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.
44
Garden of Evil
Jael shot the Queenslander chasing Dred.
The common area swarmed with men. At this moment, Jael missed Einar. The big man could clear some space with a few, casual swings. Without him, the battle was tighter and more chaotic. Most of their best fighters had gone down in other sorties, so at least he wasn’t squared off against pure talent. These were desperate men with nothing to lose. Or so they thought.
The situation can always get worse.
He flashed to days on Nicu Tertius, thigh deep in mud and walking on the corpses of his comrades as their bodies built a bridge the survivors used to scramble to higher ground. To this day, he couldn’t stand in the rain with soft ground under his feet without imagining that the earth was churning with the bones of the dead. With effort, he fixed his vision on the melee all around him. The distraction cost him a slice across his ribs, another invisible scar.
“We can’t let them wear us down,” Jael said, parrying a lunge and breaking the arm of the man who tried it.
Tam said, “I agree. If our numbers get too low, Silence will kill us all in our sleep.”
Fortunately, their side had the better weapons and armor. Dred was wearing one of the suits at the moment; Tam and Martine had the others. Vaulting onto the throne, the Dread Queen brought up her pistol and took aim as a mad-eyed Queenslander charged. The laser blast caught him in the chest, sizzled, and stopped him. His body tripped a couple of his fellows.
“There’s only one way to end this quick,” he said. “You have to do it.”
Nodding, Dred pressed the button on the remote and deployed the Peacemaker. He’d never imagined she’d use it on her own people. Their unit had solid plating and two different heavy weapons, one on each arm: laser gun and Shredder. It limped these days, and the repair work they’d cobbled together after Ike’s death left it half-assed effective, but it would be enough to strike fear in the hearts of the traitors.
The mech lumbered in, warning the dissidents in indifferent, electronic tones. “You are guilty of civil disobedience. This scene will be pacified. To avoid bodily harm, desist and vacate the area.” It paused a few seconds to let that sink in, then added, “Countdown commencing.”
“If you’re with us, get clear,” Dred shouted. “I don’t want any of my people harmed.”
Her men stopped fighting at once and ran for the exits in all directions while she jumped down and took shelter behind the shield provided by the scrap-metal throne. Jael ran with her, though he could probably survive the attack. No point in wasting his healing power, though; it made more sense to marshal his strength. When the mech reached zero, it sprayed the room with a relentless ballistic onslaught. The rounds were old-fashioned but effective, especially against unarmored targets.
Dred tapped his shoulder. “Find Martine. Get to the hydroponics garden and don’t let anyone inside. You two defend it, I’ll hold down the fort here.”
They wouldn’t last long without the fresh food growing in the garden, so he took off right away, dodging the barrage the Peacemaker unloaded in his direction. By this point, the common room was almost clear apart from one man trying to crawl away in a smear of blood. Bullets sprayed the floor as Jael ran, pinging in sparks off the metal flooring. He dove for the hallway, came up in a roll, and sprang away.
“Martine,” he yelled.
“Over here!”
The men who’d fled from the common room had her cornered in a storeroom. Son of a bitch. Martine crouched behind stacks of supplies; the fact that she had a laser pistol kept them from rushing. Jael breathed in the lightning cordite zing from her weapon and the char of flesh. Two bodies on the ground. Eleven left. Here we go, lucky thirteen.
She shot one in the head at point-blank range. His flesh sizzled and burned, puckering into a black sore in which his mouth was a soft pink hole. The man screamed and clawed at his melting eyes, giving Jael the chance to break his neck. Blood fountained from his nose and hit her faceplate in a messy gush. Martine swiped a gloved hand across her helmet as Jael backed up for a running start and launched himself into the mix.
He swept the legs out from under one and immediately dropped on him, jabbing an elbow into his neck. As the enemy wheezed for breath, Jael rolled forward and snapped his arm. The pain incapacitated him, and Martine finished him with a shot to the chest. He couldn’t see her expression, but she gleefully opened fire around him. The men couldn’t get past him to touch her, and he let her use his body as a blockade. Jael took out two more in quick succession, leaving the others to scatter. Martine shot another one in the back as he was running away.
“Glad you could join me,” she said, hurdling the crates she’d used as cover.
“Dred wants us posted outside the garden.”
“Makes sense.”
She cocked her head, probably listening to the distant rat-a-tat-tat of the Peacemaker. It fired intermittently, likely clearing the common room as enemies ventured in to check on its ammo status. Dred didn’t need to worry as long as it was functioning properly. With time and laser rifles, the mercs had taken out Mungo’s units, but the Queensland rioters weren’t so well equipped.
“Let’s go,” he said.
From the click of her boots, Martine was with him. The fighting had already reached the hallway leading to the garden. There were bodies everywhere, and until they attacked, Jael had no way to be sure which side they were on. Ahead, ten Queenslanders scuffled, slashing at each other with jagged blades.
“Coming through,” Martine shouted.
He wouldn’t have given warning, but a few of the men—too few—acknowledged her words with a jerk of their chins. “We have to help them.”
Seven others whirled to face the woman, who whipped out her laser pistol. “You want some? Come on then, bitches.”
She fired two quick shots, dropping opponents on either side of the scrum. From the light on her battery pack, she didn’t have too many more shots, but the traitors didn’t know that. The men who had been defending took the chance to stab a few more, neat kidney shots that would leave their targets dead in minutes. Now the odds were downright favorable.
Jael launched a kick at the nearest traitor, snapping his knee back, and when the man dropped, he finished with a blow to the temple. He had the strength to fight efficiently, and he used it. That kill flowed right into the next; he broke that asshole’s neck cleanly. There was one man left, and one of the defenders cut his throat in a wet slice. His blood jetted onto the wall, slowing as he toppled and died. The wet rasps of breath ceased.