Rebel: Collaborator, #3

By Krista D. Ball

Trust is the rarest of commodities.

From the moment she stepped onboard Liberty's Pleasure, Rebecca St. Martin knew something was off. Before she could sound the alarm, she was kidnapped and pulled into a conspiracy that made her question every single relationship she'd made.

Even as Rebecca questioned, she looked around at her co-captives and decided it didn't matter. She wouldn't let anyone harm these people for one minute longer than necessary. They had no hero coming to rescue them. Just her.

Rebecca will have to put aside a lifetime of fear and be the hero these people need. Anyone wanting to hurt them would have to go through her first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Krista D. Ball
• Release date: Jan 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393853756

Book preview

Rebel

Book 3 of the Collaborator series

Krista D. Ball

Copyright 2019 by Krista D. Ball

Editing by M.L.D. Curelas

Cover design by http://indigochickdesigns.com/

Prologue: Nate

Several seconds passed before Nate Lowell decided to take the call. He tapped his earpiece, putting an end to the vibrating notification on his phone. With forced cheer, he said, Rebecca! What can I do for you?

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Rebecca St. Martin. Truthfully, he barely knew her, so he liked her as much as anyone could feel toward a stranger. At best, they were passing acquaintances at Jupiter Station. Yes, they were co-conspirators when they worked together to bring down the security net, though that wasn’t planned. She didn’t annoy him the way she did Captain Frances or some of the others. Perhaps he understood her hard choices better than most. Or, perhaps he simply didn’t mind her.

Everyone’s heading to the bay. Arty’s ship is in dock. She didn’t quite hide the nervous energy in her voice. Kat asked me to call everyone, to remind you to bring, as she said, all your shit because I’m sure as cock not coming back to this hellhole in the next three months if I can help it. Direct quote. Another nervous laugh. You know Kat. Anyway, Arty’s in the middle of docking procedures, so it’ll be a couple hours before we can get on board. Everyone’s supposed to head down in the next hour. Kat’s already there.

Nate found Captain Katherine Frances to be a rather terrifying woman. Thank all the deities that he was on her side now. Of course, he hadn’t yet told them how recently he came to be on their side. Maybe in a couple of years, he would fill them in on how inexperienced he was as a terrorist rebel. For now, pretending to be from one of Jupiter Station’s other terrorist cells seemed the best tactic. At least until he got his feet under him. 

Do you know what bay they’re putting him in?

Section B, Bay 93. So not too far away from our ship. Mav said to have all your rations delivered over there, if they aren’t here on our ship. Once that’s all done, Patrice is going to undock to save money. Apparently, we can fit our ship inside Arty’s! More nervous laughter, with a drop of wide-eyed excitement. Even if he couldn’t see her, he could picture her face and big, brown eyes opened wide. It must be huge!

I’ve heard Patrice talk about it. All right. I’ll probably see you in an hour or so then?

Same. I gotta get Tobi checked out of the hospital still. Bye!

Call disconnected, said a masculine voice through his earpiece.

Nate swallowed down both his excitement and anxiety. It would do no good to be jumpy now. His choices were made, and he couldn’t turn back. He’d fallen in with a good group, at least; he wasn’t interested in joining one of the various pirate groups that masqueraded as part of the rebellion. Those were the true terrorists; whose aims were solely to breed terror and with no other purpose. He had no interest in that. Frances and her gang wanted the Corps gone, and nothing more. He could get behind that.

He looked around his sleeping pod. He’d already gotten behind that.

Either way, first things first. With all the commotion from the attack by Zain Ravi and Tobi Rowe’s subsequent surgeries, he’d forgotten to pick up his share of emergency rations for the journey. He pulled up his phone and installed the market app. He grabbed the first vendor goods store in it and ordered the prepared kit labelled Emergency Rations: One Adult, Three Months. He took a cursory glance at the price, but didn’t really care either way. He’d gotten his share of the money from the drugs run. It wasn’t going to set him up for life or anything, but he didn’t need it to.

He initiated the transfer of his food container to the docking bay. The automated system could deliver his food stores from the warehouse to the docking bay’s main hub, which then would be transferred again to Bay 93. From there, workers would help get his cargo on board the ship. He paid the final bill, which included the additional cost of the bay workers delivering his food cargo. The display showed an estimated time of fifty minutes for the transfer from the warehouse to Bay 93 to complete.

He backed up his account information and authorized the annual fee to have his account opened for access anywhere in the system. Just in case he ended up stranded somewhere. One never knew, and this Arty might recognize his last name. Nate hadn’t been able to use a false identity like the others. He really was who he said he was. More or less.

Fifty-five minutes. That left him enough time to make a call he’d been avoiding for too long.

He’d been using the ship itself as an excuse to avoid the call. The others would absolutely trace any communication he made, especially to a Corps planet. He was about to leave Jump. There were no more excuses, and he had to make the call. He combed his shaggy hair; he should have taken the time to get a haircut while docked, but like most things, he’d put it off until it was too late.

Nate emerged from his pod and walked down through the cargo bay. He waved at Chad, who was busy strapping down various cargo bins of food, supplies, and personal necessities. Chad offered to come with him to visit the shops at the market, but Nate lied. He said he wanted to call in on a friend he’d made over the last couple of days. Chad laughed at that, wished him a happy farewell fuck, and went back to his work.

Nate skipped the depot outside of the main hangar, opting to head over to the market district. For one thing, the rates were a bit more reasonable there. For another, he was less likely for Tobi Rowe or Captain Frances to see him. Both were smart enough to quickly figure out just about anything, and then they’d fight over who got to skin him alive. Either way, he’d be skinned alive, and that was a fate he wished to avoid.

It took Nate twenty minutes to get to the market kiosks in the next hangar over, but he made it without being spotted by his new shipmates. He stepped inside one of the small instant-vid closets, accepted the fee, and then entered the contact information. Then, he waited for the call to process.

Four manual disconnects happened, sending him to messaging, knotting his stomach muscles tighter with every failure. Still, he re-initiated after the disconnections, paying the base fee to try all over again. This was going to be far worse than he’d supposed, and he’d already imagined it to be horrible.

Finally, the screen flickered. A pox-marred man in uniform dominated the previously-dark screen. He was such a stubborn cuss about those scars. The Corps would have gladly repaired the damage from that damned fragmentation grenade. The grenade that turned him into a hero. He said he wore the scars prouder than the medals he’d been awarded for earning them. Almost as proudly as the uniform he wore.

Nate’s frown deepened. The seam creases were still flawless. Mum clearly still kept steaming them before bed every night. Just so he’d look the perfect general. No one knew what Mum did, of course. They thought she was the perfect wife, supporting behind the scenes. They had no idea. Just the way Mum and Dad wanted the world to see them.

Thanks for taking the call.

I am only doing this for your mother’s sake.

I want to explain what’s going on.

His father waved a dismissive hand. I don’t care what you have to say. I told your mother I sent you undercover and that you will be cutting ties with us to maintain appearances.

That’s a lie.

Would you prefer me to tell her that her only son is a terrorist?

I’d rather you told her the truth.

Do you want to kill your mother, then? Is that it? She hasn’t been through enough?

Dad...

You do not have the privilege to call me that. You will address me as Sir.

Nate scoffed. Get off your cock, Dad. I’ve never been allowed to call you anything but Sir.

And this is the thanks I get for raising you.

This isn’t about you, or Mum, or even me. This is about the Corps and how what we’re doing is wrong.

Why did you bother signing up if you were going to run off to be a terrorist? I didn’t raise you to be a deserter.

No, sir. You raised me to be an unthinking asshole, just like you are.

Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I am still your father.

If I can’t be your son, then you can’t be my father. Nate sucked in a breath. "Thank you for speaking to me, General. Tell Mum I said goodbye. Let her know I thought of her in the end. If I need anything, I’ll make sure not to call you for help."

Nate disconnected the call without waiting for his father’s bluster, insults, and refusals. Wasn’t fighting against evil what he’d risked his life to do? He was a terrorist now. Wasn’t this what he wanted?

He buried his face in his hands and wept.

Prologue: Tobi

Tobi hurt everywhere, but life was pain. And pain was life. Her chest ached. Not surprising given the doctors opened her with a prybar and a bone saw. It wasn’t her first heart incubation, but by the way she felt, it was probably her last.

The nurse finally returned Tobi’s wrist computer, after confirming it would no longer interfere with the hospital’s medical monitoring. She slapped it back on as soon as it was in her hands. As eager as she was to get out of this death trap, she was also desperate for her own technical readouts about the state of her body.

It was standard protocol for most people to request hospital medical file transfers, but the kid wouldn’t have known that, nor would she have known how to send them to the device. Tobi hadn’t told anyone she’d given her assistant authorization to allow the kid access to her personal files in case of her death. As she waited for the band to power on, she considered erasing those commands. 

She sighed and decided to keep them in place. 

The band flickered on. True to his word, though, the nurse had already transferred the medical files to her personal scanner. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust doctors. She didn’t trust anyone. She needed to see the automated readouts herself, to see if things were indeed the emergency they seemed to be. As her wristband installed several security updates specific to Jump Station, she wondered what scenario would constitute a worse emergency than the one she was currently in. Then her mind quickly conjured up several situations involving things like open vacuum without a suit, cannon fire without a suit, rocket launchers without a reinforced canopy and a suit...and she quickly turned off that part of her brain before a pulse spike set off the medical monitoring equipment.

Finally, the projection screen appeared across her forearm, and she immediately called up her medical status summary. The readout was honestly worse than the doctor’s original report. It removed all of the humming and hawing and cockholding doctors did whenever delivering bad news.

Looking at the estimates, it would be at least a year before she was recovered enough to do any incubation whatsoever, even a partial organ graph. It could be years before she could handle a full organ, and she might need extensive restorative surgeries before handling a heart. That assumed she could ever recover enough, which wasn’t a guarantee. Not at her age. This was going to hurt her financially, since she’d been hoping to grab something simple, like a kidney, to keep her in ready money, but she was out of the game for now. Maybe even permanently. She wasn’t as young as she used to be.

Cock.

Seeing the readouts rubbed in how close she’d come to being kicked out of the game of life. Extensive nerve damage. Six broken ribs. Concussion. Excessive blood loss. Infection. Shock. Trauma. More trauma. More shock. More trauma.

She was a mess.

She’d always known this day would come, when her rage would finally overcome her body’s limitations. When she’d have to make the choice between slowing down and letting life slide by, or wrapping her IV line around some titfucker’s throat, even if it would mean her cold corpse getting dumped into an organ recycling vat.

Well. She knew the answer. She’d always known that answer. From that moment on Traga, when they’d pulled that trigger. She’d known right then that this would be her path, and this would be her end. Yes, it took decades longer to get here than she’d ever planned. But, in the end, this was never going to be the kind of life one just walked away from. Not after everything she’d done.

Or seen.

Or had done to her.

Or done to people she’d...

Her brain hiccupped over the emotion. She pushed the pain down deep, to a place where she could only find it when alone in the dark, at the bottom of a bottle of Hype.

Vibrations from her wristband pulled her away from the precipice of her memories. She pulled up the display across her arm and skimmed through the several missed messages that had come in while she was fighting for her life. A variety of text and vid, most were business opportunities. Jobs for hire, assassins for hire, various smuggling jobs, kidnappings and the like. She mass deleted them all. She was out of all business for a while.

She stopped breathing when she saw the next message’s header:

Msg when you wake you crazy tit.

Well. She knew who that one was from.

She considered not responding, but she had held a gun to his temple not too long ago, and, therefore, it seemed only polite to hear what he had to say. He hated vid messaging, so she keyed into the proper accounts and passwords necessary to connect via video. It only took a few seconds before Payton’s red, angry face appeared in a projection on her forearm.

Fucking cock, Tobes, I hate vid.

Where are you? she demanded. And stop calling me that.

I’m salvaging around Jupiter. Seems some terrorist scum made a mess of the place. I got the contract for the outer ring cleanup.

Good for you. Part of her meant it. Part of her meant the sarcasm, too. What do you want?

Payton sucked in a breath. She was surprised by how much he’d aged. He’d need a nice rejuv soon to get rid of those bags under his eyes. I wanted to be certain you were going to make it.

This wasn’t my first fuck up, Payton. She glared at his image. Nor yours.

Payton didn’t flinch. Then again, he wouldn’t. He was immune to her, like she was to him. Except this moment, when the pain medication and the rawness made the ache...

She sighed. In a weary voice, she asked, Payton, what do you want?

Tobi, he said, in that patient tone he’d always used in these quiet moments when they’d soon both regretted talking to each other. I just wanted to hear your voice.

It was easier when the pistols were out. He didn’t bother to say anything else. He never did. What was the point? Silence lingered between them because what was left? Nothing. That’s what. There was nothing left but hurt and pain and the cockfucking headfuck that the pain meds were doing to her.

He broke the silence. It was always him. He was always the weaker of the two. Where are you going to go?

Does it matter?

Look, I just...I just wanted to tell you to be careful, about that kid of yours.

She’s not mine. Tobi meant the growl in her voice, the warning of anger. He had no business bringing up the kid. 

You know what I mean. Be careful there. He looked down at his hands before looking back up at the screen. Check in every so often. Let me know you’re alive.

Tobi wanted to scoff, but she didn’t have the energy. Why? So you can threaten to kill me?

You pointed a pistol at me! Payton shouted.

It wasn’t loaded, Tobi said defensively. It wasn’t.

Payton glared at her through the display. You threw an acid grenade at me, Tobi.

You pissed me off.

Awkward silence dragged between them until Tobi finally said, Get it off your chest, Payton. This call is costing you a fortune.

You called on my Jump tab, didn’t you? You cocklover.

Of course, I did, Tobi replied. She couldn’t stop the little smirk that formed.

Payton laughed, a rich sound that cut through the incisions on her chest. She heard that sound whenever she had the nightmares about how good it all used to be. It hurt the most because there were so many good times with Payton. Way too many, in a lifetime ago. Before the Corps...

Tobi, what’s wrong?

I hate talking to you, she whispered through the swelling lump in her throat. I hate it so much.

You can’t hate me that much. You broke into my Jump account to call me. 

His