by Ann Aguirre
“That wasn’t politic,” Tam said from behind her. “But it was excellent theater.”
She turned with a frown to confront his sallow, sweaty countenance. “You should be in bed, resting.”
“He’s bored,” Martine said. Tam’s arm was around her shoulder, more for support than in affection, Dred suspected. “He’s not up to the sort of tricks he’d normally enjoy.”
Tam wore an inscrutable expression, but Dred picked up a flare of strong emotion. Quickly, she shut her gift down, not wanting to spy on him. Whether it was anger or desire, she had no reason to delve further. More to the point, she was concerned about his recovery.
“Any sign of infection?” she asked Martine.
The spymaster scowled, as if he knew Dred suspected he’d prevaricate if questioned about his condition. But the shorter woman had no such compunction. “Not so far. He’s going to have some impressive scars, provided he pulls through.”
“It’s not my time,” Tam said.
His tone sounded as if he actually knew when he’d die, but Dred had met sociopaths who enjoyed screwing with other people’s heads. Unsurprisingly, there were more than a few of that stripe in Perdition. Despite their relatively long acquaintance—in prison terms—she wasn’t sure if Tam fit that profile. Martine was another enigma. Maybe that was why they gravitated toward one another. Interesting, because the partner the other woman chose before Tam had been his complete antithesis.
“Look after him,” she told Martine.
“I plan to.”
Tam raised a brow, but he didn’t protest when the woman steered him toward the common room. There would still be goulash on the boil though it was probably down to mushy paste by now. It wasn’t long until downtime, where most of Queensland retired, and only a skeleton crew remained on watch. Dred found it hard to relax during those hours because there was no way to be sure if the men on watch were truly loyal; it would be the perfect time for a traitor to let the enemy inside their borders.
Dred intercepted Jael on the way to the gardens. “Haven’t you done enough today?”
He turned with the cocky grin that once drove her crazy. “Is that your way of telling me my services are required elsewhere?”
“If you wanted to discuss strategy, I wouldn’t say no.” She could use his perspective since he had some military background. Jael might have some insights about the best way to take the fight to the mercs before they dug in. Dred didn’t have the personnel for a long siege. In a war of attrition, against superior firepower, in every scenario she ran in her head, Queensland lost.
Jael smirked. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
8
Willing Sacrifice
Dred was sound asleep, the rifle propped up against the opposite wall.
It was difficult for Jael to shut down under the best of circumstances, and tonight, he couldn’t quiet his brain. They’d talked about tactics at length, considering and discarding numerous strategies, but he knew what he needed to do. Trouble was, he didn’t want to. Once he’d been known for carrying out impossible ops, but he’d lost a few steps since then.
Gave them away, actually.
On the surface, there was no reason for him to stick his neck out for a bunch of lifers, and truth be told, he didn’t care much whether they lived or died. But Dred . . . the idea that she could die here made him want to tear the ship apart with his bare hands, but that would kill her, too. He remembered the way she’d fought for his life like it was worth something, before she knew him at all, and how she treated him like a person, even after she learned the truth about his background. Women had been drawn to him before, but they saw only superficial features, the gleam of pale hair or the twinkle of blue eyes. All the while, he understood that they’d scream and try to destroy him if they learned the truth. Some of them had before he learned to strike first.
But not Dred.
She stirred, curling closer to him and pressing her cheek to his chest. He could hear her heart at rest, and he counted the beats as if the growing numbers could explain the mysteries of the universe. He lifted a hand, careful not to disturb her, and rested it against her hair. She wore the braids and trinkets on the sides, so the back was all messy curls. Jael looped his fingers in them as if they were ropes that could keep him from falling. But they might as well be gossamer. And he had to go.
One rifle wasn’t enough to make a difference. He needed to snag more weapons and thin out the mercs. So he slipped from the bed with slow, careful movements. It’s you I’m fighting for, love. Not them. Each time she stirred, he froze, until it felt like it took hours for him to slip out of bed. In her sleep, she moved into the space he’d vacated, possibly because it was warm. But it gave him an odd pang to watch it happen.
She’d miss me if something goes wrong out there.
With an odd ache in his chest, he crept out of her quarters. Queensland was quiet during downtime. He didn’t see anyone until he reached the barricades; the watch posts had been moved to just inside the barriers. If the turrets went live, the man on duty would then alert the rest of the zone to the attack. His status as the queen’s champion meant he could come and go as he pleased, so the sentry didn’t seem surprised to see him.
“A little solo hunting?” the guard asked.
“You know it.”
“That’s a sweet rifle.”
Jael nodded. “I’ll let you know how it performs.”
“Must be nice to rack up private time with the queen.” It was the first time anyone had mentioned their sleeping arrangements, but people had probably noticed that since Einar’s death, Tam no longer joined them at night.
“If I hear you talking about her again, duffer, to me or anyone else, I’ll kill you.” He was smiling when he made the promise, but the other man likely saw the truth in his eyes.
The guard dropped his gaze. “Sorry. No disrespect meant. Won’t do it again.”
“See that you don’t.”
Jael swung away without further conversation and hoisted over the barricade. The guard didn’t say another word. He probably assumed Jael was going on some secret mission assigned by Dred, and remorse pricked at him for taking advantage of her trust. But he’d never told her to rely on him. In fact, if she’d asked, he’d have told her it was a bad idea.
I’m the villain. And you should’ve guessed that by the fact that I’m in here.
But even a villain was the main player in his own story, so if he could do some good before it all went to shit, he had to try. Hence the silent run during bunk time. He shouldered the rifle and jogged away from Queensland, determined to find a perch where he could use the rifle to its best advantage. Jael avoided the main passages, instead choosing to wend through secondary hallways designated for sanitation and maintenance. He went up a level and cut through the territory that used to belong to Grigor. Not long ago, this place teemed with bloodthirsty brutes, all ready to kill on a psychopath’s command.
Now it was a warren of abandoned rooms. But it would take the mercs a while to search the whole station and figure out which areas were populated. If he had some drone cams, he could track their movements, but old-school recon would have to do. He found a roost on a beam above the cavernous space Grigor had used as a throne room. The climb pulled the sore spot on his back, but he was strong enough to scale straight up, then crab walk until he had a shadowed vantage of the whole room. The vertical joist provided cover, and if necessary, he could spin around it to avoid shots from the other side.
The worst part about an ambush was the “waiting” part of lying in wait. More than once, commanders of his merc unit had sent him to single-handedly secure a position while the rest of them hung back, allegedly guarding the rear. They’d learned quickly that he could deliver the impossible, and they didn’t care how much he suffered in the process.
But they’re dead now.
He settled against the beam at his back, stretching his legs out before him. Jael wished he could’ve packed some food, as there was no telling how long he’d be waiting before things got interesting. He listened carefully as he tilted his head back. Station noises came back to him: skitter of rodent feet, clang of pipes, whir of maintenance bots moving through vacant corridors. It was hours, and he was nearly dozing when he heard the boots.
Jael came awake in an instant and positioned himself with the rifle. The footsteps told him there were ten again, which meant that was a standard squad size. There had been fifty at the transport, so the commander had five patrols roving the station. If he were in charge of the unit, he would rotate them and have four out on duty and another resting. Even so, that was a lot of ground to cover for relatively few men.
I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes.
He imagined creeping through Perdition, not knowing where the traps were and constantly finding deadly surprises. They had to know to stay sharp by now—that bad shit could come jumping out at any minute. Which meant his ambush had to be even tighter, timed down to the second. He had to drop one before the rest located him; and they were well trained, so it wouldn’t be long.
When the heavy footsteps resonated throughout the room, he popped out of cover. A quick count confirmed what his hearing had predicted, and as they strode in, one of them gestured. The rest spread out to check different parts of the room. Jael did a quick sweep of all the men’s locations and decided to take out the one standing guard by the door.
He’s the farthest from the rest, so it’ll take longer for them to notice when he drops. Then they still have to find me.
He crawled down the beam to get a better angle. After getting into position and setting up his gun, he took aim in the middle of the merc’s visor. Once he was sure, he confirmed through the autosight. The gun’s computer chip confirmed the trajectory, so he took the shot, and a red burst snapped from his perch to the visor, shattering it on impact. Another snap shot exploded the glastique and fried the merc’s face. His armor hit the floor with a noisy thunk when he dropped, alerting the rest of the men.
Two of them ran toward their fallen comrade while the rest spun, searching the ceiling for the shooter. Jael pushed to his feet and ran along the beam. The movement alerted them, but there was no other way to escape. Burning shots sizzled along the metal behind him, filling the air with the scent of melting steel. Part of him wished he could square off; he desperately wanted that fragging armor, but he had no chance of snagging it. Sparks sprang up behind him as he leapt from the ceiling to the wall. He hit hard enough to break some ribs; the snap sent pain down his spine like a lightning strike, but he ignored the gouge in his side and threw himself out the doors on the other side of the room. Merc shouts followed him, and the sound of pounding feet, but there was no way he was stopping. Nine men all with rifles identical to this one didn’t add up to good odds, even for an inhuman bastard like him.
A drone cam zoomed past and this one, he couldn’t catch but he eluded it by diving down a sanitation chute. Desperation drove him; if Vost was able to follow his movements, then the mercs would be on him in seconds. He fell with terrifying velocity, and he only caught himself a few meters before the recycling unit by jamming his feet as hard as he could against the opposite wall. His side gave, sending another wave of agony over him until his vision bled red. Jael hovered above the chopping blades, his entire body trembling.
Horror washed through him in a rushing wave. Will I come back if this thing carves me into soup meat? The worst part was, he could imagine it—being bound to the mutilated carcass with no way of dying. A deep breath, another, while his thigh muscles trembled and burned. Fear made him sweat, and his back slipped; he dropped a few centimeters, so the fans clanged against his boots.
No way out but up.
Winded, he shoved back up to where he had been and hung there, his body feeling like one huge bruise. The burn on his back must’ve split open like a smashed fruit, and hot blood slicked the metal behind him, making it damn near impossible to get any traction. With a stifled curse, he arched his back to use his shoulders instead and worked upward with his boots. He crooked his arms, shoved with his legs, and scrabbled with all his strength. Sweat broke out on his brow as he worked upward by the centimeter, conscious all the while of the disposal facilities beneath him. If I slip, I go to pieces. The joke didn’t seem as funny when he couldn’t get a deep breath, and the pain was constant, each time he shoved his body upward. It was worth it. I dropped one. Forty-nine to go. Red trickled down the wall, spattered by the whirring of the fan.
You can get out of this, mate. You’ve been in worse fixes.
But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember when.
9
Tough Love
Dred wrestled with a colossal wash of rage as she stared at the sentry who had told her, unwittingly, about Jael’s illicit departure. “What time was this?”
“Seven hours ago, give or take.”
She couldn’t let the guard know how far out of his jurisdiction Jael was operating, or it would look like she couldn’t control her damned champion. When I get my hands on him . . . She nodded as if he’d had authorization to vanish with the best weapon Queensland had ever acquired. A small, bitter voice whispered, You should never have trusted him. He’s ripped you off and gone to join Silence or Katur. She didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to team up with Mungo. Silence, too, seemed unlikely, but maybe Jael thought he’d have a better chance of survival with Death’s Handmaiden. Determinedly, she shook her head. Bullshit, whatever he’s doing, it’s not that.
The man went on, “But he should be back by now, right?”
“Probably,” she said tightly.
“He’s a tough bastard. I’m sure he’s all right.”
She offered an icy smile. “I’m more worried about the rifle. Inform me immediately if and when he returns.”
Dred strode off to see if Tam or Martine knew anything, but they were both genuinely surprised to hear Jael had taken off. Their facial expressions were unstudied, and their emotions echoed what they said aloud. Sometimes her gift was useful though she never forgot it was also a bomb waiting for a chance to explode. Control was a tenuous, fragile thing, one reason she tried so hard to go numb and not feel anything at all.
Safer that way, for more than the usual reasons.
She was about to go searching when the sentry shouted, “The champion’s returning.”
With a soft curse, she jogged to the barricade, intending to verbally yank out his spine, but when he fell more than landed, she moved forward and pulled him to his feet. His face was pale and sticky with sweat, his eyes shining with incredible pain. He used the rifle as a crutch, something she’d deal with later. Frustrated, she dropped an arm around his shoulders. Queensland watched them go silently; it took all of her self-control not to tear into him in front of everyone. Rage throbbed in her head. Silently, she took the weapon from him and dragged him to her room.
“I should kill you.”
His smile was shaky. “Just make it quick, love, I beg you.”
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Jael’s face tightened under what Dred took as a fresh onslaught of agony. “That something had to be done, and I’m the one to do it.”
“Mission report.” It gave her dreadful satisfaction to make him speak when she could tell he was having a hard time getting his breath.
“I hunted mercs. Took one out.”
“One. And you look like this. That’s disappointing. Did you retrieve any weapons?”
“It’s lucky I didn’t lose this one. Had to jump down a recycling chute to escape.”
That gave her pause. “How are you still in one piece?”
“Strong thighs?” But he couldn’t hold the light expression. When his breathing hitched, he went
more green than pale.
“Let me guess, you’re now even more injured. That’s a brilliant move.”
“Broken ribs. Not sure how many. And I think I might’ve punctured a lung crawling back out of the chute.” He fell into a coughing fit that hunched him over, and as he straightened, she saw the blood spattering his lips.
Not for anything would she reveal how much concern was overtaking the anger. “You’re an idiot. What if you can’t heal this? Was killing one merc worth your life?”
“Depends on the merc,” he managed.
But the blood on his lips had her shoving him down onto her bunk. He winced as he landed but seemed to relax when he realized she wasn’t going to pummel him. Dred had no idea what to do for a punctured lung or broken ribs. Shit, they didn’t even have pain meds, no medical treatment of any kind.
“If you weren’t so hurt, I’d have you bound and be lashing you in public by now.”
“What’d I say before, love? No time for sex-pain games.”
“Is everything a joke to you? I won’t have you undermining me like this. It’s bad enough that we’ve got this shit to deal with. I can’t have you—”
But he was already unconscious. It would serve him right if she left him to live or die on his regenerative ability, and she wrestled with the decision longer than she would’ve liked. In the end, she put Tam, Martine, and Ike in charge of Queensland and returned to her quarters with broth from the Kitchen-mate and a pot of sweetleaf tea. When she’d snuffed out so many lives, it was laughable that she was in charge of saving his, and it wasn’t like when he was poisoned and she only had to breathe for him. But at base, she understood that she was the reason he was suffering at the moment—because he’d saved her.
Time to return the favor.
He was out for twelve hours, long enough for her to wonder if he’d wake up again. She remembered what he’d said about falling into a coma, though, so maybe his body was repairing the damage. Dred spooned broth and tea down his throat, knowing it was important to keep him hydrated. She was still angry with him, but it was hard to keep the rage at a fever pitch when you were responsible for someone else’s welfare.
