Havoc (Dred Chronicles 2)

“Shit,” Martine said, skipping past the lot of them to peer over the railing. “Is the lift . . . moving?”

“That’s the cargo elevator,” Ali said. “We tried to get it working. And failed.”

Dred swore in low and virulent tones. But before Jael could decide how dire their predicament was, the mechanism holding the box shuddered and gave in a cascade of orange sparks. Brahm let out a trill that Jael recognized as laughter from his time incarcerated on the Ithtorian homeworld.

“That’s a break for us,” Dred said.

The lift swayed as a cable snapped, and the winch holding it in place groaned. Given the state of repair on the rest of the station, it didn’t take a genius to guess that the mechanism must be rusty. There was no way to check from the inside of the compartment though Jael could see the discoloration on the metal when he narrowed his eyes.

“If we’re lucky,” Ali growled, “they fall to their deaths.”

Martine shook her head. “None of us can count on luck, lamb. But while they get out of that mess, it gives us time to maneuver.”

Brahm set a rapid pace down the skeletal stairs that led to the next level. The sound of laser fire exploded across the way, the lift rocking even more, then a merc crawled out the top. They’re not waiting for the cradle to fall. Jael ran faster and he almost slammed into the Ithtorian, who had stopped for obvious reasons: An amber force field blocked the way. He turned, expecting to see Ali pulling at the wall, but she was still, hands balled into fists. The expression on her face was familiar to Jael, despite their differing physiology. Impotence. Regret. She’s thinking if we stall here, there will be no more forward momentum, no justice for what happened to her mate. And there might never be, but that was a fearful thing to confront in the company of strangers.

“What’s the plan?” Martine asked.

Tam rapped his fist on the metal plating to the left. “This is solid.”

“Can we kick a hole on the other side?” Jael demanded.

Ali shrugged. “Probably. But I don’t know what’s over there or if there’s a way back to this corridor. The repair bay is directly below us, toward the external wall.”

“On the left,” Dred said.

“There has to be a way to turn this thing off,” Martine said, pacing.

Jael retraced his steps far enough to see the mercs scaling down. It looked precarious as hell, but they were free-climbing. Crazy bastards. I wouldn’t want risk that with no rope, wearing full armor. On the plus side, a man with good balance and strong shoulders had a good shot of making it without being pulled down by a less coordinated comrade.

“Sorry to rush you, but they’re making tracks on the other side. Whatever we’re doing, we need to get a move on, or this becomes pointless.”

“We have more time than you think,” Brahm said unexpectedly. “They’re on the other side, and there are active ship defenses, turrets and force fields, to keep them from crossing over. Ali has created alternate pathways over here. The mercs have to find their own way to the repair bays.”

Dred grinned. “Stalemate; best news I’ve heard all day.”

“That’s assuming all of them survive the climb,” Tam pointed out.

Jael watched the mercs inch downward. “I don’t know what call I’d make. Vost can’t let us have the weapons and armor, but there comes a point when an op offers diminishing value and you’re better off conserving strength and resources.”

“I don’t care,” Martine said, baring her teeth.

“Fair enough. You talk it over.” He moved over to Dred and hefted a rifle. “Want to shoot some fish in a barrel?”

She beamed, as if he’d bought her a necklace shining with precious gems. “Love to.”

“This way, love.” The endearment slipped out, and he waited for her to bitch at him, but the complaint didn’t come. Actually, the others were too deep in discussion about how to circumvent the force field to pay attention when Dred and Jael moved to the balcony and knelt, rifles braced on the railings.

“Mooks at nine,” Vost shouted.

The merc commander swung over the railing on the other side and landed, yelling at his squad to do the same. That probably wasn’t where they meant to get off, but if they didn’t get to cover, Jael would melt the armor off their backs. Most of them made it. Two fell.

“That was fun,” Dred said, grinning.

To his ears, Vost’s cursing was audible across the gap. Jael had the pleasure of knowing the mercs were rattled because he and Dred both fired two bursts each before the soldiers returned fire. Laser blasts singed the metal he was hiding behind, so it burned his skin when he brushed against it. The red glow came again and again, filling him with delighted euphoria.

“You know how long it’s been since I was in a proper firefight?”

“No clue,” Dred said, popping up to return fire.

She nailed a merc who had the bad timing to risk a shot at the same time, but his chest plate caught it. Jael yanked her down with enhanced reflexes before the answering blast could end her. Maybe she had enough of his healing to survive more than a glancing shot, but he didn’t want her suffering through days of agony while the burn healed.

“I can’t even remember, but it’s pretty glorious.”

“You’re a madman,” she said, as a shot slammed close to his head.

Dred huddled beside him, smiling. God, he loved this. He stole a kiss as he settled the rifle into a steadier position on the rail, sighted manually, and fired. Jael didn’t trust the autosight. Maybe it helped those with lesser hand-eye coordination, but he had an excellent internal trajectory-calculating system already on board. He missed only because Vost saved his man, just as he’d done with Dred.

He stood up and etched a mocking salute, then dropped a microsecond before the barrage. Just what I intended. Focus on me, ass**les, not her. The laser fire came in waves. I’d love to unleash the Peacemaker on these guys. Just imagine the look on their faces. But he understood why they couldn’t take the mech on the offensive; it was the last defense for Queensland, and the mercs couldn’t know it was there.

Jael and Dred settled into a firing pattern, gauging the openings with ultimate precision. There was something almost sexual to it, the perfect synchronicity of their bob and weave . . . in and out of cover in absolute harmony. His shots followed hers like day after night. Then Dred unleashed on an electrical box nearby, and the explosions sent shrapnel flying everywhere. She laughed softly and kept firing. Her pleasure in the fight rivaled his own.