The Parafaith War (40 page)

“That is odd.” Elsin frowned. “Do you still remember-“

“Of course. I also keyed them into my implant.” “Do you want to analyze them?” Trystin pursed his lips, thinking about security. Then he shook his head. No one had said that what the Farhkans told him was classified, and, besides, his father was more trustworthy than most officers, a lot more if the Farhkan were right. “I think I need all the help I can get.” “Why did you shake your head?” “The strangeness of the whole thing.” He didn’t even want to mention security to his father.

Elsin stood. “Shall we? I have to use more antiquated equipment.”

Trystin chuckled as he rose and followed, carrying his tea. The console in the office was already on. Trystin wondered if it were ever off anymore, now that his father was alone.

“You’ll have to use the keyboard. I don’t have any direct interface equipment.”

After setting his tea on the side table, Trystin sat down in the high-backed blue leather chair and used the keyboard and keys, slowly coding the memorized lines onto the screen.

They both studied the lines of code. “I can tell you what it looks like-it’s the operating protocol for something. I’ve never seen quite that construction, but here”-Elsin pointed at the screen-“that’s an entry key.”

“What does it open? How would you use it?” Elsin studied the equation for a time. “It looks like a simplified protocol for a complex system, and it has to be a human system.” “Why?”

Elsin laughed. “The antique anglo, for one. Second, because I understand at least some of the terms, and while it is possible that an alien system would use another species’ phrase for security, it’s more than a little unlikely that an alien system would be that transparent or use our symbols.”

Trystin stood and offered the console seat to his father, who settled into the chair. For a time, Elsin just sat, apparently concentrating on the codes. Trystin reclaimed his tea and took a sip.

Finally, the older man’s fingers blurred across the keyboard, until a separate set of symbols appeared below the lines Trystin had entered. Trystin blinked. “All right. Now what?” “I’m guessing, but this section looks like the key itself, and these are merely parameters for system frequencies and band width. Now that’s a guess, but I’d present this part”-his hand stretched toward the bracketed plain-language phrase-“just like you do a Service protocol. As I told you, it looks like a human system, and the words are human, almost archaic, somehow … but that could be a translation or a transliteration. I wouldn’t know for sure.” “What’s the stuff you put below?” “My approximation of an override code. That’s even more of a speculation, but the Farhkans don’t play jokes. You were given this for a reason, and you probably won’t have time for heavy analysis if you need to use it. Things don’t work that way, I’ve discovered. Anticipation generally is worth several tonnes of reaction.”

Trystin nodded, his thoughts going to Ulteena Freyer with the word “anticipation.” For some reason, he recalled her waiting for him, while her ship waited for her. He should have seen it before she had finally told him “Trystin? Trystin?” “Oh, sorry. I was thinking about anticipation - about someone.” “She must be something.” Trystin grinned, half sheepishly. “She is. But she’s there, not here, and I was thinking about how she avoided much trouble by anticipating things. She’s the CO of the Mishima now. ” He finished the tea and set the glass on the side table, then he stepped up to the screen. “You’d better explain this.” \

Elsin coughed. “I’m almost embarrassed to. I’m only guessing, but the layout is pretty standard-so standard it’s almost antique. All right, now this is based on the assumption that …”

Trystin listened, trying to link in all the explanations and burning the potential override code into his thoughts and his implant memory, as Elsin outlined the logic and the rationale.

When they were done, Trystin wiped his forehead, He hadn’t realized he was sweating. “I need more tea.”

“There’s not much more I can tell you. It’s filed in your directory if you want to review it again before you have to

“Good.” Trystin’s head ached, again, and, Farhkan denial or not, he felt like a pawn on the ancient board in the great room. How long had this been going on? Why him? Or were the Farhkans playing the same game with a bunch of interview subjects? And why did the Service let them? Was the situation with the revs that bad? He shivered again. “Trystin?” asked his father. “Just thinking … trying to make sense of things.” “Let it settle in. You’ve got a few days, don’t you?”

“A few.”

His father cleared his throat. “Did you tell anyone about this … key?”

“No. I didn’t have a chance. You’re suggesting it might not be a good idea?”

“I don’t know … but with what the Farhkans said about senior officers …”

Trystin nodded. That presented another problem. Did he have a duty to report it? And what was he reporting? Would he just look foolish? Would he jeopardize the technology the Coalition was receiving?

He shook his head as they walked back to the kitchen, where Trystin refilled the glass and crushed more mint into the tea. He took a deep swallow. Settling in or not, the questions wouldn’t stop. “Have any ideas why the Farhkans wanted me to have this … key or whatever it is?”

Elsin shrugged, then rubbed his silvery hair. “Your mother probably could have told you more, but … what I do know is that the Farhkans don’t lie. I doubt they’re more ethical-the one admitted that he was a thief-but they don’t lie. So it’s a key to something. I just don’t know what.”

“Neither do 1.” Trystin took another swallow, almost a gulp, of the tea. “Why-how-would they get access to a human system?” “He said he was a thief.” Elsin laughed. Trystin swallowed. The interviews were more than psychological evaluations. But what more? And why? “What’s their purpose? The Farhkans, I mean? Why me?”

“I don’t know what the Farhkans are doing. Several years ago, there was a rumor that they were working with their own version of the Genome Project. That died away.” Trystin moistened his lips. The initial Human Genome Project had been one of the factors leading to the Great Die-off, when the neo-Mahmets, the Revenants, the Eco-Techs, and the Argentis had united in their assaults on Newton and old Earth. Although rumors had persisted for centuries that some of the Immortals had survived, Trystin doubted it. Over time, accidents alone would have done them in, and any routine gene trace would show the genetic modifications.

“They are aliens, Trystin. Aliens with alien motivations, no matter how much they seem human, no matter how much we try to steal or manipulate their knowledge and skills from them. Sometimes, I think they must sit back and laugh at our obviousness.” “So why do they help us?”

“Why do we help the poor? Or save certain environments or species?”

“Only those that take our fancy,” pointed out Trystin. “Maybe we take their fancy.” Elsin shrugged. Trystin refilled his glass again, wiping his forehead and wondering why he was so thirsty.

After a time, Elsin spoke. “By the way, I’ve transferred the title to the property here to you … it’s in a trust that you can revoke or modify. The trust provides for maintenance, taxes, and the rest in case anything happens to me while you’re unable to be contacted.” Elsin delivered the words matter-of-factly, as if they had been rehearsed. “Why? You’re in great shape.”

“Property registered to a Service major with a distinguished career is far less likely to be targeted for miscellaneous legal ploys.” Elsin’s voice was dry. “Besides, I won’t live forever, and if you translate the wrong way, I could live another fifty years and still not see you. It’s better to handle these things when you can. Anticipation, remember?” He laughed, but there was .an edge to that laughter.

“Oh … Father.” Trystin could feel the lump in his throat.

“You still have that investment trust? With the Pilot’s Trust?”

Trystin nodded. “Last time I checked, it had built to over fifty thousand creds.”

“And it has arrangements for paying taxes? That’s the latest bureaucratic ploy. You look like a rev, and you’re late or somehow deficient in taxes, and the revenue service is all over you.”

“It does, but maybe we should go over it before I leave.” “Might as well.” Elsin nodded. “Make sure it has the maximum statutory length-that’s a hundred years now. The longest translation error documented, plus twenty years. If anything happens to me, everything will be handled by your trust. That should ensure that everything will be here for you.”

Trystin looked down for a moment, then took another long swallow of the tea, his eyes going to the window where a female heliobird paused before darting toward the upper flower beds. “I miss the gardens.”

“They do grow on you. They’ve been a comfort, and, someday, I hope you’ll find them so.”

Trystin nodded. He reached out with his left hand and covered his father’s right hand for a moment. They continued to look at the greenery beyond the window.

SErvice Command Headquarters occupied two three-story buildings set in three gardens-one garden between the two buildings and one on each side-all three joining in a series of low flower beds in front of the east-facing buildings. SERCOM Was the fourth stop on the number three surtrans route from the West-Break station in Perdya.

Trystin walked along the covered pale green marble walkway, lugging his gear, and glancing between the pillars at the flowers. He recognized most, but not all. A steady flow of uniformed personnel, usually in ones or twos, traversed the walkway. Just before the flower beds that linked all three gardens, the covered walkway split-one section heading to the right building, the other to the left.

Trystin followed the arrow under which read-among others-Personnel and Detailing and continued to the left building.

As he entered the structure, he could sense the energy and probes of the security net. He paused for a moment, wondering if the Farhkan protocol was for Headquarters, then shook his head. The Service security system was a closed system. Whatever protocol, it had would have to be used inside the control center or the console that held the controls-which certainly made sense.

Most high-security installations were closed weave, rather than the modified open-weave systems used on ships or perimeter stations. Implants were only good either almost touching a ship or inside it, and since space combat didn’t involve close proximity, the modified system was perfectly secure, especially since the revs didn’t use implant technology. Trystin’s implant could theoretically, if he had the protocols, access and control any truly open-weave system. He shook his head. Of course, most open-weave systems guarded their protocols dearly.

He crossed the atriumlike space, with the windows open to the gardens, and paused by one of the information consoles, setting down his gear. “Major Trystin Desoll.” He handed across his ID and a copy of his orders. “Reporting for further assignment.”

“Yes, ser. Let me check.” The dark-haired tech at the front console took in Trystin, studied his uniform, the decorations, and turned her head to the tech at the next console. “Has to be Marshal Fertuna’s staff.”

“Intelligence? Good bet. ” The other tech studied Trystin as the fingers of the first flicked across the console keyboard.

“Yes, ser. You’re to report to Marshal Fertuna. That’s Intelligence-1 Section. His office is on the third level of the north building. Just take the cross-garden walkway. It’s easier than going back out the front. If you’re carrying any weapons or energy implants, check with the tech at the console outside his office. Otherwise, just go in. All right?” She offered a pleasant professional smile as she returned his ID and orders. “They’ll be expecting you.” .

“Thank you. ” Trystin returned the smile, keeping it plastered in place even after he caught the words “poor rev bait.”

Even outside the Intelligence office, with its fractionally thicker walls, and stepped-up system net, there was no reference to Marshal Fertuna, just a small sign that said “I Section”-that and a bored-looking senior tech seated at a console in the hall outside. Trystin nodded.

“Anything to declare, ser?” The technician looked at Trystin’s bags.

“Nothing but normal pilot implants. Flight armor and personal effects.” “They’ll clear.”

The scanners buzzed through the implant, not pleasantly, as Trystin stepped into the office proper.

Another technician gestured from a corner console. “Major Desoll?” “Yes.” Trystin headed toward him. “You’re fortunate. Commander Delapp is waiting for you.” The technician’s black eyes studied Trystin quickly. “You can leave your gear here, ser, right over there.”

Trystin shrugged and set the gear on the stand clearly provided for the purpose, removing the thin case that held his orders and records. He had no doubts that his gear would be scanned again-or, at least, that it could be. “This way, ser.”

Commander Delapp had an office not much larger than the mess on the Willis, but most of the back wall was a window overlooking the garden below.

The gray-haired commander stepped forward and extended her hand and a warm smile. “Major Desoll, I’m Katellie Delapp.”

“Trystin Desoll, Commander.” He took her hand and gave a slight bow.

“Please have a seat.” The commander settle behind the console. Trystin took the wooden captain’s chair.

“Major, your CO recommends you highly. And your discretion. ” The white-haired commander behind the console waited, bright blue eyes fixed on him. “That’s unusual in itself. Commander Sasaki is rather cautious. Both the commander and the Pilot Training Command also commend your piloting skill. And you are acceptable to the Farhkans.”

“Yes, ser?” Trystin didn’t like the last statement at all. “What do the Farhkans have to do with it?”

“Cautious, aren’t you? That’s good. You’ll need to be cautious. We’d like to send you into Revenant territory.” “The Farhkans?” Trystin asked. “It makes matters easier. You’ll find that out later.” He could tell she wasn’t about to say more about the Farhkans, and that somehow strengthened his own determination not to mention the Farhkan key. It was childish, but if the Service wanted to keep secrets, then so could he. “You need pilot scouts for the rev perimeter systems?”