Stewards of the Flame (31 page)

Cruel, but necessary, Jesse realized. They would die soon anyway, and actually would be in the Vaults if there were no deception.

“There was an old couple, very devoted to each other, that Ramón had known a long time,” Carla went on. “Usually he didn’t tell anyone but the patient about the hospice; it was too risky. The wife’s condition deteriorated suddenly, however. She couldn’t walk out of the Hospital on her own and she’d always hated the thought of life support—he couldn’t bear not to act, so he let her husband help him take her to a safe house. But the husband, who wasn’t even sick, couldn’t disappear. He had to go home, and he wasn’t able to deceive their daughter for long. She got the truth out of him—she wanted her mother’s body preserved indefinitely by all means possible. She reported Ramón to the authorities and sent an ambulance to the hospice. When it got there, the woman had just died and was shrouded for burial; the body was cold. And there were others there, dying, who’d been Ramón’s patients.”

“But if only one dead body was involved, why was this worse than what we all do when we dispose of bodies? Why was it called aggravated murder?”

“He confessed to letting her die, Jesse. It was a worse crime than others partly because he was a doctor, and had falsified charts; the Hospital’s authority depends on the public placing absolute trust in doctors. Still, he might have got off with treatment for insanity. But he couldn’t allow that to happen. Peter was barred from the case because everyone knew he and Ramón had been friends since their medical school years—and if he’d been drugged by anyone else, they’d have gotten our secrets from him.”

Yes, Jesse thought, that had always been the biggest danger. He had not let himself recognize the one way in which it might be circumvented.

“We’re more careful now,” Carla told him. “We don’t keep more than one patient in a single safe house, and other precautions are taken. But in Ramón’s case they suspected conspiracy. They would have found out I was the one who hacked into the files that showed those people in the Vaults, and they’d have learned the names of the hospice caregivers who hid when they heard the ambulance coming. Peter and Kira would have been compromised, too—perhaps even Ian. Ramón had to make them think he was solely responsible. So he convinced them that he did it for money, that he was holding the patients hostage until their families paid off.”

“That’s fantastic,” Jesse protested. “There were no ransom demands, and besides, if they questioned the husband—”

“He was judged mentally incompetent, which he may have been; he went into shock when he found out about Ramón’s arrest and was sent to a residential care unit.”

“Even so—”

“People believe what they want to believe,” Carla said, “and the authorities here don’t want to believe anybody could object to stasis. Financial motives are easier for them to understand. Besides, Ramón passed a brain scan and polygraph test—he controlled his physical reactions. And on top of that, he was projecting telepathically.”

“I thought telepathy couldn’t be used to lie.”

“It can project genuine feelings, and he genuinely wanted them to believe him. I had to use it too,” she added. “I had to go to the hearing and pretend to be shocked by his crime, not to save myself—I didn’t care what happened to me at that point—but for the Group. All I could do for him was help him protect us.”

At the cost of his life, Jesse thought, awed. His own worries seemed trivial beside recognition of what commitment to the Group might really mean.

“I never want to talk about this again,” Carla said, blinking back tears. “I can’t bear it . . . just the thought of him, of anyone, being shut in that thing, the lid coming down, aware even for a few moments of what was happening . . . it terrifies me. I know it can’t ever happen to
me,
but I couldn’t
stand
it. . . .”

He held her tight. There didn’t seem to be any solace he could offer, beyond loving her. Could he possibly live up to the standard of a man like Ramón?

“Oh, yes, Jesse,” Carla whispered. “I can’t forget Ramón . . . God help me, I can’t stop seeing his face. I so wanted tonight to be perfect for you, and I’ve spoiled it. But I love you! That’s all that matters now.”

She nestled against him again. They lay there, sharing silently, while the fire slowly died. Not until she slept did Jesse rise to unfold a blanket that lay folded by the hearth. She woke as it touched her, welcoming him, the old grief now thrust from consciousness.

“I want to marry you, Carla,” Jesse said.

Carla smiled at him. “You already have, according to Group custom.”

“Just by our coming together?” He was surprised; this didn’t seem to match what Peter had told him about relationships.

“By coming together, sharing our minds, with that intention,” Carla said. “We’re not like outsiders—we don’t need words. I
knew.
You knew too, didn’t you, that we both were committed?”

“Yes, but aren’t there formalities?”

“To make it legal we’ll have to register in the city, but that’s just signing documents. The formality as far as the Group’s concerned is making love by the Lodge fire. I wouldn’t have done it here if I hadn’t already been sure you wanted to marry me. Fire is a symbol, Jesse—especially this fire. After the Ritual you’ll understand why.”

Jesse put more logs on, recalling that he had always sensed something at gatherings around this fire, some special bond between people that was less evident anywhere else. Why else, considering the wood shortage, would they light it every night regardless of the weather?

“Of course the Group will give us a wedding feast,” Carla went on, her eyes sparkling. “But our marriage took place here. Since you didn’t know, we could do it again to make sure.”

He took her in his arms and they made love again. This time, when their minds merged, no dark memories intruded. He knew that they were forever bonded, not merely one flesh, but one soul.

~
 
33
 
~

The wedding feast would follow the Ritual, Jesse was told. Carla had gone back to work in the city the night after their marriage. He had wanted to go with her, could not imagine another five-day wait apart from her. But Peter had persuaded him to stay and finish his training. “I’d like to hold the Ritual the end of next week,” he said, “assuming you feel ready to make a commitment.” Jesse had agreed with enthusiasm. No doubt remained in his mind about committing himself to the Group in whatever way the mysterious Ritual demanded.

The marriage was not to be legally registered after all. Peter had insisted that Jesse’s offworld funds must stay offworld, and that he must therefore not be officially viewed as a permanent resident of the colony. “We may need access to those funds suddenly,” he’d explained. “You can borrow all the money you want from us, to be paid from your accounts if and when we use them. But Undine’s tax authorities mustn’t find out that they exist.”

Furthermore, a legal marriage would document Jesse’s connection to Peter through Carla. Though her association with Peter away from work was carefully concealed, in time someone might notice if his assistant married a patient he’d discharged under questionable circumstances. They might even start wondering about her own relationship with her boss. That would not happen merely from Jesse and Carla living together, since medical telemetry did not pinpoint people’s location within the city.

It was just as well anyway not to register the marriage, Jesse thought. Since learning of Ramón’s execution he had worried more than ever about the risks Carla ran. She had explained that besides the Group’s other hackers, many people had access to the Hospital’s database—she’d have been suspected only because she was Ramón’s wife. Now she was
his
wife, and it would be best if the authorities didn’t know that, in case he was ever accused of murder.

He would be told little about the Ritual beforehand, Kira said, except that it was a happy occasion, always followed by celebration with which wedding festivities would combine well. “I must say, though, Jesse,” she went on, “that I think Peter is rushing it. It was heartless of him not to let you go with Carla—you should be together the first week of your marriage. And you will need more experience in deep telepathy, which only she can give you. She’ll be here several days ahead of time, which he says will be enough. All the same, he’s thinking more of himself than he is of you, which isn’t like him.”

“Himself? What difference does the date make to him?”

“He still wants Ian here,” Kira said grimly, “and he claims Ian wants to come. He says Ian’s dying wish is to initiate you, though he’s never met you! Personally, I doubt that Ian can even get here, let alone survive the Ritual in his weakened state. It’s true that it’s something he’ll find hard to let go. But if he should try it and fail—”

“Is it dangerous?” Jesse asked, surprised.

“Oh yes,” Kira admitted. “You will be warned. But you are in better condition for it now than Ian is. Peter should know that, but he doesn’t want the final responsibility of judging you at the moment in which you are placed at risk. Ian has always had that responsibility. Peter’s hoping against hope that he’ll be spared it one more time.”

Troubled, Jesse said, “I trust Peter’s judgment.”

“So do we all. I don’t mean to frighten you, Jesse. Peter is more than competent to handle the Ritual. But he has a tendency to expect a trifle too much of people in lesser matters, and knowing that, he doesn’t yet quite trust himself.” She shook her head. “As to the lesser matters, he is asking more of you than he should by hurrying this last week of lab training when you’ve just been married and should enjoy yourself! Some of the things we have to do won’t be pleasant.”

This proved to be an understatement. During the five days of Carla’s absence Jesse spent long hours in the lab. To begin with, he was required to get into the states he’d been taught one by one, without feedback, blindfolded so that only Kira could see the patterns. Then other stressors were added—loud noise, blinding light, and finally sporadic pain. Combinations of states were demanded; he had to control various physiological responses simultaneously. Sometimes he worked with Greg instead of Kira, deprived of her familiar presence. He and Greg were good friends, but Jesse could make no telepathic contact with him and soon understood that his role in this exercise was to intentionally shake him up.

Kira taught him to control bleeding, first on dual but eventually without help. The cuts were superficial and quickly healed. “You’re ahead on this,” she said. “Peter jumped the gun last week, and in that, I think he was wise. There was a larger issue than your ability to self-heal. But usually we don’t deal with deep wounds until later.”

“The training goes on after the Ritual?” said Jesse, with dismay born of exhaustion.

“It’s a lifelong process, Jesse,” Kira told him. “But it won’t be as intensive. You’ve a lot left to learn before you’re fully protected against stress-based illness. Besides that, there are states of consciousness not everyone cares to experience, and paranormal powers only a few people have begun to investigate—plus some common ones, such as remote viewing, that for some reason Peter feels you shouldn’t get involved in yet. How far you’ll eventually choose to go is up to you.”

The fifth day started normally, on dual, with Kira showing him a mind-pattern he’d never seen before. He matched it easily enough, wondering what new state of consciousness it represented. And then, suddenly, he drew back, stuck by a terror so intense, and so astonishing, that he scarcely recognized it as fear. He wanted only to withdraw, hide, not just from the dizzying visuals but from everything. . . .

“God, Kira,” he gasped, his face white. “What’s happening to me?”

“Look at your feedback now,” she said calmly.

It showed panic—the same as the worst of the panic he’d experienced his first night in the lab. Jesse struggled with it, but couldn’t seem to pull out. Unbelievably, he froze, though reason told him there was nothing whatsoever to be frightened of. Trapped, helpless, he was caught in a loop: groundless panic produced more panic engendered by his helplessness.

“I don’t understand,” he protested weakly. “What brought it on? There’s nothing—no pain, nothing wrong—how can this be happening to me without any cause?”

“It’s hard when you can’t see a cause,” Kira agreed. “But actually, Jesse, this is an encouraging reaction right now. I led you into an altered state that you’re not yet equipped to handle. If that had been tried before you had any training, nothing would have happened—you’d simply not have been able to follow. The fact that you reacted consciously shows that you’ve developed a great deal of strength.”

It didn’t feel like strength. It felt like hell. “Why do I feel terrified? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing. I know it feels as if there is, but all that’s happening is that your unconscious mind is on the alert. It interpreted an unfamiliar state as threatening—so you feel fear.”

“But there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“No. And so there is conflict. The human mind strives to maintain a status quo. It does so with respect to your body as well as your psyche. So, when there’s conflict, it fights, and if it can’t win, the adrenalin keeps flowing. People’s sensitivity to that varies. You are not as sensitive as some; that’s why nothing like this has ever happened to you before.”

“You mean it’s
normal
? Other people feel this way?”

“Oh, yes, due to all sorts of conflicts—often for weeks at a time. But Med science doesn’t recognize it. It looks for deep-seated psychiatric causes or arbitrary chemical imbalances, neither of which is a valid approach to the situation.”

“I’ve always felt that way about headshrinking. I take it Peter’s not the kind of psychiatrist who goes in for it.”

“Not usually. There are cases where it applies, but they’re exceptions. Much harm has been done by generalizing from them to the average sufferer. On the other hand, depth psychology does at least acknowledge the mind’s primacy. Belief in physical causation is worse.”