The Parafaith War (51 page)

“That’s an old riddle, but I’m not sure I take your meaning.” Orr squinted at Trystin.

Trystin forced a shrug, although he felt as though he were walking on the edge of a cliff. “True enough. But one man could look at the glass and say it was half full, another, half empty. Both would be observing a truth.” He almost nodded as he lifted the glass and swallowed the last of the limeade in a long, long swallow before setting it down. “Now … is the glass full or empty?”

“Most folks would say it was empty. ” Orr grinned. “I get the feeling you’re not most folks. Brother Hyriss.”

“You’ve seen through me,” admitted Trystin. “The glass is full. Full of air. We live in the open air, and we don’t see the air, but we need it. So which is worth more-the glass full of liquid or the glass full of air?”

“You’re a tricky fellow.” Orr shook his head ruefully. “Almost makes me think of the way the dark ones speak and write.”

Trystin felt as though he had stepped off the edge of the cliff and that it was only a matter of time before he smashed far below. Instead of bolting or even wiping his forehead against the sudden heat he felt, he nodded. “I know that, Brother, and arguments are only words. Logic doesn’t mean truth.” He frowned, and he didn’t have to force the gesture. “But an elder in the dark of airless heaven who needs another minute to complete his mission may have more need of the glass of air than the liquid.” “I’ve always believed that the Lord provides.” “Indeed He does,” answered Trystin. “He provides, and we must use what He provides. But is what we see what He sees? Is a label a measure of what is? Or should one judge by actions rather than by labels?”

Orr laughed and pushed back his chair. “You make interesting points. Brother Hyriss. Most interesting. Will you be attending the Ceremony of Remembrance at the Temple tomorrow?”

“I had planned to.” Trystin managed to nod, even as he realized he was being pushed into implementing his half-assed plan whether he wanted to or not. He didn’t sense Orr was lying, and that meant he had until tomorrow, but not any longer.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you there.” The older man stood. “It’s time for me to head home. The wives are already probably more than a little irritated. Peace be with you.” “And with you.”

Trystin waited for the waitress and the stew. Was he being a damned fool in not disappearing? Could he trust Orr’s implied promise? If he couldn’t, how could he disappear? The Service had been right. The whole world was an intelligence network. It seemed, just because he’d saved the children, that Orr was giving him a chance-of sorts. Was he telling Trystin to disappear? Or hoping that Trystin could enter the Temple without being incinerated?

Trystin didn’t know. What was also clear to him was that the only way he’d get off Orum was if they thought he were dead, and most times, dead men didn’t go anywhere.

This time was going to be the exception-he hoped-at least if they let him play it out his way. If his keys worked … if his alternative identity worked for a bit… if his theology was correct …if…

He took a deep breath. After dinner he had more memorizing to do-the whole stack of papers he’d written out. The last thing he needed was to forget his lines in the middle of the Temple-assuming he got that far. The Service would get its assassination, and so would the Revenants. He hoped he could deliver even more. He had to. He also hoped he didn’t have another nightmare-sleeping or awake-but that was probably asking too much.

He hoped, again, he was reading Orr correctly, and that Brother Khalid had been right about the Revenants seldom lying.

Through the night, every sound, every rustle seemed magnified, but no one pounded on the door

to his room, and in time, Trystin slept, if not nearly so well as he would have wished, with the words and phrases he had committed to memory running through his mind. He tried not to dwell on the shakiness of what he planned-or the suspicions that somehow he’d been programmed to do it by Rhule Ghere.

In a way, neither mattered, now that Orr had effectively unmasked him. He had one chance, and that was it. So he slept and woke, slept and woke.

He struggled through an early breakfast-without any appearances by Brother Carson Orr-and the words and phrases he had committed to memory still ran through his thoughts, and kept recurring as he gathered himself and his equipment together.

At ten-thirty, Trystin parked the car on the street, two blocks off the square. The fabric clothes bag was out of sight in the trunk, although he had not officially checked out of the Promise Inn. After parking, he got out and walked toward the Temple. He was early, early enough so that if matters went as planned, which they probably wouldn’t, he wouldn’t be at the very back of the Temple. The ten-meter-wide sidewalks allowed quick movement and understated the large number of white-clad Revenants headed toward the Temple. Then again, he looked like any other white-clad Revenant, except he had certain equipment fastened in, around, and under what he wore. Like most of the men, around his neck was the brown sash of the returned missionary. Unlike most, he wore the gold stripe signifying service in the Fleet of the Faithful. His hip still twinged from the bruise received in his rescue of the two children, and he still wasn’t sure whether the rescue had bought him time or brought him to the attention of the Revenants sooner than necessary-or both.

Ahead of him walked a gray-haired patriarch accompanied by three sisters, all three sisters with the elaborate swirled braids that seemed the norm, and all in long white dresses. To his left were two sisters walking side by side, although they wore long white trousers and long white jackets.

Trystin listened, hoping behind the faint smile on his face that his redesigned mission would shake up the almost blind faith of the Revenants. It probably wouldn’t, but he had to try, and at least he should be able to accomplish the letter of the mission.

“… always like the Farewell celebration for the missions…”

“.. . told you that those girls needed more time at the lower school …”

“… going on twenty years… Clyde should be returning soon…”

“… won’t look much older, they say …” “… hard to have a returnee not much older than the eldest wife’s grandchildren …”

The flow of Revenants swept across the avenue into the square, and Trystin kept pace, turning his implant up full, ignoring the faint burning buzzing that invaded his whole nervous system. He was going to need the implant’s full capacity, and that might not be enough.

The Temple gates were flung wide-all eight of the massive gates-each one opposite an Ark. Beside each gate was a pair of uniformed Soldiers of the Lord, but none bore obvious weapons in their dress white uniforms, trimmed with brass gleaming like burnished gold.

Trystin turned toward the gate opposite the Ark of Producing Waters, almost feeling immersed in the flood of quiet conversations.

“… Jayne says they’re going to name her son after some old composer…”

“… add another room to the house once he marries Sitter Mergen…” “All the high admirals will be here …” “. . - just people of the Lord like us…” “… wish we didn’t have to come. Mother …” Trystin forced a pleasant smile on his face as he looked up at the white shimmering walls of the Temple. Even from fifty meters away, he could sense the energy flows in and around the massively towering snow-white stone structure. He reached out with the implant. “Brother Hyriss!”

Trystin turned. There stood Carson Orr, walking toward him with a broad smile. “Brother Orr.” Trystin extended a hand. “Brother Hyriss … I wondered if you would be here. Some returnees from the far lands find the Temple so overwhelming that they don’t make it through the gates.” Orr slipped into step beside him. “Like I said, though, you’re not most folks.”

“The Lord has called me.” Now Trystin was definitely committed, and he resolved that his language had better match his actions, since he had no other options but to make his burnt offerings to the Prophet, so to speak. In the process, the Coalition would get its neutralization-if he had guessed right. If not, he was dead, one way or another.

If successful, whether he would plant enough doubts with the faithful was another question. “In what way. Brother Hyriss?”

Trystin used his implant systems to scan, as he could, Orr, but the man radiated no energies, and carried no energy weapons. Somehow, Trystin doubted that Orr carried something like a slug thrower, which meant that Orr was either relying on the gates to take care of Trystin-or something else. Or Trystin would simply be scooped up and taken care of after the ceremony, so that the Revenants could figure out how he entered the Temple.

“Each man is called in his own way. Brother,” Trystin temporized, not wanting to reveal too much until he was actually inside the Temple, where he doubted that the Revenants would try to drag him away.

“Perhaps, but few of the returned are called again.” Orr’s eyes glanced to the right, and Trystin followed them, catching a glimpse of nearly a dozen white-clad men standing at the edge of the swirling flow of worshipers.

Trystin repressed a grin, then didn’t have to make the effort. Even before he walked up to the Temple gates, the gates that pulsed with forces and the hidden systems that most Revenants never knew existed, Trystin knew that all the effort of the Eco-Tech science, false identity and all, even his basically Revenant gene patterns, would not be enough. Behind the shimmering white walls lay a system powerful enough to reveal him as the fraud he was… unless his risky scheme worked.

He’d been warned about the chance of being incinerated on the spot, but somehow it seemed more immediate, much more immediate, especially with Orr at his elbow. If he broke and ran, he didn’t have much hope either-not that weapons were that much in evidence, even with the white-clad Soldiers of the Lord. But Carson Orr had his forces out and deployed, and even with full augmentation, Trystin wasn’t going to win any contests of force-not for long. Besides, the fact that Orr was accompanying him and that the reinforcements were standing back might give him opportunity enough.

“I have returned.” That was enough, and ambiguous enough. But he was sweating, despite the breeze that kept those around him cool.

Orr glanced sideways at him. “You look disturbed.” Trystin definitely needed a key to the Temple. He swallowed. At this point, he could only hope he had the actual protocol. Otherwise he was dead, far sooner than he needed to be.

“What must be must be.” Trystin looked at Orr. “Do not deny me what must be.” He hoped he had the rhetoric close enough. If he were right, every word he said in the Temple would be recalled and studied.

Orr’s brow crinkled, and his eyes darted back toward his troops-associates, whatever they might be, then back to Trystin.

As they approached the gates, Trystin stumbled and brushed the wall, staggering. “Are you all right Brother Hyriss?” “I think I tripped on something.” Trystin stopped and massaged his leg, casting his implant toward the net that began a few meters before him. The mass of data was enormous, and he staggered, again, wiping his forehead as he straightened. What part of the key?

His father’s explanation surfaced-“just like a Service protocol”-and he projected the key toward the net. “WELCOME, SON OF THE PROPHET!” The unseen and unheard greeting rolled through him, and he picked up the response, lying behind the greeting as if in plain view, and projected it back, both vocally and through the implant. “I greet the Souls of the Eternal and -the Revelations of the Book.”

Beside him, Orr swallowed, hard and visibly. “Seems like I said, maybe, just maybe, you’re not what you seem. At times … it sure is hard to figure how the Lord works.”

Trystin stepped into the stone arch of the gate and the energies that swirled around and through it, using his key to the huge open-weave system to override the weapons , and energy detectors. His thoughts raced along the command paths, trying to analyze the checkpoints as he kept walking … and sweating. Orr kept close beside him.

“As you may behold,” Trystin replied. “The Lord is the Lord, and none may deny Him or His works.” Now was not the time to be cautious, because, one way or the other, he was committed.

He could sense the confusion from the main system network as a series of interrogatories flooded the system, but, with the override control he and his father had developed, he shunted them aside, touching the short-range improvised laser grip in his pocket. A slug thrower or a standard laser would have been far easier-he could have just bought a hunting weapon-but it wouldn’t do what he had in mind.

A crooked smile crossed his face as he recalled the mission profile-the idea of keeping it simple. He almost laughed. Despite all the rhetoric about the need to keep things simple, simplicity usually didn’t get the job done, not in complex societies.

Of course, there would be hell to pay, whether he succeeded or failed, but he only had to worry about it if he succeeded. And, as Brother Orr’s presence had shown, he couldn’t have succeeded with the Coalition’s straight assassination-not and had any chance to escape.

Then, as he had come to realize over the past few days, he doubted that he’d ever been intended to escape. Officers who looked like Revenants were getting to be embarrassments in the Coalition, unless they died gloriously. He’d see what he could do about that.

The next set of arches contained the ultrasonic cleaners that vibrated dust and dirt loose from clothes, as well as-the gentle suction that whisked away all remnants of uncleanliness.

From what Trystin recalled, in the old days of Deseretism, all entrants to the Temple actually changed all their clothes, and the neo-Mahmets had left their shoes outside the mosques. Technology had simplified those aspects, at least.

“… what will be will be… ” subvocalized Orr. “And it will be the will of the Lord,” Trystin added, as he picked up Orr’s words.

“You are a surprising fellow,” Orr said after a quick swallow.

“Surely you do not doubt the Lord and the sanctity of the Temple?” Trystin asked, as they continued past the second arch and into the vaulting antechamber to the Temple proper. His words were both for Orr and the recorders that monitored the Temple. “… not His will, but yours… ” Orr said subvocally. Trystin would have agreed, but his plans didn’t include admitting frailty at the moment, only planting more seeds for what he had planned, for his efforts to shake the entire faith of the Revenants. “His will be done.” Orr’s eyes glanced toward the right portal. “Through the left portal, Brother Orr.” Trystin kept his head high, as would any returnee, proud to be able to bring thanks to his Lord. “Many returnees would prefer the right.” “I stand on the left hand of the Lord.” Especially since your statement tells me that you have some support arrangements on the right, Trystin reflected.