Treasure of Light (The Light Trilogy) (28 page)

“Let’s not be rash, Councilman. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Bogomil exhaled, his chair squealing as he suddenly shifted positions. Ornias’ gaze slid furtively sideways. The captain’s breathing had gone shallow, quickening like an ancient steam locomotive picking up speed to climb a steep hill.

Ornias swallowed hard. The Giclasian tried to smile, but the expression came off as more of a malevolent scowl, like a dog baring its teeth before gleefully pouncing on an unsuspecting rat.

“To
know
me better? Pray tell, Magistrate, what does that mean?”

Slothen shuffled through the mass of papers on his desk, picking up a stack six inches thick and riffling the shimmery crystal sheets. “There is some business pertaining to your presence on Palaia Station that I’d like to discuss with you.
Do sit down,
Councilman.”

Panic tingled up Ornias’ arms. Gracefully, he dropped to a formfitting chair and perfunctorily straightened his scarlet collar. Beneath the desk, he could see four of Slothen’s arms writhing like mating serpents. His stomach roiled. “What business?”

“You were born on Palaia, is that right?”

He didn’t answer, stalling until he figured out the angle.

Slothen continued. “And your real name is Ephippas Ornias Lix Tetrax?”

Good God, they weren’t going to try and prosecute him for crimes committed over twenty years ago, were they? “Do your questions, Magistrate, relate to the valiant service I recently rendered to the Union?”

Slothen shoved the stack a short distance away and laced his slender fingers before his red mouth. In the yellow light streaming through the window, the blue skin of his shoulders glittered greenish. In a mechanically flat tone, he answered, “I’d no idea when we originally spoke through Captain Tahn that you were so … shall we say, ‘well known’ around Palaia?”

Blessed Gods! They were going to try it!

Ornias sighed expressively. “Are we still bargaining, Magistrate? I do hope not. It was my understanding that all that was over when I delivered Baruch.”

Slothen’s red mouth puckered into a shriveled circle. “Surely you can see that it would be most inadvisable for me to pay out five billion notes to a man who’s wanted for everything from petty theft to murder. My constituents would hang me.” He blinked, trying to look sympathetic.

“You’re
reneging
on our deal!”

“Not exactly.”

“Well,
what
exactly?”

Bogomil exhaled a nervous breath and leaned forward pensively. “May I explain, Magistrate?”

Slothen nodded. “Of course, Captain. Please go ahead.”

Ornias watched Bogomil suspiciously as the man crushed and recrushed the purple hat in his hands. Erinyes sat by calmly, scrutinizing Ornias. “Councilman, we find ourselves in an unenviable position. We suspect we are currently standing on the brink of another Gamant Revolt, which—I’m sure you can understand—we’d like to avoid at all costs.”

“Uh-huh.” He surreptitiously glanced back at Slothen. The Magistrate watched him through demonic, half-lidded eyes. No matter how hard Ornias tried, he couldn’t get over the feeling that Giclasians were all just sophisticated robots. They even moved with a mechanical stiffness.

“Of course, we’ve taken some measures to contain it. For example, the Underground just split its forces and we have several cruisers on their way to see if we can trap them around Abulafia and Ahiqar. Penzer Gorgon, one of our finest commanders, is in charge, but even if he crushes them, it won’t be enough. And, well, our former Gamant specialist, Colonel Silbersay, has recently been institutionalized and we have no one to replace him. Are you following me?”

“Too well, I’m afraid.”

“Well, we were thinking … that is, with Baruch in Tahn’s custody … Yes, in custody, we … well …”

The uncertain tone in the captain’s voice set Ornias to squirming. “You sound like you’re not sure Baruch is in Tahn’s custody, Captain. Don’t tell me the government fouled up again?”

“No, no,” Bogomil hastily assured, brows pulling together. “Please let me continue. With Baruch in our hands we thought it would benefit galactic peace if we spent several months taking Baruch around to Gamant planets. You know, making an example of him to those who might seek to follow in his footsteps?”

“I see.”

“But we, well …”

“What the captain is trying to say,” Slothen finished, smiling that dog smile again that made Ornias queasy, “is that we need someone who understands Gamant psychology to make the most of this venture.”

This looked bad. Ornias contemplatively fiddled with the golden embroidery around his scarlet sleeve cuffs. Of course, it had possibilities. Though it would require him to put off retirement and expensive behavior for a short time, if he played it right, he could double his fortune and escape prosecution to boot. “You mean you want someone who can play up the Baruch capture for all it’s worth.”

“Precisely.”

“It’s an intriguing idea. But a Baruch sideshow could backfire in your faces and fuel the Revolt.”

“That,
Councilman, is why we need an experienced hand at the helm.”

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, and returned Slothen’s smile. “And my compensation for this service?”

“We would, of course, be willing to pay you the standard salary of every Magisterial ambassador. Say—”

Ornias threw back his head and laughed condescendingly. “Surely, you’re joking. You’re asking me to defuse the entire Gamant Underground movement and you want to pay me a pittance? Be
realistic.”

Slothen’s purple cat’s eyes narrowed, for a long moment, he simply stared, then he said in a frighteningly deep voice, “I could simply lock you up, Tetrax. Given your background, I seriously doubt the judiciary committee would even request a hearing.”

“Come, come, Slothen. You’d waste the talents of the one man in the galaxy who could lure Jeremiel Baruch away from his fleet and into a foolproof trap? I’m the perfect man for the job of undermining the impending war. And obviously you realize it or we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

Bogomil waved his wrinkled hat, huffing, “Why are we listening to this drivel? We can find a hundred other—”

“What’s your price. Councilman?”

Ornias smiled and considered for a moment. “I’ll promise you six months of my time and take another five billion notes in payment.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Bogomil jerk as if someone had slammed him in the stomach with a hard fist. Erinyes, however, grinned appreciatively.
“Magistrate, “
Bogomil blurted, “what he asks is simply outrageous! We can’t—”

“Shut up,” Slothen ordered and swiveled around in his chair as though following a well-rehearsed automated routine. His blue jaw vibrated as he gazed out over Naas. In the distance a huge fountain sprayed mist a hundred feet into the air, spawning a glistening rainbow over the center of the city.

Ornias smiled deprecatingly at Bogomil, who scowled in return. This was going better than he’d anticipated. A few months of scheming and he’d be able to afford his own planet. Maybe he’d select one of the jewels in the Mysore system. What a comforting idea. In his mind, he pictured the six-mile-high mountain peaks and marvelously muscular women in their scanty local costumes. Already he could feel the grip of an athletic female’s legs around his back as she milked him dry. Tingling in anticipation, he crossed his legs.

Slothen swiveled back and studied him harshly. “I’ll give you one billion for two years’ service.”

Bogomil’s sharp intake of breath made him smile. “Make it three for one year.”

“I’ll make it two for one year and that’s my final offer.”

A surge of adrenaline pricked his veins. “Just two other things then, Magistrate.”

Slothen hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously. “They are?”

“I want that quaint stack of reports in front of you destroyed and my record erased from every com file in the galaxy. Despite my past, I expect, when this is all over, that you’ll formally acknowledge me as the hero I am.”

“I’ll erase the com files.”

Ornias shrugged, only mildly perturbed at losing hero status. “All right. I expect to have a battle cruiser at my command. I want no mistakes which might jeopardize my ability to survive and enjoy my rewards—if you know what I mean.” He glanced at Bogomil, looking him up and down disparagingly.

Slothen tapped his twelve fingers on his desk. A curiously hollow thudding resulted, like the irregular staccato of distant rifle fire. It was a little unsettling.

“Not at your command,
Ambassador,
but I will agree to grant you First Lieutenant status aboard the
Klewe.”

Chuckling softly, Ornias stood. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Magistrate. When may I expect an armed escort to accompany me to the
Klewe?”

“Armed? Afraid some of your old comrades might see you in the streets, Ambassador?”

“Comrades I wouldn’t worry about.
When?”

“Day after tomorrow. Say eight o’clock in the morning?”

“I’ll be ready. Out of curiosity, where will our first stop on the Baruch sideshow be?”

Slothen heaved an irritated sigh. “Tikkun. I’ll send a dattran to Tahn and have him meet you there. We’ve had so many violent attacks on Magisterial personnel recently, we’ve been forced to take punitive actions. Major Lichtner is in charge of the planet. I recently ordered him to intensify his efforts. But from what little intelligence we can gather, the Underground is growing in strength. Rebellions are flaring everywhere. Perhaps seeing their hero in a cage will dampen some of their ardor for battle.”

Ornias smiled and bowed deeply. “I’ll make certain it does, Magistrate.”

“You’d better.”

A small tendril of unease wound through him, but he smiled pleasantly and strode out the door, irreverently saluting the guards and starting down the hall. Before he reached the end, Erinyes had trotted to catch up, amiably walking at his side.

“Ambassador,” Erinyes said smoothly. “Let’s go somewhere and talk. I believe we can help each other.”

CHAPTER 21

Long after midnight, Cole Tahn still wandered around his cabin, picking up things and slamming them down, clenching and unclenching his fists—fit to explode. His goddamned Gamant guards had just come in to reconnect his monitors again and it irked him no end. He’d been a prisoner on his own ship for five days! He could barely stand it. He hadn’t been a prisoner since …

“Don’t think about it,” he whispered to himself, massaging the back of his stiff neck.

The pain in his head had nearly gone. But the concussion had left more perilous scars, as though the blows to his skull had shattered the inner gates in his mind that he’d worked for years to lock and bolt. He had to walk a tightrope around his own thoughts, physically keeping them from straying to Maggie and the Pegasus Invasion. Still, lightning flashes of scenes tormented him at unpredictable moments and for those few seconds, he found himself lost in a whirling storm of fragmented rose windows and actinic bursts of violet.

“If Palaia knew, they’d undoubtedly order me confined to a psych center for treatment.” An involuntary shiver went through him. “Well … that may happen anyway. What the hell am I doing to stop it?”

He shook a fist futilely. Halloway had been acting as messenger between him and his crew. Suspicions about his capabilities among the crew still ran high, she’d said, but most had ceased to blame him for the debacle. He and Carey had set up a tentative organizational structure already, but he needed more time, more data, so he could discover precisely where Baruch had left himself vulnerable. Tahn had ferreted out possibilities, like the access Baruch had given the techno-science division to teaching programs, but killing the
Hoyer
through those narrow channels would be difficult, if not impossible. The thought of turning his ship into a mini-supernova left him trembling.

“Cool down. You’re not that desperate yet. There has to be a method that will leave somebody alive.”

He let his gaze drift over his cabin. He’d shuffled his books for the fifth time, rearranging them in descending order of size from left to right. In the bare pewter glow cast by the overhead panels, the gold gilded bindings gleamed as though sewn with the finest threads of saffron.

He needed more information! In a gruff movement, he spun in first one direction then another, feeling as though he wallowed in a vacuum. “Damn it!”

Unthinkingly, he pounded the com over his table. He’d tried every other cabin aboard and gotten nothing, but maybe … He keyed in cabin 2017. “Baruch? It’s Tahn.”

A long pause, then the Underground commander’s deep voice responded. “I’m busy, Tahn.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn! When the hell are you going to meet with me? Are you afraid—”

“How’s your head?”

Tahn propped a fist against the wall and ground his teeth. Baruch sounded vaguely concerned; it annoyed him like grains of sand in his eyes. Stiffly, he responded, “I’m fine. I want to talk to you.”