The Cyber Chronicles IX - Precipice (9 page)

"Do you want to
hurt me?"

"No."

"But you think
you might?"

He tilted his
head, looking away. "Say the wrong thing... or touch me, and I
think you'll be sorry."

"Yeah, I think
I understand. You're an alpha male, dominance is part of your
nature, and right now I'm encroaching on your private pity
party."

"You're playing
with fire."

"But if I shut
up and go away, no one will help you. You have a right to some
self-pity. It's natural, you've been through hell, and now you're
going through more hell. You've lost that pure, logical reason that
the control unit gave you. That's got to be really shitty."

"You have no
idea," he murmured.

"Yeah, probably
not. I grew up with my feelings, and children throw tantrums before
they learn to deal with them, even adults get hysterical sometimes.
It can be overwhelming, so you're not alone."

"I don't want
to be like this."

"No, much
easier to feel nothing, to be numb and logical, cold and
analytical, untouched by ugly, hard to control feelings. But at the
same time, when you see Tassin again, you'll feel happiness so much
more now, too."

He lunged
towards her, smashing his fists down on the floor beside her with a
terrific bang that made her gasp and jump. "Get out!"

Estrelle fought
the urge to flee, rubbing her ringing ears. "No. You will see her
again. You've got to believe that."

He drew back
like a coiling snake, shaking his head. "I thought I knew what
happiness was, but no... I know what sorrow is now, though, don't
I?"

"Yeah, you're
having a hard time of it. This should have happened to you when you
were happy. It would have been so much easier. You're learning
about feelings when the worst ones are at their strongest."

"Now you're
just stating the obvious."

"Okay, how
about this? You're a gentle man. You don't like violence, but now
you find yourself driven to it by all these pent-up emotions, and
you don't like it."

He inclined his
head. "Again, tell me something I don't know."

"Breaking
things is satisfying, in your current mood, and you're very good at
it, aren't you? Is there perhaps a little bit of arrogance in there
too? No one can tell you what to do, right? You'll just smash their
head in. How does that make you feel?"

"Like a
freak."

"Right. Well
you are a freak, I'm afraid. You were designed to be the best
fighting machine ever, and that's what you are. Except you're not a
machine anymore. This is what Myon Two always feared; a free cyber
with all your abilities, and the emotions of a man, ready to turn
your skills on others. But you haven't killed anyone yet, and I
don't think you will."

He raised his
head, his eyes piercing. "I'm touched by your faith in me."

She eyed him.
"Now you're being sarcastic. You're angry because I doubt your
ability to kill someone."

"Keep pushing,
see what happens."

"You're not a
killer, Sabre. I might get hurt if I touched you now, but you'd
never kill me, or anyone else, unless they tried to kill you first.
It's not part of your nature. Neither is cruelty. Shall I tell you
why?"

"Please
do."

"The very same
reason you're so angry right now. You have feelings. Psychopaths
are incapable of proper emotional responses, so are sociopaths.
They feel no remorse, no pity, but you do, don't you? If you hurt
me, even in a fit of rage, or a reflex action, you'd be sorry, like
you were one Eden Five. Although I'd say that your feelings of
remorse then weren't very strong. You're chained by your feelings,
unable to lash out because of them, but others, just as strong,
make you want to lash out. You're conflicted."

Sabre tilted
his head, lowering his eyes to the floor, then keeled over onto his
back and stared at the ceiling. "And this is what it's like to be
human?"

"Yeah."
Estrelle's eyes stung with tears of relief. "Does it help?"

"Not
really."

She giggled,
shaking her head. "You're not psychotic. You're a normal human
being, full of conflicts, but capable of coming to terms with
them."

He rubbed his
eyes and sighed. "It's still shitty."

Estrelle moved
closer, sensing that the danger was past. He sat up and turned to
her, holding out a hand. She placed hers in it, and he studied
it.

"I want to say
that you're brave, but you're not. You have all the bloody answers,
and if you hadn't been sure I wouldn't hurt you, you wouldn't have
come anywhere near me. You didn't risk touching me when I warned
you not to, either. But Tassin... she took some huge risks, not
knowing how I'd react, even though I would never have hurt her. But
she didn't know that. She's brave."

"She's in love
with you."

He nodded.
"Yeah."

"Do you feel
better now?"

"Calmer. I've
stuffed all that shit into as many dark corners as I can find. This
helped."

"What, the
talk, or the tantrum?"

He smiled.
"Both."

Releasing her
hand, he stood up in a smooth motion and strode out of the door,
leaving her staring after him.

At the
hospital, Thestan waited with Martis, who was bent over an
analyser, adjusting it. The commander raked her with an incredulous
glance when she walked in.

She spread her
arms. "Still in one piece. Not even a bruise."

Thestan shook
his head. "He's dangerous, though."

"No, not
really. If you piss him off, he might give you the odd bruise,
that's all. No more than any other angry man, and he’s got a lot to
be angry about."

"I need to know
how to treat him."

Martis looked
around. "Don't piss him off."

Estrelle
nodded. "Yeah, that about sums it up. Treat him like a man, with
respect. Do what he says, and you'll be fine."

"Why did he
wreck the exercise room?"

"He's really
really angry right now. His mind block has failed, and he's
learning what it is to have human emotions. He doesn't like
it."

Martis nodded.
"Can't say I blame him. Must be nice to have a purely logical
mind."

"Nice and numb,
yeah. I don't think I'd like to be that unable to feel; to go
through life with nothing but programmed reactions. Then again,
having all those emotions dumped into his mind in one fell swoop,
with no knowledge of how to deal with them, must be horrible."

"But you think
he's coping?"

She sat at a
bench. "Not yet. That's what caused the tantrum. He wants to lash
out, but there's nothing to focus his rage on right now. If he
catches whoever took Tassin before this phase wears off, however, I
pity them. There's something strangely endearing about him, though.
He's so confused... It's sad."

"Will he be
throwing any more tantrums?" Thestan asked.

"Probably. I
think it helped when I told him the fact that he has these feelings
means he's not psychotic. It's something he was afraid of. But you
and your men are safe. As long as you don't provoke him, he'll take
it out on inanimate objects."

"And how long
do you think this phase is going to last?"

She shrugged,
shaking her head. "Impossible to tell, but I reckon it will
definitely end when he finds Tassin."

"But he's
looking for Tarl Averly. Who's Tassin?"

Estrelle
explained, and Thestan looked thoughtful, picked up an instrument
and frowned at it. "Hard to imagine a cyber with those kinds of
feelings."

"Well, he has
them, trust me."

****

Tarl gazed out
of the small screen in his cramped, utilitarian servants' room. The
ugly brown planet that hung in space outside was Hades Eleven, a
former penal colony that had rebelled in a bloodbath seventy years
ago. The convicts had escaped and slaughtered all the staff and
support personnel, sparing only the women. They had timed their
escape to coincide with a visit from the regional governor, and
took him hostage to gain control of the four warships that had been
his escort. Once the prisoners had the ships, they had killed him
too, and his soldiers. Since then, several attempts to retake the
planet had failed, and it remained an outlaw haven far from other
worlds.

The residents
of Hades Eleven were distinguished by their scarred skin, a legacy
of the last attempt to bring the former penal colony back under
control by wiping out the residents with a weaponised virus.
Thousands had perished, but Hadeans had proven to be tough, and the
survivors had kept control of the world. The planet was
semi-hostile, owning a thin atmosphere that had been terra-formed
using an oxygen-producing alga to create breathable air. Being so
far from its yellow sun, the world remained cold at all times. The
temperature plummeted on the night side, and anyone caught outside
would freeze in a couple of hours. Massive heat exchangers kept the
buildings warm, and little construction had taken place since the
rebellion.

Now,
apparently, it was a meeting place for fight enthusiasts, and the
massive, half empty prisons served as arenas. The visitors brought
money to fuel the otherwise stagnant economy. The residents' only
other form of income was the money they made from storing slaves
and smuggled goods.

Tarl glanced
around as Ashmond came in, looking ridiculous in a silver-studded
black latex outfit that accentuated his pot belly and skinny legs.
It was supposed to make him look tough, Tarl assumed, but succeeded
only in making him look like an escapee from a bad bondage
vidimage. The baron nodded a greeting and came over to him.

"Good, you're
ready. We're leaving soon."

Tarl glanced
down at the badly fitting grey and black uniform he had been given
for the occasion. "How's Tassin?"

"Fine,
scrubbing floors and polishing silver, don't worry."

Tarl nodded.
"What are the cybers fighting?"

"Mostly
dangerous beasts, and the occasional idiot. The days when Endrovar
made his fortune pitting them against foolish men are over;
everyone got wise and bought their own cybers. Then they discovered
the futility of pitting the cybers against each other, it was no
fun. Even arming a B-grade and pitting him against an unarmed
A-grade was too predictable to bet on. So now it's the beasts."

"Has Endrovar
got the drugs and equipment yet?"

"No, he's
meeting his supplier at the games. He'll probably do some cyber
trading, too, now that he's got you to examine the goods first.
He's very pleased with you. He even gave me a bonus."

Tarl snorted.
"You didn't know."

Ashmond
shrugged. "He doesn't know that."

"I want to see
Tassin."

"Ask
Endrovar."

"You could
organise it."

The baron
glanced at his timepiece. "Time to go."

"Please. I must
speak to her, to see if she's okay."

"I told you
she's fine, but if you become too persistent, Endrovar will sell
her, so don't push it." He swung away. "Come on."

Tarl spent the
short shuttle trip to the planet's surface in the back compartment
with the cybers, away from Endrovar and his guests, who amused
themselves in the luxurious forward cabin. Tarl studied the four
clones with deep pity. Their resemblance to Sabre was
disconcerting, and he wondered what was going through their minds.
Did they know what lay ahead, and were they afraid, or did they
hope to die in a fight and end their suffering? Pitting cybers
against dangerous beasts, while entertaining for the sick
enthusiasts, was a cruel sport that often resulted in terrible
injuries, and he was not looking forward to fixing them.

When the
shuttle landed, he followed the cybers through the drab, functional
concrete buildings to the assigned arena, a vast area in the middle
of a cell block, formally used as an exercise yard. The beasts were
confined in the cells on the ground floor, ready to be unleashed,
while the spectators hung over the balconies and cat walks above.
Spotlights illuminated a concrete floor stained brown by the blood
of many battles, and the stench of the alien beasts made the
already dank air foetid. One drawback to the oxygen-producing alga
was the putrid stink it also produced, making it useless for any
world where the residents might object, although his nose adjusted
to it after a while.

A fight was in
progress, a cyber pitted against a horse-sized lizard-like creature
with a spiked head and venomous claws. Tarl leant on a railing and
watched it with dull eyes, turning away when the alien ripped the
cyber's leg open, his stomach knotting. In spite of his injury, the
cyber won, and attendants dragged the alien beast's corpse away.
They hosed the blood off and the next fight began, another cyber
pitted against a three-metre tall, hairy, ape-like creature. Tarl
found a comfortable spot to sit and wait, not interested in
watching more suffering. Of the seven bouts that took place while
he was there, only once did a cyber lose, and that was an old
C-grade.

Food was served
during an interval, and the wealthy spectators congregated in a
massive mess hall adjacent to the arena, where they sat at steel
tables and ate the three-course meal the Hadeans provided. Those
with less money remained in the arena and consumed the snacks and
portable portions vendors sold there. Tarl nibbled on a snack and
hung around the mess hall’s door, keeping an eye on Endrovar, who
spoke to a short, rat-faced man with darting black eyes. After the
dinner break the fights resumed, and Endrovar sent two of his
cybers in. Tarl was summoned to a back room to tend to the wounded
clones afterwards. The first to fight was Warrior Four, the one
with the bad heart, and Tarl grimaced when he examined the horrific
wounds on the clone's arms and chest. Whatever he had fought had
clearly had a lot of claws and spines, as well as venom. The
cyber's weak heart was still beating at almost two hundred and
fifty beats per minute, sweat poured off him, and he gasped in
stertorous, wheezing breaths.