Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (51 page)

Tahn leaned on her, holding her back, looking at Baruch. “Jeremiel, get out of here! Take Carey and—”

Baruch came swiftly across the room. His voice was fast and deep. “I’m going to take everyone else to the landing field. If we can capture some of those fighters, we might just be able to hold off the station forces while you, Jossel, and Woloc get into the Spires.”

“Jeremiel, goddamn it, no! I want you and Carey—”

“Shut up!”
Baruch commanded authoritatively.
“That’s got to be Rudy up there and if it is, he’s vastly outnumbered! He’s only got a half hour at most! Move, Tahn! GO!”
He slapped Cole hard on the shoulder and started for Halloway where she lay against the wall.

“Baruch?” Woloc called. Jeremiel turned and Jason tossed him his extra pistol. “Hope you make it.” Baruch smiled faintly. “Affirmative, Lieutenant.” Jason sprinted out of the room, his pistol aimed. Amirah followed, supporting Cole as they ran down the long corridor.

Arikha lay on her stomach, staring through her light bars at the bright green lamp on the bedside table. It had stopped flickering when the explosions died down. But it still gleamed with a sickly hue as though not on full power.

Or maybe it was just her eyes. They hadn’t fed her in three days. She’d started feeling light-headed this morning, but it had grown to euphoria a few hours ago. Right now she seemed to be floating in a hot stormy ocean filled with sunlit dust. She absently waved her hand through the haze; it wavered like real dust.

Arikha blinked hard when she saw a woman enter the chamber. The stranger wore a long carmine cloak with the hood pulled up. Black hair fell in thick waves from her hood, spreading like a silken blanket over her chest. A beautiful woman, she had olive skin and a heart-shaped face. Her huge midnight eyes took in everything, going over each face in the beds. Finally, her eyes landed on Arikha and she walked forward, parting the sparkling dust like a ghost from the dark mists.

Her cloak swayed when she stopped beside the bed. “Have you seen General Ornias?”

Arikha croaked. “The guards … some of them said … all officers were going to … to take shelter in the Horns.”

“The Horns?” Her eyes glowed with a frightening light that made Arikha huddle in upon herself.

“Yes. You know, the Spires.” Arikha weakly extended a hand and pointed to the door that led out of the hospital.

The woman turned to leave.

“Wait! Please. Where is the Mashiah? Have you seen her?”

“No.” The woman looked over her shoulder and wet her lips anxiously. “No.
Have you?”

“I—I don’t know. Maybe. She’s here, you know.”

“Yes,” the stranger whispered forlornly and seemed to be struggling with herself. “I know.” She swept for the door in a sibilant rustle of cloak, palmed the patch, and disappeared.

Arikha lay her head down and played with a fold in her blanket. The dust glimmered in the light of the lamp.

A few seconds later, the door where the woman had vanished slid back. The captain and lieutenant she’d seen earlier hurried out, the woman hauling the man in the tan jumpsuit.

When the captain looked at the room, she blurted, “Quickly, shut off all the light cages.”

“Amirah!” the lieutenant shouted. “We haven’t time!”

But the captain and the man she’d been supporting started running down the line of beds, hitting all the patches before they darted through the exit that led toward the landing field.

Arikha weakly sat up and threw her legs over the side of her bed. Every other prisoner who had the strength to follow rose and they coalesced into a weaving procession that stumbled for the door.

The First Alert sirens screamed in Rudy’s ears as he hauled himself back into the command chair. Most of his bridge crew scrambled up from where they’d tumbled and crawled for their consoles. The next shot lanced out of the heavens, striking the
Hammadi’s
aft shields. The vessel hurtled sideways with such staggering g-force that three members of the crew passed out and toppled back to the floor.

Rudy gasped for breath, ordering, “Boyle! Hard right, we’ll swing around—”

She’d slumped over her console, black hair glued to her face plate in bloody strands.

“Boyle?”
He lurched out of his chair and took three bounds to jerk her back in her seat. Her head lolled aimlessly.
Dead.

Rudy’s soul chilled. He tugged her out of the nav chair and sat down, inputting the sequence himself. “Ernist, take over auxiliary weapons and get ready!”

“Aye, sir!” the young lieutenant ran.

The crew shifted, rerouting functions to cover abandoned terminals. Rudy noted absently that a series of white dots lifted from Satellites 4 and 6 and sailed for Palaia.
Shuttles? What’s Slothen doing? Reinforcing his ground troops in case we break through the shields?
He laughed morosely. They’d damned little chance of that.

The next blast came from the stern, spinning the
Hammadi
like a child’s top. Surges of purple eddied across the forward screen like living flames.

Rudy pitched the vessel backward, spun around and soared headlong for the lagging ship in the Magisterial wedge. Wounded in their last pass, the cruiser hadn’t enough agility to get out of the way before Rudy opened fire; its shields flared violet and vanished.

Rudy hit them again and sent the
Hammadi
plummeting out and away like a streak of lightning. Half his crew sprawled over their consoles, fighting to get back in their seats. On his mini-monitor, Rudy watched the Magisterial cruiser rupture. Ephemeral tongues of flame swept the wreckage before the hull exploded. Jagged fragments tumbled through a haze of congealed vapor.

“Sir?” Luther Calvin shouted. His eyes had narrowed painfully.
“They … they look like they’re forming up for a Laced Star maneuver!”

Rudy glanced up wildly. On the forward screen, five battle cruisers closed in from different directions, encircling the
Hammadi,
taking up the five points of a star.

A glacial sensation of folly filled his breast. He repressed the scream of angry despair that swelled up his throat. In a deathly quiet voice, he ordered, “Calvin, open a tran to Captain Wells—
Clandestine One.

Calvin’s hands flitted over the com console. “Open, sir. Go.”

Rudy composed himself for a split second. “Merle. It’s over for us. Take the first opportunity and back out of the maneuver.
Get out of here! You hear me?
There’s nothing else you can do here. …”

His voice faded, gaze going back to the forward screen. The cruisers had started their runs, following the lines of the star. When the first two ships reached the corners of the Star’s interior pentagon, they opened fire simultaneously, slamming the
Hammadi
from both sides at once.

CHAPTER 54

Jeremiel gently released Carey into Sybil’s arms and glanced around at the rest of his motley entourage. Mikael, Ari, and Yosef peered at him, awaiting instructions. The other nine Gamants who’d escaped their death beds sank wearily against the walls. Several held guns in weak fists. He’d been forced to kill a team of six soldiers they’d encountered in the halls. They now had a total of seven weapons among the fifteen of them. Not enough, but it would have to do.

He eased out the door to examine the landing field. Giclasians swarmed over it, guarding the fighters and shuttles, arranging bulwarks. The pungent scents of seared petrolon and burned flesh swelled the hot air. Blasted carcasses, human and Giclasian, scattered the ground.

His gaze shot up to the sky. Dozens of shuttles descended through the sunset-fired clouds, setting down awkwardly in the hills beyond the boundaries of Naas. The Giclasians on the landing field yelled shrilly to each other as people streamed down the gangplanks, ragged, dressed in bloody clothes, some clutching rifles, most with makeshift weapons like clubs and rocks.
Gamants. Blessed gods.

Magisterial fighters soared suddenly overhead and cannon barrages ravaged the hills, exploding the shuttles. People ran screaming, some fired at the fighters with their rifles before racing away. Across the undulating war-torn plains, Jeremiel could see hundreds of people sprinting toward the Engineering Spires. He clinched his teeth, not understanding why, but praying for them. Praying for Tahn.

But not praying to Epagael.
Aktariel, it’s now or never. I always believed you were on our side. Prove it!

Jeremiel clutched his pistol more tightly and got down on his stomach to crawl behind a toppled pile of crates.

Three small triangular shaped fighters sat no more than twenty long paces away. Jeremiel scanned the darkening skies. The sun had dropped below the horizon, but echoes of its light laced the heavens with a rusty saffron hue.

From behind, he heard a soft sound. He turned to see Sybil peering intently at him. Her dark eyes gleamed with a determination so powerful it felt tangible. He squinted out at the landing field again, noting the positions of the alien forces, then waved Sybil forward.

She and Mikael edged out, dragging Carey between them. Jeremiel’s heart throbbed. Her head flopped aimlessly, beautiful auburn hair dragging in the dirt. Behind Mikael, everyone else emerged, crawling on their bellies.

When Sybil and Mikael got close enough, Jeremiel pointed to the three fighters arranged like an isosceles triangle in front of the crates. “You can both pilot ships, right “

Sybil licked her chapped lips and nodded. “Yes, Jeremiel. Just tell us what to do.”

“We’ll need to divide into three groups of five each. I’ll create a diversion. When I do, you’ll take your teams and run like hell for your fighters. Sybil, the one on the far left is yours. Mikael, yours in in the middle. I’ll take the one on the right.” His jaw hardened. “They may be sealed. I don’t know. If so, forget about them. Get back to the building and try to find a hole to hide in until the shooting stops.”
If it ever does.
He gestured to the Giclasian soldiers at the other end of the field. “Everyone with pistols should aim at those guards stationed at the southwestern edge of the field. They’re the only ones who’ll immediately have clear shots at you. You see the soldiers I mean?”

“Yes.” Sybil peered malevolently out at the enemy. “And then what?”

Jeremiel smiled with a confidence he didn’t feel. “And then we fly for the Spires and try to drive the Magisterial fighters away. Our goal is to give Tahn, Jossel, and Woloc enough time to get to the main auxiliary control room. Understand?”

“Yes.” Mikael’s nostrils flared. “Let’s go.”

Jeremiel reached over to caress Carey’s cold frail hand. She felt like ice. “Choose up your teams. Tell whoever’s left that they’re to follow me.”

Mikael and Sybil slithered away on their stomachs and quickly selected allies. Five people crawled forward and surrounded Jeremiel. They looked at him with wide, terrified eyes: four men and one women, all trembling from fatigue and lack of food. The leading woman had long stringy black hair and penetrating blue eyes.

“Commander Baruch,” she whispered. “I’m Arikha Anpin. I was one of the leaders of the satellite rebellions before I got captured. I’m good with a gun. What do you need me to do?”

“I’m going to have to drag my wife, which means I’ll only have one hand free—”

“No, I’ll help you carry her. We’ll support her between us. That way we’ll both have a free hand to shoot—”

Screams shredded the air. The horde of Gamants racing for the Horns had reached the base of the mountain and started climbing frantically. And behind them, swarming herds of Giclasian soldiers pursued in a purple wave, swinging around in a wide circle, closing ranks. Jeremiel couldn’t see the opposite side of the low mountain, but his gut tightened with the certain knowledge that Magisterial forces must be flanking those positions, too.

In the distance, six fighters broke out of formation and veered off, bringing their ships around.

“Ready, Arikha?” he called.

“Ready.”

Jeremiel gently pulled Carey to her feet and draped her right arm over his shoulders. Arikha took her left arm. Carey sagged between them like a limp cloak. Jeremiel bent down and brushed his lips against her cold cheek.

When the next fighter barrage lanced the ground by the Spires, Jeremiel shouted,
“Now!”
He pulled his pistol and fired, panning the field as he ran for the fighter; Carey’s legs scraped hideously over the dirt. Giclasian soldiers, confused and terrified by fire coming from the neuro building, jostled for new positions, plunging headlong for anything that offered cover.

Just before Jeremiel and Arikha reached the fighter, a lance of purple split the ground asunder in front of him and he jerked Carey from Arikha’s grip and locked his legs around her. He rolled desperately, trying to get behind the fighter’s landing gear.

Arikha hit the ground on her stomach, firing in controlled, accurate bursts. An eerie luminescent web of purple zigzagged across the field. The world burst into a melee of wild shots, and screams as Jeremiel lunged for the entry console on the side of the fighter.