Havoc (15 page)

“Stay out of sight,” Brahm snapped.

Ali nodded. “They'll surmise that we've moved on and remember their mission.”

“Vost won't let them linger long. Five minutes at most.” Jael pulled Dred away, so even her shadow wouldn't be visible from the outside.

Martine prowled among the group, examining each in turn. “Now we just need to decide who's doing the climbing. Who's a nimble monkey?”

“It's not my strength,” Ali admitted.

They talked it over for a few moments, but then Dred held up a hand, ending the debate. “It should be me.” Jael opened up his mouth to protest, but she leveled a hard look at him.

Right, she's the Dread Queen. Doesn't matter if she has a burned arm.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Martine asked.

Dred lifted a shoulder in an eloquent shrug. “Near enough. When the coast's clear, I'll get out there and do my part.”

17

Falling Hard

Ironic. If we had been shooting from a level up, I could've gotten the mercs to destroy the conduits for me.

Dred made sure not to look down as she climbed. Part of her wished she could find a good vantage and explode the thing with a rifle, but she couldn't take the chance that the shot would echo, drawing the mercs back. It was unlikely she'd get to cover before seven angry soldiers unloaded on her, and she didn't intend for this to be a suicide mission.

So she inched up the wall, digging into rusty notches and hauling herself up by cables that might not be strong enough to bear her weight. Just as she thought that, the cord snapped and she plummeted a few meters, then caught herself on a jutting rivet. The metal bit into her palm and cut into it, so blood slicked her fingers. Dred curled one hand around the bolt, her heart thumping in her chest.
Hope Jael's not watching this.
Deliberately, she wiped the blood on her palms, ignored the burning pain in her shoulder, and reached up with her other hand.

It took all her strength to scramble back up to where she'd been when she fell, then she pressed on. Her eyes were fixed on the conduits above. Her heartbeat slowed as she neared the goal.
Ten meters to go. Five. Don't think about falling.
When she got her feet on the railing, her palms on the conduit, she took a few deep breaths. Then she carefully drew her knife and went to work. It took long moments to short out the circuits, and the resultant shock rocked her so hard, she almost dropped off the wall.

Her head spun, and she leaned her cheek against the metal while waiting for the numbness and tingles to subside. She was sure the conduit wasn't firing anymore, but she reached in and pulled out the wires just in case. Then she clambered down the wall. Her injured palm throbbed, and so did her burned arm. She had been a little surprised when Jael didn't pull her aside to argue that she wasn't strong enough to get the job done.

When she finally fell onto solid ground—what seemed like hours later—Jael was there to pull her in. His arms went around her, and he put his cheek to her hair. Her hands settled at his waist; it was like the world went away. She didn't hear the station noises or the others milling around in the hallway past his shoulder. There was only his heartbeat thudding beneath her ear.

He stroked her back, and whispered, “You just sliced a few turns off my life, love.”

“Did it work?”

“Like a charm.” He kept his arm around her and moved into the next hallway, where no amber force field hummed. “See?”

Dred nodded, patted him once on the hip, and strode onward. The others followed as she ran toward the internal stairs. From there it was a clear shot to the bottom. The repair bay where the merc had fallen wasn't too far off.
Hopefully, the rifles the mercs dropped aren't completely beyond repair.
She could taste those weapons when she rounded a corner and skidded to a stop.
There will be armor, too. If it's damaged, Ike may be able to salvage it.
Even then it was a close call, as the turrets came to life, pelting the corridor with rounds. She dropped instantly, and the shots flew over her head, slamming into the back wall.

“Don't come any closer,” she shouted.

“We noticed the welcoming committee.” That was Jael's voice.

She lay still, scanning the door behind the turret. It looked solid as hell, but there was a keypad beside it. They might be able to hack their way through the lock, but first they had to deal with the turrets.
But I don't want to damage them. We could use them in Queensland. Unfortunately, these aren't coded to recognize our mag bracelets.
Ike had worked on the other salvaged turrets, so they recognized VIPs. There weren't many, but it helped when she, Tam, or Jael were coming in hot after a mission.

The others stood out of range of the motion sensors, debating her predicament. She scooted backward in infinitesimal movements, relying on Jael not to panic. She'd been in worse situations
today
. Getting away from the automated defenses just required patience.

“Scatter,” Jael said to the rest of the group.

Then hands yanked her back faster than she could blink, and the turrets came to life, sweeping the hallway again. The high-velocity rounds slammed into the wall behind them. Jael rolled with her, and the ceiling spun over walls, floor, and back again, until they were safely beyond the range of the turrets. Her head spun a little as she stared at the dents in the metal where all the rounds hit.

“Those will definitely chew through merc armor,” Martine said.

“Ruin it, too,” Ali muttered.

“That's assuming they don't have some way to shut off the turrets,” Tam pointed out. “They may have been given overrides.”

Jael sighed. “That's all we need.”

Dred pushed to her feet. “We can't worry about the mercs right now. So, new problems. Active turrets, not tuned to our magnetic bracelets, plus a sturdy door.”

Jael paced away from the turrets and back to the limit of their range. “Bloody station seems almost sentient. It wouldn't surprise me if it throws up new obstacles the moment our backs are turned.”

Martine shivered. “Don't even joke.”

“As long as the mercs aren't faring any better on the other side, we have time to deal with this.” Brahm was studying the turrets.

“I can blow them up,” Jael said, “but I know how Dred feels about wasted resources.”

She shot him a dark look without disagreeing. “If it comes down to it, we'll have to decide if the weapons and armor on the other side of the door are worth destroying these. But let's put our collective minds on a bypass.”

The Ithtorian squatted, his segmented limbs popping in a sound that sent a slight shiver through Jael. Though nobody else noticed, Dred took a step closer and set a hand on his arm. His palm skimmed down her arm, and he laced his fingers through hers. The touch of skin on skin was unexpected, a shocking warmth. Surreptitiously, she explored the texture of his hand thoroughly, running her fingertip along the curve between his thumb and forefinger. He made a noise, a soft rumble in his throat, and she slid him a sly smile.

“I have an idea,” Brahm said, pushing to his feet. “Someone needs to donate a shirt to the cause.”

“I'll do it,” Jael said. “Mine's already shot up.”

Dred stepped back, hoping nobody noticed that she had to let go of him. He pulled the shirt over his head and offered it to Brahm. The Ihtorian opened up a nearby wall panel and jerked out the wires, then he stuffed the fabric into the sparking recess. When the cloth was smoldering, he plucked it out and chucked it down the hall toward the turrets. The movement made them perk up, but evidently the shirt didn't register as a person, and the smoldering intensified into an actual fire. Since the shirt was synth, it smoked up the hall.

“Was your plan to choke us out?” Martine asked.

“Watch,” Brahm said.

As the haze filled the air, Dred made out tiny slivers of light that gave away where the sensors were placed.

The Ithtorian nodded with satisfaction. “It will be tight, but if someone can negotiate the sensors before the smoke clears, we can deactivate the turrets.”

“I can do it,” Martine said easily. Dred regarded the other woman in surprise, but she only shrugged. “Hey, I told you I had a life before.”

From what she'd said, Dred suspected Martine had been a gifted burglar, and she wondered how a thief ended up in Perdition.
Doesn't matter, I suppose.
As if on cue, everyone stepped back, likely not wanting to get caught in the blast radius if Martine missed a step. After making an obscene gesture, Martine closed her eyes, rolled her neck to each side, then ran for the turrets, but just before she would've activated them, she leapt forward in a roll, came up tight, and did a little hop into the next blind spot. Her subsequent performance was . . . awe-inspiring. Dred hadn't known she possessed such skill and coordination. Martine teetered a little at the last flip, then she was behind the turrets, both arms in the air.

“Let's hear it, bitches.”

Tam was the first to applaud; everyone else followed suit as she turned off the defenses. Dred turned to Ali. “Can you and Brahm work on getting those out of the floor? I'd like to take them with us now.”

“Before someone else finds them,” the Ithtorian guessed.

“That's the idea.”

Tam slid past as Jael was stomping on his shirt. “You think I can still wear this?”

“I'd say no. But there are perks to being the Dread Queen. I'll hook you up when we get back.”

“You'll spoil me,” Jael said with a wry smile.

Yeah, yeah.

Deliberately, she brushed by him and joined Tam, who was bent over the keypad. She couldn't hear anything from the other side of the door, but that didn't mean the mercs hadn't already gotten there. Dred couldn't guess if Vost would stay to fight or if he'd grab the gear and fall back. He knew they were a small group, and his surviving seven men had better weapons and armor. Still, he might not want to risk losing more men since preventing them from getting their hands on the supplies was his goal.

After a few minutes of tinkering, Tam shorted out the lock, and the doors popped open with a clang. The repair bay had the musty smell of a room long closed, and in the middle of the floor lay three dead mercs, along with a scattering of their equipment. Dred led the way at a dead run, knowing they were lucky as hell the mercs hadn't gotten here first.

But just as she was thinking that, the bay doors on the other side popped open, and Vost opened fire.

18

Desperate Measures

The group scattered.

“How the hell did he get ahead of us?” Martine demanded.

“No idea,” Dred answered. “Maybe he disarmed some of the defenses?”

Jael figured that was as good a guess as any.
The bastard hacked the cargo lifts when none of us could, not even Tam.

He hit the deck and whipped out his rifle. “How doesn't matter. Get to cover!”

A bolt came in close enough to singe the hair atop his head, keeping him pinned down. He crawled forward on elbows and belly until he reached a better position to return fire. There was no time to see how Dred was faring, but it bothered him a bit that he wanted to. The mercs used the corner by the bay doors as cover, and they were doing a stellar job of keeping Jael's crew away from the salvage.

“You can't win this fight,” Vost shouted. “You're outgunned.”

Jael laughed. “Don't ever tell a desperate man that he's got no hope!”

Trusting the others to cover him, he pushed up on hands and knees and sprinted for the rifles and dead mercs in armor, the center of the room. The mercs popped out to unload on him, but Martine and Dred drove them back with a tight barrage of shots. Laser fire burst all around him, bolts narrowly missing as he sped along a random path, swooping low, grabbing some gear, then whirling for the retreat. The asshole in the body armor was heavier than he expected, so his escape took longer than he'd calculated.

A merc nailed him in the back, full on, and the pain sent him tumbling forward. The equipment—and the body—bounced toward the Queenslanders, at least. Hands reached for him and hauled him back behind a broken-down lifter. He was grateful that they didn't roll him over. His back blazed as the nerves died, then there was just this sweet numbness. When Dred touched his head, he recognized the feel of her fingers stealing through his hair.

“He's dying,” Ali said softly.

“Give him a minute. He'll shake it off.”

“That's impossible,” said the Ithtorian.

Death was getting a bit closer, a little less impossible, all the time. One of these days, he'd push it too far, miscalculate how much he could heal.
I'm still taking risks according to how I used to be. Before Dred.
With a groan, he rolled over on his own, but he couldn't feel either of his arms well enough to shoot.

“Someone else have a go.” He nudged his rifle and the one he'd grabbed toward the others.

There were still two bodies in armor, and a couple of rifles, but Vost's men had their helmets down and rushed, just as Jael had done. One man grabbed his fallen comrade; another followed suit. Dred and Martine opened fire while Brahm and Ali snatched up the extra weapons. Dred hit one of the mercs, but it wasn't a kill shot, not through the plating. It singed the back, but one of his mates shoved him forward and took the next shot. The polymer smoked, but they didn't go down. As a unit, they moved their comrades out of the line of sight.

“They probably didn't even feel that,” Martine bitched.

“We need to fall back,” Dred answered.

Jael tended to agree. Now that the mercs had secured the rest of the gear, they'd push to finish the fight. He yanked the helmet off the dead man, seeing the bruises on his pale face. His eyes were open and staring; the aliens took a step back, but Tam and Martine set to work, helping him. He thought they probably knew what he had in mind. As they removed each segment, Dred scrambled into it.

Not squeamish, love? That's my girl.

Quickly, Dred snapped on each piece as Jael heard Vost calling orders regarding the gear they'd kept from enemy hands. Jael was waiting for the order to charge, and the rest of his team must have been, too. They had more rifles now, but without more sets of armor, they would be at a disadvantage.
It's not time to make this a stand-up fight.

Once she was geared up, she motioned for the others to move. “Get behind the blast doors. I'll cover you.”

“You can't—” Martine started to say, but Dred sliced the air with an armored hand.

The other woman seemed to grasp that she wouldn't change Dred's mind, so she turned to Jael instead. “Can you walk?”

“I can run, bright eyes.” That might have been overstating the case, actually, but with Tam and Martine each under an arm, he managed a speedy stumble.

The mercs responded at once, but Dred stood between them and the rest. Her bottom half was hidden by the lifter and the rifle spat red light at their enemies. Jael watched until Tam jerked him forward, out of sight around the corner. He heard the heavy tread of Ali following and the chitinous click of Brahm's retreat.

“We're clear,” Jael called.

That was apparently what she had been waiting for. Dred backed up, firing the whole time. She took a solid shot to the chest, but her armor caught it. She ducked and spun low, narrowly avoiding a shot to the faceplate. Jael knew from experience how quick those cracked. Tam went to work on the lock, hacking to seal it so the mercs had no choice but to circle the long way. With luck, that would be long enough to get back to Queensland.

“It wasn't a complete success, but I'll take it.” Dred's voice sounded strange, coming from the merc helmet, touched with tinny reverb.

“Nobody died,” Martine put in. “That's more than I expected.”

Ali was staring at Jael. “Why
didn't
you? What you did should've been suicide.”

“I'm tougher than I look,” he said lightly.

Dred moved toward the stairs. “We don't have time to chat. Each second we stand here, the more time we give Vost to catch up.”

“She's right,” Tam said.

Martine pushed past everyone else to take point. She handled the rifle with near-military precision. Jael was curious about her background; she'd said a few things that made him think she had been a thief, but she also fought like a former soldier, a unique combination to say the least. He leashed his curiosity with the understanding that she wouldn't question him about why he could take a laser in the back and stagger away.

The climb was exhausting, but at least this time it wasn't a race. Now that they had the rifles, and Dred had the armor, it didn't matter how long it took them to get back. With some quiet, remote part of his mind, he wondered if the repeated injuries to his back would be enough to create a scar.
At what point does the damage grow so great that I can't heal it?
It was the mark of a disturbed mind, he supposed, that he wanted to find the line.

He heard something, a ping, a whir. Jael threw up a hand, listening. Everyone stilled. Though he spun in a slow circle, he couldn't find whatever it was. Now there was nothing but the station noises and the sound of other people's breathing.

Inside the Warren passages, Ali took the lead, and the return went smoothly enough. Nobody spoke, remembering Brahm's caution from before. But when they stepped out of the wall to make the last jog, where they would emerge safe behind Queensland lines, Vost was waiting. Beside him, a drone cam hovered, and Jael bit out a curse.
That's what I heard. He was spying on us, tracking our movements.

The merc commander opened with grenades this time; and then he pulled out the heavy weapons. When the gun emitted a low hum and started to vibrate, Jael ran. Energy exploded outward, scoring the floor in a smoking circle. The metal softened and exploded, shards of synth shrapnel raining down.

“What I wouldn't give for a rocket launcher,” Brahm muttered.

Again, Jael and Tam deployed laser shots, then ran like hell before the weapon could vaporize them. It slanted over Jael's head, so he felt the buzz of the energy on his skull.
Close call. Too close. Never seen anything like this.
It was small enough to be used by one man with two hands, but it was powerful enough to qualify as antipersonnel. If Vost wasn't careful, he'd blow a hole clean through the station.

Vost's men went with grenades, too. Three exploded in quick succession. Then Dred shouted, “Dammit, my clip's running low on juice. Push past them.”

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” Ali demanded.

“Watch me!” Dred took off, charging the mercs.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jael yelled.

But she didn't listen. She ran for it, leaping, ducking and sliding, until his throat closed with fear. This woman had no caution, no sense of self-preservation, maybe because she was stuck here, and she felt like she had nothing left to lose.

You have me,
he thought.

But perhaps he didn't weigh heavy enough against the mission. Fear threatened to paralyze him, but he fought it back. He opened fire, trying to draw their attention away, but she was right there, and the armor wouldn't save her forever. Even the healing ability she'd acquired from him didn't make her immortal.

Mary curse it.

“We don't have armor,” Martine called. “We can't follow.”

There was no question about that. While Dred had managed to blow past the merc blockade, the rest of them would die trying. Jael hoped she knew the way into Queensland, the back way as excavated by the Warren. No telling what dangers lay between here and the border; could be Mungo's mongrels or Silence's assassins creeping around.

“Then fall back. Find a place to bunker down. I'll bring help, I promise.”

Jael pushed out a breath. “You heard the woman. Let's get to defensible ground.”