Trystin followed the arrow under which read—among others—Personnel and Detailing and continued to the left building.
As he entered the structure, he could sense the energy and probes of the security net. He paused for a moment, wondering if the Farhkan protocol was for Headquarters, then shook his head. The Service security system was a closed system. Whatever protocol, it had would have to be used inside the control center or the console that held the controls—which certainly made sense.
Most high-security installations were closed weave, rather than the modified open-weave systems used on ships or perimeter stations. Implants were only good either almost touching a ship or inside it, and since space combat didn’t involve close proximity, the modified system was perfectly secure, especially since the revs didn’t use implant technology. Trystin’s implant could theoretically, if he had the protocols, access and control any truly open-weave system. He shook his head. Of course, most open-weave systems guarded their protocols dearly.
He crossed the atriumlike space, with the windows open to the gardens, and paused by one of the information consoles, setting down his gear. “Major Trystin Desoll.” He handed across his ID and a copy of his orders. “Reporting for further assignment.”
“Yes, ser. Let me check.” The dark-haired tech at the front console took in Trystin, studied his uniform, the decorations, and turned her head to the tech at the next console. “Has to be Marshal Fertuna’s staff.”
“Intelligence? Good bet.” The other tech studied Trystin as the fingers of the first flicked across the console keyboard.
“Yes, ser. You’re to report to Marshal Fertuna. That’s Intelligence—I Section. His office is on the third level of the north building. Just take the cross-garden walkway. It’s easier than going back out the front. If you’re carrying any weapons or energy implants, check with the tech at the console outside his office. Otherwise, just go in. All right?” She offered a pleasant professional smile as she returned his ID and orders. “They’ll be expecting you.”
“Thank you.” Trystin returned the smile, keeping it plastered in place even after he caught the words “poor rev bait.”
Even outside the Intelligence office, with its fractionally thicker walls, and stepped-up system net, there was no reference to Marshal Fertuna, just a small sign that said “I Section”—that and a bored-looking senior tech seated at a console in the hall outside.
Trystin nodded.
“Anything to declare, ser?” The technician looked at Trystin’s bags.
“Nothing but normal pilot implants. Flight armor and personal effects.”
“They’ll clear.”
The scanners buzzed through the implant, not pleasantly, as Trystin stepped into the office proper.
Another technician gestured from a corner console. “Major Desoll?”
“Yes.” Trystin headed toward him.
“You’re fortunate. Commander Delapp is waiting for you.” The technician’s black eyes studied Trystin quickly. “You can leave your gear here, ser, right over there.”
Trystin shrugged and set the gear on the stand clearly provided for the purpose, removing the thin case that held his orders and records. He had no doubts that his gear would be scanned again—or, at least, that it could be.
“This way, ser.”
Commander Delapp had an office not much larger than the mess on the Willis, but most of the back wall was a window overlooking the garden below.
The gray-haired commander stepped forward and extended her hand and a warm smile. “Major Desoll, I’m Katellie Delapp.”
“Trystin Desoll, Commander.” He took her hand and gave a slight bow.
“Please have a seat.” The commander settled behind the console.
Trystin took the wooden captain’s chair.
“Major, your CO recommends you highly. And your discretion.” The white-haired commander behind the console waited, bright blue eyes fixed on him. “That’s unusual in itself. Commander Sasaki is rather cautious. Both the commander and the Pilot Training Command also commend your piloting skill. And you are acceptable to the Farhkans.”
“Yes, ser?” Trystin didn’t like the last statement at all. “What do the Farhkans have to do with it?”
“Cautious, aren’t you? That’s good. You’ll need to be cautious. We’d like to send you into Revenant territory.”
“The Farhkans?” Trystin asked.
“It makes matters easier. You’ll find that out later.”
He could tell she wasn’t about to say more about the Farhkans, and that somehow strengthened his own determination not to mention the Farhkan key. It was childish, but if the Service wanted to keep secrets, then so could he. “You need pilot scouts for the rev perimeter systems?”
“No, not scouts. We’re talking about two-overlay missions.”
Trystin contained the wince he felt internally. “Two overlay?”
“You wouldn’t know the term. We’ll load your implant with two identities you can call up for reference.”
“I’m a pilot, not an intelligence agent.”
“A good one.” The commander’s eyes caught his. “Do you want to spend the next twenty years somewhere like Parvati outer orbit control?”
“Is that a threat?” Trystin could feel the anger building. More damned threats!
“No.” The commander’s voice was calm. “You’re not stupid. Do you see a pattern in the Revenant attacks?”
“There are a lot more of them.”
“There are even more coming. We can’t match them in terms of personnel and raw resources, and we don’t want to go into the planet-busting business for pretty much the same reason. That’s why you’re here. That’s why every distinguished junior officer who fits the rev physical profile and the psychological profile has been in this office, or will be.”
Trystin took a deep breath.
“You fit the profile of the standard Revenant, close enough that we can match their gross gene coding, inspacing screen. Blue-eyed blonds aren’t exactly common here in the Coalition.”
That Trystin knew all too well.
“Now … you can turn us down, and some do, and, believe it or not, nothing bad will happen. At least nothing that wouldn’t happen anyway. You’d probably get your own cruiser for a half tour in either Safrya, Helconya, or Parvati, and then a full tour as a heavy cruiser CO in one of the hot systems” Commander Delapp shrugged. “After that, you’d get a tour at the Pilot Training Command, and then either retirement or promotion to the staff level—something like that. We can’t afford to waste talent over skin or hair color, no matter what some hotheads in Cambria think.”
While he wasn’t sure he totally believed the commander, Trystin understood the numbers and the situation. Twenty- to fifty-percent attrition over another two tours wasn’t exactly harmless. On the other hand, intelligence missions into revvie territory didn’t exactly seem harmless, either. As for resignation … he shook his head. Stupid as it might seem, especially after Salya, he had to do something, and he didn’t like quitting, which was probably something else the Intelligence types had already figured out. Why was everyone pushing him? Or was it so desperate that they were pushing everyone?
“Your profile says you’re not the money type, but Intelligence work carries double hazard pay—for the rest of your Service career—and the double hazard pay is calculated as part of your base pay for retirement purposes.”
“Very safe line of work, I can see,” said Trystin dryly.
“We’re just more honest than the Pilot Training branch,” countered the commander with a faint smile. “Any general questions?”
“Why do I need the Farhkan approval?”
“You don’t. We do. I can’t tell you now, but I can guarantee absolutely that if you decide to accept an Intelligence assignment, you will know before you undertake that assignment.”
“You implied that this was a one-time shot. What’s to keep it from being either terminal or recurring?”
“The Revenant security systems. We can get you in once—guaranteed—and out. Too many transits of the system get flagged. Revenants don’t travel that much between systems. We don’t either, when you think about it. To create an identity that allows those kinds of transits brings up a level of scrutiny that’s hard to pass.”
Trystin frowned. “What are the odds?”
“Almost exactly the same as the two tours you have in front of you.”
In short … not very good, but nothing looked very good. “Why me right now?”
“You were available. Personnel is rotating officers after six troid missions on the same ship, or as soon as possible for officers over that. It’s caused some problems, but survival rates drop too quickly after six.”
“What will happen to me if I say no?”
“A month at command school, mostly to give you a break. You don’t really need anything but the brushup on advanced Revenant tactics. Then another few weeks home leave, and then a frigate in Helconya or Safyra.”
Trystin frowned. What difference would he make, killing more Revenants or busting a few more troids? Then, what difference would he make chasing information in the revvie systems? At times, it all seemed futile. He cleared his throat as the commander waited, and finally asked, “Will what you want me to do in the Revenant systems really make a difference?”
“I don’t know. All I can honestly say is that I don’t think the answer lies in force of arms.”
Trystin nodded slowly and spread his hands. “You’ve convinced me. Now what?”
“You don’t need to lie, Major,” answered Katellie Delapp. “I doubt I’ve convinced you in the slightest. You just don’t see any real options.”
Trystin had to force a grin, but it wasn’t too hard. “You’ve got me.”
“The situation has us all. Anyway … you go back to school in Yuintah. Actually, it’s an enclave in the hills there surrounded by the South Continent’s Service reservation.”
Trystin frowned, not recalling such a reservation on Perdya’s southern continent.
“It’s there, Major. And I’m not reading minds. All of you get the same look. It’s much easier to hide something on a well-inhabited planet than in the middle of nowhere.” She paused. “Are you ready to start?”
“Yes, especially since I don’t have any options.”
“Good.” She tapped something into the console and stood. “Once you leave the building, you won’t see anyone besides Service personnel, Farhkans, or Revenants until you finish the job.”
Or until he was dead, Trystin added mentally. It was wonderful to be without realistic options, just wonderful.
“Tiedrol will escort you to the atmospheric shuttle. Good luck, Major.” She smiled as the tech opened the door. Trystin’s gear was racked on the small cart.
“Thank you.” He bowed to the commander before he left, wondering just what he had let himself in for, and, for all his thoughts of duty and Salya, why?
He snorted. What were his choices? Another tour on system patrols, wondering if he could figure out another series of impossible ship contortions necessary for survival, punctuated with nightmares and boredom between disasters? Insanity, spending the rest of a short life in a padded cell? Or a reluctant Intelligence agent?
As he followed the cart down the corridor toward the lift shaft, he repressed a laugh. He’d wanted to do more than sit on a perimeter station and wait for revs. He’d wanted to do more than patrol an outer-system belt waiting for endless lines of revs. Now, he was being pushed into doing more, and he didn’t like it.
“Ser?” asked Tiedrol in response to the half laugh, half snort.
“Nothing. Just thinking about getting what you wish for.” He shook his head.
51
Trystin paused for a moment beside the double doors of the building that looked like a school and studied the small town that lay below the ggntle hillside, noting the extra-wide streets and the low and sprawling houses that all seemed to have central courtyards. In the exact center of the town was a wide building with a single glittering spire.
The man who had introduced himself as Brother Khalid when Trystin had stepped off the atmospheric shuttle waited. In the white square-collared coat and trousers and the open-necked large-collared white shirt, Brother Khalid seemed cool, despite the warm winter sun of the neartropical locale. “Ready, Brother?”
Trystin tried not to wince at the religious salutation. “Yes, Brother Khalid.”
“Good.”
They stepped inside. Trystin followed the sandy-haired and tanned Khalid down a corridor and past several classrooms. In one, with an open door, sat a half-dozen men and women dressed in white. None looked up as they passed.
Khalid led Trystin into a small office without windows and closed the door. “Sit down.”
Trystin sat.
“First, the technical details. Your personal gear is stored for your return. You can take nothing that could be traced to the Coalition. When we leave here, we’ll go to the tailor shop in the back. Your clothes should be ready for you, and you’ll be instructed in their wearing, including the garments. Everything you’re wearing now will be stored for your return. Understood?”
“Yes, Brother Khalid.”
“Good. Now … as for your mission … forget about it. You have one. You’ll be briefed when you’re ready. Your job now is to assimilate an entire lifetime of Revenant culture in less than two months. It’s called total immersion. After the tailor shop, you’ll get your first overlay, through your implant. It will give you the basics, including a grammatical update. We really don’t have time to do this as well as we’d like, but we’ll immerse you until you feel the Revenant culture, and we’ll keep it up.
“From this point on, you are Deacon Wyllum Hyriss. The familiar is Brother Hyriss. You are of the returned. You will address anyone you meet in New Harmony as ‘Sister’ or ‘Brother,’ except as you will learn for more distinguished personages.
“Inside or outside this building, you are Brother Hyriss. You will speak modem Revenant. Your day is structured as though the sessions here are your job—and the rest of the time, you live and react in New Harmony. You will be living in the Cloisters—that’s where newly returned missionaries live until they get married to their first wife—and none of them live there more than three months, but obviously that won’t be a problem here.
“You are expected to use every facility in the town, especially the stosque—”
“Stosque?”
“It’s the everyday church, if you will, as opposed to the Temple. You’ll get more on that in the religion sessions. You need to become familiar with all the buildings and to use them, and to converse as any Revenant would. You will even learn to drive a petroleum-powered vehicle. Yes, they still use them. The entire town is scanned, and your every movement will be watched—and every day for the first two weeks, you will be debriefed here on the previous day’s successes and failures.
“In the future, you may be assigned to a job in the town as background for your mission. You may not. It just depends.” Khalid waited.
“What do we study here?”
“The only non-Revenant material will be your weapons class, where you will learn to build several weapons from common components available on Revenant worlds.”
“Weapons?”
“You might have to defend yourself—or more. That depends on your mission, and, no, I don’t know yours. But you won’t be allowed to bring weapons into whatever Revenant system is your destination. So you must know how to make them if the need arises.”
Trystin frowned. Weapons?
“Everything else will be Revenant cultural materials—from the Book of Toren to church procedures and protocols—and you will go to church every Sunday and to scripture study group on Wednesday nights.”
“Wednesday?”
“Threeday. The day names—they use a variant on the old Earth nomenclature and a seven-day week and irregular month
s—will be in your first overlay.”
“This seems … rather elaborate … .”
Khalid shook his head, almost sadly. “Most of those who are discovered by the Revenants give themselves away The culture is structured, quietly xenophobic, and comprised of elaborate, sophisticated, and interlocking rituals. So is the Ecofreak culture. Ecofreaks—that’s right—Ecofreaks don’t recognize that. Most cultures don’t. They only recognize outsiders because they don’t seem to fit. Our job is to make you fit. Is that clear?”
Trystin nodded. It was all too clear, but the weapons bit nagged at him.
“Let’s go, Brother Hyriss.”
“After you, Brother Khalid.”
52
Trystin blotted his forehead with the large white handkerchief, absently folding it and replacing it in his jacket hip pocket, thankful for the late-afternoon hill breeze as he walked into the bookstore that featured the hard-covered paper books relegated mainly to collectors on Perdya.
The coolness of the store was refreshing as Trystin stepped toward the section labeled “History.”
“There’s a new one in, Brother, that you might like,” called Imam, the white-haired patriarch who operated the store.
“What might that be?”
Imam bustled from behind the counter that held the accounting console and almost right up to Trystin. “Here!” He pointed to the book on the “New Releases” shelf.
“Orum’s Way,” Trystin read aloud. “How the Battle for the First Temple Was Won.” He wondered if the book were merely a rehash of the Book of Toren or if it would provide some new insights.
“Good story, and better, it’s true. All about Toren’s struggle to clear the mount and make it a place for the Lord and the faithful. You know, the old militarists wanted to put a military base there.”
“Militarists?” asked Trystin innocently, recognizing the trap, if belatedly.
“That’s what they called the people who fought wars for money back in the black centuries after the Die-off—sort of like the Ecofreaks’ Service.’Cept the Ecofreaks won’t admit they fight for money.”
The Parafaith War Page 34
