The Parafaith War

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Trystin swallowed. Thin-film holos didn’t come cheap, and he wondered how they’d even gotten one of the ship. “Thank you. Thank you.” He carefully eased the tube into the second kit bag, then straightened. “I’ll always keep it.”

  “You still don’t know where you’re headed, ser?” asked the senior tech.

  “No. What about you?” Trystin asked.

  “My orders just say the tech command on Fuji.” Keiko smiled. “Any school there would be fine, but it’ll probably be systems.”

  James stepped forward again. “If I can ever help, let me know, Trystin.” He shook the younger man’s hand again and grinned. “Even if you look like a rev, you’ve as much honor—or more—than anyone could ever ask for.”

  “Thank you, and I will.” Trystin had the feeling James meant every word, that for once his words weren’t calculated or political.

  James flashed the boyish grin a last time, and Trystin smiled back.

  “Good luck, Major,” called Albertini as Trystin lifted the three kit bags and crossed the lock into the outer orbit station.

  “Give’em hell, Major!” added Muriami.

  “All of you take care,” Trystin said as he stepped out through the lock.

  “You, too, ser.”

  Several officers nodded or waved as Trystin made his way to the delta locks, and to the Mishima.

  “Yes, ser?” asked the slim tech guarding the access to delta four.

  “Major Desoll to see Major Freyer. I think—”

  “You’re expected, ser. The captain’s in her stateroom.”

  “Can I leave these here? I probably won’t be long.” Trystin extracted the data case from the pocket on the top bag.

  “Yes, ser.” The slim rating helped Trystin ease all three bags against the quarterdeck bulkhead, an area more spacious on the newer cruiser. “We’re in stand-down, so it’s not a problem.”

  “Thank you.”

  “First forward on the left.”

  “Got it.”

  The door was ajar when Trystin rapped.

  “Yes? Oh, Trystin, I’d hoped you’d be able to come.” Ulteena opened the stateroom door. She wore the standard shipsuit with the antique holoed wings and triple bars. Her eyes looked gray, and they met his.

  He shrugged and offered a wry grin. “I’m here.”

  “I’m glad. Would you sit down?” Ulteena closed the door.

  “For a bit. I’ve only got a few hours before I have to catch the shuttle.” He sat with the data case in his lap.

  Ulteena turned one of the two gray chairs and sat down facing Trystin. “The last time we talked was right after the mess on Helconya. I ran some inquiries,” she said slowly, “but I couldn’t find out anything about your sister, even through a few back channels. I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t have to—”

  “You remember the last troid battle? You got one of the last scouts pinging on us.”

  “I was just the second pilot,” Trystin said cautiously, still wondering where Ulteena was headed.

  “Trystin,” she said wryly, “the entire system knows that the reason the Willis is the oldest cruiser left and the only one in its class not in scattered leptons is that Commander Sasaki had the brains to let you pilot her. Since you’re being difficult, I’ll make it simple. Our screens were going amber, and you saved our ass. I’m grateful.” She held up a hand. “That’s not why I asked you to stop here.”

  Trystin wanted to shake his head, but didn’t. He waited.

  “When I first met you, even over the perimeter net, I thought you were some spoiled anglo rich kid. You know, I grew up on Arkadya, and my parents were tech-grunts. The Service was my way out, and I hated people like you that had everything.”

  “I didn’t have everything … .” Trystin paused, then added, “Well, maybe I did, compared to you, or most people.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Trystin. After that first initial defensive reaction, you stop and think, and you really listen. It’s hard to find people who listen. And you care. You know why I asked everyone I could find about your sister? Because when you found out about the Helconya raid, there on Mara station, the look on your face told me and the whole universe that you loved your sister.” Ulteena rose from the chair and walked toward the comer that held her bunk, then turned and walked back toward Trystin. “I wished I could give you good news. Or even bad news and console you.” She shrugged, and another wry smile appeared briefly. “The universe doesn’t care much what we wish.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Trystin didn’t know what else to say, or exactly what Ulteena was getting at, and he felt he should.

  “Trystin … I wish this were another time, another place. But it’s not. We’re on outer orbit station, and you have a shuttle to catch, and in another hour or so the Mishima is back on the duty roster. I’m worried for one reason, and you’re worried for others.” She paused, and the gray eyes met his again, almost with a shock. “This is difficult.”

  She cared? The efficient Major Ulteena Freyer cared?

  “I know,” he said slowly, fidgeting in the chair. He stood and set down the data case on the seat.

  “You’re from all the schools and places I was determined to be better than … .” She stopped. “That sentence doesn’t even make sense, and it doesn’t matter, does it?”

  Trystin shook his head.

  “Trystin … I’m not one for love before the battle. I’m not one for making merry because tomorrow we may die.” She swallowed. “This is hard. Very hard.”

  Trystin reached forward and put his arms around her, and hers came around him.

  They just held each other silently … for a long time.

  She stepped back a half-step, not quite letting go. “I don’t know what will happen. I can’t promise. I won’t. But I couldn’t just let you go off without … somehow … letting you know that … things weren’t what they seemed. I couldn’t do it again.” She swallowed. “I can’t promise anything, but I … Do you understand?”

  Trystin forced a grin. “Probably not everything. You felt the way I felt.”

  “You felt?” Ulteena looked surprised.

  “When I was lying in that med-center bed, and I’d heard that you’d stopped all those tanks, and you’d even figured out that there would be revvie tanks and how to stop them, I lay there, thinking how brilliant you were, and how stupid and just plain lucky I was. And when you talked about endgaming on Beta, you probably saved my ass. It felt that way, anyway.”

  Ulteena gave a slight laugh. “I wanted to slug you, though, when you made that supercilious comment about already working out on the high-gee treadmill for an hour. You looked so … so … anglo … and composed.”

  “I was sweaty and tired, and you looked so neat and trim,” Trystin protested.

  “Neat?” She snorted.

  “Neat.”

  “We could rehash it all, but …” Her arms went around him again, and she continued, “We already lived it.”

  He squeezed her to him for a moment.

  After returning the full-bodied embrace, she stepped back. “It’s stupid, and it’s not, but I told you—”

  “You’re not one for love before the battle, so to speak.”

  She nodded, and her eyes fell. “It’s stupid. I’m a major and the CO, but some things don’t change.”

  “I wish I’d known before.”

  “You almost didn’t know now. Except your tech asked Geilir for some help in making up a farewell gift for you, and I overheard that you were leaving, and no one knew where.” She paused, and the gray eyes were brilliant with unshed tears. “I wish we’d had more time. I wish I’d made more time.”

  “Hindsight is a lousy gardener, as my father always said.” He held her again, more gently, his hand stroking the short dark hair. “I didn’t know how, and I’m glad you did, and it doesn’t matter about love before the battle, because …” Trystin stopped and swallowed. “You know … I really think I’d screw it
up.”

  “That’s a terrible pun … .” She shook her head.

  “What else have I got?”

  “More than you know.”

  Again, for a long, long time, they just held tight to each other.

  Later, after more words, never mentioning love, and more embraces, Ulteena straightened, and brushed her short hair back. “Duty, frigging duty, calls.”

  “As always.” Trystin had heard the implant warning as well.

  “Take care, Trystin.”

  “Me? You’re still on the line. You take care.”

  A last quick hug, and both straightened their uniforms—singlesuit and undress greens. Ulteena walked beside Trystin to the quarterdeck.

  “Your bags are here, Major Desoll,” offered the duty tech as Trystin stopped at the quarterdeck. Her eyes were grave, thoughtful, then she added, “We’ll miss you. Good luck.”

  “Thank you.” He offered a smile, both to the tech and to Ulteena.

  The smile he received from Ulteena was more than mere formality but still guarded, but he understood that … now.

  As he hurried toward the shuttle lock and the trip to Mara station, Trystin glanced back at delta four—just another lock. Just another closed door. He shook his head as he carried the three bags toward the shuttle. Why hadn’t he seen? Why hadn’t she seen?

  He shook his head. Would it have changed anything? The Service didn’t post people for their convenience. At least … at least he knew she wasn’t crisp and competent in everything. Next time …

  He swallowed. Would there be a next time? Or would he find a dataclip announcing the disappearance of the Coalition ship Mishima?

  He tried to push that thought away. There had to be a next time. Didn’t there? But there hadn’t been for Salya … or her major. He pressed his lips together and kept walking.

  47

  With a quick look back at the underground shuttle port tube-station, Trystin swiped his new ID through the reader and stepped into the tube-shuttle along with a handful of others in uniform, glad to be heading home, even if the local hour did happen to be before dawn. There was only one fifteen-degree segment on one planet that coincided with Coalition standard space time. Add translation error, and just about every interstellar journey required readjusting to the local planetary time.

  By the time he had reached the tube-shuttle from the port, it was past dawn, and even later when the shuttle whispered to a stop at the EastBreak station. There Trystin lifted his three bags and followed the half-dozen other Service personnel out into yellow light cast by the glow-tubes. Soft as the light was, it tended to wash out the color differences between the green and gray tiles of the underground station. Even in the underground station, the air smelled like the warm rain of summer. Trystin took a deep breath, glad to escape the odor of plastic, ozone, and recycled water and people—except for one major he felt he had found and lost simultaneously.

  Two young men, wearing militarylike school uniforms Trystin did not recognize, looked at him, then quickly looked away as he passed. A white-haired man with an erect carriage nodded politely, and Trystin returned the gesture. At the reader, Trystin flicked his card through the scanner, and swallowed at the five-cred price. The price of the trip from the port to EastBreak had more than doubled since the last time. Then he shrugged. He couldn’t spend that much of his pay anyway.

  A light rain was falling when he reached the top of the stairs, and the eastern sky was fading from purple into the sullen gray of low nimbus clouds. He scrambled down the walk through the small gardens in order to catch the electrotrain. As he stepped aboard, two dark-haired youths, in more typical school uniforms, also looked away from Trystin as he slid into the second seat. One jabbed his furled umbrella against the floor.

  Trystin didn’t need to step up his hearing to catch the whisper.

  “Rev in our uniform …”

  “Not just your uniform, young ser. I was born here, and so was my great-great-grandfather, and every one of us has served.”

  Both boys stiffened, but neither spoke.

  “The revs reject people who don’t look and think like they do. I always thought we were better than that.”

  Neither youth turned or uttered a word.

  “Of course, I’m sure you know better than I do. After all, I’ve only spent a tour fighting them on perimeter duty, and another one busting troids.”

  The surtrans whispered on to its next stop, where a pair of girls stepped aboard and carefully furled their umbrellas. They took the seat across the aisle from the schoolboys.

  The brown-haired girl looked at Trystin for a moment and offered a tentative smile. Trystin nodded back as the surtrans moved away from the station. The girl with dark mahogany hair glanced sidelong at the youth who had jabbed the umbrella.

  A flock of heliobirds, mostly juveniles, swooped by the surtrans as it slowed for the second stop. Two more schoolboys boarded, one a gangly youth with light brown hair who offered Trystin a shy grin.

  “Another one …” whispered the boy in front of Trystin.

  Trystin smiled at the gangly youth, who sat across the aisle from Trystin and behind the two girls, and then said quietly to no one in particular, “It really is amazing how some young people feel that short stature and small minds are a sign of superiority. I wonder what ever happened to decency and courtesy?”

  Both youths in front of Trystin stiffened. The gangly youth grinned more broadly, and the brown-haired girl nodded ever so slightly.

  The third stop was Trystin’s, and he nodded politely to both students before he ran his card through the reader. Neither returned the head bow.

  Like the tube-shuttle, the electrotrain fare had also more than doubled. He shook his head.

  When he stepped away from the surtrans, he could hear one of the boys hiss, “ … still a dirty rev …”

  “Shut up, Goren,” snapped the gangly youth. “Did you see the row of decorations?”

  Trystin wanted to shake his head—decorations weren’t the point, either. Instead, he shifted his grip on his bags.

  “ser?” A Domestic Service officer stepped through the increasing rain toward Trystin, then stopped. His eyes ran across the holo symbols on the greens below Trystin’s name. “Those for real, Major? Six troid battles? As a pilot?”

  Trystin nodded.

  “I never saw anyone who survived six. I was a tech on the Izanagi.”

  “You were rotated off? I was there when—”

  “Where?”

  “The Willis.”

  “After my time, Major. That was five stans ago.”

  “I was running a perimeter station then.” Trystin shook his head, then wiped the dampness off his face. The beret didn’t help much, and he hadn’t thought about a waterproof. There wasn’t rain on ships and orbit stations. “The captain made it through nine troids.”

  “He must have been something.”

  “He still is. He’s a subcommander now.”

  “Good to know … where you headed?”

  Trystin shrugged and offered a smile.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “That’s all right.”

  The Domestic Service officer paused. “Be careful, ser. Some of the young bloods are a little wild these days.” He laughed. “I’m sure you’d have no trouble.”

  “I’d rather have none,” Trystin admitted.

  “You going home?”

  Trystin nodded. “My folks live up at Cedar Gardens.”

  “You one of those Desolls?”

  “I’m on home leave.”

  “Well … take care, Major.” The Domestic Service officer nodded again as Trystin hiked up the gentle hill.

  Trystin had never seen a Domestic Service officer near the house, especially one with a shocker, holstered or not. He continued to walk, shifting the bags around. After a time, they got heavy. The rain intensified, warm drops beginning to fall in sheets, battering their way through the summer leaves of the overhanging
trees and through the symmetrical branches of the Norfolk pines.

  The front gates to the house and gardens were locked, and a small speaker box had been installed in a matching extension to the stone posts. Beneath the speaker was a button. Trystin pushed it.

  “Hello … this is Trystin.” He waited.

  After several minutes, a reply came. “Yes.”

  “This is Trystin.”

  “Trystin?”

  “The same. You know, your son? The major. I got promoted. The one who built the stone wall holding the sage?”

  “I’m sorry. I was away from the office.” There was a buzz. “Make sure the gates are locked after you come in.”

  “I will.” Trystin frowned, but after he stepped through he closed the gates and checked them. The gates had never been locked in his lifetime, not that he knew.

  The marigolds in the lower garden looked newer, and part of the stone bedding wall had been replaced. Other sections seemed to have been replanted, but with the heavy rain, Trystin wasn’t quite sure.

  Elsin had the door open, and Trystin scurried inside, dripping.

  He looked at the puddles forming around his gear. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

  “It’s good to see you.” Elsin stepped forward, and Trystin hugged him, suddenly conscious that his father, always so muscular, was thinner, almost frail.

  “Are you all right?” he blurted out.

  Elsin offered a faint smile. “As well as can be expected in these times.”

  “I noticed. I got more than a few dirty looks on the way home—even ran into a Domestic Service officer at the bottom of the hill.”

  “Jusaki, I’d bet. He’s a good man.”

  “He was friendly, but …” Trystin looked around. “Mother?”

  “She’s … not here.”

  “Isn’t it a bit early for her to have left?”

  “Let’s have some tea. I’d just made a pot. I don’t sleep late these days, Trystin.” Elsin glanced at the bags on the floor. “Leave them there. They can’t hurt the tiles.” He padded toward the kitchen.

  Trystin followed, a sinking feeling coming over him.

  Elsin gestured to one of the chairs at the table in the nook, then extracted a mug from the cupboard. After lifting the tea cozy, he filled the mug and picked up another. Handing one to Trystin, he pulled out the other chair and sank into it.