Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

“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.