And one day in late September, 1322 A.H., Althea boarded the vessel, performed her final tests of its suitability and readiness, and declared that their work was finished, that her dream had been made real.
She christened it Liberty’s Torch.
==
Chapter 28: Octember 15, 1322 A.H.
“Tonight,” Barton said to the diners assembled in the Morelon hearthroom, “we celebrate the greatest achievement in the physical sciences any man of Hope has ever claimed.” He nodded to Althea and Martin. They stood, holding hands and looking somewhat abashed. “It’s easy to make claims, but a lot harder to make good on them. Althea and Martin have done both—and in doing so have made Hope a richer and freer society than it ever was before.”
A thunder of applause erupted from the crowd. The honorees responded with smiles wide enough to threaten the integrity of their jaws. The tumult took some time to subside.
“These two,” Barton continued, “are the pride of Clan Morelon. They’ve relieved Hope of the fear that our power stations would run out of fissionables. They’ve gifted Man with a power source so cheap and clean that we'll have to resist thinking of electrical power as being completely free of costs and consequences. They’ve crafted a vessel with which we can wander our solar system. They’ve even given us a step toward the transmutation of the elements. Al,” he said, “you really think it’s within reach?”
Althea giggled and nodded. “I’d say within five years, tops.”
Barton inclined his head in acknowledgement. “After what you’ve already done, I can’t find it in me to doubt you. Kinsmen and friends,” he said, “we stand at the threshold of an abundance and ease we cannot even imagine. And the very same hands are about to give us the freedom of the galaxy.”
Another cataract of applause broke forth, punctuated by cries of “Hear, hear!” and “Bravo!” Expressions of delight were uniform. Even desolated old Chuck Feigner, reaved of his love without reason or recourse, for whom life seemed no longer to be enjoyed but only endured, clapped and smiled.
After it had gone on for about a minute, Barton raised a hand, and the gathering quieted once more.
“But in the best traditions of a free people,” he said, “they didn’t do it out of the goodness of their hearts. They did it because Althea is determined to travel among the stars. She plans to search for Mankind's relatives on other worlds, and to chart new planets ripe for our colonization. Finally, she plans to visit the cradle of Mankind, old Earth itself, to see what’s become of our parent stock and to extend our forgiveness to the descendants of those who drove our forebears into exile.”
The attentive silence acquired an uneasy quality. The scattered fidgetings and subliminal murmur suggested that not everyone in the Morelon hearthroom was ready to forgive the peoples of Earth.
Barton swept the gathering with his gaze, nodded, and turned to his wife.
“Nora has something she’d like to say.”
Nora Morelon rose, moved to her husband’s side, and slipped an arm around his waist.
“Forgiving is important,” she murmured. “I know it’s hard. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything harder. But that’s part of what makes it important.
“The people who massacred the Spoonerites and hounded our ancestors into exile are all dead by now. Their descendants have had to live with that stain on their memory for more than eighteen hundred years. They must have wondered, some of them at least, whether the descendants of the Spoonerites would ever return to take vengeance. Such a fear must be a terrible thing to live with.”
Nora paused and briefly looked down at the table.
“We want to think of ourselves as good people. Not just acceptable, but good. I don’t think I could do that if I were unwilling to forgive. I’ve been trying to do so ever since Althea announced her space travel plans, because I knew that someday we’ll send a delegation to Earth. We need to see what’s developed there...whether they’ve outgrown their addiction to States and coercion...whether they can be our partners in the exploration of the galaxy.”
She smiled tentatively and pulled Barton closer.
“Let’s work on it a little. If we can forgive them, maybe we can be neighbors. Maybe we can learn to love them as we love ourselves.”
She hugged Barton once more, they took their seats, and the buzz of normal conversation gradually returned.
* * *
After the other diners had departed and the hearthroom had been cleared of the banquet tables and chairs, Barton beckoned to Althea and Martin and bade them sit with him on the old masonwood sofa before the man-high hearth. Althea felt a prickle of unease as they took their seats.
“I have a request,” Barton said when they’d settled. “I don’t think you’re going to like it much, but I’m hoping I can persuade you that it’s in the clan’s best interests, and maybe in yours as well.” He looked back and forth between them.
“Whatever it is, Bart,” Martin said, “you know we’ll take it seriously.”
Barton nodded. “That I do, Martin, and thanks in advance. We licensed our twelfth fusion unit last week, to Clan Cromartie. Construction is expected to start in a few days at most. I know you’ve trained Hugh and Gavin in the technical details of construction and operation, but it makes me nervous to contemplate not having you here as our new businesses expand. Alongside that, I know you’ve trained Ernie on Freedom’s Promise, but to have only one qualified pilot makes it more than a little risky to fly.”
Martin frowned. “In atmosphere it’s just a jet. Adam Grenier’s pilots could probably fly it after ten minutes’ instruction.”
Barton merely looked at him until he’d subsided.
“All the same,” he said, “to have both of you light years away and out of communication represents a significant reduction in the expertise we’ve based our new ventures on. I know I could never persuade you, Al, but is there any chance I could induce you, Martin, to stay behind?”
Althea’s gaze went at once to Martin’s face.
Is Bart going to pull off what I could never accomplish?
“You’re asking more of Al than of me,” Martin rumbled. “If I stay here, she spends a minimum of three years in interstellar space alone. No company. No relief at the controls. No help if something goes badly wrong.” He peered dubiously at the patriarch from under lowered brows. “Are you quite sure you want to ask that of her?”
Barton grinned ruefully. “I did have to think about it for a while. But yes, I do. And yes, I realize how big a sacrifice I’m asking of her. If you say no, I won’t press the issue any further, I promise you.” He frowned. “Three years, Al?”
Althea nodded. “I don’t have power enough to force Liberty’s Torch past Michelson eight, and the first target star is twelve lights away.” She shrugged. “I’ll need to do some work on the power system to get to Earth and back before you’ve forgotten my name.”
“Hm.” Barton looked at his knees. “I wasn’t aware.”
Martin said, “Then—”
“Wait, love.” Althea put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Not so fast. Let’s take it upstairs and toss it back and forth in private.”
Martin turned a look of pure incredulity on her, as if she’d asked him to do something utterly unthinkable. She fought down the urge to flinch and backtrack.
“Really?” he murmured.
Althea nodded, and the three of them rose from the sofa.
“Thank you,” Barton said, “for at least considering it.”
* * *
There was a desperate quality to their embrace that night. Martin’s lovemaking was as tender and thorough as ever, yet Althea could practically read his thoughts from the tremors in his muscles. As she clung to him in the darkness, it became clear to her that his anxieties would not easily abate.
I wonder whether he’ll regard my pitch as a betrayal.
—Never, Al. He knows you far too well for that. But you can be sure he won’t like it.
/>
Hi, Grandpere. It’s hard to be confident about that when so much has changed.
—What are you thinking of, dear?
How about seven years in space beating ourselves half to death over my, pardon the phrase, insane obsession?
—You’ve both been through that. Why should it affect him more than you?
Grandpere! Because it’s my obsession!
—Hm. Your obsession, his devotion. Good point. It would seem wise to tread carefully.
Gee, I thought you planetary intelligences were all needle-sharp?
—(humor) Whatever gave you that impression, Al? Besides, this isn’t abstract rational stuff. It’s people stuff, and people are infinitely variable.
Are we really? I’d have thought we’re all pretty much the same, underneath.
—That could not be further from the truth. Take it from your friendly neighborhood planetary intelligence.
Who was once a people himself.
—(humor) Well, yes.
Her mouth curved into a grin against Martin’s cheek.
“Something funny, love?” he said.
“Hm? Oh, no, not really. Just...luxuriating.”
He turned in her arms and faced her. His eyes sought hers through the darkness. She struggled not to look away.
“Did you...seriously want me to consider Bart’s request?” he said.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Why, love? I can’t imagine that you’ll enjoy being alone for three years running.”
She snorted. “You can disabuse yourself of that notion right away. Three years alone? I can barely stand to be away from you for three minutes.”
A look that compounded surprise, delight, and confusion spread over his face.
“Then why? I can’t fathom it.”
She paused to marshal her forces, then pulled him firmly against her.
“Because everything else about this adventure is about me. Bart pinned it in only eight words: ‘Althea is determined to travel among the stars.’ I’ve been working toward it since I was eighteen years old. Everything I’ve ever done, except for loving and marrying you, has been part of that effort. We’ve spent eighty percent of what we’d accumulated on it. We’ve put two years in Thule and seven years in space into it. We’ve taken chances with our kinsmen’s affections and our clan’s standing in the community. And I have an ugly suspicion that the reason Charisse has abandoned the clan is my...my obsession with interstellar travel and the way it’s shaped the clan’s policies these past twenty years. Well,” she said after a moment’s reflection, “one of the reasons, anyway.
“It doesn’t have to be all about me, Martin. It shouldn’t. It’s time I considered the clan’s interests and well being. If we both hare off to Eridanus, we’re stripping our kin of more than ninety-nine percent of the physics, chemistry, and engineering savvy that made the spaceplanes and the fusion reactors possible. Yet they’re just about guaranteed to need support on one or the other of those things. Maybe both.”
“Then why,” he murmured, looking directly into her eyes, “should either of us go at all? Why do you have to go?”
She drew a sharp, frightened breath.
I can’t remember that he’s ever asked before.
Do I dare to tell him?
—The time has come, Al.
Grandpere? Are you sure? He might think—
—It doesn’t matter any longer. Either he knows you well enough to take you at your word, or he doesn’t. Either way, waiting won’t improve the odds.
Odds of what?
—That he’ll doubt your sanity.
“Althea?”
“Martin...”
His arms tightened around her. “What is it, love?” His gentle brown eyes had taken on the contours of alarm.
She pushed him a little away, reached behind her and pressed the light switch, and their bedroom flared with illumination.
“You’re going to think I’ve gone crazy.”
* * *
Her revelations took them well past midnight. She unearthed the heirloom box she’d never dared to show him, extracted Teresza’s note, and handed it to him. He read it and handed it back to her without comment, and she commenced to disclose the rest of her most closely kept secrets. He listened with unflagging attention, never betraying for an instant his evaluation of her tale. When she ran down at last, he nodded, rose from his seat on the bed, and paced irregularly about the room. She waited silently, but in a firestorm of anxiety. Finally, he propped himself against the edge of their dresser, folded his arms over his chest, and fixed her with a gaze of sober assessment.
“If anyone but you had shown me that note,” he said at last, “I’d have dismissed it as a forgery composed to support an obvious fantasy. If anyone but you had told me of a thirty-year exchange with a dead man whose personality has somehow merged with a planetary overmind, I’d say he was insane and refuse to listen to any more. But it’s coming from the woman I love. The note, the necromancy, all of it! How am I to reject any of it without rejecting you?”
She held her tongue.
“The problem,” he continued, “is that not one word of it is consistent with the reality I’ve lived in for fifty years. I can’t accept it on your say-so. Especially not this business about having a unique set of mental powers that allow you to converse with the dead—”
“Not with the dead generally, Martin.”
He nodded. “Sorry. Only with this one, unique dead person whose soul somehow got blended into the overmind of Hope and resides there today, keeping watch over the planet’s crust. Making sure its chemistry remains friendly to human life.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “If our positions were reversed—if I were to tell you the story you’ve just told me—would you accept it without question?”
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then rose to face him as levelly as possible.
This is it, girl. Showtime.
“If our positions were reversed,” she said, “I’d be asking myself whether I have any reason to believe that the man I’ve loved for nearly twenty years would have any reason to lie to me. I’d be asking myself whether he was showing any other signs of schizophrenia or megalomania. And I’d be asking myself, ‘How could Martin provide me with a little evidence of his claims? What could he tell me, or show me, that would make it all come together?’”
His brows knitted, but he said nothing.
“Martin, she said tonelessly, “I want you to uncross your arms and fold your hands. Fingers interlaced. Hold tight.”
“Why?” he said.
“You want a demonstration, don’t you?”
His eyes narrowed, but he complied.
“Now keep them together as long as you can.”
She summoned her telekinetic power and put it to the task of separating his hands against his own considerable strength.
His eyes widened in alarm. He stared down at his folded hands, their grip on one another loosening against his will, and struggled to keep them together. She bore down, and his hands flew apart with such force that his arms were jerked horizontal, as if straining to leave their sockets.
She relaxed her telekinetic grip at once. Martin’s arms returned to his sides, but the fright remained in his face.
“How—how?” he whispered.
“A gift from my grandfather,” she said casually. “The day we met, you caught me exercising another of his gifts: my unusual speed. It seemed to unsettle you, so I made a point of not letting you see me do it again. There are other facets to it, Martin. I’m far stronger than a woman my size should be. My endurance is off the charts. My vision and hearing are twice as acute as the nominal human optimum. And I’m a telepath, a telekine, a clairvoyant, and an all-around pain in the ass.”
She folded her arms and waited.
“And a high genius of physics,” he murmured at last. “And a financial wizard. And a master negotiator. And a lover of such passion that comparisons fail me. Al,” he said,
“what on Hope did you want with me?”
It rocked her momentarily. She recentered herself with an effort.
“You, Martin Kan-Hsing Forrestal,” she said, “are the finest specimen of Mankind on Hope today. Grandpere Armand says so. On the basis of extensive exposure, I find that I concur. I had no choice about loving you, any more than Grandmere Teresza could help loving Grandpere Armand.” She bared her teeth. “Do you regret it?”
His face fell. “Of course not!”
She smirked. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now that we’ve established that I’m not crazy, that I am a psi, and that my marching orders come from an authoritative if unusual source which it would be at the least ungrateful of me to ignore, can I persuade you to consider remaining here on Hope with the clan for a few years, while I pursue my mad passion for space travel and see if I can bring home a few new bits of knowledge about life elsewhere in the Milky Way?”
==
Chapter 29: Octember 28, 1322 A.H.
As the last of the hovertrucks turned and pulled away, Althea checked the charge level of the power capacitors on the mass driver, assured herself that the launch azimuth remained correct, and punched the firing button. The huge ferroceram electromagnets emitted a cannonaded whine-and-crackle as they shot the payload into the heavens.
It was her seventeenth launch of the day. The remotes that controlled the magnetic catchbasket on the Relic and reported on its status had already registered the safe arrival and offloading of the previous sixteen. The mountings had proved even stabler than she’d hoped. She hadn’t had to adjust the driver’s orientation since they’d begun that morning.
The deliveries were complete. Only six payloads, all of food and soft goods, remained to be wrapped in shock-and-guidance harnesses, loaded into the mass driver, and fired up to the Relic. Yet Martin's gaze remained fixed on the access road. He stared at the blind curve that led away toward the residential region of Jacksonville as if he expected still more trucks to round that curve, bearing still more cargo to be delivered to orbit. It unsettled Althea in a way she could not define.
Freedom's Scion (Spooner Federation Saga Book 2) Page 28