Roland’s skin went cold. He’d dismissed Lois’ anti-dole sentiments as a way to weed leeches from the clan. “I think Tobias and I need to have a chat. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
“You said I could stay here,” Kit said, biting her lip and rubbing the bump on her forehead.
“I said do your schoolwork, and you ain’t doing it,” Roland pointed out.
“I will,” she said, rushing to the table, pulling a school-grade Virclutch from her inner pocket. “You don’t have to watch. It’ll be very long and boring.”
Roland sloughed back to the living room and plopped in his favorite chair, too worn out to be hungry. He didn’t know who to trust with his mutiny plans. Kristy would tell him to just leave. Kit seemed to see the big picture, but she gave up her information far too easily. He heard her sob, but she didn’t leave the table, so he let her be. Looking at the list Lois gave him, he sucked in air to quell his anxiety. He wanted out, but Lois would kill him if he stopped now.
Amanda foraged the sprawling, mountainside garden outside the Sanshin temple. After three nights here, she was getting tired of unseasoned lettuce and the plastic-tasting wafers that the religious folks called bread. There was a group that came every morning at sunrise. They sang songs and drank soup, but after their little social hour, only the hardcore meditators were left. Danny sat with them in that temple for hours, but Amanda didn’t know if he was meditating or catatonic with worry and grief.
“Sanshin, Sanshin,” Danny hummed, stumbling out the door and hugging one of the fat pillars that surrounded the building. Metal tracks attached a cluster of pillars to the main building, and according to Danny, the roof moved aside for a moon festival, allowing the moonlight to shine directly on some icon mounted in the center of the meditation area.
“Good grief. Sit down before you fall down!” Amanda cried, rushing to him. His scruffy beard went down to his collarbone and he had an incense stick threaded through it. “Oh, my goodness. You look awful.”
“I feel fine,” he slurred, rolling against the pillar, like he was trying to dance with it. His arms only made it halfway around the brownish rock.
“Danny, I don’t even need the Occ to show me you’re not. Your eyes are black,” Amanda said, wrinkling her noise as she got a whiff of his clothes. The skimpy tunic he’d borrowed from the temple smelled like roasted nuts.
“That’s just the Zen. It’s a journey enhancer,” he drawled, flapping his hand until he found hers.
“Yes, I know what Zen is,” Amanda groused, taking his elbow, forcing him to sit on the stone steps before he crashed. She tugged at the incense stick in his beard and it broke off. “It’s illegal on Terrana for a reason. It never leaves the air filters. I’m getting second-hand high just breathing next to you.”
“Relax. Calm down,” he sang, sitting down, then rolling onto his back.
“We have had a million chances to follow these gurus back to the city,” Amanda groused.
“It’s not safe there,” he slurred, tipping his knee back and forth. He wasn’t wearing anything under the tunic. “It’s safe here. It’s nice.”
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Amanda said, going back to the garden. Even if there was no food, the smell of the herbs was better than the odors Danny effused. “But I need to go to the city and find a doctor. My sanity hinges on medication.”
“Psh. You’d have to detox from what the Nelka gave you before starting anything new,” Danny said, rolling onto his side, then tumbling down the two steps to the ground. He kept rolling, trampling the plants until he ran into Amanda’s feet. Then he grabbed her around the knees, pulling her onto his chest.
“May as well detox here,” he smiled playfully.
“No. No!” Amanda cried, kicking to get free. “The Nelka pumped me full of tranquilizers. They meant to knock me out until I could get help.”
“Shh! You’re going to trigger an episode,” he warned, his eyebrows furrowing, even though he couldn’t bring his eyes to focus. His grabby hand climbed her body and he pulled her to the ground.
“Don’t! Don’t hold me down! You’re going to trigger me,” she growled, fighting against him.
“You’re getting agitated,” he said, his grip tightening. The Zen muted both his physical and mental pain, but also made him seem unnaturally strong.
“You’re getting high rather than trying to get me help!” Amanda accused.
“Lie with me. We’ll lay here until you calm down,” he said, tucking her body against his.
“I don’t want to,” Amanda said, squirming to get away, worried he’d crush her. “Danny, you reek! Let go!”
She smacked his arm and he swatted back, his hand flying across her cheek so hard he nearly knocked her unconscious.
“I’m trying to help you,” he slurred, drooling from the drugs. “I know how to help you!”
“I don’t want to be pinned to your sweaty side,” Amanda said, grabbing a fistful of dirt and throwing it in Danny’s face. He groaned and she rolled to her feet, leaping over him and running back into the temple.
The whole room was smoky with Zen, and Amanda ran to the only bathroom in the place, since there was a fan and a window there.
“Amanda, come back. I love you,” Danny mumbled, grappling with the pillar to pull himself up.
“If you love me, get me to a doctor,” Amanda said, slamming the door to the bathroom, turning the deadbolt lock. The door shook when Danny threw his weight against it, and the lights went out—the lights that were controlled from his side of the door.
“Danny?” Amanda asked. He didn’t answer right away, and Amanda figured he’d knocked himself out. Tapping her Occ, Amanda adjusted the device to let her see in the low light. She needed to find a way to contact Alex before both she and Danny were too far gone to recognize the help.
Squatting on her heels, she combed her fingers through her hair, taking slow, steady breaths. The windows in the room were narrow, meant for ventilation, not escape. Around them were faint, faded outlines of artwork that seemed to have been sanded off. Squinting at it, her Occ adjusted to enhance the features. A line of creatures bordered the ceiling. They had claw-like hands, impressive wings, horse-like faces. Like spirit-human halfbreeds. Like Galen.
“Danny, what are these drawings?” Amanda called through the door. When she didn’t hear anything, she risked opening the deadbolt. “Are you all right?”
She tipped open the door, and Danny lay slumped over the lap of a stone statue in the middle of the meeting hall. “Danny?”
“Hmm?” he asked, lifting his face, blinking away the grogginess.
“What are these pictures on the wall? On the ceilings?” she asked, bringing up her shirt to cover her nose so she wouldn’t inhale the residual Zen in the room.
“They’re the spirits. Aquian spirits,” he said, clearing his throat, laying his head on the statue’s lap again.
“Endemic life? Hybrids?” Amanda asked. It wasn’t safe to mention Galen’s name with Danny paranoid about her being triggered. He’d assume she was hallucinating, but she was pretty sure she only hallucinated humans. Every spirit she’d been accused of hallucinating turned out to be real.
“No. These are fictional. Abstract representations,” Danny said, flopping onto his back and pointing to the ceiling. There were more obscure line drawings in the tile that hadn’t been as apparent to her before. “The Aquian pantheon is part of a contrived mythology, used symbolically by the interfaith centers, even though none of the faiths actually believe in this particular pantheon. All the same, all different. That one there, holding the little ball of light—that’s Oriana. Spirit of the new dawn.”
“But hybrids and halfbreeds have godlike powers,” Amanda pointed out. “The myth could have been built on the first endemic life—”
“Tray,” Danny sang, rolling onto his stomach, reaching for the icon again. He pressed a button, igniting a fire, and murmured Tray’s name as he prayed. Amanda left him alone in the temple. He
was too high to talk and the smell of Zen made her sick.
Kemah was a sprawling city, worn by age, and patched over by wealth. There was never a part of it not undergoing renovation, whether it be the slate-lined streets or the imported moon-blown glass in every window. The gardens flourished, fed by the naturally fertile soil and the bay’s high water table. Despite its potential, the ubiquitous scaffolding and street barriers made it impossible to navigate and hideous to look at.
“You would think with the unemployment epidemic, they could finish some of these projects,” Sky groused, pacing up and down Oriana’s ramp.
“Do you have any idea where Solvere first appeared?” Sikorsky asked, feeling his way around the bay, searching for a portal that wasn’t there. By the way Amanda had freaked out about the passenger lounge, Sky knew exactly where, but she wasn’t giving up any information until he gave up his cash.
“It has been four days, Vlad,” Sky ranted. “I’ve been sitting in this port for four days, and you have not kept up your end of the bargain.”
“Sky, having money doesn’t mean I can spend it with no regard. I spend it wisely,” he said lackadaisically. His Virp vibrated against his chest, and he smiled when he saw the message. “I’m looking for the right engineer to lead the project.”
“There are a dozen qualified mechanics in port, Vlad,” Sky said.
“The right one is on his way. Tarelli is bringing him here now,” he said, gliding across the room, getting close without touching her. He’d been less flirtatious since their dinner on the boat.
“I reserve the right to veto,” Sky huffed, leaning back so that her body bumped against his. He didn’t put his arms around her.
“Sky, you have nothing here to bargain with,” Sikorsky sneered. “You are on my turf.”
“I’ll have the Enn remove you in full view of the press,” Sky threatened. “We’re still protected. They won’t let the press within fifty feet of the ship without my approval.”
“I appreciate your allowing my visit today. I really wanted to see your face when I unmask this new man I’m bringing for you. Here they come now,” Sikorsky said delightedly, turning Sky back to the door. “Recognize him?”
Sky narrowed her eyes at Sikorsky, suspicious at his delight. There were a few junk haulers coming in and out of port and cargo trucks meeting them to unload and recycle metal. Only a handful of press remained, and the barrier separating Oriana from the rest felt more like a quarantine fence every day. It wasn’t hard to spot Tarelli in the crowd. Where the popular style was skirts, sleeveless tops, and patterned gloves, Tarelli stood out like a sore thumb in her black, long-sleeved, high-neck suit. Her hand clamped down on the broad shoulder of a tall man wearing baggy, grungy coveralls, and a burlap sack over his head.
“It’s a little hard considering he has a bag over his face,” Sky said, keeping her tone hard. The man was built like Danny, and a part of her worried that it was Danny, which meant Sikorsky had Amanda.
“Now you understand why it took four days to get him here. He didn’t want to come,” Sikorsky laughed.
“Vlad, you know how I feel about prisoners. That includes slaves and indentured servants,” Sky warned, sliding her grav-gun from her side pocket.
“Lock down!” someone in the port screeched. A flurry of shouts followed and the Enn rushed to action, shouting evacuation and shelter orders, corralling people into the hangers. Tarelli was gone, and her prisoner fell to his knees, the gap between him and everyone else growing wider. Like they were avoiding a bomb.
Sky looked incredulously at Vlad, and he just laughed. She fired her grav-gun at him, knocking him out.
10
The port outside Oriana was both loud and silent. The Enn rushed to clear the crowd. The journalists pressed as close as they dared with their drones. Sky focused on the prisoner on his knees, frozen still in the midst of the chaos. This was her fault. She never should have trusted Sikorsky.
“What’s going on?” Hawk asked, his head popping from the cockpit of his glider. His hair stood on end from static electricity and his face was spotted with ink. He’d dealt with the stall in their escape by brooding and writing in his journal.
“I don’t know,” Sky said, striding cautiously from the bay, approaching the barrier that protected Oriana from the press. “Warren!” she called to the nearest Enforcer she recognized.
“Go back to your ship, Sky. Potential bomb,” Warren warned, shifting the barriers around Oriana to block off the man with the bag over his head. Warren’s stunner was at ready, his dark blue uniform dotted with adrenaline-fueled sweat.
“There’s a person under that mask,” Sky carped, pointing to the man. “Is he really going to kill himself or just threatening to?”
“He’s a victim,” Warren said gravely. “This happened once before, just after the travel ban was enacted. I don’t know why people think blowing up innocents will inspire the government to lift the ban. It was the bombings from Terrana that started it in the first place.”
“How much time do we have?” Sky asked. If this man died, she was going to kill Sikorsky.
“Last time, we lost the victim and two Enn. All in twelve minutes,” Warren said. His skin paled at the memory. In his mind, he’d already lost this victim. “The bag is held onto the neck by a collar that constricts the airway. By the time we got close, the victim was incapacitated and couldn’t speak. We know what the terrorists want, but not who they are.”
Sky wrinkled her forehead. Sikorsky had planned this, somehow. Tarelli had brought the prisoner, he’d planned the timing, and he wanted to see her face. She knew he’d killed before, but this was not his style. Unless he’d changed to be more like Parker than he let on.
“Sky, there’s no machine,” Hawk whispered, touching her elbow. “I can’t feel any machine.”
Sky nodded. She had twelve minutes. Maybe less. “Stay here. Don’t let anyone into the ship,” she said, patting Hawk’s hand, exchanging a look with Warren. She approached the victim. The man under the bag was too fair-skinned to be Danny. The bag was loose on his head, and didn’t seem to be attached to a collar. Hawk was right. There was no machine. Would Sikorsky really use a bomb threat as a ruse to move a prisoner through port?
Yes, he would.
“I don’t see a collar!” Sky hollered back to Warren, before kneeling in front of the man. “And I think I know who this is.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she pulled the bag from the man’s head. There was no resistance and no explosion. And there, looking back at her was Chase Du Plessis, the man from whom she’d stolen her Bobsled. His rounded cheeks were scraped and bruised, his brown eyes bloodshot, but when his lips parted, all Sky wanted to do was kiss them.
“You’re not wearing a bomb, are you?” Sky asked.
Chase shook his head, his teeth chattering with terror. Sikorsky must have known their history and brought him here to taunt her. There may not have been a bomb, but he was still a victim. She heard Warren radioing the Enn, but they weren’t lifting the lockdown.
“Sir, are you hurt? Who did this to you?” Warren demanded, squatting next to Chase.
Chase’s head twitched side-to-side, indicating that he didn’t know, but Sky suspected he’d been scared silent.
“Hold still. I’ll cut you loose,” Sky said gently, lifting his hands and removing the zip tie that bound them. Chase’s breath hitched and Sky wrapped him in a gentle embrace.
“Sir, can you speak? What’s your name?” Warren asked.
“Ch-ch-ch—” he shivered. “Chase. Du Plessis.”
“There’s a medical team on the way. Do you need to lie down?” Warren asked.
“He wasn’t carried here. He can walk,” Sky said. “Let’s go to Oriana. We can secure him there and get away from the press. Then your port can get back to normal business.”
Warren protested, but Sky’s mind was made up, and she pulled Chase’s arm over her shoulder. Now that he’d been unmasked, the press had his
face, and soon, they’d find his name, too. Sikorsky had upended Chase’s life with this stunt and Sky was going to make him regret it.
“Oriana?” Chase repeated, a squeak in his voice. The trembling in his body spread to his legs when he saw the ship. “He’s back, he’s back,” Chase repeated, the words almost soundless as his lips moved without breath.
“Have you been in a cave all week?” Sky teased. Then her smile faded and she said to Warren: “I suppose that’s a bad question to ask a prisoner.”
Chase’s feet moved a little faster with Oriana drawing him in. “Danny. Is he here? Zive, is Danny here?”
“Easy,” Warren said, catching Chase when he tripped. “Easy, easy. You’re hyperventilating.”
“I’ve got him,” Sky said, not wanting Warren to see Sikorsky’s body crumpled in Oriana’s bay. When she’d decided to bring Chase on board, she hadn’t realized he’d want to see Danny. That complicated things.
Chase felt like all his organs were lodged in his throat waiting to be vomited out. He’d dismissed the sensationalized news stories as tabloid-level junk, and he’d avidly avoided information that would remind him of his friend that he’d thought long dead.
“Sky?” he rasped, gripping her arm as she walked him into Oriana. Sky was the reason he’d left Kemah six months ago. The abrupt end to their love affair still felt like a stab wound to the heart, and he’d left his shop in Kemah to escape that pain.
Chase scanned the bay, hoping to see Danny, but instead, there was a young man, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He wore the colorful kilt of an aristocrat teen, and his physical bulk told Chase he’d spent his life in gravity, not on spaceships. The only hair he had was on his head, and it was as bright red as an alert siren.
“Chase, this is Hawk; Hawk, Chase,” Sky said in Trade. “Chase built the Bobsled.”
Hawk frowned disapprovingly. “Captain said he built the Bobsled.”
The Gray Market: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 5) Page 8
