Trade Circle: A Space Opera Adventure Series (The New Dawn Book 3) Page 15

  “Come on!” Tray hollered, running past Hawk, making a beeline for Oriana. This kind of negotiation reminded him of why he stopped working certain markets in Quin.

  20

  Amanda lay on the floor of the infirmary, wrapped in her warm, maroon jacket, cuddled next to Danny. She’d been trying to feed him soup from a thermos, but he kept zoning out and choking on it. Sky was having even less luck with Saskia. Sky had put on a biosuit reluctantly when Saskia had another seizure, and she kept holding her medical rod next to Saskia’s face. The last twenty minutes, that was all she had done. After three back-to-back seizures, Saskia slipped into a coma.

  Whenever Danny went too long without moving, Amanda peeled open his eyelids, checking the pupil response, making sure he wasn’t gone too. Danny had a square face and manly features. When he slept, he looked like a statue of a general. His face was calming, gentle, and strong. Petting his rough stubble, Amanda spoke quietly, telling him the news, somewhat less dramatically than the way he used to share the news with her. There wasn’t much news here. She told him about the strange mist, Tray’s odd breakfast foods, and a song that had been stuck in her head for the past three days.

  Danny’s body twitched angrily as he read the morning news. The bulge of his muscles, barely contained under his deep brown skin, showed that he had spent most of his life on Aquia. Amanda envied him for that.

  “Did you see what they’re writing about us?” Danny spat, pushing away from the console. His chair rolled half-way across the room before running out of momentum. He covered his face with his hands and pushed off the floor again, sending the chair into a spin. “Of course you won’t have seen it yet! Come have a look at this!”

  Danny pulled Amanda into his lap, then pointed at the monitor. Amanda shivered at the physical contact, unable to focus on the screen. Last night, he’d attacked her when she’d broken into his bedroom to escape the Guard.

  “What am I reading?” she asked nervously.

  “This!” Danny pointed to an article and began reading aloud. “Fifteen terrorists were captured last night during a Terranan Guard sting operation in Dome 3. Two committed suicide after failing to escape. Those captured are believed to be part of a larger terrorist network on the Terrana, blah, blah, blah . . .”

  Amanda’s jaw dropped. “Sting,” she whispered. “Suicide? Terrorist?!”

  “I know,” Danny said. “They’re calling the Patriots terrorists!”

  “But I was there,” Amanda said, stunned. Her teeth chattered at the recounting of the ambush that had claimed the life of her godmother.

  “They mention you, too,” Danny said, scrolling down the screen. Amanda went rigid. There was a warrant out for her arrest, complete with a vague, inaccurate description, and a sketch. They didn’t know she was a minor. Why had she waited for the Guard to spot her? Why hadn’t she just run?

  “Girl, you’re shaking,” Danny said, placing his hands lightly on her waist and leaning to get a look at her face.

  Amanda flinched and inhaled sharply. It was more than the outright lies of the article that disturbed her, it was the truth hidden between the lines. She kept hearing the loud buzz of the stunners and seeing her godmother’s glassy eyes staring skyward.

  “It’s—they said—the two suicides,” Amanda said, rereading the article from the top. “Lily is dead, isn’t she? No trial. No prison. Nothing. They just killed her.”

  “Oh,” he murmured, hugging her gently. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Amanda nodded, swallowing her emotions. It was weird letting him hug her, even knowing he was on her side.

  “Are you sitting on me?” Danny asked, interrupting Amanda’s thought train.

  Amanda shifted, making a space between their bodies. “No.”

  Danny’s eyes drifted shut, and he stretched his body. “My leg is numb.”

  Maybe she’d been lying on his arm a little, but not his leg. Pushing back the blanket, Amanda lifted one of his legs, flexing the stiff joints, working some of the circulation back into the limb. Danny’s leg shook in her hands, and when his knee bent, he cried out.

  “Sorry,” Amanda said, massaging the joint. Danny kept gasping, trying to hide the pain in his eyes. After a few minutes, he started rotating his ankle, moving his leg on his own.

  “What were you saying before?” he asked, wincing as Amanda started massaging the other leg.

  “I was telling you the news. You like to know the news, and there’s no one here to report it but me, so I was telling you . . .” Amanda said, trailing off. She suddenly felt stupid, but she’d never been good at socializing. “Weather, dining, entertainment, sports. We saw fog this morning. It was weird. I took pictures, but they’re all white. And there’s only one place to eat on the ship, but everyone has pretty strong opinions about the food.”

  “You’re too sweet,” Danny chuckled, closing his eyes as he forced his body to relax. His cheeks were flush, his face damp with perspiration. “Where is Tray?”

  “He’s gone to get help from a local doctor. He should be back soon.”

  “Saskia?” Danny asked, lifting his head for a split second, then dropping it back to the pillow. Amanda looked uncertainly to Sky.

  “If the illness wasn’t going to kill her, I think my remote ‘sled landing may have,” Sky answered. Amanda didn’t know if it was Sky’s way of hiding guilt or if Sky simply didn’t value Saskia’s life.

  “Not your fault. I should have strapped her in,” Danny said weakly, his breath becoming more labored. Amanda set his leg back on the mattress, arranging him so that his body was lying aligned. The stiffness in his joints worried her. Living people shouldn’t be so stiff.

  “Of course, if you’re experiencing numbness in your limbs too, maybe this infection has moved to the brain,” Sky gloated, kneeling next to Danny and touching his legs. “Tell me when you can feel my hand.”

  “I can do that,” Amanda said, shoving Sky’s hands aside.

  Sky’s hand flew, the floppy glove of the biosuit slapping across Amanda’s cheek. “You could be next, fool,” Sky said, her neutral expression igniting with vicious judgment.

  “Hey—” Danny interjected. Danny hacked and choked, then his eyes rolled back into his head and he seized violently.

  “Ambush!” cried a red-haired teen. The Terranan Guard descended rapidly on the peacefully gathered Patriots. Amanda heard the unmistakable buzz of a stunner that sent the red-haired teen to her knees, crying out it pain. The sound instantly transformed the small crowd into a panicked mob as people charged toward the main square through the onslaught of guards. Lily, Amanda’s godmother, yanked Amanda’s hand and the two attempted to duck into one of the houses, but the doors were locked. Amanda felt her arm would break from the way Lily pulled, zig-zagging them through the crowd.

  “You must not be caught,” Lily said, trying to make eye contact with Amanda while still running forward. “And you cannot return home.”

  Lily’s voice was barely discernible above the shouts of panic and the loud buzzing of the stunners. The crowd was thinning fast as they approached the main square, but the Guard had not intended for anyone to reach that point. Once in the square, Lily dropped Amanda’s hand.

  “Go!” she whispered, darting into the open, indicating that Amanda should sidle side-ways along the storefronts. Lily ran without looking back, but didn’t make it across the square. A loud buzz echoed through the air, and a lightning bolt from behind caught Lily square in the back. Amanda’s heart leaped into her throat at the sight of Lily’s pale face staring upwards, her mouth hanging open. The only sounds left were the pained moans of the wounded floating up from the street like mist after the rain.

  “Danny, come back,” Amanda cried, cradling his head, making sure he didn’t choke. Sky leaned past her, using the special rod to calm Danny’s seizure. Within seconds, his body went limp.

  “What does that thing do?” Amanda asked, carefully laying Danny’s head on the pillow and petting his cheek.
>
  “It reduces the firing of the neurons,” Sky replied. “I think.”

  Amanda made a grab for the rod, but Sky’s grip on the device tightened and she flung Amanda across the quarantine unit. Amanda hit the wall, rolled, and launched herself toward Sky again. She wanted that rod—she needed it to save Danny. But Sky drew her grav-gun, and fired.

  Tray ran fast with Hawk only a few paces behind him. They were snapping twigs and brush, making it easy for anyone to follow. Suddenly, Tray plowed into something. He fell back right into Hawk, and the two stumbled, barely managing to keep their footing. Tray’s face hurt, like he’d hit a wall, but it was a man who stood in his path. Stunner raised instantly, Tray waited for signs of aggression—or any sign that he wasn’t looking at a statue. He heard Hawk’s pulse rifle charge.

  The man had dark skin, but his clothing was more rustic than the nomads that had attacked them in the circle. The colors of the fabric were muted, with intricate patterns woven into the material. There were no sparkling gems. Behind him were three more people—a woman in robes and two men wearing tough leather armor. All of them carried crossbows, knives, and mechanical pistols.

  “Put the pulse rifle down,” Tray whispered to Hawk, pointing his stunner at the ground.

  “What?” Hawk cried, shifting nervously, his finger tensing over the trigger of his pulse rifle.

  “Let’s not get everyone mad at us,” Tray said. Cautiously, Tray holstered his weapon and straightened his posture.

  “You have killed the Nayak,” the man said, speaking Lanvarian. His dialect was more comprehensible than the man in the red turban, but with more guttural sounds than Tray was accustomed to. It still wasn’t as difficult as deciphering Trade through Hawk’s accent.

  “They are not dead,” Tray replied, stepping closer to Hawk. “They attacked us and we defended ourselves, but they will regain consciousness in minutes.”

  The man tensed, glancing back toward the Trade Circle, then turned on his heels. “Come, then. I will make you safe.”

  Tray hesitated, debating whether to follow or flee. The woman wearing the robe holstered her pistol. She looked at him hopefully, biting her lower lip, tipping her head, and beckoning Tray to come with her. When the elder man caught their exchange, he stepped between them and glared at the girl. She stepped back submissively, but took one more peek at Tray and chuckled to herself, then skipped ahead, leading the way down a narrow trail. The elder man followed shortly after her, while the two in armor stayed, weapons drawn, waiting to see what Hawk and Tray would do.

  “What did he say?” Hawk asked, his grip on his weapon tightening.

  “He wants us to go with him.”

  Hawk shook his head, his bright red hair falling over his eyes. He looked like a walking target. “What if they attack you, too?”

  Tray wasn’t sure if it was Hawk’s cowardice or the laughing girl that caused him to abandon common sense. “No one was attacking anyone until you showed up,” he said, his lip curling arrogantly. “Danny needs a doctor. I’m going to find him one.”

  Trotting to catch up to the nomads, Tray smoothed his appearance and took up step a few paces behind their escort. They’d crossed from the thicker brush into a narrow game trail. Hawk swore at first, but tagged along like a curious puppy, sometimes running ahead, sometimes falling behind. Tray didn’t like it, because the trail was so narrow that every time they crossed paths, Hawk would jump into the brush. All it would take was a poison thorn or a snake to kill him. Things could always get worse.

  “What are you doing out here anyway?” Tray said, grabbing Hawk by the elbow and forcing him to stay in line.

  “I came to help you,” Hawk said innocently, raising on tip-toe so he could see ahead of their guide. “Sky should not have sent you here alone.”

  “She shouldn’t have sent you here at all,” Tray grumbled. “You’ve been sick for days.”

  “Do you really want to argue about this now? We should be paying attention to where he’s taking us,” Hawk said, pulling free from Tray and falling behind again.

  “I am paying attention,” Tray snapped. He couldn’t annotate without getting his Virp out, but he could get home with the recording it made. Jogging a few steps, he closed the distance between himself and the leader.

  “I do not recognize your colors. What is your tribe?” the man asked.

  Tray parted his lips, debating how to answer. There was bound to be a culture clash, and he didn’t think it would be helpful to mention that they were traveling around on a spaceship that had no hope of going back to space. “We are from Oriana.”

  “I have not heard of your people. There is no room on this land for new tribes,” the man said, his frown deepening. He was fit and strong, but when he frowned, Tray could see wrinkles belying his age. Every patch of sunlight that fell on his black hair made it glow iridescently, giving it more color and shine than the gem stones on the Nayak’s sash.

  “The Nayak had a knife, but I don’t think he meant it for trade,” Tray said.

  “He sought retribution for the attack on his scout,” the man said. “Rumor has it, you’ve unleashed Sky the Bandit on this land.”

  “I have a guide named Sky, but I don’t know about a bandit,” Tray assured. “We were passing through when some of my people fell ill. I came to the Trade Circle because I need a doctor.”

  The man turned sharply, backhanding Tray across the cheek. Hawk had his weapon drawn in a heartbeat.

  “Then you will return to your vessel empty handed. We do not trade our people,” the man snarled, pointing a pistol at Tray’s head.

  “No, I mean I need medicine,” Tray said quickly, motioning Hawk to lower his weapon. “We will trade for the service of your doctor. When my people are well again, we will leave and your doctor will stay with you.”

  “Pay for service?” the man repeated. Then his eyes lit with understanding and he smiled in a way that made Tray’s skin crawl. “With fineries?”

  Tray’s breath hitched. The man combed his fingers through Tray’s ringlets and Tray flinched. Growling possessively, Hawk nudged the man away with the barrel of his pulse rifle. Hawk and the man stared off, and finally the man let go of Tray’s hair.

  “No,” Tray answered, pulling out the solar wafer and holding it up to the light. “Do you know what this is?”

  The man plucked the cell from Tray’s hand roughly, and Tray worried it would crumble. But then he held it up to the sunlight and nodded. “Yes and it is small enough to be worthless.”

  “I have a larger one,” Tray said quickly. “It can power a small city if used properly—lights, heat, water pumps. If your doctor can heal my people, it is yours.”

  The threatening demeanor faded as the man considered him carefully, turning the chip over in his hands. “You need only medicine? Your terms are acceptable, Oriana. Return to the Trade Circle tomorrow at sunrise. I will bring a doctor to examine your ill and an engineer to examine your goods.”

  “Tomorrow may be too late,” Tray said urgently.

  The man gave him a hard, unforgiving look. “If you do not come, I will assume the spirits of your people have rejoined the air.”

  Tray’s throat closed up at the thought. His body went so cold, he thought he might faint. Then he felt Hawk’s hand on his elbow. Taking a deep breath, Tray adopted his practiced business air. “There is a clearing two miles north of the Trade Circle, where the river dries.”

  “I know it,” the man said.

  “Our camp is there.”

  “In the open?” the man asked, amused by the audacity of the act.

  “As I said, we did not intend to stay this long,” Tray said. “But our people fell ill here, and they must be cured here before we can move on.”

  “The protocol for Trade—”

  “If the ill are moved, they could infect this entire valley,” Tray interrupted. “We have quarantined them, but we don’t know how to help them.”

  The man frowned, the lines on his f
ace deepening. “Drava will come to Oriana.”

  Tray nodded, nervous but hopeful. “Thank you, Drava.”

  21

  Laos skipped into camp ahead of the trade team, twirling delightedly so that her robes flared. This tribe intrigued her with their strange clothing and smooth dialect. The language they spoke to each other didn’t even sound like a Lanvarian derivative. They must have come from very far.

  “We get to see their ship!” she sang, taking her father’s hand and prancing backward and smiling gleefully.

  “Not you, Scout,” he scowled, brushing past her to the medical tent.

  “But Dad!” she cried, chasing after him. Tolen grabbed her arm and shook his head. Tolen was Laos’ older brother and a defense guard. He’d jumped from his duty assignments to accompany her to the Trade Circle that morning, making it clear from the moment she’d put on robes that he disapproved of the venture and blamed Sidney for allowing it.

  “You will never enter the Trade Circle. What did you think you were doing?” Tolen seethed.

  Laos glared at her brother, prying his fingers off her arm. “Shadowing a Trade Ambassador. I didn’t say a word.”

  “You were flirting loudly enough to be heard from the coast,” he accused, getting in her face.

  The accusation caught her off guard and she backed away from him, but he just kept crowding closer. “I wasn’t flirting.”

  “I saw the eyes you gave him.”

  “I’m forbidden from looking at people?” she challenged. She’d smiled at the man. She’d made him trust them.

  “It was a mistake to bring you. You have no idea the protocol,” Tolen huffed.

  “Neither did they!” Laos protested. “They were running for their lives. From the Trade Circle! What’s the big deal? We talked to them. We set up a trade.”

  “For services?” Tolen cried. “Because of you, they probably ask for secondary interns next!”