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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.
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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.
73
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
in-system 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
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