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

by Valerie J Mikles

  “Are they warriors?” he asked, holding her tightly, not looking back. She bounced on his shoulders with every footfall.

  Laos craned her neck, levering her body against his to get a view. Her heart raced and her skin was covered with goose bumps. “Can’t tell. It looks like they’ve been through a battle. No obvious cannons.”

  “I’ll stop running then,” he said, huffing and slowing to a walk. The wings of the airship brushed the trees at the forest edge, shaking loose branches from the canopy and snapping some of the smaller trees. Brishen picked up pace again.

  “You’re supposed to be on the Eastern ridge,” Laos panted, trying to sound reproving despite the fact that he had just saved her life.

  “I wanted to talk,” Brishen said, his almond eyes twinkling. She was suddenly keenly aware of the way his hand was hooked over her thigh. She squirmed, but failed to look unaffected, and fortunately her old friend took pity. His mischievous look faded, and his expression flashed between concern and vulnerable uncertainty. He propped her against a tree and checked her injured leg.

  “We can talk this evening,” she said curtly, peering over his shoulder and studying the ship. Her knee would ache for a few hours, but nothing was broken so far as she could tell.

  The ground shook as the great ship touched down. The gust of air kicked up dust, leaves, and twigs, and Brishen threw his body protectively over hers. Laos squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face to his neck, holding on until the dust settled.

  “By evening, all anyone will be talking about is that,” he said, pointing to the ship. The rockets had stopped spitting fire and heat, but the landing gear had not sunk into the mud at all. The vessel was perfectly balanced. He considered the ship breathlessly, awe and curiosity warring with whatever had prompted his visit. His expression went blank as he shelved his emotions and dutifully skimmed the mud off of her legs. Using water from his canteen, he cleaned the cuts on her foot where the shoe had been ripped free. “I should get you to the medical tent.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said flatly. As a Chief Scout, her default assignment was to watch this new intruder to their territory. She was here first and with an injured foot, it was easier to stay than to walk back to camp. “I need you to circle the lake bed and see if there are any windows, doors, or weapons on the other side of the vessel.”

  “I will, but I have a question.”

  “Not now, Scout. We have intruders on the land,” Laos hissed, gesturing toward the ship. The motion knocked her off balance and she hobbled a few steps before tripping over him.

  “If you’d stop talking and listen, I could have asked my question and this conversation would already be over,” he laughed, catching her by the waist to keep her from falling.

  Laos chuckled at her own clumsiness, and leaned on him like she was about to wrestle him to the ground. A lot of their conversations would have been shorter if she listened before she fought him. Brishen was patient with her and she was glad he was here. She preferred observing other tribes at a distance and he was less afraid to get close to them.

  “Fine, talk,” she said, smiling at him and tweaking his nose.

  “Marry me,” he said simply.

  Laos rolled her eyes. “Every time you think you want kids, you ask me first.”

  “You’re always first in my mind,” he said, ducking his eyes and swallowing. Whenever this topic came up, there always seemed to be a lot he wasn’t saying, and Laos figured he was valiantly reining in a gush of desperate pleas.

  “My answer is still no. I don’t want to push a squirmy larval human from my body ever again,” Laos said, her excuse practiced, however unconvincing. “Now check the perimeter, please.”

  The first few times he’d asked, she’d rejected him with emotional, heartfelt apologies. He’d pout for a bit, but in a few hours, they’d be back to laughing and carrying on like normal.

  “I’m not asking for children. I want a primary,” he explained, gathering fallen branches and constructing a hiding place for her. He kept his attention on the task, but his cheeks were getting redder by the second.

  Laos froze, the blood draining from her face. “No. Brishen, we’re friends. We’re not—we’re friends.”

  “We’ll never be more?” he asked, pausing and looking fervently at the tree branches in his hand.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Laos stuttered. The look of anger clouding his face said no. Abandoning the blind, he stalked away from her.

  “Brishen!”

  “Question asked and answered. I’ll scout the perimeter,” he said hoarsely.

  “Wait!” she cried, launching after him, knocking over the branches he’d set up. She landed hard on one knee, her chin slamming against his thigh. The burst of pain from the fall took her breath away, and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

  “You’ve rejected me. You can’t turn around and cry on my shoulder,” he said quietly, staring up at the canopy.

  “No, I haven’t. Wait,” she begged. She knew it wasn’t fair, but he’d caught her off guard. “You can’t just spring something like that on me. I need time to process.”

  Brishen sighed irritably, looking at everything but her. “How much time?”

  Laos didn’t have an answer. Her knee was throbbing, and her head spinning.

  “If you’re not feeling this—”

  “I’ve never considered taking a primary. Please . . .” She squeezed his hand, struggling to regain her balance and take her weight off of him. Her injured leg would not permit her the dignity. He finally took pity on her, and gave her a hand so she could properly sit. Then he started reconstructing the blind.

  “In my head, I imagined you jumping enthusiastically into my arms, making love to me on the forest floor . . .” he confessed, avoiding eye contact.

  “Maybe getting flattened by an invading airship in the process,” she commented, tickling his calf when he stepped within reach.

  Chuckling, he hopped back and checked to make sure she had enough camouflage to conceal herself. “I know we’ll never have children,” he said, backing away. “I only want you.”

  Laos was glad the branches and leaves hid her face from him. He looked longingly, like he was waiting for her to break out of the blind again and leap into his arms. Suddenly, he turned on his heels. “Take your time,” he said. “Think. I have ground to cover.”

  Cringing from the sting of his bitterness, Laos sucked in her cheeks and massaged her injured knee. Brishen had asked her for children before, but to be a primary meant the tribe would view them as a single unit. It was the purest form of coupling in Drava society.

  The airship gasped and groaned, and the back hatch opened. The gust of air destroyed her blind and she was exposed. Despite her fear of strangers, she found herself staring dumbly at the open vessel, wondering if these strangers could offer her a better life. Using the tree as a crutch, she pulled herself to her feet.

  There was a flash of light, and suddenly Brishen charged toward her, lifting her off the ground, and pulling her into the cover of the forest canopy. He covered her mouth, but she wasn’t stupid enough to cry out. She could feel his heart racing. Not letting go of her, he sank behind the ferns and they watched for further signs of movement from the airship. His body twitched at every sound, tense and ready to run.

  “I thought you had ground to cover,” she said, yanking his hand away from her mouth. “Can you see inside?”

  “Not from this angle,” he smirked, hopping to catch a low branch so he could get a better view. “Where’s your Occ?”

  Laos rubbed her brow, feeling the raw skin where her Ocular enhancing device usually attached. “I broke it,” she mumbled.

  “Again?” he laughed, holding out his hand. The internal resets on the Occ were normally voice activated, but could be done with a small tool, and it was easier to see how if one was already wearing a working Occ.

  “And I dropped it in the mud,” she said, pointing to the lakebed with t
he airship.

  “I’m going around to get a better view of the inside,” he said, alighting to higher branches.

  Laos started to follow, but as soon as she put pressure on her knee, she knew it was best to stay on the ground. “Take pictures!” she whispered.

  2

  The smell of fresh bunna permeated the halls of Oriana, rousing Captain Danny Matthews from a fitful sleep. Lifting his head, he felt a pinch in his neck and aches spreading down his lower back. Falling asleep under the air vent in the engine room wasn’t as comfortable at full gravity. Oriana had left Rocan three days ago, but they hadn’t gone far. The ship was designed to blast through the atmosphere, not flit about in it. If they went top speed, they’d fly past Quin without ever picking up a signal. Danny had a few ideas how to adapt the ship for slow lateral movements, and he’d wanted to try some of them before breakfast, but a stream of unexpected catnaps had left him no closer to a solution than he’d been last night.

  The aromatic, dark-roasted bunna called to him. Danny’s brother, Tray, didn’t drink bunna, and so when Tray made it, it was effectively a summons to the galley. Kissing the purple, wool coat he was using as a pillow, Danny lifted a prayer for the soul of its former owner before heading out of the engine room. Corey had been more than a member of his crew and more than his friend. He had no word for her but ‘beloved.’ That was the word Tray had used in the eulogy when they’d buried Corey by the lakes three days ago, shortly after they’d left Rocan, when they’d barely passed out of the arctic climate. The dirt had been cold and wet; Danny could still feel it under his fingernails. He couldn’t bear to leave her, but when he’d tried to dig her up again, the others had tranquilized him and dragged him back onto the ship. Leaving Corey behind, they’d crossed the lake land where they’d stocked up on fresh water, then went over another mountain ridge and followed it south. Sky claimed the mountain ridge fell into the ocean eventually, and they could follow the coast back home. They had covered more than a thousand miles since leaving Rocan, searching back and forth, hoping to intercept a signal that would guide them home, scrounging for solid ground whenever something on the ship caught fire. It was difficult to find time to grieve, especially now with three new mouths to feed and no familiar land to run to.

  Two hours ago, they’d set down near the ruins of a Dome—not the first they’d passed, but the first that held promise of food. Tray’s “three month” stash had been calibrated for a crew of four, spending most of their time in microgravity. Their fresh food stock was all but gone, and with days adding up, they had no idea how to ration what remained. Tray seemed moody and tense, but whenever Danny tried to talk to him, the conversation always steered toward supplies . . . or Corey. Tray didn’t know that Danny slept with Corey’s purple coat every night.

  The galley was Tray’s favorite place on the ship. He had decorated it with bright blue accents and stenciled flowers in memory of their mother. Seeing Tray cooking behind the counter stirred such warm childhood memories that Danny was entranced by the sight.

  “What is that?” Hawk asked. He was sitting on the counter behind the island, watching Tray cook. Hawk looked like a street urchin with his worn out clothes and artificially colored, bright red hair. As near as they could tell, Hawk had never seen processed meats before, and he followed Tray around like a curious child, inundating Tray with questions about everything.

  “This is ham. You probably shouldn’t eat it,” Tray said, taking the ham slice away from Hawk and setting it on a serving plate. Hawk had been sick since they’d left Rocan and Tray was determined to find food the other man could stomach so that nothing would go to waste. So far, fruits, water, and alcohol were the only things Tray had deemed safe for Hawk. They were out of alcohol, nearly out of fruit, and the filters on the water recycler were getting ripe.

  “Try this,” Tray said, tossing Hawk the bread loaf.

  “What is this?” Hawk asked, pulling out a slice and munching on it.

  “It’s bread. Or it’s trying to be,” Tray laughed. The nonperishable food stocked on spaceships only loosely resembled the food staples listed on the labels. There were so many preservatives in the bread that Danny often wondered whether the nutrients would be more effectively absorbed through a pill. Although, one could not toast a pill and slather it with jam.

  “It’s failing,” Hawk chuckled, chewing thoughtfully. “You know you’re supposed to mill the grain, right?”

  Tray chuckled socially, but his mood changed when he saw Danny. Quietly, he showed Hawk how to use the toaster, then he poured a cup of bunna and offered it to Danny. Danny was supposed to be their captain, and he was failing worse than the processed bread. It had gotten so bad yesterday afternoon, that Tray had found Danny on the bridge plotting a return course to the lakes where they’d buried Corey’s body. It had taken two hours for Tray to talk Danny down. Now that they’d mapped the path, they could have followed a straight line to her grave and back in those two hours, but Tray wouldn’t let him go back.

  Danny took the cup, ducking his head submissively, and sloughing over to the table. Sky was there, poised daintily with a pen tapping against her lips and her nose in a book. She tucked her blonde hair behind her ear and gave him a coy sideways glance. Danny sipped his bunna and shifted closer to her, imagining the comfort of her arms around him.

  A serving spoon clattered to the floor, and Hawk hopped off the counter, bursting through the hatch to the crew hall. The sound of retching soon followed.

  “Hawk, do you need help?” Saskia called after him, shuffling to the bunna pot and pouring herself a cup. Seeing Hawk sick at mealtime had become so common that she no longer responded with urgency. The top half of her coveralls were unzipped and tied around her waist, and her long, black hair was in a messy braid that fell past her belt. She’d relaxed her guard somewhat these past few days, but she still had a stunner holstered to her thigh and who knew how many more concealed weapons.

  “After four-hundred years of isolation, just be thankful you can still understand each other. He’ll catch every disease that you became immune to in grade school,” Sky commented, taking a sip of water, then getting up from the table to refill her glass.

  “Add bread to the list of foods that make him sick,” Tray sighed, setting up the ham, toast, and fruit buffet style along the edge of the cooking island. “I should have let him try the ham.”

  Danny closed Sky’s book and pushed it aside to make space for food. Then he did a double-take. It was a Lanvarian book, not a Rocanese one. Flipping thought the pages, Danny groaned in frustration. She’d pilfered the book from his cargo and there were markings all over it!

  “Did it ever occur to you that everything on this ship is not here for your edification?” Danny carped, waving the book in the air.

  “That’s a base assumption,” Sky said, plucking the book from his fingers and setting her plate on the table. “Puzzle books are designed for personal amusement. You would know if you ever used one.”

  Danny glared at her, but she just smirked and took a bite of ham. “What were you planning to use it for?” she challenged.

  “Resources are scarce,” Danny said, flipping through the pages. He never paid much attention to his cargo, but he needed to get paid once they made it back to Quin. If they made it back to Quin. The more days that went by where they failed to make contact, the harder it became to trust that things would work out.

  “Something will come along,” she said certainly.

  “From where? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  Sky shrugged and smiled, snaking her arms around his shoulders in a playful, yet overtly sexual way. “You came along.”

  Danny had never fully appreciated the advantages of the captain’s suite on Oriana until Amanda came along. Before last week, he hardly came in here, except to sleep and change clothes. Now since Amanda refused to be in the same room as Sky, the small sitting area and the private bathroom had become essential. Danny didn’t like that Amanda
hid, but so long as she was in here, he knew she was safe. In the ten years she’d been lost on Terrana, he’d had no such comforts.

  “You didn’t sleep,” Danny observed. All of his clothing, shoes, and personal items were laid out on the floor of the sleep alcove, logically divided according to function. There were even a few tools he thought he’d lost ages ago.

  “You never came back,” she replied, a hint of disappointment in her voice. Amanda sat at the hand-carved table, head down, hand defensively closed around a bowie knife. She was slowly adapting to gravity and though she still wore out easily, she had passed the point where she needed daily medication to control her heart rate and blood pressure.

  “I fell asleep in the engine room,” he shrugged, touching her shoulder apologetically. His friendly tone prompted her to release the blade, and he debated taking it from her. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

  Amanda’s breathing slowed, and she put her hand over his, breathing in comfort from his touch. “I can’t sleep alone. I’ll wake up hungry, hurting, forgotten . . . again. I like to know where everybody is.”

  “Even if they snore?” Danny joked, setting the breakfast plate on the table and pulling his chair next to hers. Despite his years on Terrana, he knew nothing of the underground Elysian society that had imprisoned Amanda—nothing of their numbers, their customs, or their technology. She’d been made to sleep and left to die. Her memories came back in nightmares, and the diary of her torment was written on her sallow skin and food-starved body.

  “Everyone here hides,” Amanda said quietly.