Havoc

40 Last Resort

For the moment, the battle was over.

Bodies lay all around them, more than Jael could remember killing in one go since he became a merc. Instead of feeling exhilarated or even relieved that they’d won, he wondered if there would be anyone left to clean this mess up once the dying stopped. For a few seconds, he imagined maintenance bots like RC-17 banging repeatedly into decaying corpses and eventually scanning them, then cleaning around them.

Can’t decide if that’s hilarious or grisly.

Jael dragged in a deep breath. It had been a long time since he was simply . . . tired. In a way, it was a welcome shame. His designer body had limits now, boundaries that could be crossed. If pushed hard enough, he imagined he could even collapse from exhaustion.

“What’re you smirking at?” Martine asked.

No percentage in telling the truth; it didn’t do to show weakness even to your allies. So he shared his thought about the cleaning droids. When he finished, both Martine and Calypso were shaking their heads.

“You are not right,” the smaller woman said.

“You must admit, it’s quite a picture.” Calypso was grinning. Apparently, she had a bit of a taste for the macabre.

“If they succeed in wiping us out,” Martine’s voice chilled. “Then those assholes can tidy up this mess.”

Calypso offered, “The rodents would eat the corpses down to bones by the time the new owners arrive.”

“Cheerful notion.” Jael shook his head as he cleaned his weapons.

Jael was about to suggest they move on when the bot they’d just been talking about rounded the corner toward them, all lights flashing in a blinding pattern, but it wasn’t playing the standard unauthorized personnel warning that Ike had programmed. The thing was beeping in sequence, but the lights and sounds made no sense to Jael. It circled his feet urgently, and he glanced at the two women.

“Any clue what this thing wants?”

She shook her head, kneeling to look at the unit. “No idea. I haven’t seen it in days, actually. Not since Ike died.”

All the lights on the RC unit turned green at the same time. “Pass phrase recognized, playback authorized.”

A chill ran down Jael’s spine as Ike’s voice came out of the droid. “If you’re hearing this, I’m dead. Sorry about that. Wills told me a while back that I didn’t have long. In this place, I’m guessing I didn’t die of old age. Whatever got me, I hope it was quick.”

“I’m sorry,” Jael said quietly.

The message continued, oblivious to the living. “You must be wondering what’s going on with 17 here. I recorded this and programmed him to locate you and play it if I didn’t tune him up on schedule.”

“You clever bastard,” Calypso said.

“Don’t know what’s going on, but I have some secret stashes that might be useful. I’ve been sitting on them, but now that I’m gone, there’s no point in hiding them any longer. You know what they say, you can’t take it with you. If you follow the RC unit, he’ll take you to where I’ve hidden some goodies. So I guess that’s it. Thanks for being good to an old man, and . . . I’ll see you around.”

“Message complete,” the RC unit added. “Play again?”

“Holy shit. This is like finding buried treasure. What do you think it is? Parts? Food? Weapons?” Considering the state Queensland was in, Martine seemed pretty damn excited.

Calypso lifted a palm. “Hold up. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we can’t tear off and leave Dred to fight these assholes alone. Once the blood dries up, there will be time to see what Ike left us.”

Jael said nothing at all. This felt like hope from beyond the grave, a quiet promise that things were never as bad as they seemed.

DRED let Vost get away. The thought echoed like thunder in Tam’s head. He didn’t understand why, but he suspected it had to do with the unfinished grudge match. This is why we need the formality of the circle. If the others had come upon the fight within the usual arena, they would’ve known not to interfere. But regardless of Dred’s honor, he needed to know where the mercs were holed up. I’m not much of a spymaster without proper intel.

“I’ll track them,” he said to Dred.

Other Queenslanders got in his way, pushing and shoving, as they tried to chase the mercs. But Tam slid past them. One of the benefits to being small. A few aliens moved as if to accompany him, but Katur shouted, “Stay! Follow Keelah’s commands. I’ll be back soon.”

With each passing second, Vost got farther away. “You don’t have to—”

“I disagree.”

“Find out where he’s hiding. This isn’t over between us.” Dred gave clearance for the mission, then she beckoned the rest of the Queenslanders. “Looks like we won. And you thought it couldn’t be done! Shall we take the fight to Mungo?”

Since he and Silence had been mounting mobile strikes on Queensland for days, it was time. She has this in hand. Soon, they’d control the whole facility.

Until the next squad arrives.

But impossible things were never achieved by fixating on their insurmountable nature. Tam didn’t try to change Katur’s mind. He could’ve explained that this wasn’t an assassination; silent executions were best left to Silence and her cadre. No, Tam excelled at gathering information and deciding the best way to make use of it, and he hadn’t made up his mind about Vost. Doubtless, Katur felt differently after the massacre in the Warren.

With the other male lending his expertise, he tracked Vost. The walls were dirtier than usual here; they were encrusted with grime after turns of neglect. Tam knew all of the best places to hide on the station. He was an expert at scouting out hidey-holes and secret spots that offered shelter in an emergency. Currently, there were four that even Martine didn’t know about.

And Vost found one.

With injuries like Vost had sustained, the merc couldn’t go far. He must be in dire straits, especially since he’d harmed enough of Mungo’s and Silence’s people that they would be hunting him as well. It had to gall the mercenary commander to realize that his life might end in such a way. Men like him expected good and honorable deaths, not to be whittled down by convicts or to starve like rodents in a rotten wall.

“What do you plan to do with our enemy, once we find him?”

But that question would never be answered. Blood burbled from Katur’s mouth, and when his body fell, it revealed the Speaker’s crouched form. His blade was stained red and his eyes were bright with malice. He wasn’t a large man, but he was tall, giving him better reach, though Tam had fought better men and lived. He didn’t waste breath with accusations, and he tried to strangle the throb of rage deep inside him. A cool head prevailed in a fight. Yet he was already imagining the conversation with Keelah, a distraction he could ill afford.

“This has been a long time coming,” the Speaker said with icy calm. “I fight for the Handmaiden. You spy for your queen.” Tam didn’t realize he’d reacted until the Speaker went on, “We know that you watch us from the shadows. But it didn’t save your friend.”

This is where I’m supposed to be baited into a poorly considered lunge.

Instead, he circled, observing the way the Speaker moved. There was a reason why this man had risen through the ranks to speak for Silence instead of dying in her infernal web like the rest of her victims. The Speaker moved with serpentine speed, but his eyes flicked just before he struck. Tam banked everything on his reflexes and spun to the side just as the knife would’ve skewered him through the heart. The forward momentum pulled the Speaker off-balance, and Tam took full advantage. He came in with a strike from behind, just as the bastard had done to Katur. His blade struck true, a clean kidney shot. The assassin actually looked surprised as he fell, right next to the alien he had murdered.

The Speaker’s chest rose and fell for a few seconds. Tam expected a moment of truth or clarity, but instead of smiling as some people did in death, the man’s features tightened into pure horror, as if what he glimpsed waiting for him was terrible beyond belief. If there’s any justice, that’s true.

“Mary curse it.” Tam clenched a fist, watching as the Speaker died.

The trail to Vost was cold now. And he had to return to carry the grim news.

LOST him.

It was a stroke of luck that the two trackers had been attacked. Without that break, Vost didn’t think he would’ve escaped. His wounds throbbed, making each breath more difficult than the last. Nausea rose in the form of bile, but he held it together until he made it to where he and his two surviving men had been holing up. Vost was also well aware that he wouldn’t have made it back without Redmond and Duran supporting him on either side.

“She’s tough as hell,” Redmond said conversationally.

Duran grunted in acknowledgment. “I didn’t expect her to last as long as she did. But I really don’t understand why we didn’t just kill them all.”

“Because we might need them down the line. When our clips run out, things will look a lot worse then. We’ll be better off if we can make allies out of the least crazy ones.” It went without saying that he couldn’t consider teaming up with cannibals or the death-heads. Sometimes the choice came down to the lesser of all evils.

And that’s the one they call the Dread Queen.

This was more of a rats’ nest than a command post, but the space was too small for the enemy to lay traps. It would also limit the firepower they could bring to bear in here. They had little gear left anyway; the convicts had been stealing and breaking in since their unit arrived on station. That was more initiative than the suit had said they would possess. Vost choked a laugh at the memory of that interview; it seemed so long ago now.

As they settled, Redmond powered up the medibot, one of the few resources that remained to them. The thing went to work on his injuries, but the pain sent a raw shudder through him. He closed his eyes, weary to his soul.

“Well, damn,” Duran muttered. “So what’s our next move?”

He was lucky they weren’t ready to kill him in his sleep. Any two other men in the unit would’ve refused to follow his lead once the rest of the squad got blown to shit. Through their own stupidity.

Reluctantly, Vost admitted, “The situation is this: We’ve whittled down their numbers, but the loss of the transport hurt us. As of now, we have no chance of completing the original assignment. Which means the rules have to change.”

“Level with me. Are we dying in here?”

“Not if we’re smart. And careful.”

“You’ve been both so far, but we’re still in this fucking mess,” Duran muttered.

Vost wished the man didn’t have a point, but he’d done everything he could to succeed in this hellish place. The usual tactics had failed. And it would require all of his ingenuity to get out alive, now that he’d accepted the original mission parameters were impossible, regardless of the payday.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I wish I could report better odds.”

Duran shrugged. “Hell, if we’d turned and gone with Casto, we’d be in chunks. At least with you, we’re still breathing.”

Redmond nodded. “This job rang all my alarm bells, but I took it anyway. I should’ve known better.”

“Me too,” Vost admitted.

“Greed got the better of us. Move on.” Duran looked like he wanted to pace, but the crazy, silent woman had trained killers crawling all over the station in search of them.

“I have a plan,” he told his men. “From what I’ve seen, the reason these Queenslanders have lasted this long is because their leadership isn’t psychotic. And she proved it when she was willing to fight to save two of her own.”

“That’s true,” Redmond said.

“I know what the Conglomerate told us. But the only way we get out of this alive, going forward, is cooperation.”

Despite the fact that the Dread Queen had covered their retreat to satisfy the terms of their bargain, his men seemed less than delighted with the plan. Too fragging bad.

“So what do you want us to do?” Duran asked.

“I need a few days to heal up. If she takes my proposal badly, I need to be in better shape. Gather some supplies—”

Redmond cut in, “There’s a Kitchen-mate in one of the abandoned zones. We could make a run, produce some paste.”

It was good idea since paste didn’t require preparation or cooking facilities. None of them were thrilled at the prospect of eating it for three days straight, but it would keep them alive. “Get water, too. And be careful. There are still combat zones all over the station. I don’t want my claim to fame to be that I got every single one of my men killed.”

Redmond laughed wryly. “Trust me, we’re not eager for that either.”

“Can you give us any intel?” Duran asked.

Vost ran down all of the info he had as to where the pockets of aggression were highest. He concluded, “If you stick to the perimeter, you shouldn’t have too much trouble though those silent freaks are stealthy. Keep an eye on your six.”

Redmond nodded. “Will do. Let’s go, D.”

Once the men moved out, Vost peeled the broken armor away from his skin. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to show how much pain he was in. He hissed in reaction as he studied the lattice of bruises and the slice on his side. The light trousers and shirt he wore beneath had holes revealing the damaged flesh. Even the air hurt. His men didn’t know that the acid from the strike had chewed through to his skin or that the wounds were festering.

The medibot beeped in dissatisfaction. “Running low on antibiotics. Less than 10 percent of pain medication remaining.”

Vost made a fist, but he didn’t slam it into the wall. Every particle of his being objected to their next move, but it was the only play he had left, and he couldn’t let anything prevent him from getting out of here alive. Everything hinged on the Dread Queen’s response to his proposal, and he hated how powerless that made him feel.

Survive. Whatever it takes. He’s waiting.