction?"

  “Yes. I was invited.”

  "I just want to go home," she said, wondering if it was possible to appeal to his better nature, if he had one.

  "Of course you do."

  Tarvin touched a keypad on the arm of the sofa, and a few moments later the door opened to admit a uniformed servant with a tray of assorted drinks. Tarvin selected a beverage and gestured at Tassin.

  "The lady will have something, too."

  The servant offered her the tray, and she chose a glass at random. When the door shut behind him, she tasted the concoction, finding it quite pleasant.

  "Will you consider my offer?" she asked.

  "I’m afraid not. Tell me how you came to be in this unfortunate predicament."

  Tassin settled back, relaxing somewhat, since he seemed friendly and sympathetic despite his refusal to consider her offer. It seemed odd that a slave owner would entertain a slave he had just purchased, and she hoped he might be sufficiently moved by her plight to help her. She related the entire tale, from the time she had been taken from Omega Five, including Sabre’s disappearance as the reason she had contacted the alien space vessel, although she did not mention what he was, or her suspicions about who had taken him and why. Tarvin listened intently, sipped his drink and interjected an occasional question, clearly fascinated. She wondered if he bought slaves just so he could listen to their woeful stories, and, if so, whether he might return her to Omega Five when she had told hers. The manservant brought fresh drinks when their glasses became empty, and a plate of tasty finger food, which she nibbled. At the end of the tale, Tarvin cocked his head and smiled.

  “You have indeed suffered a terrible mishap. Most unfortunate; I sympathise.”

  Tassin nodded, wondering at Tarvin’s stillness. He had not moved since she had come in, and his position on the sofa looked a trifle uncomfortable. Silence fell, and stretched, becoming awkward, and she tried to think of something to say to dispel it before he grew bored and dismissed her. "So do you own planets, like Endrovar?"

  "Ah, well, whether what he owns could be called planets is debateable. Most of them are barely habitable, and only one is actually inhabited. Large moons might better describe them."

  She sipped her drink, which was the same sort as the first one she had chosen, since she had decided that it really was tasty. "Why is it so dark in here?"

  "I prefer darkness."

  "Why?"

  "I find it soothing."

  Driven by a nagging suspicion, Tassin rose and went over to his sofa, settling on the end of it.

  He watched her with a frown. "Please return to your seat over there."

  "Why?"

  "I would prefer you to sit over there."

  Tassin leant closer, studying him. "Is there something wrong with you?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "You sit too still, and the darkness..."

  "Please return to the other sofa,” he said.

  "Are you paralysed?"

  "If I answer your question, will you return to your seat?"

  "All right."

  Tarvin looked down at his glass. "Yes, I'm paralysed."

  "An accident?"

  "The other sofa?"

  Tassin returned to her former seat. "So was it an accident?"

  "Yes."

  "And you don't want to talk about it."

  "Would you, if you were me?"

  "I suppose not."

  Tarvin sipped his drink. "It was one of them." He pushed a button on his keypad, and soft lights came on in floor to ceiling recesses all around the walls. Standing under each one, his golden control unit glinting in the light, was a cyber. Tassin’s nape hairs prickled as her eyes swept around the room, counting them; fifteen, all clad in dark blue trousers and short jackets.

  "You were attacked by a cyber?"

  "I fought one."

  "Why?"

  "I thought I could win, obviously."

  "You're lucky to be alive."

  He shook his head. "Perhaps death would have been more merciful."

  "Why do you keep them?"

  "A reminder, perhaps, but also protection."

  "What possessed you to fight a cyber?"

  “I didn’t know what he was,” Tarvin said. "Ten years ago, cybers were unknown in this quadrant. I was... a fighter, the best in these parts by far. Unbeaten, and unbeatable, I thought. Not crass wrestling matches, you understand, but highly skilled combat. I spent my youth in training with the masters, and it was considered a sport for heroes, kings and warriors. I was dedicated to it. It was my life. One of them took it away."

  The lights above the cybers dimmed, consigning them to the darkness again. "You can't blame them,” she said.

  "No, I don't. I blame the man who used cybers in the combat arenas, disguised as normal men."

  "Emperor Endrovar."

  He snorted. "Emperor nothing, he's a thug."

  "Oh, I know that."

  "He was a mediocre fighter at best, and he couldn't beat me. I was the champion."

  "So do you use your cybers to fight now?"

  "No. I would never do that,” he replied. “It would be an insult to them. They are peerless fighting machines. I have nothing but respect for them."

  "And you must be rich to own so many."

  Tarvin inclined his head. "I am heir to Tor'Sharlin, rulers of the Estron System, masters of the combat creed of Sharlin, founder and master of high combat." He gestured to the shadows. "Him."

  She glanced around in confusion. "Who?"

  Tarvin touched the keypad, bringing up the lights over the cybers again. "Him."

  "The cybers?"

  "They are his clones."

  "He's the man Myon Two cloned?"

  "Yes,” Tarvin said. “He was the greatest fighter to ever live. The most perfect physique ever born; a peerless balance of size, weight, strength and speed, unrivalled agility and split second reflexes."

  "So... you're related to them?"

  "He was my ancestor. Sharlin vanished from this quadrant when he was only thirty-seven. Fortunately, he already had five sons. Everyone assumed he had gone in search of fresh challenges, and perhaps he did. How Myon Two got his body I don't know. Perhaps they killed him; perhaps he died some other way. After a cyber beat me, I bought one and tested his DNA. That's how I found out he was Sharlin."

  "You don't look like them."

  "No, but I'm told that my father did. He died when I was an infant, killed in a combat match that went awr
y through treachery. I look like my mother."

  "Did you tell Myon Two who you are?" she asked.

  "Yes, I travelled there after I found out. I demanded recompense for my injury and their use of my ancestor's DNA. That's why I have so many cybers. These are just the ones who are on duty in here. Myon Two sends me one every year. The best, according to them."

  Tassin frowned. "But if this happened ten years ago..."

  "Yes, well, when I travelled there, they gave me thirty as my compensation, so I now have forty-one."

  "What happened in the fight?"

  Tarvin smiled. "I hit him twice. I'm told that was unheard of. He moved like lightning. After about four seconds in the arena with him, I knew I was going to lose. But I had stubborn pride on my side. It was not a fight to the death, he had been ordered to defeat me. He hit me three times in the head, glancing blows, but I wouldn't stay down. Then he broke my arm, and my wrist. Still, I wouldn't stay down. Finally he broke my back. With one blow, like that." He snapped his fingers. "Like snapping a twig. The fight lasted thirteen minutes."

  "You know they're not entirely human."

  He nodded. "The people at Cybercorp told me. They cited it as a reason why they shouldn't have to pay compensation, but ninety-nine per cent of the DNA is human, and it's all Sharlin's."

  "And do you know that they're aware?"

  "No, according to Myon Two, they have no higher brain function. They're born like that, some sort of genetic change they made."

  "They lied."

  "Why do you say that?"

  Tassin hesitated, toying with the idea of telling him the truth about Sabre, but then discarded it. Not now. "The man who was abducted with me, Tarl Averly, used to be a Myon Two repair tech until he discovered the truth. Their brain function is intact, they just have no control. They can hear, and think, and feel, and see a little, but they can't move or speak, the brow band controls that."

  Tarvin stared at her for several moments. "Can he prove it?"

  Again she hesitated. "I don't know."

  "How does he know this, then?"

  "He told me that once, when he was repairing a cyber who had been terribly burnt, and whose brow band was defunct, something to do with an electomagno... something..."

  "Electromagnetic?"

  "That's it. Something to do with that. He was thrown through a solar wing or something... Anyway, his brow band was off, and he – the host – spoke to Tarl, asked him to kill him, then he died."

  He stared at her for what seemed like a full minute. "If that's true, it's barbaric."

  "Yes, and if he's your ancestor, you can stop them."

  Tarvin frowned at his drink. "I gave them permission to continue using Sharlin's DNA."

  "Why?"

  "Because my bloodline continues in them forever, and they honour my heritage. They are peerless fighters, respected all over the galaxy."

  "And they suffer indescribable pain,” she said. “They're used for horrific purposes, torn apart by alien beasts -"

  "I know. But they’re not Sharlin. He lived and died, and he cannot be reborn. This man Tarl, does Endrovar still have him?"

  "Yes." She leant forward, intent. "Could you buy him?"

  "I doubt he would be willing to sell him. A cyber tech would be extremely valuable to him."

  "Tarl could tell you much more than I can."

  "About what?" he asked.

  "Cybers."

  "I know all I need to, or want to."

  "You seem unconcerned about what's being done to your ancestor's clones. Don't you care?"

  He smiled. "It's not like I ever met him."

  "Would you like to?"

  "What do you mean by that?"

  She paused once more, torn. "Wouldn't you like to meet a clone who wasn't controlled by a brow band?"

  "That's impossible, I was told. And anyway, it wouldn't be Sharlin. His spirit has passed, this is only his flesh."

  Tassin put down her empty glass, struck by a sudden thought. "Tarl might be able to help you."

  "Help me? How?"

  "Your injury. He might be able to fix it."

  Tarvin snorted. "A nice thought, but impossible, I assure you. My spinal cord was sheared off, no hope of restoring it. I went to the best surgeons and specialists."

  "But cybers have all sorts of abilities; they heal faster than normal, perhaps -"

  "No." He put down his glass. "I think you'll find that even cybers can't regrow a spinal cord. I've heard of them breaking their backs, too."

  "But Tarl -"

  "Enough, please. I'm tired. Erron will show you to a room, where you can rest and bathe." He tapped the control pad, and the door slid open to admit the manservant, who bowed. "Show Tassin to a room and make sure she's comfortable," Tarvin instructed.

  "At once, Sire."

  Tassin froze in the act of standing up, turning to Tarvin. "You're a king?"

  He smiled, his golden eyes gleaming in the light from the doorway. "Yes."

  She stared at him, stunned.

  Erron murmured, "This way, Miss."

  She closed her mouth and swallowed. "But then... he's..." She gestured to the darkness where the cybers stood.

  "He was High King Sharlin Stargane, ruler of the Estron System and the Stargarde Marches, fifteen solar systems on the Inner Rim. But that was a long time ago."

  "That's why you can't..."

  "He's a legend, and he's dead. Dead legends need to stay dead. If High King Sharlin returned, it would spark an interstellar war the likes of which has never been seen, and I'd venture to say even the Overlords could not stop."

  She nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

  Erron gestured to the door again. "Please, Miss?"

  Tassin followed him, her mind whirling, still struggling to grasp what she had learnt. Erron led her to a luxuriously furnished jade and gold suite with wardrobes full of clothes and an immense bathroom equipped with scented soaps and a multitude of lotions, salts and perfumes. Running a hot bath, she stripped off and soaked in it, thinking about what she had learnt and wondering at it. What were the chances, she mused, of meeting the man whose ancestor Myon Two had cloned, and who was, to all intents and purposes, Sabre’s descendant. Now she knew why she had always felt that he was noble. One could not get any nobler than a high king.

  Chapter Six

  Martis looked up when the door slid open to admit Kole, who strolled over to the padded table where Sabre lay and gazed down at him. The two cybers who guarded the door remained immobile. They would only keep out the enforcers if ordered to do so, since all of them had command privileges.

  Kole frowned at Sabre. "No change?"

  "As you can see,” Martis said. “Trust me, if he woke up, I'd let you know, or he would. Coming in here every few hours to ask that question isn't going to wake him up any faster."

  "I just thought he might have farted or something, just to let us know he's still alive."

  "Nope. Any luck with your Net contacts?"

  Kole settled on a stool beside the table. "No nibbles yet, but it's only been a few days. The word has to spread."

  "The longer we wait, the further away Tassin is likely to get, if she was ever here."

  "Yeah, now you know why Sabre was so pessimistic about finding her. It's like looking for a grain of sand on a beach. How's your project coming along then? Have you found a way to wake him up yet?"

  Martis shook his head. "I don't think there's a way to force him to wake up. He'll do it when he's ready, or not at all."

  "Bloody cop out." Kole leant closer to Sabre. "You hear that, you damned wimp? You're a cop out. When the going gets tough, you run away and hide in your own private hellhole."

  Martis typed on his keypad. "He can't hear you, which might be a good thing if you're fond of having your head attached to your neck."

  Estrelle looked up from her screen. "That's not true."

  "Yeah, I know," the host tech said. "I hate this waiting. It's getting on
my nerves."

  Kole nodded. "The enforcers aren't enjoying it much either, judging by the glares I get every time I go out there."

  "They just don't like you, and I don't blame them."

  "Ah, there’s so much friendship in this room. You know, I bet if I offered a Myon Two host tech for sale, the lowlifes would come crawling out of the woodwork pretty damned fast."

  "And now you know why nobody likes you," Martis said.

  "That's actually not a bad idea," Estrelle remarked. "We don't have to actually sell you, but it might get us some leads."

  "Great, let's put you on the market then."

  "Fine, if it'll get us some action, but a control unit tech's not much good to anyone, really. It's the hosts that get damaged."

  "That's true,” the hacker agreed. “So it'll have to be your bony arse on the auction block, Martis."

  "Very funny. Put it out there if you think it'll help, but no one's being auctioned."

  Estrelle looked pensive. "The only problem is, whoever's got Tarl already has a host tech, so he's the only one who won't be interested, and he's the one we want."

  "Yeah,” Kole said, “but someone's got to know who already has a cyber tech, and that's our lead."

  "It's a long shot."

  "They're all long shots. Find me a short shot, and I'll take it." Kole glanced at the door and pulled a face. "Now I have to run the gauntlet of black stares out there to get back to Striker."

  "Why not do it from here?" Estrelle asked.

  "I prefer my own equipment." The com-link on Kole’s belt buzzed, and he unhooked it and read the tiny screen. "Ah, a bite. Someone's enquiring about getting a cyber repaired. You guys better get ready for some action."

  Martis swung around, frowning. "He'll have to be brought in here, and we can't let the enforcers see Sabre."

  "Better put him in a cupboard or something then."

  Estrelle looked at the two caskets stacked at the back of the room. "He'll have to go in a casket."

  "Good idea,” Martis said. “Open one. Give me a hand, Kole."

  The hacker raised his brows. "He's just a little guy."

  "Well he's heavy, and I don't want a hernia." Martis pulled the drip needle out of Sabre's arm. "Take his legs."

  Martis hooked his hands under Sabre's armpits, lifting his torso, and Kole gripped the cyber's ankles. Between them, they carried Sabre over to the casket Estrelle opened and placed him inside, folding his hands on his chest. Martis gazed down at him for a moment, then closed the lid.