The Red King - Michael A. Martin [96]
One of the Rossinis spoke up, from an area that surrounded what may have been an altar of some sort, where a large number of people were slumped over haphazardly in several rows of pews.
“Sir, most of these people are still alive. It looks to me like the, ah, sacrament they came here to partake of has been poisoned.”
Akaar looked around him, more horrified now than he had been before. He saw children lying among the bodies, some Neyel, and others representing the many races that once had been enslaved by the Neyel. He didn’t want to check to see whether they were all living or dead, but he knew it had to be done.
“Break out the pattern enhancers,” he said. “Begin scanning and tagging anyone who remains alive, priority to the children. Direct Titan to begin beaming them aboard immediately, medical emergency.”
As Denken and the Rossinis got busy, a small part of Akaar’s mind seethed at the actions of the older believers. In spite of himself, he felt a pinprick of dark satisfaction at the knowledge that at least some of the adults here were not going to be rescued after all.
He heard the floor shift and creak in one of the church’s upper galleries, and whirled to see someone moving swiftly away, blending into the shadows. He vaulted over several bodies, yelling into his combadge as he moved. “Someone else is here, Mr. Bolaji. I am pursuing.”
He followed the running figure up a set of dark green, intricately carved wooden stairs, but he scarcely noticed the craftsmanship. He paused and set his phaser on heavy stun, unsure whether he was chasing down an adult Neyel or someone younger. Indeed, he didn’t know whether his quarry would turn out to be friend or foe.
A step broke beneath his weight, causing his ankle to twist sharply. He ignored the pain. Moving forward, he soon reached the upper level, where he stopped again, pulled out his tricorder, and began scanning. He found a biosign ahead, apparently in the third antechamber that lay straight down the hallway.
Akaar crouched outside the doorway to the antechamber, his weapon at the ready, then scurried inside. A Neyel dressed in bright blue robes was crouched on the floor, its hands holding a book, its eyes closed.
He’s some sort of cleric, Akaar thought. He allowed this mass suicide. Probably encouraged it. Rage swelled within him.
“Get up!” he shouted at the Neyel.
The creature stood and turned, its hands clasping the book. Akaar noticed only then that this was a female Neyel.
“Why have you invaded our sanctuary?” she asked, her gray eyelids shuttering closed, then open again.
“Why are you willing to kill your followers?”
“The Lfei-sor-Paric are believers. They go to the next level in peace, unsullied by the machines of Auld Aerth or elsewhere.”
“This world is being destroyed,” Akaar said. “There will be no more Oghen within the next day or so. And your religion will die with you unless you come with us.”
The woman tilted her head in what Akaar interpreted as a gesture of incredulity. Or perhaps curiosity. “Our world may end, but we will not. And we are at peace with that.”
Akaar shook his head. “The children down there didn’t have the chance to make that decision for themselves.”
The cleric looked at him—or perhaps through him—before responding. “You don’t know what our children are capable of. Their sacrifice is as meaningful to them as the one you made many, many Oghencycles ago.”
Akaar felt a chill go down his spine. How could she possibly know?
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“You made a sacrifice for someone who mattered to you then, but you were pulled back from the abyss. Your faith sustained you that your sacrifice was right and justified. And you hold on to the anger toward your savior even now.” She paused and smiled at him. “Will you now take away from us our sacrifice?”
Akaar backed away, suspicious. “Did Tuvok tell you any of this?”
She tilted her head again. “I do not know Two-vok. What I know comes entirely from you. I am a goquilav