Read Online Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) by Kathleen M. O'Neal - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kathleen M. O'Neal
Ads: Link
respond. She couldn’t feel her body from the neck down. Spinal damage….
Panic seized her mind and poured a hot torrent of adrenaline into her system; it seared her veins like molten metal.
And then she heard voices.
Not Gamant. Enemy.
CHAPTER 5
Cole Tahn wandered around the guest quarters he’d been assigned. He’d just showered and dressed in a tan jumpsuit. Brown hair bordered his cheeks in wet wisps. The wall chronometer over his bedside table read 0:300 hours. Trying to sleep had been folly. He’d tossed and turned and when finally he’d drifted into a half-conscious state, he’d relived every moment of the Kiskanu battle. When he’d seen Carey go down for the hundredth time, the web of blood crisscrossing her beautiful face, he’d jerked awake, panting into the chill darkness.
Worse, he’d started thinking about the recent advances in Magisterial medical technology. They’d only heard rumors, but….
Every light in his cabin gleamed now. The bright white glow drove out some of the anguish that suffocated him. A small room, it spread ten by fifteen feet. The bed sat in the back, next to the desk which supported a com unit. His gaze riveted on the cursor, which flashed rhythmically green as quickly as his damnable heartbeat. A table and two chairs nestled against the right wall near the entry. Stark and foreign, the only thing in the environment that he owned was a bottle of hundred year old rye whiskey he’d found in their resource scavenging last month. It glimmered like honey on his bedside table.
He ran a hand through his damp hair. He’d gone over and over the details of the battle until he felt physically ill. “Rumors. Just goddamned rumors. You can’t be sure.” No, but if the Magistrates have developed a technique which allows them to revitalize tissue if they recover the corpse within half an hour after death….
His gut corkscrewed.
Picking up his cup of taza from the table, he sipped it while he thought. If they’d gotten to her immediately, they’d have taken her to Palaia—but what part? Neurophysiology division, probably. But maybe the military prison on the other side of the capital city of Naas. That way she’d be within easy reach of Slothen’s ruthless grasp. He frowned at his taza. The brew had gone stone cold. It left a glacially bitter flavor on his tongue. He set the cup back down and started across the room, zeroing in on the bottle of rye.
“That’s exactly what you need. A stiff belt to muddle your sense of responsibility.” Yes, indeed, if you’re going to resign from the fleet and beg for a fighter, there’s no sense in burdening your conscience with questions of duty.
When his fingers gripped the cool bottle, his gaze drifted to the com unit over his bed. Baruch had said to wait until tomorrow night, but the knots in Cole’s stomach wouldn’t let him. Reaching up, he turned the volume down low, input cabin number 261 and softly called, “Jeremiel. Are you awake?”
In less than a second, a tired voice responded. “Of course, Cole.”
“Are you interested in company?”
A long pause as if Jeremiel couldn’t decide, then, “Come. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“On my way.” He cut the communication, clutched his bottle to his chest, and quickly exited into the hallway.
Turned low to simulate nighttime, the corridor gleamed with a muddy white light. He passed no one on his way to the transport tube. Once inside the narrow compartment, he ordered, “Level two,” and watched the deck numbers flash in blue above the door as he ascended.
When the tube stopped, he stepped out and strode down the hall, turning left at the first intersection of corridors and stopping at the second door on the right. He lifted a hand and palmed the com patch. “Jeremiel. It’s me.”
The door opened. Cole cautiously stepped inside. Only one light gleamed, a lustreglobe over the table. It cast a soft snowy glow over the room, glinting off the ancient books in
Panic seized her mind and poured a hot torrent of adrenaline into her system; it seared her veins like molten metal.
And then she heard voices.
Not Gamant. Enemy.
CHAPTER 5
Cole Tahn wandered around the guest quarters he’d been assigned. He’d just showered and dressed in a tan jumpsuit. Brown hair bordered his cheeks in wet wisps. The wall chronometer over his bedside table read 0:300 hours. Trying to sleep had been folly. He’d tossed and turned and when finally he’d drifted into a half-conscious state, he’d relived every moment of the Kiskanu battle. When he’d seen Carey go down for the hundredth time, the web of blood crisscrossing her beautiful face, he’d jerked awake, panting into the chill darkness.
Worse, he’d started thinking about the recent advances in Magisterial medical technology. They’d only heard rumors, but….
Every light in his cabin gleamed now. The bright white glow drove out some of the anguish that suffocated him. A small room, it spread ten by fifteen feet. The bed sat in the back, next to the desk which supported a com unit. His gaze riveted on the cursor, which flashed rhythmically green as quickly as his damnable heartbeat. A table and two chairs nestled against the right wall near the entry. Stark and foreign, the only thing in the environment that he owned was a bottle of hundred year old rye whiskey he’d found in their resource scavenging last month. It glimmered like honey on his bedside table.
He ran a hand through his damp hair. He’d gone over and over the details of the battle until he felt physically ill. “Rumors. Just goddamned rumors. You can’t be sure.” No, but if the Magistrates have developed a technique which allows them to revitalize tissue if they recover the corpse within half an hour after death….
His gut corkscrewed.
Picking up his cup of taza from the table, he sipped it while he thought. If they’d gotten to her immediately, they’d have taken her to Palaia—but what part? Neurophysiology division, probably. But maybe the military prison on the other side of the capital city of Naas. That way she’d be within easy reach of Slothen’s ruthless grasp. He frowned at his taza. The brew had gone stone cold. It left a glacially bitter flavor on his tongue. He set the cup back down and started across the room, zeroing in on the bottle of rye.
“That’s exactly what you need. A stiff belt to muddle your sense of responsibility.” Yes, indeed, if you’re going to resign from the fleet and beg for a fighter, there’s no sense in burdening your conscience with questions of duty.
When his fingers gripped the cool bottle, his gaze drifted to the com unit over his bed. Baruch had said to wait until tomorrow night, but the knots in Cole’s stomach wouldn’t let him. Reaching up, he turned the volume down low, input cabin number 261 and softly called, “Jeremiel. Are you awake?”
In less than a second, a tired voice responded. “Of course, Cole.”
“Are you interested in company?”
A long pause as if Jeremiel couldn’t decide, then, “Come. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“On my way.” He cut the communication, clutched his bottle to his chest, and quickly exited into the hallway.
Turned low to simulate nighttime, the corridor gleamed with a muddy white light. He passed no one on his way to the transport tube. Once inside the narrow compartment, he ordered, “Level two,” and watched the deck numbers flash in blue above the door as he ascended.
When the tube stopped, he stepped out and strode down the hall, turning left at the first intersection of corridors and stopping at the second door on the right. He lifted a hand and palmed the com patch. “Jeremiel. It’s me.”
The door opened. Cole cautiously stepped inside. Only one light gleamed, a lustreglobe over the table. It cast a soft snowy glow over the room, glinting off the ancient books in
Similar Books
