From behind, another of the brute’s cohorts shoved until the body fell and he took his place. The screams of the dying men echoed until Jael’s ears rang with them. The pressure eased as the rounds slammed into the enemy trying to breach their defenses. Jael killed a couple more who made it to the top and yanked them through so he could keep fighting, but the last one died on the floor in a spray of ammunition. The turrets fell silent.
He risked another look, and the hall was clear. Must’ve been more of them on the other side. In the corridor, there were fourteen bodies blown full of holes in various poses, starting from the beginning of the sensor activation all the way to the wall. Then they were piled high enough that he couldn’t see for sure how many there were. Nothing for it but to climb over, haul the corpses, and start rebuilding the barricade.
“How many dead over there?” Dred asked, striding up.
Her checkpoint must’ve held. In here, good news was rare enough that he’d take this as a victory. But he was damned tired of the stench of blood and bodily functions, weary of the endless carnage. Before, it was only a job. Now he wanted out with a ferocity that made the recycled air taste coppery and thin, too tainted for breathing.
Jael lifted a shoulder. “We’ll have to take inventory as we deal with the bodies.”
“The barricades helped, at least.” What she didn’t say was how fast Mungo’s men crawled over them . . . and how determined they were. Nothing deterred them. “I’ve got Grigor’s louts tidying up on the north side. I’ll send them over here when they finish.”
“I’ll get the work started,” Jael said.
They had been hauling corpses for a while when Martine stumbled back toward the checkpoint. Jael saw her coming, dropped the dead mongrel he was carrying, and powered down the turrets. Tam was pale and sweaty, his jaw clenched with the effort of moving on an injured leg.
“A little help?” she shouted.
Jael ran toward them and lifted the other man without asking for permission. “I’ll take you to Dred’s quarters, and we’ll see how bad it is.”
Dred nodded. “Bunk there until you feel better, no arguments. It’s the cleanest place in Queensland.”
“Thanks,” the man said hoarsely.
An hour later, it was clear Tam wouldn’t be going on recon missions anytime soon. We didn’t count on this. There was no telling how long the spymaster would be out of commission. He was resting at the moment, with Martine looking after him, but his injuries meant they couldn’t include him in any plans for a while. Since his skill set was hard to replace, it put them in a hell of a bind.
Dred met him in the hallway. “We’ll bed down in the barracks tonight.”
“Understood.”
He didn’t sleep well, mostly because he wasn’t used to being surrounded by other people. Though the room was sparsely populated, there were too many lungs pushing air in and out, too many hearts thumping away. He felt like shit when he rolled out of the bunk, and he definitely missed the private shower. The public facilities had a dank, yeasty smell.
“I think I’ve come up with a workable solution,” Dred said after breakfast.
She filled him in. After he learned what she had in mind, Jael wondered if Vix and Zediah could really sub in for Tam and Martine. He’d never done field work with them, never seen them do anything at all outside the garden. Yet Queensland needed every advantage it could muster, and timing was critical.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
Dred nodded. “I asked a few key questions. They’re both smart, the most technical-minded I could find on short notice.”
“Then I can’t wait to watch them work.”
“Is everyone ready to go?” Dred asked.
“As we’ll ever be,” Vix murmured.
Despite her scars, she radiated a peculiarly peaceful air. She didn’t seem like a woman who had done something so violent, so repugnant, that she ended up dumped in Perdition to keep her from repeating the offense. Zediah was harder for Jael to read; he maintained a perpetually opaque expression, and his vital signs seldom responded to normal stimuli. Either he was stoic beyond measure, or there was something . . . off about him.
No surprise in a place like this.
“Let’s do it,” Jael said.
This run was likely to be dangerous. While turrets might cut through the merc armor, the ones who scrambled over the wall like the mongrels had done wouldn’t go down so easy, and they could probably take out the Peacemaker with collective effort. Then the personnel would be defenseless. We need better odds.
And there was only one way to make that happen.
“We set up in the main corridor leading to Queensland. There’s no guarantee the mercs will make their approach this way, but the chances are good.” She spoke as she ran, keeping the RC unit ahead of her.
Since it was quiet, that meant the bot didn’t detect any life signs. Urgency pounded in his blood, an echo of his heartbeat. He’d already crushed a drone cam that the mercs had sent to spy on their territory. Dashing it against the wall had felt pretty fragging good, but it also meant he had to keep a sharp eye out for more. If Vost saw what they were planning, he’d warn his troops.
And then it’s game over.
Jael was conscious that their time was limited, and he had no idea how well Vix and Zediah could perform under pressure. Each of them carried a bundle of parts necessary for the plan to succeed, and he was watching the whole time they moved—for mongrels, assassins, and mercs. At last, Dred stopped, surveyed the hallway, and nodded.
“Here. Zediah, hand me the cord.”
With everyone working in concert, it became clear to him why Zediah and Vix had been included. They might not be on Ike’s level of cleverness, but they both had some engineering aptitude. What had been a rough sketch on a dirty wall came to life with their efforts. Jael did the heavy lifting, hoisting the thing, then he helped Dred hide the tripwire. Triggering would bring the trap down from the ceiling; primitive, but it might disorient the mercs long enough for their primary aim to succeed.
“The ceiling won’t hold indefinitely,” Zediah said, replacing the last panel.
They’d chosen this stretch intentionally, as some parts of the station had solid metal overhead instead of panels, but here, there was maintenance access, a space just wide enough for someone to crawl up to perform repairs. Which meant they’d wedged their trap above and run the line down the wall. If the mercs were paying attention, they’d spot it. Sweat beaded on his brow as he swung down, careful not to touch the wire.
Vix beckoned from the T intersection; they needed to hole up in the bot-charging alcove. If the plan failed, they only needed to retreat and haul ass for Queensland. It would sting to come back empty-handed but better that than injured—at least as far as the others were concerned. He’d noticed after the last battle, however, that his injuries weren’t healing as fast as they used to. They still sealed, but it took twice as long, and the scar lingered before vanishing into seamless skin. He didn’t care to ponder what it meant.
“Mary, I hope it’s not Mungo’s idiots who bring that down,” Vix whispered.
Jael nodded, folding into a crouch. They wouldn’t be able to see the enemy from here, but with his hearing, he’d be able to tell when they were approaching. It was likely smell would give them away, too. Mungo’s mongrels reeked in a particular way, different from the necrotic rot that wafted from Silence’s killers. She never seemed to require them to bathe, and since they lived with dead things, the decomp stench had sunk into their skin. So mercs should smell clean and sharp by contrast, all durasteel and oiled weapons.