The Parafaith War (14 page)

Trystin shrugged, then pursed his lips as the motion carried down to the immobilized leg and the tubes and wires around it, and a flash of fire ran back up toward his back. “It didn’t seem like a good idea. That is, the revs just attacking with tanks. You can’t take a station without troops. If I used all the rounds on the tanks, then what could I do when all those revs swarmed out of the hills?”

“So you let them batter the station when you still had weapons left that could have beaten them back for a time?”

Trystin opened his mouth, then shut it, before finally answering, “Not exactly. The rockets and gattlings weren’t stopping the tanks. They did stop troopers.”

“According to your tech and the pickup team, rather than use the bolthole, you stayed in armor almost twenty-four hours.” “Yes.” “Why? You were wounded.”

“Because we’d have been dead if I hadn’t done what I did.” “How do you know that?”

“Commander.” Trystin tried not to sigh. Getting irritated at superior officers, even dumb ones, was not a good idea. “I’ve interrogated several revs. Most of them either wanted to kill me or tried to, or both. They regard us as golems, some sort of machines. They also don’t have facilities for taking prisoners. That meant holding them off or getting killed. You can’t hold someone off from a hole in the ground.”

Even when Trystin thought there couldn’t be any more questions, the commander kept asking them. Trystin tried to keep the irritated tone out of his voice, but knew he was failing.

Finally, when the commander had apparently exhausted her stock of what had seemed endless questions, he asked, “Could you answer a few of my questions. Commander?” “I don’t know. Ask.”

“How did the other stations do? East Red Two-and Four?”

“East Red Four-Major Farli, I think-” “Freyer, Ulteena.”

“Major Freyer managed to immobilize all four tanks sent against the station and neutralize all revs. East Red Two was a total loss.”

Trystin frowned. Quentar? “Personnel in East Red Two?” “A total loss.”

“East Red Four-how did Ulteena-Major Freyer-do that?”

“She used a turner to dig a line of trenches before the revs got there. She filled the trenches with ultrafine grit.”

Trust Ulteena to figure it out ahead of time. Trystin took a deep breath. “Can you tell me how things turned out overall?”

“We managed to beat them back. We lost almost two thirds of the stations. They didn’t have enough tanks to target every station. We had to bring in atmospheric space scouts and some very heavy weapons.” For a long moment, Trystin just sat there. “That information is restricted, but you deserve to know. I will deny telling you, and you’ll face serious disciplinary actions if you repeat it. But you and Major … Freyer were the only ones to survive assaults of more than a pair of tanks.” “How is she?”

“She’s fine. She’s on the way to her next assignment.” Trystin nodded, then licked his lips. “I’ve had some time to think… .” He forced a laugh. “I know that’s always dangerous for junior officers. But I don’t understand. When I First started as a station watch officer, we’d get a few rev attacks. Pretty scattered, never more than a squad, and we captured some, and killed some. Now, all of a sudden, we’ve been getting hammered. Lots of heavy weapons, at least heavy for respirator-suited troops to haul across the badlands, and enough firepower to crack stations they couldn’t touch just a few months ago. So what’s happening?”

“The revs were smarter than we thought.” The commander’s black eyes met his. “The attacks from the early glider drops were just to cover that they were bringing in those minitanks and guns. They’ve been caching equipment in the badlands for nearly three years-maybe longer. All underground with a couple of permanent depots.”

“And no one could discover this until they wiped out half the perimeter stations?” Trystin found his voice rising. He tried to lower it as he spoke. Senior officers got upset when junior officers implied they were incompetent. In the back of his mind, he wondered if junior revvie officers had the same problems. They couldn’t; they didn’t think, did they, just followed their Prophet?

“Lieutenant. A planet is a damned big place. We’re spread pretty thin. If we start building up defenses, then we have to divert from planoforming, and we’ll never get the place habitable. Plus … the revs haven’t been that sneaky ever before, and there weren’t any signs we could pick up from the satellite scans.”

“Exactly. If the satellite plots had better resolution, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Maybe not,” the subcommander admitted, “but better scanners cost more, and with as many stations as the Coalition has, what else do we do without?” “So they’ll keep doing it because we can’t see them?” She shook her head. “No. Now that we know what to look for-and how to do it with the existing equipment-we’ve found and neutralized their caches/depots, whatever you want to call them. We’ve pushed them back to square one.” Mitsui stood. “That information was sent to the perimeter stations this morning-those we have left.”

“So I won’t have to worry about a full-sized Sasaki-class tank-or whatever the revs call theirs-rolling over my station new month?”

“No, Lieutenant, you won’t. You may wish it were that simple.” She flashed a smile, a cool knowing smile. “I hope you’re up and around before long.” With a last nod, she walked out.

Trystin sat silent for a moment. Quentar, and who knew who else-dead because better scanners cost too much? How did that make the Coalition different from the revs? He pursed his lips. It was different. At least, the Eco-Techs didn’t turn soldiers into living bombs.

He shook his head, then reached for the packet. After setting it in his lap, he opened it and riffled through the stack of papers. Then he set them flat and picked up the first one, a single sheet announcing that all Service tours would be extended by six standard months unless the needs of the Service required an earlier change of assignment.

Translated loosely, reflected Trystin, all short-term Service contracts were being extended. If you wanted to request or accept something more dangerous, the Service would be happy to oblige, all too happy to oblige you.

The second sheet was more interesting. Trystin scanned the page.

“… Desoll, Trystin, Lieutenant, Service of the Ecological-Technocracy Coalition… results of your voluntary physical and the Farhkan follow-up study positive … retained in the follow-up cohort … annual pay bonus increased to five percent … reevaluation after next physical scheduled tentatively for Unodec 790 …”

Whatever he’d said to the Farhkan hadn’t been enough to get him thrown out of that study. But what did they want? Would he ever find out?

Still … the extra pay was nice, even though he wasn’t spending half of what he was making anyway. How could you spend credits when there wasn’t anywhere to spend them? Even the best restaurants in Klyseen weren’t that expensive, and they were about the only luxury the settlement boasted.

He smiled. Even the thought of that food started him drooling. The med center provided better food than a perimeter station, but not much better.

The next sheet he studied for a long time. There were five sheets, all identical copies-hard-copy orders. Voluntary, but orders. Propped up in the med center bed, with tubes and wires running to what was left of his right leg, Trystin kept looking at the hard-copy orders in his hands. Hard-copy orders, yet. He shook his head as he read the words in the second section.

“… by accepting this assignment, you, Trystin Desoll, accept indefinite assignment in the Service, subject to the needs of the Service and the peoples of the Ecological-Technocracy Coalition… . Upon recovery and assuming full medical approval and clearance for duty, report to Chevel Beta for commencement of training no later than-“

Chevel Beta-that was the Service installation for training military pilots for deep-space combat and translation. Originally, he’d requested pilot training, but his request had been “deferred.”

What had changed? Was it the revvie attack? He frowned. How could it have been? Service Headquarters on Perdya must have issued the orders as soon as they found out, because they knew he’d been wounded.

Did he still want to be a deep-space pilot? That meant he was basically being asked to volunteer for almost permanent isolation from his parents-and Salya-at least after the first few years. While translation slip/error wasn’t that great for any interstellar jump, the cumulative effect was considerable. He’d still be young when his sister was frail and gray. Tap…

He looked toward the door. There Ezildya stood, a tentative smile in place. He slipped the orders into the folder and put the folder in the single drawer of the table beside the bed. “Come on in. I don’t bite.” He looked at the harness around the leg. “I can’t even move that much.”

Ezildya edged up beside the bed, then bent over and kissed his cheek. The faint scent of fleurisle drifted to him, but dark circles ringed her eyes. “How is the leg?”

“It hurts. The med techs say it will be fine, maybe even a little stronger than the original, but probably won’t be quite as sensitive in places.”

“What happened?” She hoisted herself into the high-backed stool.

“What happens when people shoot things at each other. I got hit in the leg. Twice, I think.” “And they have to rebuild and partly reclone your leg?” “Two days in shredded armor were more of a problem than the original wound. There was no way to get to us for a while.” Trystin tried to shift his weight in the bed and was rewarded with a twinge of fire that ran from his lower leg all the way up into his back. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“When I try to move. The med techs say that’s a good sign. That’s easy for them to say. It’s not their leg.” He paused. “I’m glad you came.”

“I didn’t know for a while. I thought you were dead.” She pinched her lips together. “A lot of the perimeter stations were destroyed.”

“I heard that earlier today. I guess I was lucky.” Ezildya glanced toward the harness and raised her eyebrows.

“The alternatives were a lot worse.” He frowned. “How did you find out I was here?”

“There was a public briefing sheet-not public, I guess, but for all of us in tech support. You and some major were mentioned as blunting the rev attack. It said you were wounded. After that”-she shrugged—”it was just a matter of finding out where you were.” “I’m sorry. I should have sent a message, but”-he glanced around the small bare cubicle and then at his leg- “I’m not exactly mobile.” “I can see that.” Ezildya gave him a brief smile. “How are things going for you? You look tired.” “I am. We’ve all been on extra shifts. I think everyone in Klyseen is working every moment that they’re not sleeping.”

Trystin reached out and fluffed the black hair. “I’m glad you came.” “So am I. “She shook her head. “What’s the matter?”

“I guess I’m tired. You seem … different.” She shook her head again. “I must be tired. You are you …”

“I hope so.” He looked to his right leg. “At least, most of me is me.”

“Is it true … you spent two days in armor with a wounded leg? There’s not enough oxygen …”

“I tubed into the scooter and aux supplies after the revs stopped coming. Then Hisin helped me.” Trystin saw the confusion. “Hisin was the tech. I put him in the bolthole. Techs don’t have heavy armor. We’re there to protect them, and they run the reclamation side of the stations. You know that. Anyway, once things were clear, he helped me, and we waited.”

“And you were rescued, and you’re a hero.” “I was rescued. I’m not a hero.” Ezildya shook her head again. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be cheering you up, and I’m really too tired to do a good job.”

Trystin touched her cheek. “Maybe you’d better go home and get some sleep. I’m glad you came, but I don’t want to be the cause of your-” He forced a laugh. “I guess I’m not thinking too well, either.”

“Good-bye. Trystin. Take care,” Ezildya slipped from the stool and bent forward to kiss his cheek. “You, too.” . He watched as she walked to the door, turned, and gave him a small wave.

After she left, he released a deep breath. Something was bothering her, but what? He shook his head, then looked toward the table that contained the orders for pilot training. Pilot training-if he still wanted it.

“Examination of the genetic codes of all intelligent beings thus far discovered indicates a genetic

predisposition to procreation at a precoded span in each organism’s life. Although that procreation range occurs comparatively later in the life span of an organism with greater cognitive capacity, in all organisms studied to date that range coincides with the range of greatest physical health….

“Thus, achieving individual organic physical nondegradation (‘physical immortality’), defined as removal of all genetic tendencies for organic self-destruction on the cellular level, will by definition increase the reproductive rate beyond a neutral populace growth rate.

“Over a sufficient period of time, any organism with a positive level of populace growth-no matter how small that growth rate-unless checked by outside forces, will come to require virtually all the resources within its ability to acquire….

“Any habitat can support a small number of virtual immortals or a much larger number of mortals… . Technology depends on a certain critical mass, however, often smaller than the number of immortals that can be supported by a given habitat… .

“The dilemma faced by any species with the capability to achieve individual physical immortality is whether to reject such physical immortality, to adapt genetic codes to lower populace growth, to develop cultural norms for stable populace growth, or to use technology to accommodate increasing habitat needs….

“The use of technology to increase usable habitat will, in sufficient time, result in conflict with other species, and, in historical practice, the elimination of either the attacking or defending species as a threat to the other… .

“Can a species which refuses to adapt, either through genetic, biological, or cultural means, its reproductive expansion to its habitats be termed intelligent? Can mere survival of a species which employs diverse technology be termed a proof of intelligence? If one subculture of a species in conflict with another subculture demonstrates the ability and the will to limit its expansion, should we regard the favorably behaving and the unfavorably behaving subcultures as differing species? How can a species, even ours, ethically justify the use of force against another species on the grounds that the other species will in time use force to eliminate our species? Should we…