The Gray Market: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 5)

by Valerie J Mikles

  “Do you get to see her much?” Tray asked.

  Jamese shook her head. “I haven’t seen her at all since Ayize was attacked. You keep us busy.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Tray apologized, rolling onto his side, gazing at his sleeping son. “Hero keeps asking me for a playmate.”

  “I do not mix family and work. I learned the hard way,” she said quickly, tucking her hands against her side. “The job changes, the playmate disappears, the kid goes into a depression because they don’t understand.”

  “So he’s doomed to an isolated life,” Tray finished. He wondered if his lack of playmates growing up was sourced in a similar philosophy.

  “Fight for the life you want him to have,” Jamese advised. “But don’t let him crawl into your bed every night. Trust me on that one.”

  Tray nodded. “Can you take him upstairs?”

  “Sure,” Jamese agreed, untangling Hero from the blankets, lifting him with the expertise of a parent. Hero didn’t even stir.

  “Goodnight, Hero,” Tray whispered, his sense of abandonment compounding when the door closed behind them. He already missed his son. And his girlfriend. And his brother. Mostly his girlfriend. Fumbling for his crutches, he decided he’d try crawling into her bed for a change.

  30

  Danny slumped in the back seat of the Bobsled, the morning sun shining through a hole in the ceiling of the tool shed, spotlighting his face. A shadow swept across at regular intervals—the steady turn of the wind turbines. He’d been fighting with himself yesterday, but he knew he had to get to Clover and become the man Steven had always feared he’d become.

  Hitting the console in frustration, Danny shouted curses at the top of his voice. He hauled himself out of the ‘sled and opened the doors to the mechanic shed housing the Bobsled, feeling the rocks slide beneath his feet. It was late in the morning and the rising red moon signaled the Matthews’ new dawn.

  Danny took the Bobsled high and fast, passing to the north side of Clover, landing next to the overgrown patch of weeds where his mother’s garden used to be. The bird feeder he’d made when he was ten years old hung empty and cracked from a rusted stand. He’d expected to see the house active, but Tray wasn’t here.

  Suddenly, projections flooded around him. “On the ground! Get on the ground! Drop your weapons!” harsh voices shouted over and over, one on top of the other. Blinded, Danny dropped into the Bobsled for cover and drew his pulse rifle, waiting for a moment of silence.

  “I’m Danny Matthews. I’m here for my brother!” Danny spoke into his Virp, using proximity settings to send the message to anyone within ten yards. The shouting died within seconds.

  “Danny!” a man shouted. “Show your face!”

  Danny peeked up over the Bobsled, breaking into a wide smile. “Donelle?” he asked, surprised to see a familiar face. “It can’t be. You’d be ancient by now. Oh Zive, is that Ayize?”

  The burly man swore and ran up to the side of the Bobsled as Danny leapt down. Ayize’s father was a groundskeeper, and Danny and Ayize used to play together while Mrs. Zenzele looked after them. Ayize bear-hugged him, lifting his feet off the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Ayize grinned. “Everyone’s saying you died. Even your own brother.”

  “I’ve been near enough to dead,” Danny acknowledged. “I thought Tray had come back here.” Danny had told himself that he would live wherever Tray went, but now he had doubts. He couldn’t go back to these pretentious houses, filled with luxury and void of love.

  “He’s living on the Zenzele side of the fence,” Ayize said, motioning Danny to follow. “He needed constant medical care, and Morrigan needed a patient.”

  “Morrigan?” Danny asked.

  “That’s right. You left before she was born,” Ayize said, clapping Danny’s shoulder.

  It had been easier to fly, because he could move quickly without thinking of where he was going. Now that Danny was on foot, his feet got stuck in the muck of memories.

  Danny was afraid to knock on the Zenzeles door, and so he sat on the swing. The porch light came on and Mr. Zenzele stepped out. He had light caramel skin like Danny’s, and was dressed in shiny, but comfortable pajamas.

  “It took you long enough,” he said, touching Danny’s head. Danny flinched. “Did he hurt you?”

  Danny gave half a shrug, not sure what to say. His father got upset about little things these days. It was an explosion of repressed grief. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. “Are you trying to take me from him?”

  “I am trying to do what is best for you,” the elder man said, sitting on the swing next to Danny. “Your mother could not have foreseen him reacting this way to her death.”

  “He still loves me. I know he does,” Danny blurted out, hugging himself, yearning for his father’s arms around him. “Sometimes he…”

  Danny trailed off, choking on the fear. He wanted to run away, but if he came here, Steven would come and retrieve him. Steven didn’t like them coming to this side of the fence anymore.

  “Things have been difficult for you at home,” he said sagely.

  “No,” Danny said. “Maybe a little. How could it not be? I lost my mother.”

  “Your stepfather has become very strict. That can be difficult,” Zenzele probed.

  “He has specific expectations for my behavior, but he makes them clear,” Danny said evenly.

  “What happens if you step out of line?”

  They rocked on the swing, and Danny concentrated on the creak of the chain and the feel of the grass beneath his feet.

  “Does he yell?” Zenzele persisted.

  Danny’s shoulder throbbed, having nearly been ripped out of socket because Steven said he put on the wrong jacket. The abuse seemed more obvious from this vantage point, but it was all so complicated.

  “Danny—”

  “When the first settlers came to Aquia, the wealthy brought indentured servants, but really they were slaves,” Danny said quickly, quoting the history book he’d studied. “If they tried to run away, they’d be tied to a post and beaten until they were bleeding. Sometimes they were severely disfigured, but the master never let them die.”

  His mouth went dry, and he jumped off the bench, half-expecting to see Steven stomping across the greens to silence him and bring him home.

  “Has your stepfather ever beaten you until you were bleeding?” Zenzele asked.

  Danny shook his head.

  “Are you afraid he might?”

  Fear welled up and Danny felt trapped by the question. Of course he was afraid, but he was more afraid for Tray than himself. “He loves us,” Danny stammered.

  “I love you, too,” Mr. Zenzele said, although the words sounded hollow. “If you’re ever afraid—if you need some place to run—you can come here. We’ll protect you.”

  Danny backed away, thinking of Tray alone in that house with Steven. “I have to go.”

  “Danny!” he called.

  “I understand, sir. I have to go.”

  The swing moved back and forth with the breeze, the old chain creaking, as though the sound were a design feature. Ayize gave Danny a push to get him up the steps. The door was a different color than Danny remembered. The door opened without him knocking, and Danny shuddered. The Zenzeles always knew when Danny arrived, and they always came out to greet him.

  This time, it wasn’t Mr. or Mrs. Zenzele; it was their son, Demissie. Danny hadn’t seen Dem since he was a pretentious, over-dressed little boy, but now he was pretentious, over-dressed grown man. Dem’s skin was half a shade lighter than Tray’s, his facial hair shaped into a pointed goatee. Danny felt underdressed, but then, he’d never felt like he belonged in this society.

  The foyer behind Demissie glowed yellow from the antique chandelier overhead. The walls had been repainted, but the furniture was familiar. The memories choked Danny and he stood dumbly at the threshold.

  “Danny?” Dem said, his voice lilting on the ‘a,�
�� just like Mr. Zenzele’s used to. “You’re alive. You’re—does Tray know?”

  Danny shrugged, struggling to form words. “Is my brother here?”

  “Yes, come in. Come in. We’re having breakfast,” Demissie said, stepping away from the door, motioning Danny inside. He yammered about making tea and getting reacquainted. Then he motioned to a young woman peering in from the kitchen.

  “Danny, this is my sister, Morrigan. Doctor Morrigan Zenzele. She’s been caring for Tray,” Demissie continued. “Morrigan, this is Danny! Danny Matthews. Oh, my. Sit, sit! I’ll tell Tray.”

  Dem’s motions swept Danny into a whirlwind. He wouldn’t stop talking, and then Morrigan spoke over top of him. Being in this house again brought back so many memories—good, bad, and confusing. Danny wanted to run back to Pierce and return to working class obscurity.

  Then he saw Tray standing in the doorway. Danny fixated on his brother, the sounds around him fading. Tray looked clean and proper, even in pajamas. He leaned on walking crutches, but he was trying to shift weight off of his one braced elbow. Clinging to Tray’s side was a little boy.

  “No. It can’t be true,” Danny gasped, his eyes wide, his head spinning. “Tray, tell me you didn’t do what she said. You kidnapped her child?”

  “No, Danny. That’s not the case at all,” Tray said, nearly falling off his feet in his desperation to move. The little boy caught him and pulled him back to standing.

  “But he’s here and she—”

  “Danny, I can explain. Give me a chance,” Tray begged, reaching out a hand, then resting it on the boy’s head.

  The days caught up with him—the pain of losing Amanda, the confusion of Mikayla’s accusation, and now the overwhelming assault of his past in Clover. Dizzy, Danny dropped to his knees, hyperventilating.

  “Ayize, help,” Morrigan called, running to a cabinet in the foyer. Ayize caught Danny around the shoulders, keeping him from hitting the floor.

  “I have to get out of this place,” Danny said, scrambling back and ducking under Ayize’s arm. “I have to go.”

  “Captain, stop. Stop!” Saskia ordered, striding to the center of the room, hands on her hips. She was dressed daintily, but her voice was hard as nails. “Tray has done everything to try and reunite Hero with his mother. What do you know about Mikayla?”

  Danny braced his hands on his knees. He could smell tea steeping and sobbed at the memories it stirred. Mr. Zenzele had always assured him this was a safe place, but Danny didn’t feel safe here.

  “She asked for my help and I stood there,” he confessed, choking on tears. “I didn’t believe her.”

  “You saw Mikayla? When?” Saskia asked tersely.

  “Yesterday,” Danny said. “I came to warn you that she was spreading lies, but here you are with her boy!”

  “Yes, here we are,” Tray acknowledge, hobbling forward one step. His body was failing him; Danny thought Tray would be much stronger by now. “He was brought here by Jerron Zenzele the other month, right after we crashed.”

  “Why?” Danny asked, looking to Morrigan for the answer.

  “My father never told me,” Demissie said, towering over Danny, arms crossed.

  “Well ask him!” Danny seethed, rising on his knees.

  The two siblings looked helplessly at each other.

  “Danny, he’s dead,” Tray said softly. “Jerron and Merridie Zenzele were killed. Then Sikorsky came for Hero and Ketlin started attacking people in the streets. They kept Hero here to protect him.”

  Danny gasped, fearing he’d pass out from the hellish cocktail of information. Morrigan drew her fingers along his neck, keeping his airways open.

  “Did Mikayla tell you how to find her again?” Saskia asked. Her questions were short, simple, and calming.

  Danny shook his head. “The Enn took her. She’s been arrested.”

  “Is that good?” Tray asked Demissie eagerly. “Can we use that?”

  “It should be much easier to get to her through legal channels,” Demissie acknowledged. “The tea is ready.”

  Danny coughed and heaved, feeling like he was missing whole parts of the conversation through the storm in his mind. He felt Morrigan’s fingers on his neck, then her thumb pulling back his eyelids.

  “You’re dehydrated. Have you been sick a lot?” she asked.

  Danny nodded. “Ever since I got back.”

  He felt a cup of tea against his lips and sipped the malty brew. His hands came up, but they shook around the cup.

  “I’m going to have you lie down,” Morrigan said gently. The tea was gone, but the taste filled his mouth. His stomach had settled, but he felt dizzy when she moved him.

  “He can share my bed. I can’t stay upright much longer,” Tray volunteered.

  “Hero, you can go to your room,” Saskia said, holding out her hand to summon the boy.

  “Why can’t I stay with Mr. Tray, too?” the boy asked, entwining his hands through Tray’s arms.

  “It’s all right, Saskia. Danny will pass out when his head hits the pillow and then Hero and I can finish our game,” Tray said.

  The gentle conversation seemed surreal, and Danny’s awareness of it ceased the moment Ayize came under his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. They laid Danny in a plush bed that felt large and empty, even with Tray sitting next to him. Morrigan set up an IV with fluids, explaining the entire time what she was doing.

  “No,” Danny murmured, confused. “No hospitals.”

  “We’re aristocrats, Danny,” Tray laughed, his hand resting on Danny’s forehead. “The doctors come to us.”

  Danny whimpered, feeling sick again, but Morrigan injected him with medicine and the rumbling in his gut subsided.

  “You owe me stories. About mom,” Tray whispered.

  Danny nodded. When Tray was bleeding out in his arms, only then confessing that he had no memories of their mother, Danny promised to tell him everything if he lived.

  The door closed, and he and Tray were alone. He felt Tray’s hand on his face, gently stroking his skin, and he felt confused. Tray didn’t usually touch him like this. His eyes glazed as he watched the little boy snuggle against Tray, playing a game on a Virclutch.

  “Tray, this is wrong,” Danny said, wanting to swat the Virclutch away, but unable to move his hands.

  “What?” Tray asked, his fingers stilling.

  “You can’t steal her son from her,” Danny said.

  “You haven’t figured it out, have you?” Tray frowned. “Hero’s my son, too.”

  Danny shook his head.

  “I only found out recently,” Tray said. “I didn’t believe it myself, but… the DNA doesn’t lie. Danny, this is your nephew, Hero Brayden Wright.”

  The little boy’s eyes were glued to the game, but now that Danny looked at him, he saw more of his brother than Mikayla. Tray gave the boy a nudge to prompt him, then paused the game.

  “Hero, this is your Uncle Danny,” Tray introduced.

  “Do you make games, too?” Hero asked.

  Danny shook his head.

  “Why did you let the Enn take my mom?” he asked.

  “Whoa, Hero,” Tray said, his arm squeezing around the boy’s shoulders. “Uncle Danny’s here to help you. He heard you were here and he came to find out what was going on. He came here to help. Uncle Danny doesn’t make games about heroes; he is one. You’ll see.”

  Danny’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt Tray’s hand on his face again, soothing away the anxiety.

  “This time, we’ll try to do a rescue without a jail break,” Tray said. “That’s getting pretty cliché.”

  Danny laughed and closed his eyes, feeling hope now that he was with his brother again.

  31

  Saskia hadn’t returned to Oriana since the day they landed, and she was homesick. She had never paid much mind to her and Tray’s divergent social classes, but she’d also never witnessed Tray in his element. On Oriana, his attention to dress, cleanliness, and eti
quette were quirky. Among his friends in Clover, the behaviors were a standard baseline of social interaction. Saskia didn’t belong in Tray’s bed. She belonged with Ayize, Jamese, and the other hired help.

  Danny had come with the Bobsled, and that gave Saskia a chance to break out of the aristocrat prison and find her way home. The Bobsled moved easily over the domes, and once aligned with the open-air, inter-dome train tracks, glided right into the tunnel leading to port loading docks. She’d checked the schedule to make sure she wouldn’t get plowed, but there were so few trains coming out of Kemah, it didn’t take precision timing.

  From the outside, Oriana looked perfectly space-worthy. The copper patches of avalan were smoothed into the design. Saskia used the key on the Bobsled to trigger the rear hatch, and she checked to be sure the way was clear before she rolled in.

  In her periphery, she saw a man bounding down the stairs, even hearing his joyful whooping over the engines. Shutting down the thrusters, she rolled back the hatch.

  “Oh, my God. Sky. Sky! You came back. Sky!” the man exclaimed, and Saskia realized it wasn’t Hawk coming to greet her. Quickly, she drew her stunner, and the man froze on the stairs, hands in the air. “I don’t know anything. I’m just here fixing the ship!” he cried, as though he expected her to shoot anyway.

  Saskia cocked her head. She hadn’t expected to find a repair crew here. Deciding he wasn’t a threat, she holstered her stunner and alighted to the ground, tugging at the hem of her strapless, floral top. When she tilted her head, her braid fell in front of her shoulder, and she realized she didn’t have the cloak she would have preferred, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hide behind the aristocratic Zara persona.

  “Do I know you?” the man asked, hands still in the air. “You look familiar.”

  Saskia held up her Virp, projecting a news story that featured Tray’s return to the Vimbai estate.

  “You came here from Clover? You were with Tray when he was attacked,” he said. “Zara. They called you Zara, I think.”

  Saskia nodded. Being in Kemah, she figured he’d know a Terranan accent when he heard one.