Traitor (Rebel Stars Book 2)

by Edward W. Robertson

  Kansas closed on him. She was still holding the gun and its scent was vaguely offensive, almost flatulent. Outside of spacecraft, guns were illegal on the Locker, but he supposed that was not the biggest issue at the moment.

  "I don't have a lot of time, Ced," she said. "Make a choice. Help me out, or leave the Dragons."

  "Can you at least tell me—"

  "Three. Two. One—"

  "I'm in." He glanced back into the reception room, ensuring it was empty, then closed the door. The lock sealed with a beep. "What do you need?"

  "I knew they hadn't squeezed the fight out of you." She grinned, then pocketed the gun and got out her device. "Call Landon Furley."

  "The pole?" He got out his device.

  "Don't use yours. Use the admiral's."

  He moved to the desk, stepping around the body. The admiral's eyes were open, staring stupidly. Ced's horror had faded. He'd envisioned the admiral dead on many occasions. The man had deserved it—he had actively exploited children—but seeing the body, Ced felt an unwanted weight on his shoulders.

  Ced swept open the dead man's device and ran a quick search of his listings, bringing up Landon Furley. Kansas held up a finger, stopping him before he put the call through. She lifted her device to her face.

  "Testing," Garnes' voice said. "I am one dead son of a bitch."

  Ced whirled, but the body was still. Kansas burst into laughter, waggling her device, which was processing her voice to imitate the admiral. "Well? Give Mr. Furley a ring. Sound-only, needless to say."

  He did as told. After a moment, the connection went live.

  "Furley?" Kansas said, her device spitting out her words in Garnes' much deeper voice. "I need to chat with you."

  "And I need a divorce," a bass voice answered. "What do you want?"

  "It's the Halder matter. How's tonight?"

  "After dinner. Fair warning: I will be drunk."

  "I'm sending two of my financial people first," Kansas said. "They'll go through the options with you. Once I get there, we'll discuss whichever you like best."

  "And here I thought you'd drag your heels on this," Furley said. "How's 10 PM?"

  "See you then." She made a cutting gesture at Ced.

  He hung up. Raised an eyebrow. "The Halder matter?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  "Furley is—was—in Garnes' pocket. Do you really think you can talk him into hopping into yours? After what you've done?"

  "The poles are no different from a steak or a cruiser. They can be bought by anyone with the money." She pocketed her device. "Now. Who's in charge of cleaning up the bodies around here?"

  "No one." Ced didn't know whether to grin or puke. "But I have the feeling we'd better assign someone."

  * * *

  The car wound through the park. Eerie purple light glowed from the underside of leaves and branches, filtering to the ground. The air smelled like fruit and yeast. Ced knew the smell and the glow was from bacteria of some kind, but had no idea why it was stuck to the trees. Some inscrutable rich person thing.

  To either side of the road, trees shot two hundred feet into the air, as high as most towers. Lights shined from the apartments built into the boughs. The car turned, arriving at a metal gate. Ced's device pinged as the gate identified him, determined he was expected, and rolled open. Individual homes rose on both sides of the street. The car ambled up a driveway and parked itself in front of a black glass edifice.

  Kansas gazed up the steps at the doors. "Don't talk unless you have to. I've got this one."

  As if he needed the reminder. Back at the office, Garnes' killing had been received with more enthusiasm than shock. Some of them had been expecting it. A handful of his loyal officers had protested furiously. They'd gone quiet in a hurry when the troopers in blue and white armor had stormed in behind Kansas. Nobody seemed to know exactly what was going on, yet the coup went off as if it had been choreographed like the dancing animals in the movies Ced had watched as a kid. Somehow, Kansas had seized the Dragons. And that was that.

  He exited into the yeasty-smelling air. Kansas loped up the steps. His device pinged again and the front doors slid open. A disembodied feminine voice informed them Mr. Furley awaited them in the den at the rear of the house. Kansas moved through the dim rooms like she'd been there before. Everything was glass or metal or wood.

  Three steps descended to a sunken room filled with stuffed chairs, glass coffee tables, and shelves of trinkets. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on a stone patio and a dark lawn.

  A man rose from one of the chairs. His black hair swept back from a sharp widow's peak. He was in his fifties, but his skin was smooth, with the shiny look of treatments.

  He extended his hand. "Landon Furley. And you are?"

  "Are you alone?" Kansas said.

  "Like I need my wife knowing how much I'm pulling in?" He raised an eyebrow. "You two look a little young for financial wizards."

  "That's because we're not. My name is Kansas Carruth."

  "If you're not with finance—" He angled his head, staring into her eyes. "Did you say Carruth?"

  "Good. Then I don't need to explain."

  His eyes went wide. "I don't know who you're with. But if you do this, Admiral Garnes will cut off your hands and feet. Then your eyelids. Then—"

  "Garnes is dead," Kansas said. "I'm going to give you three seconds."

  "To do what?"

  "To understand there's no way out."

  He bared his teeth and ran to his left. Kansas leveled a pistol and shot him in the ribs. He crashed to the lush white carpet and pulled himself up on his elbows. She stepped on his spine and shot him in the back of the head.

  "Stop!" Ced yelled. "We're in this man's house!"

  "A house built with the blood of the Locker," she said evenly. "Seems fair it should get his blood in return."

  He grabbed her shoulder, twisting her to face him. "Next time you want to make me accessory to murder, how about you ask?"

  "What did you think we were going to do? Share cucumber sandwiches?"

  "I thought you were going to turn him. Let him know he had a new boss. You just killed a pole! Do you know what the others are going to do to us?"

  "They're going to do whatever I tell them to. Now get your damn hand off me."

  He dropped it, breathing hard. "You can't kill your way to the top. The other crews will hit you like the Panhandler."

  "I have no intention of turning this station into a bloodbath." She put away her pistol, moved to the corpse, and sat on its back. She patted Furley's rump. "Do you know who he was?"

  "One of the most powerful civilians on the Locker."

  "My parents were politicians, too. Not for the bribes. Because they believed. They were going to reform the care debts. Up the minimum age for enlistment. When Furley understood what this was going to do to his kickbacks, he had them killed."

  Ced rubbed his mouth. "And he got away with it?"

  She smiled, drier than moon dust. "They like to make us think the Locker's orphans all come from pirates who never made it home. That's how they cover up all the killing they do here on the ground."

  "Do you know about my mom? Did she really die on a flight?"

  "As far as I know." She sprawled her legs, still seated on Furley's back. "Accidents happen."

  He wandered closer. A minute ago, he'd been so angry he could have punched her, but now he just felt confused. "What's going on here, Kansas? What's the plan?"

  "Told you."

  "How did you take over the Dragons so fast? It was like they were waiting for you."

  "They were." She laughed wryly. "Isn't hard to get people to turn on a tyrant."

  "What about the rest of the Locker? The other crews aren't going to throw themselves at your feet."

  "Some of them have already been taken care of. Replaced by people more sympathetic to our cause."

  "How are you doing this?" he said. "You're just a spacer. Where is all this power coming from?"


  Her shoulders shook. At first he thought she was laughing, but then a sob pierced the quiet of the den.

  "He's dead." She laced her fingers into Furley's bloody hair and lifted his limp head. "Do you know how long I've wanted this?"

  "Where's his security? How are you going to keep the other poles off you?"

  "You don't have to worry about that. Or anything else." She stood, silver eyes crackling with the thrill of conquering. "Not as long as you're with me."

  She pressed herself against him, finding his mouth with hers. His heart raced harder than it had when she'd shot Garnes. He dug his nails into her back. She tore off his jacket, running her hands up his stomach to his chest. Her fingertips were sticky with Furley's blood, but Ced was far too gone to care.

  * * *

  He lay naked on the white rug. Her body stretched against him, skin slick with sweat. Three feet to his left, the politician's corpse stared at him.

  "We have to end it," he said. "The care debts. If you're taking over, you can't leave these people as your slaves."

  "Way ahead of you." Kansas bounced to her feet and snagged her underwear from a coffee table. Firm muscles shifted under smooth skin. He drank in the image, unsure he'd ever see it again. She came and went like a storm. She slid her underwear up to her hips, gazing down at him. "Get your pants on. We've got work to do."

  Outside, two men and a woman stood under a tree. Ced tensed, then recognized Marly. She glanced between Ced and Kansas and smirked.

  Back at the office, Kansas made call after call, starting with the smaller crews and working her way up to the top. She spoke breezily, like she'd already been in contact with them. When they objected to her demands, though—she was calling a crew-wide meeting on uber-short notice—Kansas had no problem making her point by yelling.

  Less than 24 hours later, they rolled up to a windowless white building. Neutral ground, with a security system meant to eliminate any chance of surveillance or weaponry. After passing through the elaborate scans, Ced put on the house-provided white coveralls and followed Kansas into a conference room.

  And found it filled with nearly every admiral on the Locker.

  Legs Morozo, of the Blight, sat next to Dee Winters, admiral of the Sabers. To her left, Arman Frank, commander of the Blackwings—the Locker's single largest crew—looked vaguely annoyed. In all, more than twenty crews were represented, including the leaders of the Orcs and Spartans, the Dragons' neighboring rivals.

  "Thank you for coming." Kansas stood at the head of the table, easily the youngest person in the room besides Ced. "If you haven't already heard, I've assumed command of the Dragons."

  "Whoopee," Dee Winters drawled. "Tell me you didn't drag us out here to brag."

  "I'll get right to it. As of today, I'm eliminating the care debt from my crew."

  Eyebrows raised. Jaws dropped. Venner, the Orcs' admiral, pointed across the table. "You have much to learn. Striking the debt is illegal."

  "Keep up with current events, fool. Your pet pole is dead. So are the days of bribery and collusion."

  Dee bulged her cheek with her tongue. "You really did it, didn't you? I didn't think you'd have the balls."

  "I considered outlawing the debt station-wide," Kansas said. "But I thought it would be more fun to force you to reach that decision for yourselves."

  Venner's expression roiled. "How do you intend to accomplish that?"

  "Once the Dragons start offering fair terms rather than a slave job, good luck getting any recruits to sign with you."

  He stood, chair scraping. "Would you like to start a war? How long do you think you can stand by yourself?"

  Kansas laughed. "I'm not alone. Want to test me? Then I'll see you in the streets."

  "Sit down," Arman Frank said. Venner blinked and obeyed. Arman turned to Kansas. "We had a system. We worked together. And the Locker prospered."

  "Those on high feasted on the lowly. Resulting in shit rolling downhill. Before the care debts, the crews managed just fine. I'm sure you'll find a way to soldier on."

  "We give these kids homes. Stability. Opportunity."

  Kansas stared with bald contempt. "They make you rich before you pay them their first cent. Then you use the threat of more debt to keep them on, stealing away their chance to test the market. I've run the numbers. Most would be better off spending their lives at civilian jobs."

  "Those profits go into more ships. Ships that protect the Locker from being smashed by corporate fleets."

  "I'm shaking in my fucking boots." She gazed across the assembly of admirals. "I could have done this in secret. But I don't aim to destroy you. By giving fair warning, I mean to prove I have nothing against working together—but I will never put the good of my pockets above the good of the Locker."

  She turned and walked out. A few of the others followed her, mostly from smaller crews. Ced waited at a respectful distance. As she spoke to the other leaders one on one, Kansas' body language alternated between enthusiasm and annoyance. In time, she finished up and rejoined Ced. They gathered their things from the safety lockers and headed to the garage where their car had parked.

  "I'm already getting sick of asking you what's going on," he said once they were under way. "But I'll try one more time. How do you expect to stand against all the other crews?"

  "How much do you know about inter-crew politics?" Kansas said.

  "Less than I thought. To me, it feels like we're always fighting. Back there, you talked like we're one big happy family."

  "We only fight when there's no other way to make money. Most times, it's more profitable to collude. The poles pass just enough laws to make it look aboveboard, but on the important matters, they do whatever the crews pay them to do. On matters where the crews aren't in one hundred percent agreement, they can usually get the dissenters to agree by promising concessions the next time they're at the table."

  "So there are cracks."

  "It's a shattered glass held together by the bloodless hand of greed."

  Ced gave her a look. "If this revolution thing fails, are you planning a backup career as a poet?"

  She glanced across the car. Shadows and bands of light poured through the window, fighting for control of her face. "The Dragons are now the third-largest crew on the Locker. The second-largest, Dark Star, just received a new leader. Compliments of me. They're loyal. The Sabers are with us, too, mostly to pull weight with the Trojans, who are behind us all the way. Now, the Blackwings will buck, and maybe they'll pull the Blight and a few second-tier crews. Within the majors, then, we're evenly matched."

  "But the minors will all side with us," he said slowly. She watched him, waiting for him to go on. "Because they've never been able to outbid the big guns, have they? They've been itching for reform."

  "They'll be with us all the way. When disruption comes, those at the top are always most vulnerable. The Blackwings will fight hard to keep from falling." Kansas grinned, a deep shadow darkening everything but her eyes and teeth. "Bring your umbrella. When they hit the street, it's gonna get messy."

  A minute later, her device went crazy. She thumbed through the messages with a dull look on her face.

  "What's up?" Ced said. "Congratulations from the other crews?"

  "Not exactly." Another message beeped into existence. "There's been a coup back at home base."

  "Yet you sit there like you just heard lunch has been rescheduled?"

  "I didn't say it was a good coup."

  At South Street, they rode the elevator up to Garnes' former office in the middle of the building. In reception, a team of troopers in body armor stood around a closed door.

  A woman retracted her visor and saluted. "Three of them. They've locked themselves in. Do you want us to breach it?"

  Wrath flickered in Kansas' eyes. She shook her head. "I'll handle this." She stepped past the line of guards and pounded her fist on the door. "Who's in there? Joseffs?"

  "Damn straight," a man called from the office. "You think
you can roll in here and take everything? Well, we've taken it back."

  "Taken what? A room with a desk in it? That office isn't what gives you power, you idiot. Power is out here, with the people. And they're with me."

  The man was silent a moment. "Well, we're not coming out."

  Kansas rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "If you really want to feel like you stood up for something, I can wait for dehydration to do its thing. You want to actually accomplish something, though? Step outside and work for me—or leave the Dragons with my blessing."

  "You're not mad?"

  "I told you, Joseffs, I've already won. You can choose to be a part of that. Or you can get the hell out."

  The door cracked open. When no hails of gunfire ensued, the door opened wider, revealing three sheepish-looking officers.

  "We have decided," Joseffs said, "to assist you in this time of transition."

  "Wonderful," Kansas said. "Your first order is to get drunk. Tonight, we party." She turned and walked away.

  Ced jogged beside her. "Congratulations on not shooting them."

  "Thought I'd try it your way for once." Her expression softened. "I'm not a monster. Garnes and Furley, that wasn't about having fun. It was about cutting out the cancer so the body can heal."

  She wasn't kidding about the party. Ced spent the rest of the day alerting the crew and arranging logistics. Kansas had barely been back from the vacuum for a full day, but already she'd rubbed out Garnes, set up a showdown between the Locker's biggest crews, and was about to throw a celebratory blowout. It was as though she'd been planning her ascendancy for years. Or else, now that she'd achieved it, she couldn't slow down for a moment, or her hold would slip.

  The Dragons had a few people out in space, and a handful of others needed to stay on the streets or the net, wary of incursion from the Blackwings. Minus those members, however, the entire crew of four hundred people had assembled on the roof by eight that evening. People milled about, grabbing anxiously at passing trays of snacks and booze.

  The lights arranged around the edges of the roof dimmed. People gasped. At the far side, the rectangle of a device lit up, illuminating the angles of Kansas' face. She wore a traditional admiral's coat, thigh-length with a flared collar, blue fabric trimmed with white and studded with silver buttons.