“He’s unresponsive,” the big man said. Those were the first words Jael had understood in some time. “We’ve killed three patrols, and you look like hell. We can’t take a fourth. You’re brave as hell, Dred, but I’m not letting you die for a no-hoper like him.”
“Are you giving the orders now?” she asked in a deceptively soft tone.
Even from the verge of death, Jael could tell Einar had fragged up large. He would’ve taunted the enormous arse, except, well. Right. Paralyzed and possibly dying. The odd thing was, he’d beat it if he could. After turns of chasing oblivion, now that he had it on tap, he’d much rather live.
“No,” Einar answered.
“Then return to your position and stand your ground.” He imagined her fierce look, the way she glared the bruiser into submission.
For me.
In that moment, Jael felt sure there had never been anybody who had fought so hard for his life for so little reason. She dropped down beside him; he heard it and felt her body heat as she moved toward him. Dred lifted one eyelid, then the other. Her face was very close, enough that he could see the pallor of her skin with the faint blue tracery at her temples, and minute nicks and scars from a life roughly lived. These glimpses came in twin bursts as she peered first into one eye, then the other.
“I wish I knew whether you’re still in there. I was lucky . . . they had medicine to counteract the effects when I got hit. Blink if you understand me.”
It took every last gram of determination, coupled with pure willpower, but he managed a wink. Her breath huffed in surprise, but that was all he had left. His throat sealed, no air, and he could feel the burn of oxygen deprivation starting. His eyes closed, maybe for the last time. He couldn’t help or resist when she laid him flat, lowering her lips to breathe for him. Thoughts became no more than a crackle of static, jumbled words cast up like confetti and coming down in desperate order.
dizzy, can’t breathe, no air, dying
black
black
sunlight
fallow
why
“You don’t have my permission to die,” she said against his mouth. “I forbid it. I’m not through with you. You’re my champion, and if you succumb to Grigor’s poison like a little worm, it makes me look bad.”
In his head, where everything was a black-and-red tangle, skipping images of violence and treachery, terrible things he’d done both by choice and necessity, laughter echoed. She was quick and inexorable as she pushed breath into his lungs; it went on long past what was sane or reasonable. He didn’t know how she kept from passing out, but by the time she stopped, he sensed the poison wearing off. Little by little, the feeling came back to his body, then motor control. As with all of his miraculous recoveries, when his body’s special services kicked in, they were efficient as hell.
“I can take it from here.” His voice was a little raspy as he clambered to his feet.
Not bad for somebody who was just knocking at death’s door. Sorry, Silence. I guess you’ll have to wait.
“He’s up,” she called to Einar, who rumbled something less than enthusiastic in response.
“How long was I out?”
“Two hours, give or take.”
“You look like shit.” He wasn’t kidding.
Her face was more than usually pale, almost fragile-looking, and her shoulders drooped beneath the weight of her chains. Then there’s all that blood . . .
“Yeah, constant fighting will do that to you. I couldn’t have them gutting your helpless body.”
Jael didn’t understand that at all. Nor did he recognize the feeling he had, something warm and rather awful. It made him want to touch her, so he curled a hand into a fist. He had manners enough to know he was in her debt.
So he spoke a quiet, “Thanks.”
“Like I said, I haven’t given you leave to cash out yet. I need you.”
The words reverberated through him, likely in ways she never intended. Though she meant she needed him to suffer injuries that would fell a human, the way she looked now, the way she’d fought for his life like it was worth something, Jael would gladly bash his way through a hundred Peacemaker units, should he prove capable of it. He contented himself with a nod.
“I’m fit to move. Let me take point. I’ll recover quick enough to fight on the move.”
“Sounds good. Wills!”
The soothsayer came running, bloodstained and disheveled. His clothes were torn, filthier than usual—and that was saying something. He was also dragging one leg. As he neared, Wills stumbled against the walls, sending a resounding racket through the corridors. Jael realized the man was wounded.
“Did Wills fight?” he asked.
“He had no choice. This way. I don’t want to run into another patrol here if we can help it. I bet they bring more this time.” She was tense, jacked up on adrenaline but exhausted as hell. Not that it stopped her from pushing forward now that she had him moving again.
Damn. I’ve fought in squads that didn’t have my back so well.
Jael jogged down toward the spot where Einar lay in wait.
“You’re a tough bastard, I’ll grant you that.” The grudging respect in the big man’s tone made nearly dying worthwhile.
Jael acknowledged the comment with a nod as he cut a course according to Dred’s directions. In the distance, now and then, he heard Grigor’s patrols searching for them, but his hearing was sharp. When he whispered, “You’d rather not engage?” to Dred, she jerked her chin in the affirmative.
Fair enough. I can guide us away. I’ll save my best moves for the ship defenses.
At the next shaft, he headed down. Not into the ducts, though. A maintenance access ladder carried them down; it was close and tight like a damned barrel, and he wasn’t delighted with having three people climbing down on top of him. Having Dred right behind him helped, though. By his count, they went down four decks.
Then she said, “Exit here.”
With a quiet obedience that would’ve surprised a number of merc commanders, Jael did as she instructed. He whispered, “Wait, while I scout.”
Dred shook her head, following him out into a grimy, poorly lit corridor. “This is no-man’s-land, so we can move faster. But from here on out, it gets interesting.”
“It wasn’t before?” Jael felt stronger every moment, ready to drop some shock and awe.
Cocking his head, he could tell the environs had changed, just from the shift in altitude. It was obvious nobody claimed this area, not only from the lack of upkeep but from the absence of any signs of life—no scuffs, human scents, or territorial markings. Down here, he smelled rust, a hint of mold, the musky scent of animals, and a faint hint of machine life. Patrolling droids, probably, possibly gun turrets, though there was no cordite, so they hadn’t been fired in a while.