Breakout (5 page)

4

Must Be a Hex

Dred landed on top of two of Silence's men and jammed her knife in the first one's neck before he could react. The other slashed at her, and she blocked instinctively with a forearm, half expecting her chains to mitigate the damage. Instead, the weapon sank in, almost to the bone. The pain screamed along her nerve endings as the bastard twisted; someone less accustomed to it might have folded. Instead, she clumsily tossed her weapon to her other hand while her attacker yanked the blade out for another strike.

The person they were carrying hit the ground and thrashed, but Dred couldn't do anything until she dealt with the four killers who wanted her head. Two male, two female, all dedicated to Silence's death cult.
They probably think they're doing me a favor.
They rushed her in a blur of spiked bludgeon, garrote, and knives. Fighting this many at once without her chains meant for every strike she dodged or blocked, she took a hit somewhere else. Soon Dred had slashes streaming on her arms and shoulders, bruises on back and thighs that trickled blood from the spiked weapon. Silence's killers weren't tremendously strong, but they
were
fast.

Gritting her teeth, she changed tactics and slammed the club-wielder into the one who kept trying to get behind her. They stumbled but didn't fall, and she took the opening to stab the first in the kidney. Her knife went in clean, and she aimed a ferocious kick at the other's kneecap. It popped sideways with a satisfying twist, and the killer screamed. She cut the cry short by jabbing her knife through the man's eye socket. When she pulled her blade back, it was bloody, and she only had two women left to kill.

Their faces were both painted in the disturbing art of death they'd witnessed earlier, eyes ringed in blood and soot. Their teeth glowed a garish yellow against the white-ash paint that covered the rest of their faces. Both seemed at ease with their blades, and they came at Dred simultaneously. One sliced at her throat while the other tried to disembowel her. She swept the legs out from under the first while spinning away from the side strike. Dred came up off-balance, her right arm streaming blood, and the first woman slipped in it. She lashed out, spiking her blade up through the underside of the killer's jaw into her brain through her palate. That gave her last opponent the chance to stab her in the side. It was a good hit, nearly crippling.

Damn, I miss my chains. I've gotten sloppy.

She wrenched away before the woman could yank her knife out.
That'll buy me some time.
Clumsy from pain and blood loss, she circled. Her left hand wasn't as accurate as her right, but she had to take this last one out before she fell over. Before she could decide how best to do it, the fabric wrapped around the captive finally gave way to the frantic pulling, and a small person crawled out. Without hesitation, the hostage grabbed the bloody garrote and wrapped it with full strength around the nearest killer's knee. The wire bit through meat to the bone below, and the woman's mouth opened in a soundless scream. Dred ended her pain with one thrust of her blade. Breathing hard, she turned to see how Jael was doing, just in time to see him drop the last of his enemies.

He'd taken some damage, too, and was liberally smeared with red. He caught her eye, then they both turned to whoever they'd saved. On closer inspection, the person didn't seem to be human, but she'd never seen anyone quite like him . . . her? Before. Silently, she checked with Jael, and he shook his head. They'd rescued someone just over a meter tall and proportionately delicate, with long, spindly fingers that ended in tiny suction cups. The head was elongated, black eyes set pretty far on either side. No nose, flat features, and a small mouth, almost perfectly round. The alien was pale, somewhere between gray and blue, with lined, hairless skin.

It was also in a hurry. “We should get the hell out of here.”

Jael nodded. “Introductions and stories can wait. The first order of business is getting away from Silence.”

“No shit,” the alien said.

“What about the droid?” Dred asked.

“I'll stay here, return with the battery whenever an RC unit comes back to charge.”

“How? They'll be crawling all over this area—”

“I'll be fine,” Jael cut in with a half smile. “I always am.”

That was before.
But she didn't say it aloud. While there might be emotional ties between them, she couldn't let them interfere with their escape plans. So she only nodded and limped back toward the access panel. It would be better if she could clean up, as the blood trail might give them away, but there was nowhere safe to stop for first aid. Her skin crawled at the idea of Silence's killers using it to track them.

The alien waited until they'd retreated to the ducts to say, “Did you know you have a knife stuck in your side?”

“Yeah. If I remove it right now, I might bleed out.”

“Huh. But doesn't it hurt?”

“Like hell,” she admitted through clenched teeth.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Someplace safe, provided I don't pass out before we get there.” And assuming this creature didn't eat her brain while she was unconscious. “What's your name?”

“They call me Hex.”

“I'm Dred.”

“I won't say it's nice to meet you, but I'm glad you came along.”

“How is it you've survived on your own? Didn't you choose a faction?”

Hex shuddered. “Hell no. If I explain that, I reveal
way
too much to a complete stranger.”

“Then I'll ask once you know me better,” Dred said.

“Eh. Dunno how long I'll hang around though I will make sure you get where you're going. No offense, but there's trouble in numbers.”

Famous last words.

“None taken,” she said.

•   •   •

JAEL
found a decent hiding spot farther along the corridor. The door had rusted shut, so he had to go in through the ceiling. This room was a scrap heap, with broken furniture and old electronics, probably left over from Monsanto's day. It didn't reek of biological waste, unlikely any prisoners had found their way in. Most wouldn't bother. A cursory inspection wouldn't reveal his location though if they did an exhaustive search, he'd have to bolt and run.

His wounds were barely clotted and still hurt like mad; once, they would've been healed already. Checking, he found the edges of his chest wound already puffy.
Those rotters like their poison, don't they?
He'd been paralyzed by one of them and nearly died, but likely not all of the grunts carried the most powerful toxins. Since his nervous system hadn't shut down, he should be strong enough to defeat it though it might get painful and dicey for the next few hours.

Hope I don't black out and miss the bot.

While he waited, Jael prowled through the wreckage and came up with a processor panel that might come in handy. After he had cashed out his last turn as a merc, he'd worked salvage for a while, so he had some experience in spotting overlooked junk. It helped that the other convicts had been looking for gear that could be weaponized or eaten, but ships required a lot more complex systems, and the idea that they could build one out of scrap seemed impossible.

But the alternative's waiting for Silence to pick us off.

The poison spiked him into a fever, so his perception skewed. Objects seemed too big and too close, and everything seemed painfully bright and loud. Shivering, he huddled against the rusted wall and rode out the pain of his joints knotting up. Whatever this was would probably kill anyone else. He blinked, and the station was gone.

The white walls of the lab formed around him and scientists in gray jackets moved about, making notes and consulting with one another. “Should we raise the voltage?”

He couldn't move, immobilized by the wires in his spine.
They
could stimulate his nerves and force a reaction while he hung helpless, but there was no way to fight, no way to free himself. JL489 had no choice but to endure.

Dr. Jurgin Landau moved closer to determine their next move. “Yes, do it. And time this, he's healing faster than the others. We need to document and discern why we're getting different results from the same batch.”

The lab tech got a metal implement, electrified on one end. She hefted it casually, as if she wasn't about to maim.
I'm alive. I'm not a thing. I'm
not
.
He made a sound of protest deep in his throat, an animal noise, but he couldn't move his lips or tongue to form the words.
Why are you doing this to me? Wh—
His vision flashed red, and pain screamed up his arm where they burned him. Electricity ate through his skin and into the meat below; he couldn't writhe or thrash, apart from the involuntary twitches.

“Look at that,” the tech marveled.

“Already regenerating. If this was manifesting in one of our more tractable batches, I'd be so elated right now. But I'm pretty sure this group is flawed.”

“Maybe. Shall we see how much tissue it can replace?”

Landau nodded. “Start with the eyes.”

Jael came back from fever town with a scream choked in his throat. With trembling fingertips, he touched his face.
Cooler. I'm not dying today, it seems.
He felt weak and shaky, but the worst had passed. There was no way to be sure how long he'd been out; a few minutes after he came to, he heard two things at once: the sound of another group of Silence's men and the low-grade whir of an RC unit coming to charge up. It would take a while for the bot to power up, so it made sense not to move. He wished he could see what they were doing, but there was no vantage, and climbing into the ducts might draw attention.

I need some downtime before I fight again. Must be getting old.
Wry amusement colored that thought since the Corp had tried to market their Bred creations as unstoppable, tireless killing machines with the added advantage of being biological, so they never broke down. Because the results were so unpredictable, however, they never did manage to sell the idea of mass production of Bred soldiers. Briefly, he wondered if there were any survivors out of the twenty that survived the escape run, if they'd ended up better off.

Somehow.

It seemed like forever that the dead heads lingered, probably performing their weird rituals. But eventually, they vacated the area, freeing him to shimmy up and out of the room. Pausing, Jael skimmed the scene below. The bodies were gone; Silence must have plans for those corpses. She used them for all kinds of grisly reasons, including home furnishings. He dropped from the ceiling, conscious of how liquid his muscles felt. The wound on his chest had sealed, but it was seeping yellow; the slice needed to be opened, cleaned, and drained.

Putting that aside, Jael crept down the corridor to the charging cupboard. The RC unit was nearly powered up by this time. Any longer, and the droid would've disengaged and gone back to its cleaning subroutine. He picked the bot up and powered it down, then extracted the battery pack.

Finally. I better get back, so we can start the real treasure hunt.

5

Salvation in a Can

Everyone stared when Dred got back to base camp, partly because of the alien but also because of the blade still lodged in her side. Breathing had become painful, and she probably had poison in her bloodstream, too. By the end, she was crawling even when she didn't need to. Hex helped her a good portion of the way, likely intent on paying off its debt. That gave her a sense of what kind of being it was since most inside Perdition couldn't give two shits about ideas like obligation and honor.

“Sod me,” Calypso breathed.

“I need some first aid.” Dred's knees gave out, dropping her on the floor.

But before anyone could respond, Vost churned into motion. His men seemed like they were trying to stop him, but he shrugged off their hands. He input a code and started assembling what had looked like spare parts in his bag. Dred watched with a mixture of confusion and interest until she realized he was putting together a medical droid.

“We broke it down to cannibalize for the ship,” he explained. “But the thing still has a little bit of meds and antibiotics.”

“Not much,” Redmond muttered. “And once it's gone, that's it. Your wounds—”

Vost shot him a sharp look. “Hers are worse than mine, guaranteed.”

Dred wanted to say something, but she wasn't ready to confess, especially not when she didn't trust the mercs. Vost would frame insightful questions and might ask how the ability started, plus where it came from; she couldn't afford to give them the idea that she and Jael were more valuable drained of blood and used as heal packs.

The medical droid went to work on her, injecting her with medicines she hadn't used in turns. Hopefully, that meant the drugs would be more effective.
Holy shit.
A warm buzz stole over her, completely blotting out the pain. She felt nothing as the mechanical arm withdrew the blade, efficiently staunched the bleeding, and cauterized the wound with a laser. With a loopy smile, she touched the scar and felt nothing but the bumpy skin beneath her fingertips.

“Don't bust up the machine again,” Martine told Vost.

Dred beamed at her.
I love these people.

Tam nodded. “If we need the parts to finish the ship, then do it. But I have a feeling Silence may press us hard before we get to that point.”

Hex paused on the way to the ducts and one of the mercs grabbed him.
Is the short one Redmond or Duran?
Dred couldn't remember, but she was smiling again for no reason. “No, don't hurt him. He helped me. Are you a he?”

“No,” Hex said.

“She?” Dred tried next.

“Again, no. There's no gender binary. And why is that important?” The alien came toward the group, black eyes shining. “Did I hear something about a ship?”

Martine stepped forward, blades out. “How do we know you're not spying for Silence?”

“I was in a fragging bag when they met me. Knowing the crazy death lady, do you think it was a clever ruse?”

“Probably not,” Martine admitted.

Dred couldn't think of anything coherent to add to the conversation. For some reason, everything was so funny. She choked the impulse to roll over on her side and laugh. Somehow, she kept a neutral expression, letting the conversation flow around her. The Dread Queen would've stepped in by now, imposing order or demanding fealty.

So much bullshit.

“It can't leave,” Calypso said quietly. “If it decides to sell us out, and Silence descends on us here, we're done.”

“Are you making me a hostage?” Hex straightened, as if readying for a fight.

Tam shook his head. “There's no need for that. You asked about a ship before. We're building one. If you want in on the escape, you should stay with us. Vost has the launch codes.” He inclined his head at the merc commander. “Otherwise, you die on this station.”

“Now you're talking my language. I noticed I can get to some areas that were protected by force fields before. Is that because of the cleaning crew? Nice work wiping them out, by the way. I had a blast watching that.”

One of Vost's men snarled. “Just what I'd expect from a cowardly blue-faced shit bucket. Sorry, I mean Azhvarian.”

“You think you can hurt my feelings?” The alien laughed. “Keep talking, I'll tell the story when I'm old and gray. By which I mean literally because the blue fades. But I bet you didn't know that because humans never bother learning shit about other species.”

“I think we're getting off topic,” Tam cut in.

Dred beamed at everyone. It seemed like she should do something, but her head felt like it was floating two inches off her neck. She thought hard, but no solutions came.
Damn, what did that droid give me?
But even forming that question took longer than it should have.

Redmond or Duran—she couldn't recall which he was—ignored the spymaster's intervention. “You got locked up in the worst shit hole this side of hell, and you have the nerve to lecture me? Get—”

“Asshole, you're dumber than you look if you think everyone in Perdition is equal.” Hex shook its head with a faint sigh. “Look at what I'm trying to reason with. This thing can't even physically speak a civilized tongue, it's all vowels, glottal stops, and fricatives.”

“We may be dumb monkeys to you,” Keelah said with quiet dignity, “but we're the ones who have a means to leave this place.”

That silenced Hex for a few seconds. When it spoke again, the tone had changed, no longer pugnacious and scornful. Instead, Hex sounded conciliatory. “True. I'll help you build the thing in exchange for passage when you go. In my solitary wanderings, I've found some supplies you'll find useful.”

Keelah didn't wait for consensus, ignoring dissatisfied grunts from the mercs. “Happy to meet you, friend. We need all the help we can get.”

•   •   •

WHEN
Jael crawled through the access panel, everyone was asleep but Vost. Since Dred was supposed to be on watch with him, his whole body froze. “Where is she?”

“Relax,” Vost said. “She's asleep.”

“Why?”

“She was hurt worse than you knew, probably. The meds hit her hard, so I put her to bed.”

Everything about that sentence rubbed him the wrong way, like they were literally made out of sandpaper scraping over raw skin. If he could take those letters and beat Vost to death with them, it wouldn't be enough to make up for how awful it felt. A snarl sounded low in his throat, a reminder that however human he looked, there was always a monster under the skin.

“Stay away from her,” he said. “She might have made a deal with you, but
I
didn't. You'll put a knife in her back the minute it's convenient. I served with assholes like you, and I understand exactly how you think.”

Vost smiled slightly and shook his head. “I don't think you do. Is there something that you'd give anything to protect, anything at all? Life's blood, honor, soul, whatever you had. Can you even imagine what that's like?”

Once the answer would've been no, unquestionably. Nothing ever mattered more than freedom, saving his own skin. Didn't matter what he had to sacrifice or who he had to trample, as long as he cut free in the end. Some of the faces still haunted him, true, but even demons could have bad dreams. Yet his gaze cut across to the corner of the room he'd claimed with Dred. He was itching to go check on her, antsy with fear over Vost's “worse than expected.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I can.”

The merc commander seemed surprised for a few seconds, then he nodded. “That's why you can be sure I won't turn on you. There's no way I can build this ship on my own.”

He relaxed a little as he set down the part they needed for the RC unit. “You want this?”

Vost nodded. “I might as well try to get the bot working.”

RC-17 looked like hell, and Jael had his doubts that anybody could bring it back from being fried. Yet Vost was clearly good with machines; that would prove helpful once they finished the scavenging portion of the process. The merc commander removed the old pack and slotted in the new battery. So far, nothing. Jael didn't realize he'd balled his hands into fists until the bot flickered and whirred. His knuckles hurt a little as his fingers unfurled.

“Looking good,” Vost said.

17 spun in a circle, and Jael caught it with his foot. “Not so fast.”

He knelt and checked the memory core. Two wires were burned out, probably impacting the connectivity. “Do we have any—” But Vost was already there, swapping them out.

“Should we wake everyone else up?” he asked.

The other man shook his head. “Better to find out if it's good news or bad first.”

He ran through the interface to look at what survived the shooting. Jael didn't relax until he saw five coordinates programmed in the unit's memory. He patted the small metal unit.
You're salvation in a can, mate. Five caches. Five chances for Ike to rescue us from beyond the grave.
Jael bumped hands with Vost in celebration before he realized he was supposed to hate him.

Ah, whatever. Enemy of my enemy, right?
One thing he was sure of: The merc leader would never team up with Silence.

“How much longer is the watch?” he asked.

Vost checked his handheld. “Couple more hours. Once we start the next cycle, we'll decide which location to check out first.”

“Tam can probably tell us roughly where each is located. That'll help us plan, in terms of keeping out of Silence's way while we move.”

“Depending on what it is and how heavy, retrieval might be dangerous,” Vost said.

Jael smirked. “Breathing is dangerous.”

“True. The oxygen levels are low, and station life support doesn't have long before the system's completely shot, and we all die anyway.”

From the other man's expression, Jael could not fragging tell if he was serious. “You're a laugh riot, you know that?”

“So I've been told.” Again, deadpan.

“Backtracking here, how bad do you think the transport will be?”

Vost thought for a second. “Depends on how big the items are . . . but if Silence hits while we're moving hover dollies down to the docking bay, we're screwed. I don't know if we can lock this stuff down, and if she destroys our salvage—”

“Then we're done,” Jael said quietly.

“No point in speculating, though. We'll find out soon enough.”

Vost fell silent, and before Jael could speak, a small gray thing slid out from between the machinery. His heart kicked into high gear, then he recognized it as the alien that went off with Dred. “Sorry, did we wake you?”

The alien shrugged. “I don't sleep much. So you got it working? Let's nudge the rest of these lazy apes, huh? Time waits for nobody, or something like that.”

While they probably needed the rest, he was also itching to get moving. So Jael went around poking everybody. Tam got up first, and the others followed, rolling out of their blankets grubby as hell. He could already smell himself.

Damn, I miss the san-shower. In a few days, we won't be able to stand each other.

The mercs were the last ones to get up, reaching for their weapons before they realized it wasn't an attack. “I hate you so much,” Duran muttered, rolling away from Calypso, who came alert much faster, attesting to her prison-honed reflexes. “This better be good, pretty lad.”

Jael grinned, letting RC-17 whir past him. “Oh, it is.”

Redmond scowled. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

Martine stared at the droid while rubbing the grit from her eyes. Then she brightened, apparently remembering what it signified. “Holy shit, put some pep in it, people!”