The Parafaith War (45 page)

A highspeed electric trolley ran between the terminal and central Wystuh, but Trystin was looking for the rental-vehicle section. He found the logo he was seeking in the middle section of the lower level, that of an interlocked 0 and R, standing for Orum Rentals. He stepped up to the empty counter, setting down his bag.

“Yes, ser?” The sister behind the counter, scarcely more than eighteen standard years, offered a friendly smile. The free-falling blond hair said that she was unattached, and the blue eyes studied Trystin.

He smiled. “Sister, I’m Brother Hyriss. I sent a request from orbit station.”

“… I told you he’d be a returned bachelor … good-looking, too … not that many so young …”

Trystin couldn’t control his flush at the scarcely hidden whisper from the other sister who was seated at the console farther back.

“… and he’s shy, too … that’s good … not an old grouch…”

“Ah… yes … Brother,” stumbled the sister at the counter, clearly as discomfited as Trystin was. “Do you want a standard or a luxe?” “What’s the difference? Price and features?” “In features, not much. The luxe has more room in the back seat and a larger trunk, a little more power, and tinted glass in all the windows.”

The other sister snickered with the mention of the tinted glass. Trystin didn’t dare to comment as the counter sister flushed.

“The luxe is fifty dollars more a day.” “I’ll take the standard.” Trystin finally smiled at the other sister. “Even if it doesn’t have tinted glass.” He handed across the Revenant universal credit strip. “I’d also like a map, if you have one. I wanted to get to Wystuh the long way, through the Dhellicor Gorge.” “It’s worth the detour.”

“Tell him you’ll show him….” hissed the other sister. The sister at the counter flushed even brighter red. Although the immersion training had tried to convey the pressure for early marriage, being subjected to it in an uncontrolled setting was something else, and Trystin could not only understand, but feel, why the returned remained unattached for such short periods.

“Is there anywhere that would be good to stop to eat along the way?” he asked, trying not to let an awkward silence persist.

“Krendsaw’s,” offered the fair-skinned brunette in the back. “It’s just this side of the Gorge.”

“That would take you about an hour, if you don’t stop at the foresting center,” added the blonde, the redness receding from her face. “You’re all set. Brother Hyriss.” She handed him a key and a folder. “There’s your key and the rental agreement. If you need the car for more than the ten days, you can call us here or in Wystuh and let us know. I’m Sister Lewiss, Arkady Lewiss. It shouldn’t be a problem.” She slid a map across the counter, her hand barely touching his, and only for an instant. “Here’s the map.”

She leaned forward and used a stylus to point out the green line. “This is the scenic route …”

As she explained, Trystin became all too aware of how good she smelled, almost like the delicate roses in the garden at home, how close she was, and how interested she seemed. And how lonely and vulnerable he was.

“… and this is about where Krendsaw’s is. It’s a good steak house, but they have everything there. To get to the car, follow the tunnel there to the right and down the ramp. It’s in space A-five.”

Trystin offered a broader smile. “Thank you very much, Sister Lewiss. Peace be with you.”

In some ways, he wished he could have taken her up, but it wouldn’t have been fair to her, and, Revenant or not, she was still a person. More important, unfortunately, spending time with her would have been an invitation to blow his cover immediately.

As he picked up the bag and walked away, he increased his hearing, partly from curiosity and partly from ego. “… he was interested, Arkady … could tell …” “… seemed nicer than a lot of the returned …” “… was returned all right … see it in the eyes …” Trystin nodded and turned down the ramp to the tunnel, which he followed to the underground parking area and the space with the blue sign that proclaimed A-5.

The standard car was a four-wheeled, petroleum-fueled, manually driven vehicle, and Trystin was most grateful for the indoctrination provided by Brother Khalid. Otherwise, he would have spent a lot of time fumbling before he’d figured it out, and the locals could have begun to ask embarrassing questions.

Instead, he tucked the bag in the cargo space in the rear, opened by a button on the trunk. There was no lock. In fact, the car had no locks at all, only an ignition key, and Trystin knew that was just as a safety precaution against young children.

The internal-combustion engine turned over easily, and Trystin slipped off the brake and shifted, wishing he’d practiced more, but glad that everything worked.

The drive from the parking area led to a larger road that Trystin followed until he reached the highway with the green “S” emblem, where he turned south, paralleling the main shuttle runway. Only a few vehicles were on the southern road, moving at high rates of speed for manually controlled vehicles.

As a small white car roared around him, barely avoiding another oncoming car, Trystin felt like wiping his forehead. Instead, he concentrated on driving and increasing his own speed.

Almost from his peripheral vision, he could tell that sections of the shuttleport runway had been replaced with new ferrocrete, but others seemed to be overdue for replacement.

Continuing south, still recalling the scent of roses, he shook his head, understanding in his guts as well as in his head something he already knew. With girls like that, no wonder there were so damned many Revenants!

From the plateau where the shuttleport squatted, Trystin continued southward on the scenic road, which wound downward into a valley filled with trees-slender pines, all the same, all planted in rows. Despite the warmth, Trystin kept the window down and the cooler off. The dusty air smelled better than the recycled gas used as a facsimile of breathable air for pilots. KKhhhchewww!

He rubbed his nose. Perhaps he wasn’t as used to natural contaminants as he had once been. KKkkhchewwww…

His nose began to run, and he fished out the big handkerchief, using it as necessary as the car whistled along the road seemingly cut between the pines, pines so identical that they might have been cloned.

Heber Valley Lumber-Trees for Today and Tomorrow Foresting Center Ahead

Trystin looked from the blue-trimmed white sign to the rows of identical trees-silval monoculture, yet another practice contributing to the Great Die-off on old Earth. Hadn’t the Revenants learned anything?

Abruptly, less than a kay beyond the sign, the trees stopped, and a circular building, painted green, stood a hundred meters back from the road. The parking lot held but a few vehicles, and as he sped past, Trystin noted the small sign that identified the Foresting Center.

Beyond the center, the pines continued for several more kays, before another sign appeared-Beth-El. With the sign came the houses, hundreds of houses, each set squarely in a small patch of green. Farther back from the load was the glittering spire of the stosque.

A few minutes later, Trystin was past the houses of Beth-El, and the road began to climb toward a notch in the red rocky slopes of the southern hills. After several kays more, he passed another town, with a stosque and school and a good three hundred houses that he could see. Before long, he went through yet another town, and then another. The trees tended to disguise how many small towns filled the valley.

Krendsaw’s was located at a crossroads where the main north-south cargoway crossed the scenic route. Trystin turned into the parking area-nearly empty and flanked by pines of a different type with squat trunks and spreading branches. He checked the time, almost an hour before local noon, then closed the car door. He took the ferrocrete walkway patterned to look like flagstone to the steps and up onto a covered and shaded portico.

“One, Brother?” The young woman standing in the archway smiled at Trystin, her eyes only slightly below his, perfect white teeth flashing for a moment, light brown hair falling freely from a hairband positioned across the top of her head-running almost from ear to ear. “Please, Sister.” “Would the inside garden be all right?” “That would be fine.”

“Most of the returned like it.” She smiled, her eyes dropping to his left hand to see if he were already married.

Trystin nodded, trying to keep a straight face. He’d been warned about the tendency of the sisters to try to be the first wife-the one who set the household rules. But warnings didn’t convey how attractive most of the sisters seemed to be, and how tall compared to most Eco-Tech women.

“If you would come this way …” They went through another archway into the courtyard, where a dozen tables were set on the ceramic tiles under two overarching trees that shaded most of the space. Two tables were occupied, one by two older men, and the other by a woman who seemed to be reading while she sipped a clear beverage.

A circular fountain in the center of the courtyard sprayed a thin column of water that fell back in a thin mist which cooled the space. Trystin could feel the itching in his nose subsiding even before he took the seat at the small glass-topped table facing the fountain.

“You’re just back, aren’t you?” The hostess handed him the menu. “How did you know?”

“Your nose. It’s red.” She gave a musical laugh. “It takes a while to get used to the tree pollen around here. The specials are at the top there.” She paused. “I’m Sister Megan Barunis. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

“I’m sure I will. Sister.” Trystin offered as warm a smile as he dared, and less than he would have offered in a less dangerous setting, getting another smile in return before the hostess left.

The top special on the menu was pine chicken with pinon nuts and new Idaho potatoes, whatever variety of potatoes Idaho were. The other special sounded even more problematical-sauteed mushwursts over blue maize pasta.

The menu featured meat-mutton, steak, carbo, beefalo-in large portions ranging up to half a kilogram. Trystin couldn’t imagine eating that much meat at one setting-or the ecological impact raising that many herd animals would have.

As he pondered, another sister appeared, dressed in a long blue-checked uniform that was not totally becoming to her fair, freckled face. Like the hostess, she wore her hair flowing free, and her left hand, almost flaunted, was free of rings.

She bent forward to pour his water, standing closer to him and the table than was absolutely necessary, and the long bright-red hair-not the mahogany-red of Perdya-cascaded against the side of his face, bringing the scent of flowers. “I’m sorry. Brother.”

“You don’t sound totally sorry. Sister.” Trystin grinned and folded the menu.

“Oh, but I am. Brother.” She winked, then went on. “I’m Sister Ali Khoures, and I’ll be your waitress today. Have you looked at the specials?” “How is the chicken?”

“Very good. The mushwursts are good, but most returnees find the texture too suggestive of-” “I’ll take the chicken,” Trystin said hurriedly. Sister Khoures laughed. “What would you like to drink?” “The limeade.”

“That goes well with the chicken. Most people order anise tea.” The waitress shook her head, and the long red hair rippled.

Trystin took a deep breath quietly, trying to push back the faint hint of summer flowers. “I’ll bring the muffins and your limeade right away.” “Thank you.” On the other side of the fountain, the older woman continued to read, and the two men in white suits ate and talked quietly.

Trystin studied the garden-really more a set of brick-walled flower beds that followed the courtyard walls and surrounded the eating area, except for the four passages into the main building. Wide windows allowed diners in the building to look over the flowers-mainly marigolds and a bright red flower Trystin didn’t recognize-into the courtyard garden.

He took several slow and deep breaths. He was supposed to be thinking about his “removal” of Admiral/Archbishop Jynckia. Instead, he was getting distracted by very attractive young women who actually found him desirable, rather than glaring at him for his looks. Would they find him all that desirable if they knew who he really was? That thought sobered him.

He took a deep breath, thinking about his main problem. Just how was killing one admiral going to help the Coalition? Supposedly, people older and wiser than he had it figured, but he could tell that the Revenants weren’t exactly monsters-they were human beings with human reactions, and Trystin doubted that the assassination of Marshal Warlock or any other marshal on the streets of Cambria would have much effect on the Coalition. So why would the assassination of Admiral Jynckia have much impact on the Revenants? Was the admiral a strategic genius or something? Or were the Coalition strategists getting so desperate that they’d become willing to try anything?

Those were things he didn’t know, but, in the end, he’d have to act without knowing. And after acting, he’d have to escape, probably with an entire planet looking for him. The best assassination would be one that no one knew was an assassination-but the Service wanted one with impact, to deliver a message. He tried not to sigh.

“Are you all right?” asked Sister Khoures. “You looked … so far away.”

“We can’t always escape our past,” Trystin answered ambiguously. That was safe enough and in character, besides being true.

“I’m sorry.” She paused. “Here are your muffins and your limeade.” Her hand somehow brushed Trystin’s after she set the plate and glass on the table.

“Thank you.” Trystin nodded, and received a smile before she turned and left.

The hostess led two other young women, both unattached sisters from the hairbands, into the courtyard. Trystin sipped the limeade and watched as the taller and sharp-nosed blonde leaned toward the hostess and whispered something. Trystin flicked up his hearing to the limit.

“… how about the table there, next to the flowers?” “As you wish. Sisters.” “Thank you.”

The hostess, walking more stiffly than Trystin recalled, led the pair to the table for two nearest his table. “Enjoy your meal,” she said politely. “I’m certain we will,” responded the thin blonde. The sandy-haired and stockier sister smiled at Trystin. Trystin ignored the smile and took another sip of limeade. While he knew he wasn’t ugly, the attention was disconcerting, in its own way as disconcerting as the negative attention he had received in Cambria on his last home leave. Was attraction and repulsion all a matter of appearances? Or preconceptions? He hadn’t changed, but the students-boys and girls-in Cambria had disliked his rev looks-and had wanted to kill poor blond Quiella, while women he scarcely knew on Orum were almost panting after him.