An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (73 page)

He shook his head, laughing contemptuously. “You’ll stand up with me at my court-martial?”

“They won’t court-martial you. You’re too valuable.”

“You’re a hell of an optimist. Aiding the enemy is still considered treason in this part of the galaxy and Slothen frowns on things like that.”

“I’m not asking you to ‘go over’ to the other side. But you know as well as I do that the orders we’ve been getting lately reek of political gamesmanship. We can’t keep obeying …”

The door snicked back and Carey went forebodingly silent, though her eyes leveled a bitter indictment. Six security officers strode in, saluting crisply. Tahn returned the gesture and absently straightened the sleeves of his purple uniform in preparation for the event that seemed destined to turn him inside out. Without giving Halloway a second look, he hit the button to open the doors to the landing bay foyer.

“Sergeant?” he called to the young brown-haired bay officer. “What’s the status of the shuttle?”

“Simons reports he has Baruch in custody. No problems, ETA is two minutes, sir.”

A desperate hollowness invaded his chest. He clenched his fists, ordering, “Notify the bridge to commence Prime Mover One.”

“Aye, sir.”

He glanced up at the planet monitor, watching numbly as broad violet beams lanced the surface of Horeb. Red dust boiled into the atmosphere. Unable to contain his anxiety, he started pacing again. He was acutely aware his security team watched him intently. He refused to check on what Halloway was doing.

“Shuttle docked, sir. Simons reports, ‘all clear.’”

He nodded. “Open the doors.”

They pulled back and he strode out into the bay. From the corner of his eye, he thought he caught movement. He stopped abruptly, whirling to stare at the far wall. His heart pounded, but only a gleam of white tiles met his scrutiny.

“What is it?” Halloway asked pensively. Her hand had dropped to the butt of her holstered pistol.

“Nothing … I—I thought I saw a shadow. Something black … moving over the walls. I’m just skittish, I guess.”

“Materialized guilt,” she whispered so low no one but him could hear.

He glared sharply. “Remind me to prosecute you for insubordination.”

“Aye, sir.”

The lanceolate shuttle sat like a black spear on the white tiles. His stomach muscles tightened as the side doors parted. Baruch stepped out first, hands cuffed behind him. His black jumpsuit glimmered with red dust. He looked worn beyond exhaustion. Simons came out next, prodding the Underground commander with his rifle. Three more men stepped out after Simons, undoubtedly part of the security team. Tahn didn’t recognize them, but that wasn’t unusual. With over three thousand people on his ship, it was impossible to know every face. Faintly, he heard someone order, “Move.”

Baruch started walking, back painfully straight, until he spied Tahn. His steps faltered and he lifted his chin defiantly. The security personnel spread out behind him, weapons aimed at his broad back. Baruch checked their positions and a hint of a smile curled his lips as he walked forward again. Almost unconsciously, Tahn’s hand slid to his own pistol; it felt cool and comforting beneath his sweaty palm.

Baruch stopped no more than three feet in front of him and greeted his nemesis, “Tahn.”

“I keep my promises, Baruch. You’ll be well treated.”

“You’re a butcher. Have you initiated the scorch attack yet? How many babies do you think you’ve already murdered?”

Tahn barely had time to open his mouth when the ship lunged sideways, g-force making him stagger.

“What the hell …”

“Cole!
Look out!”
Carey screamed.

Several things seemed to happen simultaneously. Baruch’s hands flashed from behind his back and he expertly slammed Tahn in the temple with the heavy butt of a pistol. Dazed, he hit the floor hard, rolling, hand awkwardly slipping from the polished grips of his gun. A shrill whine erupted. Simons and his security team slumped to the tiles in pools of blood. More shots rang out, echoing thunderously from the walls.

“Harper,
GO!”
Baruch shouted and lunged for Tahn.

They struggled against each other, kicking, punching, panting. Baruch smashed him again and again with the pistol. From the corner of his eye Tahn saw the three shuttle officers he’d assumed to be his race for the transport tube.
God damn! What the hell was happening?

A
split second later Carey’s wild shot flashed off the floor beside him and Baruch made a mad dive, rolling to his feet and running for the tube.

Tahn crawled weakly to his knees. Nausea overwhelmed him and he vomited repeatedly onto the white tiles.
Concussion.
He could feel the shock wave jostling the electrochemical environment of his brain; memories flashed, thoughts misfiling, fading. Carey’s cool hand touched his arm and she pulled him up.

“Lean on me. Cole? Cole! We’ve got to get out of here!”

He clung to Halloway, vaguely surprised at her strength as she supported him to the other side of the bay toward the doors that led to Defense.

Fuzzy images taunted his injured mind—snatches of thoughts roiling together, faces coming close and melting into nothingness. Time scurried out of sequence, events mixing, haunting …

“Cole?”
Maggie Zander called, laughing. He saw her beautiful face, blonde hair draping in thick waves down her back. “Hey, love, get a load of this cream puff cake.” Orillian spice pastry. Columba 3, twenty years ago.

“Maggie?”
He reached out pleadingly, needing her, wanting her.

“Cole!
For God’s sake,
hold on!”
Carey’s frantic voice demanded.

“What?” Voice thick. Eyes fuzzy. He looked around. He didn’t remember getting into the Defense bay.
Oh, God. This is bad.

Carey locked the entry and let him down to the floor easy, then raced to the com on the wall. “Security, this is Lieutenant Halloway. Trace the paths of the men who just left landing bay four via transport tube nineteen-two. They are hostile. Stop them.
Use full force if necessary.”

Tahn feebly got to his feet and suddenly had no idea where he was. Somewhere in the back of his foggy mind he heard the first alert sirens wailing. Leaning against the wall, his stomach cramped again. He suppressed the welling sourness, looking at Halloway hostilely. Somewhere, he’d lost hours. Were they still orbiting Kayan? “Carey, what the hell’s … going on?”

“You’re all right. Don’t—”

“But what …
Baruch,”
he remembered in a staggering flash. The rest of the scene flooded back. “Damn it, Carey. You were only ten feet away!
Why the hell did you miss?”

She whirled, roasting him with her gaze. “I thought it would be poor form to shoot through you to get to Baruch!”

“Damn you! You could have—”

“Shut up!” She shoved him hard against the wall and ripped open his shirt to stare at his chest. Surprised, he yielded, watching the expression on her beautiful face go from scared stiff to momentary relief. “Must be Simons’ blood. You’re all right. But I’ve still got to get you to Iona.”

Only then did he realize his shirt clung to his skin in sticky red folds. The world whirled around him.
“Tahn! Listen up, buddy!
Get the hell out of the Service! I’m telling you, friend. It’ll kill you in the end … in the end … in the …” The voice replayed over and over.

“Wirth? Jonny?” Paris, Old Earth. Pegasus Invasion. Spring rain misted through the bloody streets, bodies piled ten feet high against the walls of the old cathedral of Notre Dame.
“Jonny,”
he said weakly, watching as his friend went down under a shrill blast of fire. He drove….

“Goddamn it, Cole,” Carey intruded. She grabbed his arm hard, draping it over her shoulders. “Stay alert!
Run a count!
”

“Ten, nine, eight, se … seven … four …” Lost it. What …

“I’ve got to get some steroids into you.”

“Get me … get me to the bridge.”

She gave him a doubtful look, but nodded, supporting him down a short corridor where they caught a tube going up. Sweat beaded on his brow, an overwhelming headache pressing behind his eyes. He leaned his cheek against the cool wall.

“Why the hell are we alive? Why didn’t—”

“Baruch was between us and them. They couldn’t risk shooting you, but our security team was out in the open like sitting ducks. Baruch positioned his people perfectly. That wrestling match was a diversion so they could get away.”

“Then why didn’t he kill me once they were gone?”

“Maybe he likes you.”

Absurdly, he started to laugh, but his vision clouded suddenly, balance wavering. Carey grabbed him, wrapping her arms around him before he hit the floor. He took deep breaths, struggling against the stunning aftereffects of the head blows Baruch had delivered with such expertise.

“Cole?” Carey said in his ear and he could hear the fear in her voice. “You’re fading. I’m going to take you straight to the infirmary.”

“No. I—I just need a minute.” He forced himself to think. Think! He went over every moment of the attack, cataloguing each with an intensity that kept him here,
here
on the
Hoyer.
“What was that … that lurch we suffered?”

“I don’t know. It was like the fabric of space heaved.”

He looked at her sharply, realizing that’s exactly what it had felt like.
Phase change.
A prickle of unreasoning terror climbed his spine.

Harper licked his lips nervously, wondering when the sirens would go off. Jeremiel had said they’d have thirty seconds maximum. He stared at Uriah and Janowitz. “You know the plan. Full-scale attack. No prisoners.”

Janowitz eyes glowed. “We’re ready.”

Uriah, a skinny black-haired boy of twenty merely jerked a nod and wet his lips.

Harper gripped his rifle tightly as the tube came to a stop and the door slipped open. They lunged into the hall, sweeping the corridor with their weapons. Four people fell dead before they could even scream.

Then they charged the big bay doors. All C-J class battle cruisers, Jeremiel had explained, had the same design. The control section of engineering was a tri-level round chamber manned at any given time by about twenty people. Duty stations perched like wire birds’ nests on each level—making it damned easy shooting if you surprised the crew from below.

They burst through the doors and opened fire just as the First Alert blared.

Jeremiel pressed back against the tube wall, panting, excitement flooding hotly through his veins. The sound of rifle fire keened through the corridor outside. “Goddamn, let that be Harper.”

Screaming people fled madly by him. He waited until the flood passed, then cautiously glanced outside. The doors to engineering stood open.

He ran with all his might, leaping the dead that littered the corridor and sliding to a halt just outside. Harper’s irrationally calm voice drifted out: “Get away from those controls, mister.”

“Who—who are you? You can’t just walk in here and—”

A rifle blast shredded the air, blending with the sporadic bursts of fire that still sounded from other areas. Jeremiel eased through the doors, pistol leveled, and took in the blood spattered interior. Mangled bodies dangled from the wire duty stations.

Harper stood on the far side, his rifle aimed at the belly of a dead red-haired lieutenant. Jeremiel raced to the control console near Harper and began hitting the appropriate buttons.

“What are you doing?” Harper asked, glancing sideways as the doors snapped closed and the alert sirens ceased.

“Rerouting control of the ship. Sealing off this section, level seven, and the bridge and decompressing every other level.”

“Decompressing? You’re … You’re going to kill thousands of people?”

“You want them in here with us?”

Harper closed his eyes, lowering himself into a chair. “No.”

“Every Magisterial soldier who lives is another chance we’ll be defeated. I’m not taking any chances.”

“What’s on level seven?”

“About five hundred scientists who know this ship inside and out. We might need them. Where are Janowitz and Uriah?”

“On cleanup duty. Seeing if we missed anyone in the initial attack.”

“Uh-huh. Good,” he muttered absently as he canceled the commands for the scorch attack. The energy output readings on his monitor spiraled down and he allowed himself a brief moment of solace. “I don’t know how much damage has already been done, but Horeb’s safe for the time being.”

Harper smoothed his halo of black hair and sighed. “Thank God.”

“Avel, get over there on that panel.” He pointed to the console five feet down from him. “That’s communications. It works basically the same way the units on the planet did. Open a channel to the
samaels
filled with your old comrades. We’ll need the best technical people and make sure you find Yosef Calas. Whether he likes it or not, he’s the new leader of Gamant civilization. Find out—”