Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (36 page)

“What? Who didn’t want to leave?” Cole challenged in disbelief.

Jeremiel gazed at him steadily. “The elderly, for the most part. A few of those families have lived here for twenty generations. This is their home, no matter how dangerous. We’re leaving them a healthy amount of supplies. We told them clearly that they’d have to fend for themselves when the Magistrates came looking.”

Cole filled his lungs with air. At least a half dozen cruisers would “come looking.” Already he could hear the pleas for mercy, the shrill whine of rifle fire, the cries of the children. “I hope they make it.”

Jeremiel reached up to press the life systems patch and waited for the program to come up. “So do I. Our next priority is getting everybody else to Shyr.”

“Rudy’s and Merle’s priority, you mean. You and I have to concentrate on staying alive for more than a week.”

“I give us one in a hundred odds.”

“Really?” Cole blurted. “You have a lot of confidence in us, don’t you? I figured that for once Kopal was right and it was closer to one in ten million.”

Jeremiel braced his elbows on his console as the life systems program began running. He studied it raptly. “You’ve always been a pessimist.”

Cole grinned and turned his attention to the scrolling lines. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. But Jeremiel had programmed the ship himself. Cole would have expected no less. When the last line flashed, Cole grunted approval.

“You did a damn fine job, Baruch.”

“Thanks for helping me run the confirming check. There’s just one detail left to take care of.”

“What’s that?”

“Jossel. Do you want to escort her down or should I?”

Cole’s breathing went shallow. Her seizures seemed to be getting worse. Even under sedation, she’d writhed and twitched as though possessed by a wicked demon. He knew. He’d gone to see her six times in the past twenty-four hours, and each time seeing her had hurt more. Jeremiel’s theory about a “trigger” made too much sense to dismiss. “I will. Give me half an hour and I’ll …”

The green com light flared on the pilot’s console. Jeremiel’s eyes narrowed as he reached for the patch. “Fighter
Yesod.
Baruch here.”

Eli’s voice boomed through the command cabin, “Commander, switch on your visual com. we’ve got a classified message coming in.”

Baruch hit the patch. The foot-square screen that filled the space between Jeremiel and Cole flared to life. A little old man’s face formed, withered, with spectacles resting low on his fleshy nose. Cole squinted in recognition at the same time that Baruch whispered, “What the hell is this?” He called, “Yosef? Where are you?”

Calas inclined his head and smiled affectionately. “Good evening, Jeremiel. You’re looking well. We’re aboard a cruiser called the
Sargonid.
We’ve captured Engineering. But we’re not sure we can hold it long enough to—”

“You’re on the
Sargonid?”
Baruch’s mouth parted in shock. He stared unblinkingly for several seconds, then abruptly shifted to sit up straighter in his seat. “Who’s there with you, Yosef?”

“We’re holding the chief engineer, his name is Rad, and two of his technicians hostage.”

Cole swiveled around to give Jeremiel an anxious look. “Ask him who ‘we’ is? Are Mikael and Sybil there?”

Jeremiel requested, “Yosef, where are Mikael and Sybil? Our information suggested they’d been taken aboard—”

“Oh, yes,” Yosef’s elderly face beamed. “They’re right here. Sybil’s feeling much better and Mikael’s fine. He’s been looking forward to talking to you.”

The hair at the nape of Cole’s neck had started to prickle.
Too neat. The timing’s too perfect. The cruiser that escaped the Horeb attack has undoubtedly reported to Palaia. Is this some sort of ruse?
He felt as though an iron maiden had closed around his chest as he watched a tall, black-haired young man with a black beard walk in front of the monitor. He hadn’t seen Mikael in a dozen years, but he would have known him anywhere.

“Jeremiel?” Mikael greeted. “You’ve no idea how good it is to hear your voice. We’re in deep trouble. I—”

“Please hold on, Mikael,” Cole announced and curtly doused the audio. He grimaced at Jeremiel. “What code level is this being sent on?”

Baruch’s face tensed. He instantly input the request into his com unit. “Narrow beam.”

“Not good enough.”

“No.” Baruch’s expression hardened as he thought. “Not good enough. “If there’s a Magisterial cruiser between us and them, the government now knows that the
Sargonid
has been compromised. Mikael could be in deeper trouble than he knows.”

Cole exhaled tautly. “So could we, friend. What if this is a ruse of the Magistrates to get us to reveal data on the Underground’s operations around Horeb? Or get us to go running to Mikael’s aid?”

“And fall into a well-orchestrated ambush? Possible. Let’s be careful what we say.” Jeremiel switched the audio back on. “Mikael? Good work for sending this on narrow beam; however, we can’t be certain how secure this dattran is. Give us the information on your status and needs quickly. That will lessen the chance of interception.”

“Understood,” Mikael responded guardedly. “Briefly, then, this is what happened: Yosef and Ari sneaked aboard in a crate of hypinitronium. They used the explosive to get into Engineering, then told Lieutenant Woloc they were part of the Underground, that they’d taken over the ship to rescue Sybil and me and wanted to make a trade: Us for Jossel.”

“Hypinitronium?”
Cole whispered. His eyes widened. Rad must have fainted when he saw the vials in the hands of two shaky old gents. “Why the hell wasn’t it in gravitational stasis?”

“Unknown,” Baruch murmured. Then, louder, to Mikael, “What’s Lieutenant Woloc been doing in the meantime?”

“Everything possible to dislodge us,” Calas informed bluffly. “We’ve already repelled two entry attempts by his forces, but we’ve got to have some reliable leverage soon to keep them at bay or we’re going to lose Engineering.”

Jeremiel bent forward over his white console, his blue eyes glittering with some conclusion that made Cole’s stomach tighten. He whispered, “What are you thinking, Baruch?”

Jeremiel paid him no attention; instead, he said to Calas, “Mikael? The first thing you have to do is reroute all the major functions of the ship to Engineering. You have to incapacitate the bridge immediately.”

“Just give me directions, Jeremiel,” Mikael responded. “I’ve never seen controls as complex as these before.”

Cole reached over and cut the audio again, then grabbed Jeremiel’s shoulder hard and swiveled him around to glare questioningly.
“What are you doing?”

Jeremiel gripped Cole’s forearm. “We have to make this quick. The longer we prolong the conversation the more likely it is to be picked up. Trust me.”

Cole vacillated, trying to figure the angle. A sudden light-headedness possessed him as details began falling into place. “Are you crazy? Even if they do have Engineering and we could miraculously get there before they lose it, there’s no way we can—” “Trust me!”

“All right. All right!” He threw up his hands. “Do it.”

Baruch turned back to his com and input a new sequence, requesting locational data on the origin of Mikael’s transmission. “Sector four, near the Mainz system.” He shifted to peer sternly at the visual screen. “Mikael, it’ll take us two days to get there. In the meantime, the first thing you must do is seal every deck. We don’t want the
Sargonid’s
crew moving freely through that ship or they’ll be able to lay countless traps for you and us—which they’ll do anyway, but this way we can cut down their ability to mount forces and coordinate. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Put someone on the console next to you. Listen carefully….”

When Baruch had finished and cut the transmission, he swiftly opened a line to the bridge. “Eli? Log this under Clandestine One and put on time-delay. I want you to tran it to Captain Kopal immediately after our departure. Understood?”

“Aye, Commander. Logging.”

CHAPTER 35

Rachel stood uneasily beside Aktariel on the lip of the vortex overlooking the plains on Satellite 4. The fires of sunset sent waves of carnelian through the gathering clouds on the horizon and threw a sickly pink halo over the land below. Men and women walked barefoot through bloody battlefields, their clothing in shreds, eyes inflamed with hatred. Hoarse shrieks of rage and the pain of loss rang out as they searched the torn bodies littering the grassy fields.

Rachel watched a tiny dark-haired woman walk through the devastation. Her loose fitting white clothes bore old stains of blood; they shone as blackly as tar in the fading rays of sunset. The crowd dispersed, but the woman stayed, staring forlornly at heaven as though in silent prayer.

Rachel turned to look at Aktariel. His face gleamed like polished golden crystal in the darkness of the void, casting an amber shroud over his frost-colored cloak and Rachel’s ivory robe. “Who is she?” she asked.

Aktariel sighed, “A zealot from a long line of zealots. She doesn’t know it, but one of her distant ancestors was Iuedas o Makkabaios, or as your own people called him, Yehudah ben Mattathiah.”

“Do we have to worry about her?”

“Arikha? No. She’s on our side. At least, up to a point. Everything hinges on what the Mashiah will do.”

Rachel started. She’d searched for years to find the alternate universe which showed the Mashiah freeing Gamants from the tyranny of the Magistrates—
or showed the end of Creation.
But she’d never been able to find either. Which meant they must exist in only one or two of the possible futures. That’s why she’d taken steps with Nathan….

“Is there really a Mashiah in this terrible universe, Aktariel?”

He turned glowing amber eyes on her. “Oh, yes, I assure you that there is…. Come, I want to show you the Pillars of Light and Dark.”

He walked away before she could challenge him. His frost-colored cloak swayed, getting farther and farther ahead. Rachel followed, watching the darkness eddy beneath her sandaled feet. “Who is the Mashiah, Aktariel?”

He frowned at her and she noticed the way the breeze billowed in his silvered hood. “I can’t tell you, Rachel. You’ve already jeopardized our success by saving Nathan. I can’t risk—”

She started forward angrily and he shouted,
“Stop!”
and put out a hand to halt her progress. “I’m sorry. I almost took us too close. It’s difficult to tell one blackness from another. Here, let me take your hand. We’ll go forward slowly.”

Rachel reluctantly twined her fingers with his and let him lead her ahead. She squinted into the darkness and thought she made out a different texture a few feet away—blacker than black, velvety smooth, not like the whirling funnel of the
Mea.

Aktariel left her standing alone and carefully marched forward. After a short interim, he motioned for her to follow. “Come and stand by me, Rachel. Come and gaze upon the Foundations of Chaos.”

She wet her lips nervously and cautiously stepped forward to gaze out across a narrow bridge of intervening stars to gaping ebony jaws that swallowed space-time.

“What is that?” she whispered.

“The Magistrates ironically call it Palaia Zohar. In a few days, they’ll call it Accursed and pray to all the gods in history that they’d never put Palaia Station here.”

She studied the singularity, noting the faint smoky haze that encircled it. “Is that the event horizon?”

“Yes, it actually has two. You can’t see the inner one. But it’s the interface of the two that creates a protective membrane which prevents the hole from losing its negative charge.”

“And where is the Pillar of Light, Aktariel?”

He turned to gaze at her and she saw a terrible fear well in his glowing eyes. “I love you, Rachel. I’ve always loved you. The Pillar of Light, Jachin, is coming. Haven’t I told you that only a man whose blood is Light will survive?
If one does not stand in the Darkness, he will not be able to see the Light.”

CHAPTER 36

Amirah woke slowly, achingly, to find herself in a passenger chair in the rear of a cramped fighter. The effect of the potent drugs they’d given her in the brig had begun to wear off, leaving her nauseous and bleary. Out the long forward portal the deep blackness of light vault seemed to press down around them. How long had they been in vault? She wiggled her fingers. Her wrists and ankles sported EM restraints. Baruch was maintaining his hard-line, taking no chances, not even with her drugged. And he obviously still wanted her monitored, or she wouldn’t be in the command cabin.

The room spread in a twenty foot white oval around her. Other than their uniforms, the only color in the entire ship came from the thirty computer screens that blanketed the wall before the pilot and copilot’s seats. Shades of blue, green, violet, and red displayed critical information on the ship’s systems. Baruch and Tahn hunched over the command consoles, speaking quietly to each other. Dressed in the crisp purple and gray uniforms of Magisterial security lieutenants, they looked obscene.

Baruch leaned back in the pilot’s chair and rubbed his reddish blond beard. “Who should take the first watch?”

“I will. You get some rest,” Cole responded.

Baruch nodded and got to his feet. “Wake me in four hours.”

“I’ll wake you in eight. We’re in vault. There’s nothing to do and no danger. Try to get a good night’s sleep. It may be the last one you get for a while.”

“Four.
That’s an order.” Baruch gave Cole a stern glare, then swiveled around in his chair and stopped dead when he saw that Amirah was awake. “How are you, Captain?”

Cole instantly turned to look at her, too.

“Sick to my stomach. Foggy. What did you expect?”

Baruch ignored her question. He got to his feet and said simply, “Good night, Captain.”

He walked toward his sleeping quarters and she heard his door close. Cole checked three of the screens over his head and swiveled back around in his chair to gaze at her. “I’m sorry I can’t give you anything for the nausea—it would interfere with your wits. And I need you sharp.”

He acted like a complete stranger and she hated herself for minding. “Why?”

“I brought some files I want you to look at.”

Cole pulled his pistol and got up from his seat. He knelt in front of her, removing an EM key from his pants pocket. The restraints broke open into his waiting hand. Clutching them tightly, he stood up and backed away, then gestured her forward with the barrel of his pistol. “You’re welcome to the copilot’s seat.”

She stood up on wobbly ankles and walked to the chair he indicated. Tahn rebound her ankles and took the pilot’s seat; he cautiously reached down to the utility island that extended between the chairs and opened the top latch. He pulled two quarter-inch disks from the compartment and laid them in front of her.

Amirah skimmed the front code. “What are these?”

“Reports on Magisterial programs on Tikkun twelve years ago.” Cole leaned back in his chair, propped a boot against the console and braced his pistol on his stomach.

Amirah’s thoughts went to the reports on her grandmother. She’d reviewed the first ten pages before the security team had hauled her to the brig. She didn’t know if she believed the stories there. But she couldn’t fathom a
practical
reason for Baruch to have created them. As a result, questions had been nagging at her. Sefer truly had been a hero, a woman who would have sacrificed everything for her people—and almost did. If Calas hadn’t won the war on the plains of Lysomia when he did, her grandmother would certainly have been killed by the guards she “belonged” to. The data on the camp atrocities and Sefer’s wounds that the files had included, left a terrifying hate in Amirah. Those guards had used Sefer for every abominable task they could think of, from shoveling dead bodies into ditches to sexual perversities. But she’d survived.
Good for you, Grandmama. If I ever find them, I assure you they’ll pay.

Amirah glanced at Cole. He was stroking his chin, watching her pensively. She said, “Let’s get on with this, Tahn. Which com unit should I use?”

“The one on your right.”

She turned her chair and shoved in the first disk. The file came up almost immediately.

NEUROPHYSIOLOGICAL RESEARCH: FILE 19118 Subject: Tikkun experiments. Planetary Commander: Johannes Lichtner.

… strange levels of metabolites in cerebrospinal fluid. Suspect … arousal systems … aggressive sensations seeking results in inability to accept peace … abnormally high number of receptors in basal ganglia … misfiring of circuitry sets brain’s interpreter up for devising wrong methods … responds to endogenous events by delusional referents like journey though the
Mea …

Amirah’s chair squeaked as she leaned back. Over her shoulder, she tossed, “What is this?”

“What do you think it is?”

“Well, it … it looks an incoherency cover-up.”

“Very good, Captain.”

She waited for him to tell her more, but when he didn’t, she gazed suspiciously back at the file. The government only initiated this sort of defensive measure on major projects of such strategic value that they couldn’t risk any outside interference. Either that or they were frightened someone would find out what they were doing.

“Why would they cover this up?”

“Keep reading, Amirah.”

For three hours she read. Her physical responses surprised her. First, her heart thundered, then sweat broke out beneath her arms, drenching her uniform until she felt she’d been standing in a misty rain. What had the government been doing? Developing new mind probe methodologies? The research scientists clearly believed they’d discovered an abnormal brain structure and identified a dangerous interrelationship between neurotransmitters which led Gamants to be irrationally aggressive. The researchers had concluded that Gamant brain physiology naturally resulted in dangerous insanity.
And they recommended that the Magistrates learn to segregate the areas of the brain responsible, then harness and channel the insanity into a weapon to use against Gamant civilization. They wanted to try and turn Gamants against each other so they’d destroy themselves.
She rubbed stiff fingers over her tired face. So Cole believed Baruch’s thesis about her “programming.” Why else would he insist she read this particular file?

Her thoughts drifted and she saw Sefer Raziel hobbling toward her as though from a great distance, so prim in her traditional long Gamant robe of lilac wool, her gray hair knotted at the base of her skull. She and Grandmama used to play on those long winter days that so often infected the countryside. They’d sewn doll’s dresses and Sefer had taught Amirah how to shoot a b-gun, taught her how to aim and squeeze the trigger instead of jerking it. Amirah recalled those days as warm and safe and timelessly wonderful. Her grandmother had been the kindest, most peace-loving human being she’d ever known. Amirah recalled the care with which Sefer had removed every spider from the house, grabbing their webs and hurrying for the door while the arachnids scrambled to get away. Yet, her grandmother did have a violent streak—the files Baruch had given her proved it.
You’d be violent, too, Amirah, if somebody threatened to erase from the universe everything you loved.

She turned to glare at Cole. “This neuro file is preposterous. Gamants are no more aggressive than any other segment of humanity. If you were trying to convince me of Baruch’s thesis about me, it won’t work. These findings are absurd.”

Cole let go of the pistol in his lap and brought up his fingers to steeple them over his lips. “Finish the file. Then we’ll talk.”

Angrily, she spun back to the screen.

When she got to the last line, she leaned forward abruptly. She didn’t even realize she read it aloud: “Suggest massive sterilization of females over the age of. …”

Her voice drifted away with the words, but her eyes remained glued to the screen, her heartbeat pounding in rhythm with the flashing cursor. Swinging around in her chair, she fastened Cole with a threatening glare. “For the moment, let’s grant that this file is authentic. Who wrote it?”

“I suspect Creighton or one of his cronies.”

“Creighton?” She drummed her fingers on the control console. Cole watched her hands very carefully, lest she touch something forbidden. Had Tahn fabricated the file? He could have, but in that case, why the incoherency routine? To make it more believable? Certainly the Magistrates would have initiated such a cover-up if they’d performed those brutal experiments; what they’d done on Tikkun was against every treaty in civilized space. And knowing the government as intimately as Tahn did, he certainly could and
would
have scrambled the document to make it more convincing. But had he? While she concentrated on his handsome face, her thoughts silently examined the data.

He gripped his pistol again. “Let’s begin. If I were you, my first conclusion would be that the file is a creative invention. Correct?”

Amirah lifted a shoulder. The command cabin seemed immensely more bright and white than an hour ago, as if the whole universe had gone stark. “Yes, and invented by someone with a thorough understanding of the government. Even the tiniest of details, the peculiar wording of policy and procedure that comes only to long-time servants, is exact.”

“So, I’m your logical fabricator?”

“You or Halloway.”

He nodded agreeably. “True. Carey could have done it easily. But she didn’t.”

“That leaves you, Cole.”

He propped his pistol on his drawn-up knee. “Why would I have created it? The Underground has neither the leisure nor the facilities to mount propaganda campaigns. And, I assure you, we’d never release this kind of information to Gamant civilians. They’d go mad trying to find a hole to hide in.”

Amirah rubbed the toe of her boot over the gray carpet. A soft swishing sound resulted, which seemed loud in the quiet.

“I didn’t do it, Amirah.”

“No,” she said grudgingly. “I don’t think you did. Your lowest marks in Academy were in propaganda creation. And you were officially reprimanded twice for failing to employ the recommended Magisterial propaganda to ease tensions in war-ravaged areas. First, in the civil war on Kazant 9, and, second, in the dealings with the rebel leaders who’d captured the government on Sculptor 5.”

“So, if not me, who?”

She glanced uncomfortably at his pistol. “I don’t know. Creighton, probably. The writing style is consistent with other reports I’ve read by him—though the scramble makes it tough to tell for certain.”

At the very thought that the report might be authentic, she dropped her arms to fold them tightly across her breast, struggling to hold in all the rising terror. Genocide? What would the Magistrates do to her if they found out about the blood that ran in her veins? Relieve her of command? Certainly. Then what? Put her in a hospital? A neuro center? Briefly, almost subliminally, images of a probe chair flitted through her mind.

Her stomach cramped viciously.
Blood
…
everywhere …
She bent forward, fighting the pain that shot through her. “Oh—no.”

Cole’s expression tensed. He automatically put his hand on her shoulder. “Amirah, are you all right?”

She looked up in agony, silently pleading for him or anyone to make it better, to make the flashbacks go away. She’d do anything if someone would just stop the pain!
Please, Grandmama, make the hurt stop! … Grandmama? Where are you? Why did you go away and leave me? I need you!

…
And suddenly she realized she was seeing through a child’s eyes, vulnerable, desperate.
The most interesting part of the event was the sound of your voice
…
Maybe you and your grandmother were taken to Palaia … you were very young, very malleable … It’s just going to get worse, Captain! Don’t fool yourself!

Confusion shredded her. She fought to remember. Remember! More flits of the probe chair. Stark room….
Are we finished for today, Magistrate?”

Convulsions of agony swept her, as though something were twisting the life out of her! Her identity vacillated between that of a child wild with fear and an adult struggling to logically defuse desperation. She screamed hoarsely and tumbled to the floor.

Cole jerked forward, stunned, wary. Amirah lay in a fetal position on the blue carpet, crying. A hand covered her eyes. “Amirah?”

She lifted both of her arms like a child begging to be picked up. In a little girl voice, she pleaded. “Hold me!”

Cole put his pistol within reach on the control console and took the EM restraints out of his pocket. He immediately bound her hands, then sat on the floor beside her and pulled her into his lap, holding her fiercely against him. Thudding steps sounded from the sleeping quarters. Jeremiel emerged running. Breathing hard, he stopped when he saw Cole and Amirah on the floor. Baruch pulled his pistol and aimed with deadly intent at Amirah.

Cole put up a hand to keep Jeremiel calm, then he slowly lowered it to stroke Amirah’s sweat-damp hair. “It’s Cole, Amirah. You’re safe. It’s not your fault. The government did this to you. Don’t think about the images … let them go. Think about something else, anything else.” She buried her face helplessly against his shoulder and wept, seemingly unable to find her own way out of the delusion. Cole paused, then gently reminded, “Remember in the caves on Horeb? I told you were beautiful. And you are, Amirah. A very beautiful woman of twenty-nine. Remember when we talked all night? We talked about places we’d been and flowers we loved. You laughed. I miss that Amirah, bring her back to me. Where is she, Amirah? She’s in there somewhere. Can you find her?”