Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (12 page)

Sybil nodded, twining fingers tightly in the fabric over Ari’s chest. “Yes.”

“Did he look dead?”

“Only a little. He was kind of pale.”

“He was always pale,” Ari responded incredulously, squinting down at her.

“Then he didn’t look dead at all, okay?”

“Did he say anything?”

“I don’t remember. I think he just looked at me.”

He stroked her hair warmly. “I get the picture. What if I hold you while you sleep? You won’t be scared then, will you?”

“I might.” She pleated the robe over his shoulder between nervous fingers.

“I’ll keep watch. And I know how to handle girl-getting ghosts.” He pulled his pistol and held it up impressively.

Sybil nuzzled her forehead against his bony shoulder. “Okay, Ari. I’ll try.” But she lifted her head again. “Ari? Have you heard anything about my mom? Is she okay?”

“I talked to Jeremiel an hour ago. He said your mom would be coming aboard any time now.”

Sybil looked up through wide, wounded eyes. Her mouth puckered, tears glistening on her lashes. She patted Ari’s withered throat. “You’re sure? You’re not lying to me?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that. Other things, maybe, but not your mother. She’s fine. Now try to get some rest, sweetheart. Once Rachel arrives, you’ll probably be up for a long time.”

“You’ll wake me as soon as she gets here?”

“Sure, I will.”

She closed her eyes and sank deeper against his chest. He gently pressed his lips to her cheek, and rocked her slowly. It seemed only minutes until slumber loosened her grip and her arms slid back to rest at her sides. When Ari looked up, a gentle expression lit his ancient face.

Yosef whispered, “You two get along too well to have been strangers only hours ago. Are you sure you haven’t been holding out on me?”

“I’ve always had a way with women. You’re just jealous.”

“For once in your scurrilous life, you’re right.” Taking the chair closest to Ari, he braced an elbow on the table and leaned his temple against his fist. Weariness made his arm tremble. Ari noticed and frowned.

“Why don’t you try to sleep, too, Yosef. We don’t have anything else to do. Do we? Have you gotten any news from Jeremiel since I last talked to him?”

“A little. He said they’d managed to secure most of the ship. He’s trying to empty shuttles as quickly as he can so they can go pick up more people from Horeb.”

“I can understand that. Have you looked at the planet lately?”

Yosef heaved a bitter sigh and nodded. Anxiety burned in his chest. Roiling oceans of smoke billowed into the atmosphere from the fires that raced over Horeb. Across the night half of the planet, flames spread in irregular patchwork patterns, like splatters of brilliant orange paint cast against an indigo canvas.

“Yes,” Yosef said softly. “If we don’t get the shuttles emptied more quickly, we’ll lose a lot more people down there.”

Sybil groaned softly and Ari pulled her closer, rocking her again as he murmured soft words in her ear.

Yosef lowered his gaze to the checkerboard and shook his head, whispering, “God almighty, what’s happening, Ari? We’re in the midst of the worst mess we’ve ever been in in our lives.”

“There’s not much we can do about it. Quit worrying. At our age it’s suicidal.”

“Suicide might be healthier than waiting for the Magistrates to catch us.” He massaged his brow. Was it really only last night that they were stuck in the middle of a civil war? Memories of lavender lightning arcing across midnight clouds burst to life on his mental screen. Ragged screams of dying soldiers and fleeing people tormented his ears. “I’m so tired.”

“Of course you’re tired. A few months ago you were sitting around your yard sipping beer and enjoying the sun on your face. Now you’re in a death duel.”

“How soon do you think they’ll find out Jeremiel captured the
Hoyer?”

“Too soon.”

Yosef felt like he’d been poleaxed. “I hope to God Jeremiel can contact his fleet before the Magistrates get here to crisp us.”

“Go take a nap, Yosef. Worrying yourself sick won’t change what’s going to happen. It’s in Jeremiel’s hands. He’ll figure something out.”

Ari’s eyes shone bright with concern. Yosef got to his feet and unsteadily went to place a warm hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “All right. Wake me in an hour if I’m not already up, hmm?”

“Sure. You sleep. I’ll keep an eye on this guard to make sure he doesn’t let us get overrun by any purple-coated balloon brains.”

The young man gave Ari a disgruntled look but said nothing. Yosef forced his tired body toward the long padded bench lining the far wall. He curled up on his side and rested his head on his arm. Sick to death of the idleness of waiting, he felt anxious beyond exhaustion. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Ari propping a knee against the table to help support Sybil’s weight, and then staring contemplatively at the white ceiling.

CHAPTER 9

Jeremiel walked through landing bay nineteen-four with slow deliberation. In eight hours, he’d barely managed to set up a fundamental crew structure. He’d assigned people with basic technical skills to critical consoles in Engineering, Security, Navigation, and Communication. Cleanup crews worked tirelessly as well, going into corridors and cabins after the security teams had thoroughly searched each area. Harper followed on Baruch’s heels to keep track of any and all people with medical skills.

Both Jeremiel’s black jumpsuit and Harper’s purple uniform hung in tatters, revealing bruised and battered arms and legs. The huge room throbbed with a sourceless pounding of sobs and angry shouts. Refugees moved about like mindless ghosts, wearing fragments of clothing, yelling to each other to make themselves heard over the raucous jostling of the crowd. Abandoned children sat crying and reaching pleadingly for anyone who passed, calling the names of family members who would never answer again. Hard crackers and empty bottles lay strewn around the youngest infants like the first shovel of gravel into a grave. Scents of urine and blood rose suffocatingly.

“My God,” Harper murmured darkly. “Almost two thousand have already come aboard. How are we going to feed them all?”

“How many more do we suspect are coming?”

“Maybe three thousand. Tahn struck Seir first and fanned out into the desert, killing most of the surrounding nomadic villages before you stopped the attack. A few isolated villages and army units fighting in distant regions are alive—so far.”

A sinking feeling invaded Jeremiel’s stomach. He felt as though he balanced on a knife edge, waiting for someone to tell him which way to fall—which side led to heaven and which to hell. “Fire storms move fast. Keep emptying the shuttles as quickly as you can, then return them for more survivors.”

“I will.”

“Any word from Rudy Kopal yet?” Kopal ranked second in the command of the Underground forces. He needed Rudy. A tight loneliness tormented him. His friend’s last disgruntled warning about Horeb rang in his ears: “Jeremiel, for God’s sake, this is suicide and you know it.”
Might still be, old friend, if I can’t keep the takeover of the
Hoyer
secret from the Magistrates long enough to collect all Horebian survivors and space for God only knows where.

“No,” Harper responded. “I’ve been trying to contact your fleet for the past several hours, but they must not be around Pitbon like you thought. Do you want me to switch to wide beam?”

“Negative. We can’t take the chance that the Magistrates might pick up the tran. Keep focusing on Gamant planets in Sector Seven. If that doesn’t work, switch to Sector Four. Maybe they’re tangled in some battle in the Lysomian system. Any word from the Underground bases on Tikkun?”

“Negative.”

He ran a hand through his damp blond hair. What the hell was going on? Why wasn’t Tikkun answering? Had everybody on his side vanished into the pit? Or was it just that Harper and the green Gamant crew he’d assigned to communications didn’t grasp the complexities of the system yet? A few of the soldiers from Horeb had a fundamental understanding of the cruiser’s systems and could handle basic functions—like security, mess halls, crude navigation and communications—but none of them had a true grasp of the intricacies of Magisterial technology. He’d have to tend to the communications problem himself, as soon as he could.
When will that be? When the
hell
will that be?

Those with the worst injuries had been placed around the walls of the bay. Moans penetrated the melee. Harper followed a winding path which led by them and Jeremiel looked on the wounds with a horrified feeling of despair. Many had limbs missing, others had heads or chests bandaged with filthy, blood-soaked rags. Most of these people were dying, dying swiftly, their strength too drained by the civil war and flight from the scorch attack to battle infection and loss of blood.

They broke from the press and Jeremiel caught sight of a scarecrow child. Blood clotted in greasy mounds over the boy’s chest. Five or six at most, the gaunt victim stared up at him with eyes that held a resolute courage. The boy watched him intently, recognition on his sunken face.

Jeremiel forced a confident smile. Stepping around two sleeping people, he went to the boy’s side, and knelt down. The frail child beamed. Jeremiel gently stroked his bruised cheek and felt the searing heat rolling off the boy’s flesh. High fever. “Hello. What’s your name?”

“Andy,” the child said weakly and fell into a coughing fit. Jeremiel watched and something in his soul cried out. Blood spilled from the boy’s mouth to form a glistening crimson pool on the floor. Wounded lung. They had only two doctors on board and both were engaged in surgery in a temporary hospital outside of Engineering.

“You hang on, Andy. A doctor will be here in no time. He’ll make you feel better.”

“You’re … Jeremiel Baruch … aren’t you?”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t talk. It’s not good—”

“I know stories about you. My … my mom … tells me them at night.” The boy smiled. His breathing grew more labored. The rattling sound seemed to vibrate in Jeremiel’s own lungs. He gripped the boy’s sticklike arm and squeezed tightly.

“You need to stay still and quiet, Andy. All right? Let me—

‘"Member? ‘Member … that fight where you had fifteen bad ships … shooting at you … and you only had two … but you blew up ten of theirs before you … got away. Where did that happen? Salonica? I—I’m too tired to remember.”

Andy beamed his admiration and love. Those soft misty eyes made Jeremiel’s heart pound. He smiled back, patting the boy’s hand tenderly.

“You remember just fine. It was Salonica.”

“You know what? Sometimes? I used to play with my cousin Tarin … in my backyard and … and I’d pretend I was you.” Andy feebly reached out to touch Jeremiel’s torn black sleeve. He caressed it reverently between dirty, blood-caked fingers.

“Well, I hope you also pretended that the Underground stole a lot more ships and weapons from the Magistrates. We need them.”

“I did. Then I beat up Tarin with them.”

Jeremiel smiled. “I hope Tarin got to play Cole Tahn occasionally so he could beat you up, too.”

Andy blinked wearily, not seeming to hear.

Jeremiel brushed the boy’s hair from his burning forehead. “The doctor won’t be long, Andy. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Andy whispered. “I’m brave … just like you.” To prove it, he clamped his jaw hard and lifted his chin defiantly, daring death to take him.

“I can see that,” Jeremiel praised softly. “Some day, when you grow up, I’m going to make you a captain in my fleet.”

Andy’s eyes glowed like brilliant suns as he smiled.

From the corner of his vision, Jeremiel caught sight of a young woman with long brown hair rushing across the room, a precious cup of water in her hands. He watched her hurriedly step over people to get to Andy, her shredded blue robe fluttering behind her. She sat on the floor beside Jeremiel, giving him a curious look as she lifted Andy’s head and tipped the cup to his lips. Water spilled down the sides of his emaciated face. “You have to drink something, son. It’s been hours since you’ve had water.”

And he’s lost so much blood.
“You’re his mother?”

“Yes. Mara Kunio. Who are you?”

“Jeremiel Baruch.”

She blinked in surprise. “Oh, of course. Forgive me. We’ve all been told what you look like, but few of us know for certain.” She gazed at him through worshipful eyes and he felt half-ill. Did she have any idea how slim their chances of survival were if he couldn’t contact his fleet soon? Behind him, he heard Harper’s belt com beep, then a low interchange of words.

Mara said, “I’m one of Horeb’s Old Believers, Commander. For all of us, I thank you. Because of you, we can start a new life on a different world without worrying that Ornias’ marines will come into our homes in the middle of the night and kill everyone in their sleep.” She turned back to her son and caressed his fevered cheek. “Try to drink a little more, Andy. It will make you feel better.”

The boy sipped, smiling up at Jeremiel, dreaming. Then suddenly, Andy shivered. The tremors came feebly at first, increasing until his body convulsed in terrible waves.

“Oh, God, what’s happening?”
Mara screamed.

Jeremiel grabbed for a wooden toy soldier on the floor, trying frantically to slip it into Andy’s mouth, between his teeth. But the boy’s body went limp. His sweat-drenched head lolled back, eyes wide.

“Andy?” Mara shook her son gently. “Andy!” She shook him harder, sobs rising to choke her.
“Andy!”
Oh, my God. No!”

Jeremiel carefully examined the boy’s slack face and wide dead eyes and lamely murmured, “I’m sorry.” He heard Harper suck in a difficult breath.

“Oh, not my son,” Mara sobbed. “Not my only baby!”

Jeremiel got blindly to his feet and strode for the far exit, hurrying, hurrying, because he couldn’t bear it any longer. Behind him, he heard Avel whisper pleadingly, “Where is God, Jeremiel? How can he allow such terrible suffering? Where is God?
Where is He?”

Jeremiel wanted to stop, to shout, to slam his fists into the closest wall. Instead, he took a breath of the death-tainted air and answered, “You just saw Him, Avel—in the eyes of that little boy.
Dead.”

Harper’s heavy steps pounded a dull cadence against the dirty white tiles. After a minute of winding through the crowd, he came up beside Jeremiel. “That was Janowitz on my belt com. This is going to get worse. They found a new pocket of survivors in the Kemah Desert. They’d been caught in the midst of the fire storms. Most of them are hanging on by a thread, suffering third-degree burns.”

A weary fury seared Jeremiel’s veins. The time would come—
too soon
—when he’d have to order his search parties to abandon the severely wounded because they’d die just as quickly here as on the flaming surface of Horeb. “Notify Doctor Severns. Keep the shuttles moving.”

As they neared the exit, a different group of people stood knotted by the door. They’d deliberately separated themselves from the other refugees. Dressed in fine, bright silks of lilac and saffron, many of the women still wore jeweled hair nets. They glimmered obscenely in the landing bay’s white light. They must have been remnants of the Mashiah’s elite worshipers. The ones who’d funded Ornias’ death squads against the Old Believers? They’d probably bought their way into the first shuttles to escape the devastation. Jeremiel noticed that one woman even wore a pair of white lace gloves—
clean.

The flagrant foulness of the spectacle made him sick to his stomach. He forcefully shouldered through the crowd.

“You!”
a tall man wearing a long green satin cape called. He waved a hand as though addressing one of his servants. “You’re Baruch, aren’t you? When are we getting out of here? We’ve been here for four hours!”

“We have to secure the ship first. We’ll let you inside as soon as we—”

“We’re dying out here!” the plump woman with the gloves responded. Her red hair blazed beneath her ruby-strewn net. “Let us in now! Surely part of the ship must have been …”

Jeremiel gave her a look so hard the words died in her mouth. She glanced fearfully to her companions for support. He stood a moment, unable to take his eyes from her golden gown and priceless Orillian diamond necklace; it sparkled like a strand of dew in the lavender rays of dawn.
I could buy a hundred new rifles with it.

“Avel,” he said, “belay that order about cabin assignments. I want all the Old Believers separated from the New. Put all of Tartarus’ followers on their own floor. After cabins have been assigned, I want each sealed so they can’t get out under any circumstances. Arrange mess crews to deliver food.”

“Trying to avert problems before they happen?”

“I’m taking no chances these people have brought the civil war on board with them. We’ve got enough to worry about without fighting our own people.”

Like the
Hoyer’s
crew is doing.
The battles on the upper levels had grown worse. He’d been keeping tabs, watching the intensification with growing alarm. The only positive effect was that with the Magisterial people at each other’s throats, they’d ignored him and his refugees.

“Harper, when am I scheduled to meet Rachel’s shuttle? I’ve lost track of time. When is she coming aboard?”

“I thought she’d already be here, but several ships with wounded pushed in ahead of hers. We have dozens more lined up awaiting entry. Shall I order them to stand to and usher her in first?”

He exhaled hard. “No. Get the rush of injured aboard. Just let me know when I should go meet her.”

He forced his legs to take him around the brooding group and out into the stark white halls of the
Hoyer.

“Go, Joe! Move!” Carey Halloway ordered, firing wildly as she raced down the second level corridor. Sergeant Joe Mie pounded after her.

A shot flashed off the wall and Carey dove, rolling to come up at the intersection of corridors. She scrambled around the corner, lungs burning, legs aching.

More gunfire split the corridor and Carey heard a jagged cry. She held her breath, fingering the sweaty trigger of her pistol. The lights of the corridor seemed unusually bright and harsh. She squinted against their brilliance.