Havoc

  With effort, Dred put aside the unusual introspection and beckoned to the newcomers. “It’ll be best if I introduce you right away.”

  “Thank you,” Katur said.

  She didn’t kid herself that this would be a smooth and seamless integration. Nonetheless, she strode into the common room with the aliens in her wake. Men froze, then scrambled to their feet; most had weapons in their hands before she could speak. So she vaulted onto the nearest table and let out a bloodcurdling war cry. The shock stilled the Queenslanders for a few moments, then she unwound the chains from her arms and slammed them three times against the tabletop, chipping off bits of resin.

  “Are you listening, men? I’m in no mood to repeat myself.”

  “Yes, my queen!” The reply didn’t come as neat in unison as it ordinarily did, but since no combat had broken out, she’d call it adequate.

  “Today, you join me in welcoming new warriors to Queensland. You will not judge them by their skins. You will treat them as any other comrade. Is that clear?”

  “Filthy alien-loving bitch!” From her vantage, she couldn’t identify the malcontent, but Tam and Martine tag-teamed him, dragging him out of the crowd.

  Jael followed them, but he didn’t intervene. Just as well. The rest of the men needed to see she had support from people she wasn’t sleeping with.

  With a sharp smile, Martine kicked him in the gut, and the scrubby man bent double. He was almost as old as Ike but less prepossessing, with greasy iron gray hair and a matted beard. From the way his mouth had sunken in, Dred didn’t imagine he had many teeth, and his cheeks were veined from years of hard drinking. His small eyes shone with hatred over being asked to cooperate and cohabitate with nonhumans.

  So many years after the Morgut War, after aliens saved us, and we still hate like this.

  Though she could scarcely afford to lose a single man, Dred had to make an example of him. “You’re saying you’d rather die than follow my edict?”

  She scanned the crowd to see how they were taking this, and they seemed more interested in the prospect of a sudden execution than the arrival of a few aliens. That was good. The spectacle would probably grind the edge off their xenophobia. She wouldn’t goad someone to this point, but this Queenslander seemed to have a death wish.

  “Damn straight.” He screwed his mouth up as if to spit on her, and Tam backhanded him so hard, the old man hit the ground with a spatter of blood.

  When he climbed to his knees, practically snarling, his lips were split and stained against his gums. Dred didn’t let pity move her. Yes, he was decrepit, but he could also sow hatred and rebellion among her people. It can’t stand.

  So she merely nodded, and said to Tam and Martine, “Hold him.”

  They complied, one on each arm, and she could tell that Martine in particular enjoyed keeping the captive on his knees. She kicked him as he fought to rise. The severity of his situation didn’t seem to have sunk in yet. While she ran a less bloody regime than Artan, it didn’t mean she was the forgiving sort.

  She turned to Cook, who was standing nearby with his chopping knife. “Get Einar’s axe, please.”

  They kept it hanging in a place of honor on the wall, so the chef jogged across the room. The axe was a huge weapon, crafted especially for the big man who had fallen just before the battle with Grigor, out of scrap metal and honed to razor sharpness. The steel haft had leather wrapped around it to make it easier to hold, and it was stained dark from so much blood. She suspected the cost of rebellion must be sinking in when the old man pissed his pants.

  Cook made a production of the retrieval, pulling it off the wall with great ceremony, then he lofted it a few times, just so the spectators had a sense of how bloody huge the thing was. Dred took it without revealing how much the weight pulled at her injured arm. Hope I’ve got enough range of motion to see this through. She’d lose credibility if she had to summon someone to perform executions, now that Einar was gone.

  Miss the big guy.

  “Hold him for me,” she instructed Cook.

  In reply, Cook forced the old man down and shoved a chair under his cheek to serve as the chopping block. Dred took a couple of practice swings and then cut clean through the old devil’s neck in one slam. The head bounced away in a red streak while his neck jetted blood all over the floor. She kicked the body down, then raised the weapon.

  “Anyone else want to debate immigration policy with me?”

  14

  Burying the Dead

  After leaving Ike and Cook in charge, Dred convened a meeting. Jael, Martine, and Tam followed her to the training room, currently unoccupied. That was likely a good call, as four aliens came with them. Her quarters weren’t big enough to comfortably accommodate everyone, and circumstances had changed. The room smelled like sweat, but it was reasonably clean; Calypso insisted.

  Jael closed the door after them. There was no lock, but he doubted anyone would be crazy enough to snoop so soon after the execution. In fact, that was all anyone could talk about as they left the common room. They’d set a few of Cook’s assistants to cleaning up the blood and disposing of the body. With luck, it would be done before the late meal.

  “Let me introduce my lieutenants,” Katur said. “You can trust them.” He gestured to the tall Ithtorian with a speckled mud carapace and triangular head with a notched mandible. Jael noted the particular scarring on the thorax, as if it had survived a bombardment, or fought in numerous battles at bleak odds. “This is Brahmel Il-Charis, my first.”

  For the first time, Jael stared directly at the Ithtorian, nearly drowning in a wash of revulsion. For so many turns, he’d heard nothing but the chitter and hiss of their native tongue, known nothing but the company of Bugs, if it could even be called that, given they were all confined to separate caves. He fought off the tide of memory, rooting himself in the present instead. Intellectually, he knew it wasn’t fair to dislike Brahmel Il-Charis strictly on the basis of his species, but Jael did not have fond memories of Ithiss-Tor.

  “Just Brahm,” the Ithtorian corrected. “I’m not permitted to use my father’s name.”

  Jael frowned, wondering where he’d heard the name “Charis” before, but he dismissed the curiosity as Katur went on, indicating the Rodeisian female on his other side. “This is Alaireli. She’s our best warrior and my second.”

  “You can call me Ali,” the female said in a deep rumble of a voice.

  “I wish I could say it’s a pleasure,” Dred said, “but under the circumstances . . .”

  Keelah inclined her head. “We feel the same. This isn’t how we’d have chosen to deepen our acquaintance.”

  “How long ago did you leave the Warren?” Jael cut in.

  There was a reason for his question. If it hadn’t been too long, the merc unit might still be exploring down there, checking for hidden resources or survivors in hiding. With a quick enough reaction, it was possible they could retaliate before Vost saw it coming.

  Katur answered, “A few hours, give or take. We fled when it became clear we couldn’t win, but they couldn’t tell how to follow us.”

  “Who wants to see if we can do some damage?” Dred asked.

  “Me,” Ali said at once.

  Brahm inclined his head. Both Katur and Keelah took a step back, so Jael guessed it was too soon for them to return to the Warren—too many dead bodies, too many memories. Tam and Martine both nodded, and the spymaster was healed up enough that he shouldn’t slow them down. Dred’s burned arm would have been an issue for anyone else, but by today, she should be sound enough to fight.

  “Let’s stop by the armory and move,” she said.

  “I’ll show you how we got from the Warren inside your territory without passing your borders,” Brahm said.

  Tam frowned. “I’ve done a complete survey, and I was sure there was no shaft access inside our perimeter.” r />
  “You were wrong,” Ali told him.

  Martine chuckled. “I think I’m going to like her.”

  At the armory, Dred passed out weapons, though both Brahm and Ali opted to use their natural defenses. Then Tam locked up, and they rolled out. The Ithtorian led them toward the eastern barricade, but then he turned off, moving down a corridor that Jael was pretty sure ended in a blind. He had surveyed the zone fully when he first arrived, looking for weaknesses, and he hadn’t seen an exit this way.

  “There’s no—” Tam started.

  Ali held up a hand to shush him. Then she said, “None of you sees it?”

  Jael skimmed the walls, ceiling, and floors. “It’s dented right there.”

  “So it is.” The Rodeisian female reached up, flattened her hands on the wall panel, then pulled with pure brute force. The metal folded inward, revealing a hollow behind the wall where pipes and wires had been ripped out.

  Jael was stunned into silence. Leaning forward, he peered into the tunnel that had been excavated and shook his head. “That’s not on the original plans.”

  “I get bored,” Ali said.

  Tam slipped inside and followed it back a few meters. “It continues on, joining the natural gap between the walls.”

  Brahm stepped in and signaled with four long talons for everyone else to do the same. “Ali will come last to close it up. She’s quite remarkable. Once she’s done, a cursory inspection won’t reveal the passage.”

  Dred frowned. “I need to know if there are more passages like this. If the mercs stumble on them from the Warren . . .” She trailed off, but Jael knew what she was thinking.

  He wouldn’t sleep well until he was sure Vost couldn’t lead a raid straight into their territory, bypassing the turrets. With that troublesome thought in mind, he watched Ali close up the wall. Her hands are strong enough to crush a man’s skull. She might even be able to do it through one of those helmets. Unfortunately, the merc armor wouldn’t fit her, or she could be an unstoppable killing machine.

  It was dark inside the wall, redolent with musty smells. More disturbing was the crunch underfoot as he moved. His vision adapted fast enough for him to identify the crackling whiteness underfoot as small skeletons, and by the shape of the skulls, this was where tons of rodent-creatures had crawled to die. Or maybe the Warren-dwellers thought it was hilarious to dump their trash right outside our doorstep, so to speak. But that was probably an unworthy thought about their new allies.

  “How many turns did it take you to achieve this?” Tam asked as they moved.

  Ali replied, “I couldn’t even tell you. But I had help.”

  Jael registered the smaller man’s curiosity as they moved. Tam was counting, trying to determine when they left Queensland, but despite twists and turns, he wasn’t sure. The tight space confused Jael’s senses, too, and left him feeling as if they’d been in here for hours, and the number of bodies shifting in the dark exacerbated that impression.

  “This is the border,” Ali whispered eventually.

  Ali opened the wall, this time near shaft access, but it was a different set of maintenance ladders than the ones they used. In fact, Jael had never been in this part of the station; permanent force fields, a Peacemaker, and active turrets blocked it off. But the aliens had found a way in. Jael went third, climbing down the rungs toward the Warren. It was a tight fit for Ali, but it made sense to let her take point. By this point, even their breathing seemed loud. He winced at each footfall as they stepped off the ladder.

  From floor to ceiling, this part of the station bore signs of the people who had inhabited it. The walls were etched in symbols and patterns meaningless to Jael, but they doubtless held great significance for those who had painted them. Ali caught his gaze skimming over the art on the walls.

  “This was the closest thing we had to a temple. We gathered for regular services.”

  “You have a spiritual leader?”

  “We did.” Her tone became melancholy.

  Jael suspected the priest or shaman, whatever they called him, had died in the attack. “What does this symbol mean?”

  “Place of prayer.”

  “And this one?”

  “Reverence for the dead.” Ali roused from reverie long enough to explain, “Some of the people in the Warren believe in ancestor worship.”

  “This may seem like an ignorant question, but the alien with tentacles—”

  “You’re not familiar with his species?”

  “No. I’ve traveled a fair bit, but not recently.”

  She managed a rough chuckle. “That applies to all of us. And he’s Kelazoi, from a planet in the Outskirts. They don’t travel much, tend to be treated poorly when they do.”

  “His incarceration supports that allegation.”

  “He was with us on New Terra, my mate and I, when we were rounded up and sent to internment camps. We were there for half a turn before they responded to the outcry.” Her breath hitched, and Jael was surprised that he wanted to comfort her. Instead, he just listened. “They promised the media that they’d release us, but instead they sent us to Perdition.”

  “That’s enough chatter,” the Ithtorian cut in.

  Brahm took the lead from there, signaling with a clawed hand for the others to fall in behind him. It took a while, but they searched the Warren completely. Though the place had obviously been ransacked, and there were dead bodies scattered from the failed defense, they were too late. No mercs. Ali slammed a massive fist into the wall and hung her head.

  “I’m sorry. It seems we were too slow.”

  “Perhaps not,” Tam said. “We’ll help you deal with your dead, then I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

  “That would be greatly appreciated,” Brahm answered.

  Dred nodded. “You can’t just leave them. I know you’d probably prefer to have a service, but—”

  “No, it’s enough not to leave them where they fell,” Ali said softly.

  It was backbreaking because the corpses had to be hauled up two levels to the nearest recycler, and a few of them were too big for anyone but Ali to manage. From her body language, Jael guessed she had been close to one of the fallen Rodeisians, but she didn’t say a word from the moment she slung his body over her shoulder until Jael helped her push him down the chute. To make matters worse, it was a tight fit, and they had to shove, breaking bones in the process.

  She pressed both palms against the chute door after it closed, then she whispered, “Good-bye, my love.” Her grief and sorrow were palpable.

  Jael had no idea what to say to her, and it was bewildering even to contemplate what words might be right for the occasion. In the end, he simply followed her down to get the rest of the bodies. Afterward, Tam laid out his plan, using dust from a little-used passage to sketch in the particulars. Brahm and Ali agreed at once while Dred looked thoughtful.

  “What’s the goal here, Tam? Revenge, carnage, or equipment?”

  Jael nodded at Dred, indicating he wondered the same thing.

  “Why does it have to be mutually exclusive?” Brahm asked.

  “If we’re fighting to kill, we’ll go into the battle differently than if we’re planning a snatch and grab,” Jael answered.

  And the Ithtorian acknowledged the truth of that with an inclination of his head.

  “I want them all dead,” Tam said quietly. “It’s the only solution that will serve. But we don’t have the firepower to kill ten armored mercs with two rifles between the six of us.”

  “So this is a robbery,” Ali said.

  Jael had once known a Rodeisian female fairly well; she had been mated to a merc he called a friend. Despite their size, Rodeisians were typically calm and gentle unless you hurt their loved ones. And then there was no shelter from their wrath. So he was surprised to read bitterness and not rage in the twist of her gene
rous mouth.

  “Is that a problem?” Martine asked.

  Ali shook her head, sorrow in her glittering eyes. “I was just thinking that it’s ironic. It took sending me to prison and murdering my mate to turn me into a criminal.”

  15

  Baiting the Trap

  “This thing is sodding huge,” Martine bitched.

  It had taken them hours to haul the gear up from the sublevel. Dred expected one of the men to respond with the obvious joke, but they were all focused on heaving the girder into place. The lattice of tension wires didn’t look strong enough hold the contraption, but Brahm was monitoring the process, and he seemed to have an engineering background. Ali heaved, shouldering the front of the metal beam as Jael shoved.

  “Can’t do it with two of us,” he grunted.

  Dred stepped underneath; Tam, Martine, and Brahm followed, but she didn’t feel much of a difference. If we had couple more like Jael and Ali, this should work.

  With a moan that sounded as if she’d ruptured something, the Rodeisian lowered her end of the metal beam. “Need a break. I think we have to try this another way.”

  “I can build a harness,” Brahm said. “It’ll take longer. Tam, can you scout and give me an idea how much time we have until they get here?”

  “Certainly. I can extrapolate based on the numerical mean of their patrol times.” The spymaster took off, running lightly along the footbridge.

  This cavernous space gave Dred the creeps. The common room was the largest place she was used to, and she could do without the long drop, too. She spun in a slow circle as Brahm muttered over the supplies. Then he tapped Ali’s arm with his talons, and she went to work with him, weaving scraps together, presumably to construct the harness he’d mentioned. As they worked, Dred developed an idea how the thing would work once it was finished.

  “What can I do?” she asked the Ithtorian.

  “See if you can find some rope.”