The Parafaith War (11 page)

“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 wasn’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.

“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?”

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. DefCon 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 crosschecked. 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?”

“There’s no circuitry left to accept the signals. It’s just going to waddle along doing nothing.”

“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 fire-fight.”

“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 DefCon 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.

“Hisin, DefCon missed the revs, and they’re on the ground, but no one knows where. We’re shielding now-except for the power fans. With all the new revvie toys, they could be on top of us before the scanners register.” “Keeping the shields up is fine by me, ser.” “I’ll let you know. That’s if they don’t announce their arrival otherwise.” “Maybe they’ll pick on someone else.” “I think they’ve decided not to play favorites. We’re all the targets.” “You are cheerful, ser.”

“I try, Hisin.” Trystin broke the link to the tech console and immediately checked the satellite plot, the scanners, even the EDI system-which usually wasn’t much good for anything short of a spacecraft’s energy discharges. He got nothing, except a growing tightness in his guts, probably compounded by drinking too much Sustain.

He felt better about his decision not to have Hisin shut down the defective precracker. If the revs attacked, and Trystin couldn’t stop them, then the precracker didn’t matter. If the revs attacked someone else and made a mess, no one would care about it, either. Not with four shielded paragliders that no one could track. He tried to concentrate on the screens.

As the minutes passed, Trystin kept focusing on the one screen, the full optical view, which only showed the few native cacti bending in the rising wind, and a few centimeters of grit scudding along the hillsides. Every so often, he tried the full energy scan screens. Nothing changed.

The storms built to the east, and then subsided. The wind rose and fell, and the odor of ammonia and weedgrass irritated his nose. Every so often, he sneezed, and his nose hurt more.