And so he was back to the same dilemma: he was happy in the Group despite his ongoing fear for Carla, yet bored and restless with nothing to fill his days. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m sure Peter has something important planned for you—otherwise he wouldn’t have declared that he doesn’t want you distracted by advanced training.”
This had come up during one of their first visits to the Island; to Jesse’s inner relief, Peter had overruled Greg’s suggestion that he should be progressing beyond mere refresher sessions in the lab. The question “distracted from what?” had not been answered. Jesse had supposed he was being given time to assimilate what he’d learned and apply it to daily living, an effort that since his Ritual transformation had become easier. That it might refer to an upcoming task had not occurred to him—but if it did, what was Peter waiting for?
“Right now,” Carla continued, “he’s too absorbed with Ian, and what Ian’s teaching him about taking over the leadership, to think about anything else. He doesn’t often seem to have his mind on his work at the Hospital.”
That must be it. Even at the Lodge, Peter was no longer the vibrant, carefree young man Jesse had first known there. Learning his true age had altered Jesse’s view of him, to be sure; still there was a real difference, which Carla too had noticed long before Valerie’s arrest and had mentioned more than once. Having met Ian, he could now see its source. Taking Ian’s place would demand all the strength and wisdom that Peter could muster.
Beside this, his own problem was insignificant, Jesse decided. In any case, there was nothing he could do but let it ride.
~ 42 ~
The city was built on the largest of Undine’s islands, which was long and narrow, with the spaceport and power plant occupying one end. The Hospital complex, containing the largest and tallest buildings in the colony, took up the high ground in the middle. The island’s other end, crisscrossed by canals, was tightly packed with businesses, apartments, and a few private houses. If the population grew any larger, it would have to expand to the neighboring islands now devoted to mines and farms.
The West Shore waterfront was where the private boats and seaplanes were moored. Peter kept his plane in the area closest to the Hospital, but moorings extended a long way toward the tip of the island, separated from a row of upscale homes by a wide esplanade. On a bright afternoon Jesse walked aimlessly along it, farther than he’d gone before, and to his surprise found himself in front of the house where he had been taken to meet Ian. It had been dark then, so he hadn’t noticed that it faced the water, but he was sure it was the same house. And, he recalled, he’d been told that the Group’s hospices were always located on the waterfront for the simple reason that bodies had to be surreptitiously moved from them into planes. Cost was not a factor; the Group had plenty of local money available to spend on real estate, the ownership of which was registered in the names of members who kept a low profile.
He did not, of course, go to the door; he knew that Ian needed rest and received few visitors. Though either Kira or some other caregiver would be there, his daytime loneliness was hardly an excuse for intruding. But he stopped and sat on the low concrete wall at the water’s edge, looking out at the brightly colored seaplanes and thinking that this was the only view Ian would ever see now. Ian must long to be aboard one of those planes, heading out over the sea toward his beloved Island . . . Jesse certainly did. He, even more than Carla, lived for the offshifts when they would be free to go there. Besides, the weekly flight itself was something he looked forward to, mere passenger though he now was. He did miss flying, though he’d never had opportunity to do as much as he’d have liked in shuttling between starships and spaceports.
There was a pier opposite the house with boats tied up, and a few shacks on it—the recharging station, water taxi office, and so forth. Idly, Jesse read the signs, noticing one that read “Seaplane for Charter.” On second glance he saw that beside the sign was a large “For Sale” notice.
Suddenly, Jesse knew what he was going to do with his time on Undine.
There was no reason he couldn’t run an air charter service. Now that the idea had come to him, he couldn’t imagine why he had not thought of it before. Surely he could learn to fly a seaplane easily, considering his experience piloting shuttles. He would enjoy it. He could set his own hours. And it would be of use to the Group; there were always more people wanting to go to the Island than planes available to take them. Peter’s willingness to arrange loans against his offworld accounts had so far appeared to be unlimited. He could buy the plane and charter business outright without making much of a dent in his retirement funds.
Eager to get started, Jesse proceeded along the pier to the shack with the sign. Not until he’d pushed the door open did he remember that he knew nothing about financial transactions in the colony beyond the fact that they were strictly regulated. Probably he should have asked Peter’s advice, lest government red tape jeopardize the secrecy of his funds’ true source. But what the hell, it would do no harm to inquire about the price.
At the desk within the shack, with his chair rotated toward the window and sea view, was a grizzled, bearded old man wearing an antiquated plaid shirt. He swung around as he heard Jesse enter. “Sorry, I’m not taking charters anymore,” he said. “I’m closing down.”
“I saw that you’re selling,” Jesse said. “What’s your price?”
“Depends on the terms. You want just the plane, or everything?”
“The whole business—all the equipment you’ve got, records, moorage lease. I’ll pay cash.”
The man stared at him in astonishment. “Thought I knew all the pilots around here. Taught most of the older ones to fly myself. I sure hadn’t heard there was anyone in the market for a charter business.”
“I’m new here,” Jesse admitted. “From offworld. So I’m looking for a good opportunity.”
“Ever do any flying?”
“Not in seaplanes,” Jesse hedged, “though I’ve been up in them with friends.”
“It’s not much different from flying land-based planes, or so I’ve been told. As you probably know they’re all seaplanes here; the island’s not big enough for an airport. But it shouldn’t take you long to make the transition.”
“Well,” said Jesse, “I’ve only flown larger ships, under conditions not much like this world’s. So I’ll need a bit of instruction. Is there a flight school around here?”
“There is, but the guy who runs it will charge you as much as he charges the green kids he caters to, and not give you half the training you’re paying for,” declared the man with evident bitterness. “My instructor’s ticket is still good. If you buy the plane, I’ll throw in lessons.”
“So let’s see it. Have you got time to take me up now?”
For just a moment the old man hesitated, and Jesse sensed doubt in him. But then he said, “Sure. I’m Zeb Hennesy, by the way.”
He led the way to a blue and white seaplane, moored directly at the pier. “The lease on this space is worth plenty,” he said. “If you bought a new plane you’d be stuck way out, and water taxi bills run up fast.”
Jesse had observed enough during his flights with Peter and others to be familiar with the routine of inspecting the floats and making sure that the plane had a full power charge. It was a beautiful machine that had obviously been carefully maintained. As he climbed into the copilot’s seat and they taxied out for takeoff, his spirits soared. This was what he was meant to do. With this, his new life on Undine would be complete.
They accelerated, nose up out of the spray, and he could feel the decrease in drag when the floats began to lift. In a moment they were off the water. The plane climbed, and Jesse gazed down at the canal-threaded city. It was clearly dominated by the massive, glaring white Hospital cluster, which seemed even from the air to dwarf the featureless residential areas. He was glad to be away from there.
“Take over,” Zeb said to him as they leveled off. “Let’s see
if you’ve got a feel for it.”
Jesse took the yoke, his confidence rising with the passing minutes. The plane handled very differently from a starship’s VTOL shuttle, of course, and was so much slower that he kept wanting to put on power. But after his trips in Peter’s similar plane, he knew that it wouldn’t take him long to get used to it. The only tricky part would be setting it down horizontally, on water.
“You’re a natural,” Zeb said, seeming rather relieved. “Mostly I’ll just sit back and let you log the hours on dual you need for a license.”
“It may take me a few days to raise the cash,” Jesse said after they’d landed. The price mentioned had meant nothing to him, unfamiliar as he was with colonial money, but he could tell that Zeb wasn’t a man who would cheat him. “Is it a deal?”
“Best deal I ever made,” Zeb said. “Don’t care about the money. I just—well, I wanted her in the hands of somebody who’d treat her right. Not one of those damn fool kids looking for joyrides these days. There’s hardly anybody else in the market for used planes.”
Most people in the colony who needed planes already owned them, Jesse realized, and they rarely had reason to give them up. Zeb was evidently reluctant to let this one go. With his developing access to people’s feelings, he sensed the pain in him, and wondered why the old man was selling. He was past the age to retire, certainly, but if he didn’t need the money, why not keep the plane for personal use?
They shook hands on the agreement, and Jesse, seeing that it was late, took a water taxi through the canals back to the apartment. Carla would be home before him, for once. He could hardly wait to tell her his news.
“That’s wonderful!” Carla said, hugging him. He was elated all evening, and the next morning commenced flying lessons with Zeb. But Peter, when at Carla’s request he met them in a safe house that night, was surprisingly unenthusiastic.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea, Jess,” he said, frowning.
“Oh, Peter,” Carla said. “Jesse loves it, and he needs to do something here.”
“I know. But a long-term commitment like this—”
“I’m sorry if I misunderstood,” Jesse said, somewhat stunned. “I had the impression that the Group wouldn’t mind lending me as much as my funds will cover.”
“It’s not the money,” Peter assured him. “We can’t give it to you in cash; a transaction that large would have to go through a bank, and would be reported. But it would be perfectly legal for Xiang Li to invest in an air charter service, if you wouldn’t mind signing paperwork to make it look as if the plane’s securing the loan.”
“Of course I wouldn’t.”
“So that part’s okay. I just wonder if maybe you’re being a bit hasty. You’ve only looked at one plane, after all.”
“It’s in great shape, and I like Zeb Hennesy. We hit it off right away.”
“But you’re not even licensed yet—it will be a while before you can carry passengers, and even longer before you have enough hours to carry them for hire.”
“Surely you don’t think I’ll have trouble learning to fly a seaplane, Peter.”
“No, no—certainly not. You’ll make a great pilot. I’ve got an instructor’s rating myself; we could log some dual hours for you going to and from the Island.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“For one thing, you’d need to acquire permanent, legally-recognized resident status to operate a business here.”
“Peter,” Jesse said, “I can’t live the rest of my life in this colony without the authorities noticing that I’ve become a permanent resident.”
Peter sighed. “I suppose not,” he admitted. “I guess we could hack credit bureau files to prevent your offworld accounts from being discovered, since you’ll have some earned income to satisfy any tax investigations.”
“Hack financial records? I won’t have Carla risk that,” Jesse stated firmly. Much as he wanted to fly, he wouldn’t pursue it on those terms.
“No, of course not. All the financial hacking is done by our contacts on Earth.”
“Well then, as you say, it will be awhile before I can get a commercial license. So we can take care of the red tape later, can’t we?”
“Sure, go ahead and have fun flying—you deserve that,” Peter told him. “I’ll talk to Xiang Li tomorrow.” But he did not look happy.
Puzzled, Jesse worried about it during the night, and finally an answer came to him. He had mentioned to Peter that the plane was moored in front of the house where Ian was living. In fact, Carla had said the one next door, which was owned by Xiang Li, was used as a hospice, too—that made it easy for caregivers to keep watch over two patients, when there were two, without exposing either of them to the danger of the other being found. Sooner or later, perhaps often, bodies would have to be moved out of those houses. And who would be better situated to transport them than a pilot with a plane at the pier across the street?
Peter had previously declared that he wouldn’t be allowed to risk being caught with bodies. Why, Jesse didn’t know. He was as fit to assume that risk as the others in the Group. There had never been any indication that he was not trusted. But for some reason, Peter did not want him to be endangered—just as, he now knew, Peter’s reluctance to preside at the Ritual had stemmed from unwillingness to expose him to possible harm. Was it for Carla’s sake, he wondered? Was it because her first husband had been caught, and for her to go through such an ordeal a second time might destroy her? Worse, might the authorities suspect her if a second partner—even if not her legal husband—was accused of murder? He too felt horror at that possibility . . . and yet he could not live on Undine without taking chances. The most fundamental rule of the Group was that fear must not be allowed to interfere with living.
He was not obliged to respect Peter’s wishes. The Ritual pledges said nothing about obedience to the Group’s leader; on the contrary, his commitment required him to support fellow-members. If they asked him to transport a body, as well they might if his plane was close at hand, he would do it. Knowing this, Peter had hoped he wouldn’t get into such a position. He had backed down because he knew he was wrong to be ruled by anxiety. But excess caution was so unlike Peter that Jesse wondered if there was something more going on, some danger to the Group of which he himself was unaware.
That week was the happiest he’d known since coming to the city. The first day he did little more than acquire the ability to land the plane, practicing over and over without going far offshore. It was odd how nervous Zeb appeared to be about it, considering the many years of instructing he’d said that he had. Surely his young, inexperienced students had been slower learners. But once Jesse demonstrated that he could touch down safely, regardless of wind and weather, Zeb relaxed. From then on, they flew all over the part of Undine within range. Once they even went to Verge Island, the farthest out in the cluster that had been settled, which of course covered only a fraction of the planet’s surface. A few more of the larger islands also had recharging stations; Zeb took him to them, familiarizing him with the common routes and introducing him to the people he would meet during his required solo flights and later, when he began charter flying.
By the time the first offshift arrived, he’d had four days of instruction, three or four hours a day. On the last afternoon, he had soloed, with Zeb standing on the pier cheering him on despite, Jesse guessed, considerable pain at the sight of the plane he loved taking off without him. It marked the true transfer of ownership. Worse, Jesse knew, was the fact that for the next five days he would be taking it where Zeb could not go. With Peter as the official instructor aboard, he and Carla were going to Maclairn Island, which on maps was marked as off limits to landing. “I’m sorry,” he told Zeb, “but my partner has a job, you see, and when she’s free, we fly to a place her friends own. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to have my own plane.”
As he went through preflight inspection the next morning, Jesse was overcome with fullness of joy in th
e realization that the plane was his own. He had literally never owned anything before. He’d gone to the Fleet academy straight from school and in Fleet, with your life spent in space, you didn’t have a chance to buy a house or a car or anything else people normally acquired. You didn’t have a personal computer or video gear, since on starships those things were standard equipment. Even the locally-programmed phones used on shore leave were rented. He’d possessed nothing but his pocket datakeeper and the few clothes he wore when not in uniform.
Now he had everything, intangible and now tangible as well. Carla, friends, use of the Lodge he loved, the prospect of health and long life . . . powers of mind beyond his former imagining . . . a commitment to something important . . . and not merely a way to occupy his time, but a plane that belonged to him and a long-term occupation he would enjoy. If he were superstitious, Jesse thought, he would not dare to acknowledge so much good fortune. It drove his knowledge of the Group’s ongoing danger into the background, so that he was scarcely aware that the trouble-free time could not last.
Peter, seeing his happiness, seemed reconciled to the situation. They took off in high spirits, looking forward to another relaxing offshift. Nevertheless, Jesse continued to sense that he was hiding something, something more than his concern for Ian. Had he told Ian? Jesse wondered. Did Ian watch from his window, aware that they were in this particular plane headed where he must wish he, too, could go?
Evenings on the Island, Peter went up with Jesse to teach him the fundamentals of night flying. The moon, so much larger and brighter than Earth’s moon, made this easy; seaplanes were not limited to daylight as they were on most worlds. Circling the Island, looking down at it, Jesse had an overwhelming sense of attachment. He knew that never again would he want to be a worldless rover—and yet he couldn’t quite forget that there was no refuge from the peril in which he and Carla lived on this particular world.
Stewards of the Flame Page 31