The Parafaith War (47 page)

He sniffed the air again, as the odor of manure was supplemented by an oily smell, like solvents. In the rearview mirror, the three figures dwindled as he drove toward his own private day of judgment, trying to sort out warm and friendly women, dying cruisers with their metal guts and crews vaporized across the cold of space, cold-smiling commanders, and iron-gray Farhkans. He kept driving.

Trystin’s stomach grumbled. While it had only been a little over four hours since he’d eaten at Krendsaw’s, his meals before that had been uneven, and mostly dried or otherwise preserved.

The sign at the edge of the town read Dalowan, a place small enough that it was a red dot and a name on the map he’d been given by Sister Arkady Lewiss. She’d certainly been careful to let him know her full name, as had Sister Megan Barunis and Sister Ali Khoures. He could almost feel the card in his jacket pocket, and he smiled. For some reason, he couldn’t see such forwardness in Ulteena, even when she had been younger, especially after seeing what it had cost her to admit she cared about him. Were younger women just more forward in the Revenant systems? Or had he been sheltered somehow?

He slowed the car, as he passed a park, then a school building. Ahead he could see the single glittering spire of the local stosque. His stomach growled again.

Ahead were several buildings. He stopped at the sign proclaiming R.P.’s, a small building with faded tan plaster walls’ and three enormous cacti planted in front of the building. The entrance was framed by two man-high red boulders. Only three vehicles sat in the parking area. On the far side of the parking area was a confectionery store-Dalowan Confectioneries.

Trystin grinned. Maybe he’d stop there after he ate-for some lime balls.

A round-faced older woman with hair braided and piled on top of her head greeted Trystin as he stepped into R.P.’s. “A late lunch. Brother?”

“Or an early dinner,” Trystin laughed. “I’m not quite sure which.”

“This way.” She led Trystin to a corner booth, made of dark-varnished and smoothed planks, handing him the menu after he eased himself into the left side where he could see all ten tables that comprised the dining area. “The only special left is the smothered meat loaf, but everything else on the menu is available.”

“What would you recommend … besides the meat loaf?”

That got a laugh. “None of you returned like meat loaf. I just can’t imagine why. Well … the chicken tortelada is good, and so is the fried beefalo steak.”

Meat and more meat-Trystin still couldn’t imagine ingesting that much protein at a sitting. “I’ll try the tortelada, with limeade.” “You’ll like it. I’ll get your limeade.” She returned with the limeade almost immediately, and then went through a swinging door in the back of the dining area.

As Trystin sipped the limeade, his eyes surveyed the room. Two older women with braided hair and wearing the prevalent checked dresses sat at a table under the high window by the front wall. They talked quietly, occasionally sipping from mugs before them-chocolate, probably. In the front corner booth was a middle-aged couple-just a man and a woman.

Trystin took another sip from the limeade. According to the map and his implant calculations, he was only about two hours from the outskirts of Wystuh. Once there, he’d have to round up the electronics supplies he needed. Weapons were not exactly something you carried through multiple security checks. He pursed his lips. He still didn’t know how killing one admiral was going to help the Coalition, but he also knew that not killing Jynckia would eventually create a large problem for one Trystin Desoll, perhaps a fatal one.

Was there any other way? So far, he didn’t see one, not that would leave him free and alive. Was there any way to do something that would stop the war? He didn’t know that, either. It had been simpler to be a pilot, and much simpler to be a perimeter officer, but he’d wanted to do more than react. Now he had at least some choice, and he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to exercise it!

He took another sip of limeade and waited for the tortelada. His stomach growled again.

The rationale for assassination was clear enough-to plant the idea that the Coalition could strike anywhere. But Trystin wasn’t convinced it would work. He shook his head. Here he was on the home planet of the enemy on a mission be wasn’t convinced would work, and without any better ideas. And he knew that too much thinking was a recipe for disaster-which made it all the worse. He finished the limeade with a gulp. “Would you like another?” asked the waitress as she saw the empty glass. “Please, Sister.”

As she returned with another limeade, she asked, “Are you headed to Wystuh?” “Yes. I was sightseeing-the Gorge.” “It’s something, the Gorge is. Makes you wonder sometimes. Takes your worries away, too.”

Trystin nodded. “It is beautiful, never even the same from moment to moment.” “It didn’t seem to take yours away. Brother.” “Probably not, but it is spectacular.” “Remember… leave your worries to the Lord. He’s the only one big enough to hold them. “

“Unless He’s the one who created them. Sister.” Trystin forced a laugh to cover his excessive openness. “Discovering His will and then doing it isn’t always easy.”

“He didn’t put us here for it to be easy.” She patted his shoulder in a motherly way. “You’re young, and you’re returned. Be thankful for that. You’ll find a way.” “Yes, Mother …” Trystin grinned. She returned the grin with a smile, then turned to the door as a single man in a pale blue uniform entered. “Jonathan! Would you like some punch?” “Anything cold. Sister Eviyn. Anything cold.” The burly peace officer, the first Trystin had seen, sank into the chair next to the credit-strip console. “… it’s not the same …”

The whispered words drifted to Trystin, who, more curious than anything, turned up his hearing to listen to the couple-odd because most families seemed to consist of an older husband and several younger wives.

“What do you want from me?” the older man asked, in an exasperated fashion. “Do you expect the Lord to send another Prophet just for you, Llamora? Do you expect the Prophet to proclaim that the Ecofreaks will stop their abominations and that Joshua will be spirited home?”

“No … I just want him to live in peace. Why can’t they let us live in peace? Why must we lose so many?”

“Many return.” The older man paused. “That fellow across the room’s a returnee.” Trystin did not look in their direction. The words about “another Prophet” skittered through his thoughts. What good would another prophet do? The last one had been bad enough from the Eco-Tech perspective. “He’s not Joshua.” “He’s someone’s Joshua.”

“They’re lucky. You still haven’t told me why they won’t let us live in peace.”

“Because they won’t. It’s more likely Toren himself will return than the Ecofreaks will change. Now, stop sniveling. You don’t think I don’t know. I was there, dear. Don’t forget that. I saw those dark men who moved like machines, always smiling, never-” “I know, Ed. I know … but it’s hard. It’s hard.” Trystin shook his head. It was hard on both sides, but the damned Revenants had a choice. He wasn’t sure the Eco-Techs did. He frowned, wondering if he were just rationalizing. “Here you are.”

The platter held not only the massive chicken tortelada, but a heaping portion of rice and a dark congealed mass covered with cheese, presumably the refried beans. “I think there might be enough here,” Trystin observed. “Don’t want it said that anyone’d go hungry here.” “There’s no danger of that.”

The waitress/hostess walked over and talked to the peace officer, mainly about the weather, as Trystin slowly worked his way through the enormous meal. The older couple left about the time he gave up on the beans and pushed the plate slightly back. “Would you like some dessert?” Trystin looked at the plate and then at Sister Eviyn. “I’m not going away hungry.”

“That’ll be ten and a quarter, and I’ll take you up there at the counter anytime.” She went back to talk to the officer, who gulped the last swallow of something from a glass and stood.

“Thanks, Sister Eviyn. Tell Jock I stopped by.” Trystin waited until the door closed. He left several paper bills on the table and stepped up to the console, proffering the strip, which she ran through the reader.

“Glad you liked the tortelada. I couldn’t eat half what you ate.” She scanned the reader. “Hyriss. Any relation to Sammel Hyriss here?”

“Not that I know, but probably some distant relation. I’m from Nephi originally.”

“I think his folks came from out that way.” She smiled. “Remember what I told you. Brother Hyriss.” “And I will find a way?” “That’s right.”

He took the strip. “Peace be with you. Sister.” “And with you.”

Once outside, Trystin walked across the paved parking area to the confectionery store.

Two young women-girls-stood behind the counter. He glanced at the display case and then at the redhead. “I’d like a half-pound of the lime balls.” The redhead flushed, and the other girl giggled. Then the smaller blonde held a sack while the redhead used the scoop to dish out the lime balls, which hit the metal pan of the scale-clank… clank… clank…. “One and a quarter, ser.”

The “ser” was a giveaway that neither girl was of marriageable age.

“Here you go.” He handed across the change and took the bag.

As he headed for the open door, he could hear the whispers.

“… should have called him ‘Brother,” Merryn. It’s only a month, and he wouldn’t know … he’s handsome … no rings…” “… wouldn’t do any good …”

Trystin stepped out of the confectionery store, shaking his head, and paused under the overhanging porch for a moment. He took one of the lime balls and popped it in his mouth quickly before the lime melted on his fingers. The last thing he wanted was candy on the white coat-although the white fabric had been treated, as had all whites worn by the Revenants, to resist and repel stains.

To his right was the road he had followed from the Dhellicor Gorge, stretching up the gentle slope that led to the high plateau. Less than a kay south, the houses of Dalowan stopped, and modified cedar trees covered the pinkish soil. The houses were all finished, on the outside, in stucco or cementlike plaster, and all were colored in pale pastels.

With the faint screech, Trystin turned. One of the petroleum-burning cars skidded around the corner, and the driver, half engaged in talking to the young woman beside him, did not seem to be watching the street. A small blond girl and her older brother were crossing the wide street to the confectionery store. Several women and a man stood beside a long six-doored car talking. One pregnant sister watched the children.

Trystin dropped the candy, and vaulted the low railing, kicking himself into his high metabolic rates and stepped-up reflexes. As he ran, he calculated the angles.

“Georgia! Run!” The boy tried to drag his sister, but she resisted, instinctively. “No!” screamed the mother.

Sccccreeeee - . . The driver tried to stop, and the car seemed to move broadside as Trystin swooped and grabbed both children. He felt a glancing blow on his hip, and saw the horrified expression on the young driver’s face. The youth couldn’t have reached the local equivalent of his eighteenth birthday.

Trystin, breathing deeply, dropped his metabolism to normal, even as he set down the children. Why had he done it? The last thing he needed was to do something to attract attention.

“Georgia! Dahn! Are you all right?” The sandy-haired and pregnant sister had her arms around the two almost before Trystin had straightened up.

“Brother, I don’t know how to thank you. If it hadn’t been for you…” stammered the man, blond with streaks of white in his hair, a slight paunch, and a tanned face. The driver had stopped the car-or the raised stone curb behind the long car had-and he stood, whiter than Trystin’s coat, beside it.

“Children, you must watch and look both ways. Please watch.”

“… wanted to get there first… Dahn always does…” protested the girl. Dahn just stared at the pavement. “… don’t know how you did it …” the father stammered.

“I was just in the right place,” Trystin said, his thoughts trying to find a way out of the mess. “…but how… how…”

“Just thank the brother and the Lord,” murmured the mother.

“… how …” The father appeared dazed. Trystin touched his shoulder. “Be thankful. I am.” Then he walked over to the youthful driver, who was still shaking. “You’re fortunate you didn’t kill them.” The driver kept shaking.

“Next time, the Lord might not be watching.” Trystin patted him on the shoulder, deciding to rely on theology. “That’s your miracle.”

“He could have killed them!” The father stepped up to Trystin.

“He didn’t, and I suspect he’s gotten the Lord’s message.” Trystin gestured at the driver, who slumped against the fender of the car, shivering. “You some kind of nut. Brother?” Probably, thought Trystin to himself, but he turned and looked at the father. “Do I look like a nut? Didn’t I save your children? I am what I am.” He smiled pleasantly. “Now … I have a journey to make.” “Where are you going?” “To Wystuh.” “To the Temple?”

Trystin saw the burly officer walking toward them. He wanted to leave, but it was looking too late already. He swallowed a sigh. Would more blatant theology work? He could try.

“Are you going to the Temple?” “Yes,” he lied, to stop the interrogation, since he had no desire to be incinerated in the middle of Wystuh. “And after that?”

“Where the Lord wills.” He offered a smile, and bent down slightly to face the little girl, Georgia. “Please be careful, Georgia.”

“I didn’t have to be careful. Yon saved me. The Lord sent you to save me.”

“I was here, but I won’t always be here. We have to save ourselves. He only points the way.” Trystin straightened, hoping he hadn’t bent theology too much, hoping that his recollections from his study of the Book of Toren were accurate enough. “Thank you,” said the mother. “Just keep her safe,” Trystin suggested. “I need to go.” Behind him, the officer in blue said to the driver, “You stay right here, Billy Bardman. After something like this, you just might be getting your mission call early.”

If possible, the youth turned even whiter, and shook even more. Trystin suppressed a frown as the officer in blue approached him.