Hell's Rejects (Chaos of the Covenant Book 1)

by M. R. Forbes

  “No, but I needed a different approach. Lurin is as crooked as Packard was, and I’m a man of my word.”

  “Damn it,” Bastion said, lowering the rifle. “Get this thing off me.”

  Gant walked over to him, a small, shaped sliver of metal in his hand. “Hold still,” he said, putting the metal below the bracelet. He made a practiced motion with his hand, and the bracelet clicked and fell off. He did the same for Pik.

  “How long?” Pik asked.

  “Have I been able to take the bracelet off ?” Gant asked. “About two weeks after I got here.” He turned to Olus. “Where is she?”

  “Level Two,” Olus replied. “We have a couple of stops to make first.”

  “If they know you’re here, they’ll be aiming to move her before you can collect.”

  “Move her where? I’ve got a bird circling the complex. They won’t make it out without me knowing.”

  “Collect who?” Bastion asked before figuring it out for himself. “Cage? You can’t be fragging serious. She’s a demon, Captain. She’s out of control.”

  “What the frag do you know, Bastion?” Gant said. “You think every whisper you hear is the cold truth. You probably think Santa Claus is real.”

  “First, mind your business about Terran customs, you little freak-monkey. Second, Santa Claus is real, isn’t he, Captain?”

  “Let’s go,” Olus said.

  28

  “Is it cooler up here?” Bastion asked. “It feels cooler. At least five degrees.”

  “That makes a difference down here?” Pik asked.

  “Sure does. My balls are only half as sweaty.”

  “Shut it,” Olus said, scanning the corridor ahead of them. They had moved up to Level Eighteen, heading for the cell block. It was noticeably cooler two levels up, but it was hardly what anyone would describe as comfortable.

  He was approaching the floor more slowly and more cautiously than he had on Level Twenty. He had used up the element of surprise, and now that the bracelets were back under the prison’s control it wouldn’t do any good to let the prisoners out. Even so, he could imagine someone was working feverishly to try to bypass his lift patch and get reinforcements down to their position, and he was amused by the inherent futility. If Hell didn’t have the budget for newer equipment, it certainly didn’t have room on the payroll for anything more than a generally competent systems admin.

  “Who’s the mark?” Gant asked, remaining close to Olus’ side.

  “Benhil Visani,” Olus replied. “Also known as Joker. Cell 1847.”

  “Joker?” Bastion said. “Aren’t there enough clowns in this outfit already?”

  “There’s you,” Gant said. “So, more than enough.”

  “Funny.”

  “Joker’s a former HSOC,” Olus said. “Espionage. He spent three years in the Outworlds and knows them as well as anyone in the Republic. That makes him valuable.”

  “How’d he wind up in Hell?” Bastion said.

  “You’d have to ask him yourself. Stay alert; we’re almost there.”

  They reached the corridor leading to the cells. As Olus had expected, the blast door had stayed open, revealing a number of hastily abandoned tables ahead of the guard spike.

  “Chow time already?” Pik asked. “No wonder I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry,” Bastion said.

  “It’s muscle,” the Trover replied, patting a bulging roundness in his gut.

  “Yeah, right. How the frag do you manage to get fat on rationed meal bars and daily labor in the mines?”

  “Trade,” Pik replied.

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “I said to stay alert,” Olus said. “Shut your hole, Worm, or I’ll leave your ass here.”

  Bastion fell silent. It didn’t matter how long any of them had spent in Hell, responding to sharply barked commands was ingrained in their DNA.

  Olus scanned the area ahead of them, picking up three targets through his helmet’s infrared. They were sitting at the top of the spike, ready to fire down on anyone who went into the room.

  “I’m guessing there’s no other way in,” he said.

  “No,” Gant replied.

  “Here,” Olus said, holding out his rifle. “I’m going to hit the control panel. I’ll open the door to the tower. Pik, I want you to make a break for it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pik said.

  “I can’t help you with that,” Gant said, wiggling his two fingers and thumbs. “Gant don’t carry guns for a reason.”

  Olus realized that he might be able to work the trigger, but the shape of his hand wouldn’t let him grip the weapon strongly enough to deal with the weight or the recoil.

  “Right. You go with Pik. Worm, you cover.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bastion said.

  Olus slid along the wall, staying clear of the line of fire through the open blast doors. He made it to the control panel, pulling out another extender and attaching it to the pad. Lines of code ran down one side of his helmet, and he tapped at his hip, quickly reaching the door access. He looked back at the rest of his team and gave them the thumbs up.

  Pik charged forward, while Gant jumped up and grabbed the back of his shoulders, riding along behind him. Bastion slipped out from cover, firing on the top of the guard spike. The rounds echoed in the tight space, drowning out any other potential noise. Olus watched the Trover approach the tower door, triggering it to open as he neared.

  The Trover burst into the spike and vanished, Gant still clinging to his back. Bastion cursed and ducked back into the corridor, throwing his stolen rifle to the floor.

  “It’s empty,” he said.

  A short commotion followed. Then a voice came over the local speakers.

  “Clear, Captain,” Gant said.

  Olus and Bastion moved into the block. Olus headed up the steps to Benhil’s cell, pulling another item from a tightpack and attaching it to the door. It sparked and fizzled, and the door unlocked and slid open.

  “What the hell is this?” its occupant said. He was sitting on his mattress, an array of crumbs spread out in front of him in an obvious but unrecognizable pattern. He was a lanky man, with dark skin and darker eyes that glanced up at him in curiosity.

  “Time to go, Benhil,” Olus said.

  “You know that prison breaks are illegal, don’t you, Captain?”

  “Nothing is illegal until you get caught,” Olus replied. “At least, that’s what you said at your trial.”

  Benhil laughed, deep and hearty as he got to his feet. “It’s true.” Then he held up his wrist. “You have a cure for what ails me?”

  Olus was going to call for Gant, but the Gant was already there. Benhil backed up at the sight of him.

  “Whoa. What the frag is that?”

  “You’ve never seen a Gant before?” Gant asked.

  “A what?”

  “A Gant. From the planet Ganemant.”

  “You look like a squirrel.”

  “I do not.”

  “You’re furry.”

  “So are oxen. Would you say an ox looks like a squirrel?”

  “I’ve never seen an ox, so yeah, probably.”

  “I bet you think Rudin look like octopuses, too.”

  “No. They look like squids. And isn’t it octopi?”

  Gant shook his head. “No, it’s octopuses. Just give me your wrist.”

  Benhil held out his wrist. Gant retrieved his bent metal device and quickly undid the bracelet.

  “Nice!” Benhil exclaimed, rubbing at the wrist. “Thanks, squirrel-man.”

  “You really need this guy?” Gant asked.

  Olus nodded. “Come on.”

  They regrouped at the base of the spike, making quick introductions before heading back to the lift and coming up short.

  It was gone.

  “Well,” Gant said, turning to Olus. “Now what?”

  29

  Abbey kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want the Warden to know she was awa
ke.

  She didn’t want anyone to know she was alert.

  She had already made that mistake once. It was one she wasn’t going to make again.

  She wasn’t sure what was happening to her. She wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. She knew that Hell was all that she had expected it to be, but it was also something else. Something darker. Something that felt cold and evil and wrong. She knew she only had two choices left in her life.

  Get out, or die trying.

  Lurin would be back. She knew he would. If he wasn’t, someone would be. They hadn’t sedated her to keep her here. They were going to move her at some point. Not that anyone would ever know it. She had already been removed from the universe. Erased from existence. Framed and convicted and buried.

  She was still alive because she had value to someone, but she knew what would happen once her value had waned. If her life was going to end, then it would end on her terms. She had decided not to let Hell destroy her. She wasn’t going to let anyone or anything else do it, either.

  She didn’t know how long she had been lying there. Two hours? Three? Four? She vaguely remembered someone coming to her cell, and then the medical bot giving her another injection of the sedative. It had put her out for an hour or two, but it had worn off in a hurry, leaving her awake, alert, ready, and waiting.

  She heard the soft hiss of her cell door sliding open. She kept her eyes closed, listening. Metal feet on the tiled floor. The medical bot. Two other pairs of booted feet. Guards?

  “Be careful with her,” she heard Lurin say. “She isn’t to be harmed.”

  She fought to keep herself still as the blanket was pulled away. Someone gripped her legs, lifting them and sliding something over them. She recognized the familiar feel of the hellsuit as she was repositioned to get it beneath her. Then her arms were lifted, the sleeves pulled on, the front closed. At least they had the decency to clothe her before taking her away.

  When that was done, she was lifted and moved to another platform. She could feel her orientation change as it adjusted to exit the room. She could sense the soldiers behind her head and in front of her feet. Lurin had to be somewhere nearby.

  A cold hand gripped her wrist. The medical bot. She resisted every temptation to panic, using what she had learned in training to maintain her calm and keep her heart rate slow. She was supposed to be unconscious.

  “Vital signs are stable. Heart rate is slightly elevated but within acceptable parameters.”

  “Honorant,” a voice said through a communicator. “I’ve regained command of the lift controls. I’m bringing it up now.”

  “Thank you, Agitant,” Lurin said. “I expected you would succeed where my poor excuse for a systems technician failed.” A short tone signaled the disconnect. “High Honorant Ward.”

  “Honorant Lurin,” a new voice said.

  “The rogue Republic operative is contained, along with the escaping prisoners. When can I expect your arrival?”

  “We will arrive within two standard,” Ward replied. “I trust you can keep things under control for that long?”

  “Of course, sir. You are aware there’s a Goliath class battleship orbiting the planet, and a Shuriken patrolling the surface?”

  “I don’t expect either to be a problem.”

  “What about the council, sir? We need to clean up this mess quickly before any word of unrest can make it back to them.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with the Council, Lurin. It will be handled as usual. We’ve already put a plan in motion to purify our position there.”

  “Yes, sir. As you command.”

  Another disconnect tone sounded, slightly different than the first, signaling the connection was dropped from the other end.

  Agitant? Honorant? They sounded like titles or ranks, but they were nothing Abbey had ever heard of before. A rogue Republic operative? Escaping prisoners? She didn’t like the sound of any of it.

  She needed to get out.

  “Take her to my office. I want her close to the lift and ready for transfer as soon as the High Honorant arrives.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said.

  The platform began to move. She could hear the boots of the guards on either side of it, leading it out of the isolation room and into the medical ward. The ward itself was silent. Empty? She didn’t dare open her eyes to look.

  They left the medical ward, moving at a steady pace. She could feel it when the platform she was riding on changed direction, and she tried to memorize the path. Not that she wanted to go back to medical, but she had no idea how easily navigated the layout was.

  They stopped a few minutes later. They must have reached the Warden’s office.

  Abbey kept her eyes shut. The guards remained in position on either end of the platform, surprising her with their rigid attention as a few more minutes passed. A lot of soldiers would have been tempted to sit down, relax, or otherwise lose focus on the task at hand. Especially the guards in Hell, who didn’t tend to be the most successful members of the RIA.

  But these weren’t Republic Intergalactic Army soldiers. They were something else, going by different titles and following a different order. Did they have anything to do with Private Illiard’s warning? She had a feeling they did.

  First things first. This was the best chance she was going to get. She had to take it.

  She opened her eyes slowly, leaving just the smallest slit through which she could see a blurred image of the guard ahead of her. He was wearing a lightsuit, similar to a softsuit but without the embedded tech that allowed Breakers to do what they did. That was good. It would be much easier to take a soldier in a lightsuit. She had to assume the other guard was equipped similarly.

  She flexed her hands a few times. Slowly, so she wouldn’t be noticed. Despite everything that had happened, her body felt strong. Loose. Ready. She needed to knock the forward guard down quickly, taking him by surprise before the rear guard could stop her. One on one, she had a fighting chance.

  Take him down with what? She didn’t have any weapons. HSOC training taught every operative to kill unarmed, but she had never had to do it before. That wasn’t completely true. She had killed Pok with nothing more than a sliver of metal, and she had done it without hesitation, an act that had made the other L20s wary of her. It was her or them. Besides, who would she be killing, anyway? If anything, these individuals were the real traitors to the Republic.

  And they were responsible for her being here.

  Bastards.

  She allowed herself one more light breath in. Then she made her move, tucking her legs beneath her as she sat up, pushing off, wrapping her arms around the forward guard’s neck as her momentum carried them both away from the rear guard.

  He stumbled forward, trying to regain his balance from her surprise assault, reaching out to get his hand on something to help him stay upright. She continued wrapping herself around him, turning her body and using her weight to pull him to the side. He tripped and fell, coming down hard on top of her, pressing against her freshly healed ribs. She heard a crack at the same time, and his head fell limp.

  One down.

  She looked past him, along the length of his body. He had a nerve baton holstered at his side, and she reached down and grabbed it as the second guard rounded the platform in pursuit. She shoved the body away while she rolled out from under it, barely evading the guard’s boot when he tried to kick her in the stomach.

  “Doesn’t unharmed mean anything to you?” she asked, spinning from her knees to her feet and lashing out with the baton. It struck harmlessly against the side of the guard’s helmet, and he reached out for her, trying to grab her wrist.

  She backed away, holding the baton out. The guard pulled his own baton, trailing her as she put Lurin’s desk between them.

  “Who are you?” she said, pissed at herself for getting stuck here.

  The guard didn’t answer. She could see his lips moving, though. Calling for reinforcements.

&n
bsp; Get out or die trying.

  She glanced down at the desk. Then she pounced forward, using her arms to vault off it, leading with her legs. The guard hit her in the right knee with the nerve baton, but he didn’t knock her off course. Both feet slammed into his chest, knocking him backward and into the gurney. He tripped over it and onto the floor.

  She kept moving forward, landing on the other side, almost falling herself as her deadened knee threatened to give out. She shifted her balance, using her left leg to spring forward toward the guard, who was reaching for his sidearm.

  She smacked his hand with the baton, dropping it away from the weapon. Then she came down on top of him, grabbing the gun for herself.

  She put it to the clear visor of his helmet and pulled the trigger, turning away as the round blasted through the transparency and into his head.

  It was ugly, but it had worked.

  She pushed herself back up, noticing the feeling already returning to her knee. Getting hit with a nerve baton like that should have deadened the area for at least an hour, even if the jolt wasn’t enough to knock her out. She didn’t know why it hadn’t, but she was grateful.

  She stepped over the dead guard, heading toward the door, stopping when she saw an entire squad of guards in battlesuits bearing down. Damn it. She eyed the frame of the Warden’s door, noting that it was reinforced. Probably to protect the prison’s most visible sign of authority in the case of an emergency. She smiled. Perfect. Now it would protect her.

  She tapped the control pad. There was no security on it from the inside, and the door closed with a sharp hiss and a bang as it sealed in place. Then she hurried back to the Warden’s desk, activating his terminal, coughing out a laugh when the projection appeared over it. The idiot hadn’t even locked it.

  Her fingers began moving across the interface, quickly navigating to the subsystems hidden beneath the dumbed-down display. A rogue Republic operative caught without a ride up?

  Not for long.

  30