Havoc (3 page)

“And make the place turn a profit, if I had to guess. They might go back to refining minerals. Could also be an emergency station or a research facility for something too dangerous, unethical, or risky to be approved dirtside.”

“The laws are smokier out here,” she said slowly.

“Precisely, love. Whatever they want to use the place for, I guarantee it's not shiny or clean. Or the squad they sent would be sporting the Conglomerate logo.”

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“It wasn't supposed to.” He offered a smile with razored edges and dark echoes. “They're in full assault gear. Nothing short of heavy weapons will penetrate. It's equivalent to durasteel but lighter and more flexible.”

“Durasteel like the blast doors.”

We have homemade blades and spears.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Before she could respond, Katur's guard returned. “He will see you. Briefly.”

“Thank you for the courtesy.” Tam had hammered it into her head that she had to treat each petty despot in here like a foreign dignitary even if she thought it was bullshit.

Dred had to admit, though, that Katur was the least insane of the lot, possibly including herself. But most of his people had been tossed in Perdition not for capital crimes, but for being nonhumans during a time unwelcoming to immigrants. So they had a better, saner group to build with, and their leader was the best of them.

Katur waited in a small room that still smelled faintly of machine oil. Once, this sublevel had been used for maintenance. These days, it was home to the aliens on board, but he kept strangers away from the rest of his people. Dred respected that caution. His mate, Keelah, was nowhere to be seen. The alien leader was short by human standards, with brindled brown fur and amber eyes, and he wore a shrewd expression as he studied them.

She recalled enough of Tam's lessons to say, “I greet you in peace.”

“Likewise.” Katur didn't ask about her errand.

“I'll make this quick since I need to get back to Queensland. The supply ship that just docked brought only soldiers. They're here to wipe us out.”

Katur regarded her for two beats. “Why do you tell me this?”

“So you can make plans and aren't surprised by the heavily armed invaders above.”

“Information is valuable. It seems unlikely that you've come out of kindness.” His quiet tone said that humans rarely did anything from that motivation.

Sadly, Dred's experience dovetailed with Katur's. “I don't expect anything as formal as an alliance, but it might make things easier if we both rescinded our kill-on-sight policy—with regard to the other's personnel. It's about to get violent up in here.”

“As opposed to the peace and prosperity we have enjoyed until now.” The gentle irony in Katur's voice prodded a smile out of Dred.

“You make a good point.”

Katur went on, “There's no question how you'll recognize my people, should they pass through your territory. But all humans look alike to us.”

Jael smothered a chuckle, and she nudged him with an elbow. “You just enjoy saying that. Regardless of how we look, we don't smell like Silence's or Mungo's crew. We
bathe
occasionally in Queensland.”

“Very well. The safety of your soldiers depends on their hygiene, then.” That seemed to amuse Katur.

“I'll let them know,” she said dryly.

“If you'll pardon me, I need to send scouts to verify what you've told me.” The alien didn't reveal fear if he felt any. Maybe Perdition had burned it out of him.

“Thanks for your time.”

“Thank you for the forewarning.”

Dred dipped a shallow bow in response and followed the guard back to the ladder where they'd dropped down. As she climbed, she strained for the sound of laser fire but came up with only the normal groaning and banging of the ducts. Other machinery nearby made it tough to hear anything, so she wouldn't know if there was fighting on the deck above. Mentally, she mapped what she knew of the station.

They'll cross into Mungo's turf first. With any luck, his men will engage.
She had no clear intel on what kind of offensive or defensive capabilities Munya could bring to bear, but they were numerous enough to slow the mercs down. She hoped. Silence's people worked best in the dark, but they would find it impossible to take out their targets through so much armor. Death's Handmaiden would have to find a workaround.

That will buy us some time.

In her mind's eye, she saw laser fire threshing the Shanty-men like wheat while the soldiers stood untouched in the armor. It reminded her of period vids she'd watched as a kid, about the dark time before humans were “civilized” and they stopped wiping out primitive people from Class P worlds with advanced weaponry. Even as a child, she'd known it was wrong, but she never considered how those people must've felt: how fear and futility came on, so powerful as to shatter the spirit.
At what point do you buckle and say, no more? This, I cannot fight.
In the vids, the doomed, noble tribe fought to the last man, then the wheels of progress rolled over him, and the credits began.

Dred didn't equate the plight of those inside Perdition with Class P sufferings, of course. Nobody here was innocent. But it was human nature to survive.

Once she swung out of the hole in the wall and down onto the ground, she glanced up at Jael. “What can we do to upgrade our defenses quickly?”

“You want my help, love?”

Though she might find it hard to speak the words with anyone else around, she said, “I need it. You're the only one with any tactical experience. The rest of us are just criminals.”

His blue gaze locked with hers. “You're not
just
anything. But yeah, I've a few notions. I could use Ike's help and a crack at the parts we got as victory spoils.”

“Whatever you need,” she said grimly. “I have the feeling hell just got worse. And that shouldn't even be possible.”

2

Building the Walls

The supply closet was dark and jumbled with gears, wires, scrap metal, and lengths of pipe. Ike had some kind of organizational system with items sorted according to what could be built from each piece. Jael skimmed the makeshift shelves, narrowing his eyes to read the faded scraps of label at the bottom of each pile. Overhead, the single light flickered; when it gave up, there might not be another to replace it. He breathed in the scent of oil, dust, and the tang of hot metal, trying to focus on the blurry memory struggling to surface.

Ike interrupted his abstraction. “Something you need, son?”

“Are you busy?” Jael asked.

As usual, the old man was wrist deep in Peacemaker mechanical bits. He shook his head, wiping a hand across his brow, leaving a dark smear. “No more than usual.”

“Have you heard?”

“That we have a new crop of killers among us? Yes indeed. I gather Dred wants us to tighten up security as much as possible?”

“That's the goal.”

Ike nodded, wiped his palms on already stained trousers, and said, “Lead the way. I'm right behind you.”

Out of necessity, Jael did the heavy lifting when they raided the parts store. Ike advised him on what would be most useful, and he loaded up. Then he headed for the first checkpoint. Jael dropped the parts and sorted through them with confident hands. Ike stood by with a weary expression. Lately, the old man had been moving with the stiffness of one who had aches and pains that defied classification. He hated the thought of seeing a man he respected just wither away, but there was no medical help available. Infuriating, when the outside world could fix Ike up right and proper.

His expression must've given him away because Ike said, “There's no cure for what ails me.”

“Rejuvenex.” That was an expensive antiaging treatment. Not everyone could afford it, but those who could often extended their life spans by close to a hundred turns.

Might be more, now.
Jael wasn't exactly up to speed on the latest innovations.

“Not in here.”

He was right, so no point in arguing. Jael put together the parts as fast as he could; there was a lot of ground to cover and no telling how much time. He'd built things like this before, when the outcome mattered less. But that was Perdition. Every day was life or death.

“Trip line, attached to a junk bomb?” Ike asked.

“Yep. Best I can do with what we've got.”

“Some of that shrapnel might make it through the armor.”

“I hope so. They've got the munitions to take out our Peacemaker.”

“The turrets would probably cut through, too, if we could keep them pinned down long enough.”

“Unlikely, unless we built blockades.”

Ike looked thoughtful. “We could do it, but it would restrict our ability to leave Queensland.”

“We might be trapped for the duration anyway.”

The challenge came in the form of open corridors. Eventually, he secured the trip line close to the ground and peeled back the wall panel to hide the makeshift mine. With luck, the enemy wouldn't expect convicts to be so prepared, but if their unit cohesion was anything to judge by, they wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Still, if I can slow them down, that gives us more time to get ready.

“If you can spare me, I'll gather some of the big guys to haul junk.”

Jael nodded. “We want them forced into proximity with the turrets as long as possible. We should build the barricades on this side. If they try to push past or climb them, the turrets will spin and catch them in the back.”

“And pound them all the way down the corridor, until the first bend,” Ike noted.

“That's the best we can do. Go. I can work and keep watch.” He was fast enough to make it feasible.

When he wrapped up, Ike still wasn't back, so he moved on, installing the same security measures near each checkpoint. The sentries watched him, but they didn't try to interfere. His status as the Dread Queen's champion was secure, even more so with Einar gone. Crazy as it sounded, he missed the big man. Mercs in his unit had died before, but Jael had never minded. To him, people were a fungible resource, one easily interchanged for another.
Until Perdition.

As he reached the third guard post, electronic feedback echoed from a sound system he hadn't even known was still functional. Doubtless it dated from back when Monsanto ran this place. The speakers popped as someone's helmet voice-software package synced with the ancient equipment.

“This is Commander Vost. I am now in charge of this facility. I've been granted authority to issue pardons to a select few, those who make themselves . . . useful. I've already seen that my schematics are outdated, based on certain renovations you've undertaken. If you want a Conglomerate pardon, the path is simple, and I have room on my ship. Help me clean this place up and be among the last five convicts standing.”

“Mother Mary,” he breathed.

It was an evil genius of a plan. Set the convicts to eliminate each other. When they whittled the number down to five, the mercs would mop them up. Jael wasn't gullible enough to fall for the promise of safe passage and a pardon, but he'd bet that a vast number of maniacs were. Hell, most of these guys liked killing. They were good at it. This was just an excuse to turn on each other.

Footsteps, along with the clink of Dred's chains, alerted him to her presence before she spoke. She wore metal links wrapped around her forearms, protection from enemy strikes and a potential weapon rolled into one. “It's going to be a bloodbath.”

“Can you keep your people from turning on each other?”

“Don't know,” she said tiredly. “The promise of freedom is . . . diabolical.”

“I like my plan better. We kill the mercs and steal their ship.”

“There's a lot of death between those points.”

“Not ours.”

She cautioned, “We don't know if it'll be possible with all of the mercs dead. We'll need launch codes most likely, and I doubt Vost will keep them on a handheld in his pocket for our convenience.”

“Maybe Tam can hack the system.”

“Maybe.” But she didn't sound too hopeful.

“Hand me that line.” No point in wasting time. The other zones might've already devolved into a frenzy of violence, but he didn't hear any chaos in Queensland.

Yet.

She did as he bade her, a good assistant. Dred folded down beside him, her knees jutting like the wings of a large and flightless bird. It was odd for him to think of her like that because she was so much predatory grace, wrapped in skin and bone, but she was also awkward angles and the tired slope of a spine that had no more steel in it. Briefly, he touched her shoulder because comfort was a foreign country to him. Then he got on with the business of mining their hallways.

“This next?” She proved she knew a little about bombs when she anticipated the part.

He nodded and installed it. With her help, the cache went together much faster than the others. Just before they left, Ike arrived with a team of muscle, all bearing junk that wouldn't be missed. It wasn't heavy enough to keep the mercs from shoving it down, but the onslaught from the turrets would soften them up before they did.

“Is the promise of pardons true?” a big Queenslander whispered to another.

The short one snorted. “You think that asshole'll stand by his word? When did anyone ever keep a promise to you?”

“You got a point.”

Jael felt like a crisis had been averted. It was one thing to build barriers to keep the enemy out, another to find an adversary nearby, intending to cut his throat while he slept. A lifetime of expecting a dagger in the back had taught him to strike quick and hard, but Queensland would turn into a charnel house if that happened here. He'd be lucky to cut his way out and find a safe place to ride out the dying.

He set to work alongside the others, fitting debris in place like puzzle pieces. Too much heavy stuff on top, and the pile toppled. Soon, they blocked the passage, which made him feel trapped and claustrophobic, an uncomfortable flashback to his time in the Bug prison on Ithiss-Tor, when his whole world was bounded by an eight-by-eight hole in the wall. Perdition was big enough that he hadn't started to terror sweat yet, but now that they were closing Queensland off from the rest of the facility, the boundaries were shrinking. But he couldn't focus on weakness when there was more work to be done. Hours later, the territory was defended as well as he could manage, given limited supplies and time. The lights in this last corridor were malfunctioning, flickering, so that it gave the dirty hallway a derelict air. It was easy to imagine this place totally empty and himself as a ghost haunting it.

That'd be my luck, huh? I die, and I still can't get out of
here.

Jael was careful not to reveal his uncertainty to Dred. She might have less use for him if she realized how much of a bubbling mess his brain was. Darkness and echoes and half-strangled memories from his time in the tank—and sometimes a voice in his head whispered that he
was
, in fact, a monster, so he might as well stop fighting it. Grim determination was sometimes all that kept him moving forward, along with the resolve to prove his creators wrong.
I won't come to nothing. I won't die in here.

Dred came to check the fortifications as he turned back toward the common area. She paced around, inspecting the work, and he pulled her in for a kiss. To his surprise, she didn't stop him. He fell into her like a river of cool, clean water. Her mouth was soft and smooth, a panacea for the chains rattling in his head. Ironic, when she wore them around wrist and ankle. The metal felt cold and hard against his back when she put her arms around him.

“Don't do that in front of the men,” she said quietly.

“You ashamed of me, love?”

“No. But it's not their business, and I don't want them wanking to it later.”

“Hadn't thought of that. My prior incarceration didn't lend itself to such dilemmas.” In the Bug prison, he had been the only humanoid, and while he ought to be used to being the only one of his kind, he never got used to the inhuman chatter echoing through the caves. “So what's the next phase of our strategy?”

He half expected her to pull away, but instead she put a hand over his heart. Nobody had ever done that before, as if she drew comfort from feeling the steady, reassuring beat. He almost made a joke about the thing being impossible to stop, but the sober look in her eyes kept him from it. Jael never imagined that he'd care whether somebody else felt like shit.

But he did.

She breathed out. “Not a fragging clue. Holing up feels like a delaying tactic at best, like we're just hiding and waiting to die. I'm not going out like that, so I need to work something out.”

“Now you're talking.” He barely managed to choke back some bullshit about the fight not being over until the last man's down.
What the hell's wrong with you?
If he didn't know better, he'd call it a brain infection.

“Supply run,” she said, as if she'd been thinking while he studied her face. “We left things hidden in Grigor's and Priest's territories, thinking there was no rush on the hauling. But we might well need it now.”

Jael nodded. “I'll assemble the others. Who do you want to take with us?”

She thought for a few seconds. “Tam and Martine.”

“Not Ike?”

“He needs to stay and keep order. The men respect him.”

That sounded like a good plan, so Jael let go of her and stepped back. “Then what're we waiting for, queenie? Rally the troops.”