Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (52 page)

He stood resolutely silent.

“Jeremiel,
listen to me.
Unless there’s no other way, don’t use it. Do you hear me? It will turn all your dreams to dust.”

A shiver played along his arms. “I believe you.” The
Mea
seemed to hear for it flared even brighter, so bright he had to shield his eyes against the glare.

“Oh,” Rachel murmured.

A heartbeat later, he heard her steps heading for the door A white rectangle of light briefly lit the room, then vanished when the door slipped closed.

He sank back against the table, seating himself on the edge as he slowly lowered his arm. White swirls, like sea foam, eddied across the surface of the
Mea.

He glanced back at the wall again, seeking the black form that had drifted through the room. He’d seen it twice before. Once on Kayan. Once on Horeb. Each time, it had heralded a massive upheaval in the course of the future.

He lifted his sleeve and wiped his forehead. Taking a deep breath, he held it for several seconds before boldly calling, “Aktariel? Are you here? If you are—talk to me.
I’ll do anything you want.
Just help me put these refugees down safely and … and tell me how to blow up Palaia Station.”

CHAPTER 39

Omias sauntered around the bridge conference room on the
Klewe,
idly studying the holos of Old Earth that decorated the walls. Dressed in a long sable robe, Gamant style, he looked kingly. The glass of Cassopian sherry in his hand echoed the color of his light brown hair and braided beard. At the other end of the room Erinyes tapped a wazer pen impatiently on the table.

“It’s a
ridiculous
idea,” Erinyes commented haughtily.

“You’re a man of limited perceptions, Captain.” Ornias strolled to the next holo on the wall, admiring the red and gray banded canyon that rose out of the sunrise mists. He sipped his sherry. “Only pathetically ordinary men are upset by discussions of assassination or kidnapping. I thought you had more backbone.”

Erinyes snorted and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Backbone has little to do with rationality. Your idea makes no military sense.”

“Of course, not.” Ornias lifted a brow. “I want something that
works
“

Erinyes furiously tapped his pen. “Gen Abruzzi will never go for such a plan and I seriously doubt that even that half-wit, Bogomil, will.” He stabbed out a finger menacingly. “Your plan may get a lot of Magisterial soldiers killed.”

“Surely you can arrange to have Bogomil’s strategy altered, can’t you? All we have to do is drop out of his Laced Star maneuver.”

Erinyes shook his head as though in disbelief. “Ambassador, really. You can’t expect me to use my influence on your petty, questionable—”

“It’s up to you, of course,” Ornias said, smiling unpleasantly. “If you don’t think you can handle it, tell me. I’ll talk to Slothen myself.” Military people annoyed him. Few of them had the elasticity of morals necessary to win truly important battles. Oh, they understood brute force, but shrewd diplomacy left them floundering.

Erinyes looked like he’d swallowed something bitter. “I can handle
anything.
Ambassador. You’ll do well to watch your tongue in my presence.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to discuss it with Slothen, then?”

“Certainly not!” Erinyes shouted, rising out of his chair in fury. “I wouldn’t… wouldn’t….” He stopped, slowly lowering himself back into his chair. “Did you see that?”

Ornias blinked incredulously. “What?”

“I don’t know. I thought I saw a black patch on the wall behind you.”

Ornias whirled breathlessly, but saw nothing. In irritation, he snapped, “Let’s get back to our discussion. Why aren’t you willing to talk to Slothen? Surely talking can’t hurt—”

“What? You weren’t listening to me, Ambassador. I said
of course,
I’d tran Palaia.”

Ornias frowned, blinking curiously. “You did? Well … good.” Lifting his glass, he finished the sherry to the last drop and set the goblet on the table. “I take it, then, that you agree with my plan?”

“Yes, yes!” Erinyes blurted, pounding a fist into the table. His cheeks had flushed fuschia. “But, listen, Tetrax,
I’ll handle the arrangements.
Most men of our ilk can’t tolerate the thought of using a child for political gain.”

“Believe me, Captain, that little boy will prove a gem in our hands.”

“Yes, I suspect you’re quite right.” Erinyes shoved his chair back roughly and stood. “I’ll contact Slothen.”

Erinyes strode headlong from the conference room. When the door snicked shut behind him, Ornias tilted his head and shook it, then went back to examining the holos.

Sybil sat morosely on the floor of Mikael’s cabin, methodically tying and untying her green shoes. Mikael watched her anxiously. She’d come in a half hour ago and slumped in the corner, barely talking to him. Brown curls hid most of, her face, but every so often she would glance up at him and he could see the hurt in her eyes.

“Sybil? Want to see something really neat? Huh, do you?”

No answer.

He backed a few steps away, then turned and trotted to his closet. Pulling out the three stamps Captain Tahn had given him, he carefully carried them back and knelt beside her. She didn’t look up.

He laid the stamps out on the floor by her shoe, putting the pretty one with an old-fashioned starship painted purple in the middle. “Sybil? Look, I want to show you these. This one, on the left, it’s from Jubilee. And this one over here, on the right, it came from Bohairic, These ships are both freighters, they carried things like clothes and food to other planets a long time ago. Like a million years, or something.”

“Nobody was alive a million years ago,” she corrected meanly.

“Well, okay. Anyway, how long doesn’t really matter.” He looked up to see if she was still listening. She’d stopped tying her shoe. The laces stretched like thick spaghetti over the floor. But she seemed to be paying attention. “And this one,” Mikael continued swiftly, tapping the one in the center. “This one with the purple ship came from Old Earth. It’s really old. Captain Tahn told me to take good care of it, that someday it might be worth something.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Oh, it’s a—”

“It
was.”

“Sure. It
was
the first star freighter. See these weird pointed things hanging off the sides? Those are guns. People were afraid when they first went into space. They thought monsters lived there.”

“Monsters
do.
What do you think the Magistrates are? Monsters if I ever saw one.”

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He stared at the floor.

Sybil glanced at him and wiped her sleeve under her nose. “And anyway, I don’t care.”

He slumped to the floor to sit cross-legged beside her. “What’s wrong, Sybil? You’re pretty mean today.”

“I don’t know. I have a stomach ache.”

“Maybe you should drink a carbono. They always make my stomach feel better.”

“What are they? I’ve never had one.”

He jumped to his feet and ran to the drink dispenser, programming it. When the glass came out, he walked slowly, trying to keep it from spilling over the sides, but some did anyway. “Here. Try this.”

“Okay.” Sybil straightened a little and took the glass from his hand.

“They taste like Kayan coconuts. You’ll like them, I bet.”

“I don’t like very many things.”

He licked his lips anxiously as he watched her take the first sip. She frowned and he wilted, then a faint smile came to her face. She had a white mustache of foam on her upper lip when she turned to look at him.

“It’s good, Mikael. Thanks.”

Relieved, he sat down again and studied her pensively. “How’s your stomach now?”

“It doesn’t hurt near as bad.”

He smiled, watching her take another long drink. In the bright light, her olive skin seemed to have washed to a pale clay color. Against the background of white walls, her green pants and brown shirt stood out more than her face. But he figured his blue pants and shirt made his face seem pretty white, too, so he didn’t worry about it anymore.

Trying to cheer her up, he said, “Sybil, I’m sure glad your mom’s been letting you come so much this past week. It makes me feel better to have somebody to. …”

He stopped, seeing her face pucker. She bowed her head and her shoulders shook with silent tears. Horror gripped him. Had he said something bad? Something that hurt her?

He scooted closer to her and timidly patted her arm, stuttering, “I—I’m sorry, Sybil. Sometimes, I—I say stupid things and don’t know it. I didn’t mean to, though.”

She put down her glass and drew up her knees. Bracing her forehead on them, she cried softly. Mikael bit his lower lip. He tried to look anywhere except at Sybil, at his bed, the bathroom door, the checkers game set up on the table.

After a minute or two, he noticed Sybil’s shoe was still untied and he leaned forward and put a double knot in it for her. He’d tried to teach her to do that so they wouldn’t come undone so often, but she hadn’t got it right yet. Which was okay. He didn’t mind doing it for her.

A tear leaked out to run down her arm and Mikael felt very bad inside himself, like somebody’d punched him in the stomach.

“Sybil? I’m sorry….I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not you!” she said sharply.

“Well, if it wasn’t because I said something stupid, why are you crying?”

“Because … because ….” She gave him a threatening glare. “You better not ever tell anybody. You understand?
Nobody!”

He nodded quickly. “I won’t!”

“It’s a secret. A big bad secret. Okay?”

“Sure. I get it.”

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sucked in a jerky breath. Her mouth puckered miserably again, trembling. “Something’s wrong with my mom.”

He shifted positions, crawling to sit in front of her so he could see her downcast face. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

She cried silently for a little bit again and Mikael reached out to pat her foot. “You mean she’s acting funny? Parents do that a lot. It doesn’t mean anything bad.”

“She’s acting real funny.”

Sybil cocked her head helplessly and he figured she didn’t really want to talk about it because it hurt. He remembered how he’d felt when his mom had been trying to talk to the leaders of the revolts on Kayan. She’d yelled at him all the time and he hadn’t wanted to talk to anybody. But maybe if he’d had somebody to talk for him, he would have felt better. Maybe he could talk for Sybil?

“Sybil?” he said softly. “Before my mom died, you know what? She was cross with me all the time. I didn’t know why and I felt like maybe I’d die or something ‘cause it hurt so bad? You understand?”

“Yeah,” she croaked.

“Then one night I made her sit on the side of my bed and talk to me. She told me she was being mean because the leaders of the revolts on Kayan thought she was crazy, ‘cause she told them how my grandfather used to go through the
Mea
to heaven to talk to God. They didn’t believe it—but it was true.”

She looked up cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“But I—I tried to make my mom talk to me and she just shouted like—like I was being bad or something.”

Tears welled in her eyes again, and he nodded his understanding. “My mom used to do that, too. ‘Cause she was scared.”

“Of what?”

“She was afraid the Magistrates would come and scorch us because of how the revolts were tearing up the Magistrates’ big military houses.”

“Those are called ‘installations,’ bozon.”

He smiled and lowered his eyes. “Okay, military installations. They looked like big houses all hooked together.”

Sybil laughed shortly and punched his arm hard. He jerked away, grabbing it and laughing. She still had tears in her eyes, but her smile made it seem okay.

“Mikael?”

“What?”

“Did your mom ever talk in her sleep?” She held her breath and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. Her brown hair had fallen into the tears on her face and stuck to her cheeks.

“I don’t know. We had different chambers. She said I was too big to sleep with her anymore.”

Sybil’s mouth pursed disdainfully. “That’s silly. You’re not too big until you get to be twelve or something. My parents let me sleep with them all the time.”

He nodded. “I always wanted to, but she wouldn’t let me. Does your mom talk in her sleep?”

“Yeah.” Her voice trailed off and she frowned at the floor, fiddling with her double-knotted laces. “Sometimes.”

“What does she say? Bad things?”

“I don’t know what most of them mean. Do you know what null singularities are?”

He shook his head. “But dreams are crazy. Sometimes they’re just weird and don’t mean anything.”

“But sometimes they do.”