Redemption of Light (The Light Trilogy) (32 page)

“I’m going through that gate,”
Carey said challengingly. Her pearlescent complexion had turned a rosy hue. “Whether this humanoid likes it or not. I
will
talk to Epagael. I haven’t come all this way for nothing.”

“Humanoid!” Sedriel raged. He flapped his wings so violently the breeze knocked Zadok backward two steps. He had to lean into the gale to keep standing.

“Oh, hush, you flaming beast! She doesn’t understand the ritual. Carey,” Zadok explained, “if Sedriel says we cannot pass, then I’m afraid we’ve no recourse but to go somewhere and earnestly pray to Epagael for Him to hear our pleas.”

A steely glimmer lit her eyes. She cocked her head threateningly. “No. I demand to speak to the archistrategos Michael.”

“Michael’s busy,” Sedriel proclaimed imperiously. “Now, go away.”

“I demand an audience with him. I have that right, don’t I? To take my case for entry to a higher judge?”

Sedriel’s face puckered into a pout. Suspiciously, he demanded, “Where did you hear that?”

“From the angel who sent me.”

“Well, he certainly hasn’t been around in a while. We changed that ruling centuries ago. Take my word for it, in this day and age, each gatekeeper is the final decision maker. Now, leave, I haven’t all day to waste on you two insignificant wretches.”

Carey lifted a brow and smiled icily at Zadok. “He called me a wretch.”

“You should have heard what he called me the last time I was here: a pusillanimous mortal born from a putrid white drop.”

Carey laughed, but it was a low, deadly sound that made Zadok’s eyes widen. In a sudden move, she charged forward and landed a solid body kick to Sedriel’s left kneecap. As Carey pulled herself upright again, Sedriel let out an enraged howl and stumbled sideways, grabbing the arch to steady himself.

“She—she …” Sedriel stuttered in shock and rage and finally wailed, “She
struck
me, Zadok! She struck an
angeir

Flabberghasted, Zadok didn’t know what to say. If he hadn’t already been dead, he’d have been worried. He extended a hand to Sedriel’s writhing form and grimaced at Carey. “Look what you did? How could you do that?”

“Training,” she responded glibly. Grabbing Zadok gruffly by the sleeve she physically hauled him through the gate with her.

Zadok stumbled along the dirt path of the second heaven, craning his neck to watch Sedriel squirm and rub his shattered kneecap. He shrieked, “You can’t do this! Come back before I tell Epagael!”

“Damn it!” Carey cursed. “I wish I had a pistol!”

Zadok’s mouth gaped. “My dear, you have the wrong attitude about heaven.”

“No, Zadok. It’s just that I haven’t got anything left to lose. I may well be dead right now, for all I know. If I’m not, it’s because the probe doctors decided they might be able to bring me out of my catatonia through other methods. That means they’re saving my body for worse things.” She wet her lips and squinted through the brushy barricade around the grove, watching Sedriel. He was still wailing. “My only hope—and the hope of the Underground, I fear—is to get to Epagael and ask him what the hell’s going on.”

Zadok’s voice floundered.
Her body was under the probes? Blessed God.
“I didn’t realize—”

“It’s all right, Zadok.” She looked over her shoulder. “Get ready to run. That blasted angel just staggered through the arch and is heading straight for us.”

Zadok scanned the skies, waiting for retribution from a higher source. On the horizon, clouds drifted, their edges dyed a pale coral in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Shadows dappled the soft grasses like broken and irregularly strewn slate tiles.

“Zadok?”

The rich baritone rumbled through the skies and he saw the archangel Michael soaring over the tops of the trees. His milky wings reflected the color of the leaves, shimmering with a viridian hue. He circled the arch of the first gate, surveying the damage, then swooped down to land before them. His golden robe fell in waves around his feet. Zadok noticed Carey shaking her head in disbelief. Of all the angels, Michael was unquestionably the most awesomely beautiful. Sunlight glimmered like snow crystals from his eiderdown feathers. He looked so achingly perfect that for a moment neither of them could speak.

Sedriel hobbled up from behind, breathing like a pneumonia victim. A gentle breeze stirred his champagne-colored hem and sleeves, rippling in his wings like the invisible caress of God. Carey’s face slackened as though the majestic vision of the angels side-by-side overwhelmed her.

Sedriel snapped his wings closed and charged, “Now, see here, Michael, these oafs have challenged my right to keep them out of the first heaven! They demanded to speak to you. I told them you were busy, but this—this
woman
attacked me!”

“Oh, hush, Sedriel,” Michael said wearily. He turned to Zadok and Carey. “Why are you here, Zadok?”

Carey stammered, “I-I need to speak with you—privately, Lord Michael.”

“You? I’m surprised. Very well.”

Zadok watched as they went to stand beneath a towering oak. Carey’s lips moved, but no sound carried across the meadow. Michael listened with his head bowed, nodding on occasion. Rays of light filtered through the branches to mottle Carey’s serious face with hazy patches of burnished gold. When she reached a certain point in her explanation, Michael lifted his head suddenly. “Describe him to me.”

The archangel paced erratically. He and Carey exchanged a few more quiet sentences. Sedriel hobbled forward, favoring his injured left knee, and tilted his head, trying hard to decipher the hushed words.

“Can you hear what they’re saying, Zadok?” Sedriel inquired hopefully.

“I wouldn’t tell you if I could.”

Sedriel looked irked. He sneered and flopped a shoulder against a lush green tree.

A few minutes later, Michael strode across the grass and brusquely ordered, “Get back to your gate, Sedriel. These people have urgent business with Epagael.”

“But—but,” Sedriel spluttered.
“I’m the gatekeeper!
And I don’t think they should be allowed—”

“Get out of the way!”

Sedriel closed his mouth and obediently stepped aside. Zadok cast a quick glance at him. The arrogant angel sighed sulkily and flicked a hand. “The Archistrategos authorized your journey, Zadok. Get out of my sight.”

CHAPTER 31

Cole awoke in the broad white infirmary aboard the
Zilpah.
His eyes fluttered opened and closed. He glimpsed a bedside table and pitcher of water, plus the glaring overhead light panels. A silver med unit encased his chest. He could feel the probing of the surgical stimulators that knitted bone and directed tissue regeneration; they burned like tiny snakes slithering through his lungs. He groaned.

“Hurts, eh?” a familiar voice called.

Cole opened one eye to see Kopal staring down at him. Rudy had an arm braced lazily on the med unit. His black jumpsuit and brown curly hair both looked freshly washed. He lounged forward to squint. “I met Amirah Jossel. Five foot nine, a hundred and twenty pounds.”

Cole could instinctively feel a jab coming. “Are you hinting at something?”

“Me? No, I was just hoping to hear some of the details of your glorious mission. Like why you let her break your ribs?”

Cole slitted his eyes. It felt good having Rudy around again to torment him. “Why are you annoying me, Kopal? Did Baruch give you the day off or something?”

Rudy shook his head and drawled softly, “No. Matter of fact I’ve only got ten minutes. I just wanted to say thanks. You did a damned fine job down there.”

“Hurts to admit, doesn’t it?”

“Only a little. So …” He grinned broadly. “Why’d you let her break your ribs?”

Cole cavalierly rearranged his white sheet. “At the time, it seemed preferable to my neck.”

Rudy’s expression twisted with repressed mirth. “From the way Jossel’s been acting, I thought maybe you developed some bizarre new courtship ritual. I was going to ask for lessons.”

“What do you mean ‘from the way she’s been acting’?”

“You haven’t heard?” Rudy tilted his head appreciatively, as though lauding some talent Cole didn’t know he had. “Jossel’s deeply concerned about your health. She’s been asking about you constantly.”

“She’s probably concerned about her hand-to-hand efficiency,” Cole quipped casually, but a spot of warmth expanded in his chest. “Tell her I’m fine and I’m sure she’ll be so disappointed she’ll calm down.”

“I don’t think so. She tackled the last mess tech who delivered her dinner and demanded to know how you were.”

Cole frowned. Amirah possessed no flighty qualities at all. Especially aboard an enemy cruiser, she’d be walking a careful tightrope. “Yeah? What did the tech do to her?”

“Nothing.”

Cole frowned suspiciously. “She really tackled a mess tech?”

“Uh-huh.” Rudy smirked.

From out in the hallway, Cole heard Jeremiel’s voice as he talked quietly with one of the doctors. Rudy continued to loom over the med unit, grinning, until Jeremiel strode across the room and appeared at his side. Baruch gave Cole a confident smile, but he looked dead tired. Dark purplish smudges shaded the area beneath his eyes. His blond hair was matted against his head.

Jeremiel’s gaze took in Kopal’s smirk and Cole’s curious expression. Propping his hands on his hips, he inquired. “Are you two getting along?”

“As well as we ever do,” Kopal answered. “He was telling me about this new courtship ritual he developed, and I—”

“Goddamn, Baruch,” Cole interrupted. “Will you give this man something to do so he’ll quit bothering me?”

Jeremiel scratched his reddish beard, as though assessing the hidden variables. To Kopal he muttered, “You told him she tackled the mess tech, right “

Rudy nodded. “I hope you approved the visit she requested. I’d hate for any more of your crew to get headlocked over Tahn’s condition.”

“I approved it. She’ll be here in half an hour.”

Rudy chuckled and wisely backed away. “I’d love to watch, but I have to be getting back to my ship. I’ll see you both later.”

Jeremiel watched Rudy go and then took his place, bracing an arm across the silver beast that encased Cole’s chest. Almost immediately, Baruch’s teasing smile faded into a deadly serious frown. His evaluative gaze went over Cole in detail. “How are you?”

Cole twisted slightly, testing the ache in his chest. “Give me two days. I’ll be ready.”

“The doctor said four. I don’t want you to—”

“The doctor is referring to the time necessary to completely heal that rib. I can heal on the way. In two days the bone will be fundamentally knitted. That’s all I need.”

“And your leg?”

“Feels better than it has in years.”

Jeremiel expelled a worried breath through his nostrils and picked up a mini-com unit from the bedside table. He absently input data, then cleared it and started again. Cole studied him with growing nervousness. Around them, the hospital throbbed with a soundless intensity. Jeremiel’s bushy brows drew together. “Immediately after we set you down on Horeb, we got word from Lakish that Magisterial flotillas had invaded the Moran and Tonopah systems.”

A torrent of cold tingled through Cole’s body. For the cruisers to get there so soon, they must have gotten the information from … “You think she’s alive?”

Jeremiel clenched the mini-com in a hard fist. Cole could see pain and hope vie on Baruch’s bearded face.
Like a man watching a precious loved one slowly eaten up by a terrible disease.
“Maybe. Could have been Samuals.”

“Doesn’t matter. I assume you’ve already selected and programmed our fighter?”

“Yes. It’s ready. There’s one more detail I want to discuss with you, though.” Jeremiel poked the mini-com awkwardly, striking it like a tiny punching bag.

“What is it?”

“Jossel.” He looked up and his blue eyes glittered.

“Go on.”

Jeremiel tossed the mini-com back to the bedside table. “I’ve already talked to Rudy and Merle. Horebian refugees are currently being loaded onto their cruisers. We also captured the
Hammadi.
She’s still in good shape. Merle is orchestrating the repair process. We’re setting all the surviving Magisterial crew down on the planet on the Abaddon Islands. We’re leaving enough food and supplies for four months—though I suspect the Magistrates will pick them up far sooner.”

Cole tugged restlessly at the sheet. The Magistrates would do the same thing to the
Hammadi
crew that they’d done to the crews of the
Annum
and the
Hoyer.
The thought of Amirah ending up mindless made his stomach knot. She’d find out in a hurry how right he’d been about the Magistrates. He had the urge to slam his fists into something.

“What I want to know, Cole,” Jeremiel inquired solemnly, “is whether or not you think we should put Jossel down there with them?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“I think so. She might be useful as a bargaining chip if we get into trouble on Palaia. She also might be a nuisance or dangerous. You’ve been with her. What do you think?”

Cole gripped handfuls of his sheet and crushed the fabric in anxious fingers while he considered. With enough time and the proper coaxing, he might be able to teach her to see the Gamant side of galactic politics. She had all the requisite intelligence and
ancestry.
Not that she’d ever leave Magisterial service, that would be too much to hope for, but he might grasp enough to develop a positive sympathy. And she’d be spared the certain probe-death that those left behind on the Abbadon Islands would face. “Do you know she’s Gamant?”

Baruch’s face darkened. “No.”

“At least a quarter. Her grandmother was full-blood, I think.”

Jeremiel slowly dropped his hands to his sides. “She
told
you her grandmother was Gamant? Why?”

“I’m not sure. I think she’d given herself up for dead and didn’t believe it mattered anymore.”

Baruch’s eyes shone dangerously. “More likely she was supposed to tell you that.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jeremiel clenched his hands into fists and tucked them into the side pockets of his black battlesuit. “The woman has no past. I’ve combed every obscure Magisterial file to locate information on her parents or grandmother, and none exists.”

“Her father worked in the Records division. She says he purged all the incriminating data.”

Jeremiel cocked his head. “I doubt it. Thirty years ago, Zadok Calas managed to slip insiders into that division. Those people were killed the instant they attempted to delete any data relating to Gamants. The government monitors the Records Office more heavily than it does Defense.”

A numb sensation crept up Cole’s shoulders. “That makes me think that perhaps the deletions were ‘allowed’ by the Magistrates—and . . damn it, why didn’t it occur to me before … maybe the Magistrates have something to do with the delusions Jossel suffers.”

Jeremiel leaned forward pensively. “What delusions?”

Cole waved a hand. “It’s a long story and she’ll be here soon. In the time we’ve got, though, do you know what the word ‘nahash’ means?”

Jeremiel seemed to stop breathing.

Amirah paced around her stark cabin on level ten, waiting for the security team Baruch had promised would take her to see Tahn. In anticipation, she picked up petrolon glasses and threw them on the floor so she could kick them across the room. The dull thudding noises they made against the walls eased her stress level. She’d cursed herself over and over, wondering how in the name of God she could have let herself get into a situation like this—a situation where she was completely impotent. Her fate lay totally in the hands of hostile strangers.
Her fate!
A Magisterial captain! Self-hatred throbbed in her veins. And she was terrified about what might be happening on the
Sargonid.
Was her crew safe? How was Jason handling her absence? Undoubtedly superbly, but still she feared for them.

The room was at most a ten by twelve foot rectangle, with a bed in the back and a tiny table and two chairs near the entryway in the front. The door to the latrine stood open on the left wall, equidistant from the bed and the table. Holos of battle scenes adorned each wall, ships blasting each other apart, men and women carrying out ground actions—even a scorch attack in progress.

She’d showered and dressed in the purple Magisterial captain’s uniform the quartermaster had delivered. It irked her that they could reproduce the latest official style in such detail. Even the captain’s bars on her shoulders showed the delicate scrollwork around the edges which the fleet had adopted only eight weeks earlier. How did they know such things?

“Because they have an inside contact somewhere, that’s how.”

She occupied herself for a few minutes by thinking how good it would feel to kill the informer, then futilely threw up her arms and stalked to stand before the mirror over the table for the gillionth time. Clean blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders, shimmerimg with a silver hue in the brilliant white light. She grimaced at how clearly her freckles stood out against the too pale background of her skin. Her button nose and full lips looked bloodless.

“You look like hell,” she accused. She kicked one of the chairs. It banged against the table and made her feel better.

“Goddamn it, you’re being a fool. Think! Think like a Magisterial captain! What are you going to do?”

She shook her fists at the ceiling just as her door com buzzed. A male voice penetrated the cabin: “Captain Jossel? This is Corporal Poimandres. I’m here to escort you to see Captain Tahn.”

“On my way,” she announced sternly and ran for the door. Hitting the patch to open it, she looked out into the faces of two young, dark-haired soldiers dressed in black jumpsuits, one a corporal, one a private, both carrying rifles. She stepped into the hallway.

“I’m Corporal Poimandres, ma’am, and this is Private Valentin. Please follow me.”

“Lead the way, Corporal.”

He started down the corridor and she fell in line behind him. Valentin unslung his rifle and brought up the rear. Knowing his aim rested between her shoulders, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. They marched to the transport tube and entered. Amirah idly watched Poimandres strike the patch for level six. The tube ascended smoothly, deck numbers flashing in blue over the entry.

When the tube stopped, she followed them down a long empty corridor. She saw the “Infirmary” sign posted over the door at the end of the hall. When they got there, Valentin accessed the entry patch. The door slid back.

“I’ll take you in, ma’am,” Poimandres explained. “The captain’s expecting you.”

“Thank you, Corporal.”

Valentin stayed outside, guarding the exit. Poimandres led her into a broad, white tiled room with beds lining the walls. A variety of emergency medical equipment huddled in the far corner like a lanky tangle of silver and gray arms. Four levels of computer screens filled the wall near the security officer’s desk. He looked up at her as she entered, then shot a glance at Baruch, who hovered over a bed with an attached med unit. Baruch caught the glance and turned. Seeing her, he said a few soft words to Tahn, then came toward her.

He stopped a few feet away, formed his hands into the sacred Gamant triangle, and bowed respectfully. Amirah stubbornly refused to return the ancient symbol of greeting. Why had Baruch done that? It affected her like a splash of cold water. Had Tahn told him about her Gamant heritage? Of course he had. Any good officer would have revealed every shred of information gathered on a clandestine mission. The thought sat like a lump of ice in her belly.