Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (67 page)

Boos and hisses seeped like twined serpents through the hall. Chris laughed. He suddenly felt desperately tired. He smoothed his hand over his rifle. The gray petrolon felt cool and comforting beneath his callused fingers.

“Well since you’re so tough, Marcus, maybe we’ll just let you spend the night here by yourself. Eh, boys? How does that. …”

Chris’ lungs burned, blossoming into a fiery pain. “Oh, no….” He tried to lurch to his feet, but he found himself unable to control his limbs. He fell sideways, croaking,
“Get… out! Go! Hurry!”

Two men made it to their hands and knees. They crawled by him, collapsing in heaps a few feet before they reached the next intersecting corridor. Chris blinked blurry eyes. Gasps and choking sounds filled his ears, but he felt too tired to listen, too tired to move.

He felt his body go completely limp, lungs expelling a final hoarse breath. For a time, he lay facedown, a tiny thread of panic keeping his attention. Vaguely, as though in a dream, he felt someone lift the rifle from his hand and heard a husky female voice jubiliantly say, “Thank God for Halloway.
Now we’ve got weapons.”

Sick with dread, Carey Halloway stepped onto the empty bridge. Her body had gone so numb she seemed to be walking on air. Lights flickered here, too, casting an eerie silver glow over the blank corns of eight duty stations. On the three-sixty overhead monitors, bits of data flashed, distorted, capricious nonsense.

Eloel gently prodded her in the back with her pistol. “Go to your com.”

Carey nodded tiredly and stepped down to the second level, dropping heavily into her chair. She braced her elbows on her console and steepled her fingers before her mouth, staring hollowly at the rotating image of Tikkun that graced the forward monitor. She felt like a thin bit of interstellar dust caught in a line of cannon fire.

“Where would I find a vacuum suit, Lieutenant?” Rachel inquired.

“In the storage compartment to your left.”

Eloel marched to it quickly and unfastened the lock. The door slid back to reveal suits and a variety of emergency supplies.

“Pull out two,” Carey said matter-of-factly.

Rachel glanced at her curiously. “You think I want you alive when this is all over?”

“Might be a good idea—since I’m on your side … now.”

“You must think I’m a trusting sort.”

“I don’t care whether you are or not, but it would make things easier. You can always shoot me if it looks like I lied.”

Eloel gazed reflectively at her, then nodded and pulled out two suits and helmets. “I will, Lieutenant.” She stepped into her suit and fastened it all the way up before striding across the room and tossing Carey a suit and helmet. “But just in case you’re telling the truth….” Rachel hesitantly extended a hand. Distinctly non-Gamant—clearly an effort to bridge old hurts. “Glad to have you fighting on the right side, Lieutenant.”

Carey took her hand, shaking hard, and noticed the tiny letters AKT branded into Eloel’s forehead just at the hairline. Curious. She wondered what they meant. “For the moment, it feels good. Now, let’s get this show on the road. We haven’t much time.”

Eloel nodded and walked toward the command chair. She dropped gracefully into it and glanced at Tikkun. The planet whirled placidly. “Can you do something about these crazy lights. Turn them off or something? It would be easier to concentrate.”

As Carey put on her suit, she said, “No, sorry.”

Rachel grimaced and focused on the forward monitor. They’d passed to the night side of the planet. The lights of cities sparkled like strewn jewels, emeralds and diamonds, rubies and amber. Carey looked down with a tense longing. Where was Cole? Jeremiel?

“Rachel,” she said, “I’m going to try to get Tahn.”

“Go ahead, but be very careful what you say. I’d rather not….” Eloel jerked abruptly and Carey’s gaze shot to the monitor. The spark of silver caught her eye, too. It appeared and disappeared. A short time later, the spark became a prolonged glimmer, sliding through space toward them.

Eloel sat forward. “Is it them?”

“Let’s see.”

Carey took a few seconds to input the sequence, then she braced herself for other voices, unknown people whom she’d have to bluff—and called, “Captain Tahn? This is Halloway? Do you read?”

A static distorted voice responded, “Carey? What the hell are you…. Are you on … bridge?”

“Aye, Captain.”

“What’s happening there?”

“Unknown. I haven’t had access to the crew. But… Cole, there are some things we need to discuss. I’ve just reviewed the clandestine files about the Tikkun projects.”

A garbled sentence came through, then Cole’s voice rose above it,
“Trying to tell me something… Carey?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words would form. She fought the inner welling of traitorous guilt.

Cole came on again, voice calm. “Switching sides, Lieutenant?”

Her heart thudded. She propped a fist on the table, feeling so barrenly empty she could barely stand it. She loved Cole Tahn. Going against him was like a cold blade ripping her soul in half.
“Aye, Captain.”

Silence.

A roll of static filled with half words.

Finally, she heard him say, “Good. The thought of fighting … you turned my stomach. Get hold of Eloel. Tell… we need arms. But it’s got to be just you and me, Carey. I don’t want… implicate the crew.”

“Understood,” she whispered. Relief brought tears to her eyes. “Rachel and I will meet you in the bay. Halloway out.”

She whirled around in her chair to find Eloel staring at her through glittering eyes. Carey’s brows drew together. Eloel looked as though she stood over a corpse, blood on her hands, and didn’t recognize the dead face that gazed back at her.

Rachel murmured darkly, “That’s why he wanted Jeremiel to take Tahn.”

“Who?”

“And why he wanted you to stay here.” Rachel shook her head and lurched unsteadily to her feet. Her long black hair glistened like a shroud around her shoulders. “Hurry. Let’s go.”

Carey ran past Rachel, hitting the transport tube patch. The door shrieked at them, but stayed closed. Carey pounded her fist into it again and again. “Damn it. Come on! It’ll take us an hour if we have to use the duct system.”

Rachel holstered her pistol and slammed her palm into the patch with Carey. Finally it snicked open and they rushed inside.

CHAPTER 50

Dannon followed as Yosef Calas led the way down a long flickering corridor on level twenty. His purple uniform stuck to his back and chest, bathed in sweat. It had taken them forever to find transport tubes that worked, and then they’d had trouble getting them to stop at the right floors. The com virus Tahn had introduced had been running through the ship like wildfire across a bone-dry prairie. And Funk and Calas refused to let Neil touch any of the controls. The fools. If he could have gotten into the manual override system, he’d have saved them half the time. As they neared an intersecting corridor, Neil slowed his steps.

“Move!” Funk said and jabbed his pistol barrel into Neil’s back. The old coot had been acting like a tomcat who’d just caught a mouse and wanted to swat it around for a while before it sank its teeth in. All in all, Neil had been attempting to take it in quiet good grace—but that seemed to stimulate Funk like catnip. The old man ungently prodded his back again.

Dannon shouted angrily, “I’m not going to have any kidneys left if you keep that up, old man!”

“Good!” Ari blustered. “I hope you’ve passed your last pint!”

Neil grimaced. Yosef turned to gaze curiously at them, then sighed and walked back. “Ari, stop that. You’ve tortured him enough.”

Funk blinked owlishly. “Compared to
what?
Slow poison is too good for this worthless—”

“Then poison him,” Calas suggested. “But quit jabbing him in his vital parts!”

“Vital? I haven’t even aimed there yet. I was saving that for later.”

“Try to be professional, will you?”

Neil nodded heartily. Black hair dangled in wet strands in his eyes. He shook them back. “You tell him, Gramps.”

Calas scowled, then indignantly pulled his head up. “Never mind, Ari. Torture him.” He waved a hand and waddled forward again.

Neil grunted at the sharp pains, trying to twist away from the afflicting barrel. He’d been holding off, waiting for a better opportunity, but if Funk didn’t stop this soon, he’d make his move and one of these old codgers would end up dead.

Ari snickered. “Sure. Professional. Like Torquemada. Like Pleros of Antares III. You bet. I can do that.”

Dannon let out a disgruntled yowl. “For God’s sake, Funk! Just kill me outright. I can’t stand much more of this!”

“No need to rush,” Ari responded with maddening suaveness.

Yosef trudged onward and Neil obediently followed, hands held high.

“So, Yosef?” Ari called, sounding far more professional. “What do you think we ought to do with this waste product who betrayed all of Gamant civilization and tried to get Jeremiel killed?”

Dannon’s guts tightened. His traitorous mind drew up the expression on Jeremiel’s face a few days ago—the abiding remnants of love in those stony blue eyes pierced Neil’s soul.
Where are you, old friend? Are you all right?

Funk continued, “I say we bury him alive.”

Yosef grimaced condescendingly. “You romantic. There’s not a shred of dirt aboard this entire ship.”

“Who needs dirt? There are a thousand things we could use.” An eerie smile lit Ari’s faee. “You remember that dinner they fed us last week? The texture alone ought to do it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We need his body to prove we got him. That stuff would eat through Io-titanium in ten seconds flat.”

Dannon glanced back and forth between them, brow furrowed, feeling dismayed and grudgingly amused. He shook his head and let out an exasperated breath. “You know, it’s hard to take you two seriously.”

Funk laughed demonically, “Good,” and prodded Neil in the kidney again.

They rounded a corner into a new corridor and Yosef’s steps floundered. The dark hall carried traces of a strange cloying odor. Panic reared in Neil’s breast. Yosef started to go forward again, but he gripped the old man’s sleeve and jerked him back.

“Let go of him, Dannon!” Funk shouted. His pistol hummed loudly as he kicked the charge up to full.

“Wait, Ari!” Yosef shook off Neil’s restraining hand and glowered. “What is it?”

“I just saved your life, Calas. Back up.”

Neil slowly eased out of the hallway. His captors followed, glancing worriedly over their shoulders. A nervous twitch plagued Dannon’s left cheek, but his eyes gleamed, studying the wavering overhead light panels, the shade of the walls.

“Did you smell it?” Neil asked.

“That sweet scent?” Calas answered.

“Yes. Some sort of petrolon gas. I’m not sure which variety.”

“Gas?” Funk gasped, eyes widening like a startled owl. “Like nerve gas?”

Neil shook his head. “This is much more sophisticated. It acts on brain chemicals, bonding to neurotransmitters, changing their composition.”

Funk inhaled a deep breath, then thought better of it and expelled it in a coughing fit. “Is that bad?”

“It’ll turn your brain to mush, Funk.” He gave Ari a critical sideways glance. “Though you may not have anything to worry about—and anyway, it dissipates fast, becoming harmless in ordinary atmospheres after about sixty seconds. Let’s wait here a while.”

Calas shot a worried look at Funk—but they waited, shifting from foot to foot.

Finally, Neil nodded. “I think that’s more than long enough.”

Ari said, “Fine. You go first, expert.”

Dannon heaved a taut breath and stepped out, cautiously proceeding down the hall, stopping frequently to sniff the air or examine the lights, looking for the characteristic color distortion caused when octopetrolon gas lingered in lethal concentrations in the air. They plodded with slow care for several minutes until they neared the entrance to Engineering on level twenty. Dannon turned a corner, then stepped back hurriedly, bumping into Yosef.

“What’s wrong?” Calas demanded.

Neil leaned heavily against the wall and wiped a sleeve across his watering mouth. “I don’t know who you were hoping to take me to, Calas—but I think you’ve lost your chance.”

Yosef glared questioningly, then strode forward, around the corner. The old man made a small sorrow-laden sound. Neil sucked in a deep halting breath. Five men lay in contorted heaps in that hall, eyes wide and dead. All Gamants.

Calas stumbled into Funk’s supporting arms and lifted a hand to rub his throat. “Ari,” he croaked.

“Harper….”

“What?” Funk’s withered face lined with terror. He released Calas and strode around the corner himself. A few seconds later, he whispered, “But he … he was supposed to be taking care of Mikael and Sybil.”

Calas started to shiver. “Not the children. Oh, Ari, not the children! Surely the Magisterial soldiers aboard have human souls?”