“Oh…I didn’t…”
“They try to keep that quiet. It’s not unprecedented. Other faiths throughout history have imposed similar restrictions.”
“What can you tell me about Orum? Isn’t that where they have their grand temple.”
Desoll laughed. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen holos…they broadcast them everywhere, with the eight towers soaring into the sky, gleaming white symbols of purity and faith.”
“You don’t sound terribly impressed.”
“I’m not. I’m Eco-Tech, remember, and we lost millions of people fighting off their military missions. A gleaming symbol of purity and faith built on millions of bodies over centuries…that doesn’t exactly impress me.”
“I assume they didn’t literally build…”
“Oh, no. Wystuh is a very clean and beautiful city, with white stone walls, and well-dressed and polite people.” Desoll stopped. “At least, that’s what those who’ve been there say, and what the holos show.”
For a moment, Van had been convinced that Trystin had spoken from personal experience.
“Just the sort of symbol and city for a people convinced that God has appointed them stewards of the Galaxy, righteous in their beliefs of such.”
“Don’t we all like to think we’re right?” Van pointed out.
“You’re correct about that. The Coalition, just to illustrate your point, is trying to convince itself that the problem of the Revenants will go away—or that it’s someone else’s problem. So far, thankfully, most people don’t believe that as an article of faith, but I do worry that will happen. There’s a significant difference between thinking we’re right, or trying to rationalize what we do as right, and believing without hesitation or question that what we do is right.”
Van thought about that. Here he was discussing ethics with a man who was piloting an expensive ship, who personally ran a foundation larger than many multis, and who seemed to know more about his background than did the RSF. And the man had had Van’s implant repaired and upgraded by an alien who also had wanted to discuss ethics. There was a clear connection, but Van didn’t see where it led. “Both you and Dr. Fhale seem quite into ethics.”
“It’s very important to the Farhkans. It ought to be important to humans, but it’s something observed more in the breaking than in the supporting.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because, in the long run, there’s nothing more important than understanding ethics. Can you think of anything else?”
Van stopped to think. Anything more important than ethics?
Desoll stood. “When you’re finished, we’ll delock and head out for Kush. We could have left earlier, but I wanted you to feel the departure, because the next time you come back here will be in your own ship.”
Van hurried through the omelet, a biscuit, and another cup of café. He figured out the sanitary setup in the galley, did his own dishes, then washed up before heading forward.
Desoll’s stateroom door was open, and Van glanced inside, then stopped, taking in the space. The commander’s cabin was more than twice the size of Van’s, with an even wider bed, a double closet, and bookshelves over the couch—with restrainers for the antique volumes. Through another door was a large bathroom-fresher. One corner of the main stateroom was an office with comm and console equipment that would have been appropriate to either a flag officer or a managing director of one of the largest multilaterals—but then, Van realized, Desoll was the managing director of what amounted to a good-sized multi.
He just looked for a moment before moving ahead to the cockpit and strapping himself in.
Here are the protocols for the Elsin, Desoll offered, across the link. They can only be used by me or you or Nynca. There’s a limited key for Eri and the techs, in case of an emergency, but under all but those circumstances, the IIS ships are totally implant-controlled.
Van locked in the keys, both through his improved implant, and into his memory the hard and concentrated way.
Desoll leaned back in the left seat. Go ahead. Spend some time exploring the systems before we notify control.
Thank you. Van did. First he traced all the command lines, then the power system. That was the first surprise. The Elsin’s had photon nets with more projection than the Fergus had, not that much greater, but considering that the IIS ship massed considerably less…Then Van discovered that the converters and accumulators were oversize, and that the fusactors were as well. That was nothing compared to the shock when he discovered that the Elsin was armed—with twin torp bays.
How many torps?
Desoll grinned. Don’t have weapons on this vessel, Commander. We have enhanced message torps.
How many enhanced message torps?
Just twenty.
Twenty torps—as many as a corvette carried.
Van studied the screens as well, then turned to Desoll. “Effectively, you’ve got a light cruiser here. Does anyone know?”
“Outside of the IIS crews, and the builder, there’s not a living soul who does. The torp bays are standard message torp bays. Most ships only have one, but two wouldn’t be considered that strange for what we do, since we could need a backup bay. Our torps do fit message torp configurations. They come from an armaments’ outfit in Keshmara who thinks that we’re a black Coalition outfit,” Desoll added. “The screens are equivalent to a battle cruiser’s for about ten minutes. Then, they’ll shred at that intensity.”
“You have three ships like this?”
“The Salya’s not quite as powerful. Your ship has slightly larger fusactors and more powerful drives.”
“What’s it called?”
Desoll looked at him. “I thought I’d leave the name to you. We can’t register until we take possession.”
Van remained half-dazed. He was being handed command of a vessel that almost could have taken over the entire system of Scandya by a man he scarcely knew.
“You scarcely know me,” Desoll said softly. “I know you somewhat better.”
Van stiffened.
“Coalition implant,” Desoll said. “You’ve already guessed. I was in intelligence at the end of my time in
