An Abyss of Light (The Light Trilogy) (74 page)

Harper frowned. “The best technical people? What for?”

“In about five minutes this ship is going to be dead in space. We can hold orbit almost indefinitely, but if we’re going to get to a Gamant planet and take this ship as ours, we’ll need loyal crew.”

“You’re going to use Gamants?”

“Damn right. I doubt Tahn will like it, but—”

“You didn’t kill him?”
Harper asked incredulously.

“I don’t know, I may have. I gambled he’d head straight for the bridge. If he didn’t, I lost my ace in the hole and we’ll have a thousand-armed headless monster in the Technoscience division. If Tahn survived, he’s still their captain, even if he’s lost his ship. He can be very useful in convincing them to be cooperative.”

“You think he’ll help us?”

Jeremiel looked up, meeting Harper’s dark brooding eyes. “I think people will do almost anything when you hold a gun to their heads.”

“Makes sense.”

“Get on the com. I’m opening all the bay doors so the
samaels
can land.”

“I’m on it.” Harper sprinted away.

Jeremiel felt weak suddenly. He braced his hands against the console, staring sightlessly at the dials. Twenty-five hundred dead, he estimated. In the dark depths of his soul, a pain welled, trying to hook up with his brain to form a scream. Almost as clearly as if that dreadful day had returned, he felt the bitter chill of Silmar’s snow, heard the desperation in Rudy’s voice, felt his despair when he found Syene. He remembered how he’d hated Tahn that day … prayed he’d get his hands on him so he could torture him to death. But now, the truth sank in, filtering to the deepest recesses of his mind.
He had Tahn.
And he damn well didn’t want him. They’d all done what they had to do in the battle for survival—even Tahn. But his people in the Underground would try to force him to make an example of the man who’d killed so many of their families and friends.

He straightened, irresolute, frightened, and looked around at the blood spattered room. Crimson streams streaked the walls, still pouring from the dead hanging precariously out of their wire duty stations.

He searched his soul intently, hunting, hunting desperately for some shred of triumph.

By the time Halloway hauled him onto the bridge, his headache had grown to a smashing misery that left him trembling. He was on the verge of passing out.

“Tahn!” Neil Dannon whirled as they entered, face stark with terror. “What’s happening?”

Carey let him down easily into his command chair and ran for her navigation console.

“Ship’s status, Lieutenant?” he asked. The words echoed agonizingly in his head.

Macey stuttered. “We—we don’t know, sir. We can’t—”

“Is it true?” Dannon lunged for him, bracing hands on his chair arms to stare wild-eyed into his face.
“Is Baruch aboard?”

Tahn gritted his teeth, trying to focus his eyes. Dannon’s jet-black hair hung in damp strands over his pale face. “What the hell are you doing here? Get off my bridge!”

“I want to know if he—”

The alert sirens went deathly silent and Tahn felt his gut go tight. A pestilent stillness gripped the bridge. “No … he can’t have—”

“Captain!” Macey yelled shrilly. “I’ve—I’ve got decompression readings from all over the ship. We—”

“Gas engineering!”

Halloway’s fingers fluttered over her console. Her voice came out quiet. “Can’t. He’s rerouted control.”

“Bypass!”

“… Can’t.”

“Oh, God!” Dannon wailed hysterically.
“He’s taken your ship. You fool! You let him take your ship!
You should have
known
he’d—”

Tahn used his last strength to stand and slam a powerful right cross into Dannon’s mouth. The man staggered into a chair and sobbed insanely before crawling for the nearest suit locker. Someone screamed and Tahn fell back into his seat. His gaze landed numbly on the forward screen. Bodies tumbled from his ship, scattering into the blackness of space like bloody eggs spewed from a huge fish.

He felt suddenly as though he weren’t really there, that he walked in some terrible, terrible nightmare from which he couldn’t awaken. He numbly saw that his crew watched the screen in mute horror, moisture glistening in their eyes.

“Halloway …
Carey,
estimate casualties.”

As she reached for her monitor, he saw her hand quake. “Approximately two thousand seven hundred fifty.”

Tahn closed his eyes, listening to the thunderous silence. “Which level did he seal? Seven?”

“Aye, sir.”

Seven … Seven …
The sweet scent of Giclasian apple blossoms. Academy. “Private Tahn,” Major Kersten’s voice grated. The man stared him in the eyes, stabbing a hard finger against his chest. He stiffened. “You couldn’t even score
eight
on a simple astrophysics test? You’ll never make it son. Never make it … never …”

“Captain?” Macey’s voice intervened, on the verge of tears. “What’s happening?”

He fought to straighten up from where he’d slumped in his chair.
Sick, so sick.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t sift through the tangled web in his mind. He felt as though cloth stuffed his head to the bursting point. He’d lost his ship—he remembered. The implications drowned him like a tidal wave. His thoughts kept revolving around a single sentence,
“What the hell are we doing, Cole? What the hell are we … What the hell
…” And he knew deep down that Carey’d been right. He should have done something, tried talking to the Magistrates, relinquished his command on ethical grounds,
something.
Then he’d have been the only one lost. Not …

On adjacent screens, he saw the planetary ships surging toward the
Hoyer
and abruptly knew Baruch’s plan.

Forcing a deep breath, he ordered, “Macey, get me engineering.”

Jeremiel tensed as the visual monitor flared to life on the com console. Tahn looked haggard, ill, the fire in his blue-violet eyes dulled. He met that gaze with equanimity. Why was it he never felt exultation anymore? Victory always seemed two-edged, a dagger that just twisted one way or the other. He straightened a little, arms folded, heart hammering.

“Baruch … let’s talk.”

“I’m listening.”

“I should think … telling you we surrender is a little redundant, but if you need to hear it—”

“I don’t.”

Tahn nodded tiredly, respect in the gesture—and hatred. “What can I do to save the lives of the rest of my crew?”

“I want your cooperation. The people I’m bringing aboard are able, but not trained. Tell your science division to school my people and I guarantee I’ll put you off alive and well on the nearest Gamant planet.”

“I’m not sure that’ll be doing us a favor … but we’ll manage. Is there anything else I can do to assure our comfort?”

“Negative. We’ll give as we receive.”

Tahn hesitated a moment. “I’ve got one other request.”

“What is it?”

“When you’re finished repressurizing the decks, I’ve … I’ve got a bottle of hundred-year-old rye whiskey in my cabin. Let’s sit down … just you and me. There are some other things I want to discuss with you.”

In the long silence that followed, Jeremiel debated with himself. A trap? No, he doubted it. The time for ploys was long past. A sincere request from one commander to another—even though they’d been enemies for years? Or, perhaps,
because
they had? He nodded slowly. “Name the time.”

“Tonight. 2100 hours?”

“I’ll be there.” His hand hovered over the switch which would cut the transmission. He said nothing for a time, but held Tahn’s gaze. The man looked so shaken, so emptied of all his usual fire. He couldn’t help himself, he asked, “Are you all right, Tahn? I hit you pretty hard.”

“That’s another thing I’d like to … ‘discuss’… with you. Once I get back in shape. For the moment, I just need some drugs and … and sleep. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Affirmative.”

He flicked off the monitor and turned to Harper. The man sat rigidly in his chair, a deep frown furrowing his forehead. Sweat glimmered from his mahogany face.

“Avel, I have to go meet the incoming
samaels.
There are two things I need you to do. First, I’ve set the ship’s scanners on maximum. All you have to do is use this board to search the polar ice cap for life. If you get confused, ask the ship, she’ll help guide you.
I want to know if Rachel’s still alive.”

“I understand. If she is, I’ll dispatch a
samael
immediately to get her.”

“Good.”
Please, Epagael? Let her be all right.
“Second …” A warm hollowness filled him. He bowed his head and propped a fist on the console. “Use a narrow beam transmission. Aim for somewhere around Pitbon. See if you can contact my fleet. If so, tell Rudy Kopal we’ve got another battle cruiser for him. Ask him to meet us at Tikkun.”

“I will.”

Jeremiel turned and headed for the vacuum-suit locker. Though most decks had enough air to allow survival now, it would take another two hours to completely restore the life systems of the ship. In the meantime, he wanted to feel safe.

He hadn’t felt safe in a long, long time.

And he knew it would only be a brief reprieve. When the Magistrates learned he’d taken the
Hoyer,
they’d hit him with everything they had.

Fastening his helmet down, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked toward the rear lock.

CHAPTER 47

Sybil crouched in the corner of the samael’s command cabin. She wanted to be out of the way, where no one could see her crying. Men raced around, flicking switches on the table, talking fast. She watched them through blurry eyes, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“Get Calas up here,” the captain said. “Baruch wants to talk to him.”

“Aye, sir.” The other man left at a run.

Sybil drew up her knees and put her forehead against them, staring down at her untied right shoe. Her mom and dad had given her those shoes for her eighth birthday. She remembered her dad’s warm smile at her party as he watched kids playing around her feet, and her mother whispering, “Try not to hit Moshe today. He’s supposed to be here having fun.”

She didn’t like Moshe. He used to shove her down in the playground at school … but, just now, she wished she knew if he was all right. She wished she knew if her mom …

A darkness like a huge black monster grew inside her. It watched, waiting. She wiped wet cheeks on her sleeve and closed her eyes, trying not to think about what life would be like without her mom.

The door opened and she heard new voices. She opened one eye. Two old men, one very tall and one short and a little fat, stood in front of her talking to the captain.

“Hey,” the tall one said, “I can fly this thing. You need a copilot? Watch this. I know all about weapons and shields and things.” He started for the empty seat in front of the controls.

“You imbecile!” the short one said. He grabbed his friend’s belt loop and jerked him back. “We want to
get
to the
Hoyer.
Go stand in the corner over there.” He pointed to where Sybil crouched. Putting a funny ring around his head, he acted like he was listening to someone on the other end. “Yes,” he said unhappily, “I understand, Jeremiel.” And then, “Oh, thank God. I’m so glad.”

The tall man looked at her, cocking his head curiously. Sybil stiffened, sitting up straighter. He smiled broadly, and walked over to kneel in front of her. “You look like my type,” he said. “Want to run away with me?”

“I don’t think so. My name’s Sybil, what’s yours?”

“I’m Ari and that’s Yosef over there. He’s not as good looking as me, but he has other—”

“Sybil?”
the short man said. He pulled the ring off his head and handed it to the captain. His gray brows drew together. “Are you Rachel’s daughter?”

Hope burst wide in her chest, making her voice tremble. “You know my mom?”

He smiled warmly. “Yes, I do. And Jeremiel says to tell you she’s all right. He just sent a ship to pick her up.”

Sybil felt like her heart would break. Sobs puffed her chest as tears poured hotly down her face.

“Hey,” Ari said, “Come here.” He reached out and lifted her to his lap. “I should have known you were Rachel’s girl. She turned me down, too.”

Sybil buried her face in his shirt and cried.

CHAPTER 48

Mikael groggily rolled to his side. He felt so tired it was hard to breathe. His gaze drifted over the white cabin. Captain Tahn had tucked him into bed, patting him. That had eased some of the hurt that swelled like a black bubble in his chest. But a doctor had come and given him a shot. His arm still hurt.

He stared blankly at the far wall, seeing the way the darkness welled in the corner.

“Mikael?”

He lay still, frightened. The voice trickled from the
Mea
that Metatron had given him. “Grandfather?”