The Cyber Chronicles VI - Warrior Breed (22 page)

The entry-call
chimed again, and he eased free of her arms without waking her,
rose and padded into the adjoining cabin, where he touched the
button that opened the door. A balding non-com man stood outside,
looking nervous and holding a bundle of clothes, which he
proffered.

"From First
Lieutenant Atrel. The feast starts in half an hour."

Sabre took the
clothes, and the non-com hurried off. As the door closed, he
examined the tasteful, if somewhat overly dramatic garments. The
outfit comprised a black waistcoat with gold embroidery on the
overshot shoulders, matching trousers and dark grey shirt. A sword
with a silver-studded shoulder strap and ornate scabbard completed
the ensemble. Tassin came in as he finished dressing, and studied
him.

"That looks
impressive."

"You think so?
The effect will be spoilt by the fact that everyone else will be a
lot taller than me, I suspect."

"Size isn't
important."

"They seem to
think it is."

"The bigger
they are, the harder they fall."

He smiled.
"And the harder they are to knock down, generally."

"As if you'd
ever have a problem with that."

"Trying to
boost my ego?"

"Is it
working?"

His smile
widened, and he held out his hand, drawing her close when she took
it. She leant against him and slipped her arm around his waist,
looking up at him. He raised her hand and kissed it, then held it
against his cheek.

"At least
you're shorter than me."

"You like
that, don't you?"

"Yeah. I don't
like looking up at people. It gives me a crick in my neck."

Tassin gripped
the brow band and pulled his head down to kiss him, and he smiled
again when she released him.

"That's not a
handle, you know."

"It comes in
mighty handy as one, though."

He cupped her
cheek. "I should go."

"I want to
come with you."

"I don't think
that would be a good idea. I won't be long."

"Please let me
come. You might need some moral support."

He eyed her.
"The women will the there too, I suspect."

"I promise to
behave myself."

"I'm just
going to go and get that commander's sword, then I'll come straight
back."

"Good, I'll
enjoy the walk. I need to stretch my legs."

He threw up
his hands. "Fine, come then."

Tassin grinned
and headed for the washroom. "I'll just freshen up a bit."

"Hurry
up."

Sabre fidgeted
as minutes ticked past, glancing at the chronometer on the wall.
"Come on, Tassin."

"You want me
to look my best, don't you?"

"I don't care
what you look like."

She emerged
from the washroom, her hair arranged in shining swathes, her skin
glowing. "That's not a nice thing to say."

"Why? Would
you like it better if I did?"

"I want you to
be proud of me."

"I'm always
proud of you."

She patted her
hair. "Don't you think this looks better?"

"No."

"You don't
like it like this?"

"I like it
fine. Let's go."

Tassin folded
her arms. "How do you prefer it then?"

"I don't know.
It looks fine like that, or loose, or in a plait. Does this really
matter?"

"Yes. I want
to look my best."

"If you think
you look better, what does it matter what I think?"

Her brows
rose. "Of course it matters. I want to be the most beautiful woman
there, and there will be a lot of competition."

He smiled.
"Tassin, even when you were covered in mud after we escaped from
Olgara, you were still more beautiful than any of the Trykon women
could ever hope to be."

Her eyes
sparkled. "You know, for a man who's unversed in the fine art of
flattery, you have a way with words."

"Let's go.
We're late."

"Let them
wait. You're the commander."

He went to the
door. "I want to get this over with, so I can get some more
rest."

Tassin caught
up with him in the corridor and took his arm. "Only the Trykon
women?"

He snorted and
shook his head, casting her an amused glance. "Give it a rest,
okay? And you can't hold onto me when we get to the combat room.
You're a non-com ward; you have to walk behind me."

"I'll be glad
when we leave these barbaric people."

"They're not
as bad as some."

They rounded a
corner and almost bumped into Tarl, who looked surprised and fell
into step beside them. "Where are we going?"

"To the
celebratory feast," Sabre said.

"Oh good, that
should be fun."

"No one
invited you."

Tarl shrugged.
"That's okay, I'm not easily offended."

The two
warriors outside the combat room door nodded when Sabre walked
past, which was as close to a salute as Trykons came. Sabre stopped
just inside the door, took in the scene and noted the flashing red
light deep in his mind. One situation the cyber disliked intensely
was a confined space filled with a lot of large, armed potential
opponents.

Every officer
was there, including group leaders, plus a number of warriors who
had probably acquitted themselves well in the battle, Sabre
surmised. All of them sported missing parts, numerous bandages and
triumphant smiles. The officers' spouses and those of the warriors
stood in murmuring groups, their eyes weighing the competition that
the spouses of the enemy officers offered, their expressions
spiteful and gloating. The defeated officers carried no weapons,
unlike Sabre's men, and their disgruntled demeanour matched the
sour looks of their spouses. A section of wall had been opened up
to incorporate a counter covered with platters of roasted pseudo
meat and spiced vegetables that Trykons loved and Sabre loathed.
Bottles of wine and flagons of ale were lined up in rows behind a
wall of glasses.

Sabre's entry
went unnoticed, and he chose a gap that led to the counter, Tassin
and Tarl at his heels. The non-com who stood behind the counter
stiffened when he spotted Sabre, his eyes darting. Sabre leant on
the counter and perused the food, his stomach reminding him of its
emptiness. Tassin helped herself to some choice titbits, and Tarl
joined her. Sabre piled a plate, ignoring the alcohol.

A murmur of
deep voices filled the room, and the rather overpowering smell of
inadequately washed male bodies mingled with the musky scent the
women wore. The atmosphere was close and thick with an
overabundance of testosterone that made Sabre's scalp prickle with
unease. Several nearby officers noticed him and inclined their
heads. Sabre had just filled his mouth when a looming bulk arrived
beside him, and he glanced up at Atrel, who smiled.

"Welcome,
Commander."

Sabre nodded
and turned back to his plate.

"The Wolf Clan
commander, Trival, is waiting for you."

Sabre
shrugged. "Let him wait."

"He grows
angry. He thinks you're insulting him."

"I don't
care."

"It's not
polite."

"I'm
eating."

Atrel leant
closer. "Please, Commander."

"Fine." Sabre
put down his fork. "This had better not take long."

"It's a mere
formality."

"It's a pain
in the butt."

Atrel led
Sabre to the group of enemy officers, stepping aside when he
reached them. "Commander Trival," he said, "this is the commander
of Nemesis, Sabre."

Sabre looked
up at a blond giant with side-mounted scanners attached to polished
silver plates on either side of his head, a squashed nose and a
scar that pulled his left eyelid down. Trival's brows drew
together.

"Is this your
idea of a sick joke, First Lieutenant?"

"No. Do you
see anyone laughing?"

Trival glanced
around, and Sabre noticed a few officers who were struggling to
keep a straight face, but not for the reason that Trival
thought.

"As a matter
of fact, I do," Trival said.

Atrel eyed the
crowd. "They're only amused by your reaction, which is much as we
expected it to be."

"You dare to
put your commander's torc on a weakling non-com and present him to
me? Where is your commander?"

"Right in
front of you."

"This isn't
funny."

"I'm not
laughing."

Trival looked
around again as several officers chuckled. "You appear to be the
only one who isn't."

"Are you
refusing to surrender your sword?"

"To a non-com
wearing your commander's torc, yes."

"Sabre is our
commander."

Trival raked
Sabre with a scathing glance. "When the Wolf Clan hears about this
insult, Eagle Clan prisoners will experience similar insults."

Sabre turned
and marched away. "Let me know when he's ready to hand over that
damned sword, Atrel, my food's getting cold."

"Stay where
you are!" Trival barked.

Sabre faced
him again, about three metres away. "Are you speaking to me?"

"Yes, non-com
scum. Remove that torc. You insult its rank."

Sabre
contemplated him, then turned to Atrel. "Shouldn't he be in
chains?"

"It's not
customary. He's bound by etiquette."

"Etiquette
evidently doesn't bind his tongue."

"Normally he
would not dare to insult a victorious commander."

Sabre nodded.
"So what happens now?"

"That's up to
you, Commander."

"Well, if he
won't surrender his sword to me, then you'd better take it off
him."

Atrel looked
uneasy. "I have no authority to do that."

"I'm ordering
you to."

"It would be
better if you did it."

"But he
can't," Trival jeered. "If he was truly your commander, he would be
able to do it."

Sabre eyed
him. "Killing sixty-one of your men has tired me out a little, and,
since the battle is won, I'm not in the mood."

"Brave lies,
for a dwarf. Bring out your commander before I put an end to this
farce myself."

"And how do
you propose to do that?"

"Like this."
Trival yanked a dagger from his belt and hurled it at Sabre, who
caught it in a lightning-fast reflex. A dozen swords hissed from
their scabbards and surrounded Trival's throat in a ring of steel.
Trival's eyes narrowed when Sabre tossed the dagger into the air
and caught it. He waved the officers back, and they sheathed their
weapons. Sabre hefted the dagger, and then hurled it back at
Trival, who flung up his right arm in time to deflect the weapon
off his metal wrist guard. The dagger hit the floor with a clatter.
A grey-haired woman thrust past the warriors around Trival, her
face flushed with rage.

"How dare you
allow a non-com to attack a Wolf Clan commander!" she shouted. "Has
the Eagle Clan lost all its honour?"

Sabre's eyes
flicked over her. "Who's this, your mother?"

"My spouse,"
Trival said.

"You need a
new one."

Trival turned
to Atrel. "This has gone far enough. Bring out your commander
before I kill this little idiot."

"Threatening
the commander who triumphed over you is a grave breach of
etiquette, Trival. I would advise caution, lest Wolf Clan
commanders be similarly insulted by Eagle Clan prisoners."

"Wolf Clan
commanders would never trot out a non-com in a gold torc and expect
a defeated Eagle Clan commander to surrender his sword to him."

"Eagle Clan
commanders would not accuse their captors of lying."

"How much
longer are you going to drag this idiocy out, Atrel?"

Sabre sighed.
"Yeah, Atrel, why don't you just take this..." He pulled off the
torc and tossed it to the first lieutenant. "Put it on, get his
damned sword, then give it back to me. End of argument."

Atrel fielded
the torc, frowning. "That would be dishonest, Commander."

"Well hell,
we're being accused of dishonesty anyway. What does it matter?"

"It matters."
Atrel stepped closer to Sabre and handed the torc back.

Sabre replaced
it around his neck. "I'm not in the mood to beat some sense into
him, so let him keep his damned sword for all I care. My food's
getting cold, and I'm hungry."

Sabre spun on
his heel and almost fell over Tassin, who stood right behind him,
absorbing the drama. Gripping her elbow, he steered her from his
path and marched towards the food counter, the men parting before
him. Several tried unsuccessfully to hide their mirth, and he
halted next to a grinning group leader.

"What the hell
are you laughing at?"

The big man's
grin vanished. "At the enemy commander, Commander."

"You find his
difficulty to believe that I command this ship amusing?"

"Yes - no,
Commander."

"Which is
it?"

"No,
Commander."

Sabre tilted
his head. "Then what's so damned funny?"

"His spouse
looks old enough to be his mother."

"Quick
thinking, Group Leader." Sabre nodded. "If you were me, what would
you do?"

"Smash his
face in, Commander."

"Harsh
punishment for being a fool."

"He insulted
you."

A rustle
behind Sabre made him glance around. Trival approached, and several
officers moved closer to impede his progress. Tassin sidled past
and headed for the counter a few metres away.

"This farce is
being taken to extremes," Trival said. "If you're the commander of
this ship, prove it."

Sabre shook
his head. "I'm not fighting you. I don't have to prove
anything."

"Of course, a
non-com would be too cowardly to fight a warrior. A test of
strength will satisfy me."

"I wouldn't
advise it. I'm a bit pissed off right now."

"As I
expected, you won't accept my challenge because you know you'll
lose."