The Disappeared: The New Dawn: Book 1

By Valerie J Mikles

She’s escaped her prison in a parallel realm. Will his drive to save her put everyone in a sadistic killer’s crosshairs?

Danny Matthews is desperate to move on. Reluctantly ending his search through the lunar underworld for the woman he can’t forget, he’s determined to focus on his once-estranged brother and their new freight cargo business. But when rumors of her reappearance surface, the despairing spaceship captain refuses to abandon his old friend, even if his actions risk his ship, his brother... and his life.

Terrified of a ruthless colonel hell-bent on capturing the escapee, Danny wrestles for control of his vessel after a brutal collision takes out an oxygen tank. And with enemies closing in, the embattled man fears protecting both his crew and his friend will send them all to their doom.

Can he hatch a daring plan to keep them from perishing in the void’s vacuum?

The Disappeared is the cosmic first book in The New Dawn space opera series. If you like battle-weary heroes, interdimensional conflict, and found-family, then you’ll love this fast-paced science fiction adventure.

Buy The Disappeared and launch into peril today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valerie J Mikles
• Release date: Sep 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370917150

Valerie J Mikles

I'm an aromantic, asexual, agender person who is currently using she/her pronouns. Writing has given me the opportunity to discover and represent so many identities, and in turn find myself. I feel like diverse identities should exist in literature without being a central aspect of the plot. I have created several short films about asexuality, inspired by my own journey to self-discovery. Learn more about my creative side and my writing at http://www.valeriejmikles.comI'm also a PhD astronomer and former black hole hunter. I defected from academia and currently work for NOAA as a Senior Systems Engineer on a polar-orbiting weather satellite. My motto in life is that I can be everything I want, just not all at the same time

Book preview

1

Oriana blasted off the launch pad, leaving the city of Quin in the dust. Growing g-forces pushed Captain Danny Matthews into his rattling, worn-out chair. The ergonomic padding needed replacing, but doing so would have kept him in port three days longer than he wanted. There had to be something in the junk room he could rig to repair it. He tried to focus on that—the menial task he would do after launch—rather than the rocky launch itself. His fingers dug into his legs as he resisted the urge to grab the yoke and take the helm.

Careful, Danny warned, lifting one hand, then clamping it against his thigh.

Their new pilot, Corey, had both hands on the yoke at her station, her knuckles white, her jaw clenched. This was only her second time flying the massive freighter out of Aquia’s atmosphere, and last time, Danny had grabbed the yoke.

Despite there being a third chair at the con, Danny’s brother Tray sat in the jump seat behind them. His teeth were clenched, too, his eyes closed, his hands gripping the narrow armrests. Tray hated flying, but he’d bought this ship for Danny five years ago so they could escape the war on Terrana, and save as many refugees as possible. Now they flew between worlds as often as they could.

Wings retracted? Danny prompted. Corey tapped a button to her left, glanced twice at the heads-up for progress, then smacked the button harder. Oriana was one of only five freight haulers left in the Quin-Terrana fleet, designed for hauling water from the planet to the colony on the gray moon. Its retractable wings were necessary for landing, and had been open for inspection before take-off. Danny had been waiting to see when Corey would notice, but they needed to close before they passed through the planet’s dense debris cloud.

And they were a team. If he noticed a problem, he had to figure out how to say something without seizing control. It was difficult having a new person disrupting his routines.

The deep blue upper atmosphere sparkled with micrometeorite trails. Aquia had a Kessler debris cloud 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. Even small, maneuverable ships never left the planet unscathed. A ship as large as Oriana relied on ground-based tracking of the debris field being transmitted in real time. Large, ballistic remnants loomed, ready to punch holes in their hull if they miscalculated their path.

Adjusting two degrees port, Corey said, veering the ship sharply off path. A mid-sized metal fragment glanced off their hull. It wasn’t a bad hit, and wouldn’t even leave a scratch, but Danny’s hands flew up, hovering over his station.

Not so sharp. We’re too big for that, Danny reminded her. The proximity alarm beeped and a cluster of small debris hit the forward sensor, turning their view white. The ship jerked, Corey swore, and Danny grabbed the controls. The path didn’t even out immediately. What should have been a straight shot to space was more of a drunken walk, littered with glancing blows. Corey kept both hands up once Danny took the con, and she muttered swears under her breath.

It takes practice. You’ll get it, he said, though she never would if he didn’t give her the chance.

I can’t believe you do this every week so a couple rich swanks can have moon-spun glass, she groused, running her hands through her ponytail, making it point straight up as they crossed into weightlessness.

Hardly seems worth it, Danny agreed. When they were transporting refugees, a water hauler made sense, because it could pass through Terrana’s gates under the protection of the entire Guard. He could get a smaller ship for the transports they made now.

Not to mention when a ship this size takes on small jobs, all the captains of the smaller ships feel slighted, Tray added, groaning and clutching his stomach as he adjusted to the lack of gravity. Danny was grateful he didn’t grab a vomit bag, but maybe he was just trying to look less green in front of Corey.

You dress like money, Tray, and they don’t have any, Corey said, floating out of her chair and smiling socially at Tray.

There was a whole gang of them, and half of them wouldn’t even bid on the kinds of jobs we take. The leader was some black market looter named LaMark, Tray complained. Should I start carrying a weapon?

No, Danny said, concerned that Tray felt physically threatened. You can barely fire a shock-dart without shocking yourself. If you need protection, take Saskia.

And you have no idea why he hates you? Corey asked.

I don’t care. Don’t care at all. Like a flea on my back, Tray mumbled, his eyes squeezing shut.

Maybe you don’t know this, fancy gloves, being from the clean side of town. Even a flea can kill you. Especially if you ignore it, Corey said sagely.

Fancy gloves, Danny chuckled. Tray never hid his wealth, and today was no exception. He wore a turquoise business suit, and delicate shimmering gloves that went past his elbows. The sweet, oil scent on his skin filled the bridge, but not in an overbearing, unpleasant way. More than anything, he reminded Danny of their mother.

Didn’t you used to take passengers? Corey asked. She wore a purple, wool sweater, thick work pants, and scuffed boots.

Used to, Danny said, looking back at his brother. Money wasn’t worth the hassle.

I guess you have that luxury, Corey sighed. Coming from the working class, she’d always lived job-to-job, and she’d come to Oriana with the clothes on her back looking for a fresh start. Tray had gifted her with a couple sets of clothing, including the purple sweater, and she’d instantly rejected them, because she worried he’d want something in return. When he’d said ‘just keep clean and please don’t quit,’ she’d laughed. I wasn’t talking about the paying ones, though. Didn’t you used to transport refugees for the Citizens’ Channel?

Danny raised an eyebrow. After the Revolution, Danny and several friends had created the Citizens’ Channel as a way for Patriots to escape the persecution they faced on Terrana. He’d smuggled dozens of people in Oriana’s cargo hold, and while it was an open secret, it wasn’t a topic of casual conversation.

If you’re stashing secret passengers on board, that’s okay with me, Corey said. It could be what’s throwing off my flying, though. I have the simulator set for crew of four in weight.

No secret passengers, Danny said, looking down at his hands, but feeling taunted by the gray moon looming on the screen. I wouldn’t put you in the middle of that. Too dangerous.

Put me in the middle of it for five years. Didn’t seem to bother you then, Tray grumbled. He could live in a mansion in Quin, but he wanted to be near family, and Danny was all he had left.

The last several years, he’d worried about Tray, but he’d also been searching for one refugee in particular that he wanted to save—Amanda Gray. He couldn’t save her, and it killed him. She’d disappeared from the surface almost ten years ago now, and every time they took off without her, he died again. But the Disappeared couldn’t be found. Ever. He had to move on. He’d put Amanda ahead Tray, but now, it was time to put Tray ahead of her. If they could stop bickering at each other.

We’re clear of the cloud. Corey, take the con, Danny said.

Are you sure you can trust me? she teased, her smile infectious.

Outside the Kessler cloud, I’d trust Tray, Danny said, floating out of his chair as she lowered herself into hers. Tray had subtly extracted a vomit bag and hugged it to his chest, though he hadn’t used it yet. His face glistened with sweat, and his black ringlets floated in a halo around his face.

Danny sailed over him, being careful not to knock him. Aft of the bridge, he entered the ward room, which had an array of consoles on one wall and a large round table in the center with several interfaces and projection displays available. Saskia, their mechanic, medic, and security lead emerged from the engine room and shot Danny a look.

You trust her alone in there? Saskia asked. An ex-Terranan Guard, she’d been on the ship through three captains now, and when Danny had bought Oriana, he’d been told she came with the ship.

She asked about the Citizens’ Channel. Wanted to know if we had any passengers on board. And our weight was a little off when I took us through the Kessler cloud, Danny said, rubbing the back of his neck, frowning.

You’re asking if I’m still operating refugee transport behind your back? Saskia asked, her tone flat.

"No. We transport people from Terrana, not to. I’m…" Danny stumbled over the words and the emotions that any talk of Terranan refugees inevitably stirred. After five years, the political climate had calmed, and there were few Patriots left to save. The luna-borns couldn’t leave the moon without risking crippling injury at higher gravity, and those that weren’t imprisoned had Disappeared or retreated to the tunnels.

When she asked, I felt guilty, he confessed, clasping his hands to keep them from shaking. We left them high and dry when we stopped transporting refugees. We have a ship. We have the money. Tray gets them new identities… And now there are a bunch of people stuck on Terrana who need our help. Corey’s willing to help.

I’m not, Tray said, coming into the room, clutching a bloated barf bag. The strain and pain from years of stress—of worrying that they’d be captured, tortured, or killed—were written on his face. Danny, no. We are not doing this anymore. You’re not in it to help people; you’re in it to find her, and it blinds you to danger. No matter how many we help, she’ll still be gone. Amanda Gray will still be gone. Tell him, Saskia.

The Disappeared can’t be found, Saskia agreed. There was never a chance of finding her.

Danny clenched his jaw, grieving for his past life, not wanting to hear the cold, hard truth, but knowing he needed to accept it.

Oriana, he whispered, speaking the name like a prayer. Leave the past behind. Today is a new day.

In Lanvarian lore, Oriana was the spirit of the new dawn, and recently, it seemed all they did was reset, start over, and try again. But it was difficult to look forward with Terrana filling the view.

Amanda Gray climbed out of the lunar tunnel, pulling herself forward with grasping, shaking hands as the fine, black dust of the surface threatened to choke her parched throat. The air up here was just as frigid as down below, but there was so much more of it, extending a quarter mile above the surface where the dome peaked. For a moment, she just lay there on the hard dirt, staring up, 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.

Forcing herself to roll over, Amanda crawled to the edge of the dome and pressed her nose against the curved wall. The harsh glare of sunlight on the barren Terranan surface burned her eyes, but she refused to turn away. She’d spent too many years running, hiding, and surviving in the underground world, never seeing the purity of daylight. Every thirty-two days, the sun rose and began its slow journey across the lunar 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. For years, her goal of getting back home had not changed, though the prize had long since lost its luster. She’d finally broken the surface and could see her home planet glowing in the sky, its promise seemingly timeless. Somehow seductive. Sinister.

Amanda’s stomach growled, reminding her of how long it had been since she’d eaten anything. 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.

Tearing her eyes from the desolate outside world, she turned to face the interior of the Terranan dome. The lights had been dimmed to twilight level, indicating that the world was sleeping. The empty street was lined with slate-gray row houses extending nearly ten blocks before intersecting the Main Plaza of the dome. There were four domes of which people knew and talked openly, and one dome that they didn’t. The fifth dome, the declared emergency prison of Terrana, had failed to give justice both during and after the Revolution.

It was called a bloodless Revolution, though it was not free of casualties. Those casualties were buried everywhere, except in actual graveyards. Only a few were confirmed dead—among them were both Amanda’s parents and godparents. Most other Patriots, like Amanda, had simply vanished from society—Disappeared from the four main domes in order to keep the peace. The confinement was both prison and haven, destroying her physical body but filling her senses with utmost relief. As much as she’d fought for this freedom, it hurt to be here. Amanda was sure that her Patriot friends had long presumed her dead.

Hunger overwhelmed her. Walking, even in the light Terranan gravity, was a burden she could hardly bear. Dropping to hands and knees, she kept crawling, dragging her body toward the Main Plaza. There was food there. This dome held the oldest garden in the domes. A single genetically modified apple could sustain a full-grown person for a day; Amanda wouldn’t need more than a few berries to quell the ache in her belly. Ten blocks. She only needed to go ten more blocks.

2

Illuminated by the Geodome Lumination Operator, or GLO, the Main City plaza was abuzz with morning activity—citizens queuing up for a chance to acquire what limited household goods and supplies were available. The lines spanned and looped the hundred-yard long plaza, and despite a myriad of genetic enhancements, the grass still struggled to survive. Cafeterias and government buildings lined the sides of the green, and the four major roads that crossed the dome like a star met at the perimeter. The eight fruit trees that had been planted at the head of each street sagged under the weight of climbing berries. In the center of the Plaza were a recently revitalized garden and a few park benches. The Terranan flag was permanently affixed on a mast in the center of the Plaza, captured in its own spotlight, held outright by stiff wires to mimic the effect of wind. The deep blue flax had silver threads woven in so that it looked like the ocean. Forest green stars with white centers formed a three-point star, representing the four Terranan domes and the tunnel colonies they were built above. Despite the fact that the buildings had lost their Aquia-inspired colors during the Revolution, the flag remained the same.

The governor’s office had a large window facing the Plaza and the Terranan flag, but Deivon Parker, the governor’s lieutenant, preferred to keep the curtain closed on that view. The office was a symphony of Aquian and Terranan opulence, mixing planet-based marble with moon-glass chandeliers. Parker’s desk was built from trees grown on Aquia, but carved with images of Terranan spirits. His chair was molded specifically to his body form from a moon-slate slab, cushioned with plush fibers from Terranan plants. Parker scrolled through the most recent flood of messages on his new, polished handheld virtual network projection device, or Virp. The obsidian-plated device was no larger than a button, but the projection hologram displayed his messages at any magnification he desired, invisible to others unless he opted to share the viewing angle.

Parker fingered the device, admiring the beauty, ignoring the myriad of messages awaiting him. It always amazed him what his underlings considered important enough for his consideration. He was trying to run Terrana, for pity’s sake!

Sir.

General Miguel Santos, Parker’s right-hand man and Head of the Terranan Guard, interrupted his thoughts quietly, though not timidly. Santos was tall, thickly muscled, and the strongest native-born whom Parker had ever known. As soon as gravity therapies had become available on Terrana, Santos had jumped into training with the goal of standing firm against the most intimidating Aquia-borns who threatened their power.

Busy. Parker flicked an imaginary scrap of lint off his tailored, black suit and resisted the urge to shrug off the jacket. He hated the long-sleeve, no-glove style, but he had the means to acquire new clothing, and he flaunted it.

That list you keep of the Disappeared, Santos continued, unfazed by the dismissal. I have an update, but I don’t have access to the file.

Message me the name. I’ll update the list, Parker sighed. Santos was nearly out the door before Parker realized what had transpired. Someone new Disappeared? When? Did you witness this?

Two nights ago, a Disappeared resurfaced, Santos replied.

Parker’s eyes widened. But dead, correct?

Not sure yet, Santos replied, calling up an image of a bloody handprint smeared on the dome wall and projecting it to Parker’s desk. Forensics ran the prints through the database for all citizens living on Terrana. No match.

Maybe someone born in the tunnels, Parker said. His skin felt cold.

Until now, the girl had been presumed dead, but she’s also on your Disappeared list. Amanda Gray, he said, switching the image to a different file, calling up an image of a girl in her late teens.

Who is she? Parker asked. She seemed too young to offer more than tacit support to the Patriot agenda, but as an Aquia-born, she was more likely to side with that party. The Patriots had lost the Revolution from both ends: they wanted Terrana to remain a territory of Quin, but Quin didn’t want the trouble.

A Patriot demonstration turned riot, a little over a decade ago. She was brought in with fifty others during a mass arrest. She probably would’ve gotten off, but for the bomb. One dead, seventeen injured, including General Solvere.

Parker cringed, remembering the blast, and the fear that had come with knowing his lover was at the center of it. Diana—General Solvere was thrown clear of the blast. Barely had a bruise on her.

But she was never the same after that. Mentally, Santos allowed, dropping his voice and stepping closer to Parker’s desk.

Parker shook his head. Her hunt for the Disappeared began long before that.

We all hunt. It was her obsession that became her undoing. It began that day—the day Gray Disappeared, Santos pointed out.

Diana was always convinced she’d find a body, Parker choked, setting down his Virp, unconsciously rolling up his long sleeves.

If I find a body, do I have permission to tell her? Santos asked.

Parker! Governor Cheoff hollered, entering the room abruptly, as was his habit. He’d already shed his formal jacket, and was wearing a sleeveless, gray shirt and gloves that barely reached his elbows. Our sun is failing!

Parker gave Santos a quick wave of dismissal, then fixed his jacket sleeves and donned a mask of professionalism. Cheoff circled behind his desk and pulled back the curtains to let in the day-GLO. Squinting, Parker turned his eyes away from the Terranan flag.

Bad crops. Bad crops everywhere! Cheoff ranted. He was a short, stocky man with tiny gray eyes that he blinked far too often. His skin was pale, like all the native-born, and had a reddish tint to it. It’s bad enough that we import water and air, but now we can’t even grow food.

GLO has been setting twenty minutes early for over a month, and they think the UV light is damaged, Parker explained. He’d skimmed the message from GLO Control, and decided to let the technicians handle it. We can live on half of what we produce.

And we export the other half. We trade it for air! Cheoff harrumphed, plopping into his chair, activating five different viewers, calling up statistics, schedules, and specifications. Given the current state of the crops, they’ve been on narrowband for weeks, Cheoff read. GLO normally operated on wavelengths from infrared to ultraviolet, for the sake of plant life.

Exports will pick up, once we perfect manufacturing of gravity sources, Parker tried.

Commodities, Cheoff barked. We’re exchanging commodities for necessities.

Self-sufficiency does not mean the end of trade, Parker lectured, circling behind Cheoff, turning his chair to face his precious flag. It means the right and freedom to govern our world without Aquia’s interference.

Elysians have learned the art of self-sufficiency, Cheoff muttered. They don’t take our food or water, and yet they live under the surface. It is only a matter of time before we access the resources that keep them alive.

Elysians are a myth, sir. They are self-sufficient because they aren’t human, Parker laughed, reaching past Cheoff, closing one document after the other until the tension behind Cheoff’s eyes lessened.

That’s the myth. The notion that humans have interbred with aliens. Elysians are just humans who were afraid to come to the surface, Cheoff laughed, scratching his head. You need to go to the Agriculture Center and figure out how much we’ve lost.

I have a meeting first, Parker began, his eyes narrowing. Won’t be twenty minutes.

We need a committee, Cheoff said, his voice muffled when he buried his face in his hands. A brain trust that can figure out our economic future.

You said that last week, Parker said, slipping his Virp into his breast pocket. And so I formed a committee. They’re meeting tomorrow afternoon. It’s on your calendar.

Do I need to attend? Cheoff asked.

They have your directive.

This moon would fall apart without you, Deivon, Cheoff sighed. You shouldn’t have turned down the nomination for governor.

I didn’t want ‘avoid assassination’ to become part of my daily routine, Parker said.

It’s tapered off a lot, Cheoff smiled, calling up a new batch of messages. He was a terrible leader, but a perfect figure-head, caught in the delusion that he, not Parker, ran the moon. But if the Disappeared returned, even one, then Parker’s plans to maintain power would unravel. If Amanda Gray had returned, he needed her dead.

3

"W ipe that smirk off your face, Gray. The 5 is not an amusement park," General Diana Solvere sneered as she shoved her cuffed prisoner into the back compartment of an interdome rover. The small vehicle had been built from scraps of retired spaceships, and was designed for transport outside the safety of the airlock.

I still win, the teenager smirked. Prison or not, my parents are there, and we’ll be reunited.

You’ll be mind-cleansed, Gray, Diana reminded her. You won’t know them and they won’t know you.

You promised I could see them, she huffed, turning her nose up. If you break that promise, I’ll kill you.

Diana hadn’t paid mind to the threat at the time. Amanda Gray was an arrogant prisoner, but nothing in her juvenile record suggested she was capable of violence. But Diana’s memory of that day stopped with Amanda’s threat. She woke up in a hospital two weeks later, having nearly asphyxiated in the decompressing rover.

Colonel, General Santos called.

Her body stiffened, and she twisted her feet, grinding them into the loose gravel of the roof of the row house. The dappled light dimmed as the clock signaled evening. In the slums of the 2, the GLO never shone quite right. As her eyes adapted, she watched the clusters of people on the street below. For them, the Revolution was history. Forgotten.

Colonel Solvere, Santos said, irritation in his voice. His bark was backed up by an equally vicious bite; she knew from experience. It had once been her bark and her bite. Santos was her protégé, and he’d replaced her when her usefulness to Parker had worn out. He growled in frustration, then finally said Ms. Solvere.

She spared him a glance, and he took that as an invitation to come onto the roof, bringing his overbearing musk. The last ten years had aged him twenty—either from work or child-rearing. His silver-streaked, black hair was neatly combed to one side, curling just slightly over his ear. She hated that he came to talk. Hated that he still considered her a mentor.

I figured you’d be on the hunt, he smirked.

I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, she said, keeping her eyes on the street, clocking every person who strolled near the edge of the dome. I come here to relax. My therapist recommended the view.

Following her forced retirement, there were two conditions to her freedom: one was therapy, the other that she never take up the hunt for the Disappeared again. Her demotion to Colonel just before her dismissal was the worse humiliation.

The view from a roof eight blocks from your home where a mysterious vagrant keeps leaving bloody handprints at GLO-set, he commented. "I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that she could get you off your couch."

"Parker must be worried if he has you hunting down a vagrant," she said, her curiosity growing, her eyes scanning the street. She’d been annoyed by the presence of a vagrant before, but it might be fun to sabotage her ex-lover.

Not just a vagrant, he said. Amanda Gray. I take it you remember that name.

Diana’s blood ran cold. She opened her mouth to speak, but any witty retort was drowned in the anger that name stirred.

The prints match hers, and we’re not sure what that means, he said. The Disappeared don’t leave handprints on walls.

Her Virp vibrated against her wrist, but she didn’t look at the image he’d sent her. More than anything, she needed to keep focus—to find and capture this culprit. Someone could have faked Gray’s return—a few kids playing pranks or Patriots stirring fresh dissent. But if it was Gray, she could finally have vengeance.

"Parker is worried, Santos said. The return of one Disappeared could mean the return of many. It could undermine all we’ve achieved since the Revolution."

Is that supposed to entice me to help? After what you both did to me? she asked through gritted teeth.

I kept you from destroying the lives of Terranan citizens with your obsession. I don’t regret that, he said, staring hard at her. Have you seen the person leaving the handprints?

Diana seethed, but she didn’t want to fight him. He probably came now to distract her, so that his people could find