Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

Belatedly, he realized they were both watching him, then the two gardeners exchanged a speaking look. When he’d first entered, he was conscious only of the plants and the richness of the nutrient mixture, of how clean and wholesome this room smelled compared to the rest of the ship. Now, he discerned the warmth of her scent all over Zediah’s skin . . . and vice versa. They shared an overall chemical aroma, a combination of sex and frequent contact.

Explains a lot. He saw me as a threat.

Then she said, “You really love it in here.”

No harm in admitting as much. “It’s beautiful. There are worse ways to spend your time.”

“In a hydroponics garden on a prison ship?” Zediah raised a brow.

Jael laughed, feeling some of the weight slip from his shoulders. “Point taken. When I get out of here, I’ll use my ill-gotten gains to plant a huge garden on my country estate.”

“When?” Zediah asked, raising a brow.

“It’s a dream. Don’t you have one?”

“Not anymore,” Vix said softly.

Everyone confined in Perdition accepted what they’d been told. Escape is impossible; the prison is impregnable. You will die there. Jael had that echo in his head, along with the scientists who had droned at him, repeatedly, You’re not a person. You’re a thing. You will obey.

And I didn’t do that, either.

I refuse to die here.

But he didn’t think these two would be interested—or persuaded by—his nascent escape plans. He had only just begun taking the measure of the ship. Once the smoke settled, he could explore more and put together a plan. Right now, it was impossible, with the Great Bear’s soldiers watching and waiting, and with Silence playing her cards so close to her chest. He lacked Tam’s skill for going unnoticed; stealth had never been a requirement in his line of work. Commanders looked to him for nearly indestructible infantry, a brutal killer, not a sneak thief. And most of them appreciated that his history didn’t show on his skin.

“Anyway,” Vix said. “This is how you do a proper transfer.”

He didn’t ask why they spent so much time in the garden. If he could, he’d move in here where he forgot that the rest of the station was rusted and pocked, that the parts had been stripped and stolen and reapportioned so often that it was a wonder primary systems like life support still functioned. Even the light felt brighter and cleaner; nothing seemed as desperate or awful in here.

For several hours, he worked in harmonious silence, which might surprise old acquaintances. He had been known for nervous energy and seeking ever more extreme entertainment. Here, he could just be. By the time he finished all the transplants that Vix asked of him, he felt calmer, more ready to tackle a discussion with Dred. He knew shit about dealing with women for more than one night; and while theirs didn’t qualify as a relationship, she wasn’t a woman he could sleep with, then never see again. Somehow, her respect had become important to him as well, and he imagined he’d lost it.

Still, I won’t be twice the fool. I’ll take Martine’s advice.

“Thank you,” he said to Zediah and Vix as he headed for the door. “I needed this.”

She nodded, a smile creasing her sharp cheeks. Surprisingly, the woman had a dimple, and Zediah gazed at it like it was the greatest wonder of his life. Jael felt something twist inside him, a sharp sideways shift.

Zediah added, “You’re welcome here anytime. You’re a good worker.”

How fragging sad—that might be the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

33

Sweeter Than Honey

Dred had just stepped out of the san-shower when the door to her quarters swished open. It was a little early for Tam and Einar, so she stepped out of the lavatory with an inquiring look. When she saw Jael, the curiosity curled into a hard, cold emotion, a kernel of anger burning in her belly. She’d call it wounded vanity; the Dread Queen wasn’t used to being refused.

Deep down, it wasn’t the Dread Queen who minded, though.

“You can go,” she said. “We have no business.”

His blue eyes were more open than she’d ever seen them, a shift she didn’t expect. “If you still feel that way after I’ve said my piece, I’ll agree. Will you give me a chance to explain?”

Unable to restrain the impulse, she slipped into second sight, eyes closed, to read his current state of mind. Once, she hadn’t been able to do this. Her empathy was born in violence, but she’d strengthened the ability through repeated use. Sorrow lingered in pockets of deep blue, but mostly, she read the deep green of remorse. For a few seconds, she wondered if he could shield his emotions or project what he wanted her to see. Ike had her doubting everything these days. Then she released that question into the wild.

For the sake of privacy, she secured the door.

“Go on,” she said with deliberate detachment.

“I don’t know if this will matter—and perhaps it shouldn’t—but there was a reason I didn’t finish what we started in the corridor. When I learned that you and Tam involved the aliens in the Warren, without telling me, it . . . bothered me.” Two distinct emotions flickered across his face: hurt and anger. “I thought I’d proven myself. Then I learned I was a weapon to you . . . and that you apparently didn’t care if my people and I survived the attack. It’s not that I haven’t been treated like that before . . . just that I didn’t expect it from you.” There was a bleak, leaden quality to his words, as if he’d resigned himself to nothing better.

“So you let me know I was only a warm body to you, and one’s as good as another.”

“Not subtle,” he admitted, “or particularly admirable, but yes.”

She sank down on the bed, giving him the height advantage. It was a choice, as Tam had taught her far too much about body language over the past half turn for her to do any such thing without full cognition of what it portended. Dred waited a few seconds for that to register.

Then she said, “I haven’t been an actual person in a long time, since before I left Tehrann. Everything changed when I stepped foot on that freighter. I changed. Soon enough, I was just a killer of killers, devoid of anything but my mission.” Those had been empty turns, but also darkly euphoric. There had been pleasure and satisfaction in terminating a threat nobody else could see. “Then they arrested me, and I was a prisoner, just one-note, too. I was . . . angry, and I made sure everyone else in the facility was, too. It wasn’t difficult.”