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

  “Finish what you were saying,” Danny prompted. Amanda whined and he rocked her gently. He needed to cool down before he terrorized both of them into silence.

  “Nothing, sir,” Tray said numbly. Danny reeled. Tray never called him ‘sir’ like that. That was the voice Tray used to address his father—the ‘I’ll say anything you want, just please don’t hurt me’ voice. They’d had their fights, but Danny had only provoked this voice once before, and Tray had been in a trance for hours after, doing anything that Danny asked.

  “Why wouldn’t you see her again, Tray?” Danny tried, speaking more gently.

  “She is no one, sir. I belong with you,” Tray said mechanically, his voice crystal clear, his enunciation perfect. Danny hated his stepfather; he hated that he’d had to leave Tray with that man, and he hated that he reminded Tray of Steven even a little. Concerned, Danny put a hand on Tray’s shoulder, and Tray flinched three times, like he was being lashed with a belt.

  “Zive, help me counsel him to healing,” Danny prayed, his hand hovering just inches from Tray’s arm. Amanda stretched out her hand, pressing the back of Danny’s hand until he connected with Tray. Tray flinched again.

  “Brother, you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to,” Danny offered. Tray didn’t move. His expression was stony, but brave and he was in puppet mode; he didn’t need options, he needed instructions. “Tray, go to your bunk and get some sleep.”

  “Yes, sir. Goodnight,” Tray said politely, his posture perfect, like the propriety had been beaten into him.

  Danny’s heart broke for his brother, and he hugged Amanda, lifting another prayer. Amanda obliged him with a hug and a platonic kiss on the cheek.

  “You should check on him,” she said, wriggling to get free. Danny let her go and turned sideways hugging his knees.

  “You should check on him now,” she prompted again, sitting up on her knees, cradling her injured hand to her chest.

  “In a minute,” he snapped, more sharply than he intended. He needed to stop yelling at everyone. He checked to make sure he hadn’t frightened her again, but she crossed her arms and raised her chin. He mouthed the word sorry and her expression softened. Sitting beside him, Amanda put a comforting arm around his shoulder.

  “You can’t be strong forever,” she said. Danny leaned on her, relieved, feeling like his prayer had been answered. This was the person he’d spent the last ten years looking for. Whenever the sea of psychosis parted, she was his old friend, and he was glad to have her here.

  The blue plush recliner in the cargo bay reminded Sky of a man she used to work with in Quin. In fact, it was probably one of his chairs. The man liked to steal things and pawn them off as his own. So long as the pay was good, Sky had never been too concerned about the morality of those jobs. In her visions, Spirit showed her former employer bleeding out a dozen times, and the fact that she hadn’t seen it recently told her he might finally be dead. Or maybe Spirit realized it was no longer torture for her to watch the man suffer. Spirit kept trying to show her John’s death, and Sky refused to close her eyes and see it.

  “What are you reading?” Amanda asked, kneeling next to the chair and peeking over the arm.

  Sky jumped, dropping the Virclutch she’d been reading from. She’d zoned out again, nearly losing her hold on consciousness. Sky glared at Amanda, but as annoying as the intrusion was, at least it’d keep her awake. Amanda had a fresh bandage on her hand and a wary glint in her eye, like she’d just come from a fight. Maybe she’d come for a fight.

  “Can I ask you something?” Sky asked, lowering the footrest and sitting forward. Even on her knees, Amanda looked dangerous and powerful. “The Patriots claim you were abducted by the Elysians and lived in the tunnels the last ten years, but Diana swears up and down that she caught you and put you in the 5.”

  Amanda nodded, but her expression was blank, so Sky wasn’t sure if she was just acknowledging she’d heard the question or affirming a specific part. Diana Solvere had been head of the Guard when Sky lived on Terrana, and Sky had seen Diana turn from idealist to ruthless killer in the years leading up to the Revolution.

  “Which is it?” Sky asked.

  “Both,” Amanda said, averting her eyes and drawing small circles on the arm of the blue chair, making the fabric get lighter and darker as her finger moved with and against the grain.

  Sky frowned. She didn’t know a whole lot about the Elysians, but as far as she knew, they weren’t interested in bounties or prisoner trade. “But you were in the 5.”

  Amanda rocked on her heels, then scooted away from Sky, hugging her knees. Knowing that Amanda had been the victim of Diana’s sadistic prison made it easier to forgive the insanity.

  “What was it like?” Sky asked.

  Amanda’s eyes drifted.

  “Was it hell?”

  Amanda’s hand flew to the back of her neck, like she’d been stung. Then she caught herself and tried to cover the reflex by combing her fingers through her hair. “No one remembers.”

  Sky furrowed her brow. “How did you escape?”

  “I don’t remember everything in order,” Amanda said, thinking hard and shivering at the memories. “You are a friend of Diana.”

  “I was . . . in a similar social circle. Like that would stop her from putting me in there,” Sky said. It was weird that Amanda addressed Diana by her first name; it probably irritated the hell out of Diana back in the day. “Did the Elysians spring you?”

  Amanda shook her head, her body twitching violently at the haunting memory. She tugged her ear, then scratched the back of her neck again. “If you can keep hold of yourself, the way out is clear. But no one remembers.”

  “How did you keep hold of yourself?” Sky asked. It did not look like Amanda had any hold on herself, but if she was doing better than everyone else in the 5, then it was no wonder prisoners were never released and reintegrated into lunar society.

  Amanda sat up suddenly, tilting her head to one side. “The doors are sealed.”

  Sky rolled her eyes and laid back in the chair. It was Diana’s fault she was stranded in the middle of nowhere with a crazy girl, and when next they met, Sky planned to make Diana pay for that.

  Shaking from exhaustion, Danny trudged to middeck to check on Tray. He was glad that Amanda had insisted—glad she was cogent enough to care.

  Danny tiptoed into Tray’s room, leaving the door tipped open so the hall light leaked in. Tray slept on top of the covers, fully clothed, his breathing regular, his face stained with dried tear tracks. Steven had never let them cry in public or in private, not even after Mom’s funeral. They’d both learned to hold it in, lest they face the belt. Danny worried he leaned too hard on Tray; he relied on his brother so much. Tray couldn’t be strong forever either.

  Swallowing a lump of grief, Danny knelt next to Tray’s bed and removed his brother’s shoes, setting them in the closet in line with all the others. His socks were damp with plasma from burst blisters. They were frostbite blisters, not Moon Pox blisters, and they were painful to look at. Tray got sick at least every other run, and Danny often found himself in here nursing in some way, checking whether a fever had broken. The gravity made Tray significantly less pliable. Danny slipped off Tray’s Virp next, setting it to charge.

  Tray liked things tidy and he was particular about hanging his nice shirts. If he fell asleep in his clothes, he spent the next day punishing himself, steaming and ironing over and over, whether the shirt was wrinkled or not. It had to be Steven’s fault.

  Danny unbuttoned Tray’s shirt, but couldn’t figure out how to get it off without lifting Tray off the bed. He’d noticed that Tray started wearing looser, simpler clothes since he’d contracted Moon Pox. Saskia’s intervention burned away the contagion, but now he had burn scars on his skin. They could have been healed in a few hours on Quin, but out here, only time could heal him. When Danny removed the shirt, Tray’s whole body convulsed in three sharp bursts. Then Tray choked on a sob and stir
red, fresh tears wetting his face.

  “I’m not crying,” Tray croaked defensively, squirming to get out of Danny’s arms. Tray didn’t like being hugged, and it had taken awhile for Danny not to take that as rejection.

  “It’s just me, little brother,” Danny soothed, taking advantage of Tray’s movement and yanking the bedspread aside, then laying Tray down again.

  “Am I sick?” Tray murmured, burying his face in the pillow.

  “Nothing contagious. I figured you didn’t want to wrinkle your nice shirt,” Danny said.

  Tray harrumphed and shrugged out of his shirt, surrendering it to Danny, never lifting his face from the pillow. Chuckling, Danny tucked the blanket under Tray’s chin, grateful not to hear that mechanical ‘sir’ at the end of Tray’s question.

  Tray squirmed some more, then he rolled onto his stomach and stretched out on the bed, falling fast asleep. It was strange to think of Tray divorced, given how persistently loyal he could be. Tray was still a child in Danny’s eyes. He wondered how much control Tray’s ex had over their financial state—if he could lose his ship on her whim. If she could take Tray away from him.

  7

  The morning dew clung to Laos’ skin. Her clothes were damp and her joints were frozen. She and Brishen had been taking turns sleeping, and she wished she’d had the foresight to pack night-scout gear. Brishen snored lightly, fast asleep, head resting on her lap. He was the only thing keeping her warm. His body was curled into a protective ball, his face resting on the back of his hand, his hand resting on her thigh.

  He groaned when she separated herself from him, squinting and flexing his muscles until she caressed his cheek to let him know he could keep sleeping. She wondered if it was more than the cold that made him curl up like that—if it was what the Nayak did to him. She tried to remember back to their childhood, if she’d ever seen him sprawl. She hated that she saw him differently now.

  Stretching her legs, Laos crawled out from behind the blind they had made. The river waters had receded and the lakebed was drying out by the light of the morning sun. Nothing had happened for a long while and if yesterday was any indication, they had several more hours before the visitors re-emerged.

  Coming up to the side of the ship, Laos touched the scorched and broken metal. The closer she got, the worse shape it appeared to be in. A squirrel had crawled into one of the larger holes and seemed to be building a nest. Littered around the borders were the white and yellow guts of hundreds of smashed bugs.

  In her periphery, Laos saw someone else approach—a Chanti scout, recognizable by the close-shaved forehead and the long braids down his back. He had his pistol drawn, but he had come for the same reason she had, and they were no threat to each other. A Nayak boy trotted up as well and Laos drew her pistol. He was young, probably in his early teens, but Laos was wary of the whole tribe after what they did to her.

  “Were you here when they threw the shockwave?” the Nayak asked. Drava scouts were taught not to converse with scouts from other tribes, but the truth of the matter was that all scouts talked in the field. When tribes were on the move and scouts sent ahead, the only people looking out for them were other scouts. Two seasons ago, a tree had fallen on her hideout and she’d been trapped for three days. A Chanti scout in the area found her, then rallied scouts from five other tribes to dig her out.

  The Chanti boy shook his head. He was new to scouting, having only just started when his tribe arrived in Fox Run. Since the three tribes currently camped here were supposedly allies, there were several trainees in the field.

  “The blast swept from the hand of one of the visitors,” the Nayak continued, sweeping his hand indicating the range of dead bugs as insects.

  “A goddess has returned?” the Chanti boy whispered, awestricken.

  “Don’t believe him.” Laos said. “They had some kind of technical device. There is no such thing as magic.”

  “There are things in this world close enough to magic,” the Chanti boy pointed out. Chanti were inclined to interpret everything as mysticism. Even some of the Drava believed in divination and Seers. Atop the bug guts were a few carcasses of bugs that were whole and looked like they had fallen out of the sky. She thought about collecting a few, but didn’t figure they’d survive in her pockets, so she left the ship and returned to Brishen.

  Dew beaded on Brishen’s face and he shivered with every breath. Laos nudged him with her toe.

  “Do you need another hour?”

  “Always,” he groaned, rolling onto his back and stretching. His toes hit the edge of the blind, knocking over the sticks holding it up, sending the branches crashing down on him. Shaking off the debris, he sat up and studied his shadow. “It’s late.”

  “The visitors may be nocturnal. They haven’t stirred,” Laos said, squatting down and helping her friend brush the twigs from his shoulders.

  “I’m supposed to be on the Nayak border,” he said, standing and keeping his distance from her. “Are you staying here?”

  “I saw Karlyn across the way,” Laos said, tipping her head to the east. Karlyn was the scout assigned for morning watch in this area. “I should go back and report.”

  “You didn’t see Karlyn,” Brishen said crossly. “No one sees Karlyn. That kid is practically invisible.”

  “Maybe that’s how I became a Scout Chief,” Laos teased.

  Brishen rolled his eyes and itched his chest. “Will you get home all right?”

  Laos sighed, wishing Brishen would play just a little. “Yeah. I’m a little stiff, but I can run if chased.”

  “And you’ll explain to your mom why I didn’t take you home?”

  “I’ll tell her that I won the wrestling match,” Laos said sarcastically. She was surprised when Brishen laughed.

  He covered his mouth, grinning and looking at her, a twinkle in his eye. But then he got sad again. “Will you bring me lunch?” he asked.

  She wanted to make a joke about that being a job for the primary, but he’d been kind enough not to bring up the proposal and she wasn’t going to even hint on it. She didn’t like that she had to censor herself for him.

  “I’ll send a sub so you can come to me,” she said, rubbing her knee as if that was what would keep her from walking to the Nayak border.

  “I should go. I don’t want to miss too much,” Brishen said, self-consciously wiping dirt from his skin.

  “Bathe first. Any hunting party will smell you from a mile away,” Laos teased.

  Brishen laughed again, then looked sad. He left quietly, not saying good-bye or giving her a hug. As soon as he was out of sight, Laos collapsed against the tree, clutching her stomach. Her knee throbbed and her chest ached. Her dad had never taken a primary. She wanted to talk to her dad.

  The Trade Circle was the oldest tradition among the nomadic tribes of Lanvaria. The Circle was marked by ten stone pillars, each ten feet tall. Each pillar was inscribed with the rules of the circle, carved in the languages of the tribes that passed through. Ambassador Sidney Kassa was ready to carve in a new rule: no trading of humans. He stalked out of the Trade Circle, disgusted at the Chanti offer to trade tribal members as breeding stock. The Drava were one of the few tribes resistant to the practice of forced intermarriage. The Nayak had dared take Sidney’s daughter by force and did not return her until she was pregnant with a Nayak child. They called it a gift. After the forced miscarriage, Sidney had delivered the deformed fetus to the Nayak as a warning.

  “Ten children; that is all I ask and all I offer,” Ambassador Lee of the Chanti called after him. “They are well behaved and healthy. Kassa, you know as I do that if we do not have fresh bloodlines, we will all die out.”

  Growling, Sidney charged forward until he was standing nose to nose with Lee. The rage over the violation of his daughter and his lost grandchild surged, but he resisted the urge to snap the man’s neck. Lee was Chanti, not Nayak. He didn’t know. “The Drava are not opposed to intermarriage, but we do not trade our children. You know o
ur ways.”

  “I know one social feast per season is not enough to convince sufficient numbers of either tribe to cross over,” Lee spat, raising up on tip-toes to gain much needed height. Sidney did not back down. “Honestly, Kassa, no one has ever left the Drava.”

  “That is not true.” Sidney’s chest tightened at the thought, feeling the sting of Adita’s disappearance piling on top of his already roiled emotions “If you would like to have additional interactions—”

  “Your people won’t even speak to ours,” Lee interrupted, waving his hand. “If you will not help us, then we won’t join with you to drive the intruders from these lands. We will welcome their tribe and drive the Drava from the land.”

  “We wouldn’t need their help to drive your people from the land,” Sidney retorted. The arrival of the visitors had created a stir among the tribes, but thus far, everyone was observing with caution. The three tribes in the area did not have flying technology, and Sidney had assumed the summoning to the Trade Circle was for the purpose of using their allied forces to approach the visitors as a single unit—assuming the visitors were interested cooperation and not conquest.

  “The Drava are dying out, Kassa. You have lost your honor and power among the nomads. You care less for your people now than you did a generation ago, and soon, your people will be running to the Chanti for refuge,” Lee warned. Arrogantly, Lee took one step back, straightened his robe, and then left Sidney alone in the Trade Circle.

  Sidney’s anger dissolved into exhaustion and he wanted to scream and thrash until his body gave out. Taking a few steps out, he looked up into the tree branches, wondering how long he could sit up there and brood before his tribe missed him.

  “Dad.”

  Sidney jumped.

  Laos approached quickly, though with a slight limp. She wore tight, leather clothing that offered camouflage, and she carried only basic weaponry—a pistol, a blade, and a bow. She was the eldest of his four, but had four older half-brothers on her mother’s side.