Ann Aguirre: Havoc

“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.

“You came just in time,” a man said. “They were on their way to the garden.”

“There will be more,” Martine predicted.

Jael nodded. “We have orders to hold this ground. Want to help out?”

“Why not? It pisses me off when they fuck with my dinner,” a big guy muttered.

“This way, then.”

He rounded the corner and came up on a scene that chilled him. Vix and Zediah were defending outside the doors, while the enemy shouted, “Take the garden. If we control the food, we own Queensland.”

At this point, Jael had no idea if this was about the merc pardons or if it was a coup within a riot, fueled by silent Lecass supporters. Fifteen more men surrounded them, and while his five could thin them out, it wouldn’t be fast enough. Still, he ran toward the mob as Zediah took a blade in the gut, opening him up like a fish. Still, the kid didn’t drop; he was defending Vix with a shaky blade. They stabbed him two more times before he went down, then they sliced her from throat to thigh. She felt for Zediah with a blood-smeared hand, and his fingers twined with hers in one last convulsive movement.

In a few more steps, these bastards would have possession of the hydroponics bay. With an enraged snarl, he threw himself at the lot of them. Jael took multiple stabs and slashes, but he ignored the pain as he had learned from a lifetime of doing just that. He didn’t a need a weapon to end them. Their bones popped and cracked in the rush of his fury. Separated from him, Martine fired with caution; she didn’t know about his regenerative abilities. The other Queenslanders waded in to mop up the ones who were still twitching when he moved on.

Jael was barely breathing hard when the last one fell. His shirt already had so much blood on it that the others couldn’t tell how much belonged to him. Martine narrowed her eyes, but the superficial wounds had already closed. The deeper ones would take longer, but none were serious enough to bother him.