Havoc (11 page)

“The guys are ready to blow this place to particle dust over Gerardo.”

The other man nodded. “I've heard the chatter. He was Casto's pal.”

“Is he heading up the complaints?” Vost asked, low.

“Are you asking me to inform on my mates?” Redmond was grinning.

“Asshole.” He waited two beats before tapping his foot.

“Yeah, Casto's talking the most shit. He says it's your fault the scumbags got the drop on the patrol, therefore Gerardo's death is on you.” Redmond shook his head with a scornful twist of his mouth. “If they're too dumb to search for snipers without being expressly ordered to do so, well . . .”

Vost tended to agree, but he couldn't side with one grunt over another. “That was a solid tactical strike. I'm guessing the shooter set up hours before our men arrived. That takes patience, plus he had to be able to predict that we'd eventually pass through. And he had some skill to make the shot at that distance.”

Redmond inclined his head. “Two hits, both in the same place. Sounds like an opponent we need to worry about.”

Vost nodded and stepped out of the command post, where his men were waiting. “Stay with me, double time,” he called.

He was glad to be out and seeing some action; monitoring the fights wouldn't get the job done. The Conglomerate wanted the place purged with facilities and equipment intact. Mr. Suit and Tie hadn't told him what the place would be used for going forward, but they needed the criminals out yesterday.
I'll do my best, you colossal twat.

This time, the op would go smooth as s-silk. Vost sent out a drone cam to locate the closest enemies, soft targets that would let the men burn off some of the need for revenge currently clouding their heads. If they didn't chalk up a win, it would lower performance and morale, so he watched the crackling image on the screen until he spied a likely group of drooling, pockmarked cretins from the lower levels, at least forty of the ugliest creatures Vost had ever beheld. The beasts were united in their aim, however. For some reason, they were moving, not to attack his unit, but another territory. That decision didn't make sense unless they took his bounty seriously, and they thought they'd wipe out the other cons before doing away with each other. If that was the case, it made him want to laugh.

“Silent run, gentlemen.”

His men nodded. They'd learned that their boots gave them away in this echoing cavern of a station, so they wrapped them swiftly to muffle the sound. Vost never led from the rear, so he took point, rifle in hand, laser pistol on his hip, and a couple of knives in sheaths on his thighs. The armor felt heavier than it used to, dragging on joints that had been injured more times than he cared to count. It was hot inside his helmet, too, and his breath smelled like the paste he'd swallowed for breakfast. He skimmed the update in green just inside his visor.
EIGHTEEN DEGREES CELSIU
S. NO ORGANIC LIFE WI
THIN FORTY METERS. SC
ANNING PERIMETER.

Then the feed scrolled with new information.
TH
IRTY-FIVE METERS, FOR
TY-TWO HUMAN LIFE SI
GNS. WEAPONS: PRIMITIV
E. THREAT: NEGLIGIBLE.

Vost didn't need the armor to tell him that. The sound of turrets banging away told him the filthy bastards had engaged. Until now, he hadn't realized that the cons had repurposed certain station defenses. Good to know, as that misstep would've cost them.

“Hit them. Stay in cover, don't draw the automated emplacements.”

“Yes, sir.”

The team arrayed itself on either side of the corridor. When Vost peered out, he saw the animals clawing at each other, using bodies as a shield, in the attempt to breach the makeshift barricade the denizens had built. The turrets spun inward, firing toward the territory, and the ballistics tore through the scraps, sparking cries from those on the other side.
You'll have to rethink your strategy or rebuild the barrier every time from new materials.
And in here, there was a definitely a dearth of resources.

On his signal, the men opened fire. It was precise and economical—ten shots, ten kills. Now there were only fifteen left, given the ones the turrets had mowed down. The installation was top-notch; someone had the capacity to retrofit tech with the same efficiency as the initial installation, an uncommon skill and one that made him wary.

I need eyes on the other side of those barricades.
This was the one zone he hadn't scouted; some athletic bastard kept breaking his tech.
And when I get my hands on him, I'll pull his head off.

“One more time.” Another burst of red, and ten more brutes dropped dead. The turrets took out the other five, and he signaled for his squad to fall back. “That's it for now. We don't go in there until I have more intel.”

“Makes sense, Commander.”

After what happened to Gerardo, the guys were hungry for payback, but they weren't stupid. It might take a little longer, but the time he spent gathering information would be worth it when the last murderer died at their feet. Fifty million credits went a long way toward excusing the fact that the job hadn't been as easy as described. At that price, he ought to have known it wouldn't be a quick in and out. These men were the worst of the worst, and they'd had the run of the place for a long time.
They won't surprise me again,
he vowed, as he led his men away. The turrets spat a few rounds, activated by the retreat, but his unit wasn't in range. On the way back, they shouted out a marching song, buoyed by victory.

Vost smiled.
I'm coming for you, assholes. And then I can go home.

11

Havoc Unleashed

It was two days after Mungo's last attack, thwarted unexpectedly by the mercenaries.

The mass of attackers had been thinner than the first strike, so they took some casualties due to rounds blowing through the barricades and into defenders trying to hold it in place. That was collateral damage she hadn't predicted, and she was hearing complaints from the injured. A few of them probably wouldn't make it, especially the man with a massive hole in his gut, currently moaning in the makeshift infirmary. There were no nurses; nobody was looking after them unless they had friends or lovers willing to take on the burden.

“This wasn't your fault,” Tam said.

He met her as she came out of the secondary barracks, now purposed for the wounded. The reek of septic wounds and unclean bodies nearly choked her, even out in the hall.
I don't want to know that the last man on the left's just pissed himself.
She strangled the dying scraps of human decency that made her want to go back in and take care of people; that wouldn't serve Queensland, and it sure as hell didn't fit the Dread Queen.

Sometimes I hate that bitch.

“Doesn't matter,” she answered. “Everything comes to rest at my door, whether I could've prevented it or not.”

“Price of power.” Seeming to realize she was in no mood for a prolonged conversation, Tam limped away, likely to pursue his private intrigues.

Dred went looking for Jael. He wouldn't see the wisdom of her next move, but she had to use every tool in the armory, even one that horrified her personally. But since she'd coaxed a promise out of him, she couldn't take off without informing him. Trust had to go both ways. So while she wasn't asking for his blessing or permission, she did intend to offer full disclosure. For obvious reasons, she chose mealtime because he couldn't react too strongly while they were surrounded by Queenslanders.

Jaw clenched, Jael listened with palpable, growing incredulity, then he shook his head. “If you do this, I'm coming with you.”

“You can't. Not because I don't trust you, but I
can't
risk that you'll be affected. If you go nuts and attack me, that won't help.”

“Do a test run, see if I'm susceptible.”

“The whole zone will run amok, pretty lad. I don't think you understand the scope of what I'm capable of.”

His blue gaze skimmed the room. “There has to be somewhere we can be alone.”

“Jael . . . I appreciate your loyalty, but it'll be faster if I just
do
this.”

“On your own. After your blistering lecture, too.” He wore a thunderous scowl, lips clamping to a thin white line.

“The difference is, I'm not crawling out of bed and sneaking away. You don't have to understand, just keep things together until I get back.”

There was a long silence. The susurration of other voices rose and fell around them. Utensils clinked against tin plates; laughter rang out, along with the occasional curse. She leveled a frank gaze on Jael, waiting for his response.

“You really think this is necessary?” he asked at last.

“We have no armor. One rifle. And the turrets out front are running low on ammo. There's enough in the storeroom to reload once. After that . . .”

“I take your point,” he said.

“Yes, I think it'll bolster our position.”

“Then go. Do it fast before I realize how stupid I'm being . . . and how much you're putting on the line for a bunch of gits who don't know or appreciate you.”

Dred pushed to her feet, dinner untouched. There was no way she could eat anyway; the prospect of what happened next churned in her stomach like dread. Jael caught her wrist, circling it with his fingers. His thumb and forefinger traced lightly over her pulse, then he kissed the heel of her hand.

“Come back, right, love? I'm just getting used to your face.”

“Will do my best,” she said.

He didn't let go immediately; he held on just long enough to make her wonder, then he opened his fingers in a deliberate gesture.
I'm trusting you. I'm letting go.
She smiled and walked out of the common room, careful to look as if she had no pressing business. The last thing she wanted was a shadow. If the men knew her secret, they'd probably burn her as a witch. Convicts were generally a superstitious lot. It was one thing for her to be ruthless and hard to kill; any whisper of Psi, and she'd be done as the Dread Queen.

The sentry saluted as she went over. Blood smeared the flooring outside; chunks of Mungo's mongrels were slowly decaying. The men had hauled the corpses off earlier, so at least the station had plenty of organic to recycle.
At this rate, there will be nobody left, but the Kitchen-mates will be full.
The stink from battle lingered with every breath she took.

Dred wished she had Tam with her to scout, but he was still injured, and she couldn't risk him any more than she'd risk Jael. So she took the RC unit to alert her to nearby battles without drawing undue attention. There were other maintenance bots still roving the station, repairing what they could reach. Using the remote, she programmed the bot on a long maintenance cycle, added a beep sequence that wouldn't give the plan away to the combatants, then she followed it silently. Once more, her chains remained in Queensland since brute force was inadvisable on this mission.

Corridors closest to Queensland were clear, and the going was slow because RC-17 kept stopping to scrub at bits of grime it encountered along the way. In stop-and-go fashion, they moved in a pattern created by some long-ago tech. It seemed to take forever—and she was cognizant of how impatient Jael must be—but halfway to Silence's territory, RC-17 beeped in sequence, then it went on cleaning. She was far enough behind that she heard only muffled signs of battle, but that was her to cue to make her approach. It didn't matter if they saw her because seconds after she deployed, they wouldn't be thinking rationally.

Dred took a deep breath and strode toward the shots fired. Rounding the corner, she interrupted a firefight between ten mercs and twenty mongrels. They all turned toward her, but seeing a lone woman, they didn't disengage. Nobody fired on her. The mercs went back to decimating Mungo's guys while she unleashed the rage she kept coiled in a diamond-hard ball. It crackled outward, tingeing the whole world; the power felt like the detonation of a bomb she'd swallowed long ago. Though she couldn't see it, the effects were visible at once.

One of Mungo's mongrels let out a demented roar and turned on the man next to him. He went for his eyes with hands curved into claws. The mercs took longer to sink into the bloodlust, but when they started tossing down their weapons and pulling off their helmets, she knew it was working. Men in the throes of her dark empathy wanted the hot rush of blood on their skin. If it went on long enough, they'd feast on the dead. The power blazed out of her until her eyes burned, and her hands curled into tight fights. If she stopped projecting, they'd recover their senses and come for her, so she'd hold until the fight ended.

Doing this repeatedly had gotten her kicked out of the ultramax prison on New Terra. Oh, the authorities hadn't known for sure what she was doing or how, but they
had
connected her to the riots. Back then, she hadn't cared if she lived or died; it was enough that she could take some murderous bastards with her. But mad as it was, she had a place here and people to protect.
I've got Jael, pacing the floor, waiting for me to come back.

A few of the mercs fought the madness, gouging at their own heads instead of attacking, but that only meant their comrades killed them faster. They used hands and teeth, ripping at each other with brutal glee. As she held the onslaught, emotion slamming from her head in waves, the mercs tore off their armor.

Just a little longer.

Once the last died, she'd loot the bodies and haul as much as she could carry back to Queensland. But as the final two squared off, RC-17 beeped.
No, not now.
The unit had moved on, cleaning past the mob brawl, and it was unmistakably telling her she had more bodies incoming. From the other side of the intersection, the merc commander shouted, “What the
hell
is going on?”

His timing was uncanny. She bolted as another unit crashed onto the scene. Vost fired on her, shots pinging off the walls and singeing the tips of her hair. Dred sprinted around the corner, listening for the sound of pursuit. It came at once, several pairs of boots thumping in cadence. Shouts rang out behind her as she came into the straightaway.

“Take her alive,” Vost ordered in ringing tones. “I want to know how one woman reduced my men to that.”

Since she wasn't broadcasting anymore, they'd regain their senses soon.
Didn't get any gear, but I killed eight mercs. That's almost a whole unit, added to the one merc Jael took out.
She mapped the corridors ahead, trying to figure out how she could get back to Queensland without being captured or shot. The answer came when she glimpsed one of the missing ceiling panels; as the mercs closed the gap behind her, she took a running start and grabbed onto the bare metal, slicing open both palms. The blood made it slick and tricky, but she swung upward and landed above the ceiling. It wasn't the ducts, and this extra space might end sooner rather than later, but she could run for a while up here, and she didn't think their rifles would shoot through metal with one blast.

“She went up,” Vost said.

Damn him.

“Listen, she's on the move, sir.”

“Do you want us to go after her?” another of his men asked.

“No telling what's up there. We'll track her from the ground and take her when she emerges.”

In answer, Dred let out a mocking laugh, which echoed a lot more than she realized it would. She could tell they were keeping pace. Maybe it hadn't been smart to come up here because she couldn't run as fast, but there had been no cover at all down below. She would've ended up shot in the back and chained up in their command post while they opened up her brain to see if they could figure out how she made their men go nuts.

Dred rounded a corner, hunched low, and came up against a solid wall. No way to continue up here, so she went for it and dove with all of her strength, hit the ground in a tuck and roll amid a flurry of laser fire. She took a shot in the shoulder, and she was thankful for it because even though her arm was on fire, she was able to scramble to her feet and keep running. It felt like they were almost close enough to grab her.

“She's tough as hell,” one of the soldiers said.

“They have to be in here.” That was Vost.

She was close now, but they just kept coming. Dred had almost made peace with the idea that this mission was a failure when she skidded into the home stretch. As she popped into the mined and turreted hallway, she dodged their defenses, then dove on her belly, sliding all the way to the barricade. Vost's mercs gave chase even as he was shouting at them to fall back.

As she scrambled over the blockade, a shrapnel mine exploded, and the turrets came to life.