Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (27 page)

Rad’s face went stiff. He didn’t move a muscle. In a painfully quiet voice, he asked, “Do you know what that is, old man? You’d better give it to me before we all end up—”

“Bah!” Ari blustered. “Hand over your weapons! You first, Rad! Then collect them from everybody else in here.”

Rad laughed. “Don’t be foolish. We can kill you fifty times over before you hit the floor!
Give me that vial.”
He took a menacing step forward.

Yosef intervened. “If we hit the floor, Lieutenant, you won’t have to worry about confiscating that canister.” He reached into his own pocket and pulled his canister out. “Or this one either, for that matter.”

Rad’s hand quaked before he dropped it to his side.

CHAPTER 27

Ornias crushed the hem of his white sheet in annoyance as he watched the nurse fly around his dark hospital room. Giclasians moved with such a windmilling of arms and legs that they seemed to be blue blurs. Only this morning, they’d moved him into this fifteen by twenty-five foot long private room. It sported a tiny window on the far end, the lavender drapes drawn closed, and a monstrous tangle of stim equipment beside his bed. His maimed hand was tucked inside one of the sockets on the unit, being regrown. On the wall in front of him was a portrait of the current Sculptorian president. The woman’s gray sagging flesh, bulging ant eyes, and triangular face set Ornias on edge. Did they think that having a half-dead witch staring down on patients improved their mood?
Giclasian logic.

“There,” his nurse piped in her shrill voice. She pushed her blue wormy hair back over her ears and smiled—baring her teeth like a dog about to attack. Ornias drummed his fingers on his sheet.

“There
what?”

“You’ve been fed and medicated and your room is straightened nicely. I think you’re ready to see Magistrate Mastema.”

“Of course I’m ready. Get on with it.”

She’d told him when she first came in that she was in a rush to prepare him for a visit from the elderly Magistrate. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Mastema would want to see him. Did it have something to do with his actions on Horeb? Surely they weren’t going to reprimand him after he’d captured Calas? The imbeciles. They might. He peevishly plumped his pillow and sighed.

The door slipped open and two guards pushed Mastema in on an antigrav gurney. The Giclasian had a face like a blue withered prune. His ruby red mouth formed a circular wound on his face. But those eyes! They gleamed like fiery lavender pits.

Without taking his gaze from Ornias, Mastema waved to his guards. “Leave us.”

“Yes, Magistrate,” both guards chimed simultaneously and scurried from the room. The door closed with a soft thump.

Ornias stretched languorously, faking relaxation. “What did you want to discuss with me, Magistrate?”

Mastema cocked his balloon head. “Your experiences on Horeb, Governor. You’ll be glad to know that our vessel, the
Sargonid,
is currently on its way here with Calas. Unfortunately, another of our cruisers, the
Vajda,
reports they fought a devastating battle with the Gamant Underground over Horeb.”

Ornias glowered. “They lost, I take it.”

“Quite so,” Mastema breathed, but a peculiar look invaded his eyes—as though that fact didn’t disturb him very much. He irritably restraightened his red and gray striped blanket over his squirming legs.

“But even after the
Sargonid
left, there would have been four cruisers circling—”

“There was nothing they could do. Captain Amirah Jossel had been captured by terrorist forces and the cruisers had split up throughout the system to search for her. The Underground fleet dropped in directly out of vault and started firing.”

Ornias contemplatively caressed his bearded chin. The terrorist maneuver had to be a subplot of Baruch’s military strategy to free the planet. How else could he convince five cruisers to split up when they’d already been suspecting an Underground assault? Despite his anxiety at being on Palaia, he was suddenly heartily glad he wasn’t on Horeb. Had Baruch captured him, he’d be mincemeat by now.

“Tell me, Governor,” Mastema asked. His eyes glowed with a haunted light. “How did you get to Palaia?”

Annoyed at the stupidity, Ornias responded shortly. “In a shuttle. How else?”

Mastema leaned back on his gurney. “But I thought … That is, Slothen said that when the doctors found you lying on the floor in the hospital, you said a whirling maw of blackness had descended on Horeb and swallowed you up then delivered you here.”

Ornias’ lime green eyes narrowed condescendingly.
“What?
Is this some sort of poor joke?”

Mastema stared. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember
what?”

“The voice that came out of the clouds to talk to you before you were thrown into the void?”

“What voice? This is all gibberish!” Ornias accused at the top of his lungs. What were they trying to do? Convince him he was crazy and therefore unfit for service? Well, it wouldn’t work! He needed that five billion a year to keep paying off that marvelous little planet he’d purchased in the heart of the Giclasian system! “What is the meaning of this nonsense, Magistrate? My experiences on Horeb were very simple. One of my own marines betrayed me and slipped a drug into my drink just before Mikael Calas’ forces stormed the palace. My hand was severed in the fighting and I passed out. One of my loyal servants loaded me into a shuttle and flew me to Palaia.”

Mastema’s gaze darted over the dimly lit room as he whispered to himself, “What’s he doing? Why would he bring Tetrax to Palaia and then …”

His voice faded away when a dark smudge welled in the corner. Ornias cried out and struggled to back away, but his maimed hand was glued tight inside the stim unit. He screamed as the shadow grew into a monstrous looming darkness that engulfed half of the room. In the heart of the darkness, a golden gleam shone like a torch flame.

Mastema’s eyes took on a faraway emptiness. He nodded obediently several times. “Yes. Yes. We’ve taken care of that.”

The shadow vanished in a sooty blur. Gasping, Ornias slowly lowered the arm he’d thrown up over his face. “What was that?”

Mastema lay still, panting, his eyes riveted on the place where the darkness had stood. “We’ve work for you here on Palaia, Governor. You know Gamants better than any non-Gamant in the galaxy. We need someone to subdue the growing revolts on the satellites. Your new duties will include a substantial raise in salary and a promotion.
General Ornias,
are you interested?”

Ornias raised his brows. The old coot was a lunatic. He’d undoubtedly rigged this little display—
that’s why they moved me into this room!
He examined every possible place a projector could hide. Behind the witch’s picture? Or perhaps in the huge tangle of stim equipment? Mastema observed his efforts in deep silence, waiting for a reply. Ornias hesitated. He’d worked for insane people before—take Adorn Kemar Tartarus for example. The boy had been daffy as a mad Orillian tiger.
But I worked it to my benefit.
Yes, in fact, he’d learned quite well how to manipulate lunatics to his own best interests by using their delusions against them.

“How
much
of a raise in salary, Magistrate?”

Mastema vented a long exhalation. “Say another billion a year?”

“Make it two and I’m yours.”

Mastema looked old and very weary when he nodded to seal the bargain. “You’ll have to start immediately. I’ll arrange for our doctors to create a mini-stim unit for your hand so that you can travel. You’re needed in the field, General.”

CHAPTER 28

Amirah sat at the long table sipping a bottle of apple-flavored food concentrate. Her ankles and wrists both wore EM restraints and ached fearfully. Her pale gold robe spread around her feet in shining folds. The line of three candles adorning the tabletop reflected in the crystal goblets to throw rainbow patterns across the place mats. She traced the geometric designs with her finger, occasionally glancing up at Tahn. He moved stiffly around the perimeter of the cave, brushing dust from the ancient runes engraved in the walls. The handglobe in his left palm glowed with an azure brilliance when he lifted it to inspect the strange symbols.

They hadn’t spoken in hours and Amirah had begun to feel the weight of the silence. Dread for her ship and crew had nearly suffocated her. Her mind kept spinning horrifying pictures of the
Sargonid
with a holed hull, atmosphere boiling out into space in a silver mist. Or worse, Jason lying dead in a decompressed hall. She clenched her fists and fought back her overwhelming anxiety. At least when Tahn talked to her, she forgot some of her worry. She finished her concentrate and looked up. He turned halfway around, just to make sure of what she was doing, then went back to his runes.

She peered inquisitively at the curious drawings lit by his globe. She couldn’t see them very distinctly from this far away. “What are they?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. The way they’re arranged, they seem to be some sort of ordered sequence. Letters, numbers, concepts … I don’t know.”

Staring at him, she noted how his shoulder muscles bunched. The red silken fabric of his robe rippled with his tension. In the past several hours, they’d found each other anything but “intolerable.” The strain of their attraction for each other felt as threatening as a gun barrel against Amirah’s temple. Cole must feel the same way. He’d been diligently avoiding her for the past two hours.

Carefully, she lifted her hand and pointed to a number of disparate drawings. “If those were arranged in a contiguous order, I’d be tempted to call them mathematical symbols.”

“So would I.”

“How old do you think they are?” she asked.

“The thick patina that’s built up would make me think two millennia or more, but—”

She blinked. “Before the advent of the Desert Fathers?”

“Maybe.”

“Who lived here before they did?”

“I don’t know for certain. I remember some talk about the wicked Kings of Edom, but who they were or what they did is a mystery to me. Ask Jeremiel when you meet him. I’m sure he knows far more about them than I do.”

Amirah restrained her panic. “Will I meet him?”

Tahn eyed her evaluatively. “I think so.”

She held his gaze, and her heart clutched up. Meeting Baruch would undoubtedly mean her ship had been beaten, perhaps destroyed. Hatred and desperation washed through her. She tucked her bound hands in her lap.

Instinctively, Tahn seemed to grasp the unsettling emotions she was experiencing. His stony expression softened. “The
Sargonid
could escape, too,” he pointed out realistically.

Amirah nodded tersely and turned away in a whirl of gold robe, glaring at the door.

Tahn approached her, his steps muted by the rugs. For several seconds he said nothing. Then, “I know the fear you’re feeling. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Then let me go.” She turned and glared sternly. “No? I thought not. The only thing you’re sorry about is that you’re stuck here with me instead of being up there with your ship. You do have a ship, don’t you? Didn’t they make you a captain in the Underground fleet? Baruch’s a fool if he didn’t.”

Tahn nonchalantly braced a hand on his pistol. “I have a ship.”

“Worried about her?”

He shook his head. “Not especially. I’ve always had the suspicion that Merle’s a better captain than I am. My ship’s in good hands.”

“Is he your second in command?”

“She. Yes. Merle’s deserved her own cruiser command for a long time. There’ve just never been enough ships to go around. But maybe after this battle….”

The words faded when he saw the animosity he’d roused. But she could easily finish the sentence for him:
if we capture any Magisterial vessels.
Amirah shook her bound fists, wanting to hurt him back, needing to despite the growing depth of attraction she felt toward him. “You like female navigation officers. Why is that? You promoted Carey Evan Halloway faster than any officer before or after her.”

His bold eyes raked her. “Because she deserved it. She was the best damned second in command in the fleet. You should know that.”

Ah, a wound.

Amirah laughed condescendingly. “Indeed? Scholars have always speculated you had something going with her,” she lied. But he wouldn’t know that. Could she taunt him into dropping his guard? “Wasn’t she really your quaint concubine aboard the
Hoyer?
The theory’s always been that you promoted her for her extra-military talents.”

Cole straightened slowly, standing at an angle like a man getting set to throw a punch. “Feel better?” he asked. “One hurt for another? We both know that Halloway’s superb record demanded every promotion I gave her. I apologize for the crack about getting Merle a ship of her own. I wasn’t thinking.”

The words sapped some the wrath that had been sustaining her sanity. It left her empty and aching. She wanted to slam her fists into something—preferably him—or weep to relieve her feeling of total impotence. She turned back toward the table to stare at the dusty crystal goblets.

Tahn shifted uncomfortably. The firelight played like whips of amber in his dark hair. Amirah gloomily stared at the rainbow reflections cast by the faceted goblets. Why couldn’t she hate him? Silently, she railed against herself for being taken in by his charm, his warmth.

She braced an elbow on the table and propped her forehead against her fist. Closing her eyes, she quietly observed the amber reflections of candle flame dance over the insides of her lids.

Watching Amirah, Cole pursed his lips against the sympathy she called forth in his own heart. “Amirah,” he began. “I know what you’re—”

“How long will it be, Cole? If your side wins, when will they come to get you—us.”

Despite the granite-hard look on her face, he strongly suspected she was smothering herself in guilt—feeling desperate for the safety of her ship and crew. And he knew only too well how it felt to run and rerun images of your crew’s probable deaths through your mind. It felt goddamned bad. “It could be an hour or another two days. I don’t think it’ll be longer than that.”

She shoved aimlessly at the closest place mat. “And what are you going to do with me if my side wins? Have you thought about that? What if your people never come for you?”

“My life will get a whole lot easier.”

“I doubt it. Woloc will turn this planet upside down hunting for me. He’ll
find
you, Tahn. If it takes—”

“He won’t have to waste his time searching for me.” He patted the pistol on his right hip. “You see, I can’t possibly let him find me.”

She glanced down at his gun. “You’d commit suicide rather than surrender? Don’t be a fool. If you agreed to cooperate with the government, they might negotiate!”

“A deal?”

“Of course!” She leaned forward. “If you gave the Magistrates a list of the names and whereabouts of all the Underground’s clandestine bases, they’d set you free and there’s no telling what sort of wealth—”

He interrupted her with a boisterous laugh. How naive she was! Did she really believe that? He glared at her. Yes, apparently she did. Amazing. The Magistrates would probe him until he was brain-dead, then they’d kill him at a public execution just for spite. But the other side of the coin made him laugh even harder.
Him
bargain with the Magistrates? After what he’d seen on Tikkun?
After what they’d done to his crew?
The only contact he wanted with Slothen was to feel the Giclasian’s blue throat beneath the blade of his Wind River knife.

He walked forward and braced both hands on the edge of the table, staring down at her. “You’re a Gamant, Amirah. I doubt your head will understand what I’m about to say, but I’m sure the blood in your veins will: I’d rather sell my soul to Aktariel than bargain with the Magistrates. At least I’d know the game plan with the Archdeceiver. The government changes policies so swiftly one can never be sure.”

“I’m not a Gamant,” she whispered.

“Someday you’ve got to stop running away from yourself. Can’t you see that the government’s plan for your people is genocide?”

“That’s not true!” she defended hotly and slammed her bound fists into the table. “Only two months ago, Slothen ordered us to drop food to the starving multitudes hiding in the forests on one of the satellites orbiting Palaia!”

Cole was momentarily silent, assessing possibilities. The Underground had heard rumors that Slothen’s iron fist policy on the satellites had blown up in his face, but they’d no specifics. “The Gamants on the satellites are rioting? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Pink flushed her cheeks, as though she knew she’d revealed some critical bit of data and was silently chastising herself for the error. She drew her bare feet up on her seat and rested her cheek on her knees, turning away from his probing gaze. Blonde hair shielded most of her face.

Cole walked around the table and pulled out the chair in front of her. As he sat down, he noticed her chin quivering. Fear for her ship, or just the urge to use those deadly fingers on him? Both, probably. Goddamn, he wished he didn’t like her so much. No, it was more than like—but he couldn’t admit that just yet.

“Let’s discuss Gamant affairs, Amirah.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you, Tahn.”

“We hear so little in this part of the galaxy. How many Gamants are on the satellites?”

She gave him a menacing look. The ramifications of hundreds of Gamants rioting in the pristine environment of Palaia’s perimeter were enormous. If they could get someone inside, to organize and lead the factions….

“Have the Magistrates set up
research
facilities for them, Amirah? Hmm? How many innocent civilians have they murdered in the name of ‘scientific advancement’? I’ll bet Slothen even tells his constituents that the studies are good for Gamants. They help civilize the
beasts.
Do you believe his propaganda?”

Her turquoise eyes burned with malice. “Some of it’s true.”

“Some
of everything’s true. Have you visited the research centers, Amirah?”

“No.”

“But you’ve undoubtedly heard what happens in them. How—”

“Those are lies!”

He held that hate-filled gaze. Her fanatical loyalty to Slothen intrigued him. Where had she gotten that? It didn’t come naturally to cruiser captains, he could vouch for that. “Are they? For the sake of argument, let’s say they’re not. How would you feel if your grandmother were there?”

“There’s no point in discussing this, Tahn. The government would never allow the sort of brutality the rumormongers are pushing.”

“Uh-huh.” He braced an elbow on the table and ran a hand through his hair. “When you get back to a com terminal where you have access to clandestine files, look up Neurophysiological file 19118. Then look up the data on the disposition of Colonel Garold Silbersay. Check out the reports on the experiments undertaken on the planet Jumes just before I was ordered to scorch it. Look up the data on Tikkun. If those files still exist, I think you’ll discover some things that will make you ill. They made me so sick I …” He massaged the knots in his shoulder. “Well, you know that story.”

“Not really.” She curled her delicate toes down over the edge of her chair seat, squeezing so hard the nails went white. Her breathing had quickened and her freckles seemed to stand out more clearly. “For the sake of argument,” she taunted, “why don’t you tell me about Tikkun.”

“You think you can take it?”

“I can take anything, mister.”

So, he did—from the molestation and rape of female children by Magisterial officers to the mass murders of “useless” subjects. He recounted the horrors in graphic detail. He told her of the ruthless slaughter he’d witnessed of women and children at the ditch. He told her of walking across a barren field in Block 10 with the camp commander, Major Johannes Lichtner, and Cole’s voice grew deep and sharp with hate. He fairly spat the words, “My security officer, Rachel, jumped. I jumped. Because small explosions sprang from the ground, shooting wisps of dirt high into the air. Lichtner’s guards laughed, they
laughed,
Amirah.”

Her chest rose and fell swiftly beneath her clinging robe. Her beautiful face had gone progressively harder as he talked. “What were they?”

He steepled his fingers over his mouth. “Gases released by decaying bodies. Lichtner claimed he had thirteen thousand Gamants buried there.”

Cole lifted his eyes to study her. She shook her head disbelievingly, but her eyes betrayed a worried woman. In a smooth move, she got to her feet. Her bound ankles made it difficult to stand, but she balanced herself.

“I don’t believe you,” she said in a low, savage voice. “You’re so practiced at lying, Tahn, that you can’t even—”