Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Stephen Allan
nature’s perfect beauty that she paused for more than a few seconds to take the last moments of the daytime in.
But it wasn’t home to Crystil.
She walked inside Omega One , stepping past debris she had never bothered to clean up, her room which she slept in frequently, and the panels which no longer worked. She went into the cockpit of the ship, sat down at the captain’s chair, and propped her feet up on the control panel.
This was closer to home.
Feeling better, she let out a content breath and smacked her hands together, removing any chunks of ursus meat from her hands. She leaned back in her chair, as if waiting for a new mission to come. Just doesn’t feel right. We found water, food, and shelter. We got rid of all the threats. The Orthrans are still alive.
So what now?
Cyrus?
She looked up at the wall where the mission objectives, once displayed on a computer, had been written on a piece of paper. With so much done by the time the paper was hung, there was only one goal left.
“Continue humanity.”
Noble. But…
Wish I’d included, “Find a way to feel comfortable around the Kastori” and, “Become self-sustaining so we don’t have to rely on the Kastori to survive.”
When she thought of the additional goals, they bugged at her so much, she found a pen and wrote those down. As much as she wanted to be like Cyrus and Celeste, laughing jovially with the Kastori, flirting or joking with Pagus, and able to eat with them, it never felt right. She couldn’t bring herself to fully trust the race responsible for destroying her real home. What if this outpost decides they don’t like us anymore? What if one of the younger ones is a future Typhos? What if Typhos comes back and the Kastori surrender? Who are we going to rely on then?
Has to be ourselves.
OK, enough, Crystil.
Tired and not feeling motivated to find the Orthran siblings, she headed to her room, her quiet respite where she could read, reflect, and rest. When she slid through the crack the defunct door left open, her eyes went to the same place they always did upon entry—the photo of Dyson, the one she woke up to and the last thing she thought she would see when she fought Calypsius.
The photo showed the two of them on their wedding day, all smiles and joy. At first, the photo had comforted her.
But now, it confused her. She went over to the photo and held it, thoughts sprinting through her head.
Am I allowed to move on? Is Cyrus acceptable? Will he ever be as good as you are? Is there a slim chance you’re still alive? Can I still love you and be with someone else? How can I be as happy now as I was with you?
The commander in her told her to knock off the irrelevant questions. The day would come when she would have to continue humanity, and simple observation told her Cyrus was the only option. It’s not as bad as an option as it once was. Guy’s got some guts and some perseverance. If not the cockiest attitude I’ve ever run across.
Crystil had learned, though, the commander wasn’t her. It was her job, a small part of her, but not her in her entirety. She was first and foremost a strong woman who had needs and desires that she could not ignore, lest she turn into the cold, bitter, isolated person she was on Omega One on their journey to Anatolus. That part of her told her to not move on, that Dyson was the best she’d ever had, and she’d never have anyone like that.
Balancing the two sides became progressively more difficult over time, and it didn’t help that Cyrus had begun making his own moves on her.
I should just go for Pagus to push him away and make all of this a moot point.
She chuckled softly at her own thought, a rare moment of levity when she wasn’t with Celeste or Cyrus. In time, Crystil, in time. Don’t decide today something that’ll affect you the rest of your life.
Be rational. Wait until the emotions are in line.
She reached down, grabbed the photo, and kissed it. She went to bed, throwing the
But it wasn’t home to Crystil.
She walked inside Omega One , stepping past debris she had never bothered to clean up, her room which she slept in frequently, and the panels which no longer worked. She went into the cockpit of the ship, sat down at the captain’s chair, and propped her feet up on the control panel.
This was closer to home.
Feeling better, she let out a content breath and smacked her hands together, removing any chunks of ursus meat from her hands. She leaned back in her chair, as if waiting for a new mission to come. Just doesn’t feel right. We found water, food, and shelter. We got rid of all the threats. The Orthrans are still alive.
So what now?
Cyrus?
She looked up at the wall where the mission objectives, once displayed on a computer, had been written on a piece of paper. With so much done by the time the paper was hung, there was only one goal left.
“Continue humanity.”
Noble. But…
Wish I’d included, “Find a way to feel comfortable around the Kastori” and, “Become self-sustaining so we don’t have to rely on the Kastori to survive.”
When she thought of the additional goals, they bugged at her so much, she found a pen and wrote those down. As much as she wanted to be like Cyrus and Celeste, laughing jovially with the Kastori, flirting or joking with Pagus, and able to eat with them, it never felt right. She couldn’t bring herself to fully trust the race responsible for destroying her real home. What if this outpost decides they don’t like us anymore? What if one of the younger ones is a future Typhos? What if Typhos comes back and the Kastori surrender? Who are we going to rely on then?
Has to be ourselves.
OK, enough, Crystil.
Tired and not feeling motivated to find the Orthran siblings, she headed to her room, her quiet respite where she could read, reflect, and rest. When she slid through the crack the defunct door left open, her eyes went to the same place they always did upon entry—the photo of Dyson, the one she woke up to and the last thing she thought she would see when she fought Calypsius.
The photo showed the two of them on their wedding day, all smiles and joy. At first, the photo had comforted her.
But now, it confused her. She went over to the photo and held it, thoughts sprinting through her head.
Am I allowed to move on? Is Cyrus acceptable? Will he ever be as good as you are? Is there a slim chance you’re still alive? Can I still love you and be with someone else? How can I be as happy now as I was with you?
The commander in her told her to knock off the irrelevant questions. The day would come when she would have to continue humanity, and simple observation told her Cyrus was the only option. It’s not as bad as an option as it once was. Guy’s got some guts and some perseverance. If not the cockiest attitude I’ve ever run across.
Crystil had learned, though, the commander wasn’t her. It was her job, a small part of her, but not her in her entirety. She was first and foremost a strong woman who had needs and desires that she could not ignore, lest she turn into the cold, bitter, isolated person she was on Omega One on their journey to Anatolus. That part of her told her to not move on, that Dyson was the best she’d ever had, and she’d never have anyone like that.
Balancing the two sides became progressively more difficult over time, and it didn’t help that Cyrus had begun making his own moves on her.
I should just go for Pagus to push him away and make all of this a moot point.
She chuckled softly at her own thought, a rare moment of levity when she wasn’t with Celeste or Cyrus. In time, Crystil, in time. Don’t decide today something that’ll affect you the rest of your life.
Be rational. Wait until the emotions are in line.
She reached down, grabbed the photo, and kissed it. She went to bed, throwing the
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