The real-time display was centered, with no time dimension. It was indeed clear red. The pattern was alive, moving, and drew him in somehow, as if it were a tunnel through which he was passing. As Jesse watched, the color of the shapes began to deepen. He found himself gasping again. His arm was on fire and he didn’t need the feedback to be aware of the intensity surge. And yet, Peter was right. It wasn’t just that he could take more when he wasn’t fighting it—his perception was drastically altered.
“Keep your eyes on the pattern,” Peter said.
“How soon will it . . . break up?”
“Probably it won’t. That’s up to you.”
“It wasn’t up to me last night.”
“You were given no feedback last night. What’s more, you were in a different frame of mind. You panicked.”
“That’s all the breaks mean—panic? God, Peter . . . it’s really rubbing it in to show me this stuff. ”
“Hardly that,” Peter said. “Initial feedback’s meant to be encouraging.”
“I don’t follow,” Jesse protested, anger giving him strength to speak out forcefully. “It was bad enough believing that everyone has a limit and mine simply wasn’t high enough to meet the standard. But now, to see I didn’t come close to my limit and blew my chance through loss of nerve—” He broke off as the red deepened further. The shapes shifted, wavered.
“Keep your eyes on it!” Peter repeated. “You have control over your mind’s response. There is no personal limit. It’s a matter of acquired skill.”
“The skill I’m . . . unqualified to learn.” The skill that let them feel this without suffering, Jesse thought, gripped by an anguish not merely physical. Whatever Peter might say, anyone who could do that was superhuman! There was an unbridgeable gulf between him and such people, between him and Carla. . . .
“Did I tell you that you’re unqualified?” Peter asked.
“Why—why not in so many words . . . but what am I here for if . . . if not to provide data from a washout?”
“You’re here to learn, like the rest of us. Your potential is exceptionally high, as a matter of fact.”
Stunned, Jesse jerked forward against the straps. “All right, Peter—stop!” he burst out in rage. “I mean it. Stop right now.”
Without hesitation Peter raised his hand toward the control booth, fingers clenched into a fist. The pain stopped instantly, so fast that its absence felt like zero-g. Disoriented momentarily, Jesse found himself still staring at the feedback pattern, frozen on the wall before him. It was dark red, with no trace of irregularity.
He turned to Peter. “I’ve taken a lot,” he said. “I was willing to take as much as you asked for. But not this—not to be told I could have learned if I’d been stronger, or even that I can learn now as a guinea pig instead of as part of the Group.”
Incredibly, Peter smiled, the sparkling smile that Jesse had always found so disarming. “You weren’t listening,” he said, bending to unfasten the strap buckles. “Which isn’t surprising, since you’re too new at this to be fully alert under that much stimulus; I’d have cut anyway in another minute or two. I said you can learn like the rest of us. As one of us. You’re progressing very, very fast.”
“No,” Jesse declared. “Not as a reward for volunteering, when I can’t pass the normal aptitude test.”
“Pass it? God, Jess, you’re so far above the norm that the people in the control booth scarcely believe what they’re seeing. I hold some trainees’ hands for days while they develop to the level you’ve reached in one morning.”
As he removed the sensors Peter went on, “What you’ve just been through is a necessary step in the training. It’s hell, but it’s worth it—the skill once acquired is permanent. We don’t do this to anyone we don’t plan to take that far. You’ve been in the Group since you pledged, conditional only on your own willingness to stick with it.”
“Despite having cracked up last night?” Jesse mumbled, not bothering to hide bitterness.
“Everybody cracks the first time. The session can’t end until it happens. The fear of it has to be gotten out of the way.”
Jesse stared at him, outraged and bewildered. “Everybody . . . Peter, you knew ahead of time? You deliberately broke me?”
“I had to. You made it damned hard for me to do, too. For a while there, I was afraid I’d have to use intensities high enough to spoil today’s demonstration.”
“But then you were lying when you told me it meant I’d be out. God damn you, Peter—you were just trying to motivate me.” The deception was the worst of it, Jesse realized. How could he have so misjudged this man’s sincerity?
“You needed stronger motivation than pride,” Peter agreed. “But I didn’t lie to you. I told you that if you chose to quit you’d be out. There was no choice involved in what you screamed at me after you lost control.” Peter waved a hand toward the still-illuminated wall. “We go by objective measurements. The mind-patterns in the data. You refused to quit before the pattern changed.”
“Then for God’s sake, why did you let me believe I hadn’t made the grade?”
“For one thing, to put you into a mood that would make this demonstration work. If you hadn’t been resigned to cracking up again, you couldn’t have stopped fighting.”
That was true, perhaps. But there had been more to the deception. “What was the point of all the rigamarole about the good of science? Even that bit about needing naive subjects was a lie—”
“No,” Peter said. “The effectiveness of the protocol depends on not telling you what we’re testing for, or what stressors we’re going to employ.”
Stressors—beyond the overt stimulus? Oh, God. Psychological stresses. Tolerance of fear, failure, despair; the physical suffering had been a mere instrument. “You weren’t judging me last night,” Jesse realized. “The test was today.”
“The only thing that counted last night was your refusal to quit,” Peter agreed. “Beyond that, the first session shows nothing about aptitude or commitment. What matters is how you get along the second time.”
“Expecting to fail, you mean.” Jesse frowned. He’d been warned about manipulation, and he had agreed; but that did not make him like it.
“It’s not an arbitrary test,” Peter explained. “It is built in, a principle behind this kind of learning. Willpower is counterproductive. In order to gain true volitional control, you must be wholly, unreservedly willing to lose control—to let what comes, come, with full consent to the consequences. That’s true with lots of skills, and the others are harder to acquire than this one. We have to be sure you won’t get in over your head.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Not yet. But you’ve had the first lesson under circumstances designed to make it indelible. You now know what doesn’t work, and what does.”
“What about that data you claimed to need from people who can’t learn?”
“It would be invaluable, as I told you,” Peter said. “But we’re never going to get any, since by definition it would have to come from unconsenting victims. Anyone without aptitude to learn volitional control would be incapable of volunteering to come back in here. That’s why I knew from the start just now that you’d be all right.”
Jesse didn’t reply. He was a long way from not minding pain, or even comprehending such a state. Yet he’d begun to believe that he might attain it.
~ 16 ~
After showering, they went upstairs. Jesse had lost track of time below ground. When they left the elevator, the noonday sun was pouring in through the windows of the deserted Lodge kitchen. Voices came from the common room, happy voices, laughter. New people had arrived to enjoy their time off from work.
“We have more skills than you’ve heard about,” Peter told him, pausing before heading in to join them, “and some will come as a shock to you. Much of what you meet will be confusing at first. Bear with us.”
Jesse nodded. With his hand on the door, Peter stopped. “You have
no ties in the city,” he said reflectively. “So you can live here full time if you want, unlike the rest of us, who can only come during offshifts.”
“I’d like to, but I’ll pay my way,” Jesse said. So far, clean clothes had been regularly provided for him as well as his meals. “Can I log onto the local Net from here? I’ll transfer my account to a colonial bank.”
Peter shook his head. “That’s the last thing we want you to do! You’ve got legal access to funds that can be spent offworld—don’t let Undine’s government find out about them. Save your money for when we need it.”
“I thought you were allowed to import goods.”
“Those we’re supposed to have, yes. But the Hospital has a monopoly on medical supplies; stuff for our hospices and infirmaries has to be smuggled in. That gets expensive. And later—” Peter broke off, not finishing the thought. “To get back to the point,” he said, “most people we bring into the Group have jobs. Training must be gradual, spread over many weeks, not only because of their limited time at the Lodge but because it’s—disorientating, sometimes. Too much so to get up and go to work the next day as if nothing had changed. With you I’d like to try something different. Faster, more intensive.”
Again Jesse nodded. The sooner he could learn what was really going on here, the better.
“There’ll be pressure,” Peter went on, “but I think you’re up to it. Okay, Jess?”
“Okay.” Then, seeing no reason to wait, he asked directly, “Will I be seeing Carla?”
“Yes.” Peter hesitated. “Jess, you may feel it’s none of my business, but am I right in believing you want a serious relationship with Carla?”
“I guess it was obvious.”
“To me it was, so I’m obliged to speak of it. Carla is a very dear friend, and I don’t want to see her hurt more than is necessary.”
“God, Peter, I’d never hurt her—except, I suppose, if I eventually leave this world.”
“Not just that,” Peter said. “There are . . . factors you’re not aware of. You may sometimes hurt her without meaning to, and she may hurt you. If you’re not sure you want a relationship on those terms, the time to back off is now.”
Jesse frowned. “It’s up to her, isn’t it?”
“Of course. But she is fully informed, and you’re not. If she chooses to be involved emotionally, she’ll do it knowing there’ll be problems, and she’ll expect you to stick by her in spite of them.”
“I don’t suppose you can be more specific.”
“Not right now,” Peter said. “When you’re ready to understand, I will have to be. That’s part of what goes with being the professional therapist here.”
“You’re speaking professionally, then, not just as a friend.”
Peter nodded. “It’s a matter of your adjustment to our ways. Newcomers find some of them . . . disturbing. Don’t worry now, but never hesitate to come to me. Am I making myself clear?”
After a short pause Jesse said, “Yes.” It had been plain from the beginning that the sexual customs of the Group were somewhat out of the ordinary. Was that among the things he’d been warned would confuse him—sex? To the extent of needing to consult a therapist?
“One more thing,” Peter added in a low voice as they went on into the common room. “Don’t eat anything yet. I know you’re hungry, but stick to water for now.”
Nearly a dozen people were gathered near a spread buffet table. All eyes were on him, Jesse saw to his dismay. Peter threw his arm around Jesse’s shoulders, needing no words to convey what they’d obviously been waiting to know. Nor did the others need words—the strange sense of intimacy that had so impressed him during the past days was magnified tenfold. The air seemed charged with it.
A slender, white-haired woman, the first older person he’d seen, clasped his hand. “Welcome, Jesse,” she said, and then hugged him. Somehow it seemed natural and right, as if she were family.
“This is Kira Tarinov,” said Peter. “She’s a Council member, and she’s in charge when I’m not here.”
Others came forward, were introduced, embraced him in turn. Gradually Jesse became aware that these strangers were family, more in tune with him now than his own had ever been. He’d felt close to crewmates on shipboard sometimes, but never like this. Never in a way that made him feel the connection would be lasting.
A bearded man approached him, accompanied by a blonde named Michelle. “Jesse! I—I’m so happy to see you looking great,” she said, gripping his hand tightly. Her eyes glistened.
“Greg and Michelle were in the control booth,” Peter said. “Michelle’s only part way through instructor’s training. I wouldn’t have brought her in if there’d been anybody else available last night who knew the software. I spent half the time you were asleep consoling her.”
Surprised, Jesse said, “I had the impression you people are used to this sort of thing. If you do it to everyone—”
“Yes, but we don’t get seasoned Fleet officers, Jess. We rarely see anyone we have to start at high intensities. The average citizen of this world panics on green. It’s psychologically equivalent; the brain response, which we call a mind-pattern, is the same—but the effects aren’t. The pain is not really bad at that point. Typically we reduce people to tears, not screams. I meant it when I said you gave me a hell of a hard time.”
“Believe him,” Greg said. “He’s a gifted telepath; he felt what you felt, all of it. The sensor data doesn’t show everything.”
Speechless, Jesse could only stand and gape.
“Peter said it would turn out all right, but I couldn’t stop doubting,” Michelle told him. “With me, it took five feedback sessions to get to red.”
“But why, if the psychology works with less pain than that—”
“It has to be maximized for the breakthrough,” Peter said, “the moment in which you grasp the skill of not suffering. Such powers don’t emerge without a major shock to the mind.”
“There’s a mind-pattern you haven’t seen yet,” Greg added. “You have to be pushed into it. After the first time, it’s easier. Once you gain full volitional control, that equips you to handle any level of pain, in yourself and ultimately in others.”
“Equips me? Are you saying that I, personally, will be able to ease suffering in other people?”
“Oh, yes. There are degrees of talent; we can’t yet tell how much you have. At the least, you’ll be fit to assist in emergencies.”
“But—but how can my mind-patterns affect anyone else?” Jesse protested, puzzled. “It would have to be their own brains controlling their perceptions—” This logical flaw had existed in what Peter had told him earlier, though he’d been in no condition to spot it then. Hearing that Carla could have eased his pain, he had been quick to believe—but that was crazy. There was no way it could happen, no mechanism for it.
Yet there had been a moment, in the Hospital, just after he’d drunk the brandy. She had touched his hand. The effect of the drug had hit him, he’d been in agony—and then for an instant before he passed out, the pain had receded.
Was Carla, too, a telepath? Was ESP what enabled them to ease pain in people who lacked their skills? No, that didn’t fit. He himself had no such weird gift, would certainly not want it. . . .
They moved to the floor cushions where people were settling, plates and glasses in hand; one was given to him before he could refuse. Though shaky with hunger, Jesse set it down beside him. Peter’s instructions, he’d found, were never without purpose.
No one had answered his question. Wanting to change the subject, he said, “There’s a lot more I’ve been wondering. Such as how you get away with hiding people the authorities want kept in the Hospital—even dead people. I mean, doesn’t anybody miss them? And what about the daily telemetry from their bathrooms?”
“The files are all electronic,” Greg answered. “And according to the Net, dead or dying people we’ve helped are in the stasis vaults. Nobody’s going to go in and visually
check.”
“But how can the Net— Oh. Hacking, you mean.”
“Of course. Carla’s one of our experts.”
“She’ll enter fake telemetry data for you, since you’ll be here longer than the legal maximum without transmission,” Peter told him. “She doctors it on a regular basis for members who have conditions they don’t want treated.”
“That’s why she works in the Hospital as a data technician,” Michelle explained. “Actually she’s a talented programmer—she wrote some of our neurofeedback software.”
Well, Jesse thought, that explained the mystery of why an intelligent woman like Carla hadn’t sought a better job. But the danger . . . “What would happen if she got caught?” he asked.
“She’d be medicated for mental illness—be hospitalized awhile, then on probation for life—and her inherited income would be confiscated.”
“Provided her examination was handled by Peter,” Greg added. “Any other doctor might give her truth serum, and then our whole operation would be exposed. That’s why none of us with illegal city activities can let it be known that we’re Peter’s friends. He wouldn’t be allowed to treat a criminal he knew personally; it would be conflict of interest.”
“But you’re Carla’s supervisor at work,” Jesse protested to Peter.
“Yes, so I treat her as a mere employee when outsiders are around to overhear. Not that I’m expecting trouble on account of her hacking. There’s a low level of security here; this world doesn’t have hackers who do it for thrills, as Earth still does. And the reason we do it wouldn’t occur to the authorities.”
“I thought there were kids into hacking on every world. Just because some kids are rebels.”
“You’re forgetting the mandatory health checks in this colony,” Kira said. “They begin at birth, and medication takes care of the potential troublemakers.”
“Psychoactive drugs. By force.” Jesse cringed.
“Force really isn’t needed. Parents welcome the advice of the medical authorities. They want their children to have the best possible care. Forced drugging of kids isn’t new, you know—it’s been done on Earth ever since such drugs were developed. It’s just more systematic here.”
Stewards of the Flame Page 12
