Havoc

  “This next?” She proved she knew a little about bombs when she anticipated the part.

  He nodded and installed it. With her help, the cache went together much faster than the others. Just before they left, Ike arrived with a team of muscle, all bearing junk that wouldn’t be missed. It wasn’t heavy enough to keep the mercs from shoving it down, but the onslaught from the turrets would soften them up before they did.

  “Is the promise of pardons true?” a big Queenslander whispered to another.

  The short one snorted. “You think that asshole’ll stand by his word? When did anyone ever keep a promise to you?”

  “You got a point.”

  Jael felt like a crisis had been averted. It was one thing to build barriers to keep the enemy out, another to find an adversary nearby, intending to cut his throat while he slept. A lifetime of expecting a dagger in the back had taught him to strike quick and hard, but Queensland would turn into a charnel house if that happened here. He’d be lucky to cut his way out and find a safe place to ride out the dying.

  He set to work alongside the others, fitting debris in place like puzzle pieces. Too much heavy stuff on top, and the pile toppled. Soon, they blocked the passage, which made him feel trapped and claustrophobic, an uncomfortable flashback to his time in the Bug prison on Ithiss-Tor, when his whole world was bounded by an eight-by-eight hole in the wall. Perdition was big enough that he hadn’t started to terror sweat yet, but now that they were closing Queensland off from the rest of the facility, the boundaries were shrinking. But he couldn’t focus on weakness when there was more work to be done. Hours later, the territory was defended as well as he could manage, given limited supplies and time. The lights in this last corridor were malfunctioning, flickering, so that it gave the dirty hallway a derelict air. It was easy to imagine this place totally empty and himself as a ghost haunting it.

  That’d be my luck, huh? I die, and I still can’t get out of here.

  Jael was careful not to reveal his uncertainty to Dred. She might have less use for him if she realized how much of a bubbling mess his brain was. Darkness and echoes and half-strangled memories from his time in the tank—and sometimes a voice in his head whispered that he was, in fact, a monster, so he might as well stop fighting it. Grim determination was sometimes all that kept him moving forward, along with the resolve to prove his creators wrong. I won’t come to nothing. I won’t die in here.

  Dred came to check the fortifications as he turned back toward the common area. She paced around, inspecting the work, and he pulled her in for a kiss. To his surprise, she didn’t stop him. He fell into her like a river of cool, clean water. Her mouth was soft and smooth, a panacea for the chains rattling in his head. Ironic, when she wore them around wrist and ankle. The metal felt cold and hard against his back when she put her arms around him.

  “Don’t do that in front of the men,” she said quietly.

  “You ashamed of me, love?”

  “No. But it’s not their business, and I don’t want them wanking to it later.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that. My prior incarceration didn’t lend itself to such dilemmas.” In the Bug prison, he had been the only humanoid, and while he ought to be used to being the only one of his kind, he never got used to the inhuman chatter echoing through the caves. “So what’s the next phase of our strategy?”

  He half expected her to pull away, but instead she put a hand over his heart. Nobody had ever done that before, as if she drew comfort from feeling the steady, reassuring beat. He almost made a joke about the thing being impossible to stop, but the sober look in her eyes kept him from it. Jael never imagined that he’d care whether somebody else felt like shit.

  But he did.

  She breathed out. “Not a fragging clue. Holing up feels like a delaying tactic at best, like we’re just hiding and waiting to die. I’m not going out like that, so I need to work something out.”

  “Now you’re talking.” He barely managed to choke back some bullshit about the fight not being over until the last man’s down. What the hell’s wrong with you? If he didn’t know better, he’d call it a brain infection.

  “Supply run,” she said, as if she’d been thinking while he studied her face. “We left things hidden in Grigor’s and Priest’s territories, thinking there was no rush on the hauling. But we might well need it now.”

  Jael nodded. “I’ll assemble the others. Who do you want to take with us?”

  She thought for a few seconds. “Tam and Martine.”

  “Not Ike?”

  “He needs to stay and keep order. The men respect him.”

  That sounded like a good plan, so Jael let go of her and stepped back. “Then what’re we waiting for, queenie? Rally the troops.”

  3

  Blood for Blood

  Once Dred gave all the orders, she went to find Ike to make a special request. “Is it all right if we borrow RC-17?” That was a boxy maintenance bot Ike had reprogrammed to do recon and help them bypass certain ship defenses. The droid’s sensors might come in handy if the situation got dicey.

  In answer, the old man turned the unit’s remote over to Dred. “Be careful out there.”

  “Make sure this place is in one piece when I get back.” She tapped the command button, and the unit circled her feet in response.

  Ike rubbed his whiskered chin, wearing a wry expression. “Given what’s going on, I make no promises.”

  She smiled as he intended and stripped off her chains. The skin of her forearms bore pebbled imprints from the metal; she shook her arms once, twice, getting used to the new lightness, then she bent to unwind them from her boots. It had been so long since she’d done so that she was surprised to see that the thin leather had faded in a pattern that matched the dents on her arms. Dred rubbed her fingers over her inner wrist, tracing the thorn-tree tattoo that wound up past her elbow. It was a delicate design, all black ink and pale skin—the only one she’d had done before she was sent to Perdition. The ancient symbolism had spoken to her, even then. According to the oldest tales, the thorn tree represented strife and challenges—with the promise of strength for those who overcame the odds.

  “Thanks, Ike.”

  The old man stared at the circling bot for a few seconds, then glanced back up at her. “Two men were on the road together when they met a monster in the wilderness. One of them shoved the other down and scrambled up a tree. The second man lay there, terrified, and the beast came up to snuffle over him while the traveler held his breath and played dead. Surprisingly, that worked, and the monster went away, uninterested in carrion. When the other man dropped out of the tree, his former comrade killed him. Do you have any idea why?”

  “Because he’d proven he’d turn at the first sign of trouble, and it was the wise man who knew to strike first.” Dred couldn’t remember where, but she’d heard some version of that parable before. “Is there some reason you’re telling me this now?”

  “Don’t lean on anyone too hard,” Ike said quietly.

  “Is this about Tam again? Or Jael?”

  “It’s about no one in particular . . . and every man in the place.”

  “Not you,” she said.

  Tiredly, the old man shook his head. “Under the right weight, I’ll buckle.”

  “Noted. Thank you for the story.”

  She signaled to Tam, Jael, and Martine, who were waiting near the center of the common room, and they joined her at a jog. The halls were eerily silent beyond the new barricades. Dred tilted her head, listening, and she didn’t hear the usual scrabble of claws from the oversized rats that lived in the bowels of the station. She’d heard that the aliens hunted them for food, but they were tricky to catch and big enough to take on a normal-sized humanoid when they attacked as a pack. More than anything else, their complete absence reinforced how serious the situation was. If the rodents had gone to ground,
the mercs must be shooting up the place.

  As if she shared Dred’s concern, Martine muttered, “Wish we knew where those fucking mercs are.”

  “You’re not alone.” Tam slipped to the front of the group and headed off to scout.

  “I’ll go with you,” Dred said.

  Since she’d discarded her chains, she should be able to keep up, and Dred needed to keep her finger on the pulse of what went on in Perdition. While Jael shot her a look she found impossible to interpret, Tam only nodded. Soon they left the others behind, a deep sort of silence between them, born of shared trials and tragedies. Before Einar’s death, she might’ve hesitated to call Tam a friend, but he was definitely more than an advisor.

  The spymaster boosted into the ducts with her close behind and set a silent course to the nearest major intersection. Dred didn’t hear the tromp of heavy boots that would indicate mercs but the smell—there was no nearby grille panel for visual confirmation, yet Dred was sure a large group of Mungo’s men were moving nearby. Tam signaled a few things and she recalled enough from working with soldiers of fortune to understand he was indicating forty men, heading west. Away from Queensland.

  Interesting.

  She flashed her hands four times to confirm the number, and he nodded. Not a threat we need to worry about today, at least. Dred lifted her chin to indicate she got it, then Tam continued deeper into enemy territory. As they passed a duct panel, she glimpsed Silence’s killers clad in black, moving like ghosts below. All of them had their garrotes out, which meant they planned to do some killing.

  “They’re headed for the Warren,” Tam whispered.

  Too bad for Katur and company, but Silence’s choice of first strike gave Dred some room to maneuver. She experienced a pang of regret at reacting that way, but survival didn’t offer the liberty of altruistic gestures. In here, it’s us or them. Maybe, if she played her hand close to the vest, Queensland wouldn’t be annihilated by the mercs. It was also possible that Katur would play a long game of cat and mouse, forcing Silence to a frustrated retreat. Nobody knew the bowels of the ship like the aliens.

  “Nothing that will hinder us much,” she said softly. “Let’s go back to the others.”

  “Agreed.” In private, he didn’t use the faintly ironic “my queen” that he favored in front of other Queenslanders.

  The return journey went much faster, now that they knew what to expect. Martine and Jael seemed edgy, though that might’ve been because their location had been more exposed. Jael paced forward three steps when he spotted Dred. She shook her head slightly; whatever he had to say could wait. Seeming oblivious to undertone, though doubtless that was only the impression he wished to give, Tam made a brief report of what they’d found.

  Martine was frowning. “Can we circle around?”

  Tam nodded. “It’ll take longer, but yes. This way.”

  Farther on, Dred heard the distant echo of combat, but Tam veered away. Good call; she preferred not to waste time and resources on internal conflict when the mercs posed the greatest threat. If the other factions weren’t completely psychotic, they’d see that themselves.

  Both Jael and Martine were light on their feet. This time, if they were forced to fight, she’d opt for knives. Better if they weren’t, however, at least until they had the cache.

  The walls were gunmetal gray, etched with scars and encrusted with turns of grime. There hadn’t been a sanitation staff since long before convicts took over the place. Ike had told her that drones like RC-17 were responsible for the cleaning, and some spots, the bots just couldn’t reach. Turns of neglect had made it worse. Bulbs had burned out and not been replaced, so there were patches of shadow, loose wires dangling from broken ceiling hatches.

  Tam’s path took them through the neutral zone, down two levels, and out the other side. The smell alone told her they were getting close to what had been Grigor’s territory. Farther on, blood smeared the walls, remnants of the battle where most of his brutes died. It had taken days to haul away the bodies.

  “Left at the next turn,” she said.

  She sent RC-17 in to make sure no squatters had taken possession of the area, then she led her crew along to where the hallway widened into a great room. Through there and deeper in the zone, they’d hidden several crates. The stillness was making her nervous, so she quickened her step, not pausing until she opened the supply-room doors. Rubbish and empty containers were piled up in front, disguising the treasures hidden deeper within.

  “Grab as much as you can carry,” Dred said.

  The hover dolly would’ve made this job easier, but it also would’ve been harder to maneuver, and it would’ve invited notice. Better to use manual labor and get it done the old-fashioned way. She and Tam scrutinized the supplies while Martine perched atop a box, reclining like a cat.

  “Food first,” Tam suggested.

  “That’s a genius idea.” Martine was smirking. “Are you sure nuts and bolts aren’t more important? If this death trap falls apart, we’ll choke faster than we starve.”

  His dark eyes flashed at her. Dred left them bickering amicably as she prowled through the salvage. Once she designated the crates that needed to be moved right away, Jael piled four boxes in his arms, and she pretended she didn’t realize he was showing off. She and Martine took two each, as did Tam.

  “RC-17 can scout for us on the way back,” Tam said.

  “Agreed.” She deployed the bot and let it scurry around corners.

  It was programmed to beep in sequence, then speak an alert message if it encountered other life-forms. In here, it was best to assume they were hostile and respond accordingly. She moved cautiously behind the bot while they retraced their steps.

  “Hard to believe this place was full of people, not that long ago,” Martine said.

  “Life is change.” Jael wore his customary insouciant expression, the one that suggested he had no deeper feelings.

  That look was a liar.

  Dred drew him aside while Tam and Martine argued over the next supply priority. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing, queenie. What makes you think otherwise?” The flat tone gave away more than he intended.

  I know you better than that now.

  “Don’t lie to me,” she said.

  He pushed out a breath, his blue eyes unusually dark. “I’m thinking about Einar, all right? He was a bastard and a murderer or he wouldn’t have been here, but I’ve not had so many friends in my life that I can just shrug him off.”

  “I know what you mean.” She wanted to put a hand on his arm or run her fingers through his hair. That longing became a spike in her chest, but she didn’t act on it. “I feel like I let him down.”

  “Me too,” he whispered.

  Before she could respond, Jael whirled in response to the RC-17 unit’s beeping wildly. “Organics detected. Unauthorized personnel.”

  “Boxes down,” Dred ordered. “Looks like we get to fight.”

  Martine dropped her burden and popped her neck on each side. “And to think I was afraid this would be boring.”

  “Since when?” Jael asked. “There’s always the threat of imminent violence. That’s why we vacation here.”

  Please don’t let them be mercs. We’re not ready to take on an armored unit.

  Dred felt naked without her chains, but she swung around the corner with a blade in each hand. She was relieved to see four of Silence’s killers, even odds. These men were dressed in black from head to toe, blood-whorl patterns on their forearms and their faces made up like skulls. Possibly they had broken off from the larger group and been sent on some dark errand.

  A hunting party. Time to make them prey.

  Like all of Silence’s crew, this lot didn’t speak. There were no growls of rage, no threats; the enemies just readied their weapons. Each one of them faced off against an opponen
t, though Dred knew from prior experience that Jael could’ve taken all four by himself. But she didn’t like revealing his inhuman prowess, even to her inner circle. If anyone else figured out his healing trick, they’d cut him open just to watch him seal the wound. Queensland still had its share of sadistic bastards. In a place like Perdition, it couldn’t be otherwise.

  Dred’s opponent was tall and gaunt with a spidery quality to his limbs. His long face, painted like a skull, along with yellowed eyes, gave him the look of a man who was already dead. As they circled, he flashed her a glimpse of his tongueless mouth, likely to intimidate her with his commitment to Silence’s madness; his tongue had been severed at the base, so there was only a pink scar at the back. Revulsion did creep down her spine like scuttling, segmented legs, but she didn’t let it affect her determination to kill the bastard.

  When he lunged at her, she spun to the side, nearly slamming into Martine, who aimed a scowl at her. Dred was better with her chains than close-up with knives; she knew better than to let the man grapple. He had better reach, and Silence’s crew was fast with their garrotes. He could slice clean through her throat if she gave him an opening.

  She lashed out, first with her right hand, then her left, but he blocked both strikes. He nearly snagged her wrist, but she twisted out of the attempted hold and came out with her knife still in her hand. You’ve gotten sloppy, relied on the chains too much. Dred tried to remember old techniques and circled her knives so he’d be watching those instead of her feet. When she was sure he was waiting for a blade strike, she kicked him in the crotch. Silence’s men still had testicles apparently; he flinched enough to give her an opening and she slashed a line across his throat. The skin peeled back in a wet red bubble, then he toppled.