Rebel (Rebel Stars Book 0)

by Edward W. Robertson

  Progress was slow. But it was progress. The bit bore an inch deep, then two. It was nearly six inches long, but she hadn't hit the halfway point before it wore down. She switched it with her only replacement. She pressed hard on the back of the drill. Three inches. Four. The bit was slowing again, grinding down against the tough bulkhead. Rada was sweating, elbow quivering from leaning against the back of the drill.

  The drill shot forward, its face clanking against the bulkhead. Air spewed from the hole. She withdrew the drill, stuffed the tube inside, and glued it tight with the sealant. She inserted the tube's free end into her suit's intake and sealed that, too.

  The air was bitingly cold. But according to her suit, it carried a healthy quantity of oxygen. Rada closed her eyes and laughed.

  Four days later, a new star appeared against the night. Rada willed it to grow. It shined brighter and brighter until it ceased to glow and became a dull, pencil-shaped blot. The ship drifted to a halt a few hundred yards above the surface of the moon.

  "This is Simm Andrels of the Tine," a voice said, broadcasting across a wide band of frequencies. "I represent the Hive. The ground says 'HELP.' Either this moon has become sentient, or someone is down there. Can someone help clear this up for me?"

  "I'm here," Rada said. "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here."

  7

  "You know," Simm Andrels said, looking past her, "I did save your life. The least you could do for me is tell me what happened."

  In her seat aboard the Tine—she wasn't sure if the room was a large cockpit or a small bridge—Rada shook her head. "I told you. The only person I'll talk to is Toman Benez."

  "That won't be possible for several days."

  "I'm happy to wait."

  "But Mr. Benez won't be." Simm flexed his brows. "The sooner I can provide him with a full report, the sooner he will be able to act upon it."

  Rada closed her eyes. Not that she was tired: Nereid was two full days behind them, and she had spent 36 of those hours asleep. Rather, she closed her eyes because she was still enjoying the feeling of being out of her suit and showered. Compared to her smell in the days before the Tine had scooped her up, the bridge's neutral odor was heavenly.

  "No offense." She opened her eyes. "But I don't know you. I may not know Toman Benez, either, but at least I know who he is. And that he'd been in contact with my captain. If Parson trusted him, that's good enough for me."

  "Would it help if I told you what I know of your situation?"

  She eyed him. Simm was handsome, in a somewhat bland, blunt-featured way, and he seemed smart—smart enough to secure a gig as an agent of the Hive—yet he seemed to have a hard time making eye contact. Even when he appeared to be looking at Rada, like he was doing now, the line of his gaze was actually running over her shoulder or the top of her head.

  She shrugged. "Can't hurt."

  "Approximately one month ago on the moon of Nereid, the crew of the Box Turtle made a discovery. Of the only known intact alien vessel in the Solar System. Lacking the requisite resources to make use of this discovery, they made contact with the Hive to discuss partnership in the care of the vessel."

  "Correct. But for all I know, you intercepted that. Even if you are working for Toman Benez, I have no way to know that you won't defect. Take this intel and run it to the highest bidder."

  At the helm, the pilot laughed, running her hand through her short hair. "Simm's about as likely to betray Toman as I am to sprout a pair of testicles."

  "If you know about the ship," Rada said, "then you know why I'm not inclined to blab about it."

  Simm blinked, a cat-like display of annoyance. "We know about the ship because we were hand-selected by Toman to investigate it. By analyzing the scene at Nereid, particularly the blast patterns of the Box Turtle and outlying areas, I could postulate that what happened is this: someone else was made aware of the ship, destroyed the Box Turtle, and murdered your crewmates. This accomplished, they absconded with the alien vessel. Meanwhile, you escaped notice and survived." His eyes flicked to hers, then darted away. "What I don't know, and what would most expedite our investigation, is who these attackers were."

  Rada exhaled through her nose. "What's my status?"

  "Your—? Other than a slight liver irregularity, you're in perfect health."

  "Not medically. Am I in custody?"

  Simm glanced side to side. "Custody? Why would you be in custody?"

  "So if I told you to drop me off at the nearest station, you'd flip a U-turn?"

  "Lonnie," he said, glancing to the woman at the helm. "What's the nearest station from here?"

  "Nearest physically?" Lonnie said without turning. "Or in time to arrival?"

  "Time to arrival, please."

  Lonnie's fingers danced over the controls. "Hashin. Lane checkpoint. About a day out."

  Simm gazed past Rada's ear. "Would you like us to change course?"

  Lonnie had already punched it into the nav screen. Rada considered it, then lowered her head. "Its discovery was an accident. A pirate attack compromised our engines, forced us down. That's how we found it."

  At first, her words were halting and confused, but over the next ten minutes, she told him everything relevant to the discovery and the attack. There was no point in keeping secrets any longer. The ship was gone. So was her crew. All that remained was their story.

  "I would like to transmit your report to Toman," Simm said once she finished. "It will be encrypted. On a Needle line. Do I have your permission to send?"

  "Are you making fun of me?"

  "It's a serious question."

  "Permission granted."

  He turned to his device, hands flying over the controls. A few minutes later, he spun away from it to face Rada's general direction. "What if the ship's defenses were still working because it's not nearly as old as you believe?"

  Rada cocked her head. "Huh?"

  "You'll have to excuse him," Lonnie said. "He's got a habit of holding conversations only he can hear."

  "We don't really know how old the ship is, do we?" Simm said. "Maybe it's only been there a few decades."

  Rada leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "You're suggesting there are Swimmers running around the system right now."

  "Not necessarily right now."

  "Okay, conceivably you're right. What if?"

  "Well, I don't know." He hunched his shoulders. "Assumptions are like strangers at the gate. They must be challenged before being allowed inside."

  Rada had worn herself out relating her story and so she said nothing. In time, Simm returned to his device. The Tine sailed on, still accelerating enough to provide substantial gravity. The readout on the dash claimed they'd make port at the Hive in less than six days.

  Two hours later, Simm's device pinged. He leaned over it, arms curled around it like a prisoner protecting his meal.

  "It's Toman." He looked up, a small smile on his face. "He'd like to meet you."

  ~

  For those six days, Rada had nothing to do but ask Simm if he'd received any updates—he never had—and remember what had happened on Nereid. More than once, she went into the galley and stared at the dispenser. No one would fault her or care if she allowed herself a drink. Not after what she'd been through.

  That was the problem, though. What she'd been through? That was her fault. She'd been too out of it to contribute meaningfully. Reduced to riding the cart carousel that dumped detritus, with no real need for oversight. To make up for Rada's absence, Genner had had to leave the Turtle and go to the dig. If Genner had been allowed to stay onboard, she might have noticed the attackers much sooner. Given Parson a chance to organize. To lead a fight or an escape.

  Instead, Rada had removed herself from use, sinking into a fog of pig. And everyone else had died.

  She could descend further into the haze, mete out her own punishment by destroying herself in liquor. The option was as tangible as the cups in the galley and would have been as easy to pick up.

&nb
sp; That was the easy route, though. Taking it would be to let herself off the hook. If she really wanted to punish herself, she needed to take an unflinching look at herself. Recognize the bad without rationalizations. And take the responsibility to excise it.

  She left the galley and returned to the bridge. "Hey Lonnie. You mind showing me around?"

  Lonnie grinned slyly. "You want to see the Tine?

  The ship was a marvel. Its interior looked like a computer-rendered concept model. Smooth lines and chrome trim. Seamless integration of the viewscreens and appliances. The seats and couches were all hollow, providing extra storage. Rooms seemed to flow into each other, minimizing the cramped feeling endemic to ships. They continued to accelerate, yet Rada could hardly feel the engines in her soles.

  "What do you think?" Lonnie said on their return to the bridge.

  "I want it," Rada said.

  Lonnie and Simm laughed. Rada did, too, but she was deadly serious. Someday, she would be on a ship like the Tine. Not as a cart-runner.

  As the pilot. The captain.

  ~

  She occupied the remainder of the flight pumping Lonnie for information about piloting and Simm for info on the Hive. Both talked readily, Lonnie because she was proud of herself, Simm because he found it all so damned fascinating. One by one, the days fell away.

  There were long hours, too. Hours when she had nothing to do but stare at the walls and remember. She used those hours to strengthen her resolve. She would make good to the crew. To those who had died while she alone had lived.

  She had heard descriptions of the Hive. Seen pictures and video on her device. Seeing it in person blew all that away.

  One half of the station was a steely ring. Once, it had spun to provide gravity, but now it was stationary, infused with an artificial gravity system. The Hive's other half was a terraformed asteroid sealed inside a transparent sphere. This was Toman Benez's addition: he had taken a barren rock no more than a mile in diameter, dumped soil across its entire surface, pumped in water to form streams and lakes, and grown trees and grass across the dirt.

  He had built his own personal planet. It hung in the blackness like a tiny Earth, a green marble, floating proof the entire universe could be remade in man's image.

  They docked at the ring. Inside, the port smelled humid, loamy. Rada didn't know what kind of reception to expect and was disappointed to find an automated cart awaiting them inside. It whisked the three of them away from the station, delivering Lonnie to a ritzy white apartment building that looked like it had been manufactured that morning. Rada and Simm continued on their way, zipping along the clean, narrow streets.

  Soon, a tunnel appeared at the end of the street. Simm glanced at her. "Buckled in?"

  "Should I be?"

  Simm nodded and smiled. Rada snapped on her safety belts. The cart slowed, entered the tube. Star-studded blackness swallowed them up. Rada gasped. The walls were transparent. Dead ahead, the microplanet hung within its protective see-through sphere. As she goggled at the views, the pressure of gravity eased, then disappeared altogether.

  "What the—?" she said. The cart touched off from the tunnel floor, propelling itself with puffs of its thrusters. The tunnel spat them out, pointed nose-down toward the planetoid waiting two hundred feet below. The slightest tug of gravity began to draw them down. "Simm?"

  "You can choose to be scared," he said. "Or you can accept this is nothing more than a ride. Aren't rides supposed to be fun?"

  The cart swung ninety degrees to orient its wheels toward the approaching ground. A parachute unfurled from its middle. The vehicle wafted down as gently as a seed, coming to rest on a designated landing pad.

  Rada glanced up at the tunnel far above. "How do you get back up?"

  "Much more boringly."

  The cart rolled forward toward a lake lined with red clay. Simm informed her it was Martian. The cart headed straight for the waters. Rada bit her tongue. She was not surprised when the vehicle entered the lake and skimmed across the surface.

  In time, it delivered her to an island with a white lighthouse rising a hundred feet toward the dome. The air smelled like wet rocks and grass. She hadn't smelled grass in a long time. On landing, she and Simm were met by a tan man about thirty years old. He was short, but his motions carried a coiled strength, like a dancer or a warrior.

  He greeted Simm, then turned to Rada, dark eyes gleaming. "You must be Rada Pence."

  "You're Toman." To her great annoyance, there was a quaver in her voice. "I mean, Mr. Benez."

  "Toman's good." He winked at Simm. "Thanks for delivering her safe."

  "It was an enlightening trip." Simm got in the cart and headed back across the lake.

  Toman turned his gaze back on Rada. "I hope there were no troubles on your flight. It sounds like you've already had more than your share."

  "It was very quiet," she said. "Nice, if quiet's your thing."

  "Not for you, either, huh? Then let's make some racket. Let's go get that ship."

  "Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves? Shouldn't our first question be whether we want to continue to pursue it?"

  He didn't even bother to shake his head. "Waste of words. That ship is mine, and I want it back."

  Rada clenched her teeth, then made herself relax. "It's not your ship. It belongs to the crew of the Box Turtle."

  "That's the problem with laws, isn't it?" He smiled unhappily. "The laws of the legal system aren't really laws. Not in the sense of the law of gravity or thermodynamics. Social laws are much flimsier. Easily broken. They're only as binding as their enforcement. Which, out there—" He gestured to the sky, the blankness beyond. "Doesn't account for much."

  "Are you saying you intend to take it from me?"

  "I'm going to take it from the damn pirates," he said. "Captain Parson and I signed a contract. I have a legal claim to the ship and all its contents. You do, too, of course." He squinted at her. "I could dance around this. Try to make it sound less brutal. But the facts are what they are."

  "You're a billionaire," she said. "A naval magnate relied on by entire industries. Wildly popular, too. And I'm nothing but miner scum."

  "So we've reached a consensus?"

  "Sure. I've been intending to go after the ship since the moment I stepped foot on the Tine."

  He laughed, eyeing her. "Then what are we arguing about?"

  "I don't like being told what to do."

  "Me neither. Explains my entire life."

  "Besides, you're right." She folded her arms. "You're Toman Benez. You'll get whatever you want. If I hold out, the only thing I'd accomplish is to cut myself out of the profits."

  "Wrong, Ms. Pence. Whatever you decide, you'll get your share. And as the last living heir of the Box Turtle, it will be substantial."

  Rada blinked, glancing around the grassy field as if in search of hidden cameras. "You're going to honor the contract?"

  "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Because you're Toman Benez. You don't have to."

  He chuckled, glancing out at the light bouncing from the lake. "Yeah, and part of being me includes being saddled with that vestigial organ known as a 'conscience.' I tried to have it removed once, but the doctors didn't know what it looked like, either."

  She couldn't help smiling. "I don't buy it. Anyone else in your position would put me in the airlock and talk to me from there."

  "Why would I do that? I'm already rich, Rada."

  "And the unifying trait of the rich is they don't give up one dollar they don't have to."

  "Money's amazing. It lets me build things like this." He spread his arms, encompassing the microplanet. "But I didn't build the Hive because I could. I built it to pursue what's driven me from the beginning: learning as much as possible about the aliens. Those who invaded us, and those who must be watching from the darkness."

  Rada nodded vaguely. Ultimately, it was nothing but words. She could claim to live by the principles of the ancient Amish, but it wouldn't change the
fact she galloped through the system on starships. Same deal for Toman and his claims.

  Be that as it may, Nereid had proven how helpless she was on her own. What other choice did she have?

  "How do you intend to get the ship back?" she said.

  "Here at the Hive, I have assembled a team. They are mighty. They are fearsome. And I have every confidence that they will identify the people who attacked you and your crewmates."

  "They will find the ship? What about the video I sent you? Can't they use that to identify it?"

  "The ship on Nereid was a Bunker-class. Very common freight vessel. We've narrowed the search the best we can, but most ships aren't even registered."

  "How about its engine signature?"

  "Long gone before the Tine arrived." He smiled. "Don't worry. My team rules the net like a king. Nothing can hide from them for long."

  "The net?" Rada said. "Who exactly is this team?"

  "The Lords of the True Realm. Detectives. Algomancers. Spiders of the web and hackers of the black box."

  "You're conducting the entire investigation through the net."

  "The investigation, yes. Once we have actionable information, we will shift operations into the lesser realm of physical space."

  "Is there something I'm missing?" Rada said. "Why not send agents into the field?"

  "When you're in the physical realm, you're visible." Toman said this in a manner that made it clear he'd had this discussion before. "Whereas on the net, the LOTR can pass without a trace. Why is this important, you may ask? Because I am not the only dog on the block. I'm not the biggest, either. If it turns out the ship was stolen by somebody like Valiant or FinnTech, I'm not about to provoke a war by sending spies to infiltrate their stations."