Havoc

  25

  Truth or Dare

  “You seem really sure Tam will succeed,” Jael said to Dred, as they carted a table from the common room one level up.

  Getting the thing up the shaft was a bitch, but for the work that would go on up here, they needed privacy. The men shouldn’t know all of their secrets and plans. On that aspect of strategy, Dred stood with the spymaster. Sucks to be the grunt in that scenario, but I don’t give a shit about their feelings. It was hard not to, sometimes. Caring about Jael had opened a floodgate, reminding her of the person she used to be, before she left home.

  I can’t let Dresdemona come back. Not yet. We need the Dread Queen.

  “He’s not known for failure,” Dred answered.

  “Haven’t you noticed that he seems different lately?”

  Come to think of it, she had. With a grunt and a final shove, she nudged the table onto the floor, letting Jael haul it up. He has the strength for it. She arched her aching back, wishing she could afford to trust someone else with the heavy lifting, but her inner circle had already expanded enough. Before she replied, she let Jael pull her up, then she took up her end of the burden again.

  “Yeah, it started when Einar died . . . and it’s just gotten worse with Ike.”

  “He seems more . . . human now,” Jael said.

  Yeah, less of the cool, calculating tactician, more fallible man.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t fuck with his ability to scheme like a cold-blooded bastard and get the job done when our lives are on the line.”

  “He’s also got Martine now. Maybe she’s warming him up.”

  “I hope so . . . if that’s a good thing. But there might come a time where we need him to be icy and devious.”

  He didn’t speak as he moved backward. Dred jerked her head, signaling that they’d reached the door that led into the vacant space that would become the lab. “Here we are.”

  Inside, there was already a bunch of stuff she’d raided from Ike’s storeroom. Doing that hurt so bad. Dred dropped to her knees and touched a knot of copper wires, petting them for a few, ridiculous seconds. There was no point to it; it wasn’t like these bits and bobs contained any of Ike’s spirit, but Mary, she missed him.

  I didn’t realize how much I listened to him, relied on him, until he was gone. Even more than Einar because I always knew the big man wanted in my bed.

  Aloud, she said, “Ike . . . he didn’t want anything, except to feel useful.”

  “He’d want us to kick their asses,” Jael said.

  “Definitely.” She forced a toothy grin and pushed to her feet.

  “Don’t do that. Don’t lie with your eyes. I’m usually bollocks at knowing when people mean what they say, but your face is plain to me.”

  “Is it? What’s it saying then?”

  “That you’re bleeding like hell over that old man.”

  Dred swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s worse because—” She couldn’t say it, couldn’t get the words past the knives in her throat.

  “I know, love.” His arms were around her without her ever seeing him move. That fast, a blink, and he was there, only his racing heartbeat giving a hint that he might be suffering, too.

  “I shouldn’t care. The Dread Queen wouldn’t.”

  “She’s a straw man, an effigy made for burning. Tam knows that even if you don’t, and he’d be the first to tell you not to let the role swallow you.”

  “Would he? I wonder.”

  The old Tameron probably wouldn’t have, actually. He’d have used Dred until she broke, then found another piece to move about the board. The new Tam? Dred had no idea what he was capable of—but she hoped for a great many things.

  * * *

  “I can see why you came to me,” Martine said. “Sounds dangerous.”

  Tam nodded. “We need an advantage now that we’ve lost the element of surprise with the Peacemaker. The mercs now know the full extent of our capabilities, and Dred has her hands full keeping order in Queensland.”

  In the days since the death matches, there had been a few abortive runs by Mungo’s monsters, and Silence had tested the turrets as well. With Ike gone—the thought sent a fierce pang through him—it had been a struggle to get the new turrets installed. Even now, they didn’t work correctly and didn’t recognize the mag bracelets half the time. One of these days, a native would end up mowed down by their own defensive measures.

  Calypso tilted her head. “You’re sure we don’t have what we need here, little man?”

  She called him that because it was supposed to bother him. He was supposed to get angry and defensive, but the truth never troubled him. Lies were another matter though they were sometimes politic and necessary. So he merely offered her a level look.

  “I’ve checked all of our storerooms. For my plan to succeed, we must retrieve chemicals currently in storage elsewhere.”

  “How far are we going?”

  “Priest’s domain. We prioritized on our last trip and took what we needed most. But circumstances have changed.”

  “There are three separate factions that want to kill us wandering the station. Or had you forgotten that?” Calypso didn’t look eager to venture out.

  And honestly, Tam didn’t blame her. But he needed people who could fight and haul a significant amount of weight. He and Martine could manage the former, but their upper-body strength wasn’t up to dragging multiple bottles of chem across the station. So he couldn’t complete this mission solo, and his usual crew was busy. Which was why he’d asked Ali if she minded helping as well. The Rodeisian female was fair in a fight, and she’d be able to bring back plenty of components.

  Ali joined them a few minutes later, just as he convinced Calypso that the benefits outweighed the risks, and she had Brahm with her. “Are we going?”

  Tam swept a hand toward the barricades. “Stay close.”

  The downside of this group was that they couldn’t travel through the ducts as he normally did. Ali couldn’t fit comfortably, and even if she squeezed through, the noise of her passage would alert anyone to their presence. Best to stay on the ground and fight through if necessary. They each took rifles, but because there wasn’t enough armor for everyone, and Ali couldn’t wear it in any case, they went without. Dred and Jael saw them off, but Tam could tell by their expressions that they were worried about something and trying to hide it. He didn’t derail the mission by inquiring. Timing was everything in such matters, and he was skilled at choosing both his moments and his battles.

  Since he didn’t want Calypso to know about the secret way in and out of the territory that the aliens had devised, he led the group out the east barricades. Sentries helped pull down some of the junk so Ali and Brahm could pass, and as soon as Tam’s people climbed over, they immediately started rebuilding. It appears that the death matches had a meritorious effect on the work ethic. Some of them doubtless recalled how different it was under Artan’s regime.

  On the other side of the barrier, Tam powered down the turrets and signaled for the women to move out of range. There weren’t enough magnetic bracelets to go around; since he had one, this was the only way.

  “Someday you’ll have to tell me what a proper little man did to end up here,” Calypso said, as Tam moved toward the intersection.

  “That’s unlikely,” he said politely.

  Newly broken pipes and wires torn from the walls showed that someone had been here recently, some forty meters from the end of the turret range. The destruction suggested to Tam that it had been Mungo’s lot. Silence’s assassins tended not to yield to rage if they were frustrated in an objective; they were colder and more disciplined. The sentries couldn’t see what happened past the barricades, but they should’ve reported hearing the damage.

  “I don’t like this,” Martine said.

  Calypso nudged the other woman forwa
rd. “We’re exposed. We need to move. If the brutes are still around, we’ll spot them soon enough.”

  “Rather fight them than the mercs,” Ali put in.

  “Agreed,” Brahm said.

  Tam concurred. Even if there were a lot of cannibals between here and Priest’s abandoned territory, his crew had laser rifles, so they should be able to take out a fair number before the monsters closed to hand-to-hand. He moved past the wreckage and set out, aware that Queensland’s survival depended on the success of this mission.

  * * *

  THINGS had gone better since Vost stopped dividing his forces.

  They fought and won four consecutive battles, a boost to morale, and subsequently decimated the fetid-smelling humanoids. The men were much bolstered by uncomplicated killing. Vost knew better than to trust a sudden change of fortune, however; luck could be a fickle bitch, loving one day and kicking you in the junk the next. So he was wary as he led the men on patrol. He didn’t like leaving the command post unattended, but he couldn’t assign a man to keep an eye on the gear, either. After a successful enemy incursion, it was critical to prevent additional loss of life. If he lost too many men, the mission objective would become impossible.

  As it was, he’d caught Casto shooting him furtive looks as he went around talking to the men, just out of Vost’s earshot. They always shut up the minute he approached and insisted they were talking about nothing, which always added up to trouble. There was precious little Vost could do about it, however. The terms came down from the high-ups in the Conglomerate—that they go in and clean house without alerting any outsiders as to what was going on in Perdition. The tragedy would be “uncovered” later, and the story would be disseminated that the inmates had fought each other to the death, freeing the facility to be repurposed after it underwent a thorough sanitizing.

  If we take off before the job’s done, we don’t get paid.

  He couldn’t permit that failure.

  Vost fought down the memories, knowing they weakened him and lessened his concentration. In here, he needed to be on point all the time. He stopped at the four-way and held up a hand. His helmet had sense-boosting capabilities, and he heard something at fifty meters out, a good number of targets, moving fast. Casto shoved forward, likely to say something, and Vost slammed a palm up, demanding silence. Then he signaled for the men to move in quietly—or as near as they could manage. The heavy suits weren’t designed for stealth. There was gear that helped with it, but it didn’t offer as much protection, and they’d gone in with the intent of resisting primitive blunt and bladed weapons.

  “Looks like we caught a battle under way,” he said, low. “Let’s get in and mop up.”

  Casto hefted his rifle. “Fragging brilliant. It’s about time we got to shoot some fish in a barrel.”

  Redmond said, “Have you seen these scumsuckers? That’s being unfair to fish.”

  “Enough chatter. Get ready.” Vost led the charge down the hall, which bore sharp right and opened into a wider room.

  The scene puzzled the shit out of him. A group of the filthy humans was fighting a better-equipped team; the latter was badly outnumbered, but they were carrying Vost’s own damn rifles. That burned him even as he stared at all the barrels of chem stashed around. That’s why they’re not shooting. He couldn’t be sure what was in them, but a stray shot might light up the world, depending on what they contained.

  “Melee only,” he ordered.

  “You heard the man,” Casto shouted.

  A frisson of unease skated down his back. Since when do I need backup from him to get the guys to follow my lead? But he couldn’t pause to ponder the implications. That would come later in the postbattle analysis. His men rushed in, laying about with knives and clubs they’d fashioned from station salvage.

  A small, dark-skinned man glared at him from across the room. “Mary curse you for being everywhere I don’t want you.”

  That sounded oddly personal to Vost, as if he’d thwarted some critical scheme. Best news I’ve had all day. He sank a blade into a filthy belly, yanked it back out with a burble of blood. Some of the targets attacked with teeth or bare hands; that was how far they’d fallen. For all their savagery, however, it was easy to take out men who lacked the sense to swing a length of pipe at your head.

  There’s a reason we started using tools, assholes. We lack the natural weaponry of, say, that Ithtorian.

  Bugs were nicely evolved with talons and chitin to protect their squishy bits. He kept a watchful eye on the small squad with the rifles, making sure they weren’t about to open fire, and as he fought the bestial prisoners, he watched the Ithtorian drop four in quick succession. That’s a worthy opponent. It’ll be an honor to put him down.

  It was almost like a wary truce, as they fought the primitive convicts together while he kept an eye on the smaller force. It wouldn’t take long to mow them down once the rest were dealt with. But as if the small man anticipated his plan, he turned his rifle on the barrel nearest to him, as Vost’s men killed the last cannibal.

  “You withdraw, or I blow us all to bits.” The man had an educated voice, with a hint of accent that Vost couldn’t immediately place, but he knew he’d been there.

  “You’re bluffing.”

  The other man smiled. “You can’t afford to take that chance. We have nothing to lose. We expect to die here, and I’d enjoy taking you with me. Your mercs, on the other hand, are already looking squirrelly. They think they’re going home. Who’s right, Commander?”

  Before he could reply, Casto said, “Let’s go.”

  And the rest of the soldiers followed him. Redmond and Duran took a long look at him first, but they went, too, and it was a blow since they’d served with him the longest. Vost was left scrambling to follow, as if it were his decision, but deep in his gut, a kernel of emotion popped to life.

  Dread.

  26

  Something Deep and Strange

  In the twenty-four hours since Tam had returned with the chemicals, with Dred’s help, Jael had finished the upstairs laboratory. Once apportioned for dorm use, so many Queenslanders had died—and no more coming in—that they didn’t need the space anymore. The aliens had their own quarters now, better for keeping the peace. A lot of the men were stupid brutes, and out of sight, out of mind worked on them. It was shitty for the refugees in the sense of fair and equitable treatment, but it was better for them to be safe.

  “How much experience do you have with explosives?” Tam asked as he stepped into the new lab.

  “I’ve used plenty.”

  “But no background in building them?”

  “Bombs more than grenades,” Jael admitted. “But I’ve steady hands.”

  “That should do. First we have to make the shells.” Tam sighed. “This would be a lot easier if Ike were still around.”

  “So many things would be.”

  “Truer words. But we’ll make do. I’ve jury-rigged a smelter . . . since I’ve done this before, it’s best if I handle melting down the scrap and pouring in the molds.”

  “You’ve been planning this for a while.”

  Tam nodded. “It was impossible when everything was scattered and too well protected for me to acquire what I needed, but I’ve long known that what I needed to upgrade our armaments was theoretically available, just not easily acquired.”

  “Now we’re set?”

  “Yes, the last run took care of the missing components.”

  “Then just tell me what to do.”

  Tam handed him a list. Jael skimmed it; his reading was sufficient for this though he found it tedious to digest longer documents. That weakness had plagued him through a career as a merc, as he occasionally signed things he didn’t understand, which screwed him later. Word got around that he wasn’t the brightest bulb—that he was easily tricked—and it made life tough as a soldier of fortu
ne. Just as well he’d gotten out of the private-army business and gone to work on salvage instead.

  But that didn’t end well, either.

  “Make sure to follow the directions precisely. Mixing the chemicals out of order could result in unpleasant results for us. And put on this helmet.”

  Though the other man must’ve noticed that Jael didn’t stay injured as long as other people, he decided it was better not to admit that poisonous fumes might burn his lungs but wouldn’t kill him. So he snapped the headgear in place and got used to the filtering system. The enhanced sight and hearing array took him a little longer since it was working on preternaturally acute senses.

  For a while they worked in silence, with Tam preparing the grenade casings and Jael measuring and mixing the chemicals. Jael finished his part much sooner, however, because the scrap had to be melted down before Tam could pour it into the molds, then there was cooling time.

  “Come back in four hours,” Tam said. “We’ll finish up then.”

  At that point, they took a break, and Jael went to the hydroponics garden. He’d noticed that his name no longer appeared on patrol rosters or work lists, but he had to pull his weight, or the men would notice. Sleeping with the Dread Queen wouldn’t keep six pissed off felons from jumping him, and he’d hate to kill even more of their men. They might be needed as battle fodder later.

  Vix and Zediah were hard at work when he arrived. Neither one was much for chatting. Wearing an odd, excited expression, she pointed at some plants that needed tending, and he got to work. As he did, he considered Dred’s question from a few days back—about what he saw himself doing once they left Perdition. He’d never been a dreamer, let alone a planner. Maybe that’s part of the problem. But forming ideas about the future seemed oddly treacherous, like a mist-wreathed mountain path where he couldn’t see what lay ahead.

  “So how did the two of you end up on permanent plant duty?”

  “It was the best solution,” Vix answered. “Zed kept killing men for looking at me wrong. Artan was going to execute him when I convinced him we’d be more useful in here and that he’d eat better, too.”