The Cyber Chronicles 08: Scorpion Lord

by T C Southwell

She nodded. "I thought it might be something like that. Did you intend to kill Vardin and Shenar?"

  "Not really. I reacted to the pain, and unless I make an effort to hold back, my blows are inevitably lethal to a normal person." His eyes opened a slit once more. "I don't regret their deaths, though. Is this a personality test?"

  "Of a sort, I suppose. The fact that you're an aware, intelligent human being makes what they're doing to you horrible, but if you were a cold-blooded killer, I suppose I wouldn't be as sympathetic."

  "I'm not a killer. I hate it, but I was designed to be one, so it's easy for me. I just want to be left alone. They died because they kidnapped and tortured me."

  "I agree." Estrelle straightened, glancing around. "I must go before they get suspicious. I guess you don't want them to know you're awake."

  "Not really, but it will make little difference. I don't trust you."

  She hesitated, then nodded. "No, I suppose you have no reason to, any more than I have a reason to believe you."

  "Although I have less reason to lie; but I suppose trust between us will need to be earned."

  ****

  Two days later, Jorran arranged the first demonstration of Sabre's unique abilities to a group of prospective buyers. Estrelle received her order to observe at her cramped desk in the cyber unit research lab two hours before the scheduled time. She frowned at the exposed circuitry in the prototype brow band on the table. A row of delicate, high-tech instruments lined the edge of her desk, micro scanners, probes and testers that were all hooked up to her personal analysis computer. Her cubicle was just one of a double row that lined the length of a long narrow grey room with tinted skylights in the ceiling. She touched the cool golden metal of the brow band, remembering what Sabre had called it. A little monster.

  Since her conversation with the cyber, she had avoided him, torn by conflicting emotions and a deep unwillingness to be further persuaded of his innocence and unjust treatment. She was a Cybercorp employee; her duty was clear, and there was nothing she could do for him in any case. Her priority was her welfare. The fat paycheque that swelled her bank account every month was proof of where her loyalties should lie, and she strived to harden her heart.

  After reading the order, she stared at the comscreen with blind eyes, wondering what she had become. The small red tattoo on her shoulder marked her forever as Cybercorp personnel. Resignation was not an option; she had signed a lifelong contract. She was the daughter of a surgeon and a control unit tech, and the depths of her ignorance about the true nature of cyber hosts and the horror of their production stunned her. Were her parents also ignorant? She wanted to believe they were, and, if not, that they were as helpless to do anything about it as she was.

  Estrelle picked up the prototype unit and hefted it, turning it so the spotlight on her desk shone into the dark crystals. It had always surprised her how heavy a control unit was, for although barrinium was light, the crystals were extremely dense, and heavier than lead. How must it feel, she wondered, to have one like this welded to your forehead, controlling you? She could not imagine anything worse. The latest craze amongst cyber buyers was, apparently, a demand for more life-like speech patterns, and that was her current project. The exposed audio interface, which controlled the host's speech, glinted like a little diamond. Hard, unfeeling... barbaric. With a sigh, she pressed the digital reader to it and watched the scrolling speech patterns on her monitor, trying to enhance the emotional inflections. False inflections, like everything else about control units' interaction with people. Artificial.

  At the appointed time, Estrelle made her way to the testing centre, where she found Jorran making the last of the preparations. Like most of the rooms in Cybercorp, its décor consisted of white walls, a glowing ceiling and a polished grey floor. Sabre was shackled to a T-shaped scaffold made from heavy-duty steel girders. A helmet with a tinted visor and chin guard hid his face, and his head was clamped to the scaffold. A metal band secured his neck, and shackles bound his wrists, ankles, elbows and knees in place, immobilising him. His chest heaved in rapid breaths, sweat beaded his skin, and his hands were clenched.

  Jorran adjusted the flamethrower an impassive cyber held, his brow creased in concentration.

  She went over to him. "You haven't anaesthetised the prototype?"

  He looked up. "What for? He's immobilised, don't worry."

  "He can still show signs of pain, writhe around, move his hands."

  He shrugged. "We'll just tell the clients that his brow band is a little defective. He's a prototype, after all, and if it wasn't, he wouldn't need to be clamped to the scaffold in the first place, would he?"

  "What if he cries out?"

  Jorran jerked his chin at the plasti-glass cubicle at the back of the room. "They'll be in there; they won't hear a thing. And he's gagged, so he won't be able to make much noise."

  "If you anaesthetised him, none of that would be necessary. It makes us look incompetent."

  "That might have been a problem, since he was counteracting the tranquilisers, so he might have done the same to an anaesthetic. He wasn't in a coma, he was faking it. It took five cybers to clamp him down."

  "Well that explains the lights on the control unit." Estrelle took a data-wand from her lab coat pocket and made notes.

  "I expect you'll find the reaction of the control unit to this experiment interesting too."

  "Extremely."

  Jorran turned to the cyber and ordered him to test fire the flamethrower, looking satisfied with the resulting burst of fire.

  "I think we're ready."

  Estrelle wandered over to the two host research techs who stood a short distance away, the same two men who had been with her when Sabre had killed Vardin and Shenar. They looked a little queasy, and she wondered if her illness was as obvious as theirs. They nodded at her when she joined them, fiddling with their data-wands. Jorran went to a side door and ushered in a group of people whose haughty demeanour and lavish clothes screamed money and power.

  As Jorran showed them into the cubicle, the younger tech, Martis, leant closer to her and whispered, "Are you okay with this?"

  She glanced at him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Well, he's aware."

  "So? He's just a host."

  Martis nodded. "That's right. You're right. He's just a host."

  "Are you okay with it?"

  "Of course! He's just a host."

  "That's right, he is."

  "Yes." Martis nodded. "That's all he is."

  "You seem concerned."

  "Me? No, no, not at all."

  "Good." Estrelle turned to gaze at Sabre, swallowing the burning bile that crept into her throat. Clearly it did bother Martis, just as it bothered her, and probably the other host researcher, Rond, an older man whose face remained rigidly impassive.

  "I think they should have anaesthetised him, though," she added.

  "Absolutely. We don't want him breaking loose again."

  Estrelle nodded, wondering if that was all that bothered him. "Certainly not."

  Jorran joined the clients inside the cubicle, closing the door as he continued to talk to them, undoubtedly extolling the advantages of fireproof cybers. The clients nodded, and some pointed at Sabre, asking questions that Jorran answered with a confident smile and an air of superiority. Estrelle tried to prepare herself for what was to come, her stomach knotting as Jorran raised a hand to signal to Rond, who turned to the cyber.

  "Cyber Eighteen, your target is the chest area of the cyber in front of you. Proceed."

  The cyber raised the flamethrower and aimed it at Sabre, pressing the trigger. Fire poured from the nozzle to bathe Sabre's chest, and he writhed, straining at the shackles. The brow band filled with flashing red lights, and his skin glowed golden as the flames licked over it. Estrelle struggled to show no emotion, her throat locked on a cry of horror, her stomach clenched. She glanced at the cubicle, where the clients pointed and talked excitedly, clearly amazed. Martis made a soft ch
oking sound, and Estrelle looked at him. His face remained expressionless, but a muscle jumped in his jaw.

  Cords stood out on Sabre's neck and blood vessels bulged on his chest and arms. The shackle on his right wrist snapped with a dull plink, and his arm snapped inwards, hitting his chest. He tried to reach the metal band around his neck, and continued to writhe as blisters formed on his chest and the golden glow faded.

  Martis glanced down at his data-wand. "Four minutes."

  Blood oozed from Sabre's left wrist as the shackle cut into his skin. The blisters on his chest burst and the fluid turned to steam. Sweat ran down his flanks and legs as his chest reddened and started to bleed. Estrelle bit her lip and frowned at her data-wand, pretending to make notes.

  "Cyber Eighteen, stop," Rond commanded.

  Estrelle glanced at the cubicle, where Jorran lowered his hand and turned to talk to the clients, who looked animated, pointed and clapped. The cyber deactivated the flamethrower and lowered it, assuming a resting pose. Estrelle could hardly bear to look at Sabre, but shot him a quick glance, relieved to find that he appeared to have lost consciousness.

  She turned to Martis. "Better get the med techs. We don't want him scarred too badly, and we'll need him healed for the next demonstration. When is that? Next week?"

  He nodded, looking sick. "How can you stand it?"

  "I want to keep my job. Do you?"

  "I'm not so sure anymore."

  "No one resigns from Cybercorp."

  Martis glanced around at the cubicle, then went over to the com-link by the door.

  Estrelle turned to Rond. "I'll be in my lab if Jorran wants me. I have to go over my notes."

  "Right."

  Estrelle left the testing lab, unable to watch Sabre taken down and removed like a piece of overcooked meat. The stench of burning flesh made her want to vomit. In her research department, she greeted a few fellow techs and went to her cubicle, where the prototype control unit rested in a padded cradle. Plugging her data-wand into her computer, she downloaded the data and stared at the screen with blind eyes.

  At the end of her shift, she made her way to the high-security cell where Sabre was imprisoned. Her key card opened the door, since she was part of the research team assigned to him, and she entered the tiny grey and white room. Sabre was strapped to the steel table again, duronium bands securing his limbs and neck. Regeneration jelly covered his chest and wrists, and the cyber unit showed an in-control configuration. She leant over him, studying his impassive face.

  "Sabre? Can you hear me?"

  A green light pulsed on the brow band as she spoke, indicating that it had heard her.

  Sabre's eyes opened a slit, then closed again. "What do you want?"

  Hot tears stung her eyes. "Just to make sure you’re okay."

  "Do I look okay to you?"

  "No." Estrelle dug in her pocket and took out an atomiser syringe, pressing it to the vein in his neck. "This will help."

  "Thanks. Could you make it something lethal next time?"

  "You want to die?"

  "Wouldn't you?” he asked. “They're going to do that to me for the rest of my life, aren't they? How often? Every week? More, if I heal quickly?"

  "I don't know. But yes, I suppose I would also want to die."

  "You wanted to help me."

  She shook her head. "If I kill you, I'll be locked up, probably for the rest of my life. It would be treason."

  He sighed. "How long before this stuff wears off?"

  "About eight hours."

  "Can you bring more?"

  Estrelle nodded. "I'll do what I can. How bad is it?"

  "It feels like I spent six minutes in an inferno, and the burning doesn't stop when the flames do."

  "But you passed out, didn't you?"

  "After about five minutes, yeah."

  "I tried to get Jorran to give you an anaesthetic." She sat on the stool beside him. "How can you be so calm? Why aren't you angry?"

  "I am angry, but there's not much I can do about it, is there?"

  "You said you were friends with an Overlord."

  His eyes opened and focussed on her. "Could you send a message to him?"

  "No... I wouldn't know how, and if I did, they would catch me."

  "But you could hire someone else to do it, couldn't you? A pilot, perhaps?"

  She hung her head. "Everyone who comes here works for Cybercorp. They wouldn't do it, and they'd inform on me."

  "Could you get a message to someone else then? You are allowed private communications aren't you?"

  "Only locally, not intergalactic."

  He looked away, and a flicker of despair crossed his face. "Okay. How about a package? Could you send a package to another world?"

  "It would be opened and examined."

  "Can you get on the Net?"

  "All Net interactions are monitored."

  He glanced at her, his eyes filled with pleading. "There must be something you can do. Don't you have public Net booths?"

  "We have to use our ID card."

  "Steal one."

  "I'm not a thief. I'd be caught. Security on Myon Two and the worlds in this system is airtight. I'm sorry."

  "Okay." A slight frown wrinkled his brow. "Could you swap me for another cyber, just for a couple of hours?"

  "This cell is under twenty-four-hour surveillance. They know I'm here, but they think I'm studying your control unit. They're not listening, though. This is a cyber resting cell, there's no reason for them to listen in."

  "I know. The camera is behind you, which is why they can't see that you're talking to me." He hesitated. "Estrelle... please try to get a message out for me. You could swap your ID card for another tech's, send a message with his, then swap them back again, couldn't you?"

  "If I'm caught, I'll be charged with treason. You're asking me to risk my life."

  He closed his eyes. "And why would you, for a mere cyber host?"

  "I do want to help you. You're much more than that, now that I know you. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps if I had someone else to help me, I could manage something."

  Sabre opened his eyes again and gazed up at her. "Please try."

  Chapter Four

  Tarl was about to hurl the makeshift receiver across the room, the rage and frustration that had been building in him over the last few days reaching overwhelming proportions, when the door opened and Tassin entered. Putting down the mass of wires and crystals, he groaned and slumped onto the workbench as a tall man in a grey robe followed her into the lab, glancing around with sharp green eyes. Tassin came over to him, looking concerned.

  "Are you all right?"

  He looked up. "No, I'm not bloody all right! I can't do it! The damned thing doesn't work! I can't make it work! I can't..." He picked up the receiver again, on the verge of tearing it apart.

  Tassin snatched it from him. "Wait, let Emral look at it."

  Tarl glanced at the tall man and snorted. "This is your mage? What can he do?"

  "He's not my mage, he's a mage, but I might employ him if he can help."

  "He won't be able to bloody help! What can he do?"

  "We won't know until we let him try."

  Tassin turned to the mage and held out the receiver, which he took as if it was a bundle of vipers. His saturnine visage darkened, thick black brows drawing together into a solid ridge above deep-set eyes. He juggled the mass of wires as if it burnt his hands, licked his lips and sucked in his gaunt cheeks. Tarl stared at him, fascinated by his antics.

  "Bad magic," Emral muttered. "Alien, old, but new. Founder magic. Waves, loops." He closed his eyes. "Incomplete."

  Tarl's jaw dropped as Emral stuffed the receiver down the front of his robe, clasped it to his chest and walked closer to the flashing diode, holding out a hand.

  "He's going to break it," he said, shooting Tassin a frown.

  "You were about to do that yourself, if I'm not mistaken."

  Tarl sighed, leaning on the workbench as Emral
swayed, his hand over the diode, his eyes closed.

  "Flash, flash, flash..." he muttered.

  Tarl glanced at the diode, which flashed in unison to Emral's words. "How's he doing that?"

  "He's a mage," Tassin replied.

  "Some sort of telepath?"

  "I have no idea."

  Emral pulled the receiver out of his robe and held it out to Tarl. His fingers probed the wires and grasped two, his eyes still closed. "Incomplete," he repeated. "This one and this one... must connect."

  Tarl frowned at the two wires Emral held, shaking his head. "No, that's wrong. That's a frequency modulator and a power bypass, you can't connect them, you'll blow the circuit."

  "Must connect," Emral repeated, then dropped the receiver on the workbench, rubbed his hands on his robe and opened his eyes. "Dirty magic."

  "This is bullshit," Tarl said. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

  "What would it hurt to try?" Tassin asked.

  "It'll blow the circuit!"

  "It doesn't work anyway!"

  Emral stabbed a finger at the receiver. "Connect them."

  "Fine." Tarl picked up the receiver, pulled out the two wires and looked for a connector. After several minutes of cutting and soldering, he sat back, frowning. "How's that?"

  Emral leant forward and held his hand over the receiver. "Switch it on."

  "Okay, be ready for some fireworks, this baby packs a punch." Tarl gritted his teeth and pressed the tiny switch on the side of the receiver. A soft beeping issued from it, and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Emral nodded. "Flash, flash, flash."

  Tarl gaped at the diode, whose flashes were now marked by the beeping from the receiver. "It's working!"

  Tassin clasped her hands and grinned, her eyes bright with tears. "We can find the bracelet."

  "But..." Tarl shook his head. "Never mind, I don't want to know how it's working. You're a bloody genius, Emral."

  The mage drew himself up, and Tassin turned to smile at him. "A good day's work, mage. Your reward will be as I promised, and my employ is yours."

  "Majesty." Emral bowed. "I am honoured to serve you."