The Cyber Chronicles Book II: Death Zone (30 page)

"What about
your enemies?" Sabre asked.

"We don't have
any." Clon grinned and clapped the cyber on the shoulder. "Don't
worry; you and your wife will be quite safe with us."

Tassin
scowled. "I am not his wife. I am the Queen of Arlin."

Clon's eyes
darted between them. "You're not married to each other, yet you
travel together?"

"Sabre is my
man-at-arms. He is responsible for my welfare and protection."

"I see, well,
that's fine, you can share a snail until things change."

Sabre wondered
what was going to change, and why it should. Tassin seemed to be
too interested in the snail to notice Clon's odd statement.

She studied
the blue bulk beneath her. "What happens when the snail comes into
its shell?"

Clon's
perennial smile broadened. "They rarely do that. Only when there's
danger, and not much frightens these beauties, as you can imagine.
But when they do, there's still room at the top there." He pointed
up the stairs. "You can sit quite comfortably until it comes out
again. For some reason, the air's always fresh inside, even when
the snail's in its shell."

Sabre glanced
at the top of the steps, calculating that there would be little
space there when the snail's vast bulk had been pulled in. "So
you're trapped until the snail decides to vacate the shell
again?"

"Pretty much.
But no one would be foolish enough to want to go out when there's
danger outside."

Sabre opened
his mouth to ask what sort of dangers there were in the plains, but
Tassin spoke first. "Are there any cities or towns around
here?"

Clon shrugged.
"There's Malkil to the north, but I wouldn't recommend that to
anyone."

"Why?" Sabre
enquired.

"It's not a
nice place. It's a city that was gassed during the war, and the
culture is an odd mixture of old and new. They have no laws, so
people do as they please, murdering, stealing, even enslaving
others. They use pre-war weapons, which makes them dangerous. You
seem to know something about our history. I thought only snail
people knew that this world was a colony. Even the idiots in Malkil
believe in crazy stories and legends, mixed with a smattering of
truth. Did your people also keep records?"

"That's a long
story."

"Good, we need
new stories told at supper. Yours will be a most welcome addition."
Clon eyed the control unit. "That thing on your head looks like a
modern gadget."

"It is."

"Excellent.
You can tell us all about it tonight."

Clon turned
towards the exit, but Sabre detained him with a touch on his elbow.
"One thing, before we decide whether or not to stay here. Has a
stranger joined your tribe within the last few days?"

"No, we've
seen no one since last we met another herd, and that was, oh, about
eight months ago now."

"Any new
snails?"

"No, why?"

"Just
curious."

Clon clapped
his hands, and the snail pulled its flesh aside to open the
passage. Outside, the crowd had dispersed, and only Shan waited for
them. He smiled when Tassin emerged.

Clon joined
them, turning to Sabre. "We'll find you an empty snail to live in
right away."

"Oh, no,"
Tassin said, "we'll be more comfortable in our tents."

"My dear girl,
you can't stay outside; it's not safe!” Clon was clearly horrified.
“There are wolves, and besides, these beauties may look slow, but
they can cover quite a distance in a night. You would wake up to
find us gone."

"We've been
camping in the plains for weeks, and we've seen no wolves," Sabre
said.

"You've been
lucky. It's not safe to sleep in the open. We just have to find an
empty snail, and you can put your mark on it and move in."

"Thank
you."

Clon told Shan
to find them an empty snail, then continued to expound the
advantages of living in snails, which seemed to be many and varied.
Sabre listened with half an ear, thinking of all the disadvantages
he could have pointed out, like the lack of indoor plumbing,
privacy, and land to grow crops that the snails' endless meandering
would not leave behind. If you fell asleep in the grass, you would
wake up to find that your home had vanished over the horizon, he
mused. Then again, the snails left a large enough track to
follow.

A burst of
giggles made him look up. Three grinning children sat on the huge
tail of the snail he had just inspected, bouncing and jostling as
it moved past. Tassin smiled at them, increasing their shy giggles
while they tried to hide behind each other. Shan returned and
guided them to a snail on the outskirts of the herd, walking close
to Tassin. Sabre did not miss the covetous looks he shot her, and
sensed trouble brewing. She seemed oblivious, listening to his
prattle, and, when they reached the snail, Shan drew knife.

"I haven't
been inside yet, and, although we check the empty snails from time
to time, there may be parasites. Come with me, and I'll show you
what to do."

Tassin shot
Sabre a meaningful look, clearly not interested in killing
parasites, so he followed Shan into the shell. Three black,
tube-like creatures clung to the floor, and Shan squatted beside
one. The parasite was as featureless as a piece of garden hose, but
it wriggled like a maddened snake when Shan gripped it. He jerked
it out, revealing the long proboscis that had been imbedded in the
snail's flesh, sucking its blood.

He explained,
"When they crawl up they move very fast, but once they're attached
they're easy to kill." He cut it in two with a flick of his knife.
"We prefer to try to kill them before they attach themselves, to
save the snail from pain, but it doesn't really matter."

He killed the
rest of the parasites, then stood up and confronted Sabre, smiling.
"I like your wife. Perhaps I'll challenge you for her."

"She's not my
wife, and I wouldn't advise it. You can ask her if she's
interested, but if not, leave her alone."

Shan beamed.
"If she's not your wife, there's no problem."

Sabre's brows
rose at this assertion, wondering what he meant. He followed Shan
back outside, where he smiled and winked at Tassin before
sauntering off.

She swung to
glare at Sabre. "Did you tell him something?"

"Only what you
told Clon; that you're not my wife."

"He
asked?"

Sabre headed
into the grassland to collect the packs. "He assumed. I think he
fancies you."

Tassin snorted
and followed him. "Well, I don't fancy him."

"You don't
fancy anyone who's not a prince or king."

"That's
right."

"So when he
asks, tell him."

She trotted to
keep up with his long strides. "You should tell him. You're my
bodyguard."

"No I'm
not."

"What are you
then?"

"Good
question."

When he had
retrieved the packs, Sabre climbed into the snail and spread the
bedding out on opposite sides of the oval room. Tassin gazed
around, looking dubious. Sabre noticed that a faint, spicy odour
hung in the air within the snail, rather like incense.

"Home sweet
home," he quipped, eliciting a weak smile from her.

"I never
dreamt that I would one day live in a snail."

"Me neither."
He grinned. "But it's different."

Tassin sat on
the soft, warm floor. "I don't think I want to stay here very
long."

"That's good.
Shan might become a problem if we do."

"What kind of
problem?"

Sabre settled
on his bedding and leant against the smooth wall. "Well, when he
thought I was your husband, he said he might challenge me for you.
When I told him I wasn't, he said that then there was no problem. I
think in this tribe, the women go with whoever wins them."

"That's
barbaric!"

He shrugged.
"This whole planet is barbaric. I wish I knew how their society
worked. It would be a lot easier if you just pretended to be my
wife, you know."

"But I'm
not!"

"I'm well
aware of that, but it may save a lot of trouble. We don't even know
what constitutes marriage around here. Maybe possession is nine
tenths of the law, and all Shan has to do is drag you into his
snail, and presto, you're married." He chuckled. "Although I pity
him if he does."

"Why?" She
raised her brows.

"Because every
man who's ever had designs on you, you've threatened to murder. You
did threaten Rai, didn't you?"

"Yes, but he
was a pig. So was Torrian!"

"I agree. Are
there any men you don't consider pigs?"

She looked
away. "You're not a pig."

"Thank you.
And Victor."

"Victor's a
coward."

"He's a prince
and a politician, and there's never anything honest about
politicians. They have too many ulterior motives."

Tassin eyed
him. "It's your job to help me, so if Shan becomes a problem,
you'll just have to take care of it."

"That's the
problem. I don't want to have to."

"Oh, Sabre,
don't get soft again. It's your job."

"My job? You
jest, My Queen," he mocked. "It was the cyber's job, not mine. I
agreed to help you, but that doesn't necessarily include chasing
off suitors, does it?"

"Oh, so you
would just let him drag me off and ravish me?"

"Who said
anything about ravishing?"

"Well if I'm
not willing, what would you call it?"

He smiled and
cocked his head. "A marriage of convenience?"

Tassin's brows
drew together in a thunderous scowl, and she jumped up, advancing
on him. "You're impossible! It's not funny!"

Sabre chuckled
and ducked when she took a swing at him. "He'd be a better catch
than Torrian. He's good looking, at least. You could be Queen of
the Snail People!"

"That's not
funny, Sabre!" An unwilling smile tugged at her lips even as she
tried to clout him again.

He rolled to
his feet, evading her. "Oh, now you're going to beat me up too?
Since you're a fearsome warrior queen, why don't you chase him off?
You're very good at that, aren't you?"

Tassin gave up
trying to clobber him and stamped her foot. "I will, too!"

Sabre grinned,
delighted. If Shan pursued Tassin, it would be a source of much
amusement indeed. Although the journey's trials had mellowed her,
sometimes her old stubborn snobbishness returned. He looked forward
to the fireworks that would ensue if Shan decided to tackle her,
and pitied the man.

Chapter Eighteen

The snail made
a comfortable home, and the tribe's simple lifestyle proved to be
carefree and filled with laughter. Every night they built a
communal fire, and the women cooked the meat the hunters provided,
as well as roots and tubers the women had collected. The people
ate, talked, told stories and danced to simple tunes played on
drums and a sort of violin. The women wore bright, printed cotton
skirts on these occasions, and Clon explained that they traded with
the people from Malkil for clothes, pots and steel knives, paying
with skins and pretty stones they found in the grassland.

Tassin and
Sabre's tale kept the Moniliid entertained night after night, for
they insisted that it be retold many times. The tribe's folk tales
proved equally entertaining to the newcomers, and the story-tellers
were happy to have a new audience. After the song and dance,
everyone retired to the snails, which were lighted by luminescent
algae that grew on the inside of the shells.

The hunters
used bows, and lay in ambush for the fleet-footed grazers. Even
previously domesticated animals like cattle and sheep had evolved a
fair turn of speed and a healthy distrust for anything that moved
in the grass. The hunters were excellent marksmen, but the speed
with which their targets moved curtailed their success rate. The
day Sabre joined the hunt, however, he brought down three cows and
five sheep, at which point the hunters asked him to stop before
they had more meat than they could use. Their effusive praise of
Sabre's marksmanship embarrassed him, and when they sang his
praises around the fire that night, Tassin laughed at his
discomfort.

The snail
tribe had an orderly, stable society of families that relied on
each other, and ensured that no one ever went hungry. If someone
fell ill, another hunter, usually a relative, would provide for him
and his family until he recovered, or in the case of a woman, cared
for her and her children. Almost everyone was related, some by
marriage and many by blood, but marrying relatives was forbidden.
Girls were considered to be of marriageable age at sixteen, and
when two tribes met, a friendly sort of war broke out as single men
challenged husbands or fathers for their women.

Fathers
usually only put up a token fight, and many husbands were not
averse to a change of mate. Once children had been born into a
union, however, it was seldom challenged. If it was, the battle was
often fierce and bloody, for the children went with their mother.
Few men wished to raise another's children, however, so these
fights were rare. Three children in a family was generally the
maximum. The men fought with sticks and shields in a traditional
duel that the elders judged and refereed. The tribe treated their
elders with respect and provided for them. They taught the children
their folklore on the tail of a snail, and Sabre often attended the
school to learn more about their culture, much to the children's
amusement.

The women
showed Tassin which roots were edible and how to clean and cook
them, as well as which pretty stones should be collected. They
helped her to hone her sewing skills and make a pretty dress from
the soft lambskin Sabre provided. The men taught Sabre to make a
bow and arrows, took him hunting, and sparred with him. The tribe's
carefree lifestyle involved no major decisions, since they went
where the snails took them and ate what they were able to kill or
find. The traders from Malkil came out in wagons to barter, and
followed the herd until the transactions were complete. The tribe
had no real need of a chief; Clon had been chosen because he had a
quick tongue and was good at settling disputes.