An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (66 page)

“What is it?”

“His dattran reports: Full evacuation completed. We are also in possession of the latest leader of Gamant civilization. Will be transferring him as soon as your mission is completed. Hope you have toys aboard.”

Tahn heaved an irritated sigh. “What the hell did he mean by that?”

“Unknown, Captain.”

Halloway swung around in her seat, staring at him contemptuously, her purple uniform stretched tight across her breasts. He could see that her breathing fluctuated erratically. “Orbit.”

He held that frigid gaze, feeling empty inside. What did she want? He couldn’t disobey a direct order from the Magistrates.
Even if he wanted to
—
it would be suicide.
Every officer on the bridge turned to stare at him, waiting. Oddly, he felt as though his own conscience accused him through their eyes. A sinking sensation invaded his stomach.

“How many of these have we performed in the past standard year, Captain?” Halloway taunted. “Three? Or do we count the half measure on Nuja to make four?”

He glared at her. Did she think he liked this? That he enjoyed the silent screams of the billions that filled his nightmares?

He massaged his brow, hollowly ordering, “Commence Prime Mover. Then tran Talworth and give him an estimated time of our return.”

Clattering sounded across the bridge, officers checking status reports, taking energy readings, sucking in a final breath before unleashing the fiery apocalypse. Everyone except Halloway.

She sat sternly still, examining him with mutiny in her cool green eyes. A mutiny his gut agreed to. But his head rebelled.

“I suggest you calculate orbit fluctuations resulting from energy surges, Lieutenant,” he said stiffly.

“Aye, sir.” She exhaled distastefully, swinging back to her console.

In a few moments, broad beams lanced out from his ship, slashing the lush forests in carefully calculated patterns of devastation.

A haze of dust and smoke belched into the moist atmosphere.

Jeremiel sat deathly still, watching the battle scenes blaze across the monitor. A troop of monks rushed a hill held by Ornias’ forces. A web of violet death spun briefly. When the dust cleared, moonlight glimmered from contorted faces as man after man fell, torn bodies sliding down the slope to rest in a mangled mass at the bottom.

“Blessed God, what’s happening?” He squeezed his eyes closed, blindly striking the button to request an update on casualty figures. Squinting at the dim screen, his eyes hardened. “Twenty-two thousand?”

Bracing his elbows on the table, he steepled fingers over his mouth and stared at the long copper designs cast by the faceted decanter before him: Akiba rye whiskey. Candlelight awoke dancing reflections of flame in the amber liquid.

Reaching for a glass, he poured it full and slumped in his chair. Maybe if he’d never gone to the palace, never tried to provide support for Rachel, maybe he could have properly trained the Fathers. “Nothing but green boys,” he muttered to himself, feeling bitterly tired, desperate with the idleness of waiting. “Harper did the best he could, but …”

He swirled the whiskey in his glass, then drank deeply. The rye burned a path down his throat, bringing tears to his eyes.

He leaned his head back against the chair and stared sightlessly at the red ceiling. From somewhere deep in his mind his father’s choking voice welled: “You know, don’t you, son, that if—if you decided not to be a Gamant anymore, I’d understand. Ours is not an easy life. We’re always in trouble. Promise me you’ll never forget this talk? When I’m gone, I want you to remember I gave you … permission … to—to become the kind of man you think you must. Not the kind you think I want.”

He lifted his glass and drained it dry. Sweet memories of his father encircled him. Shabbat evenings of songs and warm hugs. “I’m still a Gamant, Papa. But I’ve never felt more like backing out. We’re in worse trouble now than we’ve ever been.”

Getting to his feet, he paced the small chamber, stroking his beard. His tired mind seemed incapable of figuring a way out of the impending debacle. Even if Harper succeeded in killing Ornias, he strongly suspected the Mashiah’s followers would keep fighting, fired by loyalty to their savior.
Rachel.
Obviously, he’d been right in the beginning. Making her the linchpin had been a grave error—one that twenty-two thousand had already paid for.

“So many mistakes, Baruch. Oh, Syene … I’m glad you can’t see me now.”

A beep sounded on his belt com. He pulled it off and hit the switch. “Baruch here.”

“Jeremiel,” Rathanial’s voice intoned. His shoulder muscles tightened. “We’ve picked up a tran from Tahn. He’ll be on his way back in roughly three hours. I think we’d better set operation ‘bait’ in motion.”

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. He didn’t relish relying on known traitors, but Rathanial’s position with Ornias might be his only ace right now. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. I’ll do whatever you say, just so long as once we’re in the palace I can try to save Shassy.”

“We’ve already agreed you only have to take me there. Then you’re free to do as you wish. Do you have data on Kayan’s status yet?”

A pause.

“Tahn scorched the planet, Jeremiel. All habitation centers have been obliterated.”

He’d been expecting as much, still, the news struck him like a blunt beam in the stomach. Poor Sarah. She’d never been meant for leadership. And Tahn’s cold efficiency left no room for considerations of human frailty; the man never hesitated once the order had been given—not even if the planet pleaded wildly. That meant, in all probability, the primary threat on Horeb had shifted. The wrath of the Magistrates stood only a breath away unless he took quick action. “Have we intercepted any messages between Tahn and Slothen?”

“None.”

So we don’t know whether he’s been ordered to take full-scale measures here or not.
Silently he did the calculations in his head. “We’ve got about fifty hours to get things set up, then. In the miraculous event that Tahn is returning to do more diplomatic negotiations, I’ll spend the next few hours concentrating our attacks on Ornias’ weak spots. Maybe we’ll have won this war before Tahn even gets close.”

“And if not?”

“I’ll be ready for operation ‘bait.’”

“Jeremiel … I know we’ve had difficulties, but I hope we don’t have to use you—”

“Baruch out,” he said shortly and clipped his com back on his belt. Propping hands on his hips, he stared hollowly at the floor. If Tahn came in under Prime Mover orders, the only thing that might stop Horeb’s destruction would be a trade.

He poured himself another glass of rye.

The light of Kayan’s sun filtered through the debris clouding the atmosphere to create a gruesome mauve halo around the planet. Now that they were almost finished with their maneuver, the halo grew a deeper purple with each passing minute. Tahn watched in wretched fascination.

“Captain?” Macey said, swinging around in his chair, eyes wide as the aura snapped on. “Message coming in from Bogomil.”

“Put him on screen.”

“Aye, sir.”

Bogomil appeared on the forward screen, green eyes pinched and tired. “Cole, how are things going?” The man forced a smile.

Tahn growled, “Just lovely, Brent.”

“I … sorry. I know you hate these things. I called to ask if it’s all right if we transfer the new leader of the Gamants to your ship? He’s getting frustrated here. He won’t eat. I think it’s because our ship’s cramped and too busy for a seven-year-old. He needs—”

“Seven?”

“Yes, his name is Mikael Calas, Zadok’s grandson apparently. A persistent little beggar. Keeps quoting the Treaty of Lysomia, demanding his right to an audience with Slothen.”

“It is his right—regardless of his age. Yes, Brent, transfer him over. We’ll take care of him.”

“He’s on his way. Oh, and, Cole …” Bogomil fiddled aimlessly with a sheet of paper in front of him. “Thanks for getting here so quickly when I called. Your efficiency probably saved over a thousand of my crew’s lives.”

“No problem, Brent. Just doing our duty.”

“Well, thanks anyway. Dependability in the fleet is going the way of most old traditions. I’m relieved to find it still exists on the
Hoyer.
If you ever need me,” he said sincerely, “call and I’ll come running.”

“I appreciate that.” Tahn hesitated. “How’s Garold?”

“In the hospital. Complete breakdown. He’ll be all right once we can get him corrected at the nearest neurophysiology center.”

Tahn’s gut writhed. “Sure. Right. Send him my regards. Tell him I know how he feels.”

Bogomil frowned, chin going up. “I’m not sure that sort of encouragement is good for him. He’s—”

“Just tell him, damn it!”

Bogomil eyed him disapprovingly for a moment, then nodded. “I will.”

The screen went blank.

“Sir?” Macey said tautly, looking a little like a kicked puppy.

Tahn grimaced. “What?”

“When you were talking with Bogomil, Talworth sent a dattran on Horeb.”

“And?”

“They’re in full-scale civil war.”

Before he could stop himself, he slammed a fist into his chair arm. Every eye on the bridge turned his way, waiting.

Halloway got up from her seat, stretching her arms over her head like a cat in the sun, then she paced toward the transportation tube. She stopped by his chair, gazing down seriously. “I’m going to go and greet Mikael Calas. Why don’t you come? I think it would be fitting, considering what we just did to his planet.”

He rose from his chair, following her to the tube. When the door snicked shut, he ordered, “Level nineteen.”

“Feel better?” Halloway asked.

“No.”

“Too bad. I’d hoped getting you off the bridge would—”

“And what was that mutinous look you gave me earlier? I ought to have you court-martialed for that!”

“I didn’t know they did that for ‘looks.’”

“I may start a new trend.” He glared at her.

The corners of her mouth tucked in a repressed smile. “Sometimes I almost think you’re human. Not usually, but—”

“Good.”

Silence descended and he surreptitiously studied the beauty of her face, the smooth curve of her jaw, the pale translucence of her skin, the calculating look in her green eyes. Why the hell did that attract him? He rubbed his forehead briskly.
Too long without a vacation.

The door zipped back on level nineteen and he waved an arm for her to exit. She bowed slightly and strode out. He followed, watching the grace of her movements as they hurried toward Transportation.

“What,” she asked, eyeing him as though she were the captain and he a subordinate officer, “do you plan on doing if the Magistrates order you to scorch Horeb?”

“I’ll scorch Horeb.”

“No discussion? No attempt to change their minds?”

“I’m an officer in the Magisterial fleet, Lieutenant. I don’t question orders.”

She nodded tersely, back stiffening. “I see.”

Together they walked through the door to Transportation. A small dark-haired boy whirled as they entered, utter fright on his face. Dressed in a brown robe, he looked cadaverously thin.

Tahn stopped, feeling queasy at that haunted look. He put out a hand for Halloway to stand aside, then went to the boy and knelt in front of him.

“I’m Captain Tahn,” he said softly, watching the boy’s eyes widen.
Had he looked so wretchedly terrified when Moreno found him?
“You don’t have to be afraid here. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

The boy’s mouth quivered, tears filling his dark eyes. “Will you take me to Magistrate Slothen? I need to talk to him.”

“I’ll take you. Don’t worry.”

The boy’s gaze darted over Tahn’s face, as though searching for untruths. He smiled, trying to project as much honesty as he could, given the circumstances.

After a few moments, Mikael reached out a hand and put it on Tahn’s shoulder, patting gently. “Thank you, sir. Can I—can I go somewhere and sleep now?”

Tahn frowned. “Yes, I’ll take you to our guest quarters on level seven. But don’t you want to eat first, or talk some more? I’d be happy to—”

“No, sir, please. When I sleep, the bad times go faster.”

Tahn dropped his chin to rest on his chest, exhaling heavily. The boy had been through hell, no wonder he wanted to sleep as much as possible.

He stood. “Come on. I’ll take you to your quarters.” He started to walk away and heard the boy’s quick steps, felt a tiny hand slip inside his, the fingers going tight around his thumb. A vulnerable part of him came alive—a part he hadn’t felt in years. Like shocked nerves awakening, he tingled, feeling a need to protect the boy from any more trauma.

“Captain, let me—” Halloway started.

“I’ll take care of our guest, Lieutenant. Please get to the bridge and set course for Horeb. Notify the Magistrates of the situation there. I’ll be in my quarters if anything important comes up.”