Havoc (20 page)

That sounded oddly personal to Vost, as if he'd thwarted some critical scheme.
Best news I've had all day.
He sank a blade into a filthy belly, yanked it back out with a burble of blood. Some of the targets attacked with teeth or bare hands; that was how far they'd fallen. For all their savagery, however, it was easy to take out men who lacked the sense to swing a length of pipe at your head.

There's a reason we started using tools, assholes. We lack the natural weaponry of, say, that Ithtorian.

Bugs were nicely evolved with talons and chitin to protect their squishy bits. He kept a watchful eye on the small squad with the rifles, making sure they weren't about to open fire, and as he fought the bestial prisoners, he watched the Ithtorian drop four in quick succession.
That's a worthy opponent. It'll be an honor to put him down.

It was almost like a wary truce, as they fought the primitive convicts together while he kept an eye on the smaller force. It wouldn't take long to mow them down once the rest were dealt with. But as if the small man anticipated his plan, he turned his rifle on the barrel nearest to him, as Vost's men killed the last cannibal.

“You withdraw, or I blow us all to bits.” The man had an educated voice, with a hint of accent that Vost couldn't immediately place, but he knew he'd been there.

“You're bluffing.”

The other man smiled. “You can't afford to take that chance.
We
have nothing to lose. We expect to die here, and I'd enjoy taking you with me. Your mercs, on the other hand, are already looking squirrelly. They think they're going home. Who's right, Commander?”

Before he could reply, Casto said, “Let's go.”

And the rest of the soldiers followed him. Redmond and Duran took a long look at him first, but they went, too, and it was a blow since they'd served with him the longest. Vost was left scrambling to follow, as if it were
his
decision, but deep in his gut, a kernel of emotion popped to life.

Dread.

26

Something Deep and Strange

In the twenty-four hours since Tam had returned with the chemicals, with Dred's help, Jael had finished the upstairs laboratory. Once apportioned for dorm use, so many Queenslanders had died—and no more coming in—that they didn't need the space anymore. The aliens had their own quarters now, better for keeping the peace. A lot of the men were stupid brutes, and out of sight, out of mind worked on them. It was shitty for the refugees in the sense of fair and equitable treatment, but it was better for them to be safe.

“How much experience do you have with explosives?” Tam asked as he stepped into the new lab.

“I've used plenty.”

“But no background in building them?”

“Bombs more than grenades,” Jael admitted. “But I've steady hands.”

“That should do. First we have to make the shells.” Tam sighed. “This would be a lot easier if Ike were still around.”

“So many things would be.”

“Truer words. But we'll make do. I've jury-rigged a smelter . . . since I've done this before, it's best if I handle melting down the scrap and pouring in the molds.”

“You've been planning this for a while.”

Tam nodded. “It was impossible when everything was scattered and too well protected for me to acquire what I needed, but I've long known that what I needed to upgrade our armaments was theoretically available, just not easily acquired.”

“Now we're set?”

“Yes, the last run took care of the missing components.”

“Then just tell me what to do.”

Tam handed him a list. Jael skimmed it; his reading was sufficient for this though he found it tedious to digest longer documents. That weakness had plagued him through a career as a merc, as he occasionally signed things he didn't understand, which screwed him later. Word got around that he wasn't the brightest bulb—that he was easily tricked—and it made life tough as a soldier of fortune. Just as well he'd gotten out of the private-army business and gone to work on salvage instead.

But that didn't end well, either.

“Make sure to follow the directions precisely. Mixing the chemicals out of order could result in unpleasant results for us. And put on this helmet.”

Though the other man must've noticed that Jael didn't stay injured as long as other people, he decided it was better not to admit that poisonous fumes might burn his lungs but wouldn't kill him. So he snapped the headgear in place and got used to the filtering system. The enhanced sight and hearing array took him a little longer since it was working on preternaturally acute senses.

For a while they worked in silence, with Tam preparing the grenade casings and Jael measuring and mixing the chemicals. Jael finished his part much sooner, however, because the scrap had to be melted down before Tam could pour it into the molds, then there was cooling time.

“Come back in four hours,” Tam said. “We'll finish up then.”

At that point, they took a break, and Jael went to the hydroponics garden. He'd noticed that his name no longer appeared on patrol rosters or work lists, but he had to pull his weight, or the men would notice. Sleeping with the Dread Queen wouldn't keep six pissed off felons from jumping him, and he'd hate to kill even more of their men. They might be needed as battle fodder later.

Vix and Zediah were hard at work when he arrived. Neither one was much for chatting. Wearing an odd, excited expression, she pointed at some plants that needed tending, and he got to work. As he did, he considered Dred's question from a few days back—about what he saw himself doing once they left Perdition. He'd never been a dreamer, let alone a planner.
Maybe that's part of the problem.
But forming ideas about the future seemed oddly treacherous, like a mist-wreathed mountain path where he couldn't see what lay ahead.

“So how did the two of you end up on permanent plant duty?”

“It was the best solution,” Vix answered. “Zed kept killing men for looking at me wrong. Artan was going to execute him when I convinced him we'd be more useful in here and that he'd eat better, too.”

That's surprising.
He would've guessed that Vix was the more dangerous of the two, but more than once, he'd gotten an odd vibe from Zediah. Possibly his intuition was dead-on, reassuring since he wasn't always the best at reading people. Idly he wondered what kind of body count Zed had racked up—and why these two were here, together.

Jael moved a plant, as all of these had to be relocated in order to flush and clean the pipes. “So the garden wasn't producing before you took over?”

“Not efficiently,” Zediah answered.

“I can see you want to ask,” Vix said unexpectedly.

He glanced up in surprise, his hands still dripping from extracting the next herb. “Is that an invitation?”

The two exchanged a look, then she nodded. “I don't mind telling you. We've been working together for a while.”

From what he understood of Perdition customs, this was tantamount to declaring formal friendship. If a convict was willing to discuss his past, he meant he trusted you enough to want you to know more about him. Jael felt strangely honored.

“Right then. What happened?”

“He was my student,” she said quietly. “I taught advanced sciences. We met when he was fifteen turns . . . and I was twenty-eight.”

“I loved her instantly,” Zed added with creepy intensity.

Though Jael had met some strange blokes in his time, he could tell by the gleam in Zediah's eyes that he was more than in love with Vix; he was utterly obsessed. The scar on her face hinted that the story had some twists and turns, especially considering it had started in a school.

“Never went. Go on then.” He continued working, as if he weren't intrigued.

That seemed to settle Vix down; she got back to business, too. “I was married, and I knew it was wrong when Zed paid attention to me. But . . . he made me feel special, and my husband was often . . . unkind.”

“Did he do your face?” Jael asked.

She touched her cheek, her eyes shadowed with remembered pain, then offered a single nod.

Zed put in, “We were lovers by then, and I knew he'd kill her if he found out. So I did him first.” His tone was cool.

While that was fragged up, it wasn't the kind of thing that landed people in Perdition, especially not Vix. “There has to be more to it.”

“Much more,” she said softly. “There was a scandal . . . and a long trial. I lost my job. And people persecuted me until I went a little mad.”

Zediah paused in his work, his eyes flat and dark. “I can't stand when people hurt her. They have to pay.”

I see where this is going.

Vix was smiling a little dreamily. “So . . . we hunted them down, one by one. Everyone who said I was a whore for falling in love with Zed, who said I deserved everything my husband did to me.
Bitches like that have it coming,
” she repeated, deepening her voice so Jael figured she was quoting a man they'd killed. “How long did it take him to die?”

“Thirty-six hours. That was fun.” Zed was officially the most terrifying person in the place. “There were 112 in all. There would've been more because the bastards just never got tired of talking shit about Vix.”

“But the law eventually caught up with us.” She lifted a shoulder, as if that were an inconvenience, not the end of life as they knew it.

“I'm surprised they sentenced you together,” he said. Given how obsessed Zed was with her, it seemed like the judge might've punished him by separating them.

“Our attorney made sure the court officials were aware that if they sent us anywhere but here, anywhere apart, that I'd find a way to kill them.”

Damn.

That fast, it wasn't as restful to tend the plants with these two. Before, he'd thought their devotion was sweet, if slightly strange, but now there was no doubt in his mind that both of them were unhinged. It just wasn't obvious, like with some Queenslanders. He supposed the benefit was that Zed's mania was really specific, so to avoid prodding him into a killing spree, you just had to be distant and courteous to Vix.

“I should go see if Tam's ready to finish the grenades,” Jael said.

“You'll share your story next time,” Vix said. “I really, truly like you, Jael.”

Somehow it sounded like a threat, and he didn't enjoy being the object of her interest when Zed was watching with those dead, cold eyes, like he had no emotional responses to anything or anyone who wasn't Vix.
Disturbing. How does that happen? And I thought
I
was fragged up.
Still, he murmured something noncommittal before heading back up to the lab.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“Problem?” Tam asked.

“Vix and Zed are cracked, aren't they?”

“It's not immediately obvious, but yes. I'd stay away from her. I've heard she makes a sex game of it, trying to make Zediah jealous. If she succeeds, the man dies.”

“And that would be why I'm the only one who volunteers to help in the garden.”

“Somebody should've warned you.”

Jael sighed. “Dred probably thought it was funny.
Let's see if the new fish is clever enough to survive the land mines.
”

“I'm sure she had other things on her mind, and she knew you could handle yourself.”

Better to give her the benefit of the doubt, I suppose.
“That's the best possible interpretation. Let's finish these grenades.”

“After this, I need help with another special project if you're interested.”

Jael grinned. “I
could
use the work since I won't be gardening.”

27

No Greater Love

“I hope this works,” Dred said.

Recent intel indicated that the mercs traveled as a single unit, so there could be no more hit-and-run strikes. With Tam's new weapons, this was the first time they would engage them en masse, and she was nervous.
Not that I don't trust Tam, but . . .
It was a big risk to take while using untested weapons. She would've preferred to engage with Mungo's men first to make sure the grenades would work as intended, but since they only had so many of them, after some discussion, they'd decided to do a field test.

With luck and timing, we take out a good number and get away clean.

She might not be able to do anything about the former, but she could work on the latter. Dred strode among her forces, giving last-minute orders. For this to work, it had to be an ambush, and they needed the high ground with some cover. A straight-up fight would end badly for her side, so Tam had watched Vost's movements for a full day, timing his routes, and they were now set up just outside the command post.

She had twelve people with her, a mix of aliens and humans. Some were armed with laser rifles, others had the poison grenades, and the last four were using the crazy-looking carbines Tam had jury-rigged out of scrap and chem. There was no way to be sure if the plan would go as intended, but she hoped so. Though they'd managed a few successes, the way the mercs were mowing through Mungo's horde, it wouldn't be long before they finished wiping that part of the station and moved on to Queensland.

“We should be set,” Tam reported.

Dred turned to her people. “Everyone clear on their orders?”

A series of quiet nods came in response to the question as they were already set and focused at the railing. The odds were three to one against them if the mercs found a place to hunker down, and even worse if they closed since most of her people didn't have armor.
But we do have vicious cunning and desperation, the stuff dreams are made of.

She took a deep breath, listening for RC-17. They'd placed the bot for surveillance, and it would signal when the mercs were near. It didn't take long before the whistles and beeps rang out, and she knelt alongside the rifle division.
Grandiose word for five of us.
Dred fought the urge to utter more cautions and explanations.
They know the drill. We can do this.

As soon as the mercs stepped onto the platform below, she opened fire, aiming for the faceplates. She let Jael take Vost since he was a better shot, and it took her three tries to crack the glastique on one. The mercs returned fire, forcing her down. Around her, others fared better, taking out targets, while the carbine users unloaded with the acid pellets Tam and Jael had fabricated. They exploded with a hiss as they hit armor and immediately went to work on the structural integrity. If the stuff wasn't washed off, it would eat through the skin.

Once a good portion of the mercs were wearing helmets with compromised filtration systems, her people lobbed the gas grenades. On impact, they shot off clouds of green gas, and she waved the retrieval crew in. Jael led the run, along with those in all the helmets they could spare. The gas reduced visibility, leaving the mercs who could still breathe firing blind and worried about hitting their comrades while their cohorts staggered and wheezed and yet others were scrambling desperately out of armor that was dissolving on their skin.

“Grab as much as you can carry,” she shouted. “No more. We need to fall back.”

The point of this strike wasn't to kill all the mercs in one go. She lacked both the firepower and manpower for a full-out assault. No, this was another guerilla strike, aimed at surprising and demoralizing them.
If we whittle away at them when they've started to feel safe, it'll erode their confidence.
It wasn't just a ground war she was fighting; she was also trying to break their spirits.
Artan taught me something about that at least.

“Don't let them take your weapons,” Vost choked out, but since Jael had smashed the faceplate on his helmet, he was also inhaling the gas, so his words were strangled by the wheeze and whine of his labored breathing.

“Move, move, move!” Dred called.

Her people were hauling multiple bodies, clad in armor, and others had weapons. A barrage of laser fire came in hard and Ali threw herself in front of Brahm, who was running with his head down, rifles in both hands. The smell of burning hair filled the air as the Rodeisian female went down. Even from this vantage, Dred could tell it was serious. The concentrated laser fire burned a hole clean through the fur and into Ali's spine. Her hands and feet spasmed, and her breath went fast and shallow. She tried to turn over and failed, a small whimper escaping her.

“Brahm?”

“I'm here.” He dropped to his knees beside her and took a shot in the back. It cracked the chitin, and Dred yanked him into cover with a muttered curse.

“I'm sorry,” Ali whispered.

Another minute of this, and they'll rush us. Then we die.
She positioned her rifle on the metal lip and fired back, but the citrine cloud hindered her as well as the mercs. Her shots went in wild, slamming the floor in a laser light show that probably did little more than make them dance. She glanced at Jael, who came in at her side to focus fire. He aimed at the stairs, trying to keep the area too hot for the enemy to push.

“She's gone,” Tam said.

There was no way they could transport Ali's body, as well as haul all the armor and weapons. Martine and Calypso stripped the undamaged pieces as fast as they could, while Dred and Jael fired at the mercs down below. A few made it past, staggering toward the stairs, and she shook her head, laying down a tight line of red. She hit their leg armor so they had to fall back or lose the segment with another shot, but they were hungry for payback. One death on her side wasn't nearly enough to satisfy angry soldiers.

“We can't stay here. Are we ready to roll out?”

“Nearly. Give me a minute,” Calypso answered.

Brahm was still and quiet on his knees. Dred knew nothing about Ithtorian expressions, but he didn't look all right. “She knew I can take a hit. Why didn't she let me?”

“Reflex,” Calypso said. “Caring makes you weak. On your feet, bug man. I'm not dying today.” With that, the mistress of the circle hauled him up, and he didn't resist, or she probably couldn't have budged him, despite what Dred knew to be exceptional strength.

Jael hurled another grenade at the stairs, so the men with damaged faceplates couldn't follow. That left the mercs the unenviable decision of whether to split their forces, which had proven to be a bad strategy, or to let their attackers go. The argument sounded behind her, but she didn't glance back to see which side was winning.
If we get back to Queensland with this haul, we're home free.

Ahead of her, she saw ichor trickling down Brahm's back.
Does cracked chitin heal?
She figured it might seal over time because it probably renewed itself somehow, but she had no scientific information to back up the theory. No medicine to help him, either. If the wound got infected, she might have to put him down. Triage was her least favorite part of leading Queensland, worse even than living up to the impossible standards Tam had set for the Dread Queen. It was hard as hell to look into a man's eyes, then end his life and call it kindness.

They didn't stop running until they hit the barricades. A few times, she felt like she was being watched, but nobody attacked. That made Dred think it was Silence's people like rats in the walls, spying and spinning schemes. But she didn't have time to worry about that when the mercs would be out for blood, and Mungo's men were still trying to breach the perimeter in the hope of winning the promised pardons.

They're so stupid it hurts.

Dred blew toward the turrets at a run, and her mag bracelet kept her safe. She turned off the defenses long enough for everyone to pass, then she powered them back up. It was sobering—and awful—that they didn't have to deconstruct the junk pile for Ali. That would never happen again.
This is what it's like to be hunted.
Back on Tehrann, she'd known men who liked to go out and shoot things for sport. While she'd disapproved in principle, she'd never considered how the animals must feel—one minute living their lives and the next interrupted by a danger they had no hope of surviving.

But I can't give up.

To make matters worse, Keelah and Katur were waiting when they came out in the common room. Queenslanders roared in approval of the new gear, but the alien leaders searched the group, then Katur stepped forward. “What went wrong?”

“She saved me,” Brahm said, lowering his head.

“Ah.” Keelah raised him with a hand on his mandible. “Then she died as well as anyone can in this place. I'll inform the others and arrange for her service.”