The Rising Flame: Box Set: Defender of the Flame + Herald of the Flame

by Sylvia Engdahl

  Oh, God. He would have realized that, too, if he’d stopped to consider the consequences of what he was doing. From the time he’d landed on Eden, he’d gotten them deeper and deeper into trouble from which there was no way out.

  He needed rest, not knowing what the day would bring. Jenna finally got him to lie down on the couch—all the beds being occupied by refugees—where, using his mind training, he let himself slide into a despairing sleep. When he woke, Alison was beside him. He sat up at her touch and they clung to each other, aware that it might be for the last time.

  Jon came after a few hours. Fleet had already questioned him and had finally concluded that he knew nothing. Gwen was still in their hands, but since she knew nothing either, he expected that she would soon be released. Officers were looking for Alison; she had better stay hidden, Jon said, because conceivably they might use her as a hostage for the escaped prisoner’s voluntary return. At this thought, the last traces of Terry’s youthful loyalty to Fleet were finally and irrevocably extinguished.

  Estel, as far as anyone knew, was still in the orbit where they had left it.

  Estel . . . all of a sudden, while again mourning its loss, he was struck by a sense of urgency. “I’ve got the strangest feeling,” he said in bewilderment. “I think . . . someone is searching for me.”

  “That’s not strange,” said Jon. “Half the Fleet officers on this planet are searching for you.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s someone friendly, someone who wants to help.” It was like precognition—or if not that, some other form of psi. Maybe remote viewing, maybe he was supposed to see whoever it was—or perhaps simply telepathy. He had not sensed such a presence anywhere but in New Afrika.

  “Do you have any idea of how to find this person?” Alison asked.

  “I think . . . maybe there’s some clue on the Net. In the comments written about Estel.” He picked up his tablet, which Alison had managed to conceal among her own belongings during his arrest, and searched for keywords.

  The message wasn’t hard to find. Fleet had publicized his arrest with the hope of disillusioning people who believed he was invulnerable, but this strategy had backfired; indignation had gone viral. As on Ciencia, people were rising in his defense and were on the verge of gathering for a demonstration. In the midst of the hundreds of forum comments in his support, Terry spotted one that stood out. “If the friend of Aragorn wishes to regain what he has lost,” the writer said, “he should pray in the temple of Vesta, goddess of fire, for she aids all stewards of the sacred flame.”

  “Oh, my God,” Terry burst out.

  “What? What do you see?” Alison asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Aragorn is another name for Estel, though the Fleet officers here aren’t likely to know that,” he said excitedly. “I could hardly fail to notice the comment.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense—the two names in it aren’t related. Aragorn is a character in a classic novel, and Vesta was an ancient Roman goddess, wasn’t she? ”

  Walt and Jenna were still at the restaurant and all the refugees were in their bedrooms, where they’d been warned to stay in case someone came; Terry could speak freely. “The reference to Vesta is just an excuse for mentioning stewards of the flame,” he said. “Readers will dismiss this as a crackpot posting because it’s a hodgepodge and because no one worships Vesta today. But it couldn’t be coincidence. It has to have been written by someone who knows about Maclairn.”

  “Oh . . . the flame pin you wear in secret—you still have it?”

  “Yes, thank God. I was what’s called a Steward of the Flame there, which the pin symbolizes. Whoever wrote this knows enough about Maclairn to have guessed that I may know the phrase, which only the few chosen to visit that world do—I suppose because what I say about mind faculties matches how Maclairnans live.” He hadn’t thought of that possibility before. It didn’t mean his secret had gotten out. Though a mentor would know that he had not been among the observers, another observer wouldn’t.

  “Is it simply a way of letting you know they’re on your side, then? There isn’t any temple of Vesta, after all.”

  “Perhaps there is,” Terry said thoughtfully. “There’s a Chapel of All Faiths in every colony, and that could be interpreted as meaning ancient faiths as well as modern ones. I think I’m supposed to go there and meet someone.”

  “That could be dangerous,” Jon pointed out. “Your enemies in the government also know about Maclairn.”

  “Not that there are still Stewards of the Flame; that’s not spoken of except within the colony.” He had not previously mentioned it even to Alison; he’d simply told her what ideas the flame pin stood for. “In any case,” he went on, “I was led to this either by telepathy, which our enemies don’t have, or by precognition. So it can’t be a trap. The person who wrote it may know some way I can escape.”

  And get my ship back, he thought with elation. Regaining what he’d lost couldn’t have been mentioned for no reason. Whatever the risk of venturing out into the dome, he would have to visit the chapel just as soon as he could get there.

  ~ 42 ~

  Walking through the dome a second time, without the anonymity of a uniform to protect him, was more nerve-wracking than it had been before. It was daytime, with more people who might notice him, Terry thought apprehensively. And Fleet was searching for him now. Officers must have been shown his picture. At any moment he might be recognized.

  The Chapel of All Faiths was near the center of the concourse. Like all structures in domed colonies, it was attached to others and not imposing from the outside, but its interior walls were covered with illuminated art so as to create the illusion of stained glass windows. In the dim light of the sanctuary the effect was inspiring, but he was not in a mood to feel inspired.

  There were only a few people in the pews, engaged in private meditation. Having no idea when whoever he was supposed to meet would arrive, Terry had no choice but to wait, realizing that the chapel had probably been chosen as the one place in the dome where sitting quietly by himself wouldn’t attract attention. He closed his eyes and tried to think hopeful thoughts, telling himself that miracles do sometimes happen—had not fate intervened on his behalf several times before? After awhile he became aware that this was a form of prayer.

  But then, when he looked up, he saw to his horror that a Fleet commander was about to sit down beside him.

  Oh, God—it had been a trap after all. Fleet officers didn’t meditate in chapels in the middle of the day; he must have been followed here. There was no possibility of getting away—if he started to leave he would simply be seized. His brief period of freedom was at an end.

  At the same moment, however, the sender of the message must also have arrived, for Terry was suddenly overwhelmed with unmistakably telepathic input, overriding his fear. Don’t panic, he was being told. You have more friends than you know.

  Thanks for your offer of help, he responded, but it’s too late. I’m about to be arrested.

  No, you’re not. Terry’s eyes searched the room, wondering who could see him without seeing the officer—and realized with shock that the officer himself was in rapport with him. The commander, a slender man with close-cut sandy hair, turned to him with an enigmatic smile. I think Estel is too important to be left in the hands of anyone but its rightful captain.

  At first incredulous, Terry realized that it wasn’t so strange after all. There were Fleet officers who knew about Maclairn; a cruiser had been stationed there for nearly fifteen years and there must have been many crew rotations. Those assigned there were sworn to lifelong secrecy, as he himself had been when he was chosen; but they could discuss it with people who already knew of the colony’s existence, and the message would have been meaningless to anyone who didn’t. All such officers were given mind training, which led to psi capability in those with a natural predisposition. This man had it in full measure.

  Taking a close look at him, the first thing
Terry noticed was how young he seemed. Despite his evident poise, he appeared to be no more than twenty. That wasn’t surprising; he himself had been a skilled shuttle pilot at that age and a starship pilot before he was twenty-two. But commander rank normally wasn’t attained by anyone under thirty. And it was odd that a young officer who favored Maclairn would have returned so soon; to keep the number of people in on the secret to a minimum, transfers were voluntary.

  “It’s safe to talk here,” the commander said in a low voice, “but there isn’t much time. I’m a pilot and I can get you back to your ship—it’s fueled and ready to fly. But there will be risk. If you have any other way of escaping from Stelo Haveno, you’d be wise to use it.”

  “I can’t give up Estel,” said Terry. “I won’t leave here without it unless I’m taken by force.”

  “So I thought. But you’ll have to trust me not only with your own life but with those of your wife and crew, assuming you want them to come with you.”

  Terry nodded. He was torn; he wanted them desperately but was hesitant to put them in danger. They could go to Earth safely, and might later meet him at the Moon's orbiting transit station. . . . Well, he would leave it up to them to decide, but he knew perfectly well how they would choose.

  “I can borrow a groundcar if they’re coming,” the officer went on. “They have the freedom of the colony so they won’t be stopped at the gate, but you yourself will have to hide in the luggage compartment and hope it won’t be searched.”

  This was a harder choice, Terry thought in dismay—did he trust this man far enough to betray Lorenski? Telepathically, he perceived that the commander was totally reliable, but had he the right to make that judgment, considering what Lorenski had done for him and for the refugees?

  The refugees! He was committed to taking them offworld and there would be no possibility of coming back to pick them up. If stuck here, Becka would be found and sent back to her father, and the events leading to his arrest would have achieved nothing. Yet there wouldn’t be room for them in a groundcar, nor could they be hidden in it.

  The officer looked at him quizzically, obviously sensing some new problem, and said, “It might help to know my name—Holden, Commander Liam Holden.”

  It was offered as proof of mutual trust, and Terry decided to accept it as such. “There are other people I’ve got to bring,” he said, “refugees I’m responsible for. They can get out the same way they got in, in the back of a van. If we go after midnight it won’t be inspected.”

  “How many refugees? The shuttle I’m appropriating can carry only eight people.”

  Oh, God. Counting the pilot there would be eleven, ten even if the smallest child sat illegally on her mother’s lap. He would have to leave the Bartels behind. That would mean breaking his word to Walt and Jenna, abandoning the new role he’d envisioned for the Captain of Estel—and they had suffered so much at the hands of the Klan that the thought of letting them down was devastating.

  He didn’t have a choice; no other escape route was open. “Then, with the crew, I can bring only two extra,” he said. “Tell me where to come.”

  “If you have a van with a trustworthy driver, meet me at the closest shuttle pad that’s occupied, soon after midnight.”

  Terry nodded and held out his hand. “I don’t know how to express how grateful I am.” There was risk for Holden, too—tremendous risk, even though he ranked high enough to lift off in a Fleet shuttle without being questioned as to his purpose.

  “Just keep on with what you’ve been doing with Estel. You’re needed, and will be needed even more in times to come.”

  Silently Holden departed, warning that they must not be seen leaving the chapel together. A few minutes later Terry made his way back to the Fenways’ in a daze. Walt and Jenna were there, worried about his having gone on some mysterious errand that Alison wasn’t free to explain to them. “I can’t tell you how I made the contact,” he said, “but we’re leaving tonight in a shuttle—assuming, that is, that you’re willing to take us through the gate, Walt.”

  “Of course,” Walt said, and Jenna asked quickly, “Are you taking the refugees, too?”

  Sadly Terry told her, “We’ll only have room for Becka and Josh because the shuttle will hold just eight people.”

  She frowned. “I suppose you’ve got no choice, but I don’t know what we’re going to do with the Bartels, Terry. They’ve been cooped up in that little room so long with the kids sleeping on the floor, not daring to come out except a few minutes late in the evening—and there isn’t any hope on the horizon.”

  “What will happen to them if they’re caught?” Gwen asked.

  “They’ll be convicted of traveling without a transit permit and deported back to Earth. Since they were burned out and have no money, they’ll end up on the street—and the Klan may hunt them down. Of course that would have happened anyway if Zach hadn’t gotten them out, but after they’ve thought they were safe—”

  “Would the government really leave them at the mercy of the Klan?”

  “If you think not, you don’t know much about governments,” Jon said grimly.

  “The League government as a whole isn’t corrupt,” Terry said, “at least not under the current administration. It’s closing its eyes to the Klan because a certain group of bureaucrats has taken power by default; nobody’s responsible for oversight, and those who do see what’s going on don’t dare stick their necks out. Unfortunately that element seems to have gained influence over Fleet, too; otherwise they wouldn’t be trying to silence me.” It couldn’t have happened when Admiral Frazer was in charge, he thought. How long before the new brass recalled Shepard, leaving Maclairn unprotected?

  “We wouldn’t be able to save more than a few people even if we were free to do it openly,” Alison said miserably, “no matter how many colonies were happy to accept them.”

  “But we can save the Bartels,” Gwen declared. “Jon, you and I have new IDs and legal transportation to Earth. Terry can pick us up at Moonbase later on.”

  “I could,” said Terry dubiously. “but what if I don’t make it? What if I’m caught again and Estel is seized?”

  “Then the same thing would happen if we were with you,” Jon pointed out, “and we’d be arrested too.”

  True enough, Terry concluded. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “There’s a problem, though—Gwen, you won’t be around to switch the transponders after we leave here, and we can’t arrive anywhere else as Estel. You’d better tell me how to do it.”

  During the evening she spent some time explaining the process in detail; considering his expertise in AI, the only new thing he needed to learn was how to make the physical hookup. Terry also transferred enough credits to her and to Jon for them to live on while waiting for him to arrive. They agreed to meet at the transit station in Moon orbit where all passengers bound for Earth were processed, making contact through the new names they would by that time be using.

  At midnight they said their farewells, all four of them hugging each other with full hearts. “Jon, I don’t like being without a copilot, and there’s no one I’d ever want but you,” Terry said. "So stay where I can reach you, okay?”

  Then while Jenna stood watch to make sure the coast was clear, they got Becka, Josh and the Bartel family into the van along with Terry and Alison. “Godspeed, Terry,” Jenna said as Walt closed the cargo door. “In case you need to contact Zach, his friends use the arcade at the transit station as a message drop, so check from time to time. The next time I hear from him I’ll let him know he can get in touch with you there.”

  Zach would try, certainly, when word got around that the Captain of Estel had appeared at Stelo Haveno. And, Terry thought, if he could stay free long enough he might indeed continue smuggling refugees. It would be a fitting occupation for the hero people imagined, and—now on his fourth identity—he could never show them his true self again.

  ~ 43 ~

  Commander Holden was waiting at the shutt
le pad he’d designated, having completed his preflight check. As Terry settled into the copilot’s seat, he watched the officer’s expressive face. There was something compelling about this man, some inner mystery that transcended the fact that he was risking his career and perhaps his freedom to help people in trouble. Estel is important, he’d said. It was almost as if he glimpsed an even greater destiny for it than Terry himself had seen.

  “Want me to get liftoff clearance from Port Control?” Terry asked. It was a copilot’s normal duty.

  “No,” said Holden. “Actually we wouldn’t be given clearance; my rank got me past the lieutenants on duty, but Control would ask questions. We’ve got to be past surveillance range before they have time to frame them.” He started the liftoff sequence without further preamble.

  Well, he’d done the same thing the day he left Maclairn, Terry thought, and for a few moments he was back in Skywalker, ignoring the comm’s furious hails from Shepard. But he had been headed outward, while Estel was still in low orbit. “How are we going to rendezvous without surveillance?” he ventured.

  “We’re going to wait till the next shift of controllers comes on,” Holden told him. “We’ll head for high orbit and we may be chased because I don’t really have any right to be in this shuttle—they’ll suspect it’s in the hands of pirates. While they’re busy focusing on that, we’ll turn off its transponder and sneak back to Estel. If the new controllers are watching, they’ll have no reason not to assume we’re a different ship assigned to check on it.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Terry said, trying to sound as if he meant it.

  “It’s a bit iffy,” Holden went on, “because we had to leave later than I planned and missed the midnight shift change, which means staying out longer than I expected. And we’re carrying more passengers than I figured on, so we may run a bit short of power. Hopefully, the worst that can happen is that they’ll catch you, which would have happened anyway sooner or later.”