Havoc

17 Falling Hard

Ironic. If we had been shooting from a level up, I could’ve gotten the mercs to destroy the conduits for me.

Dred made sure not to look down as she climbed. Part of her wished she could find a good vantage and explode the thing with a rifle, but she couldn’t take the chance that the shot would echo, drawing the mercs back. It was unlikely she’d get to cover before seven angry soldiers unloaded on her, and she didn’t intend for this to be a suicide mission.

So she inched up the wall, digging into rusty notches and hauling herself up by cables that might not be strong enough to bear her weight. Just as she thought that, the cord snapped and she plummeted a few meters, then caught herself on a jutting rivet. The metal bit into her palm and cut into it, so blood slicked her fingers. Dred curled one hand around the bolt, her heart thumping in her chest. Hope Jael’s not watching this. Deliberately, she wiped the blood on her palms, ignored the burning pain in her shoulder, and reached up with her other hand.

It took all her strength to scramble back up to where she’d been when she fell, then she pressed on. Her eyes were fixed on the conduits above. Her heartbeat slowed as she neared the goal. Ten meters to go. Five. Don’t think about falling. When she got her feet on the railing, her palms on the conduit, she took a few deep breaths. Then she carefully drew her knife and went to work. It took long moments to short out the circuits, and the resultant shock rocked her so hard, she almost dropped off the wall.

Her head spun, and she leaned her cheek against the metal while waiting for the numbness and tingles to subside. She was sure the conduit wasn’t firing anymore, but she reached in and pulled out the wires just in case. Then she clambered down the wall. Her injured palm throbbed, and so did her burned arm. She had been a little surprised when Jael didn’t pull her aside to argue that she wasn’t strong enough to get the job done.

When she finally fell onto solid ground—what seemed like hours later—Jael was there to pull her in. His arms went around her, and he put his cheek to her hair. Her hands settled at his waist; it was like the world went away. She didn’t hear the station noises or the others milling around in the hallway past his shoulder. There was only his heartbeat thudding beneath her ear.

He stroked her back, and whispered, “You just sliced a few turns off my life, love.”

“Did it work?”

“Like a charm.” He kept his arm around her and moved into the next hallway, where no amber force field hummed. “See?”

Dred nodded, patted him once on the hip, and strode onward. The others followed as she ran toward the internal stairs. From there it was a clear shot to the bottom. The repair bay where the merc had fallen wasn’t too far off. Hopefully, the rifles the mercs dropped aren’t completely beyond repair. She could taste those weapons when she rounded a corner and skidded to a stop. There will be armor, too. If it’s damaged, Ike may be able to salvage it. Even then it was a close call, as the turrets came to life, pelting the corridor with rounds. She dropped instantly, and the shots flew over her head, slamming into the back wall.

“Don’t come any closer,” she shouted.

“We noticed the welcoming committee.” That was Jael’s voice.

She lay still, scanning the door behind the turret. It looked solid as hell, but there was a keypad beside it. They might be able to hack their way through the lock, but first they had to deal with the turrets. But I don’t want to damage them. We could use them in Queensland. Unfortunately, these aren’t coded to recognize our mag bracelets. Ike had worked on the other salvaged turrets, so they recognized VIPs. There weren’t many, but it helped when she, Tam, or Jael were coming in hot after a mission.

The others stood out of range of the motion sensors, debating her predicament. She scooted backward in infinitesimal movements, relying on Jael not to panic. She’d been in worse situations today. Getting away from the automated defenses just required patience.

“Scatter,” Jael said to the rest of the group.

Then hands yanked her back faster than she could blink, and the turrets came to life, sweeping the hallway again. The high-velocity rounds slammed into the wall behind them. Jael rolled with her, and the ceiling spun over walls, floor, and back again, until they were safely beyond the range of the turrets. Her head spun a little as she stared at the dents in the metal where all the rounds hit.

“Those will definitely chew through merc armor,” Martine said.

“Ruin it, too,” Ali muttered.

“That’s assuming they don’t have some way to shut off the turrets,” Tam pointed out. “They may have been given overrides.”

Jael sighed. “That’s all we need.”

Dred pushed to her feet. “We can’t worry about the mercs right now. So, new problems. Active turrets, not tuned to our magnetic bracelets, plus a sturdy door.”

Jael paced away from the turrets and back to the limit of their range. “Bloody station seems almost sentient. It wouldn’t surprise me if it throws up new obstacles the moment our backs are turned.”

Martine shivered. “Don’t even joke.”

“As long as the mercs aren’t faring any better on the other side, we have time to deal with this.” Brahm was studying the turrets.

“I can blow them up,” Jael said, “but I know how Dred feels about wasted resources.”

She shot him a dark look without disagreeing. “If it comes down to it, we’ll have to decide if the weapons and armor on the other side of the door are worth destroying these. But let’s put our collective minds on a bypass.”

The Ithtorian squatted, his segmented limbs popping in a sound that sent a slight shiver through Jael. Though nobody else noticed, Dred took a step closer and set a hand on his arm. His palm skimmed down her arm, and he laced his fingers through hers. The touch of skin on skin was unexpected, a shocking warmth. Surreptitiously, she explored the texture of his hand thoroughly, running her fingertip along the curve between his thumb and forefinger. He made a noise, a soft rumble in his throat, and she slid him a sly smile.

“I have an idea,” Brahm said, pushing to his feet. “Someone needs to donate a shirt to the cause.”

“I’ll do it,” Jael said. “Mine’s already shot up.”

Dred stepped back, hoping nobody noticed that she had to let go of him. He pulled the shirt over his head and offered it to Brahm. The Ihtorian opened up a nearby wall panel and jerked out the wires, then he stuffed the fabric into the sparking recess. When the cloth was smoldering, he plucked it out and chucked it down the hall toward the turrets. The movement made them perk up, but evidently the shirt didn’t register as a person, and the smoldering intensified into an actual fire. Since the shirt was synth, it smoked up the hall.

“Was your plan to choke us out?” Martine asked.

“Watch,” Brahm said.

As the haze filled the air, Dred made out tiny slivers of light that gave away where the sensors were placed.

The Ithtorian nodded with satisfaction. “It will be tight, but if someone can negotiate the sensors before the smoke clears, we can deactivate the turrets.”

“I can do it,” Martine said easily. Dred regarded the other woman in surprise, but she only shrugged. “Hey, I told you I had a life before.”

From what she’d said, Dred suspected Martine had been a gifted burglar, and she wondered how a thief ended up in Perdition. Doesn’t matter, I suppose. As if on cue, everyone stepped back, likely not wanting to get caught in the blast radius if Martine missed a step. After making an obscene gesture, Martine closed her eyes, rolled her neck to each side, then ran for the turrets, but just before she would’ve activated them, she leapt forward in a roll, came up tight, and did a little hop into the next blind spot. Her subsequent performance was . . . awe-inspiring. Dred hadn’t known she possessed such skill and coordination. Martine teetered a little at the last flip, then she was behind the turrets, both arms in the air.

“Let’s hear it, bitches.”

Tam was the first to applaud; everyone else followed suit as she turned off the defenses. Dred turned to Ali. “Can you and Brahm work on getting those out of the floor? I’d like to take them with us now.”

“Before someone else finds them,” the Ithtorian guessed.

“That’s the idea.”

Tam slid past as Jael was stomping on his shirt. “You think I can still wear this?”

“I’d say no. But there are perks to being the Dread Queen. I’ll hook you up when we get back.”

“You’ll spoil me,” Jael said with a wry smile.

Yeah, yeah.

Deliberately, she brushed by him and joined Tam, who was bent over the keypad. She couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door, but that didn’t mean the mercs hadn’t already gotten there. Dred couldn’t guess if Vost would stay to fight or if he’d grab the gear and fall back. He knew they were a small group, and his surviving seven men had better weapons and armor. Still, he might not want to risk losing more men since preventing them from getting their hands on the supplies was his goal.

After a few minutes of tinkering, Tam shorted out the lock, and the doors popped open with a clang. The repair bay had the musty smell of a room long closed, and in the middle of the floor lay three dead mercs, along with a scattering of their equipment. Dred led the way at a dead run, knowing they were lucky as hell the mercs hadn’t gotten here first.

But just as she was thinking that, the bay doors on the other side popped open, and Vost opened fire.