Stewards of the Flame

by Sylvia Engdahl

  Families were another, and it was strange that all present seemed to be without them. Most were not so young as never to have married, not unless the colony’s customs in that regard were unusual. They were healthy. They valued closeness and caring. Yet while behaving as if at home, relaxed, they did not live or act as couples. There were no private exchanges between them even to the extent of those that took place between him and Carla. It was like one big happy family, Jesse thought rather wistfully—yet would that always be enough, without relationships, without kids?

  Evenings, they sat around the fire, and again Carla nestled close to him with casual warmth that on the surface was almost childlike. Beneath the surface was something Jesse couldn’t define. It was not mere submerged sexuality; he sensed that in some indescribable way she was holding back more than that, some central facet of her personal life. He had no choice but to accept her wish. It was obvious to him that she wasn’t involved with anyone else present, equally obvious that she was as eager for him as he for her. They knew each other well enough now; in ordinary circumstances he wouldn’t have hesitated. But there was something here that was not ordinary.

  It was not just Carla, Jesse realized, and not just the specifics of their lives these people were hiding. There was a restraint among them he couldn’t explain. It was if they were all on guard against revealing their true selves, even while they enjoyed life with wholehearted, innocent abandon. They seemed untouched by the world outside—a term they used as one might speak of another planet—and yet connected to everything that mattered in it. Despite their strange reticence he felt he knew them, liked them, better than any people he had shipped with. God, he thought, have I missed out on life by staying in Fleet? Will they ever truly accept me as one of them?

  On the last night of the offshift, they gathered in the Lodge for a more formal meal than the buffet arrangement used so far. Jesse was not sure whether it had been prearranged—he was somehow never sure of anything in the interactions between these people—but there seemed to be enough of a planned menu for everyone to sit down at the same time. They pushed the tables together. When they’d finished eating, they brought out more wine.

  He looked around at their faces. Peter, Kwame, Bernie, Ingrid, Liz, Nathan . . . more than a dozen, and he knew them all now as friends. All so different, and yet they had something in common, something other people did not have. It was a kind of balance, poise. He’d sensed that in every one of them, from the start. Even in Carla! It wasn’t just the interaction of the group; they interacted as they did only because they were what they were. How, he wondered, had they ever found each other?

  “Back to reality tomorrow,” Peter remarked, more as simple fact than with regret. Turning to Jesse, he said, “You’re not lost in the land of the lotus-eaters, you know.”

  “I wondered,” Jesse said lightly. Privately, he had not only wondered but worried. He should be thinking of contacting Fleet, not hiding out among friends with no practical cares to concern them.

  Carla, on his right, looked up at him and smiled her special smile. “Do we puzzle you, Jesse?” she asked.

  He was startled; it had not occurred to him that this would be brought out into the open. He was at a loss for words. “I like what I see,” he said finally, “but it’s beyond me where you get it. I don’t know what you do elsewhere, but here you are all so—alive.”

  “Perhaps,” Nathan suggested, “we want to take advantage of the opportunity.”

  “To live before you die, you mean? We all try that, I guess. We don’t all succeed so well.”

  “The pressures aren’t the same everywhere,” Ingrid said. “Jesse, have you ever been on a ship that was in danger?”

  “I’ve had a few close calls. Nothing spectacular.” He did not say that like any officer who’d served on freighters, he had on rare occasions been obliged to defend his cargo against piracy; not only were guns illegal on Undine, but there was a strong taboo against mentioning them.

  “Nothing where the people aboard were living under threat of imminent disaster, then.”

  “Not for more than about five minutes, no.” Jesse thought about it. Such things did happen in Fleet; there were ships low on life support that made it home after more extended periods of peril. The experience did tend to create a bond between people. He had never yearned for quite that sort of bond.

  “You’re not in any danger here,” he said, puzzled.

  “Not mortal danger,” Bernie agreed, “but under this world’s laws—” He broke off, seeing Peter frown. There was a sudden silence, broken only by the sound of a plane. They were all alert to it. Undine’s moon, larger than Earth’s and with greater albedo, was full; there should be plenty of moonlight for landing on water.

  “It’s Anne, probably,” Liz said. “Tonight of all nights—”

  Carla froze, staring at her. Liz, seemingly embarrassed, murmured, “Perhaps not.”

  “I’ll turn on the dock lights,” Peter said. He rose and went to the door, looked out, finally let it swing shut behind him.

  Carla said, “Jesse, we’re all tired. Let’s turn in early.”

  But they had just poured another round of wine, Jesse thought; their glasses stood untouched on the table. The fire had not even been lighted. Puzzled, he watched them head for the bunkrooms. “I’m tired,” Carla repeated. “We’ll clean up tomorrow.”

  She didn’t expect him to be fooled, he realized. She thought he would be tactful enough to retire. There seemed to be little choice; he was a guest, and at the moment, obviously an unwelcome one. He was not meant to meet whoever had come in the plane. Anne? Anne’s friendship had proven false. Perhaps they didn’t want him to watch the inevitable showdown.

  He followed Kwame into the bunkroom they shared with Peter. As he expected, Kwame didn’t stay long; he disappeared as soon as Jesse was in bed. But there were no voices from the common room. Nor did the plane take off again, and indeed, it was too late to fly back to the city before moonset. Jesse got up and stood by the window. There was no ocean view, since unlike most of the bunkrooms it was on the back of the building. It was strange, he thought suddenly, that a guest wouldn’t have been offered a room with a view.

  He was torn. Carla did not think him dense enough to believe they’d all gone to bed; therefore she trusted him. Whatever was going on was none of his business. Yet more and more he felt that it meant trouble. Her worry about Anne had been more than disappointment. In her face just now, in all their faces, there’d been tenseness not usually visible. And they had started to speak of danger. . . .

  What threat did Anne hold over Carla, perhaps over them all?

  Carla didn’t want him to know. She was aware that if he knew, he might make some effort to protect her. And if he did that—if Hospital politics were involved, as they must be—his case might be reopened. It was vital to his continued freedom for the Hospital to forget about him. Hacking, she’d said . . . she had altered Hospital records. Disclosure of this would mean trouble not only for her, but for him; his name might be restored to the pickup list. She wouldn’t risk that, nor would she allow the group to chance it. They would make some sort of deal with Anne, one she did not want him to know about.

  Quickly, decisively, Jesse put his clothes back on and went outside.

  The Lodge was deserted. Even the illuminated dock was empty. Some distance away across the water, beyond the rocky area used for swimming, he saw a dim cluster of bobbing lights.

  They were in the boats, then. He’d heard no powerboats tonight, but the ones from which scuba diving was done also had oars. What point was there in rowing? They couldn’t go far, and indeed, as he watched the lights, he saw they were going nowhere. It was almost as if they were anchored.

  He didn’t know how to manage a boat, and in any case, an approach by boat would be seen. But if he followed the shore trail beyond the swimming beach, he could stay hidden by trees. There was a chance that from there he could learn more.

  It
was dark; the moon was by now below the horizon. Jesse wasn’t used to trails or wild growth—his sole experiences with them had come in the past four days. Several times he stumbled, and as he passed the swimming area, sticking to cover, branches lashed across his face. The cluster of boats, on the opposite side of a boulder-strewn point from where they’d swum, was close now. He did his best to move soundlessly. Voices carried to him on the breeze.

  Jesse couldn’t make out words. But there was a woman’s voice—not Carla’s—and then Peter’s. And then, astonishingly, the group spoke in unison. The cadence sounded like poetry.

  Abruptly, the lights rose higher, and he could see that they were candles. Held by raised arms, their flicker illuminated the center boat. Peter and Bernie were standing up, between the seats, and lifting something. The boat rocked; he could hear it bump against the others, though people in each were holding on to its gunwales.

  The lifted object was long and evidently heavy. It seemed to be a bag of some kind, a stiff sack that retained its shape as they pushed it over the stern. It was about the size of a person’s body. Jesse stepped onto the rocks and leaned forward through willowy branches in order to see better.

  Oh, God. It was a body—it could be nothing else. The sack splashed and sank, sending out small waves that broke on the rocks at his feet. Incredulous, not wanting to accept the implications, Jesse knew that he’d witnessed a burial.

  The wet rocks were slippery. His mind was far from them. As his feet slid out from under him, he grabbed at a branch; it gave way. With an involuntary cry, he fell, and black water closed over his head.

  ~ 10 ~

  The water was deep at this point. Deep enough even at low tide to hide bodies, Jesse realized, fighting panic. He sank through darkness, trying desperately to move as he’d learned while scuba diving, though he had too little swimming experience to get far without fins. There was no bottom. Nor was there any sensation of rising; having no sunlight above made a difference, perhaps. Ultimately he floundered, aware that his arms were breaking the surface. Then a spotlight hit, and Peter was pulling him toward the boats.

  He gulped air, gratefully. He should still be afraid, he thought. His suspicion of trouble had not been mere imagination; on no world could it be routine to dump a body overboard under cover of darkness. The mysteries here were a good deal more ominous than he had guessed.

  Carla had tried to keep him from learning them. Had her wish been to protect him? Was she herself in danger from what she knew? It was a reasonable speculation. Yet he could not bring himself to fear the others; Peter’s grip was, inexplicably, comforting. In spite of everything, he found he felt safe with Peter.

  Oars were stretched out to him. Strong hands helped him aboard. As he watched, the candles—fixed to buoyant bases—were put over the side to float away, evidently as part of the planned ceremony. Wet and shivering, dazed, Jesse huddled on a seat, wondering what he could possibly say to Carla.

  “Well, we didn’t suppose you lacked initiative,” Bernie told him, without anger. “But it was only fair to give you a choice about getting involved.”

  “What did you see, Jess?” asked Peter gravely.

  “You know, I think,” Jesse told him. “If I’m wrong—if it wasn’t the burial of a body—then set me straight. I know it’s not my business, but under the circumstances—”

  “You’re entitled to an explanation,” Peter agreed. “My guess is that you’ll find it easier to understand than our fellow-citizens would. I doubt if you’re a man to be unduly worried by the legalities of the situation.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” And yet, Jesse thought, he was ready to believe any explanation that would let him keep trusting these people. He was as drawn to them as ever. It would take more than he’d seen tonight to make him doubt them.

  The boat carrying Carla had come alongside. It was too dark to see her face, but her voice was soft, steady. “Jesse, one of our friends died in her bed this morning. She was ninety-seven, and knew she was dying; she didn’t want the ambulance. Would you want to spend your last hours in this world’s Hospital?”

  “No,” Jesse admitted. “But why bury her here instead of in a cemetery?”

  “If the authorities knew she was dead, they’d wonder why no ambulance got to her,” Liz said.

  “That figures. I suppose if one wasn’t called, her family and friends could be accused of some crime.” As he spoke, it dawned on Jesse that what elsewhere would be ironic exaggeration was here, no doubt, the literal truth.

  The boats separated; people took up paddles. “You don’t have to keep so quiet now that I’m here,” he pointed out.

  “It’s best to be on the safe side,” Peter said. “We can never be sure outsiders’ boats won’t pass by—we’re within range of the mining camp on Verge Island.”

  Back at the Lodge, he and Peter changed to dry clothes in silence. When they returned to the common room, people had gathered as usual around the fire. But there was no music, no casual chatter. They all seemed to be waiting.

  Jesse looked for Carla, then froze. Anne was sitting beside her. Anne had indeed brought the plane, then, and the body. . . .

  “Forget your first meeting with Anne,” Carla said easily. “She couldn’t tell me in public, but she knew there’d be a way to get you out—a better way, one with a legal signature.”

  Days beforehand? Jesse thought, puzzled. Well, if Carla was satisfied, he would be too; he returned Anne’s friendly greeting. Still, he felt something had been held back.

  “Okay, people, we need to talk,” Peter said. “Jess needs to know the truth about this world. Now that he’s seen what went on tonight, that’s more urgent than ever.”

  Carla said, “We were going to tell you tonight, anyway. It’s a hard thing to speak of casually. Bear with us.”

  Jesse nodded. “All right. I’m listening.” The truth about the world? he thought, with foreboding. Not just what he’d seen of its dictatorial health laws?

  “I’ll ask you a hard question, straight out, Jess,” Peter said in a tone uncharacteristically serious. “What’s the worst thing you can imagine happening to you, that really could happen? I don’t mean some freak accident. What do you really fear about your own eventual end?”

  Jesse froze. This was a taboo subject in any society he had ever known. You simply did not ask that question. Everybody already knew the answer to it, anyway.

  “Don’t back away from it, Jesse,” Carla said. “We are not going to be shocked by what you say.”

  All right, they wanted honesty. “Old age,” he confessed. “Outliving my capabilities. Being helpless, dependent on strangers, even on—” He broke off, unable to carry it through.

  “On machines,” Bernie finished for him. “Or being mentally incapacitated, senile. Physical dependence might be tolerable, but disintegration of the mind’s harder to contemplate.”

  Jesse bent his head. “Yes,” he agreed. He was older than they were; he had not supposed they’d even ventured to think about it yet. Still, the friend they’d buried had been elderly. “Do you think I’d question your not calling an ambulance for an old woman?” he asked. “Stop worrying—you don’t need to justify yourselves to me.”

  “The issue goes deeper than that,” Kwame said. “Earlier, we mentioned shared fear—”

  “And we have to explain the reasons for it,” Ingrid said. “Jesse, you may have to live out your life here. The Hospital provides custodial care. Does the idea frighten you?”

  They were all looking at him very intently, and he perceived that he was being tested in some obscure way. With them, there was no end to the surprises. The only clear thing was that they did not like timidity—not in any form whatsoever. If you shrank from something, then that was the very thing they contrived to make you do.

  “Yes, I fear that,” he repeated forthrightly. “I guess we all hope to go quickly when our time comes. But it doesn’t happen often nowadays, after all—not as it used to before all fatal diseas
e except aging became curable. I’m not likely to have much choice.”

  “On some worlds I hear they do,” Nathan said pointedly.

  “Assisted suicide, you mean? Yes, it’s legal on Earth, in fact. But—” Jesse paused, guessing now why they’d hidden the death and hesitant to risk offending. They sat silent, not letting him off the hook. Hell, he thought, if anyone takes this as an insult, they asked for it! “It’s not my business to judge others,” he said, “but that’s not the choice I’d make for myself. It’s always struck me as cheating, somehow. I mean, where does it stop and start, if you believe in that? Where do you draw the line? Certainly not at mere inability to function well; plenty of disabled people stick it out and find life worthwhile. Not at pain—in my book, that’s simple cowardice. So where, then?”

  “You can’t say,” Ingrid agreed. “So what will you do when you are old and feel your time has come, if you don’t believe in cheating?”

  “Well,” said Jesse, “if you want frankness on this subject, I’ll do what people who don’t talk about it do. They refrain from doing anything. They don’t try to prolong the natural process. That’s how my great-granddad went, and nobody questioned it, and what he didn’t tell the doctors was left unsaid.” God, he thought, does it have to be spelled out for them? Are they all too young to have figured it out for themselves?

  But they had figured it out—they had, perhaps, acted on that basis. Were they looking to him for validation?