For some reason, that surprised him. Jael had known you didn’t end up in Perdition for nonviolent crimes, but he’d almost expected her to be the exception. He wanted to know who she’d been killing—and why—because he felt sure she wouldn’t do it without a good reason. Some people killed for fun, profit, or pleasure, but he sensed none of that from her. Her bio signs didn’t accelerate when they fought, other than normal adrenaline. Junkie-rush killers always smelled . . . different.
“Maybe she pissed off the wrong person,” he suggested to Einar.
But the big man shook his head. “Don’t fool yourself, mate. I think the world of her, but deep down, she’s got a durasteel heart.”
17
Winning
Inside the salvage bay, Dred was cut off from the others. That didn’t bother her much as she explored the enormous room; this was the closest she had been to the outside world in five turns. The walls were thick, true, but across the bay, she could see a docking door, where ships used to deliver parts or pick up machinery that couldn’t be repaired on the refinery platform. It had been welded shut when the prison opened, but even if they could cut through the metal, there was still no way out.
No shuttle. No emergency pods.
People who were sent here had no possibility of parole. That had never been brought home more clearly than at this moment. Only a single door still functioned, the one where automated ships delivered new fish, more Peacemakers, and scant supplies, which were snagged by whatever faction found them first. If the looters were unlucky, they were killed and the goods stolen by a stronger group. Perdition had been designed so the prisoners could never leave.
The space was huge, bigger than the main hall, but it showed clearly just how old the Monsanto station had been before they outfitted it as a prison. Hulks of industrial devices lay unmoving at the far corners of the room, and the walls were lined with shelves groaning with various tools. Wills should be excited to see that, if I can lower the force field to let him in. A layer of grit covered everything, probably mineral dust left over from the mining days.
Cutting through the center of the room, there was a conveyor belt, though it wasn’t moving. She had no idea what it was used for, but it split the room east to west and made Dred wonder what was on the other side of the salvage bay. Nobody’s been here in turns. That was a strange feeling as she picked a path through rusted junk and discarded machines. A few of them might even be useful. Dred kept an eye out for other defenses—
She stilled. From the northeast section of the bay, she detected the unmistakable sound of movement. Her heartbeat accelerating, she crept toward the source of the noise. Wish I hadn’t left my chains. Without them, she wasn’t nearly as tough as Einar or Jael, so this might get ugly. On the plus side, if she died in here, the others would be all right. They could cart the turret and Peacemaker salvage back to Queensland and choose somebody else to sit on the scrap-metal throne.
She pushed forward, expecting combat, but instead of more defensive measures, she found a boxy little maintenance bot. The thing stood about a meter high, moving about on rusted treads, and it came over to inspect her when she stepped out from behind a pile of oxidized metal. The plates looked like they had been removed for reparation, but nobody ever got around to it. The bot scanned her shoes, then whirred back a few paces as if trying to decide whether she needed repair.
I definitely do.
“What’s your designation?” she asked.
Some bots didn’t have vocalizers, but this one did, probably to respond to voice commands. “Unit R-17.”
“What’s your primary function?”
“To collect defective articles on decks 47 through 52.”
“What do you do with the stuff you collect?”
Lights blinked on top of the bot, and she heard the whirring as it searched. “Answer not found in unit database. Rephrase.”
From the look of the bay, she could guess what the bot did with the articles anyway. Though it made her wonder what happened when it ran into a malfunctioning object too big for it to haul away.
“What deck is this?”
“Repair and Salvage Operations are located on deck 52. Please report to your supervisor. There is work to do.” Somehow, the electronic voice managed to sound a bit pissy, as if she was inconveniencing Unit R-17.
“How many other salvage units are still functioning?”
“Answer not found in unit database. Rephrase.”
Well, that’s getting me nowhere. Since there was no threat from unit R-17, she returned to her original mission. She threaded past the tall piles of junk, reasoning that an office needed walls, and it would be easier to enclose it at the edges of the room. She found no rooms, but a ramp led up, so she climbed cautiously, listening for movement. No sounds reached her apart from the muted whir of R-17’s servos.
Up the ramp, there was a second level to the salvage bay, a platform suspended by high-tension cables, and it swayed slightly with her steps. More parts and broken gear were stored up here; Dred moved through the salvage to a doorway she saw at the opposite end. The steel door was closed but not locked. When she opened it, the whole room sighed a little. It was just escaping air, but a shiver crept over her nonetheless.
Supervisor’s office. Now let’s find a kill switch.
After a couple of minutes of searching, she located a panel with various lights and buttons. They weren’t clearly marked, so she pressed the wrong one first. The conveyor belt started, and she hurriedly hit it again. How will I know if I get it right? Sometimes when she pushed a button, something lit up on the panel, but nothing obvious happened. Those she didn’t reset.
After she punched the button on the lower left, Jael called out, “You did it. We’re in!”
Finally.
“All three of you?” She pitched her voice to carry.
“Present,” Wills answered.
Einar added, “Me, too.”
Then she brought the force field back up. With the defenses in pieces behind them, there was nothing to hinder anyone who might be following. No way would she give Grigor a chance to stroll right up their asses while they sorted the salvage. Dred came out of the office and peered over to find Wills gazing around in absolute awe.
“Do you think you can find parts to get our Kitchen-mate going again?”
“Definitely. I suspect there’s enough broken tech here for me to design and build things.” From his tone, she’d just delivered him to mecca.
“We’re safe in here,” Einar said decisively. “It’s unlikely another group would have a laser or someone who knows how to jury-rig it to disperse the field.”