Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (33 page)

“How are you, Captain?” Baruch asked.

“As well as can be expected, Commander.”

“If there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, please let me know.” He paused and pointed to the bed with the med unit. “You’ll find Captain Tahn over there. Please excuse me, I have business to attend to on the bridge.”

“Certainly.”

Poimandres headed across the room and stationed himself at the foot of Cole’s bed in an “at ease” position.

Cole called, “I’m not dead, you’ll be disappointed to know.”

“So I heard. Maybe I do need hand-to-hand lessons from you, after all.”

She quickly strode across the floor to stand over him. His brown hair framed his face in curls, highlighting his straight nose. He’d shaved his beard, leaving a clean jaw.

He looked at her sideways. “You’re looking well.”

She smiled reluctantly—angry with herself for being glad to see him. “So are you. How’s your chest? It was just one rib, wasn’t it?”

“One was enough, Amirah. The doctor says I should be out of here in two days. Incidentally …"He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you really tackle the mess tech?”

Her jaw went hard. “You didn’t flatter yourself about it, did you? You’re thoroughly conceited. You’ve never gotten over being the greatest captain in the fleet, have you? For your information I ‘tackled’ that technician because he provoked me.”

“The brute. How did he do that?”

She gave Cole a dubious look and leaned against his med unit to scrutinize the dirt under her fingernails. “I think it was the tone in his voice more than anything else. I asked him about your condition and he told me he wasn’t at liberty to reveal such information to a Magisterial
snake.”

Cole’s smile faded. A brief flicker of fear went over his face before he pulled himself out of it and tilted his head apologetically. “Jeremiel will see to it.”

“That’s not necessary. I doubt that technician will ever get his baritone voice back. The squeak should be punishment enough.”

Cole gazed at the foot of his bed. “Poimandres?”

“Yes, sir?” The youth leaned around the unit to peer at Tahn.

“Would you mind leaving us alone. No, don’t worry, Captain Jossel isn’t going to break any more of my ribs. She’s aiming lower these days. I’ll take full responsibility for relieving you.”

Poimandres gave Amirah an unpleasant appraisal but nodded and backed away. “I’ll be over by the door, sir. Just yell if you need me.”

“I will, Corporal. Thank you.”

Tahn waited until Poimandres was out of earshot, then he said, “Why don’t you pull up a chair and sit down. There’s one over by that next bed.”

“What for?” she asked hesitantly. His expression told her he had unpleasant news to deliver.

“Because I asked you to.”

She pulled over the chair. Sitting down, she crossed her arms tightly. “What is it?”

His handsome face tightened. “I wanted to talk to you about a promise I made.”

“To me?” She mentally searched her memories, trying to figure out when he’d ever … A weightless feeling like free-fall overcame her. She forced a disdainful laugh. “You didn’t think I really believed you’d let me go after you’d used me, did you? How’s Baruch going to do it? Public execution? Or is he the quiet type? I’d prefer a quick secret hustle into a vacuum tube.”

He looked up at her and her heart slammed against her ribs sickeningly. “I’m afraid you’re going to live—but I’m not sure what’s ahead is preferable. Baruch asked me if I thought it would be better to put you down on Horeb with the remnants of the
Hammadi
crew, or … or to take you with us.”

Amirah swallowed past the lump that had risen in her throat. “Destination?”

His face turned bland. “I can’t tell you that, but I recommended to Jeremiel that we take you.”

She sprang unsteadily to her feet, chest heaving. “Why? So you can use me against someone? Like you planned on using me against my crew?
Goddamn it!
You used to understand—”

“Listen to me! Do you want to end up a vegetable? That’s what they’ll do to you if we leave you on Horeb, Amirah. Just like they did to
my crew.
And the crew of the
Annum.
They’ll probe you until you’re brain dead! You know it—and so do I.”

In angry indignation, she taunted, “You’re interested in my welfare, eh? Well, that does ease my fears.”

His voice came out soft. “Amirah, I don’t know what’s going to happen on this journey, but I can practically guarantee you that you’ll die fighting, not under some helmet in a cold neuro lab.”

She glared. “It’s such a comfort, Captain, to have you deciding what’s best for me.
Just like you did for the
Hoyer
crew.”

Tahn stared at her numbly, as though she’d kicked out his guts. “We’ll be leaving day after tomorrow.”

She felt like ripping the med unit off him and slamming a boot into his chest. Unfortunately, she knew Poimandres would splatter her blood all over the hospital if she tried. Spinning on her toes, she headed for the door.

Six hours later, in the middle of the night shift when the hospital thrummed with silence, Cole leaned back against his pillow. He couldn’t get Amirah out of his mind. Her voice, gruff and commanding—filled with anguish—echoed around his memories, coming back sounding like his own … an eternity ago in another life. He could still remember how badly his fists had ached from slamming them into the “walls of his own cabin. A prisoner on his own ship, he’d been frantic, almost insane, to get away.

“So’s she.”

He closed his eyes and watched the afterimages of Amirah’s desperate face dance in the darkness.

CHAPTER 32

Jason Woloc sprinted down the long corridor, heading toward the huge double doors that led to Engineering. His six member security team followed on his heels. The swift beat of their boots pounded against the carpet like hoofed animals racing over rain-soaked earth. Three men and two women from the special forces division hovered over the portable com unit set up outside the double doors. Already their purple uniforms showed sweat around the collars. Jason sucked in a deep breath as he slid to a halt before the tense gathering.

Aryeh Patora, his chief of special forces looked at him from troubled brown eyes. A medium-sized woman with a bowl haircut, straight brown locks framed her oval face and turned up nose. “Our culprits seem to be two old men, First Lieutenant,” she informed him. “We must have picked them up from Horeb, though how is still a mystery. They were found wandering around down in the weapons division. Two of the engineering staff, Fontaine and Itro, escorted them into Engineering at gunpoint. After that, the two old codgers pulled their canisters of hypinitronium and threatened to blow up the ship. They collected everybody’s weapons, then forced all but three officers out of Engineering. After that, they sealed the entire section up tight.”

“Who’s left in there?”

“Rad, Fontaine, and Itro.”

Jason glowered at the white double doors. Officers shifted around him, waiting for orders. He searched his memories, trying to recall what other commanders had done in similar situations—but the number of ships the Magistrates had lost to terrorists was so minimal the data was almost nil. Panic touched him. He struggled to think like Amirah. What would she do? Just drawing a mental picture of her soothed him.

“How well did they seal Engineering? Can we get in through any of the maintenance access tunnels?”

Patora shook her head. “No, the two old fools apparently knew what they were doing—almost as though they’d been coached.”

Jason glanced up suddenly. “Coached? You don’t think this is part of a larger plan, do you? Perhaps these old men are members of the same terrorist group that kidnapped Captain Jossel? Can we assume that this action represents the ‘ransom’ call we’ve been expecting?”

Jason stood resolutely quiet as the pieces started falling into place. If a terrorist group had miraculously managed to intercept a Magisterial dattran stating that the
Sargonid
was on route to Horeb with orders to retrieve Calas, they’d certainly have set in motion a counter-assault. Capturing Amirah, then getting aboard the cruiser and demanding custody of Calas in exchange for Amirah would make perfect sense.

Patora shrugged. “Unknown, sir, but I’d say that’s a good guess.”

“Can we gas Engineering?”

“Maybe. Depends on the extent of their knowledge of how the ship works. From where they’re sitting, they could counter our efforts with the punch of a reroute patch.”

“Do we know our invaders’ names?”

“They’ve refused to talk to anyone but you.”

Jason ran a hand through his hair and straightened his purple shirt. “All right, Lieutenant, let’s see what they want.”

“Aye, sir.”

Patora stepped forward to the pedestaled com unit and established the connection. She called, “First Lieutenant Jason Woloc is here now. Please hit the red patch on your console.”

Jason walked forward and Patora edged out of the way. An old man’s face formed. He was bald with a round face, freckled scalp, and old-fashioned spectacles clinging precariously to his fleshy nose. In the background, Jason could see Engineer Rad standing with his hands up. Another old man, very tall, with a gray mop of hair, held a gun on him.

“Gentlemen,” Jason began, “I’m First Lieutenant Woloc, currently in command of the
Sargonid.
We’ve no wish to harm you. Please lay down your weapons and—”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” the first old man said. He tilted his head in a kindly way, as though gently reprimanding a child. “We can’t do that. Engineer Rad has informed us that from these controls on my left—” the screen panned right to show Jason the master override console, then panned back to frame the old man, “—we can control any part of the ship we want. Please don’t make any moves to enter this section, or I’ll be forced to hurt your crew and I’d rather not do that.”

“Who are you?” Jason asked tersely. He’d unwittingly clamped his fingers over the edges of the com unit, holding it in a clammy death grip.

“You can call me Yosef.”

“What do you want, Yosef?”

“Two things. First of all, we’d like you to transport the Calas family down here to Engineering. After that, we’ll talk more. Please hurry, Lieutenant. We’d like to see Mikael, Sybil, and Nathan within a half hour.”

Nathan?
“I take it your presence here represents a rescue attempt, then?”

“We’ll talk more after we see you’ve met our first demands.”

Jason stared somberly at the screen. Certainly Gamant terrorists. From the Underground? There’d been rumors that Baruch’s forces had planned a full-scale attack on Horeb. But no one believed the Underground commander would do something so suicidal, not with four Magisterial cruisers orbiting the planet. Had the government’s intelligence been wrong? Had Baruch planned a clandestine mission all the time?
Oh, Amirah, I should have guessed.

“Yosef,” Jason asked. “Are you part of the Gamant Underground?”

Yosef started to respond, but the other old man behind him shouted, “Of course, we’re part of the Underground. What a ridiculous question. Tell the
gunzel
we want to make a deal. The Calas family for Jossel.”

Yosef squinted over his shoulder, a look of utter disbelief on his withered face, but when he turned back he nodded and said, “Yes, Lieutenant Woloc. That’s what we want to do. You deliver Mikael and his family to us and we’ll signal our people on Horeb to release your captain.”

So she is on Horeb.
Jason tensed, his worst fears rising. Slothen had demanded Calas be delivered to Palaia immediately. Would he approve of such a deal? Blessed God, what if he wouldn’t?

He propped a fist against the screen. “I’ll need to discuss this with my officers, Yosef.”

“That’s fine, Lieutenant. But you’d better deliver the Calas family to us within a half hour—or else we’ll be forced to do something unpleasant.” He gestured to the override console.

“I understand, Yosef. I’ll be in contact. Woloc out.” He cut the transmission and straightened to face his assembled officers. People stared back, their faces eroded with hatred and worry. “Suggestions?”

Patora leaned heavily against the wall. “Can we use Mikael and Sybil Calas against them? What do you think they’d do if we refused to turn them over?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Qery, who’d come in behind him, said. He spread his long legs into an “at ease” position. In the bright glare, his freckles blotched his face like haphazardly strewn spots of melted brown crayon. “It’ll be risky. I suspect those old men were sent on this mission because they’re expendable. After all, they have to be pushing three hundred and fifty. They might just blow the hell out of us if we look at them the wrong way.”

Patora lifted her brows. “Delivering Calas might buy us time. And if we can stall for a while, I
will
figure a way of getting into Engineering and eliminating the threat.”

Jason put a hand on Patora’s shoulder. “If we comply and let them contact their people on Horeb, it will take at least two days for a ship to get here with Captain Jossel. Is that enough time?”

“Probably. We also might get an additional benefit out of this, too. If one of our cruisers around Horeb picks up Yosef’s message, they might intercept Yosef’s friends before they can escape the planet.”

Jason nodded heartily. Hope swelled like a hot fire inside him. “Or if they can’t, at least we should have reinforcements coming. And maybe, if we time this maneuver right, we can set a trap and capture the whole lot of terrorists the instant they set foot aboard the
Sargonid.”

“Damn right!” Patora grinned, her brown eyes gleaming in anticipation. “I’m sure we can.”

Officers nodded around him, bolstering his spirits. A round of soft whispers began, people planning, coordinating.

“Qery,” Jason said. “See that Calas and his wife are brought down immediately. Assign a med tech to keep Mrs. Calas healthy. We don’t want any charges of brutality or negligence leveled against us when this is over.”

“Understood, sir. But who’s Nathan?”

“Unknown. Just bring Mikael and Sybil.”

“Aye, sir.” Qery saluted and sprinted away.

Jason turned to Patora. “Aryeh, call a meeting with all your best explosives and chemical warfare specialists. We have to construct a foolproof ambush with a series of backup lairs just in case they penetrate the first round.”

“Aye, sir. While they’re working on that, I’d like to organize a special search unit to determine how to break into Engineering.”

“Good. Let’s get on it, people!”

Sybil slept within the confines of the silver monster that encased her upper half, dreaming … dreaming…. From somewhere far away, the ring of deep masculine laughter pierced her current dream.

She felt herself being pulled away, drawn down the dark throat of a whirling tunnel until she emerged in the midst of a broad desert. She stood on the shores of a metallic green lake. The sweet scent of some unknown flower wafted on the hot wind. A wall of cave-pitted rock rose behind her, shimmering surreally in the heat. Before the caves, a gaggle of white-robed men, very young and very old, bent over a crude aqueduct. The narrow covered canal that rose upon stone arches carried no water. Was it new construction?

Sybil walked slowly toward them, curiously examining their labors. Rather than taking water from the lake, the aqueduct stretched high up over the rugged plateau behind the caves. Was the lake poisoned, Sybil wondered, or too salty to drink?

She watched with interest when an old man with gray hair and a long beak of a nose strode into the gathering, waving his arms and shouting. “You silly fools! Let me look at it. Go away and come back in an hour.” Men flew away, chattering. A tiny boy of maybe six trudged at the old man’s heels, beaming like a sacred lamp.

The child’s high voice carried on the wind, “Why don’t we use bricks instead?”

“We can’t use bricks,” the old man gently chastised. “We have to use stones if we want the arches to last. Water is too hard on bricks.”

The boy nodded obediently and then followed the older man down the line. Sybil smiled. The child had coal black hair and the blackest eyes she’d ever seen. His white robe flapped and billowed in the wind, pressing tightly across his narrow chest. He ran to keep up with the longer stride of his teacher. In the glaring golden brilliance of the sun, his pudgy face gleamed.

“Paquid?”
the boy called as he ran. “How much grade do you have to have over each stadia to keep the water flowing?”

The
Paquid
raised a brow appreciatively. “You’re smarter than I thought.” He stopped and knelt down. A loving smile curled his lips. He waved the boy forward. “Come here, Caius Nathanaeus, let me show you this.”

The boy raced forward and threw himself at the old man’s feet, smiling up eagerly; he put a hand on his teacher’s knee and softly kneaded the white fabric.

The
Paquid
lifted his little finger and ran his thumb over the length of the second joint. “You see this, Nathanaeus?”

The boy nodded, eyes wide. “Yes.”

“What is this measurement called?”

“One
uncia,
sir.”

The old man smiled and patted the boy’s obsidian colored hair. “Yes, very good. You’re learning quickly. I remember when your Roman mother first brought you here. All you did was cry. But you’re almost a man now, aren’t you?”

Nathanaeus ducked his head shyly. “I am growing pretty good, sir. But I don’t remember my mother.”

“I know. You were just a baby. To answer your question, you must have six
unciae
of drop for every hundred feet of canal to keep the water flowing. You remember that, boy. No aqueduct will work without that knowledge.”

Sybil smiled at the innocent joy that shone on the child’s face. On the wind currents, high over the rocky parapet, black birds circled each other, rising higher and higher into the pale blue sky. The men who’d fled to the caves laughed happily. So peaceful. Sybil inhaled and exhaled the first relaxed breath she’d taken in months. A place like this could only exist in a dream.

Nathanaeus smoothed his tiny fingers over the stone arch before him. “I won’t forget,
Paquid.
I want to do this, when I get bigger and stronger. To build….”

His voice faded, mouth dangling open as another boy, bigger and older strode from the caves. Tall for his age, the boy had dark brown hair and huge brown eyes, but his body looked wasted and thin. When the breeze flattened his white robe against his chest, Sybil’s heart throbbed. He seemed nothing more than a withered branch.

Nathanaeus stood up and whispered, “Who is that boy,
Paquid?”

The old man turned to look. “Ah, that is a new member of our community, little one. A sad boy. He ran away from home. He claims a bright golden angel came to him in the middle of the night, grabbed him by the hair, and dragged him here to learn the sacred ways of the Teacher of Righteousness with us.”