Alison was assigned to the kitchen, not because she was female—women worked in the mines alongside men—but because she wasn’t a convict and was therefore given a less arduous job. She nevertheless found it trying; though she never said so, she and Terry were too close telepathically for her to hide feelings from him. And for both of them, the worst part was not the work but the lack of control over the conduct of their daily lives.
Sigma Draconis Two was not a hospitable planet, which was why it was used only as a penal colony. Since its atmosphere was unbreathable the living accommodations were domed; the mines and salt processing facilities, however, were not sealed. Workers not accustomed to pressure suits underwent a difficult period of adjustment that Terry, being an experienced spacer, was spared. It was nonetheless unpleasant; wearing a suit and helmet in space was one thing, but being stuck in it all day under 1.3 g’s was something else. At least his mind training gave him control over his temperature, so that he didn’t suffer from the heat as most of the others did. Sigma Draconis was a relatively dim star compared to Earth’s, which created an illusion of perpetual smog weakening its light; this did not keep the air inside a suit from getting hot.
The living quarters consisted of domed barracks, each containing small double sleeping rooms surrounding a central recreation area that was connected by enclosed passages to the mess hall and the gym. The rooms weren’t called cells, but apart from absence of bars the distinction was merely one of terminology. They were cramped and windowless. Here again, however, Terry and Alison were at an advantage since they were used to living on a ship with staterooms no larger and in the physical sense, equally claustrophobic. And of course, married couples shared rooms whereas singles had to bunk with strangers who might or might not be congenial. Actually the colony was not very different from the Fleet training base on Titan where Terry had lived during two separate tours of duty. Nevertheless, the psychological impact was in no way comparable.
On Titan he had been young. An exciting future had lain ahead of him, and he hadn’t minded the restrictions imposed by paramilitary life. He’d been where he wanted to be, and had known he was free to resign his commission if and when he so wished. Now he was over forty and no longer used to taking orders from anyone. He’d been captain of his own ship too long to find subservience tolerable, particularly since the guards were Fleet officers of lower rank than he had once held. To be sure, he had not been free to leave during the years on Ciencia, but except for those last weeks in prison, he’d been able to act as he chose there. And he hadn’t had to watch Alison struggle to adjust to a lifestyle unlike any she had ever experienced.
Fortunately, convicts were segregated according to the nature of their offenses; he and Alison were not housed with violent criminals, and he knew she was safe from the kind of thing usually encountered in prisons on Earth. Neither of them had to worry about being attacked or raped. Still, with very few exceptions their fellow-prisoners were not people they’d have picked as friends. Many were of a low sort, with very little on their minds beyond bodily appetites and crude conversation. Activity in the rec room consisted mainly of gambling. Terry did not like to think what went on in the singles’ communal washrooms; married couples lived in a different section of the dome. In the mess hall and gym, at least, behavior was no worse than what could be seen anywhere.
In theory, the population of the colony included people like Zach, those who’d tampered with League databases or who, like himself, had engaged in smuggling. But apparently the smart ones did not get caught, at least Terry didn’t meet any—to his regret, as he would have liked their company. He didn’t have much in common with men sentenced for theft or fraud. To be sure, the long hours of mine labor left him too tired to care about what he did with the rest of his time, and what little of it was free he spent with Alison. They found themselves withdrawing from social interaction, retreating to their room and their bed, clinging together for comfort more than for the sex they were often too exhausted to enjoy.
Sometimes, on days when Alison had to get up before dawn for the early kitchen shift, Terry lay alone in the dark thinking about the Elders. They had given him Estel; how would they feel if they knew he had lost it? Would they see his defeat of the Klan as confirmation of their hopes for the human race, or had the mere existence of the Klan been a setback that brought it perilously near the danger point? He wished, suddenly, that he could know. He would never know their reaction to what was happening, good or bad; he would never know whether humans were accepted into the alien Federation. For the first time in his life, this aspect of mortality struck him as tragic. People never knew what would happen to their descendants, but having been given an extraordinary glimpse of what might be, he began to feel that as time went on the frustration of not knowing might prove unbearable.
He also, in those dark hours, found himself recalling his life on Maclairn. Perhaps because thinking of Estel was so painful, he retreated to the earlier time when he’d been happy and secure in the belief that however far he might travel, he would always have a base, a loved home—one specific place in the universe to which his heart was anchored. Despite all that had happened since he was exiled, the good and the bad, he still missed that world. He still longed to see it once more, though he would never be free to go there; and the fact that he had again saved it from destruction was ample consolation for the deprivations he was now forced to endure.
Prisoners were allowed no personal communication with Earth or any other world except for rare messages to and from their immediate families. Since neither Terry nor Alison had close relatives, the exception didn’t apply to them. They were cut off from the wider universe. They could not even get a look at it; just as on Ciencia, Terry never saw the stars, for though stars were visible from Draconis, miners were taken into the domes before dark.
Yet the colony was not quite as isolated as Ciencia; League news received via ansible was posted periodically by the authorities. Thus he knew that the Ku Klux Klan had been put down—some of its members were here on Draconis, he supposed, though being classed as violent, they were not in his dome. And he knew that there had been upheaval in the League government. After Hiller’s defeat the voters on Earth, mobilized by awareness of government collusion with the Klan, had forced a thorough investigation and in the next election had thrown out the rest of the administration. Although equally bureaucratic and regimentary, the new one was at least more liberal with respect to human rights; the incoming premier had announced that freedom of belief concerning human nature would from now on have equal status with freedom of religion, and no persecution of psi capability would be tolerated.
He had brought that about, Terry thought with wonder. He had set in motion events that not only saved Maclairn but would free it to work toward its goal. Lying in the dark beside Alison, he grieved for the misery she was experiencing, for Jon’s death, and for the loss of Estel. At times he nearly wept. But he could not regret the action he’d taken, nor could he curse fate for its consequences. What he’d accomplished was worth the price.
~ 53 ~
Near the end of his third year of imprisonment, Terry was unexpectedly called in from the mines one day and told to report to the warden’s office. What now? he wondered, struggling out of his pressure suit and into clean clothes. He had by this time encountered fellow-prisoners who had heard the Estel rumors—even several who knew Zach—and had talked with them at length about new mind-powers, inspiring enthusiastic response when he explained that such powers would make people less vulnerable to government control. Had the prison officials found out about his proselytizing, and disapproved? He hadn’t done anything else he might be disciplined for. Yet since freedom of thought about human abilities was now specifically protected under the law, they had no right to prevent him from discussing such ideas.
“In there, Steward,” said the sublieutenant on duty, motioning him to a door on his left. “Your attorney’s here to consult with you.”
; Astonished, Terry entered the adjacent room. Attorney? He knew no attorneys except the one who’d handled his case, who would hardly have come all the way to Draconis to talk to him. Occasionally legal advisers did arrive on the weekly supply ship to see prisoners who were appealing their conviction. But no supporter could have initiated an appeal on his behalf when he had pleaded guilty.
“Hello, Terry,” said the tall, vibrant man seated at the desk in front of him. “My name is Gabriel Travis, and I was sent here by an employer who chooses to remain anonymous. Sit down—I have quite a lot to tell you.”
Terry sat, feeling more bewildered than ever. This man looked younger than was consistent with his calm self-assurance. Except for that, he didn’t seem the sort of person who would be sent halfway across the galaxy on an errand, as he was obviously highly intelligent and accustomed to being in charge.
“This will come as a shock to you,” Travis went on, “but I’m happy to say that my employer has arranged your pardon. You and your wife will be returning with me on the supply ship tonight.”
For a moment Terry thought he couldn’t have heard right. It was too improbable to be anything but an illusion. Finally he managed to blurt out, “How is that possible? Fleet would never endorse a move to pardon me—or did someone intervene?” Perhaps, he thought, the Premier knew that he’d helped to get him elected.
“The League administration took action,” Travis said, “but only after long effort on the part of my employer, who has wealth and influence. You weren’t told because he didn’t want to raise your hopes before being sure it could be managed.”
“I–I don’t know what to say. I don’t see how I can ever repay—”
“No repayment is necessary. But if you want to please him, you’ll continue to offer your message of hope to the colonies. He is a very strong advocate of the ideas you’re known to have been spreading.”
“It goes without saying that I’ll do that to the best of my ability. Does he have a preference as to what colony I go to?”
“It’s his wish that you travel to as many as possible.”
“How can I? I’ll have no money to pay for passage, and I no longer have a ship.”
“You do have a ship,” said Travis, smiling. “You have Estel.”
“Not anymore,” Terry said sadly. “As your employer must know, it was confiscated. I suppose it was sold long ago, hopefully as a charter ship rather than as scrap.” It still pained him to think about it.
“It was sold by Fleet at auction,” Travis agreed. “My employer was the high bidder, through me as his agent.”
Stunned, Terry was suddenly aware of what he had not grasped at first—the man had said Estel. Not Bright Hope, but Estel. Surely they wouldn’t have auctioned it under that name when they wanted to end its influence. “How did you know it was mine?” he asked.
“We found the hidden transponder; it is still registered in your name.”
Terry was speechless; no words seemed adequate, so he remained silent.
“You’ll be given possession of the ship,” Travis continued, “but there are several conditions to which you must agree. I need your word that you’ll honor them.”
“Of course. Anything I can do in good conscience, I will.” This was all too good to be true, Terry thought. There must be a catch; perhaps, since he was already classed as a criminal, they planned to use him in some illegal underground operation.
“First,” said Travis, “you must promise never to make any attempt to learn my employer’s identity.”
Terry nodded. “If that’s what he wants, I’ll respect it. But whatever secrets he has would be safe with me in any case.”
“I’m sure they would, but he insists on total anonymity. Second, you must never, under any circumstances, go to Earth.”
“I pledged to stay away from Earth long ago, for reasons I’m not free to tell you. I broke that pledge once to confront the Klan, but you can be sure I won’t break it again.”
Travis went on, “Third, you must agree not to violate any laws. After getting you pardoned we don’t want to have to bail you out a second time.”
Frowning, Terry asked, “Does that include smuggling? I don’t see any other way to earn a living if I’m to travel instead of staying put where I could get a job.”
“You will be offered legal charter work. My employer has many connections; he’ll have no trouble locating clients to send you.”
A limited amount of charter flying did occur, Terry knew—cases where some company that could afford it wanted to expedite transport of a few people or items instead of booking space on a scheduled Fleet liner. He had never considered such work, except the illegal refugee transport Zach had paid for, because no free trader would have the contacts to get charter jobs on his own.
“Finally,” Travis told him, “you must engage a copilot of my employer’s choosing.”
Why not? Terry thought. He hadn’t any other means of finding a copilot, and no one he might get could ever replace Jon. But he supposed this meant that his mysterious benefactor wanted to check up on him. . . .
“No, he won’t be there to spy,” Travis said hastily, and abruptly Terry realized that the man was a trained telepath. His mind was closed to probing, yet he’d picked up the thought and responded. That put a whole new face on the situation. These people weren’t just supporters of what he believed. At least some of them had mind training, which meant they were in contact with mentors.
Were the mentors behind this? Had the Maclairn Foundation put up the money? It had connections and influence, certainly. It kept its actions secret. And the mentors had been seeking the Captain of Estel for a long time.
He would have to be very careful.
He shouldn’t get involved at all. He shouldn’t agree to take on a copilot who was undoubtedly also telepathic; he would have to guard his thoughts constantly for the rest of his life. Yet he had no choice. He couldn’t turn down release from prison, nor could he reject this miraculous chance to regain Estel.
“Okay,” he said, hoping his reservations weren’t being perceived. “Is he qualified to handle jumps?”
“Certainly. He is an excellent pilot, and has in fact been in command of Estel since we purchased it.”
“Then why would he want to be merely copilot?”
“That’s not a problem for him; he is dedicated to your cause. You will be captain, and he won’t question your orders,” Travis assured him.
“Is he going to be reporting to you?”
“It’s true that he may be in touch with my employer from time to time; he has his own reasons for that, connected to his own background. You must not ask him to explain. But you can rely on his discretion—as long as you don’t violate the conditions to which you have agreed, he will not report anything that you wish to conceal.”
And if he did violate them, the copilot no doubt had the authority to take the ship back, Terry thought. Well, that was all right; there weren’t any he objected to. In any case, if he couldn’t go to Earth they couldn’t be planning to put him in touch with mentors, so the secret of the Elders would be safe.
The secret of Maclairn, if by any chance the “employer” was not the Maclairn Foundation, might be harder to keep to himself. The probability that Travis and his associates had been trained by mentors didn’t mean they’d been let in on that secret, and he would not have the justification for revealing it that he’d had with his former crew. But he would deal with that problem when it arose. For now, all he wanted was to see Alison and share with her the joy of their release.
“She’s waiting in the outer office for you,” Travis said, confirming his telepathic awareness. “Go to her, and then collect your things.”
~ 54 ~
The supply ship left Draconis that night and departed from the Sigma Draconis system within a few hours. Never before in his years of star travel had Terry been so happy to emerge from a jump.
They headed for the Fleet base on the Moon. During the d
ays of approach in normal space, Terry and Alison spent most of the time in their stateroom catching up on sleep; it had been nearly three years since they’d been able to truly rest. At first he could hardly believe that mine labor was behind him—he kept waking with the thought that in the next moment the bell would ring to rouse him for another shift. But eventually the daze wore off and he was infused by the elation of being free.
“I never stopped believing that fate would free you,” Alison told him. “It favored you so often in the past, there had to be some meaning in it—some future role that you were destined to fill.”
“I doubt that I’ll be called on to do anything dramatic again,” Terry said, fingering the priceless flame pin that had been given back to him. “Saving Maclairn twice in one lifetime is more than enough to account for Aldren’s precognitive dream about my having some extraordinary destiny. But I will devote the rest of my life to living up to what’s expected of the Captain of Estel, Alison. You’re right that there’s got to be meaning in our escape, even if it’s just that someone with power is willing to back me.”
During meals they sat with Gabriel Travis and talked about their plans. “There’s a lot of persuasion yet to be done,” Travis said. “The fact that belief in psi is now protected doesn’t mean that most people share it. It has to be absorbed into the collective unconscious of humankind.”
“It will take a long time for that to happen,” Terry agreed.
“It’s already begun to happen on Earth, at least among small groups.”
The Rising Flame: Box Set: Defender of the Flame + Herald of the Flame Page 78