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oxygen till we finish the pickups."
As Trystin strapped in, the shuttle pulled away from the station. The faint
hiss of the shuttle's air fed through the respirator, along with the odor of
oil and metal . . . and ammonia and weedgrass. Trystin leaned back in the seat
and closed his eyes, much the way the others had done, he suspected.
He didn't really sleep, or even doze, but sat there in a semiconscious daze,
as the shuttle swayed through three more stops and starts before beginning its
return to Klyseen. "Full pressurization."
Groggily, Trystin opened his eyes and pulled off the respirator, unplugging
and folding the mouthpiece into the pak. He rubbed his eyes gently, crusted as
they were from the irritation of ammonia and weedgrass. Then he took a deep
breath that was not quite a yawn.
"You're Trystin, aren't you?" The dark-haired officer next to him wore a star
beside the double-linked collar bar, signifying her selection for major. Her
nose was sharp, but fitted to her face, and the chin firm, squared, above the
strong shoulders that were almost, but not quite, too broad. Her body seemed
trim and muscular.
"Yes. " Trystin looked again, realizing that the eyes were harder, the face
older than he had first seen. "I'm Ulteena Freyer."
"Congratulations." He nodded at the pin. "How long?" "Next month. I'm one of
the few with anniversary dates in Unodec." Her eyes fixed his.
"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,
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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,
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