Traitor (Rebel Stars Book 2)

by Edward W. Robertson

  At the terminal, they were awaited by a man even bigger than MacAdams. His goatee was as trim as his suit. He led them to a sleek, oval-shaped car and held the doors. The car drove itself.

  It deposited them at the doors of the seaside hotel Toman was staying in. Their suite was outrageous. On each wall that didn't bear a screen, a transparent layer of plastic enclosed shimmering waterfalls. The ceilings were full screens that could probably be switched on to show the sky (or, Rada suspected, a mirror). Even the bathroom had a dispenser in it, just in case you decided you needed a drink in the shower. Despite the amenities, all Rada cared about was talking to Toman, who was presently engaged in a closed-doors meeting in the capital building.

  It was a full day before she saw him. When he came to their suite, he was heavy-lidded and unusually rumpled.

  "I'm so glad we hurried to get here," Rada said. "Otherwise, we never would have had the chance to sit here like stumps for the last 24 hours."

  Toman eyed her. "I'd be more sympathetic to your whining if there'd been any chance of getting anything done at the Locker."

  "So you've figured out what's going on there?"

  "Shift in management. They've clamped the place down tight while they sort things out."

  Webber strolled out of the kitchenette, sandwich in hand. "Think it's coincidence this is going on right when we were on our way to enlist them?"

  Toman gritted his teeth. "Better pray it is. The alternative means we're in much deeper trouble than we think."

  "So who's out and who's in?" Rada said. "What prompted this?"

  "The Locker hasn't just shut down its port, it's shut down all outbound communications. LOTR's working through the messages sent in the weeks prior to this, but it's like reconstructing what a dinosaur looks like when you've only got a few fragments of bone."

  "So we're in a holding pattern."

  He showed a palm. "Which I know you hate as much as I do. Thus why you're here."

  "Right. And what is the exact nature of our new job?"

  "Still figuring that out."

  "You're kidding. Not only did you drag us away from the real action, but you don't even know why you brought us here?"

  Toman closed his hand into a fist. He stepped toward her, eyes locked on hers. "I could have messaged you this information. Instead, I came to see you in person, to converse in real-time. And you're complaining?"

  "You're not actually telling me anything."

  "What good does it do to load you up with incomplete, unverified intel? How about you back off and trust me to fill you in once it actually makes sense to do so?"

  Their faces were separated by no more than a foot, but Rada didn't shift back. "Are you coming at me because I'm wrong? Or because you're pissed about how the negotiations are going?"

  He glared. His eyes softened first, then his entire expression cracked. He sighed, strolling toward the window and its postcard beauty.

  "You're right. I am finding Earth's governments less than useful. I'm presenting them with a completed model, right? FinnTech got the Motion Arrestor technology from the Swimmers; Valiant helped them cover that up; Valiant and FinnTech are now merging. When you look at it as a whole, they're forming a power bloc that's proving to be dangerously lacking in scruples.

  "But these politicians are too greedy for the MAs to look at the whole. They'll only look at one part at a time. And when they do that, the conclusion is, 'Well, this is a gray area. Besides, even if we wanted to do something about this merger, we don't really have the authority.'"

  MacAdams honked with laughter. "Since when did politicians start admitting there are some areas outside their authority?"

  Toman nodded sharply. "You'd think someone would at least try. Earth governments have been trying to get a grasp on the business of space for years. One of the major reasons they haven't been able to is because there was no compelling public interest to justify their involvement. Now, FinnTech's doing business with the Swimmers—who, just in case you've forgotten, nearly drove us extinct—and the response is a collective shrug?"

  "Maybe the problem is you," Webber said.

  "I think you've spent too much time among the outlaws, Mr. Webber. You can't tell someone they're blowing it and then not explain why."

  "I don't mean you're screwing it up. I mean it's a lot easier to brush you off because you're their biggest competitor. Everything you say is tainted by visions of gold coins vanishing from your hoard."

  "I'm not so sure about that. Government and business have a rich heritage of reaching down the front of each other's pants with a smile. If they don't want to get with me, maybe it's because they're already feeling up FinnTech."

  "I'm starting to wish you had messaged," Rada said.

  Toman winked. "Sit tight. I'm waiting for the last piece to fall into place. Then you're off on your next adventure."

  While Webber and MacAdams competed to run up the largest room service tab ordering non-dispensed whole foods and drinks in bottles, Rada dug into the rapidly expanding universe of discussion and theories around the Locker. Over the course of the last week, this had exploded into a new industry. On the net, pontificates cranked out convoluted pet theories based on the most minute details, amassed legions of followers to their cause, then unleashed those legions on their competing theorists.

  The drama around it was completely detached from reality and repulsively trivial—a Great Red Spot of superheated emotion, with nothing at its center—but it was also appallingly addictive. Rada got lost in it for the two days prior to Toman's next visit.

  "I have news," he declared. "You're heading on an all-expenses-paid trip to Absolution."

  Rada scrunched her brow. "I wasn't aware I was a sinner."

  "You're so provincial, Rada. I'm not talking about a state of a grace. Absolution is a city. You can think of it as a sort of game preserve for the chronically delusional."

  "That doesn't help explain it in the slightest."

  Toman continued to hold the hotel room door open. "You have a flight to catch. You can read up on the details en route. For now, here's the gist: I'm looking for an ex-FinnTech employee. And I want you to find him."

  "What's so special about him?"

  "He worked in Finn's alien affairs division. About a year ago, he died—but I think he pulled a Webber. Faked it. LOTR's conjured up a hint of him in Absolution. Find him, and he might be able to clue us in to the full depths of FinnTech's dealings with the Swimmers."

  Toman wasn't kidding about the flight. He had a private jet waiting for them at the airport. Like the car, it steered itself, but it was staffed with two assistants who pledged to provide them with any and all comforts.

  MacAdams strapped in and opened his device. "Anyone else find it funny that he's sending three non-Earthers on this little venture? Doesn't a guy like that have a crack team of well-trained, Earth-born spies?"

  "I've been right where this ex-employee is," Webber said. "Toman probably thinks I'll be able to sniff him out." He peered across the tarmac. "Besides, an Earther has no advantage in Absolution."

  "Uh oh, Rada. I got the feeling we're about to have some knowledge dropped on us."

  As the plane rolled forward, Webber removed his attention from the runway to give MacAdams the eye. "In Absolution, either you live there, or you never see the inside of it. There are no tourists. They don't even have the net. I wouldn't be surprised if Toman has nobody with any contacts there. In that case, might as well bring in people familiar with the wider situation—and capable of getting things done."

  Increasingly tired of being kept in the dark, Rada tuned them out and plunged into the files Toman had sent to her device. Absolution, as it turned out, was something like a religious community—or, as Toman had called it, a game preserve. Situated at the southern end of Las Reinas, Absolution sat on the Gulf Coast surrounded by a few hundred square miles of steaming jungle. The religious element of the city was that technology and means of living were restricted to how thi
ngs had been a thousand years earlier.

  Apparently, this was due to the residents' belief that the Panhandler virus had been some kind of divine/cosmic punishment for human advancement, hubris, etc. There had been countless such cults over the years and Rada had patience for none of them. Aliens conquering Earth was proof of godly wrath? You might as well write a bible about the fight between one ant colony and another.

  She knew she ought to be cramming for the mission, but as they soared over the sprawling territories of Las Reinas, she found herself staring out the window at the ruins of the old world. Some of the cities had been reclaimed and rebuilt, but after the plague, the survivors often found it easier to start somewhere new than to try to farm the rubble and pavement. Though a millennium of weather and scavenging had sanded many of the old cities down to mere hints in the landscape, when viewed from above, Rada understood, at last, how much had been lost.

  The terrain shifted from desert to highlands to an uninterrupted carpet of jungle. They touched down at a small but modern airfield. Rada was used to existing in artificial environments. These required massive amounts of energy and money to make nonlethal, and thus tended to be cool and dry. There in the jungle, the air was so humid and stifling she wanted to crawl under a porch and leave the System to its fate.

  A car awaited them. This time, there was no security, but all Rada cared about was the air conditioning. The vehicle headed east down a quiet road shaded by the thronging canopy. The pavement was plastic, outdated, but in reasonably good repair. With little else to see, Rada read up on their destination. After an hour, the car moved to the shoulder and came to a stop in what looked suspiciously like the middle of nowhere. The engine shut down. Taking the AC with it.

  Rada looked up in alarm. "What's going on?"

  Webber popped his door. "No cars on the reservation."

  "I thought they were fine with anything the old people used. The old people had more cars than we do."

  He laughed. "Sure—giant metal oil-burners you had to pilot yourself."

  She could already feel the heat infiltrating the stopped car. "Toman couldn't have found us one of those?"

  "He thought it would draw too much attention. The last thing we want to do is spook our target."

  Rada opened her door and stepped out. Even in the shade, she was miserable. They were really going to travel the rest of the way on foot? Toman was one of the richest men in the galaxy—he couldn't have rented a chopper to deposit them outside Absolution's walls? This was an outrage. This was—

  She stopped mid-step, arrested by a sudden case of perspective. She had known real hardship. Real hardship was being trapped in a cave on Nereid, chipping for days at the ice that had cascaded over the entrance. That should have killed her.

  Jungle heat? Uncomfortable, nothing more. Time to toughen up and do the job.

  The car's trunk yawned open. MacAdams got out packs and three large, square jumbles of metal tubes. Webber expertly unfolded them into bicycles, the joints cunningly concealed in welds and paint. They mounted up and continued east. For the most part, the forest looked uninhabited, but now and then dirt roads spoked from the highway, showing glimpses of rough, simple houses. They passed through a village, slowing to swerve their bikes around staring children and panting dogs. The people wore denim and cotton that looked impossibly scratchy. Their shoes were garishly bright and appeared to be made largely of rubber.

  As the village disappeared behind them, Webber sketched out a rough plan. Absolution faced the ocean on one side and was hemmed in by a wall on the others. Fortunately, all they had to do to be allowed through the gates was pose as pilgrims seeking a more enlightened path. Once they were allowed in for testing, they could start poking around for the absconded FinnTech employee.

  Down the road, a man walked toward them, supported by a walking staff he clearly didn't need. His head was shaved and he wore a loose green robe with patterned white stitching. Rada intended to blow past him—he was obviously a monk, and if you could count on monks for anything, it was that they'd beg from you—but Webber slowed.

  "Good afternoon," the man said. "Looking for Absolution?"

  Webber planted his feet, straddling his bike. "Aren't we all?"

  "My name is Fell." The monk extended his hand, shook with Webber, then returned his hand to a pocket of his robe. "I live in a monastery outside the city. I like getting to know my neighbors."

  "Well, we're looking to join them. Any tips?"

  The man smiled wisely in a way Rada found highly annoying. "They'll let you in or they won't. Not much you can do to sway the outcome. So you might as well be honest, yes?"

  "Do people sometimes try to lie their way in?" Rada said.

  Fell laughed, actually placing a hand on his belly. "All the time! Tourists, sociologists, thrill-seekers, radicals: there's no greater trap for human curiosity than a place you're told you can't enter. Good luck!"

  He waved and went on his way, staff clacking on the pavement.

  "That wasn't much help," Webber said.

  "Whatever." Rada returned her feet to the pedals and started forward. "At least he didn't try to sell us anything hand-carved."

  She sweated freely, sipping from a dwindling water bottle and trying not to think about pre-plague water purity standards on a giant mudball covered in more bacteria than there were stars in the universe. A half mile after meeting Fell, the jungle stopped abruptly. Grass grew in the clearing, battered by the sun. Ahead, a mortared wall of white stone enclosed a wide sprawl of low buildings.

  They stopped their bikes and walked them toward the portcullised gate. When they got within two hundred yards, a bang clapped through the dense, searing air. The roar of an old fashioned rifle.

  "Stop right there," a woman yelled out from the gates. "Show me your backs and get walking. Another step forward, and the next bullet goes through your skull."

  2

  The Red Men came for him in the middle of the day.

  The knock on the door was like a hook in the ribs. His mom felt it, too. She rose from her chair like the screen of a device springing to life. She told Ced to go to his room, but he knew that if she went to the door alone, something bad would happen to her. He followed behind her, the soles of his footies whispering on the plastic floor.

  Two giant bugs stood outside. Their heads and bodies were pitch black and they had square red crosses on their chests and foreheads like evil spiders. One smiled and spoke his mom's name. Ced's vision shifted like when he got up from a dream. They weren't bugs; they were men in hats and uniforms. One of the men looked down at Ced and smiled, but Ced didn't believe him.

  The man's partner gestured Ced's mom outside the apartment. She moved into the hall, letting the door shut. They spoke too softly for him to hear. After a minute, the three of them walked back inside.

  She crouched over him, put her hand on his shoulder. "These men are here to help you, okay? They're just going to give you a little shot."

  He stared up at the Red Men. "What is it?"

  "It's to keep you from getting sick. Okay?"

  She took him to the kitchen and set him on the table. One of the men got out a little white wand and pulled Ced's collar down.

  The man smiled. "It won't hurt a bit."

  It was the last time Ced would believe those words.

  The man put the wand to Ced's neck. His skin went warm, fuzzy, and then so did Ced. The wand puffed like the smallest snake. It puffed a second time, then the Red Man drew back and wiped the wand with a swab that smelled like when Mom cleaned the toilet.

  The Red Man tapped him on the shoulder. "See? All good."

  At the door, they spoke to his mom for another moment, then left, boots thudding down the hall. Ced still felt fuzzy and went to lie down.

  Pain woke him, hot and awful. He got out of bed and fell on the worn red rug beside his bed. He tried to call out but he wasn't sure if he was actually speaking. Then his mom was lifting him, brushing his hair from his eyes.
Her face was as big as a moon, her eyes like wet fires.

  He remembered shivering. Burning. Pain scraped up his spine in steady waves. Sleep got him away from the worst of it, but it hurt too much to stay asleep for long. Drifting in and out, that pain was the only constant. Though he didn't truly understand what death was, he thought he wanted it.

  A few days later, he woke. Something was different. He felt so good he thought the pain was gone, but it was just so much fainter that it felt like a relief by comparison. His sheets were sweaty, but his body no longer burned.

  The first thing his mom did was hug him. The second thing she did was bring him soup and water. The third thing she did was make the wall screen start to play movies. The fourth thing she did was sleep.

  While she dreamed in her bed, Ced dreamed with his screen. He'd seen movies before, but only cartoons, and he'd thought their endless, domeless skies were as made-up as the dragons and genies that flew around them. This time, when he saw the trees moving in what they called the wind, and watched as the ships streaked from a blue sky to the black one that he knew, he understood these places were real.

  They were Earth.

  It had tree-filled parks, but instead of hundred-yard squares between apartment buildings, these parks stretched for miles and miles. It had streams, but instead of rivulets he could cross in three or four hops, some were wider than apartment blocks. And the hills—these were so big you could ride an elevator up them all day long and still not reach the top. Finally, the world was as big as his imagination. He was in love.

  When his mom came in the next morning to check on him, he sat up in bed. "Mom, why can't I go outside?"

  She blinked. Her eyes were red like cherry syrup—had she been crying? "You can. You just need to feel a little better first."

  "No, I want to go for-real outside. Like on Earth."

  "We can't go outside here, honey. It's not like Earth. There's no air to breathe. And it's so cold you'd freeze into Comet Ced."