Perdition (The Dred Chronicles) (4 page)

“You watch him a great deal,” Tameron said.

Dred started. The only thing she didn’t like about him was how easily he could come upon her unaware. While she trusted him—insofar as anyone in this place—he could so easily slip a knife between her ribs and take over Queensland quietly.
But he’d have to come up with a new name.
Though to be fair, the convicts had dubbed her territory after the coup. It wasn’t an act of vanity, as Dred didn’t care what they called the shafts and ship space that belonged to her.

“So do you.” That wasn’t a guess. Tam would’ve been observing and collecting data, as that was his habit. “Conclusions?

“It’s impossible to gauge his true nature. Too many masks.”

“And does that make him less dangerous to us . . . or more?”

Tam thought for a few seconds. “More, I think. It’s difficult to gauge whether a dog will bite if it doesn’t growl first.”

“What else have you learned? Not necessarily about the new fish.”

“The word’s out that Grigor means to move against the garden. And I’ve heard whispers that Priest may be planning a joint offensive. We could be looking at simultaneous strikes.”

He’d also informed her that they could expect an assault at multiple points. If that attack came via both Grigor and Priest, it could be catastrophic for their resources. Living in a constant state of war was exhausting. Dred’s temples ached, and sometimes she yearned to stand down, but she had found living underneath somebody else’s aegis intolerable in here. Einar and Tameron had sided with her when she started rallying new fish to her banner. Their loyalty couldn’t be rewarded with apathy.

“What do you recommend?” Few people realized just how critical Tam was to her strategies, and that was safest. If they did, they certainly would’ve killed him.

“It would be best if we could foment some discord in their holdings. Prevent them from coordinating the attacks.”

“Is it possible that Grigor and Priest have allied?” The idea gave her chills.

They occupied space to either side of her. If they set aside their differences long enough, they could conceivably crush her, then divide up her territory and resources. Shaft access might not seem like much, but it permitted Tameron to spy on everyone else with impunity. He knew the maintenance and access ducts like the back of his hand. Her other big asset was the hydroponics garden. Tam had been warning her that things were getting too civilized here—apart from the threat of outward assault, life in her zone wasn’t intolerable. But peace and prosperity made the other leaders want to wreck it.

Sometimes she felt like an empress of air and bones, but the fight never ended. She glanced at Tam, who was watching the men. Right now, the mood was quiet. He would warn her if their inclinations shifted toward aggression and bloodshed; at that point, it would be time to host another series of games. Blood sports were a way of life in her territory, not one she loved, but it was necessary. She didn’t get killers to follow the rules by eliminating violence entirely. No, it had to be channeled, against the enemies, and if times were too quiet, against each other in sanctioned death matches.

Part of her, a faint and dying spark, was horrified by what she’d become, by what she permitted to happen in her holding, and what she did in the name of survival. But it wasn’t in her DNA to lie down.
Perhaps that’s part of my problem.
Across the main hall, a card game disintegrated into an argument, but it was settled with fists, not knives. Dred didn’t intervene.

After a long silence, Tam sighed, and answered, “Yes. I don’t have evidence of it yet, but I believe they’re in collusion, the objective being your downfall.”

“Then war is coming,” she said softly. “We must prepare.”

6

Blood Sport

As prisons went, this one was pretty bad. The hardest part was never seeing daylight, and he saw the results of that deficiency in the faces of those who had been confined for turns. Ostensibly, the lights compensated for the lack of sunlight, but the men were still fish-belly pale.
Not that I look any better.
When they’d dragged him out of the hole where he’d languished on Ithiss-Tor, he’d thought,
Finally
.
Extradition.

But when they realized they had Jael instead of Commander March, they couldn’t let him go. For crimes against humanity—an all-purpose charge—they sentenced him to life in Perdition. He guessed they didn’t want to destroy Farwan’s research and needed him where they could locate him should the need arise. In a political sense, his existence was a minefield, and he supposed leaders had argued as to whether he was entitled to fundamental human rights.

In the end, they decided against a death sentence. Through it all, Jael had been curious, not concerned, simply wondering how they would bring about his destruction if he was judged monstrous enough to deserve it. He had survived everything else. It would have added another layer of horror to persist through various methods of execution. In his heart, he knew his death would require primitive and barbaric measures, like taking his head.

That could happen here. The men are violent enough.

But not in Queensland. Dred had kept her promise in the sense that her territory was fairly civilized. There were no random murders, little deviance, so far as he could see. In the two weeks he’d been inside, he had explored enough of the prison ship to realize that wasn’t the case elsewhere. He’d taken to marking hash tags on the wall near his pallet, so he didn’t lose track of time as he had on Ithiss-Tor. There, he had descended into madness listening to the endless chittering of the Bugs echoing in the dark cavern.

Today, however, the hall bustled with activity. Men appeared to be building a perimeter in the center of the room. He watched for a moment before asking the man beside him, “What’s going on?”

“That’s right, you’re a new fish. Those are grudge matches.”

He raised an inquiring brow.

The man was clever enough to interpret it correctly as a question. “If someone does you wrong, you’re not allowed to knife him. That gets you sent out of Queensland. Instead, you wait for the matches and issue a challenge. If you kill him in the ring, that’s square with Dred, and there’s no reprisal.”

“The waiting probably helps put things in perspective, too.”

“For some. There are blokes in here that live to fight in the ring, so be careful of crossing them. They can keep their urges on the chain, so long as they get to release them regular, but it don’t take much to make them fix on killing somebody.”

Jael nodded. “I appreciate the warning.”

“No problem. Everybody was new once. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten the word.”

He took a second look at his benefactor. This was an old man by any standards: weathered skin, battle scars, and thinning gray hair. If anyone was an expert on Perdition systems, he ought to be. The old-timer had probably seen regimes rise and fall, and he was still standing. That spoke of some particular savvy, which Jael intended to acquire.

“How long have you been inside?” he asked.

The man shrugged. “I don’t even know. But since the place was commissioned, I reckon. How long’s that been?”

“Close to twenty turns.” And he’d spent them in a different prison.

Iron determination solidified in his bones.
I’m getting out of here.
Automated ships came at irregular intervals, so that meant a way out. He’d seen the defenses coming in, and they were supposed to be unbreakable.
We’ll see.

“I’m Ike,” the old man said then.

“Jael. So what can you tell me about the man who ran Queensland before?”

“Artan? He was a right bastard. Back then, things weren’t anything like you see now. We killed each other with as much glee as prisoners from other zones. There was no defending our borders, just chaos and bloodshed. Sometimes I think they put us inside, imagining we’ll just kill each other. No need for them to dirty their hands with death sentences when they can get convicts to do the job without the moral dilemma.”

“How did she take over?” he asked.

That might be too personal a question.
And it revealed more interest in the Dread Queen than he wanted, but he was curious enough not to retract it. Jael waited to see what Ike said.

He didn’t seem to think anything of it. “A knife in the back. She had been quietly gathering support, telling the men she had plans to make the place better. It’s survival of the fittest here. And when she took down the boss man, she proved she had the guts to reign.”

A simple but effective stratagem.
“She must worry that somebody will try to take Queensland from her the same way.”

“A bit, maybe. Most of us are happier than before she took over, so we wouldn’t. But there are a few who miss the mayhem.” Ike shrugged, then added, “But that’s why she never sleeps alone. Tam and Einar are with her at all times.”

He had no idea why he was so startled by that. Women had been using sex to manipulate men for aeons, and for Dred to use it to cement the loyalty of her two lieutenants, well, it was a canny move. At heart, males were often simple creatures—and if their base needs for food and sex were met, they could be controlled. She was clever to anticipate that and to factor it into her security plans.

“That’s a good fail-safe, provided they don’t turn.”

“They wouldn’t,” Ike said. “She recruited Tam for Artan when he first got off the ship, and he’s seen how it is elsewhere. As for Einar, well.”

Einar’s sick in love with her.
He’d discerned as much the moment he saw them.
Obviously he doesn’t mind sharing, however.
In a place like this, Jael supposed you got used to the constant redistribution of resources.

“Tell me—”

The old man motioned him to silence as a tall, brown-skinned woman stepped into the circle constructed of scrap metal and broken bits. Like most, she was lean, muscular, and scarred, but she’d added to her features with multiple piercings through lip and brow, shards of metal threaded through her ears. She raised both arms . . . and the rest of the talk ceased.

They have some sense of ceremony.

“Who’s that?” he whispered.

“Calypso. She’s the mistress of the circle.”

“Are all the positions of authority held by females?”

Ike offered him an appraising glance. “Would that bother you?”

“No. I’m just wondering.”

The old man shook his head. “Quiet now. Talking during the matches is a good way to get yourself challenged. I’ll point out key personnel afterward.”

He knew when to take a well-meant warning, so he shut up. In her left hand, Calypso held a staff welded together from steel scraps, probably pinched from other places on the ship. She drummed it against the floor three times, and he had to admit, it made for an amazing concussive echo. At her signal, two men leapt into the circle, the first two combatants. Jael judged them relatively equal in size and strength though skill was another matter.

“State your grievance,” she called.

“This bastard stole from me. I’ll have his life in payment.”

The other man narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t deny the charge. “If I kill you, I’m acquitted.”

A cheer rose up from the assembled convicts as Calypso pronounced, “Let the games begin!”

Once the woman vaulted out of the circle, the fighters rushed. Neither had any technique, but they possessed plenty of rage. Instead of watching them battle to the death, he studied the crowd. A handful of men seemed sickened rather than thrilled; others were laying bets. Then his gaze stopped on Dred—and until that moment, he didn’t realize he had been searching for her.

And she was looking at him, too.

He tried, but he couldn’t summon the charming smile that hid his true nature this time. So the eye contact remained somber and intense. Jael suspected she was taking his measure, appraising his reaction to the blood sport. And he wondered what his expression said. At last he lifted his chin and turned away, more unsettled than he let on.

The thief won. After that, he watched five men die in the space of an hour. Then Calypso bounded into the ring and slammed her staff into the floor, a signal that likely meant the matches were concluded. All around him, men dispersed to go about their business, such as there could be in a place like this. From the look of the furnishings, some had taken to building to stave off boredom, which led to discontent and more bloodshed. Here, however, nothing new could be created without stripping it from somewhere else. The ship was being cannibalized, piece by piece, and he wondered how long it would take before the vessel ceased functioning entirely. When life support lost enough components, it would shut down, leaving them to asphyxiate.

Not the best death.

“What did you think of the show?” Ike asked.

“I’ve seen better. Worse, too.” Let him make of that what he would.

“I get the feeling you’ve seen more than I might imagine,” the old man said shrewdly. “But I promised to tell you about the people in power, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Well, you already know Dred, Einar, and Tam. Now you’ve seen Calypso. There are really only three more people who have a say in the way Queensland runs.”

“And they are?”

“Cook,” Ike said, surprising him. “It’s an odd thing, and the man doesn’t talk much. He’s pretty levelheaded, unless you interfere with his kitchen. Dred says an army marches on its belly, so we have to keep him happy.”

“And that means she listens when he speaks.” It was a sensible decision.

“Exactly. The other two? That’s easy. There’s Wills—”

“I already made his acquaintance. What’s your take, Ike? Does he have any real ability?”

Ike sighed. “I believe so. She treats him like her court wizard. He’s a foretelling Psi, but that gift ran him mad turns ago. I wouldn’t carry his burden for a billion credits
and
my freedom.”

“That’s a firm refusal,” he observed. “And the last man?”

A canny light entered the old man’s eyes, and his thin mouth curved into a smile. “Me, of course. If we’re continuing the royal metaphor, I’d be her harlequin.” At Jael’s raised brows, he elaborated, “I’m the old jester who tells her the key truths nobody else will speak. I’m also quietly her eyes and ears among the men. I take their measure and report any potential problems.”

“You’re telling me this so I don’t become one?”

He shook his head. “No. You asked. Any man with the wit to wonder should have his answer.”

“So she truly is the Dread Queen.”

Ike met his gaze. “In our eyes, yes. She’s made this place tolerable. Most of us have seen what it’s like in Abaddon or—”

“I’ve heard that word before.”

His education was spotty, though, one of the few things that gave him secret shame. Jael wished he knew more than a hundred ways to end a man’s life, more than fifty ways to survive, but life hadn’t taught him those things. There had been no classrooms for him or sessions with a tutor. In the eyes of most, he wasn’t a person in need of education, but rather, a tool to be used, a weapon that fired on command. He wasn’t even sure whether he was on the books as a sentient being, officially speaking.

Ike didn’t comment. “It’s a mythological place from the stories, but it means hell. And that’s fairly accurate, as far as Priest’s territory goes.”