Trade Circle: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 3)

by Valerie J Mikles

  “Thump, thump. The forgotten sleep alone. The forgotten die alone,” Amanda murmured over and over again, thumping the back of her head against his chest. She’d started speaking Terranan again when he splashed water on her face, but he hadn’t yet convinced her that the tomato soup wasn’t blood.

  “How could you not notice?” Tray criticized, coming into the galley with Sky. The two of them had been cleaning the mess in Hawk’s quarters, and bickering the entire time.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t notice. I said I wasn’t there,” Sky shrugged, tossing a stack of spent rags into the sink. Sky wasn’t wasteful of anything. As much as it annoyed Danny that she stole liberally, she did use everything fully. “It’s not my bunk!”

  Danny harrumphed and directed Amanda to the table while Sky washed the rags. Tray frowned at the half-prepared meal on the counter, trying to decide what was and was not salvageable. He set a plate of sliced apples on the table and ruffled Amanda’s hair. The food calmed her enough for Danny to clean the cuts on her face.

  Coming to the table with two freshly prepared bunna cups, Tray set one in front of Danny and as if on cue, Saskia came up the stairs to receive the second.

  “How is he?” Danny asked. Saskia was like him; she didn’t answer until she’d sucked down half the bunna in her cup.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Saskia said, sliding into the table and stealing an apple slice from the fruit plate. “You’d think he’d never had the flu before.”

  “It’s possible he hasn’t,” Sky said, peeling one of the eggs gingerly, her lips curling whenever the heat got to her. “Rocan doesn’t rely on insects or animal life. They may have eradicated a lot of disease.”

  “Barring one horrid malady that leaves their women enslaved,” Tray commented, slicing rather than grating the blue protein this time.

  Sky frowned. “Everyone is enslaved by that malady. And no Dome is perfect.”

  “He did ask for you, Sky,” Saskia said.

  Sky smoothed her clothes and swelled with pride, like she’d just been summoned to the governor’s office.

  Danny nodded. “We should evaluate our plant samples and collect before the day gets too far gone.”

  “I’ll get the samples while I’m down there,” Sky said, raising the half-peeled egg. Then, tipping her head back like she was taking a shot, she swallowed the boiled bird whole. Danny and Tray both looked at her, slack-jawed. “What? That’s how you eat them. The boiling process softens the bone and . . . never mind.”

  “I’m not eating that,” Amanda said, shaking her head. Stealing Danny’s bunna cup, she took a long swig and sighed.

  “Can I help?” she asked Tray, wrapping her hands around the mug, with no intention of giving it back.

  Danny couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Nolwazi, scan sample, marker Saskia-17. Fruit.” Tray sliced into the oblong, purple and green fruit, and it’s pale, red juice dripped onto the table.

  “Apple,” Sky said.

  “This is not an apple,” Tray smirked, cutting it into slices. Its texture was apple-like, but the skin was tough and dimpled.

  “Taste it.”

  Tray put one of the slices on his tongue and gagged at the tartness of the juice. Biting into the fruit, he could detect the faintest hint of sweet apple and a little bit of licorice. Cross-referencing plants with pictures in field guides turned out to be less fun than Tray would have imagined. While some were recognizably similar to things growing in Quin’s farms, most of what they had collected was indigenous to the forest, and nowhere to be found in the grasslands around Quin.

  “Not to be eaten raw,” Tray noted on the entry.

  “But apple,” Sky said, popping a slice into her mouth.

  “Apple,” Tray agreed. “Weird apple. Was it just one tree?”

  “We saw them everywhere,” Saskia said. “We also saw footprints on the ground. Someone was climbing them recently.”

  “Footprints,” Tray repeated.

  “Only singles and pairs,” Sky added. “Scouts, most likely. They’ll stick to the trees as long as they’re watching.”

  “So we have no idea what their true numbers are,” Saskia added.

  “As soon as they saw us land, most of them ran back to their tribes and told them to go someplace else. I’m sure the remainders left when Saskia started shooting at the trees,” Sky smirked. She sucked on another apple slice. “This would make good cider. It practically ferments itself once you juice it.”

  “Just what we need. More liquor,” Tray commented. Hawk had already burned through anything alcoholic that he and Danny had stashed on the ship, and was barely into a hangover phase, which was made worse by his other ailments.

  “We turn these into wine, it’ll be a much better trip,” Sky tempted.

  “Nolwazi, render the map with new information,” Tray said, rolling his eyes at Sky and turning to Saskia. “Did you mark where you saw the footprints?”

  “Just look for the scorch marks on the branches,” Sky scoffed.

  “I’ll make sure our weapons are charged,” Saskia said, heading to her bunk rather than to a weapons locker.

  The annotated map helped them visualize the patches of useful plant life, and if Tray hadn’t been busy cleaning up vomit all morning, they would have been ready to go out much sooner. It seemed all he ever did anymore were menial chores. Where once they’d had a self-sufficient crew, each with a list of chores, now they had a whole bunch of infirmed dependents, leeching resources.

  It wasn’t Hawk’s fault. He couldn’t help the world he was born to and the diseases he caught. Tray planned to make a strict rule about carrying soup outside the galley, though. Not that Danny would support him. Bitterly, Tray traipsed down the stairs, carrying a plate of berries and protein slices. As food went, it wasn’t the most appetizing, but it was easy on the stomach and packed with nutrients. Whether the protein was chicken-free was a subject of debate in both the public forum and the occasional tabloid exposé.

  Tray froze when he saw Danny in the infirmary. A part of him wanted to introduce his brother to his ex-wife. Then it wouldn’t be his fault when things fell apart and Tray left Oriana to be with his son. Danny’s love and loyalty were divided over so many people, and he managed those relationships with ease. Tray could be social with many, but he was still trying to figure out how to make room in his life to love his brother and his son at the same time. The anxiety that rose with those thoughts were fueled by years of brainwashing and the occasional beating he received from his narcissistic father.

  Hawk rested on the center bed and Danny sat on a stool beside him. Danny’s hand was on Hawk’s forehead; his eyes were closed and his lips moved in prayer. Tray knew he shouldn’t be jealous, and he had his emotions in check until he saw the blue shirt Hawk wore. Tray had given the shirt to Danny a few years back, trying to break Danny out of his olive drab and khaki routine. Danny had never worn it, and it grated Tray’s pride to see the gift passed on to Hawk, like it meant nothing—like Danny had been waiting for the opportunity to unload it.

  Tray set down the food plate banging it on the counter, and Danny’s prayer trance broke.

  “We’re heading out in fifteen,” Tray reported.

  “Thanks,” Danny said, still gazing at Hawk like he might resume his prayer. When Danny pulled his hand away, Hawk grabbed Danny’s fingers, smiling curiously and from the heart. Danny whispered a few words to Hawk that Tray couldn’t hear, then he left the room without so much as a sideways glance at Tray.

  Crossing his arms, Tray glared at Hawk, then left the room, deciding to take his frustration out on the food stores. Even though things were already organized and alphabetized, they could still be moved two centimeters to the left and back again.

  “Tray, wait,” Hawk called, leaping out of bed and grabbing the food plate. He seemed pretty spry for a man with the stomach flu. “What was the captain doing?”

  “Praying,” Tray said tersely. He turned to shut the door o
n Hawk, but Hawk was following too closely, and they bumped into each other, nearly spilling the food. Hawk laughed it off and leaned on the closed door, eating the sliced protein with his fingers.

  “He’s devout?”

  “Kind of. Occasionally,” Tray said tensely, feeling like Hawk had invaded his private space.

  “Which gods?”

  “Um, one god,” Tray stammered, surprised by Hawk’s curiosity. “Monotheist.”

  “Moo-no-thee-iz,” Hawk repeated slowly, thinking it was a name. “I’ve never heard of that one. Land, air? No, sun. Sun, right? It felt so warm when he spoke.”

  “Everything, I guess,” Tray replied. “Monotheist means a one god. Zive is the proper name.”

  Danny had talked to Tray about his faith exactly once, five years ago. If Danny had picked up the religion at home, it must have been before their mother died, because Tray’s father was strictly atheist. Tray wasn’t remotely spiritual and he had no illusions about the inherent goodness of people—leastwise himself. Goodness was a choice, and one Tray wasn’t making particularly well this week. “He only prays because you are dying.”

  “I am?” Hawk asked, stopping mid-chew.

  “I hope. Soon. He should never have brought you here,” Tray griped, slamming his fist on the shelf, unwilling to risk damaging what little food they had by handling it roughly. He needed to take up a more dangerous hobby to work out his aggression, like knife throwing. Saskia did that sometimes in the cargo bay. Maybe she could teach him.

  “You invited me here,” Hawk said, crestfallen. “You said I was welcome.”

  “That was before, when you were healthy. Now, you’re nothing but a drain on our food and medicine.”

  “I help,” Hawk insisted. “I am helping.”

  “Yes, Danny loves having you as his little mechanical gopher,” Tray said snidely. When Hawk’s fist flew toward his face, he barely had time to duck.

  10

  The area near the airlock was humid and the window on the back door fogged. Danny wiped the window with the cuff of his sleeve, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d been reduced to puttering. He thought he’d be the last one in the bay, charging after his impatient crew as they headed out to collect food, but he was the first to arrive. Everyone had been so eager to get off the ship yesterday, but the luster of the foreign land had worn off quickly, probably because of the work involved and the lack of a swimming pool or open bar. It wouldn’t take more than an hour to collect their bounty.

  Saskia hurried down the stairs with more weapons strapped to her body than seemed right. Amanda said the Rocanese doctors had done something to Saskia, but Saskia denied it. Given Amanda’s temperament, there was no way to know the truth. Eight hours out of ten, Amanda was lucid, but she was whimsical and incorrigible, too.

  “Sorry, I had one last—” Saskia broke off, furrowing her brow at the empty bay. “Did you send the others ahead?”

  “No, I guess we’re the only ones ready.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  “It will take twice as long with just the two of us, and I had this idea to take the glider out and look for more of those weird apple trees. What were they called?”

  “I believe we settled on ‘weird apples,’ sir,” Saskia said, frowning and looking back up the stairs. “There was no one on middeck.”

  Massaging his neck, Danny tapped his Feather. “Sky, Tray? Are you two coming?”

  There was a long silence, and Danny shifted impatiently. Then he heard Sky laughing over the Virp.

  “Tray and Hawk are settling a dispute,” she snickered. “You know, I should really put this on video. It’s hysterical!”

  Furious, Danny charged toward the infirmary, and nearly tripped over Sky who blocked the hallway, Virp raised, recording the fight. Hawk screeched in Rocanese and Tray spat insults in Lanvarian. The two men wrestled and rolled, bouncing off the walls and pulling hair. There was the occasional punch, but each seemed more interested in ripping the other’s head off than bashing it in. Fortunately, Hawk was weakened enough by illness that Tray’s remains hadn’t been splattered down the corridor. Tray was a shockingly better fighter in gravity than in micro-g.

  “You want me to stun them?” Saskia offered.

  “Enough!” Danny shouted, grabbing each by the collar and hauling them apart. Tray backed out of the fight easily, gingerly dabbing his busted lip. Hawk kept swinging, shouting in Rocanese. His shirt was torn and Danny cringed. Tray had given Danny that shirt for his birthday, and Danny had hoped to get it back in decent condition.

  “Quiet!” Danny ordered. Hawk clamped his mouth shut and brushed Danny’s hand off his shoulder. “I have half a mind to put you all off the ship!”

  “He started it!” Hawk protested.

  “You threw the first punch,” Tray countered snootily. Hawk cocked his fist.

  “Hey!” Danny shouted, shoving them apart again. “It’s great that you’re both speaking in Trade now, and perhaps you can have a nice conflict-resolving conversation while you’re out collecting food together.”

  “No. Danny—” Tray whined, but Danny silenced him with a look.

  “I can go?” Hawk asked, his voice quaking.

  “If you’re well enough to fight, you’re well enough to work,” Danny said.

  “I’ll get my gloves,” Hawk beamed, skipping off. His shoulders hunched when he realized his shirt was torn, and he looked back at Danny meekly. His pride was damaged, but it would recover.

  “Just don’t walk him farther than you’re willing to carry him back,” Sky commented.

  “You can keep an eye on him,” Danny said smartly. “Maybe record it for posterity.”

  Sky’s smirk faded.

  “Saskia and I are taking the glider out to the center of the grove. Now that we know what the leaves look like, it should be easy to spot the densest part of the cluster.”

  “The glider? In this terrain?” Sky asked. “You’re better off in the ‘sled.”

  “The ‘sled is wrecked,” Danny said.

  “Hawk and I fixed it,” Sky said. “Well, he mostly watched.”

  “But it can’t fly,” Danny said.

  “Of course it flies. I made it all the way to Rocan, didn’t I?”

  “And wrecked it when you ran out of fuel,” Danny pointed out.

  “No, I crashed because . . . I fell asleep.” Sky mumbled the excuse, then shook off her shame. “The Bobsled uses grav-energy. It’ll fly for the next millennia, so long as I don’t crash it again.”

  Danny smiled, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “Tray, can we link the ‘sled to Nolwazi’s nav map?”

  “By ‘we’ you mean ‘me’,” Tray said testily. They exchanged glowers, then Tray stalked past him.

  “You couldn’t break this up?” Danny asked Sky.

  “Maybe I could have delayed the start a few hours, but it’s better they work this stuff out in here than outside,” Sky said.

  Danny heaved a frustrated sigh, but Sky’s wisdom was hard to argue with.

  The Bobsled took off, rising vertically until it cleared the trees, defying gravity without a puff of exhaust. The vehicle jerked as Danny acclimatized to the grav-tech flying apparatus that Sky had retrofitted it with. It felt incredible, seeing this dream fly on its own, and it made him sad that Chase wasn’t here to share the victory.

  Danny had hated the Bobsled project when Tray first suggested it. He’d resented being dropped off at the build site like a kid dropped at daycare. His alternative at the time was the mental ward—his obsession with finding Amanda had reached dangerous levels, and Tray grounded them for three months, in the name of upgrading Oriana. The Bobsled had saved Danny from a self-destructive spiral.

  Chase kept him focused on the project, but they also spent the nights together, fantasizing about traveling the world, inventing needed machines that they didn’t have the resources to build, cuddling at the edge of the dock, drinking away their sorrows. Mostly Danny’s sorrows. It was only a
fter they’d parted ways that Danny realized he’d fallen in love with the man, but in Chase’s future fantasies, he had a wife and a kid, and their love wasn’t meant to be. He figured Sky had weaseled into Chase’s life, pretending to be that woman of his dreams, before she stole the ‘sled and ran away. Danny couldn’t let Sky steal it from them again.

  Tray sat at the base of the stairs, massaging his bruised knuckles and righting his appearance. Danny had left him in charge of another mundane task that would probably end in disaster considering the help he had. Tray anticipated getting yelled at, and he couldn’t wait until he got home to Quin so he could quit this crew and never come back. There was a reason to stay in Quin now: his son Hero. Twice Tray had tried to tell Danny, and twice Danny had walked away before the words came out. It wasn’t something Tray could just say over breakfast—not something he could just throw out there and then go back to work like nothing happened. And at some level, it didn’t even matter if Danny knew because Danny was set in his ways, and wouldn’t care whether Tray stayed or went. Danny would be happier with him gone.

  “Where’s Danny?” Amanda asked, coming down the stairs and standing so close to Tray that the tip of her boots touched his back. She wore Tray’s old, maroon trench coat with tattered sleeves. Tray had been meaning for months to get it mended. Having been tailored for his shoulders, the jacket sagged on Amanda, but she liked the color and kept whipping it around her body like a superhero’s cape. He expected a thank you later today—Amanda’s thank yous were often delayed by several hours, but they usually came, and Tray appreciated that.

  “He went to find apples,” Tray said, shifting to the side of the stairs, giving her space to walk past.

  “He left us?” Amanda asked, squatting and peering through the railing on the stairs. If Saskia had done that, she’d look like a predator, but Amanda looked like a child.

  “Get used to it, sweetheart. It’s what he does,” Tray sighed, running his hands through his hair and reshaping his pony-tail. “Are you sane enough to go for a walk?”