Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (40 page)

Tahn slowly backed toward his table, eyes never leaving the Underground leader. He bumped a chair and it scudded across the carpet. Baruch whirled, dropping into a combat crouch.

Cole lifted his hands over his head. “No challenge intended. Can I get you something to drink?”

Baruch vigilantly straightened up. “Whiskey?”

Tahn nodded and slowly walked toward the cabinet over his desk. He opened the latch and pulled out a finely faceted crystal bottle and two shot glasses. Quietly, he brought them back to the table. Watching Baruch out of the corner of his eye, he poured the glasses full. The man had squared his shoulders, standing as rigidly as a statue.

Cole eased into his chair. “You’re welcome to the other seat.”

Baruch nodded curtly, but continued standing. Finally, he walked across the room and picked up his whiskey, glaring at it suspiciously.

“Oh, I see,” Tahn said irritably. He bolted the contents of his own glass and poured himself another. “Feel better?”

“I will in about fifteen seconds. I’m sure you’d only use the best.”

“You’re astute.”

Carrying his drink, Baruch meandered around the cabin, glancing frequently back to make sure Tahn still sat immobile at the table.

Tahn asked, “Are we headed for Tikkun yet?”

“No. And I don’t expect to be.”

Cole laughed condescendingly. “Going to wait until they force you? That’s silly, Baruch. They might cut you a deal if you surrender and plead for mercy.”

Baruch smiled, a hard bitter gesture. “Thanks. But I’m well acquainted with Magisterial generosity. I’m not interested.” He wandered to the display case mounted on Tahn’s far wall and went deathly silent. Retrieving the fine palm-sized tapestry from Jumes, Baruch lifted it to the light, studying the weave.

“What’s this, Tahn? Some peculiar form of necromancy?”

“You mind?”

“It’s a little blasphemous, don’t you think?”

“You consider artistic taste to be ungodly?”

Baruch lifted a brow. “Just when did you develop this taste? Before or after you killed every living thing on Jumes?”

A chilling tingle filled Tahn’s breast, like a thousand icy ants crawling around inside him. “Let’s discuss the
Hoyer,
Baruch. Recriminations between us are useless at this point. How’s my crew?”

“They’re holding up better than I’d have thought. You trained them well.”

Cole tilted his chair back on two legs and propped his whiskey glass on his knee, eyeing Baruch speculatively. The compliment sounded honest, a gesture from one commander to another. But it made him even more uneasy. “Glad to hear that Halloway’s keeping the lid on.”

“She’s a fine officer.”

Tahn nodded reflectively. A curious light gleamed in Baruch’s blue eyes at the mention of Carey’s name. Cole contemplatively tapped his thumb against his cool glass, remembering the softness in Baruch’s voice when he’d hurt her on the bridge.
Interesting.
Worth investigating.

“Come and sit down, Baruch. You make me nervous pacing around.”

He continued standing. “How are you feeling?”

“That’s the second time you’ve asked. Why do you care? Concerned about your hand-to-hand proficiency?”

Baruch’s mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “Not even slightly.”

“Then for the last time,
I’m fine.
Severns is a good doctor. How are your refugees?”

Baruch studied Cole for several painfully quiet seconds. “Most of them are dying. Some with agonizing slowness. Others too swiftly for their families to mourn. Why do
you
care? Trying to determine the efficiency of your cannons?”

Memories rolled across Tahn’s mind—devastated planets whirling in pale violet hazes, hysterical voices pleading with him over com. His gut tried to tie itself in knots. “I’ve never liked attacking Gamant civilians, Baruch.”

“No? You certainly did it with disturbing frequency. When did you decide you didn’t like it? Somewhere between half a million and a million? What was the magic number?”

“Is it time for the mudslinging contest?” He made an airy gesture with his hand. “Just let me know so I can prepare myself. I’ve got a few charges I could level against you, too.”

Baruch drew a deep breath and nodded while he exhaled. “I’m sure you do.” He walked back and forth in front of the table, brow furrowed in thought. “You never enjoyed murdering my people, I’m glad to hear that. Perhaps you wouldn’t object, then, to telling me what other orders you’ve received lately regarding Gamant planets?”

Cole laughed incredulously. “You’re brassy as hell, aren’t you? Why don’t you use the mind probes? You could wring lots of things from me that you’d find very interesting.”

He’d thrown out the comment facetiously because everybody knew Gamants refused to employ the probes on their prisoners, but now he wished he hadn’t mentioned it. The odd gleam in Baruch’s eyes gave him the eerie feeling the Underground leader might make an exception in his case.

With unsettling silence, Baruch walked across the room and took the chair opposite him. He braced his elbows on the table and sipped his whiskey, staring hard into Tahn’s eyes. “Let’s discuss the
Annum.”

Cole barely moved. “Why?”

“I assume it’s bothering you.”

“… And?”

“I’d rather it didn’t.”

Cole chuckled his disbelief. “Well, you’re a kind-hearted soul. And just how do you expect to alleviate my worries?”

Baruch reached for the whiskey bottle and started to pour himself another, then stopped. “May I?”

“Please, do. As I recall, I promised you a glass of my best hundred-year-old rye.”

“I remembered, but I thought I’d be polite and not mention it.”

“Good idea.”

Baruch gave him a greatly amused smile. “Out of curiosity, do you know what the Magistrates were doing on Jumes before you were ordered to scorch it?”

“What does that have to do with the
Annum!”

“Oh, a very great deal.”

“I don’t see—”

“No, I don’t suppose you do. Pity. Don’t Magisterial captains ever bother to research why planets that have been peaceful for centuries suddenly flare into revolt?”

Cole massaged his forehead in annoyance. “Your point?”

“On Jumes the Magistrates called it Operation Scythe—a tasteless play on Old Earth images of Death. They rounded up every politician, every religious leader, every serious scientist and ordered them probed until their minds were little more than mush.”

Indignantly, Tahn responded, “Come, come, Baruch. I know something of the history of Jumes. The social system was founded on ridiculous and dangerous principles. The politicians promised their constituents that as soon as every vestige of Magisterial government had been wiped off their planet, the true Mashiah would come.” He leaned forward angrily, gripping his glass tightly. “And those ‘scientists’ you’re so protective of taught the youths how to make bombs! They preached mass murder in illegal classes, for God’s sake! Of course the Magistrates took defensive action!”

Baruch’s penetrating gaze never wavered. “They did more than that, Tahn. After they’d probed them, they ordered them all killed.”

He sat back, slowly. Deep inside him, a thrumming refrain beat:
Lucky, lucky, lucky.
“So?”

“So tell me, how can I prevent that from happening to you and your crew?”

Tahn shook his head as though he hadn’t heard right. This had to be some ploy to gain leverage, but he couldn’t quite figure the angle. “What’s this? Don’t tell me you’ve started to believe the rumors circulating on backward planets that you’re the promised redeemer? And anyway, I didn’t know that option existed for Magisterial soldiers.”

“If I put you down on an accessible planet, the Magistrates will certainly haul you all off to the nearest neuro—”

“Not…
! Not certainly.” He fought the urge to tremble. Blood had started to surge deafeningly in his ears. “Why the hell are we discussing this?”

Baruch’s face fell into stiff lines. “I can tell you for a fact, Tahn, the
Hoyer’s
records won’t clear you.”

Cole jerked involuntarily. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve reviewed them damned carefully. Oh, mind you, it’s evident the point at which the error occurred—just after I stepped out of the shuttle. But it’s not clear who was to blame. And the Magistrates will want someone to blame. You know that.
Just like they did with the
Annum.”

Hot, agonizing flashes of the probes in the courtyard before the cathedral of Notre Dame taunted Cole. He pulled his hands off the tabletop and tucked them in his lap, hiding their trembling. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I knew it would be bothering you and I thought I’d remove that one uncertainty from your mind. To help you make decisions more clearly.”

“What
specific
decisions did you have in mind?”

Baruch looked up without moving a muscle. “Decisions regarding this ship.”

“Oh, I see.” They stared unforgivingly at each other for a time, each silently trying to guess the other’s strategy. “Well, if you really want to help me with those sorts of problems, let me look at those files myself.”

“I’ll release the data to your com immediately.”

Tahn’s mouth fell open. “Let’s talk honestly, Baruch. Is this some bizarre sort of blackmail? If the situation were reversed, I’d never release such files to you.”

Baruch heaved a tired breath and smiled. “Perhaps I respect you more than you do me. I sincerely believe that given all the relevant data—you’ll make the right choice.”

“Which means?”

Baruch lifted his glass and smoothly emptied the amber contents. “Once you’re finished reviewing the files, give me a call. We’ll discuss it.”

In cynical amusement, Cole asked, “Planning on making me an offer I can’t refuse?”

Astoundingly, Baruch turned his back on Cole and walked quietly to the door. Over his shoulder, he cast, “Yes. I am.” Then he exited into the brightly lit hallway.

CHAPTER 31

Rachel stood on the crest of a ridge, black hair waving in the warm breezes. Around her, red hills filled with orchards and fields rose and fell with the land. She looked down across a brilliantly blue lake. On the sandy shores a small village sprouted; people in multicolored robes walked the narrow dirt streets.

Aktariel spread his arms wide and turned his glowing face up to the brilliant sunshine, as though absorbing every sight and every scent into his very being. Happiness lit his amber face. “Do you smell that?”

“What?”

“That sweet tang in the air? I didn’t know how very much I’d missed the scents of olive trees and thyme.”

“Where are we?” Rachel asked.

He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. “Quite honestly? We’re in a universe where I never existed.”

“A universe…. Where is that?”

He laughed softly. “Here. The village down below us is known as Tverya.”

Walking a short distance away, Aktariel removed his blue cloak and draped it over a spiny bush. The long white robe he wore beneath shimmered with a metallic brilliance in the sunlight. A purple sash knotted around his waist, the ends flapping gently in the breeze. He sat down upon a flat stone and took off his sandals. Slapping them against the rock to knock out the dust, he smiled. “There’s a wonderful tavern I know in Tverya. Would you go there with me?” He hesitated, frowning. “At least, I think it’s there.”

“But I thought you’d never been here?”

“I haven’t, but…” He waved a hand. “I have.”

She lifted a brow in angry, frightened annoyance. “You don’t plan on answering all my questions in riddles, I hope?”

“No. I promise.”

Below, children ran through the streets of the village, a dog chasing them, barking. Giggles rose sweetly on the wind. “Then let’s go find this tavern you may know. I have a lot of questions.”

“Good. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long, long time, Rachel.” He stood up and grabbed his cloak, handing it to her. “I’m afraid you’ll look a little conspicuous in that jumpsuit. Why don’t you put this on?”

“Me? What about you?”

“They’ll see me as an ordinary man.”

“You’re going to transform yourself again?” Her heart thundered suddenly. When he shimmered like a golden god she could successfully fight the deep attraction she felt, but if he again became the striking man of Dor she feared her own responses.

“Yes,” he answered. In a tender, intimate gesture, he opened his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, then stepped closer and fastened the top clasp. “There,” he said, “they’ll think we’re filthy rich, but we can stand that.”

He stepped back away from her and lifted a hand in front of his face. As he lowered it, his inner glow died. Rachel watched the transformation with trepidation. His oval face took on the deep tan, high cheekbones and charismatic brown eyes of Hasmonaean. Blond curls hung down around his ears, fluttering in the wind. Rachel uncomfortably held that powerful gaze. When he smiled she felt as though the sun had come out from behind a dark bank of clouds. She steeled herself against him. “Let’s go.”