The Eternal Flame

41

Carla looked up at the starlit mountain stretched out above the fire-watch platform. The ladder she’d just descended and the platform’s bulky support ropes converged in the distance into a single slender wisp. From this vantage, an alert watcher could hardly miss a flash of orthogonal matter against the rock’s muted tones, and even a lamp carried out onto the slopes would be sure to catch the eye. But any fine detail in this sweeping panorama that brought no light of its own to the scene would probably be lost in the gloom. A small team working by starlight might well come and go unnoticed, right under the gaze of the most vigilant observer.

Tamara nudged her and handed her the spyglass, then showed her where to look. Carla swept her magnified gaze back and forth several times before finally seeing it: a tent—or hammock—suspended from the rock, a circle of fabric attached at a few points on its rim, sagging down in the middle. On close inspection the camouflage pattern dyed into the fabric looked surprisingly crude—but she’d run the spyglass over the same spot twice without noticing a thing. When she’d first heard Macaria’s account of the hideaway it had sounded preposterous, but now she had to admit that the kidnappers had merely been unlucky. If one of their captives hadn’t escaped, they might have remained undetected.

She couldn’t see any hint of movement in the tent, but if Carlo was under guard he’d be wise to lie meekly still. Macaria had never heard his voice in this airless prison, but when she’d managed to tear open her own confining sack she’d glimpsed another just like it before she’d slipped out past the edge of the tent and fallen into the void.

With impressive—albeit nearly fatal—self-discipline, Macaria hadn’t even tried to detach the air tank from her cooling bag until the spin of the Peerless had put her out of her captors’ line of sight—and if she’d continued in free fall, she would have been too distant to be seen with the naked eye when the mountain came full circle. It was possible that the kidnappers believed she was dead and that her corpse had drifted away undetected. Then again, the mere fact of her escape was sure to have put them on edge.

Carla passed the spyglass to Patrizia and helped her aim it toward the tent, silently thanking Silvano for sending most of the fire watch on a search of the mountain’s interior. If Ada and Tamara had had to explain themselves in order to get access to the platform, they might as well have put out a bulletin describing Macaria’s rescue and listing all the options for their next move.

Under threat of death, Macaria had told the kidnappers where she’d hidden her copies of the tapes, but she’d had no way of knowing whether Carlo had done the same. Would they have released her in the end, if she hadn’t escaped? Perhaps the kidnappers had been waiting for the vote, waiting to get a sense of how much support they had among the travelers, before weighing up their options for that final step. Carla tried to take some comfort from their hesitation. However strong their commitment to their cause, and however fearful they were of being punished, killing another person could not come easily to anyone.

Macaria, Macario and Ada were waiting for them back in the observatory’s office, having already made their own reconnaissance trip.

Tamara said, “The six of us are enough. We can do this.”

Patrizia glanced at Carla, then protested, “Surely if we take this to the Council, they’ll appoint police—”

“Word would get out,” Ada said flatly. “We can’t risk telling anyone else.” They had even kept Amanda in the dark, knowing that their enemies were likely to be watching her closely.

“I counted six attachment points for the tent,” Tamara said. “Probably hardstone stakes driven into the rock, but we wouldn’t need to pull them out, we could just cut the fabric away around them. Do all six at once, and everything spills. Then if we let ourselves drop alongside the tent, one of us is sure to be able to snatch up Carlo. Macaria thinks the guards will have air jets, but even if they don’t there’s likely to be only one or two—and I’m prepared to take spares to offer them, if they’re needed. So if this all goes smoothly, no one gets hurt and Carlo comes home safely.”

Carla tried to analyze the scenario objectively, even as she pictured Carlo free-falling into the void. If the guards were caught by surprise this way, they were unlikely to have a chance to harm him. Outnumbered, but not trapped, their wisest move would be to flee rather than take any kind of stand.

“How do we get so close, undetected?” she asked.

“They can’t have lookouts everywhere,” Tamara replied. “Starting from here, we go straight out onto the surface, and then we travel as far as we can while sticking to the slope. The guide rails around this airlock won’t take us all the way to the tent, so we’ll make the last step with air jets. They’ll be expecting someone coming the easy way, following the rails from their own nearest airlock; they won’t be gazing out at the stars, searching for silhouettes. And if we come in from on high as fast as we can, they won’t have much chance to see us and react, whichever way they’re looking.”

“Coming to a halt against the surface isn’t an easy maneuver,” Carla pointed out.

“Is there anyone here who didn’t pass safety training for the fire watch?” Ada inquired.

Nobody owned up to that. It was true that the safety exercises included a soft landing on the spinning slope—using an air jet to hold yourself in place long enough to get a handhold on a guide rail—but avoiding an audible thud against the rock hadn’t been part of the assessment criteria.

Carla looked around the room, trying to judge what the response would be if she asked Tamara to heed her wishes and call off the rescue. The kidnappers hadn’t harmed Macaria, even after she’d given them the tapes and was of no further use to them. If this raid went badly, anything could happen.

Either choice would be a gamble—and when she’d had no alternative she’d talked herself into believing that the vote alone would make all the difference. But did she want to trust Carlo’s life to the skills of her friends and allies, or to some fantasy of generosity-in-victory by the people who’d snatched him in the first place?

“We’re going to need to get the timing absolutely right,” she said. “If one of us hits the tent too soon, we’ll have lost the whole advantage of surprise.”

Ada said, “I have an idea about that.”

Carla felt the guide rail above her shift slightly as it took her weight. She paused and looked up at the supporting post, daring it to slide right out of the rock and be done with it. Though the safety rope bound her to her five companions, the jolt of her fall might tear out enough adjoining posts to spill them all.

Nothing happened. She glanced down into the stars, mystified that the threat of free fall could disturb her so much more than the condition itself. Having to dangle and swing from the rails wasn’t physically arduous, but what was hard to take was the constant feeling that the structures she depended on might give way. Whatever improvements the engineers had made, some of these rails predated the launch itself.

She started moving again. Tamara, ahead of her, was setting the pace and Carla didn’t want to slow her. She thought of Carlo, blind in his prison sack, and wondered if he’d recognize the terror of his own sudden fall as a prelude to freedom.

As they advanced, the silhouette of a small dead tree rose up against the orthogonal stars ahead—proof that some things could cling to the rock through any disturbance. A few strides back, Patrizia was advancing briskly, keeping up with Ada, almost mirroring her movements. Carla felt a pang of guilt; why had she allowed her to come along? Whatever loyalty Patrizia felt toward her, and however much respect she had for Carlo’s cause, she’d had none of the training and experience of the Gnat’s crew. If she hadn’t been with Carla when Ada came looking for her, there would have been no question of dragging her into this. But it was too late to argue the point and try to send her back.

When Tamara reached the end of the rail, Carla drew her own body to one side to give everyone behind her an unobstructed view of their leader. Tamara waited, looking to the east. She’d chosen the violet end of Sitha’s trail—Sitha being one star that all of them could recognize—to mark the direction through the void in which they would be flung.

The bright borderline, where the old star trails ended in a blaze of shifted ultraviolet, marched up from the horizon. Carla saw Sitha rising, but merely sighting it wasn’t the cue. The star had to lie at right angles to the zenith—and mercifully, that judgment wasn’t hers to make.

Tamara gave the signal, a sweep of her lower right hand, and released her hold on the rail.

Carla did the same, and the six of them fell into the void together. She glanced up to see the mountain receding and felt a rush of pure elation: to do this by choice, not by accident, wasn’t frightening at all. A few pauses later the rope joining her to Ada went taut as some small failure of synchronization caught up with them, but the jolt was mild.

Tamara was joined to Carla, but a second safety rope linked her directly all the way back to Macario, who’d been traveling at the rear of the group. Now the two of them started gathering up their ends of that longer rope, pulling themselves together. When they’d shortened it to a marked portion of equal length to the other five ropes, they hitched it to their harnesses, fixing the geometry.

Tamara gestured again, and Carla joined the others in firing a brief horizontal burst from her air jet. The loose hexagon spread out into a slowly turning, almost planar figure. At first everyone bounced around a little; the hexagon wasn’t perfectly rigid. But as the ropes dissipated the energy of people’s wayward motion, the hexagon’s stately rotation remained. Carla looked across at Macaria; behind her, the gaudy streaks of the old stars were changing places with the short, crisp trails of their orthogonal counterparts.

Tamara made a few small corrections on her own, to align the hexagon’s plane against the mountain. It was not like flying the Gnat or the Mite, but with care she could act as their pilot. So long as they were turning, centrifugal force and the rope’s deadening effect on any small departures would keep them in an orderly configuration.

The next stage was better handled cooperatively: on Tamara’s cue, they began firing their jets in unison toward Sitha, parallel bursts aimed at killing their velocity away from the Peerless. With one hand on the jet strapped to her chest and another on the second unit on her back, Carla could keep targeting the star even as the sky wheeled around and sent Sitha into her rear gaze.

Tamara halted the maneuver; they were approaching the mountain now. Carla glanced up but forced herself not to search for their destination. Tamara had chosen her own landmarks and made her own calculations. Ada had checked everything twice. The only thing to do now was to trust the navigators.

The slope grew closer with alarming speed. They were returning more rapidly than they’d been tossed aside, and the rocks themselves were now swinging around to meet them. Tamara made a series of corrections, tipping their trajectory to the south to take them past the territory they’d been unable to cross by rail. Carla’s body tensed at the threatened collision, and this new fear was far harder to dismiss: to fall into the void could be harmless, but there was no recovering from being dashed against the side of a mountain.

Finally, Tamara gestured for them to brake. Carla fired her jet toward the second target star, a nameless dazzle of violet on the borderline. The task kept her eyes away from the rocks, and when she finally stole a glance upward the jagged terrain had assumed an almost leisurely pace. She could see the tent easily now: the camouflage had lost its power for her. The slope around it was deserted. If there were lookouts they were all inside, peering out across the mountainside, expecting any intruders to come straight from the airlock.

Tamara had them shut off their jets. When the hiss from the nozzle fell silent, for a moment Carla felt as if she were suspended above the rock, but she knew that was impossible. A pause later she could see that they were still approaching, very slowly, not quite on target. Ada and Tamara took turns making adjustments, taking pains to keep the hexagon as level as they could. Carla stared up at the approaching ceiling, a few dozen strides away at most, then looked down just in time to catch Tamara’s last cue.

In almost perfect synchrony, the six of them unhitched their connecting safety ropes, took the hook-ends of their grappling ropes in one hand, then pointed their jets away from the rock and opened the valves wide to drive them home.

Carla hit the edge of the tent with her free upper hand stretched out above her, faster than she’d meant to, but close to the attachment point she’d aimed for. The jet was easily supporting her centrifugal weight, but it was threatening to send her skidding sideways. She reached up and thrust the hook into the fabric of the tent; the material was thickly woven, but the hardstone barb parted it easily and the supporting loop slipped in.

She shut off her jet, leaving her dangling by the grappling rope. She glanced around quickly: everyone was unharmed, in place, more or less at the same stage she was. Patrizia was fine. And Carlo was in here, almost free now. They just had to act quickly before the guards knew what had hit them.

Carla pulled the knife from her tool belt and plunged it in beside the attachment stake; she felt the tip go right through to the rock. She tried to extend the cut by lateral force alone—to slice around the stake’s retaining head in a neat circle—but she didn’t get far before the fabric resisted the blade. She pulled the knife out and thrust again, making a second cut, trying not to panic at the delay. How much could the guards hear, in airlessness? Rock was a good conductor of sound, but the fabric would carry it much less efficiently.

She made a third cut, a fourth. Together, these arcs still only did half the job. She joined two of them with yet another thrust, then did the same to the opposite pair. Two almost-half-circles enclosed the stake. At the edge of her attention she saw another corner of the tent already falling. If the guards had been oblivious until now, that advantage had just disappeared. Carla stabbed at her unfinished cut, joined the two large arcs on one side, aimed again. But before she could strike, the remnant of fabric tore under the strain and she fell with her corner away from the rock.

It was a short drop; the tent itself was still attached at four points. She looked up, hoping to see inside, but all she could glimpse was some exposed rock: the prison’s ceiling, glowing softly with red moss-light.

She lurched down again, as Tamara’s corner broke loose on her right. Two large air tanks came sliding down the fabric, almost striking her as they tumbled into the void, but she still couldn’t see anyone. She began hoisting herself up the grappling rope, hoping for a better view, but then the tent separated from the mountain completely.

Carla pulled herself over the edge, then unhooked the grappling rope and advanced by grabbing folds of the tent’s rough fabric. She saw a guard fleeing, silhouetted against the stars—a man, by the size of him, his air jet carrying him away across the slope. So where was Carlo? Had he fallen from the other side? She could see a host of small objects floating around her, but the center of the tent was too dark to show anything, still shaded from starlight by the mountain above. She crawled into the blackness.

Carla found the sack by touch alone. It had been secured to the tent with cords. She felt gently for the shape of Carlo’s body within; he started, but then became still. She pressed her helmet against the top of the sack. “It’s me,” she said. “You’re safe.” She heard a faint, unintelligible reply, then realized that her helmet was touching, not its double, but an unprotected skull. Inside the sack, Carlo was naked.

That was their response to Macaria’s escape: they’d stripped their remaining prisoner of any capacity to survive in the void. They must have set up an improvised cooling system to keep him alive, spraying the sack with air—those tanks that had fallen past her. But now he had nothing.

“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s all right.” She unstrapped the air jet tank from her chest and cut a long, vertical slit down the center of her cooling bag. Then she put a hand on Carlo’s shoulder, waited until she was sure he would remain still, and slid the knife a short way into the sack. She slipped her hand in beside the blade—so that if he moved, his skin would meet her fingers before it could make contact with the knife—then she made an incision to match her own.

She put away the knife and reached in to lay a palm against his chest; his skin was warm, but he was not in danger yet. He took her hand and squeezed it for a moment, then released it. Carla put one arm around the sack, holding him against her as she cut away the cords threaded through the material of the tent. Then she bound him to her, aligning the air vents as well as she could.

The darkness had lifted; they’d fallen far enough for the stars to show around the mountain. Carla saw Tamara and Patrizia approaching, dragging themselves awkwardly over the limp fabric.

Tamara bumped helmets with Carla. “How is he?”

“No cooling bag, but we’re sharing. There was only one guard?”

“Yes.”

“So which way do we go back?”

Tamara looked down at Carlo; the setup wasn’t ideal for a long trip. “We’ll try the closest airlock first. I’ll send in an advance party to be sure it’s clear.”

The others joined them, and they linked up with safety ropes again—clustering together tightly instead of rebuilding the hexagon. As Tamara maneuvered them back toward the mountain, Carla watched the tent falling away, shrinking to a small dark speck.

At the airlock, Ada and Patrizia went through first. Carla stood on the entrance platform, Carlo’s body pressed against her. He had barely moved since they’d been joined, and she could feel the heat growing in his flesh. She wondered how many supporters the kidnappers’ faction could summon at short notice. She and her friends might yet find themselves outnumbered.

Patrizia emerged and swept her hands toward the ladder, like a host inviting guests into her home.

When the airlock was repressurized, Carla removed the cords she’d tied around the sack and eased Carlo down onto the floor. He lay still. She knelt, intending to cut him free completely, but then he shifted suddenly inside the sack and began working his way out through the slit.

When he’d thrown the sack aside, Carla took him in her arms and rested her head on his shoulder. She realized she was still wearing her helmet.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” He helped her remove the helmet.

“We should let the others through,” she said.

“There are more of you?” He could see Ada standing guard at the doorway, but he must not have realized the full size of the raiding party.

By the time everyone was back inside the Peerless, Carlo was moving normally, talking and joking with them, eager to be brought up to date.

“They never got Amanda,” Carla explained. “And the Council’s ordered a vote; in four days’ time, everyone will have a say on what happens with your research.”

As Carlo digested that news, Tamara added, “There’s not much chance of approval, though, after everyone saw your autopsy notes on the fourth arborine.”

“My what? What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t autopsy one of the arborines who gave birth? Carla found the report in your apartment.”

“No.” He turned to Carla, confused, but before he could speak Tamara chirped with delight.

“I knew they were forged!” she said. “I knew it!”

“We have to get the news out,” Patrizia urged Carla. “That’s going to change everything!”

“No one’s going to believe a retraction now,” Ada predicted gloomily. “They’ll just think it’s a strategy to sway the vote.”

Carla couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. “I forged the autopsy notes,” she said. “I just wanted the kidnappers…” She trailed off. Everyone here had risked their lives for the cause she’d tried to destroy. She couldn’t start offering them excuses.

It was Tamara who broke the silence. “People will understand why,” she said. “Write up something short and we can send it out right now. Your co is finally safe, now you can speak the truth. That’s not a strategy, it’s just being honest.”

Carla looked to Carlo. “It’s a good idea,” he said. “Let people know what happened.” If he was angry with her, he was hiding it.

As the group made their way down the corridor, Carla composed the message in her head. Some passersby recognized Carlo and Macaria and greeted them warmly. Others hurried past, casting looks of disdain.

At the relay station, Carla sat at the paper tape punch. As she began hammering the buttons, Patrizia said, “There’s a bulletin here, it just came in a chime ago.”

“You haven’t heard yet?” The clerk was surprised. “Not good news.”

Patrizia read the copy on the wall in silence, then moved aside to let the others see it. Carla couldn’t concentrate on her own task any more.

“What is it?” she demanded.

Patrizia didn’t answer, but now Macaria had read it too. “The forest,” she said, dazed. “We’ve lost the forest.”

“What do you mean, lost it?”

“Someone set it alight. From the sound of this, they must have used sunstone. By the time the fire crews arrived there was nothing they could do. They’ve closed off all the entrances and left it to burn itself out.”