The Cyber Chronicles Book II: Death Zone (21 page)

They attacked in a roaring rush, impeding each other in their
eagerness to reach him. He smashed aside any who came close enough,
spinning to face every threat, his movements too fast for the eye
to follow. This was a supreme test of a cyber's combat skills,
though not the ultimate one. The only fighter who could hope to
match him was another cyber. He was a killing machine, the hated,
mocking voice in his mind told him. This was his purpose. He was
good for nothing else.
Cyborg
! His mind became detached and
calm, slowed the frenetic pace and allowed him to partially
compensate for the number of foes.

The cyber
switched to full combat mode, and a faint green grid appeared in
Sabre's vision. On it, the predictive targeting data flashed in
soft red lines as the supercomputer calculated each warrior's
potential action and plotted it, supplying a recommended
countermove in a flash of violet text. Sabre's brain, trained to
react to the prompts, followed the control unit's strategy without
any effort on his part. When the cyber had been in charge, he had
been unable to see this data; the supercomputer had controlled his
motor cortex. For the most part, he followed its directions, and
often his reactions were identical to those of the control unit, a
legacy of his training.

The cyber
warned him of weapons aimed at his back, which gave him another
advantage. One he needed when pitted against so many. Swords
stabbed and slashed at his belly, forcing him to twist away. He
drove his foot into a man's ribcage, sending him flying from the
melee. A sword shaved past Sabre's side as he evaded it, and a gasp
from behind told him that an Orokan had taken the thrust. He used
his full strength to smash faces, break bones and send warriors
sprawling with dented armour. As the mob closed in, he glimpsed
Tassin standing in the forest, watching him with wide, horrified
eyes.

"Run!" he
shouted.

Many tall men
blocked his view, and hands gripped his arms and twisted them in an
attempt to overpower him. Using them for support, he kicked in one
man's ribs and sent another reeling with a crushed face. Sabre
ducked a sword stroke aimed at his neck and wrenched an arm free, a
meaty crunch rewarding his backward elbow jab. Another sword
bounced off his skull, and blood ran down his neck. He avoided his
attackers with swift, lithe movements and slew them with brutal
efficiency.

A cyber's
combat reflexes were natural and graceful, but their deadliness was
evident in the number of warriors who fell around him. Since he was
unarmed, the brow band became a weapon, and two men dropped dead
with oblong indentations in their skulls. He was a weapon all on
his own, quite capable of taking on many armed opponents with his
fists and feet. A blade sliced across his belly, the barrinium mesh
just under his skin deflecting it.

The four men
who held his arms twisted them until his shoulder joints popped,
and he dragged them about in his efforts to avoid the weapons. A
brawny arm slid around his neck from behind, and he jerked his head
back, cracked the man's skull and sent him staggering. Sabre
grunted when a knife gored his side and jerked his knee into the
warrior's solar plexus, smashing another man's nose with a
head-butt. A fist hit him in the stomach, and his kick sent the man
sprawling. Sabre threw himself forward, using his weight to twist
his arms free. Completing the roll, he leapt up and punched a
warrior in the throat.

Only five men
stood against him now, and they gave him a wide berth, their swords
held before them. The scanners tracked them as they manoeuvred
behind him, and he picked up a fallen sword. Two attacked, and
Sabre stepped aside, grabbed a man's head and snapped his neck with
a skilful twist. A sword sliced his belly as he jumped back and
kicked, breaking the warrior's jaw before he could recover his
balance.

The remaining
three retreated to hold their ground until their comrades returned,
but Sabre went after them. They were clearly surprised that a
wounded man would carry the fight to them. Sabre dropped into a
roll to avoid the swords that slashed the air where he had been a
moment before, then leapt up in a spinning kick that flattened two.
The last man fled, and Sabre turned to follow Tassin. Before he had
taken three steps, the warriors who had pursued the Andarons
emerged from the forest empty-handed, and he faced fifteen
again.

Once more they
closed in, and Sabre drove his foot into an Orokan's face, felling
another with a backhand slash to the throat. A sword skittered off
the internal armour on his belly, opening a shallow gash, and a
knife slashed his back. Twisting, he punched the knife-wielder in
the head, crushing it like a rotten pumpkin, then kicked another
man in the jaw, breaking it with a sharp crack. He stabbed and
slashed, forcing his foes to jump back to avoid his sword, and
wounded some. Sweat and blood ran down Sabre's face, stung his eyes
and blurred his vision.

A flashing red
light in his brain warned him that the cyber's host analysis was
critical. A soldier jumped in front of him and thrust his sword
into Sabre's chest. It struck the metal plate on his sternum and
drove him back into the men behind him. A knife sliced into his
throat, and he kicked backwards, rewarded by the crack of breaking
bone. The warriors flung themselves at him and bore him to the
ground, rendering his sword useless. He kicked one in the ribs and
another in the belly. Dropping the sword, he gripped the head of
the man who had him pinned and broke the warrior's neck with a
savage twist.

The world swam
around him, and he fought on pure instinct, no longer able to
comprehend the data the cyber supplied. He relied instead on the
years of training that had honed his reactions to immediate
retaliation without thought or hesitation. A blow on his thigh made
him lash out, killing the man who had sliced it open. He pushed the
dead man off his chest and tangled the legs of another warrior with
his own, bringing the man down, then killed him with a blow to the
back of his skull. A wave of blackness washed over him, and lights
danced in his vision.

The battle had
become a blur of movement dulled by a red haze of fatigue and blood
loss and punctuated by the crunch of breaking bones as his fists
and feet found their mark with unerring accuracy. A warrior tried
to drive a sword into Sabre's gut, and he rolled onto his side. The
blade slid off, inflicting another wound. He gripped the man's arm
and yanked him closer to smash his face with a full power punch. A
tide of weakness engulfed Sabre, and he rolled to his feet, his
head spinning.

Fallen
warriors littered the ground, some twitching and groaning, while
others held smashed faces or broken limbs. The rest lay still in
tangled, impossible positions, weapons abandoned amongst them. One
man stood at the edge of the clearing, looking back. When Sabre
glanced at him, he turned and trotted away, clasping his ribs.
Sabre sank to his knees, then back on his haunches, bowing his head
while he gasped. Lowering himself to the ground, he flopped onto
his back and closed his eyes as the chill of shock and blood loss
crept through him.

Trickles of
blood and sweat ran across his skin. Some of his wounds burnt and
throbbed while others remained numb. Fighting to stay conscious, he
rummaged in his med kit and extracted two ampoules. With shaking
hands, he broke the seals and injected the clotting agent into his
thigh, flank and belly, then lay back again, his lungs straining
for air. He could not remain here; some of the men were merely
unconscious. If he passed out, they might wake and kill him. The
cyber's host status light was a steady red, indicating that his
condition was critical. Only adrenalin kept him going.

Sabre
struggled to his feet, tottering. Blood oozed from his wounds and
sweat blurred his vision, as well as periodic waves of star
sprinkled blackness. Stumbling over prone soldiers, he reeled into
the forest, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the
other. Using the cyber's video feed, since his eyes were not
working so well, he walked into the undergrowth. Pain shot from his
thigh at every step, and he clung to passing trees whose branches
offered aid. He kept going for as long as he could, then collapsed
and crawled under a bush before he passed out.

Chapter Twelve

When Sabre
woke, the air cooled as the sun sank. He drifted back into the
harsh reality of his situation, and the forest welcomed him with
its gentle greenness. The lilting song of woodland birds was a
soothing counterpoint to the faint croaking of frogs. As soon as he
moved, pain flared from his wounds, and his gut clenched when he
sat up. A crust of dried blood covered his abdomen, and the scabbed
wounds in his thigh and flank oozed afresh. Most of the dried mud
had been scraped off during the battle, and what was left mixed
with the blood, some of which was not his, in a brown paste.

Sabre leant
against a tree and rested for a while, trying to gather what little
strength he had left. The cyber's host status light flashed, which
indicated that he had recovered somewhat. His liver had released
its store of blood to replace some of that which he had lost. His
condition was still serious, but no longer critical. A raging
thirst burnt his throat, and he climbed to his feet, clinging to a
sapling as waves of dizziness washed over him. When his heart had
speeded up to compensate for his low blood pressure, he hobbled
through the forest until he encountered a trail.

The Andaron
girls, being skilled in forest lore, should not have left one, so
he hoped it was Tassin's, and followed it. The forest passed in a
blur, and he concentrated on what was in front of him, avoided
trees and used saplings and vines for support. Tassin's trail of
scuffed moss and overturned leaves was easy to follow, and he
limped faster when his stiff muscles loosened. He slaked his thirst
in a stream, hoping Tassin was well on her way to the village by
now, and would return with help.

A few minutes
later, the scanners detected a stationary human on the track ahead,
and Sabre approached quietly. A muddy form huddled next to a tree,
her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around them, her face buried
in her knees. He stepped on a twig, and Tassin's head snapped up,
her eyes wide.

"Sabre!"

Leaping up,
she hobbled to him and flung her arms around his neck, making him
stagger and grab a sapling. Trust Tassin to put her foot in
something, he thought.

"I thought you
would be killed!" she said, her eyes glimmering with tears.

"I'm hard to
kill, remember?" His legs folded, and he sank to his knees, then
back onto his haunches. Tassin crouched beside him, her horrified
eyes flitting over his scabbed wounds.

"You're
hurt!"

Sabre
chuckled, blood loss and his sense of the ridiculous making him
euphoric. Did she really think he could beat thirty-two
sword-wielding warriors without injury? She had thought he would be
killed, but not hurt, apparently.

"I'm a bit
battered, but I was a slightly outnumbered."

"I would have
gone for help, but I twisted my ankle."

He sighed as
dark abyss yawned his mind. "You would."

Tassin gave a
shocked cry when Sabre keeled over backwards, senseless. His ashen
face and clammy skin alarmed her, and her eyes flinched from the
terrible gashes on his belly and chest. She straightened his legs
and scraped some leaves into a cushion for his head, then crouched
beside him, wishing she knew more about medicine. At least the
wounds were no longer bleeding, and what he seemed to need most was
rest. She lay down beside him, and the forest's soothing sounds
lulled her into an exhausted sleep.

Tassin woke
with a start, opening her eyes to find several tall blonde women
standing around her, their spear butts resting on the leaves. Pale
morning light filtered through the leaves in golden shafts, gilding
the Andorans' bright hair.

"Shizana!"
Tassin scrambled to her feet, grimacing as her ankle protested. The
warrior woman stepped forward to help her.

"I'm glad we
found you, Queen Tassin."

"So am I."

Mishra moved
closer, eyeing Sabre. "What happened?"

Tassin
smoothed her muddy hair. "Sabre followed us to the Orokans' city
and freed us. We spent two days in the swamp, then the Oroka caught
up with us. The girls ran away, and Sabre stopped the Oroka from
following them."

Shizana
nodded. "We found them while we were hunting, so we came to look
for you. You're fortunate indeed that Mishra wanted to hunt on this
side of the forest." She cast a meaningful look at the
princess.

Tassin pulled
a face. "I stepped in a hole and twisted my ankle, then Sabre found
me."

Mishra peered
at him. "Is he dead?"

"No, he's just
hurt."

"Where are the
Oroka?"

Tassin shook
her head. "They were fighting Sabre, then he told me to run, and I
left. I haven't seen any since."

Mishra
scowled. "He couldn't have beaten them. He must have run away
also."

"I don't know,
but he's been in a terrible fight." Tassin turned to Shizana. "We
need help to get back to the village."

Mishra asked,
"You expect us to carry him?"

"Why not? The
least he deserves is a bit of help!"

"We will not
touch him!"

"You would
just leave him here to die?” Tassin demanded. “After all he's done
for you?"

"He's a
man!"

"And a human
being!"

"He can manage
on his own."

Tassin opened
her mouth to give Mishra a tongue lashing, but Shizana placed her
arm around the princess' shoulders.