“I don’t see anyone. That probably means Sikorsky,” she said, the ‘I-told-you-so’ implied by her tone.
“Great,” Alex muttered, charging to the bridge, then sliding down the forward ladder, figuring he could get to a supply closet on the lower deck and hide out there. If there was room. Danny was a pack rat.
Dropping through the lower deck hatch, Alex reeled when his feet hit something soft. Stumbling for balance, he smacked his hand to activate his Virp light and shone it around the tiny space. He’d landed on a mattress—one of many crammed together. There were four pillows on the bed and a blanket wadded in the corner. Alex recognized the set-up. Once when Oriana broke down and was waiting for a tow, they’d powered down most of the upper decks and huddled here for warmth. It was an easy space to heat and cool, and the lower deck had food stores and the infirmary within easy reach. A thermal blanket was folded neatly, and a tower-like machine in one corner looked like it had a fan under the grating. The crew had devices wired together and Alex hooked one of the drained Virclutches to his Virp, lending power enough to share a memory file. Up popped a sketch of a blue dragon and hand-written scrawl in Terranan. Some of the words and phrases made no sense, but Alex knew it was Amanda’s writing. She’d been in this room, alive. Now all he had to do was find her.
Saskia closed her eyes, breathing in and out, concentrating on the sounds in the sterile room. The whoosh of air purifiers screamed ‘hospital’ at her, and the clickity-clack underscoring the murmurs of conversation told her she was with in-patients. The room smelled of pine and citrus, but nothing masked the odor of decay—the scent of death that kept Saskia’s mind spinning back to Tray.
She’d woken up only a few minutes ago, wrapped in a clean hospital gown, and scrambled from the stiff bed. Her feet hit the heated floor, and she dropped to her knees, gasping. Her skin felt clean enough to the point she knew she’d been exposed to decontamination gas. They’d sedated her to separate her from Tray, and she took a moment of meditation to find her center. Perhaps more than a moment. Her long hair tickled her elbows, the soft wisps belying a cleanliness she hadn’t felt in months.
It felt good to be clean.
The hospital room had frosted windows, letting in light, but not giving her a clear view of the outside. A few opulent pieces dotted the austere design. The plain, steel tables were covered with fancy platters.
Saskia’s feet ached, as did her arms, but her shoulders relaxed finally, and she took one last breath before exiting her meditation. She checked for the camera she knew had to be hidden somewhere, and finding at least three covering the corners of the room, she stood to assess what gifts her hosts had left.
The sink drew her first. She turned on the water and a stream of perfectly tepid water flowed. Cupping her hands beneath, she reveled in the feel of it under her fingers. She splashed some on her face, then sipped. No more mineral-rich well water. No more recycled water that had been passed ten times through Oriana’s maxed out filters. Fresh, mountain spring water. Clover had that in spades.
Next to the sink, she found bandages and salve, and she smoothed it over her sunburnt skin, wrapping carefully, keeping her full, meditative attention on the task. They’d taken her from Tray. That worry kept cropping into her mind, making her hands shake.
A metal box gathered condensation, leaving a ring on the counter. She waved her hand over it and felt its fading warmth. Opening the box, she found a plate of fish, rice, and melon. Hunger kicked in, and she wolfed down the meal. The food sat heavily in her stomach, and Saskia sucked down more water to smooth its journey. Now she felt sick and hungry, and the thin hospital gown clung to the layer of sweat forming on her skin. The fish swam upstream, and Saskia vomited in the sink. A lock sounded, then an alarm outside.
“Doc, she’s sick!” a man’s muffled voice came through the frosted glass. “I told you we should have quarantined her.”
The beeping alarm silenced and the door opened a moment later, Dr. Morrigan Zenzele entered. On the ship, Saskia had judged her as compassionate and competent.
“I told you not to leave so much food, Ayize,” Zenzele criticized, looking over her shoulder to a bulky man in a black military-style uniform. “Poor dear looks like she hasn’t seen a decent meal in weeks.”
Zenzele wet a towel and blotted the sweat from Saskia’s face. Her buttery scent reminded Saskia of Tray.
“Don’t be afraid. My name is Doctor Zenzele. Do you remember me, Zara?”
Saskia shuddered at the alias, knowing the moment she spoke aloud, her Terranan accent would give her away.
“She has a weapon,” the man observed, his thumb sliding against his gloved hand, activating the inset stunner.
Saskia balled her fists, realizing she still clutched the fork she’d eaten with. It was instinct, keeping hold of something to defend herself. Her eyes darted around the room, her body already rehearsing the flurry of motion that would get the bed and the doctor between her and that stunner.
“She has a utensil, Ayize,” Zenzele said, shooting him a look and taking the fork away from Saskia. Her hands came to Saskia’s neck and Saskia tensed. The doctor would be an easy hostage, but taking her would not help Saskia get to Tray. “Are you still woozy?”
Her accent, her cadence, her innocence—everything about Zenzele reminded Saskia of Tray. Smoothing her slacks as she stood, she stepped around Saskia and pressed the side of the counter, opening an invisible drawer.
“Take this,” she said, handing Saskia a dissolvable medication strip. “It’s not a sedative.”
“She hasn’t said a word. You don’t even know if she understands,” Ayize said, his muscles rippling.
“I saw the patch job on Tray that saved his life, and I know she did it. Sky said she could tell us about Tray’s medical history,” Zenzele said.
“Sky lied,” Ayize argued.
“I know she put those medicated wraps on her arms. She knew what those were for,” Zenzele insisted, touching Saskia’s lower lip. “Zara?”
Saskia opened her mouth, letting the doctor put the strip on her tongue. A sour taste filled her mouth, but within a few breaths, her stomach settled, and she was eager to eat again. Slowly this time.
“Tray’s out of surgery,” the doctor said, folding her hands on her lap. “Would you like to see him?”
Doctor Zenzele touched the wall again, opening another hidden drawer. Saskia realized it was her thumbprint triggering the mechanism on the opening. From this drawer, the doctor pulled a paisley long-sleeved nightgown, and a pair of soft, pink slippers. Saskia didn’t waste any modesty on her two captors, since they’d already taken the blood-soaked clothes in which she’d arrived.
“He’s in a medically induced coma. I assume you know what that means,” the doctor continued.
Saskia nodded, hurriedly sliding into the nightgown. Once on her body, Saskia realized it wasn’t a nightgown, but rather a fancy cocktail dress. The pink and navy patterned fabric pulled uncomfortably across her broad shoulders. The slippers were comfortable and warm, but had little traction. Saskia knew she’d kick them off if she needed to fight or run.
“It will take several more surgeries to repair the organ and nerve damage, but I am hopeful that he’ll walk again,” Zenzele said, putting a hand on Saskia’s elbow and guiding her past the guard. Ayize glared, but followed.
They passed through a communal area with a litany of elderly patients. Doctor Zenzele apologized to the nurse on duty for the mess of vomit in the room. They spoke Lanvarian with a fluidity that didn’t exist on Oriana. Saskia realized she’d never been to Clover, and she’d heard that Quin’s other Domes were monolinguistic. If she spoke, the people here might not even recognize her accent as anything other than foreign.
When the door to Tray’s room opened, Saskia felt a wave of relief. He wasn’t on a ventilator, but a rainbow of projections over his body showed that every vital system was being monitored. His skin was pale and his cheeks sunken. Saskia wrapped her hands ar
ound his clammy fingers, and for a moment, she forgot about the guard with the stunner watching her every move.
Zenzele brought two chairs next to the bed, and sat with Saskia. “We’ll be fine here, Ayize,” she said.
“We’re not in the fortress, Morrigan. As long as we’re in the open, I keep my eyes on you,” he said, crossing his arms, then uncrossing them. Saskia could tell that even he thought they were safe in this room.
Zenzele’s jaw twitched. “Thank you, Ayize. I do appreciate the protection.”
Ayize leaned on the doorframe, glancing out into the hall, but keeping one foot in Tray’s small, private room. Zenzele gave him one more look, then leaned close to Saskia’s ear.
“I know who you are, Saskia Serevi,” she whispered.
6
Saskia gasped at first, then shuddered in relief, touching her forehead to Tray’s hand.
“Your real name came up when I tested your blood for disease,” Zenzele continued. “I marked your record as protected. I will play along if there is someone you need to hide from, but I do need the information Sky promised about your health and his.”
Nodding, Saskia twitched in her seat, debating whether to ask Zenzele to keep her identity hidden. Alex had warned the captain about something, and until she knew what it was, she didn’t know if she needed to hide.
“Why didn’t the ambulance come from Kemah? Why did you bring us here?” Saskia asked.
“Sikorsky,” Zenzele said simply. She glanced at Ayize, but kept her voice low. “He was already in Kemah when we got news of Oriana. We couldn’t take the risk that he’d get to Tray first and take him hostage.”
“He never has before,” Saskia pointed out. Tray and Sikorsky had a long history of doing business together.
“It’s a long story,” Zenzele sighed. “It started when Oriana crashed. Do you know much about the Quin bosses—about who Tray is among the families?”
“No. He owns the ship. He finds the jobs. He cooks,” Saskia said, lifting her eyes, stroking Tray’s cheek. His dark hair was frizzed and kinked, but soft and clean, having been subject to the same decontamination gas hers had.
“His family and mine are the last allies of the Vimbai family,” Zenzele explained.
“A crime family?” Saskia asked. She’d lived most of her life on Terrana or on spaceships, and had only tangential experience with the Aquian underworld.
“Something we inherited, not something we started,” Zenzele said, the throb of her cheeks telling Saskia she’d hit a sore spot. “But that’s besides the point. When Governor Cheoff and the Terranan Guard attacked Oriana, Clover’s Elected Council retaliated with an embargo. We stopped trading with Terrana. It was as if, in attacking a water hauler, the government finally noticed what was going on—how many ships we were losing, how many people.”
Saskia cringed. The past month and a half, she’d had the benefit of knowing who attacked Oriana and why. From Quin’s perspective, it was a terrorist attack on a water hauler, and there were fewer than five ships in the entire surviving fleet capable of lifting a full tank.
“The rest of the Quin councils joined in the embargo and delivered an ultimatum,” Zenzele continued. “Deliver the terrorists. Disarm all weapons. Surrender control of the port. I don’t know the details, but essentially Terrana would lose the independence they’d won in the Revolution.”
“Quin doesn’t want control of Terrana. That’s what made the Revolution pass so quickly,” Saskia said, shaking her head. “Now they want control again?”
“We just want our people to travel to and from without getting bombed out of the sky,” Zenzele said. “Although, it doesn’t look like your ship was bombed. Was it mechanical failure?”
“It was a bomb,” Saskia confirmed. “The Terranan government can’t deliver the terrorists. They are the terrorists. The Guard planted the bomb.”
“Then it’s good we cut contact,” Zenzele said. “There’s a lot of grumbling about the lack of work, but it’s hardest for the people who still have families on Terrana.”
Saskia choked again. With Oriana’s return and her absence from the crew roster, her family would think her dead.
“There must be something keeping Sikorsky in port, though. The microcruisers aren’t being fueled to leave orbit, but maybe Terrana is sending ships to meet them,” Zenzele continued.
Saskia shook her head. The fuel used to power spaceships was indigenous to Aquia. “Why does Sikorsky want Tray?”
“To gain control of the Matthews estate,” she said. “That fortress Ayize mentioned is my family’s home on top of a hill in Clover. The Matthews estate shares the hilltop. A Valentino—that’s Sikorsky’s family name—showed up the very day Oriana burned in the atmosphere, claiming the house was hers. My father got rid of her, but then… then Sikorsky got rid of him.”
“I’m sorry,” Saskia frowned.
“I keep telling my brother we should just give up the hill, but he says not until we figure out why Sikorsky wants it.” She coughed and rubbed her eyes, and Saskia noticed they were red and the pupils slightly dilated. The emotions that should have fortified her words were repressed.
“What will happen to Hawk and Sky?” Saskia asked. “You saved me and not them.”
“Sky called Sikorsky for help and we trust he’ll help her. Besides, there are plenty of Enn in Kemah watching Sikorsky’s every move,” Zenzele shrugged. “He probably won’t kill her to get to Tray. And Sky didn’t put up a fight, so she probably wasn’t planning to sell him—”
Zenzele stopped short, her eyes crinkling thoughtfully.
“What?” Saskia asked.
“A month ago, these thoughts never would have entered my mind, and I’ve been sucked into this world—my parents’ world,” she said. “I would have trusted the Enn to protect me. I would have trusted the EMTs to get Tray to the hospital. I would have trusted the doctors. I never would have worried about some crime boss sneaking into the halls and smothering him in his sleep. I don’t know how I’m going to move you from the hospital to the house,” Zenzele said, raising her voice so Ayize could hear. Her hands shook and hints of fear crept over her features. “Do we call the Enn? Can they protect her? Ayize?”
“Let me worry about getting home,” Ayize said, shooting her a look, but keeping his attention on the hall and blocking her exit. He was keeping his charges contained, like any good soldier.
“I can stay at the hospital,” Saskia offered.
“The room you were in was borrowed from the hospice ward. The previous owner died this morning. It has already been cleared out to make space for the next person,” Zenzele said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her coat and taking a few calming breaths. “Tray’s going to be moved to a shared observation space while he’s in the coma. It won’t be as safe.”
“I’ll protect him,” Saskia assured. She leaned forward again, giving Tray’s hand a kiss, then resting her cheek on Tray’s knuckles. The only illness Tray had suffered out there was homesickness, and this was not the home he’d been fighting to return to.
Vladimir “Sikorsky” Valentino had not felt so out of control since the day his wife died. She’d had a long-running illness, and in those last few months, he’d felt so damn helpless. With Oriana’s arrival, it was the same. He surrendered Sky to the care of a nurse who took her to a medicated bath while his newest young doctor—someone named Thea—handled Sky’s charge. The return of Tray Matthews, whether he lived or died, would alter the status quo that the bosses had established after the death of Jerron and Merridie Zenzele.
The door to Hawk’s exam room opened and the gurney rolled, the sound of its whirring motor underscoring the footsteps of the cloaked medical team. Hawk was covered with a blanket, but his golden skin looked refreshingly clean and soot-free. His hair had been bleached white, but the long, black roots belied its natural color.
Hawk coughed and the motor died. Gurney motors weren’t known for their reliability, but something about the cough made
Sikorsky’s stomach turn. He’d felt this strange twitter before on Terrana. For some reason, someone in this hall had tapped into the spirit realm. Maybe Thea was a healer, but more likely, it was Hawk.
Thea leaned into the stretcher, giving it a push, and Sikorsky followed them through a double door into a bright hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the crowded city.
“What happened to his eyes?” Sikorsky asked. The taught red skin looked like it had been scarred for a while, but the bruises were only a day or so old.
“Minor bruising and burst blood vessels, but this is as far down as the swelling goes. The lidless shape appears to be natural,” Thea said, glancing at Hawk, but keeping the gurney moving.
“If you can believe the artwork on Terrana, his kind were prevalent in pre-Dome society,” Sikorsky commented. He’d always figured the skin tone, the wide-set almond eyes, and the flattened nose had been quirks of the drawings, but on Hawk, he saw the features were natural. His race had built the first lunar settlement! How far had Sky gone to find him?
“My kind?” Hawk repeated. When he lifted his head, it lolled like it was hardly attached. “I’m still human.”
“I know you are, Hawk,” Thea said, pressing Hawk’s head back to the bed.
“Can he see? His pupils are huge,” Sikorsky observed.
“His irises are naturally dark and large. But if you look closely, you’ll see gold flecks,” Thea said, her lips curling in a soft smile.
Hawk turned his face away, flapping his hands to ward off the scrutiny.
“Don’t look closely. He’s on the verge of panic,” Thea advised, picking up her pace. “I want to get him to his friend as soon as possible.”
“I’m human! I am!” Hawk moaned. They blasted through a set of double doors, and Sikorsky squeaked in, sliding on the blue-tiled floor. The room smelled of salt water, and the ‘relaxing’ projections that flitted over the pool were anything but.
“Hawk?” Sky said, rising from the bath. Sikorsky knew her love of soaking and distaste for clothing, and the fact that she not only left the pool but slipped on a robe spoke volumes to Hawk’s importance. The thin robe she wore quickly soaked through with hot water.
The Gray Market: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 5) Page 5
