Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

Ah, hubris.

At last, the vigil ended. The lights came back up, and the security measures died, which meant it was safe to proceed. Pushing to her feet, Dred signaled her two men and jogged past the two sets of security doors, through Shantytown, and toward the reception area, where fish always milled around, as if expecting to be greeted by guards, someone to tell them where to go, what to do, how to get food and water. Poor, stupid fish.

This crop looked particularly sad. A few of them were crying, faces wedged between their knees. They all wore prison-issue gray, numbers and chips in the backs of their necks. Most of them had been shorn and deloused though a few looked as though they had been dragged from the darkest hole in the system, then set on fire. The weak and wounded wouldn’t last long; she ignored them.

Then her gaze lit on a man near the back. At first glance, he looked young, but his eyes refuted the initial assessment. Though he was slim and clean, with a crown of shining blond hair, his summer-sky eyes held a hardness that came only from turns of fighting, violence, and despair. He might well be the most dangerous man on the ship. Time to find out if he’s stable. Giving Tam and Einar the order to guard her, she closed her eyes and let slip the dogs of war.

2

The Pale Knight

She’s a beautiful killer, this princess in chains.

Her swagger amused him, especially the way she’d gone still and quiet, eyes closed, as if in some medium’s trance. But it gave Jael the opportunity to study her, even with the bodyguards to either side. They didn’t know it yet, but if he meant her harm, the two most dangerous men in Perdition stood no chance of keeping him from doing as he willed. The rest of the bodies belonged to human flotsam, no more important than refuse washed up on a lonely shore.

But this woman shone.

It wasn’t just her long, lean form, tautly muscled and sinuous. Nor was it the gleam of her skin, artfully embellished with tattoos that curved around the graceful slope of her shoulder, played peekaboo where the strips of rough fabric gaped across her rib cage. Chains wrapped around her forearms, both weapon and adornment. They weren’t merely for show, either. In an instant, he assessed how much weight they would add to a blow and judged it significant. Steel links also wrapped her boots, which hit her at midthigh. They were thin and worn, as though she never took them off. Her brown hair fell in a multiplicity of braids, trinkets woven carefully here and there, so that when she tilted her head in response to something she saw with senses other than her eyes, they clacked.

Nobody else would’ve heard it beneath the din. That was part of his unique heritage.

Heh. Heritage.

All told, she presented an interesting package, but it didn’t explain her behavior. Jael took a step toward her, and the blond hulk at her side growled deep in his throat. Scars covered him like a map of roads he shouldn’t have traveled, and the implicit threat moved Jael not at all. He’d faced worse. Killed worse. Even if this was allegedly the worst place in the galaxy, at least it was full of humans and not wretched, chattering Bugs.

“You will not approach until bidden.”

“I’ll do whatever I damned well like,” he said softly. “And I’d like to see you stop me.”

The giant took offense to his tone. Maybe they would’ve danced then, but the woman opened her eyes; they were green, like the rolling hills on a world where he’d killed . . . a lot of people. Funny, he could recall the exact shade of the treetops with the veined leaves glimmering in the sun but not the name of the planet.

She raised her hand, shielding him. It entertained him, that show of power. “This one could be of use. He’s not mad . . . yet . . . for what it’s worth.”

“How do you know?” he asked, not much caring.

In a place like this, there would be petty despots. Factions. This was a sunless world where madness and depravity reigned. At least he knew not to expect order, which was a leg up from the idiots with whom he’d been forced to share transport. A few of them had found interesting ways to hurt each other, so that the ship stank of sweat and blood and urine by the time it docked. A look from Jael had been enough to deter any but those truly determined to die.

And he obliged. He had artistic hands, made for killing.

“I read you,” she said.

He eyed her in surprise. “I don’t come with a manual.”

Though she was closer than she knew with that statement. Unease prickled on his skin. Her henchman would prove no threat, but this woman bothered him. As he stared, someone jostled him from behind. In reflex, he spun, drove an elbow into the fool’s throat and ended him with a closed fist to the temple. Precision work. Perhaps he should feel some flicker of regret, but the man wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t a bastard. It doesn’t pay to crowd me.

“You’ll do,” she said, as if that had been an audition.

“Unlikely. I have issues with authority.” He turned away. The whole ship was a danger zone, but instinct told him to get the hell away from this one.

“Do you have issues with going hungry and living in filth?”

Ah. Bribery.

“Usually,” she went on coolly, “I’d say, ‘come with me and you may not die’ but I can see you’re fierce enough to protect yourself, even in Shantytown. But it’s a disgusting cesspool compared to what I can offer you.”

The slight, dark man on her left spoke up. “It’s clean in Queensland. Plenty to eat, comparatively.”

Jael cocked his head. “Bed and board? You must ken I’m a cut above. Is that the best you can do?”

“You’ll never know. Good luck in Shantytown. Mind you, don’t let Silence’s people haul you off. They’re a bit odd. And Mungo’s folk are worse. But if you wind up in Abaddon with Priest . . . well.” Her words trailed off, and he was meant to wonder what she knew.

It was blatant bait. Obviously, she knew the lay of the land. And she intended him to sink the barbed hook deep into his mouth like a good, curious fish. Ripping free might hurt like hell later, but he healed fast. That was the beauty and the horror of it. Not a single wound he’d ever taken in his life showed on his skin. Instead, he carried the scars elsewhere, damage so deep that he’d become a human-shaped thing. Ironic, because that was what they’d wanted him to be, so many turns ago, the fate he’d fought so hard to avoid.

“Queensland,” he repeated mockingly. “How precious.”

The giant stirred and growled again, taking another step toward him. Don’t, Jael thought. I’ll have to kill you. There was a macabre serenity about knowing even a severed spine couldn’t end him, but the horror and pain lingered. The period afterward was most horrendous, where he lay paralyzed and helpless, feeling what his enemy did to him yet there could be no release; he was tied to his broken meat like a cursed devil from the old stories. So he feared no violence. Not anymore. The universe was an infinite sea of blood in which he could swim but never drown.