Whatever that meant, members of the Group evidently were thriving on it. There was some deep secret, just as he’d always felt, Jesse realized. Something good, something that justified the seeming brutality of the test he had failed. And he had lost his chance to learn it. . . .
“Jess, opposing Med control of government is futile without striking at its roots,” Peter declared. “As I’ve told you, it’s not just a local problem. It has arisen here because the funds and the technology happen to be available; eventually, when that’s true elsewhere, Med dominance will spread. Never in human history has majority opinion given medical care less than top priority after immediate survival needs. Freedom has always run second to the dictates of medical advice.”
“I suppose it has. Can anything change that?”
Peter eyed Jesse. “People give the Meds power over their lives because they believe they’ll suffer if they don’t—not physical pain alone, you understand, but all effects of stress that they can’t cope with.”
“Are you saying the only answer is to suffer, then?” Jesse protested. “I can’t go along with that even in principle.”
“Of course not,” Peter agreed. “Our aim is to end suffering. But not by tinkering with bodies, or pouring drugs into them. There are better ways, ways involving conscious volition. We in the Group do not suffer. Not physically, that is, after we’ve had training. We don’t have to endure pain; we simply adjust our perception of it.”
“Just by thinking, you mean—mind over matter? Oh, Peter, you don’t expect me to believe that. I heard plenty of that metaphysical crap back on Earth when I was a kid; my older sister was into it. As far as I could see it didn’t accomplish much.”
“For the few with the right preparation, it accomplished more than you realize,” Peter told him. “Your sister may have been just a wannabe. With us, however, it’s more than mere metaphysics. It involves specific, measurable activity of the brain that can be voluntarily controlled.”
Jesse stared at him. “Let me get this straight. You control your own brains in such a way that you don’t suffer pain.”
“Yes. The ability to do this is every human’s birthright. Pain is a biological alarm, you see, built in by nature to protect the bodies of animals that can’t judge danger. But adult human beings judge danger consciously. We no longer need an ongoing alarm. In every era a few individuals have learned to turn it off. It’s time the rest of our species grew up.”
“Forgive me if I’m skeptical, Peter, but even if that were true, how about the less exalted beings in your hospices? Are they expected to suffer bravely until they grow up, as you put it?”
“No. Once we’ve mastered the skill ourselves, we can relieve others’ pain as well as our own. That’s one of our caregivers’ responsibilities.”
With just their minds? He must have misunderstood, Jesse thought. What he seemed to be hearing didn’t make sense.
“I could have done it for you without lessening the physical stimulus,” Peter continued. “It was very hard not to, since I’m an experienced healer. If Carla had been here she wouldn’t have been able to refrain from it. But the aim was to see if you could be taught to do it for yourself.”
“You actually believed I might develop such a talent if you pushed me hard enough?”
“Not immediately. I was testing for aptitude, not skill. The skill must be acquired through specific help and instruction. A person who gets all the way through the test can learn it, can gain the power to turn off suffering. And that opens doors to greater powers, beside which the issue of physical pain is insignificant.”
This was true, Jesse perceived in wonder. These people could banish pain as well as worry. “I suppose it takes years of self-discipline,” he reflected. “I’m not cut out to be an ascetic, Peter.” It seemed incredible that any of them were. They enjoyed life too much.
Peter smiled. “It’s not like that. Our methods are harsh, but they’re fast. A matter of weeks, sometimes mere days, as far as immunity to pain goes.”
“Some form of hypnosis, then.”
“No, though the fact that hypnosis can block pain proves human minds are capable of it. With us, there’s full conscious control. What defeated you last night was your fear of losing control, not the pain itself—isn’t that true?”
Bowing his head, Jesse mumbled, “Yes.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a normal, healthy reaction.”
“But you hoped I’d turn out to be more than normal.”
“I believed you had that potential.” Peter didn’t meet his eyes as he said this, Jesse noticed.
“And if I had, in time I’d no longer feel pain?” He had lost more than the Group’s companionship, Jesse thought despairingly.
“You’d feel the physical sensation without minding it; you’d be in charge of your mental reactions. What’s more, that skill once learned can be applied to other things. People can control a great many more of their own internal processes than the Meds will admit.”
“I guess I should feel honored that you let me try out for your team. But it’s an empty honor now, isn’t it?” Like all the rest, Jesse thought bitterly. Everything turned out to be empty if you traveled far enough, whether you stayed in space or thought you’d found a world. Even the stasis vaults were no worse a trap than the limits set within you.
“One more thing,” Peter went on. “We can heal illness in others through mind alone, too, Jess. Apply the concept far enough, and the political power of the Meds fades away, you see. Personal power moves into the foreground. The implications are far-reaching. Think about them.”
“You don’t need to go on justifying yourself to me,” Jesse said. “God, Peter! Do you think I’d count the cost if there were a chance of becoming like the rest of you? I’d give anything to have made the grade.”
Peter lowered his gaze, seeming unsure of how to proceed. “What would you be willing to contribute without the satisfaction of having made it?”
“Anything I can.” Jesse drew breath, abruptly aware that it had not been a rhetorical question. Obviously, few could meet the standards of this very exclusive organization, yet he knew too much, now, to be dismissed. Was there work that needn’t be done by actual Group members? It went against his grain to accept a support role, yet what choice had he?
“I believe you mean that,” Peter declared. “If not, now’s the time to say so. You know me well enough now to realize that I ask a lot of my people.”
“I made a commitment I couldn’t fulfill. If I’m any use to you, I’ll stick by the spirit of it.”
Again, Peter hesitated. “How much do you know about the experimental method?”
“Just what anybody in Fleet knows. You collect data from at least two groups, sometimes three, and run comparisons.”
“Is that how we’re working it here?”
“I guess you can’t. You only have data from the people in your Group, who I’ll continue to call supermen—” He broke off, spotting the fallacy in his assumptions. “No. You have data from me and others like me, who couldn’t fulfill your expectations.”
“We don’t have enough,” Peter said. “More detail about reactions of people who lose control under stress would be invaluable, to say the least. But of course, it would be very hard to find such volunteers.”
There was silence. After a while Jesse realized that Peter would not say more, that they both knew it did not have to be spelled out further. If he walked out now, Peter wouldn’t pursue him. He could go back to the spaceport and get drunk again, and sooner or later, whether he got off this planet or not, he would end up grounded in a bar somewhere—underneath he’d known that, even as he first denied to Carla that it had happened already. It was due to happen someday, however much he now gave to a cause he did not fully understand.
Would it be any worse, then, remembering more hours of hell than the one already burned into him?
Carla . . . Jesse saw, now, why she had held back. She’d
known he might not qualify to become one of them. He would not see her again, for she, superhuman, would hardly choose a lover who was less. Yet Carla had wanted his love. Don’t ever hate me, she’d said, no matter how things turn out. Had she feared he would blame her for the pain he could not bear?
If so, there was but one gesture he could make to show her that he did not.
~ 15 ~
Turning to Peter, Jesse stood erect. “All right,” he said wearily. “Let’s get it over before I have time to change my mind. How long do you need to set it up?”
To his relief, Peter had the sense not to belabor the issue. “Maybe half an hour,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Can you walk, Jess? If you’re still shaky, that’s normal. You haven’t eaten since yesterday noon.”
“I can walk. If I’m shaky that’s low blood sugar, but I can’t say I have an appetite.”
“It’s best to skip breakfast,” Peter agreed. “After you use the bathroom you can wait in the lab.”
On the verge of protest, Jesse bit his lip and complied, finding his legs weaker than he’d expected. Peter surely knew that the lab would be the worst place to wait. As before, evidently, the protocol called for maximizing fear. Okay, if he was going to do this, he’d play along with the whole of it. The preliminaries hardly mattered when he already knew what it would ultimately come to.
He took his shirt off again and sat down in the lab chair, unconsciously drawing away from the innocent-looking steel cradle that was still attached to the armrest. Peter had disappeared. Minutes passed. After a while Jesse noticed that his hands were clenched together, their knuckles white. By force of will he unclasped them, laid his left arm in the cradle, and let it rest there, his empty stomach lurching as the metal touched his skin.
The light in the control booth came on, throwing a bright square on the wall opposite. Jesse could hear faint voices, one of them a woman’s. More time passed, a long time. He began to get jumpy; his nerves were scraped raw. Then all of a sudden panic surged through him, rising, scorching his heart and then his face. He could not go through with this thing! Yet neither could he run. Though still unstrapped, he was paralyzed, perhaps truly so; there was no strength in his legs. . . .
Agony assailed him in waves. Whenever he managed to quell terror for an instant, it lashed back with renewed force. Each time he was sure it would prove unendurable—he would scream, convulse, lose his grip on himself. . . .
After well over an hour had gone by, Peter returned and without comment, moved the headpiece into place and began to attach the sensors.
The room seemed very cold. Jesse’s skin was wet, and he was trembling. All at once his gut cramped painfully, adding a new dimension to fear. He was glad he’d been required to fast. God, would he prove lacking not only in willpower, but in control over bodily functions?
He couldn’t help shrinking as Peter buckled the body straps. “Let go, Jess,” Peter advised, laying a steadying hand on his arm. “Tensing up won’t help, you know. This will be easier for you if you relax.”
“You don’t want it to be easy. You made me wait a hell of a lot longer than half an hour, Peter, and that wasn’t by accident.”
“No,” Peter admitted. “I gave you time to reconsider, and you’re still here. So stop worrying about how you’ll react. Don’t fight your fear—lower your defenses and let it flood you. There’s no shame in it. The more frightened you are, the more we’ll gain.”
Though the words were spoken impassively, there was something else back of them. Not heartlessness. Jesse could not perceive Peter as cold, much less opportunistic, despite his readiness to let an outsider suffer for the Group’s cause. Strangely, he began to feel better.
He was, after all, here by choice. He had volunteered not for the sake of the cause, but merely to convince himself—and Carla—that his crackup hadn’t been total. Peter knew this! He had, perhaps, intended it. Abruptly, Jesse realized that Peter had brought him back not so much for the research as to restore what could salvaged from the remnants of a failure’s self-esteem.
Resolutely he tried to relax, realizing that the advice had been sincere. Peter smiled. “Visualize yourself on the rock, just before you jumped,” he said. “Remember how it felt to commit yourself to that.”
“You—knew! Knew when you dared me—” As he spoke, Jesse realized that of course Peter had studied his psych profile thoroughly, had known of his fear of water even before they met—and had somehow known that he would jump, too. There was a certain symbolism, which had just now been deliberately revealed.
“I’ll never ask more than you can deliver,” Peter said, standing back, “but neither will I let you off with less. Right now, I’ll go as far as I must to get the data we need.”
Jesse fought off renewed giddiness. “Further than before?”
“Yes.” Peter paused, then went on, “There’s no danger of killing you, you know. That’s what the heart monitor’s for; it’s linked to a computer programmed to cut at any sign of trouble. In certain situations we’d lay our lives on the line. Lab research isn’t one of them.”
“I wasn’t worried on that score.” He hadn’t been; instinctively he’d trusted them so far that it had not even occurred to him. But short of killing him, how much further was there to go? He’d already been taken past his breaking point. To continue the stimulus beyond that stage would either kill him or drive him insane; the former would almost be preferable. . . .
“Your sanity’s not at risk,” Peter said, with genuine warmth. “If you didn’t know that underneath, you wouldn’t have volunteered. You’re going to be okay when this is over.”
The reassurance, oddly enough, was convincing. No, Jesse knew, he would not be driven insane! He was still entirely sane despite having been sure, last night, that sanity was slipping from him. Things could not get any worse. What lay beyond would be pain, nothing more. He recalled Peter’s words: What defeated you was fear of losing control, not pain itself. He couldn’t stay in control; he now knew that. In any case, the data useful to them could be obtained only after he had lost it. That loss wasn’t going to destroy him.
“Don’t try to prove anything, to me or to yourself,” Peter went on. “Just stay conscious as long as you can. Okay, Jess?”
Nodding, Jesse once again willed his muscles to relax, discovering that they would now obey him. Let it happen, he told himself. A peculiar sort of calm spread through his body. He hadn’t imagined how it would feel to pass beyond terror.
The pain began more gradually than before. For what seemed many minutes it wasn’t hard to cope with; though his heart raced and his breathing grew labored, Jesse felt, ironically, in full command of himself. Why was Peter waiting? What point was there in drawing it out so long, when no valuable data would emerge at this stage?
Peter stood where his face was visible from the chair. It was tired, drawn; his vitality and forcefulness had drained away. He did not look like a superman. The impassiveness of his bearing was a pose, Jesse saw. However driven he might be by ideals, Peter was a compassionate man who suffered, in the emotional sense, as much as the subjects with whom he dealt. All at once Jesse grasped what this was costing him, what last night had surely cost.
“Peter,” he breathed. “I’m . . . okay. I don’t mind. Do . . . what you have to do, and don’t worry about me.”
Turning, Peter asked levelly, “Are you telling me to raise the intensity?”
“Yes. You’ve held off longer . . . than you needed to.”
Peter moved behind him, adjusting the headpiece slightly. “First, I want you to see some of the data.”
“Never mind. I’ll take your word that it’s worth getting.”
“I have to show you. Evaluating your ability to think under stress is part of the protocol.” He raised his voice, commanding, “Give us the visual, now.”
Blindingly, astonishingly, the entire wall across from them lit up. There was a huge pattern, strange shapes and bright colors. Jesse’s head spun.
The effort of examining data struck him as one demand too many. Though he wasn’t close to cracking, the pain swamped him with dizziness and nausea. It was hard to focus his eyes on the display.
“It’s not just an EEG or brain scan image,” Peter was saying. “There’s more sophisticated input, and computer conversions have been done on it. But it shows brain functioning.”
“It’s . . . static. Unchanging.”
“This one’s from last night. We’ll go to real-time neurofeedback once you learn to interpret the format. See anything significant?”
“Well . . . it’s plain where I cracked up.” It was; the shapes of the pattern broke into fragments near the top of the wall. “The y-axis is time?”
“Yes, in this case. It’s not a graph, though; two dimensions are used in the pattern itself. We need another dimension for intensity of stimulus; that’s done with color. Spectrum sequence, in reverse because to most people red means maximum.”
Jesse grimaced. He had never gotten near the red zone; the image showed green shapes blending into yellow and ultimately, in the crisis area, into light orange. “It’s . . . straightforward,” he said. “Not much thought’s needed.”
“What I want you to do is predict the real-time data before you see it. What type of pattern?”
“Like the lower section . . . the regular pattern, before those breaks start.”
“And the color, Jess?”
“Green.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve been steady on red for the past five minutes.”
“That’s not possible! What did you do, drug me?” It could have been done while he slept, he supposed.
“Of course not. What would we gain by that?”
“I’m not sure,” Jesse declared, “what you’re gaining by any of this.”
“Right now I’m getting routine confirmation of well-known fact: the human mind doesn’t perceive pain in terms of raw intensity. There are components of resistance and fear.” Again he called out to the control booth. “Let’s have real-time.”
Stewards of the Flame Page 11