Gears of War: The Slab (Gears of War 5)

by Karen Traviss

  “Okay. Who’s doing it?”

  “You and me.”

  Campbell closed the stove door and reached for his baton, hanging on the back of the chair from a leather strap. “Parmenter better let the dogs out, then. Lockdown.”

  The solitary cells—the psychiatric wing, out of necessity—were pretty good accommodation compared to the main floor, at least in the summer. The cells were dark, but they were cool and quiet. Niko sometimes wondered how he’d cope in here and decided that he’d do better with privacy than living on the main floor like a mannequin in a shop window.

  “Hey, screw!” a voice yelled from down the corridor. That was Beresford. “Jarvi, is that you? There’s water in my goddamn cell. Look. It’s damn well freezing.”

  Niko gestured to Campbell to stay put while he checked it out. “What do you mean, water?” He walked along the row of doors. “Where?”

  “On the floor. It’s been seeping up through the flagstones.”

  Niko made sure he had his baton ready with the leather loop firmly around his fist. He’d never had any crap from Beresford, not for a few years anyway, but he never felt easy around the guy even though he wasn’t violent toward men. Niko opened the door and motioned Beresford to stand at the back of the cell.

  He was right about the water. Niko could see the shimmering reflection in the light from the overhead grille. The floor wasn’t awash, but there were small, glittering puddles in the indentations, the deeper ones showing reflections. His first thought was that the toilet or washbasin was leaking. But he checked the U-bends and the seals, and they were bone dry.

  “I see little bubbles sometimes,” Beresford said. “It’s coming up from underground.”

  “I don’t think we’re on a stream or spring or anything.”

  “So? Where’s it coming from?”

  “Well, you’re moving upstairs anyway, so you won’t have to worry about it.” Niko shut the door behind him. “We’ll move you out next.”

  “It’s probably condensation,” Campbell called.

  “No, there’s water seeping up through the floor,” Niko said. “And don’t say call maintenance.” It wouldn’t have been the first time they had to shut down an area because the wiring had perished or something structural had collapsed and there was nobody to fix it. “Must be recent.”

  Campbell yelled out. “Anyone else got water in their cell?”

  “Me, sir.” That was Slupinski. His cell was on the same side of the passage as Beresford’s. “Just a bit under the sink this morning.”

  “I bet it’s the goddamn grubs,” Campbell muttered. “They’ve shifted a watercourse or something when they’ve been digging.”

  “Don’t let them in!” Ruskin whimpered. “Don’t let them in here! Please!”

  “It’s okay, the grubs don’t have keys.” Niko would have felt sorry for the guy if he hadn’t known what he was in for. “They’ll have to put in for a visiting pass.”

  Ruskin didn’t have crazy mailman-eating cannibal tattooed on his forehead. He was a thick-set, chubby guy in his fifties, all dark curly hair shot with gray, someone Niko would have taken for a short-order cook if he hadn’t known he’d been a teacher. The lack of exercise in solitary showed. All Ruskin cared about was that no strangers came to his door. Niko could piece that one together, just about.

  “Promise?” Ruskin said.

  “Come on, Ruskin.” Niko stood at the open door, shaking the handcuffs. He’d never had a problem with Ruskin. Most of the time, he just seemed terrified of noises and voices, but there was no point getting careless. “We’re moving you.”

  Ruskin backed away a couple of paces. “Where?”

  “Somewhere nice and dry.” Campbell was right behind Niko, probably looking menacing by Ruskin’s standards. Niko didn’t look over his shoulder. “The water’s leaking up from the bedrock. You’ll have your own cell, don’t worry.”

  Ruskin edged around the walls of the cell like a rat laying down a scent trail. He knew the drill. He held his hands out for the cuffs. His breath made little clouds on the cold air.

  “I don’t want anyone calling at my door,” he said. “You promise me, okay?”

  “No strangers,” Niko said. He’d work it out once that door was locked behind him. “Come on, buddy.”

  The dogs were barking their heads off behind the wooden door as the countdown siren sounded. Once outside the relative soundproofing of the secure wing’s thick granite walls, Ruskin caught the full impact of it. Niko had a grip on his right elbow while Campbell flanked him on the left. They stopped in front of the door and waited.

  “Three … two … one … lockdown,” the PA system said.

  The barking was manic. In a way, Niko was glad that Marcus had managed to kill some dogs because it had taken away a little of their bogeyman status. Parmenter was worried he’d lose some more of his precious puppies now that Marcus had proved they weren’t unbeatable, so if he set them loose, he now released the whole pack. Nobody, not even Marcus, could deal with that unarmed, but Parmenter was still worried that somehow he would. For a quiet guy who was actually no trouble, Marcus managed to scare the shit out of everyone.

  Niko got on his radio. “Dogs back in yet?”

  “Clear,” Parmenter said.

  Campbell opened the door and the two of them shoved Ruskin inside to start the long walk. Niko knew it would have been a little easier if he’d moved Ruskin at night after lights out, because now he had to run the gauntlet of the inmates watching balefully from their cells. The mood on the floor was sullen: no catcalls or barracking, just a wall of silent stares that said not-in-my-backyard. Niko understood. Okay, it was dumb for one bunch of killers and worse to look down on another bunch of killers and worse, but that was humanity in a nutshell, and prison was no different.

  The slightly more decent folk of Slab society did have a practical point, though. Niko really didn’t know what the psych wing guys would do, and two warders per shift wouldn’t be able to go through the secure routine with them in here any more than they would in the solitary wing. He’d worked it out. They’d have to time it all to coincide with dogs-out time.

  Niko turned his head. Merino was just watching, leaning on the horizontal panel, arms folded through and around the bars. A few cells along, Marcus wasn’t taking any notice at all. He was doing crunches, boots up on the bunk, arms crossed, as if he had an upcoming fight he needed to be fit for. Reeve said it was all harmless military stuff that kept him busy and not to worry about it, because it beat getting into scraps with Merino. Ruskin didn’t stop to stare at Marcus, but he certainly gave him a worried look as he passed.

  “Nothing to worry about there, Ruskin,” Niko said, pushing him along a little faster. He opened the cell door manually with the key and shoved him in. “I’ll bring your blankets and bedding up in a minute, okay?”

  “Lock it,” Ruskin said. “Please.”

  Poor sod. Niko turned the key and rattled the bars to reassure Ruskin that nobody was going to get in. Sometimes he felt guilty for having any sympathy, but he judged the men by how they treated him in here. It was impossible to think of the crime and not react to the human being standing in front of him. He just couldn’t keep up any disapproval or anger because there was nothing going on to refuel it, at least not with Ruskin. The kiddie fiddlers were another matter. It was hard to look at a guy who did that kind of shit and not be reminded of it, but what really kept his loathing fresh and sharp-edged was that none of the ones here seemed at all sorry for what they did, and they still tried to connive and manipulate every chance they got. They were the creepiest, most worthless bunch of fuckers he could imagine. A cannibal was a peach by comparison.

  Campbell paused and looked around the floor, then up at the gallery. From down here, the place was an amphitheater. Niko caught a whiff of his mood. This was how it would be from now on, except on shift handover: two warders on their own, surrounded by a bunch of men with nothing to lose, absolutely nothing at all,
an island in a shrinking world under siege beyond the walls. Somewhere in a passage beyond the wing, the dogs were barking. It seemed to be a constant soundtrack for life these days.

  “Let’s go,” said Campbell.

  Niko passed Marcus’s cell again and paused. There was always some laundry strung in a neat line from the faucet on the basin to a peg Marcus had managed to hammer into the wall between the blocks. That army discipline hadn’t left him.

  “So you wrote at last,” Niko said. Reeve had passed him an envelope a couple of weeks ago to stick in the outgoing mail to Sovereigns, painstakingly addressed in small, precise letters. Niko had had no direct conversation with Marcus since his last keep-Prescott-happy medical examination. “Good call.”

  Marcus took a few more crunches to react. “Thanks for the paper.”

  The Slab wasn’t much of a kingdom, and Niko was only the senior warder because nobody else wanted to take responsibility. But he was god here, and a god had choices, a menu of thunderbolts and blessings. He decided to use his omnipotence for a change. He opened the cell door.

  “Come on, Fenix.”

  “Now what have I done?”

  “Just move it.”

  Marcus got to his feet and the first thing he did was look at Campbell, arms at his sides but fists clenched. Niko read that more as a self-conscious guy not knowing what to do with his hands more than getting ready to swing, although Marcus was more than capable of that. Campbell read it another way entirely. The rest of the wing seemed to get the same idea. The yelling started as Marcus stepped out.

  “You give as good as you get, Gear,” someone yelled.

  “Yeah, how many of you is it gonna take to put him down this time?”

  “Assholes …”

  “Hang in there, Fenix.”

  It was inevitable, Niko supposed. It hurt. It shouldn’t have, but it did. But he couldn’t start justifying himself to inmates or bargaining with them about why he was taking Marcus out of his cell. They’d fixed on Marcus as some kind of touchstone, their guy, their champion, and while they would probably have yelled for any other guy they thought was going to get a good hiding, Marcus had become symbolic.

  They thought he didn’t belong here. Maybe they thought none of them belonged here, either.

  Campbell locked the door behind Niko and let rip.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Mind your own business.” Niko shoved Marcus ahead of him toward the stairs. “I mean it. Thin out. Me and Fenix need a talk.”

  Campbell stood in Niko’s way for a moment and then seemed to work out something. He probably thought Niko was doing a deal to use whatever value Marcus had for Prescott to squeeze some supplies or other advantage out of the system. That was fine. He could go on thinking that. It wouldn’t piss him off, whereas knowing that Niko was treating Marcus like a stray in need of scraps definitely would. Campbell shrugged, ran up the stairs ahead of them, and disappeared through the door that led out onto the next gallery.

  Niko steered Marcus to the staff room, pulled out a chair, and sat him down at one of the desks. He dragged the phone across the scratched and varnished wood. Then he slopped some coffee into a mug and put it in front of him.

  “I’m going to take a walk,” he said. “Ten minutes. Call your girl. Dial eight to get an outside line. Drink the coffee. Then I’ll take you back.”

  Marcus looked up at him as if he was mad. “Can’t do that.”

  “Can. Do it.”

  Marcus would change his mind about ten seconds after the door closed. Niko shut it behind him and made a deliberately noisy exit down the passage to sit out the ten minutes on the battered leather sofa outside the staff toilet, where he could also keep watch to stop Campbell coming back. The dogs started barking again. The sound drifted through a grating in the wall. Sometimes they barked like they were having a noisy conversation, sometimes the barking was frantic and let-me-at-’em. At other times it was just sporadic, a kind of what’s-going-on or where-is-everybody. Parmenter seemed to know what they said. He was the only guy willing to get down among them.

  Ten minutes …

  Time was up. Niko went back, rattled the door handle by way of warning, then opened the door. Marcus was still sitting at the desk. The phone was exactly where Niko had left it, but so was the mug, and Marcus had finished the coffee. He was staring at the desk.

  “So is everything okay?” Niko asked. “She got your letter?”

  “Didn’t call,” Marcus said. “Thanks anyway. Appreciate it.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I can’t do that to her.”

  “She damn well needs a call, man.”

  Marcus just raised his eyes, not his head. He was suddenly the sergeant explaining something to a dumb recruit. “She’s stopped writing. If she’s found someone else, the last thing she needs is some fucking pathetic call from me making her feel guilty for getting on with her life.”

  Niko just didn’t get it. “But you wrote.”

  “You don’t censor the outgoing mail, do you?” Marcus had that I-get-it look. “You don’t read it.”

  “No. I just put it in the admin box for Sovereigns and one of us drops it off every week.”

  “Then you don’t know what I wrote.”

  “What do you want, Marcus?” He didn’t call him Fenix. It just slipped out. “What do you really want at this moment?”

  Marcus rarely faced people when he spoke to them, not that he talked much. He normally looked somewhere else but never gave the impression he wasn’t listening. In fact, his focus seemed a bit too intense on whatever he wasn’t looking at. Niko wondered if there was anyone he looked full in the face and had a proper conversation with. He stared straight past Niko through the arrow-slit window that gave a small, mean-spirited view of Jacinto’s ornate towers.

  “I want to pay for what I did,” he said. “I want the people I’ve hurt to be happy again. And I want to use whatever I’ve still got left in me to kill grubs.”

  There was no answer to that. Niko wondered whether to walk away again and see if he changed his mind, but it didn’t look likely. He picked up the cup and tilted it at Marcus to ask if he wanted a refill, but Marcus shook his head and got up. He always decided when the conversation was over, nobody else. And he wanted his punishment. Niko was surprised he’d accepted any coffee at all.

  “We’re all allowed one slip, Fenix,” Niko said.

  Marcus walked ahead of him down the metal stairs and waited patiently at the door to D Wing as Niko unlocked it and gripped the bolt.

  This time he turned around and looked Niko right in the eye, almost too close to be comfortable. But he seemed less focused on him than ever. His mind was definitely on something or someone else. Niko could see that distance in his eyes.

  “No, Officer Jarvi,” Marcus said. “I’m not.”

  ESCAPE TUNNEL, THE SLAB.

  “You still wasting your time?” Merino wandered past the excavations outside the boiler room. “You ever thought this through? Like where you’re going to go when you get out?”

  “Out,” Edouain said.

  Reeve watched the theater between Edouain and Merino as he dragged more buckets of gritty mud out of the tunnel on the end of a rope. Vance was down there at the moment, scooping out cupfuls in a session rather than bucketfuls. The utility conduit had leaked and filled up with gravel and silt over the years, so it saved them no time, but at least it gave them some kind of reinforcement for the tunnel roof. It was heavy going. Two years of patient digging hadn’t got them to the line of the wall yet, according to Edouain’s map. Leuchars was waiting his turn with the digging.

  “Out means rejoining COG society,” Merino said. “Terrific plan. No papers. No ration book. So they’ll treat you as Stranded—if you’re lucky. And you know what they do with Stranded guys who show up inside the wire? They conscript them.”

  “So maybe we head the other way,” Leuchars said. “They say the Stranded survive okay. Can
’t be much different from being in here, except you can run away from the grubs. But anything beats being in here when those things break through.”

  “Not showing much faith in our brave Gears, are we?”

  “Yeah, speaking of which, where’s our certified hero?”

  Reeve looked up. He was Marcus’s minder, and everyone knew it, so he felt he had to defend his absence from the dig. “Maybe Jarvi’s holding Campbell while Marcus gets his own back.”

  “Nah, he’s Mr. Clean,” Merino said. “He’d insist on sporting odds. Well, can’t stay here all day chatting to you ladies. You might want to think about your long-term future in Jacinto, though.”

  Edouain snorted. “If Jacinto has one itself.”

  “So you’ll be catching the fast train back to Pelles, then. First class?”

  “I’ll be finding whatever the COG’s left of my own people somehow, yes.”

  “I’ll wave you goodbye, Indie boy.”

  Merino chuckled and walked off. He had a point. Once they were outside, then there was a whole new social order, and Reeve had been doing the math. Small population, much smaller space, strict food rationing … it would be hard to disappear in the city like he’d once been able to. Maybe the Stranded route was the more sensible one. Marcus would know. His intel was the most current, although Merino still seemed to have his communications channels running somehow, probably via Artur Ospen. If any of the screws could be described as bent in the good old-fashioned way, it was him.

  Reeve thought of all that propaganda bullshit on the radio about how civilians were sucking it up like the Gears as part of the war effort. The hell they were. Plenty would, of course, but many would be just the same as they were in the last war: there’d always be black marketeering, hoarding, and not giving a shit about neighbors or even the Gears at the front. Humans were humans. The Slab was distilled essence of mankind, the stuff you had to dilute in the outside world to make the species tolerable.