The Confluence: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 6)

by Valerie J Mikles

  Danny laughed at his enthusiasm, wishing he’d come to space travel with so little weighing him down. Crossing the upper deck to the bridge, Hawk’s euphoria gave way to Chase’s panic.

  “Danny, you need to fly this thing,” his new pilot begged, white-knuckling the yoke. Chase’s normally muscular frame had shrunk significantly during their journey in micro-gravity, and now his olive skin looked as green as Tray’s.

  “Are you sick?” Danny asked, diving into the captain’s chair, but not taking the controls.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not a pilot,” Chase rambled. Chase was an engineer by trade, but he was an old friend and he wanted desperately to get out of Quin. “This is crazy. Amanda is a better pilot—”

  “Amanda is sick, Chase,” Danny said. “It’s you and me, and we’ll get through this.”

  “Except you keep floating off,” Chase groused, little lines creasing around his lips when he frowned. He had a few years on Danny, but having spent his life in Quin, with consistent access to medical care, he looked younger than his forty years. “‘The ship flies itself.’ It doesn’t fly itself.”

  “What do you expect, Chase? I’m trying to make sure we don’t get killed when Sikorsky tries to overthrow the Terranan government,” Danny snapped.

  “I’d sure like to hear his plan. I mean, who doesn’t love an impromptu coup?” Chase remarked, a wry grin accompanying the sarcasm.

  “Ask him his plan. I dare you,” Tray croaked, hanging off Saskia as the pair floated onto the bridge.

  “Tray, what happened?” Danny cried. Tray never handled micro-gravity well, but Sikorsky’s generous re-stock of their medicine should have given him a ton of options to settle his stomach.

  “It’s handled,” Saskia said tersely, unfolding Tray’s jump seat and loading him in. Tray didn’t look sick, and up close, Danny could see the burn marks on Tray’s skin.

  “You didn’t drag Hawk in here?” Saskia asked, seeing the middle seat empty.

  “He pouted,” Danny said. “Get to the engine room. You gave him permission. It’s your job to keep an eye on him.”

  Her lips quirked, giving a hint of smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “And I don’t mean watch and laugh,” Danny amended.

  Saskia gave Tray a kiss on the cheek before leaving. It was more chaste than she wanted, but all the public affection Tray could handle from her. His knuckles brushed hers, but he was lethargic.

  “Did Sikorsky have a plan?” Danny asked. He couldn’t stop the man until he had some idea of what they were stopping.

  “No, but his vivid imagination has filled in most of Parker’s,” Tray said tiredly. “And I thought the Confluence thing was a drunken rambling, but now I think he actually believes Parker can talk to Galen or channel his power.”

  “Maybe Danny can use his spirit guide to fight Parker’s,” Chase quipped. “You used to be do that meditation stuff, right?”

  “Before I died,” Danny joked back, punching Chase’s shoulder. Sometimes, it felt like he was the only one clinging to spiritually. “I just hope this coup doesn’t get in the way of our plans to rescue Sky.”

  “We have a plan?” Tray asked.

  “I thought the plan was to leave the back door open,” Chase replied.

  “I don’t think that’ll work,” Danny chuckled.

  “Worked when you died,” Chase commented, swatting Danny’s arm. “She’s a runner, Danny. What makes you think she needs a rescue?”

  Sky and Chase had a history—a brief affair ending abruptly when Sky took off. Chase was right; she might already be gone.

  “Thirteen minutes,” Tray croaked, picking up the ship-wide Vring. “Hello passengers and crew. Please make your way to your seats and strap in.”

  Danny bit his lip, comforted by the routine of Tray’s speech, but worried about landing.

  “The gravity comes faster than you think, and Morrigan is too sick to deal with broken bones,” Tray continued. “Keep your seatbelts fastened until we have all wheels on the ground, at which point the little seatbelt blinky light will go off. Wear your seatbelts the way marathon swimmers wear their trunks—low and tight across the hips.”

  Chase cringed at the mention of swimwear. His fiancé—or rather his ex—was a competitive swimmer. Danny wasn’t sure if Chase was here because the engagement had been broken, or if the engagement had broken because Chase was here.

  As Tray lectured about port protocol, the Terranan settlement filled the front view. Ten minutes to gravity. Ten minutes. Danny felt his throat closing. He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t have brought Amanda here.

  “Was Amanda there when Sikorsky shot you?” Danny asked, rubbing his brow.

  “Saskia kept her calm and Morrigan’s with her now,” Tray replied, examining the burns on his skin. Danny would have suggested that Tray lie down, but Tray preferred watching the landings. Coming up on the moon, watching the little wrinkles and shadows become massive mountains and craters, was breathtaking. But as the craters rose, so did Danny’s stress level. He rose from his seat, feeling waves of inertia pushing him back down.

  “Danny! Seatbelt blinky light!” Tray exclaimed.

  The walls of Oriana vibrated as the breaking thrusters fired and the inertial dampeners dialed up. The safety harnesses on the chairs in the passenger lounge rattled eerily. This room felt more like a prison than a passenger bay, and even though the cushions had been refurbished and the safety harnesses cleaned, Amanda was convinced she could smell her own blood on the fabric. Danny had locked her in here and tied her up when she was having a psychotic episode. Probably more than once, although her memory was too hazy to know for sure. There were marks on the floor where tables and lounge chairs had been removed. The upper half of the walls were covered with chipped, blue paint, suggesting that this place had once been cheerful and inviting. All that remained were the eight chairs on this wall, and eight beds on the opposite wall, most of which were folded flat and stowed.

  “Take your salt tabs,” Morrigan Zenzele reminded her. Morrigan had mocha skin and millions of braids wrapped under a multi-colored scarf. She smelled soothing, like oils and lotions, and looked like an angel despite the sickness that came from micro-gravity. Her lips were pale, with a pink sheen painted on for moisture and color.

  “A ship like this should have gravity. This is undignified,” Coro complained. He had the beginnings of a beard and a bald spot on his head, where Sikorsky had the smooth skin and thick hair of someone whose youth was artificially enhanced.

  “I didn’t see you paying for the refitting,” Sikorsky snipped, wiping at the stunner-singed threads on his fancy shirt. He was a weak hybrid, able to teleport with limited accuracy. Amanda wanted to stay out of arm’s reach, but that meant sitting closer to Coro.

  “I didn’t see you paying for the fuel,” Coro retorted.

  “Amanda? Salt tab,” Morrigan said, pushing the tablet between her lips.

  Amanda raised her brow, testing her Occ. She didn’t have a manual for the visual enhancement device, but she was surprised that it hadn’t signaled danger given the uncertainty she felt. The Occ turned the room a surreal shade of white, with turquoise and fuchsia highlights. This was not helpful, but it was amusing. The color change made the flush in Morrigan’s cheeks and the sweat beading down her neck more obvious.

  “You look sick,” Amanda said, the twitch of her cheek triggering the Occ and restoring the world to its normal color. Amanda didn’t want to see how sick her doctor was.

  “I don’t like free fall,” Morrigan said, directing Amanda to a chair equidistant from the two crime bosses. She took the seat on Amanda’s right, setting herself as a physical barrier between Amanda and Sikorsky. Her cold, clammy hands gripped the armrests, and her eyes were pressed shut as she prayed for dear life. It was Morrigan’s first time in a spaceship.

  “I don’t like this room. Or this harness,” Amanda said, fingering the clasp on the harness. The curved seat was uncomfortable
and confining, and the view dismal. She wanted to be on the bridge, but her meds made her dizzy today.

  “Got to observe the seatbelt blinky light,” Morrigan smirked. She often sounded irritated at everything, and perhaps she was. They wouldn’t let her practice medicine in Quin anymore because after her parents’ death, she went off the deep end prescribing drugs for herself.

  “It’s starting to affect you isn’t it?” Sikorsky said, leaning around Morrigan to look at Amanda. “We’re getting close to Terrana, and you can feel those pathways that allowed you Disappear.”

  “Sikorsky, you’re not the only one with a weapon,” Coro threatened. “You want Terrana and you have no plan to get it. Let me save my wife, and then you can do whatever you want to this little world.”

  “The only reason you had a wife is because Parker sold her into slavery,” Sikorsky sneered.

  “That’s enough!” Morrigan snapped, her anger rattling the empty seats next to her. “Coro, if we find Janiya, you ask her if she wants to return home, and you respect her if she says no.”

  “You are nothing—”

  “I’m the person who handed you that salt tab. You swallowed it without question. Consider yourself lucky I haven’t killed you yet,” Morrigan countered. It wasn’t an empty threat. She’d killed the Ketlin crime boss with a poison dart less than a week ago. Amanda spit the half-dissolved tablet into her hand.

  “Definitely a Vimbai,” Sikorsky chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

  “I’m still here,” Amanda said, her vision swirling. Her dad had been a pilot before the Terranan Revolution, and by age ten, she’d been back and forth between worlds a dozen times. It was the gravity on Aquia that Amanda had the hardest time adapting to. Weightlessness was familiar, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Her memories were incoherent impressions, and her mind filled with confusion.

  “Yes, you are,” Sikorsky agreed. Maybe it was him fueling her madness. His voice wasn’t the only one calling her to Disappear.

  “I’m the pilot. I should be on the bridge,” Amanda grunted, stretching her legs. She rubbed her eyes. If she could see out the main window—if she could see her old home coming closer—then maybe she’d feel less dizzy.

  “We agreed you’d stay here. The gravity is messing with your meds,” Morrigan said, turning her palm upward so that she could take Amanda’s hand.

  “This room is messing with my meds,” Amanda murmured. She squeezed Morrigan’s hand, but she couldn’t feel it. “My fingers feel funny.”

  “I feel it, too. It’s good news for you, girl. I may not need you to find Galen,” Sikorsky said, a heaviness in his voice.

  “That’s your plan!” Coro cried. “Steal Parker’s imaginary friend?”

  “We’ll address it after landing, Amanda. Five more minutes,” Morrigan said. Her voice wasn’t just weak, it was fading. The passenger lounge faded. Amanda could not be here for landing. It was too full of spirit energy and physical restraints.

  Unbuckling her harness, Amanda launched from her chair. The gravity didn’t match her expectation. She slammed face-first against the door, then fell into the hallway. The walls seemed to glow. Her Occ fish-eyed, signaling danger behind, and a moment later, a body plowed into hers.

  “Amanda!”

  It was Danny’s voice. He should have been on the bridge. Had she made it to the bridge?

  Amanda clawed at the hands holding her back, desperate to kick free. She found purchase on a handrail, and she could see the forward ladder leading to the bridge. Forward. Back. The pressure on her legs, holding her down, pushing her to the floor, triggered a memory.

  She was tied to a bed—chained, and a woman with fiery red hair smirked triumphantly.

  “Diana,” Amanda choked. This time, the Head of the Terranan Guard would surely kill her.

  3

  The Marble, Terrana’s premier government building, was a relic of early space travel and a testament to how freely resources were once shared between Aquia and its two moons. The Main Plaza was lined with white-stone architecture, though none as ostentatious as the Marble. General Diana Solvere sat in the Governor’s office on the second floor of the Marble, her back to the open window overlooking the Plaza. Deivon Parker, her occasional lover and Terrana’s Lieutenant Governor, kept a desk in here, and Diana poked through his private files calling up the list of the Disappeared.

  Diana had been ostracized by the Guard for nearly ten years for hunting the Disappeared. She used to fear their growing numbers, but three months ago she was transported into the Elysian realm, and saw them all, helpless in suspended animation. Diana wanted to go back to Elysia and kill them. She wanted to end the threat of their existence, cut off all access to the Elysian realm, and keep the human civilization for humans. Parker had other plans.

  “What are you doing here?” Parker demanded, treading nervously into the room and pulling shut the curtain overlooking the Plaza. He had a slight build, ashy brown skin, and short caramel hair that formed tight curls whenever it grew more than a centimeter in length. Ever since their trip to Elysia, he’d been dropping weight and losing sleep, but he hid it well under his padded, tailored suits. From others. Just as her obsession with finding the Disappeared had destroyed her, Parker’s obsession with getting back to Elysia was starting to wear on him. He hadn’t seen or heard from Galen in months. Two weeks ago, a microcruiser came carrying a Panoptica named Janiya Coro. Parker was convinced she could take him to Elysia.

  “Adding names,” Diana said, toggling the projection so he could see the list. She’d been doing inventory of the people living in the 5, their prison colony, making sure she knew who was there and who was with Galen.

  “Recent?” he asked. He hadn’t figured out how to force Janiya’s teleporting power and was hoping for a new lead.

  “Deivon, let it go. He’s not your brother,” Diana glowered. “He’s not killing your enemies anymore.”

  “My dear, when the strength of spirit-kind is at your hand and he calls you brother, you say it back,” Parker sneered, sauntering back to the desk. His arrogance was practiced, but the subtle way he pinched at his fingertips told Diana that his heart wasn’t in the gloat.

  “Yes, I remember the gleam in those ghastly eyes pressed into that grotesque alien face when he called me your mate, regarding me as the future mother of his next human toy,” Diana jeered, her nose wrinkling in revulsion.

  “They’re not grotesque,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “They’re beautiful and powerful.”

  “And you don’t need them to rule this human world,” Diana said flatly, planting her fists on the desk and coming nose-to-nose with him.

  “I never had ‘them’,” he said snippily. “Just Galen.”

  At the name of his Elysian ‘brother,’ his face turned green and he sank into his chair, burying his face in his elbow.

  Governor Cheoff breezed into the office. He moved like a whirling dervish, spinning up ideas, leaving a litany of tasks in his wake. His reddish-brown skin seemed to get new lines every day, and the jet-black hair atop his head grew thinner. He whipped open the curtain, letting in the day-GLO, the glance over his shoulder telling Diana that he was completely aware of how much Parker cringed at the view.

  “Should I leave, Governor?” Diana asked, staring at the names on the Disappeared list. Sometimes, she could picture the faces, but mostly she saw the rotting corpses that Galen had lined up in catacombs. He’d briefly put her in suspended animation, and it was a terrifying place to wake up.

  “Why? Does he actually keep secrets from you?” Cheoff sneered. The man never shied away of expressing his distaste for her or what he’d recently discovered of her work in the 5.

  “Census of the 5 is nearly complete. Over two-hundred souls unaccounted for,” Diana reported. He’d assigned her the task of inventorying the prisoners and expediting releases, and after seeing Elysia, she was eager to complete the first task.

  “Only two-hundred? The population is over a
thousand,” he asked.

  “Of the general population, those are ones not previously reported dead,” Diana clarified. “Three-hundred eighty-seven previously reported missing have been confirmed dead.”

  “And how many slated for trial or release?” Cheoff asked. His reason for inventorying the 5 was more virtuous than hers, and his attitude toward her shifted when he thought she was working toward his goals.

  “Unfortunately, the reason for incarceration isn’t written in DNA,” Diana sighed. “Right now, I’m just confirming identities.”

  “Who cares the reason? Just let them die!” Parker moaned, never lifting his face his elbow. Diana kicked him under the desk and his head popped up, his skin red from the pressure of his arm. He wiped the sweat form his face, then dug his fingers into his skull.

  “Did I say them? I meant me. Headache,” he said, his voice gravelly, his eyes half-closing.

  “That’s been happening a lot lately,” Cheoff commented, scrutinizing Parker.

  Parker’s Virp beeped, and after checking the message, he haphazardly patted his jacket and righted his appearance.

  “Skip the meeting, Parker,” Cheoff ordered. “Have the nurse check you out.”

  Parker took a deep breath and rubbed his head.

  “Colonel,” Cheoff added, motioning her to help him.

  “General,” Diana corrected. Her reinstatement as Head of the Guard had come with General Santos’ retirement, and Cheoff did not approve.

  “I don’t need an escort,” Parker grumbled, forcing himself to stand.

  “Take a few days off, Deivon. Get some rest,” Cheoff said.

  “Can’t. This moon will fall apart without me,” Parker said, squaring his shoulders, his strength and confidence re-emerging.

  “Then you’d best not fall apart first,” Cheoff said. Though he disliked Diana, he thought Parker was his friend, and Parker played the role flawlessly.

  “Colonel—”

  “General.”

  Cheoff’s lips quirked. “Did you assign that extra security detail to the 4 today? I don’t want word getting back to Quin that we’ve found a way around their embargo.”