Havoc (Dred Chronicles 2)

15

Baiting the Trap

“This thing is sodding huge,” Martine bitched.

It had taken them hours to haul the gear up from the sublevel. Dred expected one of the men to respond with the obvious joke, but they were all focused on heaving the girder into place. The lattice of tension wires didn’t look strong enough hold the contraption, but Brahm was monitoring the process, and he seemed to have an engineering background. Ali heaved, shouldering the front of the metal beam as Jael shoved.

“Can’t do it with two of us,” he grunted.

Dred stepped underneath; Tam, Martine, and Brahm followed, but she didn’t feel much of a difference. If we had couple more like Jael and Ali, this should work.

With a moan that sounded as if she’d ruptured something, the Rodeisian lowered her end of the metal beam. “Need a break. I think we have to try this another way.”

“I can build a harness,” Brahm said. “It’ll take longer. Tam, can you scout and give me an idea how much time we have until they get here?”

“Certainly. I can extrapolate based on the numerical mean of their patrol times.” The spymaster took off, running lightly along the footbridge.

This cavernous space gave Dred the creeps. The common room was the largest place she was used to, and she could do without the long drop, too. She spun in a slow circle as Brahm muttered over the supplies. Then he tapped Ali’s arm with his talons, and she went to work with him, weaving scraps together, presumably to construct the harness he’d mentioned. As they worked, Dred developed an idea how the thing would work once it was finished.

“What can I do?” she asked the Ithtorian.

“See if you can find some rope.”

That might be easier said than done, but she moved toward the other side of the footbridge. Jael strolled after her, and she turned with a quirk of one brow. “You don’t think I can find salvage on my own?”

“It’s better with company, love. Plus, I’m a professional, you know.”

“You mean because you gave up being a merc to work salvage?”

“Who says you don’t listen?”

“Not you.” She flashed him half a smile as she strode into the offices. Hairline cracks threaded the glastique that had once shielded the managerial portion of the station from the industrial part. The lights were almost entirely broken, shards of glass crunching underfoot like the discarded husks of long-dead insects. A foul smell permeated the room—blood, sweat, urine, and dust. She climbed across an overturned desk and reached a hand back to help Jael. He took it with a bemused expression.

It’s like he doesn’t believe in . . . this, whatever it is. But it’s not going away.

“You think we’ll find anything in here?”

She was dubious. Rope was something they’d most likely find in the repair bays, but that was too long a trek. There was no way she and Jael would be back before the patrol arrived. “Maybe not rope, but something similar. Cables or cords we can loop together?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dred rummaged while Jael did the same across the way. She tried to be quiet, but the broken furniture made it tough. Occasionally, Jael swore softly as he ran into obstacles; she gave him a hand in pulling the junk out of the doorway. After scrutinizing each piece, she sorted them into piles: broken and worthless versus Ike might be able to do something with this gizmo.

Jael tilted his head. “Always thinking ahead, hey?”

“Can’t do otherwise, can I, pretty lad?” But her tone was soft, making an endearment of what had first been mockery.

“Hurry up!” Brahm shouted. “Tam says we’ve got ten minutes to put this together.”

* * *

THE trap was finished.

Based on what Brahm had told him about patrol routes, Tam had picked the perfect place to set it up. The station was divided, and the industrial side was separated from cleaner, corporate offices by a footbridge that connected the two hemispheres, and it was a long drop to the repair bays below. Mungo had laid claim to the offices, but once he trashed them, he evidently decided they were too small to be worthy of his empire, so he’d moved on, leaving the rooms reeking of blood, feces, and urine. That miasma didn’t improve after festering, either. So now nobody came through there.

But the mercs don’t know that. Now Tam just needed to bait them. Everyone else knew to stay out of sight until the squad committed.

The armor felt heavy; he wasn’t used to it. Hopefully, if the mercs noticed any damage from a distance, they’d assume it came from the firefight that killed their mate. Up close, it wouldn’t pass inspection, but Ike had patched it together enough that when the merc unit spotted a fallen comrade on the walkway, they’d investigate. Since this trap relied on muscle and not hidden wires, the mercs could inspect the area before approaching; it didn’t matter if they came in slow and cautious, only that they made the approach. Tam glanced up at the other five perched on the level above. Without Ali’s strength, this wouldn’t work, though Jael seemed to be holding up his end.

Timing is everything.

Without further delay, he dropped facedown on the walkway, facing the direction Brahm said the patrols walked. He didn’t need to do anything; the others would handle it, but nerves pulled him tight. If their timing was off, if the mercs rolled him over before his team struck, then he’d take a laser blast to the face, and it was lights out. But the mercs would all recognize Dred, and Martine was too small to be credible as a merc—Tam himself was borderline—while Brahm and Ali were out for obvious reasons. Jael had the misfortune to be on Vost’s radar due to multiple encounters with his drone cams, so he was likely on the Most Wanted list alongside Dred.

Since it had taken quite a while to get the apparatus in place, he didn’t lie there long. Some distance off, he picked up the muffled clomp of enemy boots. It wasn’t loud compared to other machine noises echoing on station, and he actually felt their steps more than heard them. Beneath his cheek, the metal vibrated as the mercs stepped out onto the walkway, but he was careful not to move. They halted; Tam wasn’t sure how close they were.

He tried to regulate his breathing; holding it would only result in a perceptible swelling of his chest when he lost the battle with his reflexes. His skin twitched, a psychological reaction to being studied. Tam suddenly had an awful itch in the center of his back, but he resisted the impulse.

At any moment, they could see through the ruse and shoot me.