Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (48 page)

Finally, after the silence had stretched so long she started to fidget, he said, “Tell me something? How distracted am I supposed to be? Enough to forget myself completely?” He brazenly looked her up and down. “Or did you count on my highly vaunted Gamant sense of propriety? Let me warn you that it’s overrated.”

The pale color of her cheeks grew to a rosy hue. She exhaled haltingly and ran a hand through her auburn hair. “Counting on you in any form seems risky.”

He scrutinized her unmercifully. She stood quietly, staring into her whiskey glass, as though vaguely embarrassed.

“Do you want to tell me what we’re really discussing?”

She shook her head. “Not particularly.”

“Well, why don’t you let me start then.” He took three steps to stand directly in front of her, a hard look on his face. “Let’s discuss how Tahn is plotting to take his ship back.”

“Damn it, Baruch. What makes you think he’s—”

“It’s instinctual. No good commander ever gives up. And Tahn’s a very good commander. If he didn’t try, I’d be far more worried. Though for the life of me I can’t figure out why he hasn’t called to talk to me again.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it, and kept quiet. He took the opportunity to go to the drink dispenser and refill his taza. He hit the light on his way back, dimming it to a soft velvet hue. Jerking a chair out from the table, he ordered,
“Sit down, Lieutenant.”

She stood rigidly a moment, then complied, easing into the chair. He sat on the opposite side and leaned back, his gaze impaling her.

She swallowed nervously. “You think I’m here as a strategic ploy?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Why don’t you throw me out?”

He ground his teeth audibly. “I like you.”

“Is that supposed to ease my tension?”

“Not especially.” Swirling his taza, he asked, “So Tahn’s finally decided to tap Dannon’s knowledge, eh?”

She hesitated, as though wanting to ask him about the level twenty incident. Instead, she played along, “Dannon’s dead. You said it yourself.”

“Neil knows the rules too well to be dead. I’ve been through hundreds of decompression training sessions with him. And if he knew I was coming aboard, he certainly knew what I had planned.”

She let out a breath. “I don’t understand you, Baruch. If you think Dannon and Tahn are plotting against you, why are you just sitting here? Dannon can hurt you.”

A small thread of warm emotion tinged that last. He looked her over in detail, from the flushed cheeks to the anxious movements of her hands around her whiskey glass. Strategic or genuine? He couldn’t tell.

“I know that.”

“You’re going to let him?
Just like you did on Silmar?’

His controlled facade crumbled. He fought to keep the anger, the hurt, buried. But it swept him up like an ocean-bom cyclone, dragging him into a dark abyss of pain. She’d done that deliberately, taking charge of the conversation, turning it the direction she wanted. “Careful,” he murmured. “Be very careful. What are you getting at?”

Her face seemed to change, as though she’d come to a difficult decision. When she lifted her head, her alabaster skin gleamed pearlescent beneath the velvet lights. “In Akiba, you knew he was off plotting behind your back, didn’t you? Surely someone tried to tell you your good buddy—”

“Syene tried to tell me. Didn’t matter. I trusted him.”

“Like now?”

His gaze drifted slowly from his drink to her tightly pursed lips.
Goddamn, does she know what I’m doing?
Had she guessed his strategy? She was a shrewd, intelligent combat veteran. Had he underestimated her? The possibility stuck him like a jagged timber in the stomach. “What are you getting at?”

She rubbed both hands over her beautiful face as though in disbelief at what she was saying. “Forget it. I’ve lost my mind.”

“This is a rather intriguing discussion we’re having, don’t you think? Are you trying to
help
me, Lieutenant?”

She lounged quietly back in her chair, looking suddenly weary, weary beyond exhaustion. After an interminable period of peering at the floor, she lifted her right hand—her pistol hand—and opened the palm, extending thin white fingers to the bluish gleam of light. Bitterly, she examined the lines, as though seeing them for the first time and finding the patterns distastefully woven. A somber set of wrongness fell over her beautiful face. In slow motion, she closed her hand into a tight fist and shook it at some inner foe. He watched the action with a strained unwillingness, for he understood that gesture better than he had any of her spoken words. A thousand times, in a hundred battles, he’d cursed fate with that same soundless ferocity.

Softly, she said, “You know, I hated you for years. You killed so many of my friends.”

A familiar ache swelled in his chest. He stared at the tabletop, letting her finish.

“But as I watched what you did, I came to grudgingly admire you. You were so damned exact, so
perfect
in your calculations—like a machine. Clean, precise, no emotion.”

“That’s how it looked from the outside?”

“Yes.”

“I guess desperation appears eloquent in its execution,” he responded

“I guess. And I suggest you brush up on it. You’re in a hell of a predicament. What are you going to do? If you head for Tikkun—and you must—you’ll have fifteen Magisterial military installations waiting for you. You can’t—”

“Maybe I can.”

“I doubt it.”

“What a pessimist you are.”

“And Bogomil will be there in two weeks. No matter how well you coerce our people into training yours, they’ll never be good enough to match Academy-drilled soldiers.”

He gripped his cup hard. May Epagael damn her to the pit of darkness for reaffirming his deepest fears. “I’m aware of that.”

“Do you have a plan?”

He chuckled at the question, softly at first, then louder. “Shall I tell you about it?”

Her gaze lifted to him with a severity that stopped him short. “I’ll know soon enough anyway. Your good buddy Dannon—if he’s alive—will undoubtedly tell Tahn exactly how he expects you to act. And here you are—”

'Being far too honest with a woman I like too damned much.”

Rashly, he slammed a fist into the table, overturning both her glass and his cup; they smashed into each other with a sharp clink, dumping their contents in an irregular braid over the table and onto the rug. Their gazes held and he noticed how hers softened. He shook his head sternly. “Damn it.”

“Well,” she whispered, lowering her hands to her lap. “This is uncomfortable. I think I’ve distracted you long enough.”

“You made it uncomfortable. I didn’t.”

“Because I asked about your strategy? Don’t condemn me for that. I figured you needed help.”

“Did you? As a matter of fact, I do. Tell me how Tahn plans on retaking his ship?”

His heart pounded at the look on her face. She paused almost as if she wanted to. A ploy? It was a hell of a good one. Every emotional fiber in his body geared up to do anything necessary to help her step across that spun-silk bridge of loyalty to his side.
“Carey,
just tell me—”

“It’s time for me to leave.” Getting up, she practically ran for the door.

He stood and grasped her wrist tightly as she passed, a subdued urgency in his voice. “I
do
need your help.
Help me, Carey.”

She pulled hard against his grip. He refused to let go. They stood eye to eye a minute, then two. He could feel her pulse increasing the longer he held her wrist, until it raced as rapidly as his own and he felt a desperation that verged on futility. In only a few hours, he’d have to head this ship down the serpent’s throat, praying to God he could find a way out again. His gaze caressed the brassy glints of her hair, the smooth lines of her face, the silken feel of her skin against his. In a brusque gesture, he released her wrist and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her.

She struggled halfheartedly, then seemed to melt against him, her body conforming to the hollows of his. She kissed him back, lips soft, enticing, moving slowly, as though they had hours to play. A surge of warmth flooded Jeremiel’s veins. He tightened his arms powerfully around her shoulders, pulling her against him, and in the back of his mind a voice whispered:
A game. This is all a game. We’ll both use whatever leverage we can…. Yet, it feels so good. What harm is there in soothing each other for an hour? What harm … !

He threw up his hands and backed unsteadily to the center of the room. His shirt clung in sweat-drenched folds to his chest and he noticed with irritation that his arms shook.

“Carey,” he said in a low voice, “leave. And tell Tahn that Dannon’s right about one thing. If he pushes me,
I’ll blow this ship to hell.
Got it?”

She ran a hand through her auburn hair, nodding. “I’ve got it, all right. When are we leaving orbit?”

He walked to stand over his com, absently focusing on the screen. “Immediately.”

She hesitated for an excruciating amount of time and he heard her uniform rustle with uneasy movements. “Jeremiel, if I could….”

He closed his eyes, and balled his fists, fighting with himself. “You
can.”

“No. I can’t,” she said quietly. “I’ll give Tahn your—”

“If he’s with Dannon, he already knows.”

Without a word she exited into the corridor, disappearing from his view. He caught a glimpse of Jonas’ curious face before his door slipped closed again.

Jeremiel wandered around his cabin. In a quick violent gesture, he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it at the foot of his bed. For hours, he’d secretly endured the same fear that lined the faces of those closest to him, wondering how they’d get out of this impossible dilemma. But it angered him to be reminded of it every moment by their eyes—eyes reverent with faith in him. They believed he could get them out safely—and of all the things that could be said about him, that was the most difficult to live up to.

He sat heavily on his bed and put his hands on either side of his head, pressing hard, trying to force some sense into his worry-laced brain.

“Come on, Neil. Come on, damn it! Tell Tahn
exactly
what you think I’ll do.”

And yet, when push came to shove, if they got trapped in the heat of battle—he knew he wouldn’t have time to second-guess Neil. A sharp ache invaded his chest. He fought it, filling his mind with so much hate, he felt he’d explode.
Remembering Syene.
After fifteen or twenty minutes, he looked back at the com screen, noting the finished calculations, listed in descending order of highest concentrations.

Section fourteen C, level seven.

He stretched out on his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to thoroughly examine his narrowing options. Too often, too damned often, thoughts of Carey Halloway intruded—as powerful as a polished golden calf in the searing deserts of old.

Carey got into the transport tube with Jonas Wilkes. Short and built like an inverted pyramid, he stood stiffly, eyes on her. She leaned against the wall, letting the chill of the petrolon filter through her uniform to taunt her flesh. A barren wind swept her soul. Too deep. She’d gotten in too deep. How had that happened? How had she let it happen?

The game had gone awry….

The sensation of Jeremiel’s strong arms around her had stirred feelings that terrified her.

CHAPTER 37

Dim bluish light filtered between machinery to land like a crumpled silk scarf across Dannon’s face. He rolled uncomfortably to his back and struggled to get to sleep. Cramped into a narrow four by six space between two enormous cooling units, he could barely stretch his legs their full length. Worse, the constant low hum of the ship slashed through his dreams, becoming Jeremiel’s voice every time he drifted off.

Would he never escape the nightmares about Silmar?

After an eternity of restless tossing and turning, he finally sat up, pulled his knees against his chest, and leaned back against the cool gray metal. Sweat drenched his face, rolling down his neck to soak the collar of his fresh purple uniform.

He wiped his forehead on his sleeve and stared blankly at the patchwork patterns of light that scattered the carpet. What time was it? Morning yet? No, it couldn’t be. Weariness clung like an iron cape around his shoulders. He probably hadn’t lain down more than three hours ago.

“Stop it,” he whispered, bracing his forehead on his knees and closing his eyes. “Stop torturing yourself. Gamants bring it on themselves. You did the right thing.”

Didn’t you … didn’t you? But… maybe Jeremiel was right… about flying into the storm?

Several minutes later, he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into sleep. His breathing melted into soothing rhythms. The sounds of the ship faded. Darkness smothered the light….

And the snow fell around him in huge wet flakes.

“Where, Dannon?”
Tahn’s voice grated, wavering in the icy gusts of Silmar wind that lanced their uniforms.