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

Trystin shook his head. Was there a God? If so, what human could presume to know his mind? And how could such a god be good if he or she or it allowed followers to destroy any race or culture that opposed the expansion of the revs? He shrugged. If there were no god, then such claims were merely an excuse for destruction and expansion. Of course, that kind of rationalization was all too human. He snorted.
Cling! At the in-feed alert, he called up the message. "All PerCon Stations. DefCon visual plot indicates three paragliders on entry envelopes. Probably landfall coordinates follow. Full alert on perimeter stations. DefCon Two. DefCon Two . . ."
Trystin plugged the coordinates into his system and cross-checked, but the indicators were that the revvie drop was aimed at the western perimeter stations-just what they needed with as many as twenty percent of the western stations either destroyed or marginally functional.
Over the next standard hour, he watched, but nothing came up anywhere within his screens, or within the satellite plot covering the eastern line.
He got more Sustain, noting the increasing odor of ammonia. Or was it the decreasing effect of Gerfel's incense? He did manage to keep his hands off the cheese, and tried not to drool when he thought about it.
Then it was back to the screens, more watching, more scanning-but nothing, as usual, until the in-feed alert- cling!
"All East Perimeter PerCon Stations. DefCon visual plot indicates three paragliders have impacted beyond west perimeter. DefCon Two stand down. DefCon Two stand down."
Trystin stood and stretched, then walked over to the small galley and began to rummage in the cooler. He deserved something, even if it were only synthetic cheese on algae crackers.
5
The whole building stank, not only with ammonia, but with weedgrass, and the combined stench had overwhelmed Gerfel's latest incense-burning. As Trystin entered the command center, he wanted to claw at his nose. The invisible grit from the sandy soil was so fine that it drifted through all but the tightest seals, and the station's seals were less than perfectly tight.
"I'm taking the midday shuttle," Voren said. "I don't care if I have to sleep sitting up coming and going. I've got to get out of this stench." He rubbed a nose that was noticeably red.
"Lucky you." Trystin coughed, then sneezed. "You could go to Klyseen tonight and get back on the 0440. Otherwise, you won't sleep."
"I just might. I just might." Trystin wrinkled his nose, trying not to sneeze again.
"Oh, Gerfel's off-night's tonight. Hirachi's rotating duty now, but he won't be here until the late shuttle. He never is." Voren's eyes glazed as he logged off duty. "Also, Jynstin is coming with me. Think you two can handle it for a while?" "We should be able to." "It's all yours."
"I've got it." Trystin linked with the system and logged in.
Voren walked toward the stairs, then turned. "That cheese of Gerfel's?"
Trystin nodded.
"She said I could finish it. I couldn't. It's too rich. You can have the last of it. She told me it was better to share."
Trystin had often wondered what else the two had shared. "Thanks. I did drool over it when I was eating algae crackers."
"So did I, except I asked Gerfel. You've got to ask, young fellow."
Trystin shook his head at Voren's directness. Voren was less than a year older and Trystin's senior by only six months, even if the combination of shadowed heavy whiskers and hair over every centimeter of his body conveyed the impression of greater age.
"Ask and you shall receive." Voren headed for the steps down to the showers and his cubicle.
At times, Trystin wished he had the other's directness. Then again, he really didn't want to be that kind of person. Or was he just deceiving himself? He settled into the command chair and began his checks, but Voren had left everything clean. The fans were contributing ten percent of the power load with the light winds, and the organonutrient tanks were down to fifteen percent. He shook his head and pulsed through a follow-up order for the nutrients, citing the low fuel level.
Then he went through the messages. Nothing new, but the earlier general warning about possible additional revvie paraglider assaults remained current. If even a third of the wings had gotten clear of the troid, there would be far too many revs running around Mara. Although most survived low metabolic state through high-temp planetary entry, Trystin shivered, thinking about what the rev troopers-or missionaries-went through and how few ever returned.
He coughed again, then, noting that Ryla had finally come on, linked to the noncom console. "Ryla?" "Yes, ser?"
"I take it that maintenance has far more to deal with than our bent frame and leaky seals?"
"Yes, ser. I've been using that quick-caulk stuff, but it only lasts a few stans before the air pressure and everything eats through it." "Isn't there anything better?"
"Sure. Inert stabilized fluorocarbons-except they aren't exactly stabilized here. . ."
"Yeah . . . no thanks. Tell me again why we're trying to reclaim this place."
"The word is that someone thought it was a good idea at the time."
"And the revs want to take it from us." "That makes more sense. They've all got eight kids a family,"
"How about five per sister, with five or six sisters per patriarch?" asked Trystin. "Wouldn't mind being a patriarch." "You want the odds on that? Only the ones that survive their missions get to be patriarchs. And I don't care much for their missions." Not when they come as living weapons, thought Trystin. "Me, neither."
"Here comes first light. Time to see the beautiful badlands of Mara in full color."
"I'll be a lot happier someplace farther along, ser, like Safrya."
"Maybe your next tour will be there." "Maybe."
With that, Trystin let Ryla get on with the business of repairs and technical checkups, while he ran through the four screens one at a time before dropping into simultaneous four-screen.
Nearly a stan later, Ryla up-linked. "Lieutenant Desoll, ser?" "Yes, Ryla."
"Number three cracker's down to fifty percent and overheating. The datalinks are burned out."
"You're cleared out. I'll watch the rest of the maintenance board."
"Be a bit before I get the scooter clear. I'll need a bunch of stuff, ser."
"That's fine. Let me know when you clear the bay." "Stet."
The noncoms did most of the physical maintenance work, but they didn't have to worry about burning out their neural systems, either. Trystin rubbed his forehead and shifted his weight, then stood and walked to the armaglass window. The scratched pane showed him far less than his screens, but at times the view through his eyes and the grit-scarred armaglass seemed more real. "Clearing the bay now, ser."
"Stet." Trystin walked back and forth, his consciousness more on the screens than on the gray plastic walls that surrounded him.
Kkcchewww!! The itching got worse, and the odor of ammonia was stronger. He forced himself to stop rubbing his nose.
After running through the maintenance screens, Trystin plopped back into his chair and continued scanning, even though the screens and detectors showed nothing beyond the badlands, the building storms, and the reclamation towers and equipment. At least the winds had increased the power from the fans to nearly thirty percent.
Cling! Trystin swallowed the algae cracker, and washed it down with Sustain even as he called up the message.
"All PerCon Stations. DefCon visual plot indicates two paragliders on entry envelopes. Probable landfall coordinates follow. Full alert on perimeter stations. DefCon Two. DefCon Two . . ."
Trystin plugged the coordinates into his system and cross-checked.
"Shit - . ." This time the indicators suggested that revvie drop was aimed at the midsection of the eastern perimeter stations-a bit south of East Red Three-but that could change, and probably would. The revs were good enough atmospheric pilots that the gliders never came down quite where DefCon said they would. By the time the DefCon and satellite plots had them located and the rockets were away, the gliders were usually empty shells, and the revs were clear and headed for perimeter stations.
He pulsed the scooter and got the relay to Ryla's suit unit.