Hybrid: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 4)

by Valerie J Mikles

  “May I use a hand print?” Amanda asked, stepping around Danny. She raised her hand, waiting for the droid to respond. When it moved forward and began the scan, Amanda flicked her other hand, driving a knife into the detector, causing an electrical short. An energy blast came from inside, hitting the droid again.

  “Let’s go!” Saskia said, vaulting over the fallen droid and running into the street. She tapped her Feather as she ran. “Tray, stay put. We’re coming to you.”

  Swearing, Danny checked for drones, and pushed Amanda to follow. He had no idea where she’d been keeping the knife or why. She was lucky her stunt hadn’t gotten them both killed.

  “Why aren’t they following us?” Amanda asked, looking upward, keeping a hand on Danny’s sleeve as a guide.

  “Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth,” Danny panted.

  “I think that’s a very important part of the big picture,” Amanda said.

  “Which we can ponder when we’re safe,” Danny replied.

  “We have to go back for the solar panels,” Amanda said. They’d been to five houses thus far, and left any working panels on the ground flood so they could gather them on the way out.

  “G-13. In here,” Saskia said, waving him through a door.

  The chilly air inside made Danny’s skin articulate painfully.

  “Ah! Cold!” he cried, his sweat-dampened clothes absorbing the chill. “Are there no windows?”

  A mess of cylindrical machines littered the room, one of them by the door blasting a constant stream of cold air. Once Danny’s eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw the room they were in was smaller than his quarters. Hawk lay on the floor, a towel covering his body.

  “Tray, are you all right?” Saskia called.

  “Fine. What happened to you?” Tray asked, glancing up from one of the units, then closing a panel over the side.

  “Amanda stabbed a droid and Saskia broke out of jail,” Danny summarized, stepping past the fan. The room was probably a temperate level, but after being in the sweltering heat so long, Danny wanted a blanket.

  “You had a jail break without me?” Tray pouted.

  “I knew you’d be heartbroken,” Saskia quipped, kneeling to check on Hawk. “They put me in a cell protected by a force shield, but there was no power on the shield. As soon as the drones left, I walked right out.”

  Tray laughed at the story, and Saskia smiled at him.

  “You two have been busy,” Danny said, finding Tray’s supply crate and pulling out a snack.

  “Fortunately, we’re working with simple machines, and nothing that has artificial intelligence,” Tray said. “I have fifteen working air-conditioning units that seem capable of cooling a room this size. They run on some kind of liquid fuel. The manual says it comes from a refinery in the Dome and according to the bots, the refinery still operates. According to bot gossip, a nomadic tribe came through just last month to collect.”

  “So if we stay too long, we might encounter nomads?” Amanda asked.

  “Sky did say they had a large reserve here,” Danny recalled, sitting between the units, comforted by the knowledge that they couldn’t come to life.

  “Yeah, unfortunately, the droids that worked it were destroyed,” Tray said. “I didn’t get the whole story. It wasn’t on record.”

  “I imagine the nomads got slapped with fines until they just got fed up,” Danny muttered. “Can I see this manual?”

  “Yeah,” Tray said, motioning to the wall behind him. “There are screens in every room. And windows. The screen over there is the only one I’ve gotten to work so far, and it’s attached to a central database. They have manuals for everything, but I need some kind of access code to get past anything not related to units in this building.”

  “How long has Hawk been out?” Saskia asked.

  Tray checked his Virp. “Almost an hour. I have his Virp measuring vitals, but I figured I could accomplish more here than by hauling him back to the ship.”

  “We can use these machines to preserve what’s left of the food,” Danny said, wondering if he could remove them from the city without paying for them or getting arrested. “They’re converting liquid fuel to electric. We might even be able to run medical devices.”

  “I have the Virclutch monitoring the power output for the one cooling this room,” Tray said. “That should give us some idea of how much juice these things have. A lot of them have empty or mostly empty fuel tanks, so unless we learn how the refinery works, they’re limited use, but I’m hoping together it’ll be enough to get us off the ground.”

  “Sure. I can figure that out. Two days. Three tops,” Danny chuckled. “Hawk can help.”

  “Captain, Hawk’s completely unresponsive,” Saskia said gravely. “I don’t think he has three days.”

  19

  Douglas slouched on a bench in the Constable’s office. Rocan’s one-room law office had three desks shoved in, shared by the Constable, deputies, and officers. There used to be computers, but they’d fallen into disrepair. At fourteen, Douglas was small for his age, and his recently allocated second-hand clothes sagged on his frame.

  Don Yale, his adoptive father’s friend, entered quietly, his shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with disappointment.

  “Where’s John?” Douglas asked, jumping to his feet.

  “Recuperating,” Don said, nodding to the Constable. “Come on, my Douglas. I’ll take you home.”

  “Recuperating from what?” Douglas argued, blustering past Don. He didn’t want to leave without John, but he wasn’t about to spend another hour under the Constable’s disapproving gaze. “He’s never gone for breeding more than an afternoon. It’s been three days. Why isn’t he home yet?”

  Don gave him a look, disapproving of the topic. “He is home now.”

  Growling, Douglas picked up pace, but Don grabbed the collar of his shirt, slowing their walk. “He may not wish to see you.”

  “Why not? What happened?” Douglas demanded, his concern growing. His father had spoken openly about the breeding practices, but only in terms that were appropriate for a child. With his father dead and his mother in asylum, Douglas was left to rely on John as he matured and crept ever closer to his dreaded first breeding. But John was tight-lipped about the process.

  “That is between him and his doctor,” Don said simply.

  “You’re a doctor,” Douglas said, shaking his arm. Don was like a member of the family, always there to offer counsel, share a meal, and co-parent with John, however unofficial the role.

  “I am not a breeding doctor,” Don sighed. “I may become one. I don’t believe in breeding, but I can not dismantle the system from the outside.”

  Scowling, Douglas hurried on, turning down the street that led home, charging through the front door. After his mother was taken, John came to live with him so that he wouldn’t have to lose everything that was familiar. So many of his parents’ possessions had been reclaimed by the Resource Manager that it hardly seemed to matter.

  “John!” Douglas exclaimed. John lay in his bed, curled in a fetal position. Douglas recognized the glazed look, because he’d seen it in his mother’s eyes too often.

  “They drugged him,” Douglas said, looking back at Don for an explanation. “Why? He’s always compliant. He lets them do whatever they want.”

  Don lowered his eyes and closed the door behind them.

  “John, why would you fight back now?” Douglas asked, kneeling next to him, shaking his shoulder. “Now, that they took Maman from me. I need you. Were you thinking of me at all? I was alone for days.”

  “I was thinking of her,” John rasped, his hand flopping about like he had no control.

  “Her, who?” Douglas asked, looking at Don again. “Who? Donny, what does he mean?”

  “His partner refused,” Don said, clasping his hands in front, keeping his distance. “He was punished for protecting her. They were both punished for the attempted deception.”

  “But it was righ
t of you to fight. To try to protect her,” Douglas reassured, his voice shaking. His father always warned him to protect the woman at all costs.

  “You can’t fight Geneculture, Douglas,” John said. “You don’t have a choice. You don’t control what happens to your body. You’re a slave. We’re all slaves.”

  By the third day, Tray was losing hope that the rain would ever let up. They’d dragged the portable cooling units into the ship, and had the lower deck completely cooled. The middle and upper decks they were working case by case, since the liquid fuel in a full unit only lasted about forty hours. According to the droids, there was a refinery, and they could get more fuel, but it seemed one more menial task to survive, as opposed to a major task toward escape. So far, there was no sign of the survivor.

  Life happened on the lower deck now. Tray had set up a ward room of sorts in the passenger lounge, because there was a bed there and he could keep an eye on Hawk. The man hadn’t stirred since the ambulance bot wheeled him home three days ago. Saskia wanted to set him up with intravenous fluids, but when she consulted Nolwazi, she realized she couldn’t just inject him with water without putting him in greater danger. She needed salt to mix in, and they were out.

  Danny and Saskia were using their new photovoltaic cells inside the Dome, hoping to gather some energy from the ambient light to get a little more power. They had two more hours to get it to work before they moved onto the next most important task: rigging the transmitter for whenever the weather cleared, and then finding drone control so they could make sure the glider got up safely (and that their rescuers didn’t get trapped as well).

  Tray’s next task was less savory—taking Amanda into the forest to find more food. Tray was not looking forward to the trip.

  Hawk made a noise, and Tray leapt from the floor to check on him. Hawk sniffled dryly, but his eyes were open.

  “Maitren?” he croaked when he saw Tray.

  “I don’t know that word. Can you drink something?” Tray asked, searching the room for canteens. They’d filled a few of them at the well, and a few more with rainwater. Tray found one that had a straw-sip lid. Hawk hadn’t moved a muscle. He looked confused.

  “Drink?” Tray said, tipping the straw. “Water?”

  Hawk sat up in the bed, shaking with fear. He didn’t look sickly at all, and there was no sign of the pain that had him doubled over before. He took a sip from the canteen and made a face, but he sucked down most of the bottle before taking a breath.

  “Faim,” Hawk whispered.

  Tray recognized the Rocanese word for food and chuckled. “I’ll bet you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten in days,” he said, looking around for the leftover meal he’d brought in here. “Danny made this potato mash. He thinks it’s good.”

  Tray handed the half-eaten bowl to Hawk. It was a soft, bitter mixture, flavored with the root vegetables they’d gathered at Fox Run. Hawk tested the potato mash on his tongue, then devoured it in two bites.

  “Don’t eat too fast. You’ll make yourself sick,” Tray said, even though he didn’t see the gag reflex and green color that seemed to plague Hawk at every other meal. “More?”

  Hawk nodded, running his finger around the bowl for crumbs. After three days in a coma, Tray was shocked to see him sitting up, let alone eating.

  “We have more in food stores. I’ll be right back,” Tray said, biting his lip, not wanting to leave Hawk alone after his spontaneous recovery. Tray went to the door, and Hawk got up to follow. His shoulders were slouched in submission, but he didn’t look sick.

  “How do you feel?” Tray asked. He worried Hawk would collapse in the hall. Hawk’s eyes twitched.

  “Nod if you understand me,” Tray said.

  Hawk stared, then nodded slowly.

  “Anything hurt?” Tray asked.

  Hawk looked down at himself, feeling his belly, then he shook his head. He tested his legs, and stretched his chest, but Tray could see on his face that the pain was gone.

  “Danny, Saskia, Hawk’s awake. He seems to have forgotten his illness… not unlike Saskia. We’re getting some food,” Tray called, tapping his Feather. He listened for a response, then checked his Virp. They’d shut the computer down to conserve power, and he hadn’t realized they’d lost comms in the process. “Guess we’ll have to go outside and tell them. Let’s eat first.”

  Tray led the way down the hall to the food stores. The potato mash wasn’t the most appetizing meal, but it would suffice. Tray had low expectations for Hawk’s ability to keep anything down, but he’d let Hawk wolf down as much as he could. Even a few good hours would be a great help to getting out of here.

  “Soumis esclavenne?” Hawk asked through a mouthful of food.

  “I don’t understand. Can you put that into Trade?” Tray asked. He poured some of the non-fermented apple juice into two cups—one for himself. It was a bitter drink, and worse when they watered it down, but there was only so much mineral-rich well water he could take before he needed something to wash away the flavor.

  “I am yours?” Hawk asked. “Slave?”

  Tray’s heart did a flip. “No. No, you’re not a slave.”

  Hawk took a sip of juice, then finished the cup and went back to eating. “Geneculture? One bed. All in one bed. Tied down. Force bred,” he said, rambling on to finish the thought in Rocanese.

  Tray had heard enough. He swore under his breath, clenching his fist. Everything he’d ever heard about Rocan—aside from their bread recipes—was screwed up, twisted, and painful. He didn’t want to think of what would have happened to Saskia and Amanda if they hadn’t escaped.

  “No. No, breeding,” Tray said, avoiding Hawk by looking around the room, deciding to gather the empty storage boxes. They’d lost some of the fresh food to heat. They’d juiced as many of the apples as they could to keep them useful, but quickly ran out of containers. Ten potatoes and odd protein blocks were the only other things left.

  “Hawk, we’re just trying to keep you alive,” Tray said, counting the protein blocks. They had three. It would last them another three days, if they rationed them strictly, but with Hawk awake and hungry, it might only last two. Tray and Amanda would pack up half a day’s worth to take to the forest while they hunted for new food, and the others would have to ration the potatoes and the other protein blocks.

  “Are we friends?” Hawk asked, interrupting Tray’s brood.

  “No,” Tray smirked.

  Hawk slouched again, disappointment playing across his face. He may have been physically healthy but mentally, he’d taken a few steps back.

  Tray raised an eyebrow, choosing to tease rather than grovel for forgiveness. “You really want to be friends with me?”

  Hawk shrugged, seeming genuinely unsure, and Tray laughed.

  “How about a trial period?” Tray asked. “Hawk, at this point, I tell you more than I tell Danny. We’re practically brothers.”

  Hawk nodded again, running his spoon around the empty bowl.

  “More?” Tray asked. There were only a few spoons full left.

  Hawk nodded.

  “Is that a yes?” Tray prompted. “Say it in Trade; not Rocanese.”

  “Yes,” Hawk agreed. Tray put half of the potatoes into Hawk’s bowl, then got a spoon for himself to finish off the batch. They were down to bitter apples, bland potatoes, and fish-flavored protein. If he and Amanda didn’t find something to bring back, they’d go hungry. The others would go hungry. Tray would go into a hypoglycemic coma and die. He needed to record a message just in case. He needed to say good-bye to his son.

  Shortly after the rain started, Liza disappeared again. Kerris had waited for her to reappear. Hours turned to days. After three days watching the visitors and stressing over Liza’s disappearance, Kerris started to accept his sister’s absence. He thought of all the times Liza had disappeared before—or rather, all the times she stayed in bed while he went out to hunt and collect water. He thought about all the times he’d been alone and without her, even t
hough he’d come to Boone to be with her. He rubbed his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist, tears forming in his eyes.

  “It hurts,” Kerris whispered, though he couldn’t hold back the smile as the ink was injected under his skin.

  “The pain will pass,” his new wife, Nalia, assured him, squeezing his hand. Nalia was a beautiful, freckled brunette with dazzling brown eyes and a rambunctious personality. Her first act in befriending him was to get them both in trouble for stealing a prototype hang glider for a joy ride. It was the first time in a long time Kerris felt safe having a daring adventure without fear of being disowned by his tribe. Nalia made it safe for him to reclaim his lost childhood, and though he could not understand her love for him, he adored her.

  She’d gotten her tattoo first because she was more familiar with the tribe’s marriage ritual. Nalia had many tattoos, some temporary, some permanent. She liked the decoration, but she assured him that none had greater meaning than this. A councilman of the Gavameti had overseen their contract and they were now a couple of record.

  I can heal it real quick. Liza’s voice came into Kerris’ mind, startling him so much he nearly jerked his hand away from the tattoo artist. The artist lifted his instrument and Nalia rubbed Kerris’ shoulders until he settled.

  Don’t touch. You’ll mess it up, Kerris warned.

  “Kerris?” Nalia whispered, her thumb tracing his spine, forcing him to relax.

  “Hmm?”

  “Where were you just now?”

  “Oh. Lost. In my head,” he chuckled. Realizing that his smile had vanished, he forced it back into place, but he couldn’t look at the tattoo anymore. Liza, leave us alone.

  Can you radiate something besides pain? You’re making my skin hurt and people are giving me weird looks, Liza complained.

  Kerris flinched again, sucking his cheeks in. Nalia had smiled the entire time the tattoo artist had worked on her, and Kerris felt like he was failing her by not doing the same. Now that Liza had mentioned the pain, he was overwhelmed by it, and he could see the table starting to vibrate in response.