Rebel Stars 1: Outlaw

by Edward W. Robertson

  Watkins' face darkened like a squall. He blinked and glanced out to sea. "In the spirit of Jain, I'm going to leave before I can say anything unkind."

  He turned and strode away.

  "I am so glad I'm not down there," Simm said.

  "Yeah," Rada muttered, trying not to make it look too obvious. "But you know what my humiliation revealed? That he recognized the name."

  "I was too busy being incinerated with embarrassment to piece that together."

  "Wish me luck. About to fling myself into the volcano."

  She crossed the dry sand, grateful for the steady wind as a counter to the sun's heat. Mourners clustered around Dinah like Jupiter's moons. While Rada waited her turn, she kept her eye on Mikela Rolf, who had been approached by a tall, narrow-limbed man. Rolf looked as wary as a dog figuring how to climb a staircase occupied by an irritated cat.

  The last of Dinah's moons smiled sadly and broke orbit. Rada moved in before another could take her place.

  "My name's Rada Pence," she said. "I'm so sorry."

  Dinah nodded, dislodging a fresh pair of tears. "How did you know her?"

  "We were…colleagues."

  "Colleagues." The woman nodded. "Seems like that was all she had."

  "I think the fact she had so many of them speaks volumes. Bill did, too."

  "I wish I could have."

  Rada crinkled her eyes. "I think you said more than words."

  "Oh," Simm said in her ear, "that's a good one."

  Dinah smiled and dabbed at her nose with a tissue. "I appreciate that."

  "Question for you." Rada took a deep breath. "This might be upsetting, but it's vitally important to something your mother was working on when she…suffered the collision. Can you tell me who Pip is?"

  "Pip? Peregrine?" Within the dark circles surrounding them, Dinah's eyes blazed like flashlights. "He was my brother." She drew back her chin. "Why would you bring this up now?"

  "It's complicated. It was—"

  "Stop. Right now, stop what you're saying. You know what? Get the hell out of here. You don't get to do this to me! Not today."

  Every eye in the place turned her way. Rada felt her cheeks glowing. "Dinah, this involves your mother's final—"

  "Get out!" Her wrath cracked and she broke into tears, sinking halfway to her knees. People moved to her from all sides. Others glared at Rada.

  "I'm sorry for your loss." Rada spun on her heel and headed for the path lining the base of the hills overlooking the beach. "Simm, why do I have the feeling I need to fly up there and strangle you?"

  "Peregrine Lawson," Simm reported. "Her half-brother. Deceased. How was I supposed to tie him to 'Pip'?"

  "Peregrine. Pippin. Pip. Like the little knight from the Book of Good Acts?"

  "Never read it. I'm not exactly the religious type."

  "Then how about for the story? Even heathens read the BOGA!"

  "You're talking about fiction. It's not real. Why would I read about fairy tales when I can read about things that really happened?"

  "Because it provides you with the common cultural background required to understand your fellow humans!" Rada bared her teeth and rubbed her eyes. "So basically, at her mother's funeral, I came up to ask her about her dead brother. It's a wonder I'm not being tied to a stake."

  "I'm sorry," Simm said. "At least we've made progress, right?"

  "If you can call discovering that Jain's final message was to her dead son 'progress,' then yes, we've made a shitload of progress today."

  "On your six."

  Reflexively, she turned. Behind her, Mikela Rolf strode through the sand. The woman lifted a palm. "What happened back there?"

  "I stepped on a land mine," Rada said. "One planted by my partner." From somewhere in orbit, Simm sighed. Rada gestured back toward the ceremony. "Who were you talking to? You looked like you couldn't decide whether to run away or shoot him with a silver bullet."

  Rolf laughed and rolled her eyes. "Asshole from FinnTech. No one you'd want to know. Listen, you're with the Hive, right?"

  Rolf had surely ID'd Rada the same way Rada had ID'd her, but it was still nice to be asked. "That's correct."

  "Awkward question time: What was she going to see you about?"

  "We don't know."

  The woman gritted her teeth. "I know Toman doesn't think much of us, but this is critical. We're not sure Jain Kayle's death was an accident. If not…"

  "Then it could involve whatever she was coming to us about," Rada said. "I'm telling you the truth. She refused to be specific until we met in person. Your guess is as good as mine." She eyed the other woman. "Better, actually. What had she been working on leading up to the crash?"

  "I can't get into that. You should contact our main office. Or better yet, have Toman call Iggi."

  "I may do that." She extended her hand and shook. "If you find anything you can share, we'd appreciate it. We may be competitors, but this is a woman's life."

  Mikela Rolf smiled, glanced back at the funeral, then headed for the stairs up to the street. Rada stayed where she was. The sun beat down from on high. Out to sea, the wreckage of the alien spacecraft watched over all.

  "So?" Simm said. "What's next? Or are we no longer on speaking terms?"

  "Jain's message, it sounded like something from when Dinah and Pip were kids. What's next is I make another run at Dinah."

  "Then what are you waiting for?"

  "To grow a pair of balls."

  Simm laughed. "How come you can fly straight at a pirate without breaking a sweat, but a distraught person yells at you and you freeze like Enceladus?"

  "Because millennia of evolution have trained my brain to fear social conflict."

  "This isn't about you, is it? It's about a woman's dying wishes. What could make Dinah feel better than helping us fulfill them?"

  "Sometimes, you're not a complete idiot," Rada said. "Even if it's only when you're trying to undo your past acts of idiocy."

  She walked back in the direction of the ceremony. People in black passed her on their way to the stairs, stealing glances at her face. Rada reminded herself she didn't live within a hundred million miles of these people. Back at the gathering of chairs, Dinah was ensconced in a pocket of sympathizers. Rada did some more waiting.

  When the others finally dispersed, Dinah wandered toward the surf until she was standing in it, foamy waves rushing past her ankles and shins. When the water receded, bubbles popped in the sand, fingernail-sized sand crabs scrabbling to hide themselves from the gulls.

  "Dinah?" Rada stopped ten feet behind her. "I came to apologize."

  The woman turned in profile. "Can't you leave me alone?"

  "After this, I promise I will. But I want you to know I never meant to cause you any extra grief."

  The woman's eyes became bright. "Then why would you say something like that?"

  "Because your mom did. Right before the accident, your mom sent me a message about Pip. I didn't know that was your brother's nickname until I asked you."

  Another wave hissed over Dinah's feet. "What did she say?"

  "'Hey Pip: when the rabbit sees a shadow, where can he go?'" Rada raised her eyebrows. "Does it mean anything to you?"

  "No." Dinah turned away. "But thank you for coming back."

  "If you remember anything later, please let me know. I'm sorry for your loss."

  Rada turned and walked across the sand. Sunlight reflected from it, dazzling her. "That's it, then, isn't it? It's over."

  "Not unless you want it to be," Simm replied. "We can talk to Iggi Daniels. And I think we should talk to the woman Peregrine Lawson was with at the time of his death."

  "Wife?"

  "Nothing that formal. But they were together three years. You can get to know a lot about a person in three years."

  "Sounds like a long shot," Rada said. "But I'd like to take it. For Dinah, too."

  She trudged on, shading her eyes from the sun. She already knew she would dream of Dinah that night,
the young woman who looked old, too frail to climb a step to a stage. Who had once lost a brother, and had now lost her mother as well.

  ~

  The narrow-limbed man watched from afar as the woman climbed the steps from the beach.

  "It's very heavy here," he said, although he was alone.

  "That's Earth for you," his employer said into his ear. "Do you have something?"

  "The Pence woman was here. Should I remove her?"

  "Because?"

  "Because she has taken a personal interest."

  "That's it?"

  "Interest is bad."

  "I would agree it's not a wonderful state of affairs," the voice said. "But you can't just kill everyone who causes you trouble."

  He considered this. "I think that you could."

  "You know, maybe I could. For now, I would like to preserve the few remaining shreds of my humanity. But keep an eye on her, will you?"

  The spindly man smiled. "With pleasure."

  8

  As far as Webber knew, the Locker was the only openly pirate station in the system. Despite that—or, more likely, because of it—it had the tightest security he had ever seen.

  As soon as they entered Uranian space, an automated message directed them to a rendezvous point, where they were scanned and inspected by a virtual fleet of drones. After passing that, four drones detached and escorted them to a small station twenty thousand miles away from Ariel, one of the larger moons. There, they were boarded by a team of two inspectors and six armored marines, who had free rein of the ship. The team confirmed the Fourth Down wasn't carrying anything capable of mass destruction besides its weapons systems, then installed a bug on the computer to ensure those systems could be shut down by the Locker's command center if need be.

  Finally, the Fourth progressed to the Locker itself. From the outside, the city resembled a large, featureless sphere in orbit around Ariel, a channeled orb of brownish ice and rock. But that sphere was just the thin shell around the small captured moon that supported the city proper.

  They docked on the outside of the sphere and passed yet another round of security before being allowed into the terminal.

  "Here's what I don't get," Webber said as they waited outside the elevator that would take them down to the surface. "The Locker's pirate central. Everyone knows it."

  Jons sniffed. "So why don't the powers that be nuke it into a glass marble?"

  "Pretty much."

  "Two reasons. First, this place actually got safer when the pirates moved in. The corps used to do a lot of jockeying around Uranus." He paused to laugh at the joke that never got old. "Not only did the Locker put an end to that, but it's happy to provide services for anyone looking to do some mining, water extraction, whatever."

  "For a fee."

  "Of course for a fee. That's the beauty of it. Rather than two or three of the biggest dogs running everyone else out of Uranus, with the Locker, you got all kinds of crews doing business."

  Webber glanced up at the timer on the elevator in time to see it tick down to sixty seconds. "So if anyone comes for the Locker, they stir up the whole swarm?"

  "Not just the affiliated traders," Jons said. "Mostly, the groups at the Locker prefer to stay indie. Autonomous. But if you threaten them, they can put together a fleet big enough to take Mars."

  "They couldn't take Mars," Lara said.

  "Only because they wouldn't want it."

  The elevator arrived and they filed inside, including Deen, who wasn't scheduled to ship out until tomorrow. Webber had conflicted feelings about the big man's departure. You couldn't expect him to stick around against his will. They were turning pirate. Some people—boring, responsible people, people with hope for the future—would have reservations about such a career change.

  Yet this was the first departure of personnel the Fourth had seen since Webber had signed up. Losing Deen felt like breaking up the band.

  Or like kicking out the bassist who didn't want to go on tour when the band was primed to break out.

  The elevator halted and opened. Beyond, the buildings rose in solid blocks, occupying as much as two-thirds of the space between the ground and the ceiling. Many were the brutalist minimalism of the frontier. Balconies were common—space was at a premium—and these threatened to overgrow the street like a jungle canopy. Passing beneath them, Webber was privy to more than one conversation.

  To a great deal of smells, too. If they were going to stay here for long, he was going to have to pick up a nasal filter.

  Gomes moved with the surety of someone who'd been there before. The streets were too cramped for vehicles, so Webber wasn't surprised when she took them below the surface. They hopped a tube and were spat out three minutes later. Not a long trip by any measure, but when they got above ground, he stopped cold.

  "I don't mean to alarm you, Captain," Vincent said. "But we seem to have stumbled into a magical forest."

  "First week's all paid. After that, if you decide you want something cheaper, be my guest." Gomes flashed a grin. "Me, I wanted to be able to wake up every morning, look outside, and be reminded why I do what I do."

  Trees climbed on all sides, branches drooping with round fruit Webber didn't recognize. The smallest were the size of his fist, red and blue and purple and yellow. The air smelled like apples and uncooked dough. Within the boughs, patches of leaves and branches glowed with spectral purple light.

  "The hell is that?" Jons said, pointing at one of the patches.

  Gomes undid her ponytail and tied it back behind her head. "Scrubbers. Bacteria."

  "Yeah, but why are they glowing?"

  "Why not?" She beckoned them down a paved path. "Look all you like, but do not touch. Unless you want to spend the next five years picking them on a chain gang."

  After a few hundred feet, she diverted to a path between rows of trees that were two hundred feet tall if they were an inch. Their trunks were numbered. At 64, she stopped and smiled.

  "Welcome to your new home."

  For once, Webber felt free to gape.

  ~

  They spent the next hour settling into their treehouse—their level of it, anyway; the trees were massive enough to support as many as ten "floors," with screens of leaves between each to provide some measure of privacy—which involved a fair measure of squabbling, as there were nine of them and only six bedrooms. Webber had zero interest in the arguments and politics and was happy to discover Jons had accepted a roommate (him) in exchange for second choice of rooms. He took one looking inward over the park with clear views through the branches.

  Webber was in the act of dismantling his bags when Gomes popped in the door. "Webber. Downstairs. On the double."

  "What's up?"

  "I said get your ass downstairs." She withdrew.

  Jons unrolled a shirt with a snap. "Looks like I made the right choice of roomies. If she murders you for forcing her hand during the attack, I'll have this joint to myself."

  "I hate you." Webber grabbed the Settler of Scores from his drawer, pocketed it, found his shoes, and headed out.

  At the base of the tree, Gomes waited alone. Webber put his hand in his pocket.

  She rolled her eyes. "Come on with that. You think I'm mad at you?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "Initially? I wanted to tear your head off and jam it in a torpedo tube. After sleeping on it, however, I decided that things have turned out for the best."

  He withdrew his hand from his pocket. "Because there was no way you could keep hiding repeated acts of piracy from us."

  Gomes had a good laugh. "Thought I was going to have to start drugging you lot. Or swap you out for a crew of lesser scruples. Never thought you'd all go for it." She gestured down the path. "Let's walk."

  He fell in beside her, glancing up at the ethereal purple splotches on the trees. "Where are we off to next? A volcano temple? A castle in the clouds?"

  "To fence the goods."

  He sputtered with laughter. "And you want
me there? Your dauntless janitor?"

  "Jons seemed like the logical option." She smiled with half her mouth. "But MacAdams insisted we take you."

  This pleased him more than he would have liked to admit. They descended to the tube, popping out several stops later. Aboveground, amidst a tangle of buildings that all climbed to what was clearly the maximum allowed height, MacAdams and Taz waited on the corner.

  Gomes fell in beside them. "All set?"

  MacAdams nodded. "Cargo's moved and we're on sched. Site's right around the corner."

  Webber scowled. "Before we strike a deal to offload our small fortune in booty, you think you ought to clue me in as to what we're doing?"

  "It's a standard meet," Gomes said. "Four-and-four. I do the talking. You three stand around and look mean. I expect his side will be doing the same."

  "What kind of arms are we bringing? Stunners? Toothies? Poison fingernails?"

  "Nada."

  "And just so we're clear, 'nada' isn't pirate lingo for 'the biggest guns we can stick up our asses'?"

  "Nada is nothing is what we were born with."

  "Check me if I'm being stupid," Webber said. "But these guys are professional criminals? Robbers, looters, strong chance they're murderers?"

  "If they're any good," Taz said.

  "And we're supposed to believe they won't be armed?"

  MacAdams chuckled. "Tell me this isn't your first time in a Nude Room."

  "Nude Room?" Webber glanced between them for signs of a joke. "Man, last week I was swabbing the decks. Everything we're doing is my first time."

  Gomes gave him a look. "Do you think we're the first people in the history of crooks who wished they could know if they could trust their business partners? This is the Locker. They solved the trust conundrum a hundred years ago."

  A block later, she stopped in front of a clean white building whose first eight floors were blank cement. They entered a white reception room. Webber sat while Gomes transferred her paperwork from her device to the receptionist's.

  After processing it, the young man behind the desk smiled. "Right through that door, Ms. Gomes."

  A door slid open in the wall. She thanked him. Webber and the others followed her into a short hallway not unlike an airlock. The other side opened into another white room with benches and cubbies. Before the door was done closing, the other three had seated themselves and begun to strip.