The Cyber Chronicles VI - Warrior Breed (36 page)

Chapter Twenty Two

Sabre eyed the
group of disreputable individuals that faced him, searching for a
leader. The Spraylanders all seemed to favour grey clothes, as if
it was some sort of uniform, and the only variation was the shade.
Their tough, weather-beaten faces bore similar sullen expressions,
and their eyes glinted with hostility. Most were tall and
well-built, though spare, some were scrawny and shifty-looking, and
a few appeared to be more affluent, possessing a better-fed
appearance.

A drab brown
landscape of dead grass and bare, sandy earth stretched away in an
undulating plain to distant snow-capped mountains. Massive
boulders, numerous smaller rocks and a few twisted, stunted
succulent trees punctuated it, hardly denting the overall air of
barren dullness. A gorge that presumably had a river at the bottom
of it ran past on the left and continued through the ramshackle
city. The gravity was higher than normal, and the thin, chilly air
stagnant. The white dwarf sun shone like a spotlight behind pale
puce clouds, which hung over the land in a lumpy shroud. The only
good thing about this planet, Sabre mused, other than its barely
breathable atmosphere, was the vast deposits of gold to be found
just under its rocky surface. Although gold was not as valuable as
barrinium, it was used in neosin circuitry and spaceship IAs, so
there was a demand for it.

Two hundred
grim-faced Trykon warriors stood behind him, most of them over two
metres tall and made more menacing by their cybernetic
enhancements. The two kilometre walk from the ship had made his
ankles ache, although he enjoyed being out in the open air again.
When they had approached the city, the Spraylanders had come out to
meet them, otherwise, he was sure they would have ignored the
Trykon warship. Failing to find a man who appeared to be in charge,
Sabre addressed the nearest individual in perfect Spraytaal.

"I wish to
speak to your leader."

"We have no
leader. You deal with all of us," he replied.

"I need neosin
for my ship."

A hawk-faced
man said, "The one with its lasers aimed at our city."

"Precisely."

A grizzled,
bearded man spat. "Why should we help you when you threaten
us?"

"For that very
reason. I'm prepared to pay for the fuel, or destroy your city,
your choice."

A wave of
muttering ran through the group, then an elderly man asked, "Pay
with what?"

“
I have currency.”

A few men
chuckled and several grinned, but a pock-marked man said, "That’s
useless here. We don't deal with outsiders."

"What do you
sell your gold for?"

"Goods. Cloth,
metal, weapons."

Sabre turned
to Atrel. "What do we have to trade with?"

"Food, spare
clothes, armour and swords."

Sabre relayed
the information to the Spraylanders, who sniggered.

"Not good
enough. We have plenty of food, and we don't use armour or swords,"
a tall man said. His eyes raked several women warriors and took on
a calculating glint. "We'll trade for women."

"Absolutely
not."

"Then you have
nothing we want. Be off with you."

"There's still
the matter of the continued existence of your city."

The men
muttered amongst themselves again, and Atrel leant closer to Sabre.
"What did they say?"

"They'll trade
for women."

"We have ten
non-com women."

Sabre raised
his brows. "You'd sell them your women?"

"They're
slaves. They have no value to us."

"What kind of
life would you be condemning them to?"

Atrel
shrugged. "Probably no worse than the one they've already got."

"They're
ill-treated?"

"Not
especially, but who's to say they'll be ill-treated here? If
there's a shortage of women here, they might be treated
better."

"They can't
even speak the same language."

"Since when
was that a problem?"

Sabre shook
his head. "I wouldn't know. But I won't force them to live amongst
these men. They'd have to agree to it."

"I think some
would be willing."

A short, plump
Spraylander man said, "If you destroy our city you'll hit the fuel
depot as well, and without our co-operation how will you transport
it to your ship?"

Sabre turned
to him. "Perhaps we can trade for women, provided you don't
ill-treat them."

"We
won't."

"Will they be
slaves?"

"No. They'll
be wives," a handsome middle-aged man stated.

"How many do
you want?"

"How many have
you got?"

Sabre turned
to Atrel. "Call the ship and find out how many of the slave women
will be willing to become Spraylander wives."

Atrel spoke
into his com-link, and then they waited. Sabre sat on a rock and
rubbed his aching ankles. Almost half an hour later, Atrel's
com-link beeped, and he read the message on it.

"Seven women
have volunteered."

Sabre nodded
and stood up to face the Spraylanders. "We have seven."

A wave of
muttering went through them, and they looked excited. The plump man
turned to Sabre. "How much neosin do you want for them?"

"Fourteen
crystals." It was barely enough to get them to Omega Five.

"Done."

Sabre was
surprised by the swiftness of the agreement, and wondered if he
should have asked for more. He turned to Atrel. "Have the women
sent here."

Atrel spoke
into the com-link, and once more they waited. Sabre returned to his
perch on the rock with a sigh. He could only postulate that the
ladies were packing, and wondered how long it would take. Almost an
hour later, the women arrived, escorted by a solitary warrior. They
wore plain, coarse grey clothes, and each carried a bundle of
possessions. They looked wary, eyeing the Spraylanders with
suspicion and misgiving.

To Sabre's
amazement, the Spraylanders who wore caps removed them, and they
all looked rather sheepish. Several attempted to tidy their
appearance, smoothed their hair or slapped dust from their clothes.
They jostled for position, casting the women warm, and in Sabre's
opinion, rather pathetic smiles. One woman, who looked wearier than
the rest, dumped her bundle on the ground, and three men hurried
forward as if to help her. Several Trykon warriors drew their
swords and stepped forward to block their way.

"Stay back,"
Sabre ordered. "When we have the fuel, you get the women."

Shouts went up
from the Spraylanders, and half of them sprinted back to their
ramshackle city. Atrel moved closer to Sabre.

"These are
your harsh, bitter men? They're like schoolboys at a spring
festival gathering."

"I think
there's a shortage of women here."

Atrel's brows
rose. "You jest, Commander."

Sabre smiled.
"Cut out the sarcasm, Atrel."

The first
lieutenant grinned, and Sabre wandered over to the women, who eyed
him with as much suspicion and wariness as they had accorded the
Spraylanders.

"You
understand what's going to happen to you?" he enquired.

They nodded,
and one spat.

Sabre went on,
"These men don't speak your language, but they've promised to treat
you well."

"We were told
that we're to be wives," a pretty blonde girl said.

"That's
correct."

"Then that's a
damn sight better than being whores."

"So why did
only seven of you volunteer?"

She looked him
up and down. "The other three weren't allowed. Their warriors are
on the ship, and prevented them."

"They wanted
to come?"

"Yeah, who
wouldn't?"

Sabre turned
to Atrel, who had followed him. "Contact the ship. I want the other
three women."

The first
lieutenant nodded and spoke into the com-link again. Sabre faced
the Spraylanders, who gazed at the women with puppy dog eyes.

"There are
three more women coming," Sabre told them. "We want twenty crystals
of fuel."

A pair of men
ran off, and a few minutes later two carriers came into view on the
winding road, surrounded by running men. The carriers stopped
nearby, and a bearded man approached Sabre, darting a glance at the
women.

"Twenty
crystals of neosin for ten women."

"Three more
are on their way."

"They
shouldn't be made to walk, carrying stuff. Let us go and fetch
them."

"No."

The man
muttered a curse and stomped off to rejoin his cohorts. Sabre
settled on his rock again, and the women sat on their bundles.
Another hour passed before the last three women trudged up,
escorted by a scowling warrior.

Sabre stood
up. "Let's move out."

Atrel shouted
orders, and two men ran to the carriers. The Spraylanders
approached the Trykon women, their attitude ingratiating, and took
their bundles with grave chivalry, murmuring words of admiration
and assurance. Sabre decided that the Trykon women would be far
better off with the Spraylanders, even if the planet was dull and
unpleasant.

****

Tassin leant
forward to top up her glass from the bottle of wine on the table.
"More wine?"

She sat beside
Sabre on the sofa in her cabin, and he turned to her and smiled.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

“
We're just celebrating our proximity to Omega
Five."

Sabre’s eyes
drooped. "This stuff has an amazing affect."

"It's supposed
to."

"There are two
of you."

"You've only
had three glasses."

"Well,
apparently that's two glasses too many." He stood up, swayed and
tripped over the table, sprawling with a crash. "Shit."

She giggled.
"Are you all right?"

"Can't
walk."

Tassin went
over to crouch beside him. "Come on, let's get you to bed. This
wasn't such a good idea, it seems."

He rolled onto
his back, rubbing his face. "What have you done to me?"

The door's
entry-call buzzed, and she called, "Enter."

Tarl came in,
his brows drawing together as he hurried over to kneel at Sabre's
side. "What's happened? What's wrong with him?"

Tassin
snorted. "He's drunk."

"Drunk?" He
stared at her. "Are you nuts? You can't do that to a cyber."

"Why not?"

Sabre reached
up and gripped the front of Tarl's jacket, yanking him down to
inspect him at close range. "Tarl. It's you."

"That's why,"
Tarl said, trying to pry Sabre's fingers loose. "He's never had
alcohol before, no cyber ever has."

She giggled.
"Actually he has, on Omega Five."

"And how many
people did he kill?"

"None." She
frowned at him.

Sabre
tightened his grip on Tarl's jacket, twisting it until the
technician coughed. "I'm nodakilling machine."

"Yeah, you
are, bud. Let go."

"Nope." Sabre
chuckled. "Make me."

"Please."

"Nope. Gotcha
now."

Tarl coughed
again. "Tassin, do something."

"Sabre, let
him go."

Sabre sighed
and released Tarl, who sat back rubbing his neck, then moved out of
range. "Cybers are hyper-sensitive to alcohol, something to do with
the alien DNA, apparently."

"He only had
three glasses of wine."

"And he's dead
drunk."

"Cheap date."
Sabre chuckled.

"Help me to
get him to bed," Tassin said.

"No way, I'm
not letting him get hold of me again, and I recommend that you stay
away from him as well. Why did you give him wine?"

"A little
celebration, that's all."

Tarl's eyes
narrowed. "You're treading on dangerous ground. This could have
blown up in your face. Lucky I came."

"He's just
drunk," she said.

"Which has
lowered his mental age to that of a six-year-old, or worse. A
six-year-old with the strength of ten men, who, fortunately, seems
to be falling asleep."

"Why shouldn’t
he have a bit of fun? All he ever does is fight and save people. I
didn't think it would be a problem, and it's not. He's fine. He'll
sleep it off."

Tarl shook his
head. "Don't give him alcohol again, please. I can't imagine
anything worse than a drunken cyber."

She gazed down
at Sabre, who snored softly. "He's asleep now. Help me with
him."

Tarl carried
the cyber into the bedroom and dumped him on the bed. As he came
out, he cast Tassin a hard glance. "Stop playing with fire."

"I only want
him to learn what it is to be human."

"And you think
getting him drunk is going to help?”

"Why not? It
relaxes him. It’s something people do for fun, and he’s never had
any fun – or at least, not much. Maybe it will make him think less
like a machine.”

“
He also has computer-induced blocks in his brain.”

“
He told me that the beings of light healed his mind, and in
time the barriers the cyber erected will disappear."

Tarl looked
thoughtful. "That may give you more hope, but there's still the
possibility that he won't be able to deal with what's behind those
barriers."

"What's behind
them?"

"The rest of
his humanity. The part that deals with those things he's never
experienced, and was never meant to." Tarl shook his head. "Right
now his mind is as pure as driven snow. He's in for a tough
time."

"So... that's
why they called him the pure one."

"Partly. It
must be hard for you to understand. Hell, it's hard for me, and I
know what was done to him. You know a hell of a lot more about life
than he does."

Tassin eyed
him. "What do you mean, partly? How else is he pure?"

Tarl scratched
his head. "How do I explain it so you’ll understand? He seems like
this super soft guy with a loving nature who likes to play and
enjoys new experiences. The sort whose dating profile would say
things like ‘loves fluffy pets and long walks on the beach at
sunset’. The reality is, he has a mind like a steel trap. Machine
trained."