Perdition

  It pissed him off that he didn’t.

  Wills went to work wiring the laser directly to the power source. He’d stripped some components from the turrets in order to make the necessary connections, and Einar cheered when the gun powered up. Jael watched, frustrated, but determined not to ask for explanations. Next, Wills tinkered with the laser’s settings, calibrating it somehow. From what Jael could tell he was attuning it to—oh. He got it, now.

  “I think this should do it,” Wills said, ten minutes later. “We’re good to go. But if it works, it will only punch a hole for a few seconds.”

  “That’ll be long enough.”

  Before Jael could protest that he was best suited to high-risk missions, she handed the gun to Einar, and said, “On my mark.” After dropping the chains wrapped around her arms, she positioned herself in front of the force field, then called, “Now!”

  The big man fired; two energy fields overlapped, and the amber light flickered, then shaded out. Dred took full advantage, diving through just as the field sealed up behind her. It caught one of her boots, which was smoking at the bottom when she flipped to her feet. With a huge grin, she held two thumbs up to show she was all right.

  “Dammit,” he growled. “She should’ve sent me.”

  Wills shrugged. “I suspect she thinks you’ve done enough. Dred’s not one to rely on other people too much. Don’t worry, she’ll find the kill switch or control panel. We’ll be inside soon enough. Hope there’s something to eat, some leftover paste, maybe. That stuff keeps forever.”

  “But she left her chains,” Jael protested. “She’s in there with no weapons.”

  Einar flicked him a warning look. “Don’t let her hear you talking like that about her. That woman hunted and executed forty men before they caught her. She may seem like she’s decent, kind even, but she’s a killer, just like you and me.”

  For some reason, that surprised him. Jael had known you didn’t end up in Perdition for nonviolent crimes, but he’d almost expected her to be the exception. He wanted to know who she’d been killing—and why—because he felt sure she wouldn’t do it without a good reason. Some people killed for fun, profit, or pleasure, but he sensed none of that from her. Her bio signs didn’t accelerate when they fought, other than normal adrenaline. Junkie-rush killers always smelled . . . different.

  “Maybe she pissed off the wrong person,” he suggested to Einar.

  But the big man shook his head. “Don’t fool yourself, mate. I think the world of her, but deep down, she’s got a durasteel heart.”

  17

  Winning

  Inside the salvage bay, Dred was cut off from the others. That didn’t bother her much as she explored the enormous room; this was the closest she had been to the outside world in five turns. The walls were thick, true, but across the bay, she could see a docking door, where ships used to deliver parts or pick up machinery that couldn’t be repaired on the refinery platform. It had been welded shut when the prison opened, but even if they could cut through the metal, there was still no way out.

  No shuttle. No emergency pods.

  People who were sent here had no possibility of parole. That had never been brought home more clearly than at this moment. Only a single door still functioned, the one where automated ships delivered new fish, more Peacemakers, and scant supplies, which were snagged by whatever faction found them first. If the looters were unlucky, they were killed and the goods stolen by a stronger group. Perdition had been designed so the prisoners could never leave.

  The space was huge, bigger than the main hall, but it showed clearly just how old the Monsanto station had been before they outfitted it as a prison. Hulks of industrial devices lay unmoving at the far corners of the room, and the walls were lined with shelves groaning with various tools. Wills should be excited to see that, if I can lower the force field to let him in. A layer of grit covered everything, probably mineral dust left over from the mining days.

  Cutting through the center of the room, there was a conveyor belt, though it wasn’t moving. She had no idea what it was used for, but it split the room east to west and made Dred wonder what was on the other side of the salvage bay. Nobody’s been here in turns. That was a strange feeling as she picked a path through rusted junk and discarded machines. A few of them might even be useful. Dred kept an eye out for other defenses—

  She stilled. From the northeast section of the bay, she detected the unmistakable sound of movement. Her heartbeat accelerating, she crept toward the source of the noise. Wish I hadn’t left my chains. Without them, she wasn’t nearly as tough as Einar or Jael, so this might get ugly. On the plus side, if she died in here, the others would be all right. They could cart the turret and Peacemaker salvage back to Queensland and choose somebody else to sit on the scrap-metal throne.

  She pushed forward, expecting combat, but instead of more defensive measures, she found a boxy little maintenance bot. The thing stood about a meter high, moving about on rusted treads, and it came over to inspect her when she stepped out from behind a pile of oxidized metal. The plates looked like they had been removed for reparation, but nobody ever got around to it. The bot scanned her shoes, then whirred back a few paces as if trying to decide whether she needed repair.

  I definitely do.

  “What’s your designation?” she asked.

  Some bots didn’t have vocalizers, but this one did, probably to respond to voice commands. “Unit R-17.”

  “What’s your primary function?”

  “To collect defective articles on decks 47 through 52.”

  “What do you do with the stuff you collect?”

  Lights blinked on top of the bot, and she heard the whirring as it searched. “Answer not found in unit database. Rephrase.”

  From the look of the bay, she could guess what the bot did with the articles anyway. Though it made her wonder what happened when it ran into a malfunctioning object too big for it to haul away.

  “What deck is this?”

  “Repair and Salvage Operations are located on deck 52. Please report to your supervisor. There is work to do.” Somehow, the electronic voice managed to sound a bit pissy, as if she was inconveniencing Unit R-17.

  “How many other salvage units are still functioning?”

  “Answer not found in unit database. Rephrase.”

  Well, that’s getting me nowhere. Since there was no threat from unit R-17, she returned to her original mission. She threaded past the tall piles of junk, reasoning that an office needed walls, and it would be easier to enclose it at the edges of the room. She found no rooms, but a ramp led up, so she climbed cautiously, listening for movement. No sounds reached her apart from the muted whir of R-17’s servos.

  Up the ramp, there was a second level to the salvage bay, a platform suspended by high-tension cables, and it swayed slightly with her steps. More parts and broken gear were stored up here; Dred moved through the salvage to a doorway she saw at the opposite end. The steel door was closed but not locked. When she opened it, the whole room sighed a little. It was just escaping air, but a shiver crept over her nonetheless.

  Supervisor’s office. Now let’s find a kill switch.

  After a couple of minutes of searching, she located a panel with various lights and buttons. They weren’t clearly marked, so she pressed the wrong one first. The conveyor belt started, and she hurriedly hit it again. How will I know if I get it right? Sometimes when she pushed a button, something lit up on the panel, but nothing obvious happened. Those she didn’t reset.

  After she punched the button on the lower left, Jael called out, “You did it. We’re in!”

  Finally.

  “All three of you?” She pitched her voice to carry.

  “Present,” Wills answered.

  Einar added, “Me, too.”

  Then she brought the force field back up. With the defenses in pieces behind them, there was nothing to hinder anyone who might be following. No way would she give Grigor a chance to stroll
right up their asses while they sorted the salvage. Dred came out of the office and peered over to find Wills gazing around in absolute awe.

  “Do you think you can find parts to get our Kitchen-mate going again?”

  “Definitely. I suspect there’s enough broken tech here for me to design and build things.” From his tone, she’d just delivered him to mecca.

  “We’re safe in here,” Einar said decisively. “It’s unlikely another group would have a laser or someone who knows how to jury-rig it to disperse the field.”

  “But we need to be careful when we leave,” Jael pointed out. “They don’t need to get in, as we have to come out at some point.”

  Dred nodded. “You’re both right. I need to get some sleep. Once I feel sharper, we can decide what gear is worth hauling out right away.”

  She was concerned about leaving the force field disabled later so they could leave. Not that we have a choice. Sooner or later, somebody else would check out the area, realize the defenses had been breached, and the looting would begin. Before that happened, Queensland had to snatch the top-tier items.

  Or maybe we can secure the bay somehow. Wills might have some ideas.

  “Sounds good. I found some dorms this way if you’re interested.” Jael beckoned.

  Her brows went up. She hadn’t seen any doorways on the ground floor. Curious, she followed him through a warren of equipment, rusted metal, and scarred internal mechanisms. The place probably hadn’t been so junked up during the Monsanto days, but now, with only one functioning bot to process everything, it was no wonder the place was overflowing. The system was breaking down; R-17 might go out on decks 47 to 52 and find stuff that needed to be repaired, but once he got it here, there was nobody to do the work. Wills needed to do something about that maintenance droid, or he might well be the straw that broke the camel’s back. He needed to be programmed for more helpful services.

  “The door’s here.” He nudged a heavy panel aside in order to open it, but inside, Jael was right.

  This was a simple, functional dormitory, where the bay workers had doubtless slept. The design was typical of such a room, with twelve bunks set into the walls, stacked three high and four across. A musty scent hung in the air, but she was too tired to care. Dred rolled into the nearest bed.

  “Dibs,” she mumbled.

  A few seconds later, she was asleep. For a while, she drifted, and there was nothing. Bliss. Then the dream came on as it always did when she was most exhausted, defenses down.

  * * *

  THE house is bright with sunlight, such a buttery yellow. It creates patterns on the white floor. I stare at my toes, listening to my parents argue in the next room. This has been going on since last night, and I’m angry, too. My father paces while my mother tries to calm him.

  “Did you think she would stay here forever, Malcolm? This place is . . . nowhere. Dee wants to see the world. She’s a lot like you.”

  “You know the risks,” her father bites out.

  “Enough,” I call. “The freighter leaves in an hour. You can have breakfast with me or keep fighting. Either way, I’m leaving in forty minutes.”

  “Come on,” my mother says gently.

  When they join me in the kitchen, I see their concern and trepidation. I offer a cocky smile in return. “It’ll be fine.”

  The meal stutter-skips, then I’m on the deck of the freighter along with a few other new crewmen while the captain lectures us about our responsibilities. I’m low dog on the roster, which means I’ll get all the scut work until I prove myself. So long as it gets me off this rock, I don’t mind. My parents have their reasons for hiding here, but there’s nothing to keep me from the greater galaxy.

  Then the first mate strides in. He’s so handsome I can’t stop staring at him. And he knows his effect on women, throwing me a cocky wink. But it doesn’t hit me like he expects. The world trembles, even though the ship hasn’t moved from dock yet. My eyesight goes, red washing everything. Inexplicably, the real world is replaced by a series of horrific, graphic images. I see the first mate, his face tight with lust and violence, throttling a woman while she thrashes beneath him. The pictures flash again, again, so many women, so many murders—

  * * *

  DRED woke in a cold sweat, Jael’s hand on her shoulder. With utter self-control, she restrained the urge to lash out. “Time to get up?”

  For a moment, she thought he would comment about the nightmare. Instead he just nodded. “The others have been up for a while. I thought you’d want to see what Wills has accomplished.”

  “Did he sleep at all?” she asked, rolling out of the bunk.

  “Negative. He’s like a kid on his birthday.” Jael offered her chains.

  She took them gratefully. Feel naked without them. “Let’s go see what Perdition gave him.” Before he pushed past her, she set a hand on his arm. “Thanks, by the way.”

  Jael seemed surprised. “For what?”

  For waking me. For not asking. For restoring my identity.

  Dred shrugged and kept walking. She suspected he knew; or maybe he wasn’t susceptible to bad dreams. Either way, she’d said what was needful.

  “I found some paste in the supervisor’s office,” Einar called. “Hungry?”

  “Is there enough for everyone?”

  The big man nodded. “The rest of us already ate . . . I found a full carton. Tastes like shit, but it’ll keep us going until we get back.”

  “Any water to be had?”

  “There’s a sink in the lavatory,” Wills offered. “Don’t know if the filters and recyclers are still good, so I boiled some in the kitchenette.”

  “That’s a yes,” Einar added.

  He handed her a drink, and she downed it in four swallows, then attacked the food packet. Using thumb and forefinger, she forced the paste down her throat; on freighters during long hauls, before her arrest, she’d found it was better to swallow without tasting. When she lowered the empty foil envelope, Jael was watching her with an odd expression. She raised a brow.

  “Better?” he asked, obviously amused.

  “Clearly. Now show me what you’ve found.”

  18

  Hard Way Home

  The maintenance bot proved unexpectedly useful after Wills reprogrammed it. The thing had engine codes for equipment Jael would’ve guessed didn’t work at all. There were drilling rigs and bore bits and other bots with missing parts. Fortunately, that also included an air pallet, which was exactly what they needed to get all the gear back to Queensland. At the moment, he was helping Einar load the thing up. It had an impressive hauling capacity.

  “I’m keeping him,” Wills said to Dred, presumably about R-17.

  “Specify my next task,” the bot requested.

  “In a minute.”

  “It’s fine with me,” she answered. “Just realize somebody may break him, even in our territory.”

  “I’ll put the word out that 17’s to be left alone,” Einar offered.

  She nodded. “Thanks.” Then Dred turned to the unit herself. “The air pallet won’t fit in the access shafts. Is there a working maintenance lift?”

  It was a good question. From the look of the bot, he didn’t have the physical capability to go up and down ladders himself. So there must be another way if he serviced decks higher up.

  “The lift is on the second level of Salvage and Operations, opposite the supervisor’s office.”

  “Sweet Mary,” Einar swore. “That’s the best news we’ve had all day.”

  Wills frowned at the big man. “On the contrary. It was better when I reprogrammed R-17 and got him to follow new protocols. And we just received more exciting news still.”

  “What?” Dred demanded.

  “I didn’t like the idea of leaving the bay unsecured, but I couldn’t figure out how to manage it. If we take the lift, directly from the bay, I can leave the force field on.”

  “Protecting our interests in here,” Jael concluded.

 
Though he pretended to be crazy as a bag of rats back in Queensland, Wills was turning out to be smart as hell. Jael offered the other man a sincere salute, two fingers to the brow.

  “Why don’t we take the lifts more?” he asked.

  Dred angled a look at him. “They don’t work without an override key. And even if we had a key, in most cases, they’re in such poor repair that we might fall, get trapped—”

  “I take your point. This one’s fine, though, because 17’s been using it and keeping it up?”

  “Yes,” Wills answered. “It’s also the only lift to which he has override codes, as he uses it to patrol and maintain his section of the ship.”

  Einar frowned. “I wish Tam was here. He knows Perdition better than anyone. I’m not sure where we’ll come out, and I’d like to be ready.”

  “Just assume we’ll have to cut a path back to Queensland,” Jael advised.

  “Probably not far off the mark. You feeling strong, mate?” The big man came over and slapped him on the shoulder.

  His affection hurt, but it made a nice change from suspicion. The other convict didn’t seem to care that his body did abnormal things, only that he could kick his share of ass and get up after being all but gutted. Jael didn’t hold it against Einar that he’d wanted to leave him to rot. In his shoes, he’d do the same; that was just the way of the world.

  Which makes it more inexplicable how she fought for you. Dred had claimed it was a matter of pride, but he wished her determination to save him meant something more. Jael put that out of his mind as he helped Einar guide the air pallet up the ramp toward the lift. Wills was already waiting up there with the maintenance bot. The princess in chains came last, after taking a last look at the force field. Amber light glimmered across the threshold, preventing anybody else from getting in here and ransacking the place.

  “I love that this is our private stockpile,” Jael said.