Havoc (13 page)

14

Burying the Dead

After leaving Ike and Cook in charge, Dred convened a meeting. Jael, Martine, and Tam followed her to the training room, currently unoccupied. That was likely a good call, as four aliens came with them. Her quarters weren't big enough to comfortably accommodate everyone, and circumstances had changed. The room smelled like sweat, but it was reasonably clean; Calypso insisted.

Jael closed the door after them. There was no lock, but he doubted anyone would be crazy enough to snoop so soon after the execution. In fact, that was all anyone could talk about as they left the common room. They'd set a few of Cook's assistants to cleaning up the blood and disposing of the body. With luck, it would be done before the late meal.

“Let me introduce my lieutenants,” Katur said. “You can trust them.” He gestured to the tall Ithtorian with a speckled mud carapace and triangular head with a notched mandible. Jael noted the particular scarring on the thorax, as if it had survived a bombardment, or fought in numerous battles at bleak odds. “This is Brahmel Il-Charis, my first.”

For the first time, Jael stared directly at the Ithtorian, nearly drowning in a wash of revulsion. For so many turns, he'd heard nothing but the chitter and hiss of their native tongue, known nothing but the company of Bugs, if it could even be called that, given they were all confined to separate caves. He fought off the tide of memory, rooting himself in the present instead. Intellectually, he knew it wasn't fair to dislike Brahmel Il-Charis strictly on the basis of his species, but Jael did
not
have fond memories of Ithiss-Tor.

“Just Brahm,” the Ithtorian corrected. “I'm not permitted to use my father's name.”

Jael frowned, wondering where he'd heard the name “Charis” before, but he dismissed the curiosity as Katur went on, indicating the Rodeisian female on his other side. “This is Alaireli. She's our best warrior and my second.”

“You can call me Ali,” the female said in a deep rumble of a voice.

“I wish I could say it's a pleasure,” Dred said, “but under the circumstances . . .”

Keelah inclined her head. “We feel the same. This isn't how we'd have chosen to deepen our acquaintance.”

“How long ago did you leave the Warren?” Jael cut in.

There was a reason for his question. If it hadn't been too long, the merc unit might still be exploring down there, checking for hidden resources or survivors in hiding. With a quick enough reaction, it was possible they could retaliate before Vost saw it coming.

Katur answered, “A few hours, give or take. We fled when it became clear we couldn't win, but they couldn't tell how to follow us.”

“Who wants to see if we can do some damage?” Dred asked.

“Me,” Ali said at once.

Brahm inclined his head. Both Katur and Keelah took a step back, so Jael guessed it was too soon for them to return to the Warren—too many dead bodies, too many memories. Tam and Martine both nodded, and the spymaster was healed up enough that he shouldn't slow them down. Dred's burned arm would have been an issue for anyone else, but by today, she should be sound enough to fight.

“Let's stop by the armory and move,” she said.

“I'll show you how we got from the Warren inside your territory without passing your borders,” Brahm said.

Tam frowned. “I've done a complete survey, and I was sure there was no shaft access inside our perimeter.”

“You were wrong,” Ali told him.

Martine chuckled. “I think I'm going to like her.”

At the armory, Dred passed out weapons, though both Brahm and Ali opted to use their natural defenses. Then Tam locked up, and they rolled out. The Ithtorian led them toward the eastern barricade, but then he turned off, moving down a corridor that Jael was pretty sure ended in a blind. He had surveyed the zone fully when he first arrived, looking for weaknesses, and he hadn't seen an exit this way.

“There's no—” Tam started.

Ali held up a hand to shush him. Then she said, “None of you sees it?”

Jael skimmed the walls, ceiling, and floors. “It's dented right there.”

“So it is.” The Rodeisian female reached up, flattened her hands on the wall panel, then pulled with pure brute force. The metal folded inward, revealing a hollow behind the wall where pipes and wires had been ripped out.

Jael was stunned into silence. Leaning forward, he peered into the tunnel that had been excavated and shook his head. “That's not on the original plans.”

“I get bored,” Ali said.

Tam slipped inside and followed it back a few meters. “It continues on, joining the natural gap between the walls.”

Brahm stepped in and signaled with four long talons for everyone else to do the same. “Ali will come last to close it up. She's quite remarkable. Once she's done, a cursory inspection won't reveal the passage.”

Dred frowned. “I need to know if there are more passages like this. If the mercs stumble on them from the Warren . . .” She trailed off, but Jael knew what she was thinking.

He wouldn't sleep well until he was sure Vost couldn't lead a raid straight into their territory, bypassing the turrets. With that troublesome thought in mind, he watched Ali close up the wall.
Her hands are strong enough to crush a man's skull. She might even be able to do it through one of those helmets.
Unfortunately, the merc armor wouldn't fit her, or she could be an unstoppable killing machine.

It was dark inside the wall, redolent with musty smells. More disturbing was the crunch underfoot as he moved. His vision adapted fast enough for him to identify the crackling whiteness underfoot as small skeletons, and by the shape of the skulls, this was where tons of rodent-creatures had crawled to die.
Or maybe the Warren-dwellers thought it was hilarious to dump their trash right outside our doorstep, so to speak.
But that was probably an unworthy thought about their new allies.

“How many turns did it take you to achieve this?” Tam asked as they moved.

Ali replied, “I couldn't even tell you. But I had help.”

Jael registered the smaller man's curiosity as they moved. Tam was counting, trying to determine when they left Queensland, but despite twists and turns, he wasn't sure. The tight space confused Jael's senses, too, and left him feeling as if they'd been in here for hours, and the number of bodies shifting in the dark exacerbated that impression.

“This is the border,” Ali whispered eventually.

Ali opened the wall, this time near shaft access, but it was a different set of maintenance ladders than the ones they used. In fact, Jael had never
been
in this part of the station; permanent force fields, a Peacemaker, and active turrets blocked it off. But the aliens had found a way in. Jael went third, climbing down the rungs toward the Warren. It was a tight fit for Ali, but it made sense to let her take point. By this point, even their breathing seemed loud. He winced at each footfall as they stepped off the ladder.

From floor to ceiling, this part of the station bore signs of the people who had inhabited it. The walls were etched in symbols and patterns meaningless to Jael, but they doubtless held great significance for those who had painted them. Ali caught his gaze skimming over the art on the walls.

“This was the closest thing we had to a temple. We gathered for regular services.”

“You have a spiritual leader?”

“We did.” Her tone became melancholy.

Jael suspected the priest or shaman, whatever they called him, had died in the attack. “What does this symbol mean?”

“Place of prayer.”

“And this one?”

“Reverence for the dead.” Ali roused from reverie long enough to explain, “Some of the people in the Warren believe in ancestor worship.”

“This may seem like an ignorant question, but the alien with tentacles—”

“You're not familiar with his species?”

“No. I've traveled a fair bit, but not recently.”

She managed a rough chuckle. “That applies to all of us. And he's Kelazoi, from a planet in the Outskirts. They don't travel much, tend to be treated poorly when they do.”

“His incarceration supports that allegation.”

“He was with us on New Terra, my mate and I, when we were rounded up and sent to internment camps. We were there for half a turn before they responded to the outcry.” Her breath hitched, and Jael was surprised that he wanted to comfort her. Instead, he just listened. “They promised the media that they'd release us, but instead they sent us to Perdition.”

“That's enough chatter,” the Ithtorian cut in.

Brahm took the lead from there, signaling with a clawed hand for the others to fall in behind him. It took a while, but they searched the Warren completely. Though the place had obviously been ransacked, and there were dead bodies scattered from the failed defense, they were too late. No mercs. Ali slammed a massive fist into the wall and hung her head.

“I'm sorry. It seems we were too slow.”

“Perhaps not,” Tam said. “We'll help you deal with your dead, then I'll tell you what I have in mind.”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Brahm answered.

Dred nodded. “You can't just leave them. I know you'd probably prefer to have a service, but—”

“No, it's enough not to leave them where they fell,” Ali said softly.

It was backbreaking because the corpses had to be hauled up two levels to the nearest recycler, and a few of them were too big for anyone but Ali to manage. From her body language, Jael guessed she had been close to one of the fallen Rodeisians, but she didn't say a word from the moment she slung his body over her shoulder until Jael helped her push him down the chute. To make matters worse, it was a tight fit, and they had to shove, breaking bones in the process.

She pressed both palms against the chute door after it closed, then she whispered, “Good-bye, my love.” Her grief and sorrow were palpable.

Jael had no idea what to say to her, and it was bewildering even to contemplate what words might be right for the occasion. In the end, he simply followed her down to get the rest of the bodies. Afterward, Tam laid out his plan, using dust from a little-used passage to sketch in the particulars. Brahm and Ali agreed at once while Dred looked thoughtful.

“What's the goal here, Tam? Revenge, carnage, or equipment?”

Jael nodded at Dred, indicating he wondered the same thing.

“Why does it have to be mutually exclusive?” Brahm asked.

“If we're fighting to kill, we'll go into the battle differently than if we're planning a snatch and grab,” Jael answered.

And the Ithtorian acknowledged the truth of that with an inclination of his head.

“I want them all dead,” Tam said quietly. “It's the only solution that will serve. But we don't have the firepower to kill ten armored mercs with two rifles between the six of us.”

“So this is a robbery,” Ali said.

Jael had once known a Rodeisian female fairly well; she had been mated to a merc he called a friend. Despite their size, Rodeisians were typically calm and gentle unless you hurt their loved ones. And then there was no shelter from their wrath. So he was surprised to read bitterness and not rage in the twist of her generous mouth.

“Is that a problem?” Martine asked.

Ali shook her head, sorrow in her glittering eyes. “I was just thinking that it's ironic. It took sending me to prison and murdering my mate to turn me into a criminal.”

15

Baiting the Trap

“This thing is sodding huge,” Martine bitched.

It had taken them hours to haul the gear up from the sublevel. Dred expected one of the men to respond with the obvious joke, but they were all focused on heaving the girder into place. The lattice of tension wires didn't look strong enough hold the contraption, but Brahm was monitoring the process, and he seemed to have an engineering background. Ali heaved, shouldering the front of the metal beam as Jael shoved.

“Can't do it with two of us,” he grunted.

Dred stepped underneath; Tam, Martine, and Brahm followed, but she didn't feel much of a difference.
If we had couple more like Jael and Ali, this should work.

With a moan that sounded as if she'd ruptured something, the Rodeisian lowered her end of the metal beam. “Need a break. I think we have to try this another way.”

“I can build a harness,” Brahm said. “It'll take longer. Tam, can you scout and give me an idea how much time we have until they get here?”

“Certainly. I can extrapolate based on the numerical mean of their patrol times.” The spymaster took off, running lightly along the footbridge.

This cavernous space gave Dred the creeps. The common room was the largest place she was used to, and she could do without the long drop, too. She spun in a slow circle as Brahm muttered over the supplies. Then he tapped Ali's arm with his talons, and she went to work with him, weaving scraps together, presumably to construct the harness he'd mentioned. As they worked, Dred developed an idea how the thing would work once it was finished.

“What can I do?” she asked the Ithtorian.

“See if you can find some rope.”

That might be easier said than done, but she moved toward the other side of the footbridge. Jael strolled after her, and she turned with a quirk of one brow. “You don't think I can find salvage on my own?”

“It's better with company, love. Plus, I'm a professional, you know.”

“You mean because you gave up being a merc to work salvage?”

“Who says you don't listen?”

“Not you.” She flashed him half a smile as she strode into the offices. Hairline cracks threaded the glastique that had once shielded the managerial portion of the station from the industrial part. The lights were almost entirely broken, shards of glass crunching underfoot like the discarded husks of long-dead insects. A foul smell permeated the room—blood, sweat, urine, and dust. She climbed across an overturned desk and reached a hand back to help Jael. He took it with a bemused expression.

It's like he doesn't believe in . . . this, whatever it is. But it's not going away.

“You think we'll find anything in here?”

She was dubious. Rope was something they'd most likely find in the repair bays, but that was too long a trek. There was no way she and Jael would be back before the patrol arrived. “Maybe not rope, but something similar. Cables or cords we can loop together?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dred rummaged while Jael did the same across the way. She tried to be quiet, but the broken furniture made it tough. Occasionally, Jael swore softly as he ran into obstacles; she gave him a hand in pulling the junk out of the doorway. After scrutinizing each piece, she sorted them into piles: broken and worthless versus Ike might be able to do something with this gizmo.

Jael tilted his head. “Always thinking ahead, hey?”

“Can't do otherwise, can I, pretty lad?” But her tone was soft, making an endearment of what had first been mockery.

“Hurry up!” Brahm shouted. “Tam says we've got ten minutes to put this together.”

*   *   *

THE
trap was finished.

Based on what Brahm had told him about patrol routes, Tam had picked the perfect place to set it up. The station was divided, and the industrial side was separated from cleaner, corporate offices by a footbridge that connected the two hemispheres, and it was a long drop to the repair bays below. Mungo had laid claim to the offices, but once he trashed them, he evidently decided they were too small to be worthy of his empire, so he'd moved on, leaving the rooms reeking of blood, feces, and urine. That miasma didn't improve after festering, either. So now nobody came through there.

But the mercs don't know that.
Now Tam just needed to bait them. Everyone else knew to stay out of sight until the squad committed.

The armor felt heavy; he wasn't used to it. Hopefully, if the mercs noticed any damage from a distance, they'd assume it came from the firefight that killed their mate. Up close, it wouldn't pass inspection, but Ike had patched it together enough that when the merc unit spotted a fallen comrade on the walkway, they'd investigate. Since this trap relied on muscle and not hidden wires, the mercs could inspect the area before approaching; it didn't matter if they came in slow and cautious, only that they made the approach. Tam glanced up at the other five perched on the level above. Without Ali's strength, this wouldn't work, though Jael seemed to be holding up his end.

Timing is everything.

Without further delay, he dropped facedown on the walkway, facing the direction Brahm said the patrols walked. He didn't need to
do
anything; the others would handle it, but nerves pulled him tight. If their timing was off, if the mercs rolled him over before his team struck, then he'd take a laser blast to the face, and it was lights out. But the mercs would all recognize Dred, and Martine was too small to be credible as a merc—Tam himself was borderline—while Brahm and Ali were out for obvious reasons. Jael had the misfortune to be on Vost's radar due to multiple encounters with his drone cams, so he was likely on the Most Wanted list alongside Dred.

Since it had taken quite a while to get the apparatus in place, he didn't lie there long. Some distance off, he picked up the muffled clomp of enemy boots. It wasn't loud compared to other machine noises echoing on station, and he actually felt their steps more than heard them. Beneath his cheek, the metal vibrated as the mercs stepped out onto the walkway, but he was careful not to move. They halted; Tam wasn't sure how close they were.

He tried to regulate his breathing; holding it would only result in a perceptible swelling of his chest when he lost the battle with his reflexes. His skin twitched, a psychological reaction to being studied. Tam suddenly had an awful itch in the center of his back, but he resisted the impulse.

At any moment, they could see through the ruse and shoot me.

“Who is that?” a merc asked.

“Not sure. But Vost's gonna be
pissed
. If a squad lost a man and didn't report it, didn't take the body with them—”

“The team leader will end up spaced.”

“That could be fun,” another merc said. “I hope it was Alvarez. I hate that asshole.”

“I warned you when you first signed on, man. He cheats when he's playing Charm.”

The first merc laughed. “So do I.”

“Apparently, he's better at it.”

This didn't sound like a top-notch squad to Tam, but evidently their boss agreed. A thump sounded, as if he'd hit someone to shut the man up. “Stow it, both of you. We have to call this in.”

“I'm glad that's your job.” That was the merc who cheated at cards.

A new voice spoke. “Wait, do you see anything? Vost will want to know which way the mooks went. Scan the area for life signs.”

Tam tensed. He hadn't counted on the mercs being this smart or cautious. The machine beeped.

“Shit, he's still
alive
. Let's get him back to the medibot.”

The others must be out of range.

Relief left him limp as care for their wounded mate drove the mercs forward, forgetting their initial caution. They were close enough that he could smell them—hints of sweat and gun oil—when a loud clang resonated as his team dropped the boom. The massive girder swung from the level above, suspended on tension wires, and it swept through the mercs like they were made of marzipan. Tam held still, feeling the breeze of the thing as it flew over him.

One merc sailed over the side and screamed all the way down. The others were luckier; they fell backward, but a couple of rifles went bouncing down.
Dammit. The armor might be all right, but those weapons might be broken. But maybe Ike can fix them.
Tam bounded to his feet and raced for the other side of the bridge. The mercs were already recovering, firing wildly, but before they refined their aim, Jael and Dred unloaded. They laid down cover fire, so he made it to where Ali and Brahm were waiting in case this turned into a hand-to-hand fight.

“You make good bait,” Ali said.

Tam shook his head. “I was hoping we'd kill more of them outright.”

Brahm spread his clawed hands in an open gesture. “I'm happy with one. And the others are hurting. The beam cracked their crunchy coating.”

“That
is
good news,” Tam said as they moved to meet up with the others. “Maybe we can take some more of them, now that we've softened them up.”

He crouched, taking cover from the barrage of laser fire coming in hard on his six.

“They're not following,” Ali reported.

“Vost's reaming their ass,” Jael said, coming around the corner. Nobody asked how he could hear the conversation; they just listened as he repeated what was being said on the other side of the bridge.

“It's not over yet,” Dred muttered. “We still have to beat them to the bottom and retrieve the gear.”

*   *   *

VOST
was nearly dozing from staring so long at the drone cams when his comm crackled. “Commander, it's a soup sandwich out here. I'm a man down.”

He froze, then counted to ten, but it didn't staunch the rage throbbing in his head. Anytime a unit encountered the convicts—and he wasn't personally in charge—it immediately went to shit. This was the most chaotic op he'd ever run. Too much space, too few grunts, and the inmates they had locked up in here were
not
just murderers and madmen.
They're fragging smart, smarter than
these
idiots.

“What happened?”

Delta leader went over the scenario concisely, but it didn't do anything for Vost's blood pressure. “You actually fell for the injured-ally trick?”

“We scanned to see if it was an ambush,” the other man protested. “There were no life signs apart from the man on the bridge. In
our
armor.”

“They stole some of our gear, genius. And the scanner has a range of forty-five meters. It's a tool, not meant to replace independent thought.”

“Orders, sir? They killed Higgins. Or least, he fell and is presumed dead.”

“Get your ass to the bottom and get his body. Before those scavengers strip him of armor and weapons. I guess it hadn't occurred to you that's the plan?”

“We're pretty beat-up, sir. Trevino's armor has a fracture across the chest, and a bunch of us have broken ribs. That thing hit us fragging hard.”

He swallowed a curse. It wasn't his imagination. The men were losing their will to run around this massive station, chasing rats into holes where they disappeared, only to be blown up the next time they turned around.
This is the kind of mission that could cost you everything,
he thought. But for reasons deeper and greater than pride, he couldn't withdraw.

“My unit's en route. Get back to base camp and put the medibot on those injuries. I need you up to speed as soon as possible. And stop losing your equipment, assholes. There's a limit to what we have for replacements.”

“Copy that, sir.”

They shouldn't be able to kill us. We're better prepared and battle-tested.

In a normal engagement, his men destroyed the enemy, but Vost knew a pang of unease. Most of their jobs were easy, unexpected strikes on the unsuspecting. Maybe he didn't have an accurate picture of the unit's capabilities. They'd never been tested in a situation like this one. The enemy kept surprising him, time and again, and not in good ways. Problem was, they fought like clever animals, not trained soldiers. Now he thought he had their measure.
My mistake; I judged them by what Mr. Suit and Tie said. Won't happen again.