Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (6 page)

CHAPTER 5

Cole Tahn wandered around the guest quarters he’d been assigned. He’d just showered and dressed in a tan jumpsuit. Brown hair bordered his cheeks in wet wisps. The wall chronometer over his bedside table read 0:300 hours. Trying to sleep had been folly. He’d tossed and turned and when finally he’d drifted into a half-conscious state, he’d relived every moment of the Kiskanu battle. When he’d seen Carey go down for the hundredth time, the web of blood crisscrossing her beautiful face, he’d jerked awake, panting into the chill darkness.

Worse, he’d started thinking about the recent advances in Magisterial medical technology. They’d only heard rumors, but….

Every light in his cabin gleamed now. The bright white glow drove out some of the anguish that suffocated him. A small room, it spread ten by fifteen feet. The bed sat in the back, next to the desk which supported a com unit. His gaze riveted on the cursor, which flashed rhythmically green as quickly as his damnable heartbeat. A table and two chairs nestled against the right wall near the entry. Stark and foreign, the only thing in the environment that he owned was a bottle of hundred year old rye whiskey he’d found in their resource scavenging last month. It glimmered like honey on his bedside table.

He ran a hand through his damp hair. He’d gone over and over the details of the battle until he felt physically ill. “Rumors. Just goddamned rumors. You can’t be sure.”
No, but if the Magistrates
have
developed a technique which allows them to revitalize tissue if they recover the corpse within half an hour after death….

His gut corkscrewed.

Picking up his cup of taza from the table, he sipped it while he thought. If they’d gotten to her immediately, they’d have taken her to Palaia—but what part? Neurophysiology division, probably. But maybe the military prison on the other side of the capital city of Naas. That way she’d be within easy reach of Slothen’s ruthless grasp. He frowned at his taza. The brew had gone stone cold. It left a glacially bitter flavor on his tongue. He set the cup back down and started across the room, zeroing in on the bottle of rye.

“That’s exactly what you need. A stiff belt to muddle your sense of responsibility.”
Yes, indeed, if you’re going to resign from the fleet and beg for a fighter, there’s no sense in burdening your conscience with questions of duty.

When his fingers gripped the cool bottle, his gaze drifted to the com unit over his bed. Baruch had said to wait until tomorrow night, but the knots in Cole’s stomach wouldn’t let him. Reaching up, he turned the volume down low, input cabin number 261 and softly called, “Jeremiel. Are you awake?”

In less than a second, a tired voice responded. “Of course, Cole.”

“Are you interested in company?”

A long pause as if Jeremiel couldn’t decide, then, “Come. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“On my way.” He cut the communication, clutched his bottle to his chest, and quickly exited into the hallway.

Turned low to simulate nighttime, the corridor gleamed with a muddy white light. He passed no one on his way to the transport tube. Once inside the narrow compartment, he ordered, “Level two,” and watched the deck numbers flash in blue above the door as he ascended.

When the tube stopped, he stepped out and strode down the hall, turning left at the first intersection of corridors and stopping at the second door on the right. He lifted a hand and palmed the com patch. “Jeremiel. It’s me.”

The door opened. Cole cautiously stepped inside. Only one light gleamed, a lustreglobe over the table. It cast a soft snowy glow over the room, glinting off the ancient books in the bookshelf over the table. Large for a battle cruiser, the room occupied a twenty foot square. A table and four chairs took up the left wall, next to the door that led to the latrine. In the back, a double bed sat, gray blankets rumpled. Another blanket, blue and white striped, lay on the seat of one of the desk chairs. Cole glanced at Baruch. The man had a tough, inquisitive expression on his face, but Cole knew him too well. Jeremiel had been having a hard night. Deep lines etched the flesh around his blue eyes. Had Baruch slept in the chair rather than chancing the dreams that sleeping in his and Carey’s bed would have spawned?

Two desks with glowing com units sat side by side along the right wall. Jeremiel stood over the second unit, his hand propped on the top of the monitor. A litter of crystal sheets, com disks, and a golden locket were scattered across the desktop. The sight of the necklace made the ache in Cole’s chest intensify. He’d given it to Carey for her thirty-fifth birthday—eons ago, just after they’d joined the Gamant Underground.

“Sorry, Cole,” Jeremiel offered, seeing what had caught his attention. “I didn’t think … that’s where she left it.” He reached for the locket, as if to get it out of sight.

“No, it’s all right. Please, leave it.”

Jeremiel let his hand hover over the necklace for a moment, obviously trying to judge from the look on Cole’s face whether that was the best maneuver or not. He pulled his fingers back. His blond hair and reddish-blond beard gleamed in the soft light. He wore casual clothes, an ivory-colored shirt and black pants.

Cole walked quietly to the table and set the bottle down, then disappeared into the latrine to grab two petrolon glasses. He filled each full and handed one to Jeremiel, ordering, “Here, drink this.”

Jeremiel took the glass and one of his bushy blond brows arched. He held the glass up to the lustreglobe, watching the light dance in the liquor with amber brilliance. “That’s a healthy dose.”

“I hate to get drunk alone.”

“I know that from past experience, but I’m not sure I want to keep you company tonight.”

“Yes, you do. You just don’t know it yet.”

Jeremiel cocked his head quizzically. “Generally, I trust your judgment.” He took a sip of the rye. “Did you come to talk about Carey or Horeb?”

Cole wondered how he could ask so calmly, as though they’d be discussing the relative merits of chocolate versus vanilla iced desert. For two weeks Cole had been absorbed with his grief, hearing Carey’s laughter, seeing the sparkle in her emerald eyes, feeling the warmth of her touch that last day on Kiskanu. In the past eight hours, Jeremiel had undoubtedly been remembering, too, and with an anguish even more wrenching than Cole’s own. Yet Baruch could stand here like a marble statue, staring emotionlessly at Cole.

“I came to talk about Carey.”

For several seconds, Jeremiel just stood. “Go on. I’m listening.”

Cole surveyed the holos of mountain scenery that Carey had loved so much; they covered every wall. The largest, a four by five foot picture of the Tetons on Old Earth lit the wall near the entry. The craggy pinnacles glowed lavender in the fading rays of sunset. Snow frosted the steep slopes, flowing into every crevice like pearlescent milky icing. He ambled over and stopped beneath the magnificent peaks. “I’m worried.”

Clothing rustled. “About the new medical techniques, you mean?”

Cole turned and appraised Jeremiel severely. “I should have guessed that your thoughts would have been running along the same lines as mine. Yes, that’s what concerns me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Cole’s mouth gaped in shock. “What the hell—”

“Even if she is alive, there’s nothing we can do about it right now. Horeb must be our first priority and the war effort can’t spare either you or me … and there’s no one else I could ask to risk his or her life to go to Palaia and find out.”

Cole moved forward to stand face-to-face with Baruch. They stared intently at each other. “Let me go. Give me a fighter and I’ll take the risk. I—”

“I can’t. You’re too important to the Horeb mission.”

“Listen to me!
If she’s alive, she could endanger the entire Underground movement! The woman knows every detail of our operations.” Cole took a tense breath. “Including the location of Shyr. No Gamant will be safe
anywhere
if she breaks.”

“
If
she’s alive. We’ve no way of knowing. We have to pretend she’s dead and continue—”

“Goddamn it!” Cole raged. He slammed his half-empty glass down on the table. The crash sounded as loud as a mortar blast in the sudden silence. “What’s the matter with you, Jeremiel? This is your wife we’re talking about! Not some stranger!”

Jeremiel shook his head and turned his back on Cole.

“She’s not dead, Jeremiel. I don’t
feel
her dead. Do you? Is there a hole in your soul? If she were dead, I’d know it.”

Baruch closed his eyes. “I can’t base military judgments on our emotional inadequacies.”

“I’m just one man, Jeremiel. Let me go. From a prudent strategic point of view, somebody should cover the possibility that she’s alive.
Let it be me.”

Jeremiel’s mouth tightened. He finished his whiskey and set the glass on the table. Very quietly, he walked back to Carey’s com unit and picked up the golden locket. Slowly he turned it over and over in his hand. “Let’s discuss other things for a few minutes. I had dinner with Rudy three hours ago. We discussed Horeb.”

Cole exhaled silently, not wanting to let it drop—doing it anyway. “Is he still being an idiot?”

“No, he’s changed his mind. He says he’ll be ready to vault day after tomorrow.”

Cole leaned back in shock. Kopal had been acting as stubborn as a witless mule. “What did you do? Threaten him? I thought he was dead set against stepping up the Horeb mission?”

“I convinced him it wouldn’t take more than a week.”

“One
week?” Cole squinted and eased down into a chair by the table. “All right. Why don’t you feed me the same line you fed Rudy? Just so I’ll know how to answer in case somebody slaps me in the head and demands I explain this insanity.”

Jeremiel paced methodically in front of the table. His ivory shirt now showed signs of sweat around the collar and beneath the arms. “We’ll go in fast, hit them hard, and load up the refugees. We should be able to offload them on Shyr by the first day of Sivan.”

“Uh-huh.” Cole rubbed his bearded jaw. The only way they could complete the Horeb mission in a week was if they met scant resistance from the planet’s guardian cruisers—which would require a miracle. “You think those four Magisterial battle cruisers are going to scream and run when they see us coming with all of our freighters and starsails, is that it?”

“Pretty close.”

Cole made an airy gesture of self-reproach. “I’d be intrigued to find out why. Could you fill me in on the magical tactics we’re going to employ?”

Jeremiel pulled out a chair and sat down. His hard eyes glittered like sapphires. “I told Rudy you’d agreed to go in early—on a sabotage mission.”

Cole reached for his whiskey and took a stiff drink. He blinked dubiously. “And Rudy bought it?”

“Completely. He knows your talents.”

Cole bowed his head and laughed. “I see. And just what am I supposed to sabotage?”

“We’ll discuss the details later. Let’s talk about what happens after we successfully free Horeb.”

Cole examined Jeremiel curiously. The light shone in a fiery sheen over the perspiration drenching Baruch’s face. Was he afraid Cole might say, “No, thank you. I like to pick my suicide missions myself?”

“What happens?” he asked bravely.

Jeremiel took Carey’s locket and gently laid it on the table. It sparkled like spun gold. The back of the cameo was face up, the engraving glimmering:
To my best friend. For never openly declaring mutiny. Love, Cole.
An ache of longing for her welled deep inside Cole. He hastily finished his whiskey.

“The trip to Shyr lasts a month minimum,” Jeremiel explained coolly. “Once we load the Horebian refugees and make vault, Rudy and Merle can handle the final elements of off-loading people, setting up villages, bringing in the remaining supplies: seeds, farm equipment, more stock—”

“I get your point.” Cole fiddled anxiously with his empty glass, shoving it back and forth across the black table top. So Jeremiel had been clandestinely planning on rescuing Carey all along—good. They had a better chance if the two of them went together. But if the fleet lost both of them…. “Would it do any good for me to remind you that you’re too valuable to risk and you should obviously let me go alone?”

“No.” Baruch leaned back in his chair.

“Let’s talk seriously. I know Palaia Station better than you do. I’ve been there several times. You’ve never been there.”

“Irrelevant. It’s a two person job. Neither of us can do it alone.”

Cole draped an arm over the back of his chair and briskly massaged the muscles at the back of his neck which had already tied themselves in knots of anticipation. “All right, I’m with you. Let’s discuss this brilliant sabotage mission I’m supposed to pull off before we go after Carey. Any more word on how Mikael and Sybil are doing on Horeb? The old Gamants on Kiskanu said they’d heard that Ornias had ordered all the children under seven rounded up because he feared some rumor about the coming of the Mashiah. They said it was the final sign. Do you know what that means?”

Baruch reflectively smoothed his fingers over his reddish beard. “Yes. It’s a very old prophecy. …”

Two hours later, Jeremiel watched his door slip closed behind Cole’s broad back. He slowly walked to the table to refill his glass. He picked up the bottle of rye, then set it down again and went to the drink dispenser on the wall. He keyed in for a strong cup of taza. As he reached for the cup, his hand shook. He gripped it in both hands and watched the steam rise in a fragrant veil to curl around his face.