Havoc

  Tam stopped and faced the group, his expression somber. “This idea might not save us . . . but it offers vengeance. It’s not easy to acknowledge the potential for failure or that death may be inevitable. I think we’ve reached that point. Yet there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that even if we lose, so do they.”

  Dred smiled. “You have my complete attention.”

  35

  Karma Is a Stroppy Bitch

  Katur made it clear that there were minute design flaws in Perdition, conduits that could be targeted to make a force field fail before the system backup kicked in. And in some cases, the backup had been stripped for parts, like the force field down below. There was no way to be sure, however, unless you shorted things out. Tam was ready to move.

  After considering for a few seconds, Dred nodded. “Do it.”

  The others scattered shortly thereafter, each with business regarding the protection of Queensland, but she couldn’t bring herself to get moving just yet. Calypso stuck around, too, her strong features set in a pensive expression.

  “Tough call,” the other woman said.

  Dred nodded. While she saw the benefits, it didn’t mean she liked acknowledging that the retributive strike would only happen after the mercs wiped them all out. “I haven’t ceded the battle yet. It’s a fail-safe, that’s all.”

  “That’s the spirit. We’re doing better than I expected. To be honest, I tried to get Martine to run for it a while back.”

  Dred hadn’t known that, but she wasn’t surprised. “I’m glad you stuck around.”

  “I’m a sucker for lost causes. That’s half of why I ended up in here.”

  Though she’d learned Martine’s story, Calypso had dozed off before they started talking seriously about LBP—Life Before Perdition. “Oh?”

  Calypso propped herself against the far wall. “Do you know anything about the Human Initiative?”

  After a moment of poking around the cobwebby corners of her brain, Dred came up with, “Some kind of propaganda campaign? I don’t remember much about it.”

  “Conglomerate brainwashing manifesto—about how we needed to complete our diaspora and get out there, populate the universe with lots and lots of humans. So they started a drive toward colonization. There were incentives and—”

  “I’m with you,” she said. Whatever the hell this was about, it was a welcome distraction from the seemingly hopeless odds in Queensland.

  Calypso went on, “When corporations saw there was money to be made, they got involved, offered complete settlement packages based on income. I’m from a desert colony myself. Shit place to develop, but we couldn’t afford a more hospitable climate.”

  Dred knew shit about the Human Initiative, but she did understand profit and loss, supply and demand. It didn’t take a genius to work out that the private sector wanted to compete with the Conglomerate. History didn’t support the idea that it was possible to have one governing body in charge that didn’t eventually succumb to internal turmoil, nepotism, and general corruption.

  “I’m from a pretty small outpost, too.” That seemed like a safe, neutral reply.

  “Things were hardscrabble, but it was a decent life. Until we discovered uranium on our claim.”

  “Let me guess, things went to shit after that.” Dred could envision any number of ways that could go wrong.

  “Suddenly, the company we bought the property from found errors in our documentation and the deed, along with mineral rights, reverted to them.”

  “I’ll just bet,” Dred snorted.

  “We didn’t yield,” Calypso said quietly. “That land was ours, and we fought to the last. I killed so many men over that rocky patch of ground. The struggle honed me and made me strong, and when we lost, when I was the only one left hiding in the hills, half-starved and wild with grief? They sent me here.”

  “Damn.” Inadequate response, but she had nothing else.

  “I told myself then, I’d never sign on for another lost cause. I’d never fight to the last. From that point forward, I’d only look out for myself.”

  Ah. She got it then. “You think that’s what we’re doing here?”

  “I hope not. I wouldn’t have your job on a bet, but the others see something in you. So don’t make me sorry I stuck around.”

  “I’ll try not to,” she said softly.

  But Calypso was already gone.

  * * *

  TAM tapped his foot at the delay; he had a job to do. He frowned at Martine, but she wore a stubborn-as-hell expression that said she wouldn’t budge until he heard her out.

  “I can help,” she said.

  “There’s more likelihood we’ll be caught. I can do this on my own.”

  “You can. But I won’t let you.” She caught Tam’s shoulder and dragged him close for a kiss that stole his breath.

  He didn’t like being pushed outside the bedroom, but by the time she let him go, he was ready to make an exception. “You’re a distraction.”

  “I’m your backup. And I know a thing or two about security systems and engines.”

  “Of course you do. Hurry up then.”

  Only the fact that she didn’t gloat let him accept the situation with equanimity. Instead of making for the Peacemaker units as previously discussed, he cut a path directly for the transport bay. A few times, Tam heard the sound of combat, but he circled it, heart pounding in his ears. There would never be a more critical mission.

  “Sounds like Silence is killing some of Mungo’s rotters.”

  “Good,” he muttered.

  “This should be fun.”

  She’s got an odd sense of what’s entertaining.

  For him, it was pure adrenaline, mingled with visceral terror. He’d undertaken missions like this one before, where he never relaxed until the job was done. They had no rifles, no armor. This was a quick in and out. If they were discovered, they died, so he led Martine at a dead run. She was fit, so she didn’t flag or fall behind, and she was lighter on her feet than she had been in the beginning. Not that she was ever loud or clumsy.

  “You didn’t have to come with me,” he said quietly.

  “Of course I did. You’re my man, yeah?”

  “Am I?” A few bed games didn’t constitute a commitment.

  “I’m not having this conversation with you now, Tameron. Watch ahead.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Despite the tension locking his spine, he stifled a smile. With caution and stealth, he skirted the danger zones and guided them to the power conduit that kept the force field up. While the mercs had the code to shut this down when it came time to leave, they probably hadn’t considered that somebody could circumvent the security and go after their ship.

  “Is there any way we can just steal this and take off?” Martine asked.

  “It’s late to be asking, isn’t it? I thought you had background in this sort of thing.”

  “Not ships.” She seemed to read a question in his eyes though he hadn’t been aware of one. “Jewels, paintings, sculpture. On New Terra, I pilfered pretty, expensive things. That’s probably why I’m drawn to you.”

  He raised a brow. “You think I’m pretty and expensive?”

  “Aren’t you? That accent doesn’t come from the streets.”

  She’s too clever by half.

  Tam turned to study the ship through the force field. He couldn’t start the transport without the piloting codes, and the system would be too sophisticated for anyone to hack without special gear. Plus, there was the additional problem of needing override codes to open the bay doors. Otherwise, he’d have led the others here, and they could’ve hopped aboard, leaving the mercs stranded. Tam regretted the impossibility of that scenario because it would be such poetic justice. Hoist with their own petard, as they say.

  “If Katur was right, I should
be able to interrupt the field protecting the transport bay by shorting this out.”

  As the alien had said, this was definitely a design flaw, as some of the fields could be powered down by localized power outages. It was a temporary solution, obviously, as he had to be fast, darting in before the backup engaged. But a few seconds should be all they needed.

  “Wait here,” he said to Martine. “And be ready to move when the force field flickers.”

  Bracing himself, he opened the box and yanked out a handful of wires. No finesse, and the resultant shock blew him backward. He slammed into the wall and shook his head to clear it, seeing only blurry movement. He had no sense of whether Martine was safe, but his heart pounded in his ears. Tam stumbled toward the force field. If she was too slow, it could’ve hurt her. But Martine danced in triumph on the other side of the amber light, arms in the air. Then she curtailed her celebration to power the field down for him to pass through.

  “I took a quick look at the ship . . . and I can’t even get inside.”

  Tam smiled. “I don’t need to.”

  He scrambled underneath the transport and went to work on the wiring. It didn’t take long to frag up certain functions, so that when the mercs started the vessel, all power would be immediately routed to the engines, causing an instant and critical overload. Tam wished he could be here to see the results of his handiwork. Between the grimspace drive and fuel in the tanks, the explosion should take out the whole bay.

  “That’s impressive,” Martine said, as he crawled from beneath the ship.

  “Thanks. Now let’s find the force-field codes, so we can activate it from the outside.”

  She stretched out a hand and pulled him to his feet. “Agreed. If we cover our tracks well enough, they’ll never see this coming.”

  * * *

  “THIS is bullshit, Vost.”

  Casto was asking for a beatdown. He had been insufferable since the attack on what some monster had told him was called Queensland, and he hadn’t gotten better after they failed to acquire more Peacemakers. When the Conglomerate sealed this place up, they did so fairly tightly, and the prisoners had already stolen everything that was readily available. He’d spent hours trying to work around the corrupted overrides, but they kept changing before his limited equipment could solve the problem. Other assets offered potential acquisitions, but it would take time, and Casto had the patience of a brain-damaged kid.

  “We’re getting nothing accomplished here,” his lieutenant said. “We could spend half a turn crawling over this place and not stamp out all the maggots.”

  While he was an asshole, he wasn’t wrong. There were too many decks and levels, too many bolt-holes. When they’d hit Queensland, half the populace disappeared. Oh, they’d gotten a good number of them. The stink of blood and shit from dying men was ingrained on his brain, so he knew when he’d led a successful strike.

  You didn’t lead it. You butchered them with a Peacemaker.

  He’d been a merc long enough to recognize that there was no such thing as honor in combat. You iced your targets, and you went home. End of story. But that fight had been one-sided enough to send a pang of regret through him. Their leadership had shown enough craft and cunning to make him feel like they were worthy opponents, regardless of crimes committed. It was an odd fragging situation, to be sure.

  “Here’s what I propose,” Casto went on. “You stay here with Duran and Redmond. I’ll take the rest of the men to mop up those skin-eaters. I don’t think there are more than fifty of them left. We can handle it.”

  Vost shook his head. “We’re not splitting our forces. I’ll go with you.”

  “With all due respect, Commander, the last time we all went out, the scum crawled up our asses and stole our shit. We need you here to guard what’s left . . . or we’ll come back to an empty command post.”

  Starvation was a real danger. They’d packed enough paste for a three-month campaign, but prisoners had stolen it in the robbery, along with other critical equipment. Vost tapped a hand angrily against his thigh. Sometimes it felt like no decision was the right one.

  “I don’t like it, but you have a point.”

  Casto saluted. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve wiped out the mooks.”

  Once the men rolled out, Redmond strolled up. “You sure about this, boss? I wouldn’t trust him to wipe his own ass.”

  “Then you should’ve taken the promotion when I offered it to you.” Vost would’ve preferred Redmond because the man was solid, but he was also lazy as shit.

  The other man snorted. “Like that’ll ever happen.”

  Duran glanced up from taking inventory of what was left. “By my count, we’ve got two weeks at most. We need an alternate food source.”

  “There’s a Kitchen-mate in one of the abandoned zones,” Vost said. “It might still be functioning. I’ll take a run to see once the others get back.”

  “Do we even want to think about what organic might be powering it?” Duran asked.

  Redmond made a gagging sound. “Probably not. This is a crap gig. I don’t think I’ve been so skeeved since we did that village on Tarnus.”

  That wasn’t one of his brighter memories, but being a soldier of fortune didn’t come with a guarantee that all the jobs would be good for the soul, and he had bills to pay. The thought sent a pang of worry through him so hard that his hands actually curled into fists in reaction. Can’t think about him. Eyes on the prize. It’s not going as fast as expected, granted, but we’re making headway.

  With a sigh, he sent his last drone cam on patrol with orders to track Casto. It was just good strategy to make sure the patrol didn’t encounter more resistance than it could handle. Worst-case scenario, Vost might not be able to do much about it, but a commander should have complete situational awareness. As the cam skimmed through the halls, he saw about what he expected, pockets of prisoners skulking about, occasional combat between warring factions. Shit, if we wait a week, they’ll whittle each other down even more for those “pardons.” He stifled a laugh.

  Then he froze in his chair. “Redmond, come look at this and tell me what you see.”

  The soldier ambled over to his shoulder. “Looks like Casto’s heading for the transport bay, not the mooks.”

  He shot to his feet, pure rage swamping. “That bastard’s leaving us behind.”

  They had too much of a head start for Vost to catch up, so he could only watch, jaw tight, as his lieutenant powered down the force field. The mutinous fuck actually waved at the drone cam, likely knowing his commander could do fuck-all to stop this. He’d set his plans too well. Vost wheeled and slammed his armored fist through a broken vid screen.

  The rest of the men boarded the ship like hell was at their heels.

  Ten seconds later, the drone cam went off-line in a fizz of static as an explosion rocked the whole station. Sirens blared like it was Armageddon, a constant shriek of alarm.

  “What just happened?” Duran asked. “What the fuck just happened?”

  “Payback.” Shaken, Vost scrubbed a hand over his face; and then, despite himself, he began to laugh.

  36

  Rats in the Walls

  “Alert, the facility may be under attack. All executive personnel please proceed to shuttle pods on alpha deck. There is a hull breach in the transport area. All support systems are compromised. Main power is off-line, backup engaged. Bulkheads are now sealing decks eight through ten. Emergency repairs are required.” The station VI voice sounded eerily calm. “Maintenance supervisor, please dispatch immediate assistance.”

  Jael had always found virtual intelligences creepy, which was probably an unfair bias, given his own origins. But with biological life-forms, there was always a common imperative and some kind of emotional response. The Perdition VI didn’t care if the whole station imploded, taking her and everyone else with it.

&n
bsp; “Holy shit.” Martine paused with her spoon in midair, aiming a shocked look at Tam.

  “Why would the mercs try to leave?” Dred asked.

  Jael shrugged. “You got me. Maybe the transport overloaded on its own?”

  “Not unless someone powered it up.”

  Calypso was grinning. “Wonder how many of the assholes we took out.”

  Tam pushed to his feet. “Impossible to say, but I can check the command outpost, see how many men are in there.”

  Dred seemed to consider. “Might not provide a definitive answer—there could be some on patrol—but find out what you can. Carefully.”

  The alarm went on for hours before the VI must’ve figured out that nobody from maintenance was coming. Then she made a new announcement. “Decks eight through ten permanently compromised. Access revoked to all personnel. Have a nice day.”

  “That happened sooner than I expected,” Jael said.

  He was alone with Dred, relatively speaking. They were sitting in the common room, keeping an eye on the men, who were agitated by the station damage. According to Tam, the average Queenslander wouldn’t understand the reason they’d blown the transport; most of them would see it as a wasted opportunity, like it really was that easy to steal a ship and take off. Then again, most of them were dumb as broken data readers. Jael agreed with the necessity of keeping the explanation for the explosion under wraps. The last thing they needed was a rebellion from men who believed their leaders had trapped them on station out of a misguided thirst for vengeance.

  Dred nodded. “I thought we’d all be dead when they left.”

  A Queenslander whose name Jael couldn’t recall approached the table. “My queen, do you know what the mercs are doing? Why they blew up part of the station?”

  Jael admired her poker face as she replied, “Maybe they were trying to get into a restricted area and set off the top-tier defenses.”

  That was bullshit, but the convict didn’t know that. “Then we need to be careful on salvage ops, huh?”

  “I’d say so,” Jael put in.