Havoc

43 Not So Quiet Riot

It should’ve been easy from there. With the enemy defeated and Vost in hiding, where he’d either starve or be killed by Silence’s crew, Dred expected to stride home to a heroine’s welcome. After the fight, Keelah had asked for solitude to mourn her fallen mate, leaving the others to return without her. Outside the checkpoint, they met up with Martine, who was bloody but not too badly injured.

“You all right?” Dred asked.

The other woman nodded.

By now, Cook should be preparing a welcome feast. Instead, the chef was up on a table, using up all the words he’d saved over long turns inside.

“The time is now! Join me and be among the lucky five. I’m not dying here.” The huge man’s eyes focused on her, and he leveled a finger in her direction. “Stand with me and kill the Dread Queen.”

Dammit.

She tried to shout, “Vost’s men are dead, the transport’s blown,” but the growing shouts of agreement drowned her out. She cursed the need for secrecy now, the fact that the men wouldn’t have understood Tam’s decision to sabotage the ship. In trying to prevent a mutiny, she’d ended up causing one. Some things were, apparently, inevitable. The nearby Queenslanders looked at her small group speculatively, violence brewing in their eyes. Then someone threw a knife. It sliced past her ear and embedded itself in the wall behind her. As if that was the spark the kindling needed, the fighting broke out in earnest. It was hard to tell who belonged to what faction unless the men attacked her directly.

“Mary curse it,” Tam spat. “Are they truly this stupid?”

“Most are.” Jael ducked a punch and threw one of his own.

“We have to rally the defenders,” Dred said.

“How?” Martine asked.

“I’ll clear a path,” Jael said.

True to his word, he hurtled like a madman into the teeming crowd. Now and then, men lashed out at him, but most of them had learned not to mess with him. He didn’t carry the title of Dread Queen’s champion for nothing. Dred charged after him; the armor she wore would protect her from most attacks, but Queenslanders were dying left and right in the scrum. Blood spattered from a man’s mouth, scenting the air with a coppery tang. The noise was overwhelming, snarls and screams overlaying whimpers from dying men, and those who were being trampled underfoot.

“This keeps up, it’ll be a handful of us against Vost and the rest of Silence’s crew,” Tam growled. It was the first time she’d heard such obvious temper in his voice.

“It’s not your fault.”

Jael pushed through the melee and headed down the hall to her quarters. At first, she wasn’t sure why, but then the answer became obvious. While the four of them were armored and had good weapons, they were too few to put down a rebellion without the body count becoming astronomical. Silence would swoop in and mop up. Dred couldn’t let that happen; everyone had fought too long and hard for the tale to end that way.

Tam shook his head, not letting himself off with the absolution she offered. “I’m in charge of intelligence. I should’ve seen the betrayal coming. There were likely signs among the men—”

“Cook was always too quiet for anyone to know what was going on in his head,” Martine put in. She sounded breathless from the run, and her blade was slick and red with blood. The drops spattered on the dented floor as the other woman dragged it against the wall to scrape it clean.

“Keep the hall clear if you can,” Dred said.

There was no point in assigning blame. It was possible Cook had always been crazy—or at least desperate to escape—he just didn’t communicate his feelings. She ran off down the hall, leaving Jael to stand watch with Tam and Martine. She lost precious seconds keying in the security code on her door; she’d taken to locking it while she was out, mostly because she kept spare weapons and ammo in here.

Along with the remote for the Peacemaker.

Without Ike to maintain it, if the thing was damaged in this firefight, Dred wasn’t sure if anyone could put it back together again. But that’s a risk I have to take. There was no other way to shut down the riot fast enough. The Peacemaker delivered shock and awe along with heavy ballistic rounds. When it stomped into a room, men took notice.

Vost’s voice came over the loudspeakers, as if he knew about the riot. When a drone cam zoomed by, Dred realized he probably did. “My offer’s still open. When your numbers dwindle to five, I’ll take you with me.”

Cheers rang out, then Cook shouted, “See? We made it to the final round. Now it’s time for sudden death.”

“Lying bastard,” Jael bit out.

“Which one?” Tam asked.

Dred understood the question. Did Cook really believe the bullshit he was peddling? There was no question that Vost was stirring things up, hoping more convicts would kill each other, so he stood a better chance of getting out of this alive.

Got news for you, asshole. Nobody else has so far.

Jael ignored the spymaster’s question. “Look there, he’s with Pietro. I knew there was something off about him—”

“Who the hell is that?” Dred demanded.

“One of Grigor’s. He’s been slipping around, stirring the pot. I had an . . . odd encounter with him, but there was so much other shit happening, I didn’t think to mention it.”

She bit back the urge to swear. It was certainly understandable that Jael might’ve had other shit on his mind . . . or maybe he hadn’t realized just what Pietro was up to. Either way, they had a hell of a situation to handle. It only needed this.

Someone shouted, “They’re breaking into the armory.”

“I’m on it,” Martine said.

The dark-haired woman shouldered her rifle and took off at a dead run, leaving Tam and Jael waiting for orders. She made a snap decision. “Back in the common room. Get me to the throne. I need people to see me send in the Peacemaker.”

Tam nodded. “Remind them who the queen is.”

Theoretically, it shouldn’t be too tough, but there were only three of them amid a roiling mass of bodies. Jael shoved toward the large, scrap-metal chair, but men quickly surrounded them, makeshift weapons in hand. Dred thought for a few terrible seconds that she could make them turn away, tear into each other with mindless violence, but—

I can’t do that to my own people. If I do, I truly am the monster everyone said I was back on New Terra.

“Defensive posture,” she ordered. “Ready weapons, but try not to kill any of our men.” She cut a look at Jael. “If you say ‘I was born ready,’ I’ll shoot you.”

“We don’t have time for sex-pain games right now, love.”

Tam made an uncomfortable noise in the back of his throat. “How are we supposed to know which ones are still loyal?”

“They’ll be the ones not trying to pull our heads off,” Jael replied cheerfully.

She drew her laser pistol but before she had to fire it, loyalists attacked the men facing her and the circle faltered. “Go,” one of them yelled. “Get clear!”

It wasn’t a question of whether she could win the fight, only that some of these men still believed in her right to lead. That had to be enough. Quickly, Dred scanned the room. They had to fight to the throne without killing or maiming too many loyal Queenslanders. Just as she was trying to figure out how to make that happen, Jael grabbed her gloved hand and towed her toward the throne. The remote felt heavy in her palm; this would probably be a massacre, one that could be laid directly at her door.

What kind of person are you if you can lose track of how many you’ve killed?

Jael and Tam laid down fire behind them, keeping the men from pushing too close. The warning shots were effective, as most people couldn’t absorb a laser blast—one shot, and the target went into shock. It was rare for a victim to die of the burns.

A man lurched into her path, and she tried to move around him, but he lunged at her eyes with a knife. No helmet. Damn. She pistol whipped him in the face, then kicked him back so she could shoot him. She unloaded while taking hits from behind. Jael tried to block for her, but she shouted at him over her shoulder.

“I’m wearing armor, you idiot.”

“Ah, your words of love and dulcet tones never fail to enchant me.”

Tam’s voice was dry. “Should I leave you two alone?”

A hard shove rocked her, and she stumbled forward. “Please don’t.”

Before her loomed a man with broken yellow teeth and a mad look in his eyes. He looked strong enough to snap her neck, so when Jael called out, “Get down,” she dropped without hesitation, giving him a clean shot, and he took the bastard through the head.

Bodies shoved against her, and she tried not to think how many of them were trying to kill her. She just had to press forward until she got to the throne. Someone had started a fire somewhere—that always seemed to happen during a riot, and if the station emergency system didn’t kick in soon, they’d all asphyxiate. Her eyes burned from the chemical fumes wafting in lazy spirals, but she couldn’t spare the time to dash away the tears. They collected on her chin, dripping down to her armored chest. Four wounds burned in a low, constant throb: shoulder, left arm, thigh, right flank, but she could feel a tickling tingle from where they were starting to heal.

Thanks, Jael. Leg still hurts like a bitch.

She lashed out with a kick to clear the rest of the way—so close now—but her weak leg buckled. She went down hard. Somehow, she held on to the remote, even with three enraged Queenslanders who were ready to rip her apart attacking, so she popped the closest one with her laser pistol. The red power meter on the side said she had fewer than five shots left. As Jael and Tam took aim at the other two, one of them cracked her in the head. The blow made her head wink black spangled with the old gold of ancient stars interspersed with white-hot sparks.

She kept the pistol in her hand, even on the ground. Dred swept with her good leg and knocked one of them down. Prone, the enemy was clumsy, buying her time to shoot. He died writhing like a worm on his back. The other lunged, and she rolled, then crawled toward the scrap-metal throne.