Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (15 page)

Arranging this meeting with the Underground leader had been nearly impossible. For the past thirteen hours, he’d allowed no visits from the
Hoyer’s
officers, not even a visual communication.

Gamant refugee ships had been unloading, Baruch orchestrating each movement personally, like a man terrified to even take a deep breath lest he miss something. And all the while, his soldiers tramped tirelessly through the tatters of her world, securing different levels, searching everyone, confiscating belongings, tearing the ship apart looking for hidden people or caches of weapons. The only levels left to her now were one through five. And they were a blazing mass of gunfire.

Nothing of her old ordered life remained. All sanctuaries had been looted. Her crew—what remained of it—had gone nearly mad with grief and terror. They’d started questioning Cole’s abilities, threatening to lynch him for the loss of their families and friends. And there was nothing she could do. Bodies still twisted lifelessly in the star-strewn silence, silhouetted blackly against the flaming surface of a devastated planet hundreds of miles below.

Tahn continued to reel in the grips of his concussion, half here, half somewhere else. The last time she’d gone to see him, he’d just moaned, reliving some terrible nightmare from his past. If she didn’t get him a doctor soon, she’d no idea what would happen to him.

The tube stopped. She kept her palm pressed securely against the “close” patch, preventing the door from opening. “Come on,” she commanded her trembling knees.
“Come on!
You don’t have any choice. Your crew is killing itself from the inside.”

For a moment longer, she delayed, gathering her strength. Finally, she brushed auburn hair from her brow and hit the “open” button.

The door snicked back. Her stomach cramped at the sight of the hallway. Crimson splashes stained the walls, marking the places where bodies had slammed before being sucked out the hatches. A fine brownish mist sprayed the ceiling—body fluids released during repressurization. Four hard-eyed Gamant guards aimed rifles at her chest.

“I’m Lieutenant Halloway. I’m meeting Commander Baruch in conference room 8015.”

The short stocky blond nodded. Dressed in the purple and gray of
Hoyer
security, he seemed a vile abomination. “I’m Christopher Janowitz, ma’am. There’s been a change of plans.”

She rubbed sweaty palms on her pants, then took a deep steadying breath. “Don’t tell me he’s canceling this meeting. I’ve got to see him, damn it!”

“He understands that. He just wants to meet you in his quarters on level twenty within the next ten minutes.”

Anger flared. Was that the only place he felt safe? “He’s afraid to meet me in a conference room?”

“His cabin or nowhere, ma’am. Make up your mind.”

“My crew can’t wait, mister. Let’s go.”

She stepped out into the blood-splashed hallway. The odors of human wastes tainted the air. A Gamant cleanup crew labored a short distance away, using mechanical shovels to pick up and deposit the dead bodies of Magisterial crew into the wall compactors. Carey tried not to watch, not to study each face in anticipation of recognition, but one woman, a sergeant, held her gaze riveted. She’d been caught in a door. Her arms extended pleadingly across the floor as she stared from hauntingly bare eye sockets.
Lorene Saunlon?
Carey swallowed hard, looking away.

Janowitz motioned with his rifle. “Please put your hands against the wall, ma’am. I need to search you.”

She braced her fists against the petrolon and spread her legs. He expertly patted her down and ran a supplementary check with his hand-corder, looking for hidden substances.

Satisfied, Janowitz stood and pointed. “This way, please.”

“I’m well aware of the route to level twenty, soldier.” She started forward, but the hard hand on her forearm stopped her.

“I don’t doubt it. But please follow me anyway. Jeremiel would be a mite upset if I let you lead.”

“Really? Does he think I can take the ship back by myself?”

“I think he’s more concerned about your safety, ma’am.” Janowitz said the words with such reverence, she gritted her teeth. Did these fanatics consider Baruch a damned god?
Yes, undoubtedly. And why not? My own crew’s starting to believe it.

Janowitz stepped out in front of her while the other man, thin and bald, fell in behind. Her spine prickled ominously, knowing a rifle centered on her back. They marched down the hall to the far transport tube and caught it, descending rapidly. She kept her eyes focused on the lighting panels on the ceiling, contemplating what she’d say to him, how she’d stand up under a grilling if he decided to torture her. Gamants were well-known for refusing to use mind probes. Instead, they utilized primitive, brutal methods of information gathering.

When the tube stopped, Janowitz got out first, checked the corridor and motioned for her to exit. She walked into a hall crowded with Horebian refugees. Groans and sobs filled the air. Many people wore bandages, black bloody tatters of cloth wrapping heads and legs. One old man, with a face like a weather-beaten mountain, gazed at her through hate-filled eyes, watching her every movement. She took a step forward, maneuvering around the line of people lying prostrate against the wall. The other guard followed her, prodding her in the back with his rifle barrel. Pain lanced her kidney. She winced, stumbling forward.

“It’s cabin 2017, Lieutenant. March.”

She marched, evading the hostile glares that came from the wounded. An old woman with a leg missing spat at her, crying, “Magistrate filth! You killed my family. You killed my whole family!”

Carey’s heart thundered. At the end of the corridor she saw a tiny girl of maybe two struggle up from a tangle of sleeping children. She had red curls and a gaunt face; she started crying pathetically. Just as Carey neared her, the girl weakly toppled across the floor and tried to crawl away, but she was too weak to move more than a few inches. Carey stared down into those bright wet eyes and her soul withered. The little girl feebly lifted her arms to Carey, begging to be held, sobbing suffocatingly.

Carey vacillated—Baruch might cancel the meeting if she were too late. But… dear God…. She knelt and picked up the little girl, hugging her. “It’s all right,” she whispered softly into the child’s ear. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

The girl gripped handfuls of Halloway’s auburn hair and tugged, pulling Carey closer so she could wrap tiny arms around her throat in a death grip. For several seconds, Carey just rocked the little girl and whispered confidently to her.
How many more like this are aboard? Hundreds? The
thought struck her like a blow in the face. She stroked the girl’s back to soothe her tears. “Shh, don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

Memories of Jumes rose. After they’d scorched the planet, they’d gone down to inspect what remained and she remembered too clearly the multitudes of orphaned children wandering the far reaches of the planet, crying, searching for family they’d never find again. Cole’s eyes had possessed a haunted gleam for days after that reconnaissance. She’d wandered the ship at his side, silent, aching.

Janowitz came over and nudged her shoulder. “Come on, Lieutenant. We’ll take care of the baby.”

Carey hugged the child tightly one last time, then got to her feet and handed the girl to Janowitz. The girl shrieked wildly, fingers reaching for Carey—her whole body went numb. Janowitz delivered the child into different arms and pointed down the hall. “Go on, Halloway. Commander Baruch’s waiting.”

Carey hurried around the corner, lungs heaving. This hall had no refugees, but the stench of their soiled clothing and tainted wounds still clung to the air.

Janowitz hit Baruch’s com. “Jeremiel, Lieutenant Halloway’s here to see you.”

A lengthy pause ensued. Finally, the door slipped open and Carey gazed up into the face of the one man she’d feared for most of her adult life. Tall, he had broad shoulders and strong handsome features. Blond hair clung to his forehead and cheeks in wisps. His reddish-blond beard was neatly trimmed close to his face and his blue eyes flashed piercingly, though it was obvious he could barely stand from weariness.

“Lieutenant, please come in.” Baruch stepped aside and made a tired sweeping gesture with his arm.

“Thank you,” she said as she walked into his cabin. The door slipped closed behind her and her stomach muscles tensed. The lights gleamed softly, casting a dim silver glow over the bare walls. Identical to hers, the cabin stretched ten by fifteen feet and smelled astringent from cleaning fluids. A table and two chairs nestled against the wall on her right, next to the door to the latrine. His bed sat in the back. One small bag dotted the floor beside it. It seemed to be the only item of personal gear he possessed.

Walking past her, Baruch went to stand in the middle of the room, hands propped on his hips. “Please sit down. May I get you a cup of taza or—”

“A stiff scotch would be much better.”

“All right.” He went to the cabinet over his desk, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. Bringing them back to the table, he wearily commented, “My people found this in Engineering. I’ve no idea about the—”

“Found
it?” Hatred and rage formed a fine hot brew in her breast. “You mean
stole
it.”

“Since we currently own this ship, I mean
found
it.”

“Arrogant bastard. You don’t own all of it. Not yet.”

He nodded nonchalantly and filled two glasses, handing her one. She accepted it with a jerk. Cool liquid washed her hand. Their gazes held: hers icy with desperation, his hard and unyielding.

She took a solid drink of the liquor, relishing the fiery path it burned down her throat. A few more of these and she’d be able to face the world, no matter how bleak it looked.

She glanced at the heavy pistol on his belt and her anger increased. “Did you wear your gun to threaten me? I assure you, Commander, I’m in no position to be dangerous.”

“I don’t meet any Magisterial officer unarmed. Especially not one who’s won the Orillian silver star and the Columban cross. You’re dangerous—regardless of your ‘position.’ I advise you not to make any sudden moves.”

“Been researching personnel files all night?”

“Mostly.”

She sipped her scotch, watching him intently over the rim of her glass. Her stomach cramped threateningly. She tipped her glass and drained it dry. Baruch studied the action detachedly. He seemed to be bracing himself up by locking his knees. Dead tired. Through the V-shaped opening in his neckline, she could see a thick mat of blond hair streaked with deep cuts. Hurt and tired. Could she find a way to use that? Wring information from him he wouldn’t ordinarily reveal?
Maybe.

She went to the table and dropped into a chair. A brief expression of relief crossed his face. He took the opposite seat and stretched long legs out across the gray carpet, crossing them at the ankles.

“Baruch,” she began, “I’d be grateful if we could just talk like human beings for a few minutes before we get down to my reasons for requesting this meeting. Humanity is something the past few hours have been sorely lacking.”

He nodded agreeably. “I understand that need, Lieutenant. Well, then, how’s Tahn?”

“Still delirious. He keeps reliving the Pegasus Invasion of Old Earth.”

Baruch frowned at his drink, swirling the amber liquid. “He was captured there, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Captured and jammed into a six-foot-square cage where they tortured him for five months. When Magisterial forces defeated the invaders,, he crawled out of his cage, a little mad, they said. He spent several months in a rehabilitation center.”

“He’s an interesting sort, isn’t he? Did he authorize the wide-beam emergency message requesting all ships within range to pick up Horebian survivors?”

“He did.”

“Thoughtful of him, considering the message could have brought my own fleet down on the
Hoyer.”

“He knew that.”

“Then why did he take the chance?”

“To save a few
goddamned
Gamant lives.”

Baruch ran a hand through his damp sunny hair. “That’s rather difficult to believe, considering the hundreds of thousands he’s taken in the past fifteen years. But I’m sure he had his reasons. I’ve promised myself that after I’ve had a thick steak and ten hours of sleep, I’m going to think about it. Or maybe I’ll just ask him. I look forward to meeting him.”

She lifted a brow. “He looked forward to exchanging a few fists with you.”

“I can’t think of anything that would make me happier. Except maybe the chance to kill every Magistrate alive.”

She clamped her jaw, watching the way the dim light shadowed his gold-fur red forearm above his wrist. His hand shook slightly from exhaustion. “You’re not very subtle.”

“But I’m a good host. Your glass is empty. Can I refill it?”

“Damn better.”

He poured it full again.
Keep him talking, think of something.
If he’d let her push him, maybe she could surreptitiously get him to answer critical questions.

“You’re also a lunatic, Baruch. That was a crazy stunt you pulled in the Jayhawk system.”

He looked at her curiously, noting with interest the change of subject matter. “You had my people in detention. What did you expect me to do?”