Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (35 page)

Amirah stared back into Baruch’s seething blue eyes and tried to figure out how to use that against him. “Buck up, Commander. If your wife’s been on Palaia for the past two weeks, there’s nothing left of her for you to worry about.”

His face remained bland. “You seem to know all about the probe’s capabilities, Captain. Good. I want you to think about something. Maybe you and your grandmother were taken to Palaia that day fifteen years ago.

Maybe you were put under the probes. You were very young, your brain very malleable. It wouldn’t have taken much effort to mold your neural pathways and instill an insidious program somewhere inside. Your grandmother was a known Gamant hero. Using you against Gamants would have been the perfect irony for Slothen. I don’t know what’s inside you, Captain. But I strongly suspect the time bomb has a word or phrase trigger that could set it off at any moment.”

Baruch backed to the door and palmed the exit patch. Stark white light flooded the room. He stood silently in the entryway, watching her. “I’m ordering you sedated and taken to the brig where you can be monitored constantly, Captain. Get prepared.” He left.

Amirah slumped backward on the floor and let her gaze drift around the dim room, landing briefly on each of the holos. The conversation had drained every ounce of her energy. She felt weak and angry. The things Baruch had said had started a chain reaction of outrageous questions in her mind—which he’d undoubtedly intended. An insidious program?
In the compartment that no one could probe?
Had Slothen kept it safe that way? So that not even his best professionals could accidentally set off the “trigger?”

“Don’t be a fool, Amirah. Baruch is using your flashbacks against you. That’s all. It’s an attempt to make you so unsure of yourself that he can manipulate you for his own ends.”

Amirah’s eyes wandered to the thick stack of crystal sheets he’d brought. She pushed up and walked around the table to the drink dispenser to order a strong coffee.
Did you make up these documents, Baruch?
What purpose could it serve to create a family history for her? The only way to find out was to read them. And she’d have to do it fast—before the security team came to take her to the brig.

Pulling the cup from the machine, she braced herself with a sip and went to the table. She sat down and pushed the stack around to read the title page,
“A Concise History of the Lives of all Sighet Medal of Honor Winners.”

“You won the Medal of Honor, Grandmama?”

A bitter bile rose in Amirah’s throat. Baruch was clever. Did he think this would bind her more closely to the Gamant cause? “Well, you’re wrong, Commander. Even if this is true, I’m not my grandmother. I’m a Magisterial officer.”

But her fingers trembled as she opened the book and began to read.

CHAPTER 34

…
And God said, “If I see that the justice of the world has become abundant, I will be long-suffering toward them. If not, I will stretch out my hand and I will grasp the inhabited world from its four corners and I will gather them all together to the valley of Jehosaphat and I will wipe out the human race and the world will be no more.”

And the prophet replied, “Lord, if this was your intention, why did you form man? You said to Avram our father, ‘I will surely multiply your seed as the stars of the heaven and as the sand along the shore of the sea.’ And where is your promise?”

God said, “Come here, Ezra. Die, my beloved! Give back that which was entrusted to you.”

The Greek Apocalypse of Ezra
Circa 150 A.D. Old Earth Standard
Document housed in Arnobios
Museum, Ophiuchus 7.

 

Rudy strode headlong down the corridor to conference room 1819 aboard the
Zilpah.
His clean black battlesuit had already become clammy with sweat and Jeremiel had only tranned him twenty minutes ago. He shouldered past three engineering techs and pounded a fist into the entry patch in front of the conference room. The door snicked back.

Breathing hard, he stepped inside. Jeremiel sat on the right side of the white rectangular table, hands clasped in his lap, and Tahn slouched on the other side. Both of them gazed at Rudy, waiting for an outburst from him, he suspected.

He calmly pulled out the chair at the head of the table and eased into the seat. He turned to Jeremiel. “Let’s look at it logically,
unemotionally.
You’re telling me that you believe two men in one fighter can get by the dozen cruisers generally docked at Palaia, manage to break through the EM defense shells, locate one captive in a maze of hundreds of guarded government buildings, grab that captive without anybody noticing, get back to their fighter, exit the defense shells—after the entire goddamned universe will be up in arms about the first breach—and slip by the cruisers and every other vessel in the vicinity that will have been assembled to guard the station. Have I got it all, or did I leave something out?”

“That’s about it,” Tahn said curtly, and he had the nerve to grin.

Rudy massaged his forehead. “What are you going to do about the three thousand soldiers Slothen will have to greet you when you set foot on Palaia?”

Tahn gestured airily. “Make do as best we can.”

“You two are being idiots!” Rudy accused. “We don’t even know Carey’s there, let alone alive!”

“She’s there,” Tahn stated flatly. He’d slouched deeper in his chair, and braced an elbow carelessly on the edge of the table. “Once they realized who she was, they’d have been too terrified of Slothen’s wrath to take her anywhere else.”

Rudy ground his teeth and focused on Jeremiel. “Listen to me, friend,
if
she’s alive, the chances of you succeeding are ten million to one. You’re throwing away your life and Tahn’s at a time when Gamant civilization needs you desperately!” He tightened his hands into fists and shook them futilely at the ceiling. “You know you’re too valuable to send on this mission! Let me find somebody else. I can have a hundred volunteers for you to choose from before you—”

“No.” Jeremiel said mildly. “I won’t ask anyone else to risk their lives on this mission.”

“But you’re taking Tahn? At least—”

“He’d play hell trying to leave me behind!” Cole blustered. He straightened up in his chair and looked vaguely like an officer for a change. “Listen, Kopal, your duty is to get every Gamant you can off Horeb and to Shyr as quickly as possible. You don’t need me or Baruch for that task. And if everything goes well on Palaia, we’ll meet you at Shyr within a week of your arrival.”

Rudy glared unforgivingly at Cole, but directed his question to Baruch. “You’re dead set on this, Jeremiel? There’s no way I can talk you out of it?”

Baruch’s black jumpsuit rustled with his movements. He rubbed his fingers over his reddish-blond beard. “With you commanding the
Hashomer,
Merle on the
Orphica,
Eli in charge of the
Zilpah
and Michel Jaroslav taking over the
Hammadi,
the fleet will be safe.”

“So you’re content to get yourself killed for nothing!”

Jeremiel’s blue eyes tightened. “No. Jossel will be the key. None of those cruiser captains will see a single fighter as a threat—especially not with Jossel’s face on all their com screens. Her story will be that she was captured and escaped and is coming home to report … she knows the secret codes to get into the docks. She knows the most recent layout of Palaia. We—”

“Uh-huh,” Rudy scoffed. “Jossel’s the key.” He slammed a fist into the table. “She’s not even sane! You have no idea how she’ll act under pressure! She might just damn well fall apart. Or worse. If you’re right about her programming, you could be walking into a trap that Slothen’s had laid for fifteen years! You don’t know what her trigger might be or what she’s designed to do! You can’t count on her for anything!”

Cole drummed his fingers on the table. “We think we’ve got the cues that set her off figured out. If we can just keep her sane and rational—”

“And what if Slothen gets on the com to welcome her home and taps her trigger? Huh! What are you going to do then?”

Cole gave him a penetrating stare. “She’ll be bound at all times—”

“Yeah, and she broke your ribs when she was—”

“And
we’ll be ready for anything. We’re not walking into this blind, Kopal.”

Rudy ran a hand through his damp brown curls. “What about getting off Palaia? Even if she can get you in—”

“Jossel will still be our hostage,” Jeremiel said quietly. “So long as she’s alive, she’ll be leverage. I don’t think Slothen will sacrifice his star captain just to keep Carey. Because …” his voice floundered and Rudy clenched up inside. The internal war Jeremiel waged showed on his face, pulling every line tight. “Because if Carey was the officer who broke, by this time she’ll have relinquished every bit of information she had.”

Rudy sat back in his chair.
Goddamn, Jeremiel, you’re fairly sure you’re going to find a vegetable when you get there and you’re going anyway?
He knew how much Jeremiel loved Carey. They’d been inseparable for twelve years and happier than any couple Rudy had ever known. But this—this “rescue” mission showed none of Jeremiel’s brilliance with strategy. In fact, it had the feel of a thing done by a hair’s breadth.

Rudy braced his palms on the table, glaring at Baruch. “This whole plan is ridiculous, Jeremiel, and you damned well know it! At least if you’re going to do this, let me help you. With two battle cruisers, I might be able to keep the armada at Palaia off you long enough for you to succeed!”

Baruch’s bushy brows lowered. “Horebian refugees are more important—”

“The number of survivors is lower than we thought! Two cruisers will be more than adequate to ferry them to Shyr! Let me help you,” he pleaded. “Jeremiel, if you let me, I can—”

“No.” Jeremiel shook his head slowly. “The ships that bear the civilians will need military backup in case of an attack. The starsails and freighters will never be able to stand up against a Magisterial assault without cruiser support. And we haven’t much time, Rudy. You’ve got to get those people loaded and out of here before the cruiser that escaped reports back and Slothen dispatches a flotilla for Horeb.” Jeremiel twined his fingers and gripped them so hard the nails went white. “If he hasn’t already.”

Rudy shoved his chair back, on the verge of that outburst he’d been controlling. “Jeremiel, for God’s sake—!”

“Well,” Tahn said nonchalantly. He got to his feet and headed for the door. “I’ve got some packing to do. Call me when the fighter’s ready, Baruch.”

Rudy couldn’t help himself; that smug, this-discussion-is-over tone struck him like a fist. He lunged for Tahn, grabbed his black sleeves and slammed him against the wall. “This is
your doing, isn’t it? You talked Jeremiel into it!”

Jeremiel lurched to his feet, “Rudy, let him go.”

Rudy shook his head and slammed Tahn against the wall again. Cole’s muscular arms shook. He gripped Rudy’s hands and brutally shoved him away, forcing Rudy to stagger backward two steps. Cole hurried past Rudy and struck the exit patch, then briskly strode into the corridor outside.

Jeremiel stepped from around the table and gripped the back of a chair. “It wasn’t Cole’s idea, Rudy. It was mine. What’s the problem here? I’ve gone on plenty of clandestine missions alone before. Why are you so upset?”

Rudy swung around, breast heaving with impotent rage and concern for his friend. “Yeah. You have. And the last time half the fleet got wasted off Abulafia!”

Jeremiel pulled back slightly, as though shocked by Rudy’s implication that the same thing might happen now. “We were all a lot younger then. The past twelve years have made seasoned war veterans out of every soldier over the age of eighteen in the fleet. Keep the ships bunched in defensive formations at all times and you’ll be fine—within limits. Obviously you can’t hold off twenty battle cruisers, but you can stand up to almost anything else.” He extended a hand imploringly. “You don’t need me or Cole to help you transport civilians to Shyr, Rudy. Tell me what’s really bothering you? We’re alone now. Talk to me.”

Futility swept over Rudy. He couldn’t tell Jeremiel that he loved him and couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. The discussion that would have followed would have been an unproductive emotional malaise. Nor could he blurt out that he just “had a feeling” that the entire universe was about to come unraveled around them—that his gut had been tying itself in knots for days wondering what they’d do if they didn’t get away from Horeb before the government arrived, wondering what they’d do if the Magistrates sent more than twenty cruisers. No matter how “seasoned” their crews, they couldn’t stand up against that kind of firepower. But none of those arguments would have had the slightest impact on Jeremiel decision to go or stay. And besides, he’d already made his decision.

Rudy headed for the door. He hesitated before the patch, wanting to embrace Jeremiel, not quite able to do so after the past few minutes. “Jeremiel, go. Come back if you can.”

Rudy left before Baruch had time to respond.

Jeremiel and Cole sat in their ship in the landing bay, checking and rechecking the programming. The newest, hottest fighter in the fleet, it had a small oval cabin with a long rectangular forward portal and two small side portals. Five levels of computer screens displayed every conceivable type of data in the traditional synchronized color patterns to make it easier to read. The aft part of the ship held four tiny rooms with beds that pulled out from the wall and a communal latrine. They’d stuffed the spare sleeping quarters full of extra ammunition, rifles, food, and emergency equipment.

“I’m running the weapons check,” Jeremiel informed.

“I’m ready.” Cole bent over the copilot’s console. His gaze darted over each programming sequence, double-checking the main system and the backup of the backup. “Looks good, Jeremiel. Try running the navigation program.”

Baruch nodded and input the command. When it appeared on Cole’s screen he took his time, scrutinizing every possible glitch. So many things could go wrong on other fronts, they hadn’t the luxury of missing any ship errors.

“How are you feeling?” Jeremiel asked.

Eyes still riveted to the lines, Cole muttered, “Well enough.”

“Your white count’s still elevated.”

“I’m fine.”

“Doctor Kymot says you should stay in bed for at least another day.”

“His name isn’t on my birth certificate.”

Jeremiel glanced reproachfully at him from the corner of his eye. “Neither’s mine, but as your commanding officer—”

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you. I’ll just steal this ship and go to Palaia without you.”

“Uh-huh.” Jeremiel input a sequence to repeat a certain part of the program and leaned forward pensively, as though he’d found something amiss. “Every Magisterial officer I’ve ever known has been larceny minded.”

“Including Carey?” Cole gibed and instantly regretted it. Jeremiel’s face moved with the barest flicker of anguish. Baruch had been the epitome of controlled professionalism for the past three days, but Cole knew—as perhaps only he could—how difficult it was for Jeremiel to maintain that facade. Memories of Carey had been accosting him with fiery intensity as their departure neared. It must has been almost incapacitating for Jeremiel. Cole shook his head apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Even Carey,” Jeremiel answered, glossing over the emotions that tore at both of them. “You and Carey have always been two of a kind.”

Cole looked back to the screen in defense. Lines continued to slowly scroll up until the com flashed, “end” in red, then he leaned back in his chair and swiveled around to gaze at Baruch. Jeremiel finished rechecking Cole’s work and turned to face him.

“How are Rudy and Merle doing?” Cole asked.

“They’re only a few hours from departure. They have another three or four loads of refugees to transport up. The remaining people, about two hundred, refuse to go.”