by Ann Aguirre
Wills joined them a few moments later. “You ferreted him out, my queen. Well done.”
Relief spread through her. The traitor he’s been predicting all along, unmasked at last. Part of her had feared it would be Jael.
“I did little enough. He simply wasn’t as skilled as he thought.”
“Still,” Tam said, “it means we can proceed with no impediments.”
She nodded. “Time to finish this.”
38
Dying of the Light
“You positive you know where we’re going?” Jael asked Tam.
“Reasonably sure.”
They were trying a two-pronged attack—tainted water and full darkness—against Grigor. Jael’s team was heading down into the bowels of the ship for some prelim work; he hoped they didn’t run afoul of Katur’s aliens. The last thing Queensland needed was another conflict, just before this one was about to be settled. Tam seemed to think as long as they were respectful, there should be no problems.
“Why are we taking such a small party?”
“Because we’re not staying to kill. Once we accomplish our task down below, we’re regrouping to join Dred for the final assault.”
Ah, got it.
Their goal was quiet efficiency, not mass slaughter. Once they cut the power, the mayhem would begin. Jael followed as the others went to the shafts and headed down. Tam and Martine, along with Jael, made up the team. The other two were quiet as they climbed, none of Martine’s usual wit. The enemy had to be feeling the pressure of constant watches, constant patrols, by now, and the Great Bear wouldn’t take such strikes lying down; if he could muster any soldiers fit to fight, they’d soon be knocking at Queensland’s figurative gates.
“Tam, why did she pick us for this?” Martine wanted to know.
“Because we have the best chance of surviving it.”
Now that’s reassuring.
The other man went on, “And you apparently told her you want more responsibility.”
Jael laughed at that. “That’ll teach you to volunteer, bright eyes.”
“Shut up,” Martine muttered.
The rest of the way, they skulked in the shadows, cautious not to engage other patrols. Tam was an expert at finding places to hide, then barely seeming to breathe while enemies tromped past. Martine wasn’t bad either, which made Jael curious. She cut him a look over one shoulder that she wasn’t interested in conversation.
Just as well, stick to business.
He heard the sibilant sounds of an alien tongue long before they stepped into normal auditory range. From what he could tell, a group from the Warren was headed this way. Jael glanced at Tam, whispering, “How do you want to handle it?”
“This way,” the spymaster said.
They had just dodged around the corner and stepped into a storage closet when he detected the sound of pursuit. Martine cocked her head. “They’re saying they can smell us.”
“You speak the language?” he asked, impressed.
“Enough to get by. It’s helpful when you travel a lot . . . though not so much lately.”
Jael lifted his chin and smiled to indicate he thought that was funny. So many inmates had let incarceration steal their senses of humor—or maybe they just never had one. Tam raised a hand, quieting them, and he stilled in response, head tilted to catch any movements nearby. Surely Dred didn’t want us to delay the mission inevitably. But the spymaster wouldn’t permit them to kill a single soul down in the Warren, which made traversing it difficult.
At that point, Tam apparently decided it was smarter to acknowledge the aliens. He stepped out with both hands visible, and said, “Katur has given me permission to pass through his territory. Feel free to send word . . . I’m the one who saved Keelah.”
The scouting party discussed among themselves while Martine translated. “They’re saying all humans look alike, but that they think they’ve smelled Tam before. Now they’re trying to decide what to do about us.”
“This isn’t a hostile incursion,” Tam said quietly. “We’re passing through to strike at the Great Bear, and his defeat will make life a great deal safer for your people.”
Jael knew that much to be true, as Grigor’s men hunted aliens for sport. His heart was actually pounding, not because he feared they couldn’t defeat these creatures, but in anticipation of disobeying the Dread Queen. She wouldn’t like doing so, but protocol demanded punishment for failure, if they had to kill counter to her orders. and he couldn’t submit while she delivered it. Just . . . it was so much better, all around, if this ended without bloodshed.
Finally, the alien scout leader said in universal, “You have ten minutes. If you aren’t gone by then, we’ll hunt you down.”
“Thank you. Give my best to Katur and Keelah.” Tam’s tone was almost courtly.
Once the aliens moved off, Martine asked, “Will that be long enough?”
“Hope so. We’re going down here.” Tam stepped over to the nearest hatch and started his descent. This was lower than even the normal maintenance shafts.
What the hell is below the Warren?
Soon, Jael had his answer.
This was the sheer guts of the ship, a tangle of sparking wires and metal pylons. It formed the framework for everything else, attaching to the walls that supported the upper levels. Martine looked fascinated; she started forward, but Tam checked her.
“Careful. Things are in bad repair down here. Those are live wires, ungrounded.”
“I’m starting to see why you need me,” Jael said.
Tam flicked him a look of veiled perplexity. “I wish I did. Over there, that section of the grid keeps the power on in Grigor’s territory. If you unplug them, they drop into the dark. But to get there, you have to cross that—”
“And a normal man would die before he reached the panel since the charged metal floor would fry anyone else.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken so freely of his ability until Martine aimed a speculative look at him.
Oops. Guess she knows I don’t consider myself normal. Or a man, by most definitions.
“You think you can live through that?” she asked.
Jael didn’t bother replying. He hated electricity; it screwed with his coordination and his ability to think clearly, plus it made him smell like roasting meat. The scientists had tried to train him with electroshocks as well as dream therapy. Neither proved useful in modifying his behavior. They’d stamped his file with a big red REJ, citing the fact that he was ungovernable. It was clearly that he must be damaged, or he wouldn’t be considering this task.
“If you wait, I can try to move the wires,” Tam said. “When I scouted earlier, they weren’t touching the floor. They must’ve shifted.”
He nodded. Tremors weren’t uncommon. Sometimes the ship ran into debris that had fallen off the ship over the turns in orbit. If prisoners didn’t have so much to worry about inside, they might fret about a potential hull breach. For now, he’d focus on getting this done for Dred. It must be important if she’d pulled him off the front lines.
“If I fall,” he said to Tam, “don’t come after me.”
“I didn’t plan to,” Martine muttered.
The spymaster nodded. “Noted. Are you clear on which wires to disconnect?”
“You pointed out the section. But how many?”
“All of them within that white square, outlined in red. Try not to rip them, however, or it will be difficult to get the power back on. Silence won’t be happy if we deliver her new territory, complete with permanent blackout.”
“You sure?” the woman asked. “Death might enjoy the dark.”
Tam seemed amused. “I’d rather not deal with an invasion straightaway. We need time to work out the best way to defend the additional ground we’ve gained, how best to use it, too.”
Martine shrugged. “That’s for you to worry about, not me. I’m here to guard the door, right? And listen to what the aliens are saying as they approach.”
“Exactly.”<
br />
“Hope you’re fast,” she said. “I get the feeling Katur’s people won’t be generous in their countdown.”
She was likely right about that. So no more talk, no more fragging around.
Bracing himself, Jael ignored the other two and leapt toward the panel on the far wall. Damn. There wasn’t enough space for him to get a running start, so he landed square in the shock field. It didn’t matter how much he prepared mentally, though; the fierce, white-hot lightning zinging through his body made him dizzy—and it hurt so bad. The pain was constant, shooting up through the soles of his boots, along his calves, and into his knees. His legs wobbled as his whole body heated. He pressed forward with steps so careful they were clumsy.
Wonder how I look to them, if I’m glowing or sparking.
As if from a distance, he heard Tam say, “You’re doing great, nearly there.”
His eyes felt queer, melted, and he couldn’t see very well anymore. Smoke poured off the top of his head. He stepped off the live wires in front of the panel, staggered against the wall. That hurt, too, as his palms were bright red, cracked, and peeling. His arms showed black in spots, and he could only imagine how his feet looked.
“Dear Mary,” Martine breathed. “How’s he still moving?”
He would’ve made a joke but his lips were fused. The things I do for a pretty girl. Tam didn’t say anything about hurrying, probably because he understood Jael lacked the coordination to finish the job just yet. His body kicked in then, attacking the damage with efficient ferocity. Martine gasped, rubbing her eyes like she might be hallucinating. By the time his hands regenerated enough for him to finish the job, she was pestering Tam for more information. To his credit, the spymaster said nothing though that would be because he didn’t know.
Jael had no idea why he was so sure, but he believed that Dred hadn’t told Tam a damned thing. She’d kept his secret, even from her two closest confidantes. Jael unplugged the wires one by one, careful not to tear them and leaving the metal connectors in place for future use. At last he turned, still a white-hot ball of agony. Burns took a long time to heal, relative to other injuries, and now he had to face it again.
“You two go on ahead,” he said thickly. “I need some time.”
Tam shook his head, looking skeptical. “My orders are to stay with you.”
No wonder he looks doubtful. I must look like death itself.
“It’s going to take me longer than they gave for me to recover enough to get out of here.” Technically, they were under the Warren, not in Katur’s territory, so maybe as long as they stayed down here, the aliens wouldn’t attack. Mary, this hurts.
The other man made himself comfortable. “Recover? I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Martine stared at him. “If you think I’m going anywhere without some answers, you’re as crazy as you are pretty.”
Since he was a crisped monster right then, Jael appreciated her pretense at flirtation. But he suspected the other two didn’t understand. “If I try to cross now, I’ll be incapacitated. I have to heal enough to make it back across. It could be hours.”
“Then settle in,” Tam said. “Take however long you need. We’re not leaving.”
“Why?”
Martine answered, “Dred’s orders. But look, even without them, I wouldn’t bail. You need me to kick some alien ass if they venture down here looking for us.”
That was a stupid argument. “They couldn’t get to me without frying.”
“They have missile weapons,” Tam pointed out. “It’s my hope, however, that they will check in with Katur and that he’ll grant his blessing to our expedition.”
Shit. Jael gave up trying to get them to abandon him, an odd feeling. People had never proven reluctant to cut him loose before—and they were usually more eager to get away, once they learned how inhuman he was. He should be troubled about Martine’s knowing the truth, as she had little reason to wish him well. It made no sense that he’d encounter loyalty like this inside Perdition, where the worst of humanity was imprisoned.
But maybe there are a few of the best, too.
39
Beyond Madness
The lights went out on schedule.
Dred commanded all able-bodied men for this final run at Grigor. Between the water and the lack of light, his men should be weak and disoriented. Add in her forces and the ones led by Silence—the Handmaiden was on hand with garrotes and knives, ready to deal some death—and the Great Bear’s days were numbered. With no power, it was eerily silent in the Korolévstvo, not even the low hum that meant the ship was functioning.
“Lights up,” she ordered.
Nearby, Silence gave the same command to her men.
As one, they donned the mining helmets they’d salvaged from Priest’s hoard. That would make it possible to finish this without decimating the Queensland or Entropy populations. Not that she’d weep overmuch if some of her men stabbed Silence’s people; and Dred imagined the Handmaiden felt the same way. Talk about a precarious alliance.
With hundreds of thin beams of light at her back, she led the march on the Great Bear. The first checkpoint was deserted, which spoke well of Tam’s plan with the water. It was cruel and underhanded, not a warrior’s strategy at all. But she couldn’t afford to fight fair, not when Grigor had so many more soldiers. As she pushed closer to the Korolévstvo, the stench swelled to awful proportions, mingling feces and urine with the stale sweat of sickness and the sweet stink of decay. Dred covered her nose with one hand and pressed on. They crossed two more abandoned checkpoints, and she started to wonder just how bad it had gotten. Closer to the hub of the territory, she found the first corpses. Dred bent to examine them, shining her light across the cold, pallid skin.
“Head wound,” Einar said. “Bled like a stuck animal before he died.”
The Speaker stepped up beside her, translating for Silence. “This is a good omen . . . Death strides before us, clearing our path.”
That was an impressive, overflowing bucket of crazy, so she just inclined her head and stepped over the corpses. “Stay sharp. I doubt they’re all dead.”
“We couldn’t be so lucky,” Einar said.
They’d left Wills and Ike to man the automated defenses, along with a minimal defense crew. Those who had stayed behind had no taste for personal violence; they were killers of another stripe, who preferred long-distance weapons or poisons. As she moved into the heart of darkness, she wondered where Jael and Tam were. They had orders to regroup with the main force as soon as they finished down below. It seemed like they ought to be here by now.
Before curiosity could blossom into concern, she stepped into what must be Grigor’s great hall. She skimmed her light around the room with countless men at her back doing the same; the result was disconcerting, multiple streams of light crisscrossing the darkness and giving staccato impressions. Immediately, she readied her chains.
“Give me room,” she said, starting forward.
A brawl was ongoing across the way, draped in darkness. Tam had said cutting the lights qualified as a psychological weapon to terrorize and demoralize their foes. She hadn’t been sure it would work that way, but these men had already been pushed to the breaking point by the dirty water and unexpected illness. Now they had no reason to try to restrain their savage natures. Fragments of argument reached her, along with the muffled thump of fists on palms, panting breaths, and moans of pain. From this distance, in the broken light, it was impossible to count how many there were, but they were oblivious, drowning in anger.
The Speaker said, “These are the dregs he left behind. We will not find Grigor here.”
“Then we cut through them,” she answered grimly. “For Queensland!”
The men rushed in a roar, wading into the brawl with an enthusiasm that nearly deafened her. Since her chains hurt her own people as much as the enemy when she fought in a tight cluster, Dred stood away from the melee, catching the enemies who tried to flee. One of Grigor’
s soldiers broke from the scrum and stumbled toward her; she planted her feet and lashed her chains, hooking them around his knees. One tug, and he went flying. She finished him with twin, artistic lashes, but it was nothing to be proud of—the man was thin and sick, sclera showing yellow in the thin beam from her helmet.
The whole room was a blur of misery and violence. This was probably what the Conglomerate had in mind, but I suspect they imagined it would happen sooner. There was an awful beauty in Einar scything through his enemies. He gave no quarter, and the broad swing of his deadly axe demanded the broad clearance his allies offered. Nobody fought near him; they didn’t dare. Even among Grigor’s brutes, he towered head and shoulders above the rest. He was a juggernaut of wrath, dealing destruction to the enemies who rushed him from all sides.
Dred picked off another coward, this time breaking his neck with a skilled twirl of her chains. His body flew forward, then dropped, and a few Queenslanders cheered. They didn’t need to see her dive into the melee to believe she could hold her own. She’d carried them to this point, but sometimes a queen had to step back and open her hands. When they won the day, the Queenslanders would’ve earned their revels, and they’d appreciate the victory more, feel more invested in the new territory. These lessons, she’d absorbed from Tam without realizing he had been teaching her statecraft.
Who the hell are you, spymaster? More to the point, where the hell are you?
Dred glanced over her shoulder and was unnerved to find the Speaker standing just behind her, just outside her peripheral vision. Trying not to be obvious about it, she angled her stance. If he thought he’d murder her during the battle and blame the enemy, well. She put her back to the wall, just in case. Silence fought like a shadow, slipping from victim to victim with her garrote. It shouldn’t be possible to execute men with such surgical precision in such a mess, but the Handmaiden was like Death itself, hardly visible between the moving lattice of lights. Only her long gray hair showed when she moved, like the dingy shroud on a corpse come back from the netherworld to reap men’s souls.
