Stewards of the Flame by Sylvia Engdahl Page A

going to turn into some sort of orgy out in the common room?
    They fixed lunch. Nobody seemed to organize it, but after changing clothes Jesse found himself making sandwiches. People clustered in small groups on the wide porch and ate casually. There was a lot of laughing and joking, and it seemed happy laughter, not the sort you heard in a bar. The food was good, too, much better than last night’s tasteless restaurant fare, which, Carla had said, was legally required to meet the standards set by nutrition inspectors—as were all edibles offered by city markets. It appeared that only on this secluded island was it okay to enjoy eating.
    Pretty soon people started taking their shirts off to lie in the sun. They were not at all self-conscious about it, though even the women wore nothing beneath. Jesse looked at Carla, looked away, and then looked back, realizing that he was not supposed to react. Colonial customs would take getting used to, he decided.
    “Hey, guys,” said Peter. “Let’s go swimming.”
    Everyone headed toward the waterfront. Carla grabbed Jesse’s hand. “I’ll race you,” she cried, with enthusiasm.
    Jesse froze inside. “I guess I’ll pass,” he said. “I’m not a swimmer.”
    “Oh, come on, Jesse. Nobody cares how good you are.”
    “No,” he confessed, “I mean I never learned to swim. Most spacers don’t; there’s no opportunity.”
    “But you were born on Earth. Didn’t you ever swim as a child?”
    “No,” he said shortly. It was the first lie he had told her. This was not something he liked to think about—splashing happily at the beach with other kids, then the pier, the fall into deep water, the undercurrent dragging him down. His uncle had rescued him, though he had no memory of that part. He’d been only about four then, and had avoided water thereafter. But he still had dreams from time to time.
    In space training, the issue hadn’t arisen; there were no pools on the spartan orbiting stations that housed Fleet cadets. The phobia was on his record, however. You could not lie about such things in psych evaluation—if you denied every fear on their list, they knew you were lying and probed. For that reason he had not lied about it even on the Hospital questionnaires here. God, had Carla seen? She was, after all, a psych technician, though readouts normally showed profiles rather than answers to specific questions.
    “Come with us anyway and watch,” said Carla. “Please, Jesse.”
    Relief swept over him. She could not have seen; if she had, she wouldn’t be urging him to come. It was not in Carla to do anything unkind. Nor would she scorn him—he’d feared not that from her, but pity. Better to make excuses than to have her offer them for him, and watching wouldn’t be bad.
    “Okay,” he said evenly, and followed.
     
     
    ~   8   ~
     
    A cluster of people gathered on the rocky shore, some distance from the dock. The water was calm and deep there; the cliffs dropped off sharply beneath the water and there was no surf. Peter stood on a tall rock, sunlight illuminating his hair. He dove, cutting the water with effortless grace. Jesse stared at the spreading ripples, wondering how long he would stay down.
    “It’s safe at high tide,” said Carla, noting Jesse’s indrawn breath. “We know these waters. There aren’t any rocks beneath the surface.”
    She took off her long pants, revealing swimwear beneath, and plunged in from ground level. Soon they were all in, laughing and shouting, having a glorious time, like children. Peter dove repeatedly, and others followed. Jesse sat on a flat rock away from the edge, realizing with dismay that he envied them.
    After a while Peter came and sat beside him, drying his bright hair with a towel. “You should try it,” he said. “Carla says you never learned, but we wouldn’t let you drown, you know.”
    Jesse forced a smile. “No, thanks. I’ll leave it to you young folks.” For the first time the fact that he