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came in."
"Even without all that biohardware, you still had ears like a hawk. Now
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nothing can move without your hearing it." "A hawk?"
"Predator of ancient earth. Supposedly could hear small rodents from kays
away."
The woman who slipped into the office was stocky, but not heavy, with short
hair half blond, half silver. Her green eyes smiled as she took in Trystin.
"You look good."
Trystin stood quickly, stepping toward her, but his leg dragged ever so
slightly. "It's good to be home," he admitted, bugging her tightly.
After a time, she stepped back. "Careful. I'm a fragile woman." "Ha!" snorted
Elsin. "Not very." "Compared to your son, I am."
"My son? He's yours too, last time I heard." "Poor man, he's starving. Can't
you see that?" Nynca winked at her son. Then her expression turned serious.
"What's wrong with your leg?"
"Projectile injury. The doctors say it's fine, just stiff. I need to keep
exercising it." "You didn't mention that in the message." "I didn't want to
worry you."
"So I have to worry now?" Nynca shook her head. "You and your father." She
turned to Elsin. "He still needs to be fed. He's too thin."
"Dinner has been waiting for you, honored professor." "Were you still working
on that sewage project?" asked Nynca, stepping over to her husband and kissing
him on the cheek. "Of course."
She shook her head. "Can you afford to?" "Not for money, but for Trystin and
Salya." "Always the idealist." "How about dinner?" asked Trystin. "I'll get
dinner. You wash up," suggested his father. By the time Trystin, still
carrying his cup, entered the dining area that overlooked the middle garden,
Elsin was setting the casserole on the ceramic and wood holder in the middle
of the circular table. Greens and sliced fruits, topped with seasoned and
crushed groundnuts, filled the big wooden bowl before Trystin's plate. Across
the table, by the empty fourth place, was a basket filled with steaming dark
bread.
Nynca opened the wood-framed sliding glass door, lifting the door frame
slightly to ease it over a rough spot. "I can see I need to do some repair
work here."
"Always the engineer." Elsin seated himself and turned to Trystin. "Help
yourself. It's simple. Bread, salad, and casserole."
"It smells wonderful." Trystin waited for his mother to seat herself before
settling into his chair.
"Isn't it always?" she asked. "I've gotten spoiled over the years."
Trystin waited until she had served herself, then heaped several serving
spoons full of the churkey and rice casserole on the wide brown stoneware
plate, followed by an equally generous helping of the greenery.
Elsin poured Nynca's tea and then helped himself to the food.
"Now . .. first things first. So I can get my worrying done. How did you get
hurt?" asked Nynca. "Start from the beginning."
"That's what she always says." Elsin laughed. Trystin finished the last of the
tea in his cup. "The revs have been stockpiling equipment in the Maran
badlands for almost three years, covering the stockpiles with continual
off-and-on attacks on perimeter stations. . . ."
As Trystin outlined the background and the attack, Elsin refilled Trystin's
cup.
". . . in the end, I really didn't have much choice besides staying in the
armor. Then, while I was in the med center, I was offered the orders for pilot
training and decided to take them. Part of it was the business about extending
everyone."
"But not all of it. I'm not surprised." Nynca nodded. "Much as you love the
house, it wouldn't be enough for you. Not now." Elsin cleared his throat.
"Besides. . . we've talked about this...." Nynca looked at Elsin.
"Talked about what?" Then Trystin nodded. "You mean that Salya will come back
someday, and she really does love it enough to be happy here?"
His father nodded. "You, for years anyway, will be out there pushing the
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limits. You didn't want to hide away even when you were wounded, did you?"
"No," Trystin admitted with a short laugh. "I guess not."
"You've always liked being in control." "And you haven't?" asked Nynca,
looking at her husband. "Trystin will want to settle down sometime. You did."
"He might be ready in another half century." Elsin grinned. "It's a good thing
we've got young people like you." He took a mouthful of the churkey and
chewed. "Turned out good this time." "It always does," Nynca said with a
smile. Trystin frowned. "What did you mean about having people like me? 30
that not everyone stays home and . . ." Since he couldn't figure out how to
finish the sentence, he didn't.
"The situation with the Revenants." His father took another mouthful of
casserole.
"What does that have to do with me? Or the house? Or Salya?"
"Haven't you figured it out yet, Trystin? We're losing." "How do you figure
that?"
"Because I'm an integrator, and I don't say much because there's no point in
it. Everyone's doing everything they can. You don't help matters by screaming
in a smoldering building. You just try to find more water." He shook his head.
"I know. It's a bad analogy.
"On the surface, we've reached a stalemate. Our borders with the revs are
stable, and we don't attack their fully habitable planets, and they don't
attack ours-although we both could. Their population is growing-"
"Fast enough for them to re-create the Die-off within a few centuries on
Orum."
"Try a millennium," suggested Elsin. "I've run the numbers. Planets are big.
But your basic point is valid. We've opted to populate based on an integrated,
sustained, ecologically and technologically sound basis-and a lot smaller
population." He paused and looked at Trystin. "When will Mara be ready for
initial air-breathing colonization?"
"Somewhere in sixty to eighty years, or, if the Newsin bugs or your treatments
work," grinned Trystin, "a whole lot sooner." "When will we really need it?"
Trystin shrugged.
"How about never?" injected Nynca with a laugh. "I've heard the sermon."
"When could the revs use it?" Elsin pursued. "Probably now. That has to be why
they're stepping up their attacks." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]