The Cyber Chronicles VI - Warrior Breed (13 page)

"What will
Sabre do?"

Tarl shrugged.
"Probably attack."

"Is that
wise?"

"It'll just
speed things up."

Sabre sighed
and folded his arms, which seemed foolhardy to Tassin. He stopped
turning to face Hallel, allowing him to go behind him. Hallel gave
a growl of rage at this blatant insult and lunged, his dagger
flashing towards the cyber's ribs. Sabre swayed aside just enough
to allow the weapon to slip past, grabbed Hallel's arm and twisted
it. Raising his knee, he slammed the warrior's forearm across it.
The sharp crunch of breaking bone made Tassin's stomach clench.
Hallel reeled away as Sabre shoved him, his bent armour holding his
broken limb at an ugly angle. He grimaced, his chest heaving, and
backed away.

Tassin glanced
at Tarl. "They don't seem to be very good warriors."

He chuckled.
"Against a cyber they have no chance, and Sabre's doing his best to
make them look bad without killing them."

"But they
don't use their legs like he does."

"He hasn't
given them the opportunity."

Hallel turned
to his men and growled an order, and one went to the door and spoke
into the com-link beside it. Sabre wandered over to Tassin, rubbing
his reddened knuckles.

"He's calling
his first lieutenant."

Tassin reached
for his hand, but he pulled it away with a shake of his head. She
glanced at the Trykons, who watched them with deep frowns and
narrowed eyes, muttering amongst themselves.

"What are they
saying?"

"Hallel knows
I was playing with him, so he's furious, especially since he now
has two broken arms and has lost a lot of status. The other two
want a go at me, but he's their group leader, so if he can't beat
me, neither can they. That's what he's telling them."

"So what
happens now?"

He shrugged.
"I guess I've progressed to officers."

Chapter Eight

A few minutes
later, a red-haired giant strode into the combat room. He was as
tall as Dovan, but more muscular, his long hair braided in many
thin plaits that were tied at his nape with a thong. His scarred
face was tattooed on both cheeks, and he wore a steel ring through
his nose. Small scanners were attached to polished steel plates on
either side of his head, and a pair of steel spikes protruded from
his brow. Two warriors followed him in, one sporting a robotic arm
and a scanner on the side of his head, the other a metal-plated
head, a metal hand and a robotic eye. The red-haired lieutenant
stared at Sabre, then turned to Hallel.

"Report, Group
Leader."

Hallel shot
Sabre a dirty look. "He's defeated me and Partek, and killed
Marek."

"He appears
unscathed."

"He is. None
of us landed a blow."

"Yet you have
two broken arms, and Partek is unconscious."

"He moves very
fast, and his bones are metal plated."

The lieutenant
snorted. "He's a midget. You're demoted to warrior, and disgraced.
I'll deal with him."

The lieutenant
approached them, and Sabre turned to face him, blocking his path,
but was forced to look up at him. The red-haired man's flinty brown
eyes flicked over Tassin, ignoring the men who flanked her, then
lowered to Sabre.

"I'm First
Lieutenant Rodar. Who are you?" he asked in Anglo.

"Sabre."

"Perhaps I
should ask what you are."

"You
could."

"And what
would be your reply?"

Sabre
shrugged. "A man."

"A very small
man, who has humiliated a Trykon group leader. You're an outsider;
one of the weakling races who dare not enter Trykon space. What are
you doing here?"

"An
unfortunate accident of fate. We want to leave, but we need a
ship."

Rodar studied
Sabre, his expression calculating, then thrust out a hand. "You
have earned a greeting with your prowess."

Tarl gave a
theatrical wince and muttered, "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I was
you."

Rodar's eyes
flicked to him. "Why not?"

Tarl raised a
finger and wagged it. "I'm guessing you're planning a test of
strength, and I wouldn't advise it."

"Cowardly
advice." His gaze returned to Sabre. "Do you scorn my gesture of
friendship?"

"Not at all."
Sabre gripped the lieutenant's hand, and Rodar's knuckles whitened
as he tried to crush Sabre's hand.

Sabre fought
the urge to punch the idiot in the throat, and instead matched
Rodar's strength, then surpassed it, crushing the big man's hand
until he nodded and released his grip, admitting defeat.

"Impressive.
Impossible for a man of your size. I ask again, what are you?"

"He's a
cyber-bio combat unit, grade A. The most lethal killing machine
ever..." Tarl trailed off as Sabre shot him a frown.

Sabre turned
back to Rodar and folded his arms. "It doesn't matter what I am. I
need your ship. If I have to defeat your commander to get it, I
will, and I can."

"You're a long
way from facing the commander. If you were a member of our clan,
your skills would earn you great status, and you would be on the
brink of a challenge, but you're an outsider. You'll have to prove
yourself worthy of joining our clan, then you may challenge for
leadership. Do you wish to join the Eagle Clan?"

"If that's
what it takes."

"It is."

"Fine."

Rodar turned
and wandered around Sabre, studying him from every angle. "If
stature was a prerequisite, you wouldn't even qualify. Fortunately
for you, it's not. There are a number of tests, however."

Tarl snorted,
and Sabre swung to glare at him. "Cut that out."

Rodar shot
Tarl a hard look. "Your servants lack discipline."

"That one's
going to get a thick lip if he doesn't shut up."

Rodar nodded.
"Do you wish to rest before we start the tests?"

"No."

"Yes." Tassin
pushed past Tarl. "He does."

Rodar cocked a
brow at Sabre, who sighed and shrugged. "A few hours will
suffice."

"Very well.
These men will escort you to a room, where you will remain until
you're summoned. Food and drink will be provided if you wish. For
now, you're a guest of the Eagle Clan. Fail the tests, and you'll
be put to death."

Rodar marched
out with his followers, and the two uninjured members of the
original group waited at the door. Hallel nursed his injuries and
glared at Sabre as he headed for the door.

The men took
them to a pokey cabin with two hard bunks that folded into the wall
and a washroom the size of a cupboard. It must have been an
officer's quarters, since Sabre was sure the men slept in
dormitories with communal ablution facilities. There were no
luxuries on a warship such as this. The décor was grey and
utilitarian, like the rest of the ship, with a scuffed metal floor
and walls stained from years of hard use. A table and two benches
folded out of the wall when the bunks were stowed. As soon as the
door closed, Sabre turned to Tarl.

"I don't
appreciate your attitude, and it isn't helping."

"I'm only
trying to boost your image."

"Well you're
not. You're making a fool of yourself, and me by association."

Tarl scowled
and flopped down on a bunk. "Hell, I'm only a bloody servant. Who
cares what I say?"

"What else
could you be?"

"A
friend?"

"Trykons don't
associate with non-combatants. They’re little more than slaves.
Claiming you as a friend would jeopardise the entire plan."

Tarl grunted
and lay back, closing his eyes. Sabre glared at him, then sat on
the other bunk, his limbs leaden. Tassin sat beside him and took
his hand, rubbing his reddened knuckles.

"You should
eat, then get some sleep."

He nodded, and
she found some food bars in Kernan's pack for him.

****

The flashing
red light in Sabre's mind woke him. He roused Tassin, who dozed on
the narrow bunk beside him, and sat up as she stretched, knuckling
her eyes. The door opened, and Rodar filled it, flanked by his two
followers.

"It's time,”
he said. “Commander Atrel has taken an interest in your tests, and
delayed rejoining the battle to watch them."

Sabre stood
up, and Tassin scrambled off the bunk. Kernan rose from where he
had been sitting on the floor and Tarl swung his legs off the other
bunk. Rodar headed down the corridor, his warriors falling in
behind the quartet. Tarl dug in Kernan's pack and thrust a food bar
into Sabre's hand, and he ate it while he walked. Rodar led them
back to the combat room, where a muttering group of huge men
waited.

They fell
silent when Sabre entered, turning to measure him with disparaging
eyes. The largest, who topped Rodar by several centimetres, glared
at Sabre with flinty black eyes that matched his hair and short
beard, the former tied back in a tight braid. He had a brow band
with an optical enhancer covering one eye and a metal hand, and his
tattooed arms bulged with hard muscle. Polished partial chest
armour revealed the knobs of brawn that ran down his belly. A gold
band encircled his neck, the symbol of his rank, Sabre assumed. One
of his officers murmured something, and he chuckled, as did the
others.

Rodar turned
to Sabre. "Stand in the centre of the room and be ready."

Sabre obeyed,
noting that Tarl had drawn Tassin over to the wall by the door, out
of harm's way. The officers muttered as the commander signalled to
a warrior who stood next to the wall. The man lifted the crossbow
he held at his side and aimed it at Sabre. The string twanged, and
Sabre's hand flashed up of its own accord, a response honed by
years of painful training to a split second, involuntary reflex,
one of many he had. He looked at the bolt he held, and then tossed
it on the floor.

The officers
muttered again, and the commander nodded to the warrior, who picked
up a metre and a half-long steel bar, walked over to Sabre and
handed it to him.

"Bend it,"
Rodar ordered.

Sabre hefted
the bar, which was three-centimetre-thick steel. "Any particular
way you'd like me to do it?"

"No."

Sabre gripped
the bar near the ends, placed his foot in the middle and pulled.
The metal creaked as it bent, and once it gave, he removed his foot
and twisted it until the ends crossed, then handed it back to the
warrior. The commander scowled and nodded at the waiting warrior,
who put down the bent bar and went over to a section of the wall
that was devoid of old weapons and banners. He opened a sliding
panel to reveal an eighty centimetre-square metal plate. Sabre knew
that behind the plate were sensitive instruments to measure the
force of a blow, and the digital meter beside it would display it.
A shiny brass plaque next to the meter was inscribed with a list of
names and numbers, recording the prowess of past contestants.

"Punch the
plate as hard as you can," Rodar instructed.

Tassin jumped
as Tarl murmured, "If he hits that as hard as he can, he'll break
it."

"What about
his hand?"

"He'll sustain
some damage."

"They've
already tested his strength with the bar, what's this supposed to
prove?"

Tarl shrugged.
"The power of his punch."

Tassin's heart
twisted with anguish and pride as Sabre approached the plate,
flexing his right hand. She longed to avert her eyes as he drew
back his fist, not wishing to watch him cause himself so much pain,
but could not. Sabre's right arm shot out in a flash, and the plate
vanished into the wall with a terrific bang. The digital readout
flashed a string of numbers. Sabre turned away, nursing his hand.
Blood oozed from his split knuckles, and he clasped them with a
grimace. The Trykons frowned, and the warrior who stood beside the
destroyed plate gaped at Sabre.

The commander
recovered first. "There will be no more tests. He is a member of
the clan, with the rank of group leader, in charge of Hallel's
group."

Sabre turned
to him. "I challenge for command of the ship."

Commander
Atrel eyed him. "Of course you do, but first you have to face those
amongst my officers who feel they can best you." He glanced at the
men beside him. "Who accepts his challenge?"

The officers
glowered at Sabre, their eyes filled with resentment, but none of
them gave any sign of volunteering.

Atrel nodded,
turning to face Sabre again. "So, it seems my officers are willing
to accept that you can beat them. You have only to face me."

Atrel looked
around as the door opened and three huge women entered, all
beautiful in a large-boned, strong-featured manner. Short leather
skirts, lace blouses and gem-studded golden armour clad their
muscular forms, and their long hair was braided and bound with gold
wire and jewels. They reminded Tassin of the Andorans she and Sabre
had encountered on Omega Five, except for their finery and the fact
that only one was blonde; the others were a brunette and a redhead.
All three wore swords strapped across their backs, and the blonde
had a tiny crossbow buckled to her thigh. The tension in the room
rose to palpable levels upon their entry, and the commander turned
to frown at them.

He gestured to
the redhead, the loveliest of the three. "My spouse, Diarda. This
is our newest clan member, Sabre."

Her sharp
green eyes raked Sabre with a scathing glance, and she spoke in
Anglo, following Atrel's lead. "Are we accepting dwarves now,
Atrel? And who broke the punch power meter?"

"He did."

She placed her
hands on her hips. The other two women halted behind her as her
eyes found Tassin and lingered upon her. "What is she, a toy?"

Atrel
shrugged. "His doxy."