Traitor (Collaborator Book 1)

by Krista D. Ball

  “Hey, Rebecca,” Zain called out. “Looks like we’re re-wiring the entire upper level Dome. Some of the blood got into the air vents and short-circuited out a cockload of backup systems.”

  She chuckled in spite of the morning she was having.

  “What’s so funny?” Zain demanded.

  “My translator has very unique ways of getting across your curse words.”

  Zain laughed and said, “If you swore more, the translator would adapt.”

  “Zain, I swear every time I hit my knuckles against the damn screws in the upper vent shaft.”

  Everyone chuckled at that because everyone had done it. Rebecca stared at Zain’s face, searching for any hint of expectation or anticipation in his features. Nothing to signal to her that he’d sent them. Maybe he was waiting for her to say something. Maybe he wanted to see her reaction.

  “Zain, did you send me some files this morning?”

  “No, why?” he asked, digging into his food with zest. “Was it porn? If it was porn, it was me when I got drunk last night. Sorry.”

  “No, it wasn’t your usual drunk porn emails,” Rebecca said. “It was books.”

  “Sorry, not me. So, do you have a secret admirer? Do I have competition?”

  She thought he was joking, and the others at the table all laughed, but something in Zain’s expression flickered for a moment. She couldn’t place a finger on what it was, but it set her intuition alarm off. Rebecca tried to ignore that internal system as much as possible these days, but she decided to listen to her inner self this time.

  She managed to twitch her mouth into the appearance of a smile, but Zain’s smile wasn’t reaching his eyes. They locked gazes and, for that split second, she saw something in Zain’s eyes she’d never seen before: cruelty.

  Rebecca broke the contact first, turning her attention back to the vendor, which beeped that her food was ready. “Well, anyway, good luck with the upper level today. Security wants to see me, so I don’t know when I’ll be by to help.”

  A chair scraped against the metal floor before footsteps sounded behind her. Zain, now standing beside her, asked in a hushed tone, “They interviewed you yesterday longer than they did me. What happened? What did you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Rebecca said, more defensively than she’d meant. She tugged the portable silicon plate from her thigh pocket and picked up the hot bun from the tray. “Ouch.”

  “You should just order it cold,” Zain said. “The algae’s better cold.”

  “I like the bun hot,” Rebecca said absently. The display showed her day’s remaining free food credits. “They raised the price of the bun by four credits, the bastards.”

  “All the food got raised this morning,” Zain said. “Didn’t you see the email about the effects of the New Canton attacks? Until the Corps repairs the food processors there, we’re stuck shipping across the expanse, which is going to raise prices.”

  “I never understood why Jupiter doesn’t have its own processor. They have farmland. Why not just have a factory, grow some cereal and bugs, and be done with it,” Zain’s companion, Wilber, asked.

  “The fresh food all goes to those terrorists in the prison down there,” Zain said. “You know it. They get fed better than we do so that the Corps can talk about how humane they are. Bloody bastards should be lined up against a wall and shot like the cowards they are.”

  A collective “amen” shouted out amongst the others.

  Rebecca wasn’t listening. She’d forgotten today was when the prices changed. That meant she’d not be able to afford supper now without paying for it out of her personal account. Four credits wasn’t a lot of money, but it was still four credits. She only made nineteen a day. By contrast, she’d heard Zain made four hundred and got the same pod, food, and water allotments.

  Shit. She’d have to start eating the free protein bars for breakfast now and they tasted like shoe leather and beetle shells, since that’s basically what was in them. Frustrated, she said, “I’ll catch up later. The message said I should head straight over.”

  “But seriously,” Zain said, touching her arm lightly. “What happened in Security?”

  “I told you. I don’t know. It all seemed standard, really. Then I got the message this morning. Should I be worried?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that.” His tone convinced her she absolutely should be worried. “Well, let me know if you need me to do anything.”

  Zain went back to his seat and continued his animated discussion over tennis and the day’s repair schedule. Zain was a good engineer; far better than she was. Sure, she was a good one on Earth where she helped design cutting edge drones and related software, but everything was so different here. These people had jump portals, straight out of video games and movies. They’d lost most of their ability to utilize the old tech from past advanced societies, due to endless wars and disasters, but it still all existed and was still being exploited and re-developed alongside new discoveries.

  Rebecca headed out of JB-002 Personal Quarters and down to security. She had to crisscross the lower market and food court, which were used mostly by people like Zain. She came sometimes with Zain or some of the others from her work group, but she rarely ordered anything. She couldn’t afford it. Why wasn’t she put in with some of the other “landeds” as they were called, as opposed to citizens? She knew there were others from Earth on the station. Why couldn’t they all share a living area? They’d have so much more in common.

  And she just answered her own question.

  The scent of fried dough wafted through the air. Fried pastries covered in syrup and sprinkled with spices were popular. Sometimes, they even had real cinnamon. Like, Earth cinnamon and Earth sugar. Zain had bought her a box of deep fried pancakes covered in a fruit sugar and real, actual, proper cinnamon for her birthday. They cost him a week’s wages.

  She didn’t want to take them; they were too valuable of a gift. He’d insisted and so she accepted. She’d only managed a couple of bits before she burst into tears. Kat had been killed in a coffee shop. Maybe she’d been ordering her regular cappuccino and frosted cinnamon bun. Maybe the stories she’d been told about Kat’s death were exaggerated. Maybe she was just a bystander.

  “Good day, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca smiled at Chad, who was busy repairing the drink vendors along both sides of the cafeteria’s walls. She never understood exactly how her translator picked names, but he looked like a Chad. Frat-boy blond with a permanent beach tan that was probably from turning up the UV in his pod. A chiseled jaw, excellent chin, stellar cheekbones, and steamy blue eyes. Zain called him a ‘total titbag’ on more than one occasion, which her translator records insisted was a direct translation. She liked him, though, and was nearly certain it wasn’t only for his prettiness.

  “I thought you were working the swing shift,” Rebecca said and punched in an order into the vendor. She waved her hip, where her ID swung on its clip, at the machine until it beeped recognition. Then, she unclipped her mug from her belt and put it underneath the dispenser.

  Chad smiled up at her as he pulled the guts out of the adjacent machine. “I am, but the Lieutenant asked me to come fix his favorite snack vendor before the universe collapsed in on itself.”

  “Asked, did he?” The machine made a gurgling noise before steaming hot liquid spurted out. The display showed the beverage cost one credit. She sighed. “Damn thing charged me. I’m sure I still get four free plain tea or hot water a day, even with the new changes.”

  Chad looked up. “You didn’t clock in yet?”

  Rebecca took her mug from the machine and groaned. “Ah, shit. No, I was on my way to security. They want to see me.”

  “Well, it’s only a credit for that stupid tea, at least,” he said with a smile that was supposed to let her know he was joking. “Next time, clock in before you leave your pod if security wants you. They never remember to clock anyone in.”

  “Yeah. Assholes. I’ll talk to yo
u later, Chad.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, waving a scanner in his hand. “I’ll probably still be here. This is where I live now.”

  Rebecca sipped at her hot tea, annoyed that neither her supervisor nor security clocked her into the system remotely, thereby saving her a credit. Sure, it was only a credit; Chad probably used more than that in higher UV alone. Still, just that much longer to not buy her freedom. Assuming they’d ever let her, of course.

  The scanners beeped their approval and she walked into security. She took an uncomfortable metal chair and waited for her turn to make a statement, sipping her one credit tea. Eventually, a computerized voice said over the speaker, “Rebecca St. Martin, please report to the desk officer on duty.”

  She left the empty rows of chairs and approached the bullet-, energy-pulse-, and bomb-proof blast screen. Behind it sat a tired-looking gristle of a man, coffee stains on the front of his beige uniform. He dumped an ID card in a slot.

  “Captain Dags will see you,” he said, gesturing to his left. “Through there, first door on your right. You need the card to get through, since you’re a defect.”

  Rebecca ignored the slur. If Zain was here, he would have made a huge deal about it, saying her inability to utilize implants was none of his damn business and he’d be filing a report. But people like this guard never called her names whenever the others were around.

  She knew it was supposed to hurt her feelings, but the slur meant nothing to her. Just like calling someone a planter because they believed in implants for everyone was considered a slur. Zain could argue about bigotry and backwardness all he wanted, but they were arguing things she didn’t identify with nor give a shit about.

  Back home was where she’d heard real slurs. Like, whenever she was out with Kat. Hurtful, angry, backward slurs against aboriginal people. Or horrible words about them being a couple. Those were real slurs. She could handle some asshole guard calling her names that made no sense to her.

  Rebecca pinned the temporary security badge to her shirt pocket. The scanners did their duty, detecting no weapons, and buzzed her through. She pushed on the security door, noting that it was the same material as the desk clerk’s barrier, and pressed the buzzer near to Captain Dags’ door.

  “Come in, Miss St. Martin,” came his voice over the small speaker near the door buzzer.

  She opened the door and walked in. Captain Dags was a spare man, and he always seemed to her as the kind of man who would be best at crunching numbers in a dark office as opposed to being a military leader running an internment camp. Looks are deceiving, as “they” apparently say on every planet. She’d met him before, when she’d first been sent to Bubble City. He’d always been polite to her, if somewhat curt and dispassionate.

  “Please sit down,” he said, gesturing to the functional, but comfortable-looking chairs in one corner of his spacious office. His office, in fact, was larger than her entire quarters. Not a surprise. He was a Captain. She was nobody.

  “How are you doing?” Captain Dags asked, getting up from his desk and taking up a seat across from her.

  Rebecca shrugged. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “I’m confident of that,” he replied. There was something in his voice that Rebecca didn’t like. Hesitation? Suspicion? “I’m sure you’re aware, but because this is part of an official investigation, this conversation is being recorded.”

  Rebecca nodded, ignoring how her palms turned clammy.

  “Can you tell me what you were doing on the top level? It’s rather far from where you work and your quarters on delta block.”

  “I was up there with Zain Ravi—”

  “Your boyfriend?”

  She shook her head. God only knew what Zain had called her. “We’re just friends. He likes the brisbin on the third level. He says the vendor up there makes it stronger than the ones on the lower levels, so we always go up there for break.”

  Captain Dags nodded, though the disbelieving look in his eyes made sweat bead along her spine. He didn’t believe her. She did not want to go back to the workhouses, slaving away until her loyalty was without question. She’d changed who she was, learned to bite her tongue, closed herself off for the chance to actually live. She didn’t want her freedom taken away from her. Not again.

  “Then what happened?”

  “We got our drinks and sat down.” She crossed her arms across her torso self-consciously; he was staring at her chest instead of her face. “Then, those six stopped, took their overalls off and jumped.”

  Rebecca took a deep breath to calm herself before she puked. She did not want to think about the blood. How it sprayed into the air. Heads popping off torsos, spewing blood and gore like a ripe zit.

  “Miss St. Martin?”

  Rebecca clamped her eyes shut and pictured fields of wildflowers, the bright yellows and blues swaying in the seaside breeze.

  “It’s clear the girl is traumatized,” said a female voice from a far corner that caused Rebecca’s heart to skip a beat before thundering back, roaring in her ears.

  Rebecca looked around the room wildly, her heart drowning out Captain Dags. It couldn’t be her. It just couldn’t be.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce my colleague, Captain Amelia Andrewson.”

  Rebecca stared into the cold eyes of Captain Andrewson, who stepped into view, and then grabbed a trash can before heaving the last of her tea into it. Her heart soared and her vision blurred. She hissed in breaths between her teeth until she was sure she wouldn’t hyperventilate. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and stomped over every part of her brain that screamed Kat was in front of her.

  “Feeling sick from what you saw?” Captain Dags asked.

  A nasty remark flashed across her mind, but she bit it back. Instead, she offered him an uneasy smile and said, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Are you ill?” the woman definitely not Kat asked. One side of Captain Andrewson’s face didn’t quite match the other and her eyes were harder than Kat’s ever were, but the voice. If Rebecca squinted her eyes just right, she’d swear she was looking at Kat.

  Rebecca’s vision blurred again and she dry heaved into the waste bin. She knew she was having a panic attack at the sight of the woman that looked almost like her Kat, but she couldn’t prevent it, either. Her heart pounded dangerously hard and loud until she was sure she was in the midst of a heart attack. Her vision hazed until she struggled to focus. Her throat constricted. She struggled to gain control of herself.

  Dags let out a disappointed sound. “I was hoping to enlist you to assist us, but perhaps you need a few days leave first. To calm yourself.”

  She was too busy staring at the hard-eyed woman and not busy enough paying attention to the part of her brain that started speaking. “I was considering requesting a pass to go down to Jupiter…”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Andrewson said, her neutral tone not matching the glare in her eyes. “Since you are not a registered citizen yet and an important witness to yesterday’s unfortunate events, perhaps it would be best if you took your time off here.”

  She nodded, her guts still churning. “I’m in no rush to see Jupiter.”

  Dags glared at Captain Andrewson, who seemed unaffected. His features softened slightly when he turned back to Rebecca. “Thank you, Miss St. Martin. I’m sorry we bothered you. Please complete the leave request forms and have your VA send them directly to me.”

  Rebecca stood and inclined her head at him. “May I complete the forms later today?”

  “Of course.”

  Rebecca looked the woman who reminded her too much of her dead ex and said, in a timid voice, “It was nice to meet you.”

  Captain Andrewson gave her a barely perceptible incline of her head before turning to Dags and asking if there was anywhere decent to get smoked meat buns.

  “Second level vendor,” Rebecca said automatically.

  “What did you say?” Captain Andrewson demanded.r />
  Rebecca cringed at the woman’s tone. It was too much like Kat’s that last night, the night Rebecca told her to take her things and get out. She steadied herself as best as she could, vertigo and all, and said, “The second level vendors have an entire machine that’s just smoked meat buns. The only other place is the lower food court, but that’s an hour walk from here, and they’re real buns, so they cost a fortune.”

  “You can take the officer lift straight to level two. It’s faster than the public elevators,” Dags said to Andrewson. To Rebecca he said, “Good day, Miss St. Martin. I’ll look for those forms this afternoon.”

  With that, Rebecca hurriedly left the office and got as far away from the officer wing and security as possible. She needed the safety of her pod and her bed. She needed to stare at familiar walls in solitude until she was certain Kat’s ghost wasn’t haunting her.

  That woman wasn’t Kat.

  Rebecca repeated those words the entire way back to her pod, not even bothering to stop to speak to anyone. She just kept her head down and walked at the briskest pace she could manage without breaking into a full run.

  It had been years since she’d last seen Kat, and she didn’t have a photograph, but she knew. She knew. This woman’s eyes were not symmetrical and her nose was straight. Kat’s nose had been crooked with a bump on it from having it broken in a car accident when she was a teenager. She’d never gotten around to having plastic surgery on it, since it wasn’t affecting her breathing enough to get it paid for under provincial healthcare, not even when she’d moved to Nova Scotia.

  Did Nova Scotia even exist anymore? Was Halifax still there? Or the Bluenose?

  Stop it, Rebecca. That is the path of madness.

  Rebecca crashed into her pod and locked the door behind her. She squeezed her eyes and said the alphabet in her head. Then counted to ten. Then counted backwards. It didn’t help. She opened the storage door under her bed and pulled out a fruit juice from her emergency food supplies. She sipped at the little packet and tried counting once more.

  Her VA interrupted her. “Rebecca, you have one message. It is from the same email address as the books. It has audio.”