Havoc

20 Death and Remembrance

“That . . .” Jael squinted at the man who was struggling for words. He couldn’t recall the lunk’s name, but he suspected he was one of Grigor’s leftovers. They tended to be hulking, though nothing to compare with Einar or Cook. Still, he had hefty arms and hairy shoulders, a fact he seemed proud of.

“What?” he finally prompted.

“You’d never have seen something like that where I came from. Grigor used to have us fight each other for a place at his table, a chance to eat decent food.”

“To the death?”

The other man nodded. All around them, men were singing rowdy drinking songs in honor of Ike, though truthfully, his demise was just an excuse to bust out the still, and that roused a bleak, deep rage in Jael that he couldn’t explain. So bloody unlikely that I’d meet a decent man in here, but there you are. And he died for us.

“Never anything but.” The other man had a deep voice, gravelly, and beetling black brows that met over a hooked nose.

Ugly sod.

“Sounds pretty hellish.”

“You get used to anything.” The man wore a thoughtful expression. “Under the Great Bear, you’d never witness anything like what that geezer did for you lot, either.”

“Let me guess—he thought it was weakness to stick your neck out.”

“More or less.”

“It’s not like that here,” Jael said, trying to ignore the three men at the table who were slamming their fists on the table to punctuate the raucous noise they called music.

A vein in Jael’s temple throbbed.

“So I see. I need to talk to the boys.” But he didn’t tell Jael what he was thinking because he was turning to pound somebody when Calypso vaulted up onto a table.

“While I love a party, we need to honor a brave man, Queensland-style.”

“What’ve you got in mind?” someone shouted, while another asshole hooted at her, too far into his bottle to realize what a bad idea that was.

She leapt lightly down and stalked toward the poor idiot; Jael almost felt sorry for him. But at least the noise died down in her wake. The shit-faced dimwit had the temerity to grin up at her, like catcalling at the mistress of the circle was a good idea. Her smile was feral as she swung back an arm and backhanded him out of his chair. His booze spilled as he hit the floor; nobody said a word as he scrambled backward.

“Yeah, proper respect, that’s what I’m talking about.” Calypso swept the room with her dark gaze, then added, “For Ike, of course.”

“Of course,” Jael murmured.

The woman hopped onto the nearest table, ignoring the men who had been drinking there, then she raised her voice in a rich and lovely alto. “His day is past and gone / The evening shade appears / Oh, may we all remember well / A night of tears draws near.”

Almost timidly, a few voices chimed in. Apparently, this was a well-known song though Jael hadn’t heard it before. The slow, mournful memory opened up a hole in his chest as Calypso nodded, encouraging the others to join the chorus. She’s right. Ike would like this better than the wake we gave Einar.

She sang on, “We’ll lay his garments by / Finally, he is at rest / Death will soon disrobe us all / Of the little we possess.”

Depressing as hell, that. Having caught the tune, Jael hummed since he didn’t know the words.

“Mary, keep us safe this night / Secure from all our fears / Her spirit guard us while we sleep / ’Til morning light appears.”

The mistress of the ring bowed her head, and the rest of Queensland did likewise. For the full space of a minute, Jael heard nothing but convicts breathing, quite a rarity with his senses. Nobody whispered or coughed; a few men even had their eyes closed, as if they might be praying. Closest this lot has come to a church in turns, no doubt. The thought held a certain dark charm.

Then she flashed the others a big grin. “Back to drinking, you sots. That’s enough reverence.”

TAM could hardly bear to stay at Ike’s service.

When Einar died, it was bad, but he’d known Ike even longer and had come to realize that he didn’t belong in Perdition. Yet like all the rest, he had no hope of escape aside from death. After Calypso’s serenade, Dred spoke all the right words, honoring his memory, and they carried him to the chute. For a man like him, there should be something more, something better, but Ike went like the rest, down, down, down, meat to feed the beast that was Perdition.

Tonight, the still was unlocked, and most of the men were drinking themselves stupid—with Dred’s blessing—leaving a light crew on watch. He didn’t agree with the decision, but he knew better than to question the Dread Queen. Perhaps she’s right. The mercs probably won’t move on us again for a while. They’ll be wondering how many Peacemakers we have, how well fortified Queensland is. They also need time to rest and regroup.

So do we.

He was in no mood to watch criminals get soused, however, and partner up in an orgy supposedly in honor of Ike. So Tam went to Dred’s quarters to bathe. She wouldn’t mind—or she never had in the past—as long as he tidied up after himself. In some corner of his brain, he hoped the san-shower would wash away the profound feeling of failure. If he’d planned better or noticed the drone cam tracking them, Vost wouldn’t have gotten the drop on them.

Ike wouldn’t be dead.

Martine surprised him when he stepped out of Dred’s quarters. He’d expected she would be drinking with the others. But instead, she was propped on the opposite wall, arms folded over her chest. He tilted his head.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m thinking it’s more the opposite.”

“In what regard?”

“You don’t think I can tell you got a knife buried in you blade deep? Figuratively speaking.”

Tam was speechless for a few seconds. “I don’t see why you’d notice. Or care.”

“Funny thing about arrangements. We’ve nearly come to one, don’t you think?”

He nodded. In here, sex was entirely separate from emotional entanglements, however. It was better and safer that way. Since he wasn’t in the mood for games, he didn’t see why she was waiting for him.

“That means you’re my business, and I look after what’s mine.”

Her tone sent a frisson down his spine. There was no beginning or end point; he couldn’t remember a time when that hadn’t been the case for him. In some way, he’d always known he was meant to serve, and it gave him pleasure. It didn’t even have to be sexual in nature though that was best.

“What do you mean?” he asked though he knew.

“I can’t have you whipping yourself over Ike. That’s my job.”

“Not today,” he said politely.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so literal. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You think you’re the only one with secrets? Trust me.”

That was an impossible request, but when she put out her hand, he took it. Then she pulled him along, past the hall to the common room, past the hydroponics garden and the armory, past the dorms. The only thing back this way was the ladder to the next level. They had so much space to protect now that it almost wasn’t even worth it; numbers in Queensland had diminished to the point that they no longer needed to expand.

It might be dangerous to break away from the pack like this, but the promise of silence lured him on, almost as much as the neat sway of Martine’s hips. She cast a look back every now and then, making sure he was still with her. He appreciated her silence, too. They emerged in a narrow hallway he’d never seen before, almost as if this were between levels on the station.

She read the question in his eyes, and answered, “I think this is where the maintenance crew hid from their supervisors.”

“Back when it was a mineral refinery?” It amused but didn’t surprise him. Tam could well imagine men holing up here to take a nap.

The ceiling was low enough that he and Martine had to hunch over. She continued down to the end, then darted into a small room that was more of an alcove, with odds and ends in it, things she’d scavenged and hidden away for her personal enjoyment. He examined the items, including the cushions and the electronics affixed to the wall.

“Portable entertainment unit, broken when I found it. Ike got it running for me.”

Now Tam understood. This was a quieter homage than was going on currently in Queensland. “That’s Ike for you. He could fix anything.”

She nodded. “It has sixteen old vids on it, and I’ve watched them so many times that I can quote all of the lines. Some of them are truly terrible, but I thought you might like to watch them with me.”

Tam considered refusing. This was a sort of closeness he’d eschewed for turns. Instead, he let her draw him into the nest she’d made, then Martine flicked on the screen. For the first time in longer than he could recall, he didn’t feel alone.

“THEY have a fragging Peacemaker.” Casto slammed a fist into the wall, rattling the sensitive equipment stacked on the shelves above. “Any other surprises, Commander?”

“I’m sure there will be many before we’re through here.” Vost kept his tone mild.

“This is bullshit. I say we cut line and bug out. Who’s with me?” The flash of teeth presented the words as a joke, but those eyes were dead serious.

Mary curse it. Casto was skating pretty close to mutiny, and Vost was hanging on to his men by the scruff of their necks. This wasn’t the in-and-out, easy money they had been promised. But since when did anything ever pan out that way?

“We won’t be dividing up into patrols anymore.” He spoke over the rumble of discontent, hoping to reassure the mercs. “Given what we know of our enemy, we can’t assume that a small squad will be sufficient to take them out.”

“Wish you’d made that call before so many of us died,” Casto muttered.

Too far.

Vost knew exactly what he could tolerate—what could be written off and what had to be dealt with. Casto was now an obstacle to overcome. He whirled and slammed his lieutenant to the ground in a move that he’d learned on Nicu Tertius. The other merc didn’t look so cocky staring up from his back with a man’s boot on his chest.

“You think I’m looking for a performance review from you, soldier?”

Casto looked like he wanted to shoot Vost in the face, but he got the respectful words out. “No, sir.”

“Then you shut the fuck up and listen.” Vost glanced around the room, seeing the right mixture of awe and respect back in his men’s faces. “Any of the rest of you have something to say?”

They shook their heads.

Pointedly, he didn’t let Casto up. This is what you get when you cross me. “I don’t like dissent among the ranks. I know this op has gone to shit. Trust me, I’m very aware. That just means we have to adapt. Or do you agree with Casto that scumbags armed with forks and spears are too much for us?”

“Like hell,” Duran said.

“Exactly my point. We patrol together from here on out. And fuck the Conglomerate’s ban on weapons that’ll fuck up the facility.”

“Does this mean I get to use the grenade launcher?” Redmond asked.

“Why not? I don’t give two shits how much it costs the suits to patch this place up once we’re done with it. They try to dock our pay for damages and we’ll . . . discuss that difference of opinion.”

“Just like you did with Casto?” Duran grinned.

From the twist of Casto’s mouth, he was plenty pissed. Good. Remember how it feels when you cross me. Vost leaned down. “Next time I hear anything like that from you, I don’t knock you down. I take you out and promote from within. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Vost then showed he could be a good sport by towing his lieutenant to his feet. “Redmond, you lead the watch. The rest of us will catch forty winks.”

“You got it, sir.”

Wearily, Vost moved down the hall to the room he’d apportioned for the barracks. The men who weren’t standing guard followed suit. Nobody said much as they stripped out of their armor, but they were all professional enough to secure it before crashing out. Like everyone else, he had a thermal blanket to roll up into. It seemed like forever since he’d had a hot meal or a proper wash. He was wary of using too much water as he didn’t control the facility resources.

Yet.

Nearby, his squad dropped off quicker than he did, turns of soldiering combined with the fact that their decisions didn’t mean life or death for men depending on them. Vost tried to turn his brain off, and he succeeded in dropping into a light sleep. That readiness saved his life. When the blade shinged down toward him, he rolled before his eyes were open.

That fast, he was fighting for his life. His rifle would do more harm than good in close quarters, so he drew his knife as men shouted in the dark. Someone hit the lights to reveal sixteen silent killers, all with war paint on, eyes dark as bottomless pits. Their blades flashed in an elegant whirlwind of death. Blood spurted from the merc next to Vost—up-close carnage—and he was already screaming in his head at the watchmen who’d let this happen.

Unless they’re all dead.

Grimly, he squared off against three assassins. There was no time to gear up, no time for tactics. Right, then. Bring it.

Soon the command post rang with the screams of dying men, but it was more horrifying to watch the ones who died without so much as a whisper.