“They’re less than twenty degrees above horizon out to the west,” Amanda reported. She adjusted the exposure time and took another shot. She had a good sense for the Bobsled’s size, and it shouldn’t have appeared so small. “They’re at least ten miles away.”
“They must have passed us,” Sky muttered.
Suddenly, the Bobsled changed directions. Hawk yelped in surprise. Amanda pushed him out of the way, gauging the new motion with her Virp.
“They’re heading east now,” Amanda said. Picking two trees that were nearby, she did a series of quick grabs, estimating the speed as the Bobsled moved perpendicular to her field of vision. “Slow. Less than forty knots.”
“I’m adjusting altitude,” Sky said. The ‘sled dropped so fast that it disappeared behind the forest.
“Whoa!” Amanda cried, jumping to her feet. Hawk hollered frantically.
“You stole a spaceship?” Amanda’s father bellowed.
At sixteen, Amanda had done a lot worse than steal spaceships, and she’d never been caught before. She was good at conserving fuel. Still, with her father, it was best to play innocent. “It was just one orbit.”
“Our fuel is carefully calibrated for the journey to Aquia. You’re lucky my ship didn’t crash,” her father admonished, crossing his arms, mirroring her defensive posture. Try as she might, she was never immune to his guilt trips.
“There’s plenty of fuel if you know how to use it,” she said pointedly. He’d taught her that, and the glower on his face said plainly that he did not like hearing his words echoed in that tone.
“You cost my ship ten thousand marks. I could lose my job.”
There was no twinge of guilt with that. If anything, it was incentive to steal more spaceships. “We should just go back to Aquia, Dad. At the rate the government is destabilizing, everyone on Terrana is going to be out of work.”
She wasn’t ready when he slapped her.
Amanda jerked around as Hawk hooked her elbow, keeping her from sliding off the side of the ship. Her knees were shaking and her heart pounding. She was going to need blood-pressure meds after this.
“They almost hit the trees,” Hawk cried.
Amanda sat cross-legged on the hull, searching the spot where the Bobsled had vanished, but she was limited by the field of view on her Virp.
“Now they’re higher than before,” Hawk said, sitting next to her, directing her eyes upward.
“Tray, I need finer control over altitude,” Sky reported. The orientation of the ‘sled tweaked slowly.
“They’re still rising!” Hawk said.
“Hush. I’m doing this” Amanda said indignantly, clamping a hand over his mouth. Hawk frowned, but held his tongue. Squaring her shoulders, she studied the ‘sled again. The successive shots showed increase of size and a steadier central position. “They’re heading toward us now. Turn them another ten degrees port.” She went back and forth with Sky a few more times, suggesting tweaks until the ‘sled was headed straight home.
“They’ll pass over us in about two minutes,” Amanda warned. The ‘sled dropped altitude again, and Amanda crouched instinctively, as if it would fall on her head. “Whoa!”
“Are they slowing down?” Sky asked.
“A little.” Tweaking the speed slowly, Sky managed to stop the ‘sled in midair, leaving it hovering over the clearing. Testing her altitude control, she sent the ‘sled up first, then brought it down foot by foot, dropping it unceremoniously without landing gear. The bullet-shaped ‘sled rolled onto its side, stopped by the oblong shape of the cockpit hatch.
“They’re down!” Amanda exclaimed, scrambling and sliding off Oriana’s hull and onto the wing. Hawk chased after her, protesting sternly, but catching her at every step, making sure she landed on her feet. Once she hit the ground, she galloped to the ‘sled, using both hands and feet. The Bobsled radiated blistering heat. She could see Saskia inside, her body folded unnaturally against the dome of the cockpit. Danny was still strapped to his seat, slumped and unconscious, white froth at the corners of his lips.
“Danny? Saskia?” Amanda whimpered, flinching as her hand brushed the searing hot surface of the ‘sled. The burns sent her back to the tunnels of Terrana.
She felt the fire on her skin as her clothing was ripped and her hair sheared off by blunt knife blades. Desperately, Amanda cried out for the only person who had ever shown her mercy. “Galen!”
Tray leapt from his chair so quickly he banged his knee on the console. The bruise throbbed, the pain leaving sharp, black streaks in his roiling thoughts. He needed Corey—or someone who knew the ship and the systems. As it was, the two people who knew most about Oriana were now relying on him for rescue.
“Hawk, do you have that board?” Tray asked, barreling down the stairs. Sky trotted behind him at a more leisurely pace.
“I’m trying to keep Amanda from killing herself at the moment,” Hawk answered, his voice almost inaudible over Amanda’s screams. “She saw the captain and became hysterical.”
His jaw stiffening, Tray grabbed Sky’s hand and dragged her toward the infirmary, forcing her to pick up pace.
“She didn’t touch him did she?” Tray checked. Amanda was sick enough as is.
“No, they’re still sealed in,” Hawk reported.
“Good,” Sky interrupted. “You don’t touch them either. Do you know what contagious means?”
Tray hadn’t meant to put Hawk in a dangerous situation. They needed both beds in quarantine. They’d just have to lock down the entire infirmary until they figured out what they were dealing with. Grabbing the two biosuits from the closet, Tray handed the larger one to Sky.
“Put this on.”
“Why me?” Sky demanded petulantly. “Let Hawk help you carry the bodies—”
“Not! Bodies!” Tray snapped.
Sky rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep Amanda in line.”
“Hawk can’t read the medicine labels. You can,” Tray said, pulling on the smaller suit over his clothes.
Grabbing the stretcher, Tray darted toward the back door, nearly losing his balance as the awkwardly large boot covers flopped on his feet and the stretcher caught the breeze. Sky dashed past him, barking orders to Hawk, Amanda, and Tray as though she were the one in charge. Ignoring her and forcing back the acidic jealousy stirring in his gut, Tray ran to the ‘sled, trying to figure out how to override the controls and get the hatch open. He kept his eyes down, focusing on the electronics and not the unconscious people inside. With the biosuit helmet on, he couldn’t wipe the sweat from his eyes. He wondered if the heat from the ‘sled would melt the suit.
“Move,” Sky ordered, shoving Tray clear of the hatch. She entered a command on her Virp and the hatch popped open. Saskia, half-resting on the hatch, was launched from the ‘sled, falling like a sack of potatoes several feet away. His heart leaping into his throat, Tray looked from her to Danny, and dove into the cockpit to retrieve his brother.
“Danny? Danny!” Tray whimpered, touching the seat his brother was strapped to, trying to figure out if there was a way to extract Danny without hurting him. They needed more biosuits! Grunting softly, Danny opened his eyes, his head lolling under the pull of gravity. Tray pillowed his brother’s head, cradling his face so that their eyes met. Danny stared, glassy-eyed. His skin was bright red, dry, and flaking. This was more than a bad case of sunburn. Danny had described it like getting hit with a shock-dart and dehydration. It must have come on suddenly.
“Hold onto me. I’ll get you down,” Tray said desperately.
Danny flailed, then hit the harness release, falling gracelessly against the side of the overturned ‘sled, and hacking up blood. The vomiting reminded Tray of Hawk and the tomato soup. Maybe this disease was something they were all going to get. If so, containment was moot.
“Danny?”
“Saskia,” Danny croaked, pushing Tray away. Hooking his arm around Danny, Tray tried to lever his brother out of the ‘sled. Tray’s helmet twisted, obsc
uring his vision, and as soon as Danny budged, Tray tripped backward, falling flat. Danny slid headfirst out of the ‘sled, falling hard on Tray.
“Help Saskia,” Danny rasped.
“Sky is looking after her,” Tray assured, wriggling out from under his brother, trying not to rip his biosuit. “You lay here a moment. Try not to move.”
Rubbing his brother’s shoulder, Tray looked nervously from Danny to Saskia. His stomach twisted in knots. Tray was accustomed to high-pressure situations, but here he felt helpless. He was not a medic. The best he could do was pretend to be a captain. You’ve been a CEO; you can do this.
Smoothing the front of his biosuit, Tray stood up, puffed his chest importantly, walked the three steps over to Sky and Saskia, then squatted next to them.
“How is she?” Tray asked, his voice smooth and calm, like Danny’s when he asked for a report. Sky was moving Saskia like a doll, straightening her limbs and feeling for injury. They should have brought the neck brace. Saskia was unconscious and pliable, and Tray worried that moving her would be bad. His upbringing screamed to leave her in place and let a doctor handle this, but there was no one else coming to save them.
“No broken bones,” Sky reported. She glanced over to Hawk and Amanda huddled just inside Oriana’s bay, then back at Tray. “Are you sure you want to take these two inside?”
“We can quarantine the infirmary,” Tray assured, biting his tongue to hold back his more incredulous, offended exclamations.
“Yeah, because everything on your ship is in perfect working order,” Sky muttered.
14
The Nayak village was nestled in a grove between two creeks. There was a formal, iron gate at the southern border and a wooden fence stretched from the gate out to the banks of the two creeks. It was not clear whether the fence had been built by the Nayak or by an older civilization, but they built their camp by it any time they were in this territory. It was simple enough for Brishen to climb a tree and peer inside. Three triumphant Nayak hunters had returned from their trek with a deer and two turkeys, meaning their people would eat well for the first time in days. The camp was abuzz with the meat preparation. The oohs, ahs, and celebratory cheers filled the air. It was strange to see people so giddy about food the Drava considered common. The Nayak hunters were not as skilled at catching large game, and when they traded, they took prepared meats, not hunting tools. For the number of mouths they had to feed, the rations would be paltry compared to the Drava’s daily meal.
A child started crying as the deer’s skin was sheared off. Nayak children were kept in the center of the village and collectively cared for. Over a third of them were brought into the village through trade and had no proper families. The crying boy was scrawny and fair-skinned like the strange girl Laos had spoken to the night before. One of the male caretakers picked up the boy and carried him into a tattered tent. The boy likely did not speak the same language as his caretaker.
Most of the Nayak took turns as caretakers at least one day out of the week. From what Brishen could tell, there was one couple in charge and everyone else rotated through in five-hour shifts. They seemed to take responsibility for all and none of the children simultaneously.
The Nayak tents were not as sturdy as the Drava’s. When strong winds and storms came, it was not uncommon to find the camp flooded and the tents overturned. They should have moved to higher grounds, but this was their home. The child’s cries silenced and a few minutes later, the caretaker returned, rocking the boy in his arms as they watched the food prepared.
Brishen’s throat tightened. That could be his child.
Hopping lightly from the tree branch, Brishen strode purposefully to the Nayak gate. Four Nayak archers trained arrows on him. Brishen did not wear the robes of an ambassador, and would be treated as a rogue. There were Nayak scouts who could vouch for him, but Brishen hadn’t planned this visit.
“My name is Brishen Zouli,” he announced. He cleared his throat, hooking his fingers through the iron gate and peering inside. “I am here to join the Nayak.”
The wind went still, leaving the scent of fresh deer meat hanging over the village. The archers’ bows remained taut, and an old man limped to the gate. His shoulders were stooped, his skin wrinkled, and his scraggly, silver hair hung down to his belly, tangling with his beard such that the two were indistinguishable.
“Brishen Zouli of the proud and defiant Drava,” he croaked. “Do you remember me?”
Brishen shivered. Five years ago, the old man had been clean-shaven. He had stood between Brishen and a whip the first night, but by the end, his superiors had broken him and he was the one holding the whip.
“You think you can live by my side, Brishen Zouli of the Drava,” the man asked.
Brishen felt acid rising in his stomach. An involuntary squeak escaped his throat. “I would like to speak to your Chieftain,” he said hoarsely. His knees shook and sweat beaded off his face. He closed his eyes and thought of the children’s haven in the middle of the Nayak camp. His child was in there somewhere.
“Go home, eunuch,” the old man spat. “You are not worth the grain it would take to keep you alive.”
Tray was glad that Sky seemed to know what she was doing. Either she was experienced in first aid like Saskia, or she was good at pretending. Danny was drifting in and out, but Saskia had yet to regain consciousness. They set Saskia on the center bed in the infirmary and hooked her up to the medical monitor. It was difficult to know whether her fever was related to a disease or caused by overexposure to the sun. She and Danny must have been out of the forest’s shelter for a while.
Not knowing where to start, Tray focused on his brother. He put aloe on Danny’s burnt skin, which incited a litany of groggy, delirious protests. Propping Danny up with a few pillows, Tray held up a cup of water, but the simple act of drinking through a straw seemed to exhaust Danny. Hydration was clearly an issue, but Tray didn’t know how set up an intravenous fluid infusion and wasn’t about to try so long as his brother was conscious. He knew too well what it felt like when Saskia missed the vein, and she had years of practice. Tray would probably attach something wrong and end up causing more harm.
Finishing the water, Danny collapsed against the pillow, panting. His hands shaking, he circled his finger, motioning for more water. He hadn’t coughed up any blood since that first time by the ‘sled, and Tray figured that was a good sign. Maybe he’d just bitten his cheek.
“The redness is fading, but his skin is turning black,” Tray told Sky, glancing over Saskia as he went to refill Danny’s cup. Her skin was darkening too. He tried not to think about Saskia dying in that bed, just like Corey.
“It’s a natural pigment response in the skin from exposure to sunlight,” Sky explained.
Tray raised his brow skeptically. He’d seen bronzing before, but never to this degree.
“This doesn’t look like the healthy kind of bronzing,” Tray said nervously.
Danny didn’t hear; he’d passed out on the pillow. Tray nudged him awake, not wanting his brother to fall into a coma like Saskia had. When Danny didn’t wake up, Tray shook him a little harder.
Suddenly, the alert sounded on the medical scanner! Tray’s eyes widened in horror. Saskia was in a seizure.
“What’s happening?” Tray asked. “What can I do?”
“Hold her still,” Sky ordered, running to her satchel and pulling out a small rod.
“What is that?”
“Something . . .” Sky waved the rod over Saskia’s forehead, and as the seizure stopped. Sky held the rod to her chest and waited, like she expected another seizure to start, but nothing happened.
“Sky? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Sky said, tucking the rod back into her satchel and sitting on the countertop. “So long as your brother doesn’t start having seizures, we can probably assume that was related to a head injury from the landing.”
“And if he does have a seizure?” Tray asked.
“I’m
not a doctor,” Sky said, huffing agitatedly and stalking out of the infirmary, taking her satchel and medical tools with her. Tray stared at the door, shocked to be left alone with the sick. He couldn’t stay in here forever. Now more than ever he felt frustrated by their distance from Quin and the information network. He only hoped that the few field medic texts that Saskia kept around covered this kind of thing
Spirit crept at the borders of Sky’s consciousness, vicious jaws snapping and chomping at the restraining light. It was too hard to breathe in that damn biosuit, and whatever Danny and Saskia had, chances were Spirit would make sure Sky didn’t die from it. Shedding the protective suit as she walked, Sky stalked through the cargo bay, ready take her chances in Fox Run. She’d made it out of this territory on foot last time. She could make it out again.
“Sky!” Hawk called, chasing her through the bay.
Spirit reared, and Sky’s whole body stiffened. You can’t control me, Spirit. You can’t stop me from leaving.
“How are they?” Hawk asked, twiddling his fingers.
“I don’t know,” Sky deadpanned. Giving one last, longing look to the daylight streaming in through the back window, Sky slunk off to the alcove under the catwalk, collapsing into her chair.
“Are they dead?” he asked, hooking his fingers over the stairs, leaning over her.
“No. They’re alive for now.”
“You don’t need to run, do you?” He dropped his voice, then peeked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. “You’re not going to kill . . . I mean the Sequestered—Sequesterer—it’s not going to kill us, is it?”
“Why? Am I glowing?” Sky closed her eyes for a split second, daring to probe Spirit for an answer. Its sharp teeth clamped around her lungs, and Sky’s eyes shot open. It was foolish to test Spirit like that. Whether Danny and Saskia died of some disease or not was irrelevant. If Sky became careless with Spirit, everyone on Oriana would die.
Trade Circle: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 3) Page 11
