The Disappeared: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 1)

  The Disappeared

  The New Dawn: Book 1

  Valerie J. Mikles

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  A Note from Valerie

  FREE SHORT STORY!

  Sequestered: The New Dawn Book 2

  The Qinali Virus

  Also by Valerie J. Mikles

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 Valerie J. Mikles

  All rights reserved

  Editing by Bob Greenberger, bobgreenberger.com

  Proofreading by Frostbite Publishing, frostbitepublishing.com

  Dedicated to all who suffer invisible illnesses.

  1

  Amanda Gray climbed out of the lunar tunnel, pulling herself forward with grasping, shaking hands as the fine, black dust threatened to choke her parched throat. The air on the surface was just as frigid as down below, but there was so much more of it, extending a quarter mile up to where the Dome peaked. For a moment, she just lay there on the hard dirt, wondering if she’d broken the surface only to go six feet under again. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Can’t stop now. Can’t die here.

  Her heart was racing from a chase. Had her legs given out because she’d been running? She couldn’t remember. Her memory started at the cold, tunnel floor, but one thing she knew urgently: she needed to find help. She’d been captive in another world—another realm—for too long, and she would be again if she didn’t keep moving.

  Forcing herself to roll over, Amanda crawled to the edge of the Dome and pressed her nose against the Dome wall. The harsh glare of sunlight on the barren Terranan surface burned her eyes, but she refused to turn away. The light didn’t reach the tunnels, and something about that orange glow made her feel safe.

  Every thirty-two days, the sun rose and began its slow journey across the Terranan sky. Judging by the angle, the sunrise could not have been more than a few days old, and the sunlight captured the planet Aquia in a gentle, blue gibbous. Aquia called to her: Come home. Come home.

  Though she had spent most of her life at a constant distance, she called it home. And now that home teased her. It mocked her. It made promises that it could never deliver. She’d yearned to return to her birthplace, but the Revolution hit just before she’d turned eighteen, and her home planet had sloughed her off as readily as a mud-sodden cloak. There was no help to be had there, but seeing her home planet glowing in the sky, its promise of freedom seemed somehow timeless. Seductive. Sinister.

  Amanda’s stomach knotted, and hunger overwhelmed her. Her once-strong body had withered to skin and bone, and glimpses of her reflection in the moon-spun glass of the houses she passed taunted her with the knowledge that Aquian gravity would crush and kill her in a heartbeat. Still, the blue orb of Aquia kept making promises. Her pale skin hung sallow on her cheeks, and her sandy brown hair was matted and tangled. She walked hunched over now, often using her hands to keep from falling forward.

  A rock crunched behind her and she dropped to a crouch. Shreds of memories surfaced, and she remembered the Revolution—the disappearance of her parents and the murder of her godmother. She could still see the bodies on the ground. She’d only been seventeen at the time. Barely old enough to fight. How old was she now? How long had she been gone?

  The footsteps came faster, and a group of teens crowed with laughter as they charged through the twilight, throwing rocks at one of the buildings. She heard no whistle signaling the Guard in pursuit, but she didn’t trust the silence. The perpetual twilight meant it was never dark enough to hide.

  There were four Domes people knew and talked openly about, and one Dome they didn’t. The fifth Dome, the declared emergency prison of Terrana, that had become a concentration camp of rebels who dared stand up to the Guard. Amanda thought she’d find her parents there, but she’d never gotten the chance. Someone had stolen her life. They’d made her Disappear. She couldn’t let that happen again.

  Corey dashed through the spaceport on the planet Aquia, fighting tears, gripping the front of her coat so that it would stay closed. Ivan had hit her face this time, and that was the final straw. She was a pilot, not a punching bag. She hadn’t had time to put on a shirt; just the ragged, purple coat she’d stolen from her foster mom before she’d left home.

  “Charm! Get back here!” Ivan hollered, chasing after her.

  Corey ducked under the largest vessel she could find, keeping close to the landing gear, glad for once that she was short. The wheels on the freight vessel were as tall as she was. When she came out the other side, she dove behind a cargo crate, panting for breath. Her coat was too easy to spot, but running around topless was no solution.

  “Excuse me, miss, I know you’re trying to hide, but I have to move these crates,” a man said.

  Corey reached for her pulse rifle, but when she found it missing, she forced a charming smile. She pulled up her collar to hide the bruise on her chin.

  “I’m not trying to hide,” she said. She could taste blood on her lip, and she cringed. The more aggressive Ivan became, the less sass she could muster. She checked inside the folds of the man’s dusty jacket to see if he had a weapon she could steal, but he wasn’t armed either. He was bigger than her, but she was scrappy enough to take him in a physical fight. She wasn’t afraid to go for the eyes.

  “Are you all right?” the man asked. His caramel skin and wide, rounded nose spoke of a mixed heritage, but he had a warm, trustworthy smile that lured Corey closer.

  “I can handle myself,” she said. Ivan’s shouts got closer, louder, and angrier.

  “Do you want a drink? Bunna-green?” the man offered, waiting for her to stand before he moved the crates. He had muscles, but hunched in a way that said he wasn’t used to Aquian gravity.

  “I don’t want your charity!” Corey snapped, dropping the collar of her coat and balling her fists.

  The man noticed her bruise and his lips twisted into a piteous frown. “Help me load this cargo and I’ll give you ten marks. And the bunna-green. It’ll soothe your nerves. Or it might make them worse. It is a stimulant.”

  “I know what bunna is,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “I grew up in Olcott.”

  “By the bay?” he asked, smiling bashfully. “I used to love going out on the water.”

  Was he really trying to socialize with a battered stranger? What kind of idiot was he? He smelled too clean to be working class.

  “Went fishing with your family, did you?” she asked.

&nb
sp; “Nothing licensed.”

  “I used to gut fish for your type,” Corey snorted. “Aristocrats never like getting their hands dirty.”

  “Do these hands look clean?” he teased, showing her his grease-stained fingers. The cracks of his fingernails didn’t match the softness of his skin. On any other day, she’d have been intrigued, but right now, she didn’t have time to take in the sights.

  “After my stepdad ousted me, I used to gut fish for my type. But when I was a boy, before my mom died, she had a friend with a boat.” His eyes went distant with the memory, but then he shook his head and grabbed a dented thermos. “Bunna?”

  “Is it hot?” she asked, reluctant to take his help. People had pitied her for her entire life, and so long as they did, she’d never be able to stand on her own. It didn’t mean she couldn’t take advantage.

  “Was an hour ago. I’m Danny. Captain. Captain Danny Matthews. This is my ship. Oriana,” he said, smiling wider with every word. Danny poured her a cup, smiling at her as he continued his work. His ship, Oriana, was known in the fleet, being one of only five freight haulers of its size. Its retractable wings were spread wide for inspection and repair. The wings were practical in Aquia’s atmosphere, but too wide to fit through the airlock gate on Terrana, and too susceptible to damage by space debris to leave open during an interworld flight.

  “Ten marks won’t even buy me a new shirt,” she griped.

  “Do you need a new shirt?” he asked. His clothes were clean, but worn—a mixture of hard work and high wealth, just like the rest of him.

  “What I need is . . . What I need is to think,” she panted, taking a sip of the lukewarm drink. It didn’t soothe her nerves, but it reminded her of her foster mother—the only person on the planet who might possibly give her shelter from Ivan.

  “Hello, ma’am,” a black man greeted, tipping his head cordially at Corey and trotting past her. He was dressed for business, his turquoise suit more stunning than Ivan’s best. “Danny! Is there a reason the porter is drinking tea and you’re loading the cargo?” he hollered.

  “She’s not a porter,” Danny said, meeting the other man in the middle of the bay. “Tray this is . . .” Danny trailed off and gazed at her, but Corey didn’t volunteer a name.

  “I’m Tray Matthews,” Tray said, holding out his hand, looking her in the eye like an equal. There was nothing mixed about his heritage, manner, or dress. He was entirely aristocrat, as evidenced by the delicate, shimmering gloves going up past his elbows, and sweet oil scent on his skin.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Corey said, hurriedly setting the mug aside and shaking Tray’s hand. She felt dirty and underdressed, but she kept eye contact. “He just . . . offered me the bunna if I helped him load. I’ll do my fair share.”

  “Oh? Danny, you picked up a stray that actually wants to work,” Tray laughed, glancing at his brother, then back to her. “If you can get my brother to hire a pilot before supper, there’s a meal in it for you, too.”

  He snapped his fingers in front of his brother’s eyes, breaking Danny’s trance. “Have you looked at even one of those applications I gave you?”

  “We’re leaving as soon as this is loaded. There’s no time to find a pilot,” Danny retorted, swatting Tray away. “Saskia and I can fly the ship.”

  “Oh, no. You’re captain. She’s engineer. You’re both pulling double duty already. We’re not leaving this planet without a pilot,” Tray countered. “The worker pool on Terrana is polluted with luna-borns who can’t do any heavy lifting when planet-side.”

  “I’m a pilot. I can fly.” Corey regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Aquia had a Kessler debris cloud around it a mile thick—a littering of ancient satellites and space junk that, through centuries of cascading collisions, had become a gauntlet of shrapnel, bombarding any ship that passed through. Small ships like her Tecumseh had the maneuverability to make quick corrections to avoid the more deadly obstacles, but even so, never hit atmosphere unscathed. A ship as large as Oriana relied on ground-based tracking of the debris field being transmitted in real time. Their hulls were layered to withstand damage, but there was a reason so few haulers were left in the fleet.

  “A pilot, right. How convenient,” Tray smirked, wrinkling his nose. “You have any references?”

  Corey’s breath hitched, and she glanced at her naked wrist, realizing she didn’t have her Virp—the wrist-top device that carried all her documents. For months, she’d dreamed of running away, and she’d built up an archive of phony references because Ivan sure as hell wouldn’t give her one. Things were happening too early, because he’d hit her. She didn’t have anything that she needed to run.

  “Um,” she stammered. She could access her files, but time was not on her side. Shaking her head, Corey slunk back from the brothers. As soon as she cleared the door, Ivan appeared.

  “There you are, Charm! We have a job; let’s go,” Ivan snarled, digging his fingers into her arm.

  “Don’t grab me,” Corey hissed, clenching her jaw, but letting herself be dragged. Fighting back seemed so pointless, when she had nowhere left to run.

  “It was just a game, Charm. You know I didn’t mean to hit you,” he said, stopping just long enough to pinch the bruise on her chin. He’d taken far too much pleasure in the hit, and he’d done it on purpose. “There will be time for apologies later. We have a job.”

  “No,” she said, gathering her strength. If he got her back to the Tecumseh there would be no escape. But when she jerked her arm free, he grabbed her hair instead.

  “Ivan!” she screeched, her coat falling open, exposing her bruised torso.

  “Hey! Get your hands off her, you parasite!” Danny cried, rushing forward. He was quick to misjudge her bruises, and the fire of vengeance in his eyes was frightening.

  “I keep her safe; I keep her fed; I keep her employed. Don’t tell me how to handle her, aristocrat,” Ivan growled, tangling his fingers in Corey’s hair so that she couldn’t get away.

  “You don’t handle any human being like that!” Danny retorted, angling for a grab.

  “Let her go and we can talk like civilized people,” Tray ordered, pushing between the two. Ivan cocked his fist but Danny jumped in, pulling Tray clear of the punch. The aristocrat had no idea how to fight.

  “Ivan! Wait!” Corey shouted. Hurriedly, she buttoned her coat and patted his cheek. “This is business. Another job. Side-money. You know how I like to surprise you. I need ten minutes here. I’ll catch you up once I close this deal.”

  Ivan smirked at Danny and kissed Corey hard, giving an extra nip to the bruise on her chin. Danny’s eyes were on Corey, watching like he was expecting her to cry for help. The thought flashed through her mind that it was stupid to leave Ivan. With a little sass, she could control him. Accidents happened. But she’d told herself that lie too often, and the bruise on her face proved it false.

  “That’s my lucky Charm,” Ivan murmured in her ear, giving her one last squeeze to let Danny know she was his.

  “Did he hurt you?” Danny asked, rushing to her side as soon as Ivan turned.

  “You shouldn’t have interfered. I can handle him,” Corey said, retrieving her mug and sucking down the bunna. “It’s not what you think. We had a fight.”

  “If you need a place to hide, I know some people—”

  “I need to get out of here,” she interrupted.

  “Get my brother to hire a pilot, and we’ll give you a ride all the way to Terrana,” Tray huffed, thumbing the dirt off his silver gloves.

  Corey closed her eyes. “I can fly you to Terrana. I only have the one reference, and I don’t think he wants to lose me.” It was foolish to believe Ivan would let her go, but she had to try.

  “That man does not have a spaceship and you do not fly,” Tray scoffed.

  “So you’ll do it?” Danny asked, biting his lip. There was something disarming about the way that he approached her. He knew when to touch her and when to back off.
“You’ll fly Oriana?”

  There was a breath of reverence when he said his ship’s name. In Lanvarian lore, Oriana was the spirit of the new dawn. It seemed a fitting place to start a new life.

  “Danny, she’s never flown anything!” Tray protested.

  “She’ll learn. I can help,” Danny sang, smiling like a loon. “You’re always saying we need an extra hand.”

  “I want my own bunk,” she said. She was glad Danny didn’t look disappointed by the demand.

  “I will not pay her to sit there and watch you fly, like she’s sitting here watching you load cargo,” Tray groused.

  “Fine, fancy gloves,” Corey snapped, setting down the mug. The adrenaline rush had faded and she felt woozy, but she couldn’t stop running now. “I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your help.”

  “Wait,” Danny said. “You can hide here. We’ll tell him you left. We’ll keep you off the grid long enough to start over. Tray—”

  “One day, we will get out of port without picking up a stray,” Tray muttered, waving her onto the ship. “Would you like to come aboard, Charm?”

  “Corey,” she corrected, angry that he saw her as a helpless stray. She would prove him wrong. She’d fly this ship better than anyone. “My name is Corey. Don’t ever call me Charm.”