“You cannot shoot a child with that thing!” Tray hollered. “You could paralyze him! You could cause brain damage.”
Demissie took Tray’s arm, helping him sit up.
“I’m a hairsbreadth from letting Sikorsky take the kid, since he wants to go so bad.” Demissie’s face hardened and his eyes narrowed. “But if we give up that boy, we give up… your half of the mountain. The safety of this fortress. I can’t do that. This is the only place where my sister feels safe.”
Hero stirred and whined, but didn’t move. The hit must have been low intensity, but Tray was still livid. Angry tears rolled down Hero’s cheeks, and Tray heard his father’s voice in his head, reprimanding him for crying. Tray didn’t want Hero to feel ashamed. Although wary of another attack, he patted Hero’s shoulder, then separated the Feather attachment from his Virp and hooked it over his ear.
“What are you doing?” Demissie asked.
“Calling Sikorsky.”
“You’re giving him up just like that?” Demissie balked. “Tray, you can’t call Sikorsky on an open channel.”
“Fine.” Tray slipped his Virp out of his glove mount, activating his encryption routers. “Sikorsky, this is Tray Matthews.”
The man cackled. “Yes, I saw you on the news—”
“No time for pleasantries,” Tray interrupted. “Do you have a way to contact my ex-wife? I have a little boy here who needs to speak to his mother.”
“Contact me the next time you are on a boat,” Sikorsky said, cutting the line.
Tray raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t a ‘no,’ which meant Tray had some hope of convincing Hero he was trustworthy. He realized he was petting Hero’s cheek and pulled his hand away. Before being shot, Hero had made it clear that he didn’t trust Tray, nor did he want to be near him.
“Well?” Demissie asked.
Holding out a hand, Tray let Demissie help him up, and found his crutches. “I’m not sure yet, but I may need a boat. And a meal. I’m hungry.”
“Hero, do you want to have dinner with your daddy?” Demissie asked.
Hero groaned, his heels kicking against the bed as feeling returned to his legs. “I don’t have a daddy.”
Tray’s heart broke. “I didn’t tell him,” he explained to Demissie.
“Hero—”
“Don’t,” Tray decided. “Let me bring his mom to him first.”
After lying in bed for half an hour, staring out the window onto the back patio, trapped in the prison of his own body, Tray began to understand why the view outside made Hero sad. The hilltop that housed the Vimbai estates was a beautiful playground for a child, with rocks, trees, and a flattened, green-turfed court where Tray and Demissie used to play soccer as kids.
“How are you?” Saskia asked, skipping into the room, munching on a savory, grilled shish kabob. The smell made Tray’s stomach growl.
“Terrible,” Tray mumbled.
“Hungry?” Saskia asked, bouncing onto the bed, waving the kabob over Tray’s face, keeping a bowl underneath to protect him from the dripping juices. The sudden movement sent his left leg into spasm and triggered a foot cramp.
“Chipper does not look good on you,” Tray complained, rolling onto his back. The moment his face turned, she planted a kiss on him. Her lips were salty and warm, and she planted playful pecks across his jaw.
“I stand corrected,” Tray groaned, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her. She wore basic, fitted coveralls, zipped to the neck. He’d worried that his feelings toward her had been enhanced by the pretty dresses she’d been wearing, but now that he saw her in her regular clothes, she looked even more beautiful. “Comfortable?”
“Not at all. My organs feel like they’re on vibrate,” Saskia said, sitting back and setting the food on the side table. She threaded a piece of chicken from the skewer and offered it to Tray, but he shook his head. He’d gone through the hell of sitting up to eat an hour ago.
“I guess we walked you too far today, didn’t we?” she crooned, popping the juicy chicken into her mouth.
“If walking were the only challenge of the day, I wouldn’t be so upset. You see, my girlfriend was attacked and drugged, and now she’s a jittery mess,” Tray groused. “My ship is now listed as ‘Property of Sky,’ but all the ship’s debt is sitting on Hero’s trust. The agent of that trust—my ex-wife—is apparently a fugitive who was accused of fraud for trying to take ownership of the property I gave her, because apparently the legal changeover happened too close to Oriana’s disappearance for anyone to believe I was complicit. My cash cow pharmaceutical manufacturer has been stolen by a rival (who tried to kill us today), so I have no liquid capital to pay off the debt on Oriana, which means selling another company or rearranging assets elsewhere. Revenue in my shipping companies has plummeted because of the Terranan embargo. And my son hates me. And not even as an absentee father, but as the man who betrayed his mother and made him a prisoner in this house…”
“Hero doesn’t hate you,” Saskia said, lying on her side, scooting her body closer to his. “He doesn’t know you and he misses his mom.”
“That’s why I have to find her and bring her here,” Tray said. “In a way that doesn’t get her killed and doesn’t get our house raided by Enn.”
“So you have to make sure she’s exonerated and free to come out,” Saskia said, tracing little figure eights on Tray’s chest.
“But if I do that, I have to explain why I gave her the house. The answer is Hero, and since it’s not safe for me to walk the streets, I don’t want him anywhere associated with my name,” Tray rationalized. He’d circled through this stress point a hundred times today. “As much as I hate how Dem has treated him, I think they were right to hide him. I don’t know what to do. I need to find Mikayla.”
“I thought Sikorsky said—”
“Call next time I’m on a boat. I hope that means he’ll bring her, but maybe he just wants to talk. And I can barely sit up, let alone walk,” Tray cried, clamping his hand over Saskia’s to stop her fingers from tickling his skin.
Saskia pulled her hand free and started tracing circles again, this time over his stomach and hips. “Morrigan knows who I am,” she confessed.
“Anyone who saw the news today would know you’re alive,” Tray pointed out.
“I just mean you can call me by name here. Since ‘Zara’ never rolls off your tongue and I like hearing you say my name,” she said, leaning closer to his ear, her hot breath making his hair stand on end.
“Are you even listening to me or are you still hungry and horny?” Tray asked, giving her a look.
Huffing, Saskia rolled off the side of the bed. “I am having a crappy day of my own.”
“Because Morrigan knows your name?” Tray asked.
“Because my father came to see me,” Saskia snapped, crossing her arms, looking out the window. “Hasn’t seen me in years, and today he shows up to tell me I’m a terrible excuse for a protector and I deserved to see my assets die.”
“Oh.” Tray felt a chill through his spine. He’d never considered Saskia’s family. She’d never spoken about them before, and he’d always assumed they lived on Terrana since she’d grown up there. He scooted to the edge of the bed, grabbing the walking crutch so he could lever himself to sitting. “And then we were attacked.”
“I’ve been dead to him for so many years, I’m surprised he even bothered. But I guess he wanted to spit on my grave, so to speak,” she said, wiping her eyes.
Reaching out, his fingers brushed the back of her coveralls, barely making contact.
“You have so much family here, you’re sure to chase them as soon as you can walk,” she said, keeping her back turned. “Maybe I should go.”
“I love you, Saskia,” Tray blurted out.
She glanced back, keeping her arms crossed. She had tears in her eyes.
“I mean … I’m in love with you,” Tray stammered, trying to stand, lacking the strength. “Oriana is your home, and things are such a mes
s, I don’t know if I can get it back for you. I don’t want you to think I’m not trying to save it for you, just because I want you here.
“I don’t know how to have you and have my son and have my brother. There are so many people in my life right now it’s overwhelming. It was always me with my dad. Me with Mikayla. Me with Danny. Now there’s all these people, and I’m confused, and it would be so simple to let you go, but I can’t, because I love you.”
Saskia silenced him with a kiss and he kissed back hungrily. Hands caressing each other’s faces, they laid back on the bed, never breaking the kiss. Twittering with excitement, Tray snickered into the kiss, teasing Saskia’s tongue with his, but she wasn’t playing. He could sense her sadness.
Breaking the kiss, Saskia closed her eyes and turned her head, clenching the front of her coveralls, as though they were keeping her emotions contained. “Thank you for not giving up on Oriana.”
Tray’s hand ghosted over his belly, feeling the place where the wound had been, and he was convinced he could still feel it.
“I might not have a choice. Of everything I have in Quin, it might be the only thing I can keep,” Tray shrugged.
“Well that’s a hell of a thing to say,” she said, smacking him and sitting up.
Tray put a hand on her thigh, but she locked her knees together. “When we were in Boone, I told you I didn’t want to start anything, because I didn’t know what the future held,” he explained. “But we can never know. I don’t want to regret not loving you when I had the chance. If your feelings have changed and you don’t want to do this, just break my heart now.”
Saskia made a face, more emotions seeping across her pursed lips than he’d ever seen her express. “How long have you been practicing that line?”
“Ever since Hero kicked me. Between all the vrings to my pharmaceutical company that Ketlin stole. I wrote it down,” Tray said, showing her the scribbles on his Virp. “It didn’t come out quite right.”
“I want you,” she said, her hand cradling his cheek. Her warm tears splashed against his cheeks as she leaned over to kiss him again, but once they fell, her need gave way to desire and comfort. Placing his hands on her hips, he steadied her motions, bringing her on top so that he wouldn’t have to twist his torso. Then he unzipped her coveralls, sliding a hand inside.
Saskia broke the kiss again, her body stilling. Tray could feel her heart beating against his palm.
“Too fast?” he asked.
“Not nearly fast enough,” Saskia said, arching into his touch. “Are you sure you can handle this?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tray smiled, sliding the coveralls off her shoulder and pulling her body close to his. “My doctor says I’m healthy enough for sexual activity. I asked.”
24
The Double Wedge Pub was the favored drinking hole for port workers of Kemah. It reminded Hawk of the Glass Walls in Rocan, where travelers came and told stories, speaking mostly in Trade. The difference was that the travel stories at the Double Wedge were true, as far as Hawk knew. Some of the press had followed him to the pub, and he regaled them with a story about his Courier, and his father’s triumph in getting the machines to run on pure ethanol. Chase had loved the story and questioned him for hours about the mechanics, but the news reporters mocked the primitive technology, almost instantly losing interest. Chase had warned him that the locals didn’t have much heart for refugees.
Sitting on the stool farthest from the door, Hawk sipped his gin and listened to the conversations around him. Sikorsky had made him paranoid, and revealing himself to Chase hadn’t been as helpful as he’d hoped. Where Danny had accepted Hawk’s abilities as something natural, Chase rejected him as a freak of nature. He was afraid to be in the engine room with Hawk, and the more nervous Chase became, the more things seemed to break around Hawk. It had been almost a week since Sky left, and if there was another shoe to drop, Hawk hoped it would happen soon.
His fingers ached from zaps, but the gin dulled the raw burns. Hawk had been in the pub almost two hours, eating, drinking, sulking.
A woman sauntered into the pub, sat on the bar stool next to his, and greeted him in Lanvarian. She was probably about Danny’s age, in her mid or late thirties, and she wore skimpy, frivolous clothes—ruffles and glitter meant to give a nod toward modesty without being modest.
“Trade, please,” Hawk said mechanically.
“Sorry, honey. You look like you need cheering,” she said, sliding her hand up his thigh.
Hawk brushed her off wearily. “I have no interest in prostitutes.”
“Good thing I ain’t one,” she said. “Do you like Ferris wheels?”
“What is that?” Hawk asked, squinting at her through gin goggles. If it was a drink, he’d try it. If it was an actual wheel, he’d like it even more. “I’m not asking because I’m a ‘primitive.’ I just don’t know the word.”
“Come with me,” she smiled, tipping her head to the door and hooking her hand around his elbow.
“I have gin,” he said, hunching his shoulders and sipping his drink.
The woman motioned for the bartender to transfer the drink into a disposable cup with a lid, and after much prodding, she convinced Hawk to leave with her. “I’m Wanda, by the way.”
Hawk opened his mouth to speak, then paused. “Douglas,” he finally said. He missed hearing his name, and he was willing to let the Lanvarian-speaker butcher the pronunciation, because he was homesick.
“Come with me, Douglas,” Wanda said, smiling brightly and linking her arm through his. Her skin was soft and freckled, like Liza’s, and she made him nervous, yet he couldn’t seem to help his compliance.
“Why are you doing this?” Hawk asked.
“Because you look like you need cheering up and I don’t like riding the Ferris wheel alone.”
“The wheel? Where is it?” Hawk asked, biting his lip.
“Is this your first time seeing it?” she asked jovially.
“First time,” Hawk repeated. Words were getting hard to muster and their meanings convoluted. He felt buzzing in his skin, like he had at the clinic pool.
“This is something you won’t want to miss,” she assured him.
“I won’t have sex with you,” Hawk repeated. He’d learned that some of the locals used sex as currency, while others traded it for currency. He wanted to pull free of her, but she’d led him away from the bar and the port, and he felt woozy and lost.
“Agreed.”
“I have no currency.”
“My treat,” she said, patting his arm, seeming oblivious to his discomfort.
“Why?” he begged.
“Because I don’t like riding the Ferris wheel alone,” she repeated, dragging him through a tunnel. The buildings parted, and they entered the water port, where Hawk and Chase had caught a boat the other day, only this time, it was dark out, and the whole harbor was lit up with colorful projections. A little ways down, he saw a giant wheel, outlined by pinwheel track lights, easily a hundred feet tall.
The closer they got, the louder it got. Driving music and the sounds of rowdy laughter filled the air. There was a dance floor and a string of street performers doing magic and acrobatics. Holograms filled every gap with strange images of confetti and sparkles. Hawk gaped, and Wanda smiled broadly, never letting him stray too far from the path. She chatted with the street performers; she knew them all, and apparently used to be part of one of the juggling acts. It seemed her desire to cheer him up was genuine.
“And here’s the Ferris wheel,” Wanda grinned, bringing him to the base of the giant wheel. It was brightly colored, with little cylinder cabs attached to the perimeter of the wheel. There was a line of people waiting to step on, and Wanda joined the line, telling Hawk stories of various transgressions she’d committed in the cars as a youth.
Then it was their turn to board one of the cabs. The door latch was simple, and the inside of the cab had no controls or mechanical parts whatsoever. Hawk kept his hands clasped so tha
t he wouldn’t accidentally unhinge something. As soon as they started moving, his curiosity overwhelmed his caution. Hawk leaned out to get a better view of the wheel’s mechanics. If he swayed just right, he could get the cab to rock, and that was fun.
“Sit down and enjoy the view,” Wanda carped.
“I am enjoying,” Hawk laughed.
Wanda grabbed his shirt, forcing him back to the seat. “Sit. They’ll kick us off.”
Hawk poked his finger at the window of the cab. There was no hologram. Beyond the cab, he could see over the bay, the ships dotting the water, the train moving between the Domes. It was the first time in Quin that the focus of the entertainment was an authentic, sky-high view and not a projection. It was like being in his glider.
After a few circles, their turn in the wheel was over.
“Do you want to go again?” Wanda asked cheerily.
Hawk shook his head, gazing up at the giant machine, his heart drawn to a different view. There were a series of cranks propelling the wheel near the base, whereas much of what he’d seen from the cab was structural support. The buzzing under his skin escalated.
“What are you doing?” Wanda asked, grabbing the back of his shirt.
“It feels like I’m vibrating,” Hawk said, swallowing to clear the lump in his throat. “It’s the gin. I had too much.”
“Let’s go another round. The fresh air will help,” Wanda smiled, taking his cup from him.
“I don’t want to,” Hawk said more forcefully. He dug his heels into the ground, but she kept tugging until he thought he’d throw up. His eyelids fluttered, and then the lights on the wheel flickered and the power shut down. The buzzing under his skin stopped, and Hawk panted in relief. The spectators laughed at the wheel, while the passengers in the cabs cried out. The man tending the wheel hollered for help, and one of the other workers opened the base to diagnose the problem.
“I have to go,” Hawk said, hoping the power would come back on its own once he left.
The Gray Market: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 5) Page 20