Traitor (Rebel Stars Book 2) (25 page)

Webber swore so violently Rada was surprised it didn't breach the hull. She couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs.

On the main screen, Toman tried and failed to smile. "I won't give you up. If they come for me, though, I'm not sure I can stop them. If you have any final brilliant schemes, now's the time."

The message switched off.

"That's it?" Webber laughed hollowly. "'Save yourselves'? Didn't we just do that?"

"This is what they've been waiting for," Rada said. "For us to get desperate. To make a mistake. Anything they could use to justify a wide-scale attack."

"Think it'll come to that?" MacAdams said.

"You know it will." Webber's voice had gone grim. "They've already come after the
Tine
. Now, they've got the juice to hit the Hive."

Rada spun her chair away from the screens. "We've got five days until arrival. Let's talk this out. I want options. Solutions."

"Toman struck out with the Earth govs. What about Mars? The moon?"

"Mars will be all too happy to have the Belt pirates cleared out. As for the moon, where Earth goes, they go."

"Okay, then climb a step up the ladder. Enlist some of the other big corps. They can't be pleased to see FinnTech rolling up the System."

"We could try them," Rada said. "But if they support us, they support piracy. FinnTech can declare open war, seize their assets too."

Webber spread his hands wide. "All right, Miss Positivity, what've you got?"

"I don't know. If the big dogs are out of the picture, we could try to build a coalition. Go after any companies and habitats that also see this as a frightening contraction of power."

"In other words, a dream team of small fry and crazy people. Even if we could drum up support, it would take months. Finn won't give us nearly that long."

"So the three of us give ourselves up," MacAdams said.

"Aha," Webber said. "We win the day by…giving them exactly what they want. They'll never see it coming."

"So far, those of us in this ship are the only ones they can pin a pirate flag on. If we give ourselves up, they have to build a new excuse to come at Toman."

"Buying time for him to try to form a coalition," Rada said. "At this point, I don't see any other way we can be useful to the Hive. Are we willing to do this?"

"Whatever it takes," MacAdams said.

Webber squeezed his eyes shut. "Sure I can't just fake my death again?"

"We haven't killed anyone," Rada said. "Or committed any actual piracy. I can't see them holding us for more than a few years." She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. "I hate this. The human race has just made second contact with our mortal enemies—the Swimmers—and no one seems to care."

MacAdams shrugged. "The invasion was so long ago. It'd be like Panhandler-era nations being afraid of Roman-era barbarians. Even in Absolution, people view the aliens as objects of worship. Excuses to wear their scariest gear. It ain't history, it's myth."

"Okay," Webber said slowly. "So we have to make the Swimmers real again."

"We did that," Rada said. "We got video of them."

"Doing what? Talking politely to corporate executives? I'm talking about something people can sink their teeth into."

"Oh. Oh,
no
. Webber!"

Webber grinned. "We have to, don't we? Like, no choice."

"You're right. An idea like that is too good to waste."

MacAdams' goatee stretched with a frown. "Quit with the telepathy and talk."

"It's real simple," Webber said. "We fly into the Kuiper Belt. And get ourselves attacked."

Rada was grinning now, too. "We know the Swimmers are out there. That's why nobody's ever been able to fly out of the System. If we get proof—footage of modern humans being attacked by aliens—the people will finally understand that FinnTech has allied themselves with the enemy."

MacAdams looked unimpressed. "Cool theory. One problem: the reason we didn't know the aliens were there? Everyone who's ever flown out there has disappeared without a trace."

"But none of them were flying with a Motion Arrestor. Maybe it'll be enough to buy us time to broadcast."

"And think if we
do
get through the invisible blockade," Webber said. "We'll be heroes. FinnTech wouldn't dare arrest us. Meanwhile, they'll look like dicks for keeping this tech to themselves. Public opinion hasn't proven to be worth much so far, but it's one of the only advantages we've got."

"And all we have to do to achieve this is risk certain death." MacAdams chugged with laughter. "I love it."

Rada changed course. As the
Tine
soared through a 180-degree loop, she composed a new Needle, firing it sunward toward the Hive.

Toman's reply arrived bare minutes after the minimum travel time. His eyes looked so bleary Rada knew they must have woken him up, yet there was a fire in his gaze that had been absent from his previous message.

"This is completely insane," he said. "But crazy times call for crazy measures. Should I consider myself fortunate or wise to have hired such a foolhardy team?" His smile shrank. "I feel honor-bound to tell you this—to have any chance of success, you should stop and modify the
Tine
's transmitters. Or let me send my entire fleet with you. The former would add roughly six days to your trip. The latter, at least seven. Awaiting your response."

Rada turned to the others. "Either way, including travel time to the Kuiper, we'd miss FinnTech's deadline. The Hive will be attacked before we have our footage. And if he sends us the fleet, he'll be defenseless."

"Right," Webber said. "Tell him thanks, but no thanks."

Toman's response to that arrived precisely three hours later. "Figured you'd say that. In that case, I have gifts for you. Keep me posted."

The Needle bore two hefty attachments. The first included instructions for how to upgrade their transmission capability using materials they already had on board. Not all of this could be done with the
Tine
's automated systems, but MacAdams and Webber thought they could handle the rest.

The second attachment was a combat simulator. A sandbox. Plug in whatever capabilities you wanted the enemy to have, and you could pilot the
Tine
against this vessel in virtual space. Considering Rada had no idea of the Swimmers' combat ability, she wasn't sure how valuable this would be, but if nothing else, it would occupy her time.

The
Tine
streaked past the orbital path of Uranus and onward to that of Neptune. While Webber and MacAdams spent all day improving the ship's broadcast strength, Rada put in time with the sims. Much like the conditions necessary for Earth-like planets, the conditions that made victory possible against her theoretical opponent existed in a very narrow band. She was going to have to hope that the Swimmers' tech was merely superior rather than overwhelming. And that, operating so far from their home—wherever that was—that the ship would be old and poorly maintained.

After a while, she found it more valuable to ignore the enemy and concentrate on what the
Tine
could do. They'd barely begun to explore the Motion Arrestors. They were still constrained by physics and the ability of their engines, but freed from the limits of their bodies and the ship's frame, she was able to execute maneuvers that made her sick to watch in replay.

Yet they had been freed from something even bigger. The mission didn't hinge on surviving a dogfight with an unknown, superior enemy. All they had to do was last long enough to get out a message.

Despite her ceaseless practice, the full meaning of this freedom didn't sink in until after they'd crossed Neptune's orbital path, and nothing but open space stood between them and the Kuiper Belt.

They were going to die.

In between practice bouts, she found herself staring at the screens, absorbing the vast starfield before them. The view never changed, yet every time, she seemed to see a new formation within the speckles and whirls, the splashes and dabs of tiny lights. Which one had the Swimmers come from? Why, after all this time, were they still here? Or had they left, only to return once humanity threatened to reach beyond the sun—and bring their thousand-year anger with them?

Webber plopped into the chair beside her. "Running an ocular scan of the region?"

"I have detected," Rada said, "a great deal of stars."

"Has it hit you yet?" He had a red mug in his hand. It smelled like spiced grog. "What we're doing?"

"Yeah." She shook her head. "But no. I'm not sure it can. I don't think our brains will
let
us understand."

"The day we met—when the
Fourth Down
breathed its last—I was sure I was gone. And I was all right with it. I'd done what I needed to. Know what? I feel the same way right now."

"How wonderful to hear you've found enlightenment. Mind showing me the trick to walking on water?"

He smiled, amused. "Hey, I don't understand shit. We don't have any control over these things; I didn't do anything special. It's just how I feel."

Rada shifted in her chair. "Well, we haven't done what we needed to. Or we wouldn't be in this position."

"I think the fact we're in this position at all—that we have a chance, despite all their preparation, all their resources—proves we've done a hell of a lot."

"All that means is you're easily satisfied." The words came out more irritated than she intended. A pang of guilt prodded her chest. "We live up or down to the expectations we put on ourselves."

"I'm here, aren't I? I'm going to die for this. But I'm not going to spend my last days beating myself up for not doing more."

He no longer looked so serene. Watching him roll the mug of grog in his hands, Rada felt pleased with herself. She glanced back at the screen. It remained identical, as if frozen. Stare into it long enough, and you started to glimpse the truth of things. The scale of what surrounded you.

The infinity that waited to engulf you.

"You're right," she said. "We've taken this to the limits. But we're not done yet. We've got one last thing to do."

Webber glanced at her from the corner of his eye. His smile, lost for the last few seconds, poured back across his face. "Go out as the baddest motherfuckers in the galaxy?"

The
Tine
flew on, piercing further and further into the blankness beyond the edge of human space. In time, rocks and ice spun across the nav screen. The very nature of what they were flying into made it impossible to know when they would cross the threshold into the disappearance zone. Would they even know it was coming before it hit them?

Unable to pry herself from the screens, Rada found herself dozing in the pilot's chair, skimming in and out of sleep. Time seemed as frozen as the view on the screens. The rare speck of tumbling rock was all that proved they were still moving forward.

"Comms down."

Rada jarred awake. Beside her, Webber rose from his chair, eyes glowing with the reflection of the screens. These showed nothing but asteroid-strewn space. No blinking lights targeting unidentified craft, no streaks of incoming missiles. Nothing but a yellow rectangle surrounding the warning that the comms, while apparently functional, were unable to broadcast.

MacAdams galloped into the room. "Is it the Swimmers?"

"We can't send a signal," Rada said. "This fits. First they jam you, and once you're mute, they snuff you."

Webber's hands flew over his controls, cycling the comms through different frequencies and strengths, hunting for any holes in the jamming. The status rectangle stayed stubbornly yellow. MacAdams ran a check on the
Tine
's drones. Rada's nerves were screaming. Was it better to turn back and find the exact place where communications resumed—and, in the process, reveal that they knew they were being targeted? Or should they plow on as if they were clueless, forcing the Swimmers' hand (or, in this case, tentacle)?

She angled to starboard. It wasn't enough to make it look like they were peeling away. Just enough to try to escape the dead zone—and, if something was out there closing in on them, to force that something to adjust.

A red dot popped into being on the nav. Well inside the long-range scanners. Inbound, curling to match their course.

Webber swore softly. "Where'd that come from?"

"Don't know." Rada cut down and harder to starboard. "But I consider it a very good sign that we can see it at all."

The other vessel adjusted to her adjustment. The computer predicted it would close within standard combat range within ninety seconds, but who knew what "standard" meant for the UFO. Rada called up visual. The ship was well within range, but the
Tine
's systems appeared to be having problems grabbing the image. Blocks and blurs flickered on the screen. With a ripple, the image cohered. The ship's body was a spike jutting from a concave bowl. From the bowl's forward-pointing rim, three smaller prongs jutted forward.

Rada knit her brow. "That look like a Swimmer ship to you?"

"How should I know?" Webber said. "I've only seen two: the one on the FinnTech vid, and the one crashed in Founder's Bay."

"I've seen three. They like curves. Cohesion. This looks like a medieval torture device."

"Could be a fighter," MacAdams rumbled. "Whatever it is, it looks nasty."

She edged up the
Tine
's engines, keeping within the bounds possible for a ship that wasn't carrying a Motion Arrestor. No need to give away all their tricks too early. The UFO boosted forward, closing faster. For a moment, she was struck with pure wonder: a moving, reactive nonhuman vessel. They had known for a millennium that such things existed. But it was another thing to witness one with her own eyes.

"Time to see what this thing can do." She ordered up a single missile. A green speck sprung up on the nav, lancing toward the other ship. The jamming and aggressive posture all but guaranteed its hostile intent, but if by some miracle the UFO didn't mean them harm, the lone shot would serve as the
Tine
's final warning.