Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (10 page)

CHAPTER 11

The landing bay spread in a cluttered two hundred foot square around Cole. He wiped clammy palms on his black battlesuit and absently looked around. Stasis cabinets lined one wall, providing quick access to emergency parts and tools. Around the perimeter six fighters gleamed. Beneath the bright glow of the lustreglobes, they created triangular pewter smears against the white walls. One fighter sat in the open before the bay doors. Baruch stood beside it, giving curt hushed orders to the crew; he stood stiffly, fists clenched at his sides. The two women of the command team nodded nervously, worried by the strange, vaguely hostile tone in Jeremiel’s voice. The pilot, Rivka Leso, a short woman with close-cropped red hair and bright green eyes, kept glancing at Cole.

He ignored the proceedings to check and recheck his equipment. For the hundredth time, he flicked the switch on his belt tran to make certain the unit worked, then carefully scrutinized the charge in each of his two pistols. He frowned glumly at his false ID papers.
Sonny Flaum?
What the hell kind of name was that?

He scratched at his beard and mustache which created a dark brown mantle over his face. He grunted irritably. Why was he so damned fidgety? He’d played spy for the Magistrates dozens of times. But it had been years ago. And he knew that top level espionage required a person with a superior lack of morals. He’d sprouted so many useless scruples in the past twelve years that this mission might just kill him. For days he’d walked around his cabin and studied himself grimly in the mirror, thinking dismally,
You
accepted
this mission? What a brave moron you are!

He hoped to God one of the captains of those five cruisers circling Horeb would remember the training session in the Wocet system last year. If none of them did, Jeremiel’s plan might just fall to pieces. Baruch strode across the bay, a taut look on his handsome face. His blue eyes seemed as piercing as coherent beams. Sweat stained the collar of his black suit. “Are you ready, Cole?”

“I went on hara-kiri mode yesterday. Of course, I’m ready.” He anxiously pulled his pistol half out of the holster, then shoved it in again.

Jeremiel studied the action. “You’re certain you don’t want to back out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m perfect for this job. Where else could you find someone with such scant mental capacity?”

Baruch smiled faintly. “Remember, if everything goes well, you and I will be on a ship headed for Palaia in about seven days.”

“That’s what keeps me going, Baruch.” He held Jeremiel’s gaze. A flicker of desperation lurked just beneath the cool, calculating surface. It echoed with a powerful resonance in Cole’s own soul, like the taunting wails of the sirens.

“You’ve got the palace and desert chambers floor plans, right?”

“I’ve got them.” He tapped his breast pocket.

“Good. The
Sargonid
just made orbit around Horeb. We don’t know her orders, but we assume she’s there regarding the planetary revolt Mikael’s leading. Ornias has undoubtedly requested an immediate meeting to discuss suppression—”

“And Amirah Jossel’s commanding the
Sargonid?
I hope she’s as dynamic as her personality profile suggests. I could use a few days of spirited debate. But even if she’s an idiot, she’s good looking. That’ll be some consolation.” Cole toyed with the fasteners at his neckline. His collar suddenly felt like a noose.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” Baruch asked.

“No.”

Jeremiel scrutinized him, eyes logging every feature, as though it might be the last time they saw each other. It made Cole feel as if he clung by his fingertips over the gaping maw of a fire-breathing Arcturian flame cat.

He laughed with grim amusement. “Don’t look so confident, Baruch. You’ll give me a swelled head.”

Jeremiel glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers by the fighter. The bay had gone quiet. The command team waited pensively. Rivka, the pilot, kept shifting from foot to foot. “As soon as you complete stage one, tran Rivka and she’ll get the message to us. We’ll be no more than a day away.”

“Understood.”

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“My passion for martyrdom died long ago. I won’t.”

Baruch lifted a hand and placed it warmly on Cole’s shoulder. He went on issuing instructions, but Cole barely heard. Jeremiel’s stricken face held his attention. Like a man drained of his lifeblood by a fatal internal wound, Baruch’s skin had paled to a ghostly white. Cold sweat dotted Cole’s arms as he listened to the buried fear in that deep, hurried voice. Every day they’d bent over the dattran together, seeking any word that Carey lived. But there’d been none. In response, Cole’s dreams had sketched horrifying pictures of Carey lying alone and dead in the cold subterranean chambers on Palaia. Or worse, alive but with no mind. Night after night, he’d awakened with his heart racing and his sheets coiling in drenched folds around his waist.

“I get the picture, Baruch,” he interrupted gently. “Don’t worry,
nobody’s
going to capture me.” Expressively, he patted the pistol on his right hip, then turned to gaze seriously at the fighter. Rivka had started marching back and forth before the nose of the ship. “I’d better be going.”

Jeremiel reluctantly dropped his hand. The cooling units kicked on and a puff of chill air waffled their black sleeves.

“If I haven’t tranned Rivka in two days, forget about me, hit the planet hard.”

“Affirmative. Just make sure you—”

“And then get to Palaia.”
Cole straightened and leveled a stern gaze at Baruch. “If Carey’s alive, she can’t possibly hold out against the probes for more than a few days. I know. I’ve been under them and the techniques are a great deal more sophisticated now than they were thirty years ago.”

“I’ll get there as quickly as I can,” Jeremiel responded in a quiet voice. “Take care of yourself.”

“Affirmative. Tell Merle I damn well plan on coming back and finding my ship in one piece. If I don’t, she’s in for some disgusting punitive duty that’s beneath her dignity.”

“I’ll tell her.”

With that, Cole headed briskly for the fighter. His boots pounded a hollow cadence against the white deck plates. He climbed into the cramped command cabin and slipped on his jet suit and pack. Gripping his helmet, he sat down, securing the EM restraints while the pilot and copilot dropped into their seats. Cole’s two assistants, Sergeants Keynes and Ward, both young and black-haired, gave him grave looks as they secured their restraints.

“Keynes?” Cole said. “This is going to be tricky. I want to go over the sequence of actions you’re to undertake at least a dozen times in the next few hours.”

Keynes adjusted his holster and nodded. “Aye, sir. That sounds like a good idea. Ward and I are ready, but—”

“Captain,” Rivka Leso said as she powered up the ship. “We’re going to exit vault in the midst of those cruisers and dive for the planet on full thrust. We’ll drop you and your team about ten miles from the military governor’s palace.”

“What’s our jump window?”

“Ten seconds. Then we expect to be under fire. We’ll draw them away from you for as long as we can. If we escape, we’ll wait for your signal before we make our second pass.”

A sick qualm twisted his stomach. Leso would be dodging the combined fire of at least two cruisers. He and his team would have to go through free-fall for a mile before they could power up their jets or those cruisers would spot them immediately and blow their whole little show. “We’re prepared.”

He leaned his head back against the white wall and watched the bay doors open through the fighter’s rectangular front portal. Space gleamed like a sequined black blanket as they edged out.

CHAPTER 12

Clouds drifted in smoky veils over the luminous face of the full moon, but no ships marred the heavens. Sybil took the chance and inched closer to the crest of the ridge. Using the erratic flashes of moonlight, she scrutinized the city that lay in the valley below. A few lustreglobes twinkled, flickering over lavish three-and four-story government buildings. Quietly, she lifted her rifle and scoped out the grounds of the governor’s palace. She spied dozens of children, dressed in rags, shivering from the cold. Three dead babies sprawled a short distance away, their bloody corpses stacked precariously. Armed guards surrounded the living children. Their rifles glowed a malignant silver in the dim glow that lit the rainy palace gardens.

Sybil thought she caught a glimpse of Marcus’ team moving through the deep shadows on the other side of the city. She rolled over on her back and slithered down the slope. Childish whimpers rode the wind. They cut her to her soul.

Carefully guarding her swollen belly, she inched into a rocky niche sheltered from the storm. Mikael pulled himself forward on his elbows and worriedly searched her face. “How many?”

“About fifty or sixty. Ornias has moved them into the gardens.”

He dropped his head to stare blindly at the damp red soil. “Blessed Epagael, he has them standing out in the open? Then this is certainly a trap.”

Sybil’s gut tightened. The frosty light captured Mikael’s still image like an ancient black and white snapshot. Black hair hung in drenched strands over his cheeks, accenting the gauntness of his handsome face.

Sybil looked away. They’d found out only hours ago. A sixteen-year-old woman had burst into the polar chambers, waving her arms, shrieking madly, “They’re doing it! Did you see? Did you hear the screams? Ornias is killing our babies—just like he said he would!
Our babies!”

Sybil touched Mikael’s shoulder. “Let’s wait.”

“And let more of our children be shot down before our eyes?”

“But if it’s a trap, waiting is better than—”

“No, it isn’t. Even if the twenty of us die, it’s better than sending a message to Ornias that he can kill our children while we sit by and cower in fear.” He shook his head sullenly. “We can’t wait, Sybil. You said so yourself. We may have help coming from the Underground, but it could just be another rumor. There’ve been so very many in the past years. And this is a good maneuver. It just might work regardless of what Ornias has planned.”

“It might,” she agreed softly. But doubt gnawed at her. She reached out to take his hand. “I love you, Mikael.”

He threw her a morose smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let myself get killed if I can help it.”

“I know you won’t.”

She released his hand and anxiously fidgeted with her rifle, clicking the safety off and on, off and on. Throughout the labyrinth of rock, men and women waited. She saw an arm move a short distance away. A head shook farther down the line. The twenty in their group were true survivors—children of the Horebian holocaust who’d magically been missed by the Magistrates. They all shifted, ready to move. The sound of their breathing rose to pound against Sybil’s ears like the howl of a cyclone just before it strikes the world deaf and blind.

For the briefest of moments, the soft rays of predawn broke through the storm clouds to fall like an opalescent blue shawl over the jagged parapet.

Mikael turned to her, dark eyes wide. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He swung around to face the others. “You all know what you’re supposed to do? Dara? Shoshi?”

Nods eddied down the line. Mikael crawled forward. They all followed him out onto the rain-slick rocks of the ridge crest and began dispersing into strike units.

When they stood alone on the windswept summit, Mikael gripped Sybil’s arm hard. “Promise me you’ll stay here. So help me, if I find you down in the midst of the firefight….” His hard tone softened. “I couldn’t fight if I thought you and Nathan were in danger.”

“I won’t set foot off this ridge,” she guaranteed.
Unless you’re in trouble, Mikael. Only then.

Their sleeves billowed in the gale. He alternated between searching her eyes and watching the sky for enemy ships. “If you see anything suspicious, fire one long burst and one short and we’ll retreat.”

“I understand. Be careful.”

He dropped his hand to gently caress her swollen belly, then slowly backed away and trotted down the slope. Sybil watched him until he disappeared into the dark shadows of the city streets. For a time, she let her gaze drift over the rolling clouds and the red and gold lights of the gaudy palace.

She angled to slip into a curious rock formation that overlooked the city. It was shaped like a spired castle and the rain hadn’t yet penetrated the niche. Easing down to the dry red sand, she propped her rifle over her knees and leaned against the cool stone. Her back ached miserably. She tried to ignore it. She peered through a crack at the city below. The children had huddled together, sharing each other’s warmth. Their cries carried on the wind, high and shrill. Through her scope she saw a little girl of maybe four lift her arms pleadingly to one of the guards. He shoved her into the mud. The girl tumbled across the ground and cried louder.

Sybil’s fingers knotted around her rifle. She thought she could hear the guard laughing. “Laugh now, bastard. In an hour, you’ll be dead.”

A curious stir touched her womb, an agonizing throb, as though her son, too, had witnessed the event and he was crying out in pain.

Sybil kept her finger braced on the trigger guard of her rifle and dropped her left hand to rub her belly soothingly. “It’s all right” she whispered. “Don’t worry, Nathan. Very soon, we’re going to leave this place. We’re going out there to find the Great Gate. We’re going to find that naked singularity and when we do, we’re going to pass through it into an endless ocean of peace and tranquillity. Your father told me,
buzina.
I know it’s true because an angel named Metatron told him. And your grandmother … Mama mentioned the Great Gate, too, a long time ago when she didn’t think I’d understand.”

Sybil regripped her rifle. Thoughts of her mother made her feel ill. When Rachel had come to visit her at Palaia, she’d been different, crying at odd moments, talking to herself, screaming and slamming her fists into walls until they bled. Sybil remembered wanting to run away from that stranger who looked like her mother.

Through the bars of light that shot through the clouds, Sybil could see patches of the sea. They shone a dark crimson. The Sea of Blood had been created when Captain Tahn had attacked Horeb. Under beam cannon fire, the rocky red ridges of the vast deserts had melted into glassy pools.

Sybil jumped when a wretched scream pierced the silence. It rose like a banshee’s wail, wafting on the rain-soaked wind. Sybil froze for a split second, then quickly bent over her rifle and stared through the scope, searching, searching. A platoon of purple-clad Magisterial soldiers herded six members of Marcus’ team in from the perimeter; they had their hands clasped behind their heads. Sybil held her breath, silently counting to ten.

Fiery apocalypse burst loose over the city.

The captured Gamant team hit the ground, taking advantage of their captors’ surprise to roll and kick out viciously, forcing a hand-to-hand battle and scrambling for any dropped weapons. Rifle fire lanced the heavens. Dara’s group broke from the rocky terraces around the governor’s palace and rushed the front gate, diverting the guards who held the children. At the same time, Shoshi’s attack unit raced for the children, driving them before them in a shrieking wave, while Mikael’s forces provided flanking fire.

When Sybil saw Mikael’s and Shoshi’s people retreating without a single loss, she thought her heart would burst. But she stayed put, listening to the pounding of her heart, counting the dead lying in bloody heaps throughout the palace gardens, wondering which friends they’d mourn tonight.

A slight hum touched her ears. Sybil glanced up in horror as dozens of ships dropped like ghostly daggers out of the cloudy sky. Lunging forward, she fired the warning shots and watched as the ships hurtled downward toward Mikael and Shoshi, firing to cut off their escape. Mikael shot vainly into the swarm of ships, covering for his people so they could dive for the rocks.

“No!
No, Mikael! Run!”

Sybil grabbed her rifle and scrambled out of her rocky sanctuary, feet slipping on the wet, shining sandstone. She saw Mikael drop to his knees as two dozen Magisterial soldiers darted from the underbrush to surround him. Why hadn’t they killed him? Sybil ran with all her might. When she got within range, she dropped to one knee and braced her rifle against an upturned boulder. Sighting through the scope, she switched to wide-beam and fired, and kept firing, watching the purple-suited enemies die beneath her hands while Mikael’s group fought and scattered.

Purple arcs lanced the ridge crest around her, exploding rocks. Sybil kept firing, covering Mikael’s retreat. Something slapped her shoulder and she fell backward, landing hard against the ridgetop. For a moment, she lay stunned, not sure what had happened. She concentrated on the cool patter of rain against her cheeks.

And from somewhere faraway, she heard a voice. It came faintly at first, as though unreal. A deep woman’s voice, brittle with tears and love. It echoed from the red cliffs.

“Sybil, forgive me. I couldn’t warn you.”

“Mama? Mama, where are you? I need help, Mama.” Sybil felt blood rise up her throat to bubble on her lips. She coughed and stared in terror at the flow of red that ran from her mouth across the stone. “Mama, I’m hurt! Help me? I think … I think I’m dying.” She put one trembling hand over her belly and lifted the other to the red-tinged heavens.
“Mama! He’s your grandson! Help him!”

But her strength faded and her hand dropped like a lead brick against the sandstone. She tried to focus her hazy vision on the clouds. They glowed a deep coral in the first rays of the risen sun. Around her, a widening pool of blood spread and she felt the hot flow soaking her shoulder. The last thing she saw was a dozen enemy ships diving out of the sunlit heavens. From somewhere in the distance soldiers screamed in intergalactic lingua.

Like a skilled assassin, a curtain of blackness crept over her, swallowing the world.