Traitor (Rebel Stars Book 2) (11 page)

Ced, though, he was mad. And the longer Benson berated them, the madder he got. They were just kids. Weren't they here to learn how to do what the grownups did? Wasn't the whole point of their first contract to shape them into productive members of the crew? To—

An idea arced across his head.

As soon as Benson quit shouting, he filled in the others. Kansas didn't like it, but she agreed to give it a shot. When they got back in the street, she started the morning by chasing Marly and Donner around the block, toys in hand. Ced watched from nearby.

"What are they doing?" a younger boy asked him.

"Playing Crews," Ced said. "All the older kids are using those. I hear you can get them over there."

He pointed to Parson. The boy glanced at him, then back at Ced. He toddled over to Parson and came away with a sleek red fighter, making whooshing noises as he held it aloft.

That day, they sold twenty units. Benson told them it was a start. The day after that, they sold almost thirty. The day after
that
, somebody started posting about them at the net. Kids went to Parson in a nonstop stream. They had to send a runner back to the office for another case of toys, then a third. By nightfall, they'd sold more than two hundred.

After that, it dipped, but rebounded the following day. Benson told them if they kept up their pace, they'd run through the supply in three weeks—and see a fat bonus for it.

That morning, they had the heat down again, but that didn't stop the crowds. Ced was talking to a young kid, telling him how the
Swimmer Attack!
figures were a limited run and there wouldn't be any left soon.

"
Ced!
" Kansas' voice pierced the babble.

Ced turned. Across the street, Parson was being accosted by a woman in an ugh-green jacket. A small wishbone pierced her left ear. Ced sprinted to them, joined by Kansas.

The woman pulled Parson forward by the collar. "This your boy?"

"Could be," Ced said.

She curled her lip. "This is Orc turf. I see you selling here again, and we'll see how business goes when you're selling this junk from the inside of your ass."

Kansas balled her hands into fists. Ced said, "What do you want? A cut?"

The woman laughed. "I want you to get all your Baby Dragons out of my street. Before someone gets hurt."

She flicked Parson's nose, then walked away.

"We should get her," Kansas said. "Right now. When she's not expecting it."

Ced rolled his eyes. "And then what? All her friends come for us? It'd be just like when I stood up to Dapp. Only this time, no one's going to bust down the studies door to save us."

"Don't you dare say we need to quit."

"All we need to do is move spots. We created the demand. We can sell this stuff anywhere now."

Kansas rubbed her mouth, then shook her head sharply. "You have to fight back the first time it happens. Otherwise, they'll
never
stop punking you. We're not going anywhere."

He at least got her to switch things up, making Flip the roamer and operating more on the fringes of the bustling street. Ced kept his eyes sharp. By dark, nothing else had gone down.

On their next trip out, they stuck with Flip. Ced stayed closer than usual, eyes darting to anyone in pea green clothes. He couldn't shake the idea he should have told Heddy or Benson, but there was something about Kansas that made you want to believe.

Around noon, shouts rang out from up the street. Ced sprinted toward the disturbance. The crowd opened a wide ring, showing Flip running away as fast as he could. Behind him, Kansas stood her ground, black batons in hand. The woman with the wishbone in her ear stalked forward, a knife gleaming in her grasp.

7

Rada fell to the ground, pain crackling from the back of her skull. Fury erupted right after. At herself, for getting caught unaware. At MacAdams and Webber, for not watching her back. At Toman, for sending them to this ass-backwards city of lunatics and primitives.

But mostly for whoever had hit her.

She rolled onto her back. A heavyset man stood over her, blackjack in hand, legs spread wide. His beard gleamed with metal pins; she recognized him as one of the men passing around the bottle at the gate.

To either side of her, MacAdams and Webber cried out, fending off attackers. The bearded man raised the blackjack for another blow. If Simm had still been with them, he could have disarmed the man with a flick of his wrist. She regretted not having learned more from him before the FinnTech killer in the ghost ship had taken him away.

She'd picked up one or two things, though. Like the knowledge that enthusiasm and meanness made good substitutes for skill. She cocked her leg and drove her heel into her attacker's balls.

He gagged and staggered back, falling into the dirt, clutching his crotch with both hands, eyes bulging. Rada popped to her feet. Behind her, Harl Nunez—formerly known as Marcus DuPrima—scrambled to his.

"Harl!" she barked. "You're in great danger. Come with us if you want to live to see the morning."

The man with the pins in his beard struggled to his knees. This put his face level with Rada's waist. She drove her knee toward his nose, striking his eye socket instead. He fell and made no effort to get up.

"Who
are
you?" Harl said.

"We're with the Hive. Understand?"

People who'd been watching the fight in the ring turned to watch the one unfolding on the patio. MacAdams had his guard up, exchanging jabs with a leather-bundled hulk equal to him in size. Webber feinted at the face of a man wearing a long, shapeless shirt. As the man dodged back, Webber grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, trapping the man's arms and whaling on his head.

"So the rumors are true?" Harl—Marcus—said. "Finn sent an assassin?"

"Spindly guy. Very creepy."

"You mean Yan." Marcus grabbed her sleeve. Despite the jungle sun, he was pale. "You have to help me. Take me to Benez."

"Happy to do just that. Come on."

She came at MacAdams' opponent from the side, booting him in the knee. He buckled. MacAdams' fist came at him like a rogue comet. The man groaned and spun prone. Webber was sitting on the third man's head, which was still bundled in his t-shirt. Seeing Rada, Webber drew back his elbow and socked the still-wriggling man in the approximate location of his jaw.

Around them, leather- and rubber-clad bystanders whooped and clapped, exchanging bets. Someone was calling out, pointing at them. Rada took off at a jog back toward the gates.

Marcus kept his head on a swivel. "Is Yan here now?"

"Last I heard, he was still on his way," Rada said. "But I intend to leave a me-shaped cloud of dust before he gets here."

"This is him?" Webber swerved around a man who was either passed out drunk or dead. "DuPrima?"

Rada put a finger to her lips. "Now's the time to finally learn how to keep your mouth shut."

The sounds of the arena fight faded behind them. Rada didn't see any pursuit, but when they peeked down the street leading to the gates out of Bartertown, the exit was blocked by a passel of men in makeshift black armor. Some swung bats or rods. She thought she saw a gun. She retreated around the corner.

"That's not happening," MacAdams said. "I can't outpunch a gun."

Rada drifted toward the side of the street. "So we head to the outer walls. Climb out and get to the car."

"You can't climb over the walls!" Marcus said. He had a leonine face with a heavy jaw, but the rest of him was thin, giving him a top-heavy look. "That's the only place they use modern tech. Can't risk people getting in—or running off."

"What else can we do?" Webber said. "Go through them? I volunteer MacAdams' big bald head for the battering ram."

"That's only fair," MacAdams said, as calmly as ever. "Yours is much too soft."

At the gates, a man detached from the others, heading in their direction. A bat hung from his hand.

"I know another way out," Marcus said. "Over here."

He cut down a side street. The air smelled like hot oil and fried fish. The street grew quiet, dark, small houses set back from the rutted dirt path. Marcus walked that way for three blocks, then swung back toward the fence separating Bartertown from the other districts. He headed to the front porch of a house set against the fence and swung open the door.

Candlelight flickered inside. A burly man stood, his muttonchops thick enough to scrub a casserole pan.

"What's the password?" he rumbled.

"It's
me
," Marcus said.

"You look like you. But how do I know?"

"Buttermilk."

The burly man stepped to the side, sweeping out one arm. "Was that so hard?"

Marcus jogged through another door, crossed a dining room, then opened another door. This fed out the back side of the fence. The remainder of the city sprawled before them.

"What now?" Webber said.

MacAdams glanced behind him. "We should go see Tiant."

"Think he'll get us out of here?"

"To say goodbye. He's been a good host."

Webber tented his hands over his nose and mouth. "So we'll send him a fruit basket, you sentimental—" A deafening, blatting noise grated across the night, causing them to flinch. Webber looked up at the sky. "What the hell was that?"

Marcus gazed behind him at the fence. "A car."

"Cars hum. That sounds like the world farting itself to death."

"It's a very old car."

"Legs," Rada said. "Use them."

She took off at a dead run in the direction of the front gates. The others strung out behind her.

"Marcus," she said. "Why does FinnTech want you dead so bad?"

"No
way
," Marcus said. "I'm not telling you word one. Not until I'm standing in front of Benez. He's the only one who can keep me safe."

Webber snorted. "Could have saved us a lot of trouble by coming to us rather than this place."

Rada switched her device to net access and fired off a slew of messages. "Tell me you know how to get through the main gate."

"That's easy," Marcus said. "All you have to do is forfeit all rights to ever return."

"Fine by me. I regret ever coming here."

The roaring, blatting noise picked up again, shredding the moist, warm air so loudly Rada couldn't tell if it was gaining. A gunshot went off, followed by two more, but she thought the sounds were emanating from Bartertown. In the several minutes it took to reach the gates, the thunder of the car faded behind them.

Marcus summoned down the gatekeeper and told her they wanted out. Incredulous, the woman warned them they'd never be allowed back. They each provided their names. The woman flipped through a notebook, taking entirely too long to strike out their names, then let them outside. They ran down the road into the jungle, gates clanging shut behind them.

"What now?" Webber said. "Please tell me Toman's about to airlift us out of here. With in-flight champagne."

Despite the darkness, humid sweat dripped from Rada's brow. "Couldn't reach him. We'll have to run."

"To the bikes? They're like two miles up the road."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Yeah," he said. "Run faster."

Their feet pounded the textured surface of the plastic roadway. Two minutes later, the archaic engine rumbled through the night behind them. It dwindled to a low, barely audible chug. Three quick shots rang out.

"That would be the gatekeeper," MacAdams said, voice almost reverent.

Rada ran harder. The engine revved up, screaming like a rocket. It was at least a mile away, but that wouldn't give them much time. She checked her device, pumping her legs as hard as she could.

Headlights carved through the jungle a hundred yards ahead. Webber cried out. The oncoming car fishtailed, smoke boiling from its tires. It swung to a stop sideways in front of them. All four doors sprung open.

"Thank god for technology," Rada said, piling behind the wheel of their stashed vehicle. She'd already called up its directions. As soon as the others were in, she ordered it to punch it. Behind them, the headlights of the Wrath car dwindled away to nothing.

* * *

Toman, it turned out, was no longer in Better Sands. Or on Earth. Stymied in the capital, he'd returned to the Hive to regroup. On hearing the news from Rada, he arranged a private shuttle to the spaceport. On their arrival, the
Tine
was all ready to go. As soon as the others were settled, Rada boosted away from the station, got to safe distance, and burned it.

Marcus blinked at the screen, bracing himself for the extra gravity of acceleration. "What are we waiting for?"

"We're on full burn." Rada pointed to the readouts. "The lack of inertia you're feeling is compliments of your former employer."

He swung to stare at her. "You got a stabilizer from them? How?"

"How do you think?" Webber laughed. "We stole it."

MacAdams scowled. "We didn't
steal
it. It was a prize won through honorable combat."

"Whatever, Lancelot." Webber slung his arm across the back of his seat to face Marcus. "So, Mr. Flee-to-the-Edges-of-the-Earth. What's so important that FinnTech would kill to keep quiet?"

"At this point," Rada said, "what
wouldn't
they kill to hush up?"

Marcus folded his arms, thrusting out his heavy jaw. "I told you. Nothing until I see Toman Benez."

"Just a hint?" Webber said.

"Finn's been in bed with the Swimmers for longer than you realize."

"He's a tentacle man, eh?"

Marcus stared at Webber a second, then shook his head. "It's about more than the aliens. This thing runs deeper than you know."

"Why does it feel like I've been dumped into the middle of a spy movie?" Webber pushed himself up from his chair. "I'm gonna catch a snooze."

Rada watched him go. After all that, his first instinct was to
sleep
? What about Marcus? Toman's efforts in Better Sands? Whatever was going on at the Locker? She knew Toman well enough to know they'd have a new assignment the instant he finished grilling Marcus. They'd gone into Absolution too unprepared. The only way to keep up was to never stop moving.