Breakout (8 page)

Jael's blade gleamed in the half-light.
Payback's a bitch, innit?

8

Truths Writ in Blood

As the hours wore on, it became clear that Redmond wouldn't rally.

While she and Jael might've fought through most of Silence's toxins, the merc didn't have their augmented immune systems. There was no antidote, either. Each of Redmond's breaths sounded wet, a sign that his body was shutting down. He thrashed and moaned, sweat beading on his brow.

“Get the droid,” Duran said hoarsely.

Calypso laced their fingers together and, with some surprise, Dred noticed that he didn't pull away. It was strange how fast bonds could form in this place. Maybe it was even as simple as the fact that the mistress of the circle had chosen him. Saying
You belong to me
was enough to change everything.

Silently, Vost powered it up, and the medical bot confirmed that Redmond's lungs were filling with water, but it didn't have the capacity to help with his wounds. Duran cut Dred an accusing look, one that said,
He's dying because we treated you instead.

She couldn't deny it.

Hours passed, and he only got worse. His breath came in gurgled, choking rasps, and his lips held a blue tinge. Redmond tried to say something, but he fell into a coughing fit. Vost knelt beside him.

“We both know how this ends, sir. Make it quick.”

“I'll do it,” Dred said.

Judging by the intensity of Duran's glare, that might've been a mistake. Vost shook his head. “This is
my
responsibility.”

With a quick twist of his blade, he ended Redmond's life. Duran dropped to his knees beside his commander and stared into his comrade's face. Dred didn't do their grief the dishonor of looking away. For long moments, the two soldiers said a silent farewell; and then, Duran closed Redmond's eyes.

“Right,” Duran said, wiping his cheeks. “That bitch is dying. Point me at her.”

“Jael's doing some recon. He'll be back soon.”

Calypso put a hand on Duran's shoulder. “Sorry for your loss.”

Keelah, Tam, and Martine echoed the sentiment, then the spymaster gave Dred a significant look. She nodded slightly, aware that he'd registered the trouble, too. Though she didn't say so, dealing with the remains created another problem. Getting Redmond to the recyclers would be risky, yet they couldn't leave him here. Hygiene and contamination issues aside, his body would also attract scavengers in droves. Without the aliens hunting them to keep numbers down, soon Perdition would be overrun by the mutated beasts.

And that's the least of our worries.

“I'll lay him to rest,” she offered.

“You can't manage alone.” Vost didn't seem open to discussion on the topic, and she thought it best not to reveal her hidden strength just now.

“Then come on. You should be there to see him off.”

She expected Duran to protest, but he apparently knew that the more people went to attend the funerary rites, the more chances they'd be spotted and attacked. Taking more casualties wouldn't bring Redmond back.
So he's a soldier first, a friend second. Good to know.

“Be careful,” Tam said.

There was a lot more unspoken in the long glance they exchanged. He was the only one who had believed in her even
before
she killed Artan. Tam had whispered ideas and scenarios until she internalized his faith. With Einar's help, he'd also helped her solidify her reign afterward. Though she wouldn't have imagined she could make any friends in a place like this, there were people she missed, Einar and Ike chief among them.

“I will be,” she promised.

They wrapped the body in rags, an indignity that made Duran clench both fists. But it was that or leave a blood trail. Once the corpse was prepared for transport, Vost popped open the wall access, so Dred could hand Redmond through, then she followed, taking up the legs for the haul to the recyclers. It was a long way down, nearly to Ike's cache, and they didn't speak more than necessary. Now and then, she heard Silence's men outside the ducts, but they were
running
toward something, not patrolling.

“Seems like your man's got them plenty riled,” Vost said softly.

She nodded. “He has a talent for it.”

“You reckon he's safe?”

“As much as anyone in here.” Truth was, she wasn't so certain, but she'd rather be roasted on a spit than admit any doubt aloud. Superstitiously, Dred felt like that would be tantamount to jinxing him.

“When he gets back and we're done with Redmond, we need to start the diaspora.”

“Agreed.”

Reluctant admiration flickered to life in her, partly because he
knew
that word and also because he didn't dumb it down. She'd run across so many do-gooders who assumed she must be an ignorant meat-lump, considering the heinous nature of her crimes. But in fact, it was the opposite. Her crimes weren't driven by deviance, passion, or bloodlust; no, they were coolly conceived and coldly executed. And as they died, she always thought the same thing:

It's for the greater good.

Hours later, she didn't feel the same as she shoved Redmond's body down the chute.

“Ashes to ashes,” Vost murmured. “You'll be missed, my friend.”

What an abbreviated service. The more people die, the less we have to say. Soon it'll be, “
See you, pal. Ker-thunk.”
It was hard
not
to envision a future where there was nobody left to do her the same courtesy. Which meant she'd rot where she fell or be eaten by station rats. Either way, it likely wouldn't end with her in a ship, putting this place behind her.

“Don't give up,” Vost said. “If you do, we've already lost.”

“What?” She'd almost forgotten he was there.

“You think I haven't noticed that you're the heart and soul of this group? If
you
secretly think it can't be done, they'll sense it. But all great feats are deemed impossible until someone proves otherwise.”

His determined optimism pried a reluctant smile out of her. “All right, Captain Brightside. I'll keep my chin up.”

As they turned to leave the recycling room, footfalls outside alerted them to enemies nearby. She mouthed at Vost,
Fight or hide?

He cocked his head, as if trying to estimate the number of opponents, but before he could reply, the opening door took the choice away from them.

•   •   •

JAEL
skidded into the recycling room and locked the door behind him. The blood covering him startled a curse out of Dred, who he hadn't expected to find here. Vost stepped out from behind her, pissing him off profoundly. It wasn't that he was jealous, but . . .
Oh, frag it. Obviously I am.
There was no point in being coy inside his own screwed-up head.

“Trouble?” Dred asked.

“I stirred up a bit of a hornet's nest. Just about every able-bodied murderer on board is hunting for me now, and like twenty of them are right outside.”

“How many did you take out along the way?” Vost wondered.

“Twenty, twenty-five. I lost count after a while.” That made it sound like a mighty battle but it was more of a slaughter. He didn't mention that the ones he'd killed had been so zoned that they couldn't tell a real threat from their chem-induced dreams.

“Did you get Silence?” Dred came toward him, apparently listening to the thump of bodies against the door. It was solid metal, so they wouldn't be breaking it down anytime soon. Yet the way Silence's minions crawled around the ship, they could probably find a hidden route.

And we don't have the food or water to wait them out. Sooner or later, we'll be fighting.

Jael shook his head. “Mary knows where she is, but
I
didn't find her. Did for her new Speaker, though.”

Dred smirked. “Now there's a job with short life span.”

“She probably can't replace him either unless she maintains a small pool of unmutilated subjects, just in case.” That was Vost.

“Somehow, I don't think talking to us will rank high on her list of things to do,” Jael said.

“I suppose not.”

Kill or be killed. Now it's down to the most basic conflict of all.

“Hm,” Dred said. “I wonder why she had someone ready to step in before. It's oddly forward thinking.”

“That means she's capable of planning,” Vost murmured.

Jael eyed the merc with irritation. “We already knew that, thanks. My odds of surviving this contretemps have gone up, though. I didn't expect to find anyone in here, I was just leading them a merry chase before picking a few more off.”

“You can't go on like that indefinitely,” Dred said.

“Worried about me, love?”

Once she would've denied it, but now she only nodded. The resultant pleasure eradicated the residual bitterness at finding her roving the station with Vost. “I culled their numbers for sure, and I learned something that we can use against her.”

Vost tilted his head. “You have my attention.”

Jael summarized what he'd found out about the method she used to keep her minions docile.

Dred frowned. “If we can find her lab—”

“Then we cripple her mobility,” he finished.

“I wonder what she's making. It has to be an organic compound, something that can be produced with human organs.”

“Or waste,” Dred pointed out.

While that was disgusting, it was also accurate. “If she's brainwashed them enough, they might actually believe she's death incarnate.”

“Yeah, I don't see us reasoning with any of her people,” Vost said.

“That has to wait.” Dred put her ear to the door. “We need to rush before they summon reinforcements. Otherwise, getting out of here may be impossible.”

“Depends on how many he left alive. But the odds are not in our favor.”

“They never are,” she muttered.

“If it's any consolation, our squad should've exterminated the lot of you and yet . . .” Vost trailed off, raising his brows in implicit acknowledgment of defeat.

“Not much, no. But you know better than anyone that I don't roll over.” Dred flashed the merc commander a toothy smile.

Meanwhile, Jael was prowling around the room, looking for something that would help him kill a lot of people. He grinned when the solution occurred to him. “Help me pull the cables from the recycler closest to the door.”

“Then we'll only have two functioning machines,” Dred noted.

“I'm aware. But we won't be around long enough for that to matter.”
I hope.

Vost switched the machine off, opened it up, and started unspooling the wires, then they stretched them across the room, and Jael affixed them to the metal handles. He heard the telltale thump of artless killers adding weight in the hope of getting to them faster.
The human body is conductive, right? Let's see how much.

Once he got a safe distance away, he said, “Fire it up.”

Dred hit the button and the next time Silence's assassins ran at the door, their screams were gratifying. She powered down the machine, so they could check out the damage. The one who hit first smoldered with flash burns all over his face and arm, while three more lay on the ground twitching. More still seemed to be dazed, stumbling around with shaking hands.

Only then. This will be easy.

“Take their weapons,” Dred ordered. “Don't even let them scratch you.”

But Vost was already on it, snatching blades right and left, even as Jael cut strips of wire to bind their hands. It might be an unnecessary precaution, but he wouldn't put it past them to attack even when they were lying on the ground. Because Silence's people didn't fight to win; they only existed to kill. Once they were all disarmed, Vost cut their throats, a messy-as-hell way to die, and one that left a bloody message for Silence.

We will fight you to the last man, to our last breath. Numbers are
not
enough.
In case she was stupid as well as mad as a crack-shelled Ithtorian, Jael dipped a poison blade into the blood of the fallen and wrote it on the wall.