Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (63 page)

Tahn set the shuttle down softly and watched twenty guards trot up outside. A shower of dust sprang up, darkening the skies like a bloody smear. He hit the EM restraints and started to rise.

Baruch shoved him back in his chair. Somehow the brown hair and neatly trimmed mustache made him seem even more sinister. “When we’re in the complex, Tahn, remember, I can have my pistol out in the blink of an eye—and you’ll be the first thing I target.” A haunted smile touched his lips. “I’ve wanted to kill you for a long time. Try not to give me an excuse.”

“Do you need an excuse?”

“Not much of one.”

“I didn’t think so. Trust me. I’m not near as suicidal as you think.”

He eased out of his chair, hands over his head, and slowly walked toward the side door. Baruch holstered his pistol and followed.

CHAPTER 47

Rachel cast a wary look over her shoulder at Halloway, then leaned against the table in the small conference room on level twenty and watched the wall monitor. Tikkun whirled in a staggering array of colors. Shuttles still came and went, shining silver in the sunlight. They’d completed the evacuation of all Magisterial personnel they could find, but ten had disappeared into the bowels of the cruiser. Harper had search teams out. They’d turned up nothing. Rachel studied the descending spray of shuttles. Filled with Gamant refugees now, they streaked toward the Sacla Seven Islands. Her gaze caressed the magnificent oceans and jade green forests. Her heart ached for the comforts of fragrant grass and cool rock, for rain-scented winds and damp earth. Would she forever be condemned to white odorless halls?

Aktariel? Where are you? What are you doing?

She waited, but not even a breath of his presence touched the room. Feeling impotent and frightened, she looked around absently. Built to hold no more than a dozen, the room felt cramped and stuffy. A drink dispenser adorned the wall opposite the monitor. The oval table in the center took up almost every inch of space, leaving barely enough room for two people to walk abreast around the circumference. A com unit sat at each end of the table, cursors blinking rhythmically. She ran a hand inside her purple collar and tugged at the artificial fabric. If something didn’t happen soon, she’d explode from the building tension.

Carey Halloway sat immobile at the far end of the table, eyes glued to the com screen, reading the files Jeremiel had named. She’d been very quiet, but as she read, her breathing grew progressively more labored, hissing irregularly through her nostrils.

Sliding off the table. Rachel wandered to the drink dispenser and keyed in for a cup of taza. It came out steaming, its earthy fragrance bathing Rachel’s face. She set it on the table and turned to Halloway. “Can I order you something to drink?”

“Strong coffee.” The words were sharp-edged, brittle.

Rachel keyed in and pulled it out, then walked across the room, setting it on the table. The dark liquid still boiled, bubbles frothing in the center of the cup. Halloway leaned back in her chair and pushed auburn hair behind her ear. Her purple uniform had grown dark sweat stains beneath the arms in the past hour.

“Thank you.”

Rachel nodded as she slowly walked around the table sipping her taza. “Those files are interesting, aren’t they?”

“No,” Halloway said as she shook her head. “They’re terrifying. I would have never believed this could happen in our age. Never.”

Rachel scrutinized Halloway; she had a haunted look in her eyes—as though she’d just witnessed the death of everything she loved and her soul hovered in a numb vacuum of terror. Rachel dropped her gaze.
You’re probably projecting your own feelings onto her. Stop it. You can’t afford to feel sympathy for this woman.

Taking a breath, Rachel asked, “Do you understand the entries regarding brain chemicals and the interpreter?”

“Not completely.”

“What do they mean by the ‘interpreter’?”

“Oh, there’s a mechanism in human brains which formulates data and constructs visions of what’s real and what isn’t. The Gamant notion of ‘soul’ comes close.”

“What about the misfiring circuitry part?”

“I don’t know. I think they’re suggesting that either Gamant brain structure or an excess of certain neurotransmitters triggers a misfiring of nerve circuits which results in the ‘interpreter’ getting inadequate information and, consequently, making incorrect conclusions regarding reality.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you’re irrationally violent—dangerously and irreparably flawed.”

“Hopeless barbarians? Well. …” She stared into her cup bitterly, watching the light flash in silver waves through the dark liquid. Memories of Horeb’s bloody civil war, Adom’s pained and forgiving eyes, wafted through her mind. “I wouldn’t argue about that. That’s why they want to sterilize our women?”

Halloway massaged her forehead. “Yes, it’s like burning out plague villages. It’s a final solution that gets rid of the pestilence forever—and all the bleeding heart citizens don’t have to endure any of the unpleasant ravages of war. It’s clean.”

Rachel laughed caustically. She had the strangling desire to hurt something, anything, to relieve the unbearable sensations of silent violation. “Right. Clean. Because sterilization is more politically popular than full-scale war? You—”

“No. Because it’s more economical.” Halloway braced her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers before her lips. Rachel watched her shaking hands with intrigue. “Scorch attacks are expensive. Both in terms of military costs and political liabilities. Union planets have been screaming for the Magistrates’ blue blood for months, blaming them for leaving quadrant seven open to raiders.

Rachel walked forward and leaned against the table beside Halloway, closing her hands tightly around her taza cup to fight the rising tide of futility that stalked her. “So, it is genocide we’re talking about.”

“It seems so.”

“But not massive murder. This is more insidious, don’t you think? They’re going to do it slowly, by mutilating our women. How ingenious.”

Halloway aimlessly shoved her cup, once, then twice; it scritched across the table. “Maybe.”

“Maybe
what?”
Rachel demanded fiercely. Was this woman blind? The truth stared them in the face!

Halloway gazed up at her through hard green eyes. “Maybe massive murder has been excluded. We can’t be sure.”

Rachel couldn’t breathe. The words burned through her like a baptism by fire. Her gaze settled blindly on the com screen. The amber letters gleamed forebodingly. But, slowly, it seeped through Rachel’s emotional haze that something had changed. Halloway had pulled up the Silbersay file, which Rachel had looked at only hours before—but now the words appeared scrambled, lines staggered irregularly, irrelevant symbols interspersed throughout the report. Before her shocked eyes, the words jumped again, shuffling—then the screen fluttered. In a flash, it went blank.

The cup of taza in Rachel’s still hands sent a wave of steam curling around her face. She set the cup on the table and lurched to her feet, fixing Halloway with a deadly glare.
“What happened to that file?”

Halloway leaned back in her chair. “It’s begun.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

When Halloway didn’t answer, Rachel pulled her pistol and pointed it at the lieutenant’s head. “Answer me! Is this part of Tahn’s plan to take his ship back? Damn you, Halloway! You know what the government is doing to my people! How can you help them?”

The only response she received was a hollow stare.

“Tell me! I ought to kill you right now. Jeremiel should have killed you days ago!”

“Jeremiel….” Halloway murmured. Her pale face tightened. She leaned forward over the table and dropped her head in her hands, gripping handfuls of hair tightly. “Yes,” she repeated softly. “He should have.”

Rachel grabbed her by the arm and jerked her out of her chair. “Come on. We’re going to the bridge where we can monitor what’s happening on the ship.”

Halloway studied Rachel’s hand, made a slight shift as if to attack—Rachel’s mind reeled with the knowledge that she’d gotten too close. But Halloway stopped, struggle plain on her face. Rachel felt the woman’s hard muscles go slack and trembling in her palm—as though Halloway had managed the feat through sheer force of will.

“Well,” Halloway said. She laughed softly—an agonized sound filled with self-reproach, disbelief. She took a deep breath and held it before saying, “We won’t be able to monitor the ship. Things are too far along for that now. All intership com links will be down. But maybe we can raise the planet. Long-range communications will be one of the last systems to go. I’d … I’d like to talk to Cole.”

Rachel gave her the barest of nods and gestured with her pistol. “Come on. I’ll let you try.”

Avel Harper threw Janowitz a rifle. Chris caught it deftly and checked the charge. They stood in the bright wardroom outside of Engineering where Jeremiel had ordered all the weapons stored. Now the racks shone nearly empty. Silver brackets gleamed beneath the overhead panels. They’d armed nearly every civilian heading for the planet’s surface.

Harper stuffed a belt with extra charges, then strapped it around his waist. “Jeremiel said to take a small strike force? You’re sure? That doesn’t make any sense. If the brunt of their attack will come through that access tunnel, we should have it heavily guarded.”

Chris tilted his head. He jammed a new charge into his rifle, then ejected it, testing the reliability of the mechanism. “I don’t generally question his orders. I figure he knows what he’s doing.”

“How many people are you taking?”

“Ten. That’s a one-to-one ratio.”

“Assuming they only have ten soldiers. We never did know for certain if we’d found all the hideouts in the ship.”

Harper heaved a confused sigh. “Jeremiel didn’t specifically say how many you should take?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you take twenty?”

Janowitz braced the butt of his rifle on his knee and looked up guardedly. “’Cause I don’t consider that a ‘small’ strike force.”

Harper waved a hand anxiously. “Chris, we can’t afford to lose you or any of the—”

“Avel,” he said, wiping his sweaty forehead on his sleeve. “I don’t like this any better than you do, but in another hour we’ll have put down damn near every nonessential body. We’ll only have a hundred people left aboard. Jeremiel said his sources were unreliable. He wanted the tunnel guarded, but he didn’t want to risk more people than absolutely necessary.”

Harper threw up his hands.
“I’m not sure ten people is enough!”

“Well, to tell you the truth, neither am I. But keep in mind that the Magisterial forces only have the weapons they’ve managed to take off our dead in the past hour. We

“I’d feel better if you took twenty, Chris.”

Janowitz shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Harper wrapped his arms over his burning stomach. “I tell you what. Let’s compromise. You take ten people and guard the main entryway to the level seven-twelve tube. Ill bring five more and guard the adjacent halls. That way my group won’t be in immediate danger. What do you say to that?”

Chris gazed around the broad empty room, landing on shelves of extra charges, food rations, and silver storage compartments. He indecisively fumbled with the scope on his rifle. Lifting it to his shoulder, he sighted on the opposite side of the room, then slowly lowered it to rest on his knee again. “I guess that’ll be all right,” he said simply. “But I thought you were assigned to guard Sybil and Mikael?”

Harper wet his dry lips. “I am. I put them both in Mikael’s cabin under four guards. I told them I’d meet them there in an hour. If I’m detained, they’ll still be safe.”

Janowitz’s blond brows drew together. He filled his cheeks with air and blew out a breath. “Well,” he said reluctantly. “Let’s get going then. I’ll meet you at the level seven-twelve transport tube in fifteen minutes?”

“Yes, fifteen is fine.” Harper nodded and reached out taking Chris’ hand in a hard grip.

CHAPTER 48

Tahn stepped out of the shuttle and his boots sank into the soft red sand. The shadows of morning crept into the hollows of the rocky cliffs that surrounded Block 10, pooling like ink in the crevices. Scattered puffs of cloud blew steadily southward, reddening to flame in the first rays of sunrise. The tang of Tikkun sage carried on the warm wind. Baruch walked up beside him.

“Curtain time,” Tahn murmured as seven guards in purple uniforms trotted around the side of the shuttle, rifles humming.

“Captain Tahn?” the skinny bald man in the middle greeted. “I’m Jaron Manstein.”

Tahn extended a hand, shaking. “Good evening, Sergeant.” Manstein shifted his hand to Baruch, who shook firmly, and Tahn had to think fast. “This is Lieutenant Barcus.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Baruch said in a surprisingly calm voice.

Manstein bowed slightly. “And you, Lieutenant. If you’ll both follow me, Major Lichtner is waiting in his office to give you a tour of the compound.”