“We’d never have been safe on Earth,” said one of the women. “They could have tracked us through our IDs by hacking the Net and tracing our addresses back to them.”
They could, Terry knew. With a chill he realized that he could, which meant a Klan member with equivalent hacking skills would have the same ability. “But why would they pick on you?” he asked, puzzled. “You didn’t do anything spectacular.”
“Just as an example to terrorize others,” she said. “The burning of the church was reported on the Net; they saw to it that it was. Now all the members who voted against the pastor will be attacked one by one, and the public will know why.”
Yes, but there would be no mass surge of indignation, Terry thought, because it would happen slowly, unpredictably, with no visible public event to rouse feeling while the violence was in progress. If the Klan burned a large church in the center of a city while observers were present, decent people would rise in protest even if the police did nothing. Surreptitious attacks on small ones produced only apathy or fear.
Somehow it must be made known that the Captain of Estel had rescued these victims—the symbol he’d created must be used to counter the impression that people who used psi were inevitably doomed. But how? He couldn’t reveal his own identity or that of his ship even to the victims themselves.
But he could publicize the underlying idea. If the burning of the church had been widely reported, there must be plenty of discussions where he could insert remarks. Forcing himself to suppress worry about the rescue in progress, Terry spent the hours waiting for Jon’s arrival on the Net. Rather than post comments in the normal way—which would have required his ID—he went back to hacking, programming them to appear after he was gone; he didn’t want them traced to Moon orbit before Bright Hope had departed.
“There is hope for those persecuted by the enemies of mind-power,” he wrote, “for the Captain of Estel is not unaware of their peril. And though he can save only a few, he comes when least expected, even as a break in the clouds on a dark night may reveal a sudden glimpse of the stars. Let it be known that eight victims of the evil unleashed against this church have been taken to safety by the Captain of Estel, and his thoughts are with the rest; and let all who share his beliefs trust those who speak in his name.”
Over and over Terry inserted these words into Net forums, both on Earth and on the Moon. By the time the shuttle was back, he was fairly sure of wide coverage.
“Bright Hope, this is Captain López of Goldfire,” the comm announced. “I will be docking in ten minutes and I have two more packages for you. Please be ready to receive them. Over.”
Two! “Oh, thank God,” Gwen burst out. No mention of passengers could be made on a public comm channel, of course, but one would be Nelson, and the other had to be Jon.
“López of Goldfire, we acknowledge,” Terry declared fervently. “We are awaiting our packages with gratitude to you for their safe delivery.” He knew López couldn’t come aboard; he would have to take Goldfire out of orbit fast in case he had been tracked to his shuttle. There would be no chance to thank him.
Everyone crowded around the airlock; the refugees had been told what was happening and were eager to see that Jon was safe. Gwen was closest to the hatch. She rushed forward as it opened and then let out a cry.
Jon was half-carried in by a big man, presumably Nelson, who was supporting most of his weight; obviously he couldn’t walk by himself and was in great pain. “Gwen,” he whispered with effort. “Terry.” Then he slumped, having lost consciousness.
“Get him into bed,” said Alison quickly. “He may be in shock.”
Terry helped Nelson carry Jon into the stateroom he shared with Gwen, “He’s got an injured leg and some burns, and he’s badly bruised,” Nelson said. “They wanted information he wouldn’t give them. López said they wanted you.”
“There’s a bigger bounty for me than for Jon. I’d have given anything to prevent this, but they wouldn’t have let him go if they’d got hold of me—the man behind the bounty would have gone on hurting him and made me watch. And I’ve got responsibilities I can’t ignore.”
“According to Zach, you’re important. He thinks you’re a link to the Captain of Estel. Is that true?”
“I’m not free to answer,” Terry said. “The Captain of Estel is wanted by bounty hunters, by the Klan, and by Fleet, which would condemn him for a long list of alleged crimes. All I can say is that I act in his name.”
He turned to examining Jon. Having had training in emergency medicine as a member of a Fleet explorer team, he knew what to look for, and checked first for symptoms of shock and then for pulse in the ankle before doing anything else. Thank God, there was no impaired circulation. Then Gwen cut away Jon’s pants and Terry examined the leg carefully. There were no breaks in the skin and the lower leg seemed okay, but the bone of the knee was displaced, forming a grotesque bulge on one side. He felt it gently. “It’s just a dislocated kneecap, not the whole knee and not a fracture,” he told them, letting out a sigh of relief. If the entire knee had been dislocated there would have been danger of losing the leg, considering that it would be days before they could get medical care.
“I can fix it,” he went on, “but right now I have to get this ship out of here.” Telling Gwen to let him know when Jon was fully conscious, he went to the bridge and set course at top speed for the nearest jump point. During the hours of waiting he had programmed the jump to Skyros; he’d be free until time to execute it. In the meantime there were other things to consider.
~ 47 ~
Terry’s first impulse at the sight of Jon’s condition had been to relieve his pain, but he’d lost consciousness before that could be done. Now he wondered. Jon would certainly be better off if he could stop his own suffering, as Alison and Gwen had learned to do in New Afrika. He’d regretted having no opportunity for the training. Might he, Terry, be able to give it to him now that he had the neurofeedback helmets?
Enough of the programming was finished to display basic states of consciousness such as normal vs. pain control. He’d tested it on himself and was confident that it would work. His main barrier to conducting initial mind training sessions had been not the lack of neurofeedback facilities—which were necessary but not sufficient—but the fact that it would involve inflicting severe pain on the trainee. He didn’t think he could bring himself to do that. Mentors served a long apprenticeship under the guidance of supportive teachers before having to do it.
But Jon’s pain was already severe, and fixing the dislocated kneecap would mean intensifying it. Through telepathy that suffering could be prevented—but should it be? Might it not be more beneficial to use it to prevent future suffering and open the door to training that would increase his lifespan?
He would try, Terry decided, if Jon wanted him to. That people could learn to end their own suffering was one of the things he’d been telling them, one of the beliefs he and his crew were risking themselves to uphold. He was obligated to stand by it.
He called Alison and Gwen to the bridge and asked them to set up the neurofeedback equipment in Jon’s stateroom. “You both know what a breakthrough involves,” he reminded them. “Can you stay away, avoid any attempt to give him telepathic assistance, if he chooses to go through with it? That won’t be easy.”
They nodded, but he could see that Gwen’s eyes were wet with tears. “He’s already been through so much,“ she said unhappily.
“Yes, and that’s why he deserves to gain something from it.”
“But the secret part, the deception, after he’s been so brave—he won’t suspect that when he decides. And we can’t encourage him.”
“It will be hard, but we needn’t worry whether he’ll come through because we know he is brave. I wouldn’t start if I weren’t sure of that.”
Once Jon was conscious Terry went into his stateroom alone. “I see you’ve set up for neurofeedback,” Jon said. “You helped with the pain when I was recovering from my
injuries on Ciencia, and Alison says neurofeedback makes that easier. But I envy her and Gwen their mind training right now. There was a while back there on the Moon when I thought I might not get through without it.”
“You would have,” Terry said, “but it would be better if you never had to worry about pain again. I can give you the training if you like, now that we’ve got the helmets.”
“You can? I thought you said you weren’t qualified.”
“I didn’t have the nerve to inflict the pain needed for a breakthrough on someone who wasn’t already suffering. But your knee already hurts a lot. I have to put it back into position, which will hurt still more. The question is, do you want me to relieve your suffering while I do it, or would you rather learn to relieve it for yourself from now on?”
Surprised, Jon said, “I think you know the answer to that. But I’m not sure I’m up to it right now.”
“It works better when your normal responses are weakened. Just trust me, and the bad part won’t last long. Okay?”
Jon nodded, and Terry put one of the helmets on him, setting the neurofeedback computer to record brain patterns but not display them. “All right then, here goes,” he said resolutely, suppressing his own hesitancy. To teach the skill of ending suffering demanded telepathic contact, just as relieving pain did, and if he failed to project total confidence Jon would be unable to absorb that skill. He grasped the leg and pulled it straight, not trying to be gentle.
For a moment Jon turned white, gritting his teeth, and then he screamed.
Withholding telepathic communication of pain relief was the hardest thing Terry had ever done. How did the mentors endure it? he thought hazily. He’d always wondered, but what he’d imagined was nothing compared to the real thing. He had relieved so many people’s pain on Ciencia and on Toliman, experiencing it in his own body and carrying them along with his shift into a state of not minding it—not shifting was almost unendurable.
The worst of it lasted only seconds; he let go of the leg, seeing that the kneecap was now properly in place, and the pain faded. But Jon’s thoughts were dark with despair. “So much for that,” he said miserably. “I knew, with the bounty hunters, that I couldn’t take much more—your rescue team got there just in time. But underneath . . . well, I didn’t really believe I was going to lose control, certainly not with you. I thought I could learn to do what the rest of you did. I guess I can’t . . .”
He’d been mistaken in thinking that withholding telepathic aid was the hardest, Terry thought in anguish as he left the stateroom in silence. It was much harder to go without telling Jon that he hadn’t failed.
Everyone else was in the lounge; the scream had shocked them. “Haven’t you got any painkillers aboard?” said one of the refugee women reproachfully.
“We don’t need them,” Terry said steadily. “Jon’s going to be okay. Have you read what the Captain of Estel says about pain? Well, he’s right; it’s possible to end suffering from it, and I’m going to teach Jon how.”
Nelson stared at him in awe. “You said you act in his name,” he said. ”Can others do that, too? Because if so, I want to enlist—not for teaching esoteric stuff, of course, but to support him any way I can. That man is waking people up. He might even get them to vote against the bastards trying to take over the government.”
Terry considered it. He’d mentioned acting in his name in the Net posting because he expected Zach’s contacts to send him more refugees. Recruits needn’t be limited to them; after all, on Ciencia his followers had created an Estelan party. An accused murderer, though. . . .
“It depends on whether their actions are things he’d approve of,” he replied slowly. “He’s not a killer, even when he sees someone who ought to be eliminated—not unless it’s to save himself or others.”
“I killed a Klansman,” Nelson admitted. “A bunch of masked ones had a woman tied to a tree and were about to set fire to it—they called her a witch. I shot the one with the torch and the rest ran off like the cowards they are. But they saw me, and the next day I was arrested for murder, because the one I hit turned out to be the police chief of that town.”
Terry, struggling for composure, declared, “I think the Captain of Estel would be happy to have you act in his name.”
He waited only an hour before returning to Jon, sure that he was by then past resuming the fight demanded by his ingrained assumptions about how to manage pain. This was the crucial step; he had to get Jon’s consent to face it without hope of fighting. The psychology required was different for different people. In this case not much subterfuge would be required.
“I know what you’re feeling,” he said. “Finding that you’ve got limits is worse than the pain itself, isn’t it?”
Jon looked away, not answering, but Terry winced at what he sensed of his emotions. Keeping his voice expressionless he said, “Your leg needs to be stretched a little more and I could do it without letting you suffer, but I don’t think you want that. If you tell me to, you’ll never be sure you won’t chicken out any time there’s a chance of being humiliated.”
“You’re right,” Jon said, “but of course you would be—you’re telepathic. I’ve spent the last three days telling myself I’d never crack. Actually it’s a relief to know that it’s useless to fight.”
“Then don’t try. It will be better if you do scream, because then you’ll know you can bounce back from whatever happens.” Terry put the helmet back on him, this time setting the computer to display live neurofeedback, and showed Jon the earlier recording, cruder than what mentors used because the level of pain from an injury could not be measured precisely. Then with live brain output he pulled on the leg again, knowing that because Jon had stopped struggling for control, it wouldn’t feel nearly as painful.
“Go ahead, do what you did before,” Jon said. “If I’m going to prove I’m willing to reach the screaming stage, we can’t stop now.”
“You’re never going to reach it,” Terry said. “This is as bad as it gets when you don’t fight, which is something nobody can learn without having tried both strategies. That’s the big secret that has to be kept about this training.”
“God, Terry! You mean you knew I’d scream the first time, and then resign myself to letting it happen?”
“The resignation part is the worst, and we’ve all been through it,” Terry agreed. “But it’s necessary, because the instinct of anyone with courage is to stiffen and show no weakness. You have to reach the point where you’ve no hope of that before you can relax enough to turn off suffering.”
He put on the second helmet and began demonstrating, with neurofeedback from both Jon and himself, how altering brain patterns eliminated suffering from the sensation of pain, elated at the discovery that he himself was able to pass on such skills—that people other than Maclairnans, and those taught by Maclairnans, could develop them. He’d felt uneasy about promising that someday people in pain would no longer have to suffer. The proof that it was true, thrilling them both at the moment of Jon’s breakthrough, was worth the risk he had taken to get hold of the helmets.
It took several more sessions after the jump before Jon was able to stop suffering from his burns and bruises by himself, after which Terry speeded their healing to the best of his limited ability, wishing that he possessed the gift with which the crowd at Centauri had mistakenly credited him. He then turned to wondering what awaited them at Skyros, the backwater world to which he’d agreed to take Nelson. He knew no more of it than that like many colonies, it had been named after an island in Greece; and he’d had time to look up only its star’s coordinates. “Can the refugees stay there?” he asked.
“I expect so,” Nelson said. “The residents aren’t particular about who they accept.”
Including alleged murderers, Terry thought. “What I mean is, what kind of world is it? Will they be able to earn a living?” He couldn’t abandon them some place where they’d be destitute, yet if he had to take them elsewhere it would
be costly and would delay rescuing more people from Earth.
“All I know is that Zach has contacts there with ansible access, apparently private access they don’t pay for,” said Nelson. “He uses it as a clearinghouse—I’m supposed to tell you to check for messages addressed to you.”
Thank God, Terry thought. He needed to stay in touch with Zach and, barring perilous visits to the transit station arcade, he didn’t know how to reach his underground friends on Earth.
He was not eager to go back to the vicinity of Earth. He knew the more he saw of it, the more depressing it would become, and the more he would worry about the increasing power of the men conspiring to take control of the League government. But he was committed now—committed not merely to spreading hopeful ideas, but to taking the direct action rumor would attribute to the Captain of Estel. He’d started something bigger than he’d intended, and he had no choice but to carry it through.
~ 48 ~
During the next two years Terry and his crew made many trips to Skyros, taking refugees there from Earth. It proved to be a pleasant colony, not rich enough to attract much commerce but able to support a growing population employed in agriculture and local trades. The people had liberty, the government wasn’t corrupt, and the planet’s gravity and climate were comfortable. The only reason it was not more crowded was the cost of passage, which wasn’t subsidized as it was in the case of worlds producing goods the League had widespread need for. The lack of frequent traffic meant Fleet didn’t pay much attention to it, which from the standpoint of fugitives was a good thing.
Another good thing for Terry was his ability to communicate with Zach from Skyros. Nelson introduced him to the ansible owner and found that he did indeed have a message waiting—Zach promised that the expense of servicing and refueling Bright Hope’s hyperdrive engine at Moonbase, required after every three round trips, would be prepaid. Provisioning proved to be no problem; the refugees on Skyros collected money to buy his consumables, in many cases from supporters appalled by what they heard of conditions on Earth. Before long other ships were also bringing refugees, less frequently than Terry because for them it was still undercover activity secondary to smuggling cargo. They too carried passengers who’d been rescued in the name of the Captain of Estel, a phrase that on Earth was being used as a password for making contact with a willing captain.
The Rising Flame: Box Set: Defender of the Flame + Herald of the Flame Page 74