Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (3 page)

“Good for him.” She bowed her head and laughed deprecatingly, as though in derision of her own fears of being relieved of command.

Lucerne’s mouth pressed into a tight white line. Damn her. She knew as well as he did that she wasn’t capable. Though she wouldn’t say so, he suspected the flashbacks had grown so numerous and so vivid that when they struck she couldn’t distinguish between fantasy and reality. The woman needed to be institutionalized before she hurt herself—or worse, someone else.

Jossel gruffly tugged her purple cap down over her forehead. “Can you give me something to help with the flashbacks? Something to lessen their intensity?”

He shook his head. “Not without impairing your ability to make quick command decisions. Drugs might kill you faster in a critical moment than the flashbacks.”

“I see. Well, then, I’ll manage.” Briskly, she started for the door.

“Will you?” He shouted furiously. “You think you can handle anything by sheer force of will, don’t you? Well, for all our sakes, I damned well hope you can.” Lucerne lifted a finger and stabbed it at her. “Because if one of these
seizures
strikes in a desperate moment of battle, you’re just liable to get yourself, every member of your crew, and very likely a lot of other people killed. Do you understand what I’m saying? It is my medical opinion that you are unfit for command, Captain!” He slowly lowered his hand and stared Jossel hard in the eyes. “I strongly recommend that you march into Slothen’s office and respectfully request to be relieved. You need at least a month in a rehab center. The flashbacks won’t go away. It’s just going to get worse, Captain!
Don’t fool yourself!
If I had the authority, I’d—”

“The ruling Magistrate has pronounced me fit, Doctor. I suggest you save your talents for someone who needs them.” Jossel strode past him in a blur of purple uniform and fluttering blonde hair.

“You’re going to get somebody killed, Captain! You hear me?”

She didn’t so much as flinch. She stamped out the door and vanished down the hall before Lucerne could even begin to curse her. He put his hands on his hips and tensely headed for the door himself.

He slammed a fist into the wall before he exited the examination room.

CHAPTER 2

The magnificence of autumn splashed the mountains of Kiskanu, throwing an irregular crimson and gold patchwork quilt over the densely forested slopes. Fluffy clouds drifted lazily above. In the slanting rays of sunset, their edges gleamed with a marmalade fire.

Cole Tahn lifted another crate and carried it across the landing pad to the growing pile beside his triangular silver fighter. A tall, slim man with brown hair and piercing blue-violet eyes, he had an oval face and a straight nose. His camo jumpsuit clung to his muscular body in sweaty patches. He’d been feeling strange all day, jumping at every sound. His gaze roved the forests, as though expecting something unseen to grab him suddenly. He’d worn another millimeter off his pistol grip from the number of times he’d reached for it in panic this afternoon.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he growled harshly at himself. “There’s nothing there.”

He set the crate down and wiped his brow on his sleeve. People hustled around him, loading the freighters, laughing and talking. Four ships, freighters and fighters, sat in a neat row along the perimeter of the field. In the fiery light, they seemed drenched in liquid silver. A small square office took up the far left side of the pad. Inside that office, he knew Rudy Kopal manned the scanners, watching the skies for any sign of the enemy. But the knowledge comforted him little. He’d never really gotten along with Kopal, which made it hard to trust him. “You’re being an ass. Stop it. If anything happens, Rudy’ll give you plenty of time to get to your ship and get out of here.”

He kicked the crate lightly to relieve some of his frustration. It was probably just Kiskanu that set him on edge. The old Gamants who survived on this isolated world had strange mystical beliefs. They boasted that they spent day and night drawing runes on cold stone floors in candlelit rooms, trying to command the powers of God and angels to bring the Mashiah so he’d wipe the Magistrates from the face of the galaxy. A strange place, the planet’s agricultural and mineral riches went largely unused, except by the Underground which paid handsomely for the supplies.

Cole’s gut tightened at the thought of the Magistrates. He forced himself to kneel down and begin untying the ropes that bound the crate. He took his Wind River fighting knife and pried the lid off the top, then hastily stacked the petrolon canisters in the fighter’s tiny cargo hold and surveyed the haphazard work. Canisters leaned precariously atop one another. As soon as he lifted off, they’d fall into a jumbled mess. If one of his crew had done such a job, Cole’s throat would have been raw for days from chewing the soldier’s butt. Gruffly, he punched the hold console to shut the door and leaned back against the silver hull. The wind that brushed his moist face was warm and redolent with the dry spicy smells of autumn.

The trucks bearing the last supplies had already come in and soldiers worked tirelessly to transport the crates to the ships. Mechanical loaders churred about like great four-armed beasts, while people scurried around their legs hauling smaller petrolon boxes and the precious special gifts that the members of the starship crews had requested.

His gaze landed on Carey Halloway. She stood a short distance away, orchestrating the resupply process. Second in command of the battle cruiser,
Zilpah,
she was strikingly beautiful. Her perfect body rippled with toned muscles beneath her formfitting black jumpsuit. Auburn hair fell in straight silky locks to her shoulders, accenting her emerald green eyes and pale translucent skin.

Despite the dread that lingered in his mind, Cole found himself smiling as he watched her. She stood, hands propped on her shapely hips while she yelled at Lieutenant Joshua Samuals and Corporal Lu Zimmern, dressing them down for slovenly work. Carey poked a hard finger into Samuals’ chest and his shoulders hunched more with each passing second. Tahn cast a surreptitious glance at his own hold and cautiously slid sideways, covering the door with his broad back. He’d been the object of Carey’s wrath too many times to look forward to it. He struggled with himself, but he couldn’t help it, he laughed. Too loudly. Carey turned and scowled. He smothered his smile and pivoted around to fiddle aimlessly with an empty crate. Birds chirped in the trees, their songs blending in a bright symphony.

Carey dismissed Samuals and Zimmern and walked over to loom over Cole. He got to his feet to face her.

“Well, you sound more cheerful,” she commented. “No more doom and gloom prophecies?”

“If you’re subtly asking me how I feel, the answer is, still bad. I’ve just decided not to show it for a while.”

“Good. The last time you grabbed for your pistol, half my loading crew hit the ground and scrambled for cover.”

“That’s because your lovable personality keeps them all jittery.”

Carey grinned and leaned back beside him against the fighter’s hull, amiably propping an elbow on his shoulder. Sunset dappled through the trees, setting her beautiful face ablaze with a lavender aura. Being close to her eased some of his anxiety. Down through the long years of fighting and running, she’d never let him down. In the early days, he’d longed to have a more intimate relationship with her. But a captain in the Magisterial fleet didn’t court his second in command; it made for poor ship morale. And now it was certainly too late. He doubted that Jeremiel, Carey’s husband, was ever really out of her thoughts.

Cole lowered his gaze to stare at the golden leaves that blew around his feet, piling against his boots. He’d been thinking about his friendship with Carey a great deal of late. Their friendship and their mutual past. When he did, he saw himself standing tall on the bridge of a ship that had died long ago, his purple uniform crisp, the pulse of power throbbing in his veins. Carey sat at the nav console in front of him, her cool, green-eyed gaze pinning him. He wondered now why it had taken them so long to throw off the shackles of that insane existence. Since they’d left the Magisterial service and joined the Gamant Underground, they’d been on the run constantly, hiding wherever they could, frightened every minute that they’d be captured and returned to the horrors of the government’s mind probes. But he’d never been happier.

Carey looked at him askance. “Are you worried about Horeb? Is that why you’re so jumpy?”

“I’m probably just tired.” He playfully kicked her boot and laughed when she kicked him back, hard.

“Tired and worried about Horeb.”

“All right,” he granted irritably. “I’m worried about Horeb. The planet has split down the middle, Mikael’s and Sybil’s rebel forces are apparently starving in their ditches, and our ragtag fleet is woefully inadequate to tackle the four battle cruisers that Governor Ornias demands constantly guard the planet. But we’re going to attempt a rescue anyway! Anybody with sense would be worried.”

“We’ve no choice, Cole. The Magistrates have stepped up their battle against Gamants. We have to get those people off Horeb and to Shyr or they’ll be dead in a few months.”

Cole squinted up at a white bird that soared through the darkening skies; its wings flashed mauve as it dove. The Underground had searched for ten years to find a planet where they believed the remnants of Gamant civilization would be secure. Since that day four years ago, they’d been diligently, secretly, stocking Shyr with food and animals, tools and weaponry, so that as the Underground rescued the remnants of Gamant civilization from their war-torn planets, they’d have a home to go to. The time had almost come to initiate a rescue on Horeb.

He gave Carey a surreptitious appraisal. She’d picked up a golden leaf and contemplatively twirled it in her fingers while she scanned the slopes. In the deepening rays of dusk, the mountains had taken on a mottled cloak of shadows.

“Incidentally,” she quipped, “did you hear what the old Gamants here on Kiskanu told Rudy this morning?

His gut twisted suddenly, as though a warning fist knotted inside him. “No.”

“They tapped an illegal dattran stating that Governor Ornias has ordered all children under the age of seven rounded up because he believes some ancient prophecy about the coming of the Redeemer.”

“Well, that’s wonderful news. Was that supposed to ease my anxiety?”

“Kiskanans say the order is the final sign.”

“Sign of what?”

“The coming of the true Mashiah.”

He massaged his brow condescendingly. “When will these backward barbarians get it into their thick skulls that God is a bastard? Gamants will only see salvation when each and every one of them picks up a rifle. This religious hocus-pocus …”

He stopped when a bright blue light sprang from Carey’s chest, penetrating the black fabric of her jumpsuit. He recoiled. “Goddamn, what’s the matter with that thing? It’s been going crazy all day!”

Gingerly, Carey tugged on the golden chain around her neck and pulled the
Mea Shearim
from her suit, letting it rest over her heart. The blue ball emitted such a brilliant cerulean light that Cole had to lift a hand to shield his eyes.

“It seems to have an affinity for conversations about Horeb. Have you noticed? It only flares when—”

“I’ve noticed,” he said gruffly. Every time they’d discussed the planet or proposed operations concerning it in the past week, the
Mea
had gone wild. “Do you think that means something?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe God wants to talk to me about strategy?”

“Well, for your sake, I hope not. Epagael’s strategies usually result in death and devastation for Gamants.”

“I’m not a Gamant.”

“No, but you’re married to one. Which, as I understand it, is worse. Isn’t there some prohibition against Gamants marrying ‘foreign’ women? I seem to recall some nonsense about how the woman will be devoured by the flames of the Lord and the man will be stoned to death. I wouldn’t talk to God if I were you. It’s too risky.”

“Why, Cole,” she said, a brow lifted with interest. “I’m shocked. Have you been reading Gamant religious treatises?”

“Don’t be snide. I have ears, don’t I?”

“Ah, you’ve been eavesdropping again.”

He opened his mouth to defend himself but lifted a brow instead. “It’s not as though it requires any talent in a battle cruiser, Carey. You just have to walk the halls.” “Do they often talk about Jeremiel and me on the
Orphica?”

“Too damned much for my taste. Every time we lose a battle, some superstitious sonofabitch knows exactly where to lay the blame.”

She grinned. “Foreign women, eh?”

“You think it’s funny? I don’t. I hope like hell that the Horeb campaign goes well. If not, they’ll more than likely hang you up by your heels and perform some unpleasant torture ritual to exorcise demons from your soul.”

Cole squinted at the
Mea.
Jeremiel had given it to Carey only two days before they’d left on this mission, and that had been a month ago. He’d called it a good luck charm. For a decade the device had been dead. It hadn’t glowed at all. But the moment Cole and Carey had boarded their vessel and flown out of the landing bay into the star-strewn blackness of space, the thing had burst into brilliance. Now, as he looked at the device, he thought that perhaps it hadn’t been dead at all—just waiting. He quelled the tingle that crawled over his skin.

“I wish you’d take that damned thing off, Carey.”

She eyed him speculatively. “Scares you, does it?”

“Damn right.”

She picked up the chain and let the
Mea
swing freely. White swirls eddied across the azure surface. Her smooth cheeks had taken on a rosy hue, as though the flaring of the necklace sent a flush of adrenaline through her system. “I’ve considered taking it off, but I can’t seem to convince myself to do it. Ever since I put it around my neck, I’ve felt oddly … attached.”

“That’s called fear, my dear.”

“No, it’s more like a feeling of premonition.”

“Yeah? I’ve been feeling the same thing all day. The question is, a premonition of what?” Again his eyes drifted to the dense forested slopes and he felt a desperation that verged on panic.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’ve been having very strange dreams, filled with war and pain.” Her nostrils flared as though she smelled the coppery odor of bloody corpses penetrating these gorgeous autumn mountains.

“Then why the hell don’t you take it off?” he demanded too sharply.

“I want to talk to God. Always have. So I can call him a bastard to his face.”

“Well, that ought to convince Him to help Gamants.” Cole squinted at the
Mea.
Whenever he looked at it, he had the queer feeling that he’d just stepped over the edge of a precipice. “Well, just for your information, it brothers me deeply that you wear a primordial black hole around your neck.”

A gust of wind swept the landing field, peppering their faces with sand and swirling dead leaves fifty feet high before scattering them across a steep hillside.

“We’re not sure that’s what it is,” she pointed out.

“We’re pretty sure.”

Immediately after the globe had started to flare, they’d taken it and subjected it to a series of tests. Weight: Four billion tons—though the
Mea
felt feather light. Outer containment vessel: Cooled beryllium ions organized into a series of spherical concentric shells. The ions slipped around the shells in a liquidlike phase but rarely diffused. Yes, indeed, he strongly suspected a singularity lurked at the heart of the
Mea.
But he hadn’t figured out yet why it seemed to have no mass. Perhaps the bole existed in some alternate universe and they saw it through the gate?