Life on Titan became bearable even between his sessions, for the crowding had been relieved by the arrival of a cruiser, which remained in orbit while many of the current ensigns and their instructors lived on board. Drew said they were giving it a thorough maintenance check in preparation for a long training cruise. It was unusual, he added, for this to be done anywhere but at a major ops center; evidently it had been arranged because there were so many extra people at the base. Cruiser duty was a common first assignment for ensigns upon completing their tour on Titan, though normally such a large ship would not have come to pick them up. Terry had seen no sign of the rest of its crew; perhaps the lack of recreational opportunities on Titan had kept them from taking shore leave.
Seeing Terry’s fascination with the neurofeedback software, Roanna allowed him to study the source code. This was not secret, and he was able to route it to the computer in his quarters. Soon he was running it with simulated brain input, which became nearly as great an obsession as hacking had been in his younger days. He had plenty of time free, since with much of the ensigns’ training taking place aboard the cruiser, there were not many simulated exercises to be programmed at the base. Terry had stopped wondering why he had been sent to a planet where there was little if any meaningful work for him, mainly because he was no longer sorry that it had happened.
He had an occasional neurofeedback session with Aldren, and became more and more curious about his past. It was obvious that he and Roanna had considerable experience in teaching the mind skills. There must have been a previous project elsewhere—but not in Fleet, to which he’d been told it was new and experimental, and what other organization could have been in a position to keep it secret? He was so used to Aldren’s slight accent, which Roanna shared, that he no longer noticed it; but it suggested that they’d come from some backwater colony.
He still felt closer to Aldren than he ever had to anyone else. It had been explained to him that a permanent bond existed between people who had been in contact during extreme stress, and that it was even stronger with telepaths than with others. This had begun to form as far back as his initial training session, Roanna said; Aldren had literally suffered with him through their unconscious link and had found it agonizing to withdraw all telepathic support, which he’d done purposely to prevent the session from being unnecessarily prolonged. Terry fervently hoped that their contact wouldn’t end when his training was complete, unless, of course, he was sent back to exploring—which he’d begun to think was unlikely to happen soon.
After several weeks, during one of their infrequent sessions together, Aldren said. “Do you want to try something a bit scary today?”
“Sure,” Terry said. He was long past feeling any nervousness about such suggestions.
“I’m going to teach you to control bleeding,” he said, “and then to heal minor cuts.”
Without hesitation Terry held out his hand while Aldren slashed a finger with a small knife. Control of pain came easily to him now; he felt the stab but it didn’t hurt. It bled profusely into the towel he held in his other hand, but once they were on dual neurofeedback the flow quickly ceased.
“I stopped it for you,” Aldren said, “so that you could see the pattern of the state needed for healing.”
“You can heal other people, not just yourself?” Terry asked in surprise. He had always assumed that so-called psychic healers were charlatans.
“I can,” Aldren admitted, “and if there were any people on Titan who weren’t receiving adequate medical care, it would be very hard to refrain from it. But think what has happened historically whenever someone was believed to have such a power.”
“They were idolized,” Terry realized. “They were turned into cult figures.”
“Exactly. Are you beginning to see how complicated this project is going to get, Terry? Healing is a natural ability and it would be wrong never to use it, but it has to be done with discretion. Someday you too may be able to heal others besides yourself. If so, you will bear a heavy responsibility.”
What have I gotten into? Terry thought with dismay. It’s bigger than I bargained for, I never wanted to be superman. . . . Yet he did want to—at any rate, to use all the powers within himself that were emerging. Until it began to happen, he had never felt whole.
“For now, you just need to be able to heal your own body,” Aldren said. “Let’s see if you can match my mind-pattern.”
Since Aldren was helmeted in the second chair it was necessary for Terry to cut a second finger by himself. Unflinchingly, he did so. This time it took longer for the bleeding to stop, but once he succeeded in matching Aldren’s mind-pattern he gained control over it. “Keep your eyes on the feedback,” the doctor told him. “Something else is about to happen.” To Terry’s amazement, the two cuts healed while he watched, so that only scars remained—scars that Aldren assured him would be gone by the next day.
“This is not something to practice alone in your quarters,” he said, “but if you ever need to call on the skill, you’ll have an underlying memory of the state of consciousness it demands. Later you may be taught to heal deeper wounds.”
“How much more will I be taught?” Terry inquired, wondering what was left to come.
“Soon you’ll start on remote viewing,” Aldren said. “That’s actually easier to learn than what you know already—it requires less telepathic skill on the part of the instructor, and some people were doing it as far back as the twentieth century. But here, other things have higher priority.”
Remote viewing, he explained, involved seeing at a distance, even a long distance like the other side of a planet. It wasn’t practical on Titan, where it was rarely possible to go outside the domes to find out whether what had been seen was accurate. And it wasn’t always reliable, for not all viewings were true ones, even when made by people who were exceptionally psi-gifted. On the whole, however, it was a useful skill—especially, Terry thought, for explorers. He eagerly looked forward to it.
But the next morning a priority message appeared on his phone. With incredulous dismay, he read it: “To Lt. Terry Radnor: You are ordered to report to the cruiser FHS Shepard at 1900 tonight for immediate deployment.”
~ 9 ~
The cruiser? It must be a mistake, Terry thought in anguish, just as his original transfer to Titan had been a mistake; there was no possible reason why he would be sent on a training cruise. He had too much experience on explorer missions to be demoted to cruiser duty. Unless . . . maybe they were correcting the original error by getting rid of some excess personnel. But Admiral Derham would hardly include him among them, not when he was in the Flame project.
He requested permission to see the CO, feeling sure that Derham would apologize for the routine order that had somehow reached him, and would rescind it. That was not what happened.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Radnor,” Admiral Derham said. “But you’re needed on this cruise, and I can’t excuse you from it.”
“Needed, sir? How could I be needed on a cruiser?” The captain and a few watch officers would do whatever piloting was needed to supplement the AI.
“You’ll be a patrol leader. You wanted a flight assignment, didn’t you? I know it’s not like commanding an explorer, but it’s what is available right now.”
Patrollers were fun to fly when you were new at it, and despite his more advanced experience he wouldn’t mind flying one on an actual mission. But there were no missions for them other than occasional police operations or sorties against pirates, which were rare since no pirate in his right mind would venture anywhere near a cruiser. In reality, patrollers were used mainly for pilot training. And after all, they weren’t starships, nor were they able to land on a planetary surface, which was only challenging part of flying within a single solar system. As a patrol leader, he would be mainly concerned with teaching ops protocol to ensigns.
But that wasn’t the major issue. “Sir,” he protested, “I haven’t completed my training with Dr. Aldren.
It was my understanding that once I agreed to participate in the Flame project, I’d be obligated to see it through.”
“That’s true, but your regular duties have priority, as you were told when you volunteered.”
In desperation Terry burst out angrily, “Any pilot could fill a patrol billet on a cruiser! You told me you have more people qualified for flight status than you can use! It’s not fair to send me away before I’ve had a chance to develop the skills I was promised.”
With uncharacteristic coldness, Admiral Derham replied, “It’s not for you to judge what’s fair, Lieutenant. Either follow your orders or resign your commission—we’ve no room in Fleet for officers who don’t want to do the jobs they’re given.”
Unbelieving, Terry managed to say “Yes, sir,” and leave the office before succumbing to the impulse to ruin his career with an ill-considered retort. His face was hot with rage. If it weren’t for Fleet’s monopoly on interstellar transport, he thought, maybe he would resign! Aldren wasn’t employed by Fleet, after all, and might be willing to keep on teaching him. There being no way a civilian could pilot a starship except outside the law as a smuggler, it was not a real option. But to be pointlessly pulled away first from exploring and then from the one other thing that was important to him. . . .
He was not ready to give up. Dr. Aldren had made plain that he had exceptional aptitude for mind training and that his participation in the Flame project was valued. He had said that his initiation into the use of psi powers was only beginning. And Aldren was Admiral Derham’s friend—surely he could pull strings to keep him on Titan.
But Aldren was occupied with scheduled neurofeedback sessions, and Roanna said it would be 1700 before he could see him. That was cutting it close, leaving only two hours before he had to report to the cruiser, and the last shuttle would leave half an hour before then. Maybe a phone call from Aldren to Derham would be all it would take. Or maybe he could be sent back from Shepard before it departed.
Nervously Terry packed his gear, telling himself that it was wasted effort because he would just have to unpack it. Drew had also been ordered to Shepard and appeared to be equally unhappy despite having complained constantly about his make-work on Titan throughout the weeks since their arrival. In the mess hall, Terry found that this feeling was prevalent. “It doesn’t make sense,” said Mikaela Orlov. “There’s not one of us who needs extra training, and there aren’t nearly enough billets for full lieutenants to account for the number who’ve been called.”
Terry scowled. Never one to make casual conversation with messmates, he had not realized that Shepard would have more than the usual complement of experienced officers. Normally its crew would be composed almost entirely of sublieutenants and ensigns, preparing for their eventual assignments to the working ships of Fleet—freighters, transports, liners, explorers, and colonizers. There was very little actual work to be done aboard any ship, and apart from service personnel everyone aboard was commissioned. The function of junior officers when not flying was to oversee the functioning of the AI, and in an emergency, to assist with troubleshooting. The specialists in charge were of higher rank; though Terry had enough basic knowledge of AI maintenance for it to be his secondary role in an explorer team, he could hardly be needed on a cruiser for that.
In any case it had been stated that he would be flying patrollers. Yet Mikaela was as good a pilot as he was; in fact she had an instructor’s rating and had been one of the few newcomers giving flight training on Titan. If she too had been assigned to Shepard, perhaps he had not been singled out. Which made Admiral Derham’s attitude all the more puzzling.
“Maybe Titan’s short on consumables,” Drew suggested.
Terry supposed that was possible. Bases in Earth’s solar system were amply supplied, but it was true that this one had been overcrowded for many weeks. Still, if they were running low on life support there would be enough warning for a supply ship to reach them. Not unless there had been emergency damage to a dome would it be necessary to send people away.
“Shepard came in with a skeleton crew,” Mikaela said, “and they’re due for annual leave, even the captain. Vargas is taking command. That’s some help—he’s fair, and he’ll do the best he can by us.”
That was what he’d thought about Admiral Derham, Terry reflected bitterly. He hadn’t had much contact with Commander Vargas, the XO on Titan, but he’d heard only good things about him. He might have had no voice in picking the new crew, in which case he would be in sympathy with their dissatisfaction; but a ship full of malcontents would have to be ruled with a firm hand.
When he finally got in to see Dr. Aldren, there was no need to explain what he was there for. Aldren knew. Whether he’d picked this up telepathically or had been told earlier, he greeted Terry with a silent surge of concern. It’s going to be all right, Terry thought with relief. He understands what it means to me to stay.
Aldren was more formally dressed than usual; he and Roanna, he said, were going to the reception for Commander Vargas’s promotion to captain. Terry noticed with surprise that he wore a tiny copper lapel pin in the shape of a flame. Was that a symbol of the project? Would the people who completed the training receive such pins?
No, Aldren told him silently. It symbolizes something else, something in my own life, a commitment that I honor.
Motioning Terry to sit beside him on the familiar floor mattress where they’d talked in the past, he continued, “I know your reassignment is a blow to you. I wish I could say something to make it easier.”
“But—I thought—”
“That I could talk Admiral Derham out of sending you away?”
In anguish, Terry became aware that Aldren’s mind had been abruptly closed to him; he couldn’t connect even with the emotion he was sure the man was feeling. “I don’t want any special favors,” he said, although that was exactly what he wanted. “But you’re his friend—”
“His job requires him to make command decisions. I’m just a civilian outsider. It’s not my place to interfere.”
“You’re a psychiatrist. You could tell him it wouldn’t be good for my mental health.”
Aldren gave him a penetrating look. “Is that true, Terry?”
“Well, not exactly,” Terry admitted. “I’m not going to go off the deep end.”
“I trust not. I’m sure there’s a good reason for your assignment.”
“Good enough to make up for my not getting all the training you promised me? You said I’d be taught more than how to control the involuntary functions of my body—that I’d learn new psi capabilities. I’m just about to start with remote viewing!”
And he would lose more than that. There was the rest of the Flame project, the part he wasn’t yet authorized to know. It had been implied that it was something he would care about. That he’d be involved in action of real importance, maybe for years to come. To put him through the hard initial sessions and then deny him a chance to take part in whatever the training was leading up to . . .
“Terry,” Aldren said seriously, “doors in your mind have been opened that can never again be closed. Here or elsewhere, whether or not you receive more formal training, you will go on developing your inborn capabilities. Over time they will grow. That is what happens to human beings who don’t retreat from new experiences, and you have never been one to retreat.”
Terry bowed his head. Put that way, he couldn’t argue. But how could he live without the inner contact with Aldren and Roanna on which he’d come to rely? All his life he had been cut off from people, never knowing what it was for minds to touch. To go back to that, to be alone, unable to reach anyone . . .
He had been told that sooner or later more people in the Flame project would become conscious of telepathy. Possibly some would be aboard Shepard, but would it be awakened in them without further guidance from Aldren? He recalled that Commander Vargas had received the mind training, but he could hardly expect a close telepathic relationship with the captain. Wou
ld he be able to find out who the rest of them were, given the secrecy by which they all were bound?
Aldren knew. Perhaps that was why his mind was barricaded; he might fear that he’d unconsciously reveal too much. After all, he, Terry, was no longer even in the project now that he had been ordered to drop out of it. If only there could be one last moment of mind-touch. . . .
“I can’t tell you any official secrets,” Aldren said, “but there is something else I will tell you, against my better judgment.” He paused, then continued hesitantly, “Incredible though it may seem, in remote viewing we sometimes see the future. This has happened to me occasionally, though I never can be sure whether it’s precognition.”
“Precognition? Knowing about events before they happen?”
“Not reliably. It’s often so vague that we can’t make out exactly what we’re seeing.” Slowly he continued, “Last night, Terry, I saw your face in such a vision—not as you are now, but older—and deep in my mind I knew that if the vision was true, you have an extraordinary destiny somewhere forward in time. This may be a false viewing, as many of them are. On the other hand, you should not be discouraged about your future, for there is a real possibility that there’s something crucial ahead that neither of us can foresee.”
Stunned, Terry felt his anger drain away. His eyes burned with tears, and he knew he must leave before the doctor saw them. Their farewell was silent, but he knew that what he had gained from Aldren’s friendship would stay with him always.
~ 10 ~
The Rising Flame: Box Set: Defender of the Flame + Herald of the Flame Page 6