Perdition

  She could answer his questions later. For now, he had to address the men. Tam intoned, “Let us congratulate our queen for the biggest raid in Queensland history.”

  War whoops erupted all over the hall, incoherent shouts of domination and glory. Tam motioned them to silence. “I’ll be overseeing the allotment of gear. If you see something on the pallet that you know how to utilize, see me at once. Here, we believe in using everyone’s talents. You all play a vital role in the territory.” He paused, scanned the crowd, then added, “But if I see you take anything without permission, the queen’s judgment will be swift and merciless. Let Lecass’s recent punishment serve as a reminder to us all.”

  There was trouble with Lecass? Damn.

  Nonetheless, Dred took the cue, as intended. She gazed coldly over the crowd, then nodded. Somehow, she managed to leap down from the pallet one last time, graceful and sure, when her muscles were stiff and sore. But everything in here was a game. With no future and no freedom, it was masques and feints, an endless game of Charm where everyone was a low card to be sacrificed on a whim.

  Men surrounded Tam, all talking at once. They had ideas on how the new gear could be implemented, things to build, traps to lay, pieces to repair other things, and parts for the Kitchen-mate. Wills was muttering to himself, playing the madman again, now that there were witnesses. But she’d bet he would shortly find a way to recharge the laser’s power source and the R-17.

  Crazy like a fox, you are, Wills.

  “Jael,” she said softly, “I’ll see you privately in my quarters. Now.”

  20

  Secrets and Lies

  It took Tam nearly an hour to finish the work assignments. A haul like this one was unprecedented, so it was no wonder the men were eager. He sighed, but before he could decide what his next most pressing task might be, Martine approached him. She was a lean, dangerous woman with brown skin gone sallow from lack of sunshine, and her eyes reflected a ferocity that was unusual, even for Perdition.

  “Yes?” he prompted, seeing her hesitation.

  “Could I talk to you?”

  “You already are.”

  Her dark eyes flashed, and Tam suppressed a smile. “In private, asshole.”

  “Certainly. My quarters are in use at the moment, but we can walk toward the hydroponics garden. Will that do?”

  “Yeah.”

  He led the way, holding his peace until they were far enough from the hall that he judged there shouldn’t be anyone in earshot. “What’s this about?”

  “I’ve heard some troubling rumors,” Martine said. “Mostly from Lecass’s people.”

  “I’m sure he’s planning something.” Tam expected there to be fallout from the flogging. It only remained to be seen how Lecass would handle his humiliation. So this wasn’t precisely news, but then, he suspected it wasn’t the whole reason Martine had sought this interlude, either.

  “But that’s not all,” she went on.

  The woman dug into her pocket and produced a scrap of cloth. It was dingy and ragged, of no moment—or so he thought, until she handed it to him. Someone had scrawled a message: You lost your man. Want revenge? Come to the meeting. 2300. Corridor D.

  Tension rose, stiffening his shoulders, but Tam tried not to reveal it in his posture. “You think Lecass sent this?”

  If so, then the man was more cunning than he’d expected.

  Martine shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t care. I just thought Dred’s people should know. There’s blood in the water, and the monsters are circling.”

  From Dred’s perspective, this was the worst possible time to face internal strife. With Priest and the Great Bear gearing up for a full-scale war, they couldn’t afford to lose a single warm body to Lecass’s pride. If the Queenslanders lost, Dred would end up raped to death and probably skullfucked for good measure while her men, himself included, would wind up murdered or enslaved. And that didn’t even factor Silence into the equation.

  Tam had to shut this rebellion down before it gathered momentum. He set a hand gently on Martine’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll remember your loyalty.”

  “See that you do,” she muttered.

  He let her return to the hall, counting to five hundred before he followed. For a few seconds, he stood in the shadows, watching the men, as if he could tell by looking who might join Lecass’s rabble. But they were all acting like they normally did: gaming, drinking, scuffling. A few were arm wrestling, while others pierced things and created body art. There wasn’t a lot to do in Perdition when you weren’t on patrol, which was another reason the men had been so glad to get parts and supplies. Even repair work seemed better than another day of nothing.

  Quietly, Tam joined Cook at the table where he was taking a break from his endless stirring. The man raised both brows in question. Tam didn’t waste time; he whispered what he’d heard from Martine, then asked, “Do you know anything?”

  Since Cook was so quiet, the men often acted like he was deaf, speaking within his earshot like he wasn’t even there. Cook’s gaze flickered to Lecass, who was sitting with a group of convicts huddled around him. They were his regular cohorts, nothing unusual about them scheming against Dred, but if they’d called a meeting, it must indicate some greater plan . . . and more men in accord with their aims.

  Yes, them, Tam thought, but are there others?

  Cook nodded. In subtle gestures, he identified five inmates, all being careful not to look at Lecass. Tam knew not to make his departure obvious, so he sat with Cook for a few moments more. The man wasn’t much company, but he noticed things with an acuity to rival Tam’s own.

  Five wasn’t such a large number, but that didn’t mean the ones Cook knew about were the only conspirators. He pushed to his feet and sought Calypso, who was playing dice with a couple of women. She avoided males when she socialized though Tam didn’t know her well enough to be sure if that was a sexual preference or a personal choice.

  To be polite, he watched the game for a while, until the women came to a natural stopping point. Only then did he say, “Mind if I have a word?” to Calypso.

  She measured him with a look. “Make it quick. I want to earn back what I just lost.”

  “You could use a break,” the blonde mocked her. “Your mojo’s gone.”

  Calypso made a rude gesture with two fingers and her tongue, then she rose in a sinuous motion, lithe as a snake. “Come, little man.”

  Some men might find that offensive, but Tam was used to such remarks. He stood just over 1.6 meters, so there was no arguing his lack of stature and no point in wasting energy in anger. Calypso towered over him as she led the way from the hall.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “Somebody told you about the meeting.”

  That irked him a little, not an easy feat. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t recall making any promises to you or the Dread Queen,” Calypso answered. “At least regarding anything not pertaining to the games.”

  Tam was tired . . . and he almost lost his temper then. Somehow, he bit back his retort about how easy it would be to find someone more loyal to run the death matches. Calypso cared about nothing more than her status as Mistress of the Ring.

  Her mouth curved with feline amusement. “I’d like you better if you blew off steam now and then, little man. One of these days, you’re gonna go boom, and it won’t be pretty.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” Tam said tightly. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d do something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  Quietly, he outlined his plan.

  * * *

  “YOU don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of getting you alone, queenie.” After winding up in her quarters again, Jael reckoned it was best to open strong. Maybe if he annoyed her enough, she’d change her mind about this personal chat.

  “None of that,” she said flatly. “I have questions. You have answers.”

  “Many. But none of them will make you happy.”

  “As l
ong as they’re true.”

  “You want to know why I can heal like I do. Why there’s almost not killing me.”

  “Clever lad.”

  “Not too much, or I wouldn’t be locked up in here, would I?”

  “Point. But you’re changing the subject.”

  “I do that when I’m nervous.”

  She arched a brow, arranging her long body in the room’s only chair. Her quarters were dim and dingy but better than anything he’d had in turns. His bed in the Bug prison had been a pile of filthy rags. With what he hoped was a cheeky smile, he perched on the edge of her bunk.

  “You? I hardly think so. You’re trying to disarm me, make me think twice about digging. Why don’t I save you the trouble? I’m immune to your charms.”

  “But you admit I have them.”

  At that point, he had second thoughts about jerking her around. So far as he knew, she’d been straight with him from the jump, never promising what she didn’t intend to deliver. Often, he could smell deceit in a person’s sweat, a touch more acrid as it was often laced with fear, fear of failure, fear of discovery—and what he’d do if he learned of their treachery.

  She smiled. “I’m immune, not blind.”

  “Carry on then.” Jael folded his hands in his lap, suppressed a smile when she sighed.

  “A while back, you made a joke about my father working on the Ideal Genome Project. I don’t know what that is, but I’d be willing to bet it relates directly to why you are . . . as you are.”

  It was a kind, tactful way to put it. He’d heard other vernacular—fiend and monster, demon on the more primitive worlds. On some planets, they thought he was some undying beast come to drink their blood or their souls. Explanations were always messy . . . and exhausting.

  But why not tell the story? One last time.

  “You’re uncanny,” he said.

  “So I’ve been told. Explain, please.”

  Where to begin?

  “Before Farwan collapsed, their Science Corp had a number of experimental programs. The IGP was only one, an offshoot of a primary initiative.”

  “And you participated in it?” she asked.

  Mary, he hated enlightening her, but the questions would never cease until she knew the truth. And then, everything would change between them. It always did.

  “No,” he said softly. “I was created by it.”

  Her green eyes widened, but that was the only sign that he’d shocked her. Good work, princess. Keep it up, and you’ll convince me you don’t think I’m an animal after all.

  “I think you have to start from the beginning. Tell me everything you know.”

  “Why? You have your answer. You’re right . . . I’m not human. I’m Bred. Not even sentient according to the most recent legislation.”

  To his astonishment, she scowled at him. “I am surrounded by monsters, Jael. You’re interesting, but not the worst I’ve run into inside Perdition. Now why don’t you stop feeling sorry for yourself and answer my fragging question?”

  Mary. She’s . . . magnificent.

  “The IGP sprang from a program that offered designer babies to wealthy citizens. Why end up with dumb, defective, or unattractive offspring when you can afford better, right?”

  Her nod showed a hint of revulsion. “I read about that in my history coursework, I think, but they didn’t name any of those gray programs. We didn’t spend much time on Farwan or the Science Corp, either.”

  “I imagine not.” That answer sent a pang through him. What he’d lived and suffered, it was history to her, and she didn’t even remember the project name. Just another example how out of step he was, how he could never fit. “Naturally, once they started generating credits with the primary program, they saw other uses for the gene therapy and DNA shaping.”

  “Like what?”

  “Military applications,” he said, thinking she should know that.

  But maybe she’d learned her combat skills inside. Surviving meant she was a quick study, not that she had professional training. Her father had been a scientist, as he recalled, a refugee from Farwan; he didn’t think she’d mentioned anything about her mother. Odd he would remember a casual conversation with such clarity, or that she would remember the joke he’d made, days later.

  Hm.

  Determined to lay it out for her, Jael went on, “The Corp used the profits from creating these custom children to fund the Ideal Genome Project. Forget antiaging treatments—they intended to develop bodies that didn’t decay or suffer from illness and required reduced amounts of rest.”

  “You don’t sleep?” It was interesting that was what she focused on.

  “I enjoy it, but I need it less than you do. I can get by with two hours a night though my reaction and regenerative abilities diminish the more exhausted I become.” Jael shrugged. “This wasn’t the first experiment along these lines. Governments have been trying to perfect the supersoldier for years.”

  “And that’s you?” she asked quietly.

  He tilted his head back, unable to summon the mocking laughter that would strip the question of its barbs. “Not even close.”

  “So you were created in a lab, then.” Her neutral tone gave no sign as to what she thought about that, but he could guess. “There must have been others.”

  “Most subjects died before reaching maturity,” he answered. “The Corp ‘officially’ shut the program down after religious outcry. But there are always hidden labs where the experiments continue, no matter what the public believes. See, the scientists needed to discover how strong we were and whether we were docile enough to be deployed in battle.”

  “You say ‘we’ . . . so you weren’t alone?”

  Jael’s first memory came wrapped in pain: wires, tubes, translucent skin, floating in a glass vessel. Here and now, turns later, that genesis period remained vague; and it was for the best. Upon his “birth,” he’d undergone an awful number of procedures and experiments to test his capacity for pain, healing, and recovery. A small pod of subjects, Jael included, received rudimentary combat training, education, and social interaction. The lab techs were . . . curious.

  Why does JL489 survive when its sibling, created from an identical embryo, crashed and burned during the last phase of DNA shaping?

  Jael had survived that first wave of experimentation. Eventually, most of his pod was designated as flawed and destroyed. In time, Farwan decreed the secret research too expensive to continue, and when Corp security personnel came to clean the labs of the remaining survivors, they’d fought and fled. The basic education he received from the Corp permitted him to get work as a merc, even though, emotionally, he was little more than a child.

  The turns were not kind thereafter.

  He broke from reverie to answer her question in a hoarse tone. “Yes, there were others. Twenty of us escaped. I don’t know if any of them are still alive.”

  “You didn’t stick together or remain in contact?”

  Jael laughed quietly, though the sound contained an angry edge. “Does traveling as a collective freak show seem like the wisest way to stay out of enemy hands?”

  “Probably not. And you wanted to forget where you came from, I imagine. Try to blend.”

  Truer than you know, princess.

  “That’s not an easy task when you’re . . . like this.”

  “If you weren’t like this, we wouldn’t be prepping for war with the best gear Queensland’s ever had. We’d be scared and hopeless with our backs to the wall, facing better weapons, more soldiers. I realize we’re only a bunch of wretches and convicts, but you’re the closest thing to a hero we’ve ever seen.”

  “As pep talks go, that was pathetic.” But he was smiling; and he couldn’t remember the last time it hadn’t felt like cuts carved into his cheeks, wholly false, wholly for show. This time, he felt it. Knew his sincerity must show in his eyes. It alarmed him though he couldn’t control it.

  Dred lifted a shoulder, apparently unconcerned by his criticism.
“It’s the best I could do on short notice. This whole Dread Queen business is all rubbish, as I’m sure you’ve guessed.”

  “You seem plenty tough to me. And the men believe in you. That’s all that matters.” He hesitated, then added, “If you win their hearts and minds, the bodies follow. They’ll do impossible things because they believe in your legend and want to live up to it. You’re the woman who can accomplish the impossible, raid unreachable locales, and read their minds.”

  “Careful,” she said sharply. “You’re being kind. We discussed my objection to that.”

  “I’m not, actually. I’m being honest. It’s rare enough that I understand why you’d be confused, though.” The fragile smile persisted; he couldn’t kill it or drive it away.

  Nothing had changed that he could detect. Not her expression or manner. Not her scent, as if she were secretly frightened of him. Then, inwardly he scoffed at the notion. Dred was as fierce and dangerous a woman as he’d encountered. And she didn’t frighten easily.

  “Thanks for the explanation.” She folded to her feet, obviously ready to conclude the interview.

  Jael found he didn’t want to leave. That was a . . . unique development.

  “Aren’t you going to ask how I ended up in here?”

  Dred shook her head. “I needed to understand why you’re nearly fragging indestructible so I can best deploy that aptitude. Beyond that, it’s your business.”

  “No curiosity?”

  She read him like a book. “Look, if you want to tell me, if it’ll put you at ease to treat me like a holy confessor, go for it.”

  “There’s nothing holy about you, queenie, but you sure are divine.”

  The woman laughed, falling back into her chair with a graceful motion. “Were you expecting some particular payout with that line? You have my undivided attention. Explain how you ended up on the prison transport.”

  “Just to make you laugh,” he said. “And look, it worked. As for the how . . . it’s fairly simple. I worked as a merc for turns. Killed a lot of people. I ended up in this oddball crew . . .” He trailed off, trying to decide how to explain his tenure with Sirantha Jax. It had been so long that the galaxy might’ve forgotten her by now. His need for vengeance had cooled, too.