Breakout (20 page)

I'll surprise you.

25

A Long Silence

Everything happened so fast, Dred could hardly process it.

The others killed their porters, then hauled all the gear into the docking bay while Calypso and Martine asked a hundred questions at the same time, mostly related to how ravaged they looked. When the two acted like they might get close enough to touch, she scrambled back. Jael kept pace beside her, and they moved to the other side of the room.

“Just a precaution,” she said.

“Are you sick?” Duran looked like he wanted to suggest something awful, but he didn't say anything else.

Mostly because at that moment, Vost shouted, “Come quickly, Keelah's collapsed.”

She wanted to go with them, but her scant medical knowledge didn't outweigh the risk of contagion. So she and Jael watched as they ran to the control room. She let out a sigh and slumped against the far wall. Jael collapsed beside her, tilting his head back.

“It's not because of us,” he said. “Hell, we didn't get near her.”

“I know. Do you believe in omens, though?”

“Shit happens. Usually there's a reason, but often we don't get to know what it is.”

“That doesn't make me feel better.” Dred gazed toward the control room, wondering if Keelah was all right. Paste was formulated to sustain human life, so maybe the alien female wasn't getting the proper nutrition anymore. Her normal diet had been disrupted when the mercs arrived and impelled the Mungo to attack the Warren.

“Sorry, I didn't realize I was supposed to.” He put an arm around her.

That helps.
But she didn't say it aloud.

A few minutes later, Tam came out into the main bay wearing a somber expression. Calypso followed, carrying Keelah, and even from this distance, Dred could tell she wouldn't be waking up again. The former mistress of the circle laid Keelah out on the floor, and they all gathered around. Dred hated that she couldn't join them, but it wouldn't be wise to risk the living for the dubious benefit of saying farewell to the dead.

“We'll go after they move off,” Jael said.

She couldn't hear what they were saying, but eventually everyone bowed their heads. “What do you think happened?”

Jael lifted a shoulder, as if unwilling to speculate. “Hard to say. But if you want answers, we could use that medical bot. It could run a scan, yeah? Tell us if she hemorrhaged internally or had an aneurysm, whatever did her in.”

“I think Vost broke it down again for parts. Martine said not to, but Tam gave him the go-ahead if we needed them.”

“Damn. Sorry, love. That's the only idea I had.”

“Don't worry about it.”

Once the others finished, Tam came close enough to talk. “How contagious is whatever you two have? Could Keelah have been exposed before you left?”

Dred shook her head. “No, we got this way when the scavengers bit us on the lower levels on the way to Repair.”

“Hm. Unrelated, then. You two should use the san. I'll keep everyone clear.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“It's more for us,” Tam said, grinning. “Have you seen yourselves? Better question, can you smell yourselves?”

“Funny,” Jael said.

He hauled to his feet and offered Dred a hand. Though he acted unaffected, she could tell that Keelah's death was bothering him more than he let on. “You clean up first. I'll wait.”

“Thanks.”

Leaning on each other, they made it to the san facilities, and she went in with him. She didn't have much water to pass, but she took care of it while Jael stepped into the stall. Probably, she should be worried that her urine was so dark and that there was so little of it. Instead, she just sat forward and put her head in her hands. Dred jumped when he touched her shoulder, completely done washing up.

“What the hell,” she mumbled.

“Did you seriously nod off just now?”

“I think so. Let me get in there before I pass out again.”

“Right then. I need a drink and some paste.”

In the steam, it felt like she was sloughing off layers of dead skin. She scrubbed until her body felt raw, and her hair was a knotted mess. Her hands trembled as she tried to untangle it, but she hadn't tended it since they had abandoned Queensland. Probably she should just cut it all off and start over. Hair offered a place for pests and parasites to hide, so . . . before she could think better of it, she got her knife and started hacking. She had just finished stuffing the last of her locks into the waste-disposal unit when Jael stuck his head in to check on her.

To his credit, he didn't say anything about her ragged new do, just handed her a bundle of clothing. “I disposed of what we had on before.”

This was the last outfit she possessed. The clothes she'd found in the dorm were now being processed along with her hair. That gave her a strange feeling, as if she'd sheared away all unnecessary ties and soon she'd leave this place—equal parts exciting and terrifying. After so many turns, she might see more than these rusted walls . . . well, there were no words. Hope fluttered faint as a phantom in her chest, nearly starved by the monotonous brutality required to survive Perdition.

For the first time in ages, she swiped her palm across the glass and stared at herself. The face that stared back was older than she recalled, lined and drawn with privation. Without her hair to soften it, her features were stark and harsh, all cheekbones and chin. Dred ran her fingers over a healing sore on her cheek.
Wonder if it will scar.

“You are not a pretty woman,” she told her reflection. “But you're something better. You're tough. You're unbreakable.”

Jael caught her when she stumbled out of the san. “Wrong.”

“Hm?”

“Sorry for eavesdropping, love. Physiological hazard. But I must disagree. You are now and always will be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

Closing her eyes, she tipped her head against his shoulder. “Thank you for that.”

•   •   •

HOLDING
her was the best part of Jael's day, but she needed sleep. He'd already asked the others for some bedding and crafted a nest in a corner, behind a pile of junk that had been deemed unsuitable for construction. Yet the broken gear and uneven wall panels made for great privacy as he settled in with Dred.

“How long will it be until the ship is done?” she asked.

“No idea. Vost couldn't give me an estimate. They were all pretty distracted over what happened with Keelah.”

She was already out before he finished speaking. Jael needed less sleep than the average human, roughly half, so he wasn't ready to doze off. Yet when he thought of moving away from her . . .
No, I'd rather just lie here.
Tam came to the edge of their makeshift quarters, and he seemed to be holding something. With his eyes, Jael warned the other man to be quiet. Tam nodded and set the old handheld down within arm's reach, then he backed out of the space.

He probably figured I'd be bored.

Jael had seen Dred fiddle with this thing; she'd found some vid logs or something. So with his free hand, he picked up the unit and powered it on. He watched the first few and found it more interesting than he expected. Plus, there was something about the girl . . . he couldn't put a finger on it, but she seemed familiar.
Maybe she has one of those faces.

He was alarmed when the vid girl went off with a guy who obviously had bad intentions.
And bullshit, the administrator has been sick . . .
The unit ran in the empty room for quite a while, then the log shut off.
Probably on a timer.
Intrigued, he activated the next one.

“I finally met with Levin, and there's something about him that I don't like. He evaded
all
my questions, and when I asked for access to operations reports, he said they're doing server maintenance for the next three days. I'm pretty sure they're stonewalling me.”

No shit.

She was too young to be in charge of rooting out corruption on her own.
What were they thinking, sending you?
No matter how confident or capable she was, Rebestah Saren was still one woman.
They should've sent a whole team of auditors.
Which made him think that a Monsanto exec didn't
want
the truth coming to light. She'd mentioned her father, but surely the man wouldn't sacrifice his daughter.
He can't have known. Right?

The second-to-last log was dated a week later, and it was audio only. A bad feeling shivered through him, so he held Dred a little tighter. She stirred in her sleep, tucking her face against his neck. Pleasure rolled through him in sweet, inexorable waves. He stroked her back, waiting for his heart to calm, then he played the recording.

“I have a meeting with Admin Levin today. The VP will be there, too. They've promised to grant me access to all files, now that the computer upgrades are complete. But . . . I don't trust them. So I'm bringing this to the meeting. I don't think either one of them know I'm suspicious, so they won't expect me to consider gathering evidence so soon.”

Good for you, Rebestah.
Maybe the story had a happy ending after all.

Jael listened to her footsteps as she presumably left her quarters and headed for the conference room. Doors swished open and closed, then he heard multiple bodies settling into chairs. At first, it was innocuous, boring discussion about procedure. Then the movement shifted, like someone pouncing, and Rebestah cried out.

“How long will she be out?” a deep voice asked.

That's not the VP. Must be Admin Levin.

“Don't worry about that. Just call the doctor in.”

What the hell?

The doors opened and closed, and he heard footfalls. “I don't want to do this,” said a lighter voice, not female, but tenor.

“I paid your gambling debts,” Deep Voice reminded him. “That means I own you. Of course, if you're really resistant, I can—”

“No, I'm a team player.” Defeated tone.

The whirring of equipment came next, rather like a drill, and Rebestah cried out. Whatever they were doing hurt even while she was unconscious. Listening to this made him writhe with the awful recollection of being under someone else's control. Finally, it was done, and the machine stopped.

“You realize this is experimental tech,” the doctor said. “This may not turn out the way you hope.”

Deep Voice—aka Admin Levin—laughed. “I doubt that. You said these VR fantasy chips can induce mental illness, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Get him out of here.” A pause, some shuffling.

Then the VP said, “You really think this will work? It might be better if we just kill her.”

“Murder always leaves a trail,” the admin said. “No matter how careful you think you are. This way, everyone on the station will witness her breakdown. Nobody will be surprised when she commits suicide.”

“Then we just report her death to her father.”

“Pushy bastard,” Levin muttered. “Never shuts up about how amazing his little girl is.”

So he did get her the job . . . but not to set her up as sacrificial lamb.
Jael felt a little better about that, not that it helped poor Rebestah.

“Take her back to her quarters,” he added.

“Yes, Administrator.”

The audio must be sound-activated because it kept going, presumably through her forcible return and even once she was left alone in her room. Jael listened to her pained mumbling for another five minutes before the log finally cut off.
Mary, what did they do to you?
It wouldn't have surprised him if that was where her story ended, but he tapped the screen and found one more log.

The last.

Recorded two weeks later, this vid reflected a much different woman. Her hair was unkempt, eyes hollow and circled with deep shadows. “They're all against me,” she whispered. “All of them. They have sent Death itself after me, but they don't know, they don't know. I've won. This place is mine. I've won. They want me to scream, but I won't. I
never
will. I am Death. I am Silence.”