Stewards of the Flame (54 page)

“Yes. It might bother Carla to be aware of them, even though they’re never going to be used.”

“Surely they’re not still in condition for use.”

“As a matter of fact, they probably are. They didn’t go to the trouble of tearing them out; trying to convert the deck to a hydroponics area wouldn’t have been worth the cost, since converted ships are used only on short runs to established colonies and don’t need a sustainable ecology. To tamper with their integration into the computer system would have meant totally replacing the ship’s life-support AI. Besides, when the hyperdrive was new, many Captains viewed stasis facilities as good insurance against drive failure.”

Peter frowned. “Are they going to be—visible?”

“No. All that part of the ship is sealed off from the passenger decks, and even from the ones those of you with crew duties will use. I’ll have to inspect the whole ship myself, but nobody else needs to know the stasis deck is there, during the trip, at least.”

“I think we had better leave it that way, then,” said Peter. “Carla isn’t the only one who’d be upset. Some of our people are having second thoughts about the relative risks in staying versus going, and the clincher is the thought of leaving stasis vaults behind forever.”

“So I guessed. The truth will come out eventually, when we cannibalize the ship to build our colony. But then we can have a grand party and blow up what’s left of them. There might even be an advantage to the symbolism.”

“That’s true,” Peter agreed. “A lot of us have felt like blowing up the Vaults for years. To do it in fact, physically, will provide ideal closure.”

They went on to discuss the rest of the information Jesse had been given at the spaceport. He had, of course, arranged for the ship as the representative of an approved group of colonists, not as an individual. Since obtaining the approval had required the first admission to anyone other than Ian’s offworld friends that there
was
a Group, Ian and Peter had dared to apply only after their agent on Earth had determined that Fleet wouldn’t contact the government. They’d had no need to worry. No colonial government was willing to let its population emigrate. Though League law guaranteed freedom of movement, there were various ways around that guarantee. Fleet, being in the business of providing ships for charter, knew better than to trigger them.

Nevertheless, some evidence of the group’s actual existence had been required. “We gave them a password-protected Net address,” Peter had told Jesse when they’d conferred in a miners’ tavern on Verge Island. “It’s reasonable that a persecuted religious order’s private site couldn’t be found through a public search.”

“Persecuted religious order?”

“Well, there were only three choices on the application under reason for emigration,” Peter had explained. “‘Economic benefit’ wouldn’t make sense for a group as small as ours without capital for mining equipment, especially when we’re leaving a colony where we’re already rich. ‘Political persecution’ wouldn’t be credible when Undine is known to have no political conflicts. So that left ‘religious persecution.’ Which is accurate, in a way—certainly it’s a matter of conscience with us. There are plenty of small cults on Earth with views unlike those of the established religions.”

“So what religion are we?” Jesse had inquired.

“The Stewards of the Flame—what else?”

“Well, it’s apt, I suppose, even if a bit melodramatic.” He hated to think how his former crewmates would have reacted to his announcement of such an affiliation; he’d found it hard to keep a straight face when transferring funds to Fleet in that name.

While Fleet did not care about violations of anti-emigration policies, it did object both to forced emigration and to the use of its ships as getaway flights for criminals. It took pains to ensure that no world could dump its undesirables into fledgling colonies. Thus background checks on all members of charter groups were required.

“That looks like a big stumbling block,” Jesse said now, knowing the time had come to deal with the awkward details. “We don’t want to be investigated by the local authorities.”

“No, but fortunately Fleet just needs a password that will let them into police files on the local Net,” Peter said. “Ian was assured that they don’t require it to come through official channels.”

“Do we know the password?” Jesse inquired.

“Certainly; as a staff psychiatrist I can access all the confidential files.”

Then for once, it was a good thing that the police and the Hospital were one and the same. That would be convenient, since Fleet also required medical records. It did not want prospective colonists to die while aboard one of its ships, nor was it willing to take any chance of being stuck protecting a colony that proved too small and weak to survive on its own. Not only must all emigrants be healthy, but it was necessary for women of childbearing age to be certified fertile.

Jesse had not thought about this before. Gynecological records could be hacked where necessary, of course—but how many of the women who looked young actually were past menopause? How many had faked their birthdates in the files to conceal retarded aging?

“Slow aging extends to childbearing capability,” Peter told him, “though it will mean using donor eggs—our older women’s own stored ones have long since been relinquished to the Hospital’s DNA bank. We won’t have lab facilities for IVF after we leave the starship, so we’ll freeze embryos to implant later. Susan, our gynecologist, is stockpiling supplies of the hormones we’ll need to take with us.”

“I’m not sure there’s going to be time aboard the starship—for egg donation, I mean. Doesn’t it depend on women’s cycles?”

“Jesse, we have cryogenic storage facilities in the lab at the Lodge,” Peter informed him. “Ian banked his sperm there years ago; one of our surgeons was able to retrieve it despite his implanted IVD. I wondered why he bothered, but now I suspect he had a premonition that it could someday be used. We’ll begin banking eggs now—we won’t wait until departure. Carla’s already hacking the files of potential donors to make sure they’re not called in for checkups after we’ve removed their contraceptive implants.”

Fleet also required all prospective colonists to sign individual waivers acknowledging awareness of the risks they were assuming. This wouldn’t be a problem, since they could do it via the Net, and privately Jesse was glad they would have to. It was one thing for people to agree to those risks when spellbound by Peter at Ian’s funeral, but only a more objective decision could sustain them for what was to come. The waivers, to be sure, did not take into account the
real
perils: hijacking followed by isolation without the support of supply ships on a world that had not even been terraformed. But at least they were a step toward the abandonment of illusions.

The most pressing order of business was the selection of a planet. Actually, there were two to be chosen: the one the Group wanted to settle and the one it would officially be headed for. “We just have to make that one seem plausible to Fleet,” Peter said. “Since we’re not really going there, what kind of world it is won’t matter.”

“Like hell it won’t,” Jesse said. “If something goes wrong, if hijacking proves impossible and we’re not caught trying it, we and our descendants will be spending our lives there.” Peter was so hung up on Ian’s dream, which he now considered virtually proven by events, that he was blocking this possibility out of his mind. That was okay. For a venture as risky as this, the leader must be a fanatic to inspire the others. But he himself could not ignore cold facts. He might never become Captain—and if he didn’t, they’d be lucky to end up at the official destination.

Fleet had provided full descriptions of the planets open to them. All were already occupied, of course, and all were willing to accept immigrants who wished to retain aspects of their own culture. “Culture,” however, did not include unorthodox ideas about health care. It was assumed that immigrants would not only arrive healthy but would respect local customs with regard to staying that way. Furthermore, most of these colonies were older than Undine’s and more heavily populated. Somewhat to Peter’s surprise, they did not have lush farmland free for the taking—immigrants were likely to become miners or factory workers. “That’s to be expected,” Jesse said. “You weren’t thinking we could live anywhere else as we do here, were you? Undine is exceptional. It’s rich in diamonds, which is why everyone has such a high standard of living. And don’t forget the wealth that comes from the investments of ancestors in the Vaults. Our people are going to lose a lot that they take for granted, wherever we end up.”

“I know that. We’re going to arrive penniless in any case because all our funds will have gone toward chartering the ship. But somehow I hadn’t stopped to picture what would happen if we were transported to an established colony where we might not be able to get the professional jobs most of us are used to. I’ve only thought about the hardships of settling a wilderness world where we’d eventually make use of our talents.”

“Well, that risk is unavoidable, Peter. It’s only fair for people to know about it—as they will, because the waivers they’ll have to sign will include a description of the place they’re supposedly en route to.”

Peter nodded. “You’re right, of course. Our willingness to accept risk must be unconditional. I’m too much of a visionary sometimes, I guess.”

Frowning, Jesse persisted, “Maybe you need to pull a description of Fleet’s penal colonies off the Net. There’s more than one way the hijacking could fail.”

“You’ve made your point. Let’s just pick one of these backup worlds, and then decide where we really want to go.”

    
Seeing little difference between them, they chose the one that put least emphasis on excellence of health care facilities in its promotional blurb. Its name was Liberty, which suggested that its founders, at least, had had an acceptable scale of values.

With that out of the way, they began downloading pictures of unopened worlds from the Net’s astronomical database. Ian and Peter had previously tried this, but had not known how to narrow the search to real possibilities. Hundreds of unopened worlds had been charted, but most of the suitable ones were ruled out by distance—the longer the jump, the greater the danger that a slight miscalculation would require a long trip in normal space to get close enough to orbit. The maximum length of such a trip would be limited by the onboard life support. Knowing the ship’s specifications, Jesse was able to limit the search to destinations he’d be willing to try for.

The planet chosen must, of course, be habitable without terraforming. “I was surprised when I learned there are any such planets left,” Peter said. “I’d have thought all those close enough would have been colonized long ago.”

“That’s not the basis on which they’re chosen,” Jesse explained. “A world’s not worth the expense of opening unless it has minerals valuable enough to export. If it does have, terraforming is often cost-effective, just as it was on Undine. But a world already fit for farming that has no rich mineral deposits would be useful only to its colonists; they couldn’t pay the cost of ongoing supply shipments. Since we won’t be receiving supplies anyway, we can consider worlds normally ineligible for settlement.”

Fascinated, they studied the images, some of which showed planets that were more or less Earthlike. “There was another factor in the early days of colonization,” Jesse said. “At that time, environmentalism was politically dominant on Earth, and the form of it then popular held that planets with native lifeforms, even if not precursors of intelligent life, should be left alone. They were put off limits, as those that have primatoid species still are even though no signs of an ET civilization have ever been detected. So the worlds with terrestrial ecologies were bypassed, and by the time that attitude faded, terraforming technology was so well developed that there was no reason to prefer them.”

“You’re saying there might be
animals
on our world?” Peter, Jesse realized, had seen large animals only in vids. The Meds considered red meat unhealthy and Undine hadn’t enough land area to grow feed for livestock, so none had been imported.

“There are likely to be. Dangerous animals, possibly,” Jesse replied. He hoped not. Guns being taboo on Undine and game nonexistent, no one besides himself would have skills for dealing with predators. “These worlds haven’t been thoroughly surveyed,” he warned. “All we know about them is that their gravity, atmospheres and climates are within the habitable range, that their water is pure and their soil will support crops of Earth origin, and that the initial explorers encountered neither primatoids nor lethal microorganisms. Beyond that, we take our chances.”

How could they choose? Ruling out those with gravity or rotation significantly unlike Undine’s still left many possibilities. To pick the closest or most promising would invite discovery by Fleet. The only obvious ones to avoid, besides those without accessible metal deposits, were water worlds where local transportation would be difficult and on which, without solar power satellites, there would be no means of generating much power. The lives of the entire Group might depend on this decision, yet it would be like throwing dice when there wasn’t enough information to base it on. . . .

Jesse clicked forward to the next image. He drew in his breath sharply. A familiar world, a golden world studded with sapphire seas . . . just as he had seen it with Ian, in the dream. It was real!
Ian showed me a real world. . . .

“The world of his own dream?” Peter, picking up the thought, was awestricken.

“Perhaps. But could he have seen this picture, Peter?”

“He may have, later; he did look at some on the Net—after his dream, of course.”

“For him to have seen this planet in it would mean clairvoyance across light-years of interstellar space!”

“Not necessarily. It could have been part of the precognition. He may have seen it in the same way that he saw us landing, through our eyes as we’ll see it in the future.”

“In that case we’ve already chosen it! Are we free to do anything else?”