Cover of Stewardsr of the Flame

Excerpt from
Stewards of the Flame

Book One of the Founders of Maclairn science fiction duology

by Sylvia Engdahl

"In other words," said Carla, "you believe there are times not to seek treatment."

"Sure I do. I'd even go so far as to refuse advised treatment--" He broke off, aghast at the implications of what he was saying. He knew where they were leading him, now.

"You'd refuse just as you refused treatment for alcoholism," Peter agreed. "But that's an option we don't have here."

"Oh, God," Jesse said. "You're saying it wasn't a matter of whether to call the ambulance. Your friend had to be hidden from one already after her." It had become all too clear. The city's ambulances, after all, had police powers.

"She was due for a mandatory checkup," Anne said, "and this time, she'd have been held permanently. Even if her condition had stabilized."

"You mean everyone--everyone on this world who's not killed outright--dies slowly in that damned hospital, hooked to machines?" Jesse persisted. "You all know that's what you're facing? It's not even a matter of odds?"

"I wish that were what we meant," Bernie said. There was an uneasy silence. Then, with irony, he went on, "But you see, we have the galaxy's finest medical facility in this colony--"

"So I've been told. That's not quite how I'd describe it."

"And," Kwame declared, "the galaxy's finest medical facility can't let people die."

"Till they've disintegrated from old age, you mean." God. It might take years, with unlimited forced treatment. . . .

"No, Jesse. It can't let them die at all. At least not according to the Meds' criteria."

He stared at Kwame. "I guess I don't quite see."

"You wouldn't," Carla said gently, "and yet you have to, in order to live here even for a while. It's better that you hear the facts from us than by chance, from strangers. You're not going to like what you hear."

Jesse was silent.

"Our medical facility," Bernie told him, "really is an advanced one. From the technological standpoint it's superb. It has developed sophisticated techniques not common elsewhere, and as you know, its funds are unlimited. The law says everyone must be treated for everything. So you see, bodies are just--maintained. Indefinitely."

"Even after they're brain-dead?" Jesse asked in a low voice.

"Yes--like bodies from which organs for transplant were taken, back in the days before cloned organs were perfected. Sometimes there's minimal brain stem activity, but no possibility of subconscious mental functioning."

"Surely the goal must be to restore the mind, or perhaps someday transplant it."

"No. We're not talking about coma. People in comas have an interior life, some form of consciousness, whether or not they show evidence of it. But even in principle, technology can't restore or transplant a mind that no longer physically exists."

"The law holds that personhood resides in mere flesh," Liz said. "The general public perceives maintenance as eternal life. But though some religions once held that only if a soul were still present could bodily functions be made to continue, that can hardly be said now that our technology's so advanced."

"The Meds are fully aware that they're dealing with bodies that would be pronounced dead on any other world," Ingrid added. "And they aren't maintaining them for religious reasons. On the contrary, they reject any concept of soul. To them the body alone is central, the definition of human life and therefore sacred. So the aim is to preserve its biological operation."

"You're right that I don't like it," Jesse said, knowing no way to strengthen the understatement. "But aren't they going to run out of bed space someday?"

"Well, they don't use regular rooms," Carla said painfully. "The bodies are kept in stasis units, like those that were once used on slow starships. Besides the treatment floors there are maintenance floors. That's a euphemism. The more accurate term is vaults. It's another reason the Hospital is so large."

"Carla," Jesse protested. "You work in that place! You mean all the time, while you're working there, you know these stasis vaults are around . . . and that someday--"

They all stared at him in clear dismay. Carla averted her face, stricken, suddenly, by feeling too deep for words. With chagrin he saw that his outburst had hurt her, touched some sensitive point that the others knew to avoid. He longed to comfort her, but he didn't know what he could say.

"Let's drop it," Peter put in quickly. "We've got other issues to clear up now. For one thing, Jess, we need you to be aware that what you saw tonight was a crime involving all of us--even you, should it ever become known that you witnessed it. That's why we gave you a chance to stay out. According to the law you're now an accessory to murder."

"Murder? All I got a glimpse of was a wrapped body, already dead. That's all any of you saw, except maybe Anne."

"But officially, you see, there is no death from natural causes here. This world has no cemeteries. To bury a body is murder."

Copyright 2007 by Sylvia Engdahl


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