“There will be eyes enough on you in the block it takes to get from the hospital to the protected walkway,” Ayize continued.
“Doctor, are you okay?” Tray asked, sitting forward when Morrigan swayed, and instantly regretting the move. He didn’t get stabbing pain in his side, but he felt an uncomfortable tug on his healing tissue.
Morrigan shuddered, then turned to Ayize, hooking her hands around his elbow. The dissociative haze lifted and paranoid Morrigan peeked out. “Would it be safer to split up, Ayize? I want to stay together, but then if something happens, it happens to all of us.”
“You got that ambulance out to Oriana. You got me into the hospital. Has there been a single attack while I’ve been in here?” Tray asked. The others were quiet. “No, seriously. I was unconscious for most of my stay. Have we been attacked?”
“Security has restricted foot-traffic to this wing,” Ayize allowed, his dark eyes narrowing.
“So the two of you are making me paranoid for no reason,” Tray smirked.
“No,” Ayize said again, putting his hand over Morrigan’s. “She’s grieving over the murder of her parents, and I’m not going to lose another charge to complacency.”
Morrigan shuddered and pressed her face against Ayize’s arm. Tray’s eyes widened in shock. No one had told him the Zenzeles were murdered!
“Take the protected path, Tray,” Saskia said softly. “The others will get word that we’ve moved to your estate. They’ll know you’re okay.”
Tray nodded, fighting back questions about the circumstances of the murder, his brain telling him he needed to offer condolences first.
“Did you have any patients to see before we go?” Ayize asked, giving the slightest nudge to get Morrigan’s eyes lifted.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, shaking her head.
The day had finally come. Tray was going to meet his son, and he was a nervous wreck. Saskia helped him into a wheelchair and rolled him to a private shower where he could clean up and change. With every glimpse of himself in the mirror, he flashed to the thought that he’d better look presentable in case his father was watching the news. Saskia helped him shave his face and tame his hair into the shoulder-length ringlets that his father both hated and respected. Then Morrigan brought him a golden suit with peacock blue accents, and he nearly busted a stitch squeezing into the shirt and closing the vest.
“Your brother’s suit?” Tray asked. Despite the fit, the clothes made him feel powerful. He’d had a little empire in Quin before he’d taken up with his brother, and he wanted every employee and business associate to know that he was back, and he was claiming all that was his for his son.
“Yours,” she replied, rubbing her hands together nervously. “I guess all your time in gravity has broadened your shoulders some. Did you do a lot of heavy lifting in the wild?”
“Far too much,” Tray nodded. “Let’s roll.”
“Walk, actually,” Morrigan said, handing him a pair of crutches. They were slender and had cuffs that went around his wrists.
“Walk? I can barely sit,” Tray said, gripping the armrests on his wheelchair, unwilling to take the crutches.
“There’s a cab waiting outside. If we roll you, your enemies will know you’re too weak to fight,” Ayize said. “It’s just from the door to the cab. Five paces.”
“What about an exoskeleton?” Tray asked.
“With those pants?” Morrigan teased. “It would take a few days to have one fitted, and Ayize thinks that would give Ketlin too much time to prepare an attack.”
“Ketlin? Lois Ketlin? She’s a low-level street dealer,” Tray said.
“She used to be,” Morrigan agreed. “Her family took over the main pharmaceutical manufacturer in Clover last month. Her street thugs have scared most of the smaller manufacturers out of business. Sixty percent of this hospital’s medicine supply comes through her business.”
“She took my business?” Tray whispered.
“You died,” Morrigan shrugged.
“It was all in a trust for Hero,” Tray said. “She shouldn’t have been able to—”
“Look, you can wallow about money all you want when we get back to the fortress,” Ayize interrupted. “Let’s go.”
Saskia checked the setting on her stunner before tucking it into the shoulder holster Ayize had given her. Unlike her father, Ayize recognized and respected that Saskia was there to protect Tray, and he’d given her the weapon. He’d offered a formal suit more fitting of a bodyguard, but Saskia worried about having Quin’s eyes on her in this moment. She wanted to protect her alias just a little while longer.
Tray put on a brave face, but Saskia thought he was going to pass out when he took that first step on the walking crutches. Morrigan had a death grip on Tray’s arm, and seeing the two of them gaudied up, Saskia wished she’d taking Ayize’s offer of the non-descript suit so that she could blend into the background. As she was dressed like an aristocrat, she came to Tray’s other arm and gave him support.
A cab waited by the entry, and beyond that there were a few walk-up patients, an ambulance, and a cluster of physicians sitting outside eating lunch. The ambulance crew took notice of Tray first, one of the younger EMTs whipping out a Virp to snap pictures. Saskia wanted to hide her face from the camera, but she had to watch the crowd to protect Tray.
“The gravity clinic is one of my mother’s businesses,” Morrigan rambled, exploding in jitters once the cab made way. “There is an escape walkway that leads to a riverboat dock, and then we sail around to a channel much closer to the house.”
“Ayize and I tested the route last night,” Saskia said. “It is defendable.”
“You speak in complete sentences, Zara? I’m shocked,” Ayize mocked.
“I get motion sick,” Tray said, running his hands over his wrists, massaging the red marks where the wrist cuffs of his crutches rested against his skin.
“Yes, I know. It’s on your chart,” Morrigan said, pulling pillbox from her jacket pocket showing Tray a dissolvable strip inside. “It’s low dose, fast acting. You can take it when we get to the clinic.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Tray said, squirming nervously. The cab was tiny on the inside, with two bench seats facing each other. Saskia and Tray were on one, their knees bumping against Morrigan and Ayize on the facing side.
“If we’d stayed at the hospital an extra week, then the clinic would have made more sense,” Morrigan said. The cab rolled up to a moonslate storefront that was in a line of older-looking brick and wooden storefronts. “You’re not quite ready for gravity therapy.”
“I’m also not interested,” Tray said, gritting his teeth as he positioned the walking crutches, procrastinating the move as much as possible. “I hate microgravity.”
A nurse trotted out the front door with a wheelchair and greeted Morrigan with a smile. Tray was relieved to see the chair, and once in it, Morrigan bypassed the door and used her handprint to unlock the private walkway.
“My mom—she bought it when I first went into medical school,” Morrigan continued. The pathway went down underground and had moonslate-lined walls, so polished they could see their reflections. “It always seemed a weird location, except now, it’s the safest way to get home.”
Dim lights came up on the path as they walked, just bright enough to dispel the shadows. Ayize took the lead and Saskia trailed behind, keeping their charges in the middle. The light at the end of the tunnel was the pure afternoon sun. The path exited into a pristine boathouse, and a small river cruiser waited. The plain white boat had no covering, and being designed for recreational use, had no easy way for Tray to get on board. Ayize lifted Tray from the chair and set him in the boat, then helped Morrigan. Saskia made the jump on her own and took a seat next to Tray near the front. The boat had a bench on either side of the bow. The only proper chair went to the driver, and Ayize took that position. Saskia tucked her flower-laden braid into her dress.
Jetting into the water at top speed,
Ayize kicked up a spray, and despite Morrigan’s medicine, Tray instantly turned green. His hand slipped around Saskia’s waist and he leaned in. Morrigan went pale as death, her head down, her lips moving even though no sound came out. The outboard motor was loud and set high enough to navigate the shallower channels. The water muddied as they went past, and birds took flight from the taller grass. The sun felt hot on Saskia’s skin, but Tray felt cold.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the mountains that sheltered Clover parted, and the tiny cove at the base of the fortress came into view. Tray let out a breath the moment the boat stopped, but Morrigan didn’t speak again until her feet were on solid ground.
This time, the press was waiting, and there were cameras, drones, and news reporters pressed against the railing at the top of the dock. Patting her braids to get her hair in place, Morrigan went from wind-blown to gorgeous in seconds. Tray was sweating and shaking too much to make the transformation, but Morrigan primped him, bringing him back to sufficient splendor to make him photo-ready. Saskia arranged her braid over one shoulder, hoping the flowers hid the fly-aways.
“Vimbai, are you here to negotiate with Ketlin?” one reporter shouted.
“Vimbai, have you come to discredit the Valentino heir?”
“I am here to claim all that is mine,” Tray said loudly. He squared his shoulders, looking directly into one of the cameras, though he ignored the reporter attached to it. “I want Quin safe for all of our families.”
“Back away!” Ayize ordered, using the gate from the dock to herd the press back and clear the path to the waiting motor car. It was a self-driving vehicle—just wheels, bench seats, and a command interface. No one would have trouble seeing them in this thing. It didn’t even have a windshield.
“Home stretch. You can make it,” Saskia coached, guiding Tray to the car. As soon as he sat down, the little engine purred. The car jerked into motion after Ayize closed the door.
“I need to lie down,” Tray said, swallowing hard, forcing a smile for his watching audience.
“Lean on me,” Saskia offered, shifting sideways on the seat so that he could get comfortable.
“Kiss me,” he whispered, closing his eyes, his head resting on her chest. Her heart fluttered, and she inhaled the intoxicating scent of his cocoa butter hair cream. Licking her lips, she considered his. She saw the hostile in the crowd too late.
Ayize reacted fast, launching his body over Tray’s and partially covering Saskia’s. Milky gray goo exploded against his chest and face, splattering all over the carriage. Using his body for cover, Saskia fired her stunner at the hostile.
The goo smeared onto Saskia’s arm. It stank of silicon and herbs, and felt dry despite its appearance. She wiped the stuff onto her dress, and her forearm went numb. For a moment, she thought her father was right. She was a terrible protector.
Another person threw something wet and the gray goo on the cab’s exterior caught fire. Morrigan screeched and ordered the car to increase speed, knocking Saskia back into her seat. Through an ever-increasing onslaught of spots in her vision, Saskia stripped Morrigan of her jacket and used it to beat down the smoke. It didn’t smell like a typical fire, but had the acrid aroma of incense. The crowd was in a panic, some scattering, some rushing the car. Saskia put her stunner on wide beam and sent a shock into the ground to keep them at bay.
The gate to the fortress opened just wide enough for them to squeak through and slammed closed with a force that shook the ground. Then the moonslate structure extended upward, closing in around their protected hill, nearly blocking out the sun. The cab zipped up the hill, bouncing on the unpaved road, and gave only minimal warning before coming to a screeching halt on a patio.
Two guards rushed from the giant mansion. One took Ayize and Morrigan ran after them. The second one hefted Tray over one shoulder and ran into the house pushing Saskia ahead of him. Seconds after the door to the giant mansion closed, Saskia heard a boom as the cab caught fire again.
22
Seventeen-year-old Danny woke up shivering, wet, and sticky. His pajamas were soaked with sweat and his bed sheets were damp. He could hear Tray and his stepfather Steven down the hall, talking and laughing, and he felt lonely.
Arching his back, Danny stretched his aching muscles and rolled onto his side. Pulling the blanket up to his shoulders wouldn’t make a difference—the sheets needed to be changed. Tiredly, he lifted his Virp from the nightstand and perused the daily feeds. The date... he’d been out for three days! No wonder no one was sitting around waiting for him to wake up.
He felt better, though, and he wanted a shower. His stepfather would be happier if he were clean and presentable. Rolling out of bed, he padded to the bathroom and started the shower. The movement precipitated a dull headache, but the running water felt good. A knock on the door startled him.
“Daniel,” Steven called, rapping sharply. “You get back in bed this instant!”
Danny tried to yell back that he was fine, but he could barely get out a croak. The loud noise made his head throb. Sparkles appeared at the edge of his vision, and he decided that lying down was not a bad idea.
“Daniel!” The doorknob turned. Danny grabbed a towel to cover himself, but the rapid motion knocked him off balance. He slipped, but Steven caught him around the waist and sat him on the side of the tub.
“Don’t push through the poison; that’s what killed your mother,” Steven chastised, turning off the water and grabbing every towel within reach to sop up the mess. Steven kept one arm around Danny, which was good, because Danny felt his strength waning rapidly. Danny remembered his mother powering through moments of weakness, and he’d always taken it as a sign of love that she kept going for his sake. If he hadn’t been so selfish—if he’d insisted that she rest—maybe she’d still be here.
“I need new sheets,” Danny whispered, unable to muster any volume. It seemed trite, but if he had to go back to bed, he didn’t want to lie on damp sheets.
“Of course,” Steven said, snapping his fingers to get Tray’s attention. Seven-year-old Tray peeked through the door looking curious and frightened. Danny didn’t want to think about how hard things would be for his little brother if he died too. Steven sent Tray to fetch their caregiver, Carlin, who had started living with them when their mom fell ill. His duties had shifted somewhat since their mother’s death, but he continued to live with them and help out where he could.
Danny rested his head on Steven’s shoulder, then lifted it immediately. His stepfather had on a nice suit, and Danny didn’t want to get it wet. Steven pressed Danny’s head back to his shoulder, not seeming to care. They hadn’t shared a moment so tender in months.
“I don’t feel a fever anymore. That’s a good sign,” Steven murmured. He rubbed Danny’s shoulder worriedly. “Dr. Rosenberg created an antidote. He figured it out too late to save Clara, but we are going to save you.”
Danny’s teeth chattered and his stomach twisted in a knot. “I have what she had?”
“I thought you were gone,” Steven choked, squeezing Danny across the shoulders. “You’ve been in a coma for three days, now you’re walking around.”
“I’m not walking so well,” Danny pointed out. His mother was still ambulatory for nearly a year after they first figured out she was ill. She’d lived three years with the disease. He didn’t want to put his family through that pain again.
“Well, I’ll help you move, but I’m not carrying you to bed,” Steven laughed. “Maybe Carlin can.”
“I can walk,” Danny said. Using one hand to keep the towel cinched around his waist, and leaning heavily on his stepfather, Danny walked slowly back to his bedroom. Carlin was already there, fluffing the sheets and spreading them quickly. The flutter of motion made Danny dizzy, and he buried his face on Steven’s shoulder. He needed the hug, and he was glad that Steven wasn’t giving him a hard time for being so weak.
“It’s not fair—you living when she died,” Steven said.
Tho
se words took Danny’s breath away. Hurt, Danny pushed off of Steven’s shoulder, but he didn’t make it more than a few steps before he collapsed. Steven caught him around the waist and held him up.
“Don’t push through and pretend you’re strong,” Steven snapped. “You are going to live. Do you hear me! You are going to lie down and rest and get better, and you will live a long, long time!”
Alex sat in the pilot’s seat of the Cadence, leaving the captain’s chair for Danny. The ship was close enough in style to Oriana to bring back memories of their days traveling together, and he could only hope that the nostalgia triggered Danny’s willingness to talk without overwhelming him entirely.
“Coro brought it, I guess as a thank you for telling him about Sky,” Alex said. It felt weird looking out the front window and seeing a desert filled with wind turbines rather than a dank spaceport. The water haulers in Quin were inherited from pre-Dome society, patched over and refinished, even though their technology had not changed in centuries. If anything, the technology had regressed, because they didn’t have worldwide trade. Damien Coro’s hope to seek out the survivors in other domes had nothing to do with rebuilding trade routes, though. Alex figured the man was hoping to plant his flag in the abandoned cities and claim all the natural resources as his own.
“She’s gone by the way,” Alex tried.
“Sky?” Danny asked, his vacant stare pointed in the direction of a wind turbine. The sun cast a healthy glow on his face, but the puffy rings around his eyes spoke to progressively poorer sleep habits. He’d come home from the hospital, but he was far from better.
“I don’t suppose she took Hawk with her,” Danny commented.
“The micro-runner was fueled up to carry two when it took off. She took someone to Terrana, but I don’t think it was Hawk,” Alex said. The fuel had been syphoned from the Cadence’s tank, and the ship’s log told him how much was taken. The rest was simple math.
The Gray Market: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 5) Page 18