The Gray Market: The New Dawn: Book 5

By Valerie J Mikles

Danny desperately need to get his crew home...

... but this homecoming was not what he expected.

Had he saved his brother's life at the expense of Amanda’s?

Quin was the home Danny had avoided for most of his adult life. He’d inherited money and status, but he wanted neither. He had no idea the source of his late mother’s power, but he was about to find out.

Because someone was trying to steal it.

Lois Ketlin would never have been more than a drug dealer if Oriana hadn’t fallen off the grid. She was shrewd, ruthless, and not afraid to sacrifice innocents in her pursuit of hybrid superpowers. And Amanda has powers worth killing for.

But before he can face her...

... he must face the truth of his family’s legacy.

It’s time to go home.

You will love this sci-fi thriller, because making a change for good isn’t always legal.
Buy it now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valerie J Mikles
• Release date: Aug 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370667475

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

THE STORY SO FAR

#1 The Disappeared – Oriana’s crew became the target of the Terranan Guard after a former Disappeared, Amanda Gray, escaped her Elysian prison and resurfaced. The non-corporeal Elysians are proven real when disgraced Guard, Diana Solvere, leverages their power to pursue Amanda across the expanse of outer space. In the fight for their lives, Oriana loses their pilot, Corey, and the ship crashes far from home.

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#2 Sequestered – Sky and Hawk join the crew when Oriana makes a mad escape from Rocan, a dying city in desperate need of Oriana’s resources, both technological and … human. In exchange for Hawk’s help, Captain Danny Matthews promises he will help search for medicine to save Hawk’s people.

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#3 Trade Circle – While exploring the ruins of an ancient city, Danny and Saskia fall victim to a disease called Havara Pytr, the Jaws of the Ancestors. Sky reaches out to the nomadic tribes in the area and invites a heap of new trouble when her spirit-carrier nature is revealed. Although Oriana’s crew is offered the medicine, the demanded price of Sky’s life is too high, and they rush to save her.

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#4 Hybrid – Oriana arrives at the technologically advanced city of Boone only to find a ghost town. The sole survivors of the destruction are two human-spirit hybrids, Kerris and Liza. Realizing that Hawk is a hybrid as well, Liza becomes convinced Hawk can teach her how to undo the destruction of Boone. When a nearby tribe realizes that Liza may be able to resurrect their lost family members, they convince her to try, but trigger a second destructive event. As the city falls to ruin, Tray is mortally wounded. Drained of fuel, Oriana is relying on Hawk’s hybrid ability to fly them home and save Tray’s life!

THE CREW

Danny Matthews – After his stepfather rejected him, he moved to Terrana, only to be caught in a Revolution. After the Revolution, he became part of a Citizens’ Channel, transporting refugees from Terrana to Aquia. He became captain of Oriana after reuniting with his estranged brother, Tray.

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Tray Matthews – He comes from wealth, but grew up not knowing he had a brother. After a falling out with his father and a messy divorce, he went seeking family and has been clinging to his brother ever since. Tray recently found out that he has a son, and he hasn’t told his brother yet, because he’s afraid of disturbing the status quo.

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Saskia Serevi – A former Terranan Guard, Saskia joined Oriana’s crew three captains ago after a paralyzing injury drove her from service. She takes the mantle of the stoic warrior, but also nominal mechanic and medic. She and Tray have a budding relationship.

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Amanda Gray – A former Disappeared, she has a strong connection to the spirit realm. At some point in her captivity, she developed schizophrenia, and it has gone untreated for so long that she often has difficulty parsing her spirit-world insights from her delusions.

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Douglas Hawk Hwan – Hawk only recently learned that his aptitude for machines comes from a hybrid nature. It is a power he is only beginning to control. He used his power to destroy Boone and keep the hybrid-detecting technology from falling into enemy hands. He feels guilty for accidentally shooting Tray.

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Sky – A spirit-carrier, she has no ability to communicate with the Seer that possesses her. She lives her life as a traveler because she fears if she stays in one place too long, Spirit will find a way to kill her and jump into a new host. Although over a hundred years old, Spirit keeps Sky looking young. Sky denies any existence of the other realm to most, because she has learned not to trust anyone with the secret.

1

Just outside of Pierce, and all along the covered roads connecting the Quin cities, wind turbines stood tall, spinning steadily, taking advantage of the weather system created by the five densely packed dome structures, and the sprawl of smaller ones built in the gaps between them. From his bedroom window, Alex Swift could see one of the windmills, spinning steadfastly day in and day out. Sometimes, the only thing that kept him going was that windmill, spinning on, reminding him that the world kept turning, and he had to find a way to join it again. Today was one of those days where getting out of bed was just too hard, and Alex had spent the morning staring out the window, watching the turbine spin.

The door burst open and Alex dove off the side of the bed. His years of dangerous living inciting a fight or flight response, he felt for the weapon he kept under his nightstand.

What in Zive’s name is this? his wife Jennifer demanded, waving a Virclutch over her head. Her dyed-blond hair fell messily from a French twist, and her copper cheeks burned red with rage at what she’d read.

Ugh, Alex groaned, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

You’re still in bed? she accused. The past five years of their thirty-year marriage had been marred with separations and tense reunions. Coming home injured this last time had forced a truce while she saw him through rehab. He scooted around the edge of the bed, mentally drained by the stiffness in his right leg and the frustration the injury invoked. Three months ago, the Terranan Guard burned him with shock-darts, thinking he was harboring a fugitive, and he’d never fully recovered. He didn’t have feeling in the two little toes, but he was out of the exoskeleton and on a good day, he could run the length of Pierce.

You came to the bedroom looking for me. Where’d you expect me to be? he groused. Sifting a shirt from the mess of laundry on the floor, he gave it a whiff, making sure it was clean enough to pull on. Alex was 6’2", and well-muscled, but with his shoulders covered with burn scars and his chest covered with gray hairs, his vanity dictated the cover-up. He debated shaving off the gray beard that had grown in over the weekend, or at least dying it to match his black-dyed hair, but when he was hungry and depressed, his vanity only spurred him so far.

Out the door and headed to Kemah, she said, giving him a hand up and dropping him on the edge of the bed, tossing the Virclutch into his lap. "You could have told me your ship, your beloved Cadence, your sole source of income was being decommissioned!"

Alex shut the Virclutch off, not wanting to read the news of his ship’s disgrace. He hobbled past her, heading down the stairs. No one had foreseen the ripple effect the loss of Oriana would have on the space trade. Oriana was the fifth ship to burn up in the atmosphere in so many weeks, and after that, the Aquian government forbade travel to Terrana. The embargo crippled the industry and the government started sending small crafts up to clear space debris, just to give people jobs. There was a lot of trash to clear, but no money in the clearing. Taxes went up, so that more resources could be diverted to fuel to run the ships. Giant water-haulers like the Cadence cost too much to fuel, and the risk of damage was greater than the promise of work. Alex had been in denial since his shipmate, Nattie, had told him, but now it was public news.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he limped down the stairs, but it had only a little to do with the pain in his knee or the decommissioning of the Cadence. He’d lost a family with Oriana. He and Jennifer had rooms in the house already set up for Danny and Amanda. Both rooms had been sealed since the crash.

That ship is the only thing keeping you off the welfare line, Jennifer reminded him, tromping down the stairs after him. Some scrapper is going to grab it at auction for a handful of marks!

The bottom of the stairs opened up into the main room. Only a narrow bar and a pair of stools separated the kitchen from the living room. All of the furniture had been pushed to the corners to make space for Alex’s exercise equipment. Twice a week, his physical therapist would come by and make thoughtful hmms and ohs as Alex went through the training circuit. It took all of Alex’s willpower not to beat the man senseless, and afterward, Alex would press weights until he couldn’t move his arms anymore. More than once, Jennifer had found him pinned to the bench, and she’d started coming home from work early on PT days to rescue him.

Or are you thinking of scrapping it yourself? Jennifer asked, her tone softening to one of pity.

We haven’t had a job in six weeks. I’m already a dole, Alex said, frustration rising at the sight of the exercise equipment. It was so easy for her to expel rage with physical exertion, and he was trapped by his own body.

No. No, you have not been collecting handouts! she sputtered. You’re smarter than that.

Scooping a handful of dried protein and oats, Alex sat at the bar looking into the kitchen. The only windows on this level were behind him, facing the street, and when he looked out those windows, he saw people bustling about their lives, oblivious to his prison.

Alex, do you know what happens to doles? she said, spinning his stool around, her eyes filled with fear. Last night, I treated man—a dole. Someone set him on fire. If we have to leave this house to survive on my income, we will, but you cannot go to the welfare lines. Not now.

Alex slouched against the bar, gimped leg extended, chewing half-heartedly on his breakfast. The generic, tasteless food had come as part of his welfare package, doled out to gimps who were unable to work. It’s not forever. I’m getting better. I’ll find work soon, Alex promised.

With almost two miles of sprawl, Clover was considered a major dome marking the northern border of the Quin settlement. There were hundreds of poor people packed into these streets, most of whom labored at the orchards all day, and spent their money on drugs and sex in the evening. They had few luxuries and they spent their loose cash on whatever trinkets promised instant gratification.

Roland Ketlin was in the business of gratification, at least on the drugs side. In school, he’d been good at chemistry, but he’d been sucked into the family business too quickly to become an academic.

Right now, he was more focused on the woman sucking on his lips. Kristy was in the business of gratification as well, and he was lucky she fancied him, because there was no way he could afford her. He squeezed her soft flesh between his fingers. The warped wood of the rocking chair dug into his ribs, reminding him that they were on her porch, not in her bed.

Smoke, she croaked, coughing over his shoulder.

It’s just the Blaze, Roland said, wiping the sticky powder from his face. Working on a new twist to the recipe.

Kristy shifted off his lap and adjusted her top, turned off by the disruption. You spend any more time cooking, and you won’t have brain cells left to invent recipes. I gotta keep a clear head tonight.

She’d gotten sucked into the Ketlin family accidentally when her little sister Trina got pregnant by one of the cousins.

You’re working ? Roland asked, touching her legs, bringing his hands to rest on her hips.

I didn’t dress this way for you, she teased, pressing her body to his face teasingly. Though her clothes looked accident prone, they didn’t come off without her consent. I am saving to buy you something special. Can’t say what.

He knew what. She’d let it slip one night when she was too exhausted for lovemaking. She wanted to get her sister and her niece out of Clover, and she couldn’t decide whether to get a boat or a boutique in one of the outer domes.

Kristy Hakely! Lois Ketlin hollered, storming across the street, startling them both. Most people called her Granny Lois, even though she’d never had kids of her own. She was Roland’s great aunt, and he’d thought the world of her when he first started cooking Zen. She’d never once walked the dole lines, knew how to cook every psychoactive substance in the book, and wasn’t afraid to do karaoke even though her singing voice was crap.

Roland hopped to his feet and fanned the front of his shirt, eyes down. It didn’t matter that he was pushing forty. When Lois hollered, he still felt like a teenager.

You’ll be on the dole line in no time if you waste your best hours on this lump, Lois criticized, her wrinkled face getting wrinklier when she saw Roland on the porch.

You don’t get a say in how I live my life, Lois, Kristy said sharply. Gotta have something worth coming home to.

Grabbing the front of Roland’s shirt, she planted her plum-painted lips on his, pressing her tongue so deep he nearly choked on it.

Stay clean for breakfast, she whispered, sashaying off the porch, heading for the center of town where the wealthy men went to pick up a night of entertainment. She was always telling him to stay clean; she had it in her head that she could rescue him from this life.

Roland watched her go, mesmerized by her motions. Then he heard the flick of a lighter and felt a hot pipe pressing against his arm. It was Lois’s cruel way of getting his attention, but the morning of cooking Blaze left him with enough of a residual high to dull the pain.

Why’d you have to holler like that? Roland snapped, snatching the pipe and burning Lois back. The old lady didn’t even flinch.

She lives on my street. She’s gonna know who’s in charge, Lois said, running her finger over her spotted lips.

We’re neighbors. We’re not servants, Roland argued.

Across the street, his Ketlin cousins sat on the porch, puffing Zen and watching their kids play street hockey. All down the block, families leaked out onto the stoops, chatting with neighbors about bargain shoes, dole lines, and which harvesters were hiring.

You’re sitting on her porch like a dole. Don’t expect her to support you, Lois warned.

I’ve been here all of ten minutes, Roland complained, rubbing his bloated belly. Blaze made him both hungry and horny, and ten minutes with Kristy only slaked the latter lust. I got a new twist on Blaze. Jellies it up; it’ll go great on donuts. I have three cookers testing the recipe. Unless you got paying work for me, go holler at someone else.

He stalked past her, hurrying to his porch, praying she didn’t follow. His house was next door to hers, and only a thin railing separated his sanctuary from hers.

Unfortunately, his porch had been invaded by a different intruder—his niece. Kit was a pre-teen engineering genius. She sat on the railing, getting a little too cozy with one of Lois’s peddlers.

Kit! Don’t you talk to her! Roland barked, picking up his pace. He didn’t want her getting stuck in the family business, too.

I know. I know. Go home, Kit, she grumbled, sliding off the railing, picking up her pink jacket. She trotted down the steps, but he grabbed her arm and pushed her back onto the porch. He didn’t want her finding some other place to meet up with the peddler.

Cynthea Ketlin, known in the family as Cyn, had nearly escaped the business. A year ago, she’d gotten a nursing degree, but then Lois hatched the idea to buy Clover’s biggest pharmaceutical company.

Lois said I could use whomever I needed, Cyn said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her russet coat, looking contrite and terrified.

You don’t need a kid to deliver your drugs, Roland growled.

Kit jerked her elbow free and rubbed the skin. I asked to go, Uncle Roland. I wanted to see how the swanks live up top Vimbai hill.

You-you did what? You sent her where? Roland sputtered. The Vimbai used to be the baddest crime lords in Clover until Sikorsky sunk their yacht. She’s on the hook for that drop!

Better her than me, Cyn retorted, wrapping her coat around her rail-thin frame.

Roland cocked his fist, but when he saw Kit cringe, he backed down from the fight.

What help could you want from a Vimbai? Roland chastised her.

No one here is helping me get rid of Tobias, she groused, punching him in the gut. Kit hated her stepfather.

I could for a price, Cyn began, sealing her lips when Roland turned his glare on her.

I don’t see the point in killing Morrigan anyway, Kit pouted, referring to the Vimbai heir with dangerous familiarity. She’s weak already.

That’s the point. She’s an easy target, Cyn smirked, an evil glint in her eye. Every loss makes Vimbai weaker.

She doesn’t know anything about the Vimbai business, Kit said. I mean, she knows her parents were into illegal stuff, but she doesn’t know what they did.

You stuck around and talked to her? Roland asked.

She was sad. She had a lot to … cry about, Kit shrugged. If she dies, will I go to jail?

Roland put a hand on her shoulder, wishing he could reassure her.

Of course not. The risk is hers. No one’s forcing her to dabble in uncontrolled, recreational substances, Cyn dismissed. She cringed when she saw Roland’s fist cocking again. But the kid’s right. Killing her is just for show at this point. They got nothing to sell us.

Lois is building a supply. She must have a buyer in mind, Roland said, rubbing his hands, fearing they’d soon be covered in blood.

She better have a buyer, Cyn grumbled, kicking the dirt. Aren’t you tired of being a waygee?

The Double Wedge pub was the lowest-class, hole-in-the-wall, alcohol-serving establishment within Quin’s spaceport of Kemah. Alex preferred it because it was mostly populated by the morally ambivalent who did not hold his history with the Terranan Patriots against him. In fact, many of the friends he’d met here were a part of the Citizens’ Channel, helping expatriated Patriots from Terrana establish new identities on Aquia. With the embargo and death of the space trade, business at the Double Wedge was rapidly tanking.

Nattie Bay, the gray-haired communications officer on the Cadence, sat in a corner booth by the street window, her misty eyes gazing out at the inactive port.

Thinking of Terrana? Alex asked, sliding into the booth, offering her a dark beer, keeping a blond one for himself. The trip from Pierce had taken an hour because he’d insisted on walking from the train rather than getting a cab. The first half of the walk had been invigorating, but then his ankle seized, his ego took a plunge, and he’d been forced to use his cane to hobble along.

Thinking of flying, she said. "Pre-dome society loved their satellites, and four-hundred years of collisions has made an awfully dense cloud of debris. It would take us the better part of a decade to clear the Kessler cloud. I just wish the Cadence could be a part of it."

Maybe it will, Alex said, his throat getting tight. The engine will. The rest—

It’ll make a fine museum, Nattie interrupted. The ship is over four hundred fifty years old. It brought the moonslate back to make the domes. It’s a part of history.

There’s not a part on that ship that hasn’t been replaced, Alex muttered, bitterness seeping in. He’d owned the ship, but he’d never made it his home. Now, he wished he had.

Not a cell in my body hasn’t been replaced. Doesn’t mean I’m not seventy-five, Nattie chuckled, patting his hand, then raising his chin. They won’t take the engine right away. There’s no way this embargo can last forever. We’re going to decommission the ship. This museum thing… it’s just a way to make money. It’s better than turning it into a space yacht. Even the water yacht industry is starting to suffer from this embargo. The rich people are running out of money, and the industries that serve them are laying people off.

Rich people love micro-g therapy. We can be turn her into an orbiting medical lab. The micro-g therapy would do my leg some good, Alex said, sipping his beer.

That industry is saturated by the mid-sized passenger transports now, Nattie reminded him, sipping her own drink. Took a gig on one of those last month. Whiny aristocrats.

Alex pursed his lips. He was going in circles, grasping at straws. The museum route was his only play. Is anyone else from the crew coming?

Sanders fled after the Guard paralyzed you and he hasn’t been back to Kemah since, Nattie shrugged, folding her arms and putting her head down. He and Holly have a kid on the way.

They’d left Terrana twelve hours behind Oriana, and he’d talked to Danny just hours before the crash. Amanda was safe and alive; she and Danny were going to come live with him. Things seemed to be going right. Even through the pain in his body, he’d stolen a few hours of peaceful sleep, only to wake up to disastrous news. Nattie said there was a streak of light as Oriana veered off course, and then nothing. They’d stayed in orbit for three days searching, waiting for a distress signal. Alex understood why Sanders quit. He still wished his friends were here for the decommissioning.

Have any of the ships that go up gotten news from Terrana, Alex asked, dropping his voice. Any word on how they’re doing?

I took a gig the other night moving trash, Nattie smirked, rubbing her eyebrow. They’re not calling for help. I got through to one of your contacts on the Citizens’ Channel. No one has heard from Johann since he blew up his house.

Alex shuddered at the answer to his unspoken question. Well, he blew up his house. He obviously had an escape plan, Alex reasoned, though he still felt like he’d lost another son.

A siren sounded in port and within the bar, workers leapt from their chairs. Some gulped down the rest of their drinks, others abandoned them altogether, their hands instead reaching for their side arms. After Jennifer’s warning of dole attacks, Alex had brought a pulse rifle with him, too. Nattie shoved her beer toward Alex and gave him a look.

I’ll be fine. Go! he said. When the siren sounded, all ships were on alert, and Nattie had to report in to her new captain.

Leaning his face against the window, Alex scanned the port for smoke or emergency crews, but the emergency didn’t seem to be within port itself. That meant the trouble was outside—one of the ships flying in the Kessler Cloud.

Abandoning the drinks, Alex walked purposefully out of the bar and headed for the dome gate. He couldn’t be here for the death of another crew. There was a crowd forming at the gate, and emergency crews lining up. Alex balled his hand into a fist, ready to fight his way through if need be.

Then he heard the whispers—the nature of the emergency. The one word he kept hearing over and over was Oriana.

2

Oriana . His life, his love, his home. The name of the ship meant ‘new dawn.’ It was a place of second chances and perpetual hope. For Alex, the crew had become a surrogate family, and the ship a second home.

The port was abuzz with fire crews priming pumps, medical crews lining up ambulances, and security crews armed to the teeth. Weaving through, Alex raced to the control tower. The A-team was called to stations, and much of the younger staff were pressed close to the windows and leaking out the front door, eager to catch a glimpse of the action. Many had Virps raised, taking pictures and videos of the scene.

What’s going on? Alex asked one of the suited, young men with an intern’s wrist cuff.

"It’s Oriana. The lost water hauler. She made contact a little under an hour ago," he said, smiling broadly, keeping his eyes on the open gate. Alex’s knees went weak and he fumbled for a support.

She’s flying? His throat was so dry, he nearly choked on the words.

Flying, yes. Landing? We’ll see. Whoever is at the con is inexperienced.

Alex covered his mouth, so overwhelmed and excited he thought he’d be sick. Inexperienced meant Tray. The others knew how to fly that ship, and the question was: why weren’t they?

Pushing his way into the control tower, Alex climbed the stairs as fast as he could, using the banister to pull himself as his energy waned. By the time he got to the top level, his knees buckled with every step.

The control tower was a semi-circle of desks, chairs, and monitors, all directed toward a giant window facing the gate. At this time of day, every seat was filled. At the far left were the controllers in communication with ships just leaving Terrana and monitoring their progress. Incoming ships were handled by the next segment, then outgoing ships. At the far right was port operations, handling the opening and closing of the gates, airlock controls, and emergency crew coordination. The people in this room controlled who came in and out of Kemah, and they did not like unscheduled landings.

A few of the workers had tears in their eyes, watching with hopeful anticipation for the return of old friends. Others were wary, prepared for an act of terrorism.

Then Alex noticed Sikorsky. The mob boss, with his sleek, ankle-length coat and perfectly coifed hair stood out among the waygees in coveralls. Although the elected Quin council had enacted the embargo, the people blamed Sikorsky and his longstanding feud with Terrana’s Lieutenant Governor, Deivon Parker. The man did not belong in the tower.

Sikorsky hovered near the Capcom station, a Feather hooked over his ear so that he could talk directly to the inbound ship. By the way he crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders, it seemed his concern for Oriana was personal.

"Is it Oriana? Is everyone alright?" Alex asked Terry Gueme, one of the medical team coordinators. Terry was an old friend of Jennifer’s, and had helped the Citizens’ Channel smuggle in some of their more critically injured refugees. Seeing him panting for breath, she abandoned her desk and pushed him into her rolling chair.

They have at least one mortally wounded, she said, watching the window expectantly. She was dressed in uniform coveralls with woven-in ports to hold any medical scanners and equipment she needed for emergency response. Once her teams were lined up, all they could do was wait.

Let me talk to Danny. Is he the one that’s hurt? Let me talk to the pilot, Alex said urgently.

Alex, let us handle this. This is what we do, she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

I flew that ship for years. I know it like the back of my hand. I can get them to ground with the fumes they have left, Alex insisted. After so many weeks in the wild, there was no telling what condition Oriana would be in, or if it would even be the same ship. Parts of Oriana had been flying off just before the crash, and any Terranan spy could have picked up the transponder and set up the ruse to get into Kemah.

Terry raised her eyebrow, her doubt reflecting his own misgiving.

Yes, let him help, Sikorsky ordered, desperately waving Alex over. He offered his own Feather to Alex, but the Capcom picked up a plain, black Feather from a line of spares and motioned Alex over. Using his good leg, Alex punted across the room on the rolling chair, took the Feather, and tried to look reassuring.

"Welcome back, Oriana. We thought you’d detoured to Alea on an archaeological expedition," he said, leaning his elbows on the desk, focusing on his task rather than all the people watching and listening in.

Alea was the nearest planet to Aquia. It was farther out in the solar system, and according to history, there had been a scientific outpost there just before the great war with Caldori. Danny loved pre-dome history, and he’d come up with the phrase as a code for danger in port.

If only we had fuel for chit-chat, a female voice said.

Alex shuddered. He didn’t know Corey’s voice, but he could tell it wasn’t her on the vring. Saskia would have recognized him. Who is this? Alex whispered, looking up at Sikorsky.

Sky is an old friend, Sikorsky said, rubbing his arms. She says Tray Matthews is on the brink of death and needs medical assistance.

Biting his cheek, Alex twiddled his fingers. If Tray was hurt, that explained why he didn’t hear Danny’s voice, but not the other two women. He turned the monitor at the station so he could watch Oriana’s entry path. It was flying in low, from the northwest.

What’s your engine status? Alex asked Oriana’s new captain.

I—hold—I’m having pilot issues, Sky replied. Hawk!

There was a click and suddenly a man’s voice came over the Feather, swearing in a language Alex didn’t recognize. Grief surged and Alex rubbed his chest, telling himself to focus on the job. There were strangers in his home. Danny and Tray, his friends, the closest he’d ever come to having sons, were in trouble.

My name is Alex. I’m a pilot. I’m going to talk you down, Alex said.

The man fell silent, and through the rush of wind noise, Alex could hear the familiar beep of Oriana’s engine failure alarm, then the echo of his words being translated into Trade by the ship’s computer.

They call me Hawk, the man said in thickly accented Trade, like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. I am alone; I don’t know how to land.

You’re not alone. I’m here to talk you through this, Alex said in Trade, taking a deep breath, routing more information to his monitor. Virtual displays approximated the console as Hawk would see it. Three of Kemah’s tracking cameras had been turned to monitor the incoming ship. The optical and infrared cameras showed only clouds, but microwave and radio imagers showed the blurry outline of the ship. Alex’s eyes misted.

We’re gliding. No engine output, Hawk panted, his voice getting weaker. I am depleted. I can’t make more fuel.

It looked like they were on a collision course with the dome. The moonslate shell of Kemah was reinforced, so the damage would be minimal, but Alex wasn’t about to let Oriana fail now.

What is the fuel situation? Do you have thrusters or are you fully gliding? Alex asked.

The sensor says we have fuel, but the smoke choked the thrusters several times. I’m so tired. I can’t get the fuel to the thrusters, Hawk said. Sky turned on the gravity. She stopped helping Tray to fly us with the gravity drive.

You mean the engine, Alex corrected. The grav-drive system was not related to flight.

I lost port engine to the smoke, Hawk replied, his quivering voice underscoring his fear. Can I land with a single engine?

Let’s get as close as we can with gliding, Alex said, shaking his head. There is a long runway that goes east to west on the peninsula. If you’re down to 600 kph at the west end, you should coast to a stop right in front of the Kemah gate.

There was a long silence on the other end. Alex wasn’t sure if the barrier was in language or experience. He had to remember he was talking to a civilian, not an aviation student. Oriana needed to slow down and bank, or they’d overshoot the city.

For Tray, for Tray, for Tray, Hawk panted under his breath. I missed that, what?

Do you see the white stripe that crosses the land and appears to end at the water? That’s the runway.

Yes, Sky mentioned a runway, Hawk murmured. My first real runway.

And Danny? Alex tried. Is he—

It’s too cloudy to see the white stripe and I can’t read the Lanvarian labels on the console. Can you see me?

Yes, I see you. We’re tracking your position, Alex said, focusing on the projected replica of the console. He’d landed Oriana with no sensors before, but the day had been clear, and both engines were working. Increase your altitude to 4500 meters. There’s a display to your upper left that shows your altitude.

My safe limit is 2500 for the hull damage, Hawk said. Another alarm sounded on Hawk’s end of the comm and the ship’s altitude increased in jerky thrusts. Middeck hatch came loose again.

That’ll keep things turbulent, Alex said. "Have you flown Oriana a lot?"

Yes, Hawk panted. It’s my first landing. I’m alone.

You’re doing fine, son, Alex said.

Son, Hawk repeated, taking a deep, calming breath.

"You see that green lever to your