[LEGACY VERSION] The Enemy of Time (Book 2 - The Kaireyeh Chronicles)

Chapter 29 - Damon

Damon collapsed to his knees on the deck, exhausted. Pain throbbed in his head, and through Alexi's memories and experience, he only knew it would get worse. He'd pushed himself too far.

His Aezthena-focused mind cataloged the pain and began to assess his situation. He was on the bridge of the merchanter, The Robber Prince--the equipment didn't shine but it was clean, and the air smelled of fresh filters. Kalec stood in front of him, aiming a pulse pistol. An older woman was beside him, her weapon also out. In all, Damon counted no less than ten guns aimed at him. He ignored them and concentrated on the thoughts pulsing around the room.

How did he get here?

He's too pale even for a Kynaston.

Is he armed? Does he Voided need a weapon?

What will happen if I pull the trigger? Will he just disappear like he came?

He's looking at me. Oh God, he's looking at me!

Damon made himself blink. The room seemed to take a collective breath.

Kalec dropped his pistol, and in an unspoken signal, so did the rest of the bridge crew. But no one put their weapons away.

"Who are you?" Kalec demanded.

Damon glanced up at the front bridge screens, where a muted Campa was yelling at the camera. Kalec saw the glance and made a cutting motion. The screen blanked.

"Please tell her I'm alive," Damon said calmly.

"What the Void are you?" Kalec roared. "You're not robotic. How did you get on my bridge? Past my shields?"

Damon pushed up, slowly, to stand. Around him, hands tightened on guns, all eyes tracking him.

"I'm Aezthena," Damon said, and Kalec stilled. Kalec recognized that word. So there were some people who still remembered what the Aezthena were--Kalec was a royal whose kingdom had, until thirty years ago, been one of the last independent nations to hold out against the Caelian Empire. The Sayri had their own secrets--they would have fought alongside everyone else in the Aezthena Wars. But their secrets hadn't been as completely erased by the Kynaston propaganda engine as the Kynastons would have liked.

Kalec's nostrils flared. "Come with me," he said. He turned and marched off the bridge.

The woman beside him glared at Damon and waited for him to move.

Damon's legs felt like rubber, but he found he could walk on them. He couldn't show more than the momentary weakness he'd shown on arrival.

Kalec led the way to an office off the bridge, then settled himself rigidly behind a large desk. He watched Damon with a neutral expression, but his thoughts were churning, collating data and testing and discarding theories.

Damon sat in a chair across from Kalec, and was glad for once that his face would show no expression. His muscles trembled with fatigue.

The woman who'd followed them in remained standing. "Kalec, I don't like this," she said. Her voice was hoarse, her tone brusque.

Damon skimmed the top of her thoughts, then dipped deep enough to discover she was a former Armada admiral, a streeter, and an anti-slave activist.

Damon pulled back, and had to fight to keep from gasping. He wanted to close his eyes.

In the back of his mind, like an itch, he felt something scratching at his walls. A voice--Alexi.

Damon! Damon, can you hear me?