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

After ensuring the block door was closed behind him, he triggered the combat reflex biofeedback, unarmed module, and slipped through the sliding grate into the cell of the first rev-blond-haired and blue-eyed, like most of them, and probably in his early twenties, T-time.
The young military missionary launched himself right at Trystin, seemingly in slow motion, as Trystin stepped aside and his hands moved through two short arcs. The rev lay gasping on the stone floor for a minute, then lurched toward the Coalition officer. Trystin's knee snapped across the revvie soldier's shoulder, and threw the man against the stone wall. "Oooffff..."
"Are you finished?" Trystin asked conversationally. "Golem! Infidel!"
"That's not the question. I'd prefer not to hurt you." Trystin watched, saw the tensing muscles and stepped inside the rush, using his elbow and stiffened fingers to drop the rev back onto the stone. "Oooo..."
"We could keep this up all day, but sooner or later. I'm going to miscalculate and really hurt you. Not that it matters to you. You're perfectly willing to die for the Prophet." Trystin paused, watching the rev and his eyes. "Have you considered that, since you're alive. He might have some use for you besides fertilizer?" "Fert-" The soldier snapped his mouth shut. "All the stories are true. We can't afford to waste anything here. Who knows? If you keep this up until I have to kill you, you just might end up as fertilizer or as nutrients for the pork industry. We keep the pigs in tunnels," Trystin lied.
"Golem! Infidel? Why should I believe anything you say?"
"Because I could have killed you and didn't. Because what happens to you depends on me." Trystin's eyes fixed on the other, triggering the superacute hearing. "How many squads came in on that glider?"
"Four" came through the subvocalization even as the rev snapped, "None but ours."
"Four," mused Trystin, direct-feeding the information to Ryla's console.
"Four? Shit, Lieutenant," responded Ryla through the link. "We got nothing on the screens." "Did you get all your equipment out of the glider?" "Yes. . ." "I don't know."
"Did the other squads have back-strapped heavy weapons?" "I don't know."
"How long are the others supposed to stay under cover?"
"Days .. ." came the subvocalization, followed by the spoken words, "I don't know.'
"How many glider wings were there on the mother troid?"
"Twenty . . ." subvocalized, followed by the spoken, "I don't know."
"How many gliders came off the mother troid?" "I don't know." Subvocalization revealed nothing. A line soldier who wasn't much more than the Prophet's gattling feed wouldn't know, but Trystin had hoped.
"Was your troid one of the new ones with twenty insystem scouts?"
"Thirty . . . golem. . ." followed by, "I don't know." Hsssttt! Despite the static burst from the storm and the headache, Trystin forced himself to remain calm. "Was your Sword a Cherubim?" "Seraphim. " "I don't know."
"A Seraphim? My goodness. And did your troid bring in an EMP-Slam?"
". . . 'course . . ." covered by the inevitable question, "What's that?" "Is it hot in those new suits?" " Yes." "don't know."
"How many of the other squads were angels?" "One. " "I don't know what you're talking about, golem." "Any of you have fun with the angels?" The rev lurched at Trystin, Who blurred aside and let him crash into the wall.
"It's nice to know that you do have some remotely human drives," Trystin found himself saying conversationally. Careful . . . you're not supposed to bait them. Careful-the warning seared through him from somewhere. He took a deep breath.
"You going to kill me now? Turn me into fertilizer?" The blue eyes were bleak, and Trystin almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"No." Not yet, thought Trystin. Not that I care. After triggering the door, he slipped outside and let the door seal the rev inside.
Outside, Trystin dropped a physiological overlay in place to call up some reserves for a few minutes, then took a series of deep breaths, letting the strength flow back into him. He'd pay for it later.
Even after months of sporadic interrogations, he still wasn't used to the mindless hatred the revs had been indoctrinated with or the fact that they saw Coalition officers as golems, more machines than human. Trystin didn't appear different from any other human, and looked, unfortunately, more like a rev than an Eco-Tech. He wasn't wired with metal-his implant: was totally organic and invisible.
After a last deep breath, he triggered the second door and stepped around the moving grate and into the next cell, link-closing it behind him.
"You creatures really are part of the machinery." Another blond-haired blue-eyed rev, older than the first, studied him. "Indoc or interrogation?"
"Interrogation. " Trystin noted the muscular tightening. "I wouldn't."
"Golems, aren't you? All machine, no soul." The muscles relaxed, but not totally. "Worse than the Immortals. You even look like a son of the Prophet. Did they re-create you in that image?"
"Hardly. I was born this way." Trystin continued to monitor the rev's muscular tension. "Did you really expect that a glider with only four squads could do much?"
"Hoped" was the subvocalization. "That wasn't my duty, ser."
Trystin tried not to frown. The "ser" bothered him. "Did you really want to throw away a squad of angels?"
"No. " There was no conflict between the answer and the subvocal message.
The man was clearly an officer who'd been thoroughly briefed on Coalition officers' capabilities. Trystin pushed. "Why are you hiding that you re an officer?" "I'm not hiding anything. You never asked." "Why were you in the first attack?" "Why not?"
Trystin wanted to shake his head. All the subvocalization detection wouldn't help in the slightest if he couldn't keep the other man off balance. "What's your rank?" "Assistant Force Leader." "What squad was the Force Leader with?" "Second" was followed by the verbal, "He stayed with the other squads."
"What do you really hope to get from these attacks?" Trystin let his voice become more conversational. "Officially, that would be for others to say, ser." "What do you want?"
"To wipe that mechanically superior grin off your young face." "Do you want to live?"
The subvocalized "Yes' was followed by, "I'm not that certain survival is an option. You people don't seem to believe in the sacredness of life." "Do you?" snapped Trystin. "Yes."
"Then why are you out here trying to kill us?" Trystin wished he had bitten back the words. The man was getting to him. How could anyone who belonged to a faith, a system, that sent thousands of young troopers out to die, just to wear the Eco-Tech systems down for conquest-how could he claim that life was sacred?
". . . abominations. . . not real life. . . ""You surrendered your souls."
"Is that why the troid ship was carrying an EMP-Slam?" "Yes." "I wasn't aware of that." "How many more troid ships followed yours?" "Three . . . think" "That's certainly none of my business."
"How many wings cleared the troid before you?" "None. " "I don't know." "How many come after you?" ". . . three. . . more. . ." "I'm not a pilot, ser." "How many troids are scheduled to attack Mara in the next year?"
"I don't know. Until the land belongs to the Lord." "Are all your troops-"
"They aren't troops. They're missionaries." "Excuse me. Are all your armed missionaries wearing the new suits?"
"Of course." -"When will you start bringing in heavier weapons?" "Soon. " "When the Lord wills. "
Trystin looked at the composed man who stood there in what amounted to a white shipsuit. All the telltales and scans indicated, prisoner or not, that the rev was indeed as composed as he looked. "Won't you ever stop?"
"No. Not while we're about the Lord's business.
"Why does the Lord's business just involve our real estate? Why don't you go after the Hyndjis or the Argentis?"
go after abominations " 'We follow the Lord's will."