The Parafaith War by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Read Free Book Online Page A

couldn’t even have counted the impaired systems. AIR SYSTEM INTEGRITY LOST!! Some atmospheric integrity remained, but not enough for breathing. Trystin shoved the emergency respirator over his face, and jammed the tube into the seat pak. Crumpt!
    “Ryla! Air system’s down. Get into your respak!” No response, and a check-pulse indicated that the non-corn’s system was off-line. There was nothing Trystin could do, not in the middle of an attack. If he didn’t stop the revs, then it wouldn’t matter what shape Ryla was in. Jumping from the command center, Trystin yanked the combat suit from the locker and stuffed himself into it, automatically disconnecting the respirator tube and holding his breath as he dropped the helmet in place and made the seals. He hated the damned armor, both for the restriction in his net access, and even more for the price he’d pay in using it, but the revs, or some of them, were in the station-or they would be before long.
    He kicked his reflexes up, ignoring the buzzing sensation that the boost gave him, and pulled the heavy-duty slug thrower out of its rack, along with several clips. Then he headed for the steps to the station’s lower level.
    As he neared the staircase, the vibrations warned him, and he eased to the side, then dropped flat, waiting.
    Two ghostlike and wavering Figures, faintly brownish, charged up the stairs. Only slightly more clear were the outlines of the assault rifles that each carried. Trystin squeezed the trigger on his own rifle just twice. Both figures tumbled backward, and seemed to disappear at the bottom of the stairway. No movement-or flickering images. Even before they had disappeared, Trystin moved toward the maintenance chute with the ladder, designed for emergency access to the station’s half-buried lower level.
    As he moved, he scanned the net wide-band to see if he could intercept any revvie communications. The net didn’t seem able to take the command, and he came up with nothing. With a gauntleted hand, he flipped up the lever on the shaft door and swung inside, setting his feet on the rung just below floor level and reaching back to close the door behind him. Whhummmp!
    The electronic scream of the net crashing ran through Trystin like a knife down his spine, and his Fingers opened, half-deadened from the neural impact. Even with the implant cutouts dropping him off-line, Trystin stiffened and half slid down the three meters to the floor of the shaft, his hands barely breaking his fall with half-grasps of the metal rungs. He twisted off the ladder at the bottom, and his hip smashed into a side brace. Stars flashed across his eyes, and stabbing lines of pain lashed him:
    Finally, he levered himself upright, feeling almost blind with all outside inputs to his implant cut off and the system down. He eased open the lower door a crack and looked into the maintenance room behind the vehicle garage-no revs in sight. The door to the garage was closed, as was the one to the lower-level main corridor. The station was dim, almost dark, with the power system off-line.
    Slowly, he moved toward the corridor, his rifle ready. Underfoot he could feel vibrations, but couldn’t sense their source. Again, he cracked the next door and looked down the corridor, using his internal controls to step up his night vision.
    Two more of the barely discernible ghost-suited Figures crouched with their backs to him, as if looking around the corner and up the stairwell.
    Three quick shots were enough, and Trystin hurried toward the bodies, even harder to see when the revs were not moving. He still hugged the wall, not trusting that they were indeed dead.
    Ping! Ping! Ping! More shots came from the end of the corridor ahead.
    Trystin skidded down behind the half-visible bodies and tried to scan the section of the hall that led to the lock to the garage and the vehicle door where the armor shield had jammed. Ping! Ping!
    Shells spanged and pinged off the inside of the outer