Perdition (The Dred Chronicles) (10 page)

“Not sure. Lecass looks awfully amused.”

“You think he’s behind this? It doesn’t seem like his style.”

“He could be just enjoying the chaos,” Ike suggested.

A new fish made the mistake of asking Cook what was for dinner, and the man replied by throwing a knife at his head. The man ducked just in time; the blade clanged against the metal wall all the way across the hall. Then Cook stalked over to fetch his weapon and resumed preparation of the next meal. Shoulders down, the fish slunk away, but it had become clear to Tam that he had to find those spices before somebody died over them.

“Property check,” he shouted. “Somebody’s got sticky fingers.”

Tam sent guards to round up all the personal belongings that had been stored by men currently on patrol elsewhere. The Queenslanders moaned, but nobody protested. Since everybody got enough to eat, there was no excuse for pilfering from Cook. Plus, it was straight-up stupid, pissing off the man who made the food.

With Ike’s help, he rummaged through all the packs and pouches until he found the missing items. Tam was honestly startled to unearth them in Lecass’s bag. From the man’s expression, he was, too. Lecass was an asshole with a lot of enemies, people he’d wronged under Artan’s rule. The punishment for theft wasn’t death; Dred couldn’t afford to lose men over such a light offense. Which meant somebody wanted to see Lecass shamed and flogged.

Tam gave the spices back to Cook, then he turned to Lecass. “You know the punishment.”

“I didn’t take that shit,” the larger man snarled.

“Evidence says otherwise.” Though he disliked the sense that he was being manipulated, Tam couldn’t see a way around the inevitable. Finding the spices in Lecass’s pack was enough to convict him, and the other inmates didn’t like him well enough to allow mercy.

“Touch me, and I break your neck.”

Cook took exception to that. He laid down his spoon and took up his two biggest knives, then he joined Tam quietly. Cook was a tall man, burly, without Einar’s muscle mass, and Tam could remember every word he’d ever spoken in Tam’s hearing.

So when he said, “Try,” to Lecass, that made seven.

Being a spymaster hadn’t equipped him for direct confrontation or keeping order. Tam would’ve been lying if he hadn’t been grateful when Calypso appeared on his other side. The mistress of the ring didn’t usually involve herself with mundane matters, but there was no doubt she was dangerous. None of Lecass’s usual supporters came forward; they knew better than to intervene in an earned punishment. If they did, they’d earn a taste of the same, and while whippings weren’t usually fatal, there was always a chance of infection setting in.

“The spices were among your things. That means you pay,” Calypso said.

Other Queenslanders gathered around, eager for some drama. Tam would’ve thought that imminent invasion by Priest and Grigor, along with a terrifying alliance with Silence, should be enough to tide them over for a while, but apparently these men never grew glutted on bloodshed. He steeled himself to do what was required.

“You have a choice. I administer the lashes now . . . or we can confine you, so that the Dread Queen can punish you properly upon her return. What do you prefer?”

Hatred burned like dying stars in Lecass’s eyes. “Get it over with, bitch queen’s mongrel.”

Cook and Calypso lashed Lecass to the metal frame where they had recently tortured a prisoner. To his credit, the man didn’t struggle, though his limbs were rigid with fury. Tam said to Cook, “As the offended party, you decide how much he pays. How many strokes?”

Cook held up ten fingers. As floggings went, it was fairly light. Maybe he agreed with Tam, suspecting Lecass had been set up. That didn’t mean they could pat him on the head on a hunch, however. Queensland ran on certain rules, and uniform application kept most of the mayhem in check.

“Take his shirt off,” he said to Calypso.

The woman was careful with Lecass’s clothing. In here, they couldn’t afford to waste fabric. Ike delivered the whip; it was a ceremonial thing fashioned of leather made from rodent skin and tiny metal barbs. As one, the Queenslanders made room, forming a ring around the frame. Tam’s stomach turned. It was one thing to orchestrate horrific deeds, another to perform them with his own hand.

“Count for me,” he told the crowd.

One,
they shouted as the flogger snapped.

Lecass jerked in his bonds but he didn’t cry out. His eyes burned on, his mouth flattened into a white seam of rage and pain. Tam pretended he wasn’t beating a human as he lifted his arm again and again, ignoring the cheers from the crowd. He registered it only when they shouted
ten
, and he delivered the last blow. Though he despised Lecass as a brute and a sadist, he took no pleasure in the man’s pain.

A couple of Lecass’s cohorts helped him down. Maybe they even liked him well enough to clean his wounds. The man shook them off with an enraged gesture, proud enough to walk away from the beating unaided. Tam scanned the crowd, seeking someone taking a little too much pleasure in the show, and he found Martine, wearing a satisfied smile.

“I fear the result of today’s work,” Tam said softly to Calypso.

The mistress of the ring nodded, her dark eyes inscrutable as a starry sky.

16

Durasteel Heart

Before they left the Peacemaker, Jael grabbed the Shredder. With Wills’s help, he popped the spare ammo out of the Peacemaker’s chest, stowed neatly behind the cannon. The madman was fascinated by the internal loading mechanism, but Dred reminded him of the mission with a pointed clearing of her throat.

“Do the two of you need anything else before we go?” Her boot tapped against the metal floor, the only sign of her impatience.

“A kiss for luck?” Jael suggested easily.

Dred studied him as if considering the offer, then she shook her head. “We don’t need luck with ability like yours.”

It was the only rejection that had ever left him smiling. Jael moved out, pleased to have the Shredder as reinforcement to his mad skills. He led them along the route Dred indicated, based on what she’d learned from Tam. Eventually, the corridor came to a T with rough resistance at the crossing.

“Two turrets, live and tracking, dead ahead.” Jael gave his report in low tones.

They shouldn’t be difficult to take out.

“These don’t have sophisticated programming,” Einar added. “Just motion detectors.”

“Then be still,” Jael told him.

He crawled forward on his belly, remembering when he’d served as a sniper in various units. It had been a long damn time, however. In his last squad, they’d used him as a grunt, aiming him when they required a hole in the line. Hopefully, he hadn’t lost any accuracy. Propping up, he peered down the barrel of the gun, sighted, then issued a warning.

“This whole area will be saturated in lead. I need you to fall back.”

From the sharp look she gave him, Dred suspected he meant to take the hits. But hell, there was only an empty corridor. If he stayed still and didn’t move much, the turrets would have some trouble tracking him. With luck, they’d shoot wide. If not, he could survive a few bullets in his back. The worst part would be digging them out before the wounds closed. Jael had a few pieces of metal in his body that didn’t belong. Itchy as hell.

None of them argued, freeing him to do what he did best. He opened up, focusing on the connective wires that powered the turrets. It would be best if he didn’t blow them all to hell. Then they could be transported as part of the salvage op. But if it came down to destroying the turrets so they could pass, Jael would get it done.

He slowed his breathing to further stymie the targeting, then he laid down heavy rain. Projectiles drummed the turret base, ricocheting until they dug into the wall behind.
Not enough.
The turrets fired back, both of them, but since he wasn’t running toward them, they didn’t have a clear map of where to aim. Jael held still and the bullets bit into the ground centimeters from his face. He was surprised by a cold wash of fear. He’d almost died once on this run, and he wasn’t eager for an encore.
Enough bullets slam into my skull—and I’m done.

So he didn’t fire back until the turrets spent what they had in chambers, then they clicked and whirred, reloading from conduits in the floor.
That means there’s more ammo underneath.
Jael saw his best chance and took it, though he didn’t go full auto, as that would be a waste of rounds and too imprecise for the work he was attempting here. He shot through the knot of wires, and the turret on the left dropped, unresponsive. The right gun boomed to life, though, drenching the floor and walls with hot lead. He took two rounds, and in anyone else, it would’ve shattered the bone. But he had reinforcements, filaments in his skin, so his forearm took the damage and saved his arm from the break.

Still hurts like a bitch.

Two more exchanges like that, and the second turret went down. Jael stumbled to his feet, arm cradled against his chest. He felt his body fighting to heal the wounds already, but the presence of foreign material complicated matters. Einar clapped him on the back so hard, he almost fell down; Wills was more circumspect in his kudos, but clearly, the crazy little bastard was excited, too.

Dred came up beside him and checked the wounds. “Those need to come out.”

Without hesitation, she drew out her shiv and took hold of his arm. It was lunacy the way she took command of him without asking, like she had a perfect right. For reasons unclear to him, Jael let her dig into his skin, though he’d cut people off at the knees for lesser offenses. He sucked a breath in but didn’t turn away as she worked the bullets out of his flesh. One by one, they pinged the ground, leaving bloody droplets smeared on the floor.

“That’s done it. Sorry if it hurt. I’d clean that for you, but—”

“No need. I’m not susceptible to infection.” And even if it did fester, he wouldn’t get gangrene. He’d just run hot for a bit while feeling like shit.

“I see why they sent you to us,” Einar said quietly. “You’d be hell in the real world. Nothing stops you from taking what you want.”

Jael flicked a look in Dred’s direction, but she was talking in low tones with the soothsayer about how best to salvage the turrets and install them in her territory. Wills answered, “I’ll need all the parts, plus the platform below. There must be ammunition nearby and a conduit for reloading.”

“These can be set up for manual use,” Einar said. The big man moved forward and indicated a switch at the base of the turrets.

“Good to know.” Dred gave an approving nod. “Let’s push on. I hope to hell we find some kind of dolly in the bay, though, or it will take us a month to get back to Queensland.”

“We’d be jacked and killed before then,” Wills predicted gloomily.

Jael laughed. “With all this gear? I don’t think so. We did well enough with shivs.”

“And we haven’t slept or eaten since,” the other man pointed out, as they pushed past the dead turrets and into a new set of hallways.

Yeah, that could be a problem.

“Can Ike and Tam keep things together? How well does Queensland run without you?” He aimed an inquiring look at Dred.

“It’ll be fine,” she predicted. “If I know Tam, he’ll spin some story about how I’m meditating before the great battle to unearth a weakness in our enemies . . . and must not be disturbed.”

“Seriously? And they’d believe it?” She was an exceptional woman, but she wasn’t the messianic figure the Queenslanders painted her.

Einar answered, “Absolutely. Dred’s got just enough Psi to inspire awe.”

“Then if we can find a place to hole up, we should rest before we start back. There’s no way I’m letting all this gear fall into enemy hands.”

He didn’t mind when the other two men glanced at the princess in chains for confirmation. Though it was his recommendation, she was in charge, no question.

She approved the suggestion with a nod. “I’m on my last legs. Anything we face, going forward, I won’t be at my best. That’s not fair to any of you.”

She just admitted weakness again.
In his experience, commanders didn’t. They made excuses and blamed their men, knocked a few heads together and sometimes authorized some executions to teach the grunts to fight harder. Failure never came as a result of poor planning or insufficient leadership. Little by little, he was starting to understand why they idolized her.

Fortunately, there was no more combat. The turrets marked the last of the automated defenses, at least in this section. But the good luck didn’t stretch further than that; instead of mounted guns or more Peacemaker units, an amber force field stood between them and the goal. Through the glimmering light, Jael saw all kinds of things they could use to shore up the defensive line, but there was no reaching them from here.

“Shit,” he said. “We’ll have to circle around.”

Dred shook her head. “Then we’d trigger it from the other side. There has to be some way to shut it down.”

“The controls are probably inside the bay,” Wills said.

“That doesn’t help us,” Jael snapped.

Even as the smaller man recoiled, he knew it was unfair to take his rage out on Wills. He offered an apologetic half shrug and the other inmate made a dismissive gesture. They were all tired and surly, frustrated by this last obstacle. Dred stared at the force field as if she could dispel it with her mind, but it didn’t seem like her powers ran in that direction. At last, she turned away with an angry snarl. She paced the way they’d come, then up to the force field, and back again.

“What—” he started to say.

“She’s thinking,” Einar interrupted. “Let her be.”

They sat down while Dred paced, mumbling possibilities and discarding them. Her brainstorming might’ve gone on for minutes or hours, as Jael dozed off.

He woke to her saying, “I might have a solution. But it will require some backtracking, a lot of jury-rigging, a bit of luck, lot of daring, and some of your special genius, Wills.”

“I’m in,” the man said without hesitation. “Just tell me what to do.”

By the time they hauled the Peacemaker’s laser arm and the power source back to the force field, Jael was fragging tired in a way he hadn’t been in turns. The snatched sleep had only made his head ache though he did better than most on reduced rest. He’d gotten soft sitting in the Bug prison, nothing to do all day but sleep, eat, and pace his cell. Furthermore, the other two men seemed to understand without being told what the princess in chains meant to do.

It pissed him off that
he
didn’t.

Wills went to work wiring the laser directly to the power source. He’d stripped some components from the turrets in order to make the necessary connections, and Einar cheered when the gun powered up. Jael watched, frustrated, but determined not to ask for explanations. Next, Wills tinkered with the laser’s settings, calibrating it somehow. From what Jael could tell he was attuning it to—
oh
. He got it, now.

“I think this should do it,” Wills said, ten minutes later. “We’re good to go. But if it works, it will only punch a hole for a few seconds.”

“That’ll be long enough.”

Before Jael could protest that he was best suited to high-risk missions, she handed the gun to Einar, and said, “On my mark.” After dropping the chains wrapped around her arms, she positioned herself in front of the force field, then called, “Now!”

The big man fired; two energy fields overlapped, and the amber light flickered, then shaded out. Dred took full advantage, diving through just as the field sealed up behind her. It caught one of her boots, which was smoking at the bottom when she flipped to her feet. With a huge grin, she held two thumbs up to show she was all right.

“Dammit,” he growled. “She should’ve sent me.”

Wills shrugged. “I suspect she thinks you’ve done enough. Dred’s not one to rely on other people too much. Don’t worry, she’ll find the kill switch or control panel. We’ll be inside soon enough. Hope there’s something to eat, some leftover paste, maybe. That stuff keeps forever.”

“But she left her chains,” Jael protested. “She’s in there with no weapons.”

Einar flicked him a warning look. “Don’t let her hear you talking like that about her. That woman hunted and executed forty men before they caught her. She may seem like she’s decent, kind even, but she’s a killer, just like you and me.”

For some reason, that surprised him. Jael had known you didn’t end up in Perdition for nonviolent crimes, but he’d almost expected her to be the exception. He wanted to know who she’d been killing—and why—because he felt sure she wouldn’t do it without a good reason. Some people killed for fun, profit, or pleasure, but he sensed none of that from her. Her bio signs didn’t accelerate when they fought, other than normal adrenaline. Junkie-rush killers always smelled . . . different.

“Maybe she pissed off the wrong person,” he suggested to Einar.

But the big man shook his head. “Don’t fool yourself, mate. I think the world of her, but deep down, she’s got a durasteel heart.”