Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

“I’m right here,” Einar said in an aggrieved tone. He hefted his axe, following Tam out into the corridor.

Dred hurried after them. “Mission accomplished.”

Jael was the last to leave, and she wondered at his scrutiny of the console. Before she could quicken her step to catch up to the other two, he put a hand on her arm. “How do you know he changed the programming in the way he claims?”

First Ike, now Jael.

She pitched her voice low. “I don’t. But things have been a lot better for Tam since I removed Artan from power. People listen to him, and they treat him like he’s important, these days. Why would he jeopardize that, particularly in such a visible way? I mean, if we end up with a shortage or people get sick from drinking tainted water, I’ll know exactly who to blame, and Einar will cut his head off.”

“You make a compelling argument.” The flickering lights rendered his expression diabolical, slanting sparks across his skin.

She met his gaze. “Something’s bothering you about all this.”

“Yes. I just can’t put my finger on what. Silence has all these brilliant schemes, and she’s just handing them to you. Doesn’t that trouble you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I suspect there’s a knife hidden behind her back, but I have to play along until the game ends and hope I can dodge her final gambit.”

“Hope’s a bitch. Better to be prepared.”

Dred completely agreed.

36

Guerilla Warfare

Jael wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be pleased by this assignment. Two days ago, when Dred said she had a plan, Jael hadn’t realized he would be executing it. Maybe it was a little flattering, but mostly, it was boring as hell, hunkered down in a side corridor near the recycling center with Einar and thirteen other Queenslanders, along with water bottles and packets of paste.

He’d been a little jealous at seeing her touch Einar, but she was sensitive to it, at least. This sharing business really wouldn’t work if she was a bitch who got off on pitting her men against each other. Normally, he’d run at top speed in the other direction, faced with the prospect of sharing a woman, but Perdition had a way of eating into your resolve, making you willing to accept things you wouldn’t otherwise.

Which is why I’ve got to get out of here.

He cocked his head, listening, then whispered to the big man, “We’ve got a group of four, incoming. Don’t scare them off with your stench.”

Einar growled back, “I smell like angels at sunrise.”

“Dead ones,” a small man cracked.

The rest of them snickered and nudged each other. These guys were about like the mercs he’d served with, not a psychotic break among them. Other territories were full of face-eating maniacs, so far as he’d seen, so he reckoned the reading she’d given him helped weed out the worst of the new fish.

Someone was asking, “How does he know how man—” when another inmate silenced him by clamping a hand over his mouth.

Jael settled to wait. As their footsteps drew closer, he leaned out to get the first glimpse of the incoming patrol. Einar wasn’t kidding when he said Grigor went for brawn. These four men all stood taller than two meters, each as broad through chest and shoulders as the big man. Most had scars but few so colorful as the ones Einar possessed. Jael signaled to his team, but at least half of them looked totally blank regarding the hand signals. Fortunately, Einar understood, and he was confident the two of them could take these four, no matter how big they were, so long as the rest of his squad didn’t actively get in their way.

A deep voice said, “I thought I saw something move.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Might’ve been a rodent,” another said.

“I hate those fraggin’ things. They—”

But he didn’t get to finish his thought because Jael was on him. He went with a knife hand to the throat, followed by a clean takedown. Once he had the soldier on the ground, he rammed an elbow in his face. The blood from his smashed nose would disorient him. He took a couple of wild swings—and they were strong hits—but he’d been hurt much worse for much longer. He shook them off and finished the piker with a half-closed fist to the temple.

Einar had the sense not to swing his axe. Instead, he had a jagged blade in his hand, punching it rapidly into the smaller man’s sternum. The two closest Queenslanders laid into the remaining men and took them out; they were messy deaths, full of mob killing, with shoving and stomping and shivs slashing wildly. The corridor was a bloody smear by the time Grigor’s soldiers stopped moving.

“I’ll get this hauled away,” the big man said.

Jael turned to the others. “Head down to the recycling center, see if you can find a mop and bucket. We don’t want to leave any evidence for the next group.”

“How many more patrols will he send?” someone asked.

He shrugged. “Hard to say. I suspect one or two smaller groups, tops, before Grigor deploys a larger squad to wipe out whoever’s picking off his men. Hope you lot like paste because we’ll be here awhile.”

There was a collective groan, but most of the Queenslanders didn’t look too displeased with the mission. They got to lie in wait, and there was the chance of constant, queen-sanctioned violence. To men who had been locked up for being unable to control their base natures, that was a good day. As for him, if you swapped out this rusty, grim-lit corridor for a rocky hillside or a muddy field, he’d done this job countless times before.

While the men cleaned up the signs from the battle as best they could, he helped Einar lug away the corpses. Jael bent and slung a body over his shoulder, marveling at the deadweight. Corpses always felt heavier than any other burden, he thought, of the same relative size and weight. Then he grabbed another, before realizing he’d surprised the other Queenslanders. A few men whispered, as he didn’t look this strong. Ignoring them, Jael followed Einar, who always seemed to know where all the chutes were located.

“Keep this up, and I’ll start calling you the undertaker,” he joked.

“I could do worse.”

They dumped the bodies in front of the chute, then the big man stuffed them down. A pneumatic whir carried them away, one by one, leaving only a red smear on the floor. Einar rubbed at it with his boots until it was more grungy than distinct. Jael lifted his chin to indicate he thought it was enough.

“They’re not likely to be skilled investigators,” he observed on the return.