Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (23 page)

Amirah awoke, lying in Tahn’s arms, her head pillowed against his broad chest. She felt better, though still feeble. She blinked lazily at the flickering flames in the hearth. Carnelian flashes of light glinted in the silken folds of his red sleeves.

“What are you doing?” she inquired weakly. “Let go of me.”

“You won’t like it if I do. The last time I tried laying you on the floor you stopped breathing.”

So he’d been holding her ever since? She scowled up at him, but inside her gratitude stirred. Firelight flickered over his face, deepening the hollows of his cheeks and dancing in his eyes—magnificent blue-violet eyes that melted her soul.
What the hell’s the matter with you? He just tried to kill you!

“I’m fine … now. Let me go.”

“All right, but take it easy.”

He loosened his grip, giving her the freedom to escape while still guarding himself. Anxious to be away, Amirah sat up too suddenly. She wobbled sideways, crashing into him. He swiftly grabbed her again, holding her up. The action brought their faces no more than three inches apart. Amirah’s heart did a flip-flop. Her glance took in the way his clean brown hair and beard sparkled in the firelight, and rested for an instant too long on the wry twist to his lips. The twist faded, going deadly serious.

He bent and kissed her.

The logical part of her brain told her she ought to pull away, but her body sent traitorous signals to keep her there. A tingle rushed through her, bewildering, frightening. His mouth moved expertly, striking fire along her every nerve. She instinctively kissed him back. And for a timeless moment she let herself drown in the sensation of his strong arms around her and the passionate, leisurely way his lips moved. She’d dated in Academy, like everyone else, but no man had ever kissed her like this. His closeness comforted like a rifle in her hands in a desperate battle. She felt safe for the first time in too many years to remember. But …

He clutched her more powerfully against him and she wrenched herself away so violently, she sprawled across the floor like a dead squid.

Their gazes met … like those of two people staring at each other over dueling pistols. He was breathing as hard as she was and an odd glint sparkled in his eyes.

Amirah hesitated, suddenly uncertain. Then she shook her head and feebly rolled onto her side. The stone floor smelled dusty and cool. “You have a knack for making me commit embarrassing acts, Tahn.”

He grinned and slowly extended a hand, offering to help her up. “And I’m worse once you get to know me. How are you feeling?”

Amirah reached out and took his hand, letting him pull her upright. His fingers felt large and strong in her grasp. She held them securely. “Too good for either one of our best interests,” she commented honestly.

“Affirmative, Captain.”

They talked long into the night and Amirah found she could discuss almost anything nonclassified with him. She never felt awkward, or at a loss for words as she often did with other men. Cole let her talk about herself and the daily annoyances aboard the
Sargonid.
He sympathized with her personnel problems and offered solid experienced advice. They veered away from any personal issues, like Jason Woloc or Jeremiel Baruch, and by the time evening had worn on into early morning, Amirah felt unpleasantly happy. She turned and gazed worriedly at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I like you.”

He smiled reproachfully. “Well, don’t worry. In another day you’ll think I’m intolerable. Most people do.”

“That’s comforting,” she said, and meant it.

CHAPTER 23

Just out of the shower, Jeremiel stood before the mirror over the table in his cabin, fastening the cuffs of his clean black battlesuit. He had one hour before he had to be on the bridge to initiate the exit from light vault.

He glanced around the disarray of crystal sheets strewn over the table, desks, and floor. Several piles leaned precariously against the walls and created a barricade around Carey’s gauze sleep shirt beside their bed. He’d gone over and over every detail of the Horeb battle until he prayed he’d ferreted out each possible pitfall, but so much depended upon things he couldn’t be certain of. If the Underground fleet emerged from vault on top of five bunched cruisers, a lot of Jeremiel’s people would die before they could slip into vault again.

He shook his head tiredly. The game he played had few reliable rules, except those imposed by the laws of physics. Because his ships utilized singularity drives for power generation and time dilation, warping the space around the vessels to literally create a hole in space-time, they could drop directly out of vault on top of an enemy—but not when that enemy orbited a friendly planet. The gravity waves shed by his fleet would pulverize Horeb’s populace. That critical fact meant they had to emerge a safe distance away. Unfortunately, that distance gave the enemy cruisers about fifteen seconds to spot them and prepare for battle before Jeremiel could fire a shot. For two days, he’d been living contingency plans in his sleep, running first one, then another.

He smoothed his sleeves down and gazed hard at himself in the mirror. Black smudges marred the skin beneath his bloodshot blue eyes. His mouth had a cynical twist to it, as though he already tasted the bitterness of battle.

He took a few swipes at his hair and beard with Carey’s brush, then started for the door. He stopped when the glint of her golden necklace caught his eye. It lay coiled on the edge of the table, half covered by a crystal sheet.

Gently, he reached out and picked it up. It swung like a glimmering pendulum in his hand. He remembered the day Cole had given it to Carey.

They’d been standing in a circle of people at her birthday party, laughing, feeling joyous. He and Carey had been married for less than a year, but even then, he couldn’t remember what life had been like without her. The seventh level lounge roiled with a riot of happy people dressed in civilian clothes. Gowns of amber and mauve dotted the gathering like gems. Soldiers in the Underground rarely had a chance to relax and dress up, but when they did, they celebrated to the hilt. Bottles of champagne passed among the group like rifle charge packs before a fight.

Cole had shouldered his way through the crowd and into their circle, the necklace in his hand. “Here,” he’d said warmly. His gaze had gone over Carey as though she were a priceless treasure. “This is the one you liked, isn’t it?”

She’d seen and admired the piece of jewelry in a tiny shop on the planet of Trekow. Cole held out the rare ancient locket and Carey’s green eyes widened. She reverently took it from his extended hand. “My God, this cost a fortune. We must be paying you too much to captain that leaky vat of grease.”

Cole had lifted a brow. “I might take back that inscription.”

Carey eyed him suspiciously and turned the necklace over, reading, “To my best friend for never openly declaring mutiny. Love, Cole.”

She’d stared at the words as though memorizing them before she turned to embrace Tahn. They’d held each other for several seconds and Jeremiel had watched Cole’s face change, going from that wry offhand affection to something much deeper. Tahn had closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against Carey’s auburn hair before hugging her fiercely and backing away.

“Well,” Cole had said softly. “Happy birthday. I have to get back to my ship. Merle never gives me more than an hour at a time off.”

Carey had nodded understandingly, but her strained smile clearly stated that she’d rather he stay for the rest of the party. “Are you sure?” she’d asked. “I wish—”

“No, I …” Cole had glanced at Jeremiel, then lowered his eyes. “I have to go. Drink enough champagne for both of us.”

“I will.”

Smiling awkwardly one last time, Cole had walked away, filtering through the crowd, occasionally stopping to swap lies with someone before he exited the lounge.

Jeremiel had never mentioned to Carey that he suspected Cole’s love for her went beyond friendship. He feared that out of some strange sense of loyalty to him, she might unconsciously alter her close relationship with Cole.

Jeremiel gripped the necklace tightly and put it in his pocket. “I’d never do that to you, Carey.”

Neither Cole nor Carey had ever truly blended into the Gamant structure, though Carey had managed to sink deeper because Jeremiel eased the way with constant explanations about cultural taboos, unique behavioral patterns, or lengthy lessons in Gamant psychological history. But Cole and Carey shared too many moments of togetherness from another world for either to ever feel complete without the other near.

He absently lifted and tossed a crystal sheet across the table, watching it flutter down onto a new pile. In the past five minutes, a burning fear had gripped him. “Stay alive, Cole.
Do you hear me?”

He exited into the quiet hallway, briskly heading for the bridge.

Magistrate Mastema sat in his private compartment aboard the tiny transport vessel and peered out the portal at the scattered lights of Naas, the capital city of Palaia. They glimmered like strewn jewels in the predawn light. The sight brought him such delight he could barely contain it. On the outskirts of Naas the Engineering Spires pierced the sky like lavender spikes. The station’s alternate control room was hidden there, deep beneath the soil.

He’d been the original architect and supervisor for the actual construction of the station complex. He’d had to create a hollow vessel which could hold a changeable number of primordial singularities ranging in size from a few billion tons to several trillion. The trick came when he set the Reissner-Nordstom charged holes into synchronous orbit inside the station. Ounce for ounce, the electric fields generated by those holes were enormously more powerful than average gravitational fields. Mastema’s genius had been in displacing and focusing that energy into a protective net of electromagnetic shells around Palaia. No one could penetrate their shields from without, which is why Slothen had wisely set the Gamant-filled satellites in orbit just within the outermost shell boundary. That way, the ruling Magistrate had explained, no fanatic could blow them up and they were instantly vulnerable to the slightest manipulation of the shields. From the main control room on Palaia, anyone could vaporize the satellites at the push of a patch—and the Gamant Underground certainly realized it.

Mastema leaned closer to the portal, watching the broad plains pass beneath his ship. Trees and brush dotted the expanse. It was a masterpiece of workmanship. After he’d completed the containment vessel, he’d coated it with a thin veneer of foamlike petrolon. Mastema had used the protein molecules which formed the outer wall of the gigantic Giclasian Sulfolobus bacteria as a structural template; by coating the protein layer with petrolon, then using ion milling, his engineers had carved out a superbly patterned swiss cheese underlayer upon which the beautiful valleys and mountains of Palaia sprouted.

“Please fasten your restraints, Magistrate. We are preparing to land,” the toneless mechanical voice of his pilot, Dybbuk, informed.

Mastema leaned back in his chair and hit the EM patch. The energy net snugged around him like an invisible blanket. As the ship gently set down, pale morning sunlight filtered through the portal to drench Mastema in a rosy veil. His white robe glimmered as though strewn with pink diamonds. He sighed appreciatively and struck the patch to release his restraints.

Two Giclasian medical technicians, Osman and Querido, entered his private room and immediately began chattering, their blue limbs spinning in a blur to get Mastema onto an antigrav gurney and covered with a warm pink and blue striped blanket. Weak from the centuries of slumber, he still couldn’t walk under his own power. The techs attached protective defensive nodes to his gurney. Once outside, they’d activate them and a transparent energy shield would engulf all of them as they moved to the safety of the nearest building.

The side door of the ship opened and a ramp descended. Outside, hundreds of soldiers formed a perimeter within the rectangular landing pad to keep back the civilians who’d gathered. A cheer of adulation went up when his technicians pushed his gurney out into the morning sunlight. Mastema’s skin prickled when the nodes activated and the protective shield snapped on around them.

Osman pushed him very quickly, heading toward the broad door ahead. Soldiers lined out around them, trotting forward at double time. Mastema waved four of his hands at the crowd and reveled in their shouts and cheers for him. Had Slothen staged this, he wondered? Or had the populace simply come of their own accord once they’d heard of this impending arrival? Regardless, it made him feel very welcome.

Mastema reclined atop his antigrav as they entered the doorway to the main governmental headquarters. He passively watched the white walls and staff go by as Osman shoved him down first one passageway, then another. Nearly every species in the galaxy paraded through these corridors. Though most passing by were Giclasians, he spotted several Orillians with their transparent bloblike forms, Rossians with hard green carapaces covering their multilimbed forms—even a few humans. If the galaxy weren’t in such a mess, he would have felt a great sense of accomplishment, because it was this integrated wholeness he’d been striving for from the beginning when he created Palaia and the Union of Solar Systems.

Osman, Querido, and two soldiers accompanied him into the transport tube that ascended upward to floor forty-five. When the door slid back, Mastema found himself in a ten by ten foot square outer office with lavender walls and stark white furniture. The Giclasian secretary behind the desk immediately stood and bowed with all of his limbs extended in a fan display.

“Greetings, Magistrate. I am Topew, Slothen’s assistant. Please let me know if I can in any way make your stay here more comfortable.”

Mastema smiled. “That’s very kind, Topew. Thank you.”

“Magistrate Slothen is expecting you, sir. Please continue down the hall to the end and the guards will admit you. I’ll notify Slothen that you’ve arrived.”

“Very good.”

He flicked a hand at Osman and Querido. They shoved him down the corridor. Two human sergeants in purple dress uniforms guarded Slothen’s office. When they saw Mastema coming, they saluted crisply and hit the patch to open the door. Osman pushed Mastema inside.

Slothen rose from behind his desk and bowed reverentially. “Master Mastema, welcome home to Palaia.”

“Home, yes.” Mastema turned to Osman. “Leave us. I’ll call you when I’m ready to go.”

Osman and the rest filed out and the door slipped closed.

Slothen remained standing, watching Mastema frown at the office. Fifty feet square, the room had a high arching ceiling with lavender walls and carpet. Slothen’s desk sat like a round hunching turtle before the windows. Holograms of galactic solar systems hung at Giclasian eye level, seven feet off the floor. Beautiful. The technology had advanced so much since Mastema’s years that he felt if he reached out he could close his fist on a handful of stars.

“Mastema, let me inform you that our forces on Horeb have captured Mikael Calas. He is, at this very moment, on his way to Palaia.”

“Good work, Slothen. What about Cole Tahn?”

Slothen threaded his fingers through his blue wormlike hair. “I’m afraid we have no idea of his whereabouts.”

“I take it your people ruined the operation in the Anai system?” Mastema’s face creased with contempt.

“Unfortunately, Master, there are fourteen inhabited planets in that distant system. It took us time to isolate the ships which belonged to the Underground. We had our best people working on it.”

Mastema grunted his displeasure. In the huge windows that overlooked Naas, he could see his reflection. His withered balloon-shaped head gleamed like polished azure in the bright saffron light streaming through the panes. Flashes of rifle fire from the plains drew his attention. Above them, fighters dove through the lemon-colored skies. “What is that, Slothen? Battle?
On the station?”

Slothen turned to look. “No. Just training exercises, Master. Threats from the Gamant Underground have forced me to keep our troops on Palaia constantly war-ready.”

“Slothen, I can think of no way the Underground could penetrate our shielding. However, it’s a prudent measure on your part. Especially given the level of angst among our galactic citizens. I ordered my staff to let me listen to selective bands on the ship’s communication system. I was shocked to hear freighters and fighters alike discussing the rumors of an impending Underground attack on Palaia.” He sighed in agitation and scrutinized Naas. The city spread in a perfectly ordered hexagon around the central governmental complex. Mirrored buildings thrust up like spears, interspersed regularly with crimson thypan trees, or grassy parks and fountains.

Gracefully, Slothen sat down in his chair and smoothed his fingers over a mound of crystal sheets on his desk. “The Underground and all Gamant planets have rallied against us, Master. It seems rumors of the coming of the legendary Gamant
Mashiah
have bolstered their spirits. In the planetary rebellions, they’re throwing themselves at our troops in suicidal waves.”