Traitor (Rebel Stars Book 2) (7 page)

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."

"So can I eat with you?"

She laughed. "No way, fish."

* * *

The next few weeks became a quiet routine. Get up, eat, go to fight class. Sometimes Benson sent him on jobs, but they were so easy they were boring, like dropping things off or watching people go places. He spent lots of time in studies, too. Lots of subjects were mandatory, like math, astronomy, and System history, but they got to explore their own subjects, too. Ced liked spaceships, aliens, and the history of the Locker.

Kansas was the closest thing to a friend he had, and she only spoke to him during martial arts practice. Growing up, he'd spent a lot of his time alone. But he'd never been as alone as this.

One evening at dinner, the door opened. The room hushed. Dapp walked in. His head had been completely shaved and his face had pale scars around his eyes and nose. His friends schooled in after him. They moved to the lunch line. People started talking again. Dapp and his friends got their food and sat down together.

Ced finished and bused his tray. He had some reading to catch up on, so he headed to studies. Five other kids were there, hunched over their desk-mounted devices. Ced hurried through his math, then got back to reading about the Locker. The early days. When people like Captain Withers and Margarita Klodhoffer were fighting off the governments and corporations trying to make the Locker just like everywhere else.

Ced got so deep in the stories he barely noticed as people came and went from studies. Then someone was standing in front of his desk. Someone with a shaved head and fresh white scars on his face. All of the other kids had gone, replaced by four of Dapp's friends.

"Hey fish." Dapp smiled and loomed over the desk. "Miss me?"

5

"No way," Webber said, eyes locked on the pistol. "This wasn't part of the deal."

The man's white face paint stretched as he smiled. "That deal was made outside. You're in Absolution now. And the rules have changed."

Sweat slid down MacAdams' shiny scalp. "This works both ways. You got any idea what you've let inside?"

The man's pistol twitched in his grip. "A talking ox, by the look of it. I'll let you know when I want you to speak."

"Enough." Rada stepped forward in the wagon, palms held in front of her. "I'll be happy to tell you whatever you want to know. Though I doubt it'll be as enlightening as you imagine. In exchange, you're going to help us find who we're looking for."

"We agreed to get you in. Nothing more."

"We're just here to ask a few questions."

"And for our help, you will tell us of the Swimmers?"

She nodded. "Everything we know."

The man lowered his gun, tapping it against his thigh. "You have a deal."

* * *

Faces watched from the darkness. Torches flapped in the evening breeze, which smelled of the ocean just beyond the sprawling limestone Maya palace. A few dozen ancient structures were scattered over the low, grassy hills, but most of the space had been filled in with wooden shacks. These were surrounded by porches, most of which were shaded by thatched leaves of the same variety that had covered them in the cart.

Tiant, the gunman who'd spoken to them on arrival, had decided to gather the entire Xenoist community to the event. Rada tried to argue him out of it—she thought it would be easier to find her man by keeping a low profile—but she had news of the first Swimmer contact in a thousand years. Tiant insisted his people deserved to hear it.

Dozens gathered on the temple steps. Some wore black and white face paint like Tiant. Others were dressed in t-shirts, archaic shorts with too many pockets, and flip-flops, their tan faces unmarked. On the stone patio overlooking the steps, thin wooden statues loomed seven feet high, rope-like limbs leading up to a horizontal ovoid structure. At first Rada thought the figures were some kind of spirit tree, then she realized they were supposed to be Swimmers.

Here and there, men and women touched candles to sheaves of rectangular greenish paper. Flames crackled over the faces of pale old men with fancy women's hairstyles.

"The hell is that?" Webber said.

Tiant's teeth flashed. "Money."

"That's
paper
."

"It's what the old ones worshipped. And it all became useless the moment the plague came."

The smell of smoke drifted on the air. Candles and lanterns popped into being, illuminating hundreds of waiting faces.

Tiant moved to the top of the stairs and spread his hands wide. "People! For generations, we have looked up and wondered where those who changed everything have gone to. Sometimes, we wondered if they were still out there at all. Tonight, I have brought you a woman who will put all our doubts and questions to rest—for she has seen the Swimmers."

He stepped back, gesturing to Rada. She moved to the edge of the steps. They were incredibly steep. Looking down them, she felt an irresistible urge to sit before she fell.

"I haven't seen the Swimmers in person," she said. "Or spoken to them. But they are watching us. For a chosen few, they speak, too."

She relayed the news of FinnTech's deal with the Swimmers. How, for unknown reasons, the aliens had gifted them the technology for the Motion Arrestors. How some of that agreement had been captured on video. She made no mention of her involvement in uncovering this agreement, but otherwise provided as many details as she could.