“Not all Fleet officers fit the image,” Terry admitted. It was quite true that some of them carried smuggled items alongside the cargo on the manifest. Not having been in the merchant branch of the service, he was not sure what else they might do. “We haven’t enough platinum left to tempt anyone,” he pointed out.
“But we have sugar hidden away. Why do you think I suggested stashing some?”
“They can get all they want from the hold,” Terry protested.
“No. They have to produce vid evidence of the inspection if they make one, and then they get nothing but their regular pay. If we can convince them not to enter the cargo bay—offer a story that will sound convincing to their superiors—who can say how much they’ve carried away and sold to dealers?”
It was worth a try. Though it would be a mistake to insult police officers if they were dedicated to law enforcement, the moment they emerged from the airlock he could sense that they were not. They weren’t dishonest men, he perceived. It was just that they didn’t care any more than he himself did whether the rules against free trade were obeyed.
Jon was ostensibly Vagabond’s captain; Terry signaled a go-ahead and kept quiet. He did, however, project the idea of potential profit, just in case the inspectors had enough unconscious telepathic ability to pick up the thought.
“I can’t stop you from searching my ship,” Jon said to them, “so I may as well come clean and save you the trouble. We’re here because a couple of crew members were overdue for shore leave; we’ve no plans to take on cargo. But, well, with sugar so cheap in this colony I couldn’t resist stocking up on some. We can’t afford it anywhere else, and I wanted to give the women a treat. I know exporting it’s illegal, but do a few sacks for our own consumption count?”
“Yes,” said one of the inspectors. “Sorry, but they’re forfeit. How much have you got?”
Jon and Terry proceeded to haul sacks out of the spare staterooms. “Do I have to pay a fine or something?” Jon asked innocently. “I’d just as soon do it now; we’re leaving tomorrow when our crew’s back, and I don’t want to waste time going down to the city.”
The inspector hesitated, estimating how much he could get in hard metal; an electronic transaction would do him no good since it would be recorded. Finally he named a figure low enough to make sure it would be forthcoming. Jon obliged, saying, “The women in our crew will be disappointed, but I guess you have to follow the law.”
“Yes,” said the inspector. “We appreciate your cooperation.” He and his partner carried the sacks through the airlock, which required several trips, and then departed.
Weak with relief, Terry sat down at the table. “They weren’t fooled,” he said to Jon.
“Of course not. But we gave them an out.”
“You knew all along this would happen. How?”
“There was no other way so many ships could be escaping. Think of the amount of sugar being smuggled into other colonies—it all has to come from here. The police confiscate a few loads from time to time to make it look good, and there was real danger ours would be one of those taken. But underneath it’s just like it was on Ciencia—the colony supports itself by interstellar trade. The only difference here is that some of it’s legal.”
“But the government doesn’t get anything from the share that isn’t.”
“No, but the suppliers do, and they wouldn’t support the government long if it enforced restrictions on how much they could sell. Their cartel has more political clout than anyone else on the planet because sugar is the sole cash crop suitable for export.”
The next morning Jon went down to pick up Alison and Gwen, who returned elated by the skills they’d gained and impressed by the sunlit world they had seen, so unlike the dark, frigid one they’d been born into. They’d had plenty of free time between neurofeedback sessions and had taken advantage of New Afrika’s park, gardens, and outdoor swimming pool. “I never dreamed people lived like that,” Gwen said. “The stories I read on Ciencia didn’t do other colonies justice.”
In bed that night Terry and Alison made love exuberantly, thankful that the separation was over. “Was the training worth it?” he asked her afterward, as they relaxed in each other’s arms. “The moments of pain, I mean, and the hours of despair I couldn’t warn you about.”
“That was terrible because I thought I’d failed you,” she admitted. “That I couldn’t live up to your expectations. But later, when Deion explained and I realized that you’d had to fail at the beginning too, I was happy because going through what you did makes us closer. There’s so much I’ve always wanted to understand about you, Terry. I know there are things you still can’t tell me, but sharing your mind skills helps a lot.”
“I’m glad,” he whispered, pulling her to him again and caressing her shoulders. “It was hard sending you away, yet I wanted you to have what only mentors could give.”
“The only trouble,” she said hesitantly, “is that I do wish I could go on learning, like I was told I would—”
“That may not be impossible,” Terry told her. “If I’m lucky, I may find a way to teach you more skills myself.”
~ 28 ~
After departure from the Epsilon Eridani system, Estel was still in danger of being intercepted by Fleet patrollers, or worse, by pirates. Terry held his breath until they were far enough out from the sun to jump. Once they emerged in Undine’s system, however, they were free and safe—at least until his effort to acquire the neurofeedback helmets thrust them into danger again.
When making his plan he’d had no idea how he could get to the surface of Undine, considering that privately owned ships never went there and it had only a minor spaceport to serve Fleet shuttles. But his conversation with Jon about black market dealings had set him to thinking. Fleet freighter captains did sometimes carry contraband; though as a young officer he hadn’t wanted to believe that, it no longer shocked him. Why shouldn’t they? They weren’t stealing and it didn’t interfere with their work, nor did it cost Fleet anything as long as a ship didn’t deviate from its scheduled route. He knew that smuggled cargo got to Undine somehow, and if no other ships landed, that was the only way it could.
So all he had to do was contact a Fleet freighter and sound out its captain, who would undoubtedly be well aware of the high value of sugar.
But this might not be easy. He didn’t know how often freighters came to Undine. He would have to wait in high orbit until the comm picked up a ship’s transmissions to the colony, hoping that would happen before Estel got too low on life support to stick around. And he would have to think of an excuse to rendezvous that would hold up if the captain wasn’t receptive—something he would have to judge telepathically, as he had with New Afrika’s police inspectors.
Predictably, Jon was dubious. “If we try to rendezvous with a strange ship they may assume we’re pirates,” he pointed out.
That was indeed a problem, Terry realized. In this case it was not good that Estel was visibly armed. “I know Fleet’s comm codes,” he said, “so their AI won’t raise an alarm. I’ll just have to take the chance that they won’t do enough of a visual scan to notice the laser cannon.”
“But if they do?”
“They won’t fire first, and no real harm will be done if we’re captured. Once they get us aboard they’ll find sugar instead of weapons, and they’ll know that since we already have a rich cargo we’d have nothing to gain by stealing theirs.”
“You’re overlooking the possibility that they may assume we stole it in the first place.”
“To get them to rendezvous you could say we’re in trouble, that we need some kind of assistance,” Gwen suggested.
“No, I couldn’t. Pirates do that all the time; it would confirm any suspicion a captain had.”
Jon sighed. “I may have done too good a job of convincing you that not everyone in uniform follows the law. What if you meet one who feels it’s his duty to arrest us for smuggling?”
“He couldn’
t accuse us without evidence,” Terry declared. “Mere possession of sugar isn’t a League offense, and we’re a long way from New Afrika; they’re not under contract to enforce its local laws at this distance.”
“Didn’t you say importing it to Undine is illegal?” Gwen put in.
“Yes, but we haven’t imported it yet, and we can’t be arrested for mere intent even if it’s obvious.”
“Terry,” Jon said, “I’ve known you long enough to know that once you make up your mind to do something, you’ll do it. Just be sure it’s not just from wishful thinking about helmets that you probably can’t lay hands on even if you get down there.”
“I shouldn’t have told you I’d like more mind training,” Alison said with remorse. “I never thought it would mean putting you in danger.”
“This isn’t just about what I may be able to do for you and Gwen—or for you, Jon, if I ever get good enough at instructing to handle the initial sessions,” Terry said. “It’s about what I can achieve on Undine. We agreed that we’d go where our ideas about the future would do the most good. Well, the situation’s as bad on Undine as it was on Ciencia as far as people’s ignorance about the mind is concerned—worse, in some ways. They think there’s no more to a human being than a body. They keep dead bodies hooked up to machines, their hearts beating forever, as if it were keeping them alive—”
“That’s awful!” Gwen protested.
“Yes. Ian Maclairn gave up his life prematurely so his group could escape from there, and his body may be still in stasis after more than two centuries—the Maclairnans don’t like to think about it, but they all know. Well, I can’t change that, but maybe I can continue what he started, making people believe their minds have power. Giving hope to those who care by telling them what they feel inside isn’t as foolish as the medical establishment teaches them it is. If what I’m doing with the Estel symbol is important anywhere, surely it will be on Undine, where the idea for Maclairn started.”
“I guess you’re right,” Jon conceded. “I guess considering the history, you have to follow through.”
It was left at that. Terry put Estel into high orbit and waited, inwardly in turmoil because he had no real idea how to proceed. He would have to take one step at a time.
As the days passed he occupied himself with work on the neurofeedback software he planned to develop, simulating the inputs. In addition, he taught Gwen to fly the shuttle, though the most difficult part, landing, couldn’t be tackled until they reached some other colony. Jon and Alison were less busy and their nerves were on edge; for their sake he hoped the suspense would end soon.
Finally, the comm picked up the transmission he was counting on, a freighter’s announcement to Undine of its ETA. Using the same frequency, Terry responded indirectly, requesting permission from ground control to land, which was, of course, denied.
“You already knew they wouldn’t grant it,” Alison said, puzzled.
“I did, but hopefully it will work the way it does on Ciencia in reverse—free traders who arrive there transmit requests to approach just so ships in the area will know they’re present and ready to buy cargo. The freighter will assume that if I want to land here I’ve got cargo to sell.”
“A pirate ship wouldn’t announce its arrival to the base, anyway,” Gwen said.
The strategy worked. “HS Vagabond, this is FHS Peregrine. We heard your request. No private ships are permitted to land in this colony. Do you need to take on consumables? Over.”
“Not at present, Peregrine. But I had hoped to do business here. Over.” He was not talking to the captain, he knew; it would be some junior officer with no authority to make decisions. Their taking the initiative was nevertheless a good sign.
“What sort of business, Vagabond? Are you a free trader? Over.”
“I have cargo to sell, yes. Over.” They could draw their own conclusions about its legality; some free traders carried legitimate loads.
After a pause a different voice came over the comm. “Vagabond, this is Peregrine, the captain speaking. What have you got? Over.”
Terry drew breath. “I have sugar, direct from New Afrika. Over.”
“I might be able to take it off your hands. Do you wish to rendezvous? Over.”
“Affirmative, Peregrine.” After agreeing on a position, he switched off the mike and spoke to Jon. “I’ll let them know I’m captain, since I need to talk them into taking me along when they land cargo. While I’m gone you’re in command.”
“What if they recognize your name? A Fleet ship may have come straight from Centauri; they could have heard rumors.”
“They won’t have to scan my ID till the sugar’s been sold and they pay me my share of the proceeds. They’d have no reason to demand it sooner when we’re dealing outside the law.”
“How long are you going to be down there?” Alison asked unhappily.
“I have no way of knowing. I’ll make them promise to provision you if you run low.” Suppose he never got back? Terry asked himself privately. Jon couldn’t jump the ship and Undine wouldn’t let them land. . . .
When docking was complete he went aboard Peregrine alone, where he was welcomed with some enthusiasm by Captain Garick. It wasn’t often that a load of prime contraband was delivered to a ship with no danger of discovery either by export authorities or by Fleet. Terry knew at once, from sensing Garick’s mind, that he was an honorable officer who simply saw no harm in such a transaction. He didn’t have to worry that such a man would cheat.
“There’s just one thing,” Terry said when they came to negotiate. “I have personal business on Undine. I want passage to and from the surface, and I want some sugar stored where I can access it—to be deducted from what’s owed me, of course, if I dispose of any.”
Garick eyed him, obviously doubtful. “I’d need to know what kind of business. I have nothing against free trading, but I won’t be a party to other crime.”
Terry hesitated. “How much do you know about the government of Undine?"
“It’s democratically elected, though I understand it has some peculiar policies.”
“People sometimes vote away their own freedom, and I see nothing wrong in attempts to make them aware of that. Subtle attempts, of course. I don’t plan to start trouble.” At Garick’s noncommittal nod, he added, “Maybe you’ve heard what’s happening on Earth, people being harassed, even killed, because they believe unorthodox ideas about the power of their minds aren’t just fantasy. That sort of thing could spread, and dissidents in colonies like this one, where the government treats any sort of deviation as an illness, would be helpless against it. If the going gets tough they’ll need to know they’re not alone.”
“Unorthodox ideas about mind faculties?” Garick surveyed him thoughtfully. “Did you come from Centauri, by any chance?”
“I was there recently, yes. For a short time.”
“I’m wondering if you heard the rumors that are going around. When I left Centauri Base just a few days ago, they’d become a hot topic, talk about postings that had gone viral on the Net—not in Fleet, of course, but in the city. It seems that some guy known as the Captain of Estel made a broadcast to an outlying colony claiming people can do more with their minds than they think, paranormal things, and telling them to revolt against any government that says otherwise.”
“I did hear that,” Terry said, keeping a straight face. “But I got the impression that he didn’t advocate violent revolt. It was more that they should elect a government that doesn’t dictate what they’re allowed to believe—which I’d call good advice.”
“I agree. If the notions being spread along with it weren’t so crazy, I’d say it should be encouraged. But it’s gotten out of hand; this Captain of Estel is said to have supernatural healing powers. He’s being identified with a real captain who delivered antivirals to Toliman and helped out during an epidemic. And as you say, the trouble on Earth over weird beliefs could spread.”
“Is there actually a
ship somewhere named Estel?
“Who knows? Fleet’s on the lookout for one, but without a transponder ID we can’t trace it. A guy at Headquarters did track down the origin of the name—it appears to have come from a classic fantasy novel called Lord of the Rings, where it’s said to mean ‘hope.’”
Terry had wondered how soon someone would discover that. He’d told his friends on Ciencia, but he wasn’t sure how familiar the book was on Earth. “Plenty of ships are named after mythological characters,” he said. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
“No, but if it is, it’s odd that these new myths are centered on it.” Garick continued slowly, “It’s almost as if someone is deliberately trying to stir people up. And from what you’ve said, it looks as if you might be aiming to do just that on Undine.”
“Would encouraging change be a bad thing?” He knew, telepathically, that Garick wasn’t opposed; it was merely a matter of getting him to admit it.
“I’m not sure,” Garick reflected. “Fleet’s afraid the troublemakers on Earth—the gang that calls itself the Ku Klux Klan—will get a foothold in the colonies, so the brass wants to stamp out ideas that might lead it to try. But it seems to me that for us to suppress them would be the same as what the Klan wants to do. A lot of the notions going around are silly, yet they create hope for the future, and people need hope nowadays. Otherwise we’re all just on a milk run, like I am with this freight route. Besides, the League government is getting more and more intrusive, and I don’t like that.”
“There are government insiders behind the Klan activity,” Terry informed him. “They don’t want people to know how much power their minds have to resist authority.”
“My God. That’s news to me, but it makes sense.”
“Undine’s government intrudes into every detail of people’s private lives,” Terry went on. “It puts bioanalysis units in their home toilets. It implants GPS-enabled heart monitors in their bodies. Did you know natural conception isn’t allowed there? Men are required to bank their sperm, and women can’t have babies except through IVF after geneticists have created embryos meeting specified physical characteristics. And the kids are raised in crèches, seeing their parents only a few days per week, because the authorities don’t want them doing anything bad for health.”
The Rising Flame: Box Set: Defender of the Flame + Herald of the Flame Page 62