Traitor (Rebel Stars Book 2)

by Edward W. Robertson

  In the morning, a different man in an identical uniform brought him food. After Ced finished eating, and the man had taken his tray away, a woman's voice piped in from the ceiling.

  "Good morning, Cedrick." Her voice was soothing and it had a nice accent, like she was smarter than most people. "Are you feeling all right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Would you stand for me?" the woman said. He did. "Thank you. Would you like to do some jumping jacks?"

  Ced glanced up at the ceiling. "Huh?"

  "Jumping jacks. Twenty of them. Count down, please?"

  He did as he was told.

  "Very good. Now pushups. Ten, please."

  He got down on the floor, but he wasn't used to exercising and his arms gave out after his seventh one. "I'm sorry."

  "That's fine," the smart-sounding woman said. "Jog, please?"

  Feeling stupid, he jogged in a circle around the table. After a few more exercises, the woman said, "Thank you. You may be seated."

  His heart calmed. A few minutes later, her voice returned. She ran him through the same set of exercises as before. At the end, she thanked him again and instructed to sit.

  "What's going on?" he said.

  "We are merely monitoring your health. Everything will be fine, Ced."

  As the day progressed, she repeated his exercises over and over. After eight or nine times, he could still run and do jumping jacks okay, but his arms were tired from pushups. Once in a while, a second voice would ask him a few questions, but these voices were always different from each other.

  After a few hours, he was given more and more rest between sessions. Finally, the woman said, "Thank you, Ced. That will be all for today."

  He'd done everything she asked. But for some reason, she sounded disappointed.

  The second day started off a lot like the first. The exercise sessions thinned out much faster, though. By noon, they stopped altogether.

  "Thank you, Ced," the woman said. "You won't have to exercise again."

  "I thought you're supposed to exercise every day."

  She laughed, weary but surprised. "That's right, Ced. Every day. But I'm sad to say your time with us is up. After today, you'll be reassigned to…" She trailed off. He waited. "Actually, it turns out we'd like you to exercise one more time. Do you mind, Ced?"

  By now, he knew the routine well enough to go through it without being prompted. He finished, tired and sweaty, gazing straight ahead.

  "You're kind of scrawny," a new voice said. He was a man and he sounded like he'd just heard a good joke.

  "Sorry," Ced said.

  "Not much spirit, either."

  Ced said nothing.

  "Listen, kid, you got any other tricks? You like flight sims? Can you do long division in your head? Tap dance? Shake paws?"

  "No," he said.

  "Everyone can do something. What can you do? Besides bounce around this cage like a trained monkey?"

  "Well." Ced stared at the place in the ceiling the voices were coming from. "I know the Locker better than anybody."

  "That so?" The man chuckled. "Where's the Twig Building?"

  "That's easy. Hart Street. Right on Pitts Park."

  "That was easy. Try this one: Mario's Cantina."

  Ced thought a moment. "I've seen that one. It's near Drent Station."

  "Bzzt, wrong. It's a couple blocks away."

  "I said near."

  "Partial credit." The man continued to quiz him. Ced didn't get every question right—he suspected some of the places the man asked about weren't even real—but he knew most of them. After a few minutes, the man said, "Does he have a device in there?"

  "I assure you," the woman said, "such things are not allowed."

  "Well, I'll be. Thanks, kid. See you soon."

  * * *

  He never saw the woman with the smart-sounding voice. A few hours later, a husky man came for him, led him to a car. Ced asked where they were going, but the man didn't answer. The car drove itself through the Locker's streets, pulling to the curb outside a beige apartment building that looked slightly nicer than the ones around it. Ced's door opened. The man got out too.

  On the sidewalk, Ced reached for the husky man's hand. The man looked surprised, but didn't pull away. They entered the white doors. Inside, boys and girls dressed in blue and white stared at Ced, gazes dropping to his hand. Ced released his grip.

  They took an elevator to the sixth floor. The husky man left Ced in a reception room and went into the office beyond. Ced sat in a chair, swinging his feet. The man walked back into reception and jerked a thumb at the office door.

  Ced slid off his chair and entered the office. A young man with slicked-back hair sat in the windowsill, feet propped on his desk. He wore a blue shirt with two white stripes running up the left side of his chest.

  "What's up, kid?" The man's voice was familiar. He was the one who'd grilled Ced on the Locker's geography. Ced had pictured him much older; this guy was barely grown up. "Have a seat."

  Ced sat in a chair that was much too large for him. "Where am I? If something happened, I was supposed to go to my Aunt Amanda's."

  The man scrunched his face in a wry smile. "Bad news, kid. Your Aunt Amanda is broke. Either that or she just doesn't care."

  Ced had once seen a man fall in the street for no good reason. He'd cracked his skull on the sidewalk and blood rushed out like it had been waiting to be set free. That's what it felt like now. Except the sidewalk was his mom, and the blood was tears. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't do anything to stop it.

  In the windowsill, the man's grin ran away. "Hey. I'm sorry, kid."

  "My name—" Ced choked. The back of his throat was salty. "My name isn't 'kid.' It's Ced."

  "Hello, Ced. I'm Benson. As to where you are, you've been crewed. Do you know what that means?"

  Hiccuping, Ced shook his head.

  "You have been successfully bid on by the South Street Dragons. You're working with us for the duration of your contract. Contracts last for six years or until the employee is eighteen years old, whichever's longer."

  "But that's eleven years for me."

  "Excellent, you're a mathematician as well as a cartographer." He tapped his nails against the windowsill. "Is it fair, this system we've got? I don't know. I do know our crew is absorbing a significant financial burden to keep you off the street. Providing invaluable job training, too."

  Ced shifted in the chair. "But after my contract's up, I can leave?"

  Benson shrugged. "On your eighteenth birthday, if the Dragons want to extend your contract, you'll have the option to join as a full member. At that point, you'll draw salary. You'll also need to repay the Dragons for the costs of living you accrued during your pre-employment. It's called a care debt."

  "And if I don't want to stay?"

  "Then you'll have the option to join another crew, or to leave the business altogether. If you do that, however, on top of remunerating the Dragons for your care, you'll take on the responsibility of paying them to find and train your replacement." Benson swung a foot off the desk and smiled toothily. "But that's a long ways off. Right now, your only worry is learning the ropes."

  "Am I going to have to do crimes?"

  "Listen, kid—Ced—I'm not going to pretend like every crew is squeaky clean. But you don't have to worry about that for a long time, either. How about we get you settled in?"

  He hopped down from the window and showed Ced where he'd be staying, a two-bedroom apartment currently housing three other boys. There was a screen in the common room, but not in the bedrooms. At least it had its own bathroom. After that, Benson took him down to the cafeteria, a sprawling room that took up most of the north face of the third floor. Last, he showed Ced to studies, a bank of rooms on the fourth floor they could use to work on their assignments. It had net access, too, but the devices were set into the desks, and Benson said there was a lot of stuff you couldn't get to.

  He took Ced back to his apartment and withdre
w a tiny device. "This is your ID. It'll give you your schedule and assignments. Don't think you'll have any of those for a few days. In the meantime, get used to your new digs. If you've got any problems, come see me, okay?"

  Ced accepted the little device. "Okay."

  Benson smiled down at him. "You might be thinking you don't want to be here. That it would be pretty easy to run away. You're right—it would be easy to run. But you will be found."

  He clapped Ced on the shoulder and walked away.

  His roommates were all gone, and there was nothing to do in his room, so Ced went down to studies and fooled around on the net. Other kids came and went. Some wore blue and white, some wore street clothes, and others wore bland gray stuff like him. Nobody paid him any mind.

  His device pinged. Dinnertime. He walked downstairs and into the cafeteria, which was now crowded and noisy. He got in line and picked up a tray. The workers made him scan his ID, then gave him a pile of yellow stuff, a pile of green stuff, and a sausage sandwich. No one invited him to sit, so he plunked down at an empty table.

  A hand darted in and plucked up his sandwich. A boy walked away, chowing down. He was about ten years old and his head was shaved on the sides. A few people were watching Ced, faces blank. The boy didn't look back. Not wanting to cause trouble on his very first day, Ced ate his sludge and went back to his room.

  In the morning, when he went down to eat, the boy with the half-shaved head took his bagel. Nobody said anything. The boy stole from him so casually. Was this how they did things here? Then what was to stop them from taking everything on his tray? Face burning with anger and embarrassment, he ate what he had left as fast as he could.

  Benson found him after breakfast. Ced thought it was going to be about the sandwich and the bagel, but Benson had an assignment. He wanted Ced to take a pack to Urden Fountain. A girl named Yak would be going with him.

  "This is going to be real simple," Benson said. "Walk to the bench on the north end of the fountain. Sit down and put the package beside you. Wait there until our contact arrives to pick up the package."

  "Then what?"

  "Then nothing," Benson said. "Then you come home."

  "What does Yak do?"

  "Makes sure you don't screw up."

  "What's in the package?" Ced said.

  "A python with a real sweet tooth for little kids," Benson said. "So whatever you do, don't open it. Now go on."

  Ced left with Yak. The street felt funny, foreign. At least the pack was light. Not that he'd believed Benson about the python, but it was still a relief that the package wasn't moving, either. He went down to the tube and got on the shuttle. Thinking Yak was called that because she was a barfer, he edged away from her every time the shuttle lurched, but over the course of the day, he came to suspect it was a joke about how she never, ever said anything.

  He got to the fountain, sat on the bench, and set down the pack. After a while, a woman sat down, picked up the pack as she thumbed through her device, and walked off. Ced and Yak rode back to the Dragons' building.

  "That was easy," he told Benson.

  Benson raised an eyebrow. "Would you prefer something difficult and dangerous?"

  Ced looked away and shook his head.

  At dinner, they served meatballs. Ced hadn't eaten much real meat before, but he'd had enough to know he liked it. He'd only taken two bites when the boy appeared at his table and speared one of his meatballs.

  "What are you doing?" Ced said.

  "Eating." The boy took a big bite, smearing his mouth red. "What's it look like?"

  "That's mine."

  He chewed some more. "Evidence suggests otherwise."

  One of his friends smirked down at Ced. "You're such a fish."

  "Huh?" Ced said.

  "Letting him punk you. You don't deserve to eat." The second boy grabbed a meatball with his bare hand and walked off.

  Ced looked around for help, but the only person who was watching was a girl a couple years older than him. She had dark hair and eyes he'd swear were silver. Face burning, he looked down at his half-empty plate.

  Someone sat down across from him. His heart leaped, but it wasn't the boy who'd been menacing him. This boy was about Ced's age, wearing the same drab, gray clothing.

  "That's Dapp." The boy gazed at the ground. "Best to give him what he wants. If you try to fight back, he'll just take more."

  A finger of heat poked into Ced's belly. "Why don't they stop him?"

  The boy started to say something, then sighed and walked away.

  After dinner, Ced went to Benson's office. He had to wait in reception for forty minutes until Benson was free.

  "Someone's taking my food at meals," Ced said. "His name is Dapp."

  Benson stared like Ced had told him he'd seen a leprechaun in the bathroom."So?"

  "So it's mine! I'm hungry!"

  "Then do something about it. This is the Locker. You're on a crew. If you're going to survive out on the street, you have to learn to protect what's yours."

  The finger of heat poked Ced again, digging deeper into his stomach until he thought he might puke. As he headed to his room, he grew angrier than he'd ever been. He didn't know where it had come from, or why he was feeling mad now instead of when Dapp was gobbling down meatballs.

  But it felt kind of good.

  The next morning, as he got his breakfast, Ced scanned the cafeteria. Dapp was with his friends and they were already glancing at Ced. Ced got his food and sat. Footsteps came up behind him.

  "Hey fish—"

  He stood, whirling his tray through the air, spraying hot coffee and mush over Dapp. Dapp swatted at a mug. Ced swung the side of his tray into Dapp's temple as hard as he could.

  Dapp flinched and fell, crying out. Tears sprung up in his eyes. Kids of all ages bolted from their seats, rushing toward the action like the carp in ponds when you threw bread in the water. Seeing all their eyes on him, their smiles and their laughter, Dapp's tan face went bright red.

  As he moved to stand, Ced hit him in the head again. And again. Dapp threw up his arms, flailing at the tray, but Ced smashed him in the fingers and Dapp pulled his hands away. Revealing his head. Which Ced hit another time. Dapp's eyes rolled. The next hit, blood popped from his nose like a firework.

  Ced's feet swooped from the ground. Strong arms carried him away. He kicked out, trying to reach Dapp with his toe, but Dapp was sprawled out, unmoving. A sea of faces watched Ced get carried away. He only saw two: Dapp, unconscious, and the girl with the silver eyes. She was smiling.

  So was he.

  * * *

  This time, Benson wasn't seated on the window. He was behind his desk and his eyes were as serious as an old dog's. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

  "Yep," Ced said. "I beat the crap out of him."

  "You put him in the hospital. Gave him a concussion. Why did you do that?"

  "Because he was a punk fish who was stealing my food."

  Benson burst out laughing, then covered his mouth with his hand. "You can't do this sort of thing. You can't beat someone with a tray."

  "You told me you wouldn't help me. That I had to look out for myself. So I did."

  "Next time, try to do so without knocking out quite so many teeth." Benson sighed deeply and leaned over the desk. "Is everything okay with you?"

  Ced stared back at him, jaw quivering. "They never told me what happened to my mom."

  The man blinked. "Well, she…there was an accident. On the flight."

  "Was her ship attacking people?"

  "A drone freighter. There was nobody onboard. This job, these things happen. I'm very sorry."

  "Is there a funeral?" Ced said. Benson shook his head. Ced nodded and lowered his eyes. "She was saving money. To get me away from here. What happened to it?"

  "It's in a trust. When you turn eighteen, if you stick with us, it's yours. If not, it goes to pay down your debt." Benson exhaled slowly through his nose. "This is pretty serious, Ced.
One of the bossmen, she thinks you're more trouble than you're worth."

  Seated in his chair, Ced's feet dangled above the floor. He didn't always understand what was happening around him, but that moment clarified like the screen of a device snapping on. This was the second lesson. People acted like they wanted you to take care of things for yourself. But they didn't, not really.

  Because when you did what you needed to, sometimes you did things that scared them.

  "I thought crews want to be trouble," Ced said.

  "We want people who can be trouble to others. Which requires control. However, since I'm brilliant, I have a solution to all our problems. I'm putting you in our martial arts program."

  "Martial arts?"

  "You know. Kung fu, karate chops, kicking trees down in slow motion. We've got a Rainese knife-fighting class here. Learn that, and none of the other kids will want to mess with you. It'll teach you discipline, too—and help you blow off some steam."

  The idea of knives unnerved him, but he liked the thought of being able to defend himself. His first practice was the next day, a concrete room in the second basement. Mats lined the floor. Mirrors covered one wall. His instructor was fat and old, but the man's hands moved as quickly as birds, and struck the pads with echoing thumps. Ced didn't see any knives anywhere.

  Mostly, it was other kids, some even younger than Ced. A speckle of grownups, too. But even the five-year-olds were better than he was. His hands wouldn't do what he told them to do.

  "Kansas," the instructor said during individual drills. "Show Ced the first five steps of the first form, will you?"

  The silver-eyed girl detached from the row of trainees and walked up to Ced. "You're doing it wrong." She grabbed Ced's elbow and forced it up an inch. "Your guard's no good down there. You'll never protect your face in time."

  He tried again. She nodded, grudgingly, then moved onto the next step, pointing out four flaws in his technique.

  "It was cool what you did," Kansas said as he struggled with the second move. "Taking Dapp out like that."

  "I hurt him pretty bad," Ced said.

  "Yeah. And it was cool."