The Parafaith War (56 page)

Ghere, sitting in a large loungelike chair in a larger room outside the cubicle where Trystin had awakened, motioned to the other large chair. Trystin sat, feeling somewhat swallowed by the chair, and edged forward in it.

After a long moment of silence, Trystin said, “I don’t know where to begin. I’d like to thank you again.” “You may not wish to.” “Why not?”

Ghere shifted his weight. “You died. We repaired you. But we could not repair you as you were. You have been on Farhka station for nearly two of your standard years.”

Trystin swallowed. Then he asked, “I piled up some considerable translation error. Do you know how much?”

Ghere gave the impression of a shrug. “Not exactly. We did not know precisely …” “Just generally,” Trystin pressed. “We calculated approximately thirteen of your years.” Fifteen years! Gone. Trystin’s mind blanked for a moment, but Ghere continued. “… because of your participation in the study, I did have your medical records. You are as close to what you were as was feasible to create you.” “Create me?”

“You are a partly regrown version of you. Your entire neural system had to be replaced. Your memories were stored and replaced. Some of them may seem hazy at times.” Ghere’s voice floated through Trystin’s thoughts, almost as though unrolling on his mental screen, but more completely and more quickly. “Do you know why we were required to do so much?”

“No.” Trystin did not speak, just let the thought flow. “You should. In order to cope with the pressures of the Revenants’ assaults, your people have used biotechnology, nanotechnology, and high technology to allow every officer in your Service to handle neural data loads beyond what one might call your design capacity.” The mental equivalent of a chuckle followed. “Most have died young.”

“What else could we have done? We don’t have all those bodies. Over any length of time, no ecosystem will support that. The Great Die-off proved that, but the Revenants don’t want to believe history.”

“It is sad. Still … you have changed matters greatly… as you will find… .” Ghere projected a laugh into Trystin’s thoughts. “For this we thank you.”

“For what?” Trystin’s lips tightened. “For being able to mess with my mind? To program me to get into the Revenants’ Temple? What the hell else did you do to me?” He paused, then added, “And while you’re at it, would you tell me why? Why, for god’s sake?”

“You do not believe in god.” Again, there was a semblance of a mental chuckle that ended quickly. “We did not program you, or exert any compulsion on you. Such compulsions are… unethical. They also do not work, because they restrict the one compelled. Such restrictions create failure.”

“Fine. You didn’t compel me. You sure set me up.” “We did not make you a pilot. We did not make your choice to become an Intelligence agent-” “How did you know that?”

“In rebuilding neural systems, one learns much. Only Ruyalt Dhale and I know those things. No one else will know, and we do not lie.”

The Farhkans didn’t have to, Trystin thought bitterly. “So you gave me the keys to the Temple and asked enough questions to point me in the right direction and watched the fun? How many Service officers in Intelligence did it take before you got me?”

“One hundred and thirty-one officers over twenty years. There were but four who were given the Temple protocols, and you were the only one who could transcend his culture.” “The others?”

“None of them used the keys. They were executed.” Trystin shivered. “How did you get to Orr?”

“Orr?” Ghere’s mental voice revealed puzzlement. “Never mind. So what was this great thing I was so fortunate to accomplish?”

“We would not use the term ‘fortunate.’ Would you?” Ghere offered another wry-feeling laugh.

“Sorry. Wrong word. You still didn’t say why you did all this. Why did you give us technology? Why did you manipulate me? Why have you been following me around for two decades?” A long silence followed the question. Finally, Ghere answered, with long pauses between phrases, as though he had not rehearsed the exact answer, or as though he were groping for a simple way to explain something very complex to a child. At that, Trystin bristled even as he listened.

“Complex technology brings greater use of force. Unless a culture actively resists, force always attracts those less … ethical. Technology also allows greater … populace growth. Use of machines pushes most intelligences toward more … rigid … social controls. Rigidity creates greater conflicts, requiring more force. This fuels conflict, and conflicts are first turned toward other cultures.”

“So why didn’t you just bounce on the Revenants yourselves?”

“We did so,” answered Ghere. “But alien intelligences are never accepted as valid, and more and more force would have been required-enough force to destroy the corace you term Revenants. Force corrupts the user, and we could not afford that degree of corruption.”

“Oh … you wanted to pawn off the corruption on us, on good old Trystin?”

“You would turn the destiny of your race over to us?” asked Ghere.

Put that way, Trystin didn’t like it at all. “So why was I the fortunate one?”

“As I once feared, you have been unfortunate,” Ghere admitted bluntly. “For that we are thankful. You have learned from that, and you will learn more. It is best you discover why we are thankful after you return to your people. They will be pleased to see you”

“To lynch me?” What had happened after he’d left the Jerush system? Ghere had kept avoiding an answer to that question.

“No. You are … a figure of some … note. We do not deceive. We are thieves. Major, but not liars. Now, you must go.” There was a finality to Ghere’s thought that discouraged further inquiry there.

“You still haven’t answered my questions, and you’ve done something to my implant.”

“Once you return to your people, you will know enough to answer your own questions. You no longer need the implant, although it remains in place. We integrated those facilities into your system.” Ghere offered a smile. “Your Service will doubtless deactivate the implant at some point, but that will not change you. Not now. Not ever. Also, to ensure that you did regenerate properly, we had to make some other modifications.”

“Such as?” Trystin looked at his hands. They looked normal, except his vision seemed pretematurally clear. “You will age slowly, if at all.” Trystin glanced at Ghere, looking over the calm, square, and impassive face. “Why did you decide I was worthy of the … this blessing?”

“I did not make that decision alone. We … all the doctors … felt that such a decision would be beneficial … and might repay you.”

“Repay me? For being an assassin of other humans? For being your tool?”

“You killed many before, to little effect. What you have done this time has been of great benefit.” “To whom? The great Farhkan empire?” “You need not be so bitter. You have done well, as you will discover, for your own race. You have also helped our understanding of your race greatly, and that will benefit us all.”

Trystin took a deep breath, the calm certainty of the Farhkan flooding over him. “Great. You make me sound like I’m worthy of something … and you won’t tell me what. And you still haven’t really answered my questions.”

“I cannot answer those questions. You must.” Ghere pursed those too-thin lips. “As for worthy … yes, you are worthy. In the sense that a doctor is worthy to bear suffering, or an… But it is not a blessing. In the closest analogue from Farhkan, the word might translate as ‘Kyrsesuffer.’ It is better translated as a curse, and those of our people to whom it is offered accept it reluctantly. Some refuse.”

“Refuse the gift of never growing old?” Trystin was still angry at the evasions.

Ghere laughed, a sharp bark that even Trystin did not hear as humor. “Refuse the gift of seeing people make the same mistakes generation after generation? Refuse the gift of becoming more and more distant from those around you as you understand the fragility of life, and the joy created by that fragility-a joy that will become more foreign to you with each decade?” Trystin looked at his hands again. “As you see more, you will become wiser. As you become wiser, you must risk more and more to persuade others that you are not aloof, that you are not a person apart. And that will cause them both to respect you and fear you.

More.”

The silence drew out. Finally, Trystin threw another question at the Farhkan. “Why did you keep questioning me about theft?”

“You know the answer. Your species seeks absolutes.” And he did. Theft was not the question. They had badgered Ulteena about mathematics, and others about some aspect of their beliefs-all absolutes. What they had pushed him to see was that life offered no absolutes, no hard truths. While many speculated about that simple observation, the Farhkans had prodded and pushed. Why? -

Trystin began to speak, slowly. “The only absolute truth is change, and death is the only way to stop change. Life is a series of judgments on changing situations, and no ideal, no belief fits every solution. Yet humans need to believe in something beyond themselves. Perhaps all intelligences do. If we do not act on higher motivations, then we can justify any action, no matter how horrible, as necessary for our survival. We are endlessly caught between the need for high moral absolutes-which will fail enough that any absolute can be demonstrated as false-and our tendency for individual judgments to degenerate into self-gratifying and unethical narcissism. Trying to force absolutes on others results in death and destruction, yet failing to act beyond one’s self also leads to death and destruction, generally a lot sooner.”

“That is true, and simple. Yet your species still fails to accept that.” Ghere stood. “It is time to go.” “Go? Where?”

“You requested refueling and assistance. We have provided that.” Again, the hard humorless bark followed the unspoken words. “Now you must return to your people. Your ship is ready.”

Wordlessly, Trystin followed the Farhkan along the wide and nearly empty corridors of the station, a station that felt more ancient, much more ancient than the Temple on Orum or even the crystal canyons of the Dhellicor Gorge or the seaswept Cliffs of Cambria. How long had the station been there? How old were the Farhkans?

“Old enough to know better, and young enough to hope.” The words bore humor and sadness as they ran through his head.

Ghere paused outside the open lock to the Paquawrat. “A safe trip to you. Major Desoll.” “Thank you … again.”

“Do not thank me.” Ghere nodded and stood silently. “All right. I won’t. But I appreciate being alive.” “That is good. May it always be so.” After another long silence, Trystin slipped through the open lock. The ship was spotless, certainly not the way he had left it, and held the musky clean odor of Farhkans.

Trystin stepped back, using his implant to close the door as he slipped into the tiny cockpit. Except … was it the implant? Could he believe Ghere? Or worse, how could he fail to believe the alien?

After checking through the ship, he strapped into the couch and began the checklist, still amazed at the clarity and speed with which he interfaced with the ship’s net. Almost no time seemed to have passed when he pulsed the station.

“Farhka Station, this is Coalition ship Paquawrat. Requesting departure instructions.”

“Coalition ship Paquawrat, this is Farhka. Are yon ready to depart?”

Even through the direct-feed, the alienness of the words came through as silver-edged, shining, and impossibly distant.

“Ready to depart.” As ready as you are. Beyond the hull, he could feel the cold light of the stars.

As the Paquawrat slipped out of translation and dropped into the outskirts of the Chevel system,

Trystin scanned the EDI once, then again. After checking the limited number of drives and ships registering, he checked a third time.

Then he fingered his chin for a moment before directing the Paquawrat insystem toward Chevel Beta, absently triggered the temporal comparators to determine his specific translation error. Although Ghere had indicated the initial error was on the magnitude of thirteen years, since the Farhkans had no such system, or not one adapted for human use, he had no idea exactly how much translation error he had piled up along the way, in addition to the two years he’d spent being “rebuilt.”

He checked the EDI again, but nothing had changed from the first scan. There also seemed to be no EDI activity around Chevel Beta, strange indeed for the principal training facility it had been when he had left. Had there been that much change? Cling!

With the sound of the comparators, he called up the numbers and swallowed. Both Ghere-and Ulteena-had been right. The time since he had left Braha totaled fifteen years, seven months, five days, thirteen hours, and twenty-one minutes. Slewing a ship at the moment of translation had definitely compounded the translation error. Somehow the numbers seemed more real on the comparator than they had when “spoken” by Ghere.

He did shake his head, more than once, as the Paquawrat arrowed into Chevel system. The drives he caught on the EDI were greenish, not blue. So the Coalition still held the system. Had the Revenants been defeated? Or had the war moved elsewhere?

Finally, after another deep breath, he pulsed off his message. “Chevel Control, this is Coalition ship Paquawrat, code name Holy Roller one. Holy Roller one.”

Only static greeted his effort. He switched to the universal frequency and repeated the message. “Unidentified craft, say again.” “I say again, this is Coalition ship Paquawrat, code name Holy Roller one. Holy Roller one. Estimated translation and envelope error is approximately one five years.”

A long period of relative silence followed, punctuated only by static. Finally, an answer came. “Holy Roller one, request authentication red.” Trystin called up the authentication tables, trying not to sigh, then pulsed off the codes, wondering why there seemed to be such consternation. Yes, he’d had compounded translation error and time out for medical rebuilding, totaling, if the comparators were correct, more than fifteen years, but a fifteen-year error wasn’t exactly unheard of for Intelligence missions with multiple translations, especially through rev systems. “Authentication red follows …” “Holy Roller one … cleared to epsilon area, orbit station, Chevel Alpha. Chevel Alpha.”