Havoc (Dred Chronicles 2)

“If I was a better scion, I’d cut your throat,” Brahm said in universal.

The men nearby froze at that, and Jael knew they’d back him if it came to a fight. Can’t let this escalate. Ali stood with the rest of the aliens, but she was clearly paying attention to Brahm. At a gesture from him, they would wade in. He didn’t see Katur or Keelah anywhere, so that was a blessing. Their presence might put the stamp of approval on a bloodbath, so far as the rest of the aliens were concerned. While they were loyal, they lacked the ferocity necessary to kill everyone in the room.

That’s because they’re not killers by nature.

“I could make excuses,” he answered. “Say it was just a job, nothing personal. But it is personal for you. So that wouldn’t help.”

“You took the coward’s path, poisoned him.”

Jael wanted to ask if there was a good way to murder someone, but levity would only worsen the situation. A couple of Queenslanders pushed to their feet and came to stand at his shoulder. By the smell, it was the ones who had been complaining about the aliens. Yeah, they’ll love it if this explodes.

“This is between him and me,” Jael said over one shoulder.

Then he faced Brahm again. “What will square this? A grudge match?”

The Ithtorian spread his claws. “I bear you no malice. My only regret is that you didn’t succeed.”

“What the hell—”

“I did say if I were better. I loathe Charis Il-Wan, and I wish I’d poisoned him.” So saying, Brahm shocked the shit out of Jael by offering his claw, human-style, for a clasp.

Recovering, Jael shook his hand, wondering exactly what the Bug politician had done to his offspring to make Brahm wish he’d killed his old man. The tension seeped from the room like air slowly escaping a balloon. Little by little, the Queenslanders went about their business, and the aliens left the hall entirely.

“I can safely say I didn’t see that coming. How did you end up here anyway?” Maybe Brahm was the exception, an alien who had been locked up for capital crimes.

“I was banished from Ithiss-Tor. It was bad luck that landed me here, got caught up in immigration sweeps on New Terra, like everyone else.”

“I don’t understand that,” Jael said. “Why not just deport the lot of you?”

“Most of us know something about the current administration. It would be . . . inconvenient to have us revealing that information.”

Given what he knew about the government, he wasn’t surprised. “Pardon me. I shouldn’t have pried. That goes against the code.”

“You’ll note I didn’t volunteer anything about my exile.”

“Noted.”

With a parting nod, Jael excused himself and went to join a card game. He played for several hours, while the men around him gradually relaxed. There was nothing for winding convicts up like the promise of violence. But the common room was much emptier than it had been when he first arrived. Full tables sat vacant, chairs never to be filled. When you looked at the conflict as a war of attrition, it was hard to imagine anything but inevitable loss.

The crowd thinned even further as the hour got later. He wasn’t paying full attention to his hand, so he lost more than he won. No, it was the activity among the alien-haters that troubled him. They slipped in and out, never more than one or two at a time, and they had the shifty look of ass**les up to no good. One man stole up to another, whispered in his ear, then left. The other one waited for a couple of minutes before taking off after him. Yeah, that’s a sure sign they’re rallying. Cook turned off his equipment and headed for the dorm, so there would be no backup from that quarter.

Quietly, he threw down his cards. “I fold.”

The rest of the gamblers hardly glanced up when he slid out of the hall. The conspirator glanced both left and right before bearing left. The training room was this way; so was the armory. Jael half expected the man to stop and fiddle with the lock, but instead he kept moving, quickening to nearly a run, as if the anticipation had grown too much to bear.

He grabbed a man who was on his way to his bunk, and ordered, “Go find the Dread Queen. Send her to me immediately. If you fail, you’ll wish you were dead.”

Gulping, the drafted messenger took off at a run.

Jael didn’t know what he expected to find, but the reality was worse. The men had captured an assortment of aliens, Keelah among them, and they were bound to support beams in the training room. The bastards had grabbed the weakest among them, too, so Ali and Brahm were both conspicuously absent. Some of them were bleeding while others trembled in anticipation of pain to come. Now he understood why they had been traveling in pairs, better to pounce on a single target and drag him off.

He slammed a palm against the door as he strode through. “I’m damn sure the Dread Queen didn’t approve this. Which means it amounts to treason.”

23

Let the Games Begin

“So it does,” Dred said.

When the runner Jael had sent showed up, panting and out of breath, she’d known something must be wrong. She stalked toward Keelah, blade in hand, and cut her loose. Then she offered the knife. “Free your people.”

It was better to show complete support for the newcomers. Though it was technically the middle of downtime, she couldn’t let this ride; there would be no delays to justice or waiting for the rest of the territory to wake up on its own. Some offenses had to be tried immediately in the court of blood and bone. Once the aliens were released, she turned to the treacherous Queenslanders, all of whom looked half a second from pissing their pants.

“Perhaps I didn’t make the rules clear,” she snarled, pointing at the tallest of the lot. “What are they?”

There were eight of them, yet they didn’t try to fight. She had the Dread Queen’s reputation to thank for that. Instead, they stood frozen beneath the weight of her wrath, and one of them even moved closer to Jael, as if he thought he might find mercy there.

You don’t know him very well.

Jael shoved the man who was supposed to be answering her question toward the rest and added a kick for good measure. The impact sent him reeling to the floor. Nobody moved to help him up. He shoved to his feet with a defiant air, but he couldn’t hold her gaze long. He pushed out a wavering breath.

The man thought hard, brow furrowed as sweat dripped down one cheek. “No stealing, no unauthorized fighting. Bathing. Do your work—”

“Then you have no excuse for this offense, cretin. Not even ignorance. You tortured your fellow citizens. Did you think I’d let that go?” Long strides carried her over to where alien blood smeared the ground, not always red, but unmistakable. Kneeling, she swiped her fingers through the sticky droplets, then she returned to the criminals and painted the backs of their hands one by one. “Now their blood truly is on your hands. Remember this feeling. Remember this mistake. It will be your last.”