Perdition (The Dred Chronicles) (20 page)

32

In the Garden

The room that housed the hydroponics garden was enormous, comparable to the great hall, only instead of drunken, smelly Queenslanders, this space was lush and green, every available surface covered with plants spilling out of specially formulated pods. Row upon row of tables supported the groaning weight of the garden, somewhat miraculous without soil. Not high-tech like a Kitchen-mate, but it
was
magnificent. Jael knew jack-all about nurturing anything; he was far better at killing, maiming, and setting things on fire. But some of his internal rawness drained away as he stood breathing in the cool, damp air. Special lights hung overhead, providing nutrients to the flora.

Beside him, Martine tapped a foot. “You wanted to stop in here. So?”

Two workers—a man and a woman—were doing something to the plants, not close enough to overhear their conversation, though.
Unless they have hearing like mine.
Martine grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the door. She wasn’t as drunk as she had been, but Jael wouldn’t call the woman sober.

“I think I’ll stick around. See if they need a hand.”

“Seriously?” She eyed him with disbelief edged in slow-dawning comprehension. “You’re after the queen, aren’t you? Talk about setting your sights high, new fish. But it makes no sense you let me on your lap if you wanted somebody else there.”

Dred wasn’t the kind of woman who perched on a man’s knee; she was too prickly for that—or so he imagined. He figured he’d end up with a chain upside his head if he tried. He found himself muttering, “I was actually sending her a message.”

“What, that you’re an asshole?”

“She already knows that.”

Martine gazed at him owlishly as she appeared to puzzle out his meaning. “So . . . you wanted her to think you’re not interested in nailing her even though you are? What kind of stupid, fragged-up mess is that? In here, good sex is the best thing you can get.”

“What makes you think I’d be any good?”

“Just a hunch.” She shrugged. “Not like I’m about to find out, now. For the record, I’m not interested in your ass anymore. You’re too stupid for me.”

He laughed. “That so, bright eyes? I’m crushed to hear it.”

“Don’t come to me looking for help or advice again. I will
stab
you. But this once, here’s a free tip. If a woman pisses you off, you talk to her. You don’t grab somebody else’s ass.”

“I never—” he started. She gave him a look. “Maybe I did. A little.”

“Damn right you did. Now frag off, new fish. I got bigger men to fry. Or something.”

“Bigger maybe,” he said. “But not better.”

“Keep telling yourself that and wonder why you sleep alone.” Martine sauntered out of the garden room.

It was a great exit line, but Martine’s words made Jael realize that he’d let a lifetime of raw deals drive him to a number of assumptions. He’d leapt immediately to the conclusion that Dred didn’t care whether he lived or died, as long as he served his purpose, but her behavior had run completely counter in every instance. For Mary’s sake, she’d fought for his life against the odds when he was poisoned. Nobody had ever
done
that before.

With his behavior, he’d rewritten their tacit agreement without a word, reneging on the deal they’d made in the hallway with hands and mouths. At the moment, Dred was probably puzzled and pissed, so he’d give her some time to cool off before he explained why he’d used Martine as a defensive shield. That had always been his thing, showing people how much he didn’t give a frag when they betrayed him. And maybe she wouldn’t give a damn; that was likely, in fact.

In the meantime, he’d help out in the garden. Maybe he could be useful, if not wise. So he strode over to the two workers, bravado in place of skill. “I’m Jael. I don’t know anything about gardening . . . but I have two hands.”

“Vix,” the woman said.

He didn’t remember seeing her before. She had red hair that must be natural, as there were no salons or cosmeticians around to touch it up for her. A fine scar bisected her left cheek, pulling her eye sideways and cutting through her lower lip. The mark went all way the down her throat, a story, that, but he didn’t ask. Beside her, the young man took Jael’s measure; he was short and average-sized, not particularly muscular, but not soft, either. Brown hair, brown eyes, he was the sort the eyes slid away from, and people didn’t remember his features when the authorities asked for his description later.

The perfect criminal.
He was also the youngest person Jael had seen in Perdition, no more than twenty turns. But those brown eyes weren’t innocent, not by a long shot; they radiated a bleak knowledge that the universe was a hellhole with no escape ladder.

What the hell happened to you, kid?

“I’m Zediah.” He didn’t offer his hand.

Jael received a territorial vibe from both of them and took a step back.
No handshake. Check.
Even after all these turns, he struggled with knowing how to relate to people. Mostly, he deployed the same cocky air, but it wasn’t making anyone smile, here. Zediah offered the coldest look he’d received since arriving on this junk heap, and that included the initial inspection when Dred was playing the Dread Queen to the hilt. Even Einar hadn’t looked this dead-eyed scary, which was saying something.

“If you prefer, I can go—” Since he craved some peace working in here, it wouldn’t serve if he alienated the regular workers.

To his surprise, Vix shook her head at Zediah, as if warning him somehow. “If you’re not picky, we could use your help moving some plants to larger pods.”

“I’d be happy to, as long as you don’t mind telling me exactly what to do.”

“She doesn’t mind that at all,” Zediah said flatly.

Was that a joke?
Sometimes it was troublesome being locked up with people who were likely insane and afflicted with any number of personality disorders. He settled on a half smile and was rewarded with a quirk of Zediah’s lips in answer.

Yeah, he’s testing me. Kid probably had to get hard and cold, fast.

The room really was amazing, especially the climbing plants. In a cunning design, the walls were dotted with holes permitting the creepers to twine around and through. Some must be herbs, as he didn’t see fruits and vegetables, but others hung heavy with the produce that went into Cook’s pot on a daily basis. This was a critical undertaking, and it occurred to him—

“Do we have a guard on this place?” As Queensland’s primary food source, it was a natural target during times of war. Part of him thought that was a pretentious word for such a trivial skirmish, but the stakes were the same as in a larger-scale conflict. The losing side would be wiped out.

Across the room, Zediah nodded. “There’s a checkpoint not far from here, and Dred keeps a double guard on it at all times. We’ve got the turret there now, too.”

“Shot anybody?”

“Some of Grigor’s people,” Vix answered. “They’re always testing our defenses, had been for months before he settled the alliance.”

Jael lifted his face, feeling a cool, nearly imperceptible mist puff against his skin. The moisture came out of the ceiling, glimmering like jewels on the tender leaves. A lump formed in his throat; it had been
so long
since he’d seen any green and growing things. Entombed on Ithiss-Tor, he’d forgotten the freshness of new life in the lungs, the nutty burr of cut grain, and the melting sweetness of purple heather rolling over a hillside. Most of those memories were cut with pain and blood, however, like an infected wound stinging a healthy limb. He had no such recollections untainted by bitterness and battle rage. Maybe that made the memories all the more precious, because he knew with hard-won certainty that beauty could exist, alongside anguish, even in darkest night.

You’re not a person. You’re a thing. You will obey.

He could still hear the voice in his head, a persistent echo. The scientist had been dead for so many turns that he ought to have put that message aside; or possibly it should have faded like other experiences, some grim and some lovely. But he had been crafted too well; and the words were emblazoned in his brain like they had been soldered there. Of all the things he’d forgotten, that he never would.

Belatedly, he realized they were both watching him, then the two gardeners exchanged a speaking look. When he’d first entered, he was conscious only of the plants and the richness of the nutrient mixture, of how clean and wholesome this room smelled compared to the rest of the ship. Now, he discerned the warmth of her scent all over Zediah’s skin . . . and vice versa. They shared an overall chemical aroma, a combination of sex and frequent contact.

Explains a lot. He saw me as a threat.

Then she said, “You really love it in here.”

No harm in admitting as much. “It’s beautiful. There are worse ways to spend your time.”

“In a hydroponics garden on a prison ship?” Zediah raised a brow.

Jael laughed, feeling some of the weight slip from his shoulders. “Point taken. When I get out of here, I’ll use my ill-gotten gains to plant a huge garden on my country estate.”

“When?” Zediah asked, raising a brow.

“It’s a dream. Don’t you have one?”

“Not anymore,” Vix said softly.

Everyone confined in Perdition accepted what they’d been told.
Escape is impossible; the prison is impregnable. You will die there.
Jael had that echo in his head, along with the scientists who had droned at him, repeatedly,
You’re not a person. You’re a thing. You will obey.

And I didn’t do
that
, either.

I refuse to die here.

But he didn’t think these two would be interested—or persuaded by—his nascent escape plans. He had only just begun taking the measure of the ship. Once the smoke settled, he could explore more and put together a plan. Right now, it was impossible, with the Great Bear’s soldiers watching and waiting, and with Silence playing her cards so close to her chest. He lacked Tam’s skill for going unnoticed; stealth had never been a requirement in his line of work. Commanders looked to him for nearly indestructible infantry, a brutal killer, not a sneak thief. And most of them appreciated that his history didn’t show on his skin.

“Anyway,” Vix said. “This is how you do a proper transfer.”

He didn’t ask why they spent so much time in the garden. If he could, he’d move in here where he forgot that the rest of the station was rusted and pocked, that the parts had been stripped and stolen and reapportioned so often that it was a wonder primary systems like life support still functioned. Even the light felt brighter and cleaner; nothing seemed as desperate or awful in here.

For several hours, he worked in harmonious silence, which might surprise old acquaintances. He had been known for nervous energy and seeking ever more extreme entertainment. Here, he could just be. By the time he finished all the transplants that Vix asked of him, he felt calmer, more ready to tackle a discussion with Dred. He knew shit about dealing with women for more than one night; and while theirs didn’t qualify as a relationship, she wasn’t a woman he could sleep with, then never see again. Somehow, her respect had become important to him as well, and he imagined he’d lost it.

Still, I won’t be twice the fool. I’ll take Martine’s advice.

“Thank you,” he said to Zediah and Vix as he headed for the door. “I needed this.”

She nodded, a smile creasing her sharp cheeks. Surprisingly, the woman had a dimple, and Zediah gazed at it like it was the greatest wonder of his life. Jael felt something twist inside him, a sharp sideways shift.

Zediah added, “You’re welcome here anytime. You’re a good worker.”

How fragging sad—that might be the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

33

Sweeter Than Honey

Dred had just stepped out of the san-shower when the door to her quarters swished open. It was a little early for Tam and Einar, so she stepped out of the lavatory with an inquiring look. When she saw Jael, the curiosity curled into a hard, cold emotion, a kernel of anger burning in her belly. She’d call it wounded vanity; the Dread Queen wasn’t used to being refused.

Deep down, it wasn’t the Dread Queen who minded, though.

“You can go,” she said. “We have no business.”

His blue eyes were more open than she’d ever seen them, a shift she didn’t expect. “If you still feel that way after I’ve said my piece, I’ll agree. Will you give me a chance to explain?”

Unable to restrain the impulse, she slipped into second sight, eyes closed, to read his current state of mind. Once, she hadn’t been able to do this. Her empathy was born in violence, but she’d strengthened the ability through repeated use. Sorrow lingered in pockets of deep blue, but mostly, she read the deep green of remorse. For a few seconds, she wondered if he could shield his emotions or project what he wanted her to see. Ike had her doubting everything these days. Then she released that question into the wild.

For the sake of privacy, she secured the door.

“Go on,” she said with deliberate detachment.

“I don’t know if this will matter—and perhaps it shouldn’t—but there was a reason I didn’t finish what we started in the corridor. When I learned that you and Tam involved the aliens in the Warren, without telling me, it . . . bothered me.” Two distinct emotions flickered across his face: hurt and anger. “I thought I’d proven myself. Then I learned I was a weapon to you . . . and that you apparently didn’t care if my people and I survived the attack. It’s not that I haven’t been treated like that before . . . just that I didn’t expect it from you.” There was a bleak, leaden quality to his words, as if he’d resigned himself to nothing better.

“So you let me know I was only a warm body to
you
, and one’s as good as another.”

“Not subtle,” he admitted, “or particularly admirable, but yes.”

She sank down on the bed, giving him the height advantage. It was a choice, as Tam had taught her far too much about body language over the past half turn for her to do any such thing without full cognition of what it portended. Dred waited a few seconds for that to register.

Then she said, “I haven’t been an actual person in a long time, since before I left Tehrann. Everything changed when I stepped foot on that freighter.
I
changed. Soon enough, I was just a killer of killers, devoid of anything but my mission.” Those had been empty turns, but also darkly euphoric. There had been pleasure and satisfaction in terminating a threat nobody else could see. “Then they arrested me, and I was a prisoner, just one-note, too. I was . . . angry, and I made sure everyone else in the facility was, too. It wasn’t difficult.”

He nodded. “That’s how you ended up here. I remember.”

“After I ended up here, I was a new fish, fighting to survive, and it was doubly difficult because I’m a woman. Most don’t last long.”

“Females don’t seem to get sentenced here as often, but when the rare one arrives, the men probably react like predators with blood in the water.”

As if though a dark glass, she glimpsed a memory of the circling and the feeding frenzy before Artan claimed her. “That’s not far off the mark. So after being a new fish, then I belonged to Artan. He didn’t leave room for me to be a person, either.”

So much I’m not saying, there.
There were horrors that dug into the throat like shards of glass wrapped in barbed wire, and speaking of them would end in a fountain of blood. Dred wasn’t sure she could survive it, even now. He was watching her from across the room, unmoving, with those blue eyes focused like twin lasers.

“Then you killed him . . . and Tam turned you into the Dread Queen.”

“Exactly. My point is, it never occurred to me how you’d feel about being left out of Tam’s scheming. I don’t consider you a weapon, though, Jael. To be honest, I’m not used to thinking of anyone else at all.”

“So it wasn’t a purposeful exclusion?”

She shook her head. “No more than Tam’s usual caution. Half the time he has plots percolating that I don’t know about until he unveils them.”

“And you’re all right with that?” In his quiet expression, she read reservations and skepticism, which echoed Ike’s warnings.

“Until recently. I’ve been advised that it might not be wise to put so much faith in him.”

“You probably shouldn’t put much in me, either.”

“Now there’s a novel approach. Get me to trust you by telling me not to, thereby making me assume you have nothing to hide.”

“Is it working?”

“I think I’ll leave your curiosity unsated.”

“I didn’t tell you this because I have any expectation of picking up where we left off earlier. I just wanted you to know that, though I was an arse, I had a reason. You might not agree it was a good one, but—”

She held up a hand to staunch his unexpected, nervous rambling. “Stop. I’d have been pissed, too. Don’t know that I’d have shagged someone else to make the point, but men are led by their pricks, or so I’m told.”

“I didn’t,” he told her. “What you saw in the hall, that’s all there was.”

“But you left with her.”
And were gone for hours.
But she didn’t say that part out loud because it would seem like she’d been watching for him.

“I was in the hydroponics garden, working with Vix and Zediah. You said I could take a shift in there, but so far, you haven’t assigned me any time. They didn’t mind the help.”

In the midst of all this chaos, she’d forgotten his request. “I’m sorry.”

“I can see you’re juggling land mines.”

Just then, the door chimed. Tam’s voice followed the sound. “What’s wrong, Dred? You never lock your door.”

True. Instead, she had trusted Tam and Einar to keep her safe; she’d known how easy it was to work around technical solutions. “I’m fine. Jael is with me. It’s best if you and Einar find other quarters for the night.”

“Are you sure?” the big man asked.

“I’m certain. There’s no coercion.”

Jael made a face at that, and he had a point. He wasn’t a cretin who required a shiv at a woman’s throat to secure her attention.

Tam only said, “Understood. We’ll be around if you need us.”

She felt guilty about dismissing them, but it was only one night. They could evaluate things after she squared things away with Jael. Though she wasn’t sure where it was going, this conversation wasn’t over.

“Will that cause you problems later?” Jael asked.

“I don’t think so. There’s plenty of space in the dormitories after the losses we’ve taken.”

He came over to her then, perched beside her on the bunk. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Odd question,
she thought, but for him, she answered.

“Two turns into my vigilante work, I ran into a man who had a thing for carving people up. He had a fetish for dismemberment . . . there’s a name for it. Anyway. I hunted him, learned his habits. That took weeks. I planned his execution down to the last second. I would make him suffer for the ghastly pleasures he craved.”

“Sounds like he deserved it.”

“Definitely,” she said. “But here’s the thing. My plan went wrong. That afternoon, he deviated from his routine. I found him in the park with two little girls, his daughters, instead of hunting his next victim.”

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

“I killed him anyway. I’d already booked my passage off world. I planned such things down to the second, and I wasn’t prepared to accommodate a change in his behavior. So I told myself they’d be better off. They were playing a few feet away when I shot him. They didn’t know anything about his dark side, or the awful things he’d done. To them, I was just the woman who murdered their father for no reason.”

That was the critical mistake that led to her capture. Those two fatherless girls created so much sympathy for her victims that the authorities started hunting her in earnest. A turn later, they caught her though she’d ended a lot more killers by then. They estimated her death toll was close to a hundred, but the number was close to twice that. There were articles in scientific journals about her, as she was one of the most famous female serial killers who ever lived. They’d interviewed her and picked apart her brain to figure out how a woman could go so wrong.

“Why did you tell me that?”

“Why did you ask me?”

“Because I wanted to know.”

“That’s why for me, too.” A cloud of puzzlement furrowed his brow, so she clarified, “I chose for you to have the answer. Now I’ll pose you the same question.”

Confusion shifted to quiet dread; she had seen that expression in her own eyes enough to recognize it. “I should be careful of asking you anything. It’s always an even exchange.”

“Clever of you to notice.”

He slid backward on the bunk as if to put some distance between them, but when he put his back to the wall, she realized he just wanted something solid behind him. The story shook him that much. For a few seconds, she was sorry she’d asked, but his recounting and reaction to it would tell her a great deal about the kind of man he was now, as well as the one he’d been. She already knew he had been a traitor, but with a history like his, she understood it. When people had sold you out enough, it became natural self-preservation to strike first.

“I was working in a merc unit on Nicu Tertius, nothing glamorous. The noble who employed us was a shit-eating lummox, an imperial hopeful who had about as much chance as my left bollock at winning the purple robes.”

“Sounds like a real charmer.”

Jael flashed her a wry half smile. “Oh, he was. Prince of a fellow, and his commander was worse, a bundle of filthy rags where his brain ought to be.”

“Why were you working for them, then?”

“Clearly you’ve never been homeless or hungry, love. I fought for them because they’d have me, no questions asked. It might’ve been a terrible place, but . . . it was mine.”

She understood that, better than he might imagine. “Right. Go on.”

“There was a remote village, and the lord wanted it cleared. The property was in dispute. He said it belonged to him . . . his neighbor disagreed. This had been going on for turns while the people went about their lives unconcerned. My employer got the bright idea to turn us on the peasants. If there was no income potential, then his rival might lose interest. It wasn’t the first time he’d aimed us at petty matters, diverting us from his Imperial campaign, just the worst conceived use for a full merc unit.”

She didn’t have to prompt him. Jael closed his eyes and finished the story though she already knew how it ended. “I followed orders. The universe is full of quietly terrible men who blame their sins on other people, on the necessity of following orders. So we wiped that village off the map. Everything burned, and there was this awful naphtha smell in the air, hanging, along with the stink of charred flesh. I can still hear the women screaming, the children crying.” When his lashes fluttered up, she swore she saw flames crackling in them.

Hell is our own memories, our bad choices.

Dred wasn’t sure what she’d craved in this information exchange, but she’d learned he wasn’t a man who could do something so terrible and feel unmoved. That meant he was better than Artan, at least. He’d known no remorse for any of his atrocities and taken pleasure in pain, as if it were sweeter than honey.

“Come to bed,” she said then.