Havoc (16 page)

19

One Good Man

Dred felt like shit abandoning the rest of the group like that, but if she hadn't done something, between the grenades and that sonic whatever the hell it was, Vost would've killed them all. Pain blazed in her sternum with each ringing stride, each step carrying her farther from Jael. And the others, of course.

I'm not far from Queensland. They can hang on. They have to hang on.

Her breath sounded extra loud inside the helmet, and she was rushing toward the barricades when she realized she must look like a lone suicidal merc. Though she couldn't see the sentries on the other side, she called, “It's me. Stand down. Get Ike immediately and tell him to bring the Peacemaker.”

Though it wasn't ideal, it was the only solution she could think of. Nothing else provided sufficient firepower to defeat Vost now that he'd dug in and brought out the heavy artillery. She didn't like revealing the territory's secret weapon, but maybe it would make him wary of a full-scale invasion.
He might imagine we have more of them.

If only we did.

“We'll have to dismantle the blockade for the mech to get past,” the sentry said.

“It's fine. Just make it fast.”

Next, she gave directions to where she'd last seen the merc unit, then she ran back the way she'd come.
Ike will find us. If I can hit Vost from behind, I might distract him from the others.
Scraps of strategy whirled in her head, but she didn't settle on any one solution. In this armor, it was impossible to be quiet, and the rags the soldier had wrapped around the boots reduced traction. Dred felt clumsy and frantic as she ran.

Battle sounds echoed from some distance away, the boom of grenades and the unearthly hum of the weapon that had melted a hole in the floor. It wasn't a laser, but Dred had no idea what it could be. Disruptors were smaller, so far as she knew, but maybe they had upgraded them during her turns inside.
Just what the universe needs.
She was afraid that they'd all be dead when she got back—that Ike and the Peacemaker would arrive too late, but the cadence of shots fired and rounds returned steadied her shaky nerves somewhat.

When Dred ran the fight down, she saw that the mercs had shifted, splitting their forces to cover the passage and keep her stranded people from getting past. The corridor was a T, with the mercs on the right and the rest of her people around the corner to the left. At the base of the straightway lay the entrance to Queensland, complete with turrets and barricades. It wasn't the checkpoint she had approached before, however.
This is east. Hope Ike gets here fast. We don't have much time.

The merc laid down a line of intermittent red light, pinning her in the hallway on the wrong side. She returned fire, but her single rifle wasn't enough to penetrate good cover, especially not against armored targets. Someone—Tam or maybe Jael—added to the onslaught, but the mercs had a good position.

Maybe they can circle—but if I call it out, the mercs will hear. Wish we had some way to communicate over distance.
Given time, Ike might jury-rig something from the merc helmets, but he would need to use a different frequency. Otherwise, the enemy could listen to all updates.
That won't help.
Ike might also be able to assemble a device that would knock out the mercs' frequency. That would cripple their ability to scramble teams across the station, a definite boon for Queensland, but there was no way to know until she talked to the old man about it.

She situated herself close to the turrets and took aim each time an enemy popped into sight. But they were skilled with the bob and weave, and she did nothing but drain her ammo charge. An eerie hum vibrated the flooring, and Dred tensed.
He's using the big gun again.
If fate was kind, the thing would explode in Vost's hands, solving the problem. But no such luck. She heard a whine, then there was screaming. Her stomach swam with sickness and fear. The Dread Queen would never feel this way, but Dred was panicked.
He's going to kill them all if Ike doesn't get here soon.
Then the reassuring clomp of mechanized footsteps echoed throughout the hall.
Thank Mary, he's coming from behind. He must've circled around from the south, where I was before.

“What's that?” she heard a merc say.

Don't waste time with the usual warnings,
she willed Ike.
Put the thing on manual.

The mech could be programmed with facial recognition, but urgency didn't allow for such finesse. Better for Ike to just operate the bot. To her vast relief, the Peacemaker unit stomped into view and immediately went to work with the Shredder. The rounds tore through the walls as if they were made of butter, slamming into mercs and armor with equal facility. Shouts of pain rang out.

“Pause,” she told Ike, low. “Let's bring our people home.” If he didn't stop the Peacemaker, the rounds would annihilate the Queenslanders, too. Then she yelled, “Jael, push, push now! But stay low.”

In the confusion, the rest of her team slammed past the mercs. They brought weapons to bear and before she could tell Ike that their people were clear—to get the guns going again—the first soldier shot him full in the chest. The remote bounced out of his hand and she dove for it in reflex, even as horror and disbelief overwhelmed her.
He's the only one who didn't belong here. The only one who should've made it.
Rage filled her in a towering wave. If her own people hadn't been so close, she would've opened her brain and let a tsunami of bloodlust drown them.

You're lucky, assholes. Today you don't pull each other apart with your bare hands.

With shaking hands, she took up the remote and activated the Peacemaker. Its broad back provided cover fire in retreat, even as Jael knelt to lift Ike's body. Everyone was stunned, silent, as they moved away from the mercs. Vost was yelling something at his men, but they didn't want to fight a Peacemaker. Dred didn't blame them even as she hoped to see their bodies fall, just as Ike had.

He came out to save us. And he died.

It was just so impossible, so awful, that she couldn't look directly at Jael. The old man's silver head lolled against his shoulder. Her ears rang from the roar of the Shredder, and as she turned, a grenade landed at her feet. Jael was fast enough to boot it back and the explosion rocked the corridor behind them. Smoke and cursing filled the air, so she keyed the follow command for the Peacemaker and let its huge back cover their escape.

“That shouldn't have happened,” Tam said quietly.

“No talking until we cross the border.” Her voice was stern because it had to be.

If she spoke of Ike right now, she'd crumble, and the others would see that the Dread Queen was a myth of other people's making. They would glimpse her feet of clay, and maybe they'd stop following her orders. With the mercs coming in hard, Mungo on the warpath, and Silence wanting to cut her throat and drink her blood, she couldn't afford to show weakness even if each step hurt as if she had spikes embedded in her heels. With each breath, she inhaled a dead man's fear, a dead man's sweat, until she wanted to tear off the helmet and cast it aside and just scream until her throat bled.

She kept it locked down.

The sentries stood, looking worried, as the Peacemaker knocked down the east barricade. Wordlessly, she escorted her crew past, stepping over the wreckage as if the mission had been a success. Jael came last, with Ike cradled against his chest. The old man's chest was a black hole, the shirt fused to his skin in a charred pucker.

“I can rebuild the junk wall,” Ali said.

The Rodeisian female seemed to carry the weight of the sacrifice on her broad, furred shoulders, and she must be of the opinion that she needed to give something back. But nothing could ever be enough. Dred just nodded as the Ithtorian set to work beside Ali. She trusted them enough to see the job done properly and continued on to the common room, with Tam and Martine flanking her.

The Queenslanders cheered when they noticed her decked out in full merc armor, even more when Martine and Tam lofted the rifles they had recovered. But the crowd fell silent when Jael stepped forward and laid Ike on a table. He leaned down and touched his brow to the old man's, a quiet moment that probably meant things she didn't understand. Then Jael straightened and closed Ike's eyes for good.

With the last of her self-control, Dred pulled off her helmet. She hoped she was wearing her Dread Queen face, not revealing all the pain and sorrow she felt at the loss of the only good man inside Perdition. There were so many things she wanted to say—and so few would fit the image she wore like a crown of thorns.

“How many among you did Ike help?” She paced among the men.

A rumble of affirmative answers swept the room. Their faces were shocked. Ike wasn't one you imagined would die in battle, defending the territory. And in truth, it had been more of an execution.

Congratulations, Vost. You gunned down an old man.

She went on, “The question is, what're we going to do about this?”

“Take the fight to them!” all of Queensland shouted.

Easier said than done.

But she gave away none of her fear, none of her reservations. She didn't mention the grenades or the big guns. The Dread Queen took over, preaching blood and retribution. She spoke in ringing tones until the men were calling her name over and over. It didn't bring Ike back, but it drove the shock and horror out of their faces, replacing it with righteous anger. Perdition might be a hellhole, but she'd carved out a place, and she would defend it with her last breath.

There is nothing more ferocious than men defending their homes, Commander. I hope you're ready. As Martine would say, it's about to get bloody up in here.

20

Death and Remembrance

“That . . .” Jael squinted at the man who was struggling for words. He couldn't recall the lunk's name, but he suspected he was one of Grigor's leftovers. They tended to be hulking, though nothing to compare with Einar or Cook. Still, he had hefty arms and hairy shoulders, a fact he seemed proud of.

“What?” he finally prompted.

“You'd never have seen something like that where I came from. Grigor used to have us fight each other for a place at his table, a chance to eat decent food.”

“To the death?”

The other man nodded. All around them, men were singing rowdy drinking songs in honor of Ike, though truthfully, his demise was just an excuse to bust out the still, and that roused a bleak, deep rage in Jael that he couldn't explain.
So bloody unlikely that I'd meet a decent man in here, but there you are. And he died for us.

“Never anything but.” The other man had a deep voice, gravelly, and beetling black brows that met over a hooked nose.

Ugly sod.

“Sounds pretty hellish.”

“You get used to anything.” The man wore a thoughtful expression. “Under the Great Bear, you'd never witness anything like what that geezer did for you lot, either.”

“Let me guess—he thought it was weakness to stick your neck out.”

“More or less.”

“It's not like that here,” Jael said, trying to ignore the three men at the table who were slamming their fists on the table to punctuate the raucous noise they called music.

A vein in Jael's temple throbbed.

“So I see. I need to talk to the boys.” But he didn't tell Jael what he was thinking because he was turning to pound somebody when Calypso vaulted up onto a table.

“While I love a party, we need to honor a brave man, Queensland-style.”

“What've you got in mind?” someone shouted, while another asshole hooted at her, too far into his bottle to realize what a bad idea that was.

She leapt lightly down and stalked toward the poor idiot; Jael almost felt sorry for him. But at least the noise died down in her wake. The shit-faced dimwit had the temerity to grin up at her, like catcalling at the mistress of the circle was a good idea. Her smile was feral as she swung back an arm and backhanded him out of his chair. His booze spilled as he hit the floor; nobody said a word as he scrambled backward.

“Yeah, proper respect, that's what I'm talking about.” Calypso swept the room with her dark gaze, then added, “For Ike, of course.”

“Of course,” Jael murmured.

The woman hopped onto the nearest table, ignoring the men who had been drinking there, then she raised her voice in a rich and lovely alto. “His day is past and gone / The evening shade appears / Oh, may we all remember well / A night of tears draws near.”

Almost timidly, a few voices chimed in. Apparently, this was a well-known song though Jael hadn't heard it before. The slow, mournful memory opened up a hole in his chest as Calypso nodded, encouraging the others to join the chorus.
She's right. Ike would like this better than the wake we gave Einar.

She sang on, “We'll lay his garments by / Finally, he is at rest / Death will soon disrobe us all / Of the little we possess.”

Depressing as hell, that.
Having caught the tune, Jael hummed since he didn't know the words.

“Mary, keep us safe this night / Secure from all our fears / Her spirit guard us while we sleep / 'Til morning light appears.”

The mistress of the ring bowed her head, and the rest of Queensland did likewise. For the full space of a minute, Jael heard nothing but convicts breathing, quite a rarity with his senses. Nobody whispered or coughed; a few men even had their eyes closed, as if they might be praying.
Closest this lot has come to a church in turns, no doubt.
The thought held a certain dark charm.

Then she flashed the others a big grin. “Back to drinking, you sots. That's enough reverence.”

*   *   *

TAM
could hardly bear to stay at Ike's service.

When Einar died, it was bad, but he'd known Ike even longer and had come to realize that he didn't belong in Perdition. Yet like all the rest, he had no hope of escape aside from death. After Calypso's serenade, Dred spoke all the right words, honoring his memory, and they carried him to the chute. For a man like him, there should be something more, something better, but Ike went like the rest, down, down, down, meat to feed the beast that was Perdition.

Tonight, the still was unlocked, and most of the men were drinking themselves stupid—with Dred's blessing—leaving a light crew on watch. He didn't agree with the decision, but he knew better than to question the Dread Queen.
Perhaps she's right. The mercs probably won't move on us again for a while. They'll be wondering how many Peacemakers we have, how well fortified Queensland is. They also need time to rest and regroup.

So do we.

He was in no mood to watch criminals get soused, however, and partner up in an orgy supposedly in honor of Ike. So Tam went to Dred's quarters to bathe. She wouldn't mind—or she never had in the past—as long as he tidied up after himself. In some corner of his brain, he hoped the san-shower would wash away the profound feeling of failure. If he'd planned better or noticed the drone cam tracking them, Vost wouldn't have gotten the drop on them.

Ike wouldn't be dead.

Martine surprised him when he stepped out of Dred's quarters. He'd expected she would be drinking with the others. But instead, she was propped on the opposite wall, arms folded over her chest. He tilted his head.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm thinking it's more the opposite.”

“In what regard?”

“You don't think I can tell you got a knife buried in you blade deep? Figuratively speaking.”

Tam was speechless for a few seconds. “I don't see why you'd notice. Or care.”

“Funny thing about arrangements. We've nearly come to one, don't you think?”

He nodded. In here, sex was entirely separate from emotional entanglements, however. It was better and safer that way. Since he wasn't in the mood for games, he didn't see why she was waiting for him.

“That means
you're
my business, and I look after what's mine.”

Her tone sent a frisson down his spine. There was no beginning or end point; he couldn't remember a time when that hadn't been the case for him. In some way, he'd always known he was meant to serve, and it gave him pleasure. It didn't even have to be sexual in nature though that was best.

“What do you mean?” he asked though he knew.

“I can't have you whipping yourself over Ike. That's my job.”

“Not today,” he said politely.

“I wouldn't have thought you'd be so literal. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You think you're the only one with secrets? Trust me.”

That was an impossible request, but when she put out her hand, he took it. Then she pulled him along, past the hall to the common room, past the hydroponics garden and the armory, past the dorms. The only thing back this way was the ladder to the next level. They had so much space to protect now that it almost wasn't even worth it; numbers in Queensland had diminished to the point that they no longer needed to expand.

It might be dangerous to break away from the pack like this, but the promise of silence lured him on, almost as much as the neat sway of Martine's hips. She cast a look back every now and then, making sure he was still with her. He appreciated her silence, too. They emerged in a narrow hallway he'd never seen before, almost as if this were between levels on the station.

She read the question in his eyes, and answered, “I think this is where the maintenance crew hid from their supervisors.”

“Back when it was a mineral refinery?” It amused but didn't surprise him. Tam could well imagine men holing up here to take a nap.

The ceiling was low enough that he and Martine had to hunch over. She continued down to the end, then darted into a small room that was more of an alcove, with odds and ends in it, things she'd scavenged and hidden away for her personal enjoyment. He examined the items, including the cushions and the electronics affixed to the wall.

“Portable entertainment unit, broken when I found it. Ike got it running for me.”

Now Tam understood. This was a quieter homage than was going on currently in Queensland. “That's Ike for you. He could fix anything.”

She nodded. “It has sixteen old vids on it, and I've watched them so many times that I can quote all of the lines. Some of them are truly terrible, but I thought you might like to watch them with me.”

Tam considered refusing. This was a sort of closeness he'd eschewed for turns. Instead, he let her draw him into the nest she'd made, then Martine flicked on the screen. For the first time in longer than he could recall, he didn't feel alone.

*   *   *

“THEY
have a fragging Peacemaker.” Casto slammed a fist into the wall, rattling the sensitive equipment stacked on the shelves above. “Any other surprises, Commander?”

“I'm sure there will be many before we're through here.” Vost kept his tone mild.

“This is bullshit. I say we cut line and bug out. Who's with me?” The flash of teeth presented the words as a joke, but those eyes were dead serious.

Mary curse it.
Casto was skating pretty close to mutiny, and Vost was hanging on to his men by the scruff of their necks. This wasn't the in-and-out, easy money they had been promised. But since when did anything ever pan out that way?

“We won't be dividing up into patrols anymore.” He spoke over the rumble of discontent, hoping to reassure the mercs. “Given what we know of our enemy, we can't assume that a small squad will be sufficient to take them out.”

“Wish you'd made that call before so many of us died,” Casto muttered.

Too far.

Vost knew exactly what he could tolerate—what could be written off and what had to be dealt with. Casto was now an obstacle to overcome. He whirled and slammed his lieutenant to the ground in a move that he'd learned on Nicu Tertius. The other merc didn't look so cocky staring up from his back with a man's boot on his chest.

“You think I'm looking for a performance review from you, soldier?”

Casto looked like he wanted to shoot Vost in the face, but he got the respectful words out. “No, sir.”

“Then you shut the fuck up and listen.” Vost glanced around the room, seeing the right mixture of awe and respect back in his men's faces. “Any of the rest of you have something to say?”

They shook their heads.

Pointedly, he didn't let Casto up.
This is what you get when you cross me.
“I don't like dissent among the ranks. I know this op has gone to shit. Trust me, I'm very aware. That just means we have to adapt. Or do you agree with Casto that scumbags armed with forks and spears are too much for us?”

“Like hell,” Duran said.

“Exactly my point. We patrol together from here on out. And fuck the Conglomerate's ban on weapons that'll fuck up the facility.”

“Does this mean I get to use the grenade launcher?” Redmond asked.

“Why not? I don't give two shits how much it costs the suits to patch this place up once we're done with it. They try to dock our pay for damages and we'll . . . discuss that difference of opinion.”

“Just like you did with Casto?” Duran grinned.

From the twist of Casto's mouth, he was plenty pissed.
Good. Remember how it feels when you cross me.
Vost leaned down. “Next time I hear anything like that from you, I don't knock you down. I take you out and promote from within. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Vost then showed he could be a good sport by towing his lieutenant to his feet. “Redmond, you lead the watch. The rest of us will catch forty winks.”