Trade Circle: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 3) Page 13

  Scratching at the sides of her face, Amanda tried to rub away the vestiges of darkness. Cradling one food can to her chest, she peered over the kitchen island, checking to see if she was alone.

  “Danny?” she whispered, dropping to a crouch. The image of him hanging upside down in the Bobsled flashed through her brain, rising with an onslaught of hunger pangs. “I need help,” she whimpered, hitting her head softly against the wall.

  Her body stiffened as a hand clamped around her neck, catching her head before she could strike the wall again. She was no longer alone. Her eyes flying open, Amanda launched forward, using the can in her hand as a weapon.

  “Hay nah!” Sky exclaimed, dodging Amanda’s attack. The can in Amanda’s hand struck Sky’s chin and Sky scrambled back, drawing her grav-gun. Sky really needed to stop trying to help around here. Amanda had emptied all of the food cabinets, distributing cans, boxes, and bags of food across the floor, mixing the new and possibly contaminated food with the fresh stores already on board.

  Sky’s touch had sent the girl from mildly dissociative to manic. The muttered Terranan became screeching drivel. Taking quick aim, Sky shot, but the blast from her grav-gun only grazed Amanda’s hand as Amanda dove for cover behind the island. The can of food in Amanda’s hand warped and twisted open, the metal slicing Amanda’s arm, making her screech even louder. Jumping onto the food island, Sky took aim again.

  “Sky, no!” Tray hollered, dashing into the room.

  The moment’s hesitation was all Amanda needed. Grabbing Sky’s ankles, Amanda yanked Sky’s legs out from under her. Fighting to throw her weight sideways, Sky’s knee hit the island, and she pitched backward, losing balance. She hit something hard and grabbed hold. It took a moment to realize she’d grabbed Hawk. Hawk swore in Rocanese, holding Sky up until she found her footing again. Amanda charged them and Sky held up her grav-gun, but Tray jumped between them, catching Amanda, and speaking to her in Terranan. Amanda argued back, but not in Terranan.

  “What is she saying?” Hawk asked, not letting go of Sky’s elbow.

  “Damned if I know,” Sky grumbled, checking herself for injury.

  “It’s Moonspeak,” Tray explained. Tray’s Terranan was clumsy, but his persistent assurances quieted Amanda eventually.

  “There’s no such language. She’s gibbering nonsense,” Sky said resolutely, massaging her jaw, irritated by the whole fiasco. Sky could handle Amanda being sweetly curious about fuzzy caterpillars and she could handle Amanda being violent. It was not being allowed to fight back that bothered her.

  “Bébé, you’re hurt!” Hawk gushed, tilting Sky’s face and examining the bruise on her chin.

  “I’ll live,” Sky said, pushing him away.

  “She’s hurt too,” Tray said, trying to get a look at Amanda’s bleeding arm.

  “Well, that’s her fault isn’t it,” Sky countered snippily.

  Tray closed his eyes and took a long breath. “Help me get her to the infirmary.”

  “No. I already tried to help her,” Sky said, stamping her foot. Hawk shot her a look, and Sky glared back. The only way Sky was going to touch Amanda again was if she was unconscious.

  Tray was shaking. He’d come to the galley to get food, not break up a fight. Danny and Saskia were beyond his help. Saskia had had another seizure, and all he could do was wait it out. There was no pep talk he could give himself. Getting back to Quin was not a matter of money and resources. After learning about his son and coming so close, he was trapped here.

  So close.

  “Were you hungry?” he asked Amanda, surveying the food scattered across the floor of the galley, the fresh fruit spattered with the exploded can of green beans. It would take him hours to sort through it, but it was something he knew how to do. He should have let Sky stun Amanda.

  “I wither and fade,” Amanda replied, finally speaking Terranan again. She lay on the bench seat, trying to disentangle her legs from her maroon coat without losing her balance. She moved lethargically, never lifting her head.

  “Don’t do that. We can’t have a ghost on the ship,” Tray joked. He and Danny often made jokes in tense, hopeless situations, just before finding a way to save each other. “If word gets around that we’re haunted—”

  Amanda laughed; it was precious. “I don’t like ghosts, or monsters, or people with horns,” she said, settling on her side. Reaching down to the floor, she rolled a canister of sugar toward him, smearing blood on the container. “Or mint with chocolate. That’s just unnatural.”

  It was Tray’s turn to laugh. He put away the nearly empty sugar canister, then found an apple among the spilled food, and tried to wipe the skin clean without messing up his shirt. It seemed foolish, considering how much blood Amanda had smeared on his clothes already. He was getting to be an expert at removing food, vomit, and blood stains from clothing, and he didn’t like it. The cut on her hand was still bleeding. Tucking the apple into his pocket, Tray wrapped Amanda’s hand in a napkin and scooped her up in his arms.

  “I was there in the tunnel. I saw a lumie. Sky threw it away. Brought me back to Aquia,” she murmured. She’d been babbling about the fuzzy caterpillar for hours and Tray had half a mind to go find her another one.

  “I want Danny,” Amanda complained, resting her head against Tray’s chest as he carried her down the stairs.

  “He’s in the infirmary,” Tray said. “That’s where we’re going. I’ll knit this cut and then we’ll stow the knitter in the galley since we seem to need it so often.”

  The quarantine block was small, and Tray had to lay Danny on the floor next to Saskia’s bed to get them both inside. There was no practical way to keep the whole infirmary locked down, considering how much they used it. Since he hadn’t had time to sterilize the bed, Tray sat Amanda on the countertop, and started cleaning her hand so he wouldn’t knit infection into her skin. He needed to take her coat and clean the blood off, but wasn’t sure she’d part with it. He ran the knitter back and forth over her hand, frowning at the rough grafting of the skin. A proper doctor could do this without leaving a scar, and he wasn’t sure if his incompetence or Amanda’s fidgeting was the chief culprit.

  “Where is he?” Amanda asked, craning her neck to see inside the quarantine area. “Danny?”

  “He’s resting, sweetheart. Let him rest,” Tray said. Amanda jumped off the counter, pushing her way to the small airlock area at the entrance of the quarantine walls.

  “No!” Tray cried, grabbing her arm to stop her. Amanda screeched in pain, dropping to her knees. “It’s quarantine. You can’t go in,” Tray explained.

  Sky dashed in, grav-gun drawn. Smugly she tipped her chin, offering to stun Amanda. Tray gave her an evil look and wrestled Amanda away from the door.

  “Tray.” Danny’s choked whisper came through Tray’s Feather.

  “We’re all fine out here, brother. Go back to sleep,” Tray said quickly. He was glad to hear his brother’s voice, and wished he had time to give Danny some attention.

  Danny lifted his head, frowning groggily, then dropped back to the pillow. Tray didn’t imagine the floor was comfortable for him, but considering how often Danny fell asleep in the engine room, the mattress and blanket that Tray had put down were a luxury. Danny tapped his Virp, his gravelly voice nearly inaudible. “Tray, suit her up.”

  After that, Danny pulled his blanket over his shoulders, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. Danny was in no condition to give orders, and since Tray was the only one with a Feather, no one would know if he ignored it, but he figured Amanda would be calmer in there than out here. Gently, he guided Amanda to the closet with the biosuits and helped her change. He finally had an answer to whether Amanda was wearing anything under her maroon jacket. She wasn’t wearing much.

  “Cure?” Danny asked, using the Virp because he didn’t have the strength to speak loudly.

  “Sorry. No,” Tray answered, gingerly pulling Amanda’s bandaged arm through the suit.

 
“Were you bitten by any insects or animals while you were out there?” Sky asked, pressing her face to the wall of the quarantine unit. Tray tensed. He hadn’t realized Sky was tuned into the conversation.

  “Was pricked by a tuber,” Danny murmured.

  “Who wasn’t,” Sky snorted.

  Shoving past Sky, Amanda crossed into the quarantine unit, her fingers curling and uncurling agitatedly. Tray watched jealously as Amanda knelt next to Danny and Danny put his arm around her. Tray had spent the last hour tending to his semi-conscious brother; all Amanda had to do was show up and Danny seemed a hundred percent better.

  Why do I try?

  “Sweetheart, no!” Tray cried when Amanda took off the biosuit helmet. She spoke in Terranan about the tunnels and the need to escape, but Danny quieted her with a simple caress and she laid her head on Danny’s shoulder. Tray’s jealousy subsided, replaced by a sense of inadequacy. He couldn’t handle Amanda and the only person who could was dying.

  “I guess she’s not coming out again,” Sky commented, crossing her arms unsympathetically. “We need to bring in a local medicine man. They contracted this here. The cure is here.”

  Slouching dejectedly, Tray pulled the apple out of his pocket, rinsed it in the sink, and started eating. So long as he still had Sky, there was a chance they’d find their way back to Quin . . . he hoped. “Where are we going to find a local medicine man?”

  Sky made a face and paced the room, looking conflicted. “Amanda and I met a scout earlier. The fact that there was more than one watching us says we didn’t scare them off.”

  “You’re telling me there’s a whole tribe of people coming?” Tray asked, choking on his apple.

  “There’s at least one already here. Within a day’s journey,” she said.

  Rubbing his lips, Tray took another bite, digesting this new development. “I suppose I should be glad they didn’t send us a greeting party like Rocan did.”

  “They wouldn’t. They’re waiting for us to come to them at a place where they hold the higher ground,” Sky smirked.

  “And how do we do we approach them so that I don’t wind up in jail again?” Tray asked carefully.

  “We find the Trade Circle.”

  17

  The Drava camp smelled of sweet, honey-glazed venison and fresh baked bread. The Nayak would sing and dance at the sight of the feast; the Chanti would have praised their mystical gods. The Drava credited skill and technology. They rarely wanted for food.

  Hydyl had not let go of Brishen the entire walk back to camp. As soon as they were across the border, Brishen’s first instinct was to find Laos, but Hydyl steered him along the perimeter, leading him to the brew tent.

  “This should help you sleep,” Hydyl said, tapping one of the barrels in the corner and filling a tall, narrow cup. The brew tent was more popular in the evening hours, but Brishen rarely imbibed. Last time he had, he’d woken up naked on a riverbank to the sound of Laos puking her guts out. Apparently, she’d convinced him to go skinny-dipping. According to some, they’d howled at the moon half the night and their clothes had been stolen by Chanti scouts.

  Hydyl pressed the glass into his hand and Brishen gulped it down. It was a weak beer, but Brishen had always been a lightweight. He held out his empty glass to Hydyl.

  “I’m not washing your glass and I’m not getting you more,” Hydyl frowned, clapping Brishen on the back. “Do I have to put you to bed?”

  “You should get back to your post.” Brishen laughed and stood to refill his drink. There was a lager he liked better, but he didn’t remember where it was, and it was hard to read the labels in the dark. He looked over his shoulder at his newfound friend. “Thank you, Hydyl.”

  “See you at evening meal,” Hydyl said, giving him a wave before ducking out.

  Brishen filled his glass and took a seat at the splintered, wooden table in the middle of the brew tent. He wasn’t supposed to drink in here, but if he went out there, he’d be forced to be social. He wished he could drink himself to sleep, but in his experience, there was a prerequisite of rowdy, irresponsible behavior that came before the resting.

  The tent flap opened, letting in a flood of sunlight and the shadow of another drinker. Brishen kept his back turned, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t try to socialize. The person picked up a mug and went straight for the darker brews, muttering to himself before selecting one and filling his cup. He sat at the table across from Brishen, not saying a word.

  Glancing up, Brishen groaned when he recognized his father’s silhouette. Ryder Zouli had all of the masculine features that Brishen did not: broad shoulders, square chin, deep voice. He had one brown eye and one blue and he used to say the blue eye was for seeing through the lies of children. As a child Brishen had been scared enough by it that he never lied to his father. Ryder had an Occ attached above his brow and had programmed the device to make his blue eye appear brown.

  “Did you chicken out again?” Ryder asked, taking a slow gulp.

  Brishen shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t believe his father had a magic blue eye anymore. Last time Brishen had tried to propose, he’d panicked and asked for a child—for the commitment of a secondary, even though he could never follow through.

  “I asked. She said no,” Brishen said quietly.

  Ryder sucked air through his pursed lips, wincing sympathetically. “The airship landing may have distracted her.”

  “Maybe. I told her what the Nayak did,” Brishen said, his throat getting tight.

  “She knows what the Nayak did.”

  “She knew what they did to her. Not to me,” Brishen said, finishing his beer. “I’ve wanted to tell her for so long. I thought it’d make things better, but it made things worse. You should have seen the look on her face.”

  “It was only five years ago. She still fears the Nayak. Fears any stranger. Fears being too close to her own people,” Ryder offered, refilling Brishen’s cup with something stronger. Brishen sniffed, reeled, and drank anyway.

  “She doesn’t need time. Even before the Nayak took us, I knew she wasn’t the type,” Brishen murmured, squinting his eyes as the alcohol and exhaustion started making his brain fuzzy.

  “The type to what?”

  “Pair off,” Brishen said irritably. “I knew that about her. I’ve known since we were eleven. She never hit the same change that hits most people—where you start fantasizing about love and romance and sex. She yearns for intimacy and affection, but in a different way.”

  “Not in the way you want her to desire you,” Ryder commented.

  “What difference does it make,” Brishen groused, slamming down his half-finished drink “I have too many scars to love her like a man should.”

  He stalked out of the tent, throwing a hand up when the sun hit his face. And then he saw Laos. She frowned at him, raising an eyebrow, then disappeared into the lunch crowd. Brishen’s heart twisted and his chin dropped. He felt sick. A few minutes later, Laos emerged from the lunch line, armed with food and drink. She handed him the drink, then hugged him from behind so that the food plate rested by his belly. Her touch was innocent, as always; she could read the pain on his face and wanted to help.

  “Anything to report, Scout?” she asked. The mixture of formality and intimacy confused him, but also calmed him. The meat had been cut into bite-sized pieces and he picked up a piece that had a lot of honey on it. He shuddered, wondering what Laos would have done if he had successfully defected to the Nayak, knowing what she knew.

  “The Nayak caught a deer. Their traders should be in high spirits tomorrow,” he said. He felt better once he’d had a few bites to eat. “Where have you been?”

  “I talked to my dad,” Laos murmured, laying her cheek on his shoulder. “I thought it would make things clearer, but it didn’t. Then I talked to my mom. Then I wanted to be alone.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t find a way to be alone while watching the ship,” Brishen teased. “You missed some excitement earlier.” />
  “I’m afraid if I go, I’ll sneak on board and fly away with them,” she confessed.

  “Without me?”

  Her breath quickened, and Brishen squirmed, confused by the way she hugged him now.

  “I saw our friend—that girl you tried to rescue,” he said quickly. “Then there was another one, a caretaker or slave master, I think. The other scouts are calling her Sky the Bandit.”

  Laos broke the embrace, hurriedly wiping tears from her eyes, though not hiding them from him. “We should report this to the Judges now. This can’t wait for the nightly forum.”

  “It can,” Brishen assured, picking a few more pieces of meat from the plate and eating sloppily. “We were just telling stories. The one called Sky came after a Nayak scout and we were calming him.”

  “With stories about Sky the Bandit?” she teased, forcing a smile. “Nevertheless, rumors like that put tribes on alert. I have to collect the rest of my reports before forum. Come with?”

  He shook his head, taking the food plate from her, debating whether to sit down in the brew tent or sit on the ground. He didn’t feel particularly social and he wasn’t allowed to take food into the sleeping area.

  “Find me if you need me,” Laos said, giving him another tender hug and trotting off to finish her work.

  “Not the type, eh?” Ryder said, coming out of the brew tent. Brishen’s cheeks flushed. Quickly, he took a drink so he wouldn’t have to answer. He nearly choked in surprise. Laos had given him cranberry juice. It was his favorite, and he’d already had his ration for the day. She’d given up hers for him.

  “She’s my friend,” Brishen said, holding the cup under his nose, taking comfort in the scent. A part of him was glad Laos didn’t see him as a romantic partner, because he’d just be a disappointment.