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

by Valerie J Mikles

  A figure separated itself from the crowd, drawing her attention because it looked like Hawk. A fleet of spaceships whipped past his face, blowing back his fiery red hair, revealing snake-like eyes. The creature with Hawk’s face steadied itself by unfurling large, feathery wings.

  Spirit?

  The creature snapped at her, revealing sharp fangs and a crushing jaw. Its talons curled and it growled threateningly. In all the decades she’d carried Spirit, it had never taken on a physical form in her mind, but those gnashing teeth fit her sense of it. Why did it take on Hawk’s form? Why now?

  Can you understand me?

  Spirit rushed her, clamping its bony hand over her mouth, the pointy tips of its talons stinging her cheek. Its amber eyes glowed, its poisonous fangs bared. Then Spirit covered her eyes and everything went dark.

  With the darkness came silence and rest, and Sky wondered if this was how it would finally kill her. There was a strange peace to it; Spirit’s talons were cold, but not painful. It was like the darkness she’d felt when she slept next to John, only this time, she could hear a faint whisper through the darkness. It was Sidney’s voice, outside the tent, speaking with someone. Every time she heard Sidney’s voice, a ghost appeared in her vision, giving off a faint light in her mind’s arena. Sidney appeared in the same spot almost every time he spoke, and if she focused on that spot, she could see his face and understand his words.

  Spirit’s hands disappeared, and the cacophony of visions and nightmares filled the arena again. Spirit’s body dissolved into wisps of red smoke; it hissed and snapped, swiping its claws over her chest, ripping her skin. Then it took off flying, disappearing into the exploding mortars of wars yet to come. An arrow penetrated Sky’s chest and she tumbled back, gasping.

  Then Sky saw a ghost in the arena. There had always been ghosts in her visions, but now, Sky understood what they were: the hint of the present. Pressing through the arguing politicians and mourners at state funerals, Sky tried to find the spot in the arena where Sidney’s ghost had appeared.

  “Sidney!” she hollered, screeching to hear her own voice over the crowd.

  The ghost appeared right in front of her, not tangible enough to grab hold of. “Don’t scream. I’m right here, Adita.”

  The ghost had no face, and no body language. Sky could barely sense her physical body, but she tried to appear alluring. “If you’d take this blindfold off, maybe I would have known that.”

  Her face jerked to one side when Sidney ripped the blindfold free. The soft orange glow of the lantern burned away the monsters in the arena. The pain in her chest where the arrow had penetrated faded into dream.

  Sky smiled coyly at the fuzzy shadow that was slowly resolving into Sidney. Or rather, she tried to smile. Her bound arms were numb, and she was too dizzy to stay balanced on her feet.

  “Untie me, lover,” she said, licking her lips seductively.

  The look in Sidney’s eyes told Sky that he remembered that tone in her voice. She felt the pressure of his hands on her limbs, but her arms were dead, and her skin ached at his touch. She didn’t feel him clearly until his hands reached her shoulders. Then he cradled her chin, gazing into her eyes. His face was red and puffy from crying.

  “Maybe I could keep these eyes for myself,” he said sadly, caressing her cheek.

  Sky jerked out of his hands, horrified. Small wooden splinters from the pole she was tied to punctured her clothing, prickling her skin.

  “There was a time you loved me,” Sky said, struggling to loosen her bonds, searching the room for tools or weapons. Her satchel was in the corner. “You would do anything to protect me.”

  “If you wanted my protection, you should not have stolen the Seer spirit,” Sidney said, clamping his hand on her jaw, forcing her eyes toward his. He made no effort to hide his feelings of rejection. “Back then, you were a woman.”

  “I still am a woman,” Sky said, arching her chest. “Untie me, and I will show you how much of a woman I am.”

  “I can no longer pretend. You are not my Adita,” Sidney said, backing away from her. “You are the beast that killed her and took her body.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Sky said, hoping to sound certain rather than desperate. Her shoulders were starting to ache and go cold. Pouting sweetly, Sky tilted her head so that her blond locks curtained her face. “You touched me like a lover.”

  “I have a lover,” Sidney said, turning his back to her. “One who will not leave me.”

  Sky pressed her lips together in frustration. He had been flirting with her and he had the gall to be offended. As much as Sky slept around, she made it a point to never mess with married men—especially ones married four times over.

  “Then you oughtn’t kiss me,” Sky said. “It gives a girl the wrong idea.”

  Sidney caressed her again, twirling the tips of her hair around his fingers, looking sad and conflicted. When he closed his eyes, tears cascaded down his face. Clearing his throat, he looked at her again—it was the face of a man looking into a casket at a wake. “You will serve us, Seer,” he said. “In time, you will serve us.”

  His shoulders hunched, he let go of her hair and turned to leave the tent.

  “How did that last Seer work out for you?” Sky called after him. “Did she tell you what you wanted to hear? Did she lead you to prosperity?”

  Sidney paused, his body tensing. Keeping his back turned, he looked to the ceiling. “You should know, Bandit. The spirit disappeared with you. That is how we know you possess it. You killed the vessel and took the spirit.”

  “I didn’t kill that girl. You did when you gouged out her eyes!” Sky retorted. Sidney shuddered, and Sky kicked angrily. No matter how conflicted he was about doing this to her, he was still doing it. He could have warned her in the wood and told her to run then. “How many of your people died because of her?”

  His body stiffening, Sidney crossed the room. When he brought his hands up, she thought he would finally untie her, but he ripped at the knotted blindfold, and glared at her, unforgiving.

  “Only my Adita,” he said. “It was kind of her to protect us from the fate that killed her own family. She said they were killed by a spirit, like you.”

  “I didn’t go near your Seer!” Sky spat. “I didn’t steal her spirit! I am your Adita. I am just who I was when I ran away. I didn’t want to watch you torture that girl.”

  Sidney replaced the blindfold, and Sky was instantly transported to Spirit’s arena. Sidney’s ghost appeared, the faint breath of hope barely distinguishable from the noise.

  “I convinced them to use the blindfold, but if my father knows I removed it, he will take your eyes all the sooner. He won’t let me near you again,” Sidney whispered. She felt the beginnings of a kiss, but was consumed by the visions. Soon Spirit’s claws clamped around her throat, and she was choking.

  The darkness was terrifying, and despite the map program on Tray’s Virp, he kept getting lost. The packet of medicine in his jacket would either save his brother or kill everyone on Oriana. He hated that he’d been forced to leave Sky behind, but he was out of options. The longer her Virp stayed silent, the more Tray felt the chances of ever getting home and seeing his son again slipping away.

  Water splashed and Tray found himself ankle deep in a stream he did not remember crossing. Jumping backwards onto the soggy bank, he consulted his map again. Water seeped into his shoes, chilling his toes. Forcing back a sob of frustration, Tray turned in a circle, using the glowing screen of his Virp to find the trail again. Then he noticed a marker on one of the trees. Examining it more closely, he recognized the carving etched by Hawk in memorandum of the broken egg. That shouldn’t have been this close to a river. Either the trees had moved or the water had, but either way, he was closer to home than he thought.

  Blocking out the unexpected stream, Tray focused on the guidance of his map program. Cresting the next ridge, he found Oriana in the clearing, and ran for the ship. Hawk must have been waiting, be
cause the rear door opened while Tray was still several yards away. Once inside, he dashed through the bay, tripping over cargo as his eyes adjusted slowly to the light.

  “Tray!” Hawk called, chasing after him. “Where’s Sky?”

  “She stayed behind,” Tray said tersely, panting with fear and exhaustion.

  “What? Why?” Hawk asked. “Tray, slow down. You’re wet and muddy. Are you hurt? Is Sky hurt?”

  “Let’s get the others well, then worry about Sky,” Tray said, shoving the medicine bundle into Hawk’s hand, then shrugging out of his coat. He kicked off his shoes next. Dr. Kavari had insisted the infection was not airborne, so there was no reason to mess with the biosuit, but there was also no reason to track mud through the ship. In the infirmary, Tray pulled out a pair of sterile gloves for himself and one for Hawk. “Saskia’s going to be tricky. Is Danny awake?”

  “No,” Hawk said, his face falling, like he would be blamed for it. “He slipped into a coma an hour ago.”

  “You’re sure he’s not sleeping?” Tray said, rushing into the quarantine area and kneeling next to his brother. Amanda was spooned behind him, her head ticking at the commotion. Avoiding Amanda, Tray peeled back his brother’s eyelids and frowned. Kavari had prepared him for this eventuality, but Tray had hoped his brother wouldn’t be that far gone. “Okay. They’ll both be tricky. This works as a suppository, though.”

  “A what?” Hawk asked, getting on his knees next to Tray. Amanda hugged Danny protectively and glared.

  “Amanda, I need you to sit over there,” Tray said, pointing to the corner. He wasn’t ready to force her back.

  “I can help,” Amanda insisted, sitting up and hooking one leg protectively around Danny’s waist.

  Tray’s frown deepened and he rubbed his hands together to warm them. His time in the black market business world had taught him that it was possible to induce swallowing in a conscious hostage, but he didn’t think the same was true of an unconscious person. He didn’t know how Amanda would react to . . . any of this. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to go one step at a time and not over think things.

  “I need him on his stomach,” Tray said, nudging Amanda’s leg off of Danny. The tics spread from her face to her arm, but she seemed lucid and willing to help. Seeing her with Danny was confusing. She’d gotten to know Danny before the Revolution broke him, and Tray had never had that chance. Tray had only flashes of memory from their childhood. The only family Tray remembered clearly was his dad, and he was still learning how twisted that love had been.

  Hawk and Amanda rolled Danny on the mattress, Amanda adjusting the pillow fussily to make sure Danny could still breathe. It made Tray smile because Danny fussed with pillows the same way when Tray was sick.

  “You’re sure it’s a real medicine?” Hawk asked, pulling out the small jar of white powder.

  “What choice do I have?” Tray asked, trying to remember the instructions he’d received from the doctor. He needed the capsules; where were they? After dealing with sponge baths and bedpans, this was not the grossest thing he’d done of late, but it was certainly intimate. Closing his eyes, Tray pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to massage away the tension.

  “So the medicine goes—” Hawk made an upward motion with two fingers and Tray nodded. Shakily, Tray went to the cabinet with the capsules and started filling one with the powder. His hands were trembling and medicine spilled all over the counter.

  “Have you ever done this before?” Hawk asked, peeking over Tray’s shoulder, making Tray drop the spatula.

  “No.” Tray made a face, wishing he could do this without the audience. He would have preferred testing his skills with needles. At least then, he wouldn’t be contaminating the medicine.

  Hawk tapped Tray on the shoulder and held out his hand, looking expectantly at the filled capsule.

  “Let me,” Hawk said.

  “Hawk, you don’t know what you’re doing any better than I do.”

  “My mother has been sick a long time. When she wouldn’t take her medicine, this was how I gave it to her.” Hawk pressed his lips together and motioned for the capsule again. “I can be quick and gentle, even if they start thrashing.”

  Stunned speechless, Tray handed over the capsule and stared at Hawk. Tray was terrified, but for the first time, he didn’t feel alone. “I’ll get Amanda out of your way.”

  27

  Laos rarely came to the west side of camp. The weavers and crafters congregated here, and it showed in the intricate trim around their tents. They were people she’d met, but never spoken to. Her first instinct had been to flee the camp, but all of the places out there that she knew, Brishen also knew. He wouldn’t think to look for her here.

  It was difficult to look inconspicuous among the weavers while still wearing her scout garb. She sat on a short stool, arms wrapped around her middle, body hunched. Covering herself with a robe wouldn’t have helped. The weavers’ clothing fit comfortably, but there was nothing loose or dangling, especially below the elbow. As she watched their hands deftly spin thread and operate looms, she understood why their clothing was designed that way. Laos always knew the Drava made their own clothing, but she’d never watched the process before. It was mesmerizing and soothing.

  “Hiding out?”

  Laos nearly jumped out of her skin. She covered her face instinctively, but it was her brother’s voice, not Brishen’s. Tarkin, her second oldest brother, chuckled and combed his fingers through her hair. He was the only one that played with her hair, and she liked how soothing it felt. In his hunter gear, he should have looked out of place, too, but he seemed completely at ease.

  “Do you come here often?” Laos asked.

  “Occasionally,” he said, his gaze fixing on one of the crafters who was brushing a long-haired rabbit and collecting the fur. “That’s Reva,” he said, pointing to the woman. “She asked me to be a secondary. I haven’t said yes, yet.”

  “Wait, you’re attracted to men and women?” Laos cried. “It’s just not fair.”

  Tarkin laughed and separated a lock of her hair to make a small braid. “Not physically attracted in the let’s make love all night sense. Beto and I have been trying to have kids for almost three years, but we can’t seem to hold on to one in the artificial womb. So we’re considering other options. Reva offered to be a secondary, and the option presented itself. But there’s still a lot we need to learn about each other before we take a step like that. She’d be part of our family, too.”

  Laos twiddled her fingers. She knew that Tarkin and his primary had attempted genetic blending and implantation to have their own child. They were so excited for the first week, and devastated when they miscarried. She hadn’t realized that his struggle had continued past that first loss.

  “Did you come here to talk to her?” Laos asked, sitting up.

  “No. Reva told me you were here,” he said, smiling at her. Tarkin had the same wide, toothy smile as their mother, and the same bulky muscles as Tolen. “I take it your boyfriend finally caught up with you.”

  Laos picked at her fingernails, tears coming to her eyes. She didn’t even have the strength to deny Brishen was her boyfriend. Everyone seemed to see him that way but her. She feared that if she said anything out loud, she’d start crying.

  “He’s got you on a pedestal,” Tarkin continued. “It’s the same with Sidney and Adita. He’s so fixated, he could never take another primary.”

  “Don’t say that,” Laos begged, feeling the pressure to commit.

  “Is there someone else you’d rather have?” Tarkin asked. “You’ve seen how much it hurts Mom—what Sidney does.”

  “Brishen is the one who is obsessed with me. Shouldn’t you be talking to him?” Laos snapped, jumping off of her stool.

  Tarkin grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Adita wasn’t around to cut the leash. You are.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Laos shouted, shoving Tarkin off and slapping him across the cheek. Shocked, Ta
rkin cocked his fist. Then, a fraction of a second later, he unclenched his fist.

  “I deserved that,” he said, relaxing his stance and rubbing his jaw. “I’m on your side, Laos. I just wish I understood your side.”

  “I don’t know why there are sides,” Laos whined, shifting foot to foot. “We’re friends. It was enough last week and last year and our entire lives! Why isn’t it enough now?”

  Tarkin gave her a dubious look, then ruffled her wavy hair and started a new braid. “If you sit here too long, you’ll have an extra foot of fluff woven in before you know it.”

  Laos sank onto her stool, picking at her fingernails. “When did you know you were attracted to men?”

  “It was a double full moon after my eleventh birthday,” he said mysteriously, then snickered. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a defined moment. Laos, you can’t figure out the plot for your life by following the plot for mine.”

  “I just figured out that I’m missing a whole chunk of data that other people my age have been working with since puberty,” Laos groused. “I’m asking questions that other people seem to know the answer to intuitively and no one wants to explain it. I’m just trying to understand what drives the lust that fuels the pairings that define our society. Now that I realize I’ll never be motivated by some innate desire, I don’t feel so bad about wanting to try sex for the sake of curiosity. But I don’t want to destroy my best friendship over it. I don’t want to get half way in and freak out and make him feel bad.”

  “That can happen even when you are motivated by desire,” Tarkin remarked.

  “Was there a moment when you knew you wanted Beto as your primary? Or was that a gradual thing?” Laos asked. “Did it take a lot of consideration and discussion?”

  “It was at a festival. One of the joint parties between tribes,” he recalled, sweeping her hair off her neck, making a style and letting it fall. “I was fourteen, he was fifteen. They always encourage the teens to mingle so we’re not strangers to each other when we come of age. I was being a clown, Beto offered to take me on a tour of his village and I asked to take a tour of his . . . body instead. We didn’t leave his tent for three days.”