Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (23 page)

Mikael nodded and sipped the hot cocoa as fast as he could without burning himself.

CHAPTER 17

Yosef rushed around the cabin, dressing in a brown jumpsuit he’d gotten from the uniform dispenser in Engineering before all the other refugees ran the system completely out. Joy leapt like flames in his soul.

He gazed in the mirror that lined the wall beside the door to the latrine. His faded brown eyes gleamed with moist happiness. He adjusted the glasses on his fleshy old nose, and smoothed the few strands of gray hair that still dotted his bald head. In the jumpsuit, his paunch didn’t seem quite so noticeable. He sucked it in and studied his reflection. In the mirror, he could also see under Ari’s bed. The collection of beer bottles had grown so vast, they’d started to ooze from underneath.

“Ari, hurry up. Aren’t you going with me? The escort will be here any minute.”

“Huh? What?” Ari asked absently. He stood before the com unit on the desk, a hand caressing his withered chin as he sniggered. Images of some ancient black and white movie fluttered across the screen, the slapstick crude at best.

“Quit watching that thing!” Yosef ordered. “Change clothes so we can go see Mikael.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll go with you for a little while. But don’t forget I have to take Sybil to the 3-D library in half an hour,” Ari said, chuckling again as he tried to back away without losing sight of the screen. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, he looked like a scrawny gray-topped carrot. “Good God, this is the funniest movie I’ve ever seen. Did you see that girly bite that fellow’s—”

“You can’t even understand the words. How do you know it’s funny?”

“You don’t have to know words in movies like this. Sheesh, those twentieth century Earthlings had great senses of humor.”

Yosef glanced at the screen and scowled at the writhing bodies. “They were sick.”

“You’ve never had any savvy for wit.”

“It takes a half-wit to enjoy that. Now, will you hurry! We haven’t got all day. Kilom said Jeremiel was in a meeting and that’s the only reason we get to see Mikael first.”

Reluctantly, Ari turned off the screen and sighed, going to the mirror to scrutinize himself. He spit in his palms and briskly rubbed them together, slicking down the wild silver twigs that shot from his head.

In the meantime, Yosef wrung his hands nervously. He’d felt so empty thinking Mikael had been killed on Kayan. Oh, he’d had a good, long life, but there were so many things he’d wanted to do. He’d dreamed fondly about telling Mikael the Old Stories, the stories that kept the People together despite the vast distances between Gamant planets. And the family things that a young boy ought to know. Like the fact that his grandmother had been as ugly as a weabit and played the violin so sweetly it made a man’s heart ache. He’d wanted to tell Mikael about how his grandfather, Zadok, had led the Gamant Revolt and won when the odds were a million to one.

“And another thing,” Ari said, rudely interrupting Yosef’s reverie. “You should talk to Mikael about leading another Gamant Revolt. If we somehow survive this, I mean if the Magistrates don’t knock us out of the sky anytime soon—”

“What’s the matter with you?” Yosef huffed in irritation. “Here I am feeling great and you talk about more war! Instead of thinking about that, you should be taking account of your soul. Aren’t you sorry you might just be hovering over death?”

“Me? Bah! Do you know how many good fights and great women I’ve had in my life? Enough to exhaust the talents of five men.”

Yosef cocked an eyebrow. “Except you never had any talent. You just exhausted people.”

“How many times after
your
dates with Agnes did she call in sick because she was too tired to—”

“You mauled her.”

Ari puffed out his bony chest proudly. “I know.”

“Egotist. You
irritated
her, that’s all. Just like you do everybody else.”

Ari chuckled at first, then as Yosef’s scowl deepened, he threw back his head and guffawed. His mop of gray hair fell away from his face, lying like a mat of frosty grass against his skull.

“Stop that, you old fool,” Yosef reproached. “What are you laughing at?”

“I hope God doesn’t send you to the pit. I’d miss you.”

Yosef waved a hand irritably. “I’d be down there with all my friends—including you.”

The door com buzzed. “Mister Calas? This is Chris Janowitz. I’ve come to escort you to see your nephew.”

“Oh! Ari, are you ready?”

“Sure, I’m ready. Let’s go. I don’t know why we need guards though. Who cares about us?”

Together they walked to the door and opened it. Six guards dressed in purple and gray uniforms filled the hall. Chris Janowitz bowed slightly at the waist.

“Good to see you again, Mister Calas. Please follow me. We’ll try to circumvent the worst halls.”

“Is it getting worse?”

Janowitz nodded, wiping away the sweat that dripped from his long nose before looking up through worried green eyes. “I’m afraid, sir, that level eighteen looks damn near like a battle zone. Most of the people coming up now are in bad shape. They had to stay down there through the worst of the fires and fighting.”

“Why are they in the halls, then? Why aren’t they—”

“The hospital and all the auxiliary rooms are full, Mister Calas. They’re waiting to get in.”

They started down the hall, three guards in front and three behind and Yosef threw Ari an anxious look. His old friend just pursed his withered lips in response.

“Is there still fighting on the planet?”

Janowitz barely turned, casting over his shoulder. “Not much anymore, but it took the people trapped in the desert regions a while before they realized the civil war was over and by then it was too late to escape the effects of the scorch attack. They got pretty well cooked. Fortunately, we’re almost done picking up survivors. And none too soon. The fire storms have ravaged the entire central portion of the planet.”

They walked to the nearest tube and descended. When they stopped, everyone exited and headed down a long corridor that stood empty—except for a series of heavily armed guards dressed in the multicolored fabrics of rough homespun wool. It came as a strangely comforting sight. Yosef breathed a little easier.

Ari glanced at the door numbers, and lifted a brow. “Is all this muscle and hardware for Mikael?”

“Of course,” Yosef whispered. “He’s the new leader of Gamant civilization. And he’s aboard a government ship. He needs all the protection he can get.”

Janowitz called to a tall dark-haired man standing next to the door of cabin 1911. “Slome, tell Kilom we’re here.”

The guard’s hard facade softened. He gazed at Ari and Yosef with kindly camaraderie. “The boy’ll be mighty glad to see another friendly face. Hold on just a moment.”

He struck the door com. “Doctor Kilom? Calas and Funk are here.”

Ari folded his arms over his bony chest and spread his legs. Yosef glanced up nervously at his tall friend. Ari nodded confidently, but Yosef still felt awkward and anxious.

His thoughts kept revolving around all those people who had lost their world, their family, everything. His own grandnephew had endured such a fate—except he still had Yosef.

Finally, the door to cabin 1911 snicked back and Kilom stepped into the hall, his black beard canted at a funny angle, as though he’d slept on it. He smiled, nodding. “Please come in. Mikael’s waiting.”

Even before the guard waved them forward, Yosef started running, his ancient legs pumping unsteadily. From the open door, the sweet treble laughter of a little boy lilted and iron hands clenched tight around Yosef’s heart. What if Ari was right? What if, even now, the Magistrates plotted to silence that bright sound? He felt sick with fear.

He hurried, breathing hard as he stepped into the dimly lit room. On the floor before him sat a tiny black-haired boy with wide brown eyes. A checkerboard adorned the floor between his spread feet.

Yosef took another cautious step and water welled in his ancient eyes. His tongue seemed so thick he couldn’t speak.

Mikael smiled shyly. “Hello, Uncle Yosef.”

Yosef rushed forward, surprising the boy by hugging him desperately and passionately kissing his cheek. “Mikael, I didn’t think you’d remember me. The last time I saw you you were only four.”

“I remember you pretty good. Grandfather used to let me sleep in his lap when he talked to you late at night. ‘Member?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I love you, Uncle Yosef. I missed you. Me and Mama, we wondered where you were.”

Those few words, so simple, brought Yosef more joy than any others in his long life. He tenderly stroked his grandnephew’s dark curls. “I love you, too, Mikael.”

Dannon held his breath, listening to the hurried footsteps coming up his back trail. He stood hidden behind an uneven line of crates stacked eight high on level twelve. A shrapnel explosion of machinery parts was scattered across the narrow white-tiled floor. Jeremiel’s security teams had been gradually, efficiently cutting off Dannon’s territory. All levels below twelve and above eight had been secured and sealed. Soon, he’d have nowhere left to run.

“I saw him, I tell you!” a big rawboned man with a bald head insisted. Dressed in a dirty black robe which hung in tatters around his ankles, he seemed the looming image of Death.

“Shut up, Harmon,” his thin friend with thick spectacles growled. “You’ve let that million note prize that Baruch’s offering go to your head. Look at this picture. Are you sure this is the man you saw?”

Harmon fidgeted, gazing at the holo. “Well, no. The fellow I saw didn’t have a beard and mustache, but he had black hair and was about Dannon’s height.”

Neil sucked in a breath. They must be using the picture of him taken when he’d first come aboard the
Hoyer.
He’d always worn a beard in the Underground. Now, he thanked God he’d shaved it. It had been an impulsive act, designed to change his appearance even to himself so he could forget the face of the man who’d spent his entire adult life fighting at Jeremiel’s side.

“You’re wishing!” the bespectacled man accused. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“I’m telling you—”

“Come on, Harmon, we’re wasting our time. I’m going back to the air duct central outlet where we smoked out those cowardly Magisterial soldiers. I’d lay you five to one odds that’s the sort of place Dannon would be hiding.”

A thudding of boots sounded. Neil waited. Five minutes. Ten. Finally, he peered around the stacked crates. Harmon still stood in the semidarkness, a pistol clutched in his hands. He had his back turned to Neil, examining the far wall.

With the skill of a professional assassin, Dannon edged along behind the crates, getting as close as he could without exposing himself. Harmon grumbled something harsh and started for the door.

Neil leapt from behind the crates, knocking the man to the floor. He slammed a fist into Harmon’s throat before he could scream for help, then calmly, efficiently, broke his neck.

Quietly scanning the room, Dannon made certain no one had seen. Hurriedly, he undressed Harmon and threw off his own purple uniform. Slipping the tattered black robe over his head, Neil grabbed the rifle and slung it over his shoulder, then picked up Harmon’s feet and dragged him over to an air duct. He grunted as he stuffed the tall corpse into the narrow chamber. Racing back, he retrieved his purple uniform and tossed it in on top.

After he fastened the duct seal again, Neil searched the pockets of his new robe, finding a meager amount of cash and a small round badge. He lifted it to the light to read it.

“A security clearance badge?”
He chuckled in relief. “This is going to be easier than I thought.”

He clipped it to a fragment of black cloth on his shoulder and unslung his rifle before heading for the door. He cautiously opened it a slit.

The stench struck him first, overwhelmingly vile—scents he knew from his days of warfare, festered wounds and urine-soaked clothing. The sound of childish whimpers and groans from the injured assailed him.

He stepped out and closed the door behind him. The hall was bursting with people, most hunched against the now-grimy walls, their faces gaunt and eyes hollow. One mother with a blood-streaked face held a dead baby to her breast. She sang a soft sweet lullabye as she rocked it in her arms.

Neil’s shoulders tightened.
The effects of Tahn’s scorch attack? God Almighty… how many died?
His gaze swiftly calculated the numbers of injured. At least a hundred crowded this short corridor. How many more were aboard? A thousand? Five thousand?

I told you, Jeremiel. I told you!

He walked swiftly through the moaning crowd, sidestepping the dead that sprawled like limp bags of bones down the line. Feelings of violation and despair overwhelmed him. Would the Magistrates’ vengeance never end?

CHAPTER 18

Rachel glared ominously into the mirror over her table. Her heart-shaped face had shrunken to cadaverous thinness, high cheekbones protruding so that her black eyes seemed huge eclipsed moons. The hair which cascaded in glistening waves to her waist shimmered darker than midnight silk, forebodingly black against her long jade gown. She’d ordered the garment from her room clothing dispenser and thought it immensely strange that a ship like a battle cruiser would stock such feminine accoutrements. She pushed her wavy hair away from her face and glimpsed the brand in her forehead: AKT. Adom’s initials. The tiny letters had been burned into her forehead just at her hairline by the Desert Fathers of Horeb. They’d suspected she might need a sign of anointing to convince Adom of her kinship with him. But he’d never seen them, not that she knew of anyway. In fact, no one had, except Jeremiel and the elderly gray-headed Father who’d put them there so expertly. They remained hidden unless she deliberately pushed her hair back from her forehead.