"Modesitt, L E - The Parafaith War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"Could I ask how you knew who I was?" Then he grinned stupidly. They were all in uniform with the highlighted name badges below their shoulders.
"Actually, I picked you out before I could see the badge." She gave him a smile that was friendly, but not cuddly. "You're the only one who looks like a rev." Trystin shrugged. "Can't do much about genetics."
"You from a long-term techie family?" "Yes. One of the first on Perdya-believe it or not." He hated explaining that despite his rev looks, he was a techie through and through with family links that went back to the foundation of the Eco-Tech Coalition.
"I believe it. It also explains why you survived those booby traps the revs sent. You know Weslyn didn't? Neither did a couple of tech officers on the western perimeter." "Why?" he asked politely.
"I'm sure you have to prove everything, and you and your family always have had to. Any failures in your family?"
Trystin understood the star beside her bars. Then he grinned. "You, too?"
The momentarily blank look was replaced by a grin. "Yes. Don't forget it, either, Trystin." Then the grin faded. "I know. Next month, it will be 'major.' " "It will. That's true. But your time will come. Ranks are temporary." She leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes.
What was that all about, he wondered? Except he knew. For whatever reason, Ulteena Freyer had as much to prove as Trystin did-maybe more. In a way, it was too bad. Despite the slightly sharp nose, he liked the way she looked, and her competence. It reminded him of Salya. He wondered how his sister was doing, then shook his head. Wondering wouldn't answer the question, and he settled back and closed his own eyes.
"Klyseen depot!" announced the noncom from the doorway.
Trystin jerked awake in time to see Ulteena step out through the shuttle's doorway into the shuttle depot. He stood and stretched, letting the others leave first. According to the implant, it was still only 0715, and he had more than enough time to get something to eat before his 0900 appointment at the Service medical center.
The tunnel from the depot was double-wide, nearly twenty meters across, with the side to Trystin's right-the eastern side--bearing a maroon stripe. The five meters next to the wall were reserved for electroscooters and open passenger carts. The carts each had three bench seats and were programmed to stop roughly every quarter kay.
Trystin ignored the carts, unlike most of the Service people, and walked away from the depot, situated under the center of Klyseen, southward toward the residential domes. On his days off, he had learned that the better cafes were there, with cross tunnels for pedestrians that led to the western Service dome-though the term "dome" was a misnomer, since the bulk of each structure was below ground.
Even with an interior and largely underground culture, most of the personnel on Mara had darker complexions than Trystin, not surprisingly, since the Eco-Tech heritage had been genetically mixed, to say the least. While he did not quite tower over the average Eco-Tech, at 195 centimeters he was taller than most, but he tried not to slouch.
He passed the first restaurant-the Tunnel Cubed-because it was crowded, with Service people at practically every table. Another half kay south along the tunnel, he stepped into the Marigold, where less than half the tables were taken.
After scanning the menu, he saw why. The prices were a good third higher than at the Tunnel Cubed. Hoping that the higher tariff meant better food, he tapped in his order at the service console-real eggs, toasted white algae bread, and browned potatoes. Potatoes could be grown almost anywhere. The console compared his thumb print and ID number and beeped its approval.
Trystin took the squarish slip with his number on it and walked over to the dispenser for some tea. The tea cost as much as the rest of the breakfast, but he needed something hot and real. He took a corner table beside the planter filled with live marigolds and rysya. The marigolds provided color and a bitter scent that Trystin found more acceptable than all the artificial fragrances that drifted past him. The rysya-planted everywhere in Klyseen-had only small white blossoms, but served as a supplemental oxygen regenerator. He could feel the directed heat from the laser-type sunsquirts in the ceiling.
Sitting at the green round plastic table in a green plastic chair, he sipped the tea and watched people walking, or riding, along the tunnel outside, separated from the cafe proper by the row of waist-high planters filled with the mixed flowers.
He still got curious glances from passersby, occasioned by his sandy hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders, but once the eyes took in the Service uniform, especially the officers' bars, they tended to glaze over with the reassurance of the familiar.
Trystin took his time with the eggs, and enjoyed sipping the tea and studying the people who walked by-the Service officers and technicians in their pale green uniforms, the contract technicians in whatever they wished to wear, and a handful of dark-haired and dark-eyed children, usually in school tunics and trousers.
Children-he hadn't seen many since he'd left Cambria, not that most Eco-Tech families had more than two, if that.
He pursed his lips and finished the toast, then took an- I other sip of the tea. Ulteena-somehow she fit his mental picture, and somehow she didn't. Certainly, she wasn't as openly warm as Ezildya, but her nose wasn't the beak he'd somehow visualized. And she was certainly competent.
He laughed. Ulteena was on the fast track, and before long, she'd be a major. She certainly had made that clear, but why had she mentioned that ranks were temporary? He took another sip of tea, sniffed the marigolds, and sat back to watch the pedestrians. He had time, more than enough time.
At 0820, he finally left the Marigold, walking quickly toward the pedestrian tunnel interconnecting Residence one to Service two.
At 0830, Trystin was entering Service two, the support dome of the Service. At 0840, he passed the exit for the botanical garden. He wished he'd left the Marigold earlier and had given himself enough time for the garden. Perhaps later. He missed the greenery. He kept walking.
At 0855, Trystin stepped through the front slider in the underground medical center, and walked to the console. "Lieutenant Trystin Desoll-"
"Follow-up physicals are in corridor three B, Lieutenant. Follow the orange stripe to the blue. Make a right where the blue starts, and follow it to the next reception area." The dark-haired tech gave him a polite smile, then returned to his console.
Trystin shrugged and followed the orange stripe on the wall for nearly a hundred meters before turning right. Another hundred meters of turns led him to a waiting area. He stepped up to the tech at the console. "Lieutenant Desoll . . ."
"Take a seat. Lieutenant. A med tech or Dr. lhara will call you."
Trystin tried not to shake his head and turned. In the front row of the hard plastic chairs sat Ulteena Freyer. She smiled and motioned to the empty seat beside her. "They don't care much for rank here," she observed. "I noticed." Trystin settled into the seat. "How long have you been waiting?"
"About five minutes longer than you." She gave him a quick smile, and a sense of the warmth flashed over him and was gone. "I don't cut it quite as closely as you do. Women can't afford that kind of reputation, even today."
"I didn't plan on cutting it that closely. The med center is bigger than I'd realized." "Your first time here?"
Trystin nodded. "My annual physical isn't due for another month. You think they'll combine it with this?"
"Not a chance. Regs say you have an annual Service physical, and you will." Ulteena brushed back a strand of hair scarcely longer than Trystin's.
"Desoll!" The med tech in greens by the console glanced around the room where the dozen young officers waited. "Here. "Trystin stood.
"Please follow me, ser." The "ser" was definitely a formality, without respect. Trystin smiled at Ulteena. She offered a faint smile in return.
"See you later, at least on the net." She nodded politely.
Trystin followed the med tech around the corner and to a line of curtained booths where the tech pointed at a booth with an open curtain. "Strip down to your underwear. Then stand in front of the console and let it wrap around you. Put your arms in the restrainers, and tap the stud under your little finger. There's one under either hand. Hold still. The console will take blood, skin, and a few other samples. When the tone sounds and the restraints lift, dress and walk up the corridor to delta four. Take a seat there, and wait for Dr. lhara." The med tech looked at Trystin. "Is that clear, ser?" "Clear."
The technician nodded and was gone. Trystin closed the curtain and began to strip, beginning with his boots, setting them in the corner of the cubicle. With a deep breath, he stepped up and let the console embrace him, the plastic and metal cool against his bare skin. His hip twinged at the chill.
The implant flickered, indicating energy flows, in response to the brief sprays and energy probes that invaded him.
In less than five minutes, according to the implant, the process was complete, and the restraints lifted away. In spots, Trystin's skin tingled, and he wondered if he might have a few small bruises later.
He shook his head. Nothing to compare with the one he'd received from falling down the station's emergency ladder. He dressed quickly, opened the curtain, and walked up the corridor and around the corner. Another waiting area contained four chairs. Three were full, with a major and two senior lieutenants. One of the lieutenants was a woman with sandy-blond hair, not so fair as Trystin or his sister, but the first other blond Trystin had seen in the Service. She looked up and grinned. He grinned back.
At that moment, a Service officer Trystin had never seen, also a lieutenant, stepped out of the room, shaking his head.
"Next. Lieutenant Berne?" A heavyset doctor in dress greens stood in the open door.
The sandy blonde stood and followed the doctor. Trystin settled into the chair and closed his eyes, realizing how tired he really was.
"Next. Lieutenant Desoll?" A heavyset doctor in dress greens stood in the open door.
Trystin tried not to jerk awake, and rose as smoothly as he could.
"Don't worry about it. By the way. I'm Dr. lhara. None of you perimeter types ever get enough rest."
Trystin followed him into the large office, where a halo of the western badlands filled the wall space on the right side of the room. The combination desk/console was bare, as was the credenza on the wall behind the console.
Trystin's eyes slipped past the panorama of fast-moving clouds to the third figure in the office-a not-quite human figure in what looked to be shimmering gray fatigues. The iron-gray hair and square face were the most human features of the Farhkan. Trystin tried to ignore the red eyes and wide single-nostril nose that seemed to flap with each breath. The crystalline teeth were not quite fangs or tusks, and seemed blunt.
lhara shut the door behind Trystin. "This is Rhule Ghere, Lieutenant Desoll. He is roughly my equivalent with the Farhkan . . . hegemony."