The Parafaith War (44 page)

Of course not. He sighed. In the final analysis, what he felt really didn’t matter to anyone but himself, and there weren’t exactly a bundle of alternatives. If he took the ship and tried to enter Non-Coalition space, he’d be branded as either a thief or identified as a Coalition spy, or both-and that probably meant death or the rest of a short life behind some very strong walls.

Besides, he told himself, Jynckia was a revvie military figure, and it was war, and Salya was dead, and she’d been far less military than the rev. So he had to get the job done, and he had to survive-if only to spite them all. But … his stomach still twisted.

“Braha Control, this is Hyndji ship Paquawrat, commercial code alpha gamma seven five four. Requesting clearance for approach.” “Roger, Paquawrat. Request pilot clearance code.” “Braha Control, pilot number is W-H, that is Wood, Heart, five, nine, five, four, two, Quebec. Wood, Heart, five, nine, five, four, two, Quebec.” A pause followed, punctuated with faint static. “Paquawrat, cleared to Beta three this time. Maintain thrust at point zero two or less.”

“Roger, Braha Control. Maintaining thrust at point zero two.”

Commercial hubs didn’t like quick movement around the station-that was clear as Trystin eased the Paquawrat around to the beta section and into the old-style, protruded locking dock.

“Control, this is Paquawrat, beginning lock approach this time.”

“Paquawrat, you’re cleared. Report full locking.” “Roger, Control.”

There was only a slight bump as the ship entered the dock. Trystin got the holdtights magnetized before there was any rebound, and went through the shutdown checklist.

“Braha Control, Hyndji ship Paquawrat, locked in place this time, beta three.”

“Thanks, three. You’re cleared to station power.” “Roger.”

Trystin sat in the couch for several seconds, then laughed as he scrambled out. He was the crew.

Once he had completed the power switchover and the pressure check, he triggered the lock.

A woman wearing the uniform of Altus Limited waited at the lock with a clipboard. So did two men in blue shipsuits with white lightning bolts on their sleeves-the Revenant Trade Clearance officers.

Trystin checked the mechanical holdtights first, then the seals on the locking tubes before turning to the woman.

“Inindjy Dotta? I’m Brother Hyriss. I haven’t had the opportunity to meet you before.”

“I am most pleased to meet you. Brother Hyriss. Pilots such as you make our business possible.” Her voice was polite, but no more.

Trystin kept his face calm, knowing that the Hyndji company had been forced to hire Revenant pilots.

“Brother,” began the blond and green-eyed officer, “what’s the cargo?”

“Assorted microtronics, plus design ensembles, and several proprietary sealed designs commissioned by customers.” Trystin had expected it, but he was still glad he’d studied the manifests until he knew almost every item on them.

“What’s the status of the seals?” “They were all clean when I left.” “Do you mind if we come aboard?”

“Of course not, but I believe that Mistress Dotta should accompany us also, since she is the shipper’s agent.” Trystin gestured to the woman. “That would be Fine.” Trystin opened the cargo spaces easily. “Now, here are the bundled microtronics… .” The taller agent frowned and looked at him. “Brother Hyriss, you do seem to know this cargo well.”

“A pilot who doesn’t know his cargo well is all too soon a dead pilot,” Trystin returned. “The mass calculations…” He shrugged.

“Keep this one, Inindjy,” said the second clearance official.

“If we are fortunate …” The company official spread her hands.

Trystin stood back as the two looked, scanned with portable equipment, and generally prodded almost everything. They also checked every seal and stamp. Finally, they returned to where Trystin stood. “Cargo looks fine. Brother Hyriss. Your card and databloc?”

“They’re in the safehold in the cockpit. Just a moment.” The tall man followed Trystin and waited as Trystin retrieved the two encoded plastic oblongs. Then the clearance officer ran both through the portable terminal he held.

Trystin watched the other’s eyes for any red reflection, but they showed no reaction except studied boredom when the terminal flashed green.

“You’re clear.” The officer turned to the woman. “The ship’s cleared to unload. A pleasure doing business with you, Inindjy.” Then his eyes settled on Trystin. “You taking the ship back out. Brother?”

“Yes, but not for a bit,” Trystin answered. “The outrun cargo’s not ready.”

The shorter official shook his head. “Good work if you can get it. We got to log things in and out every day.”

“I’ll take that, thank you,” said the taller one. “Even commercial pilots don’t always make it. Ever see an old one?”

The two officials nodded and walked off the quarterdeck.

“Do you want to sign for the ship now, Mistress Dotta?” “That would be acceptable.” She handed the clipboard to him. The Hyndjis still preferred hard-copy signatures on official documents. “You are due back on the thirtieth of March.”

Trystin made the mental translation-roughly the twenty-seventh or eighth of trio-and nodded. If he were in any shape to make it back after undertaking an assassination in the heart of the Revenant capital. She watched as he reclaimed his bag. “I’m leaving the armor in place.” “Good. Then you will be back.” “I certainly plan to be. Mistress Dotta.” He watched as she sealed the ship, not that it made any difference to him. With the implant, he could open it without the physical keys. Then he walked up the tube, heading to book passage to Orum.

Trystin shifted his weight in the narrow seat, glad that no one was sitting beside him, then blotted his forehead with the white handkerchief. The transport was hot, and he was even hotter from sitting three hours after translation while the transport maintained modest thrust insystem. Trystin could sense the time-dilation envelope, but the effect was mild, less than an hour over the trip. He still didn’t like so many people crammed into a single cabin, like animals in stalls, but that was the way Revenants traveled between systems, probably the only way it was halfway affordable. He’d swallowed at the rate of ten thousand Revenant dollars. Then again, in the Coalition, almost no one traveled between systems, except on Service craft.

The seats were clean, but old, with scratches in the plastic polished over, and the covers on some chairs replaced, while others bore older fabric.

He blotted his forehead again as he sensed the approach of the ship to the orbit station through his implant-the ship’s protocols were different, but the overall pattern was familiar enough. One big advantage provided by the implant was the ability to touch and, theoretically, manipulate “open-wave” systems. The Revenants, because they felt the body was a “temple for the Lord,” did not use implants. Trystin hoped he could use that advantage.

“You a pilot?” asked the stocky man from the seat across the aisle.

Trystin scanned the other with eyes and implant. “Yes, Brother, fortunate enough to have returned.” “Brother Jymes Harriston. ” “Brother Wyllum Hyriss.” “What are you doing being a passenger?” “I’m a pilot now for a Hyndji trading company. I never got back to Wystuh before I left on my mission. Went from Nephi, and I’ve got some time between translations.” Trystin shrugged.

“The Temple’s worth seeing again when you return. I guess you don’t realize when you see it all the time.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Trystin didn’t have to feign that interest.

“Please remain seated until we complete docking. Please remain seated.”

“They always say that. It never changes,” Harriston remarked. “Can always spot a pilot or a former one. You fellows always get jittery.”

Trystin laughed. “I suppose it’s because we know what can go wrong.”

A gentle thud went through the transport, and Trystin winced.

“A little hard?” asked the other, leaning toward Trystin. “A little.”

“You pilots…”

“Now that we are docked, please collect your belongings. Then move to the baggage bay behind the rear of the cabin to claim your bags before leaving the transport. Please make sure you have all your belongings.”

Trystin nodded politely as he rose, but the other man was gathering some paperbound books, seemingly having forgotten Trystin altogether.

In the middle of the line of two dozen passengers as they filed back toward the lock, Trystin stopped in the baggage bay for only a moment to grab his single bag. Everyone else had two bags, at least. He lifted the bag off the rails, comparing the scratched and tarnished inner rail to the smooth and shiny outer one, clearly a recent replacement. He carried the bag out through the lock, staggering slightly as he stepped from the lower ship gravity to the station gravity. The station gravity was fractionally less than what Trystin was used to-when he had been in gravity. Apparently, the Revenants didn’t shift gravity on the ship after docking. Perhaps it caused too many logistical problems. He walked up the locking tube.

The Orum orbit station smelled like every other orbit station Trystin had visited-a mixture of plastic, metal, warm oil, ozone, and people. Some things really didn’t change.

At the top of the tube, he waited behind a heavyset older woman with braided hair piled high on her head. When the Soldier of the Lord handed back her card and databloc, Trystin slid his across the flat counter. The officer slipped it into a console, then looked at him. “Brother Hyriss?” “Yes, Officer,” Trystin responded. “Would you go through that portal there, ser?” The man pointed to an open doorway.

Trystin could see another Soldier, also blond, standing beside a more elaborate console. “Certainly.” He followed the other’s directions, knowing that his off-system origin would have flagged him, hoping that they hadn’t already pegged him as a spy or assassin. Don’t think assassin, he told himself mentally. What’s one rev more or less after all you’ve done?

When he reached the large console that stood in the alcove, he stopped and waited until the officer finished with the thin man in flowing whites of some sort. “Next?”

Trystin stepped up and offered card and databloc again. “Please put your hand there. It’s just a formality, but these days, you never know.”

Trystin placed his hand on the scanner, and felt the minute prick of the sampler. He also could sense the crude fields of the analyzer as it ran a rough gene-pattern analysis. He tried not to frown at the age of the equipment-obvious from the field fluctuations and the repainted outer cover.

“Good genes. Don’t see that kind of stock from the outplanets often.”

Then the databloc went into the scanner, and the equipment began to compare the patterns on the card and databloc to those taken by the sampler. The databloc was genuine, as was Wyllum Hyriss. The real Hyriss had died, but not until he’d been on life support long enough to extract memories and genetic codes. The codes in the databloc had been altered to match Trystin’s genes, and the probabilities were over ninety-nine point three percent that no irregularities would be detected, except at a Revenant research facility.

Trystin overrode his discomfort and concerns about being that less than one percent probability and waited quietly. He could have manipulated the fields in the equipment, but his tampering would have raised a greater likelihood of detection than doing nothing.

“Good. You’re cleared to take the down shuttle, ser. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“It’s certainly not a problem. Officer. I’m appreciative of your effort.” And he was, if not exactly in the way described by the words.

“Thank you. Enjoy your stay in Orum. Peace be with you. Brother.”

“And with you.” Trystin hoisted his bag and walked back to the corridor that led to the lower decks where the shuttles down to Orum waited. Where his less-than-desirable mission waited. Behind him, he heard, “Next!”

The shuttle screeched as the heavy tires touched the long, straight runway. Trystin could feel the corrections for the crosswind, but the pilot’s touch was halfway deft, and the spaceplane slowed, then finally rumbled off the runway and toward the shuttle terminal for Wystuh and Orum’s West Continent. The tires bounced slightly on the taxiway, which seemed rougher than the runway.

“Please remain seated until the shuttle comes to a complete stop. Then, and only then, you may claim your bags and depart.” Trystin let his head rest against the worn, but clean, fabric of the seat as the spaceplane eased to a stop and the others scurried to get their bags.

He studied the interior of the spaceplane as he waited. While it was clean, and even smelled clean, slightly like a mixture of lavender and pine, there was a tiredness associated with the equipment, the kind of fatigue that became apparent when a ship neared the end of its service life. His implant could detect no interactive system. Did the Revenant shuttles run on manual controls? That was something that hadn’t been covered in the mission profile or the training.

After the aisle cleared, he stood and walked to the baggage racks. His fabric bag was the only one left, and he swung the carrying straps over his shoulder. As Trystin finally walked out of the shuttleway, with his bag in hand, he could see nearly two dozen people waiting to board another spaceplane that was parked next to where Trystin’s shuttle had eased. The outer walls of the terminal were glittering white, although the intensity of that glitter varied slightly. Trystin studied it, and realized that the brighter sections were more recently repaired or refinished. He continued walking toward the center of the terminal.

That there were no security arrangements apparent confirmed for Trystin that the Revenants used the orbit stations as control points.

A technician with an equipment kit and wearing a maroon singlesuit passed Trystin. Ahead of him, a white-haired man and two women greeted a young man in white. One of the women hugged the blond man. All wore white.

Trystin shifted the straps on his bag and stepped around the group, following his implant-provided directions, and the overhead arrows, toward the lower level. The synthetic stone underfoot was immaculately clean, but bore fine cracks in more than a few instances.