Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (64 page)

“Thank you, Manstein. Lead on,” Tahn said.

As they walked around the shuttle, the immensity of the compound struck him. It hadn’t seemed this large from the air—a distortion net to disguise its size? The photon shield stretched endlessly into the lingering blue of dawn—an amber womb comprising perhaps five or six hundred acres.

Tahn’s eyes narrowed as they strode through the front gate and into the installation. In the huge square complex, windowless gray buildings rose on all sides around a central parade ground. Raucous laughter came from somewhere ahead,
drunken
laughter, he thought. And another sound, delicate, like a child’s muffled cries, wound through the din. He glanced at Baruch. The Underground leader carried himself in strict military fashion, but he’d noticed the laughter, too—his eyes riveted on the location, face wearing a thin veil of hatred.

Manstein turned slightly. “How was your trip in, Captain?”

“Oh, rather uneventful. You know how boring the light vault is. The crew spent the entire time grumbling about how badly they needed vacations. I think they’re ready to slit their wrists.”

“Well, at least you have Baruch’s capture to buoy their spirits. Here, we have nothing.” He waved a hand gruffly to the compound. “Every day it’s the same thing, shunting filthy Gamants to one experiment here and shunting them to another there. We can barely breathe around them, they stink so badly.”

Tahn kept silent.

Manstein turned right, leading them down a narrow alleyway to a gate formed of the thickest black petrolon. He lifted his palm and placed it over a gray patch. Nothing happened; he murmured a subvocal curse. “Say, Barcus,” he called, “could you give me hand with this.”

Baruch hesitated, eyes glimmering suddenly, as though he suspected a trap, but as all the other guards turned their gazes on him, he answered, “Sure,” and strode forward, putting his palm next to Manstein’s.

The gate slipped open and they passed through into a small inner courtyard filled with hanging pots of flowers and tan stone benches. All around, buildings rose five and six stories high. A single lustreglobe cast a bluish hue over the shiny brown tiles beneath their feet. Music drifted down from somewhere above, the melancholy strains of a violin twining between buildings. Manstein led them toward a shadowed doorway on the far side of the courtyard. Hitting the door com, the sergeant called, “Corporal Uman? This is Manstein. Please tell Major Lichtner we’re here.”

A moment later the door opened and Manstein made a sweeping gesture with his arm. Tahn strode by him, Baruch on his heels, into a magnificent room, so magnificent that Tahn’s steps faltered. Spreading at least a hundred feet square and twenty high, a chandelier of the finest Arpeggian crystal hung from the ceiling, each faceted piece glistening in a rainbow of colors. Upon the marble staircase to his right, they cast a kaleidoscopic light. An enormous crimson and jade rug covered tiny porcelain tiles decorated with the most delicate of spiderweb designs. Along every wall, priceless pieces of furniture from around the galaxy sat: high-backed Carinan chairs, carved “cherubim” tables from Pegasus III, Cassiopian emerald clocks.

Tahn took it all in quietly, but revulsion stirred within him.

“Captain,” a familiar voice called, sickeningly sweet in its tone. “Welcome to Block 10.”

Tahn turned to see Lichtner coming gracefully down the staircase. The man’s purple uniform garishly boasted dozens of medals, undoubtedly every medal he’d ever won—or, more likely, bought.

Tahn inclined his head. “Major. You’re looking well.”

Lichtner came across the floor swaying slightly, his smile gloating. When he got close enough, Tahn could smell the strong scent of wine on his breath. Lichtner extended a manicured hand. “And you’re looking poorly, Captain. Those bags under your eyes speak of hard days and harder nights.”

Tahn smiled, obligingly shaking that soft white hand, wanting to slap that smug smile off Lichtner’s face. “The nights we won’t discuss—as to the days, we’ve been riding herd on these fanatical Gamants for over a year, Major. It begins to weigh on the
best
of men after a time.”

Lichtner laughed, a low laugh that made Tahn tense every muscle in his body. “Well, shall we have a glass of wine before I show you around, Captain?”

“I’d prefer a smooth whiskey, Major, if you have it.”

“Of course. And for your security officer?”

“Oh,” Tahn said apologetically. He turned and gave Baruch a formal smile. “Forgive me. Major Lichtner, this is Lieutenant Barcus.”

Baruch stepped forward, bowing and extending a hand. “Major,” he said so reverently that Tahn gave him a look of grudging admiration. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ll also take a whiskey, thank you.”

Lichtner smiled plastically, but his gaze surreptitiously examined Baruch’s facial features, going carefully over his brown hair and mustache, noting the pistol on his hip. In a quick glance, Lichtner checked Tahn’s barren hip. Tahn straightened, hope lighting a fire in his belly. Could someone have tipped Lichtner off?
Bogomil?

“Very well,” Lichtner said, “please follow me.”

They walked in single file across the plush rug to the ornately carved liquor cabinet sitting beside a table and eight chairs. Briefly, Tahn’s gaze touched Baruch’s: the Underground leader’s blue eyes filled with warning. Tahn shifted to watch Lichtner take a fine crystal decanter from the shelf and fill two glasses, handing them over with infinite grace.

“So,” Tahn began, sipping his whiskey. “Tell us about Block 10. As I understand it, this is a neurophysiological research center, is that correct?”

“For the most part,” Lichtner said. His square face seemed to glow, highlighting his brown eyes. “Please, sit down.” He gestured to the table with the high-backed chairs “We’ve at least twenty minutes before we need to start heading across the compound. We’ve brought in a new group of study subjects today and are getting rid of an old group. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the efficiency of both operations.”

“It sounds interesting.” Tahn smiled pleasantly, watching Lichtner place the bottle of wine and the whiskey decanter on opposite sides of the table. Drawing lines? A damned good idea. “I think both Barcus and I would appreciate a few minutes of conversation first.”

“Manstein,” Lichtner called, waving a hand as though shooing away flies. “Please take your men and wait outside. We’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, sir.” Manstein and all the other guards filed out, shutting the door softly behind them.

With just three of them, Tahn felt even more uncomfortable. Lichtner and Baruch were armed. All he had was his highly agitated body.

They took seats, Baruch dropping to the chair on his right, Lichtner across the table. He didn’t miss the way Baruch subtly shifted, turning sideways so Tahn could see his hand resting on the butt of his holstered pistol. Baruch smiled professionally at Tahn. He smiled back, then shifted his gaze to Lichtner. Under normal circumstances, he’d have been obnoxious to the major, but he strongly suspected that wasn’t the proper attitude at this moment.

“Well, Lichtner, what sorts of experiments are you performing here?” He sipped his whiskey, lifting his brows. Excellent.

Lichtner leaned back in his chair and took a long drink of his wine, nearly emptying the glass. He refilled it from the bottle before answering. “Oh, a variety. Most of them are concerned with the limbic system and temporal lobes, whatever those are. You know how it is, Captain, these neurobiologists go about their experiments and we administrators handle all the important things.”

Tahn nodded obligingly. “Of course. Scientists—and politicians, I might add—rarely perceive the whole picture. I understand.”

“And the Magistrates have been quite demanding. Every day it seems we get another order to step up our operations.”

“The Magistrates are
always
demanding, Major.”

“Yes, but too often it’s over trivial things.”

“I’ve noticed that myself in the past.”

Lichtner lifted his chin curiously. “Well, we’re certainly getting along better this evening, Tahn, than at our last meeting.”

Tahn nodded amiably, but a violent fire blazed inside him. He longed to reach across the table and feel Lichtner’s trachea beneath his fingers. “Silmar was a bit hectic.”

“Hectic?” Lichtner responded indignantly. “I should have filed charges against you. I seriously considered it.”

“Well, I appreciate the fact that you didn’t. I was—”

“It would have been a little silly. I didn’t have any witnesses, after all.” Lichtner gave Tahn a glazed look of loathing.

“Yes, well, at any rate, I appreciate your forbearance. I was strung pretty tight that day. If I offended you, I humbly apologize.”

Lichtner laughed in a low cruel way, swirling his red wine roughly. “You were extremely unprofessional, Captain. Pleroma was a Gamant slut. Just because you disagreed with my methods was no reason—”

“As I said, I’m sorry. My conduct was
admittedly
reprehensible.” Tahn looked askance at Baruch; he sat unmoving, but his nostrils flared with shallow breaths. Their gazes met for an instant and Tahn flinched. Goddamn, what would Baruch do if Lichtner discussed the details of Silmar? Dannon’s words about Baruch’s emotional flaws fluttered through his mind. One rash act could get them all killed.

Lichtner seemed to give no notice to the hint to shut up. He ran a hand through his light brown hair and his thin lips set into a hard line. “Yes,
admittedly.
I should have filed charges. By all rights you should have been court-martialed and imprisoned for striking a superior officer.”

He caught Baruch’s curious glance, but kept his attention riveted on Lichtner who lifted his wine glass and drained it dry, then refilled it.

Tahn leaned across the table. “Look Lichtner, I’d rather not discuss this. What’s past is past. I’d like to—”

“You’ve never been a true professional, Captain,” Lichtner said with smooth arrogance. “If you were, you’d have understood my methods that day on Silmar. Gamants are too primitive to respect sophisticated means of information gathering. You have to treat them like the wild animals they are. Besides,” Lichtner murmured with suave brutality, “Syene Pleroma was most ardent—a true delight—though her screams were a little disconcerting at first. You’d have benefited from playing along with me. I had her four times before I gave her over to my men and I’d have certainly allowed you—”

“Damn it!”
Tahn said, rising halfway out of his chair. Beside him, he felt Baruch move, shifting so that if the need arose he could pull his pistol with one smooth movement and fire. Swiftly and certainly, Tahn finished, “I don’t want to talk about it, Lichtner!”

The major’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re weak, Tahn. Your
ridiculous
morals make you feeble.”

Tahn lifted his whiskey glass, bolting the contents with one quick throw of the hand. For a breathless, timeless moment, he forgot Baruch sat beside him. He leaned over the table, glaring into Lichtner’ face. “Do you know what would happen if I filed a complete report of your activities that day, Lichtner? You violated every regulation in the government Ethics Directive. Hmm? How would you like that? Shall I file a report? I’ve at least five officers who’ll stand as witnesses.”

Incensed, Lichtner dramatically drummed his fingers on the table. “Threats won’t improve our relationship, Captain. Perhaps it would be better if we both forgot Silmar?

Tahn leaned back, breathing hard, rage building to a crescendo in his chest. “Perhaps.”

Lichtner turned to gaze at one of the emerald clocks. “At any rate, we should be going. I’ve some special operations I want to show you. We take care of all our dirty work early in the morning, before our scientists come on duty.” He shoved his chair back and stood up, straightening his uniform.

Tahn poured himself another glass of whiskey and bolted it, then rose. He noticed Baruch hadn’t so much as touched his glass.

“Yes, let’s go,” Tahn said. “I want to find out what Block 10 is
really
all about.”

Lichtner briskly led the way toward the door, back so straight he looked like he’d swallowed a broomstick. Tahn followed. Baruch quietly brought up the rear. Tahn’s spine prickled eerily. Baruch moved with the throttled silence of a skilled hit man.

They exited through the door into a crowd of eight guards. The courtyard seemed even brighter after two whiskeys, the flowers obscenely scenting the air with a rich sweetness. They strode headlong through the far gate and out into the compound.

Quietly, Baruch murmured, “Tahn, some day I’d like to discuss what you did on Silmar. It seems I may owe you something and I’d like to—”

“Forget it. I didn’t do it for you, Baruch.”

Heading across the parade ground, Tahn heard, once again, the guttural laughter of a half dozen men, the choking whimpers of a girl interspersed with sharp muffled cries of pain. His skin crawled as they neared the source of those sounds.

They rounded a corner and Tahn stopped dead in his tracks. The soft opalescent rays of dawn streamed down over the photon shield, scattering patches of brilliant gold down the alley. Lichtner and his men strode by heedlessly, as though the scene didn’t exist. Five men stood in a circle in the alley, naked. They had a tiny girl, no more than twelve, captive between them—her breasts had barely begun to bud, yet white stains of semen traced rivulets down the insides of her thighs. They shoved her from one man to the next, laughing, tormenting, eyes bright with cruel desire.