Perdition

  His squad was large for the size of the corridors, however. Jael divided them up in pairs, so they formed a fairly long column. He chose Calypso to guard the rear, mostly because he thought she’d appreciate the responsibility. Retribution should feel sweet—and she would make sure their group wasn’t ambushed on the way. From the gleam of her teeth as she accepted the assignment, she didn’t want to miss out on the bloodbath to come.

  Jael took point. It was an easy progress past the east checkpoint. The turret was looking good, and the man standing behind him couldn’t have looked prouder as the troop marched by. You’d think this was happening on a much larger scale. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was still important. Even though this wasn’t a country or a planet, it was still their world.

  It’s all we have.

  He realized it was human nature to make the best of all awful situations, even one as bad as this. The cream would always rise to the top. And that’s Dred.

  A few minutes later, Jael laughed when they ran into their first patrol. Men less fanatical would’ve fled. Priest’s four guards ran at them with suicide in their eyes. Jael obliged two of them himself; he made it clean and quick, then he stepped back so the rest of the men could get their shot. It was a bloody, horrendous mess, and his soldiers laughed as they stepped over the mangled bodies. He’d served with chem-head mercs less bloodthirsty.

  “Keep it up,” he called.

  “Maybe you should lead from the rear. You didn’t leave much for the rest of us.” He recognized Calypso’s voice.

  “Nobody will go home hungry, I promise you.” He hoped they knew he meant sating their yen for violence. Someone had told him that people who ate their fallen enemies ended up in Munya—Mungo’s domain—sooner or later, as they weren’t welcome in other territories, not even Entropy.

  “I’m holding you to that,” someone said.

  “I think we need some marching music. Anybody got a military background?”

  A tall man near the back answered, “I served. Want me to lead the chant?”

  He nodded. “Make some noise. We’re not trying to sneak up anybody’s ass.”

  With the former soldier leading the call and response, they rolled through four more patrols, and he made sure to stand clear, letting his men do the actual killing. The convicts shouted their appreciation and stomped the floor. Jael saluted and kept moving since there was a schedule to keep. Timing played a vital role in the plan Silence had offered. If the diversions didn’t occur at precisely the same time, it would impact the effectiveness of her sneak attack. Likewise, if she betrayed them, and the attack didn’t come, Dred’s forces would be cut down by the automated defenses.

  But he’d learned from the best and didn’t let any of his doubts show. He pushed his squad forward though he could hear combat in the distance. Before long, they were hearing it, too.

  “Are we late to the party?” Calypso yelled.

  He answered, “Hope not. I’ll be pissed if they started without us.”

  “No shit,” she came back.

  “Double-time! Let’s move.” Jael set a bruising pace, and most of the men kept up.

  Their feet rang out against the floor, announcing their arrival, but something was already going down in Abaddon. Dammit, I was keeping the count. This wasn’t supposed to start for another five thousand ticks. Since they didn’t have radios, they’d agreed to count down the action and begin as close to unison as they could.

  His crew burst into the east corridor and were astonished to find Priest’s people already engaging the enemy—but not Queenslanders. These were aliens, every last one of them. Some species he recognized, like the furry, larger-than-life Rodeisian, a stray Ithtorian, no Morgut, thank Mary, some humanoid, looking similar to humanity but half-baked—they probably came from adaptive colonies—and then there were creatures he’d never seen before. Ones with trunks and tentacles; others that looked like walking amphibians. And every one of them was fighting Priest’s fanatics.

  The battle raged just outside the range of Abaddon’s turrets. The son of a bitch had more than one, too. Breaking them wouldn’t be easy once he decided what the hell to do about this mess. Beyond the combat zone, he spotted a couple of Peacemakers, too. Mary only knew how Priest had managed to subvert them.

  “What the hell,” Calypso said, shoving to the front.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “So what’s the play?” she demanded.

  “I’m thinking we wade in. I didn’t come to this party to watch other people dance.”

  Calypso’s smile lit up her hard face. “You’re my kind of asshole.”

  “Thanks,” he said, flashing her the standby charming smile. “I have no fragging idea what they’re doing here, but they’re not on our roster of asses to kick today. Understood?”

  “No alien bashing today!” the men called back in unison.

  He laughed because they were fairly cooperative for thugs and lowlifes. “Then why are you still standing here? For Queensland!”

  27

  Shut It Down

  Dred had fifty men at her back. That wouldn’t be so worrisome if she felt 100 percent, but she was still weak from the damage she’d taken in the challenge. Many Queenslanders regarded her with awe, as they’d seen the severity of her wounds when she staggered out of the hall. For her to be back on her feet so soon? It seemed supernatural.

  And it was, except she didn’t deserve the credit. For obvious reasons, the miracle must remain between Jael and her; it would cause trouble for him if anyone discovered the healing properties of his blood. So Dred added it to the short list of secrets she’d die to keep. Tam was ecstatic, as the men were convinced she was half a step shy of immortality.

  Ahead, she spied the first checkpoint. They hadn’t hit the automated defenses that Abaddon was rumored to possess yet, but if Tam’s intel was accurate, she could expect them deeper into Priest’s territory. Dred led the charge, as the zealots had no missile weapons. She took one out with a blow to the skull—and with the weight of her chains around her fist, she cracked it. The guard hit the ground as Queenslanders tore into the other three. In a close quarters fight, with so many bodies around, she couldn’t use her chains like she usually did, but numbers also meant she did less actual killing.

  “Form up!” she called, to discourage mutilation.

  While she had done her best to unify Artan’s dregs, they were still criminals, and discipline wasn’t their strong suit. A few of them grumbled and stomped the corpses as they went past, but they fell in behind her, two by two. With such superior numbers, they rolled through the next two checkpoints, but the noise of battle couldn’t be concealed.

  Zealots streamed down the hall toward them. They were moving so fast, Dred couldn’t get a head count to see how many they faced, but they definitely belonged to Priest. The facial scars he carved on his loyal servants were unmistakable. Dammit, we’re bottlenecked. She’d hoped to push farther before reinforcements rolled out. In a mob like this, it would be tough to avoid being knifed by her own men.

  On the plus side, there was no room for fancy fighting. Around her, men grappled and punched. She caught an elbow and lashed out with a wrapped fist. The blow rocked the fanatic, and she pushed forward. Dred found room for a tight kick though not a high one. Still, a blow to the ankle was more effective than one usually suspected. Her target staggered back into two others. Their feet tangled and two of them went down.

  Her men didn’t hesitate. They ringed the fallen and kicked them until it was certain they weren’t getting up. The corridor stank of blood and sweat until she couldn’t breathe through her nose. Cries and snarls of pain added to the cacophony until it reminded her of the prison riots on New Terra. Breathe. You didn’t do this.

  Her focus wavered, but the Queenslanders were ferocious enough to compensate for her halfhearted swings. At this point, it was all she could do to push forward. Now and then she swung at a zealot who turned on her, but mostly, she shoved a p
ath through the melee. Dred stepped out on the other side and realized she had the numbers advantage.

  “Finish them,” she shouted.

  Outside the mob, she could breathe a little easier, and she waded in on the fringes. Her head felt dizzy and sick, but she couldn’t show weakness, even if she had been dying five days ago. Weakness didn’t keep a leader in power, and she’d gladly die before giving up what she’d stolen with Tam and Einar’s help. She’d tried life as chattel. There would never be an encore.

  Loathing overcame her, and Dred fought hard, living up to her rep as the Dread Queen. By the time the fight ended, ten of her men were on the ground, unmoving, but the enemy was dead, every last one of them.

  She knelt beside casualties, hoping to recognize their faces. In some cases, they were so battered, she needed help from her squad to ID them. Once the names had been scratched on a scrap of paper, she tucked it into the top of her boot. At her nod, the men fell in again, grimmer this time. Maybe the march on Abaddon had started out glorious, but death had a way of killing the mood.

  “We’ll come back for their bodies,” she promised. “I won’t leave them here. I’ll go with Einar to the chutes myself.”

  “We know,” a thin man said quietly.

  “The next part will be tricky if Priest has turrets and Peacemakers.”

  “How are we supposed to get past them?” a convict asked.

  I have no fragging idea.

  Without Jael and Einar, she didn’t see a lot of them surviving. But this wasn’t the time to tell them they had been given a suicide run. Damn Silence anyway. These men might be the dregs of the galaxy, but they listened when Dred spoke.

  She hardened herself to their fate, and answered, “I have a plan.” And then, surprisingly, she did; it came to her like a burst of light. “See Priest’s corpses on the ground? Grab one. If you can, pick a meat shield that’s bigger than you.”

  “Genius,” one of the men breathed.

  “If you’re too big to hide or there aren’t any bodies left, then hang back. The rest of us will push forward and find a way to deactivate the turrets from the other side. There should be a manual override.”

  The Peacemakers would be another issue entirely. It had nearly killed them to deal with one on the way to the salvage bay; maybe Priest spread that story to discourage incursions. She hadn’t gotten confirmation or denial from Tam, as even the spymaster couldn’t penetrate that deep inside enemy lines.

  Twenty-five Queenslanders found corpses to shield their bodies; the rest followed at a safe distance. Dred hadn’t recovered sufficient fortitude to follow her own advice, so she stepped to the back—and remembered Wills’s prediction, not so long ago. Chaos comes. The dead will walk. He’ll cost you everything. Well, the bone-reader was two for three because the corpses were shuffling forward, as promised. But so far, Jael had saved her, not ruined Queensland. Dred knew better than to discount the visions entirely, however.

  At the next corner, a turret slammed the floor, saturating the whole area. Her men pressed forward cautiously, testing to see if their meat shields would stand up to the onslaught. Four more went down, but a small, thin convict stumbled forward. The body he’d chosen was almost more than he could lift, and Dred watched his arms straining. He let the corpse fall as he passed the turret’s target field.

  “Turn it off,” she called.

  “Where?” On his knees, he peered at the thing, and the rest of the squad called out suggestions.

  One man, however, sounded like he knew what he was doing, shouting above the others. “It’s on the base. Tip it forward—no, not like that. There you go. Now move it to static mode.”

  The turret powered down, and cheers rang out from the surviving men. She shouted along with them because this was an incredible accomplishment, proving intellect and determination could win the day. In a place like this, that revelation felt an awful lot like hope.

  “Nothing can stop us now!” a prisoner yelled.

  “The Dread Queen’s coming for you!” That came from the small man who had disabled the turret; he stomped his feet in triumph, then punched the air.

  Mary, sometimes they’re like children.

  “Don’t celebrate too soon,” she cautioned. “If I know how Priest thinks, he’s got the bulk of his men waiting for us inside. There’s more room for an ambush, and these measures slowed us just enough to let him set it up.”

  Collectively, their eyes dropped, and the men nodded. Ruining their good mood was a necessary evil. She needed them to focus a little longer. The ones who survived could dance and chant, taunt their fallen foes, and drink themselves into a stupor. But not just yet.

  She went on, “I need someone who can scout.”

  To her surprise, Tam slipped up from the back of the group. She hadn’t known he was in the vicinity though that was the spymaster’s specialty. Dred didn’t ask when he’d arrived, best to appear omniscient. That advice, too, came from Tameron. It went against Dred’s nature to take credit for his work, but Tam said he didn’t want the attention as it would make his work more difficult in the future.

  Tam offered, “I’ll do it if you hold here for a few minutes.”

  “Please,” she said, inviting him to check out the battlefield with a gesture.

  Waiting was hard, but the death toll would be higher if they ran in without proper intel. Though she’d warned the men they wouldn’t all come back, it didn’t mean she was crazy as Priest or Silence—and without regard for those who lived in her territory. She didn’t like most of them, but she didn’t slaughter them for fun, either.

  “What are our chances?” It was a good question.

  And if she gave an honest answer, half of these men would run back to Queensland. So she paraphrased an ancient historical vid instead. “We will drive our enemies before us and hear the lamentations of their women.”

  The surviving Queenslanders whooped, stomped the floor, and banged the walls. If they had been trying to sneak up on Priest, that would’ve put paid to the idea. But that wasn’t the strategy, so their noise didn’t affect the plan. If Silence was keeping her word, she’d be maneuvering her assassins into position while Priest worried about Dred’s people. Between their combined forces, he would be crushed like a bug.

  Well. That’s the idea, anyway.

  28

  A Priest Walks into a Knife

  We are so doomed.

  The assault had gone off as Tam had foreseen, but so far, Priest’s people, who fought like madmen, woefully outnumbered them. Jael lashed out, slicing another throat. Of Silence’s crew there was no sign. Damn the bitch. Katur’s aliens were vicious despite their small number. The tentative alliance had held as they charged the main hall, only to be decimated by traps.

  Since his crew was the first to hit the room, his people were decimated. Bodies hit the floor, severed at the torso, and the stench of blood overwhelmed him. Not just from the fight, either. This place was more of an abattoir than Entropy, where remains were preserved and stylized. Priest left bodies where they fell, evidence of his divinity and power. Some convicts lost their resolve when they saw what befell the men rushing ahead; Jael didn’t blame them for running though what he was supposed to tell Dred about this, he didn’t know.

  I can’t kill them all. Sooner or later, somebody will get lucky and take my head.

  Still, he battled with the same determined ferocity that had carried him out of the labs, so long ago. He was down to his last ten men when Einar arrived with an impressive boom; the big man took out a wall in doing so, and Jael had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. He wondered where the hell Dred was, too; she had taken the direct route, the most difficult one, too, reinforced with turrets and Mary only knew what else.

  “Glad you could make it,” he shouted, as a fanatic slashed at him.

  The blade whistled through the air as he dodged it, then Jael angled his palms and crushed the man’s throat. He dropped clean; another took his place. The room
was pure chaos—so much screaming, cries of pain mingled with the sucking sounds of open wounds and the stink of urine and visceral terror. In the confusion, he couldn’t find the damned leader of Abaddon. Unlike Dred, he wasn’t in the forefront shouting orders. Probably the bastard was hiding, cowering even.

  Einar called back, “Sorry, had to do a little remodeling first.”

  “I saw.”

  No more time for more talk; Jael’s position was overrun. If it had been a question of skill, he might’ve fought them off, but they charged and tackled as one, no dodging them all. He went down under five fanatics, one of whom seemed determined to cut out his heart and eat it. Yeah, I won’t survive that. Jael rolled despite their weight, so he took the blade between the ribs instead of in his chest. He jerked an elbow free and knocked into somebody’s face. Blood spurted from the broken nose, but pain only seemed to inspire them to greater violence.

  What the hell.

  He’d fought chem-junkies with more wisdom and a greater sense of self-preservation. Jael head-butted another and wrenched an arm out of its socket. The subsequent pop should’ve made a normal man scream. Priest’s follower was so far gone that he moaned, like he’d had his pleasure circuits rewired or something. Is that even possible? They get off on agony? His sporadic education had informed him about certain antiquated cults that practiced self-flagellation, but he’d thought that was for chastisement, not enjoyment. This religion was all kinds of fragged up.

  The floor was slippery with blood, and he used it to slide partway out of the grappling hold one of them had on his leg. He took another stab wound to the leg, but he cursed through the pain and snatched one by the ear, then slammed the man’s head into the ground, hard enough to knock him out. He rolled and kicked, gouged with his fingers until they were slick and red; these men forced him to scrabble like an animal, and he loathed it. Even lifers shouldn’t be reduced to this.