Perdition (The Dred Chronicles) (12 page)

19

And the Walls Come Tumbling Down

Jael looked natural with a weapon in hand; to Dred’s mind, he handled the laser expertly. She backed up a few steps at his insistence, and he fired. That first shot slagged partway through the door, leaving another layer of durasteel between them and Queensland. He rotated the power pack, bounced it, while whispering to the gun in a coaxing tone.

“You think that’ll help?” she asked, amused.

“Can’t hurt. Treat a weapon like a lady, and she won’t let you down.”

“Is that your experience with women, too?”

“Most women aren’t ladies,” he said.

“Would you
want
them to be?”

“Not in the slightest.”

He threw a cocky wink over his shoulder, and for the first time in half a turn, Dred experienced a flicker of pure chemical attraction. She didn’t enjoy it, but on another level, it was good this place hadn’t broken her. Perdition had hardened her, but it hadn’t succeeded in destroying every human impulse. That was reassuring. His jiggering received no response from the laser, however.
Dead is dead, apparently. Unless it’s Jael.

The man in question called, “Einar, toss me the Shredder. I’m taking this door down even if I have to use your head as a battering ram.”

Dred waited to see how that suggestion would be received. To her astonishment, the big man climbed on top of the air pallet and chucked the rifle. “Yeah, well, if you can lift my ass, I’ll let you.”

Jael laughed; it seemed their camaraderie was permanent. “Let’s try something else first. Take cover. Some of these shots may not chew clean through.”

In a metal corridor, that was sound advice. If a fragging door killed one of them, the rest would never live it down. She hauled herself onto the air pallet and hunkered down behind a pile of scrap metal. Then she checked behind her to make sure the other two had done the same.

“All set,” Einar shouted.

The gun went full auto, and sparks flew, popping all over the hallway. Shots ricocheted until she felt sure crouching was the best idea ever. Rounds struck the panels where she was hiding and cut a peephole, so she could see how Jael was doing. He bled from several new wounds but the flow was sluggish, courtesy of freakishly fast coagulation. As for the hole, she could see light on the other side, but it wasn’t big enough for a person to pass through. Yet.

Soon he ran out of ammo, though. With a muted curse, Jael dropped the Shredder. “It’s safe.”

The R-17 unit whirred forward to inspect the damage and lights flashed on what would be the bot’s face if it were human. “The wall is damaged. It must be repaired.”

“Frag,
no
,” Jael protested. “It took all our firepower to accomplish this much—and it’s not enough.”

Wills came past Dred with clumsy urgency to stop the bot from deploying its hardware on the charred wall. From the bone-reader’s expression, he had an idea. She hoped it was a good one, as they were fresh out of resources.

“This isn’t a wall,” Wills told the bot. “This is a door. And it’s the
door
that’s not working. Initiate stuck-door protocol.”

The bot scanned the surface, then agreed, “Blast doors are fused. Solution may result in damage to organics. Please stand clear.”

“Is this thing packing explosives?” Dred asked.

Wills shrugged. “I’d step back, just in case.”

But instead of applying a putty charge, a thin wand extended from R-17’s front chassis and a red beam carved between the doors but was too weak to open the way on its own, given that the durasteel had been soldered from both sides.

“Repair failed. Analysis: Desired result impossible within current parameters. Recommended solution: Dispatch complete technical team from Repair and Salvage Operations.”

“If only,” Dred muttered.

They didn’t have a repair team to summon, but maybe Jael was on the right track when he mentioned a battering ram. She added, “The two of you managed to pull apart a Peacemaker unit. Until you did it, I’d have said it was impossible, too.”

Einar caught on right away. “You want us to tag team the door, using the blast hole as a handle?”

Wills said, “It’s possible you could bring enough pressure to bear to pull it apart . . . and if you create a gap, R-17 can run the minilaser again. It’s not meant for heavy cutting, but it might be able to weaken the seal enough for you to break it.”

“Best idea we’ve got,” Jael said. “Let’s do it.”

The two took up positions on either side, braced to begin as soon as Wills gave the order to the bot. Dred counted it down, then the show started. Muscles straining, they hauled until their shoulders popped. Each man grunted and swore, pushing beyond human capacity, and still they didn’t stop as the bot deployed the laser. The red line skimmed upward; and Dred was positive the door gave, just a little.

“One more time,” she suggested.

“One hernia coming up,” the big man mumbled. “Why the hell not?”

Jael didn’t reply, just set his feet and nodded with a
bring-it-on
light in his blue eyes. Wills checked the power readings on R-17, then said, “If it doesn’t work, we have to go back down for more gear. The bot’s almost out of juice.”

Dred inclined her head. “Noted. Now let’s get this done.”

It went off like clockwork between the crimson glow of the laser to the twin, straining biceps and thighs of the men to the left and right of the weld point. When the door gave, it sounded like the whole ship giving way. They were pulling so hard that both Jael and Einar fell, slamming hard into the corridor walls on either side. For a second, she wanted to go help Jael to his feet, but she froze the impulse and contented herself with an arched brow.

“You two all right?”

“I just need to cram my intestines back up inside,” Einar said. “No problem at all.”

“Did you really pop something? Shit.” Sometimes that required surgical intervention. He could die—and what a way to go out, slow and ugly. If it came to it, she wouldn’t let him suffer.

But to her relief, the big man smiled and shook his head. “Just screwing with you.”

Dred pushed out a slow breath and glared. “Asshole. You did good work, both of you.”

Never truer words.
The doors stood open enough for the men to get inside and push them back. Since they were meant to retract into the walls, it was easy once the double-welded seam popped. When Jael turned back toward her, she noticed the red smeared all over his hands.

“What happened?”

He shrugged as if the sight of his own blood was nothing new. “I opened my palms on the burn hole I was using as a handle. It’ll close up by tomorrow.”

That doesn’t mean you aren’t hurting right now, you ass.

But she couldn’t be soft with anyone, even if, contrarily, he made her want to be because he was stoic to the point of insanity. She’d thought more than once that he wasn’t human, but after this run, she needed to know exactly what she’d welcomed into her territory. They were all monsters and outcasts, but sometimes the shading mattered. More information was critical. But she pretended to accept his words at face value. The conversation she intended to have with him wouldn’t occur in front of an audience, even part of her inner circle like Wills and Einar.

“Wrap it up. Queensland is doubtless full of bastards who have already given us up for dead and are taking wagers on who will replace me.”

“Tam,” Einar answered at once.

That gave her a twinge. “I offered, but he passed. Said the territory was mine.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Wills said.

The big man corrected, “‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’ It’s from an ancient play.”

Wills nodded in apparent appreciation. “Yes, that’s the line.”

She mock-scowled as the bone-reader shifted the air pallet from stationary to mobile mode. “Either way, there isn’t one. If I have to sit on that ass-ugly chair, I ought to get a scrap-metal tiara to go along with it.”

Jael aimed a warm look her way, one that had doubtless melted hearts all across the galaxy. “I’ll make you one, queenie.”

“Then my life would be complete,” she said dryly.

Such a handsome warrior was trouble on two legs, and, unfortunately, he knew exactly how attractive and charming he could be. Jael wore the attitude like armor, but Dred wondered just what lay beneath his determinedly bright exterior. He had no issue showing his physical peculiarities, but his emotions were completely armored. In a place like this, it was best not to show your underbelly to anyone . . . but she was still curious.

“Enough chatter,” she added. “Moving out.”

At Einar’s insistence, she climbed on the pallet. Her extra weight didn’t slow the thing, which hovered so that Jael and the big man moved it along as they walked. She felt conspicuous up top, but so close to the Queensland border, such showmanship should be safe. When they turned a final corner before the checkpoint, she was perched atop their looted gear like a pirate queen. Recognizing her obligation, she lifted her arm in triumph, propped a booted foot on an ammo case, and let out a triumphant howl.

Dred recognized the men on duty. All four of them responded with victory cries of their own. They shifted the barricades, so the pallet could slide by, then replaced them, taking up fierce and ready postures behind the raid caravan. She’d prefer to hop down now, but it would be better for morale if she returned in theatrical fashion.

Mary, I’ve been listening to Tam too much.

By the time they reached the hall, their procession swelled to a huge mob, chanting, “Dread Queen! Dread Queen! Long may she reign!”

It was absurd, but she gave them the spirit to fight. But Dred wished it wasn’t necessary and that it didn’t require so much bullshit. She wasn’t a dread anything, just a tired woman with a twisted and peculiar ability, who had let it drive her mad.

They cheered her for a full five minutes before Tam opened a path through the mob. “I was getting worried,” he said in low tones. “Things got interesting while you were gone as well. I’ll fill you in shortly. And I have some inquiries . . .”

She could answer his questions later. For now, he had to address the men. Tam intoned, “Let us congratulate our queen for the biggest raid in Queensland history.”

War whoops erupted all over the hall, incoherent shouts of domination and glory. Tam motioned them to silence. “I’ll be overseeing the allotment of gear. If you see something on the pallet that you know how to utilize, see me at once. Here, we believe in using everyone’s talents. You all play a vital role in the territory.” He paused, scanned the crowd, then added, “But if I see you take anything without permission, the queen’s judgment will be swift and merciless. Let Lecass’s recent punishment serve as a reminder to us all.”

There was trouble with Lecass? Damn.

Nonetheless, Dred took the cue, as intended. She gazed coldly over the crowd, then nodded. Somehow, she managed to leap down from the pallet one last time, graceful and sure, when her muscles were stiff and sore. But everything in here was a game. With no future and no freedom, it was masques and feints, an endless game of Charm where everyone was a low card to be sacrificed on a whim.

Men surrounded Tam, all talking at once. They had ideas on how the new gear could be implemented, things to build, traps to lay, pieces to repair other things, and parts for the Kitchen-mate. Wills was muttering to himself, playing the madman again, now that there were witnesses. But she’d bet he would shortly find a way to recharge the laser’s power source and the R-17.

Crazy like a fox, you are, Wills.

“Jael,” she said softly, “I’ll see you privately in my quarters. Now.”

20

Secrets and Lies

It took Tam nearly an hour to finish the work assignments. A haul like this one was unprecedented, so it was no wonder the men were eager. He sighed, but before he could decide what his next most pressing task might be, Martine approached him. She was a lean, dangerous woman with brown skin gone sallow from lack of sunshine, and her eyes reflected a ferocity that was unusual, even for Perdition.

“Yes?” he prompted, seeing her hesitation.

“Could I talk to you?”

“You already are.”

Her dark eyes flashed, and Tam suppressed a smile. “In private, asshole.”

“Certainly. My quarters are in use at the moment, but we can walk toward the hydroponics garden. Will that do?”

“Yeah.”

He led the way, holding his peace until they were far enough from the hall that he judged there shouldn’t be anyone in earshot. “What’s this about?”

“I’ve heard some troubling rumors,” Martine said. “Mostly from Lecass’s people.”

“I’m sure he’s planning something.” Tam expected there to be fallout from the flogging. It only remained to be seen how Lecass would handle his humiliation. So this wasn’t precisely news, but then, he suspected it wasn’t the whole reason Martine had sought this interlude, either.

“But that’s not all,” she went on.

The woman dug into her pocket and produced a scrap of cloth. It was dingy and ragged, of no moment—or so he thought, until she handed it to him. Someone had scrawled a message:
You lost your man. Want revenge? Come to the meeting. 2300. Corridor D.

Tension rose, stiffening his shoulders, but Tam tried not to reveal it in his posture. “You think Lecass sent this?”

If so, then the man was more cunning than he’d expected.

Martine shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t care. I just thought Dred’s people should know. There’s blood in the water, and the monsters are circling.”

From Dred’s perspective, this was the worst possible time to face internal strife. With Priest and the Great Bear gearing up for a full-scale war, they couldn’t afford to lose a single warm body to Lecass’s pride. If the Queenslanders lost, Dred would end up raped to death and probably skullfucked for good measure while her men, himself included, would wind up murdered or enslaved. And that didn’t even factor Silence into the equation.

Tam had to shut this rebellion down before it gathered momentum. He set a hand gently on Martine’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll remember your loyalty.”

“See that you do,” she muttered.

He let her return to the hall, counting to five hundred before he followed. For a few seconds, he stood in the shadows, watching the men, as if he could tell by looking who might join Lecass’s rabble. But they were all acting like they normally did: gaming, drinking, scuffling. A few were arm wrestling, while others pierced things and created body art. There wasn’t a lot to do in Perdition when you weren’t on patrol, which was another reason the men had been so glad to get parts and supplies. Even repair work seemed better than another day of nothing.

Quietly, Tam joined Cook at the table where he was taking a break from his endless stirring. The man raised both brows in question. Tam didn’t waste time; he whispered what he’d heard from Martine, then asked, “Do you know anything?”

Since Cook was so quiet, the men often acted like he was deaf, speaking within his earshot like he wasn’t even there. Cook’s gaze flickered to Lecass, who was sitting with a group of convicts huddled around him. They were his regular cohorts, nothing unusual about them scheming against Dred, but if they’d called a meeting, it must indicate some greater plan . . . and more men in accord with their aims.

Yes, them,
Tam thought,
but are there others?

Cook nodded. In subtle gestures, he identified five inmates, all being careful not to look at Lecass. Tam knew not to make his departure obvious, so he sat with Cook for a few moments more. The man wasn’t much company, but he noticed things with an acuity to rival Tam’s own.

Five wasn’t such a large number, but that didn’t mean the ones Cook knew about were the only conspirators. He pushed to his feet and sought Calypso, who was playing dice with a couple of women. She avoided males when she socialized though Tam didn’t know her well enough to be sure if that was a sexual preference or a personal choice.

To be polite, he watched the game for a while, until the women came to a natural stopping point. Only then did he say, “Mind if I have a word?” to Calypso.

She measured him with a look. “Make it quick. I want to earn back what I just lost.”

“You could use a break,” the blonde mocked her. “Your mojo’s gone.”

Calypso made a rude gesture with two fingers and her tongue, then she rose in a sinuous motion, lithe as a snake. “Come, little man.”

Some men might find that offensive, but Tam was used to such remarks. He stood just over 1.6 meters, so there was no arguing his lack of stature and no point in wasting energy in anger. Calypso towered over him as she led the way from the hall.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Somebody told you about the meeting.”

That irked him a little, not an easy feat. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t recall making any promises to you or the Dread Queen,” Calypso answered. “At least regarding anything not pertaining to the games.”

Tam was tired . . . and he
almost
lost his temper then. Somehow, he bit back his retort about how easy it would be to find someone more loyal to run the death matches. Calypso cared about nothing more than her status as Mistress of the Ring.

Her mouth curved with feline amusement. “I’d like you better if you blew off steam now and then, little man. One of these days, you’re gonna go boom, and it won’t be pretty.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Tam said tightly. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

Quietly, he outlined his plan.

* * *

“YOU
don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of getting you alone, queenie.” After winding up in her quarters again, Jael reckoned it was best to open strong. Maybe if he annoyed her enough, she’d change her mind about this personal chat.

“None of that,” she said flatly. “I have questions. You have answers.”

“Many. But none of them will make you happy.”

“As long as they’re true.”

“You want to know why I can heal like I do. Why there’s almost not killing me.”

“Clever lad.”

“Not too much, or I wouldn’t be locked up in here, would I?”

“Point. But you’re changing the subject.”

“I do that when I’m nervous.”

She arched a brow, arranging her long body in the room’s only chair. Her quarters were dim and dingy but better than anything he’d had in turns. His bed in the Bug prison had been a pile of filthy rags. With what he hoped was a cheeky smile, he perched on the edge of her bunk.

“You? I hardly think so. You’re trying to disarm me, make me think twice about digging. Why don’t I save you the trouble? I’m immune to your charms.”

“But you admit I have them.”

At that point, he had second thoughts about jerking her around. So far as he knew, she’d been straight with him from the jump, never promising what she didn’t intend to deliver. Often, he could smell deceit in a person’s sweat, a touch more acrid as it was often laced with fear, fear of failure, fear of discovery—and what he’d do if he learned of their treachery.

She smiled. “I’m immune, not blind.”

“Carry on then.” Jael folded his hands in his lap, suppressed a smile when she sighed.

“A while back, you made a joke about my father working on the Ideal Genome Project. I don’t know what that is, but I’d be willing to bet it relates directly to why you are . . . as you are.”

It was a kind, tactful way to put it. He’d heard other vernacular—fiend and monster, demon on the more primitive worlds. On some planets, they thought he was some undying beast come to drink their blood or their souls. Explanations were always messy . . . and exhausting.

But why not tell the story? One last time.

“You’re uncanny,” he said.

“So I’ve been told. Explain, please.”

Where to begin?

“Before Farwan collapsed, their Science Corp had a number of experimental programs. The IGP was only one, an offshoot of a primary initiative.”

“And you participated in it?” she asked.

Mary, he hated enlightening her, but the questions would never cease until she knew the truth. And then, everything would change between them. It always did.

“No,” he said softly. “I was created by it.”

Her green eyes widened, but that was the only sign that he’d shocked her.
Good work, princess. Keep it up, and you’ll convince me you don’t think I’m an animal after all.

“I think you have to start from the beginning. Tell me everything you know.”

“Why? You have your answer. You’re right . . . I’m not human. I’m Bred. Not even sentient according to the most recent legislation.”

To his astonishment, she scowled at him. “I am
surrounded
by monsters, Jael. You’re interesting, but not the worst I’ve run into inside Perdition. Now why don’t you stop feeling sorry for yourself and answer my fragging question?”

Mary. She’s . . . magnificent.

“The IGP sprang from a program that offered designer babies to wealthy citizens. Why end up with dumb, defective, or unattractive offspring when you can afford better, right?”

Her nod showed a hint of revulsion. “I read about that in my history coursework, I think, but they didn’t name any of those gray programs. We didn’t spend much time on Farwan or the Science Corp, either.”

“I imagine not.” That answer sent a pang through him. What he’d lived and suffered, it was
history
to her, and she didn’t even remember the project name. Just another example how out of step he was, how he could never fit. “Naturally, once they started generating credits with the primary program, they saw other uses for the gene therapy and DNA shaping.”

“Like what?”

“Military applications,” he said, thinking she should know that.

But maybe she’d learned her combat skills inside. Surviving meant she was a quick study, not that she had professional training. Her father had been a scientist, as he recalled, a refugee from Farwan; he didn’t think she’d mentioned anything about her mother. Odd he would remember a casual conversation with such clarity, or that she would remember the joke he’d made, days later.

Hm.

Determined to lay it out for her, Jael went on, “The Corp used the profits from creating these custom children to fund the Ideal Genome Project. Forget antiaging treatments—they intended to develop bodies that didn’t decay or suffer from illness and required reduced amounts of rest.”

“You don’t sleep?” It was interesting that was what she focused on.

“I enjoy it, but I need it less than you do. I can get by with two hours a night though my reaction and regenerative abilities diminish the more exhausted I become.” Jael shrugged. “This wasn’t the first experiment along these lines. Governments have been trying to perfect the supersoldier for years.”

“And that’s you?” she asked quietly.

He tilted his head back, unable to summon the mocking laughter that would strip the question of its barbs. “Not even close.”

“So you were created in a lab, then.” Her neutral tone gave no sign as to what she thought about that, but he could guess. “There must have been others.”

“Most subjects died before reaching maturity,” he answered. “The Corp ‘officially’ shut the program down after religious outcry. But there are always hidden labs where the experiments continue, no matter what the public believes. See, the scientists needed to discover how strong we were and whether we were docile enough to be deployed in battle.”

“You say ‘we’ . . . so you weren’t alone?”

Jael’s first memory came wrapped in pain: wires, tubes, translucent skin, floating in a glass vessel. Here and now, turns later, that genesis period remained vague; and it was for the best. Upon his “birth,” he’d undergone an awful number of procedures and experiments to test his capacity for pain, healing, and recovery. A small pod of subjects, Jael included, received rudimentary combat training, education, and social interaction. The lab techs were . . . curious.

Why does JL489 survive when its sibling, created from an identical embryo, crashed and burned during the last phase of DNA shaping?

Jael had survived that first wave of experimentation. Eventually, most of his pod was designated as flawed and destroyed. In time, Farwan decreed the secret research too expensive to continue, and when Corp security personnel came to clean the labs of the remaining survivors, they’d fought and fled. The basic education he received from the Corp permitted him to get work as a merc, even though, emotionally, he was little more than a child.

The turns were not kind thereafter.

He broke from reverie to answer her question in a hoarse tone. “Yes, there were others. Twenty of us escaped. I don’t know if any of them are still alive.”

“You didn’t stick together or remain in contact?”

Jael laughed quietly, though the sound contained an angry edge. “Does traveling as a collective freak show seem like the wisest way to stay out of enemy hands?”

“Probably not. And you wanted to forget where you came from, I imagine. Try to blend.”

Truer than you know, princess.

“That’s not an easy task when you’re . . . like this.”

“If you weren’t
like this
, we wouldn’t be prepping for war with the best gear Queensland’s ever had. We’d be scared and hopeless with our backs to the wall, facing better weapons, more soldiers. I realize we’re only a bunch of wretches and convicts, but you’re the closest thing to a hero we’ve ever seen.”

“As pep talks go, that was pathetic.” But he was smiling; and he couldn’t remember the last time it hadn’t felt like cuts carved into his cheeks, wholly false, wholly for show. This time, he felt it. Knew his sincerity must show in his eyes. It alarmed him though he couldn’t control it.