Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (26 page)

The tube halted and Janowitz got out first. He went to the four Gamant guards routinely stationed on the bridge and coordinated tactics, then took his elite team often to check and recheck every member of the
Hoyer’s
crew, getting only a few curses from women who balked at his thoroughness. They glared hotly from the lower level, uniforms stained darkly with sweat around collars and beneath arms, jaws clamped. Jeremiel had ordered the bridge crew rotated, only allowing five at a time to sit at the inoperable consoles—just in case Palaia tranned and he needed familiar faces in the picture.

Jeremiel walked out, pinning Halloway with a murderous gaze. She slouched tiredly in the command chair, auburn hair tucked behind her ears. Her cheeks seemed more sunken, delicate facial bones sharp.

“What do you want, Baruch?”

He watched Janowitz going through his security routine, then shifted his eyes to the forward screen. Blank, it stood out like a huge locked door of the deepest gray. Had she turned it off to keep her crew from hysteria every time the ship recrossed the path of the decompression? Probably.

“They’re all clean, Jeremiel,” Janowitz confirmed. Then, waving, he instructed his security team to fan out around the bridge. They stood with rifles cradled in their arms, sharp eyes constantly moving.

With infinite patience, Jeremiel walked over to Halloway and gazed down at her. Conversationally, he commented, “I wanted to let you know I reconnected the long-range link. And I’ve tended to all the minor reroutes necessary to completely disable the bridge.”

Her shoulder muscles tensed, but subtly. “I thought you’d find it sooner. Slipping in your old age, Baruch?”

He gave her a pleasant smile. “Let’s go into the bridge conference room and have a chat, shall we?”

She stood up, and swayed, groping for her chair back. Instinctively, he reached out to take her arm, helping to steady her. She glanced at his hand, but made no move to throw it off. Slowly looking up, she met his gaze. A curiously vulnerable light gleamed in her eyes, as though her soul lay open for his appraisal. It affected him strangely, making him feel more hollow than he already did. He released her arm and gestured to the conference room. She stepped forward, leading the way.

A round chamber, it spread thirty feet in diameter. An oval table sat in the center surrounded by fifteen chairs. Holos of exotic landscapes dotted the walls. Most showed majestic mountain scenery. but some displayed eerie wind-sculpted rock formations.

He pulled out a chair for her. “Have a seat.”

Without looking at him, she accepted and leaned her head tiredly against the high back.

He crossed his arms over his gray shirt and strolled around the room. She clasped her hands in her lap defensively, but it was a frail, almost childlike gesture.

“Tired?” he asked.

“What would give you that idea?”

“You’re not your usual hateful self.”

“My, you’re charming tonight.”

He came back around and sat down next to her, propping his elbows on the table. She looked at him wearily. Her purple uniform possessed wrinkles where no uniform should. Had she slept in it while sitting in the command chair? He knew what that was like.

“Stop plotting against me. You’d have a lot more time to rest.”

Her dark graceful brows lifted. “Why don’t you ask me to turn into a toad?”

“What do you think I ought to do with you? I certainly can’t let such sabotage go unpunished. It would set a bad example for your crew. They might think I’m soft on treachery.”

“What do you usually do?”

“I usually kill the offender.”

“Well… that would give me some rest.”

She’d said it so nonplussed that it made him lean back in his chair. “Why don’t we discuss now what other ‘problems’ I might find in the ship’s operation. That way we can both rest easier.”

She gave him a feeble smile. “Go to hell.”

“Perhaps we’re not communicating. I’d really rather not lose you.”

She fumbled insecurely with her hands. Beautiful, tired, this display of unguarded emotion struck him disturbingly.

“Halloway, let’s be straightforward. I can’t—”

“Neither can I!
We’re playing a high stakes game, Baruch. You’re fighting for your people. I’m fighting for mine. And it’s all or nothing. You know that.”

He shook his head in confusion. “No, I don’t. We made a deal. You said you’d follow my orders. I told you I’d put you and your people off safely on the nearest Gamant planet. And I intend to. You’re making this a lot harder for yourself than it has to be. Just hang on for a week and you’ll be down somewhere, can tran the Magistrates to reroute the nearest cruiser to pick you up, and you’ll be fine. Alive!”

“Tahn’s right. I do give you more credit for brilliance than you deserve.”

He shook his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t know Magisterial history very well. Now, either kill me or let me go back to my bridge.”

He frowned. The only history that interested him was Magisterial technological development. He’d been searching for years to find a way of blowing the hell out of Palaia Station. It occurred to him to tell her that, but he stopped himself. He studied her, burning to know what frightened her so. Magisterial history? His mind flashed over the elements he knew, major events. All the while his gaze held hers. She must have realized he was running events through his mind, for her face changed. A worried swallow went down her throat, as though she feared she’d revealed too much. Too much about what? He’d told her she’d be fine and she’d fundamentally responded that he was stupid …

The
Annum
Incident?

“Oh, Lord,” he murmured tautly, massaging his brow. Her labored breathing seemed suddenly loud in the quiet. “You think you have to get your ship back to stay healthy.”

A gleam came into her eyes, as though a scarcely endurable fear gnawed at her vitals. But she said nothing.

“You mean the
Annum
Incident, don’t you?” he asked.

“How do you know about it?”

“I’ve made Tahn a hobby of mine. It helps to know a man’s personal history. It gives you clues as to how he thinks. So it is all or nothing. Well, at least we know where we stand.”

He steepled his fingers over his lips as he thought. A rabid indignation beat in his chest, but he kept it out of his voice, speaking softly. “I’m sorry. I know the fear you’re feeling. For decades the Magistrates have been sending Gamant children to Right Schools to strip their minds in the same way they did the crew of the
Annum.
Oh, our children aren’t totally incapacitated like they were, but we’ve lost entire generations of fine minds. They function only at median levels in society. Where Gamants are concerned, the Magistrates call it ‘eliminating the nuisance factor.’ What do you think they’ll call it in your case? ‘Galactic security’? “

A tense silence settled over the room. He nervously fiddled with the cuff of his gray sleeve, not looking at her. Something akin to self-ridicule tingled inside him. How damned dare he feel pity for her, this woman who had been instrumental in the murders of so many innocent Gamants! But he did feel pity—pity and a startling sense of shared desperation. She must be going through a living hell, worrying what the future held. And so was he. That made them even in his heart, though his head rebelled, shouting at him to just kill every Magisterial soldier on board. That way he wouldn’t have to lie awake nights writhing in worry about what they might think up next to murder him or his people. But he damn sure couldn’t train refugees by himself and worry about keeping them alive at the same time. And they needed training, badly. He’d never be able to handle this ship in a battle unless he had a crew with a baseline competency in the systems.

She leaned forward, her face no more than two feet from his. He studied the beauty of her auburn hair and delicate features, the bare sprinkle of freckles across her nose. All the while, he was acutely aware that her gaze searched his face, probing deeply for something he didn’t understand.

“So,” she said at last, “the great Jeremiel Baruch is indeed human. I’ve often wondered.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You look like a damned soul hanging by a thread over the pit of darkness. It makes me feel better.”

“Don’t let it comfort you too much. I haven’t fallen in yet.”

“It’s just a matter of time, Baruch.” Tiredly, she braced a hand against the table and got to her feet. Tiny upright lines formed between her brows. “May I go back to my duties now?”

He ground his teeth as he held her gaze. Should he let her? She’d been doing an invaluable job keeping her crew sane in an impossible situation. But her knowledge of the ship put her at the top of his list of dangerous enemies.

“No, I think not.”

She looked surprised. “Why? If you’ve really taken care of the minor reroutes, there’s nothing more I can do to hurt you from the bridge.”

“True, but there are things you can do to
help
me in Engineering. And I can keep a closer eye on you. Especially now that we know all deals are off. I’ll let you come back to the bridge often enough to keep up pretenses.”

He walked forward and lightly gripped her arm, guiding her toward the door.

Rudy Kopal paced the bridge of the
Zilpah,
black battlesuit rustling with his strained movements. Perspiration drenched his brown hair, stinging in his gray eyes. His gaze darted around the bridge. Ten people worked the control consoles in evenly spaced niches at the edges of the round chamber. Above him, twenty-two screens displayed different-colored information. He’d shouted so often at his crew in the past ten hours that now they all refused to meet his eyes, pretending to study the cursors on their com screens.

Damn it, Jeremiel. I told you. I
told
you not to go to Horeb.

He’d had his jaw clamped so hard for so long his facial muscles ached. Tightly, he said, “Merle?” letting the unspoken question dangle like a threat.

She swung around in her chair. A petite woman with a round face and pointed nose, long raven hair fell over her shoulders. Her dark eyes echoed his own deepest fears.

“Nothing more so far, Rudy. The message from the
Hoyer
to Palaia simply said they’d made arrangements with some Councilman named Ornias for a price of five billion notes. That was dispatched four days ago.”

He glared anxiously at the forward screen. “What’s the
Hoyer’s
current location? Do we know?”

“We assume they’re still circling Horeb. But that information is unconfirmed.”

He stepped toward the screen, eyeing the distant star-strewn skies. They’d been holding their position for hours, waiting for more data before they moved. To his eyes, the stars glistened darkly, like a sequined burial shroud thrown over the heavens. “At maximum vault, how long to get there?”

Merle’s mouth went tight. She dropped her gaze. “Rudy, even if—”

“How long!”

The bridge hovered in deathly quiet. No one moved a muscle, but his officers seemed to cringe without moving.

Merle got up from her nav console, striding to stand beside him. The top of her dark head barely came to his shoulder. Under her breath, she said, “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

Reluctantly, he spun and strode full tilt for the transport tube. She followed, gently pounding the patch for level twelve. They descended in grave silence, neither daring to speak to the other for fear of a blowup. When the tube stopped, Merle stepped out first, leading the way down the hall to the observation dome.

Rudy followed. They both stepped into the room and waited until the door snicked closed. A circular transparency lined with padded blue-plaid window seats, it had a diameter of about twenty feet. The lighting, always turned low, gleamed with the strength of a full moon. It cast their shadows like dark giants across the back wall. Through the dome, the Wind River Cloud Galaxies flared brilliantly, seeming so close he could reach out and grab a handful of stars.

And somewhere out there, somewhere, Jeremiel had fallen into a black abyss of trouble.

After several minutes of just standing and gazing at the stars, Merle sighed and went to sit on one of the long benches.

She ran a hand through her ebony hair, commenting, “You’re wound pretty tight, Rudy.”

Roughly, he folded his arms and fixed his gaze on the Crowheart Z-l, a neutron star of majestic splendor. Just now it seemed the center of everything bright in a desperately dark galaxy. “What the hell are we going to do, Merle? Leave him there?
You know what they’ll do to him?”

“Of course, I know.”

“I won’t leave him to that! If it was one of us, he’d run the whole goddamned fleet ragged to get us out.”

“I know, but—”

“You’ve raided enough of those neuro labs. Do you want to see Jeremiel like that? I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror unless I know I did everything I could to get him out of Tahn’s hands.”

At the thought of Tahn, he couldn’t help it, he whirled around and slammed a fist into the transparency. A muffled thud rang out. Clenching his fists, he struggled to gain control again.