“Hello, Scout,” Sidney said, not bothering to correct her informal address. It took him nearly three years to realize she did it on purpose. The protocol was to address a tribe member by title when outside the camp, and if she ever became a judge, she’d probably change that protocol.
“The visitors’ vessel appears damaged,” she said, falling into step beside him as he headed back to their village. Her limp bothered him, but if she wasn’t complaining about it, he knew he’d get nowhere by asking. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen and she seemed distracted.
“The initial reports on the size were exaggerated, but it could still hold a hundred people, depending on how they’re packed in. Five emerged to harvest food. A sixth seemed to have dementia. We couldn’t see any more people from our observation point, but the one room we can see into can hold a lot of cargo. They had two smaller ships inside!”
“They’re harvesting,” Sidney said, alarmed. The land could not support another large tribe.
“They collect food and poison alike, and only in small quantities,” Laos shrugged. “Dad, when you speak to them, can I come too?”
“You are a scout, not a trader,” Sidney said, biting his tongue to leash his overprotective instincts.
“I want to see the inside of their vessel. You know how I love new tech. Please dad, I can be very quiet and respectful when I need to be.”
Sidney raised an eyebrow at her, and she returned the look, making him laugh. Laos had been wary of strangers since the Nayak took her, but she’d chosen to be a scout when she turned fifteen. She kept an eye, and she kept her distance. Something must have intrigued her about the new comers, and he didn’t want to squander the opportunity.
“We shall see,” he allowed. “When we are sure of their weapons and numbers, we will make contact or move on. For now, I will tell the Judges to place Drava on evacuation alert in case these newcomers turn hostile.”
“They have powerful weapons,” Laos said, looking over her shoulder, stumbling on a root. “I can go back.”
“Leave that to the day scouts. Your eyelids are already half-closed,” Sidney grinned, hooking his arm through hers so that she didn’t dash off. Her face scrunched and her head dropped against his arm. She clung to him, eyes closed, letting him lead.
“Dad, do you think I should marry Brishen?” she asked, her voice quivering as she forced the words out.
“Do you want to marry Brishen?” he asked.
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Laos shivered. “I love him, I guess, but I’m not drawn to him physically the way you’re drawn to Mom.”
“It’s not a competition, Laos. Everyone loves differently,” Sidney said, stroking her face. “Are you even attracted to men?”
Laos sighed. “I don’t know. Man or woman, I figured when the right person came along, I’d just know. But no one’s ever really inspired me to think about it.”
“Perhaps you are asexual.”
Laos rolled her eyes. “Dad, I had a baby.”
“I don’t mean reproductively,” he laughed, giving her a nudge. “I mean in terms of physical attraction. You just don’t feel that for other people.”
“Because of what the Nayak did to me?” she asked, her breath hitching.
“Because of who you are,” he said, rubbing his face. “I’m not explaining this well. Some women are attracted to men, some to women, some to both, some to neither.”
“That can’t be,” she said. “There has to be a reason. I wasn’t just born broken. I’ve been waiting my whole life to fall head over heels in love and you’re telling me I’m never going to. I’m going to be alone forever. Like you. No, not even like you! You have Mom!”
“You are not broken,” Sidney insisted, squeezing her shoulders. “And you’re not going to be alone. You know what love feels like. There’s far more to it than physical attraction.”
Laos sighed, clinging more tightly to him. “I wish you and Mom were primaries.”
“Why? So love would be easy to understand?” he asked, guiding her past the Drava border toward the tent she shared with her mother and brothers. “Perhaps if you’d come home last night . . .”
“What?” Laos lifted her head. “What! Did you propose? Did she?”
“We’ve discussed altering our living situation,” Sidney allowed, feeling his throat get tight just speaking it out loud.
“Really!” she squeaked.
“But there are children to consider,” he said. The tightness spread from his throat down to his chest. “You. Your four brothers.”
“Yes, yes, and my brother and sisters on your side,” she said, almost skipping with excitement. “They’re not even teens yet. Don’t they matter?”
“My other three children never lived with me,” Sidney pointed out, shuddering to think of the compromises he’d made, waiting for Adita to return. “Caira had four sons with her last primary. He raised them and he raised you. You all called him father.”
“I grew up calling you father, too,” she said.
“Three of you still live with you mother.”
“Dad, you know I won’t mind. And Emille and Orrin only stay because Dad died and they didn’t want Mom to have to raise me alone.”
“You are a handful,” he chuckled, stopping outside of her tent.
“We can move into our own tents like regular independents of age,” she offered.
“There is still much to discuss. Nothing is decided yet,” he said. “Get some sleep, daughter.”
Laos sighed, her smile fading into a brood as she released his arm. She peeked into the tent, then reached for his hand.
“I don’t know if I can keep saying no to him, Dad,” she confessed. “But I feel like a part of me will die the moment I say yes.”
“I know the feeling,” he said, giving her a hug.
8
The smell of bunna drew Danny from his quarters. He would have chuckled at the Pavlovian response, but his brain wouldn’t engage until after he’d had his first cup, and by that time, his mind would be on other things. Tray was in the galley, apron on, shirt sleeves rolled up, ready to cook. He looked so peaceful in the kitchen—thoughtful and diligent. Watching him, Danny understood the term ‘culinary artist,’ because to Tray, every meal was a creation. On one of their trips between worlds, the ship had broken down. With ten passengers, they rapidly burned through the food supply. By the end of the first week, they were down to a single protein block, and Tray used cookie molds to make animal shapes.
Filling a cup of bunna, Danny hopped on the counter and bumped his heels against the cabinets, smirking as the move invoked a stern look from his brother. It took a few sips before the caffeine kicked in.
“How are you?” Danny asked.
“I was considering sleeping through today and trying again tomorrow,” Tray grunted, rubbing his face. Danny offered his cup and Tray shook his head.
“I don’t even remember going to bed last night,” Tray said, rummaging through a drawer for a grater, then grating a block of bluish-purple protein. Danny didn’t think anyone else in the worlds worked so hard to make processed protein rations palatable.
“You were up too late talking to me,” Danny reminded him.
Tray raised his eyebrows, then nodded. “I vaguely remember that. Did one of your history lectures put me to sleep?”
Danny’s stomach twisted in a knot, but he laughed and shrugged off Tray’s question.
“Sorry,” Tray mumbled. “I didn’t say anything embarrassing, did I?”
Danny raised a taunting eyebrow and drained his bunna mug. “I do want to talk to you. Preferably when you’re awake. We could have tea,” Danny offered, nodding toward his quarters.
“Really? Just us?” Tray beamed. “Amanda won’t mind?”
“It’s her losing her mind that worries me,” Danny said, looking at his empty cup and debating whether to refill it. He didn’t like drinking too much, and he had more people to share with now. “We can carve out an hour.�
�
“Okay,” Tray said, grinning ear to ear.
“Maybe you can finish telling me why you’re meeting up with your ex-wife.”
Tray’s smile vanished. “What did I say last night?” he asked, wiping his palms on his apron.
“You haven’t said anything, but it keeps slipping out because whatever it is, it’s bothering the hell out of you,” Danny said. “I can listen without interfering.”
“Well—”
“Or, if you decide to tell me what’s going on, I could go with you to meet her—”
“No!” Tray said loudly, then dropped his gaze and fidgeted with his grater. Danny took it from him, worried that Tray would grate off his own fingers.
“I mean, no,” Tray said, a little more calmly. “She destroyed my relationship with Dad, and I’m not letting her near you. Ever. I need to work this out on my own.”
“You’re the one who brought her up,” Danny chuckled, patting Tray’s arm.
“I’m sorry,” Tray said, shoving Danny’s hand aside, then covering his ears to hide the rising flush. “Of course I did. I’m just . . .”
Tray covered his mouth and looked at the ceiling, slowly regaining his composure. He forced a smile and rolled his eyes at himself, then busied himself frying up the blue protein and chopping vegetables.
“Do you need help? I was going to check the weather before breakfast,” Danny said, pointing to the stairs. His brother needed space.
“No, go. You go,” Tray said with a wave. “We’ll talk later.”
“Yeah,” Danny agreed. He wanted to give his brother a hug, but Tray didn’t appreciate things like that when he was cooking—or ever.
Amanda peeked her head over Sky’s chair, seeking the source of the sound that roused her. Sky held her drink away from Amanda, then took a sip and returned to her puzzle book.
“It’s morning,” Amanda interrupted.
Sky shifted in the plush chair she’d claimed from the cargo and tucked under the catwalk. “How can you tell? There’s no light in here.”
“The hunger feels different,” Amanda said, stretching her legs. She circled the area under the catwalk, peering through the grated-metal stairs. The smell of bunna and fried food wafted down from the galley. It had been a long time since Amanda had had Lanvarian gravity beans, and she was starting to think she should try it again. On Terrana, Doctor Emerl had warned her that the coffee-like beverages might wreak havoc on her meds, but as far as she could tell, the antipsychotics weren’t even working.
“Did you hear that?”
“I hear a lot of things,” Sky replied, her eyes on her book.
Amanda prowled the hall, taking the dumbwaiter up to the galley. Tray gave her a hand up when she emerged, greeting Amanda with his usual morning cheerfulness that didn’t require sugar or coffee. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and his apron was smeared with chili sauce and blue protein powder. Four eggs were lined up on the counter and the rest were boiling in a clear pot.
“That smells more like lunch,” Amanda commented, poking at the eggs.
“It may take until lunch to figure out how to cook the eggs properly,” Tray sighed. “Unless we’re planning to run a hatchery, there’s no point in getting more. Which will make Hawk glad.”
“Why?” Amanda asked, poking at the boiled egg. The dish seemed to center around the grain, broth, and chunky, blue sauce; the egg seemed a bit of an afterthought. A part of her figured it had to be better than protein-chunk meat product, but given the vile taste of the carrots, Amanda wasn’t convinced anything fresh was better.
“Did you miss the whole ‘I can’t eat a bird’ conversation?”
“Was it in Trade?”
Tray chuckled apologetically and rubbed his jaw. “Sorry, sweetheart. I keep forgetting.”
“I heard a sound,” Amanda said, circling the galley, closing her eyes and trying to orient herself. The sense of doom and foreboding closed in, like a flashback but without the choking moon dust this time. “I smell it. Do you smell it?”
“Chili sauce?” Tray asked.
The thump, the whimpered cries, and the smell of blood took her back to the tunnels.
Small bioluminescent beetles crawled along the wall seeking food lighting the lunar tunnel. A support beam had collapsed, but Amanda climbed over the rubble, passed the broken entryway into a chamber housing an old science lab, seeking the survivors.
Hawk was covered with blood.
Amanda touched his face, barely separating the flashback from reality. Hawk gurgled, the blood sputtering from his lips. They were some place dark and unfamiliar. Amanda screamed.
Tray barely had the sense to shut off the stove before dashing into the crew hall.
“Galen!” Amanda screamed.
Hawk lay on the floor, passed out in a pool of vomit and soup. Tomato soup dripped from the top bunk, splashing on Amanda’s hair as she curled protectively over Hawk’s head, whimpering words of assurance in Terranan.
Swearing, Tray pushed Amanda aside and crowded in, using his apron to clean away the mess on Hawk’s face. Hawk coughed and moaned, spraying mucus.
“Saskia!” Tray shouted, tapping his Feather. “Help! We need help! Amanda, find Danny and tell him to get the stretcher.”
Amanda’s ear turned toward him, but she murmured in Moonspeak. Mentally, she was elsewhere. Tray searched for a canteen of water, but aside from the dripping soup thermos all Hawk had in here was that empty flask.
“Wake up, Hawk,” Tray said desperately. “Oh, dammit, what’s your real name? Douglas!”
Hawk sputtered, squinting at Tray. “So hungry,” he whimpered, his body curling as he heaved again. Tray barely managed to roll Hawk’s body so he didn’t get covered in puke. The fact that something was coming up meant he’d finished at least some of the soup.
“I know the feeling,” Tray said sympathetically, patting Hawk’s shoulder awkwardly. “I’ll find something for you. I promise.”
“No birds,” Hawk rasped, scooting back and resting his head on Tray’s lap.
Tray shivered, but he resisted the knee jerk reaction to kick Hawk away. “No birds,” he repeated.
Hearing Tray cry for help, Saskia grabbed her stunner, yanked on her boots, and charged into the hall. Her nightclothes were twisted haphazardly and her hair was falling in her face.
She tapped her Feather. “Captain—”
“I’m on my way,” he said. The Virp picked up the rapid thud of his boot-fall as he charged toward the scene.
Amanda paced circles at Hawk’s feet.
“Amanda?” Saskia called, tucking her stunner into the waistband.
“She’s fine. Well, as fine as she can be,” Tray said, pressing his lips together until they were virtually invisible.
Turning on all the lights, Saskia knelt across from Tray and gave him a quick scan before turning her attention to Hawk. “Talk to me Hawk,” she said, pressing her palms to his burning cheeks.
“He keeps hurling,” Tray said, sweeping Hawk’s long, red hair away from his face. “I think he fell off the top.”
“Hawk, did you hit your head? Does anything feel broken?” Saskia asked, raising her voice. Hawk muttered in Rocanese. She pulled open his eyes, but he squinted and jerked away from her, burying his face in Tray’s thigh.
“Trade, Douglas. Please,” Tray said, using Hawk’s real name—or rather, their best interpretation of how it sounded in Rocanese. The sounds were more similar to Lanvarian than Terranan, and Saskia didn’t want to butcher the name by trying to say it.
“I’m sick,” Hawk said weakly, rubbing his cheek on Tray’s leg.
“Yes, that much is obvious,” Saskia said, feeling the back of his head, checking for bumps. She could scan for a concussion when she got him to the infirmary.
The captain dashed in, stretcher in hand, but he dropped it when he saw Amanda. She was pounding the bed now, sending puke and tomato soup raining down. Saskia grabbed the stretcher and cleared a spot on the
floor next to Hawk.
“Douglas, we are going to move you to the infirmary,” Tray explained, brushing Hawk’s cheek. Saskia was surprised to see Tray acting so tenderly toward Hawk.
“Can’t sit up,” Hawk moaned.
“Lie on that board, and we’ll carry you. Can you move that far?” Saskia said, dropping her voice to mimic Tray’s gentle tone.
“Douglas?” Tray said again.
Summoning his strength, Hawk inched onto the board.
“Do you need a hand?” Danny offered, as he wrestled Amanda into an embrace. The space was so tight, the two of them had to move into the hall.
“We can take him,” Saskia said, pushing Hawk flat on the board and strapping him into place. Having carried Tray to the infirmary on this stretcher more than once, she was aware of how hazardous the catwalks could be. She moved efficiently, ignoring the tears welling in Hawk’s eyes.
“Well, I—” Tray protested, but Saskia silenced him with a glare. Tray ducked his head and pointed to the wrist he’d sprained the other week. He would power through if she asked him to, but he’d done a lot of powering recently, scaling buildings and trees.
“Captain, I do need that hand,” Saskia said. She checked to make sure her stunner wouldn’t fall out of her shorts while she walked, then shifted to a squat, waiting for the captain.
“Tray, you are going to scrub until you have no skin left,” Danny said, squatting next to his brother and looking at him seriously. “I don’t want you or anyone else getting sick.”
Tray nodded, his neck tensing, his manner shifting to one of submission. Saskia gave Tray one last glance, assuring herself that Tray was not sick or injured this time. Something was off about him, though.
9
“Hold still,” Danny griped, bracing Amanda’s hands under running water and scrubbing tomato soup out from under her fingernails. Now that he’d gotten most of the soup rinsed off, he noticed shallow scratches around her eyes where she’d clawed at her skin.
Trade Circle: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 3) Page 7