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

by Valerie J Mikles

  Douglas stripped out of his shirt and wrung it out over the sink, debating whether to hang it dry or waste fuel by running the dryer. The clothes dryer was an interesting, if superfluous, technology. It spoke of the widespread availability of motors in Quin. The machine could reclaim and purify water as it wrung the clothes, leaving the fabrics warm and soft. There was mud on everything—his boots, his socks, his underpants. Although Douglas wasn’t sure how the dryer handled mud, he wanted dry underpants more than clean ones. His worry for Sky had been dampened by the chill in his bones, and the fear that the water would keep rising until Oriana was submerged.

  Carefully, Douglas extracted a canvas fold from his pants pocket, hoping that the portraits inside hadn’t ripped. Sky always kept her satchel with her, ready to take everything that was hers at a moment’s notice. For Douglas, just leaving his ill-fitting flight jacket on the ship was a big deal, but now that he’d been tossed in the water, he thought maybe he should leave the portraits with the jacket. It wasn’t safe out there.

  Tray breezed into the laundry closet, grabbed Douglas’ clothes from the sink, and tossed them into the wash with his own muddy clothes. Douglas pressed his lips together, frustrated that now he’d be waiting through the entire wash and dry cycle.

  “Tray,” he whispered. Tray had already changed into fresh, fancy clothes, whereas Douglas was wrapped in a blanket. Every article of clothing that Douglas had now was borrowed, and he was sure that none of it felt as nice as Tray’s silky shirts. The blanket was nice and warmer than any coveralls he could slip into. “We need to free Sky before she kills the Drava.”

  “There were at least a thousand people in that camp. She couldn’t kill them all. She wouldn’t,” Tray said. “Apparently, she has morals.”

  “She wouldn’t do it on purpose,” he said. “With magic—”

  “She’d make their heads explode?” Tray finished, smiling slyly.

  Hawk shrugged. When Sky confessed that her Sequesterer had killed her home village, she hadn’t specified how. A part of him felt guilty for bringing it up, but Tray had a bit of magic in him, too. Or so he claimed.

  “Promise me you won’t rip another shirt and I’ll give you one,” Tray said petulantly. “Upstairs. The food’s getting cold.”

  Douglas nodded, trying to adjust his hold on the portraits without losing the blanket. He did not have Sky’s immodesty.

  “What’s that?” Tray asked, snatching the portraits and dancing out of Douglas’ reach. Then Tray’s expression softened and he stopped moving. “Are these your kids?”

  “The living ones, yeah,” Douglas said, pulling his blanket more tightly across his shoulders.

  “Living?” Tray repeated, his expression changing again as he thumbed over the three pictures, holding them by the edges.

  Douglas felt a surge of anger. Tray could belittle him for many things, but he would not tolerate insults when it came to his breeding record. “I’ve been bred twice a year since I was eighteen. To have three living is an accomplishment. I’ve had five live births,” he pointed out defensively.

  Tray gaped at Douglas, backing down from the fight. Or maybe Douglas had misinterpreted Tray’s previous comment. Breeding insults were probably different in Tray’s culture.

  “Your boy has your smile,” Tray said wistfully, fingering the edge of the portrait as if the damp paper would disintegrate in his hands.

  Douglas had never noticed the smile. He studied the picture of his son, not seeing what Tray saw. As far as Douglas was concerned, his kids were lucky to look more like their mothers than him.

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

  “Just in pictures,” Douglas said. “As a non-custodial breeder, I’m not supposed to.”

  “At least you know about them,” Tray said, handing the portrait back, his expression getting dark.

  “Only because they’re kept by their birth mothers,” Douglas said. Despite the frequency of the coerced breeding, Douglas was careful with his partners. His father had taught him that a woman who felt safe was more likely to conceive, and more likely to embrace motherhood. It was still a stroke of luck that his children hadn’t been adopted into anonymity. “Does Quin keep breeding records?”

  “It’s not the same,” Tray said, crossing his arms. “I have a boy; he turned six yesterday. I was supposed to be there.”

  “You celebrate birthdays in Quin?” Douglas said, grinning. He was curious what a birthday celebration would be like in a Dome so rich in resources. In Rocan, it meant a day off work, but Douglas tended to sneak into the yard anyway and work on his pet projects. “I’m sorry you missed it.”

  “Me too.” Tray became gloomy.

  “Do you have a portrait?” Hawk asked.

  A ripple of emotion rocked Tray’s body, and Tray bit his lip, shaking his head. “I’ve never met him. I want to. I will.”

  Hawk frowned. The raw anger he saw in Tray started to make sense. There was sadness, like what Hawk felt in being separated from his family, with no guarantee of ever seeing them again.

  “Don’t tell my brother about this,” Tray said suddenly, shaking off the emotion and smoothing his shirt.

  “Why?” Douglas asked.

  “It was an accident—finding out about my son. Like what you said. Non-custodial breeder,” Tray explained quickly. “Let’s eat.”

  Tray hurried out, like he was trying to outrun his confession.

  “If you ever want to talk about him,” Douglas offered, chasing after Tray, the deck plates chilling his bare feet.

  “I don’t,” Tray said, taking the stairs two at a time.

  “Tray!”

  Tray didn’t stop running until he reached the galley. Then his professional mask appeared and he smiled socially at Amanda. Amanda gave Douglas a look for wearing nothing but a blanket, but all things considered, Douglas didn’t think she had room to judge. Tray pointed to a fresh set of clothes on the table, including a warm, green sweater. Shivering, Hawk dropped the blanket and started getting dressed. Then he noticed Amanda blushing and Tray averting his eyes. Cringing, Hawk murmured an apology and covered himself quickly.

  “After supper, we can go to the ward room and scan in those pictures,” Tray said, slipping into one of the benches at the table. “You can have them on your Virp and not worry about damaging the original when you go out.”

  Douglas nodded, self-consciously rubbing the warm sleeves of the sweater. He wasn’t sure if it was Tray’s unexpected kindness or the fear of food poisoning that made him queasy. Either way, he decided to curl up under his blanket, and not try to eat.

  30

  Sidney Kassa squatted in the corner of the brewery tent, making a fresh batch of ale to replace the gallon he was drinking. His first love—his only love—had returned to him, and every scientific test indicated that she was (and had always been) an imposter. She was a beast inhabiting Adita’s body. She was afraid of him, and rightfully so. Her blood was on his hands. He should never have brought her back here. He should have sent Komati and Kavari back to Drava and stayed with Adita on the airship. He’d been so happy to find her—so thrilled to parade her among the Drava who had long told him to give her up for dead. Dr. Kavari had warned him, but he hadn’t heeded her advice. No amount of liquor could soothe the sorrow or confusion he felt, and whether they tamed their Seer or not, his pain would not end until Adita’s body was laid to rest.

  “Ambassador.” Marius entered the tent and glowered disapprovingly.

  “Judge,” Sidney said. Using his father’s title in the privacy of this tent was a sign of disrespect, but his father had started it. Marius was angry with him for delaying the taming, but Sidney didn’t care. He wanted as much time as possible with his perfectly preserved Adita. He wanted to touch her face and look into her eyes. The thought of those eyes being cut out broke his heart. “If she heals, it will prove your suspicion.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Marius challenged.

  “Then she is no
t carrying a spirit,” Sidney said, taking a drink, trying to drown the thought. “I would have killed an innocent.”

  “We’ve established that something about her is superhuman and we did it with science, not mysticism,” Marius said. “You didn’t have to stab her.”

  Sidney spat his drink onto his father’s shoes. “You intend to rape, torture, and mutilate her. My method is merciful.”

  “Son, the woman you loved is gone,” Marius insisted, squatting across from Sidney, placing a hand on his knee. “As near as we can tell, she never existed. By her physical age, she must have become Seer before she ever came to live among the Drava.”

  “I spoke to her, Dad,” he said desperately, his hand falling on top of his father’s hand. “Her soul remains. Adita is in there, controlling the beast. That is the woman I fell in love with—the human at war with the vessel. Adita did not go near our Seer!”

  “There is much we have to learn,” Marius allowed.

  “Our Seer,” Sidney muttered, thinking back to that poor girl they’d kept chained for weeks. He clutched his aching chest, worried the alcohol would burn a hole clear through it. “Probably another innocent.”

  “Aquian spirits are volatile beings, but we are getting better at identifying the marks they leave on the physical world. We are not wrong,” Marius insisted.

  “She trusted us to help her friends and we betrayed her,” Sidney groaned.

  “We did help her friends. We gave them medicine.” Marius yanked his hand out from under Sidney’s and backed away stiffly. “Ambassador, you are not to go near her again.”

  “Yes, Judge,” Sidney said mechanically. He tipped his head back, dumping the ale down his throat until he thought he’d choke on it.

  “Go to your family. Your eldest daughter is in need of guidance,” Marius said.

  Sidney looked drunkenly at his father.

  “I have loved one woman in my life, and now you tell me she is and always was a demon,” Sidney said. “If I can’t see that, what could I possibly teach my daughter?”

  “Compromise. She already follows in your example, rejecting a primary. She must learn to accept secondaries as you have done,” Marius said, wrestling the moonshine from Sidney.

  “I will not teach her to submit to rape,” Sidney spat, stalking out of the tent.

  Amanda perched on Danny’s bed, precariously balanced, looking like a tigress defending her kill. Hawk paced the room, drinking and cursing, and Amanda tensed whenever he got too close to her. She petted Danny’s chest absently, but if it soothed her, Tray wouldn’t comment. Not wanting to fight Amanda for a space near Danny, Tray stood next to Saskia’s bed and held her hand. Her skin was chilly and dry and Tray wondered if her body was functioning well enough to circulate the medicine.

  “Will her execution be swift?” Hawk asked, sucking the tart juice from a weird apple, treating the fruit like a flask.

  “I don’t think they’ll kill her, Hawk,” Tray said. “The Judge said he wanted her alive.”

  “When we bring them the solar panel, we can insist they give her back,” he reasoned.

  “I’m not having this conversation again,” Tray said. “They expect us to leave without her, so we have to go in smart.”

  Hawk paced in another circle, pounded the keys of his Virp, and chomped on the apple again. “Why doesn’t she answer us? She can’t still be having sex.”

  Tray chuckled, then grew somber.

  “Too bad we can’t teleport,” Hawk muttered, spitting out the hard seeds. “Why can’t we teleport?”

  Tray bit back a smile and shook his head. They’d only just learned in Rocan that there were human-spirit hybrids with that power, and a little sarcasm lost in translation had convinced Hawk that Tray had special abilities as well. “We won’t leave her behind,” Tray assured.

  “You already left her behind. They could have her in Geneculture by now!” Hawk exclaimed, shoving Tray. Tray shoved back.

  “They don’t have Geneculture! What was I going to do? Fight them? There were hundreds of them. I would be dead. Danny and Saskia would have no medicine, and then what? I gave Sky a dozen outs and she wanted to follow through. She knew what she was getting into.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether she knew or not,” Hawk cried, tossing the skin of the weird apple into the infirmary’s sink. “Friends don’t let friends make stupid decisions.”

  “It’s a good thing we’re not friends then!” Tray snapped.

  Hawk launched forward, fists flying, but Tray dodged.

  “You abandoned her!” Hawk accused, charging head down for a tackle. Tray jumped, but Hawk clipped him and knocked him sideways, throwing him against the counter hard enough to bruise.

  “If you want to run in and get yourself killed, fine. You drunken idiot!”

  “I am not drunk!”

  Tray threw a punch, his fist connecting with Hawk’s stomach, but he lacked the force to even knock Hawk off balance. “Maybe not with alcohol, but you’ve gotten yourself high on something! Do you feel anything anymore? Do you feel the burns on your hands?”

  “I don’t want to feel!” Hawk screeched, grabbing Tray by the hair, then twisting him into a chokehold. “I sacrifice everything to help you—”

  “You sacrifice,” Tray repeated incredulously, trying to wriggle free before Hawk started punching. “Coming along was your choice. I should not be paying for it.”

  Yanking hard, Tray fell loose from Hawk’s grasp and toppled backward, falling on top of Saskia. He was ready to jump back into the fight, but Saskia’s groan stopped him. She was conscious!

  “Saskia?” Tray said, whirling around, checking to make sure he hadn’t hurt her. Her eyes fluttered open, then drifted shut again. Tray snapped his fingers and pointed to the medicine bundle. “Hawk, fill a glass with water and stir in a spoonful of that medicine.”

  Saskia groaned again and Tray cradled her body, dragging her upright. “How are you feeling? How are you?” he gushed, brushing her disheveled hair away from her face so she wouldn’t swallow it when she drank the medicine.

  “Peachy,” she croaked, her head lolling on his shoulder, her eyes never opening. “Is there someone you need me to point my gun at?”

  “Yes!” Hawk said, handing Tray the medicine.

  Tray laughed and squeezed her hand, relieved. Even if she couldn’t fight, she could tell him how. “When you can lift your own head, then we’ll worry about pointing the gun.”

  He coaxed her to drink the medicine, nearly dropping the glass when Danny screamed. Swearing as the drink sloshed, Tray craned his neck to see his brother. Amanda fell on Danny’s chest, covering his mouth, looking around as though she anticipated danger. Danny kicked and struggled to get free of her.

  “Amanda, it’s okay. Let him scream if he needs to,” Tray said, shifting Saskia’s weight off his arm. “Danny?”

  “Danny? Are you in pain?” Amanda asked, shifting her weight off his chest, and lying next to him. “You’re sick. We’re all worried.”

  Danny’s screams calmed into wheezes and gasps. His body quaking with effort, he hooked his arm behind Amanda’s head and pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry. Tray will take care of us,” Danny rasped, closing his eyes, his body wilting.

  “Wonderful,” Hawk snapped, pounding the countertop angrily. “Now that we know the medicine works, can we focus on rescuing Sky?”

  Danny grunted and rolled onto his side, nearly falling off the bed, but for Amanda’s arm across his chest. “What happened to Sky?” he rasped, his alertness forced.

  “Drava took her,” Amanda said.

  “Who is Drava?” he asked.

  “Local tribe. Hawk, get Danny a glass of the medicine, too,” Tray said calmly. “Now we can start planning a rescue.”

  The men were gone and the silence in their wake was surreal. The tent filled with light, and a heavy blanket was laid over Sky’s legs. Gentle hands arranged her limbs and removed her soiled clothing. Slowly, warmth was massaged back
into her arms and fingers, and those limbs, too, were covered by blanket.

  Sky cried out when the bandage was removed from her abdomen. The motion paused, and the chilly hand touched her cheek, turning her eyes from the lantern she’d been staring at since her blindfold had been removed. Through the spots in her vision, she recognized Kavari’s silhouette. The doctor had the dispassionate gaze of a woman who had become desensitized to violence and accepted it as a natural, unavoidable part of life. Keeping eye contact with Sky, Kavari finished removing the bandage, putting pressure on the bleeding wound. The stitches had busted when one of the men tried to lift her off the bed. The open wound and subsequent call for the doctor had brought a much-needed respite in the string of abuse. Sky wasn’t sure if the doctor was using a strong analgesic, or if she was already in too much pain to process the needle passing through her skin.

  The tent flap whipped open and a female huntress stalked in. Her wavy hair was loose and her eyes dark. “Leave us,” the woman demanded.

  Sky turned her eyes to the lantern letting the fire burn away the present.

  “I’m nearly done, Caira,” Kavari replied, maintaining her slow, steady pace as she sutured the wound.

  “I wish to speak to her privately,” Caira said, coming next to the mat and towering over Sky.

  “Then you will wait.”

  Sky bit her lip, her stomach muscles contracting involuntarily. Kavari’s soft, wrinkled hands pressed Sky flat, relaxing her before applying a bandage. Kavari’s insistence on healing would only make the next phase of torture worse. Sky barely had breath to speak. It felt like Spirit liked the notion of Caira as a host.

  “Do not agitate her injuries,” Kavari warned Caira, covering Sky’s body with a light blanket. Kavari may have meant it as a sign of consideration, but the men being sent in to break Sky enjoyed the protocol of ripping the covering away.