Breakout (19 page)

23

Last Resort

Silence's trained killers stood watching. There was a tentative air about them, and Dred wondered why they'd given up the advantage, showing themselves instead of trying to attack from behind. She glanced around.

Well, we're in the middle of the room, lights up. They probably had no chance of a silent kill. Frag. The only way this could be worse is if Silence steps out from behind them.

Laughable. On her best day, she could take this many on her own. Now she'd be hard-pressed to end one before they disemboweled her or cut her throat with their fine-wire garrotes.
I'm too weak to use my chains.
Jael took two steps forward, putting himself between her and them.

Not again. They take you over my dead body.

“Don't,” she said.

“If this is my time, so be it.” He offered his sharp, lovely smile. “I'm not even sorry I was sent here when I tally everything I've lost and gained.”

“Bullshit.” She planted herself beside him, pretending her knees weren't full of water and that a cold sweat hadn't broken out on her brow just from that movement. “Why aren't they attacking?”

“Maybe they have orders to take me alive, like that first group.”

“Doesn't explain why they aren't coming after
me
, though.” An idea came to her, ridiculous and far-fetched as it could possibly be.

I've never done that before. Never tried.

But physical conflict resolution was out of the question.
And I'm left with the last resort.
Closing her eyes, she called up all her mental reserves. First she read the watching killers and found not the red of rage but the yellow of sickness. Jael shone with it about the edges, blue for calm inside, but at the heart, he'd turned a rosy pink.
Sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy.

But she didn't think he'd mind in the name of survival.

She gathered all the softness, every gentle and tender thought she'd ever entertained. It swelled at the core of her, white-hot with sweetness, then she let it go like a balloon grown too big to hold. Since she'd never used her gift this way before, she had no control and no certainty. But these emotions should broadcast the same as hate and rage.

Right?

She opened her eyes, half expecting to find herself bleeding out and Jael taken.

But, instead, they were all staring at her with wide, glassy eyes, mouths gaping and slack. Her head pounded so hard, she could barely hear herself speak. She had no idea how long this would hold, if it would be enough to get them back safely. But for now . . .

“I could use your help,” she said carefully.

The killers all understood universal; she could tell by the way their heads cocked. Dred strangled a half-hysterical laugh.
I've stolen Silence's minions.
Unfortunately, she'd also robbed Jael of his free will, too, because he was gazing at her with that same rapt attention, as if she were a goddess incarnate in human flesh. None of them reacted, however, apart from waiting for her next words.

“I'm looking for some things. If I tell you what they are, would you help me find them?”

All six of the eager acolytes nodded. She listed off the remaining objects, and the killers ran with incredible alacrity to do her bidding. Maybe that wasn't such a surprise; Silence had them conditioned to follow orders. Jael moved slower because he was weak, and she tried to get him to stop but he shook her off with a bright smile.

“I want to help.” His eyes were terrifying and blank and shining with something that was definitely not love or joy.

Her stomach churned.
He'll snap out of it. Of course he will. I've seen him shake off tons of damage that would've killed anyone else, and the rioters never had brain damage.

Well. That
I
inflicted.

A gloomy voice whispered,
But those were physical wounds. What do you know about his mind anyway?

“Okay then. We'll work together,” she said gently.

His expression lit up like sunrise, but there was an awful emptiness to it. She'd received smiles from him before, and they felt nothing like this. But with so much assistance, it didn't take long at all until they located all the gear. Every minute, she kept waiting for them all to shake it off; and then she'd have to see if she had enough juice to put them under again.

So far, so good.

“I have a lot of things to move. Could you carry them for me?” Keeping her requests, or commands, rather, simple seemed like the best move.

In response, the Silent gathered up all their parts and waited. Jael tried, but she put a hand on his arm, and whispered, “Not you. Just walk with me.”

He beamed at her.

So sorry about this, you have no idea.

She'd used her broadcast abilities very little since becoming the Dread Queen, mostly because she couldn't control the rioting. Until meeting Jael, it would've never occurred to her that she could also use it for peaceful ends. Since she'd overwritten their free will, it was still fairly disgusting, but better than ending up with her innards splattered on a wall. Plus, Silence had already wrecked these poor bastards anyway.

Yeah, keep rationalizing.

She took one last look around and couldn't see anything that would be remotely useful. So she said, “Let's go.”

They moved out as a unit and started the long march up the stairs. Dred set the pace, so it wouldn't tax Jael too much. And if she was being honest, she had no breath to spare. Her lungs felt tight, and by now, even her hair hurt, like it was too heavy for her scalp.

It made her nervous, leaving the Silent at her back, but if they shook her emotional control, they'd make a hell of a lot of noise dropping all the junk to get at their weapons.

That gives us ten seconds, max.

•   •   •

THE
last thing Jael remembered, they were in the repair bay, about to fight a losing battle. Next thing he knew, he was shambling along a hallway with Dred using the Silent as beasts of burden. She wasn't paying him any attention until he said, “What the hell.”

“You're back.” A long sigh slid out of her. “Sorry about that.”

“What?”

“For sapping your free will, mostly.”

“Holy shit.” The throbbing in his head reminded him of the worst hangover he had ever suffered. Generally, liquor didn't affect him much, but once he'd swilled some crazy alien booze and wound up in a coma for half a day. And when he woke, well, his skull felt about like it did now—as if somebody had scooped out his brain with a spoon, put it in a food mixer, and poured it back in.

“So . . . they're on our side?” He studied the killer closest to them, and the sod did seem to be completely docile. The group marched two by two, with Dred and Jael bringing up the rear.

“Right now they are. I'm not sure how long it'll last. But it got us up the stairs, and from what I can tell, about halfway to the docking bay. I'm not sure the good feelings will survive fighting their cohorts, though.”

“You're amazing,” Jael said.

“Huh?”

“Why didn't you just enact a bloodless coup all over the station and make the inmates worship you? No fighting, no killing, no territory scuffles.”

Her chin dropped. “Before I met you, it never would've occurred to me to try.”

“You pick
right now
to tell me I'm the truest love you've ever known?”

“Shut up,” she muttered. “You're lucky I said it at all. Ever.”

“So what do we do about your pets?”

“I have no idea. The cautious move would be to kill them before they snap out of it, but then I don't know if we can haul the stuff back on our own.”

“If it's any help, I don't think Silence has too many more minions. We've thinned them out pretty well.”

“A handful then,” she said glumly. “Just enough to kill us.”

“That's not like you.”

“Sorry. I feel like shit.”

He couldn't argue that. Jael's body hurt in places even Silence hadn't managed to injure. The sores had formed in the worst possible crevasses, then split, seeped, crusted over, and popped fully, leaving his skin covered with a mess he couldn't wait to wash off.
Forget fancy food and fine clothing. A shower, just a shower would be enough right now.
The promise of it kept him moving, and they didn't speak of killing their pack mules again. If the Silent turned, then they'd fight. Otherwise, it made sense to gamble on getting as close to the docking bay as possible.

“At least the rodents can't get to us up here,” Dred muttered.

He considered not mentioning her slip, but if he didn't, and these assholes opened their throats five meters down the hall, he'd wish he knew the answer as he bled out. So Jael said, “When you were delirious, you called me Cedric.”

“Shit. Did I?”

“What was that about?”

Dred sighed. One of the Silent turned to look and she gave him a smile that Jael guessed was meant to be reassuring, but he found it slightly alarming. “You want that story, huh?”

“You know a lot of mine.”

“That's fair. I met Cedric early in my hunting career. He was a good man. Naïve but well-intentioned. I'm sure you've met the type.”

“They don't tend to last long,” he said.

She nodded, eyes on the floor. “I was hunting his brother. Who was neither gentle nor kind. They came from money, those two. Parents were never around, so they filled the void in various ways. For Cedric, it was philanthropy. He was always trying to free something or save something or—well, you get the gist.”

“Sounds like you admired him.” He nearly chewed the words in getting them out, so they came out strange and bitter-tasting.

“Reluctantly. I thought he was an idiot but . . .” She trailed off and shook her head. “Anyway, I used him. I got myself invited to a benefit he was hosting because I wanted to get closer to his brother. I'd tried trailing him, but Carmine was a top-notch predator. Women went missing in his orbit, but he always had an alibi. And he always sensed when I was watching, so I couldn't find his bolt-hole on my own.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to get personal?” Equal parts impressed and dismayed, he didn't know what else to say.

“Yeah. As Cedric's love interest, I finally pinged on Carmine's radar as prey. You've no idea how hard that charade was, either.”

Jael had the sense there was a lot she wasn't saying. “The pretending?”

“I was faking everything. Background, interests, personality. But it worked. Carmine became obsessed by the idea of taking something precious from his perfect brother.”

“You.”

“Exactly.”

“But it went wrong, didn't it?” She wouldn't have nightmares about it otherwise.

“Impressively so. Cedric showed up at the wrong time, just as Carmine made his move. We fought, and Cedric . . .”

“Was collateral damage.”

Dred let out a slow sigh. “I said a lot when I was feverish, huh? There comes a point where pretense and reality overlap. Kneeling there with his blood on my hands, it felt like I'd lost someone I loved though that wasn't true. I was just playing the part. So maybe it hurt because I thought it was supposed to?”

“I'm not the one to explain it,” he muttered.

“That was one crime they never added to my sentence. Because I didn't kill Carmine Genaro. His brother did. Poor Cedric had a knife in his gut, and he yanked it out, blood everywhere. Rammed it right through Carmine's heart. Home-security footage caught everything, so I walked.” She looked over at him. “I never felt right about that.”

The clang of the first Silent dropping his burden cut short whatever Jael might've said.

24

The Worm Turns

Everyone but Keelah was assembled in the control room. Tam paced to the door and back, then locked his gaze on the static feed. The force field was still intact while the blast doors offered another layer of protection, so they hadn't been bothered. No sign of Dred or Jael. While their salvage mission ran longer and longer, he'd worked alongside the merc commander on the ship, but they were stalled now. Without the required parts, the provisional craft wouldn't last long out there. While Tam did think it would be better to starve in space than die on Perdition, he still preferred to give any plan a hundred percent, no matter how long the odds.

Vost had managed to hack a few other camera feeds, but so far they hadn't spotted anything. The majority of station surveillance equipment delivered only white noise and a blank screen these days. Still, Vost flicked through the operational units like it was his religious conviction. Tam knew how he felt.

“They're probably dead,” Duran mumbled.

Tam was about to punch him in the head, but Calypso got there first. The former mistress of the circle used her full strength, too, so the merc was rubbing his jaw when he scrambled away. Martine threatened him with an upraised arm, but Tam gave her a look that said,
Save the good stuff for me.
She grinned a little, despite the somber mood.

“I didn't expect it to take this long,” Vost said. “They've probably run into trouble.”

“Duh,” Martine snapped.

Tam went on, “The main question is, what should we do about it? The longer we wait, the more dire the consequences could be.”

“Problem is, we have no fragging idea where they are,” Calypso said.

“And the station is huge,” Duran added.

“Do you think Silence has them?” Vost asked.

“If she does, then they're as good as dead. We should send another team to Repair and say a few words for them.” Duran didn't seem to understand how stupid he was being.

Tam looked at Calypso.

“Look, son, you're warm, fairly clean. Not the best I ever had in my bunk, but for right now, you'll do. That said, keep talking that way, and I will twist your head right off your neck. What part of
these two are our friends
do you not understand?” She snarled and flung herself into a chair next to Vost. “And they call
me
a heartless criminal.”

“So . . . rescue mission?” Duran tried.

“Someone has to stay to hold down the fort,” Martine pointed out.

That was when the session broke down, however, because Duran didn't want to go back out and fight, Vost couldn't, both Calypso and Martine did, but they couldn't agree on where the team should start looking. Tam listened to everyone bicker for a solid ten minutes, then he just got up and left.

The others didn't notice.

He found Keelah in the dormitory, just sitting quietly. She glanced up as he came in. “The war council seems to be going well.”

“Funny. You can hear everything from in here?”

She nodded. “If I had something to contribute, I'd be in there, of course.”

“Seems like something is bothering you, besides Dred and Jael.”

“You're an astute man,” she said.

“I have my moments.”
Not as many as I used to, however.
Regret was a raw wound in his chest for everyone he'd failed in getting this far.
Ike and Einar were supposed to be here, too.
But he'd lost all ability to predict cause and effect when the mercs showed up. None of his long-term strategies allowed for external interference. He'd eventually planned to hijack a supply ship and get off Perdition, but his schemes would never come to fruition.

Since Vost got here, I'm reacting, not planning. That's a loser's game.

“If you knew something, and it changed everything, would you tell the world? Or would you hug the knowledge to your chest and wait for the right moment to strike?”

“That's too general for me to give you good counsel, Keelah. Some context?” Watching her, Tam tried to gauge if she knew something about Jael and Dred, but he couldn't tell.

“No,” she said softly. “I think I'll make this decision on my own.”

•   •   •

VOST
whirled when Calypso pointed at the monitor, words babbling out of her faster than he could understand. To his astonishment, he saw their lost lambs stumbling down the corridor toward the force field—and they weren't alone. For unknown reasons, they had Silence's killers carrying their gear. As soon as they realized, the others bolted from the control room.

Before he could follow, Keelah slipped inside and closed the door. She paused for a few seconds, studying him. “Why did you give me the codes?”

“Because I owe you some recompense. My arrival intensified the conflict here, and you lost your mate. I admit my culpability.”

“You think a gesture can make it right? Because I'm from a civilized culture. We're known to be tolerant and gentle, patient and kind.”

“I don't know that much about your society,” he admitted.

“Of course not. Why would you? My kind have been banished from New Terra, and when did humans ever learn anything that didn't benefit them in some way?” She crept a little closer, and he recognized the gleam in her eyes.

Pure hate.

“Do you despise the others this much?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “Because they're all monsters, that's why they were sent here. Whereas I just look different.”

In that moment, Vost suspected he had miscalculated, misread this female badly. He'd thought that by giving her the codes, he could win her trust—make her see him as an ally. The fact that she'd be antagonized by the move? Impossible to predict. And now that she was coldly furious, she had no reason to spare him. He'd whispered away his leverage.

“So kill me,” he said then. Opening his shirt, he showed her what he had been keeping secret from everyone but Dred. While the wounds were no longer quite so infected, they weren't healing, either. His stamina was shot, and he spiked fevers on down cycle.

Instinct told him he wouldn't last a long space journey anyway.

Keelah stilled. She'd probably smelled the gangrenous tissue before now. For whatever reason, she hadn't spoken of it.

“I have two requests, however.”

“I'm listening.”

“First, promise me you'll find my son. He's in a hospital . . .” His voice thickened as he told her where to find the person he loved most in the world. “I can't protect him anymore, so please . . . if there's any kindness left in you, do it for me.”

He couldn't allow his thoughts to formulate properly. If he did, his intentions would crystallize for her. Her senses were acute and inhuman. So he made sure his mind was blank as he regarded her.
Say the words. Believe them. This is all true. I'm dying. This is my surrender.

“Why would you trust an enemy to rear your young?”

“Because I want him to know better. Teach him everything that I don't know. Help him become a better man than his father.”

“Are you trying to evoke sympathy, merc? It won't work.”

He shook his head. “You can see I'm terminal, right? Smell it, too. I'm dying by centimeters, and I'd rather not go out slow.”

“Is that your other request?”

“Yes, please. Make it quick. But first . . .” As she watched warily, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the framed holo. Vost stared at the looping image for several long moments before exhaling in a shuddering sigh.
My son. I'm sorry.
He offered it to her in a slow, careful gesture, and when she reached for it, he let go.

From the way her whiskers twitched, she'd expected him to try something. Keelah studied the face. “He doesn't look much like you.”

Vost smiled. “Lucky kid, huh?”

“Is he ill?”

“That's why I ended up in this hellhole.” When she frowned, he clarified, “To pay for his treatments. I've been gone so long now, though . . . the hospital may have cut him off.”

“Surely even humans couldn't be so cruel,” she murmured.

“Remember what you've seen us do here and say it again.”

Keelah opened her mouth, but as Vost suspected, she couldn't. Instead, she produced a dagger. “I was saving this for myself. Every morning that I wake up without Katur, I think, is this the day I use it?”

“What's special about it?”

“It's one of Silence's paralyzing poison blades. No pain.”

Vost nodded, closing his eyes. “Then I'm honored you're giving it to me.”

Listening to the light patter of her approach, he waited until she was on top of him, then he whipped his hand out with lightning reflexes and snagged her wrist. It took no effort at all for a professional merc to disarm her and jab her lightly with the blade. She shuddered and went stiff in his arms.
Nobody will see a tiny cut beneath her fur.

Sorry, Keelah. I'm not as sick as I pretended. And nothing will keep me from my son.

He dropped her body, and shouted, “Come quickly! Keelah's collapsed.”

•   •   •

SILENCE
opened her mouth in a voiceless scream.
Too late, I am too late.
Not only had she failed to liberate her lover from the enemy, but Death himself was most displeased. She found five of her Silent murdered, no sign they had even raised their weapons. For such a grievous loss, Death must have abandoned her.

But if I am not Death's Handmaiden, what am I? If I am beloved of no one, who am I?

I am a lowly worm. Entrails. Carrion. Dead things, devoid of spirit.

Silence crumpled to the ground beside the last of her followers. She touched their skin and hair, and there was no joy in it. These deaths were ugly and unconsecrated. Nothing good or righteous could be born from it. She did not want their skin or hair or teeth. They must be left to rot as if their gifts meant nothing.

My beloved has forsaken me. I am nothing.

The enemy had razed her holdings and destroyed the precious medicines that let her survive this infernal place. Now there was only unhallowed death, the small and pitiful kind, beyond her master's sight. She stared at her own hands. Blinked once. Twice.

These are not my hands. SOMEONE HAS STOLEN MY SKIN AND BONES.
But she could not make the cry; she had sworn silence in honor of the grim one, long before she became the word, crawled inside it like a tomb that let out no light. The reality did not change. Her hands were old, somehow, weathered and crepey, lined and spotted, and when she lifted them to touch her cheeks, they felt the same.

No.

The word rose up as she did.
This is some awful trick. Death has granted me eternal youth and beauty.
While she might be alone now, completely unaided, forsaken by love and death alike, there was always a path for the faithful.
I will make this up to you,
she told Death.
I will make an offering unprecedented. Once more you will come to me and stand at my shoulder. I'm sorry, Lord. The bright one turned my head.

“Show me,” Death said.

When Silence turned, she found the master at her shoulder. A sharp smile cut free of her, cracking the peeling paint of her face—or perhaps it was her skin. Only she could walk with the grim one and still feel the steady thump of her heart in her chest.
I need no minions for this.
She knew what to do now, and the idea was sheer perfection. He would forgive her, raise her up.

I will rule beside you forever.

“Will you tell me your plan?” Death whispered.

She shook her head, all giddy delight. It had been so long since she imagined anything so wonderful.
Let them hide like insects. I need not see their faces while they burn.
Now she had the whole station for her own, and she ran down the empty, echoing corridors. Death whispered in her wake, ever present, ever beautiful.