The Parafaith War (58 page)

“I am what I am. I claim nothing. All too often men claim. What matters a claim to the Lord? You have claimed you do the will of the Lord when you slaughter others. An older prophet said to consider the beam in your own eye before the mote in your brother’s.”

“Those who seek to destroy with fire can themselves be destroyed by fire. Destruction of those who could be brothers and sisters is not a demonstration of love. And the Lord has always been a God of Love.”

“I was sent to deliver a message. The Lord does not beg, but He will instruct. I have done what I was sent to do, and those who have eyes to see and ears to hear may learn more of the will of the Lord.”

“I am as real as you. Is this arm not flesh? You saw the Fire, did you not? The ashes, did you not? All men must burn, sooner or later. I have come to do what I was charged with, and now I must return. For a time, I will go as others do, and then I will return to my place in the Lord’s mansions.”

Most Quoted Excerpts The Book of the Prophet (Revised and Annotated)

Under the gray skies of late afternoon, Trystin set his bags beside the closed gates. A stiff cold wind whipped through the limbs of the Norfolk pines. A single adult heliobird fought the gusts, finally streaking down into the garden and out of Trystin’s sight.

He used the key from the Pilot’s Trust to open the wrought-iron gates, wincing at the squeaking of the hinges. Then he picked up the two bags and walked a good dozen paces along the stones covered with the thinnest film of soil.

The sage still remained, if tattered, in the stone bed he had built more years ago than had passed for him. His eyes crossed the gardens, and he looked up the winding walk, pausing to study the bonsai cedar in the circular planter where the walk split around it. The cedar had grown-far too much-even though the limbs were perhaps only twenty centimeters out of place from when he had last visited the house.

But the symmetry was wrong, somehow. Were there still pruning shears in the garden shed? Time to prune? He would have that, too much time to prune and think. He had decided to say more to Ulteena before he had left Chevel Alpha, but she had disappeared, and no one could tell him where. He’d left a note with his address, and a comment that he wasn’t below begging.

Now, he wondered if it had been too flippant … but it was as though she were embarrassed that she’d ever confessed to caring. He took a deep breath. If the note didn’t work, he did have the time and funds to find her-if she were interested in a retired commander and prophet-and he would ask her. He grinned. After all, they were both commanders now.

His eyes dropped to the dull stones of the walk, and the smile disappeared. They had always been polished before, as a family custom, often for disciplinary reasons, but the professional gardeners hired by the Pilot’s Trust to take care of the house and grounds didn’t polish stones.

Trystin couldn’t put it all back the way it should be, not all at once, but he’d certainly have the time. Yes, he was going to have plenty of time. Perhaps he should follow his mother’s example and go back to school for another degree-a doctorate. He had more than a little thinking to do-about a lot of things.

He carried the bags up to the front porch. The keycard worked, and the lock clicked. After opening the door, he set the bags on the polished tiles of the hall floor-the in-side of the house was clean, lifeless, like a museum.

Leaving the bags, he walked toward the kitchen. His boots clunked.

On the center of the kitchen table was a folder sealed in plastic-the first time Trystin could recall plastic around the house. He rummaged through the drawers to find the scissors, then neatly cut the sealed envelope along the edge. Inside was a short computer-generated note.

As we promised, everything will be kept for your return. Prophets always do return. That is something we consultants know, but I must admit I never thought I’d father a great religious figure.

All my work remains in the system, for you to use or dispose of as you see Fit. I can tell-implants are good for some things-that my days are limited, and, if you find this, obviously, my diagnosis was correct. I will have the master suite cleared. To come back to that would be asking too much of you, and you need a fresh start, at least in the bedroom.

Enjoy the gardens, and your thoughts, and whoever you find to share them with. Do find someone. I have faith that you can and knowledge enough to insist you should.

I could wax long and sentimental, a weakness of age and frailty, but I will not. You know how I feel. I am proud of you, and I always have been. Our thoughts and love are with you, and may the gardens give you the pleasure they have given me.

The words “love” and “Father” were scrawled under the printed words. Trystin’s eyes burned, and he could barely swallow.

He left the folder on the table and walked toward the window, pulling back the shades and sliding open the glass, letting the cool dampness of the late fall slip into the house.

After a moment, he walked down to the office, standing in the archway and looking at the silent systems, the blank screens, and the row of old-fashioned wooden cases that held antique bound paper books even more dated than the cases. For a time, he just looked, then turned. He did not look into the room that had been Salya’s. The master suite was empty, as his father had written. He shook his head. His father had lived by his word. Trystin only hoped he could manage as well.

The great room seemed unchanged-the old chess table was still in place, and Trystin ran his fingers over the smooth wood. Maybe it did really date back to old Earth. He slid open two more windows, enjoying the damp chill.

A buzz sounded.

Trystin paused, then hurried to the kitchen where he fumbled with the console on the faintly dusty counter. “Yes?”

“This is Ulteena. May I come in?” Trystin swallowed, then answered, “Of course. The gates are open.” “Thank you.”

Even through the speakers, her voice sounded formal, . and Trystin found he didn’t like that. Then, he had sounded formal. And he liked that thought even less … far less.

He hurried out the front door and down the path to find her looking at the bonsai cedar. “It needs work,” he explained. She turned. “You look so young.” “I don’t feel young.” “I shouldn’t have come.”

Trystin looked at the one woman who had always anticipated everything. He smiled. “Yes you should have. I need you.”

She glanced toward the cedar as if she had not heard his words. “I’m glad you kept the house and the garden.” Her voice floated more lightly than the faint fall breeze, coming to him with the mixed scents of the last miniature yellow roses of the year, the rysya, and the ancient pines. Abruptly, she turned to him. “What did you say?” “I love you, and I need you,” he repeated, his eyes blurring again.

“You’ve never …” She shook her head, as if in disbelief.

“I’ve always … I just was afraid … because you were always so competent. I told you that, on the outer orbit station, remember?” He let the tears stream down his face, as he saw the matching dampness streak her cheeks. He laughed roughly. “And you were always senior. You didn’t let me forget it, that first time.” “That was stupid.” Her eyes met his.

“That was a long time ago, and I was always stupid about you. I thought you didn’t care.”

“I almost didn’t come,” she insisted. “If you hadn’t left the note …”

“I would have found you-this time,” he answered, taking her hand firmly as they stood in late fall and the long twilight.