The Parafaith War

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

The two officials nodded and walked off the quarterdeck.

  “Do you want to sign for the ship now, Mistress Dotta?”

  “That would be acceptable.” She handed the clipboard to him. The Hyndjis still preferred hard-copy signatures on official documents. “You are due back on the thirtieth of March.”

  Trystin made the mental translation—roughly the twenty-seventh or eighth of trio—and nodded. If he were in any shape to make it back after undertaking an assassination in the heart of the Revenant capital.

  She watched as he reclaimed his bag.

  “I’m leaving the armor in place.”

  “Good. Then you will be back.”

  “I certainly plan to be, Mistress Dotta.”

  He watched as she sealed the ship, not that it made any difference to him. With the implant, he could open it without the physical keys. Then he walked up the tube, heading to book passage to Orum.

  57

  Trystin shifted his weight in the narrow seat, glad that no one was sitting beside him, then blotted his forehead with the white handkerchief. The transport was hot, and he was even hotter from sitting three hours after translation while the transport maintained modest thrust in-system. Trystin could sense the time-dilation envelope, but the effect was mild, less than an hour over the trip. He still didn’t like so many people crammed into a single cabin, like animals in stalls, but that was the way Revenants traveled between systems, probably the only way it was halfway affordable. He’d swallowed at the rate of ten thousand Revenant dollars. Then again, in the Coalition, almost no one traveled between systems, except on Service craft.

  The seats were clean, but old, with scratches in the plastic polished over, and the covers on some chairs replaced, while others bore older fabric.

  He blotted his forehead again as he sensed the approach of the ship to the orbit station through his implant—the ship’s protocols were different, but the overall pattern was familiar enough. One big advantage provided by the implant was the ability to touch and, theoretically, manipulate “open-wave” systems. The Revenants, because they felt the body was a “temple for the Lord,” did not use implants. Trystin hoped he could use that advantage.

  “You a pilot?” asked the stocky man from the seat across the aisle.

  Trystin scanned the other with eyes and implant. “Yes, Brother, fortunate enough to have returned.”

  “Brother Jymes Harriston.”

  “Brother Wyllum Hyriss.”

  “What are you doing being a passenger?”

  “I’m a pilot now for a Hyndji trading company. I never got back to Wystuh before I left on my mission. Went from Nephi, and I’ve got some time between translations.” Trystin shrugged.

  “The Temple’s worth seeing again when you return. I guess you don’t realize when you see it all the time.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Trystin didn’t have to feign that interest.

  “Please remain seated until we complete docking. Please remain seated.”

  “They always say that. It never changes,” Harriston remarked. “Can always spot a pilot or a former one. You fellows always get jittery.”

  Trystin laughed. “I suppose it’s because we know what can go wrong.”

  A gentle thud went through the transport, and Trystin winced.

  “A little hard?” asked the other, leaning toward Trystin.

  “A little.”

  “You pilots …”

  “Now that we are docked, please collect your belongings. Then move to the baggage bay behind the rear of the cabin to claim your bags before leaving the transport. Please make sure you have all your belongings.”

  Trystin nodded politely as he rose, but the other man was gathering some paperbound books, seemingly having forgotten Trystin altogether.

  In the middle of the line of two dozen passengers as they filed back toward the lock, Trystin stopped in the baggage bay for only a moment to grab his single bag. Everyone else had two bags, at least. He lifted the bag off the rails, comparing the scratched and tarnished inner rail to the smooth and shiny outer one, clearly a recent replacement. He carried the bag out through the lock, staggering slightly as he stepped from the lower ship gravity to the station gravity. The station gravity was fractionally less than what Trystin was used to—when he had been in gravity. Apparently, the Revenants didn’t shift gravity on the ship after docking. Perhaps it caused too many logistical problems. He walked up the locking tube.

  The Orum orbit station smelled like every other orbit station Trystin had visited—a mixture of plastic, metal, warm oil, ozone, and people. Some things really didn’t change.

  At the top of the tube, he waited behind a heavyset older woman with braided hair piled high on her head. When the Soldier of the Lord handed back her card and databloc, Trystin slid his across the flat counter. The officer slipped it into a console, then looked at him.

  “Brother Hyriss?”

  “Yes, Officer,” Trystin responded.

  “Would you go through that portal there, ser?” The man pointed to an open doorway.

  Trystin could see another Soldier, also blond, standing beside a more elaborate console. “Certainly.” He followed the other’s directions, knowing that his off-system origin would have flagged him, hoping that they hadn’t already pegged him as a spy or assassin.

  Don’t think assassin, he told himself mentally. What’s one rev more or less after all you’ve done?

  When he reached the large console that stood in the alcove, he stopped and waited until the officer finished with the thin man in flowing whites of some sort.

  “Next?”

  Trystin stepped up and offered card and databloc again.

  “Please put your hand there. It’s just a formality, but these days, you never know.”

  Trystin placed his hand on the scanner, and felt the minute prick of the sampler. He also could sense the crude fields of the analyzer as it ran a rough gene-pattern analysis. He tried not to frown at the age of the equipment—obvious from the field fluctuations and the repainted outer cover.

  “Good genes. Don’t see that kind of stock from the outplanets often.”

  Then the databloc went into the scanner, and the equipment began to compare the patterns on the card and databloc to those taken by the sampler. The databloc was genuine, as was Wyllum Hyriss. The real Hyriss had died, but not until he’d been on life support long enough to extract memories and genetic codes. The codes in the databloc had been altered to match Trystin’s genes, and the probabilities were over ninety-nine point three percent that no irregularities would be detected, except at a Revenant research facility.

  Trystin overrode his discomfort and concerns about being that less than one percent probability and waited quietly. He could have manipulated the fields in the equipment, but his tampering would have raised a greater likelihood of detection than doing nothing.

  “Good. You’re cleared to take the down shuttle, ser. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “It’s certainly not a problem, Officer. I’m appreciative of your effort.” And he was, if not exactly in the way described by the words.

  “Thank you. Enjoy your stay in Orum. Peace be with you, Brother.”

  “And with you.” Trystin hoisted his bag and walked back to the corridor that led to the lower decks where the shuttles down to Orum waited. Where his less-thandesirable mission waited.

  Behind him, he heard, “Next!”

  58

  The shuttle screeched as the heavy tires touched the long, straight runway Trystin could feel the corrections for the crosswind, but the pilot’s touch was halfway deft, and the spaceplane slowed, then finally rumbled off the runway and toward the shuttle terminal for Wystuh and Orum’s West Continent. The tires bounced slightly on the taxiway, which seemed rougher than the runway.

  “Please remain seated until the shuttle comes to a complete stop. Then, and only then, you may claim your bags and depart.” Trystin let his head rest against the worn, but clean
, fabric of the seat as the spaceplane eased to a stop and the others scurried to get their bags.

  He studied the interior of the spaceplane as he waited. While it was clean, and even smelled clean, slightly like a mixture of lavender and pine, there was a tiredness associated with the equipment, the kind of fatigue that became apparent when a ship neared the end of its service life. His implant could detect no interactive system. Did the Revenant shuttles run on manual controls? That was something that hadn’t been covered in the mission profile or the training.

  After the aisle cleared, he stood and walked to the baggage racks. His fabric bag was the only one left, and he swung the carrying straps over his shoulder.

  As Trystin finally walked out of the shuttleway, with his bag in hand, he could see nearly two dozen people waiting to board another spaceplane that was parked next to where Trystin’s shuttle had eased. The outer walls of the terminal were glittering white, although the intensity of that glitter varied slightly. Trystin studied it, and realized that the brighter sections were more recently repaired or refinished. He continued walking toward the center of the terminal.

  That there were no security arrangements apparent confirmed for Trystin that the Revenants used the orbit stations as control points.

  A technician with an equipment kit and wearing a maroon singlesuit passed Trystin. Ahead of him, a white-haired man and two women greeted a young man in white. One of the women hugged the blond man. All wore white.

  Trystin shifted the straps on his bag and stepped around the group, following his implant-provided directions, and the overhead arrows, toward the lower level. The synthetic stone underfoot was immaculately clean, but bore fine cracks in more than a few instances.

  A high-speed electric trolley ran between the terminal and central Wystuh, but Trystin was looking for the rental-vehicle section. He found the logo he was seeking in the middle section of the lower level, that of an interlocked 0 and R, standing for Orum Rentals. He stepped up to the empty counter, setting down his bag.

  “Yes, ser?” The sister behind the counter, scarcely more than eighteen standard years, offered a friendly smile. The free-falling blond hair said that she was unattached, and the blue eyes studied Trystin.

  He smiled. “Sister, I’m Brother Hyriss. I sent a request from orbit station.”

  “ … I told you he’d be a returned bachelor … good-looking, too … not that many so young …”

  Trystin couldn’t control his flush at the scarcely hidden whisper from the other sister who was seated at the console farther back.

  “ … and he’s shy, too … that’s good … not an old grouch …”

  “Ah … yes … Brother,” stumbled the sister at the counter, clearly as discomfited as Trystin was. “Do you want a standard or a luxe?”

  “What’s the difference? Price and features?”

  “In features, not much. The luxe has more room in the back seat and a larger trunk, a little more power, and tinted glass in all the windows.”

  The other sister snickered with the mention of the tinted glass. Trystin didn’t dare to comment as the counter sister flushed.

  “The luxe is fifty dollars more a day.”

  “I’ll take the standard.” Trystin finally smiled at the other sister. “Even if it doesn’t have tinted glass.” He handed across the Revenant universal credit strip. “I’d also like a map, if you have one. I wanted to get to Wystuh the long way, through the Dhellicor Gorge.”

  “It’s worth the detour.”

  “Tell him you’ll show him … .” hissed the other sister.

  The sister at the counter flushed even brighter red. Although the immersion training had tried to convey the pressure for early marriage, being subjected to it in an uncontrolled setting was something else, and Trystin could not only understand, but feel, why the returned remained unattached for such short periods.

  “Is there anywhere that would be good to stop to eat along the way?” he asked, trying not to let an awkward silence persist.

  “Krendsaw’s,” offered the fair-skinned brunette in the back. “It’s just this side of the Gorge.”

  “That would take you about an hour, if you don’t stop at the foresting center,” added the blonde, the redness receding from her face. “You’re all set, Brother Hyriss.” She handed him a key and a folder. “There’s your key and the rental agreement. If you need the car for more than the ten days, you can call us here or in Wystuh and let us know. I’m Sister Lewiss, Arkady Lewiss. It shouldn’t be a problem.” She slid a map across the counter, her hand barely touching his, and only for an instant. “Here’s the map.” She leaned forward and used a stylus to point out the green line. “This is the scenic route …”

  As she explained, Trystin became all too aware of how good she smelled, almost like the delicate roses in the garden at home, how close she was, and how interested she seemed. And how lonely and vulnerable he was.

  “ … and this is about where Krendsaw’s is. It’s a good steak house, but they have everything there. To get to the car, follow the tunnel there to the right and down the ramp. It’s in space A-five.”

  Trystin offered a broader smile. “Thank you very much, Sister Lewiss. Peace be with you.”

  In some ways, he wished he could have taken her up, but it wouldn’t have been fair to her, and, Revenant or not, she was still a person. More important, unfortunately, spending time with her would have been an invitation to blow his cover immediately.

  As he picked up the bag and walked away, he increased his hearing, partly from curiosity and partly from ego.

  “ … he was interested, Arkady … could tell …”

  “ … seemed nicer than a lot of the returned …”

  “ … was returned all right … see it in the eyes …” Trystin nodded and turned down the ramp to the tunnel, which he followed to the underground parking area and the space with the blue sign that proclaimed A-5.

  The standard car was a four-wheeled, petroleum-fueled, manually driven vehicle, and Trystin was most grateful for the indoctrination provided by Brother Khalid. Otherwise, he would have spent a lot of time fumbling before he’d figured it out, and the locals could have begun to ask embarrassing questions.

  Instead, he tucked the bag in the cargo space in the rear, opened by a button on the trunk. There was no lock. In fact, the car had no locks at all, only an ignition key, and Trystin knew that was just as a safety precaution against young children.

  The internal-combustion engine turned over easily, and Trystin slipped off the brake and shifted, wishing he’d practiced more, but glad that everything worked.

  The drive from the parking area led to a larger road that Trystin followed until he reached the highway with the green “S” emblem, where he turned south, paralleling the main shuttle runway. Only a few vehicles were on the southern road, moving at high rates of speed for manually controlled vehicles.

  As a small white car roared around him, barely avoiding another oncoming car, Trystin felt like wiping his forehead. Instead, he concentrated on driving and increasing his own speed.

  Almost from his peripheral vision, he could tell that sections of the shuttleport runway had been replaced with new ferrocrete, but others seemed to be overdue for replacement.

  Continuing south, still recalling the scent of roses, he shook his head, understanding in his guts as well as in his head something he already knew. With girls like that, no wonder there were so damned many Revenants!

  59

  From the plateau where the shuttleport squatted, Trystin continued southward on the scenic road, which wound downward into a valley filled with trees—slender pines, all the same, all planted in rows. Despite the warmth, Trystin kept the window down and the cooler off. The dusty air smelled better than the recycled gas used as a facsimile of breathable air for pilots.

  KKhhhchewww!

  He rubbed his nose. Perhaps he wasn’t as used to natural contaminants as he had once been.

  KKkhhchewwww …r />
  His nose began to run, and he fished out the big handkerchief, using it as necessary as the car whistled along the road seemingly cut between the pines, pines so identical that they might have been cloned.

  Heber Valley Lumber—Trees for Today and Tomorrow Foresting Center Ahead

  Trystin looked from the blue-trimmed white sign to the rows of identical trees—silval monoculture, yet another practice contributing to the Great Die-off on old Earth. Hadn’t the Revenants learned anything?

  Abruptly, less than a kay beyond the sign, the trees stopped, and a circular building, painted green, stood a hundred meters back from the road. The parking lot held but a few vehicles, and as he sped past, Trystin noted the small sign that identified the Foresting Center.

  Beyond the center, the pines continued for several more kays, before another sign appeared—Beth-El. With the sign came the houses, hundreds of houses, each set squarely in a small patch of green. Farther back from the road was the glittering spire of the stosque.

  A few minutes later, Trystin was past the houses of BethEl, and the road began to climb toward a notch in the red rocky slopes of the southern hills. After several kays more, he passed another town, with a stosque and school and a good three hundred houses that he could see. Before long, he went through yet another town, and then another. The trees tended to disguise how many small towns filled the valley.

  Krendsaw’s was located at a crossroads where the main north-south cargoway crossed the scenic route. Trystin turned into the parking area—nearly empty and flanked by pines of a different type with squat trunks and spreading branches. He checked the time, almost an hour before local noon, then closed the car door. He took the ferrocrete walkway patterned to look like flagstone to the steps and up onto a covered and shaded portico.

  “One, Brother?” The young woman standing in the archway smiled at Trystin, her eyes only slightly below his, perfect white teeth flashing for a moment, light brown hair falling freely from a hairband positioned across the top of her head—running almost from ear to ear.