[LEGACY VERSION] The Emperor of Time (Book 1 - The Kaireyeh Chronicles)

Chapter 5 - Damon

The infirmary at the Resistance base, like the infirmary where he'd been arrested, smelled like antiseptic, new plastic, and fear. Damon sat on a medical table, doing his best to hold still while the medic ran a purple light over his forearm to set the freshly wrapped skin-tape. They'd cut away his clothes and given him thin blue medical pants, and the re-hydration patch they'd stuck on his good arm chilled him. He tensed to keep from shivering. Behind his back, he gripped his halo knife. He'd pulled it out when they'd reached the infirmary and hadn't let it go.

On the next table over, medics bustled around Luc. He lay on the examination table, barely conscious, his body a mass of bruises, cuts, and pulse dart burns. Luc coughed, flecking blood into a med mask. Every time Luc coughed, Damon clenched his jaw tighter.

Dr. Campa, a compact woman with a furrowed face and short, steel-gray hair, hovered over Luc's table. She spoke into her hand comm, "Alexi, I need to get him into surgery. Am I clear to start now, or should I take him to the ship? I can't wait much longer."

Alexi had told Damon to stay with Campa, that he and Luc would be safe here. Then he'd left in a hurry to meet with the base commander. Damon wasn't sure what safe felt like, but that wasn't it.

Damon gripped his knife and stared at the wall ahead of him. He tried not to look at Luc, whose sweat-sheened face was too gray, his eyes unfocused. Questions crowded Damon's mind, piling on top of each other. Who was Luc, and how did he suddenly have too many secrets? Who was Alexi, who seemed to know those secrets? Who was Damon?

Campa cursed and slapped off her hand comm. She barked orders to her medics, then descended on Damon, bending to look into his eyes.

Damon jerked back.

"Easy," Campa said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

At her touch, he whipped out the knife.

Campa slapped his wrist with a blow that opened his hand. The knife clattered to the floor.

For a breath, Campa stared down at it. "Silver," she murmured. She shook her head and picked it up. "Put that away."

As Damon took it back, Campa's gaze lingered on the gold lines of the crest that redrew themselves on his hand. He thrust his hand behind his back, the knife hilt cool against his skin. Campa frowned at his knife arm.

Damon shivered and this time his teeth chattered.

"Someone get him a shirt, and a blanket," Campa called. "Damon--is that your name?"

Damon hesitated. Was it? The name Alexi had said had started with Damon--Damon Barenin Alyras Kynaston.

That wasn't his name.

Campa shifted. "All right, Damon, I'm going to check your arm. You'll feel pressure, but let me know if you feel pain." She waited for his nod this time before she touched him.

He sat still while she probed at the edges of the hardened skin-tape on his arm, then the skin-tape bandage on his shoulder.

"That's sealed well enough," she said. "Nasty dart burn, but the bleeding's stopped. I'll need to do some repair later, but I want to get your Luc into surgery first." She glanced back at Luc and scowled. "Dammit, Alexi."

Damon licked his lips. One question surfaced urgently above the rest. Luc. Would Luc survive?

Damon opened his mouth, but hesitated. He couldn't ask that. Not yet. Instead he asked, "You're Resistance?"

"Yes." Campa's hand lingered on his shoulder bandage and she met his eyes. "I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner."

"I'm not Resistance," Damon said.