The Cyber Chronicles Book II: Death Zone (35 page)

The sports
shop proved to be a gold mine of equipment, and, while he searched
the piles of goods, Tassin picked through heaps of rotten clothing
and shoes. It took him the rest of the day to build a cart from
bicycle parts and a plastic box attached to a shaft. In the
afternoon, he killed a city-dwelling pig for supper, and after they
had eaten they spread their bedding in a relatively intact
building, safe from marauding animals and the vagaries of the
weather.

Gearn stopped
and cursed. The snail's track, which he had followed into the
scrubby trees, turned and headed back into the plains. He examined
the ground, and found where the Queen and the warrior mage had left
it and entered the scrubland. Now they would be much harder to
track, and he increased his pace, afraid the trail would fade. The
Queen's track was easy to follow, but the warrior mage's footprints
were almost non-existent. He swore as thorn bushes caught his
robes, and his back ached from bending to examine the ground. The
trail led him around the worst of the terrain, but in places became
difficult to follow. He lost it in an expanse of tough grass, then
spotted a footprint beside an area of flat black stone.

Gearn studied
the gritty surface, which stretched away in both directions,
puzzled by it. Realisation dawned with a wash of cold dread, and he
looked up. A shining tower glinted above the trees. He recoiled
with a cry, backing away from the ruined city. Making signs to ward
off evil, he retreated into the scrubland and made a camp, glaring
at the glass towers that loomed above the trees.

Entering one
of the ancient, accursed cities was forbidden. Countless scrolls
described the tales of their pestilence. Conjuring a fire and a
meal of roast beef and steamed vegetables accompanied by a musky
red wine, he wondered if the warrior mage had magic to counter the
evil pestilence, or whether he was ignorant of the danger. He
prodded the fire with a stick.

There was
nothing to do but wait and see if they emerged from the blighted
place. He jumped and shivered as a wailing cry cut through the
dusk, adding more wood to the fire. It sounded like a donkey, but
he was certain that horrors prowled at night in this accursed
place, and wished he was back in his tower.

The following
morning, Tassin hung around while Sabre finished the cart and
hauled it to the gun shop. When she offered to help him load the
weapons, he shook his head, looking preoccupied, and she wondered
what was wrong with him. The weapons were light, apparently, so
only capacity limited the load, and he packed the cart to the brim.
She poked through the drawers while he was busy, and found a pretty
blue crystal object, which she pocketed as she followed him from
the shop. The prospect of returning to Arlin excited her, and she
pondered it with delight.

Sabre seemed
to be in a hurry, and strode ahead with the cart. She trailed
behind, took out the little blue crystal thing and fiddled with it.
It had a three buttons, one green, one blue and one red, and two
sliding knobs on the side, which she pushed up and down. The green
button clicked when she pressed it, and a tiny blue light flashed
on the top of the tube, above a slanted square piece with
indentations in it, which looked like it was meant for a hand to
grip. A panel on the side of it glowed, and she peered at the word
in it. 'Armed'. Curious, she turned it so the short cylinder
pointed upwards and examined the solid end, then pressed the red
button.

A beam of
white-hot light sizzled past her face, accompanied by a thunderous
bang, and she jerked back with a yelp. A horrible crack came from
above her. Sabre spun around, dropping into a crouch at the sound
of a weapon's discharge. Horror dawned in his eyes as he looked up.
Tassin followed his gaze. A ruined walkway plunged towards her with
a shriek of tearing metal and tortured plastic.

Sabre shouted
a warning and dropped the cart's shaft, sprinting towards her.
Tassin screamed and flung up her hands as the mass of twisted steel
and plastic drove her to the ground. He ran to the settling heap of
tangled metal, and fear chilled his heart as he plunged into the
cloud of dust where the walkway had fallen. Groping within it, he
grasped whatever came to hand and ripped it aside with a grating
and shrieking of metal and plastic.

"Tassin!"

He tore debris
from the pile, ignoring the cuts the sharp edges inflicted on his
hands.

"Tassin!"

Sabre hurled
heavy pieces of rusted metal behind him in a frenzy of fear and
anguish. As the dust cleared, he dragged away the last of the
wreckage, uncovering the steel beam that had supported the
structure. Tassin lay pinned beneath it, grey with dust, blood
seeping from a gash on her temple. A shard of plasglass protruded
from her side, and blood pooled under her. He climbed into the
debris and crouched beside her, the cyber scanning her. The results
that scrolled in his mind told him that her vitals were strong,
although her heart rate was elevated. The supercomputer's analysis
of the scanner image indicated no broken bones or internal
bleeding, and he sagged with relief.

Sabre cut her
leather dress with his knife to expose the wound, then dug in his
pouch for an ampoule of blood-clotting agent and injected it above
the injury. Working with the calm efficiency his training
engendered, even though his heart hammered with anxiety, he pulled
out the plasglass shard and staunched the bleeding with a cloth
from his pack. He bound it in place, lifting her to pass the
bandage around her waist.

The beam lay
across her thighs, and he was afraid that if he tried to pull her
free it would hurt her more. Sabre tugged at the girder, which had
supported the weight of the walkway and the people who had once
crossed it. Although rusty, it was solid and bulky, and most of the
walkway was still attached to it. Tassin had escaped serious harm
because the walkway's mass and attachments had slowed its fall. The
beam had missed her head, and the weaker, half-rotten floor had
evidently knocked her unconscious.

Sabre took a
water skin from the pack and wet a cloth to wipe her face, partly
to revive her and partly to see if she had any head injuries. His
ministrations exposed a bleeding lump on her forehead, and he
cursed. Pulling more material from the pack, he wadded it and
pushed it under her head. She moaned, her eyelids flickering, and
he kept repeating her name, hoping it would penetrate the veil of
unconsciousness. After several minutes, her eyes opened a slit. She
grimaced, then gasped and clutched her side. Sabre pulled her hand
away.

"Lie still.
You're hurt, but you're going to be all right."

Her eyes
filled with dazed confusion. "What?"

Of course,
Sabre reflected, the blast had deafened her, and he would be
surprised if her eardrums had survived the concussion. He leant
closer and yelled, "Can you hear me now?"

She looked
puzzled. "Not very well."

"Okay. Your
eardrums are intact then, just damaged. You'll be pretty deaf for a
while."

"My side
hurts."

"Yes, there's
a wound there, but it's not serious."

She lifted a
shaking hand to her forehead. "My head."

"Yeah, you've
got a bump on it. Nothing to worry about, though." He took a bottle
of painkillers from his medical pouch and shook two into his palm,
then lifted her head. "Swallow these; don't chew them."

Tassin pulled
a face at the pills' bitter taste when he held the water skin to
her lips. "My legs hurt too."

"They're stuck
under a beam, but they're not broken."

"What?"

He repeated
his explanation, more loudly.

"You mean I am
trapped?" She looked alarmed.

"Not for long.
I'm going to get you out. You'll be all right." Sabre studied the
beam. He could lift it, but he needed her to pull her legs out, for
to drag it away would cause more problems, there was so much
attached to it. "I'm going to lift the beam, and I want you to pull
your legs out when I do, okay?"

"Yes."

Sabre stepped
over the girder and crouched beside it, preparing for a dead lift
of what the cyber calculated to be well over a tonne. The beam was
easier to grip than the concrete slab in the desert had been, but
it was also heavier. Setting his hands around it, he braced
himself, finding the perfect balance with which he had been bred.
He pulled a little, then shifted until the weight was evenly
distributed on his arms and legs. This lift would require all the
strength the drugs and exercises had forced upon him from an early
age.

His mind flew
back to the cold-eyed instructors who had pushed the boys beyond
their limit, sending the weaker ones back to the labs for more
drugs. Cybers had to conform to predefined standards. They had to
be able to lift a certain weight, run at a specific speed for a set
distance, punch with a predetermined amount of power, and kick up
to a certain height with a set force.

It was all in
the brochure that customers leafed through when they contemplated
buying one of the manufactured men, and it had to be met. Sabre had
not been amongst those who were sent away for more drugs. He had
achieved his A-grade rating, along with a few others in his batch.
Those who only achieved a B or C grade were sold for less, and
their flaws and limitations were detailed in the brochure.

The walkway's
wreckage probably weighed more than his maximum lift, but he had to
do it in order to save Tassin. He took a few deep breaths, then
straightened, his shoulder and elbow joints protesting as they bore
the girder's weight. For a moment nothing moved, and he pulled
harder, the cords on his neck straining at his skin. The wreckage
creaked and gave a metallic groan as it rose, sections of the
plasglass passage that were still attached rising with it for some
distance along the beam's length.

Blood pounded
in his temples as his heart speeded up and his blood pressure rose,
and he panted to satisfy his body's demand for oxygen. Tassin
wriggled free with a whimper, and as soon as she was clear, he let
the girder drop with a grinding crunch. He straightened, shaking
his burning arms, his back muscles aching, and waited for the
throbbing to subside. Tassin curled up in a foetal position,
clasped the bandage and bit her lip as fresh blood seeped through
the cloth. Stepping over the beam, he slid his arms under her and
picked her up. After the beam, she was ridiculously light.

Sabre carried
her to a wall and placed her beside it. He wished he could take her
pain upon himself; he was far better at dealing with it. Bringing a
blanket from the pack, he wadded it and pushed it under her head.
Tears ran down her cheeks when she looked up at him.

"Am I going to
be all right?"

"Yes." Sabre
coughed and turned away to rummage in his pouch, extracting the
curved needle and a length of thread. "I'll have to stitch the
wound."

"Will it
hurt?"

"Yes." He
threaded the needle.

She watched
him, her eyes filled with dread. "Must you do it now?"

"I have to sew
it up, or it won't heal properly."

"I know,
but... could you do it later?"

Sabre
hesitated, wishing she was unconscious. She might pass out, but he
was not good at inflicting pain, and the prospect of doing it to
her made him queasy. "It must be stitched while it's fresh. There's
a way to stop the pain, but you'll have to co-operate."

"What must I
do?"

"I can use the
cyber to put you to sleep, but only if you let me. If you fight it,
it won't work."

"All
right."

Sabre turned
his attention inwards to communicate his need to the supercomputer.
Its programming forbade the use of its cybernetic influence on a
human, but Sabre insisted that it was for Tassin's welfare, and
necessary for her continued health. Another scrolling readout of
her vital signs appeared, ending with the computer's deduction that
she was going into shock. That, plus his urging and the fact that
she had given her consent, seemed to be sufficient incentive, and
the cyber's deep hum vibrated the air. He faced Tassin, turning its
full power on her, and her eyes glazed.

"You'll start
to feel sleepy; let your eyes close," he said, forced to speak
loudly because of her deafness. Her eyelids drooped. "Close your
eyes... you're feeling very sleepy... let yourself go... drift
away..."

Tassin's eyes
closed, and she relaxed as the cyber's hum deepened, seeking the
perfect tone to hypnotise her. Sabre spoke soothing words while her
breathing slowed, and he kept the cyber on her, wanting her in a
deep sleep. When he judged that she was in a profound trance, he
stitched the wound, smeared antiseptic cream on it and rebandaged
it. He packed away the medical kit, then gazed at her, pondering
the potential for harm that the cyber's power offered.

This was part
of the reason for its former control over him. It had no ulterior
motives or human urges. In her present state, he could suggest
anything, which, when she woke, she would be unable to disobey. A
cyber could not force a person into this state, but once there, she
was as easily subjugated as the snail. Her trust touched him, and
he gave in to the strange urge to stroke her cheek. The sight of
his scarred hand jerked him back to reality, and he snatched it
away. He was not a man, just a cyborg. The cyber's hum faded.

"Tassin, wake
up." Her eyes opened, and he smiled. "How do you feel?"

"What?"

He repeated
the question a little louder.

"Better. It
doesn't hurt so much anymore."

"Good, the
painkillers have taken effect."

Tassin
fingered the bandage. "You've sewn it up?"