“What’s wrong with my eyes?” Hawk asked, staring around the room.
“Nothing,” Sky said, nuzzling his cheek.
“Sky, I’m scared,” Hawk whispered.
“There is nothing wrong. Mr. Sikorsky was curious,” Thea said, removing her protective suit, but not the mask on her face. Hawk grabbed at the mask, his fingers trembling, but Sky took his hand and tucked it to his chest.
“The projections,” Sikorsky realized, his eyes following Hawk’s. “Hostess, end soothing projection sequence.”
The lights in the room dimmed and the motions stopped.
“Vlad, can you give us a few hours to rest and recover?” Sky said.
“I must talk to you, my dear,” Sikorsky said. “Your ship is burning a hole in my port.”
The longer they waited, the more chance Parker would hear of Oriana’s return. Sikorsky needed the element of surprise to overtake his rival.
“It caught fire?” Hawk murmured. “The ship caught fire? Is everyone okay?”
“Figure of speech, Hawk. Everyone’s fine,” Sky reassured, helping Hawk to his feet. “Everyone except you. Let’s get in the bath. I’m cold.”
“They took my clothes,” Hawk murmured, pinching the sheet between his fingers, putting his head on Sky’s shoulder as they shuffled across the blue tile floor.
“You don’t need clothes in here, Hawk. It’s a bath,” Sky smiled, guiding him to the edge of a glistening, inset pool, the base of which was also painted blue.
“Sky, let the medic handle him,” Sikorsky said. “The Enn have your ship blockaded.”
“Good. That means it’s not going anywhere. You will come back later,” she insisted, shifting Hawk’s weight onto Thea, then grabbing Sikorsky by the shirt and hauling him to the door. She planted an aggressive kiss on his lips before shoving him outside, and slammed to door on his scowling face.
Crossing his arms, Sikorsky paced the hall, but he knew he’d get nowhere by storming back in there. He rubbed his belly, feeling the strange twitter again, but since he was alone in the hall, he didn’t know where it was coming from.
“Are you ill, Mr. Sikorsky,” Vedette Tarelli, his right-hand assistant asked. She’d spent most of her life as an Enforcer, but when her sister died in a friendly fire accident, Sikorsky had bribed her to his side. Two years ago, she’d taken the charge to join the Valentino family. She was good at her job, but Sikorsky didn’t trust her, so he kept her close.
“I’ll be fine,” Sikorsky said. “When do you plan to breach the ship?”
“Already done,” Tarelli said, a haughty eyebrow raise punctuating the yawned statement. “He kept your cargo.”
A wave of amusement came over Sikorsky. He’d written the furniture off ages ago, but he could imagine a pig-headed Danny Matthews fighting for the client. “I can’t imagine why,” he chuckled.
“I don’t think you want it,” Tarelli said, projecting a picture of Oriana’s bay, showing the few cargo crates hauled to the center and cracked open, but the patterned fabric of a chaise, dining chair, and small settees in waterlogged and mildewed condition. “There was no sign of Amanda Gray.”
“Why would Parker attack the ship if she wasn’t there?” Sikorsky asked.
“The ship is old. How do you know it didn’t just break apart from wear?” Tarelli sneered. They exchanged glares, and she blinked first.
“There was no sign of the rest of the crew, either. No bodies,” Tarelli continued. “I wonder if we will find them following that smoke plume they flew out of. Maybe they’d planned to settle there and lay low, but then Matthews got injured.”
“If that’s the case, Matthews will want to go back once he’s recovered,” Sikorsky reasoned. And take my grandson with him.
“Sir, Mikayla Wright has taken a boat into the bay,” a young man reported, dashing up the hall, bounding with youthful innocence. He wasn’t a Valentino, but he ingratiated himself as a reliable informant. “I think she’s headed for Clover. Again. Should I tip Clover Enforcers to intercept? Again.”
“Did she take a Valentino boat?” Sikorsky asked.
“No, she stole a government boat,” the young man said.
“Which means the Olcott Enforcers are probably already tracking her,” Tarelli added.
“Go back to the dock and tell Alba to prepare my yacht,” Sikorsky decided, tapping his Virp to transfer a few marks to the young man for his service.
“Yes, sir!” the man said, bounding down the hall like a caffeinated rabbit.
The twitter passed through Sikorsky’s body again, and he reached out a hand. Finding the wall, he slumped against it. Suddenly, the power went out. Sikorsky ran for the pool room, but the door had sealed, as had the doors back through the quarantine and medical areas.
“Dammit!” Tarelli cried, drawing her weapon.
“Patience, Tarelli. Sky can defend herself,” Sikorsky warned.
“We have to get to the boat,” she growled. “If the Enforcers take Wright alive, she could bring down our entire organization.”
Sikorsky sucked in his cheeks. “Our presence is not required. Call one of your people. Tell them to meet Alba at the boat and bring the Wright woman back.”
No matter how much he came to trust Tarelli, he didn’t trust her with the truth that Mikayla Wright was his daughter.
7
After two hours, the bathwater had gone cold, and Sky moved to the nest of fluffy, warm towels she’d tucked around Hawk. She worried about Hawk. He complained that Liza took his eyes for her brother Kerris, but Hawk seemed to have gained something in the exchange as well—Kerris’ ability to wreak havoc on his physical environment when he was upset.
“I can open the door,” Hawk groaned, coming out of his daze again and digging through the folds of a wadded up towel.
“Hawk, you need to stop,” Sky whispered, combing her fingers through his hair. He’d said on the ship that her touch disrupted his ability, but disrupting and undoing were not the same thing. Thea kept calling out, and apparently the power surge had affected a good chunk of the building. Thea was convinced Sikorsky had locked them in to keep the Enn out.
Hawk was a mess of emotions, but he’d worn himself out with grief, and dozed lightly, his head on her chest, his breath tickling her skin. “It’s strange to see Sikorsky parading through a hospital like a high-profile ‘crat. Is that normal now?” Sky asked, hoping the conversation would settle Thea’s pacing. When she’d called Vlad for help, she hadn’t expected him to go to the control tower himself of meet them in the port.
“People blamed him for the loss of Oriana,” Thea shrugged. “I’m sure he wants the Domes to know he brought her home. He’s probably working on a way right now to get word to Terrana, and let the terrorists know they failed.”
Sky bit her lip. The local perspective on what happened to Oriana was skewed, but it wasn’t safe to correct it until she understood all that had changed in Quin’s underworld because of it. Sky began to regret letting the Vimbai take Tray, or sending Amanda and Danny out on their own with no information at all.
A soft sigh escaped Hawk’s lips, and his head dropped with the weight of sleep. A few moments later, the lights in the room came on.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Thea gushed, jumping to her feet, pressing her thumb to the door lock. The lock clicked and the door swung open. “Finally.”
Before she could leave, Sikorsky’s severe assistant flouted in, her nose high enough in the air to say she didn’t like her assignment.
“Where’s Vlad?” Sky asked, keeping her voice soft so as not to rouse Hawk.
“He had other business to attend to,” Tarelli sniffed. “He asks that you join him for an evening meal. His yacht will be in port in another hour, so there’s not much time to get ready.”
“Standard quarantine is three days,” Thea said. “I’ll probably need to be quarantined, too, after this exposure.”
“There is no place more quarantined from the population than Mr. Sikors
ky’s yacht,” Tarelli said. “Everyone on board has already been exposed to them.”
“Where are they taking us?” Hawk murmured, his eyes not even opening. Sky glanced at the door, expecting it to magically slam shut and seal them in the room again, but nothing happened.
“A boat on the water,” she said.
“Is it safe?” Hawk asked.
“Absolutely,” Tarelli said, stalking over to their fluffy towel pile and kicking away the loose ends.
“You don’t even know if he’ll get motion sick,” Thea argued. “He’s distraught over his friend. There are psychological issues that need to be addressed before you parade him past the press.”
“When I want your opinion, civilian, I will ask,” Tarelli threatened, raising her hand to show the glowing barrel of her stunner.
“If you shoot her, I’ll shoot you,” Sky warned, reaching for her satchel. “She’s nice, she’s honest, and she doesn’t need to get wrapped up in your mess.”
“Thank you,” Thea muttered, though she kept her eyes on Tarelli and her weapon.
“You’re welcome,” Sky said, separating a single towel from the pile and tucking it around Hawk’s waist.
“If you’re so eager to be in quarantine, then go quarantine yourself,” Tarelli told Thea. “These two come with me.”
Thea edged toward the door, but hesitated, her glance flickering toward Hawk.
“Why are you so eager to get us to the yacht? You’re not thinking of breaking into my ship, are you?” Sky smirked.
“Of course not,” Tarelli sneered. Sky could tell by her expression that the deed was done. “We’re thinking to seclude you some place outside Kemah. You can recover without the press nosing in.”
“Why can’t we return to Oriana?” Sky said. “We can have the conversation there.”
“The ship has no power, no running water, no air filters, no… anything,” Tarelli countered. “You will be issued new identities so that you can blend in—”
“No. Hawk doesn’t know the language or the culture well enough to blend in,” Sky said. “Besides, our faces were all over the press.”
“Have you forgotten what press is like here?” she scoffed. “By tomorrow, no one will remember you.”
“Bébé, Thea said my old clothes were recycled,” Hawk said. “All my other clothes are on Oriana.”
“You’ll get new clothes,” Thea said, a hint of bitterness mixing with her nervousness. “Lots of new clothes.”
“I have more than I need,” Hawk replied.
“We’ll dress you younger than your years,” Tarelli decided, squatting next to Hawk, poking at his cheeks. “That way your ignorance will come across as rebelliousness. And we’ll have to shave this white hair.”
“No,” Hawk stammered, his body trembling at the suggestion. “Don’t hurt me… Sky.”
“We’ll put a hat on him,” Sky suggested, cradling Hawk’s face against her chest.
“How about you color it to match his ‘rebellious’ clothing?” Thea suggested, rubbing Hawk’s arm. “You said you were sad because your hair is supposed to be red.”
“Enough from you. Get out!” Tarelli snapped, firing her stunner at Thea. The shot missed, but Thea ran from the room.
“Hey!” Sky cried, whipping out and firing her grav-gun at Tarelli, knocking the woman down.
“What did you do that for?” Tarelli groused. “I didn’t even hit her. It was a warning shot.”
“So was mine,” Sky said simply, putting the gun back into her satchel. A part of her wanted to chase Thea down the hall and make sure she was okay. Another part of her wanted to stay under the towels with Hawk. But she knew she’d have to deal with Sikorsky at some point, and that required clothes. Sighing in resignation, she stroked Hawk’s long, fine hair. “We’re going with the red dye.”
“It will take too long,” Tarelli argued.
“Vlad can wait,” Sky said.
The refreshing ocean breeze gently caressed Sky’s cheeks, rustling the skirt of her sapphire dress. The sound of the water lapping against the side of the yacht calmed her, as did the feel of Hawk’s hand sliding into hers. He tugged the ends of his red hair, smiling wistfully at the restored color. They’d trimmed the length to brush his shoulders. Tarelli had decked him out in a red canvas kilt with pockets down both sides. It was apparently the current style of the teen population. A sleeveless shirt showed off his bronzed skin, and a freshly charged Virp was mounted into his matching gloves. Hawk wasn’t thrilled with the look, and he kept running his hands over his thigh to make sure the kilt stayed down.
“How does it float?” Hawk asked, tugging Sky to the edge of the dock. “It’s so big! How far down does it go?”
“The third story isn’t real. It’s a projection designed to intimidate his enemies,” Sky smiled, glancing up at the glowing spire on the top of the yacht. The fog rising off the water caught the projected light in its mist.
“Is the ramp real, or is it just to confuse people?” he asked. “It’s not guarded very well.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Sikorsky said, coming down the ramp, his shoes clicking against the solid surface. He’d aged well. His skin was tanned, but unwrinkled, his hair completely grayed, but thick and full.
“Hello, handsome,” she greeted him, licking her lips, waiting for him to come to her. Sky had known Sikorsky off and on for almost four decades, and thanks to the proclivity of Quin women using medicine to maintain their youthful appearances, he never blinked twice at the fact that she didn’t age.
“Hello, beautiful,” Sikorsky said, greeting her with a kiss on both cheeks. “Have you had enough time to rest and recover?”
“Not quite. My bath went cold when the power went out,” Sky said, giving a mock pout.
“Are you Sky because that’s the name I recognize?” he asked.
“I went back to using it a year ago, maybe. I like it, don’t you?” she said sweetly, linking arms with him and walking up the ramp. His suit was finely woven, and the material soft to touch. “I think it’s funny people still call you Sikorsky.”
It was a nickname she’d given him ages ago, back when he was just starting out. In her native tongue, it translated roughly to ‘Property of Sky,’ and as a girl, she thought it hilarious that he’d accept such a name. He’d recruited her as a mercenary to knock Vimbai down a peg.
“Sikorsky isn’t your real name?” Hawk asked, pressing his toe to the ramp before following them. He’d seen too many strange things in Quin to trust in its permanence.
“Vladimir Valentino. You’ll find when Sky gives you a name, it sticks with you,” Sikorsky said.
Stepping into the boat, Sky found herself in an opulent ballroom with a vaulted ceiling and chandeliers. Projected candles burned on a cozy, round table in the middle of the room. The projections made it look enormous, but the shift in perception with each step told her how small this dining area really was.
“My name is Douglas,” Hawk said, gasping in surprise as he took in the room. His shoulders twitched and he rolled them, but then he ducked his head and shook off the feeling.
“And she calls you Hawk,” Sikorsky smirked, leading them to the table, his blue-grey eyes twinkling.
Hawk nodded.
“Do you know what she’s done with my cargo?” Sikorsky asked, holding out a chair.
“Vlad, can’t we discuss business after the meal?” Sky complained, pushing Hawk into the first seat, and then seating herself. “We were locked in a room with a cold bath for hours with nothing to eat.”
“Procrastinating again,” he frowned, sliding into the third chair. The chairs were plush blue and gold chairs with no give for slouching. Hawk ran his fingers over the silky fabric of the chair, then over the tablecloth. When he touched the projected candle, his hand passed through, but he jerked back as though he’d been burned.
Sikorsky tapped his Virp, and a moment later, a server entered with their meal. The entrée came first, but Sky knew he wasn’t
rushing the meal; he was respecting the fact that they were starving and wanted more than appetizers. The platter had a smorgasbord of options, ranging from grilled vegetables and potatoes, which Sky had requested for Hawk, to grilled fish, sushi rolls, and some kind of curry.
“Is that a dead animal?” Hawk asked, zeroing in on the one thing he wouldn’t eat.
“It’s fish,” the server said. “It’s been cooked.”
“Try this one,” Sky said, turning the platter to put the rice in front of Hawk. “Rice, vegetables. You can stomach those.”
“That’s a dead animal. It has eyes.” Hawk’s breath hitched, and he touched his cheek.
“Hawk, stay calm,” Sky warned, putting her hand over his.
“It has eyes,” Hawk rasped, looking away.
Scooting her chair back, Sky pulled Hawk from the table, taking him closer to a window. Or rather, a projection that looked like a window. They passed right through it and landed hard against a real window, much more plain than the other. She felt instantly claustrophobic by the low ceiling height.
“Breathe,” Sky coached, clamping Hawk’s cheeks, drawing his eyes to her. “Hawk—”
“I wasn’t ready to see the eyes,” he choked, putting his hands over hers.
“I don’t want you killing the boat when we’re in the middle of the bay,” Sky whispered.
Hawk shook his head. His cheeks were damp, but his breathing steadied. “I’ve had a chance to rest. The buzzing isn’t as bad as it was before. Do you think the people with weapons would let me take a walk?” he asked. Now that he was away from the table, he seemed fine.
“Yeah,” Sky said, giving him a hug, if only to soothe herself. “That’s not a problem. We’re not prisoners here. Hold on.”
She passed through the projection screen again, giving a look back to reassert herself to the room. The light was as effective as a wall; she couldn’t see Hawk at all. It seemed like it would be terribly easy to ambush someone in this dining room. Giving Sikorsky an apologetic smile, she filled a bowl with rice and vegetables, then took Hawk’s fork and passed through the window again. Hawk poked at the projection from the other side, then poked at the real window.
The Gray Market: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 5) Page 6
