Havoc (Dred Chronicles 2)

That was actually the least of Vost’s worries. The cannibals died without much trouble. It was that other nest, the one he couldn’t scout with drone cams, spearheading the attacks that cost him men and equipment. But if it made the rest feel more willing to work, he could pretend this was a mercy mission and not damage control.

So he ran with that assumption, painting a gruesome picture. “We’re racing these convicts to the repair bay. If they get there first, they take Higgins, use him as a trophy, cook him, and put his head on a spike. Are we gonna let that happen?”

“No, sir!” his men shouted.

It would be better if all his squad leaders had the ability to keep their men on task or the judgment to be wary. While he wouldn’t have shot the man on the bridge on sight, he would’ve called for a medibot and sent it in to wake the soldier up, then he’d have demanded name and call number before letting him off the ground. Any deviation would’ve resulted in a laser blast. Still, it was too late to change the outcome. Now he had to make sure those Mary-forsaken mooks didn’t benefit from this.

“What’s our strategy?” Frankel asked.

“That’s need to know, but if things work the way I’ve planned, we’ll beat them there by a wide margin, giving us time to lay a trap of our own. How do you feel about payback?”

“That’s my second favorite kind of pay, sir!” That came from Kinsey, a bit of a smart-ass, but he kept the men laughing during the rough patches, so Vost didn’t curb him.

“Moving out, double time!” He set a grueling pace toward the cargo lifts.

Vost had been tinkering with them for a while, but parts had been stolen, and it took time to locate replacements on this wreck of a station. Plus, there were security protocols to override. If he could use station defenses, things would be a lot easier, but something had gone wrong with the subroutines, and the codes his employers had given him no longer worked. The inmates had stripped so many parts from the mainframe that the defenses that were still functional were running off pocket nodes, each with random overrides, changing every sixty seconds. While he worked on the control panel, his men paced and talked shit behind him. They didn’t need to remind him that every moment’s delay could cost them a critical victory, but luckily, he didn’t choke under pressure. Twenty minutes later, the doors slid open, and cheers rang out.

He fixed a hard look on his men. “Let’s do this. We retrieve Higgins’s body, protect his gear at all costs. And we get the bastards who ended him. Are you with me?”

The answering outcry nearly deafened him.

16

Fish in a Barrel

The mood was grim and quiet.

Brahm didn’t insist on silence because the mercs knew where they were headed, but nobody had the breath to speak. They had been running steadily downward for the better part of an hour; even maintenance drones didn’t make it to this part of the ship. Another of Ali’s shortcuts had taken them past some defenses that would’ve netted them some impressive resources, but Jael understood why the aliens had kept these caches to themselves. Other territories had reckoned them confined to the Warren when the truth was, they’d had supplies stashed all over the station.

Jael leapt the last few rungs and scrambled out of the way so the others could follow. He peered down with incredulity. “We’re only halfway?”

“Do I need to remind you of the station’s size?” Tam asked.

“That’d be great,” he answered with a sharp grin. “Do you think you could sketch me the schematics while you’re at it?”

“Internal conflict won’t solve anything,” Ali cut in.

Dred nodded. “We’ll take a short break, catch our breaths, and rest up. That should put us in prime condition to finish the run.”

The Rodeisian female didn’t look winded to Jael, but she propped herself against the wall near Brahm, her eyes dropping half-shut. Her ears swiveled independently, doubtless listening for pursuit. While the mercs were the primary threat, that didn’t mean Mungo or Silence’s people couldn’t crash the party.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Brahm said softly to Ali.

Jael didn’t mean to eavesdrop. The aliens were speaking softly enough that he gathered their words weren’t meant for him. He exchanged a look with Dred that told him she shared his discomfort. Sorry, love. There’s no way to shut it off that I’ve found.

“You fought bravely,” she said. “I know you tried your best to save him. You’ve been a good friend to us.”

“No more than you both were to me on New Terra.”

Ali choked out a laugh. “You see how well that ended. Instead of smuggling you to safety, we all got caught.”

“It’s a cesspool, no mistake,” the Ithtorian said. “But you make it bearable.”

Jael had never heard friendship proclaimed like that. In his experience, such words were kept under lock and key. You didn’t tell people they were important because they might see it as a weakness to exploit. Better still, you didn’t let people get close.

Ali’s chin drooped. “I don’t expect to get out of this alive, but I hope you make it, Brahm. You deserve better from life than you’ve gotten.”

It was tough as hell to work with a Bug. After turns imprisoned on Ithiss-Tor, he hated them and himself, too. Once, he might’ve only loathed that he’d failed to kill Charis Il-Wan, as Ramona Jax had paid him to do, but now regret burned inside him like the sun. What would my life be like if I’d turned her down? I probably wouldn’t be in Perdition. I might still be traveling with—

No point in such thoughts. He distantly recalled vowing vengeance on those who had seen through his bullshit and left him to rot in prison. Now, if he managed to escape, he wouldn’t waste his time or energy hunting them to settle old scores. I blamed them, but truth is, I turned first. I played my cards, and I lost. The admission didn’t come easy to him, but a certain comfort came with it. It’s over, then. There’s only Perdition now. And Dred.

The Ithtorian made a chittering sound deep in his throat, a noise Jael associated with profound disagreement, the kind that defied words. “A deviant like me? This is precisely the end my father predicted.”

At that, her head swung up, and she touched the Ithtorian’s claw. “That’s not true, my friend. Love is love.”

“Everyone ready to move?” Dred asked.