Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (2 page)

“Please, Garold, sit down and tell me precisely where you see the problems in our handling of Gamant affairs. We certainly don’t want another full-scale revolt on our hands. I respect your opinion. You know that. You’ve been one of my most valued advisers for thirty years.”

Silbersay tilted his head and tears filled his eyes. Pathetically, he protested, “But you relieved me of my duties. You killed my planet.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I had to do that, Garold. I—”

“It was that damned Mashiah on Horeb.”

The subject shifted so suddenly, it took Slothen’s third brain a moment to reorient his thoughts. The Mashiah? Oh, yes. Adom Kemar Tartarus, the presumed savior of Gamant civilization. “What about Tartarus, Garold?”

“He caused it all. He sent emissaries to convert the Gamants on Kayan. After hearing about his new God, they went wild. They threw themselves at my men in wave after wave, using primitive weapons against our pulse cannons. And there were so many.” He stared forlornly at the floor for a time, trembling hands clasped together, as though in prayer. The silence stretched so long that Slothen fidgeted.

“Garold? … Garold?”

Silbersay whispered in a strained voice, “How could
anyone
believe some lunatic notion of a crystalline god sent to deliver them from
our
bondage and destroy us? We outnumber them a million to one!”

“It’s simpleminded. All religious belief systems are—especially the Gamant notion of Epagael. I know, Garold, but they can do a great deal of damage if they decide to. We’ve heard rumors that he sent emissaries everywhere. Are Gamants still fired up about his religion even now that he’s dead?”

“He—he’s dead?”

“Yes. Apparently his lover murdered him.”

“And Baruch’s forces? They haven’t intervened?”

“No. His cruisers are picking up survivors off Abulafia and Ahiqar. We had to take punitive action in that system several weeks ago. I’ve considered dispatching a convoy to see if we can’t corner them there before they get away again, but—”

Silbersay pounded a fist into his palm. “Ridiculous. The Underground never splits its forces. So long as they’re there in strength, you’ll lose as many vessels as they will.”

“Yes, my opinion exactly. At any rate, we’ve also just initiated a new suppressive action on Tikkun. We’ve set up a series of neurophysiological experiments to explore Gamant brain structure. We’re taking the inhabitants of small isolated villages first and slowly working on the mind-sets in the major cities—to forestall any foolish attempts by Gamants to join forces and escape us.”

“I—I can’t believe Baruch hasn’t descended in a ball of fire! He never leaves his people at our mercy for long.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Garold. This will make you feel better. Baruch should already be under lock and key aboard the
Hoyer.
We—”

“
We captured Jeremiel Baruch?
Impossible!”

Slothen allowed a wry smile. His blue hair writhed, pleasantly caressing his skull. “But we’ve done it. We’ve been working with a man named Ornias, a powerful politician on Horeb. He lured Baruch in by telling him he needed assistance in halting the civil war there. The thought of Gamants killing Gamants brought Baruch running like a mother hen.’

“War?” Silbersay’s face slackened, eyes widening in horror. Sweat beaded across his forehead and nose, gluing his white hair to his temples.”
War!
What actions have you taken? Dear God, you haven’t ordered another scorch attack, have you? No.
Oh, no.
You can’t kill more innocent people!”

Slothen threw out two of his hands. “It’s all right, Garold. Don’t worry about it. Cole Tahn is in charge. It’s not your concern.”

“What have you DONE? Tell me?”
Silbersay cried and took three quick strides forward, face twisted with madness. Slothen hit the button beneath his desk, then lurched out of his seat and raced toward the window, his six legs swirling in a blur. Two security guards burst through the doors, rifles aimed at Silbersay’s back.

The colonel spun, staring insanely into the cold hard eyes of the human guards. “Oh,” he whispered forlornly, on the verge of tears. “Poor Cole. Poor, poor Cole.”

“Garold,” Slothen said quietly. “You’re not stable. Let me get you some help. The psych professionals on Palaia are the best in the galaxy. We’ll—”

“No!”
he screamed. “I won’t let you destroy my mind with your probes! I got away from Bogomil and I’ll escape you, too!” He lunged at the guards, forcing his way past. The surprised officers glanced to Slothen for further guidance.

“Stop him,” he ordered. “Minor Force.”

The dark-haired guard scrambled into the hall and a shot rang out. He heard a body thud dully against the walls, then slam to the floor.

“He’s down, Magistrate. What now?”

“Take him to Doctor Zirkin. Tell him the colonel is a top level military official and needs special retraining. I want all of his memories purged from the first instant he contemplated joining government service.”

The guard’s expression darkened, fear in his eyes. Slothen bared his needle teeth again and feigned a malignant smile. The guard hurried into the hall. “Yes, sir,” he responded and hit the button to close the door.

Alone again, Slothen twined his fingers so tightly they hurt. “Now I’ve lost my best Gamant specialist. Where am I going to find someone else? Maybe I ought to look within Gamant civilization itself? Subvert someone, give him a little power, and use him for all he’s worth?” It was a problem he’d have to think more about. If Silbersay proved right about the coming revolt, he’d have to find someone soon. Worse, he might have to contact the other Magistrates and that could prove catastrophic. Isolated and sleeping in classified Peace Vaults in the Giclas system, he hadn’t had to disturb their rest in centuries.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped heavily into his chair and opened a line to the front office. “Topew?”

“Yes, Magistrate.”

“Send a dattran to Captain Brent Bogomil. Tell him I’m
not
happy with him. I want him to report to me immediately.”

A pause, then Topew replied. “Your last order told him to swing by Horeb and see if Tahn needed assistance in the scorch attack there. Shall I cancel that?”

“Yes. Tahn’s done enough of these things. I’m sure he can handle it in his sleep.”

CHAPTER 1

Captain Cole Tahn strode down the long corridor of the battle cruiser,
Hoyer,
absently returning the salutes of the occasional crew members he passed. Turned low to simulate nighttime, the overhead panels threw light like tarnished silver over the white walls. He grimaced at the odor that filled the hall. Level seven housed the techno-science division and they must have been performing some peculiar experiment for the air smelled acrid, like putrifying corpses beneath a searing desert sun.

In a bitter voice, he accused, “Or maybe it’s just your own goddamned guilt you smell.”

Though he’d just showered and changed clothes, his purple uniform clung in clammy folds to his sides and back, already drenched in sweat in anticipation of the next hour. A tall man with broad shoulders, he had brown hair and piercing blue-violet eyes that, on this somber evening, took in everything: the wall clocks flashing the hour in blue at every intersection; the depressing gray carpet beneath his boots; the dull annoying thudding of his heart.

He rounded a corner and his steps faltered. Ahead, the numbers 955 shone in silver on the cabin door of Mikael Calas, the new leader of Gamant civilization—an innocent child caught in the midst of a government hurricane that looked certain to destroy everything in the universe in its wake.

Tahn inhaled deeply, fighting the tide of futility and despair that rose. He’d retrieved Mikael from Brent Bogomil’s protective grasp just after Cole had finished obliterating every known population center on Kayan. Before that, the boy’s mother and grandfather had been brutally murdered. Mikael still bore deep emotional scars. Tahn had tried to befriend him to ease those hurts. Immediately after on-loading Mikael, Tahn had taken the boy to his cabin and stretched out on the floor beside him, showing Mikael his galactic stamp collection, talking, trying to get him to open up and eat something. Reports said that the boy hadn’t so much as touched a crumb of bread since the death of his mother.

Resolutely, Tahn forced his feet forward. He lifted his hand to the black com patch outside the boy’s door. “Mikael? It’s Captain Tahn. Can I speak to you?”

A brief pause ensued, then a frail voice responded, “Yes, sir.”

The door slipped open. Standing stiffly in the middle of the room, Mikael was dressed in the long brown robes characteristic of Kayan Gamants. Small for a seven-year-old, he had jet black hair and dark brown eyes. Just now, those eyes glinted with fear—as wide and terrified as those of a rabbit caught in a trap. Tahn quietly took a step inside and winced when Mikael ran backward, lips pressed tightly together to stifle tears.

The door slipped closed with a soft snick, leaving them in near darkness. He struggled to project a friendly smile as he looked around the cabin. It spread ten by fifteen feet and had a table and two chairs on the right side and a bed on the left. In the back, a desk with a computer unit filled a small niche. Only one light panel glowed, its glare sneaking around the edges of the almost closed door to the latrine.

“Are you all right, Mikael?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re keeping it pretty dark in here.”

Mikael wet his lips and didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then he pointed to the overhead panels and whispered, “Those bright lights scare me, sir.”

Tahn nodded, silently chastising himself for not thinking of that. On Kayan, Gamants had lived in primitive caves. Oil lamps and candles provided their only source of illumination. “Would you like me to have a lamp brought up? We could secure it to the table and you wouldn’t have to use the lustreglobes at all if you didn’t want to.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The words had been uttered so softly, Tahn had barely heard them. He shifted uncomfortably, putting the weight of his two-hundred pound frame on his left foot. Mikael flinched at the movement and it dawned on him how daunting his physical presence must be to this boy. He knelt down. “I brought you something,” he said, trying to sound cheery.

“What?”

Tucking a hand inside his shirt pocket, Tahn pulled out three stamps sealed in clear petrolon and handed them to Mikael. They’d been the boy’s favorites, ancient stamps portraying the first starships. Mikael peered across at the gifts and his shoulders hunched defensively; he turned away.

The posture affected Tahn like a truncheon slammed into his gut. He bowed his head, fighting with himself, silently shouting obscenities. Then, gently, he said, “It’s all right, Mikael. I just thought you might like to have these. I want us to be friends.”

Silence—but the boy’s dark eyes hurled bitter recriminations:
You killed my world. You killed my family!

Tahn lifted a hand to massage his taut forehead. He had no excuse to offer, other than his own self-hatred, and he doubted the child would appreciate such an irrelevant excuse.

He took the stamps and carefully spread them out across the gray carpet, facing Mikael; but in the darkness, he couldn’t be certain the boy actually saw them. He tapped one, asking, “You remember this one?”

The boy shivered and hugged himself.

Tahn frowned, seeing the goose bumps on the boy’s arms. “Are you cold, Mikael?”

“Just a little.”

“I’m sorry. The ship shuts down the cabin temperatures at night, and I forgot to show you where the thermostat is.”
Damn it. Kayan was a tropical forest most of the year. Of course, he’s cold.
Getting to his feet, Tahn went to the control panel over the boy’s rumpled bed. He increased the temperature to seventy degrees.

“Just turn this dial to the right, Mikael. That will make it as warm as you need it to be.”

Mikael didn’t answer. He had his lower lip clamped between his teeth, staring fearfully at the stamps as though they were some hostile form of life that might rear up and attack him.

Tahn came back across the floor and knelt again in front of the stamps, pointing to the stamp on the far right. “This one is the first star freighter humans ever built. Do you remember? It came from Old Earth.”

Mikael looked up and whispered, “I remember.”

“Do you recall how old that stamp is?”

“No, sir. I don’t care.”

Tahn exhaled slowly. “But I thought that was the one you liked most. I wanted to give it to you.” He picked up the stamp and handed it to the boy.

Mikael took a step backward. He cocked his head and the dim light frosted his long lashes in pewter. “I don’t want it.
I don’t want anything from you!
You’re a bad man!” His chest puffed spasmodically. The glare he leveled at Tahn was pure hatred.

Tahn lowered the stamp to the carpet again.
In the name of God, can none of us ever escape the terrible memories of murder and destruction?
Mikael watched him intently and began to cry very quietly. In the same way Tahn would demonstrate to an enemy that he was unarmed, he opened and lifted his hands, then cautiously slipped an arm around the boy’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.