Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (69 page)

Pavel chuckled despite himself. “They’d get lost in the void before they ever reached the gate to the first heaven. Even—”

“And if they reached it, the angel Sedriel would make them name the five gillion secret names of God and they’d get thrown back into the void.”

For a moment, they both smiled, amused by the thought of one of the Magistrates going through Epagael’s seven heavens. The men around them looked up in astonishment that anyone here—in this horrifying place—could laugh. Pavel glanced worriedly at the ships. They still hadn’t moved. Hot wind whimpered through the weave of huge natural stones scattering the ground, sucking moisture from his exhausted body. He licked the sweat from his upper lip.

“So, we have too much of the fish chemical. So what?”

“Well, if your limbic system and temporal lobes—”

Jasper leaned around the tire to give him a scorching look. His grimy white sleeves ruffled in the searing wind. Indignantly, he demanded, “Talk Gamant.”

“Sorry…. When the world around you no longer makes you feel safe, your interpreter works overtime trying to figure out why not. But since there’s a chemical imbalance, the interpreter doesn’t get the facts right, so—

“So our brains figure wrong, is that it?”

“That’s it. The interpreter makes up a story to fit the only facts it has which are partial facts. The scary thing is that they think after prolonged craziness, these delusions take on a life of their own, forming a whole new set of crazy memories to support the delusions. They become part of our psychohistory and forever influence the way we think.”

“So the entire history of our People’s struggle is delusional?”

Pavel heaved another shovel load into the truck and wiped his drenched nose on his sleeve. “That’s about it.”

“They’re stupid!” Jasper charged. “They know nothing about Gamant history! If they did….”

They both stopped. The ships had started to move. From around the perimeter of the camp, guards closed their net, pushing prisoners toward the central parade ground. Laborers from throughout this far section of the camp formed up into rows of five abreast, walking forward blindly.

“Get up, Grandpa.
Hurry!”

Jasper shoved to his feet, leaning against the truck on shaking legs. He grabbed his shovel and squinted at the black ships. They slowly closed ranks, forming interlocking chevrons.

“Come on,” Pavel said, going to Jasper and gripping his arm in support. “We’d better go, too.”

Jasper nodded obligingly. They blended in with the rank and file, shuffling toward the parade ground. As they neared, he made out a naked prisoner, hands bound behind his back, surrounded by guards with white wands in their fists. The victim’s shoulder wore a thick bandage, but blood had seeped through, draining in rivulets down his chest to soak his muscular thighs in lurid patterns. He seemed half-mad, writhing against the iron hands of the guards who held him. Brown hair straggled about his ears, matted to his cheeks by clotted blood.

Pavel craned his neck to see over the heads of those in front of him. As they got closer, he stumbled, gripping Jasper’s sleeve for support. “Blessed Epagael,” he whispered. “It is
him.
His hair is different, but his face…. Oh, God.”

The guards herded them into an irregular circle around the spectacle. When they’d calmed, stunned by the name that passed like lightning through the crowd, Major Lichtner strolled out to stand before them. Two guards with white wands in their hands took places on either side of him. He smiled savagely and beat his baton on his leg. Around him, two dozen guards formed parallel lines. Imperiously Lichtner called, “Quiet down! Shut your mouths!”

A thunderous hush fell over the gathering. Pavel looked around him. How could they be so quiet? How could they look so calm, so placidly interested, when the victim who stood at the head of the line was the last hope of nearly every man, woman, and child in the camp? It sent a hot flash of rage through him. Yet … yet, he hadn’t the courage to do differently. Pavel wanted to run away, quickly and to the ends of the world, but his feet wouldn’t move.

Lichtner strode around haughtily, slapping his baton on his purple pants. In the morning light, his medals gleamed like molten gold. He shouted, “To all you swine who thought your pathetic Underground would rescue you, I give you your leader!”

One of the guards lifted his white wand and a glacial blue thread of light shot out, striking Jeremiel in the side. Baruch writhed like a man caught in a fire storm of flame, fighting the hands that held him. A huge blister of blood rose on Jeremiel’s side and burst, running like water down his leg. Breathlessly, he looked out over the swelling gathering. In a deep, booming voice, Baruch shouted, “You can fight them!
Fight!”

The crowd backed away a few paces, withering in upon itself. Pavel glanced at Jasper. The old man’s face had gone hard, eyes moist. “He’s right. We’re spineless, Pavel. A bunch of filthy stinking cowards. Look how we outnumber them!”

Pavel looked around at the terrified faces and bowed his head in shame. “They have guns, Grandpa. We have nothing.”

“We have the strength of our hands!”

“It’s not enough. They’ll just kill us all.”

Lichtner’s cruel laugh carried like the stench of carrion over the crowd. He strode up and bashed Jeremiel across the face with his baton. “You urge these stinking vermin to revolt?” He chuckled disdainfully. “There are no greater cowards in the galaxy than Gamants! Where is your fleet, great leader? Why aren’t they here to save you?”

No response. Then, in a choking voice, Baruch said to the crowd, “Don’t… don’t let them do this to you. You can win … stand up—”

“I’ll tell you why!” Lichtner shouted gleefully. “We destroyed half his fleet in the Abulafian system and the other half ran like leprous dogs for the far reaches of the galaxy! Eh, Baruch? Isn’t that right?”

Pavel’s heart shriveled to dust. Could it be true? Was there no help on the way?
No….

Lichtner gestured shortly to his guards.

The tall one with curly red hair switched on his wand and the blue flame danced over Baruch’s chest. So many huge blisters rose and burst in quick succession that his skin seemed to boil. Pavel found himself straining to hear any word—but Baruch stayed deathly silent. Silver tears traced glistening lines down his cheeks.

Lichtner’s rage swelled. He stamped around as though he’d explode. “Send him down the line!” he ordered.

The two guards who’d held Jeremiel shoved him forward. The first guards turned on their wands, striking Baruch in the back. He stumbled forward, almost falling as he weaved down the line. The blue threads of light seared and blackened his neck and chest. Puffs of steam and smoke encircled his tormented face.

As the sun rose higher in the sky it threw a harsh funereal light into their eyes. Pavel lifted a hand, shielding his face—his mind. He silently thanked God for his infinite wisdom in creating a world where sunlight blinded.
Baruch atta adonai….

As Baruch neared Pavel and Jasper, they almost gagged at the strong acrid scent of burning flesh and fear-sweat. For an instant, Jeremiel’s blue eyes touched Pavel’s and Pavel gripped the white fabric over his heart in horror. That silent agony struck him with the impact of Judgment Day.

The guards at the end of the line grabbed Baruch’s wounded shoulders and whirled him around, forcing him to stagger back down the line toward Lichtner. The blue threads danced like animate demons, blackening his thighs and calves, searing the toes from his right foot. By the time Baruch reached the other end, he’d bent double, dragging that foot behind him, struggling with his last ounce of strength to make it.

Lichtner’s treble laughter sounded so sweet and high that Pavel felt sickness rise. Jeremiel straightened, trembling all over. Blackened flesh crisscrossed his muscular body like the pus-filled bloated flesh of a plague victim. “You can …
fight!”
Baruch whispered wretchedly.
“You … can!”

“Hold him!” Lichtner shouted.

Hesitantly, two guards approached, turning their heads at the odor as they gripped Baruch’s arms tightly. Pavel stared aghast as Lichtner himself jerked a wand from the hand of one of his guards. No one breathed. Jeremiel looked at him through hate-filled eyes, then he lifted his contorted face toward the heavens. In a deep voice that quaked. Baruch began:
“Yisgadal ve’yiskadash.
…”

Pavel caught his breath. On the day he stood before God and listened to his own judgment read out, it would be no more terrible than this. Almost without being consciously aware, his lips picked up the rhythm of the mourner’s kedis. As one, the crowd joined Baruch. Softly at first, but the crescendo of their voices soon rose to a thunderous wave that must have shaken the very foundations of heaven itself.

“…
sh’mey rabbo. Be’ol’mo deevro chiroosey. U’vyowmey
—“

“Stop it! Stop it!” Lichtner cried. He waved wildly to his guards. “Make them shut up! Shut them up!”

“…
Ye’ hey sh’mey rabbo me’vorach le’olam.
…”

“Quiet!” Lichtner screamed insanely. “Shut up, all of you! Shut up or I’ll kill him! You hear me? I’ll kill your filthy hero!”

“…
Le’ylo min kol birchoso ve’sheeroso.
…” The rumble ascended, borne by the hot wind, crashing over the camp like the unspeakable roar of the river of fire that flowed before the throne of God.

“That’s enough! I warned you! I warned you!” Lichtner aimed his wand and the deadly blue thread shot out and into Jeremiel’s right eye. A small, wretched cry escaped Baruch’s lips. He staggered and the guards let him drop to his knees. He fell forward, forehead braced against the ground. Brown hair draped like a damp veil around his face.

A wave of hatred and shock overcame the crowd. Voices cried out in terror and indignation. Around him, Pavel saw men moving. One by one, they all turned away. They all showed the soldiers the wall of their white backs. Pavel bravely joined the wave, trembling in his boots as he turned. A brief burst of joy passed amongst them, weaving them once again into men—not dogs kicked so often they feared to lift their heads. “Here,” the man next to Pavel said softly, “take my hand. We’ll show them. We’ll show them.” Hands locked everywhere. Each man graced the comrade next to him with a lifted chin and a gaze strong in united defiance.

Then the guards moved in, thrashing with their truncheons, beating people about the heads and backs until tortured screams laced the wind. Pavel saw the man next to him fall and huddled in anticipation.

“You stupid idiots!”; he guard who slammed Pavel’s ribs shouted. “Look!
Look
before we blind you all for good!”

The guard passed, striking others, treating them like animals for refusing to stand witness to their own deaths.
And everyone knew that’s what it was; they all felt it.
Jeremiel—on his knees—was each and every one of them. They lived his every heartbeat, his every breath. It came to Pavel like a truth whispered by an angel in his ear. Each lash Jeremiel had withstood, he could withstand. Each cry Jeremiel had suppressed,
so could he!

Pavel dared to look up. Jeremiel lay sprawled facedown in the dirt. Flies had started to gather. They swarmed hungrily over his wounded body. He lay so still he seemed dead—but his hands … his hands dug into the soil. He clawed his way forward—toward Lichtner, who shouted, then shrieked madly for his guards. Dozens of black ships swooped down from the cerulean sky, skimming the red cliffs.

As though in a nightmare, Pavel heard Jasper scream, felt the hard old hands that shoved him out of the way. Purple arcs of light wove an eerie luminescent web of death around them. The crowd ran toward the center, huddling against each other, weeping, shaking fists weary with futility.

Pavel stood quietly, staring up. A tiny dagger of flame had crept into his heart like a thief in the night. A wild blaze had been kindled in his soul.

CHAPTER 52

Tahn circled the
Hoyer
three times, watching landing bay doors open and close at random. The cruiser glided effortlessly, beautiful, wings gleaming a pale gold in the glare of Tikkun’s sun—even though internally she bore deep wounds.

“It’s all right,” he promised lovingly. “I’ll have you mended in no time.”

He searched until he found a bay door that seemed stuck in the open position.

He hit his com switch. “Carey? Bay nineteen-six.”

“Give … ten minutes to get there, Cole.”

“Affirmative. Tahn out.”

He set his controls on auto and climbed out of his chair, opening the emergency locker behind the pilot’s station. He pulled out a vacuum suit and stepped into it, trying to take his time fastening it all the way up. The soft white fabric glistened like veils of pearlescent silk beneath the harsh lustreglobes. He set his helmet on the floor by the copilot’s chair, then reseated himself.

He brought the
Eugnostos
back around, keeping perfect pace with the
Hoyer
so that he seemed to hover in front of the bay. Inside, he could see shuttles shackled to the floor like rows of ebony spear points. Where was Halloway? Hadn’t ten minutes passed yet?

Since that terrible moment in Block 10, his world had seemed timeless—a thrumming eternity of ache and hatred. His nerves appeared to be leading a life of their own; they pulsed so vibrantly he had trouble staying in his seat.

“Calm down,” he softly urged himself. “Get control. You’re going to need it to pull this off.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of white in the bay and turned. Two vacuum-suited forms clung to wall braces at the far end. He swung the shuttle around in a narrow arc, gliding into the bay. Applying constant upward thrust, he kept the ship stationary while Carey, he presumed, sailed forward in ghostly slow motion and clamped down the shackles on the
Eugnostos.

Cole picked up his helmet and secured it in place, then sprinted to the zero-g compartment and sealed himself in—keeping the central command cabin pressurized and ready.

When he opened the side door, he gripped the outer handholds and pulled himself along the hull of the ship. Carey waited at the far end. As he closed on her position, she lifted an arm and wrapped it around his shoulder, pulling him close and patting his back.

Her first question worried him. “Where’s Jeremiel?”

“Captured. We have to hurry.”

She pulled back. He could see her desperate eyes through the visor. “We need a secure place to talk,” he said. “Have you made arrangements?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded a little scratchy through the speakers. “We’ve set up in conference room nineteen-ten.”

He playfully bumped helmets with her. Having her on his side had always made him feel better—and never more than now when he still couldn’t bring himself to say the word “treason” aloud. “Let’s go. We’ve got damned little time.”

They made their way across the bay to Rachel, who gripped a rifle in one arm, while holding the door brace with the other.

“Captain,” she greeted. She shifted her head, as though looking past him toward the shuttle, waiting. “Where’s Jeremiel?”

Tahn lifted a glove and placed it on her shoulder. “On Tikkun. I’ll explain everything inside.”

She briskly gestured with her rifle for him to lead the way into the foyer. He obliged. Once the door had snicked closed behind them, he hit the appropriate patches to repressurize the compartment.

Nothing happened.

“Goddamn it,” he cursed, slamming his fist into the console.

He tried again … and again. Finally, he ripped the cover off the console and accessed the manual override system. The compartment filled with air. They all removed their helmets.

They strode out into the barrenly empty, strobe-lit hall. Carey trotted out in front. He and Rachel brought up the rear. Eloel looked frightened and uncertain, still holding her rifle pointed in the general vicinity of his stomach. She’d braided her long hair so that it hung in a black silken cord over her shoulder. Her heart-shaped face gleamed with a sheen of sweat.

“Captain,” she demanded as they turned the corner. “Tell me now. What happened?”

“Lichtner captured him. You and I …” he threw her a faint smile, “are going to go get him back.”

Rachel jerked to look at him. “I’m willing, but I question your judgment. Why me? Why not Halloway?”

“I need her on the
Hoyer.
Besides, would you trust two Magisterial soldiers to bring him back alive?”

Rachel’s lips pressed into a tight line. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Carey entered the conference room and stood aside as he and Rachel entered. A deep hush fell as the door closed. The overhead panels here were dark. Only an oil lamp lit the center of the table, casting their shadows like long-dead ghouls across the walls.

Cole propped his helmet on the table and dropped into the chair at the head. Halloway and Eloel took seats on either side of him. He braced his elbows on the black tabletop and laced his fingers. Carey gazed at him through cool green eyes, but her nostrils flared with rapid breaths.

“Lieutenant,” he said gently. “Let’s discuss you and me first.”

She brushed damp auburn hair behind her ears and fixed him with a warm wry look that made him smile in return. “You’re setting us up to be the fall guys if this doesn’t work out, right?”

“Yes.”

“And our story?”

Cole lowered his gaze to his fingers. He’d unconsciously clenched them into a tight white-knuckled weave.
“My
story. I’ll take full responsibility for the Baruch debacle, claiming I ordered the security stand-down from level one to three. That’ll clear the crew. As for you, Lieutenant, being seduced into … treason … by your captain is a secondary offense. They’ll only throw half the book at you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carey said blithely. “They’ll never take me alive to stand trial.”

He threw her a broad daring smile. “Good, then we’re in agreement.”

“What’s next?”

“From this moment forward, Carey, everything you do, everything you say, has to appear to be mutinous. I suggest you begin by finding and isolating our crew. Preferably unhurt and in the brig. Then you should put Gamant trainees into all key positions.
Lastly,
kill the com virus. In a worst case scenario, you can use a com foul-up as an excuse to gain time and leverage with Brent.”

He turned to Rachel. She watched him intently, black eyes pools of suspicion. “I believe you have the authority, Miss Eloel, to order your crew to obey Halloway’s commands?”

She looked as grim as if Death had just appeared out of an explosion of fire and brimstone and demanded her soul. She held his gaze but said nothing.

Cole heaved an anxious breath. “Look, Rachel, I’d just as soon you trusted me because I’m a hell of a nice guy, but since it’s obvious that you don’t, what collateral can I give you to insure your taking the necessary risk?”

She fumbled awkwardly with the rifle lying across her lap. “A nice guy?” She laughed softly, as though in self-mockery.
A just man
—
decent to a fault.
“I… I believe you. But my crew won’t—not until they see your people in the brig and the ship clearly in their hands.”

He nodded. “I understand that. What if you and Carey both talk to them together. Assign your best security people to help Carey find and capture our crew. That should provide some instant gratification and build confidence. Next, I suggest you handpick your most competent trainees to fill Bridge and Engineering positions. Get them in place immediately.” He lightly pounded a fist on the table. “I’ve no idea how much time we have before Bogomil roars over the horizon. We’ve got to be prepared—”

“Bogomil,” Rachel said, “and those four other cruisers.

Tahn spun to glare at her.”
What
four other cruisers?”

“I don’t know, but they’re planning on surrounding us in a Laced Star maneuver.”

The breath went out of his lungs as a hot flood of adrenaline scorched his body. “How do you … ? No, never mind, that’s irrelevant. God Above. What plans had Baruch made to counter that maneuver?”

She gave him a clear-eyed deadly stare. “He’d planned on setting the
Hoyer
down on the planet.”

Cole’s heartbeat grew deafeningly loud in his ears. “Insane.”

“He considered it the only way to avoid having everyone aboard captured and hauled off to the nearest neurophysiology center. That included the remnants of your crew, incidentally. He figured some of them would guess what might happen to them if the Magistrates picked them up. He wanted to give them the same chance he was giving his own people.”

Cole shook his head disbelievingly. “He didn’t plan on trying to fight first? I can’t imagine—”

“He said the green Gamant crew would never be able to hold their own against five Magisterial crews. He figured they’d have a better chance of surviving on the planet’s surface.”

He breathed out a long exhale and ran a hand through his hair. “He’s right. But, Lord, I would have never guessed he’d do something so…. Well, he must have planned on making that last-ditch move when he first sighted the cruisers converging. That would give the
Hoyer’s
people enough time to land and head for the hills.”

“Yes,” Rachel said softly. “He did. That was the main reason he wanted to go down with you and check out Magisterial operations on Tikkun. So we’d know what to expect when we got to the planet.”

A glacial hand tightened around Cole’s heart. After seeing Block 10, Baruch must have felt desperate to the point of madness. They’d boxed him tighter than he’d ever been boxed and he
hadn’t
opted to blow up the ship—he’d opted to try and save his people’s lives.

His eyes darted over the lamplit room, then landed on Halloway. Her stern gaze had never left him. She studied him pensively, waiting for him to give her another option. “Carey, if I’m not here—if you have to make a desperate play—do it. Set the
Hoyer
down on the planet near the largest population center you can find and run for the center of the city. They’ll play hell for months trying to find you. But
only
as a swan song. Until that time, play along with Brent. Do whatever he says—make him believe that the
Hoyer
is still a Magisterial ship. Understand?
Do whatever he says.
At least, anything short of letting him board you. That would end our little show pretty damned quick.”