by Ann Aguirre
“So what did Priest ask you to do?” he prompted.
“Just look the other way. That’s all, I swear.”
The man sitting beside him slammed a meaty fist into the kid’s temples to shut him up. His head rocked sideways, then dropped to the table, but the damage was done. Dred opened her eyes and studied the remaining three with a gaze so cold even Jael marveled at her detachment. He also wondered if the boy had been telling the truth, but her impervious mien gave no sign.
“I find all four of you guilty,” she whispered.
Before they could react, she vaulted onto the table, leaving her legs vulnerable. They could’ve struck out at her; though Jael would’ve killed them too fast for her to come to harm, she couldn’t know that for certain. It was pure bravado, an absolute statement of sovereignty. Despite himself, he was impressed with her courage.
“Four traitors,” she called in a ringing voice. “They gave aid to Priest’s people. They overlooked the raiding party, which resulted in the death of our own. What’s the payment for those who turn?”
“Death,” the crowd thundered back.
“And so what is your judgment?” she demanded.
“Death!” the men shouted.
Jael dodged out of the way as the convicts stormed the table. Dred dove forward, executed a flip in midair, and landed lightly at his side. He’d never seen people pulled apart before; it was grisly, even by his standards, and he’d fought in some awful campaigns. The Dread Queen looked on with pitiless eyes, content in her ruling. For the first time, he suspected she might belong here.
As I do. But that didn’t mean he’d stay. Jael had been fighting fate his whole life.
13
Shopping Spree
The next day, Dred realized that Wills had said “he” instead of “they” when he’d issued his warning. Maybe the discrepancy was nothing to worry about, but it made her wonder if there was one more traitor to be rooted out. His initial reading had indicated that Jael would be the one who ruined Queensland, yet the new fish had been helpful so far. She wouldn’t say she trusted him fully, but if you offered complete faith to anyone, then you were a fool. Therefore, unless he proved himself disloyal, she would use him.
It was busy in the hall today, just before mealtime. Cook was berating his helpers, a knife in one hand and a pot in the other. She didn’t know what was on the menu, but it smelled decent. Probably some casserole or fricassee created from the hydroponics garden. It had been a while since they’d had protein, as the only working Kitchen-mate in her territory had shorted out a week before, and even Wills couldn’t persuade it back to work. It needed parts, he said, which was part of why she was contemplating this mission.
She strode over to her throne, feeling like an idiot, but it wouldn’t do for her to wait in line like everyone else. They have to believe you’re better than they are, Tam had said. Not so much that they become resentful, but just enough to inspire awe. To her mind, he seemed to know an awful lot about royalty, about controlling a populace and keeping them balanced in the narrow channel between obedience and rebellion. Most days she thought Tam should be running things instead.
In due course, he brought her a bowl of a reddish, lumpy mess. She didn’t ask, just dug in. He sat at the base of her throne, as if she required it of him. None of the other men dared to approach without her signal. Instead, they ate at distant tables, contenting themselves with looks from afar.
It’s all so ridiculous.
“Have you heard from Silence?” she asked, after a few bites.
The spymaster shook his head. “Not so far. You know how she is. She’ll wait until the last moment, then ask us for the impossible.”
That sounded about right. “It’s not as if we have a choice about the alliance.”
“True. And we lost two more last night. They died in their sleep.”
Dred bit off a curse. With the population going down, she couldn’t afford a drawn-out conflict. There were two potential solutions to the problem, and since she couldn’t predict a shipful of new fish arriving conveniently to bolster her numbers, she set her sights elsewhere. This might end up as a risky, pointless run, but in his last report, Tam said he thought it was doable.
“Get Wills and Einar,” she snapped, once they finished their meals.
Tam hurried off, returning within moments. “Do you need me for this?”
She shook her head. “You already charted the course, and we can find our way. Keep an eye on things here, all right?”
“What’s the plan?” Einar asked.
Wills merely looked perturbed, but then, he always did. His bushy hair hadn’t seen a comb in turns, and it fell across his smudged brow in a tangled knot. The smell should’ve been horrifying, but she was used to it. So many men had given up all pretense at hygiene, and it didn’t make sense to chide them when it conserved water so well.
“We’re crossing the ship to the salvage bays. Some of those areas might go into lockdown at our intrusion. There’s also the potential we’ll run afoul of the ship’s automated defenses.”
Einar nodded. “The reward’s worth the risk?”
“While Tam was scouting, he found a cache of broken droids. The odds are excellent that Wills can fix them.”
“I can fix anything,” Wills said.
Though he sounded like he was five when he talked—when he wasn’t chatting up inanimate objects—he wasn’t wrong. Half the salvaged tech they used only worked because of Wills. He wasn’t a one-trick pony, and between the bones and his fix-it skills, he was downright irreplaceable to her crew.
“Then we use them to bolster our line,” Einar surmised.
Without these droids, it would be difficult to drive Priest and Grigor away from her borders, given their injuries and losses. She had too much ground to patrol and not enough men to do it comprehensively. This would also be good for morale, another story to round out her legend. The men needed to believe she could achieve the impossible, which was why she was gearing up for danger and not sending a team to do it for her. Such deeds would keep them fighting against long odds.
“Exactly. Are you in?” she asked.
The big man folded his arms. “Just try to leave me behind.”
“Am I late to the party?” Jael strolled up with his customary insouciance.
Like everyone else, he was pale, but he didn’t have the same hopeless air. Give him time. Part of her hoped this place couldn’t break him. His swagger was a large part of his charm; as she studied him, she tried to decide if they needed him. Einar was a fierce fighter, and she could hold her own, but against turrets or worse, they might need an edge.
“How do you feel about danger?”
“It makes me randy,” he said promptly.
A chuckle escaped her before she could staunch it. Sometimes she truly liked the new fish. “Then come along. I’ll explain on the way.”
Dred signaled to Ike, indicating he should serve as her eyes and ears while she was gone. The old man lifted his chin in acknowledgment though he didn’t approach. She led the others out the east corridor; she’d rather face Grigor’s men than Priest’s, who never surrendered. Some of them fought as suicide squads, brainwashed into believing there was more honor in dying for Priest than in returning to Abaddon. Hard to defeat that kind of commitment.
As they moved, she laid out the objective for Jael, who nodded. “And I’m along because you need a heavy hitter.”
Einar growled at that, but she motioned him to silence. “More that we need somebody who can recover from mortal wounds.”
Jael offered a puckish shrug. “At least you’re honest about it.”
“Tam reported seeing a scrapped industrial unit in the salvage bay. If it hasn’t already been found and stripped, we could really use it.” Dred was afraid to hope, given how the past week had gone. Even for Perdition, she’d lost a fair number of people, and the battle wasn’t even joined in earnest; it was the death by a thousand cuts.
They
walked in silence until they passed the first checkpoint. It was all quiet, and she saluted the men stationed there. They answered the gesture in kind, then her group went past. Einar wore a focused look as he scanned the dark corridors. Above, the lights flickered uncertainly, giving the halls an ominous air. It went along with the rest—with the rusted bolts and dented metal plates, the charred patches on the floor, and the vents that hung half-connected above their heads.
This whole ship is a few turns from falling apart. And nobody dirtside gives a damn.
The solid strike of boots on metal alerted her to enemies nearby—and at the first sign of trouble, Wills dodged back around the corner. As he retreated, Dred hoped he didn’t go far; she didn’t have time to track him all the way back to the hall, and he was mission critical. Without his mad acumen, any treasures they found in the salvage bay had to stay there. Wills had to get the droids running, ambulatory at least, if not weapons hot.
One problem at a time.
Grigor’s soldiers seemed surprised to see them; they froze for a few seconds. There were six of them—two-to-one odds. They wore makeshift armor of tanned skin and scrap metal. The rusted spikes jutting from their chests and shoulders were poisoned, too. She’d learned that the hard way her first turn inside, nearly dying from a fragging scratch.
With a smile, she whipped the chains from around her wrists. Two enemies ran at her, brandishing knives. She lashed out with a sideways kick and spun the heavy metal links in a deadly figure eight around her body. If they got close enough to strike with their blades, they also had to take the hits. One tried, and she slammed the chain around his throat, pulled with all her strength. The other lunged at her, but she dove forward, carrying his cohort with her by the neck. She used all her weight when she rolled, and a snap followed. The man dropped motionless, leaving her one to deal with.
Ahead in the wall, she saw Einar slamming a man repeatedly, headfirst, into the wall, while standing on another. Jael’s fight behind her was quieter, just the muffled gasp and curse followed by a dull thud. In a practiced motion, she disengaged her chain and spun it lazily.
“It’s a bad day for you to have drawn this route,” she observed.
The man spat a curse and ran at her. It was a bold move if a fatal one. At the last minute, he feinted left, then slid in low, going for the hamstring. She greeted him with an elbow to the face, then a boot in the balls. That usually dropped them, but this one had more padding than most. Smart man. Not that it’ll save you. He sliced her side before she slammed his weapon hand with the chain. His wrist popped. Definitely broken. And he screamed like he’d never been hurt before.
In here? Unlikely.
Dred snagged his fallen knife and opened his throat, even as he was biting at her. The survival instinct died hard. When she turned, she gave an approving nod to Einar and Jael, who also had two corpses at their feet. It was easy to read into the difference in the bodies; Einar’s had been killed brutally, beaten to death, whereas Jael’s victims were clean, surgical, even.
“Good work,” she said, praising them equally. It didn’t matter how a man went down, only that he did. “Wills!”
In answer, he loped around the corner wearing an expectant expression, like they’d stopped for a picnic. “Time to go?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s move.”
Apart from a shallow slice on her ribs and teeth marks that hadn’t broken the skin, she wasn’t too bad off. Of course, that was just a single patrol, and they had a long way to go. The ship was the size of a small city, with the salvage bay nestled to the far east and down several levels, not within Katur’s Warren, but close enough that there might be complications. Dred had never met Katur or any of his aliens. They usually stayed close to their own territory, not prone to roaming. That made sense since there were relatively few of them, and Mungo in particular had a hate on for anybody who wasn’t human.
“Injuries?” she asked.
“None,” Einar said.
Jael showed her the cuts on his arm, but most were already healing. She shook her head, incredulous. “Someday, you have to show me how you do that.”
“It’s the power of my mind. I can also use it to order food and repair electronics.” He threw her a cocky wink.
She pretended to believe him as Einar snorted. “Really? I thought you didn’t use it for much of anything. Since I’m wrong, you can help Wills with the droids.”
The new fish laughed. “I’ll save my massive psychic displays for a more worthy cause. As it happens, though, I’m a fair tinkerer. I’d be happy to lend him a hand.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?” Einar muttered. “Besides shut up.”
“Can’t carry a tune to save my life. Most unfortunate because otherwise I’m pretty enough to be a vid star. Opine?” Jael pursed his lips in an expression so sultry that it was sure to rile Einar, and sure enough, the big man went for him.
Dred hated to step between them. But she did. “Save it for Grigor’s people. Come on.”
“Next time, I’ll break your neck,” Einar promised with a dark look.
Before the new fish showed up, there hadn’t been tension. Given they hovered on the verge of an invasion, things were tense enough without adding internal conflict. But try telling a bunch of criminals to dial it down. Still, she couldn’t let it get out of hand.
Jael shrugged. “Go ahead.”
Really? You just invited him to kill you? Just when she thought she had a handle on the new fish, he demonstrated another way of being unpredictable. The big man cut his eyes to her, asking a silent question. Yes, she answered with a tap of a finger to the head. He’s a little crazy. But so was everyone else in here. She’d never caught him talking to people who weren’t there. Well, not yet anyway. Wills did that all the time, and she was still taking him on the mission.
Beggar queens can’t be choosers.
14
Pitfalls for the Unwary
Jael took two steps after the princess in chains when the first burst of not-right exploded in his veins. He stumbled, feet refusing to cooperate and it took both hands flattened on the wall to keep him upright. Dred stepped closer, but there were two of her, four green eyes peering at him. The images wavered, then warped, until nausea rushed in to accompany the heat prickling up his arms. He stared at his wounds. All but two had healed. The ones remaining were limned in black, and he felt like his arms were on fire.
“I don’t feel right,” he tried to say, but the words came out as gibberish.
“Mary curse it,” she swore. “The wounds on your arms, did they come from knives or the spikes on their armor?”
His head was fuzzy, and he couldn’t answer by this point anyway. But he was pretty sure some came from the spikes. Jael had no idea why that mattered until Einar said in disgusted tones, “The arse has gotten himself poisoned. Won’t be long now.”
If he could’ve, he would’ve broken the big bastard’s neck, but his knees crumpled, quite beyond his volition. It’s some kind of paralytic. Wonder if it’s enough to kill me. If his lungs shut down and his brain was robbed of oxygen long enough, his body might regen, only to find his mind damaged beyond repair. The idea of living as a shambling monster sent a thrill of horror through him, but he couldn’t act on it, couldn’t beg her to cut out his heart or chop off his head before that happened. He had no practical experience with asphyxiation; it was one of the few tortures that various labs had chosen not to test, fearing permanent damage to the specimen.
“Let’s go,” the big man added. “He’ll only slow us down.”
Dred watched as he slid down to the floor. Jael had never felt more helpless because he couldn’t move, apart from the spasms contorting his muscles. Fighting did no good. He sat where he’d fallen, head tilted back. Speculative calculation lit her green eyes, then she shook her head.
“You saw how fast he healed those cuts. I’m guessing he’ll come through this, too. If I’m wrong, we have to turn back anyway because we c
an’t breach the salvage bay without him.” Her tone became brisk. “So set up a perimeter. Wills, keep watch from the south. If you see anything, run like hell back here, and we’ll take care of it.”
“Of course, my queen,” said the madman, sounding remarkably composed.
“I’ve got the north,” Einar finally growled.
Jael could tell the giant wasn’t happy with Dred’s decision, but he was a loyal goon, incapable of defying her majesty’s judgment. Which was good for Jael. His face went numb, then his whole head. It became a struggle to breathe. A slowing heartbeat warned him that he might not process the poison in time. Odd. I can actually feel systems shutting down, one by one. If anyone had asked, he’d tell them death from this poison felt an awful lot like sleep.
He lost control of his eyelids last. Then he couldn’t see what was happening, only hear. He thought he recognized the distant noises of battle; this came and went as Jael lost any sense of time passing. The sounds blurred into an imprecise cacophony, like a busy market he’d once visited on Gehenna, with all the voices speaking at once, languages fusing in nonsense syllables, impossible to separate from the roaring in his head. Madness gnawed at him from the inside out while a little voice whispered, Let go. And oh, he tried, but something tugged at him, relentless.
A pinch started as heat and ended in pain. He tried to strike out in protest, but his muscles still wouldn’t answer. Anger boiled up, impotent as regret.
“He’s unresponsive,” the big man said. Those were the first words Jael had understood in some time. “We’ve killed three patrols, and you look like hell. We can’t take a fourth. You’re brave as hell, Dred, but I’m not letting you die for a no-hoper like him.”
“Are you giving the orders now?” she asked in a deceptively soft tone.
Even from the verge of death, Jael could tell Einar had fragged up large. He would’ve taunted the enormous arse, except, well. Right. Paralyzed and possibly dying. The odd thing was, he’d beat it if he could. After turns of chasing oblivion, now that he had it on tap, he’d much rather live.