Traitor (Rebel Stars Book 2)

by Edward W. Robertson

  If Marcus knew about the Carlton woman, he must have known about her silence. Rada had no idea how she was supposed to break that streak, but she was getting used to her role as ridiculous-situation-solver.

  Now and then the car passed another vehicle, but traffic, like everything else in the waning habitat, was light, and she cruised through with minimal stops. The buildings ahead thinned. The ground climbed. You didn't often see hills in a habitat, and Rada didn't know what was stranger: the slopes, or the fact she was crossing into a…what would you call it? A country lane? Rather than space-effective towers, single homes dotted the hill, with open grass and unmanicured trees between them. White fences separated the properties. She couldn't remember seeing a neighborhood like this outside of Earth.

  The car turned down a narrow lane, the shadows of leaves dappling the windshield. Rada came to a stop in front of a white three-story house with an arched roof, wall-sized windows, and an expansive porch, overhang propped up by white columns. She got out, stopped by a buzzing sound. Was the car still running? Wait—the noise came from crickets.

  She gave herself a moment to quit being freaked out by all the nature, then climbed the porch and thumbed the doorbell. It made no sound. There were few things more awkward than standing on a stranger's doorstep when you weren't sure their bell was working.

  As she reached to knock, a woman's voice croaked from a hidden speaker. "What do you want?"

  "To talk," Rada said.

  "Go away."

  "It's about Edi."

  A long pause. "I said go away."

  "Ms. Carlton." Rada lifted her face to the overhang. Cobwebs snarled the corners where the joists projected from the walls. Had someone brought spiders to Quarry on purpose? "What happened here—I think it's about to spread across the System."

  The woman paused again. The silence stretched for three seconds, then five. As Rada cleared her throat, the door swung open. The woman inside was tall yet hunched, her shoulders bent forward like a crumpled can. She was a healthy fiftysomething, but her eyes looked as old as Maya ruins enmeshed in vines.

  "Take it to the Bones already," Carlton said. "Or get off my porch."

  "The vaccine that was used on your daughter. Its technology has been acquired by Valiant Enterprises. They are now part of the most powerful company in the universe."

  "And?"

  Rada searched her eyes. "Why were you so sure it killed your daughter?"

  The woman shrugged her hunched shoulders. "Can't say."

  "23 years ago, you risked your freedom to say it. You said Edi wasn't sick before the treatment. Did you have proof it harmed her?"

  "Can't say."

  Rada forced herself not to glance up at the house. "They bought you off, didn't they? With an NDA. That's why they let you out early."

  Carlton's face contorted with disdain. "Do you think a document could stop me from talking?"

  "I know somewhere we can go. It's safe. No one will be able to hear."

  "If I'm there, nowhere is safe."

  Rada cocked her head. "I don't understand."

  "Do you understand what they put in her?" The woman closed her eyes. When she reopened them, they burned with an emotion Rada knew far too well: the exhausted wrath of someone who can't escape their own skin. Carlton put her hand on the edge of the door. "Besides, even if they weren't listening. Someone who'd made a deal like that—who'd betrayed their own daughter—do you think they could talk about it?"

  "You didn't betray her, Ms. Carlton. The world did. No one can fault you for saving yourself from the wreckage."

  "Except me."

  "Guilt is nothing more than a reminder that you're still alive."

  Something unreadable shifted in the woman's eyes. "Want to land a whale? Bring a bigger spear."

  She breathed in sharply, then slammed the door, as if regretting she'd ever opened it. Rada raised her hand to knock, then turned and walked back to the car.

  Back at the hotel, Webber plied her with questions, but she wouldn't say a word until she'd scanned herself and their room for bugs. Once she was reasonably sure there was nobody eavesdropping, she relayed her conversation with Jeri Carlton.

  "Everything she's got," MacAdams said. "Her house, her freedom—came from the people who killed her little girl?"

  "A real tragedy." Webber paced around the room. "You know what else is tragic? We didn't learn anything. I thought you were Toman's Hammer, Rada. You sure you can't knock something loose here?"

  "Toman's Hammer?" Rada waved a hand. "Nevermind. We can't get anything out of her. I think Valiant's bugged her."

  "So run a scan and root 'em out."

  "They've bugged her. Embedded recording devices in her spine using the same tech they used to inoculate the kids. There's no way to get the devices out without disabling her—or, more likely, killing her."

  Webber pushed out his lower lip. "And if she talks, they take away her shit and toss her back in jail. Now that's an impressive display of evil."

  MacAdams scowled, moved to the suite's kitchen, and unsealed a bottle of bourbon. Apparently they'd made a supply run in her absence.

  "So are we done here? Or do we try to bust into Valiant's lab?" He poured himself a cup, swirling it.

  "The last thing she said," Rada said. "It sounded like code. 'You want to land a whale? Bring a bigger spear.'"

  Webber groaned. "Haven't you spent enough time chasing down gibberish phrases? Here, I'll save you the time."

  He flipped on his device, tapped in a quick search, and held up the results for Rada. There were thousands of them. "See? Common phrase."

  She rolled her eyes. "Sort by date, fool."

  He did so, then looked up, sheepish. "The first recorded use was at Carlton's trial?"

  "Yup. By H/K's lead defense attorney. And guess what? He's retired, but he still lives here."

  Webber had set down his device. He walked to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle from in front of MacAdams, and swigged. "Shall we pay him a not-so-friendly visit?"

  "No need for liquid courage," Rada said. "He's in a retirement facility. He has Flash."

  "Flash? Like, 'my brain is gently disintegrating' Flash? But Flash is treatable."

  "If you have big money. Do you think people with big money wind up in retirement facilities?"

  Webber set down the bottle with a clank. "He was a corporate defense attorney. He could afford his own habitat!"

  "Know what, you're right. Something's funny here." She pulled up directions on her device. "I'm going to go check it out."

  "Are you planning on keeping us in this room for the entire trip?"

  "We can't walk in there together without causing a stink. You look like a Belter pirate and MacAdams looks like the bouncer at a bouncer's club." She nodded at the bottle in his hand. "Besides, you're well equipped to entertain yourselves."

  The car drove her the two miles to the hospice, a nondescript tower with a view of a small park. She'd called ahead with a story about being a friend of a niece. Bit shaky, but apparently the lawyer, Henry Aikens, was happy to see her.

  An orderly took her to his room. It was small and dark, but at least he had it to himself. On the wall screen, a movie showed an old man watching a flag flutter in the wind. There in the bed, another old man rested, eyes closed.

  "Mr. Aikens?" Rada said. "I called to see you?"

  His eyes fluttered open. His skin was heavily wrinkled, pale from long hours indoors, but his blue eyes were lively. "Yes?"

  The orderly touched Rada on the shoulder and stepped out. Rada moved toward the bed. "I know your niece, sir. Gia."

  "Is that you, Aberdeen?" He sat up for a better look. His face crinkled in a deep smile. "I wondered when I'd see you!"

  She smiled back and edged closer, tapping a furtive search into her device. Aberdeen was his daughter. Also a corporate attorney.

  "Hi," she said. "How are you feeling?"

  "Now that you're here? You could hit me with a shovel and I wouldn'
t notice. What brings you?"

  "First, to see how you're doing."

  "But second?"

  "I had some questions," she said. "About business."

  He smiled foxily, leaning forward. "There's my daughter. Something about the Billings case again?"

  "Not that one this time. This is about the work you did for Horton/Kolt."

  "Horton/Kolt?"

  Rada's blood cooled. "H/K? The medical firm?"

  He frowned, peering down the length of his nose, then shook his head. "I can't seem to remember."

  "Dad, you worked for them for almost twenty years. They operated right here on Quarry."

  He began to blink. His hand balled into a fist, knobby knuckles twisting into the bed sheet. Rada thought she smelled urine, but it might have been her imagination.

  "I…I don't think I ever worked for any such place, Aberdeen. You must be mistaken."

  She kneeled beside the bed, reaching for his hand. "Can you try to remember? It's so important."

  "No! I never worked there!" Aikens yanked his hand away, pounding it into the mattress. "Why would you say this? Is that why you came here, to play tricks with my head?"

  Rada stood. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to."

  He swung his head to the side, glaring toward the curtained window. "I think you should leave."

  She headed to the door. As she exited into the hall, she glanced back. Aikens sank back into the bed. He was smiling. His blue eyes looked wolfish.

  Rada's mouth fell open. She strode to his bedside. "This is an act, isn't it? A way to be left alone. If you have Flash, then no one can ask you a thing."

  His smile withered. Lying on his back, a tear slid free from the corner of one eye. "You always were a smart one, Aberdeen."

  "Tell me about Horton/Kolt."

  His mouth worked. He stared at the ceiling. "Where did that damned cat go, Aberdeen? That kitten you had with the orange fur. Your mother couldn't stand that it peed on our bed, but I'd promised you. I told her we could buy a new house if we needed, but she took that cat like a personal insult!"

  Rada prodded him with questions about H/K and his life, but everything he said in response was nonsense. As her frustration boiled over, she excused herself and ran down the facility doctor, a woman named Leeds.

  The doctor didn't look up from her device. "How is Mr. Aikens today?"

  "Fine," Rada said. "A little too fine."

  "He has some days you'd wonder why he's here. But he's missing most of his later life."

  "Doctor, this may sound crazy. But I think he's faking."

  She looked up, blond brow arched in distaste. "That isn't possible."

  "It isn't possible to say you don't remember? To start crying when someone asks you things you don't want to answer? Dr. Leeds—"

  The woman held up a palm, her other hand flying over her device. She held it up to Rada, showing a picture of a brain scan. "This is Mr. Aikens thirty years ago." She flipped to a new image. Small, bright yellow spots appeared across the folds. "This is from when he was admitted here." She continued her little show, scrolling through a dozen other pictures. Each time, the yellow spots enlarged until they threatened to crowd out the gray matter. "Present day. Still think he's faking?"

  Rada's face glowed with heat. "Doesn't he have money? How can you let him go like that?"

  "His finances are minimal. When he arrived, a friend of his offered to pay for his treatment. Mr. Aikens refused."

  The doctor smiled tightly and walked away. Rada gazed down the hall. It smelled like antiseptic and age.

  Back at the hotel, the table was strewn with containers of curry. Flakes of limp green leaves and fried dough snowed the table. Webber and MacAdams both raised their glasses in salute. She supposed she should be annoyed at their lack of effort, but mostly she envied them. She'd been clean for years and no longer really felt the urge to drink. But she did miss the way it felt to sit around a table with a glass in your hand, a smile on your face, and the feeling that every problem was solvable.

  "He's got Flash," she said. "It's so bad I'm surprised he could remember how to speak. I got nothing."

  Webber nodded, regarding her as he sipped a glass of amber liquid. "We anticipated that."

  "Is that what the food is about? Comforting me?"

  "That was about us being starving and having access to company credit. Want a bite?"

  She was about to reject it out of hand, but she was starving, too. She scooped up a plate and dropped into a chair. "Hope you two had a good time while I was out trying to get us somewhere."

  They exchanged a look. MacAdams shook his head subtly.

  Webber scowled. "Sounds like you're doing a real bang-up job out there. Maybe we would be getting somewhere if you actually, you know, let us help?"

  Rada swallowed a bite of curry. It was stupid spicy. "I told you. We needed a light touch on these visits, not a sledgehammer. If you want to get more involved, maybe you should prove you can do more than stand around looking tough."

  "Is that all you think we're good for? Flexing our muscles?"

  "I wouldn't go that far. You're pretty good at flexing your mouth, too."

  Webber stared her in the eye, tapping his index finger on the table. "Do you want to keep insulting us? Or do you want to hear our next move?"

  Rada set down her fork. "Have you got something?"

  "Ah-ah. I'm going to require at least nine hundred percent more begging."

  "Knock it off, Webber," MacAdams said. "Actions speak louder than words."

  "Maybe I want to rub it in with actions and words." He grabbed the last fritter and crunched it in his teeth. "So you think the old man was a dead end. When you hit a dead end, what's Toman's first rule?"

  Rada cocked her head. "Buy whatever's in your way and pave it over?"

  "Okay, what's the second rule?"

  "When in doubt, follow the money."

  "While you were out, we checked in with LOTR to try to find where Henry Aikens' money had gone. Get this: he put it all into foundations. For the health and welfare of Quarry's children. Especially those harmed by vaccination."

  "Holy. Whirling. Shit!"

  Webber scowled again. "Don't act that surprised. You're not the only one who knows how to dig up dirt."

  "It's not that," Rada said. "It's Aikens. He wanted Flash. He wanted to forget. To be rid of the guilt."

  MacAdams chuckled uneasily. "That's top-shelf creepy. Letting your own brain burn out because you couldn't handle what you did?"

  "How did you get this so fast?"

  "I think LOTR upped their financial game after their troubles looking into me." Webber wiped his greasy fingers on the tablecloth. "Or maybe Aikens wanted the info out there. As an ongoing protest against H/K."

  "Adding to the idea they're culpable." Rada chased stray grains of rice across her plate. "So what's that point us to? Someone else to talk to?"

  "You have to think if they went to the trouble to shut up Jeri Carlton, they've silenced everyone else, too. But LOTR found something else. Aikens set up another foundation. On the Locker."

  "Implying H/K—or, these days, Valiant Enterprises—has been up to something there, too? Everything keeps pointing us back to it. Fine time for the entire place to be on lockdown."

  Webber smiled. "Haven't you heard? It's back open for business. We've already booked shuttle tickets out of here."

  Rada glanced between him and MacAdams. "I'm sorry. I know you're here for good reason."

  "FinnTech killed a lot of our friends, too. We want to take 'em down just as much as you do."

  "I hear you. I'll do a better job keeping you involved. If we're headed to the Locker, I expect we'll need all the help we can get."

  She wasn't sure they'd exhausted their avenues on Quarantine, but heading to the Locker would kill two birds with one stone. Other than the attack on the Tine, FinnTech's navy had been quiet. Maybe they thought they'd gotten away with it.

  But if Toman let slip that
FT had been doing business with the Swimmers for decades, including artificial gravity—or if their hunt turned up a new bombshell about Valiant—Thor Finn and Iggi Daniels would come out swinging. If that happened, the Hive would need the Locker at its back.

  They shuttled off Quarry and piled into the Tine, which had been rearmed in their absence. It felt good to be back. For Rada, the ship was home.

  They made way for the outskirts of the System. The Locker might have reopened, but there was still no solid intel on what had closed it. Rumors bloomed like a red tide, but if anything, their profusion made it harder to sift facts from speculation. Rada had very little to brush up on.

  Several days later, they slowed, nearing the converted miniature moon. Security was as tight as ever, escorting them in to port. There, they were checked for firearms. Dressed in red and black, the security officers brought them to a car and requested they climb in the back.

  "There a problem?" Rada said.

  "Our new admiral would like a word with you. Step into the car, please."

  She got in, making Webber sit in the middle. The officers climbed in the front. The car made its way through the vibrant, pedestrian-choked streets. In one depressed neighborhood, a pair of men in red and black uniforms drew her eye. They closed in on a young boy. He looked terrified, but the passersby didn't give the scene a second glance.

  The vehicle came to a stop in front of a gleaming tower. Inside, an elevator delivered them to the top floor. Security took them down a hallway floored with real stone and flung open a pair of gunmetal doors. A room yawned before them. At its far end, a woman walked toward them, her shoes echoing from the stone.

  "Welcome to the Locker." Her voice was as steely as the doors. Her eyes were such a light, shining blue they might have been silver. She regarded the three of them the way Rada had seen some men look at ships they weren't sure would fly. "My name's Kansas. And I've heard a lot about you."

  10

  Kansas crossed the terminal alone. Ced watched from behind a post, cementing the image in his mind. A heavy pack bulged over her shoulder, causing her to list to one side. She'd cut her hair short and choppy. Somehow, this drew out the sharp lines of her cheeks. She didn't look happy, exactly, yet her face was more relaxed than he'd ever seen it.