Havoc (18 page)

23

Let the Games Begin

“So it does,” Dred said.

When the runner Jael had sent showed up, panting and out of breath, she'd known something must be wrong. She stalked toward Keelah, blade in hand, and cut her loose. Then she offered the knife. “Free your people.”

It was better to show complete support for the newcomers. Though it was technically the middle of downtime, she couldn't let this ride; there would be no delays to justice or waiting for the rest of the territory to wake up on its own. Some offenses had to be tried immediately in the court of blood and bone. Once the aliens were released, she turned to the treacherous Queenslanders, all of whom looked half a second from pissing their pants.

“Perhaps I didn't make the rules clear,” she snarled, pointing at the tallest of the lot. “What are they?”

There were eight of them, yet they didn't try to fight. She had the Dread Queen's reputation to thank for that. Instead, they stood frozen beneath the weight of her wrath, and one of them even moved closer to Jael, as if he thought he might find mercy there.

You don't know him very well.

Jael shoved the man who was supposed to be answering her question toward the rest and added a kick for good measure. The impact sent him reeling to the floor. Nobody moved to help him up. He shoved to his feet with a defiant air, but he couldn't hold her gaze long. He pushed out a wavering breath.

The man thought hard, brow furrowed as sweat dripped down one cheek. “No stealing, no unauthorized fighting. Bathing. Do your work—”

“Then you have
no excuse
for this offense, cretin. Not even ignorance. You tortured your fellow citizens. Did you think I'd let that go?” Long strides carried her over to where alien blood smeared the ground, not always red, but unmistakable. Kneeling, she swiped her fingers through the sticky droplets, then she returned to the criminals and painted the backs of their hands one by one. “Now their blood truly is on your hands. Remember this feeling. Remember this mistake. It will be your last.”

“They're not really Queenslanders,” another spat. “Just look at them.”

That moment of bravery didn't last long when she turned her gaze on him. He stumbled back a step, cowering with the rest. Ignoring them for a few seconds, she turned to Keelah, who had blood smeared on her muzzle.
Katur will want their heads, and I don't blame him.
She could ill afford the loss of grunts for the front line, but better to keep the aliens, who weren't utterly awash in prejudice.

“As the offended party, I'll give you the option on what I do with these wretches. I can cast them out—to be killed by Silence or eaten by Mungo's lot. You can execute them yourselves if you prefer. Or we can enjoy their misery in a series of death matches.”

The alien female didn't ponder long. “The latter sounds fascinating.”

“We're not fighting!” one of the traitors shouted.

Dred turned with a wicked smile. “You know the rules. The winner gets to live.”

It was a measure of her depravity that she enjoyed how fast the bigots turned on one another. Jael had to pull them apart, or they would've started the killing before she roused Calypso and summoned an audience.

She nodded at Keelah. “Can your people restrain them?”

“Gladly.”

Leaving Jael to manage the situation, she ran off to wake Calypso. The mistress of the ring wasn't amused at being disturbed until she found out it was in her official capacity. Then her white teeth flashed in a delighted smile. “It's been too long.” She yawned and stretched, then nudged her bedmate out of the bunk. “Go fetch the others. Tell them it's time for the blood sport.”

A slim, brown-skinned male who bore a passing resemblance to Tam darted out of the room, his eyes lowered submissively. She noticed the fresh marks on his back, but as long as bed play was consensual, this didn't fall under the heading of harm.
Best to check.

“He's a willing participant, yeah?”

“I don't make them cuddle with me afterward, dear heart,” Calypso said, smirking. “That's
his
choice. So that should tell you plenty about how he feels.”

“Point taken. I can't believe we have to do this. I wish we weren't sheltering such animals, but—”

“What more can you expect from Artan's loyalists?” Calypso rolled out of bed, unconscious of her nudity, and dressed quickly. Her entire outfit had been crafted from cured skins, harvested from the rodents infesting the ship. It gave her an earthy, musky smell, unique among the rest of Queensland.

“What do you mean?”

“You didn't think they all threw in with Lecass? There are those who miss Artan's cruelty and chaos. They just weren't brave enough to try to depose you.”

“Comforting,” Dred muttered.

“If you're looking for solace, my queen, well, you won't find it here.”

Except that I did. From Jael.

“Don't call me that. I can't tell you how much I hate this
Dread Queen
crap.”

“The men need something to believe in. If they thought you were an ordinary woman, they'd put a blade through your heart.”

“None of us are normal, or we wouldn't be in Perdition,” she pointed out.

But there
were
more men than women incarcerated here. Dred wasn't sure if men were naturally more prone to criminal behavior or if they just got caught more. Ego made her want to believe the latter. But since
she'd
slipped up, it was slim consolation.

Calypso took up her staff, an impressive feat of scrap engineering; the thing didn't look like it had any smooth edges, so it must cut into the other woman's palm, but she showed no visible signs of distress. The mistress of the circle didn't check her reflection, merely strode out of the room ahead of Dred.

“You'll get the hall set up?” she asked.

“Of course. Bring the prisoners in a quarter hour or so.”

Nodding, Dred jogged back to the training room, where the traitors had been forced to their knees. They wore the same bloody cords they'd used on their victims, and the refugees seemed pleased with the resolution so far. Katur had joined his mate, but Dred couldn't read anything from his demeanor. His coppery fur was flat, his eyes dark in the low, downtime light, as Dred ran the zone on half power while most of the populace was sleeping.

She made eye contact with Jael, silently asking how much of a bomb they were sitting on. He shook his head, and she took that to mean the newcomers were satisfied with the swift and merciless judgment. But this wasn't wholly about protecting the refugees; it was also about reminding the men that she held the power, and while she might be less of a lunatic than Artan, it still didn't pay to cross her.

Dred presented herself before the alien leader and tilted her head down, not quite a bow, but he should recognize it as a gesture of humility. “I apologize for the harm to your people. I said you're Queenslanders now, and I meant it. The guilty will be punished.”

“I look forward to the show,” Katur said. “We have never permitted such barbarity in the Warren.”

That's definitely a reminder of who the civilized people are in this room.

She only nodded. “This way. I'll explain the rules.”

By the time they reached the common room, Calypso had the makeshift arena set up and her bed partner had rousted most of the Queenslanders to serve as the audience. Though some looked sleepy and surly, the bulk reacted to the prospect of bloodshed as Calypso had, as if it were the delivery of a much-anticipated treat.
I can only do so much with what Artan left me.
But she was aware of the silent aliens standing at her shoulder, likely thinking she was no better than Mungo or Silence. For obvious reasons, that turned her stomach.

She said, “Pardon me,” to Katur, then sent a number of men, led by Cook, to assist Jael in escorting the combatants. The chef chucked two men bodily over the scrap framework that made up the ring. They hit the floor with a metallic clang, and one skidded into the barricade, prompting raucous jeers from the spectators.

This is how I hold them. No matter what I tell myself about rules or order, it's the promise of violence that keeps the rest in check.

As if he suspected her thoughts, Jael put a hand on her arm, and she covered it with her own, a quiet moment of secret solidarity. Or maybe he was exerting ownership. She preferred to imagine otherwise.

Once everyone took their places outside the circle, Calypso thumped her staff against the floor three times. That was the cue for the games to begin.

“These men are charged with bringing harm to other Queenslanders!” Calypso shouted. “And so it is we who have a grudge to settle with them. Do you trust them to watch your backs or fight alongside you?”

A resounding
no
rang out.

I could take lessons from her on working the crowd.

“In her infinite wisdom, the Dread Queen has decided it is fitting for these traitors to fight among themselves. For your entertainment!” A prisoner groaned, receiving a clout from Calypso as a reward. Then she went on, “Eight men enter the circle. Only one will emerge victorious. Do you understand these rules, gladiators?”

They each nodded, reflecting different degrees of agitation and fury. Using her staff, Calypso vaulted out of the ring, leaving the two men to eye one another warily. They wouldn't fight until the mistress started the match officially. Dred took their measure and decided neither would last long. They were both thin with the sallow complexions of men who drank too much. Loose skin at their throats said they had been hardier once, but Perdition had carved them down to skin and bones.

And vile instincts.

In the crowd, she caught sight of Vix and Zediah, standing together. The look on their faces struck her as odd, avid even, but they weren't watching the ring. Dred followed their gazes and saw that they were staring at Jael. He seemed oblivious though their interest was odd. She put it from her mind as the mistress of the circle raised her staff.

“Then let the games begin!” Calypso shouted.

24

Something from Before

The first match kicked off with an attempted knife-palm to the throat. Jael watched as the second man dodged and came in low. Their technique was sloppy, more suited to a bar brawl than life-and-death combat, but regardless of how badly they fought, one of these men was leaving the arena feet first. Around him, Queenslanders were betting, offering goods and favors, and Calypso seemed to be making book.

“No wonder she likes this job,” he muttered.

The mistress of the circle wrote furiously in a sheaf of bound pages, nodding as she set up the terms. Her action on the side was more interesting than the fight. The smaller man rushed the other and took him to the ground, then they rolled, scratching and gouging. Other Queenslanders probably couldn't hear the growls and groans of pain with the roar of the spectators, but Jael registered each gasping breath and how one man lost traction, revealed in the stink of terror in his sweat. The fighter on the bottom took an elbow to the face, and his nose crunched, spurting blood. There was hesitation from the second man as he smeared it into his opponent's eyes, and that gave him the advantage he needed to finish the fight by digging his bare fingers into the blinded target's eyes. Jael didn't flinch from the wet pop, and the victor drove deep, until the other stopped twitching. Amid a flurry of shouts and cheers, he stumbled to his feet and raised bloody arms high in the air.

“Winner, first match!” Calypso called out. Then she moved the metal aside to let him pass out of the circle. “Wait here. You'll fight the next soon enough.”

At her orders, the cleaners removed the body and mopped the floor while Queenslanders paid off their wagers. More than a few looked pissed off at their luck, and some of them spat on the dead man as the sanitation crew carried him out to the chute. They stomped their feet, eager for more blood sport. A shiver of revulsion went through Jael.

Zediah caught his eye, a long look broken only by Vix, who put her hand on the other man's arm, then smiled. She nodded once. Jael had no idea what that was about, but it prickled his skin every bit as much as the bloodlust emanating from the crowd.

Men like this
made
me. Told me I'm a monster until I acted the part.

He gazed out over the avid, bloodthirsty faces and shook his head. Dred touched his arm. “What's that about?” she asked in a low voice.

Always surprises me, the way she pays attention.
Hell if he knew why.

“I used to wish to be human,” he murmured. “I hated that I wasn't. But . . . now? I'm rather glad I'm not.”

“Since this is all we see, it's easy to forget there's another sort of people.”

“Kind, gentle, and selfless?” he mocked.

Dred shook her head. “Normal folk. They live their lives, and they don't harm anyone. This isn't the usual, Jael. You
must
know that.”

“I haven't had much contact with them. But I'll take your word that they exist.”

“Isn't that your dream? To break out of here and hide among them.”

In all honesty, he hadn't planned that far. His current goal was to survive killing the mercenaries. Then he had a half-baked notion of escaping this place. To do the impossible—break out of Perdition—
that
was the goal. His vision cut off after that.

“Nobody's ever asked me what I
want
from life.”

“Do you know?”

He watched as Calypso signaled for the next match to begin. “Not this.”

In the end, the eye-gouger emerged victorious, despite vicious injuries. Still, the man raised his arms as if he expected people to cheer. As for Jael, he was waiting for Dred to reveal the crook in her plan. He didn't credit for a second that she intended to release this bastard after what he'd done.

Calypso kicked the ring down and stepped closer to the winner. “Behold today's champion of the games.”

“Shit. I thought Arndt had a shot of going all the way.” A Queenslander spat and paid his lost bet with a set of hand-carved blades. “I never would've bet on Errol.”

“He's a sneaky bastard,” the winner said smugly.

“I won! Someone bring me a drink.” Errol was grinning.

“Not yet,” Dred said.

“We're done,” the man bit out. “I passed your test.”

The rest of the Queenslanders fell silent, waiting to hear the verdict. Dred joined Calypso, and the two women towered over him. “I said I'd let you live if you won. Not that I'd permit you to stay. From this moment forward, Errol the Skinner is an enemy to Queensland, and we kill him on sight.”

“Understood!” the rest of the men called.

The victor only had time for a choked gasp before Jael cut off his air. He lifted the rat by his throat and dragged him to the barricades. The sentries made no attempt to stop him. Errol landed with a painful-sounding thud, and Jael detected a snap.
Broke some bones, on top of the injuries he had already. Won't last long out there.

That was the point.

When he returned to the common room, the cleaners had already removed all traces of the arena and were carrying the last corpse to the chute to be recycled. Sometimes Jael had the feeling that the station was alive and eating them one by one. He silenced such mad-tinged thoughts and crossed to where Dred stood, making further apologies to the refugees.

“I hope this redresses the offense sufficiently,” she concluded, as Jael stepped up.

“How can we be sure there are no more enemies hiding among us?” Keelah asked.

Jael respected Dred's honesty when she said, “You can't. So exercise caution. I'll punish additional offenders, but some damage can't be undone.”

“This is true,” Katur replied. “And you've dealt more fairly with us than anyone since before our imprisonment. We will be watchful.”

“I should've acted sooner,” Jael murmured.

Keelah inclined her head, leaning on her mate for support. “We all have regrets.”

The Ithtorian nodded at that. “I wish I hadn't lingered on New Terra. But I didn't think the sweeps were anything to worry about.”

Jael understood how the Bug felt though it was a reluctant empathy. He knew all too well what it was like to be hunted due to circumstances beyond your control. For the aliens, it was how they looked that made them targets. For him, it was his bioengineering. Sometimes he wondered if there were any survivors from his pod; they would be the closest thing he had to family, but he'd never gone looking for them. The truth might do his head in; it was one thing to suspect you were alone in the universe, another to have it confirmed.

“You have our sincere gratitude for the swift justice you delivered.” Katur put his hands together, then signaled for his people to withdraw.

That was probably a smart tactical move, before the rest of Queensland remembered that the death matches took places because some of their number hated aliens. The atmosphere in the common room was rowdy. Death matches were apparently excellent for morale, not something Jael would've anticipated, but that was why he wasn't in charge.

“It used to be like this all the time,” Dred said quietly.

“Artan held matches more often?”

“I only do it to settle grievances or in lieu of a trial. He did it for fun. There was a daily lottery, and unless you were one of his favorites, anyone could be chosen.”

“Sounds like a barrel of laughs. I wish I could stab him between the eyes.”

At that, she slid him a sideways glance and a half smile, then she stepped closer slightly, enough so that her arm was brushing his. “It's enough that you want to.”

“Tell me something else about you. Something from before.”

“Before I wreaked havoc on so many psycho killers and turned into one myself, before I was sent to Perdition for my crimes?”

“Yeah. I want to know something about who you were.”

She tipped her head forward. “I barely remember.” This was why he didn't get close to people. Jael turned, ready to head for the hydroponics garden, when she spoke again. “I always wanted to travel. I hated the Outskirts and the small colony where I grew up. Since my dad was hiding from the Science Corp, my parents were always lecturing me on being careful, not taking risks.”

“So you grew up wanting adventure.”

“That's why I took the job on the freighter. I . . . always wanted my own ship. I can remember sitting with my dad on the roof of our housing unit. I wasn't supposed to crawl up there, but I was never big on rules, even as a kid. Go figure, huh?”

Jael smiled, hoping she'd never stop talking. The background noise receded; he filtered until there was only her voice. “Somehow, I'm not surprised.”

“And as an . . . apology, I guess, for being the reason that we were trapped on Tehrann, he spent hours teaching me astronomy. I can see the night sky in my head, even now, picture all the constellations. I can hear my father's voice, repeating the names.” She paused, gaze locked on Jael's. “To this day, that's the way I fall asleep.”

“By holding the stars in your head?” he asked softly.

“Yeah. Stupid, I suppose. I haven't seen them in turns.”

“You will again.” It felt like she'd given him a part of her to keep with him always. Nobody else knew that the Dread Queen named faraway stars when rest eluded her, a wisp of a secret binding them together, but he held to it as if it were more than gossamer.

“I'll ask you for a truth one day soon,” she said then. “Quid pro quo.”

“And I'll answer.” There was no mockery in his tone, only another promise.