Havoc

13 Immigration

The next morning, the burn on Dred’s arm was red instead of black. It still hurt, but she could manage it. No weakness allowed. You’re damn near invincible. So go prove yourself. It had been late when Jael slipped into the bunk, after long hours he’d spent working with Ike, and they didn’t talk. He was gone when she woke up.

She was about to go spar with the men when a commotion at the eastern barricade demanded her intervention. The sentry was shouting his head off, so she went at a run, expecting to find an invasion force at the very least. But to her astonishment, she found the guard spinning wildly, trying to defend against the bulk of Katur’s aliens.

She had no idea how they’d gotten past the barricades, but they must know of secret secondary passages from time spent exploring the station. Dred spotted Katur and Keelah standing toward the back, guarded by a couple of Rodeisians. There were only three or four of the oversized species left alive; there had been more before Grigor went hunting. Counting quickly, she tallied twenty-two bodies. Some were small and furry; others were slim and scaled, and there was an alien with tentacles on its head, each one moving with the hypnotic grace she associated with sea creatures. There was even an Ithtorian among them. In vids, they had been popular even on the backwater colony where she’d grown up, something to do with a famous Ithtorian bounty hunter turned war hero. Her grasp of history, particularly as related to the Morgut War, wasn’t all that it should be.

“Stand down,” she told the agitated guard. “I’ve got this.”

“I greet you in peace,” Keelah said courteously.

Dred returned the words, studying Katur. His whiskers twitched in what she took for alarm. On second glance, she noted that some of the aliens were wounded, leaning on one another for support. Whatever’s going on, this definitely isn’t an attack. When she met its bulging eyes, the tentacled alien bowed low, an unquestionable sign of respect in any culture.

“When I suggested we rescind our KOS policy, I didn’t know you’d bring the village for a visit,” Dred said to Katur.

He inclined his head. “I have a story to tell, Dread Queen, and a request to make.”

She didn’t want the guard eavesdropping, and it seemed like a bad idea to march so many aliens into the common room. There was a space behind the hydroponics garden, once dedicated to R&D but now mostly full of cobwebs and dust. It wasn’t the most impressive place to host a summit, but it offered privacy, at least.

So she beckoned the group and led them to where she could entertain Katur’s petition.

“I’m listening.”

“After the mercenary leader left Queensland, I suspect he needed blood to reassure his soldiers of their superiority and put the heart back into them. Since there aren’t many of us, the mercenaries marched on the Warren.”

“Shit.” Dred thought she knew where this was headed.

Katur went on, “Since you’d warned us, we had an escape plan, but we didn’t have the numbers or munitions to fight the mercenaries.”

“How many did you lose?” she asked.

“Twenty-six.” Keelah gave the number with a hitch in her breath. Her furred hands twisted together in a small pantomime of grief. “We’re all that’s left.”

Regret went through her like a blade. “I’m sorry. What’s your request?”

Keelah and Katur exchanged a look, and then the female spoke. “Sanctuary. In return, we will teach you what we’ve learned of the station’s hidden places. Some of us are crafters. Others are technicians. We can help. We won’t be deadweight.”

They didn’t accuse her, but Dred bore a portion of responsibility for what had happened in the Warren. She’d enraged Commander Vost, and he’d gone on a killing spree, seeking the softest targets to restore his unit’s nerve. The aliens had been caught in the cross fire, and she couldn’t let them be wiped out. With the losses she’d taken in the conflict with Grigor and Priest, she had room for twenty more.

And then some.

Dred didn’t need to consult with anyone else to know the right answer. “You can stay. Welcome to Queensland. There are a few rules. No fighting, unless it’s a sanctioned grudge match . . . I’ll tell you more about the games later. They’ve been suspended indefinitely for the moment. No stealing. Sleep with whomever you please as long as he or she is willing. Follow the work roster, complete tasks as assigned, and practice decent hygiene.”

“That’s all?” the Ithtorian asked.

Since she’d heard their native tongue in vids, he must have a vocalizer implanted. “Yeah, why?”

Katur explained, “There were a lot more rules in the Warren, mostly to do with respecting each other’s culture.”

Briefly, Dred wished she’d thrown in with the aliens rather than taking Artan’s bait. It sounded like life had been much better down there. But if I had, they would’ve had no place to go, as Artan’s realm wouldn’t have lasted long against the mercs. So she hoped that maybe things happened for a reason even though she suspected that belief in a benevolent power was the last refuge of a lazy mind.

She answered apologetically, “You won’t find that here. Many of these convicts are left from Artan’s days, and they’re brutes.”

“So they’re likely to pummel us for praying?” Katur asked.

“If they catch you? Count on it.”

She wasn’t sure how anyone could hold on to faith in a place like this, but maybe this was where a man needed it most. A long-forgotten memory bubbled up—usually she tried not to remember her parents, to wonder if they were alive or dead, or how ashamed they must be—but she remembered her mother’s murmuring over the evening meal a litany of thanks to Mary and pleas for the health and comfort of her loved ones. Hail Mary, full of grace. Thy spirit is with me. Blessed are we among all people, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, this world. Holy Mary, Mother Goddess, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. It seemed she could recall the words in their entirety; but then, her mother had spoken them each night before bed, murmuring beside Dred’s bunk.

They must be old now. If the Science Corp hasn’t tracked my dad down. If they’re still alive out there. But framing the mental question hurt so much, she had to stop. Most days, it was best to consider Perdition the beginning and the end of the universe, as reminders that it used to be so much bigger and more beautiful could kill her with the longing.

With effort, Dred put aside the unusual introspection and beckoned to the newcomers. “It’ll be best if I introduce you right away.”

“Thank you,” Katur said.

She didn’t kid herself that this would be a smooth and seamless integration. Nonetheless, she strode into the common room with the aliens in her wake. Men froze, then scrambled to their feet; most had weapons in their hands before she could speak. So she vaulted onto the nearest table and let out a bloodcurdling war cry. The shock stilled the Queenslanders for a few moments, then she unwound the chains from her arms and slammed them three times against the tabletop, chipping off bits of resin.

“Are you listening, men? I’m in no mood to repeat myself.”

“Yes, my queen!” The reply didn’t come as neat in unison as it ordinarily did, but since no combat had broken out, she’d call it adequate.

“Today, you join me in welcoming new warriors to Queensland. You will not judge them by their skins. You will treat them as any other comrade. Is that clear?”

“Filthy alien-loving bitch!” From her vantage, she couldn’t identify the malcontent, but Tam and Martine tag-teamed him, dragging him out of the crowd.

Jael followed them, but he didn’t intervene. Just as well. The rest of the men needed to see she had support from people she wasn’t sleeping with.

With a sharp smile, Martine kicked him in the gut, and the scrubby man bent double. He was almost as old as Ike but less prepossessing, with greasy iron gray hair and a matted beard. From the way his mouth had sunken in, Dred didn’t imagine he had many teeth, and his cheeks were veined from years of hard drinking. His small eyes shone with hatred over being asked to cooperate and cohabitate with nonhumans.

So many years after the Morgut War, after aliens saved us, and we still hate like this.

Though she could scarcely afford to lose a single man, Dred had to make an example of him. “You’re saying you’d rather die than follow my edict?”

She scanned the crowd to see how they were taking this, and they seemed more interested in the prospect of a sudden execution than the arrival of a few aliens. That was good. The spectacle would probably grind the edge off their xenophobia. She wouldn’t goad someone to this point, but this Queenslander seemed to have a death wish.

“Damn straight.” He screwed his mouth up as if to spit on her, and Tam backhanded him so hard, the old man hit the ground with a spatter of blood.

When he climbed to his knees, practically snarling, his lips were split and stained against his gums. Dred didn’t let pity move her. Yes, he was decrepit, but he could also sow hatred and rebellion among her people. It can’t stand.

So she merely nodded, and said to Tam and Martine, “Hold him.”

They complied, one on each arm, and she could tell that Martine in particular enjoyed keeping the captive on his knees. She kicked him as he fought to rise. The severity of his situation didn’t seem to have sunk in yet. While she ran a less bloody regime than Artan, it didn’t mean she was the forgiving sort.

She turned to Cook, who was standing nearby with his chopping knife. “Get Einar’s axe, please.”

They kept it hanging in a place of honor on the wall, so the chef jogged across the room. The axe was a huge weapon, crafted especially for the big man who had fallen just before the battle with Grigor, out of scrap metal and honed to razor sharpness. The steel haft had leather wrapped around it to make it easier to hold, and it was stained dark from so much blood. She suspected the cost of rebellion must be sinking in when the old man pissed his pants.

Cook made a production of the retrieval, pulling it off the wall with great ceremony, then he lofted it a few times, just so the spectators had a sense of how bloody huge the thing was. Dred took it without revealing how much the weight pulled at her injured arm. Hope I’ve got enough range of motion to see this through. She’d lose credibility if she had to summon someone to perform executions, now that Einar was gone.

Miss the big guy.

“Hold him for me,” she instructed Cook.

In reply, Cook forced the old man down and shoved a chair under his cheek to serve as the chopping block. Dred took a couple of practice swings and then cut clean through the old devil’s neck in one slam. The head bounced away in a red streak while his neck jetted blood all over the floor. She kicked the body down, then raised the weapon.

“Anyone else want to debate immigration policy with me?”