Read Online Sea of Stars by Amy A. Bartol - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amy A. Bartol
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observe.
Giffen frowns. “No more so than you.”
He lifts his hands again to the doors in front of us. They slide open, but the compartment keeps dropping. Floor after floor streaks by in a blur. I look at him and say, “I’m not going with you.” The overup slows, and then it comes to a stop in front of ten or so Brigadets who appear to be waiting for the lift. They look stunned when they see us. “Not our floor,” Giffen growls.
The doors snap shut forcefully before they can react. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” I accuse him. “You don’t even know where we are!”
“Quiet!” he orders, pointing at me belligerently.
I ignore his suggestion. “You’re going to get us killed! They see me with you and they’ll think, hmm—I don’t know—conspiracy! If I didn’t appear guilty enough before, you’ve pushed me over the edge.”
“I’ll push you over the edge,” he says as the overup slows down again. He opens the doors and literally pushes me out of it as he jumps. I land hard on my side, bruising my hip. I roll a little, trying to catch my breath that was forced from my lungs. We’re beneath the ship’s main platform, within the half-sphere base. Giffen raises his hands to the lift; closing the door, it activates again, and the overup car leaves.
I sit up, glaring at Giffen as he gets to his feet and looks around. The corridor is illuminated with sky-blue track lights in the floor and ceiling. It’s utilitarian—unadorned—and by all appearances, utilized only by the drone-bots that carry supplies from storage bays to restock the area up top. I watch the robotic carts move past us with shiny, chrome-plated shells. “Come on,” Giffen says, holding out his hand for me to take. “Let’s go.”
Another resupply-bot passes us carrying stacks of enticing beverages in colorful bottles. It’s a barback-bot , I think. I remember working at Lumin, the nightclub in Chicago. It’s where I first met Kyon. He’s going to destroy this place and everyone in it.
“We have to warn them,” I say as I look at Giffen’s outstretched palm in front of me. My eyes travel up him. He’s really tall, like most Etharians. He has the form of someone who scales mountains: all muscle without a trace of body fat. “We have to make them listen.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head, “we don’t.” Reaching down, he hauls me up with a fistful of my black jacket, popping off a few of the buttons. “We’re getting off this ship if I have to throw you over the side.”
As I look him in the eyes, I kick him as hard as I can in the kneecap. His eyes shutter in pain. I wiggle out of his fist, running full out down the corridor.
I don’t make it halfway before I’m lifted off my feet, and I crash sideways into the wall. With my back to it and my toes nowhere near the floor, I hang on it like a trophy animal. Giffen hobbles over to face me with a seething look.
“Your gift is more useful than mine,” I grunt, trying to pull my arm away from the wall. It won’t budge.
“If you want to call it that. I tend to think of it as a curse, since it puts a price on my head,” he replies. “But in this instance, I don’t mind it so much.”
“Was your mother a priestess too?”
“She is a priestess.”
“She’s alive?”
“Last I knew.”
“You have the freak gene, like me. I heard that most males don’t inherit it.”
“They don’t, and when they do, they’re killed.”
“They didn’t kill you,” I point out.
“You have a gift for the obvious.”
“Are you taking me to them?” I will kill you if you try.
“To whom?” he asks.
“The Alameeda.”
“Why would I? They’re my enemy.”
“Why do you want me then?” I ask in exasperation.
“You can see the future. That makes you valuable to us.” He places his hand on my throat again, but this time he doesn’t squeeze it; he merely strokes it softly. “If you want to save yourself, start being useful. Otherwise,
Giffen frowns. “No more so than you.”
He lifts his hands again to the doors in front of us. They slide open, but the compartment keeps dropping. Floor after floor streaks by in a blur. I look at him and say, “I’m not going with you.” The overup slows, and then it comes to a stop in front of ten or so Brigadets who appear to be waiting for the lift. They look stunned when they see us. “Not our floor,” Giffen growls.
The doors snap shut forcefully before they can react. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” I accuse him. “You don’t even know where we are!”
“Quiet!” he orders, pointing at me belligerently.
I ignore his suggestion. “You’re going to get us killed! They see me with you and they’ll think, hmm—I don’t know—conspiracy! If I didn’t appear guilty enough before, you’ve pushed me over the edge.”
“I’ll push you over the edge,” he says as the overup slows down again. He opens the doors and literally pushes me out of it as he jumps. I land hard on my side, bruising my hip. I roll a little, trying to catch my breath that was forced from my lungs. We’re beneath the ship’s main platform, within the half-sphere base. Giffen raises his hands to the lift; closing the door, it activates again, and the overup car leaves.
I sit up, glaring at Giffen as he gets to his feet and looks around. The corridor is illuminated with sky-blue track lights in the floor and ceiling. It’s utilitarian—unadorned—and by all appearances, utilized only by the drone-bots that carry supplies from storage bays to restock the area up top. I watch the robotic carts move past us with shiny, chrome-plated shells. “Come on,” Giffen says, holding out his hand for me to take. “Let’s go.”
Another resupply-bot passes us carrying stacks of enticing beverages in colorful bottles. It’s a barback-bot , I think. I remember working at Lumin, the nightclub in Chicago. It’s where I first met Kyon. He’s going to destroy this place and everyone in it.
“We have to warn them,” I say as I look at Giffen’s outstretched palm in front of me. My eyes travel up him. He’s really tall, like most Etharians. He has the form of someone who scales mountains: all muscle without a trace of body fat. “We have to make them listen.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head, “we don’t.” Reaching down, he hauls me up with a fistful of my black jacket, popping off a few of the buttons. “We’re getting off this ship if I have to throw you over the side.”
As I look him in the eyes, I kick him as hard as I can in the kneecap. His eyes shutter in pain. I wiggle out of his fist, running full out down the corridor.
I don’t make it halfway before I’m lifted off my feet, and I crash sideways into the wall. With my back to it and my toes nowhere near the floor, I hang on it like a trophy animal. Giffen hobbles over to face me with a seething look.
“Your gift is more useful than mine,” I grunt, trying to pull my arm away from the wall. It won’t budge.
“If you want to call it that. I tend to think of it as a curse, since it puts a price on my head,” he replies. “But in this instance, I don’t mind it so much.”
“Was your mother a priestess too?”
“She is a priestess.”
“She’s alive?”
“Last I knew.”
“You have the freak gene, like me. I heard that most males don’t inherit it.”
“They don’t, and when they do, they’re killed.”
“They didn’t kill you,” I point out.
“You have a gift for the obvious.”
“Are you taking me to them?” I will kill you if you try.
“To whom?” he asks.
“The Alameeda.”
“Why would I? They’re my enemy.”
“Why do you want me then?” I ask in exasperation.
“You can see the future. That makes you valuable to us.” He places his hand on my throat again, but this time he doesn’t squeeze it; he merely strokes it softly. “If you want to save yourself, start being useful. Otherwise,
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