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

  Trade Circle

  The New Dawn: Book 3

  Valerie J. Mikles

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1. Twenty-seven years later

  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

  FREE SHORT STORY!

  Hybrid: The New Dawn Book 4

  The Qinali Virus

  Also by Valerie J. Mikles

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 Valerie Mikles

  All rights reserved

  Editing by Bob Greenberger, bobgreenberger.com

  Proofreading and Layout by Frostbite Publishing, frostbitepublishing.com

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  I began the New Dawn series over ten years ago, have lived coast to coast in the US, held many jobs, and found many support networks along the way. I make no effort to list all the people who touched my life during the course of this project. I write this to acknowledge a few special people who made me feel like family in places where I had none.

  Gainesville, FL – Many thanks to my friend and fellow University of Florida graduate student Alison Klesman, who spent hours talking to me about Star Trek and other fandoms, got me into cosplay, and reminded me that there is time between the science to write and pursue my passion.

  Los Angeles, CA – Many thanks to Daisy Evans, biochemist and fashion designer, whose passion for both science and arts encouraged me to keep my connection to both aspects of my life and stay whole. Our random acts of insanity kept me sane. Also thanks to Joseph Baird, actor, producer, writer, and friend, who showed me that life isn’t always easy, but you can still be cheerful and rely on the support of others. Joseph became my partner in production (and lead actor) when I wrote a screenplay about asexuality called Aces—five years after I thought I’d let my dream of becoming a screenwriter die.

  Baton Rouge, LA – I came here for a post-doc at Louisiana State University, found a local Star Trek fan club chapter, but almost instantly fell in with Leigh Ann Gardiner—a fellow stowaway on our starship. Leigh Ann also became a co-writer and director of Aces. What I’ll never forget is my first Thanksgiving, when I was alone and you took me home with you. Thank you for adopting me into your family and being a constant support as I tried to figure out life after L.A. Life falls to pieces, but there is always hope that tomorrow will be better than today.

  Prologue

  The fresh morning dew glistened in the dappled sunlight that reached the forest floor of Fox Run. Vivid green resurrection fern, revitalized from the previous evening’s downpour, covered the wide-reaching branches of the ancient trees. The constant, fresh rains had prompted an early spring and colorful blossoms dotted the banks of the streambed bordering the Drava’s nomadic camp. Wild turkeys grazed for insects along the game path, safe for now since the Drava hunters had achieved their weekly quota days ago.

  Sky reclined on the upper branch of one of the old trees, watching the turkeys. She didn’t believe the Drava should have let the turkeys go by. Five other nomadic tribes regularly passed through this land. Their hunters weren’t nearly as skilled as the Drava and food was the best currency in the nomadic barter system.

  A scream sent the turkeys running and Sky’s eyes turned to the large supply tent at the center of the Drava camp. Scouts had returned just before moonset with a young woman in chains. It was an anomaly. The Drava were egalitarian and did not keep slaves or prisoners. Those they did not want in their camp, they exiled, and those who refused to stay away were killed. In all the months she’d been flitting in and out of their society, she’d never once seen that rule violated. The prisoner hadn’t made a sound all night, and though she was alone in the tent, guards had been posted along all four sides of the structure. The woman’s cry went largely unnoticed by the camp. The guard posted at the entrance peeked inside, but was presumably satisfied that the prisoner did not require any additional attention. Sky disapproved of captivity and was formulating a plan to sneak in and set the woman free.

  Three hundred feet away from the screaming woman, Sidney Kassa, son of Marius, crawled out of his private sleeping tent and scanned the forest, smiling when he spotted Sky in the tree. Sky acknowledged him with a wave and leaned back against the trunk, letting one leg dangle teasingly out of his reach. Sky preferred a certain type of man, and Sidney fit the bill; he was a strong, young trade ambassador, a son of the Drava’s Trade Master, and a good lover. He never wore a shirt outside of the Trade Circle, and Sky figured the world was better for it—at least her world was. She was similarly opposed to wearing shirts, though most societies she visited requested her to.

  Kneeling by the stream, Sidney splashed water on his face, then he climbed the tree, lithely straddling the branch and facing Sky. Since most humans had retreated into the Domes four hundred years ago, the trees of Fox Run were aged and untouched by industrial society. The tree branches were strong enough to build houses in, rather than simply make houses from. The branch Sky and Sidney sat on was thick enough to be a tree in its own right. By comparison, most other forests Sky had seen were filled with mere saplings.

  “Another sleepless night, Adita?” Sidney asked, tilting his face so his eyelashes tickled her cheek. The Drava didn’t kiss with their lips, but Sidney’s other caresses were far more intimate. Sky’s reputation as a thief among the other nomadic tribes had prompted the alias. Although most of the nomads in this region spoke Lanvarian, the dialects had diverged over the years. Acceptable slang phrases used by one tribe might be interpreted as vicious slurs by another, so when Sky had met the Drava, she’d kept quiet until she had a handle on the nuances. Marius had called her Adita because of her golden hair. To the Drava, it was a mesmerizing feature. They were a brown-skinned people with iridescent black hair, so her fair skin was a novelty to them. She had accepted the name, not realizing until later that Marius had wanted to cut off and buy her hair from her. Sidney had saved her. He was more adept at languages than most of the traders and had waded through the various Lanvarian dialects until they’d formed an understanding.

  Sky nodded toward the supply tent. “The Drava have a prisoner.”

  Pursing his lips, Sidney scooted forward on the branch, hooking his legs over hers until their bodies were pressed together. It wasn’t a comfortable position, but his creativity in coitus was part of what drew her to him, enticing her to visit the Drava time and again. Sky arched her torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. Were it not for the disquieting presence of the prisoner in the supply tent, whose muffled screams had elevated to shrieks, Sky’s shirt would have been on the ground.

 
; “Why do you have a prisoner?” she whispered in his ear, the heat of her breath sending shivers of excitement rippling through him.

  “It’s not human,” Sidney murmured breathily, sliding his hands under her shirt and lifting. “Not anymore. An Aquian spirit possesses the body now. We have a Seer.”

  Sky breath hitched, goose bumps rising on her skin. She’d never met another Seer. Retracting her hands, she tried to pull free of Sidney’s embrace, but their legs were laced and she was pinned against the trunk of the tree. “Seers are myth, Sid. No one can see the future.”

  Sensing her discomfort, Sidney pulled her into a hug and reclined, lying backward on the branch and pulling her with him. Two days ago, they’d made love on this branch and their height off the ground had been exhilarating. Now, all Sky cared about was whether she could jump to the ground and if she’d make it clear of the camp before Sidney caught up.

  “Adita, lover, you’re not afraid of the Seer are you?” he chided, nuzzling her face. “There is no danger. The spirit is trapped in the vessel; we need only harness it. Can you imagine the time it would save—telling our hunters which field the game is running through, or our scavengers which cities are building solar vehicles?”

  “The Drava don’t believe in mysticism,” Sky said tightly, unable to get comfortable lying atop Sidney. She had to escape before they figured out what she was.

  “The Drava also don’t believe that a water planet was devoid of life before humans arrived in this system,” Sidney laughed, stroking her hair, determined to comfort her. “The oil reserves alone are sufficient evidence for past organic life. And we get hints of the present non-corporeal life, even if our scientists can’t put it into an equation. The Nayak harnessed a Seer spirit, and their numbers have grown two-fold in the last three years. The Chanti traded two of their best hunters just to possess the Seer’s eyes.”

  “They cut out her eyes!?” Sky gasped, no longer caring about appearances. Scrambling away from Sidney, she swung off the branch. He caught her wrist as she fell, but only to help lower her safely to the ground. As soon as her feet hit the dirt, Sky took off running, and Sidney chased.

  “Adita! Adita, be calm,” he called, capturing her in his arms, and tackling her sideways into the brush. The twigs and brambles scraped at her skin. Sky cried out, hoping he’d let go, but his embrace tightened and he whispered soothingly in her ear.

  “The human was dead when the spirit took the shell. The spirit has no need for eyes,” he said, then smirked and shook his head. “Leave it to the Nayak to prey on Chanti mysticism. They needed the hunters with all those extra mouths to feed.”

  Sky’s vision blurred with tears. Her spirit was her most closely guarded secret, and this was why—her lover wouldn’t even believe her human! “You cannot keep a spirit. If your prisoner dies, her spirit will kill you all!”

  It wasn’t an idle threat; it was the reason Sky had left her own family. She planned to die alone and take Spirit with her. Sidney wrestled Sky into his lap, combing the leaves from her hair, shushing her. Her knife was sheathed at her calf and a surprise attack might buy her enough time to escape. Sidney was a trader, not a hunter, and a stab wound to the leg would keep him from chasing her without killing him. The scent of his blood would alert the hunters, though, and they’d track her. Don’t raise their suspicions; don’t make them hunt you.

  “I’ll take you to see her. You’ll see that there is nothing to be afraid of,” Sidney assured, hugging her tightly, flexing his chest muscles in a way that normally made her laugh. Sky’s body was rigid, ready to run. She had to remind herself that while danger was near, it was not so imminent that she’d die in the next few minutes. In another hour, Sidney would start his daily tasks, and she could disappear into the forest. She’d done that often enough, leaving the Drava for weeks at a time, never stealing so much that they wouldn’t welcome her back.

  Sidney prodded her toward the supply tent, but Sky planted her feet and shook her head. She had no intention of getting near another Seer. One spirit was enough to contend with, and she didn’t know if the other spirit could identify hers.

  “You have considerable sway with the Supply Manager. She listens to you,” Sky said, facing Sidney and lacing their fingers together. He leaned into her touch eagerly.

  “I don’t need you to stroke my ego, Adita,” he growled in her ear. “I have other parts I like you to stroke.”

  Using their joint hands, Sky dragged her knuckles over his pelvis, hoping the temptation would make him compliant. “Then ask the Supply Manager to let the Seer keep her eyes.”

  Sidney’s body tensed and he squeezed her hands. “The eyes inhibit the spirit.”

  “Because the human part of her isn’t dead!” Sky snapped, ripping her hands free and turning to run.

  Sidney hooked his arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground. “What do you know of these spirit-vessels?” he demanded.

  “Let go!” she screamed, kicking her feet and struggling to get loose.

  “You’ve seen a Seer before, haven’t you? You know how it can be tamed,” he said adamantly.

  “It can’t be tamed! That psychopath spirit killed my family,” she whimpered, bowing her body, trying to reach her knife. The spirit that possessed Sky had killed half her city within a year, including two of her aunts and three cousins before taking her. They had been too selfish, wanting to stay home with their families, trying to live a normal life, but they had been fools and each one had condemned the next. Sky condemned no one but herself.

  “That is why you wander,” Sidney realized, releasing her and running beside her, no longer urging her to stop. He chased her to the forest edge, then grabbed her hand, keeping her from breaking into the open. Jerking and kicking, Sky hissed at him to let her go, but he covered her mouth. “The Chanti are hunting in the plain. Adita, you’ll be killed!”

  Seething, Sky crouched within the forest borders, trying to catch her breath. The Drava hadn’t discovered her secret, but they might. She wondered what would happen to her if they gouged her eyes out. Would she finally be able to sleep at night? Would the visions and dreams Spirit plagued her with fall into order? All Spirit ever showed her was confusion. She experienced pain and fear every time she closed her eyes. If the Drava took her eyes, would all that was ‘Sky’ be gone so that only ‘Spirit’ remained?

  Feeling Sidney’s arms around her, Sky collapsed against him, trembling. Maybe the reason Spirit was so cruel was because it wanted to drive her out of her own body. The light she saw let her hold on to herself. Maybe she was the selfish one. If she were truly selfless, she’d have sacrificed herself to kill Spirit long ago.

  “Don’t take her eyes,” she begged, touching her face, imagining her blue eyes strung up on a line and displayed in the Trade Circle for all the tribes to bid on.

  “I’ll ask,” Sidney promised. “For you, Adita, I will ask.”

  1

  Twenty-seven years later

  The clouds parted and the wind gusted, knocking Laos Kassa to the ground. A thundercloud raged overhead sounding like a herd of wild buffalo stampeding toward her. Her hunting bow snapped, and she left it on the ground as she scrambled to her feet, dashing for the shelter of the forest. The soft mud of the dry lake suctioned her feet, and she fell again. The stampede took on solid form—a meteor falling from the sky, blasting fire and wind in every direction. The tree branches rattled and the mud sprayed outward.

  Crawling on hands and knees, Laos scraped through the mud, leveraging herself on rocks, roots, and anything solid within grasp. The meteor would pass her by, but the impact could level the forest.

  As it got closer, the shadow took the shape of a ship, and it slowed down, hovering over the dried up lakebed. The lakebed was the only opening in the forest large enough to accommodate the ship, and Laos was stuck in the middle of it.

  Her breath quickening, she rolled through the mud, distributing her weight across the surface so that her body wouldn’t sink. Sh
e wasn’t fast enough. The airship had deployed four legs for landing. If the ship descended vertically, she’d fall between them, but that wouldn’t matter if the ship sank into the mud. Heat and fire blasted downward as the ship slowed its descent, then the entire vessel rocked side to side like a leaf on the wind. There was no telling where the landing feet would fall.

  Screaming in fear and frustration, Laos tried to run again, and sank up to her knees in the mud. Her knee joint twisted and popped, and Laos closed her eyes. She needed to keep calm if she was going to get free. The heat from the vessel’s exhaust burned her skin.

  “Give me your hand!”

  Laos’ eyes shot open. Brishen, her best friend since childhood, lay prone on the mud, reaching out both hands.

  “Volk!” she swore, twisting her body so that she could reach him without bending her knees backward. “What are you doing here?”

  “Rescuing you. Now shut up and give me your hands,” he said, inching toward her. He’d always been a short and scrawny kid, but six years ago, he’d hit a growth spurt and now he was the tallest man of all the Drava. His fingers barely brushed hers.

  With the mud up to her knees, Laos’ only option was to lie backward and place her hands over her head. That gave them the inches and leverage they needed. Brishen grabbed her by the elbows and pulled. She screamed in pain as the mud sucked the shoe right off her foot. The airship cleared the treetops, its downward trajectory steadying, ready to stamp her out of existence. As soon as Brishen was back on rocky ground, he hefted Laos over his shoulder and ran for the trees.