Tweeett …
The unseen bird’s call blended with the rustle of the leaves moved by the hidden ventilator streams to simulate winds. The lizard crawled out of sight behind the yucca trunk, and Trystin looked to his left, toward the small grove of lime trees, if a group of four trees could be called a grove. He checked his implant—1643—almost time for him to leave for Ezildya’s place.
Tweeet …
He stood and offered a salute to the hidden bird before heading out through the double locks toward Residential three. The odor of plastic and ozone struck him like a wall, along with the muttering of electronics picked up by the implant, and he almost stopped in mid-stride, but he kept walking.
He paused at the underground junction where the tunnels intersected, and where a handful of small shops burrowed farther back away from the tunnel. Finally, he stepped into one—“Niceties.”
The plastic counters in the front held decorative boxes of dried fruits. Trystin picked up one and winced at the price. Still, it had to have come from off-planet, and translation costs were steep. But for fruit? When you could grow it anywhere if you knew what you were doing? He shook his head.
“Could I help you, ser?” A man in a motorchair glided toward Trystin.
“In a moment, I’m sure.” Trystin offered a forced smile.
In the end, he bought a small, almost tiny, box of chocolates, paying more than he’d anticipated, but knowing that Ezildya had mentioned more than once that chocolate was what she missed most since she had left Carson.
Even after taking his time, at 1715 he tapped on Ezildya’s door.
“Just a minute.”
He waited … and waited.
Finally, the door opened. Ezildya looked up at him, golden-skinned face framed in fine black hair, green eyes somehow both tired—and sparkling. “I had to stay longer than I’d hoped.”
Trystin handed her the small box of chocolates.
“Those are real Austran chocolates. You didn’t have to do that.” She closed the door behind him and carried the box to the low table beside the love seat where she set the chocolates, unopened.
“I know. You didn’t have to take off early, either.” He walked to the balcony and looked at the garden below, then across the domed courtyard at the sliding glasstic doors of the other quarters, all closed except for one where a man sat on the balcony with a child in his lap. The dark-haired child waved something in a chubby fist, and Trystin smiled. “It’s quiet.”
“Late sevenday’s always quiet. Everyone’s exhausted. So am I.” Ezildya sat down on the small love seat covered with a handcrafted green and gray spread decorated with a series of stylized and interlinked evergreens. “A tenth of a gee doesn’t seem like much, but … I’m tired.”
Trystin looked up at the dome, seeing only a translucent white, though beyond the dome the white light of Parvati shone through the red skies and slowly thickening atmosphere of Mara and upon the distant red hills.
“So am I.” He walked back across the small room.
“You’re from Perdya. That’s high gee.”
“Not really. It’s just one point zero nine T-norm.”
“You work out every day.”
“Not every day,” protested Trystin.
“Almost every day, and you’re used to this. I can see all those muscles. Carson is point nine eight. By sevenday, I’m still wasted.” Ezildya stretched her long legs out and put her slippered feet on the padded stool. “Could you just sit beside me?”
“Sure.” Trystin sat down, letting his feet rest beside hers, and his cheek against hers, enjoying the faintest scent of fleurisle.
“I get so stiff.” Ezildya leaned her head back and then dropped her chin on her chest, as if to stretch her neck. “The weeks are so long, sometimes. I wish they were only seven days, like back on old Earth.”
“That was a long time ago, and all the months had different numbers of days, and you couldn’t tell anything without a complicated calendar. Every year every day of the month fell on a different weekday. Here, the seventeenth is always oneday.”
“I don’t want to talk about history.”
He shrugged, barely, and squeezed her shoulder with his left hand. “I’m glad you could get the time off.”
“SysCon is pretty flexible.” She grinned. “I will have to take Kentar’s endday duty next week.”
“That’s an abort.”
“Here? It doesn’t matter unless you’re into one of the club activities, and who cares for cycling in small circles? I’ve never liked my face in the water—must be because I was a synthwomb child. None of us are fond of swimming, even in these gees. I wonder why.”
“Because you’re a synthwomb child.” Trystin squeezed her shoulder again, then took his right hand, caressed her cheek and tilted her face toward his.
Thhrrrrummmmm … The room shook with the vibrations.
Ezildya brushed Trystin’s lips with hers. “That one was close. Must be headed for the south basin.”
“The new south sea,” Trystin corrected. “There’s water now.”
“Aren’t the water comet transits hard on you?”
“Damned hard, especially if you’re on-line and at full sensitivity. Even lightning out beyond the perimeter is bad.” He squeezed her hand.
“Trystin …”
“Yes?”
“Just sit here. All right?” She squeezed his hand. “We can fix something later. I’m glad you’re here, even if you call on such short notice.”
Trystin bent over and kissed her neck. Her dark hair smelled fresh, clean, and he almost wanted to bury his face in it, to push away the memories of ammonia and weedgrass. Instead, he studied her profile, the almost pug nose and thin lips, the not-quite-flat cheekbones, and the faintly golden skin framed with fine dark hair.
Ezildya smiled. “That’s one thing I like about you.”
“What?”
“When you settle down, you’re all here.”
“I’m not sometimes?” Where was he? Thinking about Farhkans—or revs?
“You know what I mean. Sometimes people nod and agree and even carry on a conversation, and you have the feeling they’re a thousand kays away, and they could care less what you say. You look at me, and you’re here.” She looked at Trystin. “Most of the time. But you’re not now. Where are you?”
“I met a Farhkan today.”
Ezildya shivered. “I met one a couple of years ago. They’re creepy. They sort of look right through you. All gray, except for those red eyes and those greenish teeth.”
“How did you meet one?” asked Trystin.
“They sent a technical team to Carson. To the shipyards there. My mother was an assistant to the translation engineer. She spent a lot of time with them, and brought one of them home for dinner. They’re hydrocarbon-based, like we are, but they need a lot more arsenic than the traces we use.” Ezildya shook her head.
“You didn’t like him? Her?”
“Do they have sexes? I never found out. They’re very private, and very polite—at least this Heren Jule was.”
“So was the one I met,” added Trystin, “but very insistent.”
“Heren was, too. He, I guess he was a he, kept asking me about the reasons for having children. I was fourteen and I wasn’t even thinking about children.” Ezildya’s laugh was short.
“Let’s not talk about them.” Trystin squeezed her shoulder again.
“You’re still upset, aren’t you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Trystin looked at the small hooked rug on the floor. “I guess so. I didn’t realize it, though.”
“We don’t have to talk about aliens. Or revs. Or work.” Ezildya leaned toward Trystin and kissed his cheek. “I’ve got some real Carson pasta. And I made real sauce—the tomatoes are working fine in the tanks.” She stood. “Come talk to me.”
Trystin followed her to the kitchen alcove, where he leaned on the wall and looked in, since there was
n’t room enough for two people.
“This won’t take long.”
“Good.”
“And don’t leer. You won’t get fed. And I won’t offer you any of your chocolates, either.”
Trystin leered.
“You’re impossible.”
“Not always.”
Ezildya turned back to the small burners and the large water-filled pot too large for the miniature stove. Trystin waited.
11
“Wherefore shall it profit a man to gain all the lands under the heavens if the cost of those lands be that he take into his heart that which is an abomination unto the Lord?
“What be an abomination, ye ask? Ye are the people of the Lord, and I am His Prophet, and I say unto ye that an abomination is that which displeases the Lord and rejects His teachings.
“What displeases the Lord? A man who does not hold the Lord and His ways above all, or a woman who would place the ways of the world above her duty to bring forth souls and to nurture them in righteousness and in the ways of the Lord.
“Although there are indeed many mansions in your Father’s heavens, any being, whether conceived in the depths of the most distant heavens or in the fires of the nearest stars, any being which does not accept the Lord and His commandments, such is displeasing to the Lord. For those who accept not the Lord have lost their souls to darkness and are to be counted as less than the dust under the soles of a man’s boots, as less than the sand between a woman’s toes.
“Even less are they who have known the Lord and rejected Him, for they have chosen nothingness over the substance of the Lord.
“This is the first and greatest commandment, that ye shall accept the way and the laws of the Lord, and ye shall have no other god before Him. And the second is like unto it, that no man and no woman shall turn away from the needs of another soul of the Lord.
“For the work of the Lord is the work of all faithful souls, and woe be unto those who toil not in the fields of the Lord. Neither shall they know peace nor certitude, nor cool water upon parched lips, nor the succor of a loving Father. But they shall go unto nothingness troubled and despairing through all the days of their lives, which shall flicker out and be gone as quickly as those of the mayflies.
“The souls of the Lord shall live forever in the sight of the Lord, and He shall be glad to receive them, and they shall come to live in His mansions for so long as the heavens shall endure, and even beyond.
“As I have spoken, as the Prophet of the Lord, so shall it be, now and forever.
“For, as I raise my left hand to cause the lightning to flash, ye see and do not see. This flame I raise in the name of the Lord, and I have raised it with my lesser hand, and I am far less than the Lord. Would ye have me raise my greater hand? Or have the Lord bring His mightiness against ye?”
Book of Toren
Original Edition
12
Ammonia and weedgrass still permeated the station, although the artificial cinnamon and rysya incense—Gerfel’s latest attempts—muted the worst of the weedgrass odor. The tighter main door seals had eliminated any new infiltration of the fine grit, but there was more than enough remaining in the station to irritate Trystin’s still-itching nose and to give him the beginnings of a sore throat.
He rubbed his nose gently and turned the command chair to the left. Through the scratched armaglass of the window, he could see the clouds forming to the east. So far there was none of the static on the net that indicated electrical buildups, but that would come later. It always did.
With his right hand, Trystin massaged the back of his neck, trying to knead out tight muscles. Being away from the station had offered momentary relaxation, and so had Ezildya’s presence and cooking, but the respite had been all too short.
Then he checked the reclamation systems. Tower one was still down, and one of the precrackers was operating at less than fifty percent. Hisin had requisitions in on both.
“Hisin, any idea when you’ll get the stuff to fix the tower and that precracker?”
“No, ser. There’s a lot of damage. That storm whacked a couple of mid-plains secondary systems, and you know what the revs did. It’s hard for supply. We haven’t been hit this hard all at once ever before.”
“Any idea when we’ll get the parts?”
“It’ll be a couple of weeks, at least. I don’t think the Klyseen techs were ready for these kinds of losses.”
“A couple of weeks … well … we do what we can. Thanks.” Trystin rechecked the fuel cells’ organonutrient level. He still couldn’t believe that supply had only refilled the tanks to sixty percent. Then he mentally spooled through the messages and even did a key-word search. None of the references to fuel cells or organonutrients showed anything except the delivery itself and the quantity. He shook his head, rechecking the four-screen display before accessing the tech console again.
“Hisin?”
“Ser?” The tech’s voice sounded faintly irritated.
“There’s nothing in the tanks. Do you have any idea why our fuel-cell resupply was only a half tank?”
“Half a tank, ser?”
“We were at around ten percent when I went to Klyseen. Now the tanks are at sixty percent. That’s about a half tank.”
“Oh, that. Lipirelli—he’s the tanker tech—told me that power loads were up and that they couldn’t give us a full load because of the damage to all the stations. Just a temporary problem there.”
“I hope it doesn’t result in our being temporarily out of power when the revs show up.”
“Ser?”
“Nothing. Thank you, Hisin.” Trystin went back to the galley where he mixed another cup of Sustain. After one sip, he added more of the powder. That made the jolt harder when it hit his stomach, but he hated the watery taste that he got when he mixed the Sustain according to the directions.
He paced along the narrow space between the console and the wall, from the secondary console in the corner to the window and back. His guts were still tight, and he didn’t know quite why. Was he worried about the Farhkan physical, or the interview?
Why had the Farhkan—Ghere, was it?—why had he/she/it been so hung up on getting Trystin to admit he was a thief—even in the general sense? Why had Ghere insisted that Trystin think about it? What did the damned interview have to do with the technical help the Coalition was supposedly getting? What kind of help was it? Ezildya had mentioned that her mother was a translation engineer. Were the Farhkans helping improve the translation engines of Coalition spacecraft? Why? How did he fit in?
He shook his head. Maybe his mother would know more about the Farhkans, not that he could ask her until he got home leave, and that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. He took another sip of Sustain, pausing to look out the window at the slowly growing storm to the east.
Why was Mara suddenly receiving so much attention from the revs? Was it because it was nearing semihabitability and they were running out of room—again? Why were the revs always trying to take, take, take?
Cling! Trystin swallowed his sip of Sustain as he called up the message through the implant and headed back to the command seat.
“All PerCon Stations. DefCom visual plot indicates four paragliders on entry envelopes—split pattern. Probable landfall coordinates follow. Full alert on perimeter stations. DefCon Two. DefCon Two …”
After plugging the coordinates into the system, Trystin cross-checked. Two of the revvie gliders were aimed into the midsection of the eastern badlands—making East Red Three a prime target.
Trystin hoped that the revvie pilots changed directions for evasive purposes, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. He took a deep breath as he sensed another red light flare on the maintenance screen.
Hisin’s voice fed through the implant. “Lieutenant, ser, that precracker’s frozen, except for the mobility module. I knew it was going to happen, but, no, they can’t spare the boards. I should disable it.”
“You can’t do it by remote?”
“How far is it out?” Even as he asked, Trystin used his satellite plot screen. “Ten kays, isn’t it?”
“Nearer eleven, ser.”
“Let it go for now,” Trystin decided. “The techs made their decision. We’ve got revs coming down, and the last thing we need is for you to be out there if they start a firefight.”
“Tech HQ won’t be happy. Running nonfunctional wastes fuel.”
“Let them be unhappy. Better than your being dead. Blame it on me.”
“Appreciate it, ser. I can’t say that I was looking forward to it.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll have to do something once we deal with the revs, but you won’t have to worry about them at the same time.” Trystin clicked off-line and returned to his scans.
Nothing.
He continued to run through the scans and the satellite plots, but everything continued to register as before. Then he went through the maintenance levels. Besides tower number one, the malfunctioning and still-mobile precracker, more than a few small problems remained, including the still-bulging cell door in Block B.
After reviewing the maintenance status, he scrolled back through all the recent messages, but most were just routine reports, except for Gerfel’s report on an evening revvie attack he hadn’t even known had occurred. From what he could tell, she’d neutralized them quickly. He studied the note about the use of rockets as flares. The new revvie suit fabric fluoresced some at night—or the light patterns looked that way. He’d try to keep that in mind, although he wasn’t due for night-shift duty again for another month.
Cling! Trystin licked his dry lips and accessed the message.
“All PerCon Stations. DefCon One. DefCon One. Ambient atmospheric conditions preclude detection and neutralization of paragliders. Ambient atmospheric conditions preclude detection and neutralization of paragliders. Estimated landfall approximately 1256. Landfall estimated at 1256. DefCon One. DefCon One …”
Ambient atmospheric conditions? He checked the metplot. The skies were more than half clear, nothing out of the ordinary. More like inability to penetrate improved revvie shielding. Why couldn’t DefCom admit it? In any case, the revs were down without a rocket or a laser being laid on them, probably with more heavy equipment. Trystin called up all station shields, except those for the power fans, then accessed the tech console.
The Parafaith War Page 9
