“This is really dumb,” I mutter, as March sets off.
Presently we come to another security door, where he repeats the procedure. “I hope there aren’t many more of these. This thing only has one charge left.”
That much I knew. Like most black-market wares, codebreakers are crafted with a finite number of uses, then they break down to base chemicals, leaving no hint as to their purpose. Maybe a really good chemist, analyzing the residue, would be able to posit a guess, but there’s still no proof, and for most criminals, that’s the important thing. For obvious reasons, possession of them is outlawed on every Corp world, and as far as I know, they can only be purchased on Gehenna.
We hurry onward, trying to be quiet, although skulking in a bright corridor with no cover looks even sillier than it sounds. As we pause at the next—and hopefully last—set of doors, I say, “One of these days you’re going to stop surprising me.”
He gives me a saturnine smile. “And when that day comes, Jax, I’ll miss you.”
Bastard. But I don’t mean it. Very few people can keep up with me verbally, and I wouldn’t trade March for someone nice. Well, I don’t mean that like it sounds. March is a good man, just not a nice one. Does that even make sense?
While I’m pondering, he gets to work, and the door whispers open. Even before I step around the corner to see, my skin prickles with wrongness. Yes, this is the place Farr warned us about, where they’re doing dreadful things. I step into the room without waiting for March, scarcely able to take it in.
At first glance it looks like a med ward or possibly a morgue, so many rows of bodies, lying pale and quiet. The only sound besides our breathing comes from the low hum of the machines keeping them alive. And that’s not even the worst part.
“Mother Mary,” March breathes, coming to stand beside me. “They’re—”
“Helping populate the station,” a voice says from behind us. “We’re growing only girl children right now. There are so many men waiting.”
Shit. We’ve been had.
I turn to find Farr leveling a disruptor on us. Either one of us makes a sudden move, our molecules are going to find themselves painfully rearranged. And that’s really not good for breathing and circulation.
“Canton,” I drawl. “What an unexpected pleasure. Decided you don’t want a ride off station anymore?”
As if he ever did. The last piece of the puzzle falls into place. Hon doesn’t possess the scientific expertise to execute this plan by himself. My stomach roils, seeing how they’re using these poor women as nothing but wombs. I’m afraid to speculate just how insemination takes place.
“Yes, I was rather proud of that performance. I had to think fast. But why would I? I can’t study in the field anymore…my lungs were damaged on Marakeq, and I have a sweet setup here. Hon trusts me to take care of business, I’m his right-hand man.”
“Where did you find all these women?” March asks. His hands furl into fists at his sides, and it doesn’t take a specialist to read his body language.
“Med wards mostly, sometimes Psych. You’d be surprised how many throwaways there are, forgotten by friends and family.” Farr shakes his head in what appears to be sincere regret, and I have to conclude he’s just about the craziest bastard I ever met. He thinks it’s too bad these poor women wound up like that but doesn’t see anything wrong with this? “Don’t worry,” he adds, seeming to misread my look. “We test for genetic anomalies, and I’m keeping careful record so we don’t wind up inbreeding.”
“Thank Mary for that,” I mumble, but Farr is immune to sarcasm. “You’re behind the biomechanical work on Hon’s jumpers, too, aren’t you?”
He smiles, like we’re having a friendly conversation, and if it weren’t for the weapon in his hands, I might even believe it. “Yes, they’re kept in a separate area, as it’s a different project. Our goal is complete self-sufficiency, a settlement free of Corp influence, free from artificial cred-based commerce.”
“What happens if one of these women wakes up?” March edges closer to the scientist by millimeters.
“Oh, they never do,” Farr answers, and I can picture him smiling as he slides the spike behind their eyes, crooning, This is for the best. “And no one ever leaves Hon-Durren’s Kingdom. Afraid there’s no place for you here, March. Hon simply doesn’t like you. We’re keeping the women. Jax, after reviewing your Corp record, I don’t trust you to be docile on your own, and you appear resistant to mental conditioning. The blonde’s a mechanic, yes? We can use her expertise. The other two from your crew can join the rovers. I’m sure they’ll all adapt…and if necessary, I can assist with that.”
Shit, why didn’t I see it sooner? He’s just like the Unit Psych, Newel.
After a brief pause, as if thinking things over, March asks, low, “Will you take care of baby-Z for me, at least?”
No. Oh no. I find myself begging silently, Don’t you dare leave me, March. Don’t you dare. But there’s nothing but my own thoughts, nothing to indicate he heard me.
“Of course,” Farr says kindly. “I have him right here in fact.” With his free hand he opens up his shirt and Z pokes his head out the top.
“Grrr-upp.” For some reason, Z only chats if he can see someone to talk to. With his head covered up, he seems to assume nobody’s around.
Fantastic. Now we’re crippled because we need to be careful with the baby. Just when I don’t think the situation can get any worse, March dives for the scientist’s legs. Farr’s faster than I’d have guessed, though, and he fires—blinding flash, so I hit the deck instinctively.
When my pupils adapt, I see March crumpled at Farr’s feet.
CHAPTER 34
I’ve only got one shot at this.
As Farr levels the disruptor on me, a smug smile building, he says, “You want to join your lover, Jax? Just how deep does that devotion go?”
“Frag you. Where’s Hon? Does he know you’re doing this?”
His look shifts from self-satisfied to irritated. “Like I told you, he trusts me to take care of business.”
“I bet he’s going to be pissed that you robbed him of the opportunity to take March one-on-one. How’s he supposed to command respect from the rovers if he lets a weakling like you do his dirty work?”
I’m flat on the floor, gazing up at him. If looks could kill, he’d be a sizzling pile of meat, but sadly, he just stands there. I can’t look at March again; his left arm’s a mangled, bloody mass of displaced molecules. And he’s so still. Mary help me, I truly am poison. Part of me wonders whether Simon’s still alive, and if so, how he’s escaped the violent death that comes to all men who sleep with me.
“I’m not a weakling,” he responds tightly.
Good, I’m making him mad. That increases the probability he’ll get careless. I’m neither brave nor heroic, but I’m not dying here. If I can get that disruptor out of his hands, I’ll kick his ass, but I can’t underestimate him. He may be slight, but he’s fast, or he wouldn’t have been able to drop March. And he’s going to die for that, swear to Mary.
As I’m trying to decide on the best strategy, I see movement, a shadow thrown by someone coming down the hall. Farr notices my shift of focus, but he thinks he’s too smart to fall for that. “Oh, there’s someone behind me, is that it?”
“Actually there is,” Loras says, stepping into view.
The scientist spins, and I launch myself at his ankles and yank. He tumbles back, hits hard, and the disruptor goes flying. I don’t know what the hell Loras is doing here, but both Farr and I scramble for the weapon. Since he’s about a meter behind me, he gets a kick across the chin as I roll and come up with it in both hands.
“Let’s not be hasty,” Farr says, placating. He tries to smile, and his teeth show smears of blood.
But all I can see is March lying behind him. I fire in reply, a chest shot, and then I stand for a moment just listening to him scream. His heart pulses sickly trying to pump for a few beats before it bursts, spattering blood all over the white lab floor. Loras looks like he’s going to heave.
“You—”
“Damn right,” I snap. “It’s us or them. Remind me to ask you later what you’re doing here. For now, we’ve got to get the frag out.”
“What about them?” He nods toward the pale, gravid row of women, bound to machines that do their living for them. “What about their young? What will life be like, born to serve the raiders?”
“I don’t know, but I draw the line at killing unborn babies. We can’t save the world,” I tell him wearily. “All we can do is save ourselves. Now let’s go.”
As we start toward the door, March groans.
“He isn’t dead.” Loras draws up short. “Help me, Jax. We can’t leave him.”
I pause, weighing our options. When I hesitate too long, Loras adds, “Jax!” like I’ve let him down somehow.
“Shit. Okay. Okay. I’ve got his left side.”
My whole body cringes as the malformed meat that used to be March’s left arm drops round my shoulder. He’s so heavy. Between Loras and me, I don’t know how the hell we can manage this. Not with all those raiders gunning for us.
But we have to try.
“I came up the lift,” Loras says. “Best we go back that way. I don’t think we can manage all the crawling.”
That’s quite an understatement. This way, we increase our risk of discovery, but it can’t be helped. We limp along like that old joke, retarded man winning the three-legged race. Loras seems to know when the patrols pass, so we pause around corners and wait, clamping a hand over March’s mouth when he moans. Give us away.
My heart sounds like a tribal drum in my ears as we finally hit the lift and—
“Wait, how the hell did you get the codes?”
“I told the guard that Farr wanted me for a special procedure,” he answers quietly. “I knew something was wrong when he left. If he truly wanted to accompany us, he should’ve stayed aboard, fingers crossed for your quick return.”
“Shit, that’s clever,” I say admiringly, as we step out onto the first deck. Now we just need to get to the docking bay. But here’s the guard who let Loras go up, likely thinking he’d never come down again.
No hesitation—I fire, another chest shot, but I’m not fast enough to keep him from sounding the alarm before he starts screaming. More blood sprays out, a crimson fan over the guard station. I feel Loras looking at me with abject horror, but we need to keep moving. As the rovers respond to the alert, we’re going to face more and more security. Time’s the enemy now, along with about two hundred raiders who love nothing better than a fight.
Just need to clear the corridors, the throne room, and the last stretch to the hangar. Come on, March, we need you awake. As we take off at gimp speed, my shoulders burn beneath his weight, so I give him a little shake, hoping pain may do the trick.