“He’s not fluent in Lanvarian, but he does understand,” Chase warned. “Gray pants, turquoise blue shirt, long sleeve please.”
She wrinkled her nose again, and forced a plastic smile. “You may peruse available graphics virtually, and we can press the shirt once you are sized,” she managed.
Hawk moved toward the display, but Chase redirected him toward the glove mounts. Given the old lady’s attitude, he wanted Hawk fitted and out the door.
“Why is she mad?” Hawk whispered, clasping his hands at his waist, shopping with his eyes instead of his hands.
“She’s not used to dealing with your kind of money,” Chase replied, pulling a few of the work gloves from the shelf.
“This one is like Danny’s,” Hawk said, pulling a dark, brown leather glove. “The Virp isn’t real.”
“You mount the one you already have into the glove,” Chase explained.
“But I already have a glove. I have two, because you made me wear this fancy one,” Hawk said. “That’s already too many. I don’t want people to think I’m hoarding resources.”
“You don’t want one of your own; fine,” Chase sighed. “I was just trying to help you feel more comfortable.”
“Find something you like?” the old lady asked, bringing Hawk a stack of three pants for Hawk to try on.
“I don’t need all those,” Hawk said, fear creeping over his face.
“We’re only taking one. The one that fits you best,” Chase explained, taking the pants and pushing Hawk into a dressing room. “Try each one on. Pick the one that fits you best. The rest stay here.”
“You’re not seriously going to let him work with machines are you?” the old lady jeered, going to the shelf, selecting the t-shirts for Hawk. The shirt sizes were general enough that she didn’t see need for a fitting, and she tossed a few color options on the counter, along with a multi-colored dew rag that fit like a headband.
“He’s less afraid of machines than clothes,” Chase explained, taking a yellow shirt from the counter and tossing it over the door of the dressing room. “You should see the things he built before his caretakers decided to dress him like that.”
“If you say so,” she shrugged.
A few moments later, Hawk emerged from the dressing room, wearing the new pants and shirt, looking sadly at the clothing in his hand, as if holding a dead puppy. The long-sleeved shirt covered the fancier part of his Virp mount, and Chase was satisfied he looked normal enough.
“Are you okay?” Chase asked. “Do you like it, or do you want to wear what you had before?”
“I don’t know,” Hawk murmured, shuffling beside Chase. Taking the clothes, Chase and the old lady separated Hawk’s clothes from the samples he’d tried on and ordered a few more sets delivered to Oriana. The old lady got antsy when Chase used Sikorsky’s account.
“Come on,” Chase said, shoving he headband into Hawk’s hand and steering Hawk out of the store. The venture had started out fun, but had definitely gone downhill. “Machine parts next.”
“Okay,” Hawk agreed, studying the band. “How do I use this?”
“You slide it over your head and you rig it until it keeps the hair out of your face,” Chase explained, pulling his shaggy bangs back to demonstrate. “Why the red hair, by the way? It’s not part of the Quin fashion trend. Does it come from home?” Chase asked.
He thought the answer would be simple. ‘I like the color.’ But Hawk got antsy again, wringing his hands, then getting distracted by the softness of his shirt and petting that. “When I was a kid, I wanted to. But Papa wouldn’t let me,” Hawk explained, hiccupping for air as he sadly recounted the story. “Maman said when Papa flew his glider, she’d help me do it. But then… Papa died.”
“I’m sorry,” Chase said.
Hawk rubbed his arms, like he was cold. “Maman had to go to Asylum because I couldn’t take care of her. But one day, I was visiting, and she asked why I never did it. She wanted to see. So I did it.”
“Do you like it?” Chase asked.
“I guess,” Hawk said, tugging at the red tips. “Takes the attention off my… weird face.”
“There’s nothing weird about your face, kid. You have a pretty face,” Chase said, pinching Hawk’s cheek.
Hawk whacked Chase’s hand, his face getting red. “There’s flattery and there’s flat out lying.”
“What? You have a pretty face,” Chase chuckled. “You should see the live stream conversation since we came into Olcott. The consensus is that you’re exotic and sexy.”
“Have you ever had a breeding partner reject you because of your face?” Hawk muttered, bunching his shirtsleeves, gritting his teeth.
“You can’t please everybody,” Chase said, weaving his hands under Hawk’s before he broke skin. “Hey, calm down. We’re here.”
Smiling, Chase passed through the sliding metal doors into the mechanical warehouse. The air smelled of oil and metal, and the aisles of tools to the left, metal parts to the right, and full engines center screamed money. “I never get to shop in stores like this.”
Hawk grabbed Chase’s shirt, burying his face in the fabric, his breath coming in short gasps.
“Now what? You’ve never seen so many clean engines before have you?” Chase grinned. The engines on display were designed for boats, and would have to be customized to handle the stresses and air intake of flying.
Hawk shook his head, peeking around Chase’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m always scavenging in junkyards. That’s what us waygees do,” Chase sighed.
“Why would an engine be in a junkyard. Wouldn’t it get assigned somewhere?” Hawk asked, his voice raspy.
“Do you know where every engine in Rocan is?” Chase smirked.
Hawk nodded, rubbing his eyes. “We have twenty-seven, not counting the one I stole for my glider. Twenty-six. The Coureur exploded when Sky came. We lost that one.”
Chase whistled. For him, growing up poor meant working summers on a rich man’s yacht to get engine parts to tinker with. Hawk’s Dome was so poor that a second glove-mount for his Virp seemed like flaunting wealth.
“We could save so many with what’s on the shelf here,” Hawk said, clearing his throat, regaining his composure.
“Let’s start with one we can drop in your glider,” Chase said, rubbing his shoulder. “Sky can order more before you leave Quin.”
“We could bring the people of Rocan here. You have resources, medicine, doctors,” Hawk mused.
“We don’t do so well with refugees. You’ll need to find more altruists and fewer capitalists,” Chase said, steering Hawk to a virtual display. “Take a look through this and see what you like. That green square at the bottom is the price. Try to keep it under 500 marks.”
“Can this be translated into Trade?” Hawk asked, scanning the specs. His eyes twitched, but he fought to keep his emotions in check.
“I don’t know. Just scan it with your Virp,” Chase said. “I need to check my list against whatever Genova is trying to sell us. Then we’ll get lunch and pick up some chocolate for Sky.”
“Is that a weapon?” Hawk asked, squatting in front of the nearest engine, ghosting his finger over the casing. “Chick-lat.”
“It’s a candy.”
“Is it made from chicken?” Hawk asked.
Chase laughed, but then he recognized the suspicious look in Hawk’s eyes and realized it was a ‘meat’ question. “It’s made from a bean and sugar. Sky loves it.”
“Are you trying to get back together with her?” Hawk asked, his cheeks getting tight.
Chase chuckled. “No. No I have a girlfriend.”
“You say that. And you keep coming back to Oriana,” Hawk pointed out.
“You ever heard the phrase ‘married to your work?’ I love ships the way you love engines,” Chase said, rubbing his ear. “You’re right, though. I feel like I’m cheating on her every minute I’m here.”
“I can get the inventory back to Oriana if you
get me to the boat,” Hawk offered. “Then you can stay here with her.”
Chase swallowed hard. “I’ve left a dozen messages since we got on the boat, but she hasn’t gotten back to me.”
“Because she’s married to her work?” Hawk asked.
Chase burst out laughing.
17
The fuzz of the plush teddy bear tickled Amanda’s face and she puffed air from her lips to keep the shedding fur from her mouth. She stuck out her tongue, but when she tried to remove the hair, her hands were bound. The haze of the hallucination had lifted, but Amanda clung to it, preferring the sleepy childhood morning to her present situation. Although she was grateful to have medicine, she wished she could experience it at home rather than in this awful psych ward.
The piece of hair irritated her mouth, but it wasn’t from the teddy bear, it was one of her own. The walls of her room glowed like the sky, with cloud patterns floating past. The projection was designed to stimulate her mind and make her forget she was in a prison. Her eyesight had been surgically corrected so that the picture wasn’t fuzzy, but she missed having her Occ. She knew that with the device, she’d see right through the lie into what this place really was. She tried to remember if Alex had hidden her Occ somewhere where she could use it, but even if he’d left it on her person, she couldn’t move her hands.
Her fingers ached and her fists were bruised. She must have hit someone. Or hit the wall. She wondered how long it would take for the medicine to make her better. Or if it ever would.
“Hello,” Amanda said, blinking at a face in the clouds. She felt a presence and a moment later, a brown-skinned man with dense eyebrows emerged from the light. The projection behind him dissipated and the room settled into an ugly taupe color.
“Hmm,” he smirked, lines appearing around his lips. “You can see me today.”
“I saw you before. I thought you weren’t real,” Amanda said, studying his dark brown eyes and stark features.
“But today, I look real,” he said.
“Today, I don’t care. I want…” She trailed off, her eyes wandering over the insignia on his Enn uniform, then back to his severe scowl. “I know you.”
“From yesterday?”
“From Terrana. From when I was little.” Amanda teared up, her body contracting as she felt him towering threateningly over her in her memory. She hated that she remembered the bad, painful, and scary moments more than the good.
“You’re mistaken,” he said.
“Got into a fight at school with Kinzie. Her dad yelled at me,” Amanda sniffled, remembering the comfort of her mother’s arms around her as she relayed the story. She remembered telling her parents about the man standing over her now. “You yelled at me.”
“That was a long time ago. I must have frightened you,” the Enn said, his chin lifting smugly.
“I get yelled at a lot. I’m that kind of kid,” Amanda said, squirming to get away. Her feet were bound, too. She was helpless.
“You’re not a kid anymore. Or don’t you remember?” he said. He crossed his arms, but kept his distance. The expression he wore looked just like one of Saskia’s.
“Why are you here, Mr. Serevi?” Amanda asked.
“Detective,” he corrected, his surprise registering in the way his body tensed. “I’m impressed; you know my name. You are flagged as high-risk, wanted on Terrana for multiple crimes.”
“You think I am a criminal?” Amanda challenged. She barely remembered her past, but she knew she’d killed before, and it wasn’t always self-defense. Although, when fighting for one’s life, offense was necessary.
“I know you’re a Patriot refugee,” he said, sucking in his cheeks. “I know where that little traitor stashes each one. It was only a matter of time before her carelessness killed her.”
“Traitor—”
“Now they’ve started to disappear,” he continued. “Is that just what your kind do? Flit out of existence and come back half dead?”
Amanda didn’t know what to make of his hatred or his claim.
“Your daughter isn’t dead,” Amanda offered.
“She’s not my daughter!” he cut her off, his vehemence frightening. “Traitor. Careless. Where is she?”
Amanda stammered, wishing she understood more. Saskia never talked about her family.
“She went with Matthews, didn’t she?” the Detective reasoned. “That’s just like her. Leaving the vulnerable asset to protect the one who is surrounded by bodyguards.”
Amanda looked away, coughing on the hair caught in her throat, still unsure of what was happening. The man knew she was a refugee, but did he know her? What had Jennifer told her before dropping her here? She could barely remember that far back.
“Detective,” a sturdy brunette admonished as she strode into the room and came between the Detective and Amanda. “You are not supposed to question her without her advocate present.”
“She was calling for help, Lana. Instinct,” the Detective lied, backing away from the bed.
The woman leaned over the bed, smoothing the hair away from Amanda’s face and miraculously finding the strand that was stuck on her lips. The woman was dressed up, and her face painted like she was about to appear on camera.
“My hands are tied,” Amanda said. “Untie me?”
“I’m afraid we can’t until we reach a stable neurochemistry,” a man behind her croaked as he rolled into the room. His body was crumpled despite the mechanical enhancements. He had pale, olive-tinted skin that was common on Terrana. “How are you feeling today?”
Amanda glanced at the Detective. “My hands are tied.”
“I know, miss,” Lana said, blocking Amanda’s vision again. “Do you remember your name? Can you tell me?”
Amanda stretched her neck and saw the Detective shake his head. He didn’t volunteer anything about her being a Patriot or coming on Oriana. If he knew her name, he wasn’t telling the doctor, and so she kept silent.
“Did the genetic testing show any results, Dr. Kernighan?” Detective Serevi asked, coming to the foot of the bed. She felt his hands rest on her ankles, and then his thumb slide under the bonds as he stealthily loosened them.
“A potential match to the Yorich line. It may be worth checking to see if anyone has a missing cousin,” the doctor said cryptically. Yorich was Jennifer’s family name. They weren’t related as far as Amanda knew, but maybe this doctor was on her side, and bringing Jennifer to help her.
“I will check,” the Detective promised, coming around the side of the bed, walking his fingers over hers until he could reach the restraints on her hands.
“By her bone mass, I imagine she spent many years on Terrana, but her age is obscured by other trauma—confinement, hunger,” the doctor continued, raising his chair to see over the side of the bed. He crowded the detective away and a machine descended through the projected image of the ceiling, casting a dark shadow over her face.
“Look up at the ceiling. Hold still for the brain scan,” Lana said soothingly.
“I will ask you a series of questions and measure your response,” the doctor added.
“Ezekiel, no. I don’t want to,” Amanda whimpered, tugging against the restraints.
The doctor glared at the detective. “Did you tell her my name?”
“Every Terranan knows about you. You’re a warning to all luna-borns,” the Detective shrugged.
Amanda moaned, thinking of Johann, wanting to shout his name, but resisting the urge. She wanted so badly to rescue Johann from Terrana, but she couldn’t imagine her best friend being confined to a chair like Ezekiel.
“Be calm. You’re safe,” Lana whispered, putting a hand on Amanda’s chest to hold her down. “This scan will tell us whether the medicine is working. I am still pushing for the surgical fix, if one can be found. We don’t want you to suffer.”
“Help,” Amanda whimpered.
“I’m here—”
“I don’t know you!” Amanda growled at the woman. “De
tective Serevi. Detective, help. Help me. Don’t leave. Hold my hand. Don’t leave.”
The others looked accusingly at the Detective, but he ignored them and came to her bedside, sliding his hand into hers. Then she felt his thumb pressing against her pulse point, and he loosened the restrain on her hand, just as he’d done for her feet.
“Do you trust him?” Amanda asked.
“Can’t ever trust a luna-born,” the Detective said carefully. “Though I think he is honestly working to cure you.”
Amanda nodded and swallowed. The fake emotions had stirred up as much mucus as real ones would have. The doctor wiped her face with his bionic hand, then started his scan and questions. Detective Serevi used the motion of the machine as an excuse to switch to the other side of the table and release her other hand. He was making sure she could get free on her own after the others left. Either he knew she needed to escape, or he knew she’d need to fight. Either way, his concern scared her. He was Enn; he should have been able to do more.
18
Sky slunk through the quiet port, incensed by the helplessness she felt. She couldn’t book passage to Terrana, because no one was going there. Quin had become smaller in her absence. The Cadence stood next to Oriana in port, flight-ready save for fuel. Sky broke in through the mid-level hatch, and was taken aback. Where Oriana had small dots of color painted onto its bronze frame, the Cadence was shiny, silver and white, with pencil-thin, russet stripes marching along the walls like a music staff. The dust that crept in at the corners wasn’t nearly as pervasive as Oriana’s.
Spirit flared and Sky’s vision went red for a moment.
“Are you thinking of buying, too?” a woman asked, gliding in from the galley.
Sky whipped around, hand on her grav-gun, hesitating when she saw the sleek, aristocratic gown. Spirit must have felt the soul on board, although Sky wasn’t used to having a warning system. The woman was tall, but not as tall as Sky. The roundness of her figure suggested she’d survived motherhood, though the lines around her lips belied an age past childbearing years. Her coral-blue gown stopped just above the ankles, and it billowed when she walked. The ribbon design of her elbow-length glove concealed the bulge of a stunner, and Sky knew she was looking at a boss.
The Gray Market: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 5) Page 14