The Rowan

by

Anne McCaffrey

The Talents were the elite of the Nine Star League.Their

gifts were many and varied,ranging from the gentle telepathic,

to the rare and extremely valued Primes.On the Primes rested the

entire economic wealth and communications systems of the

civilised worlds.But Primes were scarce-only very rarely was a

new one born.And now on the planet Altair,in a small mining

colony on the western mountain range,a new Prime existed,

a three year old girl-trapped in a giant mud slide that had wiped

out the rest of the Rowan mining community.Every Altarian who

was even mildly talented could 'hear' the child crying for help,

but no one knew exactly where she was buried.

Every resource on the planet was centred into finding 'The Rowan'

the new Prime,the first ever to be born on Altair,an exceptionally

unique Prime,more talented,more powerful,more agoraphobic,more

lonely,than any other Prime yet known in the Nine Star League.

Born on April 1st, Anne McCaffrey has

tried to live up to he auspicious natal day. Her first novel was

created in Latin class an~ might have brought her instant fame, as well

as an A, had sh~ written in that ancient language. Much chastened, she

turned t' the stage and became a character actress, appearing in the

first successful summer music circus in Lambertsville, New Jersey. She

studied music for nine years and, during that time, becam~ intensely

interested in the stage direction of opera and operetta ending that

phase of her experience with the stage direction of the American

premiere of Carl Orff's Ludus De Nato Infante Mirificu.

in which she also played a witch.

By the time the three children of her marriage were comfortable~ in

school most of the day, she had already achieved enough success with

short stories to devote herself full time to writing. Her firs novel,

Restoree, was written as a protest against the absurd and unrealistic

portrayals of women in the science fiction novels of th~ fifties. It

is, however, in the handling of broader themes and th~ worlds of her

imagination, particularly the two series (Helva, Th' Ship Who Sang, and

the twelve novels about the Dragonriders o: Pern) that Ms McCaffrey's

talents as a storyteller are tees' displayed. One of the world's

leading science fiction writers, she has won both the Hugo and Nebula

Awards, the E.E. 'Doe' Smith the Golden Pen, and has been seven times a

winner of the Scienc' Fiction Book Club Award.

Between her appearances in the States, England, Europe Australia,

New Zealand and Alaska as a lecturer in seconder, schools and

universities, and guest-of-honour at science fictior conventions, Ms

McCaffrey lives in a house of her own design Dragonhold-Underhill

(because she had to dig out a hill on he, farm to build it) in County

Wicklow, Ireland. She runs a privat livery stable and her

three-day-event horses have been successful in international

competitions. She does not do the competition riding, she hastens to

add, but enjoys the success of horse and ride, and the occasional

canter on her favourite mount, a black and white mare named Pi.

Of herself, Ms McCaffrey warns: 'My eyes are green, my hair is

silver and I freckle; the rest is still subject to change without

notice.' Ms McCaffrey graduated cum laude from Radcliffe College

majoring in the Slavonic Languages and Literatures.

Anne McCaffrey's books can be read individually or as series

However, for greatest enjoyment the following sequences are

recommended:

The Dragon Books

DRAGONFLIGHT DRAGONQUEST DRAGONSONG DRAGONSINGER: HARPER OF PERN

THE WHITE DRAGON DRAGONDRUMS MORETA: DRAGONLADY OF PERN NERILKA'S STORY

and THE COELURf DRAGONSDAWN THE RENEGADES OF PERN ALL THE WEYRS OF PERN

CHRONICLES OF PERN: FIRST FALL.

Crystal Singer Books THE CRYSTAL SINGEr KILLASHANDRA CRYSTAL LINE

Talent Series TO RIDE PEGASUS PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

Tower and the Hive series

THE ROWAN DAMIA DAMIA'S CHILDREN Lyon's Pride

Individual Titles

RESTOREE DECISION AT DOONA THE SHIP WHO SANG Written in

collaboration with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough POWERS THAT BE POWER

LINES* POWER PLAY

THe ROWAN

Anne McCaffrey

CORGI BOOK.

THE ROWAN

Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press

Copyright ~ Anne McCaffrey 1990 The right of Anne McCaffrey to be

identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance

with Sections 77 and 78

of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Conditions of sale 1. This book is sold subject to the condition

that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,

hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other

than that in which it is published and without a similar condition

including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

2. This book is sold subject to the Standard Conditions of Sale of

Net Books and may not be re-sold in the UK below the net price fixed by

the publishers for the book.

Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd, 61-63

Uxbridge Road, Ealing, London W5 5SA in Australia by Transworld

Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd 15-25 Helles Avenue, Moorebank, NSW

2170, and in New Zealand by Transworld Publishers (NZ) Ltd, William

PickerinY Drive. Albanv. Auckland.

Respectfully dedicated to fay A. Katz because we enjoy a meeting

of minds (well. most of the time)

Prologue

Numerous Summits of the late 80s and 90s, governments turned to

other researches and the western world's space program began to catch

up with Soviet experiences. What few people knew was that Talents were

instrumental in the promulgation of honest monitoring of the

disarmament and monitoring processes, thwarting many attempts to

subvert the program. Many Talents lost their lives to secure the world

peace which enabled humans to turn their energies and hopes to space

exploration.

More Talents were mustered to colonize this solar system and to

bridge the gap between this and other systems with habitable planets

When young Peter Reidinger made the first mind machine gestalt, pushing

a light spacecraft by telekinesis from orbit to Mars, a new era dawned

for the parapsychic Talents in which they found themselves celebrated

instead of shunned, admired instead of feared, and necessary to every

aspect of the surge forward from the crowded and resources-poor planet

Earth.

To extend the interstellar gestalt, special installations were

built for the Talents, terraformed habitations on Earth's Moon, Mars's

Demos, and on Jupiter's Callisto From these stations were kinetically

launched the great survey and exploration ships that colonized the nine

stars that had G-type planets, suitable for humans.

Though the Talents abhorred notoriety and opted for political

neutrality, it was inevitable that their abilities should contribute to

the stability of the interstellar government. `Probity and neutrality'

was both motto and method and a new kind of honest diplomacy resulted

in spite of attempts to subvert the Talents. Many Talents died rather

than dishonor their calling: the few who were corrupted were so swiftly

disciplined by their peers that such treachery was eschewed as

profitless. The Talents became' incorruptible.

The need for Talent became chronic, far outstripping the supply.

For those potential few, the training was arduous; the rewards did

not always compensate Talent for the unswerving dedication required by

their taxing positions.

PART ONE ALTAIR

Torrents of rain covered the western side of the great Tranh

mountain range of Altair, streaming in muddy runnels down slopes

already saturated with nine days of steady precipitation. The sturdy

minta trees were bloated and their root systems bulging to the surface,

adding the slime of their overload of sap to the rivulets which

increasingly dislodged the shallower root systems of the few brush

varieties that could flourish in such rocky soil.

Little brooks matured into streams, then rivers, into cascades of

increasing volume and force, filling up blind canyons until such

deposits also overflowed. And the minta slime seemed to grease the

watery ways.

After seven people had slipped and broken bones on the main street

of the Rowan Mining Company's small settlement, the manager had ordered

miners and their dependents to curtail all outdoor activities and

arranged door-to-door deliveries for supplies, using the Company's

sturdy hopper vehicles. Operations in the several producing shafts had

already been suspended when the pits began filling. When the unceasing

torrents began to interfere with transmissions, there weren't even

entertainment circuits to amuse those immured in ever-dampening and

cramped quarters.

In the same lugubrious vein, Met reports gave no hope of an

alteration in the deplorable conditions. The records show that, on the

tenth day, the mine's manager asked his home office in altair Port for

permission to evacuate all nonessential personnel until the weather

improved. His report pointed out that the accommodations were rather

primitive and had not been constructed with excessive rainfall in mind.

He cited an alarming number of respiratory ailments among his

people, almost epidemic in proportion. Enforced idleness and

substandard conditions had also seriously undermined morale. He put in

an urgent order for pumps to drain the shafts when, and if, the rain

ever did stop.

The records showed that the directors debated withdrawal. That

particular installation of the Rowan Company was only just showing some

profit which would be wiped out by the cost of a perhaps unnecessary

expense.

Meteorology was duly consulted and long-range satellite forecasts

indicated that the rains were to abate within the next seventy-two

hours, though arctic and antarctic pole conditions did not suggest any

break in generally overcast weather, much less sunny intervals, within

the next ten days. Approval to evacuate was withheld but advice on

treatment of the respiratory complaints and appropriate medication was

dispatched immediately to the Rowan Company's coordinates by the FT&T

Prime.

It was early morning when the mudslide began, so high above the

plateau on which the Rowan camp stood that it was not detected. A few

people were already cautiously abroad, using their assigned hour with a

hopper to do necessary errands, to the small infirmary for medicine for

their sick, to the commissary for supplies. By the time the

instrumentation in Operations registered the incident, it was already

too late. The entire western face of the mintaclad slope was in

motion, like a tsunami of mud, rock, and pulpy vegetation. Those

outside saw their fate bearing down on them. Those inside their homes

mercifully were unaware. Only one, a child still in the hopper while

her mother carried her parcels quickly through the unabating rain to

the house, escaped the disaster.

The sturdy little hopper was borne up on the lip of the sludge

river, its ovoid shape an advantage, its heavy plastic hull slipping

over, under, and along the inexorable slide of heavy, wet mud. Its

occupant was bounced about, bruised, and knocked unconscious as the

hopper rolled and caught, was freed and carried over a precipice, its

fall cushioned by the mud that had preceded it. Nearly a hundred

kilometers from the Rowan camp, it became wedged on an outcropping,

covered by the vast river of sludge as the slide flowed on until its

impetus was dissipated into the long deep Oshoni valley.

The crying began sometime after the mud ceased its downward flow.

A pleading, quavering appeal to a mother who did not answer. An

announcement of hunger and hurt, sporadic at first, then increasingly

insistent.

Abruptly the cry was cut off, and a whimpering took its place, a

whimpering which rose in volume and intensity.

Was silenced again, during which time everyone with a psi rating

of 9 or more experienced relief, for the nondirectional sound grated on

the mental ears of the sensitive.

Throughout the settlements of Altair, a search was conducted to

discover the injured, abandoned, or abused child whose distress was

being broadcast planet wide.

`I've children of my own,' the Secretary of the Interior Camella

told the Police Commissioner as the Colonial officials met in the

Governor's office in emergency session, `and that is the cry of a

frightened, hurt, hungry child. It's got to be somewhere on Altair.

`We've done street searches, checked the hospital records of any

potential psi children born within the last five years . . .` He shook

his head over failure. He didn't himself have any Talent but he had a

great respect and admiration for those who did.

`The crying pattern, the incoherency, the repetition, suggests an

infant of two or three years,' said the Chief Medical Officer. `Every

sensitive on my staff has been trying to make contact.' `What I don't

understand is why it cuts off so suddenly,' the Commissioner said,

riffling through the reports he'd brought with him to show the extent

of the search.

Opened for colonization a scant hundred years before, Altair did

not have a large population - the present density surrounding Altair

Port and City amounted to some five million, two hundred and

fifty-three thousand, four hundred and two people. Another one

million, seven hundred thousand and eighty-nine people were beginning

to carve additional settlements, generally mining concerns exploiting

the mineral and ore wealth of the great planet, across the planet's

immense main continent.

`Reports are a bit slow coming in from all the Claims,' Secretary

Camella said, her voice puzzled. `That freak weather pattern is moving

eastward towards us. But we must identify the child: Someone this

strong so young must be carefully monitored.' Involuntarily she glanced

out toward the FT&T installation at the far edge of the Port Space

Field. A puff of dust, followed rapidly by half a dozen more,

indicated that the incoming freight was being racked up by the kinetic

abilities of Altair's major asset, Siglen, the T- 1 Prime. Her mental

kinesis augmented by a gestalt with the powerful generators that

encircled her installation, Siglen could pick up messages from as far

away as Earth and Betelgeuse, could locate and land freight drones as

easily as others lifted the ordinary artifacts of everyday living.

Mankind's exploration of Space had become feasible because the

major psionic Talents of telepaths and teleporting kinetics were able

to span the vast intersystem distances, providing reliable and

instantaneous communication between Earth and its colonies. Without

the Primes in their tower stations, constantly in mental communication

with other Primes, able in the gestalt to shift both export and import

material, the Nine-Star League would have been impossible. The Primes

were the kingpins of the system. And such Talents were rare.

Without the Federal Telepath and Teleport network, Mankind would

still be trying to reach its nearest spatial neighbors. The Earth

Government, once a centralized, world-wide authority had finally been

achieved, had ordained an irrevocable autonomy to FT&T, thus ensuring

not only its impartiality but its effectiveness in keeping contact with

the now far-flung colonies of Mankind. When the Nine-Star League had

been formed, it had ratified that autonomy so that no one Star System

could ever hope to control FT&T, and with it, the League.

Most communities took pride in the number and variety of Talents

among their inhabitants. The fear and distrust of paranormal abilities

had been submerged by the obvious benefits of employing Talented folk.

There were, of course, many degrees of Talent, with micro- and

macro applications. Naturally, the stronger Talents were the most

visible and the rarest. The strongest in each area of expertise were

accorded the title of `Prime'. The rarest of Primes were those who

combined telepathic and kinetic abilities and became the main link

between Earth and the planet on which they served.

`We may well be witnessing the emergence of a Prime!' Interior

couldn't quite stifle that burgeoning hope and the somewhat vain dream

that this new Talent might eclipse Siglen. She might be Altair's

greatest asset but a prickly one. Camella had to deal with her and

found no joy in that aspect of her duties. Her predecessor, now

happily fishing in the eastward foothills, had christened Siglen `the

space stevedore', an epithet which Interior tried very hard to forget

in Siglen's more trying moments.

For Altair to have produced a Prime Talent so soon would be most

prestigious. If the child's potential was properly developed, and the

strength inherent in its manifestation augured well, Altair would

attract the best sort of colonist, hoping that something in the

atmosphere of the planet nurtured Talent. (No-one had ever proved that

connection. Or disproved it.) Altair had been fortunate enough to have

a reasonable range of Talents in the original complement of settlers:

precognitives; clairvoyants; `finders' with strong metal and mineral

affinities who had discovered the high-assay ores and useful minerals,

increasing Altair's exports; the usual range of minor kinetics, macro

and micro who could shift, connect or manipulate things; a good range

of the healing Talents, though no Primes yet, in the medical field, and

the more ordinary empaths who were invaluable in any sort of employment

which might generate boredom or minor dissension. Empaths and precogs

were also members of the Constabulary arm of Civil Government, not that

there was much criminal activity on Altair: people were generally far

too occupied in carving out their personal bailiwicks on Altair's broad

and fertile acres, or exhuming its hidden treasures. The planet was

too new to have developed the `civilized' crimes of densely populated

and deprived urban areas.

Altair was lucky in its spatial position in the Nine-Star League

and, because it was central to several new colonial ventures, had been

one of the first colonies to receive a full Federal Telepath and

Telekinetic Station with a Prime telepathic kinetic, Siglen. That

advantage had greatly boosted Altair's appeal to both individuals and

industrial concerns. To have developed a Prime Talent would fill the

Governmental cup to overflowing. So the Secretary of the Interior

turned to the Medical Officer.

`That's all well and good, but first we have to have the child,'

the Medical Officer said, voicing her very thought though the man was

unTalented. Then he cleared his throat testily. `My advisors suggest

that the child is injured - yet there's been no report anywhere in the

medical system of a wounded or shocked infant victim.' `Demonstrably

there IS one,' the Governor said, bringing his fist down on the table.

`We'll find it, and know why an infant was allowed to cry so long

without attention.

New lives are the most valuable resource this planet has.

Not one should be squandered.

A wail, a piteous, mind-scoring wail cut through his rhetoric.

MOMMEEEEE! MOMMEEE! MOMMEEEE, WHERE ARE. . . The plaint was

abruptly severed.

In the ensuing silence, the Secretary pressed careful fingers

against temples which still reverberated from that mental shriek. The

most perfunctory of knocks was made at the Council Chamber door which

opened to admit an anxious administrative assistant.

`Secretary, Siglen wishes urgent communication with you.

Interior exhaled in relief. Siglen could as easily have inserted

her message into Interior's mind but the Prime was a stickler for

protocol - for which the Secretary now blessed her.

`Of course!' The screens all around the Council room came on,

lending considerable immediacy to this event. Siglen made few demands

on the Council. Now, as the angry woman stared out at them, her eyes

seemed to penetrate deep into the thoughts of each of those present.

Siglen was a slab of a female, soft from a sedentary life and a

disinclination to exercise of any kind. She was in her Operations

room, the hum of the gestalt generators a background noise.

`Interior, you are to find that child wherever she is, and

discover who has abandoned her and deal with them to the full extent of

the law.' She had large eyes, her best feature, and they were wide with

indignation and frustration. `No child should be allowed to broadcast

on such a level. I cannot keep interrupting my flow of work to deal

with what is clearly a parent's responsibility' `Prime Siglen, is it

fortunate that you are free to contact us `I'm not at all free. I'm

falling behind on today's shipments . . .` She gestured impatiently

behind her.

`That simply is not good enough. Find that child. I can't waste

time silencing her.' Interior muttered something dire under her breath

but composed her expression, and sank her thoughts. `We were about to

ask you to help us find Siglen's indignant expression interrupted her.

`I?

assist in finding a child? I assure you I am no clairvoyant. I

will endeavor to keep her quiet enough to allow me to discharge my

duties to this planet and the service to which I have committed my

life. But you .

and a bejeweled finger, its tip enlarged by perspective so that

the whorl pattern was clearly visible, `will locate that appallingly

bad-mannered infant!' The contact was abruptly cut. The child began to

whimper and that was also abruptly cut.

`If she keeps shutting the child up, how are we going to find

her?' Interior asked sourly. `You've had your clairvoyants on it,

haven't you?' she asked the Commissioner.

`Indeed I have, but you know as well as I do,' he replied somewhat

defensively, `that a clairvoyant requires "something" on which to

focus.' `Yegrani didn't,' the Medic said ruefully `Yegrani's been dead

for years,' Interior said with real regret and then caught a look on

the Commissioner's face.

The wail began again, piteous, gasping, begging for help. They

could hear it falter, pick up again with an overtone of outrage.

`Ha! Siglen's met her match. She can't silence the brat.

`It's not a brat,' Interior said, `it's a frightened child and it

needs all the help we can muster. Look, these days children are simply

not left alone for . . `she checked the digital on the wall, `. . .

days. There has to have been an accident. You have no reports of

any in Port or City, let's concentrate on the Claims. There are quite

a few isolated mining settlements on this planet where a child might be

left alone. Don't we have reports of an unseasonal rain in the west?'

`Five thousand miles is a long way to "throw" a mental cry,' the

Governor remarked, then looked startled at what his own words implied.

`My word!' `Indeed there could have been an accident. Earthquake,

or flood perhaps with the recent appalling rainfall.' Interior rose

resolutely, nodding courteously to the Governor. `We have the

resources, people - let's use them.' As they all left the chamber for

their own offices, Interior caught the Commissioner's arm.

`Well? Is Yegrani still alive somewhere?' Being careful to check

that no-one had heard her or paid them any particular attention in the

general departure, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. `Surely

she would help us save a young life?' `Under the circumstances, she

might very well, but she's outlived Methuselah by another lifetime and

hasn't much strength. We'd best try to narrow the search down to one

area.' That took less than an hour once every element of civil service

became involved. First satellite pix were reviewed and the 150

kilometer-long swathe of destruction could not be mistaken. Interior

herself phoned the industrial concern which had laid claim to that

section. They were swift to open records to the Incident inquiry.

They had not heard from the mine manager and were beginning to be

concerned.

`Not concerned enough to send us an alert, I notice, Interior

remarked caustically. Then she turned to the Commissioner. `What I

don't understand is why you didn't have a registered precog on this

disaster.

`It isn't what could be called a gross personnel disaster, he

replied with a look of chagrin. `I mean, I know a substantial number

of people have obviously lost their lives but their deaths don't affect

all Altair in a knock-on situation. Unfortunately. Then, too, most of

our precogs have urban affinities,' he added apologetically.

`I think I'll introduce a fine for companies that do not keep in

twenty-four contact with their field installations,' muttered Interior,

jotting down a note in capital italics.

`Say again?' `Look!' she said as the Company's personnel files

scrolled past. `Fifteen kids between the ages of one month and five

years. How much detail does your clairvoyant need?' `I don't even know

if she'll help us,' the Commissioner said ruefully. `She hasn't opened

a connection to my calls.' The crying started up again, was cut off,

and continued with a desperate edge to the wail.

`That child is growing weaker,' the Medic exclaimed as he barreled

into the Incident room. `If she's buried in a mudslide, she's got no

food or water - and maybe not much air left.' The printer murmured to

itself, smoothly extruding new copy. Interior bent over it, groaning

with a note of despair in her voice.

`I ordered a comparison survey of the terrain before and after the

slide. There' re ravines fifty-meters deep now with mud and debris.

The slide is sixty-klicks wide in places. If she's buried in any

depth of mud, she'll be asphyxiated soon. Particularly if she keeps

crying like this, using up her oxygen.

The Commissioner moved to a console, gesturing for the others to

step back. `I'm adding a Mayday to her private code but whether she'll

answer or not `Yes?' The guttural voice dwelt on the sibilant. No

picture appeared on the screen.

`Have you heard the crying?' `Who hasn't? I could have told you

Siglen wouldn't help.

It's beyond her capabilities. Bouncing parcels from place to

place requires no finesse, since the gestalt does all the work.' As

there was no visual contact, the Commissioner rolled his eyes at the

bite in Yegrani's tone. For years, there had been enmity between the

telekinetic and the clairvoyant, though the Commissioner happened to

know the original fault was more of Siglen's making than Yegrani s.

`There is fear that the child is running out of air, Yegrani. The

mud is fifty-meters deep in places along a 150-klick swathe. We've

plenty of.

`Look to the left above the Oshoni valley, on a ledge,

approximately two klicks from the tongue of mud. She's not deeply

entrenched but the hopper skin has been fractured and sludge is oozing

in. She is frantic. Siglen has done nothing to reassure the child as

a sensitive, caring person would have done. Guard this one well. She

has a long and lonely road to go before she travels. But she alone

will be the focus that will save us from a far greater disaster than

the one she has escaped. Especially guard the guardian.' The

connection severed but as soon as Yegrani had `sighted' the child's

position, the Secretary of the Interior had forwarded a printout of the

conversation to the rescue teams, waiting in their special vehicles.

The Governor himself requested the launch and gave Altair's Prime

the coordinates. She did not ask how they had been obtained but

faultlessly sent the mission speeding to its destination.

`Did she mean "left" looking at the bloody thing, on its left?'

demanded the captain as the rescue team emerged after their journey.

Their shells had slid to a halt on the valley floor, just where

the out thrusting `tongue' of mud ended. `Phaugh!' he pinched his

nostrils, `the stench of minta's enough to choke you! Let me see that

geo print.' `The ledge should be there!' his second in command

exclaimed, pointing to their right. `Solid ground, too, from which to

work.' `Get the two klick fIx,' the captain ordered, pointing to the

scan operator. Stay off that mud! Anyone who falls in has to walk

home.' The team scrambled to the stone out thrust above the ledge and

brought their detectors to bear in careful sweeps. An intrusion was

detected approximately ten meters out in the mud. The medic extended

his sensitive equipment and caught vital signs. The digger boom was

rigged and swung out. Two volunteers, on cables linked to the boom,

descended into the ooze above the point of detection and began to

shovel the muck away. As fast as they shoveled, the uncooperative

sludge slid back in.

`I want that suction tube and now!' cried the captain, inwardly

well satisfied with the instant obedience to that order.

The hopper, wedged on to the outcropping, was not deep and once a

large enough surface was cleared, the tractor beam was attached. It

fought the suction of the mud while the shovel team worked with

desperate speed, muttering about kinetics never being where you needed

them. Suddenly sufficient air got under the hopper to break the seal,

and only the quick reflexes of those on the bank kept the craft from

colliding forcefully with the tractor arm. The little vehicle swung

and bumped about before finally settling to solid ground.

Mud sheeted off the hull and oozed from the fracture, as the

entire team watched anxiously. How much of that stuff had seeped into

the interior? Everyone was immensely relieved to hear a thin,

tremulous cry, mental and physical. As one, the team attacked the

battered door to wrench it open.

`Mommie?' A tattered, bruised, mud-encased child crawled to the

threshold, sobbing with relief, squinting in the sudden daylight.

`Mommie?' The team medic leapt forward, radiating reassurance and

love.

`It's all over, honey. You're safe. We've got you safe.' She

pressed the hypno spray to a muddied arm before the child could realize

that her parents were not among those clustered around the hopper. At

that, the sedative was not quite fast enough to allay the anguished

mental yowl which all Altair heard from the orphaned Rowan child.

* `We've done as much as we can,' the Chief Medical Officer said

in a slightly defensive tone.

`We know you have,' Interior replied, radiating all the approval

she could project.

`The fact remains that the Rowan child is not cooperating,' the

Governor remarked with a rueful sigh.

`It's only ten days since the tragedy,' Interior added.

`And there are definitely no relatives to take charge of her?' the

Governor asked.

Interior consulted her records. `We have the choice of eleven

parents of similar genotype because many of the miners were from the

same ethnic background. The Company headquarters did not keep backup

files of the infirmary records, so we don't even know how many children

have been born since the camp was established ten years ago. So, no

immediate relatives. There are doubtless some back on Earth.

The Governor cleared his throat. `Earth has more high ranking

Talents than any other planet.' `We do indeed need to guard our natural

resources, Interior replied with a slight smile.

`Let it be noted and so stipulated in the records of this meeting

that the . Rowan child,' he had paused for someone to supply a name,

`is henceforth a Ward of the Planet Altair 4. Now what?' and he turned

to Interior.

`Well, she can't stay indefinitely in the Pediatrics Ward,she

replied and turned to the Chief Medical Officer.

`My chief therapist says she's basically recovered from shock.

The lacerations and hematoma sustained in the slide have healed.

She has also managed to block all memory of the disaster but she

can't quite delete the fact that the child had parents, and possibly

siblings.' He nodded as the others murmured against more repressive

measures. `But . . .` and he spread his hands, `she is parentless,

and although the T-8 junior therapist has managed to . . . to deal

with the general telepathic "noise", the child's control is limited and

her span of concentration woefully short.' Everyone grimaced, for the

entire planet was still favored with outbursts from the Rowan child.

`Does she receive as well as broadcast?' the Governor finally

asked.

The Medic shrugged. `She must or she wouldn't hear Siglen.' `Now

that is something that has to be stopped,' Interior said, setting her

lips in a firm line before she went on.

`Slapping the child down for perfectly normal.

`If loud,' the Governor amended.

exuberance - which you must admit is a welcome change from the

crying - is going to inhibit what Talent the child has,' Interior went

on. `Siglen may be a Prime T&T but she doesn't possess a single neuron

of empathy, and her insensitivity to the child's situation borders on

the callous.' `Siglen may have no empathy,' the Governor said, a

thoughtful look filming his gaze, `but she has great pride in her

profession and she has already trained two Primes to their current

responsibilities at Betelgeuse and Capella.' Someone grunted cynically.

`She's the most logical person in this system to undertake the

rowan child's education.' `She's been made a Ward of Altair,' Interior

stated, sitting erect with opposition, `and no-one's likely to contend

that. She'd have more kindly treatment on Earth at the Center. They'd

care about her. I vote we send her there. And as soon as possible.'

Lusena had the task of explaining it all to the Rowan child.

The T-8 had been working steadily with her, playing games to get

her to speak with her physical voice, rather than her mental one. Once

the child was recovered from the physical effects and the sedative

dosage had been reduced, Lusena had taken her to select a pukha toy

from the hospital's supply.

Pkkhas, deriving their name from the imaginary companion

discovered by needful children, had become widely used in pediatrics.

They could be programmed for a variety of uses, but more often

were used in surgical and long term care with great effect and as

surrogates for intense dependency cases. The Rowan child needed her

own pukha.

Considerable thought had been given to its programming: its long

soft hair was composed of receptors, monitoring the child's physical

and psychic health. It could, receiving danger signals from the Rowan,

initiate pacifying sentiments, encourage conversation and, of paramount

importance, moderate the little girl's mental `voice'. It also

responded with its soothing, rumbling purr when the little girl became

restless or distressed. although Lusena and the pediatrics staff would

adjust the pukha's programs throughout its usefulness, every sensitive

on Altair knew when the Rowan christened it `Purza'. Her silvery

laughter was a great improvement over whimpering, and almost everyone

was sympathetic to the little orphan.

Siglen's personal assistant, Bralla, a T8 empath, certainly was

and did her best to soothe her mistress - who could, Bralla had

admitted to the stationmaster, be more juvenile at times than the Rowan

child.

`Siglen might benefit by having a pukha herself,' Bralla told the

stationmaster, for Siglen had been extremely irascible when the Rowan

child's babble intruded on her concentration.

Gerolaman snorted. `The kind of cuddling she wants she'll never

get.' And snorted again as Bralla frantically signaled him to guard his

sentiments.

`She's not really a bad person, Gerolaman. Just. .

`Far too accustomed to being THE most important person on the

planet. She doesn't like competition, not no way, no how. You

remember that dustup with Yegrani?' `Gerolaman, she's not deaf!' Bralla

rose, `She's about to need me. See you later.' Purza was not always

the key to exemplary behavior for a three-year-old. Siglen's

intolerance, even with Bralla's discreet assistance, fell all too

frequently on the Rowan child. Finally, the Secretary of Interior

decided that someone had to do something about Siglen, and it was going

to give her intense personal and official satisfaction to do so.

`Prime Siglen, a matter of urgent importance, Interior said as

soon as the T- 1 came on screen. `We have been able to divert a

passenger ship tomorrow to collect the Rowan child.

`Collect her?' Siglen blinked in astonishment.

`Yes, we shall get her out of your hair by noon, so you will

kindly see that her remaining hours on Altair are not punctuated by

your reprimands.' `Remaining hours on Altair? You must be insane!'

Siglen's eyes widened with shock and horror, and her fingers stopped

fondling her sea-jewel necklace. `You can't expose a child . . . a

mere infant . . . to such a trauma.' `It seems the wisest course,'

Interior replied grimly, shielding the real reason.

`But she can't go. She's Prime potential . . .` Siglen

stammered, her complexion ashen. She released her necklace to grip the

edge of the console. `She'll . . . she'll die! You know as well as I

do,' and Siglen's words crowded each other out of her mouth, `what

happens to the truly Talented in space . . . I mean, look at how ill

David became. Remember how devastated Capella was.

To subject an infant. . . of unknown potential. . . to such

mind-destroying trauma! Why, you must be mad, Interior. You cannot!

I will not permit it!' `Well, you're not permitting the child to

exercise her Talent. She'll get expert attention and training on Earth

at the Center.' `You'd abandon that child of Altair, you'd send her

away from kith and kin `She doesn't have any on Altair,' Interior heard

herself saying, and then realized that Siglen was about to launch into

one of her attitudes. `Prime Siglen, it is the order of the Council

that the Ward of Altair be transported to the Earth Center - with your

well-known delicacy of kinesis on the passenger ship which has been

diverted to Altair for that purpose. Good day to you!' As soon as the

image on the screen was erased, Interior turned to the Medic and

Lusena. `I'd've thought she'd flip the kid out to the ship without its

having to land!' `Is there any foundation in what she said about David

of Betelgeuse and Capella?' asked the Medic frowning. He'd been a

minor medical administrator ten years ago and not privy to details of

that period.

`Well, none of the Primes travel well, and none of them ever

teleport themselves any great distance,' Interior replied thoughtfully.

`But the Rowan child will be a lot better off away from Siglen's

sort of discipline.' `I'll just get back,' Lusena said, rising and

looking apprehensive. `She was napping but I'd hate for her to wake up

and find me gone.

`You've done marvels with her, Lusena, Interior said warmly.

`You'll find a tangible reward from the Council when you've

delivered her safely to Earth.' `She's a taking little thing, really,'

Lusena said, smiling with affection.

`A bit odd-looking with that whitened hair and those enormous

brown eyes in that thin face,' and the Medic looked uncomfortable.

`Gorgeous eyes, lovely features,' Interior said hastily to cancel

Lusena's dismay at the Medic's blunt description.

`And you'll be all right with her tomorrow?' `I think the less

fuss made the better,' Lusena replied.

All the fuss the next day was due entirely to the Rowan child's

total reluctance to enter the passenger vessel. She took one look at

the portal of the ship and dug her heels in, literally and mentally.

From her mind came a single high note of abject terror. From her

lips a monotonous, `no, no, no, no, no.' Purza, clutched so tightly

around its middle that Lusena feared for some of its programming, was

purring in loud response to the little girl's distress.

`Sedation?' the ship's medical officer suggested to the distraught

Lusena, who vainly tried to persuade her charge that no danger existed

on this ship.

`We might have to keep her sedated the entire trip,' Lusena

murmured. `Even the most intensive therapy does not seem to have

significantly reduced her trauma. It's entering a ship that's upset

her so. Not that I blame her.' One moment she had her arms wrapped

about the struggling body, the next moment the Rowan child had

disappeared, even the pukha discarded in her haste.

`Oh, my word, where can she have gone?' Lusena cried in panic.

I warned you, came the ominous voice of Siglen. The child

shouldn't leave Altair.

Lusena's attention was caught by Siglen's phraseology, mindful of

Yegrani's clairvoyance. `She has a long and lonely road to go before

she travels.' `Oh, lords above,' Lusena murmured, her sympathies

entirely with the child.

Nor will you force such a young and powerful mind to leave the

planet of her birth, Siglen intoned. Then she added, sounding almost

sympathetic, especially as she has just proved that she is telekinetic

as well as telepathic.

`But that child has got to receive proper training,' Lusena cried,

suddenly fearful for her.

And I, mindful of my responsibility to my Talent and to preserve

this planet's resources, will undertake her education.

`Not if you treat that child the way you have been, Siglen,'

Lusena cried, startling the people on the boarding way as she waved her

fist in the air There was an audible pause, a thickening of the air

about the small group, a palpable silence.

She has been a very naughty, badly behaved little girl, was the

somewhat chastened reply. She must learn manners if she is to be my

pupil. But I will not have her terrified out of her mind by traveling

in space. You will be reassigned as her companion, Lusena.

`Guard the guardian,' Yegrani had said. Lusena had not had the

slightest notion that events would conspire to appoint her to that

gratuitous position. She sighed but, when Secretary Camella implored

her to be the Rowan's nursemaid, she agreed. She genuinely cared for

the little orphan who needed a staunch friend to deal with the stresses

and tensions which Lusena could foresee without a vestige of

clairvoyance in her Talent.

Go and collect her from your room in the hospital, Siglen told

her, but rather more politely than she usually delivered orders. That

seems to be the only place she knew to go.

`I'll collect her,' Lusena said, scooping up the pukha.

`But you had better be kind to her. Don't you dare be anything

but kind to her, Siglen of Altair!' Of course, I will be kind to her,

Siglen said, chidingly.

What is her name?

`She calls herself,' and Lusena paused significantly, `the Rowan.'

She felt the slightest resistance and opened her mouth to retort.

She'll find something else more suitable when she has been in my

Tower awhile, was the soothing answer. Kindly bring the Rowan to me

now, Lusena. She is weeping on a very broad band.

In point of fact, the Rowan child did not take up residence at

Siglen's Tower for nearly nine years. Lusena had two children of her

own - a girl nine and a boy fourteen with minor but valid Talents.

Lusena urged the Secretary of the Interior to let her keep the

Rowan at home, taking a temporary leave of absence from the Port

Hospital. It was a pleasant enough house which was, as most Talent

residences were, already shielded. Lusena distrusted Siglen for no

reason she was ever able to articulate so she accepted, even encouraged

the procrastination for a variety of excuses: hers and Siglen's.

`The child isn't really settled yet after that fright. `She's

just getting over a cold.' `I'd hate to disturb her just yet, she's

integrating so well with her play group.' `Her current teaching program

ought not to be interrupted.' `She would miss the support and

companionship of Bardy and Finnan. Next year Siglen never protested

too hard: adding her own delays.

There would have to be a suitable apartment for her student, as

she felt the child would be more comfortable away from the busyness of

the Tower and all the bustle of her support staff coming and going.

When Interior ordered plans to be drawn up for the facility,

Siglen found exception with each submission, sending the plans back for

minute revisions. The exchanges continued for nearly two years before

the foundations were laid.

Meanwhile the Rowan became integrated into Lusena's family, for

Bardy, the daughter, and Finnan, the son, were old enough to be kind

and naturally caring of the waif. The Rowan played with non-Talented

children her own age in a specially supervised group and learned NOT to

manipulate her peers. Most of them were so `deaf they were unaware of

her subconscious attempts to control them. Their unawareness also

resulted in making the Rowan vocalize in their presence. Toward the

end of that first year, the Rowan would occasionally prop Purza on the

sidelines of particularly active games but otherwise the pukha was

within fingertip reach. Three times the feline had to be peeled from

the sleeping child to replace its furry covering, worn or damaged

receptors, and to update its programming.

Siglen did keep her promise about not suppressing the Rowan,

though she sent pointed enough reminders that she was keeping her word

and that Lusena and the others had best see to it that the Rowan did

not distract her. As the Rowan matured, outbursts diminished.

Gradually, Purza spent more and more time on a shelf in her room,

but was always on the pillow beside the Rowan at night.

On the day that the Rowan finally came to live with the Prime, she

did not appear to be in awe of Siglen. She clutched Purza tighter to

her side as the Prime towered above her, smiling in the fatuous way of

someone unaccustomed to young persons. Secretary Camella of Interior,

who had driven Lusena and the Rowan to the Tower in her own vehicle,

wanted to strangle Siglen.

`Aren't we a little old to be dependent on a stuffed animal?'

Siglen asked `Purza is a pukha and she's been mine a long time, the

Rowan answered, hefting the pukha behind her in a proprietary way.

Both Lusena and Interior tried to warn Siglen, but the woman was

concentrating with formidable intent on the Rowan. Lusena caught

Bralla's eye and the woman raised her eyebrows in a despairing arc.

But she stepped forward.

`Siglen, do show the child the quarters you have arranged for her.

I'm sure she'd like to get settled.' Siglen flapped one beringed

hand to silence Bralla.

`A pukha?' `A specially programmed stabilizing surrogate device,'

the Rowan explained. `It's not a stuffed toy.' `But you are twelve

now. Surely too grown-up to need that sort of infantile pacifier.' The

Rowan was polite - Lusena had drilled her in courtesies, vocal and

mental - but she could be as stubborn as Siglen, though she would never

be as insensitive.

`When I no longer need Purza, I will know.' Then she adroitly

added, `I really would like to see my room.' And the Rowan smiled

hopefully. She had a particularly endearing smile and harder hearts

than Siglen's had been beguiled by it.

`Room?' Siglen was affronted. `Why, you have an entire wing to

yourself. With every amenity that I myself enjoy.

State of the art, as well, though some of my equipment will soon

need replacement.' She gave Interior a pointed glance. Then she led

the way, heaving herself from side to side in a most remarkable gait.

Siglen was quite tall, dwarfing the slender child beside her: Nine

years had added more soft flesh although the increase was not apparent

with the sort of loose garments she wore. But it showed when she

moved, making an effort of even a short walk.

Interior mused that Siglen was putting herself out in this initial

contact and hoped that the child, who displayed considerable empathy,

would be responsive. As she fell in step with Lusena and Bralla, she

was uncomfortably aware of the ludicrous comparison between the

rake-thin Rowan and the massive Siglen and hastily recited a

mind-clogging nonsense verse. Hopefully, Siglen was too busy

impressing the child with her generosity - all paid for by the Treasury

- to hear peripheral thoughts. Neither Siglen nor the Rowan had

communicated on a telepathic level, but then it had been drilled into

the Rowan that, vis-a'-vis, she must use voice address.

`You will report to me daily now, between 10.00 and 14.00 for

instruction. I have had a special room added to my Tower where you can

observe without interfering in the daily routine. It is most important

. . . what is your name, child?' `The Rowan. That's what everyone

calls me,' and Lusena knew that the girl had picked up Siglen's not so

carefully concealed disapproval, `the Rowan child. My name is

therefore the Rowan.

`But surely you know what name your parents gave you?

You were old enough at three to know your own name, for goodness'

sake.' `I forgot it!' And the Rowan made that a positive enough

termination of such questions that Siglen was taken slightly aback.

`Well, well, well!' She repeated the word a few more times before

they all reached the entrance to the Rowan's wing.

The Rowan's startlement was apparent in her rigid posture as she

peered through the door panel Siglen opened. Interior and Lusena

hurried up and were equally stunned.

The entrance hall was grand - that was the only word for it, with

hidden lighting to emphasize its opulence, the formal, rigid chairs

made of exquisite woods, the equally fragile tables set with either

statuary or arrangements of static flowers, picked at the moment of

bloom perfection and held eternally at their peak. Walking carefully

across the intricately mosaic floor, the amazed trio entered the

reception room, its walls adorned by the sort of gaudy, big floral

print that Siglen preferred. The room, which would have been spacious

if it had not been so cluttered, was crammed with twisted-ware stools,

two- and three-seat couches, arranged in conversational groupings:

tables set everywhere, squatting in corners, nestled against the

couches, their surfaces and shelves filled with what looked like

Interstellar Bazaar items, some undoubtedly valuable enough, Interior

thought, but none of it the sort of furnishing or adornment suitable to

a young girl. The walls were hung with artwork from every star system,

judging by the variety of styles and mediums, but crowded frame to

frame so that the eye could not fasten on anything. Down one corridor

was a small kitchen, an ornately claustrophobic dining area, and two

guest bedrooms en suite. Down the other was an almost barren `library'

with shelves and worktops, and a swimming pool, plasgrassed, far too

shallow for an active and accomplished swimmer like the Rowan.

With a final flourish and in anticipation of effusive praise,

Siglen waved her large hand across the admit-panel of the bedroom she

had created for the Rowan: a yellow and peach confection box of frills,

doodads, and so many embellishments the necessary pieces of furniture

were disguised.

`Well?' Siglen demanded of the Rowan, having taken the silence for

amazement but needing some verbal gratification.

`It is the most incredible apartment, Prime Siglen,' the Rowan

said, turning slowly around and clutching Purza to her breast. Her

eyes were wide, glittering with an emotion that Lusena hoped the child

could contain. The Rowan swallowed noticeably but managed to say

clearly, `I appreciate all your efforts. This is worth waiting for.

Really, you have been extremely generous. It is all too much!'

Lusena shot the Rowan an alarmed shaft of appeal, hoping the girl would

stop there. Twelve-year-olds are not the most tactful creatures. The

Rowan was avoiding Lusena's eyes. Indeed she kept looking around her,

as one item after another caught her attention. Lusena was counting

heavily on the Rowan's empathy.

`You have been exceedingly thoughtful and kind,' the Rowan went on

and approached a low bed, smothered in bright satin pillows, some of

which colors clashed with the yellow and peach of wall, carpet, and

furnishings. She rearranged one pillow and planted Purza on it. `We

shall be immensely comfortable here, won't we, Purza?' Thus addressed,

the pukha whirled and made a sound that was certainly not a purr,

definitely a comment. Eyes dancing with mischief and suppressed

laughter, the Rowan swiveled to Lusena. `I think the power strands

need replacing. That's no purr!' At once Lusena and the Secretary of

the Interior distracted Siglen, who looked about to say more on the

subject of dispensing with the pukha, by effusively complimenting her

on the magnificence of these quarters, so much time spent on thoughtful

details, and where did Siglen manage to find so many unusual things.

Just then, a porter brought in the trolley containing the Rowan's

effects, two carryalls, and five cartons of books and educational

disks.

`Ah, are these all you have?' Siglen asked in a disparaging tone,

glancing accusingly first at Lusena and then at Secretary Camella.

`The Rowan was awarded an adequate stipend above and beyond her

living expenses but she doesn't make use of it,' Camella said

defensively.

`She isn't an acquisitive child,' Lusena said at the same time.

Siglen made a noncommittal noise. `I shall leave you to get

settled.' She patted the Rowan on the head and turned, so she did not

see the expression on the girl's face although both Lusena and Interior

did. Lusena moved to the girl and Interior thought she'd better make

certain that Siglen left before the Rowan exploded. Hastily, she

closed the bedroom door behind her.

When Interior got back, the Rowan was bowling with laughter,

rolling on the bed, clutching a now purring Purza in her arms. Most of

the satin pillows had fallen to the floor. Lusena was collapsed on a

chair, tears of laughter streaming down her face. Secretary Camella,

who had expected rather a different scene, sank to another chair,

grinning with relief `I simply don't believe that woman,' Lusena

finally managed to gasp. `This . . . this bordello ambience . . . is

suitable for a twelve-year-old girl?' `Don't worry, Rowan,' Interior

promised, `you can sleep in the library until we clear out this . . .

this . -- bazaarity.

Waving one hand in agreement, the Rowan continued to burble.

`Well, at least you can see the amusing side of it,' Interior

added and could not resist chuckling, too.

`Purza says it wasn't fair of you not to program her to laugh,'

the Rowan said and kissed her pukha fondly.

Lusena and Interior exchanged startled looks and Lusena mouthed

`later' over the child's head.

`Maybe Siglen was right and it's time to remove the pukha,'

Interior said in a low voice to Lusena while the Rowan had been set to

unpacking her booktapes in the library.

`This really IS the first time Rowan has claimed a spontaneous

response from it,' Lusena said, her fingers fiddling with the cuff of

one sleeve. She frowned down at her hands. `At least in my hearing.

Of all the freakings!' Lusena was clearly upset. `We gave up

monitoring her room a long time ago. She's adapted well: she has no

trouble interracting with either the Talented or the normal.' `Start

recording again. The child cannot develop any aberrations.' Lusena

almost exploded, gesticulating toward the main Tower. `With that as an

example? I'd say she'll need the pukha now more than ever before!'

Abruptly, she subsided. `Perhaps we're borrowing trouble. The pukha

could be invaluable now to monitor the Rowan's adjustment to Siglen.

Interior gave a heartfelt moan of sympathy. `Why did I let Siglen

talk me into this?' `Planetary pride?' Lusena asked drolly.

`Probably. Be a dear and, when the Rowan's asleep tonight, rig

the pukha for monitoring, will you?' Then Interior looked around her at

the incredible array. `And how are we going to get rid of all this?'

`I'll think of something!' The Rowan anticipated the need. A troubled

security guard reported that an empty warehouse in the Port facility

appeared to be used as the cache of pilferers, although he couldn't

find a single one of the items listed on the stolen property lists

published by the Constabulary.

With considerable discernment for a youngster, the Rowan stripped

her apartment down to basics, unerringly retaining the most valuable

and appropriate of the artifacts. To Lusena's immense surprise, the

Rowan had also managed to alter the color of the walls to soft shades

of green and cream.

`How'd you repaint?' she casually asked the girl.

`Purza and me thought about it,' the Rowan replied with one of her

inimitable shrugs. `D'you think it's an improvement?' `Oh, vast, vast

improvement. I didn't realize you knew how to paint.' `That was easy.

Purza was in the house the day you had your place done. She

remembered.' Lusena managed to nod understandingly. `Well, do you

think you're settled in enough now to begin to learn your business?'

The Rowan shrugged. `She's got a mass of pods to shift today. I don't

think she'll want me around.' Lusena phoned Interior later, while the

Rowan was swimming under the watchful eyes of Purza.

`She has verbalized many things to the pukha over the years,'

Lusena said slowly. She found it very difficult to understand how she

could have overlooked the Rowan's subtly reinforced dependence on the

pukha. `Most of it perfectly consonant with the doubts and fears of

any normal child. But she AND the Purza personality had a long

discussion about color and the mechanics of painting: together they

looked up and discussed interior decoration.

Purza evidently has considerable acumen on which objects d'art and

paintings are likely to be valuable, and those were the ones they kept.

Purza seems to have discovered the empty warehouse although it was

clearly the Rowan who did the shifting. I know she has great

telekinetic potential and nothing was very heavy or awkward, but she

cleared most of the drek overnight. And repainted the next one - with

Purza's encouragement. I'll send you a transcript of the conversation

- no, it's not a conversation, that takes two intelligences - the

monologue with interesting pauses for the Purza contributions.' `Send

me the transcript file,' Interior said, trying to keep the panic out of

her voice, `and I'll set up an in-depth psychiatric study.' `Oh, would

you?' Lusena was weak with relief. `This is far beyond anything in my

training.' `Now, don't start feeling inadequate on me, Lusena.

You've coped magnificently with the child. She's just just -`One

step ahead of us?' `That's better,' Interior said, approving the wry

tone of Lusena's voice.

The conversation between the Rowan and her pukha became

fascinating auditing for her guardians and any pediatric psychologist

granted the privilege of listening.

`Purza, Siglen's silly. I've done that sort of lifting, placing,

and putting since I was a baby!' the Rowan was heard to say after her

first day's tutelage. `I can't very well tell her I shifted everything

out of this apartment, can I?

Well, yes, I know, you helped, and even told me where the space

was. You've a very clever pukha, you know. How many would have been

able to estimate the volume of that warehouse so precisely? There was

just space left for an aisle when you'd finished. Yes, they know. The

man is supposed to check that the stuff doesn't leave the premises but

how were you to know that he'd object to having an empty place used?

Yes, people are funny about such details. She did give them to me

so I may dispose of them as I see fit. Oh, you think I should have

asked her first?

Yes, but asking would have wounded her feelings because she really

did think she'd done a marvelous job in the decorating. Only, Purza,

how can I do good work when she considers me such a baby?' `Yesterday

was bad enough, Purza, a whole day spent making knots of straight

lines! But I had to do it all over again today! Yes, actually I

thought of doing that, but she was with me every second and when I

tried to deviate, she just pulled me back on line and said that I must

concentrate harder. Concentrate? Who needs to concentrate on that al'

baby stuff! Did you hear her?' The Rowan then produced such an

accurate imitation of Siglen's fruity tones that the clandestine

auditors were astonished. "`We must proceed carefully, step by step,

until you become so totally aware of your Talent that its use is

instinctive, efficient, and energy-saving.

`Energy-saving? I ask you, Purza, with all the energy available

on Altair, we could never use it all up. She what?

I know history as well as you do. So what if she did grow up on

old Earth when their energy sources were stretched to the limit, but

we're here! There's unlimited power in just the winds and the tides,

not to mention the fossil fuels Siglen ought to update herself. And if

she says "waste not, want not" one more time, I'm going to puke.

It's near as bad as "Always Be Careful" - the Rowan dropped into

the devastatingly accurate Siglen voice for the maninis. `And I am

thrifty.' Now the Rowan giggled. `I saved all that awful stuff she

crammed into my place. Crabs, Purza, I'm so booooooooored!' That

complaint became more and more prevalent in the pukha conversations.

Bralla did her best to assist, tactfully mentioning to Siglen that

the Rowan showed great application and dexterity with the basic kinetic

exercises.

`But then, she has the best of teachers in the entire known

galaxy,' Bralla had added when she saw Siglen bridle. `Of course she

would grasp the basics quickly. You explain things so succinctly even

the dullest wit would understand.' It took three days for the notion to

be absorbed and then suddenly Siglen began the Rowan's lesson with a

new exercise, designed to strengthen her `mental muscles'.

`It is a nice change,' the Rowan confided in Purza that night and

then spent time rearranging the furnishings in her apartment with her

`mental muscles', `to explain the technique to the pukha.' Gerolaman,

the Station manager, took his turn in suggesting more challenging tasks

for the Rowan.

`I need a bit of help in Stores, Siglen. It'd take this little

girl a couple of hours while you're busy with the batch coming in from

David. It's more or less what you've been doing with her only more

practical because she can't break anything, yet she'll get the

practice. Whaddya say?' `It'd be a thrifty use of my time and energy,

Siglen,' the Rowan added casually, pretending indifference.

`I dislike interrupting the flow of your lessons, Rowan child,'

Siglen temporized.

`Same thing, different objects,' Gerolaman remarked as if he

couldn't care less. And the Rowan was excused to his care. `You're a

clever one,' he told her when they were on their way to Stores. `Good

shot Siglen's not got an ounce of empathy: You were leaking a little of

what you felt in there and that's not good.' `I was?' `You're getting

careless. Don't! Siglen's got faults, the Good knows that, and we all

suffer from them from time to time. The main thrust of her Talent is

the gestalt. Most of us here,' and his gesture took in the entire

Station, `can bounce things from a place we can see to a place we know

about. But she can juggle objects she can't see and get them where

they're supposed to go even if she's never been there. Nor likely to

go. So you study her, Rowan, and get to hear underneath what she says.

Lusena says you've a high empathy rating. Let it work for you. I

don't say you should attempt to manipulate her moods but you could sort

of ease her along now and then and she wouldn't get suspicious. That

way,' and Gerolaman gave her a shrewd sideways glance, `you won't get

so bored, working several levels in that white head of yours.' He

ruffled her hair affectionately.

For some reason that casual caress had more effect on the Rowan

than Gerolaman's spoken advice.

`He touched me, Purza. He put his hand on my hair and messed it

up, just like Finnan does. That must mean he likes me. Is it because

he understands Talents? . . . Oh, he's not a pervert, silly Purz. It

wasn't that sort of a touch.

I'd recognize the slimy kind from what Bardy told me.

Gerolaman's got children of his own. He treats me like one of

them, Purza. Fatherly. It would be nice to have a father, Purz.'

Gerolaman was instructed to act as paternally as circumstances

permitted.

`But she's a Prime Talent!' Gerolaman had replied, surprised,

pleased, and nervous. `I can't just treat her like I do my daughter.'

`That,' Lusena said firmly, `is exactly what she needs! A little

fatherly affection! Bardy and Finnan had their father during their

early childhood. Rowan' 5 never had a father figure. Since she has

now realized it, we must provide a suitable substitute and you're it,

Gerolaman!

`Sure I'll do what I can. The Good knows she'll get no love and

affection from the Prime.' Gerolaman often prevailed on Siglen to lend

him the Rowan for more `muscle' exercise. These tended to be

dispatched quickly enough so that the Rowan would have time to have a

snack or `tea' in Gerolaman's office. On those occasions, he would

explain other aspects of the Tower responsibilities, its

administration, how cargo was routed from one Prime station to another,

the `windows' to other systems and moons, how to connect with mid-space

drone shipments, the major mid-points all around the Central Worlds'

sphere of business and colonization. In a relaxed atmosphere, she

developed the spatial sense she would require when, if she came into

Prime status, she would need to know how to scan the instrumentation in

the Tower that kept track of all matter in the Altairian sector of the

galaxy. She learned to appreciate and how to adroitly assist the

lesser kinetic Talents who did not have the gestalt faculty but

nevertheless handled the traffic of message capsules constantly shunted

about the Nine-Star League.

Gerolaman would often take her out of the Tower and into the

freight yards so that she became familiar with the variety of carriers,

freight pods, drone vehicles, specialized cargo carriers for live or

inanimate freight. He took her on inspection tours of the powered

ships from scout vessels and shuttles to the great passenger and

immense bulky freight containers. He had her memorize the major trade

routes and lines, the space stations and other Nine Star League

facilities until she knew the furniture of space as well as the things

in her own quarters.

`You should know every aspect of this business,' Gerolaman said,

`not just how to sit in that Tower couch and bitch when there's an

equipment failure.' There had been one recently and Gerolaman had borne

the brunt of Siglen's outrage and fury, for she felt that she would be

held responsible for a failure that interrupted the smooth function of

Altair's FT&T Station. The Rowan had been in his office when the

Number 3 Generator had overheated and started shedding parts. She had

seen how quickly Gerolaman had patched in the spare and then ordered an

investigation of the accident. When it appeared that poor grade oils

had been at fault, he canceled the supplier's contract and took tenders

for a new source.

That morning provided the Rowan with a new insight into her own

problems with the Prime. The next day provided yet another. A T-8

stormed into Gerolaman's office, threatening to resign and leave

Altair altogether to get away from `that woman': Siglen had taken out

her frustration with the brief lapse of service on the first person to

irritate her.

`I didn't realize, Purza, that others have problems with Siglen,'

the Rowan told the pukha that night. `I made myself as small as I

could and I don't think the T-8 even saw me. I liked the way Gerolaman

talked to Macey, kindly like, as if he was as deeply hurt as she was.

He got her an accommodation at Favor Bay for a week off, though

her annual holiday is not for another three months. I wonder if we get

holidays. It'd be nice to get away from the Tower for a while. Lusena

used to take us all on trips when I lived with her.' Lusena, Gerolaman,

Bralla, and Interior put their heads together to figure out how they

could grant that wistful desire.

`I didn't realize so much time has passed but the Rowan's been

here for two years,' Interior remarked.

`Everyone gets holiday time.

`Except Siglen,' Gerolaman said gloomily. "`And who could

possibly take over if I went on vacation?"' Gerolaman's falsetto was a

poor imitation of Siglen's fruity tones.

`Even I get away. Maybe that'd be the answer. Siglen might give

her leave of absence if I promised to keep up her exercises. My

family's got a nice cabin in the woods. . -` `No woods,' Lusena

interrupted, holding up a warning hand. `For the Rowan, mountain and

forest might be traumatic. I always kept to the plains and the seaside

when she vacationed with us.

`Well, then,' Interior began briskly, `there's a Cabinet

guesthouse, spacious, but not too grand, which can be made available to

her. At this time of year, there aren't all that many vacationers at

Favor Bay.' She gave Lusena a significant look.

`I'd gladly accompany her,' Lusena replied with a long sigh. `I

could use the break myself. And I've nieces, my brothers' children,

who are the Rowan's age. She's had no peer group contact since she

came here and she shouldn't get so far out of touch. She may be Prime

material but she's also a young girl and that side of her development

shouldn't be neglected as .` Lusena tactfully broke off.

`I think a few words in the ear of the Medical Office might

produce some results - especially if Bralla,' and the Interior winked

at the woman, `and Gerolaman notice that the Rowan is becoming

listless, with no appetite . . . you know the sort of thing that can

afflict the overextended youngster, Lusena.' `Indeed I do.' `Ill?'

Siglen's eyes enlarged while she also appeared to compress herself.

`How is the child ill?' Rarely indisposed herself, Siglen had no

patience with sickness.

`Well, as you know, Siglen, girls her age are prone to minor

ailments and I do think she's sickening for something,' Bralla

remarked. `Why, you know yourself that her appetite's been poor these

past few days. You might suggest to Lusena to remove her until the

symptoms disappear.' `To the infirmary?' `Well, a full medical check

never hurts,' Bralla replied.

`I'll make arrangements immediately.' So the Rowan was given an

official leave to improve her health: Siglen practically ordering her

out of the Tower.

Favor Bay was essentially a family resort, with an excellent

crescent beach of fine powdery sand: a marina catered to water sport

enthusiasts and the bright, clear water encouraged them. There was

also a small fair with a mechanical amusement park and an aquarium

situated on the northern tip of Favor Bay's crescent. The Cabinet

guesthouse was set up on the southern hill surrounding the Bay, in its

own grounds, neatly obscured from public view by shrubs and trees of

Terran origin which had adapted to Altair and flourished in the mild

climate of that part of the coast.

`Not a minta among `em,' Interior had remarked in an aside to

Lusena. `Doesn't grow in that sort of soil.' An official air carrier

whisked Lusena, her ecstatic nieces - moria, Emer, and Talba - and a

subdued Rowan to the resort. The driver saw the party safely

installed, good-humoredly hauling in the many pieces of luggage which

the nieces had brought. The Rowan managed her one small carisak, and

Purza, quite handily by herself. She was, however, given the grandest

room where a balcony gave her a splendid view of the sea and coastline

for miles in all directions. That was the first bone of contention.

Although each child had a luxurious bedroom with adjoining bath,

comparisons became inevitable as the amenities were discussed at great

length over the afternoon snack. At first Lusena dismissed the arguing

as part and parcel of normal maneuvering of status-conscious thirteen

and fourteen-year-olds. The Rowan merely listened, more interested in

the delicious foods arrayed on the table than power plays.

Until moria remarked that she ought to have Emer 5

room, since the closet space was better and she really hadn't

enough room for her clothes.

`Fabrics must breathe,' she explained in an arch manner.

Then, seeing the Rowan's surprised expression, found a ripe target

for her effusions. `Garments need to be refreshed by circulating air,

you understand. That's even more important than proper cleansing and

pressing, particularly with expensive gauzes.' moria shifted her

attention to her aunt `Is there someone to tend to our wardrobe?'

Lusena was nonplussed by such a question. Her brother was exceedingly

well connected with the mercantile bankers of Port Altair, and the girl

was accustomed to a more sophisticated life than Rowan, whose social

life was nonexistent. Lusena had no idea if moria's household included

any indentured colonists, working out the expense of their

transportation to Altair in menial capacities but, judging by moria's

question, there probably were.

`Did you bring any gauzes with you, moria?' was what Lusena asked

to give herself time to think. `I did tell your mother that this would

be a low-key holiday.' `I looked up the A-Z and it specifically

mentions evening dances at the Regency Hotel where formal attire is de

rigueur,' moria replied in a tone that suggested Lusena should know.

`We have no escorts.' `There is also an agency which supplies

escorts of impeccable character,' moria replied and Emer giggled.

She and her sister exchanged anticipatory looks. Their parents

did not entertain on the same level as moria's but that was by choice,

certainly not necessity.

`Who are unlikely to wish to escort a thirteen Lusena said

severely.

`I'll be fourteen in three weeks' time . . .` moria was

persistent.

Thirteen- or fourteen-year-olds to any Regency ambience.' `I was

certain that Rowan would want to dance,' moria retorted, eyeing the

Rowan with a penetrating stare. `She's old enough to know how.' Her

tone implied that anyone who didn't was deprived, underprivileged, and

asocial.

`Talba and I can dance,' Emer hastily put in.

Lusena was beginning to regret the notion that her nieces would be

suitable as friends for the Rowan.

`Dancing is not a recreation in which I have any interest, the

Rowan replied casually, with a mild hauteur and indifference that quite

shot the wind out of moria's sails. `I am here to enjoy the sportive,

not the cultural aspects of the resort. You did bring appropriate

attire for swimming and boating, did you not?' The Rowan's tone was

more coolly dismissive than moria's, but then, Lusena thought, Siglen

was a mistress of the put-down.

Emer and Talba goggled but moria blushed and sulked for the rest

of the meal. Lusena wondered what was going through the Rowan's mind.

Would she make an adjustment or might she, tempted by moria's

example, respond by manipulating the others: something the Rowan was

quite able to do, consciously or unconsciously. And that was not what

this holiday effort was about.

Lusena sighed. Her timing was wrong. A year or two at this age

could produce such astounding swings in attitudes and standards. The

Rowan had left her schoolmates as a child with childish interests and

concerns. Now, hovering at the edge of the major physiological and

psychological adjustments in a young girl's life, a perilous rite of

passage might be forced.

Lusena pressed briefly, cautiously, against the Rowan 5

mind but the girl's immediate thoughts were of satiety with the

excellent meal just served and a mental debate over which area of the

resort to explore first.

`I see no reason,' Lusena began briskly, hoping to alter the mood

of the afternoon, `why you can't all change into swimsuits. We can

explore the beach while our lunch is being digested and then we'll be

ready for a dip. moria, as the oldest, you're in charge of water

safety. I know your family often holidays by the sea whereas Emer,

Talba, and Rowan haven't done very much sea bathing.' moria's manner

altered with the possession of even this nebulous superiority and,

forgetting her sulk, she ran up the stairs well ahead of the others in

order to be the first changed.

It turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon for the water was

cool enough to give a brisk tingle, the sun warming, and the beach

deserted. Having marshaled her young charges into the water until they

were exhausted with their exercise, moria stripped to allow the sun

full access to her already tanned skin. The Rowan watched with

discreetly averted eyes. moria had a splendid start on a feminine

body. The still juvenile Emer and Talba also slipped out of their

suits, oiling their paler skins with a sun block and then, suddenly,

the Rowan was lying supine on the beach blanket as if she was a

frequent sunbather. While moria chattered away about the merits of

various tanning preparations, Lusena was positive that the Rowan must

be making some bizarre internal adjustments for in the space of about

fifteen minutes, she acquired a nice sun-burnishing.

moria stopped mid-spate and stared at the young Prime.

`I don't recall you having a tan, Rowan?' `Oh,' and the Rowan

opened one eye drowsily to regard the older girl, `I've always tanned

easily.

Now that, my girl, is coming on too strong! Lusena said, for once

bending the Talent's rule not to communicate telepathically.

You might even say I was doing it up too brown, Luse? and, eyes

closed, the Rowan smiled ever so slightly.

That evening when the girls had settled to sleep, Lusena opened

the line to Purza.

`I think she's a spoiled snob of a prig,' the Rowan was saying to

her pukha. `She apes mannerisms and pretends to be far more mature

than she is. Trouble is, Purz, she believes she's acting properly.

Acting is exactly what she's doing. Acting. Silly bouzma!'

Lusena wondered where the Rowan had acquired that term until she

remembered that some of the cargo handlers around the Tower facility

came from mixed cultural backgrounds. The Rowan had been eavesdropping

again.

`Emer's OK and Talba'll do whatever she's told,- the Rowan went

on, more musingly than critically. `I'm glad I'm not moria's kid

sister. She'd be a pain in the arse! Yes, yes, I know that's cant

language and Siglen would have a fit. But she's not here and I am, and

moria would be a pain in the arse!' A giggle came through clearly.

`And I got a better tan than she has and it took me a lot less

time and perspiration at no cost. Imagine having to smear such

expensive gunk on my skin. All I had to do was alter the absorption

level of the epidermis. Simple! I wonder how tan I should get! Don't

be silly, Purza! Pukhas don't need tans. You'd scorch your fur and

blow all the circuits.' That sentence caused Lusena some intense

cogitation.

In the mention of its circuits, was the Rowan accepting the fact

that the pukha was only a therapeutic device? But by being concerned

that `you'd scorch your fur' was she attributing some degree of

anthropomorphism to it?

Animals did not tan: humans did. Use of the pronoun implied a

recognition of the pukha as an entity. Her conversations with it

indicated a subliminal response - her alter ego speaking through the

pukha? So far there had been no conflict with established ethics and

morals.

Although constant discreet psychological testing revealed that the

Rowan was basically a well-adjusted personality, the continued

dependence on a pukha, which was usually abandoned once a child reached

adolescence, could indicate a possible instability. A proven

instability, even a suspected one, might put the quietus on any hope

that the Rowan would make Prime. Lusena couldn't bear to think of the

procedures that would ensue should the Rowan be considered an unstable

Talent.

Not that dependence on a pukha was a real cause for alarm. Lonely

children of ten had imaginary friends - it was a healthy development

stage that should be passed through without trauma. The Rowan's pukha

had certainly been a boon to the child and to her preceptors. Once the

holiday was over, Lusena decided she would have to discuss a weaning

process with the Medical Officer.

The next day dawned so bright that Lusena immediately arranged for

a sail down the coast to a sea garden where the girls could safely

indulge in some underwater exploration. moria fretted during the short

training session because she'd `done all this sort of thing so often

before' Turian, the instructor, was handsome and far too intelligent to

respond to moria's coy attempts at flirting on the trip down. He

pinned her with a cold stare and remarked that in his experience it was

those who didn't listen to safety precautions who invariably made the

mistakes underwater.

Once they had all submerged and were following Turian through the

sea gardens, Lusena lightly touched the Rowan's thoughts and felt the

girl's utter delight and pleasure in the experience. The Rowan was a

strong swimmer. Clear, bright water was unlikely to summon memories of

minta-stained mud.

It was exceedingly unfortunate that it was moria who was caught by

the sting-sheet which Turian had particularly warned them all against.

It was equally unfortunate that the Rowan was closest to her and

remembered the first-aid measure. She rubbed moria's stings with hands

full of sand. (And that had been done kinetically though Lusena hoped

she was the only one who noticed that at the moment of panic.) When the

Rowan began the metamorphic massage which Lusena had taught her as

being useful in reducing shock, moria complained that the Rowan was

deliberately bruising her feet. The accident put an end to the

expedition and was, when Lusena reviewed the week later, the beginning

of the trouble.

If moria was somewhat mollified by being taken up in Turian's arms

and jetted back to the sloop, it didn't help that he treated her like a

silly, thoughtless adolescent. Fuel was poured on her wounded pride

when he complimented the Rowan on her quick thinking and apt use of

first-aid measures.

Lusena perceived that the Rowan was surprised at praise from any

quarter and shrugged it off, but Lusena could tell the girl was

pleased. Unfortunately, moria noticed, and affected a little squeal as

Turian, his expression worried, rubbed lotion on the long, thin sting

welts. Also unfortunately, moria proved to be one of the nine out of a

thousand who had an allergic reaction to sting toxins and Turian

cranked up the engine to get the girl to hospital with all dispatch.

The others took turns applying cool sea-water compresses to the

malevolently swollen flesh. moria had good reasons now to moan `I

think she did it on purpose,' the Rowan confided to Purza that evening

after moria had been treated and then sedated. `I don't know what

she's trying to prove, except that she's real silly, because moria's no

match for the woman Turian's living with' Lusena was a trifle surprised

that the Rowan had dipped into Turian's mind that way. Or maybe she

hadn't. Turian had allowed her to take a turn at the sloop's helm on

the return voyage. They had been deep in discussion which might have

covered more than the mechanics of powered sailing. The Rowan seemed

to elicit information from a wide range of personalities.

`moria's stupid,' the Rowan remarked to the pukha, `but she's

determined not to be limited to childish activities. Maybe I should

warn Lusena to watch out. No?

You don't think I should. Yes, I suspect you're right.

Lusena doesn't miss much, does she?' And the Rowan giggled

sleepily, for that moment very much a young girl.

That was the end of that evening's monologue. And Lusena had been

warned. moria was much improved the next day but quite genuinely not

up to much activity.

Though the inflammation was reduced, the welts were raw and red.

moria quickly became bored with her invalid state and Lusena

suggested games. If moria won she avidly wished to continue but once

she started losing, she wanted to try something else. Emer and Talba

were amenable, so was the Rowan during the morning. But, after lunch,

in a partnered computer game which moria and Emer lost to the Rowan and

Talba, moria accused the Rowan of cheating!

`You couldn't win by that much of a score unless you were cheating

somehow. Talba's no good at this, so how could you possibly win?'

moria complained in a carrying snarl which brought Lusena instantly

into the room.

None of the girls knew that the Rowan was Talented.

That had been one of the reasons Lusena had picked children who

hadn't previously met the girl.

`Talba is so good at Fighter Pilot,' the Rowan replied, putting a

comforting arm about the younger girl. `You're just not able to adjust

to having a partner: you want to dominate and you don't win this game

by dominating.' `You did cheat! You did!' moria screamed, her face

reddening and the sting marks turning dark suddenly.

Talba stared at them, horrified.

`Oh, you're really quite stupid, you know, the Rowan said in a

tone that bore a strong resemblance to Siglen's.

`There is no way to manipulate the components of this program from

an external source and there's absolutely no point in cheating in a

childish g' moria stared at her, too infuriated to do more than

stutter. Then abruptly she got control of herself, her color abated,

and she leaned forward in an ominous threatening posture. `How do you

know there is no,' and then her tone and accent mocked the Rowan's cool

speech, `way to manipulate the components of this program from an

external source if you didn't try?' The Rowan stared at her with

contempt and pity, and then she took the distressed Talba by the hand.

`C'mon, we'll go for a walk on the beach until certain tempers

calm down.' Lusena recognized that as a suggestion out of her own book

but she decided to deal with moria now, and comfort Emer, who was as

upset as her sister. `Rowan is quite accurate, moria, that there IS no

way to cheat at Fighter Pilot. It's a matter of cooperation and fast

reflexes.' It was possible, Lusena thought optimistically, that the

drugs had had an adverse effect on moria to make her act in such a

volatile manner. Before the evening meal, she was contrite and managed

a creditable apology to the Rowan on those grounds. The Rowan accepted

- unfortunately almost too casually, for moria hated to admit she might

be in the wrong to a younger person - and appeared far more interested

in the dinner menu.

Sometimes the Rowan could be extremely adult in her attitudes and

perceptions, and then revert to childlike indifference. In this

instance, she ought to have used more empathy with moria, and didn't.

Lusena caught the expression on moria's face and maintained a

stronger presence when all four girls were together.

moria was able to swim the next day and that evening they all went

to the amusement park. The amenities for young people included a

carousel which enchanted the Rowan: horses and bills and lionets and

catarons and two amazing sea creatures that even the attendant could

not identify. But the outside circles of beasts rose up and down with

the motion of the carousel and if a rider caught ten of the brass

rings, he won a free ride.

moria insisted on riding just behind the Rowan who caught every

ring she reached for. The mechanism did not recharge fast enough for

moria to acquire one. She changed places on the next ride but she was

not as agile as the Rowan. By now Lusena was aware of the tension and

watched both girls closely. The Rowan was not using her kinetic

ability to catch rings, of that Lusena was positive: the girl was

simply more deft, with excellent timing so that it didn't matter if her

cataron was up or down or midway, the Rowan collected a ring with each

circuit.

Nothing would do then but for moria to insist they go onward to

one of the other rides.

`Rowan's got enough rings to do two free circuits,' Emer pointed

to the rings Rowan played with, her index fingers touching and her

hands tipping the roll of rings up and down.

`Oh, I'll go on if you want to,' and with that the Rowan tipped

the rings into the collection maw. `Where will we go next?' Why her

willingness should infuriate moria, Lusena couldn't understand. The

rest of the excursion was somehow colored by moria's seething fury

which communicated itself to Emer and Talba. The Rowan seemed

oblivious.

`That girl wants for manners, the Rowan told Purza that evening.

`She made Emer and Talba miserable and Lusena' 5 worried. Should

I find out what's bothering moria? No? Well, I know it's not done but

I really don't want to spend the rest of my holiday appeasing that old

bouzma. I have to do that all the time with Siglen. If I just . . .

No? I can't? Even to lighten up our holiday? Can I not just

lean on her a bit when she gets particularly antsy? Just a little!

It'd make things a lot easier all `round.

OK! I promise. Just a little!' Most of that night went by

sleeplessly for Lusena as she reviewed the conversation. The Rowan had

clearly displayed an understanding of Talent ethics. Leaning wasn't a

violation exactly, not even a genuine intrusion of mental privacy,

Lusena conceded: a little leaning often did a lot of good and she had

applied leans on the Row an in her early years. It was the most minor

of infractions of the basic Law but she would monitor the Rowan.

Talents, particularly Primes, had to be so careful of their

interactions.

The Rowan did lean on moria the next morning at the first note of

petulance. It was adroitly done, Lusena thought, and it certainly did

improve the atmosphere at the breakfast table. The morning was spent

pleasantly in swimming on their private beach. The Rowan was careful

to keep her `tan' slightly less bronze than moria's and to comment

wistfully that she would never attain the lovely shade moria had

acquired.

That evening Lusena took them all to a concert in the open air

amphitheater, a re-creation of an ancient structure with brilliant

acoustics. The program was varied, suiting many tastes in a

vacationing public. At the conclusion, an announcement indicated that

the last group would be playing dance music at the Regency.

Naturally moria begged to be allowed to go. `Who needs a partner?

There's sure to be some unaccompanied boys wanting to dance. I

just know it. There were hundreds in the audience. Oh, please,

Lusena.

The others can sit and listen. Emer adores this group anyway.

She wouldn't mind. And if Rowan's never been to a dance, this

would be an intro. Please, please.' moria might come from a

sophisticated household but Lusena did not believe her parents would

condone her attendance at a hotel dance no matter how the girl pleaded.

So she flatly refused and took the girls home. moria coming up

with more and more reasons why they should attend. Lusena was so worn

out by her whining that she almost leaned on the girl herself and

wondered why the Rowan didn't.

Lusena was startled then, two hours later, when the Rowan knocked

at her door `She's gone!' `Who's gone?' Lusena exclaimed inanely.

`Why? Were you peeking?' `I didn't need to, not with her climbing

down the trellis and making a lot of noise,' the Rowan said. Then,

looking Lusena straight in the eye, went on. `She was also

broadcasting as loud as if she'd Talent. She doesn't like me, you

know. `moria's at a very difficult stage in adolescence,' Lusena felt

obliged to explain.

`Well, she's NOT an adult. She's far too silly and she could get

in a lot of trouble at the Regency. The boys she wants to attract were

popping junk at the concert. They won't know one end from another by

now.' The Rowan paused, concentrating, scowling. `They don't. She'll

be in big trouble if she meets them. She's wearing gauzes.

`How much of a head start does she have?' Lusena zipped herself

into the nearest clothes to hand.

`You should catch her on the main road. Unless she gets a ride

but I don't see any vehicle going her way along that road.

A very sullen moria was retrieved. When she quite accurately

blamed the Rowan as her informant, Lusena did her best to center

moria's thoughts on her willful disobedience, detailing the

consequences of such irrational behavior. moria smarted under the

lecture, though when Lusena mentioned that the boys at the concert had

been popping, the girl did pause thoughtfully.

`I'm not a parent, moria,' Lusena said sternly, `but I am in

charge and you are grounded!' When moria raised her head challenging

that authority, Lusena leaned and moria's eyes widened with surprise.

`You're a Talent!' `It runs in the family,' Lusena remarked drily.

`Or doesn't your father ever mention his?' moria stared at Lusena

as if she'd sprouted wings or horns. `The more fool he,' Lusena

muttered and gestured firmly for moria to get into her room. `You'll

be staying there tomorrow!' Because she intended to enforce that

punishment, the original plans for the next day had to be altered.

Lusena said that moria would be keeping to her room and neither

Emer nor Talba questioned it, completely ignorant of the early-morning

episode. The Rowan announced that she wanted to swim as the waves

looked energetic enough to surf on.

Lusena joined them later, having checked that moria was still

deeply asleep. She kept in touch with the girl's mind when she did

wake, listening to the grousing and complaining as moria ate the meal

left for her and idled about the room. Lusena caught a glimpse of her

on the balcony, observing the others down on the beach and then the

girl withdrew, her thoughts most uncomplimentary and her resentment

aimed at the Rowan. Lusena wondered if she would have to send moria

home prematurely.

The holiday had been arranged for the Rowan's benefit not moria's.

The Rowan had caught the knack of riding the rolling combers back

to the beach. The sea was rough but not overly so and there was no

undertow on this beach so when the girls clamored for Lusena to join

them, she did so, keeping a light touch on moria's mind They were all

riding the crest of one large wave when Lusena heard the Rowan give a

terrible shout. There was a look of agony on her face so intense that

Lusena probed to find out what had injured the girl. But the pain was

psychic. Frantically propelling herself through the comber, the Rowan

staggered on to the beach and started running for the house, mentally

broadcasting a shout that nearly deafened Lusena.

DON'T! YOU CAN'T! YOU MUSTN'T! YOU'RE KILLING HER!

Shrieks now came from another source - moria!

ROWAN! YOU CAN'T, YOU MUSTN'T DESCEND TO HER LEVEL! Lusena tried

to free herself from the wave, was tumbled about roughly and came up,

gasping for breath. She wasn't kinetic but somehow she was on the path

with no recollection of having reached it and running as fast as she

could toward the house. She saw the Rowan on the balcony outside her

room and then a final shriek from . . . Lusena could not immediately

identify the source but the pain came from an anguished soul.

Panting with exertion, she finally reached the Rowan's room.

moria was crouched in one corner, knees drawn up to her head, her

arms wrapped over it, whimpering in jagged little cries. The Rowan

stood in the center of the room, her face a mask of grief, of

unimaginable sorrow as she stood, clutching the Purza's head, its fur

shorn in hunks about her, its dismembered limbs cut into many pieces.

Some force prevented Lusena from entering and she sagged against

the threshold, trying to find some way to comfort the Rowan, knowing

there was none. Then, as she regained her breath after her exertions,

she blinked to clear her eyes, thinking at first that sweat clouded her

vision. But no, slowly the hacked pieces of the pukha were

reassembling themselves in a feat of kinetic reconstruction that Lusena

doubted few but a potential Prime could have managed. The Rowan knelt,

placing the pukha head where the rest of its body could rejoin it. She

knelt there stroking the length of the creature, crooning to it.

`Purza? Purza? Please speak to me. Tell me you're all right!

Purza? Purza! Please, it's Rowan. I need you! Talk to me!'

Lusena bowed her head, tears streaming down salt encrusted cheeks,

knowing the magic, and the Rowan's childhood, were gone.

`I was under the distinct impression that this holiday would have

brightened the child,' Siglen said, rattling her necklace of thick blue

beads irritably. Her heavy face was drawn down into petulant lines.

She didn't like hearing that her magnanimity in permitting the

Rowan to take such an unprecedented holiday had not been a complete

success.

`Unfortunately,' Lusena began uncertainly, `I erred in my choice

of companions. There was a serious confrontation between the Rowan and

one of the girls. Up until that point, the Rowan was thoroughly

enjoying the respite. My niece is at a very difficult age . . .` she

faltered.

`A childish spat? Which results in four days of melancholic

behavior?' Siglen was disgusted.

`Girls verging on puberty are so vulnerable, so easily upset.

And,' Lusena went on quickly, for Siglen's face was falling into a

pontifical mode, `ridiculous things can sometimes get magnified all out

of proportion to their true significance. The Rowan is, as you know,

basically a sensible and well-balanced youngster. But ` and here

Lusena faltered again. Siglen had always been contemptuous of the

Rowan's dependence on the pukha. Siglen' 5

fingers made the rhythmic rattle of impatience on the hollow

beads. Lusena took a deep breath and plunged on.

the wanton destruction of the pukha was devastating.' Siglen's

eyes bulged with indignation. Her fingers gripped the necklace so hard

that Lusena worried that the chain would snap.

`I told you that pukha should have been phased out long ago. Now

you see what comes of ignoring my advice! I will have no more

temperamental fits from the Rowan. She's to be on duty in the Tower at

the usual hour tomorrow. I'll tolerate no further delinquency.

Especially for such a specious reason. As it is, I shall have to

report her dereliction to Reidinger. Primes must be responsible. Duty

first! Personal considerations come a long way down the list. Now,

try to imbue that in your charge. Or,' and Siglen shook an ominous

finger at Lusena, `you will be replaced.' Shaking with outrage at the

woman's insensitivity, Lusena stalked down the ramp from Siglen's

Tower. She was so upset that she almost didn't hear Gerolaman's

`hsst!' He looked ill-at-ease - no, conspiratorial - for there was a

decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes. Mystified, she followed him to a

small closet.

`Look, it isn't the pukha, Lusena, but, with a bit of luck, it'll

be something to help her,' the stationmaster said and flipped up the

cover of a caribox.

Lusena exclaimed in amazement and a sudden spurt of hope. `A

barquecat? Who did you bribe to find one?

They're unobtainable!' She peered in at the mottled bundle of the

curled-up cub and drew back the hand that inadvertently went to stroke

it. `It's the loveliest colors,' she said, admiring the pattern on the

tawny fur ends and the deep creamy base that highlighted the markings.

`How did you find one so like Purza's fur? Oh dear,' and Lusena

dropped into anxiety again. `Maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea

right now.' `I thought of that aspect myself, but this was the only cub

left and only because I wanted it for the Rowan would they give me the

option. Of course, I have to give him back if he doesn't take to the

Rowan.' `Will it adapt to surface life?' Lusena asked, having to hold

her hands tightly behind her in her overwhelming desire to stroke the

sleeping beast. Barquecats had that effect on people.

`No fear. It's cruiser bred so it's more accustomed to gravity

than most but it'll have to be sequestered in the Rowan's quarters.

One, the mutation's never been cleared for Altair and two, they

absolutely cannot be allowed to crossbreed. I had to swear an oath of

blood to neuter him when he's six months just in case he did get out.

He's got a clean vet-cert because the rest of the Mayotte's litter

was still in quarantine, pending dispersal. They're just weaned.' `You

are a real gem, Gerry. I've despaired. She just sits and looks at the

pieces of Purza, tears streaming down her face. She hasn't said a word

since she got back. I've even tried some pretty severe metamorphics on

her which usually restore balance but they didn't dent her depression

this time.' `And her?' Gerolaman jerked a thumb over his shoulder in

the direction of Siglen's Tower.

`Siglen wouldn't know an emotion if it bit her. She put me down

smartly because the holiday was my idea.' `Don't blame yourself,

Lusena.' `I do. I thought I was a good judge of character and

compatibility. And my own niece, at that!' `Trouble is, the Rowan's

not around her own age often enough `The Rowan acted with great dignity

and common sense. My niece is wretchedly spoiled, self-centered,

arrogant, envious, and determined to have the last word.

It was NO fault of Rowan's.' Gerolaman patted Lusena's shoulder.

`Of course not.' Lusena groaned, shaking her head. `And Siglen's

reporting the Rowan's delinquency,' and she grimaced over the word, `to

Reidinger!' Gerolaman raised his eyebrows high and gave an amused

snort. `That might just be a blessing in disguise, you know.

Reidinger's got more sense than Siglen. Always had. That's why

he's Earth Prime. You did know, didn't you, that Siglen fancied

herself for the job? Well, she didn't get it and it rankles her mortal

soul.

Don't you fret her telling Reidinger.' He gave Lusena a final pat

on the back before handing her the covered barquecat box. `Try this

and see. You'll know quickly enough if the critter won't accept her.'

He winked. `I don't think I'll need to bring it back to the Mayotte.'

Carrying the box with great care, Lusena hurried down the corridors to

the Rowan's quarters. At the very least the Rowan would appreciate the

honor she was accorded in having a chance to acquire a precious

barquecat.

They were as special as pukhas, only alive and as independent as

the bobcat, from which they had mutated in the century of space

exploration and travel. Some say they had evolved from those early

felines as far as man had evolved from the ape. And with a suitable

increase in intelligence. There was a widespread notion that

barquecats were telepathic but no Talent had ever had communication

with them, not even those with strong empathies to animals. Barquecats

were equally comfortable in free-fall or gravity. Most marked was

their ability to adjust to sudden alterations. Barquecats had been

known to survive space wrecks which killed all humans aboard.

Scouts or small crews insisted on having a barquecat as companion

on cruises of any duration beyond the range of a Prime Station. Some

likened them to the canaries ancient colliers had carried deep into

shafts, for the barquecats invariably noticed pressure alterations too

minute for humans, and instrumentation. They were said to be

responsible for saving thousands of lives with this faculty and they

could lead repairmen unerringly to the source of a leak, ping, or

fracture. Traditionally, they lived on the vermin that infested every

type of commissioned vessel but in fact they were the first to be fed

in the galley. Their breeding was carefully monitored by their ship

crews and the progeny were scrupulously registered. The placement of

barquecat cubs took as much time, discussion, and power plays as

ancient historical marriages between heads of state.

Despite that, adult barquecats were laws unto themselves,

bestowing affection and favors in whimsical fashion. To be accepted by

a barquecat was considered a mark of esteem.

As she hurried to the Rowan's quarters Lusena fretted briefly. It

could be traumatic if the barquecat didn't accept the Rowan. Possibly

it could complicate the Rowan's melancholy to be rejected again so soon

after moria's antic. Something had to happen to break through her self

absorption. And the girl knew all about the peculiarities of

barquecats.

`It's worth the risk,' Lusena muttered to herself and touched the

doorpad. It swooshed open and Lusena had to blink to adjust her eyes

to the gloom. Once again the Rowan had reduced the illumination to a

funereal level.

Ruthlessly, Lusena spun the rheostat to a bright daylight.

`Rowan? Come out of your bedroom this instant! I have something

to show you!' Lusena infused mind and voice with nebulous hints of

surprise and anticipation. The Rowan was still young enough to have an

insatiable curiosity She placed the box on the low table between the

main seating units and dropped with a sigh of relief on to the one

facing the Rowan's room. She let her pleasure at her surprise ripple

through her thoughts as she waited. In part, Lusena agreed with Siglen

that this melancholy had gone on quite long enough. Loss is measured

on varying personal scales, but loss was still what the Rowan had

unquestionably suffered in Purza's destruction.

Lusena continued to wait, rather longer than she expected, until

the door opened and a wan Rowan appeared.

`Gerolaman has indentured his mortal soul for you, Lusena told her

charge in a conversational tone of voice.

`It'll be up to it,' and she pointed to the box, `whether or not

it'll take to you. Especially as you're not really yourself at the

moment. So I don't know if I'm doing you a favor or not.' Lusena was

pleased to see that she had fired the Rowan's interest, if not

enthusiasm. The girl took slow steps into the room, raising her chin

slightly to peer over the back of the couch to see what was on the

table. Lusena waited until the Rowan came round before she motioned

her to sit. Still moving like a badly lubricated android, the Rowan

flopped down. She looked at the box and then at Lusena, who felt the

first pressure of query against her mind.

Lusena flipped back the cover and the Rowan's response was all

that Lusena could wish: delight and incredulity.

`Is it really a barquecat?' she asked, her eyes flicking up to

Lusena's face with the first glint they'd held since that morning at

Favor Bay. Impulsively she reached out and then secured her arms to

her ribcage, knowing better than to disturb a barquecat's slumber.

`A really truly live barquecat cub. Even if it doesn't like you,

remember to be very grateful to Gerolaman for the chance.' `Oh, it's so

lovely. I've never seen a fur so spectacularly marked and lustrous.

Tawny tips and creamy base and such an unusual pattern on the

tips!

There wasn't one like that in the Animal Index of the Galaxy.

It's simply the most lovely creature I've ever seen.' Once again

her hands fluttered over the caribox. `Lusena, when will it wake?

What do we feed it? How can we hide it from her?' `I don't know,

it's omnivorous, and she never intrudes on your quarters.' Lusena

answered all the questions in one breath, immensely relieved at the

girl's resurgence.

`So as long as it doesn't escape, Siglen's not likely to know it's

here.' Even if they had to return the cub, its presence had shaken the

Rowan into some awareness beyond her loss.

`Oh, look, it's stretching. What do I do now, `Sena?

What if it doesn't like us?' Her face suddenly went dull again.

`Purza had to like me but the cub doesn't `Well, we'll just have

to hope it fends merit in you, then, won't we?' Lusena was certain that

she had struck just the right note in her reply. For all her Talent,

for all the potential of her ability, and despite more frequent

glimpses of maturity, enough of the child still remained in the Rowan

to require support and reassurance. Could a tiny bundle of fur provide

that need?

It stirred. The tiny mouth opened and the white fangs were

visible around a pale pink tongue curling in a yawn.

The dainty seven-fingered toes of the front paws extended the tiny

blunt claws of the breed. Its back arched and it twitched its full

banded tail before rolling on to its stomach. Then it opened its

silvery-blue eyes, the pupils mere slits in the bright room.

It looked with momentary disdain at Lusena whom it was facing

before it turned its classic head toward the Rowan. With one of the

grating cries for which the breed was famous, it rose to all fours and

with great deliberation padded over to the girl. Lifting its forepaws

to the edge of the box, it tilted its head inquiringly at her.

`Oh, you darling!' the Rowan said in a whisper and slowly extended

a finger for the barquecat to sniff. It did so and then promptly

butted the finger with its head, turning slightly so that the Rowan

could scratch behind the delicate ear. `Lusena, I've never felt

anything so soft.

Not even . .` she broke off but more because the barquecat was

insisting on an energetic caress than because she couldn't finish the

sentence. `It wants to drink. Water.' The Rowan blinked.

`It didn't ever speak to you, did it?' Lusena was astonished.

Quickly the Rowan shook her head. `No, it didn't speak to me. I

felt no mind-touch at all. But undeniably I know that it is thirsty,

specifically for water.

`Well!' and Lusena brought both hands down hard on her knees and

rose. `If that's what that rascal wants, then water it shall have.'

She tried to keep the elation she felt within bounds as she headed for

the kitchen alcove.

`I have been awful, haven't I, Luse?' asked the Rowan in a soft,

apologetic tone.

`Not awful, Rowan, but terribly bruised by Purza's loss.' `Silly

then. Mourning the loss of an inanimate object.' Lusena returned with

a bowl of water which she handed to the Rowan. `Purza was never an

inanimate object in your eyes.

Just as the Rowan put the bowl in the caribox, there was a quick

rap on the door. She had the lid down when the door slid open and an

anxious-faced Bralla came in.

`I was so positive we had one that I never thought to really look

. . - sorry to be so abrupt but she's in such a state . . . Bralla

looked from one face to another, her body in a posture of entreaty.

`What are you talking about, Bralla?' Lusena asked, for the T-4

often forgot to project.

`You DO have a recent hologram of the Rowan, don't you, Lusena?

Surely you took some at Favor Bay?' `I did, but why the flap?'

Lusena had no trouble finding the holograms which she hadn't even

unpacked from the caricase. There were several very good ones of the

Rowan.

Lusena picked one of her, smiling, standing alone by the stern of

the boat, her silver hair wind-whipped like a bright, ragged ensign.

`Oh, thank goodness, Bralla stopped fluttering for a moment.

`Reidinger insists on having a recent hologram of you, Rowan. It

has to be dispatched immediately and I can tell you, Siglen's in no

mood on account of that, too. Oh, now that's a very nice one!' She

threw a pleased smile at the Rowan who was trying as unobtrusively as

possible to keep the barquecat from poking the lid up with an

importunate head.

`This is perfect. Though I don't know as you'll ever get it back.

Shall I copy first?' `If you would . . .` and Lusena wasn't sure

if Bralla heard the request for she was out of the door as if `ported

away.

`Why would Reidinger want a recent hologram of me?' the Rowan

asked, hastily lifting the confining lid over the now squalling

barquecat. It was not the least bit interested in leaving its box but

it evidently resented being covered.

After a cursory look about the room, it went back to drinking.

`I'm not really sure,' Lusena said, covering her thoughts because

she knew exactly why Reidinger wanted one: he could then focus his

thoughts directly to the Rowan. Oh dear! Would she be up to the sort

of a searching interview for which Reidinger was famous? Lusena looked

down at her ward, at her total absorption in the barquecat and gave a

discreet sigh of relief. If Reidinger gave her even half a chance When

the cub had finished drinking and had eaten sparingly of milk-soaked

bread, it preened briefly and then curled up for another nap to rest

from such arduous exercise. As soon as its breathing settled, the

Rowan made for the keyboard and accessed information on barquecats,

fact and fiction `What he should eat,' she said, handing Lusena the

first few pages, `and what he is likely to want to eat. I want to

catch Gerolaman before he leaves for the day. Be right back.' She was

out the door before Lusena could protest. Oh, Lord, what time was it

on Earth? Lusena ground her teeth. She wanted to be near the Rowan

when - and if Reidinger did contact her directly.

By that evening, there was no doubt that Rascal approved of the

Rowan. Waking from his second nap, the cub had looked around for a

litter box (for Lusena had thought to provide a temporary affair) and

then hauled himself up her arm, settling companionably on her shoulder,

claws hooked into the fabric of her shirt.

`Don't fuss, Luse,' the Rowan told her, `he's not sinking them in

deep.' She giggled and gave a funny shudder. `But his whiskers tickle.

There, now, Rascal.' Although the cub appeared to be settling down

for a lengthy residence, he suddenly vaulted from the Rowan's shoulder

to the back of the couch, running along it to the opposite end. He

turned then and sat glaring at the girl accusingly.

`What on earth did I do?' `Why -. .` Lusena began in surprise and

then saw the Rowan suddenly tense to an erect sitting position.

`Yes, Prime Reidinger?' I've been meaning to address you directly,

Rowan, the deep voice said as clear as if he had been beside her on the

couch and speaking audibly. Even I, and Reidinger added a chuckle,

require a talisman on which to focus and I have added your hologram to

those on my special access list. I have, by the way, informed Siglen

that you are to take whatever regular holidays are current in Altair's

schooling system. She may drive herself but there are rules which

apply to minor children that must be observed.

I haven't minded, Prime Reidinger. There is a lot to be learned A

loyal child, too. The discussion I just had with Siglen should clear

the air over several misapprehensions on her part.

And about your future training. Let me make this plain to you as

well. Rowan: you have the right to contact me directly on any question

you might have. A suitable hologram is on its way to you to make that

contact easier. You have the range. The Rowan heard the smile in his

voice. Use it. You should also be receiving holograms from David of

Betelgeuse and Capella.

It won't hurt for you to get to reach them mentally from time to

time. Good practice as well. They both studied with Siglen.

The Rowan caught the dry note in his mental tone and wondered

about it.

One more thing: Gerolaman is to conduct a Tower Basics course and

I wish you to join his students. Tower management is not merely

mental, you know. There was a distinct pause and the Rowan wasn't sure

if she should respond with thanks for his intercession or what. You

have a barquecat cub? Well, my dear young lady, you have been honored.

Yes, sir, I think so, too. And thank you for the holidays and the

Basics course and . . . and everything.

Never fear, Rowan. I'll take it all out of your hide at a later

date.

Then the space he had occupied in her mind abruptly became empty

and the Rowan blinked with surprise.

`Rowan?' asked Lusena tentatively, leaning across the table to

touch her hand.

`Earth Prime Reidinger was speaking to me,' she replied and then

she looked down the length of the couch to the tawny cub. `He knew

about Rascal,' she added in a mystified tone.

`Reidinger probably would,' Lusena remarked caustically, glancing

quickly at the cub as he now marched toward the Rowan again along the

back of the couch.

`How could he?' Lusena shrugged. `The Reidinger Family have

always had unusual Talents and perceptions. They've been Talents for

centuries. What else did he say?' The Rowan grinned with pure malice.

`I'm to have the same holidays that schools give here. And I'm to

join Gerolaman's course on Tower Basics.' Lusena paused. `I didn't

know he was giving one.

The Rowan laughed. `According to Reidinger he is.' `Then he is.'

When Gerolaman arrived late that evening to check on the cub's settling

in, he was looking exceedingly pleased with himself. He accepted the

brew that Lusena offered and sat opposite the Rowan, whose lap was

occupied by a fist-sized ball of fur. He raised his glass to her.

`I thought you'd make the grade. I'll make it official and you'll

get the papers direct from the Captain of the Mayotte. He said to tell

you Rascal is from a line of real champions.' `I can see that,' the

Rowan replied, smiling fatuously at the sleeper. She hadn't so much as

twitched a muscle since Rascal had curled up after his supper.

`It's been a good day,' Gerolaman said, stretching comfortably.

`Placed a barquecat and got notice that a fully subscribed class

of young T-4s and 5s are arriving next week all the way from Earth, to

learn what there is to know about Tower management and maintenance.

Siglen says that it's a mark of her standing in FT&T that Altair

has been chosen.' Gerolaman winked at Lusena who chuckled. `You're

included, Rowan. I was told to inform you myself. You'll be in the

Tower as usual in the mornings, but you'll attend my classes in the

afternoon and evening. OK?' The Rowan nodded acknowledgment and Lusena

silently applauded her discretion.

`I haven't taught you all I know yet by a long stretch, but now

it's official. You mind yourself with these imported Talents, girl.

It's a mixed bag, T-4s, 5s, kinetics, empaths, a couple of

mechanicals, but only one true telepath. Still, it'll give you more

insight into some of the other manifestations of Talent. And perhaps a

friend or two your own age.' `How many?' Lusena asked, noting the

Rowan's sudden wariness.

`Eight, I'm told.' `That many? Surely Siglen won't permit them to

be quartered at the Station?' `Not on Station. Over at the guest

facility,' Gerolaman replied with a knowing grin. `My wife's moving in

to keep them under control. Not much gets past Samella even if she is

only a T-6. Strong empathy, especially for teenage nonsense. Smells

it before it can happen.' He drained his brew and rose. `I've got a

lot to organize before they get here so I'll leave you, ladies. Oh,

and I'll get you what you need for the cub on my way home. The Mayotte

Captain gave me a list. Bring it in tomorrow.' The Rowan once again

expressed her deep gratitude for the barquecat.

`I should have thought to get you one a long time ago, Rowan,'

Gerolaman said in a gruff voice and, with a curt nod of his head at

Lusena, left.

The next day the Rowan found that Siglen was by no means delighted

with the thought of her Station as a training facility. But this

distracted her to the exclusion of any other topic, including the

Rowan's recent behavior.

Siglen fired orders to Bralla and Gerolaman who, the Rowan

observed, both pretended to be disgruntled over the `invasion'. They

had so many complaints to lodge with Siglen over suitable

accommodations, lecture room, which part of the big landing field

beyond the Tower would be far enough away to avoid interference with

these lamebrained numskulls that they'd have to pamper and instruct.

By midday, Siglen got so flustered that she rounded on Bralla.

`If Earth Prime Reidinger has chosen Altair for this course, then

we must cooperate with him in every possible way, and I am heartily

tired of listening to your laments.

Prime Reidinger knows exactly what he's doing. And that's the end

of that.' The Rowan could not help but notice the sly and secret glint

in Bralla's eye: the diversion was successful; Siglen had had to resort

to upholding Reidinger's decision. The Rowan began to look forward to

having company in her lessons.

Later, when she asked Gerolaman, he handed her the ID file on his

prospective pupils.

`Facts and figures and holograms, he told her with a grin. `Get

to know them a little. They won't know you're not the same general

level as they are: Reidinger's orders,' he added when she stared in

surprise. `That's why there `re no indigenous Talents in the course.

Make it easier for you to integrate in the group.' She took the

file back to her quarters and ran it. Each entry included a hologram,

academic record, and a coded strip, obscuring private details from

prying eyes but the open information reassured the Rowan. Three boys

and one girl were Earthborn: the twin brother and sister who were only

a few months her junior, came from Procyon, the other two girls were

Capellans.

She called up the holograms and sat for a long while examining the

likenesses and trying to imagine the personalities. She stared longest

at one of the Earth boys because Barinov was as handsome as a tri-d

performer, with blond and curly hair that he wore long to his bare

shoulders: he'd been hologrammed in swimming briefs.

He deserved to be. He was as muscular and gorgeous as Turian.

And only three years older than she. It was just as well moria

wasn't Talented. Then Rascal managed one of his incredible leaps from

her tape sheif to her shoulder, demanding attention now that he had

awakened from his latest nap.

The students all arrived on the same official passenger shuttle

which the Rowan and Gerolaman met. They had obviously had a chance to

become acquainted during the short transfer. They were in high spirits

as they crowded through the doorway, laughing and joking, their

personal effects bags bobbing behind them in a display of kinetic

skill. Then one of the boys noticed Gerolaman and the Rowan and two of

the bags dropped to the ground.

`Tsk, tsk,' Gerolaman said, grinning a welcome. `Stationmaster

Gerolaman, T-5, and your instructor in this course.' He nudged the

Rowan discreetly who was staring at Barinov. He was even more handsome

in the flesh, even flesh covered by casual clothing.

`My name is Rowan,' she said. `I hope you'll like it here on

Altair.' She berated herself for her lapse in manners and smiled

impartially around. She felt two, no, four distinct mental touches,

more like handshakes than intrusions. She let them see her excitement

at meeting new Talents and deflected.

`Sure beats gloomy old Earth,' one of the boys said, raising a

hand in greeting. The Rowan recognized him from the hologram as Ray

Loftus, born in the South African mega-city. He shaded his eyes with

one hand as he looked across the flat landing field toward Port's low

skyline and whistled. `Is that all the city you folks got?' he asked,

adding a low disparaging whistle.

`Abort, Ray,' laughed Patsy Kearn. `Don't let him make fun of

your city, Rowan. That's all he's used to, cities.' `Not cities, Pat,

city, a proper high-tech skyscraping city,' Joe Toglia said, making

outlines of huge buildings with a flailing of arms. `I'm as much

citified as he is even if my folks live at the perimeter of Midwest

metro. Hi, there, Rowan. The Rowan responded to the friendly warmth

emanating from the two Procyons, Mauli and Mick, the twin empaths.

Theirs was a curious Talent since it had an echo effect: the

second mind reinforcing what the first mind projected. They weren't

even attempting to shield so anyone could hear them.

No-one quite knows what to do with that trick, Mauli told the

Rowan.

They would like to very much, Mick spoke almost simultaneously.

They're certain we can be extremely useful If they can only figure

out where, how, why.

`That's enough of that,' Gerolaman said, scowling in mock reproof

at all three. `Not all of us are telepaths. But every one of you

knows the proper manners to display, don't you? Now, whichever of you

is kinetic, bring the gear and we'll get you settled in your quarters.'

He shooed them toward the big passenger land vehicle.

The Rowan clambered in last and sat next to the tall thin

dark-haired Capellan, Goswina, who had a very private air about her.

There was the faintest tinge of green to her skin. Her eyes were

also greenish, but closer to yellow.

Seth and Barinov appeared to be continuing an argument but Barinov

looked right at the Rowan and winked. She wasn't quite sure what she

should do. She certainly wasn't going to imitate moria's arch coyness.

`Altair is a lovely planet,' Goswina said in a gentle voice and

the Rowan was grateful for the interruption. `Capella is a very harsh

place. Are those really trees?' She pointed toward the wooded hills

rising behind Port Altair.

`Oh, yes.' `And people can visit them?' `Oh, yes,' although the

Rowan realized that she'd never been to the forest. An uneasy memory

stirred in her mind but she lost the thought as she saw the rapt

expression on Goswina's face as she continued to gaze in that

direction.

`Will we be allowed to visit the forest?' `I don't see why not.

You're eighteen and old enough to go unescorted anywhere.' `You

don't have problems with indent gangs?' Goswina looked mildly relieved.

The Rowan lifted the explanation of this phenomena from Goswina's

public mind: indent meant indentured, and on Capella groups of

indentured persons would often indulge in unlawful activities once

their worktime was over.

`Not on Altair. We don't have that many indentured people here

yet.' `You're lucky! When there are a lot of them, they display the

only talent they have: a propensity for violence.

Then the land vehicle drew up in front of the guest accommodations

and Ray Loftus whistled again, this time in appreciation.

`Hey, not bad! Not bad at all. Glad I came!' He grinned broadly

and hopped out of the vehicle, to be the first inside the facility.

Samella was there and Ray's grin faded a little as he immediately

recognized her supervisory attitude.

The Rowan remained through introductory remarks from both

Gerolaman and Samella on privileges, the conduct expected of the

students, and handed out daily schedules. Then each was assigned a

room and told that they were free until the evening meal.

`Aren't you staying, Rowan?' Goswina asked her as she turned to

follow Gerolaman.

`I have to stay in the Tower but I'll be back after The Rowan

suppressed the fierce urge to teleport herself because Barinov was

looking in her direction just then. But, just in time, she remembered

Gerolaman's warning. A fourteen-year-old T-4 wouldn't be able to pull

that sort of stunt yet. Among other Talents, she didn't have to be

quite so careful of using her abilities but it would be stupid to show

off. - Although she had been completely at her ease in that interview

with Reidinger, it occurred to her that everyone else scrupulously

obeyed him and she'd better, too. If he wanted her to act no more

Talented than a T-4, she would oblige.

She was a bit surprised then when Gerolaman took her by the elbow

and steered her back to the land vehicle. He wasn't upset with her,

his mind-touch the usual calm blue, with the yellow of laughter

threading it, and the tang of him at a normal level.

`No funny stuff, Rowan. That's not part of this drill.

Reidinger's orders! Most of all, you don't swat an insect with a

fifty-pound sledge, m'girl,' he murmured, grinning down at her. But he

ruffled her hair before she climbed into the vehicle.

`Gotcha!' And she kept that advice firmly in the forepart of her

mind over the next two months. In the mornings while she was assisting

Siglen, teleporting basic supplies to the outlying Claims, Gerolaman

had the rest of them doing exercises she'd long learned and passed

beyond. She listened in and once in a while, when her stomach rolled

with exasperation at Ray's awkwardness or Seth's incompetenceee, she'd

give things a discreet push. She didn't think Gerolaman noticed her

minor interferences.

She joined them in the afternoon for Gerolaman's lectures which

covered every mechanical aspect of a Tower, including dismantling and

reassembling of every piece of equipment and the diagnostic tests that

would isolate a dysfunction. Barinov and Seth were the mechanically

apt Talents. Gerolaman paired them with Ray and Goswina, timing them

in reassembly. Patsy Kearn was deft at micro-kinetics so she was

teamed with Joe Toglia for computer-board repairs. Then each of the

students had to duplicate what others had done. The Rowan had never

had to work micro before and she found the exercise far more exhausting

than assisting Siglen. But she also found it exhilarating.

Then Gerolaman set up situations which produced dysfunctions and

each student had to write down (`and no peeking in anyone's head while

you write,' Gerolaman warned) what they thought was the matter and how

to repair it.

It annoyed the Rowan that either Barinov or Seth finished their

analysis first and smugly waited while the others thought the problem

through, but she was more often correct than they were.

`Arriving fast at the wrong answer can be more of a setback to a

crippled Tower than taking that little bit longer and being accurate,'

Gerolaman told the two, frowning at them. `You two are supposed to be

the mechanical Talents but Rowan's got a higher average of correct

answers. Tell the class exactly what led you to think this problem was

caused by corrupted circuitry, Rowan.' She stammered at first in her

explanation because Barinov's handsome face was sullen from the

reprimand.

Seth didn't mind as much but he wasn't the one that the Rowan

wanted to attract. Back in her own quarters after the session, she

could not settle to anything, even to playing with Rascal who was in a

vivacious humor, attacking pillows and rugs as if they were hostile

enemies.

Ordinarily his antics would have amused her. She went to bed,

still haunted by the sullen face of Barinov.

To her complete surprise, the young man smiled broadly at her the

next afternoon. She was tempted to `path him to find out what had

occasioned the sudden alteration, but Siglen's training was too strong.

And the Rowan was half afraid to try for fear of what she might

learn.

It was enough that he had smiled at her.

She could and did keep from competing so accurately against him,

pretending that she hadn't taken metal fatigue into consideration on

that day's problem. She didn't miss Gerolaman's surprise and decided

she'd better `pretend' a little less obviously. However, when Barinov

came over to sit by her at supper that night, smiling and friendly, she

felt she had acted with discretion.

`Look, we're all going into Port for a concert. The twins are

allowed so you should be able to come, too. And we've talked Goswina

into venturing forth so you'd be the only hold-out. You haven't been

grounded or anything, have you?' he added, noticing her hesitation.

She also felt his mind push at hers and let him see that she

wanted to come very much. `So, ask Samella. She cleared me for

driving the landcar.' `I see no harm, Samella said with a shrug. `It's

a group activity.' The Rowan had to dampen her elation and was rather

put out that there wouldn't be time for her to go back to the Tower not

unless she teleported - and Samella's knowing glance canceled that

notion. Even if she just `lifted' a change of clothing from her closet

to a toilet stall, there'd be questions. But she was feminine enough

to want to freshen up.

`Don't delay, Rowan,' Barinov called after her. `You look fine

just the way you are.

She wondered about that when she saw the smudges on her face and

hands in the rest-room mirror. Impartially, she examined herself: her

dratted hair. It just wasn't logical to be fourteen and silver haired,

though there were other mutations that seemed less bizarre and no-one

commented on them. Her face was far too thin, narrow, with a pointy

chin. Her very thin high-arched eyebrows were at least fashionable but

her eyes were too large for her face. But she had a figure now: not

much bosom but a big one would have made her look topheavy. Why had

Barinov smiled at her? Especially after yesterday? Maybe he wanted to

figure out how she managed a higher percentage of correct answers.

Well, two years in a busy Tower under Siglen's tutelage had not

been useless even if Siglen still kept her to baby exercises. Maybe

when she finished this course creditably, Siglen might give her more

responsibilities.

The concert was very good indeed, with three bands and some

extremely clever light and sound variations: much more sophisticated

than the Favor Bay recital. Barinov sat very close to her for the

first part, his muscled thigh pressing against hers. His energy was a

rusty-brown, which surprised her, and his aroma was indefinable, not

unpleasant, exactly, but not reassuring.

What she really didn't like was the way he kept nudging her mind,

poking here and there, trying to find a way in.

In the first place it was very bad manners and in the second she

did not like his insistence. His intrusions increased when the light,

sound, choreography, and lyrics combined into erotic suggestiveness:

not highly erotic, just enough to get positive hoot-holler and whistle

reactions from the audience. They were sitting well up in the

ampitheater so she couldn't miss seeing some couples, and several

groups, moving into the dark outer corridors. She knew such things

occurred for Lusena had completely briefed her on sexuality and

sensuality but this was the first time she'd witnessed it in public.

On her other side, Goswina squirmed nervously. Those furtive

leavings distressed her.

Subtly, the Rowan emanated a soothing empathy to ease Goswina and

that seemed to help.

The finale of the concert, however, was a deliberately sensual

construction, ending on a triumphant blare of sound, spectacular light

effects, and everyone on stage in frankly sensuous postures. Goswina

rose from her seat - to leave, not to cheer and shout approval. The

Rowan followed for she caught the girl's choked exclamations.

``Wino! It's only a show!' the Rowan said, catching her up in the

crowded parking lot.

`Do they have to be so . . .50 disgustingly vulgar? Suggestive

displays are simply not condoned in public on Capella.

Goswina' s voice was low and taut with disgust and she was

actually shaking in fury. `I just hate it when it's so very obvious.

It's supposed to be a very private, wonderful experience. Not

cheap, tawdry and . . . and public.' Without meaning to pry, the Rowan

`knew' that Goswina had had an attachment which had been deep and

meaningful, which she had had to leave behind her for this course.

That she missed her friend with an intensity that surprised her

for she felt she was too young to have a lifetime commitment.

Fortunately, Goswina was too involved in her own emotions to have

been aware of the Rowan's trespass. And the Rowan was involved in

extricating herself so that she was not as aware of externals as she

might have been.

Moving shadows became the solid figures with imperfectly shielded

intent. Goswina let out a little scream before her mouth was covered

and her arms pinned tightly to her sides just as the Rowan felt herself

attacked.

`Oh no, you don't!' She snarled aloud, but mentally stabbed out,

exerting a kinesis in all directions for she wasn't sure how many

attackers there were. Indiscriminately she sent them all spinning away

from Goswina and herself. She didn't bother to limit the push she

exerted and had the intense satisfaction of hearing soft bodies meeting

solid objects with considerable force, inflicting pain and damage.

Ruthlessly she closed her mind, sparing herself their anguish and,

for the time being, any immediate sense of guilt at having injured

another human being.

`Rowan!' her companion gasped. `What did you do?' `Only what they

deserved. Let's get out of here,' and the Rowan grasped Goswina and

pulled her out of the shadows and into the more brightly lit parking

field. `There'll be public cabs at the `But `No buts, no explanations

and don't tell me you want to be involved in those!' `Oh, no! No! Oh,

dear! We should have stayed with the others.' `We should have, but we

didn't.' The Rowan was getting exasperated with Goswina. Ray,

Goswina's taking me home. I feel sick. Ray Loftus would be less

likely to question a `pathed message from her. And right now, she

didn't want anything to do with Barinov `S curious interest.

`I've told Ray that we're going back separately. Now, c'mon.

There're plenty of cars.' Goswina was quite willing to let the

younger girl take the initiative. She collapsed into the corner of the

car which monotonously inquired the destination `The Tower.' `The Tower

is restricted.

`I am the Rowan.' The car responded by lifting from the road and

smoothly turning south-east, gaining altitude quickly and speeding

toward the now visible configuration of lights about the Tower complex.

`You're not a T-4, are you, Rowan?' Goswina asked in a quiet

voice.

`No. I'm not.

Goswina sighed then, relief and satisfaction emanating from her.

`So you're the reason this course is being held on Altair. You're

a potential Prime so you can't travel.' `I don't know that I'm the

reason - Goswina uttered a noise of disbelief. `You'll need a Station

support team. You'll need people you can trust and empathize with.

Building a team takes a lot of time and experimentation. I know.

My parents are Capellan support personnel. That's why they let me

come, in the hopes that I'd be acceptable . . . to you when you're

Stationed.' The Rowan could find no immediate reply. But Goswina's

explanation made a lot of sense. How many of this group had guessed

the purpose? And her real Talent stature. Barinov? That made more

sense than his developing a true attachment for an odd-looking

adolescent.

`Please, Rowan. I like you very much and I'm very grateful to you

but we would not work well together.

I . . . I frighten easily and you're very strong. That's good,'

Goswina said hastily, lightly touching the Rowan's arm and the girl

could see Goswina's gentle smile, `for you. You must be strong. I

don't honestly think I'm the sort of person who should be in a Tower.

But my parents wanted me to have this chance. My younger brother,

Afra, he's only six but he's already shown considerable potential. At

the least, T-4, in both `path and `port. He adores going to the Tower

with my father and Capella's always teasing him that he's going to take

over from father' The Rowan chuckled and briefly clasped Goswina's

fingers in hers, emphasizing her appreciation and friendship. Goswina

was delicate blue and florally fragrant.

`I think we'd better deal with the present, Goswina.

Now, you're not to say anything when we get back `except that I

didn't feel well. The place got so loud and stuffy `It was open air,

Rowan `The noise! And all that lighting gave me a headache.

That's what you're to say `But those `Thugs?' the Rowan filled in

wryly `They'll know they've been acted against. And you hurt them.'

`Let them explain why - if they give anyone the chance to ask.' The

Rowan refused to relent. She was furious that, having assured Goswina

that Port Altair was a safe place, they had actually been assaulted.

And Goswina, too, whose empathy made her the least able to have to

cope with nastiness.

`You were much braver than I would have been.' The Rowan snorted.

`Not brave. Angry. Here we are.

`Occupants: identify.' `The Rowan here and Goswina of Capella,'

and the car was permitted through the security web `Now, you see me to

the Tower, Goswina, and then the car'll take you to your quarters.

That way we keep to the story,' the Rowan said, giving the

necessary directions.

`Remember now, Goswina,' she said as she got out at the Tower

entrance. `And when he's old enough, I'll make sure Afra takes the

course here, too.' `Oh, would you?' Then the car carried her away.

The Rowan told Lusena about her headache caused by the blinding

flickering lights and meekly agreed to having her eyes tested the next

day. While Barinov was concentrating on the problem that Gerolaman had

given them to solve, she had no compunction about probing in past his

public mind. She didn't know his source but it was clear to her that

Barinov was deliberately cultivating her because he'd learned that she

was a potential Prime. She had no further hesitation then about

competing against him, or any of the others. A Prime ran the Station:

sentiment did not enter into its management.

So during the last week of the course, she ran Barinov a very

subtle dance which occasionally caused the gentle Goswina to flush.

Over the next four years, other courses were given by Gerolaman at

Altair which the Rowan was not specifically required to attend. She

often dropped in when it came to the troubleshooting: She liked

matching wits with the other students but she never permitted herself

to become too friendly with any of them. She ignored overheard

insinuations that she was cold, aloof, too haughty, conceited,

stuck-up. She was pleasant enough to everyone, even those she

genuinely liked, but she kept those preferences to herself. Sometimes

Gerolaman would invite her into his office to have an informal chat and

discuss her opinions about this or that student.

At some point after each course had finished, Reidinger would

contact her for a talk, discussing various aspects of the material

covered, and the problems proposed and solved.

The Rowan told Lusena that she felt as if she was being given a

long-distance final exam.

`Well, I'd say you were lucky, young lady, to have his personal

interest. Bralla says,' and here Lusena grinned with some malice,

`that he expects monthly reports from Siglen about your progress.' `Oh,

is that why she suddenly allows me to handle the ore drones?' The Rowan

was not completely satisfied to be given the chore since the routing

was usually pretty basic transferral. `How many years will she keep me

on inanimates before I'm allowed a real job?' Lusena had no adequate

consolation. Instead, backed by Reidinger's authority, she could and

did arrange for the Rowan to take time away from the Tower. When Tower

traffic was very slow, they went camping on long weekends on Altair's

scenic Eastern Shore and several times on the Great Southern Wasteland

which, the guide showed them, was teeming with all sorts of insect and

invertebrate life forms, fantastic flowers that blamed at night or in

the dawn-lit hours, drooping and dying once the blazing Altairian

primary seared the planet's equatorial areas. The Rowan enjoyed water

sports the most so that the executive house at Favor Bay was a frequent

holiday site: Bardy and her husband, or Finnan and his wife and young

children joining them.

The summer of her sixth year at the Tower coincided with the

scheduling of a larger than average group, some of whom were older

personnel from planetary as well as interior stations, taking the

course as a refresher. By this time, most of the students knew that

the Rowan was an unusually strong telepath and teleporter: the

likelihood was that she would make Prime.

Where, in the Nine-Star League, was the real quandary.

Plainly, it would not be Altair for there was no deraliction of

Siglen's sure handling of her Tower; David was firmly entrenched at

Betelgeuse, Capella at her Station. Procyon's Guzman was aging but

still years away from retirement.

There was no possibility of her acceding to Earth Prime but the

rumor strengthened that Reidinger might settle some of his more onerous

duties on her. Or that League Council might be considering a Station

at Deneb, one of the newest colonies, though that was most unlikely. A

colony had to have both exports and the credit to purchase imports from

League members as well as sufficient off planet correspondence, or a

trade route, to justify the expense of establishing a Tower. Right

now, Deneb had no surplus of material or credit.

`I've told Reidinger,' Gerolaman said to Lusena the evening before

the new group was to arrive, `something's got to be done for the Rowan.

She'll get stale, bored, and while she's a sensible kid, it's not

right to keep her twiddling her thumbs. She knows far more about

Station mechanics and operational procedures than Siglen ever did.

She's fully capable of Prime responsibilities right now and she

isn't even at full adult strength.' He shook his head slowly,

fretfully.

`And that woman never gives her any real work.' `Humph. She's

jealous of the child, and you know it as well as Bralla and i do.'

`She's always going to be a child in Siglen's lexicon. I often

wonder,' and Gerolaman scratched his jaw, `if it wouldn't have been

better to have sedated the child and taken her to Earth when you had

the chance.' `Oh, no,' Lusena said, sitting upright in contradiction.

`You weren't there. You didn't see the terror in her face when we

tried to get her to board the shuttle. And her mind was chaotic with

fear. That's why Siglen intervened.

She wouldn't have otherwise, I assure you. That was the only time

I've ever seen Siglen worried about someone other than herself! And

you know that Primes are agoraphobes. Look at the breakdown David of

Betelgeuse went through. And Capella! They had awful voyages to their

stations.' Gerolaman scratched his head thoughtfully. `Well, Siglen

sure was sick. I came on the same ship and there was more medical

staff than Station personnel, from the Moon onward. Though I thought

at the time, she was hoping they wouldn't send her to Altair. She was

so sure that she'd be Earth Prime if she just hung around long enough

down at the Blundell Building,' he said in a dissatisfied grumble.

Then he picked up the sheaf of hard copy, the records of the

incoming group. `I think something's going to happen soon, though.

Look, every one of the repeats is someone the Rowan worked well

with in the courses. Ray Loftus, Joe Toglia: they've been transferred

from Capella with excellent ratings. Reidinger's tagged three for me

to vet as potential Stationmasters. He hasn't done that before.

Devious, that man is. Pure devious.' `If only he'd tell the

Rowan, maybe she wouldn't spend so much time fretting.' `You take her

off to Favor Bay, just as you planned.

Give her a good break, and come back in time for her to show these

lamebrains up in the troubleshooting phase.' Lusena started to smile at

the relish in Gerolaman's malicious anticipation and then sighed. `If

she were just a little more subtle with her corrections, a little less

forceful in her opinions. Gerolaman raised his eyes in surprise and

waggled a finger at the woman. `Station crew measure up to their

Prime, you know that, Lusena. That's what all this is about. They

support the Prime, they assist the Prime and the Prime calls the plays.

Primes aren't in it for popularity awards. They've got to be

tough on everyone and are usually tougher on themselves.' He made a

slicing motion with his hands. `That's the way it's got to be or FT&T

falls apart. Let that happen and then the League has a wedge to gain

control. FT&T won't function half as well as a bureaucracy, with this

system or that system throwing its weight around and demanding

preferential thises and thats. FT&T is strictly first-come,

first-served: high, low, or middle men get the same considerations.' `I

do,' and Lusena gave a rueful sigh, `but I don't forget that she's a

lonely child, and always has been.' `But not for always. Yegrani

promised.' `A promise which is a long time coming.' With that Lusena

left the Stationmaster's office. `And I have guarded the guardian,'

she muttered to herself with considerable satisfaction.

Favor Bay in the full height of spring was glorious and Lusena

noticed that the Rowan began to brighten as soon as she stepped from

the groundcar.

`The only thing wrong with this place,' the Rowan said, glancing

about and then pulling windswept silver hair off her face, `is that I

can't bring Rascal with me.' `He doesn't seem to mind being left with

Gerry,' Lusena replied.

`True cupboard love,' the Rowan said with a wry grin, `so long as

you feed me, I love you.' Lusena laughed. `Partly, but he is

affectionate with you and runs to the door whenever he hears you

coming. He never notices me even when I feed him and he only tolerates

Gerolaman.' The Rowan made a skeptical noise in her throat, and turned

to `port first Lusena's baggage and then her own up to their respective

rooms. `Someday it would be nice to have something who loved me! Not

the Rowan Prime, not the provider, but me! Someone preferably.' Lusena

replied in the same objective tone of voice.

`You're eighteen now.

`Are we sure of that?' `Medically, yes,' Lusena said with a

tartness in her reply. The Rowan still yearned to discover the minor

details most people grew up knowing: birthdate, family name, family

background.

`Not many people here in Favor Bay know that you're Talented, much

less Altair's coveted young Prime. You've always been here as part of

a family group. You're fully old enough to do a bit of private

research.' The Rowan regarded Lusena with a wide-eyed smile.

`Siglen would have apoplexy if she heard you say that!

Persons with our Talents and responsibilities cannot indulge in

gross physical activities.' Her mimicry was devastatingly accurate.

`Gross physical, indeed,' and Lusena laughed. `Oh, I shouldn't

laugh at her, but really, Rowan, Siglen is not temperamentally, or

physically, suited to enjoying the "finer emotions in life `Even if she

recognized them. .

`Whereas you're a slender young.

`Fey-looking, isn't that what that redheaded Earth kinetic in last

year's course called me?' The Rowan shot Lusena a challenging look.

`Fey is attractive.' Lusena refused to budge from that

interpretation.

They were in the house now and the Rowan peered at her features in

the hall mirror. `I could dye my hair!' `Why not?' `Indeed, and why

not?' They tried several shades but, although the Rowan would have

preferred to wear long black tresses, she didn't have the right skin

tone to go brunette. So they settled on a mid-blonde. For summer

wear, the Rowan decided to have short curly hair as well and the result

pleased them both.

`Any improvement?' the Rowan wanted to know, twisting a curl to

curve down on to her brow.

`Piquant! Fashionably sensible. Now, go enjoy yourself.

The color's guaranteed not to fade in sun or sea.' `I'll just swim

and sun a bit: to make sure the claim is accurate. Coming along?' `Not

today,' and Lusena shooed the Rowan on her way.

There was a good deal to be ordered for the food preparation unit.

Some visitors were not as scrupulous in replenishing stocks when

they left.

A leisurely swim, time to adjust her skin tone to a decent tan,

greatly improve the Rowan's mood. She and Lusena dined out and several

men cast admiring looks in their direction.

`You're sure no-one here knows who I am?' `Not likely. Besides,

even Gerolaman would have to look twice to recognize you right now.

Oh,' and here Lusena shrugged her shoulders, `it's suspected that

you might have some Talent, but then a third of the planet can lay

claim to some sort of minor Talent.' `It'd even be nicer to be me and

not have to worry about that sort of thing at all.

Lusena wasn't sure if the Rowan had spoken that wistful sentence

aloud or not. Over the years, Lusena had occasionally `heard' purely

mental comments but she'd never mentioned it to save the Rowan any

embarrassment at having been overheard. On the other hand, it

signified the girl's complete trust in her. Lusena had never regretted

these fifteen years, though now and then both Bardy and Finnan had

unkind words about her dedication.

That was why, two days later, when Bardy's husband, Jedder Holey,

advised that her daughter had gone into an early labor, Lusena felt

obligated to leave immediately to Haleys' claim site on the eastern

edge of the Great Southern Wastelands.

`If I tag along, Bardy'll be upset, the Rowan told her firmly.

`Bardy needs you by yourself. You said I'm old enough to manage

for myself. And you did say,' the Rowan went on, overriding Lusena's

objections, `that no one knows exactly what or who I am so I'm

perfectly safe.

Frankly, I'd welcome the idea of a few days alone. Most kids are

out on their own at sixteen. I can't be vacuumwrapped all my life.'

The Rowan had read deeply enough in one quick shot to perceive all

Lusena's reservations and her dilemma over her daughter. `It isn't as

if I can't keep in touch, dear Lusena. I'll behave. I'm not Moria!'

`Indeed you're not!' Lusena had never forgiven her niece even if her

brother remained unaware of why the holiday had been shortened by

several days.

`We might as well use Camella's shuttle since it's at the airfield

for our use. You'd have no delays getting there then,' the Rowan

continued, rapidly but neatly filling Favor Bay took on a glamourie

that it had never before Lusena's travelpak with items from her

drawers. `You'll be on your way in ten minutes. Bardy can't ask for a

better response than that!' `Oh dear!' Lusena's mobile face shadowed

with regret.

`Nonsense, dearest friend,' and the Rowan embraced her, wrapping

Lusena with love, affection, and understanding. `I did monopolize you,

and you know I did.

Bardy has every right to resent me deep inside but she was

generous enough never to chide me for it out loud. I needed you far

more than she did. Until now. She needs you now.' As the Rowan stood

on the verandah, she felt the oddest exhilaration: a curious sort of

release, even though Lusena had always been discreet and subtle in her

care of the Rowan, so that there had never been a reason to resent the

supervision. But she was alone - alone for the first time in fifteen

years, since that famous miraculous escape of hers.

Not even a pukha with her She spun on her heel and went back into

the house, slapping her hand against the door, running fingers along

the hall table, pinging the vase with its fresh spring blossoms,

twirling into the sitting room and stroking the polished wood, the

brocade of a chair, as if to establish their inanimacy and that she was

the only living being in the house. She whirled in a wild pirouette

and then collapsed on to the sofa, laughing at her own whimsy.

What a wonderful feeling. To be alone! To be on her own! At

last.

She reached out for Lusena's mind: The poor woman was still

dubious about the wisdom of leaving her charge all by herself, but she

really had to respond to Bardy's appeal. The Rowan softly and gently

lifted the anxiety from Lusena's mind, setting up a diversion anytime

Lusena might start to worry about the Rowan who was going to thoroughly

enjoy her first really true holiday from her previous regime.

had for the Rowan. She ate only when she felt hungry, with no

Lusena to remind her of `normal' mealtimes.

Especially with no Siglen encouraging her to eat this, or have

more of that, or please to finish the food she was given since there

were many in the world who were starving for a taste of such

magnificent cuisine. By the time she felt any hunger, she was ravenous

indeed and took one of the cycles down to the main town, following her

nose to the best of the many smells wafting about on the light spring

breeze.

She parked the cycle in the rack outside a charcoal shop and

glanced through the handprinted menu hanging from the ceiling. The

smell of roasting fish tantalized her so she took her place beside the

other patron in the grill shop. A second discreet look at his profile,

and a light touch at his mind, and she recognized Turian, their captain

and guide on that first Favor Bay excursion.

`What d'they do best here? It all smells so good,' she asked.

`I'm having the redfish steak sandwich, he said, smiling down at

her. `Pretty little thing,' his mind was saying, `can't be a student

as it's not holidays yet. A convalescent?

Looks tired. Lovely eyes.

The Rowan wasn't sure that she was pleased or annoyed by the fact

that he didn't recognize her. Well, he must have hundreds of clients

in a single summer. Why would he recall one adolescent girl?

`Are they all redfish?' she asked.

`No, but that's the freshest,' Turian replied. `I saw it unloaded

from the dock a half hour ago.' `Then that's for me.' So when the

attendant asked her choice, she pointed and had a hard time not

listening in on Turian's stream of consciousness. He was mentally

reviewing a list of things he had to do to get his ship back into

commission and wondering if he had enough credit to do the jobs

properly or where he could stint without risking the safety of his

clients or his ship. He was hungry after a morning scrubbing the

winter's grime from the hull and the aroma was increasing the saliva in

his mouth. Or was it the proximity of the pretty girl? She was enough

to make any man's mouth water. A little on the thin side: with that

tan, she'd been here a few days at least. Strange! her face was oddly

familiar. No. He had to be mistaken: he'd never seen her here in

Favor Bay before.

`D'you come from around here?' he asked, to pass the time while

his fishsteak was cooking.

`No. From `Port.

`On holiday?' `Yes, I had to take it early this year. Office

schedules rarely give juniors a break.' That should answer his

questions. `And you?' `I'm getting my ship ready for the summer.' `Oh,

what sort of ship do you own?' Might as well start afresh with him.

That way he was less likely to remember the details of the earlier

acquaintanceship - and how old she really was.

He grinned. `Tour the sea gardens! Swim with the denizens of the

Deep! That sort of thing.' If I earn enough in the summer, I can sail

all winter where I choose to go, was his silent addition.

`Always in Favor Bay?' She didn't recall seeing him last year, not

that she'd been looking for him, or had revisited the sea gardens.

`Not always. Altair has some splendid harbors. I move around a

lot but this is a good spot in the summer.' The attendant set their

dishes on the counter and was asking for payment and, as the Rowan dug

into the pockets of her light jacket, she flushed with embarrassment as

her fingers touched only three small credit pieces.

How could she have been so stupid? Always she'd had Lusena to

remind her. On her first solo outing, she forgot the most basic

requirement. She pulled out what she had, an inadequate sum for the

meal.

`Ooops!' She gave the attendant and Turian an apologetic grin and

thought hard as to where in the house she'd left her purse. She could

`port enough into the pocket of her shorts.

`Here! Let me, said Turian, smiling. It beats eating by myself

and she's not on the take or make, not this one.

The Rowan's relieved smile was more for his charitable thoughts

than the deed of paying for her meal.

`I insist you allow me to pay you back,' she said as he motioned

toward an empty spot on the deck overlooking the bay. `I left my

credits at home. True holiday mindlessness.' `Tell you what. I'll

spot you the sandwich for a couple of hours of not so hard labor. If

your folks won't object.' `It's my holiday,' she said. `But surely

there're enough. . .` she gestured to the men and women walking up and

down the street outside.

`Everyone's busy getting their own places in order.

Mainly I need a couple of extra hands and someone who can take

simple instructions.' His grin told her she more than qualified. `I'll

teach you how to rig sail. A skill guaranteed to be useful - sometime

in your life again!' The Rowan knew very well that he intended no more

than that. Turian was still, as he had been four years before, a

genuine and honest man.

`Done! A spot of hard work'd do me good and be a nice change from

sitting on my duff in an office. Where do I report to work in the

morning, sir?' And she flicked her hand in a nautical type salute.

`Cender's Boat Yard. Down there! Mine's the sloop rigged fifteen

meter with the blue hull.' Grinning, she raised her sandwich and bit

into the crusty bread and hot flaky fish. The piquant sauce she'd

slathered on the fish flowed down her chin. She cleared the overflow

with a finger and then licked it. Turian was doing the same thing and

his grin was one of camaraderie.

When they finished their meal, he insisted on adding `alters' to

her tab with him: a half melon full of fresh spring soft fruits and a

cup of the local infusion. Then he asked her to arrive by 7.00 50

they'd finish the heavy part before the sun was high and gave her a

courteous farewell.

He went off, talking himself out of making any passes at such a

young thing. He had the summer before him and he usually had many

options.

Somewhat piqued, the Rowan cycled back wondering how to prove to

him that she wasn't as young as all that!

He was a good person, honorable and sensible, a capable seaman,

and an interesting guide.

Back in the cottage, she decided to study tomorrow's tasks. She

accessed information on sail-rigging, on seamanship in general, pausing

long enough on the sections of refitting a ship that had been stored

over the winter period to assimilate all the information available.

Primes were generally blessed with photographic memories as

perfect recall was a boon for the sometimes split-second decisions

which their duties often required them to make.

Not all those with the same basic Talents the Rowan possessed

would be suitable as Primes.

She also checked with the Maritime Commission Records concerning

the credentials of one Turian Negayon Salik and, using her Station

password, looked over his personal records, fending nothing untoward.

Turian was thirty-two years Standard. Sun creases made him look a

few years older. (From comments made by some of the females on the

various courses, older men were apt to be more considerate.) He was

single, had never even filed an intent to marry, let alone a short-term

parental contract. He did have a large number of siblings and

immediate relatives, most of them involved in the sea enterprises.

Aware of a curious absence in the documentation of himself and

other members of his family, the Rowan had to sit and think what was

missing. Then it dawned on her: neither he nor any of his relations

had ever taken a Talent test. This was most unusual since most

families ardently looked for signs of such abilities, minor or major,

in their progeny. Recognizable, measurable Talent meant preferential

schooling, and often grants-in-aid for the entire family. Not,

perhaps, as necessary on a rich, fertile, mainly unsettled planet as

Altair, but generally comfortable additions to incomes. There was no

law requiring registration at a Talent testing center but it was an odd

enough omission.

She checked on his ship, the Miraki, and had its voyages for the

past four years graphed out so that she knew where he had sailed,

anchored, and who his passengers had been.

She learned that when he had finished his apprenticeship with a

maternal uncle, he had been granted part of the credit needed to

purchase the sloop, worked for the balance, and now owned her free and

clear. The Miraki was licensed for charter, for trawling and for

exploration, and in the eight years since her commissioning, had done

about every job her size permitted. Her seaworthiness records had been

scrupulously kept up to date and she had acquired no fines, penalties,

or damages.

The Rowan woke at six, ate a hearty breakfast and was nearly late

at Cender's Boat Yard because she spent so much time choosing

appropriate clothing. That is, clothing appropriate for the end result

she now wished. She was about to leave at fifteen minutes before the

hour - the boat yard being downhill from the house - when she realized

that Turian had been evading, or avoiding, the stalkings of many girls

far more adept at this sort of flirting than she.

He thought her a nice young girl, a bit too thin. Well, she'd

start right there. And elaborate.

So she appeared at the boat yard, promptly at the tone of seven on

the tri-d blaring from the boat yard office window, in workmanlike

gear, and a change tied on to the handlebars of the cycle. Her review

last night indicated she was likely to get wet and dirty. She also had

a hefty handful of credits stuffed into her spare-pants pocket.

`Have you ever rigged sail before?' Turian asked halfway through

the morning as yet again, she anticipated an instruction.

`Well, yes and no. Sailing's always fascinated me so I boned up

on re-rigging sails. A good tertiary education teaches you how to fend

out what you don't know.' `I'll give you this: you're deft at putting

theory into practice. Intelligent helpers are hard to get in any line

of work. What do you do?' `Oh, boring stuff, expediting imports and

exports,' and she added a diffident shrug. `But the pay's decent and

the perks aren't bad. I'd need off-world training for any decent

advancement. I'm being a good company person until they notice that

I'm keen to advance. This one has her head screwed on right, was

Turian's thought. He wasn't a devious person so it wasn't as if she

was invading his privacy: everything was right up front, like an

unvoiced monologue.

As the sun reached its zenith in the brilliant cloudless skies, he

called a halt and suggested they take a quick dip at the end of the

boat yard wharf to cool off here lunch.

She peeled to swim briefs and was into the water before him,

laughing and splashing at him. He still had a finely made, strong

body, enhanced by the deep bronze of his skin.

Refreshed after the swim, they climbed back on to the wharf and

sat in the shadow of drying trawl nets.

`You're such a good worker, I'll spot you lunch,' he said

gratefully.

`One meal you may buy: two within twenty-fours is not on. I

brought enough for both of us.' His sea-light eyes crinkled into the

sun creases as he stood, dripping wet, hands on his hips and looked

down at her.

`You're a smarty, aren't you?' `Fair's fair. You helped me out of

a spot: I paid my way out of the debt. Now I want to make it one up on

you and the price is a sail when the Miraki is back in the water.

Done?' They shook on it, Turian laughing while his mind admired

her independence. She wished he wouldn't think quite so loud: it gave

her an unfair advantage over him.

And yet, she seemed to be making all the right moves to prove that

she was not as young as she might look.

It took them three more days to be sure the Miraki was seaworthy,

with the Rowan working right beside him, trying not to anticipate

pre-vocal orders too frequently. In the cool of the evening, as he

checked off completed chores on his master list, he'd tell her what

they'd be doing the next day. If she had to study up on something

varnishing required no mental effort at all, but she found the physical

effort, especially through her shoulders rather a remarkable experience

- she would access the proper authority before she went to bed. She

was sleeping much better than she had in many months.

When Turian had every inch of the Miraki, hull, deck, bilge, boom,

mast, sheets, rigging, engines, cockpit, galley, and living quarters

shipshape, he had the Favor Bay Marine Engineer come to recertify her

seaworthiness.

She passed and the Rowan could not restrain the shout of triumph

at what she considered a personal achievement.

`Now, do I get my sail?' she demanded when Turian returned from

escorting the Engineer back to the wharf.

`Weather report says tomorrow's going to be clear, with a

fifteen-knot breeze nor'-nor'east.' Turian chuckled and reached out to

ruffle her curls. She squashed the sudden surge of keen sexual

awareness of him that his casual caress elicited. She mustn't

overreact to a friendly touch. But his affectionate, half-fooling

gesture had not surprised her as much because he had extended the

caress as because physical touching was rare between Talents, and

reserved for moments to reinforce mental bridgings. She didn't wish to

prematurely give away her designs on one Captain Turian who still

considered her as a `young' girl despite her attempts to educate him.

`Yes, you get your sail. Can you take a full day of it?' `I've

sailed before, Captain Turian,' she said archly, `and I've a cast-iron

stomach.' `I'll provision her if you'll take charge of the galley,' he

offered. `And bring a change of clothing and a stout windbreaker.' He

looked appraisingly up at the sky, squinting at its brilliance, his

eyes narrowed. `I make it we'll have a change in the weather before

the day's out.' `Really?' She laughed at his assurance. `Meteorology's

pretty advanced these days.' Parting his lips in a wise smile that

showed her white but slightly crooked teeth, he nodded. `Can you be

down here at 4.00 a.m. to catch the turn of the tide?' `Aye, aye,

Captain,' and she flicked an impudent salute at him before mounting her

cycle and treadling off the wharf.

The first thing she did when she got back to the cottage was get

an update on the weather pattern. She knew that he had not accessed

his ship's facility so she was intrigued to find that a new

low-pressure pattern was forming in the arctic. How in the name of all

the holies had he known something which was happening thousands of

klicks away? And his family had never tested for Talent?

Curiouser and curiouser! The Rowan made up her sailing pack, and

stuffed in wet-weather and a few non-essentials that might prove

useful.

With her pack slung over her shoulders, she cycled down in the

faint light of the dawn, grateful she knew every rut and hole in the

road to the main wharf. When she hailed the Miraki, moored fore and

aft to the wharf and gently rocking in the outgoing tide, her voice

seemed overloud.

`Stow that cycle and loose the aft line, mister,' Turian said,

emerging from the cabin and pacing to the cockpit.

`Now, stand by the forward line and we'll get underway.' Laughing

at how nautical Turian had become, the Rowan did as she was bid and

neatly jumped to the deck to coil the forward line as the Miraki's

blades took hold and propelled her away from the wharf.

`Stow your gear, mister, and grab us both a cup of the brew.

We'll need it,' he said, `while we're clearing the harbor.' As she

cheerfully did his bidding, she was positive that this was going to be

a glorious day, certainly a highspot in the past year. She hadn't an

ounce of precognition in her Talent but there were moments, and this

was one of them, when you didn't have to be clairvoyant to know the

auspices were good.

Once clear of the harbor and beyond the fishing boats chugging

more slowly out to their day's labors, Turian ordered the sails

hoisted. The exhilaration in being under sail in a stiff breeze and

hull down in the sea thrilled the Rowan and she caught Turian's

tolerant grin at her abandonment to the experience.

`I thought you said you'd sailed before,' he said, half teasing as

they sat in the cockpit, Turian's capable hand on the tiller between

them.

`I have, but never quite like this. Always on "outings", not

adventures like this.' Turian threw back his head with a hearty guffaw.

`Well, if a common ordinary shakedown sail is an "adventure" for

you, then I'm glad to have offered you this rare occasion.' `00 Poor

kid, his mind said, though his glance on her was kind, if this is all

the adventure she's ever had.

However, he intended to give her full measure of the experience

and in doing so, forgot his own weather prediction. He had filed a day

trip to Islay, the largest of the nearby coastal islands, but they made

such good speed to their destination that he decided to continue on,

picking up the Southerly Current. That should carry them neatly to the

southern tip of Yona, then they'd swing nor'west and come up the coast

back to Favor Bay. That would make it more of an adventure for her.

Meanwhile he took great pleasure in seeing the girl so eager and

vivacious: She didn't relax much and, although he approved her

diligence, she got far too tense doing the simplest jobs. The odd time

or two she had spoken with an authority and maturity that surprised him

yet at other times she seemed even younger than she looked.

The purple mountains of Islay Island, with Yona just south of it,

were on the horizon when Turian sent her below to her galley chores.

By the time they had sated their sea-sharpened hunger, he had

steered in close enough for the settlement on Islay to be visible.

They picked up the current and the girl's eyes widened at the way

the Miraki drove now, spume flying the bow, heeled over. He had her

furl the jib and he close-hauled the mainsail. Just as she came aft

again to join him in the cockpit, he heard the chatter of the

Met-alarm.

`Grab the printout, would you, Rowan,' Ttrian said, `and get us

something warm to drink.' He craned his head about, but there weren't

many clouds yet on the northern horizon.

`You were right about a weather change, she said, coming back on

deck with steaming mugs in her hands.

`Low-pressure ridge making down from the arctic, crowded isobars

so the winds are likely to be gale-force.' She pulled the printed sheet

out of her pocket and handed it to him. `But you knew about a change

yesterday.

He laughed as he read the Met report, cramming it into his pocket

to take the mug in his free hand. `My family have been seafarers for

centuries. We've got a kind of instinct for the weather.' `You're

weather-Talents?' He gave her a very odd look. `No, nothing formal

like that.' `How do you know? Didn't you get tested?' `Why? All the

men in my family have the weather sense.

We don't need to be tested.' He shrugged, taking a cautious sip of

the hot soup in the mug.

`But . but most people want to be Talented.' `Most people want

more than they need,' he replied. `As long as I've a ship to sail and

an ocean to sail her on, enough money to keep her safely afloat, I'm

satisfied.' The Rowan stared at him, bemused by his philosophy.

`It's a good life, Rowan,' and he gave an emphatic movement of his

head. Then he smiled at her. `There have to be some like us on every

world, who are content with what they have, and not bored by sitting on

their butts all day in an office, shuffling papers about.' She caught

in his mind an acceptance of that ineffable consciousness which was not

at all a lack of ambition: but a totally different life-style. It was

part of his innate honesty and ethics. Briefly she envied him his

certitude. She had no argument against it though she could never have

been allowed to live as he could. That she almost resented.

From the moment she was rescued from the little hopper, there was

no alternative path for her to follow.

`You're a lucky man, Captain Turian,' she said, with a twisted

envious smile.

`Why is it, Rowan, that sometimes you seem decades older than you

can possibly be?' `Sometimes, Captain Turian, I am decades older than I

should be.' That puzzled him, and she smiled to herself. If naught

else works, being enigmatic might.

`We'll have to alter our plans, however, he said, hauling out the

sheet and rereading it. `We haven't a chance of making it back to

Favor Bay before those winds arrive And I don't want to be caught on

this side of the Islands.

We have a choice, and I'll leave that up to you, mister,' he shot

her a challenging glance. `We can go through the Straits,' he pointed

ahead to the fast approaching end of Islay Island, `and shelter on the

lea side of Yona. There's a nice little bay on Yona's Tail. We'll be

safe there, and tomorrow we can make our way back. Or we can go back

to Islaytown, moor her against the blow, and go ashore for the night.'

`You're the Captain.' `Passage through the Straits can be hairy at high

tide and that's what we've got.

`The Miraki would be safer on the lea side of the island, though,

wouldn't she?' His smile answered her. `Then it's the Straits.' Her

grin answered his challenge.

Turian hesitated a moment longer. Islay Straits at high tide was

a testing passage. She might have sailed a bit on her holidays, but

she wouldn't have encountered the boiling cross currents and riptide.

He'd done it often enough in the Miraki and had complete

confidence in his own seamanship and his craft. She wanted an

adventure: she was about to get one.

So, when the Miraki rounded the Gut Rocks that bordered the

entrance to the Straits, he ordered her into her wet gear and life

vest, stopping any argument from her by shrugging into his own.

`Prepare to tack, mister,' he roared at her over the surf pounding

the Gut Rocks.

By the time that was done, the Rowan had her first good look at

the surf boiling through the Straits.

`We're going through that?' she demanded, and he admired the way

she covered the sudden fright she'd experienced.

`You said you had a stomach of iron. I'm testing it) As she made

her way back to the cockpit, he grinned when he noticed how tightly she

kept a hold of the life-rail, and how neatly she balanced in her bare

feet against the plunge of the Miraki.

To himself, Turian thought that perhaps this had not been the

kindest way to test her seamanship but he was as proud of her courage.

She seemed undaunted until they hit the midpoint, and suddenly the

Miraki was cresting a huge wave, plummeting down with stomach-churning

abruptness, wallowing in the trough before being flung up again on the

next wave.

The girl beside him screamed and he shot a glance at her, her face

white as the sheet, eyes distended and staring straight ahead, in the

grip of complete terror. He spared one hand from the tiller long

enough to haul her as close to him as the tiller between them

permitted. He grabbed her rigid hand and placed it under his on the

tiller. Then he coiled his right leg around her left one, angling his

body to touch hers at as many points as the rough passage permitted.

And it wasn't the sea that terrified her. How he knew that he

never questioned. This was an old terror, somehow revived by their

situation. She was struggling with her fears, struggling with every

ounce of her. He kept as close a contact as possible, knew she'd have

bruises on her hand from his pressure but that was all he had to

reassure her.

Fortunately, for all the danger, the Straits were not long and

though under these conditions, the passage seemed to last an

unconscionably long time, he was very soon able to veer into the much

calmer waters.

`Rowan?' He let go of the tiller for long enough to pull her over

on to his knees, holding her tight against him, while he grabbed a line

to secure the tiller on the new `05

course. He cranked on the cockpit winch to trim the mainsail and

then he was free to comfort the shuddering girl. Gently he pushed the

wet curls back from her forehead. `Rowan, what scared you so?' I

couldn't help it! It wasn't the Straits. It was the way the ship

bounced and rolled and surged. Just like the hopper. I was three. My

mother left me in the hopper and it was caught in the flood, bounced

about just like that. For days. None came. I was hungry and thirsty

and cold and scared.

`It's all right now, girl. We're past it now. Smooth sailing

from now on. I promise you!' She made an effort to push him away but

Turian knew that she was far from over the shock of that revived terror

and he continued to hold her gently but firmly against him. Casting

his seaman's eye at wind and water, at the sea room between the Miraki

and the shore, he was satisfied with their current course. Lifting the

Rowan, light and shivering in his arms, he maneuvered her carefully

down into the cabin and laid her down on the bunk. He started the

kettle before he removed her life vest and wet gear. Her skin was

chilled under his hands so he wrapped her well in a blanket before he

made a restorative brew. Liberally lacing that with spirits, he handed

it to her.

`You drink that down,' he ordered in an authoritative tone that

provoked a slight smile from her as she obeyed.

Then he stripped off his own rough-weather gear, rubbed his hair

and shoulders dry before he made himself a similar brew. He sat down

on the opposite bunk and waited until she felt like talking.

`The ship?' she asked once between sips, hearing the rush of the

hull through the water.

`Don't worry about her.' Her smile was less tentative. `Don't

worry about me, then. I haven't had that particular nightmare in

years. But the motion `Strange what triggers off a bad memory, he said

easily `Catch you unawares out of nowhere. I damned near lost ship and

self in a strait similar to that one. Scared me shitless and not a

clean, dry pair of pants in the locker.

You might say,' and he ducked his head a bit, affecting

embarrassment, `I sort of try myself more often in the Islay Straits

just to prove I can't scare any more.

`I'm not sure,' she said slowly but the color was back in her face

again, `that I'd like to go back through today, if you don't mind.'

`Couldn't anyway,' he said with a laugh, and took the empty cup from

her. `Tide's the wrong way right now for the westward passage.

`Now, isn't that a pity!' Admiring her resilience, he gave her a

mock cuff on the jaw and then tossed a clean towel at her. `Dry off,

change, and get on deck again. You're standing the watch down to

Yona's Tail.' Something to do, he was telling himself as he went

topside, was much better for her than reliving that old scare. The

Rowan was in complete agreement but she couldn't quite shake off her

response to his immediate support of her in the depths of renewed

terror. He might have mocked her lack of courage: He might as easily

have ignored her as a coward but he had read her correctly and given

her exactly the physical reassurance she needed and had needed as that

three-year-old child.

Old terrors could indeed grab you at the most unexpected moments:

this was the first time so much had surfaced past the blocks they had

placed on that horrific experience. Her mind might not be allowed to

remember but her body had. This time someone had been there to hold

her hand.

She dressed in her spare dry clothes, donning the warm sweater

against the chill of bones that not even the hot stimulant had

dissipated. As she scrubbed her hair dry, she was wryly amused that

Turian hadn't realized that her explanation of her terror had been

subvocal. But then, so physically close, he didn't even need to be

emphatic for her to `path to him.

His face brightened as he saw her emerge on deck. She smiled

back.

`Helm's yours, and he pointed to the compass setting.

`I'll run up the jib. That way we'll make our anchorage well

before dark. I've changed our ETA with the Sea guards so they won't

panic but d'you want to tell anyone at Favor Bay that you won't be back

till noon?' She shook her head, aware from his obvious thoughts that he

wasn't at all disappointed in extending the cruise.

He had an edge of anger for people who had somehow put a

three-year-old child in such peril. Turian was beginning to see her

not just as another useful pair of hands, a workmate, but as a distinct

and interesting personality.

She watched his lithe body as he hoisted the jib, coiled some

lines that the rough passage had scattered, and generally checked port

and starboard on his way back to the cockpit. As he settled in the

corner of the bench, he squinted at the compass and then at the

shoreline.

`Helmsman, set a new course, ten points to starboard.' He raised

an arm, pointing toward the distant tip of Yona Island. `We're making

for an anchorage on Yona's Tail.

Come morning, we can set a straight course back to Favor Bay.'

`Aye, aye, sir. Ten points to starboard on a course for Yona's Tail.

And I beg to inquire of Captain, if he brought along enough

provisions for a starving sailor.' `No-one goes hungry aboard the

Miraki,' he said with an approving chuckle. `You can catch as much

fish as you can eat, mister, and there's plenty to garnish with.' Thick

clouds had begun to darken the skies before they reached the anchorage,

a pleasant little crescent bay with a fine sandy beach. Yona was a

popular summer resort with hundreds of similar strands along its

eastern shore. They were the only vessel in those calm waters for the

cradled sailing boats and the shoreline dwellings were still in their

winter cocoons. As soon as the sails were furled, all lines coiled,

riding and cabin lights on, Turian broke out fishing gear.

`No bait?' He grinned. `Drop your line overboard and see what

happens.' `Incredible!' was her reaction as flat fish seemed to leap on

to the hook as soon as it dropped below the surface.

`Right time of year for `em. Always plenty in this bay.

Now, five minutes from sea to plate and eat as much as you can.

The Rowan did for she had never been so hungry, nor appreciated a

plain meal more. As she washed plates, pans, and mugs after the meal,

she was suffused with an unaccustomed sense of contentment. She was

also tired, with a fatigue of body, not mind; that was as soothing as

it was soporific.

`Hey, you're asleep on your feet, mister,' Turian said, his voice

warm with amusement but his brows were slightly puckered in concern.

`I'm all right, now, Turian, really I am. You were marvelous back

there. If you'd been in the hopper with me, I wouldn't have been so

scared.' At the anger in his face, she held up a hand, `It wasn't

anyone's fault. In fact, I survived because I was in the hopper. The

only one who did.' Then she wondered if she'd given away more than she

intended. To hear Siglen tell it, everyone on the planet had been

aware of her terror. Maybe he'd been at sea. He certainly wasn't

insensitive.

`You've no family?' Somehow that distressed Turian most.

`I have very good friends who have cared for me better than family

would.' He shook his head. `Family's best. You can always count on

family. Surely you had kin left someplace?' The Rowan shrugged. `You

don't miss what you've never had, you know.' She knew that upset him

deeply, a man who knew every one of his blood relatives, to whom family

ties were sacred. `I'll have a family of my own one day,' she said as

much as a comfort for his distress and a promise to herself. Maybe

that's why Reidinger quizzed her so on the course students: he seemed

to dwell more on the boys than the girls. Primes were supposed to form

alliances, preferably with other high Talents, to perpetuate their own

abilities. Was Earth Prime also a marriage broker?

With that running through her mind, she was unprepared for

Turian's embrace. She clamped tightly down on her emotions as his arms

enclosed her and drew her tenderly against him. She surrendered to the

luxury of being caressed, the feeling of a warm, strong body pressed

against her, of gentle hands stroking her head, rubbing up and down her

back. She turned her head against his chest and heard a heartbeat,

faster than normal and knew that Turian was reacting to his outrage

over her orphaned state.

And suddenly the Rowan realized that this was decision time:

without meaning to, she had achieved the desired effect on Turian.

With only the slightest mental push, she could.

She didn't have to make a decision. Turian did it for her. A

wave of tenderness, tinged only slightly with pity, but mainly

comprised of approval for her courage and resilience, emanated from the

man. She had never felt so appreciated, so comforted and . . . and

wanted. Startled by the intensity of his emotion, she looked up and

received his gentle but insistent kiss.

The Rowan had no time to do more than try to reduce the surge of

her emotional response to an acceptable level.

The past few hours had awakened many emotions long kept under

strict control. To have contained them all would have had serious

repercussions. She'd have enough, and so would the unsuspecting

Turian, if she wasn't careful. And she didn't want to have to BE

careful for once in her life. Sensuality flared into full awareness in

mind, heart, and body and as Turian responded, she received his

attentions with wholehearted honesty.

He did not expect her to have been untouched and she was aware of

both anger at her deception and his inability to slacken the

incandescent desire which now consumed him. So she encouraged him with

body and mind, with her hands and her lips. The hurt was minimal to

the blaze of passion that overwhelmed him which she experienced through

his mind and touch. She cursed her own ineptitude which kept her from

matching his release but the glory which awaited her the next time she

made love with him was vividly seared in her mind.

The Rowan awoke suddenly, aware that the comforting, warm length

of Turian was missing from the narrow bunk on which they had fallen

asleep. It hadn't been the gentle slip-slop of waves against the sides

of the Miraki which had roused her. It was Turian's mental distress.

He was suffering intense feelings of guilt, self-castigating

himself for the loss of control which had resulted in deflowering a

virgin, anger with her for what he thought was a studied attempt to

seduce him, and a terrible longing to repeat the act of love which had

overwhelmed him with its intensity.

The Rowan felt keen remorse for his state of mind.

What had begun for her as half-game, half-challenge had backfired

with disastrous effect on an honest man, well content with his work and

his life-style. She was little better than Moria!

She rose, dressed rapidly but the cold was pervasive so she

wrapped the blanket firmly around her as she quickly made two mugs of a

steaming stimulant. Securing the blanket about her with one hand while

balancing both mugs with a touch of mental assistance, she went

topside.

Turian was slouched in the cockpit in a mind funk, shivering

convulsively in a mental and physical chill of devastating proportions.

His mind kept inexorably returning to the intense sexuality of

their spontaneous union and his inability to control his participation.

`We need to talk, Turian,' she said quietly, startling him. She

handed him a mug and, throwing part of the blanket over his shoulders,

deliberately sat close beside him. `You've no cause at all to feel

guilty about last night.' He shot her a furious glance. `How do you

know how I feel?' `Why else would you be sitting out on a freezing deck

looking as if you'd committed a major crime. Drink up, you need the

warmth.' She used the firm tone Lusena often adopted with her and he

took a judicious sip.

`Now,' she said firmly, giving it a mental accent, `let's come to

an understanding. I didn't set out to have you seduce me.' He snorted

disbelief, hauling the blanket around his right shoulder, but he did

not move his chilled body from her warmth. `But I did want you to stop

looking at me as a kid, a young girl, an unperson. I wanted very much

for you to see me! Me, the Rowan.' Slowly he turned his head toward

her, the whites of his eyes more visible in the dark as they widened in

the surprise of recognition.

`I remember that name. I did meet you before. I knew your face

was somehow familiar.' `I was with a party of four, three girls and my

guardian, four summers ago. You sailed us about. At the sea gardens,

one of the girls, a terrible flirt, got badly stung because she didn't

listen to your warning.' `And you had, and treated the little bitch.'

Then he cocked his head a bit. `How old are you, Rowan?' `I'm

eighteen,' she said, facetiously adding, `going on eighty. So I'm old

enough to have an affair and to know when I should. But honestly, it

just happened. I liked helping you fix up the Miraki. It's such a

change from the sort of work I do all year long. That alone will make

this the most memorable holiday I've ever had, Turian, and last night

was pure serendipity. I don't see much of that, I assure you.

She was reaching him with her quiet explanation, for he was

basically a sensible man. A hand, warm from the mug he'd been holding,

covered hers. She could feel the tautness of body and mind through

that contact and tried to find in his mind a clue to reduce that

stress. He was still thinking in a circle that went from her youth to

last night's eroticism.

`I've made love to a lot of women since I first learned how but

I've never had it quite like you!' He let his breath out heavily.

`Never like that before!' His mind paused once more on that

unexpected blazing intensity that caused his frame to tremble at its

recall.

`You've about ruined me for anyone else.' He resented that. He

liked his affairs short and sweet and uncomplicated, affairs in which

he was always the dominant partner and in complete control as he had

not been last night.

`Me? the kid, ruining you, Captain Turian?' she asked, with

humorous skepticism. `I doubt that, though that's quite a compliment

you've paid me. I'd no idea what to expect once we got started.

You're a marvelously tender lover. Even if I have no other

experience for comparison, I could appreciate that. And I know you for

an honest, decent, caring man. But ruined? Highly unlikely. You

couldn't ever settle to just one woman, or one port and one reach of

the Altairian seas. If you want my opinion,' and she had to phrase

this carefully or give away her illegal prying into his personal files,

`I don't see you as a family man though your kin mean much to you. But

I just can't see you staying on the land to raise kids. The Miraki's

wife and child to you. I'm right, aren't I?' She rather hoped her sly

cajolery would work and was immensely relieved to feel the shift in his

thoughts at her candid remarks. `Even if we had a chance of some sort

of an association, this ship would win and i'd be the one left dry He

gave a wry laugh. She knew that he was within an inch of reaching up

to ruffle her hair in that casually affectionate gesture, but his

mental state was still inhibiting him. She took his hand and laid her

cheek against it, to allow a healing anodyne of respect and abiding

friendliness to seep through the touching.

`I shall never forget how you comforted me, Turian, coming through

the Straits, and that you knew I needed comfort. That was so generous

of you and it was a kindliness with which I am totally unfamiliar. It

disarmed me completely, you know.' He nodded, understanding at several

levels in his mind what she was trying to convey to him.

`What are you really, Rowan?' `I'm an orphan, I'm eighteen, I'm a

Talent, and I serve in Altair's Tower.

She heard the sudden intake of his breath and felt awe color his

mental image of her.

`Like Prime Siglen?' For though he knew what Tower personnel did

and how they did it, he couldn't quite place his companion in that

context.

`Well, I'm not a Prime,' she said with a laugh, hiding the

half-truth. `But it's a lonely job and I've got to isolate myself from

the people I work with. I can't be the sort of informal captain you

are. Being your crew has been such a marvelous experience all by

itself. Working with you to set the Miraki to rights, just the two of

us, was as far from my life in the Tower as you can get. I haven't

ever had such a wonderful week. I certainly didn't intend to repay

your friendship with a sexual imposition.

`Imposition?' He almost shouted at her, and she knew she had

struck just the right note. `I've heard it called many things, but not

an imposition!' He gave a bark of laughter and suddenly all the tension

and dismay dissolved from his thoughts. `Imposition, indeed.' The dawn

was brightening the sky and she could see the amused expression on his

face, echoing the recovery of his mental equilibrium.

`Well, then,' she began in a meek voice though she was emboldened

by his resilience, `without prejudice and seeing that this is a unique

opportunity, unlikely to recur, could we impose on each other again?'

`If you've any Talent, Rowan,' and his expression mirrored the desire

in his mind, `you'll know I'd like that more than anything else right

now.' Then he smiled, ruffled her hair, and added, `except perhaps some

breakfast to give us both the energy we're going to need.' It was late

afternoon when they reached the wharf at Favor Bay. The Rowan could,

and did, make certain that an easy companionship had grown up between

them on the return voyage. He had talked a good deal about previous

voyages around the planet, about his many relations, and, sitting as

close to him as possible, she had learned more about her native planet

than she had ever thought to know.

They were both silent as they moored the ship and did the final

chores, setting the ship to rights, cleaning the galley, but there

wasn't much more, or too much, to be said. She stuffed her salty

clothes into her backpack, climbed on to the wharf, and collected her

cycle. Turian stood in her way for a long moment and she knew he was

equally loath for this idyll to end.

`I must leave, Turian. Clear skies and good sailing.' `Good luck,

Rowan,' he said in a low voice, heart and mind reaching out to her but

he stepped. aside and she cycled past him, feeling his regret as sharp

as her own.

GROUND VEHICLE COLLISION. REPORT IMMEDIATELY. SIGLEN By the time

she had cycled up the long hill from the anchorage, she was sweating so

it didn't matter if some of what poured down her cheeks happened to be

tears. It had been a beautiful interlude. Lusena had been right to

suggest it, however obliquely. Would Lusena know what had happened?

Lusena knew just about everything else about her. Such a magical

incident would take a lot of camouflage from her eagle-eyed guardian.

Did she really want to cover it all up? Wouldn't Lusena rejoice

that she had met such a lovely lover?

She had entered the cottage, slung her backpack down the corridor

to the laundry room before the sustained squeal of the answer phone

penetrated her self absorption.

There was a sheaf of messages, curling down from the machine to

the floor. So many in just thirty-six hours?

`Now what?' The Rowan resented the return of the pressures she had

been able to forget. She tore off the final sheet and bundled the

whole screed up, settling herself first in a chair before reading any

The first, from Lusena, had arrived just after she had left the cottage

for the Miraki's journey and announced the triumphant arrival of twin

girls and the prognosis of a speedy recovery of their mother from a

prolonged and complicated labor. A second, also from Lusena, was a

confirmation of Lusena's opinion that both babies had recorded

high-potential Talent at birth. The third was her pleasure that Finnan

had come to view his nieces and there had been a marvelous family

reunion. The fourth was a query from Gerolaman about her lack of

response to messages. The fifth which had come in the previous evening

was an order from Siglen to contact the Tower immediately. The sixth,

and the first words made the Rowan yearn for Turian's supportive

presence, burst the fragile bubble of the idyll.

MUST INFORM YOU THAT LUSENA SHEVALLOW AY KILLED IN The dateline

was 1220 today as the Miraki had been plowing across the Southerly

Current under full canvas through the seas still running high from the

previous night's storms. She and Turian had been side by side in the

cockpit, warm with companionship and shared love.

The tears streamed down the Rowan's face. `Must inform,' she

muttered. `No regrets, Siglen? No regrets at all that a fine loving

woman is gone?' She let grief take her then, vainly searching for a

mind touch that was lost forever to her, lost as the comfort of the

woman who had cared for her with such dedication. The ache expanded,

closing her throat, pushing down into her belly, shoving upward to

crowd into her brain and press behind her eyes. Tears flowed and the

sobs wracked her body. Turian would comfort her. Surely she had the

right to ask that of him. But why involve him in a private grief?

It was something one had to live through; the ache of the heart,

the fruitless searching of the mind, and the sorrow of the spirit.

Lusena! Lusena! Lusena!

The comunit's piercing summons was a harsh intrusion.

Irritably, she `ported the connection open and the screen lit up.

Fortunately it displayed a worried Gerolaman.

`Rowan! Where have you been?' `I was sailing. We were weathered

in last night in a deserted anchorage. I'm only just in the door.

What's happening with. . -` `Siglen had a fit when the accident

report came in. She was positive you were with Lusena and she was in

some state.' `Thought she'd got rid of me, huh?' Gerolaman's scowl

reproved her. `We were all worried, Rowan. Especially after Finnan

said you hadn't accompanied her.' `Bardy needed her mother. She didn't

need me hanging about and at eighteen I'm well able to take care of

myself for a few days of holiday.' She knew she sounded querilous but

she couldn't help it. `Oh, Gerolaman, Lusena was . `and she covered

her face with her hands, weeping bitterly.

`I know, honey, I know. It won't be the same. It's just that. .

. we didn't know where you were. And you had to know.' `Siglen

herself broke the news.' `Give her some credit, Rowan,' and Gerolaman's

voice was rough, `she was upset, too. And got worse thinking you might

have been killed. Secretary Camella's handling arrangements which is

very good of her. Now I know where you are, I'll come and get you.

The Rowan smeared the tears off her cheeks with both hands. `I

appreciate it, Gerry, but there's no need. I'll be there as soon as I

can close up this place.' She cut the line before he could protest.

She ignored the comunit while she gathered up her belongings,

showered and dressed, phoned the caretaker that she was vacating. From

the porch she could make out the Miraki, moored to the wharf. She had

that memory at least!

Then, for the first time, she `ported herself directly to her

quarters at the Tower. She'd had the range and strength to do so for

several years but this was the first time she'd had occasion to make

use of that ability. Rascal launched himself at her from the bookcase,

muttering imprecations at her as he clung to her shoulder. She turned

her head to bury her face in his soft fur, and felt the sting of tears

again. She bit her lip and walked toward the kitchen to give him a

treat for his welcome. She couldn't bear to look down the corridor to

Lusena's empty room.

The comunit rang imperatively. `I'm back, Gerry, she said.

`It is not Gerolaman,' Siglen's thick voice answered her.

`Where have you been, you irresponsible child? Stand where I can

view you. This instant.' `In a moment, Prime, I'm presently

indisposed.' The Rowan stroked Rascal as he happily munched his morsel

before she complied.

`Where have you . . Siglen's protruberant eyes bulged still

further as she took in the Rowan's altered appearance. `Your hair?

You cut your hair? And it's the wrong color! What have you been

doing? Where have you been? Do you not realize that Lusena is to be

interred today and you must, in decency, attend.' `I'll go as soon as

I've changed and as soon as I know where the ceremony will be.'

`Secretary Camella is representing the Council and you will have to

hurry to be ready. And really, you must do something about your hair

before attending an interment.' `Why? My hair was Lusena's idea.

Excuse me, Prime. If haste is the order, I have things to do.'

`And you will report to me the instant you return, do you hear me,

Rowan?

You have tried my patience beyond all bounds.

Unable to bear such recriminations, the Rowan cut and closed down

the connection. Geny, tell me where. I want to go on my own!

Gerolaman was not a sender but she felt him receive her message

and knew he was acting on it. She didn't need another shower but after

she had changed to suitable clothing for the sad duty, she bathed her

face in cold water until he arrived. Rascal coughed a warning of his

entry.

There was great pity in the stationmaster's face for her, and a

sorrow of his own for the loss of a dear and valued colleague.

`Can I say anything to help, Rowan?' he asked, his hands held open

in a gesture of helplessness. He was dressed with appropriate

sobriety, his usually unkempt hair parted and flat on his skull. His

eyes were red, too.

She shook her head. `You'll come with me?' `The Secretary of the

Interior `Camella will be in floods: she was very close to Lusena . .

.` it hurt even to speak her name. `I can't stand more emotional

backlash, not all the way to the interment.

If we can get to your office where I can use gestalt, I'll get us

both there. I'll want to see Bardy and Finnan. At least, she was

there when Bardy needed her.' `Now wait a minute, Rowan, you can't tap

the gestalt without Siglen's permission?' `Scared I'll mis-jump us?'

`No, trying to keep you acting sensibly!' `There is nothing sensible

about grief,' she flashed at him. Then grimaced and added in an

affected tone, a hand to her forehead, `I'm grief-stricken. I don't

quite know what I'm doing. Will you come with me?' `I'd better!' He

turned and led the way down the corridor toward his office. She

followed.

Once inside, she placed both hands on his shoulders. `Is there

anything medium large in the cradles right now?' `No. Not right now.

Siglen is upset, you know,' and his fierce expression surprised

the Rowan. Gerolaman had several loyalties but the Tower was the top

priority. `She hasn't been working well today `I can see that,' the

Rowan remarked flatly, glancing at the pressure idling in the

generators. `What are the coordinates?' Gerolaman hesitated but she

hooked her fingers sharply into his flesh and he gave them in a grating

voice. She leaned into the leashed power of the Tower's generators as

she had done time and again over the past three years. She felt the

surge through her and, making sure of her grip on Gerolaman, she

`ported them both.

She almost laughed at the relief on the stationmaster's face as

they arrived, without so much as a landing stumble, in front of the

Claimtown's one municipal building.

ROWAN! How DARE you! Siglen roared in her mind.

Leave me alone right now, Siglen. You can read me all the

pertinent Rules and Regulations I've just broken when I get back to the

Tower.

Siglen had no reply to such mutinous impertinence but the Rowan

was aware of peripheral fuming and boiling fury.

The Rowan ignored that as she ignored Gerolaman's concerned

expression. `C'mon. Bardy's house is down that way.

`Lusena'll be in there,' Gerolaman pointed to the building.

`There'll be nothing of my Lusena in there. I'll remember her as

she left Favor Bay. But I can help Bardy In truth, the Rowan was

almost afraid of confronting her foster sister. She had monopolized so

much of Lusena's life, never mind the fact that Lusena had willingly

accepted the post. Bardy had been solicitous and kind to the

fosterling but there had been times when both Bardy and Finnan had

resented their mother's absorption in her charge. Why wouldn't they?

That's why she wanted Gerolaman with her, to see that she faced

her foster sibs, to deflect any recriminations.

There were none. Instead Bardy, true daughter of a generous

natured mother, comforted the Rowan who burst into tears at the sight

of her. Finnan threw his arms about both women and, with Gerolaman,

comforted them.

Then there were the twins to be admired and one of them did seem

to be a tiny replica of her grandmother which was both reassuring and

saddening.

So it was as a family, united in their sorrow, that they all went

to the interment. The Secretary of the Interior was there, obviously

relieved to see the Rowan in attendance.

It was a mark of considerable respect that it was the Secretary

herself who read the eulogy but the Rowan `heard' more than the sincere

words: She `heard' much from the others gathered there, and some of it

was unkind, untrue, and specious. She closed those minds out and

concentrated on the spoken words. The tears continued to fall into her

hands. Then a large handkerchief was offered by Finnan, and Bardy's

hand, so like Lusena's in shape, closed firmly on the Rowan's arm.

Through that contact, she was one briefly with her.

By custom, internment was not a lengthy ceremony on Altair.

Afterward the Secretary, firmly but kindly, insisted that the

Rowan and Gerolaman accompany her back to Port Altair in her fast

shuttle.

Numbed by her acute loss, the Rowan acquiesced. Bardy and Finnan

said they could keep in touch with her: they still considered her their

little sister. But, on the trip back, the Rowan's emotions were so

overloaded that she curled up in a chair and closed out even the tacit

understanding sympathy of the Secretary and Gerolaman. As anodyne, she

forced her mind to dwell only on the tranquil return voyage of the

Miraki, cutting through the lucid blue waters, the gleaming whiteness

of the sail on that dazzlingly bright morning, the sensation of wind on

her face, sun on her body, until the monotonous rhythm of the sea

lulled her into an exhausted sleep.

She awoke, late the next morning, in her own bed. Rascal mumbling

beside her head on the pillow.

Rowan? She recognized Bralla's tentative voice. Reidinger has

left word that you are to contact him as soon as you wake.

Reidinger? Can't Siglen do her own chewing out?

I assure you, Rowan, and Bralla sounded prim with rebuke, Siglen

quite understood your state of mind yesterday and wishes to hear no

more about it. We are all simpathetic to your terrible loss. But

Reidinger was most emphatic about an immediate contact.

He can speak loud enough to wake me.

No-one was going to wake you up, Rowan, and again Bralla reproved

her.

Sorry, Bralla.

That's all right, dear, and Bralla's tone was kinder by many

degrees.

I'll get a brew and speak to Earth Prime immediately.

Rascal clung to her, claws uncomfortably latching into her new

curls, as she got out of bed, tossed a robe about her, and went to make

a stimulant. There'd been a note of sympathy from Reidinger among the

pile on Bardy's table Well, he owed her a lot.

She picked up the hologram that Reidinger had sent her of himself,

to use as a focus. He'd usually contacted her.

She took a long swig of the hot drink and arranged herself for the

long mental leap to Earth. Reidinger's hologram had him seated in a

chair, arms on the rest, hands relaxed, a position of repose which she

secretly felt he had assumed only for the replication. Even so, his

alert, heavy-featured face, the erect posture of his body, gave off

clues of the tremendous energy and potential of the man. His dark blue

eyes seemed to spark - a trick of the holographer - as if, even over

the light years separating them, he had a total awareness of her, the

Rowan.

Reidinger! She focused her mind on those large, bright eyes. She

was about to repeat the call with more force when she felt his touch.

Awake, are you? He might have been in the next room so strong was

the contact.

Did I wake you? I was told to make contact as soon as I could.

It won't be the first time and I don't use sleep much.

Gerolaman tells me you haven't sat in yet on this latest course.

Before she could frame a response, he went on. I want you to sit

in, sort out which personalities you like, with a view to a Tower staff

of at least twenty. Gerolaman assures me that your judgment's good.

It's much easier, and now his tone was sardonic, if we can start

off a new Tower with a well integrated staff, otherwise efficiency

suffers.

So take your time choosing.

The Rowan shot upright in the chair. A new Tower?

Girl's quick. Yes, a new Tower. On Callisto so it's a

terraformed Station. FIT agree that Callisto can route a lot of the

stuff that has had to come in System first before it can be rerouted.

You'll be saving me a lot of headaches and give me time to acquire

others that only Earth Prime can solve. You're young, I know, but

you'll be under my supervision and if you think Siglen's been rough on

you, you'll soon learn that she was really the lesser of two evils.

As soon as you've assembled a crew, you and they will depart

directly for Callisto. Check in with me tomorrow at precisely 9.00

earth time.

The gap left by his departure was almost palpable in the quiet

room.

`A new Tower,' she murmured, stunned. `On Callisto?' That was one

of Jupiter's moons. Why there? Why not on the Earth's Moon? Surely

that would have been feasible with all the terraforming that had been

done to improve that satellite. `I'm to assemble a team? I'm to . .

. I'm to be a Prime!' Gerolaman, Reidinger's assigned me to

Callisto Tower!

I can't say that you deserve such a signal honor, young woman,

Siglen answered her. At least you will be under his direct supervision

and I must say, after the other day, that's exactly where you should

be!

Quite right, Siglen. Quite right. Not even Siglen was going to

spoil her elation.

Lusena would have cheered! The Rowan closed her eyes over the

pain the errant thought evoked. Lusena would never know that her

charge had achieved Prime status.

And the Rowan could not suppress her bitter tears which she wiped

quickly away when she heard the rap on her door.

Gerolaman entered, his smile tentative until he saw her bravely

smile back at him. `That's my girl. Put regret aside. She'd have

been proud, no doubt of it, as I am but,' and he shook the sheaf of

hard copy he held, `we've work to do now in earnest, Prime Rowan. My

pleasure and my privilege to assist. Work did help: She had to

concentrate on the reports first, and then had to match them up with

the people on the course. Half a dozen times, she found herself

thinking she must tell Lusena this or that, and the anguish would seize

her momentarily until she relentlessly pushed it back. Sorrow was

yesterday: today was for her future, the future which Lusena had

cherished for her - her own Station and the title of Prime.

Four years on and she still liked Ray Loftus and Joe Toglia as

technicians and maintenance personnel. Gerolaman approved for they had

good records as assistants in their skills and had worked at Procyon,

Betelgeuse, and Earth. Mauli and Mick were available for reassignment

and they had always intrigued the Rowan. From the new people on this

course, she chose a Bill Powers as assistant supercargo from his record

as well as his calm, stolid manner and a slow smile.

`As good a reason as any,' Gerolaman remarked, `considering you're

going to have to look at his face a lot.' An older woman, a Capellan

named Cardia Ren Harter, might work out as Stationmaster. She'd temped

in that position on Betelgeuse and Prime David recommended her. She

wondered about the fifty-year-old scan reader, Zabe Talumet: His

qualifications were sound but he seemed to have moved around a lot.

But he had a good rating in his profession.

`You'll have to expect some shake-ups before you shake down,

Rowan,' Gerolaman assured her. `Personalities have to mesh and that

takes time, trial and often error.

Whatever crew you pick aren't set in plasglas forever, you know.

It took nearly six years before Siglen was satisfied, and some of

her choices have always astonished me and Bralla but we all work well

when it comes to the crunch.' Reidinger sent four more T-4 and T-5

ratings from Earth Prime, and when she couldn't find a good life

support manager, bullied someone from the Moon into taking a promotion

in the Callisto's system.

Three days later, Bralla earnestly requested the Rowan to have

dinner with Siglen.

`She really did feel badly about Lusena. And she was terrified

that you'd been in the crash, too. It took her a nervous half hour

before she located the wreck and she scared the local officials out of

their wits with a direct consultation. She's really thrilled for your

promotion, Rowan, truly she is.' The Rowan entertained a niggle of

suspicion about Siglen being thrilled for her sudden advancement by

Reidinger. Altair's Prime had always maintained that the Rowan would

not be ready for any responsibilities for years. Certainly the Rowan

had never been called to account for her impertinence, and direct

action, disregarding Siglen's explicit orders. Still there was little

point in any unnecessary bad feelings between herself and Altair's

Prime.

So, the Rowan purchased a plainly cut, flowing dinner dress in a

pale gray - about the only color that wouldn't clash with the

flamboyant colors in Siglen's dining area, with a silver torque, to

make a subtle statement of her adult status. She presented herself at

Siglen's suite to be greeted by Bralla who nodded approvingly and

ushered her into the reception area.

Siglen had made significant inroads on the dainty canapes which

accompanied the aperitifs. Three places at the dining table meant that

Bralla was included, a fact which reassured the Rowan.

Siglen initiated the conversation with a long explanation of

systems updates which Reidinger had discussed with her at length. The

Rowan listened politely all through the first three courses of which

she ate only enough to be courteous.

`It really is too mean of Reidinger to transfer you just when

Altair will be upgraded. You could learn so much from the new

equipment if you stay just a few more months here so that I can advise

you.

`If it's all new equipment, Siglen, you'll be learning to operate

it, too, won't you?' replied the Rowan logically.

She noticed the twitch of annoyance on the Prime's face but she

could find no break in the woman's mental shield.

The twitch expanded slightly into a weak smile.

`I do wish you ate properly, my dear. I gave a good deal of

thought to this evening's meal. You are so thin and whatever will they

think of me,' a jeweled thumb pressed dramatically against Siglen's

large bosom, `and the way I have cared for you.' `The medics say I have

an active metabolism, Siglen, and I'm unlikely ever to put on much

extra weight.' `But you will need it, my dear, to sustain you.'

Siglen's flabby face now registered extreme concern.

`To sustain me? I believe the hydroponics units at the Callisto

Station are state of the art and can supply every known edible fruit

and vegetable.

`I'm sure you'll be all right once you get to Callisto,' and there

was an ominous suggestion of imminent disaster in Siglen's round tones.

`Of course I'll be all right on Callisto.' `Yes, but you have to

get there!' Then, to the Rowan's utter amazement, Siglen burst into

tears, covering her face with her napkin. She reached out a hand to

grab the Rowan's and there was no doubt of the woman's concern and

anxiety. The girl looked to Bralla for an explanation. Terror pulsed

through Siglen's fingers to the Rowan who worked her fingers free,

wanting no part, however vicarious, of that particular emotion.

Bralla looked equally upset, her mouth quivering.

`What are you talking about, Siglen?' Mopping her eyes, Siglen

gave the Rowan a single woeful glance before propping both heavy arms

on the table and once again giving way to noisy sobs.

`It's space, my dear,' Bralla said, her expression rife with

dread.

`What do you mean?' `You know what travel in space does to Primes,

Rowan,' Bralla told her earnestly as if that explained everything.

`David suffered agonies when he left here for Betelgeuse.

He was so unwise to believe that a male Prime would be unaffected.

Capella took three months to recover from her disorientation.'

`I've `ported myself from Favor Bay to Bardy's Claimsite without any

disorientation -`But you were planet bound, with home gravity . .

Bralla argued.

`And I've flown in shuttles all over Altair.' `Shuttles are not at

all the same thing as being `ported, Siglen said disputatiously. `Oh,

I have dreaded this from the moment I heard the rumor about Callisto

Station. I begged Reidinger to consider T-2s, any sort of combination

but you, Rowan. I couldn't let you, a mere baby, go through that

terror so soon after your hideous ordeal. Now you don't even have

Lusena to support you m your hour of need.' The Rowan hadn't thought of

that abortive attempt to send her three-year-old self to Earth for her

training. But she did indeed remember the dark passage into the

shuttle: into an enclosed space. The erratic motion of the Miraki

through the Straits reinforced that ancient terror far too vividly.

`Nonsense. I'll be perfectly all right. I was a child and no-one

had explained anything to me. They just said I had to . . . and she

opened her eyes wide so as not to see the huge frightening maw they had

been urging her into. `I do wish, Siglen, that you didn't make a

mountain out of a molehill. I'll be perfectly all right.' `That's what

David said when I warned him about spatial disorientation. Capella

believed me and went heavily sedated but it still took her three months

to reorient herself. I wish I could spare you this when you have so

recently lost your confidante. There isn't one of the T-4s in

Gerolaman's course who'd be any use to you.

Bralla agrees with me.' Bralla nodded vigorously and the Rowan

kept a tight grip on a growing vexation.

`If I don't find a T-4 from this group, I'm sure there'll be

plenty more willing to accept a promotion to a new Tower. Now, do

please stop overdramatizing a simple `portation. I know that you'll

make the shift with your usual skill, Siglen, so I've no worries at

all.' She stayed only as long as minimum politeness dictated and then

went in search of Gerolaman.

`Well, it's true enough about David and Capella and she went

completely sedated and cocooned in a special shock capsule,' Gerolaman

said. `I know Siglen was so sick she lost 5 kilos. And no Prime I've

ever heard of has ever been able to `port himself or herself through

space. Reidinger went to the Moon once and never stirred off planet

afterwards.' `I'm the youngest Prime, and healthy, athletic . .

`Everything the others weren't,' Gerolaman finished with a

malicious gleam in his eyes. `I'll lay bets on you, m'girl. Now, what

d'you think of that T-4, Forrie Toy?' `I don't like him at all. He

eyes me the way Siglen does a particularly creamy eclair and he won't

meet my eyes. He slams shields up against even the most courteous

request.

I'd never be able to work with such a closed mind.' `Procyon's

sending over a T-4 female.

`I work better with a male pairing.

`Well, Siglen would have preferred to but Bralla was the only one

to suit her, ever.

`Gerolaman, do I have to remind you that I am NOT remotely like

Siglen.' `No, you don't, Rowan, but we still have to form the nucleus

of a working team before you reach Callisto!' `I'll try the woman.'

Channi could not have been more of an opposite had a mad genetic

scientist deliberately designed them. She was a half-meter taller than

the Rowan, big-boned, a woman who moved with deliberation (probably

because she was afraid of injuring someone smaller than her large

self), and while she was tested as a T-4 rating in both telepathy and

teleportation, the Rowan could not achieve any rapport.

`She slows me up as if I was trying to work through a wall,' the

Rowan said and began to worry that she'd never assemble a cohesive

Tower staff.

Where Gerolaman kept reassuring her that there was no question

that she would soon find appropriate matches of skills and Talents,

Bralla would appear with suggestions from Siglen which invariably

proved totally useless. The time for the Rowan's scheduled departure

drew closer and she became more anxious to start out on the right note.

ROWAN! Reidinger's unmistakable tones roared through her skull.

Stop that fidgeting. You've got enough to run a Tower right now

with the seven you've picked and the ten who're waiting for you at

Callisto.

You're going to have to relax. I don't want you in a muck sweat

when you board the transport.

And how are you betting on my survival? she demanded acidly On

what? The genuine surprise in his tone reassured her more than the

diatribe he launched when he understood what the bet was.

Mauli and Mick came to help her pack the things she would be

transferring to Callisto. Their companionship helped ease the

inevitable heartache as she came across gifts that Lusena had given her

over the years. From his special caricase, Rascal alternated between

acid comments on his incarceration and plaintive requests to be allowed

out but he had proved too much of a nuisance, hiding in crates or

attacking Mauli. When everything had been neatly stowed in the

container, the Rowan with Mauli and Mick, `ported it into its assigned

place in the transport waiting on the cradle for the morning's lift.

`Are you sure you don't want to sleep in the guest house?' Mauli

asked, looking about the rooms empty except for Rascal's case.

`I'll be fine. I'll just move a few things in from the stores,'

the Rowan reassured them and saw them firmly out of her quarters.

She put Rascal's cage safely in the food preparation area which

was the only room that she and Lusena had not redecorated from Siglen's

original offering. Then, working at top speed, the Rowan papered,

painted, and restored the rooms just as they had been on the day she

had moved into the Tower. For just this night, it wouldn't hurt her to

sleep on that ghastly pink and orange bed. She was tired enough so she

wouldn't even notice. But Rascal did and it took him a long time to

stop his disgusted commentary.

If the Rowan could have avoided the farewell rituals, she would

have. She hadn't had much sleep on that wretchedly soft bed and

formalities invariably set her teeth on edge. All the Secretaries were

there, each with something encouraging to say to her and a small

present to brighten her new quarters. Secretary Camella wavered

between radiant smiles and a teary face. Siglen wept copiously on

Bralla's shoulder, moaning about the imminent tribulations and why

wouldn't anyone listen to her and take proper care of her little pupil,

the best one she had ever trained, and to have to endure what was

before her.

Leading her Tower personnel up the gangway into the big and

brightly lit transport, the Rowan ignored a flashback to the day it had

been Purza she'd carried, not Rascal, up a ramp. She turned for one

last wave at the assembled, and confidently followed the steward to her

room.

`You've a barquecat?' the man exclaimed, noticing her burden.

`Rascal. The Mayotte let me have him four years ago.

He's been a super friend.

`Mayotte, huh? You rate, Prime. You got to be real special to be

voted a Mayotte barquecat.

`What do you have on board?' and the stimulating exchange lasted

until he slid back the door of her cabin, explaining that it was larger

than most accommodations and showing her the various facilities.

The Rowan pretended interest but she had to swallow frequently and

she began to sweat even before she thanked the garrulous steward and

finally managed to ease him out the door. The cabin was very small.

She'd been in shower stalls that were larger. But then she

wouldn't have to be in it long.

Now, please don't worry, dear. Really, there is absolutely

nothing to worry about, Siglen's anxious tones blossomed in her mind.

It isn't the same sort of mind-wrenching trip that I had to take

to get here the first time, you know, before Altair Tower was

operational.

Siglen's mind was roiling with fear for Rowan. The girl could

easily visual the slab of a woman, supine in her couch, her eyes on the

vessel's coordinates on the ceiling screen, her fingers checking and

checking the gestalt thrust needed for the launch. It was a scene she

had witnessed time and again, but not at this end of the operation.

Bralla would be hovering in the background. I do hope everything

will go smoothly for you, dear, Siglen continued, her anxiety

intensifying. I've checked and double checked and everything is in

perfect working order. I just wish I didn't have to be the one The

Rowan gritted her teeth. The last thing she needed was Siglen

reminiscing over her tribulations on the journey from Earth to Altair.

The woman meant well.

The Rowan urged the lift-off claxon to sound, signaling their

imminent departure. Involved in gestalt, Siglen could not transfer

mental garbage. What was keeping the woman from completing the lift?

Oh, oh, Bralla, and Siglen's wide open mind wailed as the Rowan

child once had done. How can I do this to her?

The Rowan tried to close out a sudden whirling, mindboggling

disorientation.

Lift, Siglen! Now is not the time to dally! Get me off planet

NOW! the Rowan cried, unwilling to endure any more delay colored by a

cowardly old woman's ancient fears.

The Rowan leaned back against the door, closing her mind to

Siglen's moans. Siglen was frightening herself.

The Rowan wasn't at all frightened, even if the cabin suddenly

seemed constricting. The cabin on the Miraki had been small but the

Miraki had been on the sea which rolled around Altair. There was fresh

air all over. She took deep gulps of air and it tasted properly. She

knew from standard procedures that air was replaced between voyages so

this wasn't stale recycled air she was breathing.

The passenger vehicle was not a large one: Siglen lifted far more

mass without thinking twice about it. She had only to `port the ship

halfway to its destination where Reidinger as Earth Prime would catch

and ease it into Earth's Star System. As it neared Jupiter, the ship

would enter the proper orbit to land on Callisto's surface.

Once the Tower was in full operation, it would be the Rowan who

would catch an incoming `portation and land it neatly and without a

bump into the cradle designed to receive it on Callisto. The Rowan

fixed her mind on her future, her own Tower to run, free forever of

Siglen's fussy peculiarities.

The claxon sounded. The Rowan found it oddly difficult to move

from the door to the bunk. Even silly, but she lay down. She ought

not to feel any motion whatever. Siglen was an experienced Prime.

There would be no motion, nothing at all like the Miraki coming

through the Straits, no bouncing, rolling, slewing.

Oh my dear child, brace yourself! Brace yourself' Siglen even

managed to penetrate the Rowan's shielding but then she had the gestalt

to magnify her telepathy.

But the Rowan knew the moment the `port began: she knew it because

the marrow of her bones vibrated with the generator gestalt.

Oh, Bralla, HOW could I do this to the child? How? Oh, what

she'll suffer now!

There was no escape for the Rowan from Siglen's anguished keening.

Nor would Siglen leave her alone, determined in her unnecessary

solicitude to support her former pupil through this ordeal.

Then, just as Siglen had said it would, suddenly everything was

spinning in her head: She was neither up nor down, nor sideways, but

whirling in a desperate spiral to nowhere and she screamed and screamed

and screamed and screamed, and heard Rascal shrieking with equal panic.

Then she was falling into hands, hands that seized and held her

down, down, down, forcing her into the vortex that reached out to

envelop her and she descended, unchecked into the awful spinning,

mind-wrenching blackness.

PART TWO CALLISTO When the Rowan came storming into Callisto

Station that morning, its personnel mentally and literally ducked.

Mentally, because she was apt to forget to shield.

Literally, because the Rowan was prone to slamming loose

furnishings around when she got upset. Today, however, she was in fair

command of herself and merely stamped up the stairs into the Tower. A

vague rumble of noisy thoughts tossed around the ground floor of the

Station for a few minutes, but the computer and analogue men ignored

the depressing effects with the gratitude of those saved from greater

disaster.

From the residue of her passage, Brian Ackerman, the

Stationmaster, caught the impression of intense purple frustration. He

was basically only a T-9, but constant association with the Rowan had

broadened his perceptions. Ackerman appreciated this side effect of

his position - when he was anywhere else but at the Station.

At the beginning, just after the Rowan had been assigned to

Callisto, he had tried to transfer with no success. Federal

Telepathers and Teleporters, Inc. had established a routine regarding

his continuous applications. The first one handed in each quarter was

ignored; the second brought an adroitly worded reply on how sensitive

and crucial a position he held at Callisto Prime Station; his third

often a violent demand - always got him a special shipment of scotch;

his fourth - a piteous wail - brought the Section Supervisor out for a

face-to-face chat and, only then, a few discreet words to the Rowan.

Ackerman was positive she always knew the full story before the

Supervisor finally approached her. It pleased her to be difficult, but

the one time Ackerman discarded protocol and snarled back at her, she

had mended her ways for a full quarter. It had reluctantly dawned on

Ackerman that she must like him, and he had since used this knowledge

to advantage. He was also becoming proud of the fact that he was one

of the longest serving members of the Callisto personnel.

Each of the twenty-three Station staff members had gone through a

similar shuffling until the Rowan accepted them. It took a very

delicate balance of mental talent, personality, and technical skill to

achieve the proper gestalt required to move giant liners and tonnes of

freight.

Federal Tel and Tel had only five Primes - five T-i's each

strategically placed to effect the best possible transmission of

commerce and communications throughout the sprawling Nine-Star League.

It was FT&T's dream someday to provide instantaneous transmission

of anything, anywhere, anytime. Until that day, FT&T exercised patient

diplomacy with its five T-is, putting up with their vagaries like the

doting owners of so many golden geese. If keeping the Rowan happy had

meant changing the lesser personnel twice daily, it would probably have

been done. The present staff had been intact for over two years in

spite of the Rowan's eccentricities.

The Rowan had been peevish for a week this time and everyone was

beginning to smart under the backlash. So far no-one knew why the

Rowan was upset. . . if she did herself. To be fair, Ackerman

thought, she usually does have reasons.

Ready for the liner! Her thought lashed out so piercingly that

Ackerman was sure everyone in the ship waiting outside had heard her.

But he switched the intercom in to the ship's captain.

`I heard,' the captain said wryly. `Give me a five-count and then

set us off.' Ackerman didn't bother to relay the message to the Rowan.

In her mood, she'd be hearing straight to Capella and back. The

generator board was ablaze with varied colored printouts and messages

as the team brought the booster field up to peak, while the Rowan

impatiently rewed up the launch units to push-off strength. She was

well ahead of the standard timing, and the pent-up power seemed to keen

through the station. The countdown came fast as the energy level sang

past endurable limits.

ROWAN, NO TRICKS, Ackerman said.

He caught her mental laugh and barked a warning to the captain.

He hoped the man had heard it, because the Rowan was on zero

before he could finish and the ship was out of the system, beyond com

distance in seconds.

The keening dynamos lost only a minute edge of sharpness before

they sang at peak again. The lots on the launchers snapped out into

space as fast as they could be set up. Then loads rocketed into the

receiving area from other Prime Stations, and the ground crews hustled

rerouting and hold orders. The power note settled to a bearable pitch,

as the Rowan worked out her mood without losing the efficient and

accurate thrust that made her FT&T's best Prime.

Callisto Moonbase was not a large installation, but its position

was critical. Most of the heart system's freight and passenger ships

required the gestalt lift beyond the system where the hyper or drone

drives could safely be activated. As such bases went, it was luxurious

- once you got accustomed to the overhead lower of Jupiter, or its mass

jutting up from the horizon. Terraforming the moon gave its workers

psychological reassurance during the working `day' with trees and grass

lawns and flowering bushes and plants under the main dome.

There were pleasant gardened accommodations for those staff that

were on 24-hour duty, though most of the personnel - the Rowan willing

- returned to their Earth surface or orbital homes. As befit her

status as an FT&T Prime, the Rowan had a special double-domed

enclosure, with gardens and a pool and rimmed with small trees and

bushes to complete her privacy. Rumor had it that her quarters were

rich with priceless furnishings, gathered from many planets, but no-one

knew for certain as the Rowan guarded her privacy even more than FT&T

guarded her. The Callisto installation had been the engineering and

scientific feat of the century, now commonplace since technological

improvements outstripped that accomplishment as humans reached newer

and more exotic planets in ever more remote star systems.

One of the ground crew toggled the yellow alert across the board,

then red as ten tonnes of cargo from Earth settled on the Priority

Receiving cradle. The waybill said Deneb VIII, one of the newest

colonies, which was at the Rowan's limit. But the shipment was marked

TOP EMERGENCY PRIORITY/ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL with lavish MED seals and

stencils shouting `caution'. The waybill described the shipment as

antibodies for a virulent plague and specified direct transmission.

Well, where're my coordinates and my placement photo?

snapped the Rowan. I can't thrust blind, you know, and we've

always rerouted for Deneb VIII Bill Powers was scrolling through the

Stardex which the Rowan suddenly tripped into a fast forward, the

appropriate fax appearing on all screens at once.

Glor-ree! Do I have to land all that mass there myself?

No, Lamebrain, I'll pick it up at 24.578.82, the lazy rich

baritone voice drawled in every mind, that nice little convenient black

dwarf midway. You won't need to strain a single neuron in your pretty

little skull.

The silence was deafening.

Well, I'll be . . . came from the Rowan.

Of course, you are, sweetheart - just push that nice little

package out my way. Or is it too much for you? The drawl was

solicitous rather than insulting.

You'll get your package! replied the Rowan, and the dynamos

keened piercingly just once as the ten tonnes disappeared out of the

cradle.

Why, you little minx . . . slow it down or I'll burn your ears

back!

Come out and catch it! The Rowan's laugh broke off in a gasp of

surprise, and Ackerman could feel her slamming up her mental shields.

I want that stuff in one piece, not smeared a millimeter thin on

the surface, my dear, the voice said sternly. OK. I've got it.

Thanks! We need this.

Hey, who the blazes are you? What's your placement?

Deneb VIII, my dear, and a busy boy right now. To-to.

The silence was broken only by the whine of the dynamos dying to

an idle burr.

Not a hint of what the Rowan was thinking came through now, but

Ackerman could pick up the aura of incredulity, shock, speculation, and

satisfaction that pervaded the thoughts of everyone else in the

Station.

What a stunner for the Rowan! No-one except a T- 1 could have

projected that far. There'd been no mention of a new T-1 being

contracted to FT&T, and, as far as Ackerman knew, FT&T had the

irreversible first choice on T-1

kinetics. However, Deneb planet was now it its third generation

and colonial peculiarities had produced the Rowan in two.

`Hey, people,' Ackerman said, `sock up your shields.

She's not going to like your drift.

Dutifully the aura was dampened, but the grins did not fade and

Powers started to whistle cheerfully.

Another yellow flag came up for the Altair hurdle and the waybill

designated LIVE SHIPMENT TO BETELGEUSE.

The dynamos whined noisily and then the launcher was empty.

Whatever might be going through her mind at the moment, the Rowan

was doing her work.

All told, it was an odd day, and Ackerman didn't know whether to

be thankful or not that the Rowan wasn't leaking any aggravation. She

spun the day's lot in and out with careless ease. By the time

Jupiter's bulk had moved around to blanket the out-system traffic,

Callisto's day was nearly over and the Rowan wasn't off power as much

as decibel one. Once the in-Sun traffic had filled all available

cradles, Ackerman wound down the system. The computer banks darkened

and dynamos fell silent. . . but the Rowan did not come down out of

her Tower.

Ray Loftus and Afra, the Capellan T-4, came over to sit on the

edge of Ackerman's desk. They brought out the bottle of some home brew

and passed it around. As usual, Afra demured and took from his belt

pouch a half-folded origami, his special form of relaxation.

`I was going to ask her Highness to give me a lift home,' Loftus

said, `but I dunno now. Got a date with-' He disappeared. A moment

later, Ackerman could see him near a personnel carrier. Not only had

he been set down gently, but various small necessities, including a

flight bag, floated out of nowhere on to a neat pile in the carrier.

Ray was given time to settle himself before the hatch sealed and

he was whisked off.

Powers joined Afra and Ackerman.

`She's sure in a funny mood,' he said.

When the Rowan got peevish, few of the men at the station asked

her to transport them to Earth. She was psychologically planet bound,

and resented the fact that lesser talents could be moved about through

space without suffering a twinge of shock.

Anyone else?

Adler and Toglia spoke up and promptly disappeared.

Ackerman and Powers exchanged looks which they hastily suppressed

as the Rowan appeared before them, smiling.

It was the first time that that welcome and charming expression

had crossed her face for two weeks.

The grin made you realize, Ackerman thought, very very softly in

the deepest part of his brain, what a lovely woman she could be. She

was slight, thin rather than slender and sometimes moved like an

animated stick figure. She was not his notion of `feminine' - all

angles and slight breasts - and yet, sometimes when she looked up at

you out of the corner of her eyes, that slight smile tugging at the

corner of a rather sensual mouth, she fair took a guy's breath away .

. . wondering. And thinking about things no married man - or T-9

- had any business reviewing, even in his head. Maybe it was her

white hair some said she'd had that since she was hauled out of the

mudslide on Altair - others said it marked her as part alien. The

Rowan looked different because - and Ackerman knew this for a fact she

WAS different!

She smiled now, not sly exactly, but watchful, and said nothing.

She took a pull from the bottle, made a grimace, and handed it

back with a thank-you. For all her eccentricities, the Rowan acted

with propriety face-to face. She had grown up with her skill,

carefully taught by old Siglen on Altair. She'd had certain courtesies

drilled into her: the less gifted could be alienated by inappropriate

use of Talent. While the Rowan could be justified in `reaching' things

during business hours, she was careful to display normal behavior at

other times.

`Heard any `scut about our Denebian friend?' she asked with just

the right degree of `casual' in her voice.

Ackerman shook his head. `Those planets are three generations

colonized, and you came out of altair in two.' `That could explain it,

but FT&T hasn't even projected a station for Deneb. They're still

trying to find Talents for closer systems.' `And not for want of

trying,' Afra said.

`Wild Talent?' Powers helpfully suggested.

`At a Prime level? Unlikely.' She shook her head. `All I can get

from Center is that they received an urgent message from an inbound

merchantman to help combat a planet-wide virus, including a rundown on

the syndrome and symptoms. Lab came up with a serum, batched, and

packed it. They were assured that there was someone capable of picking

it up and taking it the rest of the way past 24.578.82 if a Prime would

get it that far. Prior to this morning, what little goes to Deneb has

been sent by cargo drone or rerouted. And that's all anybody knows.'

Then she added thoughtfully, `Deneb VIII isn't a very big colony.' Oh,

we're big enough, sweetheart, interrupted the drawling voice. Sorry to

get you after hours, my dear, but I don't really know anyone else to

tag on Earth and I heard you coloring your atmosphere.

What's wrong? the Rowan asked. Did you smear your serum after

all that proud talk?

Smear it, hell! I've been drinking it. No, lovey. We've just

discovered that we got some ET visitors who think they're

exterminators. We got a reading on three UFOs, perched four thousand

miles above us. That batch of serum you wafted out to me this morning

was for the sixth virus we've been socked with in the last two weeks,

so there're no bets on coincidence.

Someone's trying to kill us off You can practically time the onset

of a new nasty by the digital. We've lost twenty five percent of our

population already and this last virus is a beaut. I want two top

germdogs out here on the double and, say, two naval squadrons. I doubt

our friends will hover about viral dusting much longer. They've

softened us up plenty. They're moving in now and once they get in

position they'll start blowing holes in us real soon. So send the word

along to Fleet Headquarters, will you, sweetheart, to mobilize us a

heavyduty retaliation fleet?

I'll relay, naturally. But why didn't you contact direct?

Contact whom? What? I don't know your Terran organization.

You're the only one I can hear.

Not for much longer if I know my bosses.

You may know your bosses, but you don't know me.

That can always be arranged.

This is no time for flirting. Get that message through for me

like a good girl.

Which message?

The one I just gave you.

That old one? They say you can have two germdogs in the morning

as soon as we clear Jupiter. But Earth says no squadrons. No armed

attack.

You can double-talk, too, huh? You're talented. But the morning

does us no good. NOW is when we need them. We've got to have as many

healthy bodies as possible. Can't you sling the medics. . . no, you

can't, can you, not with Jupiter's mass in the way. Sorry, I just

found the data on your station. Filed under Miscellaneous Space

Installations. But, look, if six viruses don't constitute armed

attack, what does?

Missiles constitute armed attack, the Rowan said primly.

Frankly, missiles would be preferable. Them I can see. I need

those germdogs NOW. Can't you turn your sweet little mind to a

solution?

as you mentioned, it's after hours.

By the Horse head, woman! the drawl was replaced by a cutting

mental roar. My family, my friends, my planet are dying.

Look, after hours here means we're behind Jupiter.

But. . . wait! How deep is your range?

I don't honestly know. And the firm mental tone lost some of its

assurance.

`Ackerman!' The Rowan turned to her stationmaster.

`I've been listening.' Hang on, Deneb, I've got an idea. I can

deliver your germdogs. Open to me in half an hour The Rowan whirled on

Ackerman. `I want my shell.

Her brilliant eyes were flashing and her face was alight.

`Afra!' The station's second in command, the handsome yellow eyed

Capellan T-4, raised himself from the chair in which he'd been quietly

watching her.

`Yes, Rowan?' She glanced to the men in the room, bathing each in

the miraculous smile that so disconcerted Ackerman with its sensuality.

`I'll need all of you to help me. I'll have to be launched,

slowly, over Jupiter's curve,' she said to afra. Ackerman was already

switching on the dynamos, and Bill Powers punched for her special shell

to be deposited on the launch rack. `Real slow, Afra. Then I'll want

to draw heavy.' She took a deep breath.

Like all Primes, she was unable to launch herself through space.

Her trip from Altair to Callisto had deeply traumatized her.

Primes were the victims of particularly pernicious agoraphobia.

Most could not tolerate heights either. There were some who said

that the Rowan did very well indeed to climb the stairs to her `tower'.

Paradoxically, where the looming bulk of Jupiter gave others

`falling' psychoses, it reassured her. With the planet in the way, she

couldn't `fall' far into the limitless void of space.

As another necessary security measure - in the event of a meteor

shower on Callisto - the Rowan had a personnel capsule, opaque and

specially fitted, padded and programmed to reduce the paralyzing

sensation of `movement'. By the exercise of severe discipline, the

Rowan had accustomed herself to taking short emergency drill trips.

As soon as she saw the capsule settle in the rack, she took

another deep breath and disappeared from the Station, to reappear

beside the conveyance. She settled gracefully into the shock couch of

the shell. The moment the lock whistle shut off, she `knew' that afra

was lifting her, gently, gently away from Callisto. She wasn't aware

of the slightest movement. Nonetheless, she clung firmly on to afra's

reassuring mental touch. Only when the shell had swung into position

over Jupiter's great curve did she reply to the priority call coming

from Earth Central.

Now what the billy blue blazes are you doing, Rowan?

Reidinger's base voice crackled in her skull. Have you lost

what's left of your precious mind?

She's doing me a favor, Deneb said, abruptly joining them.

who in the hell are you? demanded Reidinger. Then, in shocked

surprise, Deneb? How do you get out there?

Wishful thinking. Hey, push those germdogs to my pretty !end

here, huh?

Now wait a minute! You're going a little too far, Deneb.

You can't burn out my best Prime with an unbiased send like this.

Oh, i'll pick up midway. Like those antibiotics this morning.

Deneb, what's this business with antibiotics and germdogs?

What are you cooking up out there in that heathenish hole?

Oh, we're merely fighting a few plagues with one hand and keeping

three bogey ETs upstairs. Deneb gave them a look with his vision at an

enormous hospital, a continuous stream of airborne ambulances coming

in; at crowded wards, grim-faced nurses and doctors, and uncomfortably

high piles of still, shrouded figures. That melded into a proximity

screen showing the array of blips on an orbital hold. We haven't had

the time or the technology to run IDs but our Security Chief says

they're nothing he's seen before.

Well, I didn't realize. All right, you can have anything you want

- within reason. But I want a full report, said Reidinger.

And patrol squadrons?

Reidinger's tone changed to impatience. You've obviously got an

exaggerated idea of FT&T's influence. We're mailmen, not military.

I've no authority to mobilize patrol squadrons like that! There

was a mental snap of fingers.

Would you perhaps drop a little word in the appropriate ear?

Those ETs may gobble Deneb tonight and go after Terra tomorrow.

I'm filing a report, of course, but you colonists agreed to the

risks when you signed up!

You're all heart, said Deneb.

Reidinger was silent for a moment. Then he said, Germdogs sealed,

Rowan. Pick `em up and throw `em out, and his touch left them.

Rowan - that's a pretty name, said Deneb.

Thanks, she said absently. She had followed along Reidinger's

initial push, and picked up the two personnel carriers as they

materialized beside her shell. She pressed into the station dynamos

and gathered strength. The generators whined and she pushed out. The

carriers disappeared.

They're coming in, Rowan. Thanks a lot!

A passionate and tender kiss was blown to her across the

intervening light years of space. She tried to follow after the

carriers and pick up his touch again, but he was no longer receiving.

She sank back in her couch. Deneb's sudden appearance had been

immeasurably disconcerting. The strength, the vitality of his mind was

magnetic. He had seemed to be inside the capsule with her, filling it

with his droll humor and warmth. That was it! He was `warm' toward

her and she had basked in that sensation like a sun-dodger. She had

never achieved such an instant response to anyone since Turian, whom

she often thought of wistfully.

Oh, she had always had rapport, contact, with others.

In fact, with anyone the Rowan chose to, but, with everyone below

her own capability, there had always been an awkwardness, a reluctance

that had inhibited her overtures. Siglen certainly had thrown shields

across her most private thoughts, explaining them patronizingly as `no

need to put old worries on young shoulders'. Siglen, to this day,

still considered the Rowan `a mere child' despite the fact that she'd

been Callisto Prime for nearly ten years.

There were still times when the Rowan wished that Lusena had not

died in that crash, days before Reidinger had appointed her to the new

base on Jupiter's moon.

Lusena had been such a comfort, such a support, believing so

firmly in her future, in the future promised by Yegrani: an ephemeral

promise. So the Rowan had struggled to understand herself as she had

earlier struggled to perfect control of her Talent.

`We who have been blessed with extraordinary powers, Siglen had

been fond of declaring in a doleful tone, `cannot expect ordinary joys.

We have an obligation to use our Talent to benefit all Humankind!

It is our Fate to be singled out and single, the more to

concentrate on our duties.' There had been only Turian to prove an

exception.

However, that had been ten long years ago now. And male Primes

didn't have a problem fending suitable mates.

Reidinger had a score of children of varying degrees of

competence. David on Betelgeuse was madly in love with his T-2 wife

and concentrated on a duty to populate his system with as many

high-potential Talent offspring as his wife would tolerate. The Rowan

did not have any personal liking for David, though she could work with

him satisfactorily. Capella was as eccentric as Siglen was

conservative and her personality rubbed the Rowan the wrong way. For

all the mental rapport the Rowan achieved with the other Primes, none

of them were ever really `open' to her. Reidinger was usually at least

sympathetic to some of her problems, but he had to be available every

single moment to the myriad problems of the FT&T system. And the Rowan

knew fully the loneliness that Yegrani had foretold with no diminution

anywhere.

When the Rowan had been first assigned to Callisto Base, she had

thought it was what the words of the Sight meant, for she was a focus.

After some months of the routine, the Rowan was severely

disillusioned.

She was useful, yes: even essential for the smooth flow of

material and messages between the Nine Star capitals, but any Prime

would have done as well.

Once her enthusiasm died, she fell back on Siglen's dogmatic

training and tried hard to find satisfaction, if not sublimation, in

doing a difficult and taxing job well, suppressing her increasing sense

of unrelieved isolation. Quite aware of her devastating loneliness,

Reidinger had combed the Nine-Star League to find strong male talents,

T-3s and T-4s like Afra, but she had never taken to any of them.

She liked Afra well enough, and not just because of her promise to

his sister, Goswina, but not that well. The only male T-2 ever

discovered in the Nine-Star League had been a confirmed homosexual.

And now, on Deneb, a T-1 had emerged, out of nowhere - and so

very, very far away.

Afra, take me home now, she said, suddenly aware of physical and

mental exhaustion.

afra brought the shell down with infinite care.

after the others had left the Station, the Rowan lay for a long

while in the personnel carrier. In her unsleeping consciousness she

knew that Ackerman and the others had retired to their quarters until

Callisto once more came out from behind Jupiter's bulk. Everyone had

some place to go, someone waiting for them, except the Rowan, who made

it all possible. The bitter, screaming loneliness that overcame her

during her off-hours welled up - the frustration of being unable to go

off-planet past Afra's sharply limited range - alone, alone with her

two-edged Talent. Murky green and black swamped her mind until she

remembered the blown kiss. Suddenly, completely, she fell into her

first restful sleep in two weeks.

Rowan. It was Deneb's touch that roused her. Rowan, please wake

up.

Hmmmm? Her response was reluctant for sleep had been deep and

desirable.

help, he said and faded Our guests are getting rougher. . . since

the germdogs whipped up a broad spectrum antibiotic. . . we thought.

they'd give up. No such. luck. They're. . . pounding us. with

the missiles. . . give my regards. . . to your spacelawyer friend...

Reidinger.

You're playing pitch with missiles? The Rowan came totally awake

and alert. She could feel Deneb's contact cutting in and out: he must

be deflecting the bombardment.

I need backup help, sweetheart, like you and. . . any twin

sisters. . you ....... to have.. handy. Jump over.. here, will you?

Jump over? What? I can't!

Why not?

I can't! I am unable to! The Rowan moaned, twisting against the

web of the couch.

But I've got. . . to have -- away.

Reidinger! The Rowan's call was a scream.

Rowan, I don't care if you are a T-1. There are certain limits to

my patience and you've stretched every blasted one of them, you little

white-haired ape!

His answer scorched her. She blocked automatically but clung to

his touch. Someone has got to help Deneb! she cried, transmitting the

Mayday.

What? He's joking!

How could he, about a thing like that?

Did you see the missiles? Did he show you what he was actually

doing?

No, but I felt him thrusting. And since when does one of US

distrust another when he asks for help?

Since Eve handed Adam a rosy, round fruit and said `eat'

Reidinger's cynical retort crackled across space. And exactly since

Deneb's not been integrated into the Prime network. We can't be sure

who or what he is - or exactly where he is. I certainly can't take him

at his word. Oh, all right.

Try a linkage so I can hear him myself I can't reach him. He's

too busy lobbing missiles spaceward.

I'll believe that when I see `em. For one thing, if he's as good

as he hollers, all he needs to do is tap any other potentials on his

own planet. Thats all the help he needs.

But - But me no buts and leave me alone. I'll play Cupid only so

far. Meanwhile I've got a company - and seven systems - to hold

together. Reidinger signed off with a backlash that stung.

The Rowan lay in her couch, bewildered by Reidinger's response.

He was always busy, always gruff. But he had never been stupidly

unreasonable. While out there, Deneb was growing weaker. She left the

capsule and made for the Tower. She should be able to do something

once Callisto was clear of Jupiter and the station was operational.

But when incoming cargoes started piling up on the launchers,

there were no naval imits waiting for a Deneb push.

`There must be something we can do for him, afra.

Something!' the Rowan said, choked with an unreasonable fear. `I

don't care what Reidinger said: Deneb's genuine and Talents help each

other!' Afra looked down at her sadly and compassionately, venturing to

pat her frail shoulder.

`What help can we offer, Rowan? Not even you can reach all the

way out to him. And Reidinger has no authority to order patrol

squadrons. What about focusing whatever other Talents there are on his

planet? Surely he can't be the only one!' `He needs Prime help and. .

.` She dropped her head, self-defeated.

`And you can barely go past Callisto's horizon,' Afra finished for

her, `which is more than any other Prime can manage.' Keerist!

Incoming missile! Ackerman's mental shout startled both of them.

Instantly the Rowan linked with the stationmaster and saw, through

his eyes, the little-used perimeter warning screen, now beeping

frantically. Rowan located and then probed out into space. The

intruder, a sophisticated projectile, leaking lethal radiations, was

arrowing in from behind Uranus. Guiltily she flushed, for she ought to

have detected it before the screen had. There was no time to run up

the idling dynamos. The missile was coming in too fast.

Deneb was certainly going to prove his peril to Reidinger!

She marveled at his audacity in spinning the ET missile into the

heart system.

I want a wide open mind from everyone on this moon! The Rowan's

broadcast was inescapable. Mauli! Mick! Go into action. She felt

the surge of power as forty-eight Talents on Callisto, including

Ackerman's ten-year-old son, enhanced by the twins, answered her

demand. She picked up their energy - from the least 12 to Afra's

sturdy 4 - and sent it racing out to the alien bomb. She had to

wrestle for a moment with its totally unfamiliar construction and

components. With the augmented capability of the merge, it was easy

enough for her to deactivate the mechanism and scatter the fissionables

from the warhead into Jupiter's seething mass.

She released those who had merged with her and fell back into the

couch.

`How in hell did Deneb do that?' afra asked from the chair in

which he had slumped. `Reidinger won't like it!' She shook her head

wearily.

`No, but it proves Deneb's problem!' Without the dynamos there had

been no gestalt to act as the initial carrier wave for her effort.

Even with the help of the others - and all of them put together

didn't add up to one-third the strength of another Prime - it had been

a wearying exercise. She thought of Deneb - alone, without an FT&T

station or trained personnel to assist him - doing this again, and

again, and again - and her heart twisted.

Warm up the dynamos, Brian. There will probably be more of those

missiles.

afra looked up, startled.

`To illustrate the point Deneb's trying to make, Afra.

Prime Rowan of Callisto Station alerting Earth Prime Reidinger and

all other Primes! Prepare for possible attack by fissionable

projectiles of alien origin. Alert all space stations and patrol

forces. She lost her official calm and added angrily, We've got to

help Deneb now - we've got to! It's no longer an isolated aggression

against an outlying colony. It's a concerted attack on our heart

world!

Rowan! Before Reidinger got more than her name into her mind, she

opened to him and showed the five new projectiles driving toward

Callisto. For the love of little apples! Reidinger's mind radiated

incredulity. What has our little man been stirring up?

Shall we find out? Rowan asked with deadly sweetness.

Reidinger transmitted impatience, fury, misery, and then shock as

he gathered her intention. Your plan won't work. It's impossible. We

can't merge minds to fight. All of us are too egocentric. Too

unstable. We'd burn out, fighting each other.

You, me, Altair, Betelgeuse, Procyon, and Capella. We can do it.

If I can deactivate one of those hell missiles with only

forty-eight minor Talents and no power for help, five Primes plus full

power ought to be able to knock any sort of missile off Then we can

merge with Deneb to help him, that'll make six of us. Show me the ET

who could stand up to such an assault!

Look, girl, Reidinger replied, almost pleading, we don't have his

measure. We can't just MERGE - he could split us apart, or we could

burn him up. We don't know him. We can't gauge a telepath of unknown

ability.

You'd better catch that missile coming at you, she said calmly. I

can't handle more than ten at a time and keep up a sensible

conversation. She felt Reidinger's resistance to her plan weakening.

She pushed the advantage. If Deneb's been handling a planet-wide

barrage, that's a very good indication of his strength. I'll handle

the merge because I damned well want to. Besides, there isn't any

other course open to us now, is there?

We could launch patrol squadrons.

THAT should have been done the first time he asked. It's too late

now.

Their conversation was taking but brief seconds, and yet more

missiles were coming in. Earth itself was under attack!

All right, Reidinger said in angry resignation, and contacted the

other Primes.

No, no, no! You'll burn her out - burn her out, poor thing!

Old Siglen from Altair was babbling. Let us stick to our last we

dare not expose ourselves, no, no, no! The ETs would attack us then.

Shut up, Iron pants, David said.

It's our responsibility, Siglen, you know that! We simply must!

Capella chimed in waspishly. Hit hard first, that's safest!

Siglen's right, Rowan, . . . Reidinger said. He could burn you

out.

I'll take the chance.

Damn Deneb for starting all this! Reidinger didn't quite shield

his aggravation.

We've got to do it. And now!

Tentatively at the outset, and then with stunningly increased

force, the leashed power of the other FT&T Primes, augmented by the

mechanical surge of five great station generators, siphoned into the

Rowan. She grew, grew, and only dimly saw the puny ET bombardment

swept aside like so many mayflies. She grew, grew until she felt

herself a colossus, larger than ominous Jupiter.

Slowly, carefully, tentatively, because the massive power was

braked only by her conscious control, she reached out to Deneb.

She spun on in grandeur, astounded by the limitless force she had

become. She passed the small black dwarf that was the midway point.

Then she felt the mind she searched for: a tired mind, its

periphery wincing with weariness but doggedly persevering in nearly

automatic reactions.

Oh, Deneb, Deneb! She was so relieved, so grateful to find him

fighting his desperate battle, that tears merged before her ego could

offer even a token resistance. She abandoned her most guarded serf to

him and, with the surrender, the massed power she held flowed into him.

The tired mind of the man grew, healed, strengthened, and

blossomed until she was a mere fraction of the total, lost in the great

pain of this immense mental whole.

Suddenly she saw with his eyes, heard with his ears, and felt with

his touch, was immersed in the titanic struggle.

The greenish sky above was pitted with mushroom puffs, and the raw

young hills around him were scarred with missile craters that had been

deflected from targets.

Easily now, he was turning aside the barrage of warheads from

three immense vessels.

Let's go up there and find out what they are, the Reidinger

segment said. Now!

Deneb approached the three enormous marauding ships. The

mass-mind took indelible note of the intruders, spidery forms that

scrabbled about interiors resembling intricate webs. Then, off

handedly, Deneb broke the hulls of two, spilling the contents into

space. To the occupants of the survivor, he gave a searing impression

of the Primes and the indestructability of the worlds in this section

of space. With one great heave, he threw the lone ship away from his

exhausted planet, sent it hurtling farther than it had come, into

uncharted black immensity He thanked the Primes for the incomplete

complement of an ego-merge and extended in a millisecond the tremendous

gratitude of an entire planet which had been so nearly obliterated.

This incredible battle could never be forgotten, and future

generations would celebrate the incomparable victory.

The Rowan felt the links dissolving as the other Primes, murmuring

withdrawal courtesies, left him. Deneb caught her mind fast to his and

held on. When they were alone, he opened all his thoughts to her, so

that now she knew him as intimately as he knew her.

Sweet Rowan. Look around you. It'll take a while for Deneb to be

beautiful again, but we'll make it lovelier than ever. Come live with

me, my love.

The Rowan's wracked cry of protest reverberated cruelly in both

naked minds.

I can't. I'm not able! She cringed against her own outburst and

closed off her inner heart so that he couldn't see the pitiful why.

Mind and heart were more than willing: frail flesh bound her. In

the moment of his confusion, she retreated back to that treacherous

body, arched in the anguish of rejection. Then she curled into a tight

knot, her body quivering with the backlash of effort and denial.

Rowan! came his cry. Rowan! I love you!

She deadened the outer fringe of her perceptions to everything,

curled forward in her chair. Afra, who had watched patiently over her

while her mind was far away, touched her shoulder.

Oh, Afra! To be so close and so far away. Our minds were one.

Our bodies are forever separate. Deneb! Deneb!

The Rowan forced on her bruised self the oblivion of sleep. Afra

picked her up gently and carried her to the couch in the Tower room.

He shut the door and went silently down the stairs. He positioned

a chair so that he could prop his feet on the bottom step and settled

down to wait, his handsome face dark with sorrow, his yellow eyes

blinking away moisture.

afra and Ackerman reached the only possible conclusion: the Rowan

had burned herself out. They'd have to tell Reidinger. Forty-eight

hours had elapsed since they'd had a single contact with her mind. She

had not heard, or had ignored, their tentative requests for her

assistance. Afra and Ackerman could handle some of the routine freight

with generator support but two liners were due in and that required

her. She was alive but that was all: her mind was blank to any touch.

At first Ackerman had assumed that she was recuperating. Afra had

known better and, for that forty-eight hours, he'd hoped fervently that

she would accept the irreconcilable situation.

`I'm gonna have to tell Reidinger,' Ackerman said to Afra, wincing

with reluctance.

Well, where's Rowan? Reidinger asked. A moment's touch with Afra

told him. He, too, sighed. We'll just have to rouse her some way.

She isn't burned out; that's one miracle.

Is it? replied Afra bitterly. If you'd paid attention to her in

the first place Yes, I'm sure, Reidinger cut him off brusquely. If I'd

gotten her light of love his patrol squadrons when she wanted me to,

she wouldn't have thought of a merge with him. I put as much pressure

on her as I dared. But when that cocky young rooster on Deneb started

lobbing deflected ET missiles at us. . . Well, I hadn't counted on

that development. At least we managed to spur her to act. And

off-planet at that. He sighed. I was hoping that love might make at

least one Prime fly.

Whaaat? Afra roared. You mean that boule was staged?

Hardly. As I said, we hadn't anticipated the ETs. Deneb

presumably had only a mutating virus plague to cope with. Not ETs.

Then you didn't know about them?

Of course not! Reidinger sounded disgusted. Oh, the original

contact with Deneb for biological assistance was sheer chance. I took

it as providential, an opportunity to see if I couldn't break the

agoraphobia psychosis we all have.

Rowan's the youngest of us. If I could get her to go to him

physically - but I failed. Reidinger's resignation saddened Afra, too.

One didn't consider the Central Prime as fallibly human. Love

isn't as strong as it's supposed to be. And where I'll get new Primes

if I can't breed `em, I don't know. I'd hoped that Rowan and Deneb.

As a matchmaker I should resign Afra broke the contact abruptly as

the Tower door opened and the Rowan, a wan, pale, very quiet Rowan,

came down.

She smiled apologetically. `I've been asleep a long time.

`You had a tiring day,' Afra said gently, `day before yesterday.'

She winced and then smiled to ease Afra's instant concern. `I still am

a little frazzled.' Then she frowned.

`Did I hear you two talking to Reidinger just now?' `We got

worried,' Ackerman replied. `There're two liners coming in, and Afra

and I just plain don't care to handle human cargo, you know.' The Rowan

gave a rueful smile. `I know. I'm all set.' She walked slowly back up

to her Tower.

Ackerman shook his head sadly. `She sure has taken it hard.' Her

chastened attitude wasn't the relief that her staff had once considered

it might be. The work that day went on with monotonous efficiency,

with none of the byplay and freakish temperament that had previously

kept them on their toes. The men moved around automatically, depressed

by this gently tragic Rowan. That might have been one reason why

no-one particularly noticed a visitor.

Only when Ackerman rose from his desk for more coffee did he

notice the young man in plain travel gear, sitting there quietly.

`You come up in that last shuttle?' `Well, sort of.' He spoke with

a modest diffidence, rising to his feet. `I was told to see the Rowan.

Reidinger signed me on in his office late this morning.' Then he

smiled.

Fleetingly Ackerman was reminded of the miracle of the Rowan's

sudden smiles that could heat the very soul of you. This man's smile

was full of uninhibited magnetic vigor, while his brilliant blue eyes

danced with good humor and friendliness. Ackerman found himself

grinning back like a fool and stepping forward to shake the man's hand

stoutly.

`Mighty glad to know you. What's your name?' `Jeff Raven. I just

got in from `Hey, Afra, want you to meet Jeff Raven. Here, have a

coffee. A little raw on the walk up from the launch yard, isn't it?

Been on any other Prime Stations?' `As a matter of fact . Toglia

and Loftus had looked around from their computers to inspect the

recipient of such unusual cordiality. They found themselves as eager

to welcome this charismatic stranger. Raven graciously accepted the

coffee from Ackerman, who then proffered his special coveted ginger

cakes which his wife excelled at making. The stationmaster had the

feeling that he must give this wonderful guy something else, it had

been such a pleasure to provide him with coffee.

afra looked quietly at the stranger, his calm yellow eyes a little

clouded. `Hello,' he said in a rueful manner, his tone oddly accented.

Jeff Raven's grin altered imperceptibly. `Hello,' he replied, and

more was exchanged between the two men than a simple greeting.

Before anyone in the Station quite realized what was happening,

everyone had left his post and gathered around the newcomer, chattering

and grinning, using the simplest excuse to touch his hand or shoulder.

He was genuinely interested in everything said to him, and

although there were twenty-three people anxiously vying to monopolize

his attention, no-one felt slighted. His reception seemed to envelop

them all.

What the hell is happening down there? asked the Rowan, with a

tinge of her familiar irritation. Why Contrary to all her previously

sacred rules, she appeared suddenly in the middle of the room, looking

wildly about her. Raven stepped to her side and touched her hand

gently.

`Reidinger said you needed me,' he said.

`Deneb?' Her body arched over to project the astounded whisper.

`Deneb? But you're . you're here? You're here!' He smiled

tenderly and slid his hand down her shining hair to grip her shoulder.

The Rowan's jaw dropped and she burst out laughing, the laughter

of a supremely happy, carefree girl. Then her laughter broke off in a

gasp of pure terror.

HOW did you get here?

Just came. You can, too, you know.

No! No. I can't! No T-1 is able to. The Rowan tried to free

herself from his grasp, as if he were suddenly repulsive.

I did though. His gentle insistence was unequivocable.

You just jumped from the Tower to this level. If you can do that,

why should it matter how far you go?

Oh, no! No!

`Did you know, Raven said conversationally, grinning about him,

`that Siglen of Altair gets sick just going up and down stairs?' He

looked straight at the Rowan. `You lived with her, you should know.

All on the one level, not so much as a step anywhere? That long

padded ramp to her tower which is so hemmed by thick-leaved trees any

glimpse of the outside is obscured? I know she told you all about that

hideous, grim, ghastly, nearly fatal trip she took from Earth to Altair

on - of all torture mechanisms a spaceship? Especially when she had

planned to stay on Earth as its Prime? Disappointment can have a weird

effect on some personalities, you know.' The girl shook her head, her

eyes wonderingly wide.

`No-one ever asked why she had really rather unusual reactions to

a deep space flight, did they? I did. Seemed damned silly to me when

Reidinger "explained" the problem.' He held his audience's attention as

he paused, his grin turning malicious. `Siglen has a massive neural

deterioration of the middle ear, a genuine enough disability which does

make for travel difficulties. She was so miserably sick in her first

space voyage, she went into a trauma about any sort of travel without

discovering the real cause. The worst of it was that she then imposed

that trauma on everyone else she trained. Of course, it never occurred

to her, or anyone else, that this wasn't part of "the price the

Talented must pay!"' He dramatically placed his hand against his

throat, mimicking Siglen so aptly that Afra had to choke back a laugh.

Then he shot a wicked grin at the appalled Rowan.

`Siglen . . . Oh, Deneb, no!' Raven laughed. `Oh, Callisto, yes.

She passed on the trauma to every one of you. The T-2 doesn't

have it.

Siglen wouldn't be bothered with training an inferior Talent. The

proof of the matter is that she didn't train me.' He opened his arms

wide. `And I, bigod, got here under my own steam. The Curse of

Talent!' He mimicked Siglen's deep contralto voice again. `The Great

Fear! The great bushwah! You've no middle ear imbalance: you only

"think" you've got agoraphobia. Bad enough a thought to hold for long,

I agree, but it's a rotten handicap for you to have, my love.' Warmth

and reassurance passed between them, and the Rowan's eyes began to

shine. Her eyes shone.

Now, come live with me and be my love, Rowan. Reidinger says you

can commute from here to Deneb every day.

`Commute?' She said it aloud in hollow astonishment.

And stared at him in wonder.

`Certainly,' Jeff said encouragingly. `You're still a working T-1

under contract to FT&T. And so, my love, I guess I do know my

bosses, don't I?' she said with a little smile.

`Well, the terms were fair. Reidinger didn't haggle a second

after I walked into his private office at eleven this morning.' `But to

commute from Deneb to Callisto?' the Rowan repeated dazedly.

`All finished here for the day?' Raven asked Ackerman, who shook

his head after a glance at the launching racks.

`C'mon, gal. Take me to your ivory Tower and we'll finish up in a

jiffy. Then we'll talk about it. I'm not pushing you, or anything,

but I've got a planet to put to rights . . .` And a few million things

to discuss with you .

Jeff Raven smiled wickedly at the Rowan and pressed her hand to

his lips in the age-old gestures of courtliness.

The Rowan's smile answered his with blinding joy.

The others were respectfully silent as the two Talents made their

way up the stairs to the once lonely Tower.

Afra broke the tableau by taking a cake from the box in Ackerman's

motionless hand. There was nothing in the cake to cause his eyes to

water so profusely.

`Not that that pair needs much of our help, people, he said, `but

we can add a certain flourish and speed things up.

The whine of the generators sobbed away into silence, a silence

which was at first pleasant as the two Primes let the tension of their

labors drain from them.

Jeff Raven broke the silence, giving a low grunt as he pushed his

chin down to his chest to stretch neck and shoulder muscles. He had

been sitting in the swivel chair at the console, so he hadn't had the

full body support of a couch like the Rowan's. He swiveled about to

face her now.

`I know you,' the Rowan said shyly, suddenly unnerved by his

presence and the end of known routines, `and I don't.' Gently then she

felt the feathery touch of his mind in hers, withdrawn as gently but

leaving behind it a sweet, spicy taste. That had never happened to the

Rowan before in all her mental encounters, and she took a moment to

absorb the sensation.

`There's a lot about each other that we're going to have to know,'

Jeff Raven began to smile, a smile that was also tinged with a shy

uncertainty. He ran his fingers through his shock of black hair. `And

Lord above, woman, we've got a lifetime to learn.' His smile broadened,

and he cocked his head slightly at her, looking at her with warmly

affectionate eyes that hinted of deeper emotions kept in firm check.

`Look,' he said in a totally different tone of voice and he leaned

forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, `it's been a rough few weeks

for me and now we've met, we don't have to rush anything. In point of

fact,' he said, with a huge yawn, `I'll be candidly unromantic and

admit that I'm whacked. I've been on the stretch since those ETs

arrived.' He gave her an ingratiating smile. `That rather romantic

gesture of mine, to launch us to Deneb, is totally beyond me. I'm

starving, I need a bath, and about twenty years' sleep!' The Rowan

began to laugh, more gurgle than chuckle, as practical considerations

dissolved the moment of restraint and doubt. She rose and thrust out

her hand to him. His was warm, calloused, and physical contact only

reinforced mind and voice. `Then, tonight, you come home with me!'

Gently Jeff pulled her to him. You're such a little thing!

He tucked her head under his chin and held her against his body.

She put her hands about him with an experimental lightness. His

body was firm. She liked it. That's good! She also felt the

weariness permeating muscle, sinew, blood, and bone.

`Come!' she said and jumped them into the main room of her

quarters.

`Rather special,' Jeff said, looking about the spacious room with

appreciative eyes. `I think you'll find it easier to shrug off

Siglen's silly conditioning than you believe.

Look, steps all over.' He gestured at the various levels, for the

dwelling had been built into Callisto's stony landscape.

`I designed it myself.' She spoke with pride, sensing his

flattering approval as she followed his gaze, from the small

conversation pit around the archaic hearth with an imitation fire, to

the dining level that had a three-sided view of the gardens and the

little copse, to the sound and vision wall, to the corridor leading to

the wing.

`Well done! Very well done! And it proves conclusively to me

that your agoraphobia was Siglen's imposition. She didn't tolerate

steps anywhere. As you must know.' Then he yawned convulsively. `What

a lover you chose!' `You get the bath,' and she pushed him in the

direction of the bathing room. `I'll fix a meal guaranteed to raise

all known energy levels. Then you may sleep as long as you need to.'

She `saw' him as he shucked off his clothing: very privately she

compared him to Turian's heavier build and the Captain's deep tan.

Then she decided that she liked his spare build, lean, muscled

back and narrow hips; bulky people irritated her.

With good reason, Jeff remarked as he eased himself into the

steaming pool. She had half-expected him to dive in, for it was deep

enough, and heard his denying chuckle.

Another time, he told her with a sigh of total relaxation as he

floated. Fix me that food, love, or I' ll starve to death in my sleep.

She sent the water pillow to hold up his head and felt her lips

tingle with an impressed kiss. She smiled as she collected the

necessary foodstuffs from storage. Siglen may have adored eating for

its own sake, but the Rowan had learned the fundamentals of good

nutrition and the value of well-prepared and presented food.

`What will people think of me when they see you so thin, Rowan?

Eat more! It's really delicious. If you'd only force yourself to

eat . . .` Siglen's wheedling tone resounded in the Rowan's ears.

It was, however, infinitely more satisfying to prepare something

for Jeff Raven. So involved was she in making certain that all

nutritional elements had balanced tastefully that the Rowan was

astonished to feel the rhythms of profound sleep emanating from her

lover. A moment's pique was soothed by her realization that she would

indeed have all the time in the world to prove her worth as a cook.

Now she'd better keep him from inadvertently drowning.

Unexpectedly she felt some fatigue from the day's excitements.

Gently she lifted the inert form of her lover from the water,

swathed him in warm, soft, scented towels, and conveyed him to her wide

bed. Being telekinetic had, for once, practical applications she had

not heretofore considered, she thought, tenderly gazing down at his

sleeping face. All the stress and fatigue lines were smoothing away

and Jeff Raven looked younger.

His wasn't actually a handsome face: without animation, the harsh

planes looked uncompromising, the nose prominent, jutting out from a

wide and high brow His eyes were far more deepset than she had

realized. He had a very strong jaw - no getting around this man with

specious argument. She wondered if he'd jut his chin out when annoyed.

His lips, too, showed firmness for all they were well-shaped, if a

trifle on the thin side, but he had smiled so often, that detail had

escaped her. In all, a strong, vital face and exceedingly attractive

to her.

Sternly she suppressed unusual clamorings of body and blood.

Eighteen-year-old Rowan might have planned to challenge Captain

Turian but she wouldn't ever be silly enough to dare Jeff Raven. She

placed water, fruit juice, the `supper' she had made him in a heating

cocoon, in easy reach on the bedside table.

What would their children be like? Despite her solitude, she

suddenly blushed. Once Turian had been cajoled out of his regrets,

they had enjoyed each other thoroughly.

But no-one since then had aroused her. Not even the high Talents

Reidinger kept sending to Gerolaman's courses, or to Callisto Tower on

specious errands.

For a long while, the Rowan had held the firm conviction that,

once her long training had been accomplished, her `travel' would

resolve all her problems.

Instead, she had gone from one lonely tower to another.

Yegrani's `long and lonely road' had been before her a long and

lonely time. Even the cryptic `seeing' seemed fulfilled.

She had been the focus. Was her reward Jeff Raven?

Would she `travel' now with him?

He stirred slightly, as if responding to her thought; her heart

caught in her throat. Then, with a smile, he sank more deeply into his

much needed rest. She curled beside him on the wide bed, not needing

to touch, content to be in his presence. And then fatigue overcame all

her new sensations and wonderings.

The startlement of being kissed woke the Rowan abruptly, and it

took a moment to recall the extraordinary events of the previous day.

`Honey, I am sorry to the death to have to wake you, but duty

calls!' Jeff's tone and expression were regretful - and so was the

clinging touch of his mind in hers, all spicy.

`Why?' She resented `duty' with an intensity that blazed from

every pore.

`Easy, girl,' and Jeff chided her. `When we so blithely destroyed

those ET vessels, we left a lot of debris at spatially unsafe distances

for the good of my poor planet.' She saw in his open mind the visual

report from Deneb.

`Some of it's extrapolated to come thunking down in settled areas.

My kin are good, but not that good.' `Can I help?' She dressed

quickly.

`You can, indeed, and I'm counting on it. Reidinger has got Earth

to release our colony a lot of much-needed supplies, and I need you to

relay them out to me without splitting the packets. The High Command

also wants samples of what we so indiscreetly made piecemeal.' `But

Jeff, what about us?' The sheer terror of renewed solitude sounded in

her cry He pulled her into his arms, once again tucking her head under

his chin. He rocked her slowly, wrapping her in such deep and tender

regard that she truly realized physical separation was no barrier to

their rapport. Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her lips, a

contact that was made far more poignant by his mind-touch and the

scenes he projected of how they would make love when `duty' permitted.

She was vibrating with a sensuality which he then completed with

an intimate mental touch, and she clung to him in amazed relief. He

grinned down at her, pleased by the effect he had on her.

`The chemistry's right between us, love, and I can't wait to prove

it time and time and time and time again.

However,' and his manner altered as, with deep mental and physical

regret, he released her, `while I'm gone, work hard on overcoming

Siglen's impositions. I'll be back as soon as I've done garbage

detail. We'll be transporting some mighty queer stuff. I'd have a

good look at it when it comes through Callisto were I you, honey. If

there's one group of space traveling animosities, there may be more.

He released his physical hold of her and guided her to the door.

`We'll walk across this time. Gives us a few more moments.' She

matched strides with him and was unaware of anything on the way to the

Tower but the touch of his hip and thigh against hers, his fingers

laced in hers. For once she wasn't even aware of the great generators'

start-up whine.

`Who was Purza?' he asked suddenly, looking down at her The

unexpectedness of that question at this moment made her lose step. She

had been worried that he might have accessed her Turian memories.

Maybe he had and didn't care to comment. After all, that belonged

to the past.

`Purza was my pukha,' and her throat still closed with a vividly

remembered grief and outrage. One is forced to put away childish

things.

Ah, love, and tenderness, spicy-sweet and gentle, laved her. I

don't think you were allowed to be a child. We'll assure our own of

that privilege. Then, with a mischievous note in his tone, he added,

`And I'll prove that a Raven's a much more innovative companion than a

pukha.' His eyes were intensely blue and a devilish smile curved his

lips, and suddenly she was aware of renewed sensations, coursing

through her, setting off unusual reactions until suddenly, from her

loins, an incredible warmth began to expand in a sudden burst of

exquisite pain.

And that is only a sample, my love. Only a sample! Jeff's voice

seemed to be part of that sensation, and she had to cling to him to

remain on her feet.

Then they were in the tunnel that led to the garage.

With an effort she assembled her wits, aware that Jeff was very

well pleased with his effect on her. She was grateful for the

diversion provided by the strange personnel carrier in the launch

cradle, the blazon of the Central Worlds on its nose, the paint still

gleaming with Jeff Raven's code.

`New design, huh?' She ran tentative fingers down the shell. It

had not yet acquired the static of well-used carriers.

`Only the very best for the newest, love,' Jeff replied, lightly

teasing though there was no sparkle in his deep blue eyes. He pulled

her into his embrace and kissed her long and deeply. She responded as

intensely as she could.

The twinkle was back in his eyes. He quickly settled himself in

the carrier. The whine of the generators was keening up to launch

power. `See you, love!' It was astonishing for everyone in the Tower

to launch Jeff's capsule. He was helping, laughing when the Rowan told

him to save his strength for his day's work, teasing Afra and Ackerman

in a casual way and then - abruptly he had separated himself from them.

The Rowan became far too busy to examine her feelings just then.

A near invasion of pods and drones, of medium sized personnel

carriers were flicked out from Earth Prime en route to Deneb: experts

in all fields to parse through the debris of the invaders to ascertain

what was the most important for in-depth analysis to be sent back to

the main Moon labs. Every sort of information must be gleaned from

that assault, analyzed, and neatly catalogued for future reference.

Whenever Deneb-cargo went off Callisto, Jeff and the Rowan

exchanged kisses, and other caresses which made her glad she was alone

in the Tower. It gave an unexpected fillip to intensive mental effort.

And, as he had asked, she did a quick look at some of the more

unusual flotsam that came through: hull arcs, like the segments of

fruit; packages of curious supplies (food?); shreds of metallic films

clothing?; some frozen specimens of alien parts. She did recall the

look of them as she, with the focus meld of Prime minds, disassembled

them and their ships. Not at all humanoid, rather a form of beetle,

with carapace or chitinous wings, with multiple legs, with joined

digits. Some of the creatures which had been standing erect at their

control devices were approximately two-meters long. Those in the round

access tubes through the long space vehicles had been smaller and

scurried about on six of their ten legs. There had been a heavily

guarded central feature with immature creatures, a startling number of

egg cases and the largest specimen. A generation ship? Indicative of

perhaps a cross-galaxy voyage of incredible duration?

The contents certainly gave rise to incredible speculations and

overwhelming relief that the Primes had been able to destroy such an

alien menace. And some rather silly minor hysterics from the nervous.

Not only was there the unusual traffic to Deneb, but over the next

few days, the Rowan was called upon to dispatch naval reconnaissance

vessels to the perimeter of the Central Worlds' sphere of influence.

Massive amounts of equipment and personnel were shifted around in

the panic following the Denebian Incident. Reidinger decided to

increase the Talented complement of the main Prime Stations for the

purpose of unceasing vigilance and to upgrade distant early warning

beacons set beyond the perimeter. That left him short of experienced

staff, and rather short on temper as a result.

`Reports of the Incident were toned down a lot,' Ackerman told an

exhausted Rowan at the end of that fourth chaotic day. `The public

report,' he added when the Rowan blinked uncomprehendingly up at him.

He decided her mind was only half here. `They decreased the size

and capacity of the ships, and the armaments and potential danger.

`Considering some of the stuff that we handled, I'd say that was

discreet of them,' Afra remarked caustically, his fingers busily

constructing a paper shape remarkably like the aliens that had been

destroyed. Then he casually crumpled the origami into a wad.

Afra was exceedingly different from his sister, the gentle

Goswina. And the day had exhausted her.

Me, too, Jeff said softly in her head. I've got just about enough

energy to crawl into my lonely bed and remember how great it was to lie

beside you. To know all through the night that you were there.

When the Rowan realized that she was grinning foolishly, `Jeff!'

she said enigmatically and both men nodded understandingly.

Loftus brought in a sheaf of hard-copy sheets. `They plan to work

our butts off again tomorrow, too!' He shook out the ream-long

manifests of projected shipments. `And a big mother of a battleship,

complete with flag admiral.

Where was he when he was needed?' `D'you think he will be?'

Ackerman asked, suddenly apprehensive.

Afra snorted. `With all the monitors, detectors, remotes, and

junk we've had to parcel out? Highly unlikely.' `Nothing like locking

the barn door when the horse is gone!' Loftus said.

`What on earth do you mean by that?' the Rowan asked.

It sounded like something Siglen would come out with.

`Old saying! Procrastination is a thief! Here, Ackerman.

bud better analyze how we're going to shift all that!' I can see

you now, Jeff's loving voice came softly into her mind, talking in the

Tower. Why don't you go home so I can see you in your own place and

fall asleep knowing where you are?

In a sort of trance, the Rowan excused herself, leaving the three

men staring at the spot she had just vacated.

`I suppose we'll have to get used to her looking all starry-eyed

and flicking out like that,' Brian said, slightly envious.

`Has she gone to Deneb?' Loftus asked, his eyes bugging out.

`She's not quite ready for that yet, I think,' Afra replied and

tossed off the half-finished mug of stimulant. `I hope it's not a long

time coming.' As the tall Capellan went back to his workspace, he was

unaccountably depressed. In no way did he resent Jeff Raven's

acquisition of the Rowan. Afra had long ago buried his tentative and

unrequited attraction for the quicksilver girl. He had hoped that out

of sheer need she might one day have turned to him, for he adored her

in his own fashion. Since the day, as a very nervous eighteen

year-old, he had reported for duty at Callisto, they had shared a

rapport, becoming stronger over the years, close enough so that he did

not exactly envy Jeff Raven. Rather he worried for them both.

They ought somehow to have taken themselves to Deneb that first

night. He had been surprised that they hadn't. And more concerned,

though it was certainly none of his business, when he sensed that the

union had not been consummated. If he'd been in Jeff Raven's shoes

Well, how the Denebian conducted his seduction of the Rowan was NOT the

business of Afra, Capellan T-4. The Rowan showed no resentment; why

should he?

While he could also understand the necessity of pumping men and

material out to the other Primes, and the naval units, and whatever

else was on tomorrow's dockets, why hadn't Reidinger sent out some T-2s

or a few well integrated T-3 teams to assist Deneb. Why couldn't FT&T

have given the Rowan and Jeff a few days together?

Was Reidinger still playing games with the Rowan's space afare?

Reidinger might just find his strategy backfiring.

Though Afra had little clairvoyant capability, he had a sickening

uneasy-making hunch that Reidinger was wrong to proceed as he did. The

trouble with an undeveloped prescience was that it was so fecking

nebulous. He intended to push against it until something did clarify.

Forewarned was forearmed. Or was it?

He was tired enough so that, when he got to his own quarters, he

drank a formula meal and went imediately to bed.

Rowan, love!

Jeff's rich voice was tender and soft, gently rousing her from

sleep. Phantom lips laid pressure on hers, and a phantom touch

caressed her lovingly in other places.

She so much desired his presence, was convinced that he had

somehow returned, that when she realized that she was still alone in

her bed, she almost wept.

Oh, Rowan, lovey. I am so sorry! I devoutly wish I was really

there. And she experienced a jolt of his own sexual tension and was a

little dismayed at its intensity.

The debris is still falling?

She caught the grimness - and the fatigue - in his mind.

Like rain! He was also disgusted. If any of us in that merge had

had the sense God gave little green apples He gave them some?

we'd have made sure we scattered those hulks sunward!

Oversight!

Overhead, too. At least we have equipment now to man:tar falls.

The squadron's on twenty-four-hour duty lassoing the big stuff,

packing it into drones for shipment back. We may think we're tired

now, but you wait. She felt the unruly humor.

Our basket's entirely full of eggs.

Eggs?

Eggs, I said. Our biologists say that the beetles were

reproducing for 1) a generation-type voyage 2) shortlived workers that

had to be periodically replaced, or 3) stocking up for a population

explosion on our planet. They want to do an in-depth examination and

extrapolation of the life cycle. So don't make an omelette.

Not with frozen eggs. Jeff Wouldn't it be a lot easier and more

work- and cost effective to examine everything there?

The Rowan felt tired just thinking about the effort involved. Was

Jeff warning her or complaining?

They `say' they have to do it in the big Moon labs - to prevent

contamination or something. I think they don't want Deneb to get such

a juicy contract so early in its career as a colony. We could pay off

our Central Worlds' Start-up debt if we'd that kind of investagatory

work here.

The Rowan thought about that. The Armed Services, naval and

military, regarded Talent with deep suspicion since generally speaking,

those of a mind to make war were too prosaic to understand minds which

eschewed physical violence. Except, of course, she reminded herself,

when they needed an entire squadron dispatched to a far corner of the

galaxy. THEN they remembered Talent quite well! She didn't trust

bureaucracy either but regulations and rules did reduce chaos to mere

confusion. She had come to respect regulations: she would never

condone restrictions. Not being of an acquisitive nature, she also did

not understand the economics involved: she had all the possessions she

needed: she could purchase whatever she liked - within reason - and she

was not covetous.

Jeff was another matter. And all that happened to Jeff.

How badly is your colony in debt to Central Worlds? And how HAD

your governors decided to pay it off?

This planet's mineral rich: we're miners and engineers, with

enough farmers thrown in to keep us locally supplied.

The Rowan pondered a moment, permitting the peripheral information

she had absorbed in that merge to surface to her public mind. She knew

he was an engineer in a farming family. She knew he had six brothers

and four sisters, since increases in Deneb's population were as

important as any other occupation. She knew that his oldest brother

and his two older sisters with young families had been wiped out by the

aliens, as well as his father and the two youngest siblings: that two

younger brothers were medical personnel, that his mother would soon

deliver a posthumous child. He had uncles, aunts, and cousins unto the

third degree, and half of them had minor Talents. But Deneb, which was

not scheduled to achieve full status in Central Worlds nor slated to

receive a Prime in the next hundred years, had not organized its

Talents until the imminent invasion had forced them into maturity.

Yes, you picked up a lot about us, didn't you, sweeting? Jeff

sounded pleased and she felt him stretching... the stretch of someone

relieving aching, strained muscles. She sent soothing impulses,

phantom hands to knead and smooth. She would much rather have had the

genuine warm flesh beneath equally fleshy fingers. I, too, and the

longing in Jeff's tone ran as deep as her own.

This can't continue!

That's for sure, but I also cannot leave Deneb. Jeff's tone took

on an irritated resignation. There's just no way I can permit myself

personal time if my absence results in more destruction. Like right

now. Be back!

His presence in her mind was gone: not so much as an echo

remained. She felt more bereft than ever, deeply dissatisfied. If she

applauded his principles, she fumed at the circumstances. Which

brought her to the nub of the problem: Siglen's imposed space fear. If

Jeff could not, in honor, leave Deneb at this critical moment, it was

up to her to break down her own resistance to space travel.

Afra!

The Capellan's mind-touch was instantly available. He always was,

she realized. Afra was like a shadow - a loving shadow she also

perceived with her newly expanded perceptions of loving and caring.

She squashed that observation to save Afra's sensitivity.

I'll need to practice in my shell.

Not in the middle of the night, Rowan, he came back, not bothering

to mask his exasperation. Believe me, I'm all for helping the course

of true love, but trying to crack a trauma of such long standing is

irrational when you - and I - are exhausted. Tomorrow morning. We'll

have a few hours before Callisto clears Jupiter and Earth shipments

arrive. This humble T4 needs all the rest he can get to cope with you

on the best of days and I don't count today one of them! Go to sleep,

Rowan. I need mine!

It was so seldom that Afra was adamant that the Rowan meekly broke

the contact. He was right. It would be crazy to try anything in her

state of mind.

How did Siglen manage to condition her thoroughly? Why hadn't

anyone noticed it? Lusena had been so common sensible: why hadn't she

spotted the neurosis?

BECAUSE Siglen harped on it so often, moaned about the Curse of

the Primes so that no-one thought to question her. And both David and

Capella had been woefully stressed on their flights. Who would have

dared question Altair's biggest asset?

Ass was right, the Rowan thought, spotting anomalies that refuted

Siglen's contention. She'd always been able to teleport herself about

Port City and the Tower. She'd never experienced agoraphobia. The

mechanics of teleporting oneself on a planet were no different than

teleporting oneself from one planet to another. The Rowan was

disgusted. YEARS had been wasted because of Siglen's stupid inner ear

imbalance!

And yet, the Rowan distinctly remembered her own terror when, as a

very little girl, Lusena was taking her into the shuttle that would

have transported her to Earth.

She had been so terrified at the sight of that portal she had even

dropped Purza to teleport to the only place of safety she knew. Siglen

had been raving then about the horrors of space travel, and sparing the

poor child any further anguish. Just as she had in the act of

teleporting the Rowan to Callisto! The Rowan shuddered remembering

that nightmare: why did Talents have to have such perfect recall?

David of Betelgeuse could clearly remember being nursed at his

mother's breast. Capella swore she remembered her birth trauma.

Which, David had acidly remarked, was why Iron pants refused to

mate, unwilling to inflict such horror on a child from her womb. Well,

that was her excuse.

Once again, the Rowan tried to force her memory back, before that

aborted departure. All she knew about her early childhood was what she

had been told: that her parents had died in an avalanche, that she had

been the sole survivor of the Rowan disaster. She had never questioned

those facts. She had devoutly wished that she had known something of

her background: her real name, what her family had been like, if she'd

had any brothers and sisters. It hadn't been until she'd been in

Turian's company that she realized what she might have been lacking.

She did remember being taken from the hopper, and immediately

sedated. She most certainly remembered telling Siglen that she was the

Rowan, because `they' all called her `The Rowan Child' Now that she

knew that this whole fufurrah about Primes traveling in space was an

imposed neurosis, she was more than halfway to restoration. Or that

was the often repeated theory. She stilled her restlessness, found a

comfortable position in her half-empty bed, and initiated her sleep

pattern.

The next morning she was awakened by the rumble of generators

warming up.

We've two hours before we clear Jupiter, Afra said in his

customary dry tone.

I know. Odd how she always did. Callisto's orbit in its relation

to its primary was a permanent fixture in her consciousness. She

dressed quickly, remembered to drink a sustaining meal, and jogged down

the passageway to the bunker where the personnel carriers were stored,

saw hers missing from its rack and went on to the launch cradle in

which it now rested.

She didn't feel the least bit altered from the last time she had

lain on the padded couch. Shouldn't she?

Feel different? Afra echoed and gave her a chuckle.

[Why had she never realized that Afra was warm brown, velvety

smooth, and faintly citrony of scent?] YOU yourself haven't altered,

afra went on through her private observation of him. Just your

perception of the process.

Did you ever suspect that it was a psychosis engendered by

Siglen's lack of equilibrium?

[Mental shrug.] A T4 does not delve into the exalted mechanics of

the Primes, my dear. Afra snorted at the mere thought of such

blasphemy.

But what do you think about, or Brian Ackerman, or any of those I

whip back to Earth, when they're being transported?

I don't listen in, and Afra added an admonitory chiding.

You're being obstructive. Well, be objective. What do YOU think

about?

During a kinetic displacement? Generally, I concentrate on

getting where I'm supposed to go. Where did you plan to go today,

Rowan?

I would prefer to go to Deneb, she answered in a very meek and

subdued voice.

Not unless Jeff Raven is there to catch you, and he isn't.

And even with the gestalt, I can't send you very far. You're said

in that respect, he added quickly when he felt the first tinge of

terror in her mind. It will take time, you know, to condition you to

space travel.

I can't just sit here in the cradle - You're not, you know, Afra

said very gently. You're hovering in Demos's orbit above Mars.

WHAT? In her fright, the Rowan projected such an almighty scream

that Afra slapped his hands, instinctively but ineffectually, to his

ears.

WHAT are you doing, Rowan? came a roar from Earth Prime. Afra,

I'll flay your yellow skin and hang the meat from your bones out to

dry! What ARE you doing with her?

Leave him alone, Reidinger, was the Rowan's prompt and equally

agitated response. Afra's obeying my orders and your stated wishes

that THIS Prime will learn to travel in space. Stop blustering. Here

I am orbiting Demos and that's further than I've ever been able to come

before. But, and while she forced herself to admire the view, she

found herself `looking' straight ahead, unable/unwilling to turn her

eyes from the sight of Demos's pitted surface with Mar's red/orange

bulk beyond. As long as she had only that view to contend with, she

could manage it. Demos looked exactly like its hologram.

I think that's enough for now, she added, spacing her words

carefully, as if one of them might alter her head a fraction, forcing

her to see more of the open space all around her shell which could be a

prelude to the godawful spinning she'd felt on her first space voyage.

Shut up, Rowan, that was a Siglenish imposition. Nevertheless,

she felt sweat trickling down her face.

You did very well, Afra said calmly and the next thing she knew

she was back in the cradle.

Did you really send me all the way to Demos, Afra? She felt

totally spineless and couldn't move a hand to blot the perspiration on

her face.

I certainly did, and you suffered no significant trauma according

to the monitors in the shell. Just stop thinking about Siglen.

afra did not have to sound quite so smug, she thought deep inside

her head. He had royally fooled her, that treacherous T-4.

`What's the Rowan's capsule doing out here?' Ray Loftus yelled and

he had flipped up the canopy before he noticed her lying inside. `Hey

- whaaaaat?' He stared down at her, his face gone white. `Are you all

RIGHT, Rowan?' He didn't appear to know what to do, waving one hand

impotently.

`Stop dithering and give me your hand,' the Rowan said. `I've

been to Demos and back - for my sins!' Ray willingly assisted her out

of the capsule and, then almost too solicitously for she was drained by

the experience, supported her up to the Tower building. His

incredulity and several odd, unsortable fleeting emotions were

inescapably projected to her through the physical contact. But she

also caught pride and relief.

afra palmed open the door, took her hand and, with a brief kinetic

surge, renewed her energy. Before she could read him, he had his

shield up again.

You don't need to treat this as so commonplace an occurrence, you

know, she added, piqued.

Why not? It should be! Yaw! He sidled away from the pinch she

gave him.

Now, if fun and games are over for this morning, can I please

review the day's schedule? came the acid tone of Reidinger. There are

a few alterations.

That night as the Rowan lay in her double lonely bed, she reviewed

that lift. She had felt nothing: not even that spinning - once she'd

shut her mind away from the notion - that had consumed her on the

`portation from altair to Callisto. But, in the light of present

knowledge, was it any wonder she responded as she had during her first

space voyage? Hadn't Siglen wept and moaned and wrung her hands and

carried on as if she was sending the Rowan to her death? And all those

preventive shots and medicines which, since her middle ear was not

impaired at all, had probably produced the nausea, the spinning and

disorientation because she hadn't needed them. Siglen had done one

fine job of preconditioning her to react exactly as she had.

She'd get Afra to take her back to Demos tomorrow and this time

she'd look at it - and around her. There was absolutely no

physiological or psychological reason why she should be affected by

space travel.

No, there's not. Keep telling yourself that, honey. Keep saying

it until you believe it with all your heart and mind, Jeff's voice

said, gently inserted into her mind.

Oh, your touch is so fragile. . . She worried that the tasks set

him were too much for his so recently acquired abilities.

No, not at all, he replied, deepening his tone. I didn't want to

startle you.

Don't try to deceive me, Jeff Raven. I know you're exhausted.

You shouldn't even be trying to contact me in that state Aren't

you glad I have? [His mental smirk was accompanied by a very delicate

caress.] Wherever you are, no matter how tired I am, I shall always

reach out to you.

Though and now his tone altered suggestively, it doesn't help when

I am trying to get some rest. Sleep well, love.

She sent a light kiss for his cheek, laughing as she did so and

tried to calm his mind to the sleep pattern.

Granny! I can do that for myself!

Tired as she was, she was not quite ready for sleep yet herself.

So often she used sleep as a method of interrupting negative

mental patterns, of unproductive and circular thinking. Sometimes she

could gain an insight into a problem by going over and over it again

then wake the next morning with the solution.

Tonight Purza appeared, not the remains that Moria had vandalized,

but the comfort creature that had been her mainstay. The Rowan paused,

thinking back to those last days of her childhood, of all the

conversations she carried on with Purza, of the silly things they'd

discuss. . . They?

The Rowan caught herself up. She had believed, for many years,

that Purza was sentient, despite the unalterable fact that the Rowan

knew the pukha was NOT. She had imbued many qualities and

characteristics into the comfort . . . toy, say it, Rowan, toy! . .

. No, not a toy.

Device! Monitor! Surrogate! The pukha had certainly been the

receptacle of more confidences than any human being, even of matters

she never could have discussed with Lusena. Yet the Rowan distinctly

remembered Purza advising her against things which she, the Rowan, had

particularly wanted to do. How could the pukha have such discretion?

The loss still rankled in the Rowan's mind and heart.

She had succumbed to a deep melancholia which Lusena had been

unable to lift despite metamorphic treatment.

Siglen had been irritated, having realized lust how much she was

beginning to rely on her apprentice, but she was far more fearful of

contracting even the merest sniffle.

Then Gerolaman had acquired the barquecat. And that ungrateful

scamp whom the Rowan had counted on as a companion in her Callisto

quarters had refused to leave the tibooti passenger vessel, to the

intense delight of the crew.

She'd had to let him stay, more angered than dismayed by his

defection.

`When I was a child, I played with childish things!' That phrase,

which had been well dinned into her head during that painful

readjustment time, now came to mind.

The Rowan tossed restlessly in her bed, hating the phrase, and all

the memories it evoked.

Why would Purza come to mind now, tonight? Except that Jeff had

queried the memory. Jeff was more than a substitute for a surrogate .

. . except that he couldn't even do his courting of her in person!

Why Purza? Why not Rascal? She had truly outgrown the need for

the comfort surrogate! Or had she?

Puzzling through that, the Rowan fell asleep. In the morning,

searching her waking thoughts for an answer, she found none. Instead

she had an overpowering urge to seek Jeff. And resisted. She had set

an additional clock to Denebian time and he would be hard at work. She

had overslept her usual waking hour but Jupiter did not clear Callisto

for three hours.

Listlessly she rose to face the day's routine. She and Jeff might

have their lifetimes to get to know each other, but she'd rather start

in earnest. Damn Reidinger! How could he! She'd like to tell him a

thIng or two!

In person.

Watch out! she heard Afra warn the Station staff. She wasn't

sure if she was annoyed or amused that caution was given. She palmed

open the door into the Tower and let it whoosh shut behind her as she

observed the wary expressions.

I don't think you're ready for a jaunt to Earth yet, Afra said.

`Good morning, Rowan. We've got some pretty heavy stuff to

shift.' She glared at the Capellan, knowing he was right. And yet, if

she didn't take the plunge, when would she? Why shouldn't she - if she

was only reacting to a conditioning?

But his caution, and his obvious concern, deflated her impetus.

She was not all that sure of her reconditioning not just after one

swing to Demos. Her glare was the signal for everyone to become

intensely interested in lists or keyboards or any task that took them

out of her immediate vicinity.

`Now listen up, you lot. There's two hours and fifty minutes

before Callisto clears Jupiter. You all know how to set up the day's

shifts without Afra and me. Afra,' and she intensified her glare, `I

want to go back to Demos again. Now!' `As you wish, he said in an

unexpected capitulation.

She caught a very suspicious glint in his yellow eyes before he

turned his head away. And his shields were up tight as air-lock seals.

She decided to ignore him and marched back out of the Tower and

down to the launch.

This time, though she strained her eyes wide to catch any motion,

Afra's lift was so smooth that she had the bulk of Demos before her

eyes again. This time she did look about her, and if her breathing

quickened, she initiated control and steadied herself. The view was

rather spectacular.

Is Earth visible from his position? she asked Afra. She caught

her breath again as her capsule altered direction.

Cut in the visual magnification. Second position on your right

fingerboard, Afra told her.

Four taps and the cloud-swirled marble of Mankind's world became

clearly visible. Its moon hung like a milky pebble, fully lit by the

distant sun. Awesome to think that the insignificant speck in the vast

space-black panorama had spawned those now inhabiting the planets of

far distant suns.

Suddenly she became very conscious of the blackness around her:

too much dark and she was confined in a very small space . . . And she

didn't even have Purza for comfort!

Easy, Rowan! And abruptly she was back in the launch site on

Callisto, Afra unsealing the lid of her personnel carrier, his yellow

skin sallow with anxiety.

Shaking, she held her arms out to him. He lifted her out of the

capsule and ran with her back into the Tower, yelling vocally and

mentally for a stimulant.

Blackness! Why blackness, Afra? I was all right, truly all

right, until I thought of the blackness -- And claustrophobia, Afra

added. He took the glass Ray offered and held it to her lips. She was

shaking too much to hold it herself.

ROWAN! Jeff's anxious shout made her wince.

I'm all right, Jeff I'm all right.

Blackness. Why are you reacting to blackness, Rowan?

Why do I see the pukha in your mind?

I don't know, Jeff I don't know. I'm all right. Afra's

determined to get me drunk early today! She tried to lighten up her

mind tone: she didn't want to upset him because she'd experienced a

moment's silly panic.

Scared me half to death, you did! Jeff went on and she was as

aware of the pounding of his heart as her own.

Jeff, she's all right, Afra said, initiating metamorphic massage

to reduce her tension.

`It wasn't space. It was the blackness. The awful blackness.'

Damn it! I've had just about enough of this! Jeff Raven said, his

tone incandescent with fury.

DENEB! and Reidinger's roar made even the Rowan's skull vibrate.

afra rolled his eyes in intense mental pain, clutching at his

head.

Primes don't have privileges! She's only shaken. And there'll be

no more of these experiments, Rowan. YOU HEAR ME?

Even I can hear you, said David of Betelgeuse sourly.

I think you're being extremely selfish, Reidinger, came from

Capella.

I told you this could be fatal, was Siglen's moan.

Leave me alone! the Rowan said, furious at being the center of so

much unnecessary attention. Go away and get back to business.

Reidinger's made his point!

Jeff's parting phantom caress did not make it any easier for the

Rowan to ascend to the Tower, and her couch, and try to focus her

thoughts on the day's business. A steaming cup of java appeared and

she reached for it gratefully Deep inside her something was frozen,

some black.

something odorous? A whiff that she couldn't identity - a reek

that was connected with the frightening blackness.

Not today's darkness, a smelly, clanging, revolving darkness.

That was what had set off her panic - revolving around to see

Earth .

. . Just as the bucking Miraki had panicked her with Turian

sailing up the Straits that time.

But it had been a `spinning' motion that had triggered her on the

Jibooti on her first space voyage.

Cargo coming in, Afra said, bringing her back to her

responsibilities.

Once again Callisto Tower staff moved with dull efficiency through

the day's tasks, with none of the livening humor or even bad temper

that signalized an off day for the Rowan.

Callisto was space-side of Jupiter and receiving the last of the

in-bound receipts, which would be downshipped once the Moon was again

Earth-side, when an emergency signal for live cargo lit up the board.

Live one coming in, Rowan, Brian Ackerman warned her in his

capacity of Stationmaster. She'd lost her deft touch in the late

afternoon, unusual enough for her, but as the packets were not marked

fragile, he hadn't remonstrated.

Now what? she demanded but she retrieved the capsule with more

care.

Some Fleet nerd to judge by the ID - then broke off.

At first the Rowan did not notice the silence from her staff. It

was day's end and, with that tardy capsule, the generators were

growling down to rest. She was making a neater pile of deliveries and

transshipment copies when she heard someone taking the Tower steps two

at a time.

`Tut tut, I didn't think I could really put this over on you so

easily!' And it was Jeff Raven who swung the door wide, his blue eyes

brilliant with teasing - and his love. `I don't think you've missed me

at all!' The Rowan didn't bother to answer his jibe. She grabbed his

hand and launched them into her quarters, into her bedroom, out of

their clothing, proving in every way possible just how much she had

missed him and exactly what she had missed the most of him.

Brian began and * At several points during that magical night,

they had time to exchange words rather than emotional extravagances.

`I've a new nephew, you see,' he said, cuddling her against him,

her head on his shoulder, her body edged as closely to his as was

possible, her legs entwined about one of his. With one ear on his

chest, she could hear his voice rumbling up from his diaphragm. `And I

was congratulating Mother when she reminded me that a day of rest from

hard labor has long been ordained. So, with the impetuosity for which

I am known on Deneb, I tagged an assortment of reliable people to hold

the planet secure for at least one day, and came back for what I've

been aching for!' `I shall bless your mother forever!' `She's mighty

curious about you, I will say. I have informed her that holograms do

not do you justice.' `Does she have any Talent?' `Oh, masses, but she's

never trained much, so sometimes her use of what she has can be quite

devastating,' and Jeff's chuckle began where her left hand rested on

his flat belly. There wasn't, the Rowan realized, a spare ounce of

flesh on him anywhere. He was much too thin. Eating's the last thing

on my mind, love! `I don't think she has enough range for Callisto

but, if she put her mind to it, she could blast a message to us

anywhere in the City and down on the farm.' His chuckle turned rueful.

`Could never put anything over on our Mom.' `I never knew my

mother!' Jeff's arms pressed her lovingly. `I know, pet. I know.

He shifted suddenly, raising up on one elbow, breaking the

physical closeness that the Rowan was reveling in.

`Why is that Purza on your mind again? I know the function of a

pukha, but it's no surrogate mother!' `You're digging deep.' `No,' and

Jeff frowned slightly, soothing her hair back from her face and

gathering up a handful from the pillow, fascinated by its paleness in

the dim tight of the room. `I'm not. Not half as deep as I intend to

dig. And speaking of digging, or delving . . And that ended that

conversation though the Rowan was fleetingly aware as Jeff stroked her

body with deft erotic caresses that the interruption was deliberate.

She was soon too involved on too many levels of exquisite

lovemaking to complain. Jeff was incredible and kept urging her on to

new delights.

When at last they moved apart an inch or so, Jeff's stomach

emitted a rolling growl which the Rowan's answered.

`By God, we've even got compatible digestions.

`And you need feeding up. Does no-one take care of you on Deneb?'

she demanded, half her attention on manipulating food items from

freezer to heating chamber.

`Got any Terran beef steak up here?' he asked, following her

efforts. `We lost most of our food animals in the bombardments and we

can't really plant until we clear the fields of metal objects. I don't

care how nutritious the processed stuff is supposed to be, it tastes

bloody awful.

Oh,' and he inhaled the aroma of grilling meat that wafted into

the bedroom, `and never smells right. What a talented woman I've

found!' And he expressed his appreciation in the most delightful way.

`Jeff! The meat'll burn!' `Oh, a little charcoal does you no

harm! Got to eat a peck of dirt, you know . `JEFF! That's the only

decent steak I have right now!' `Oh, in that case . . .` and he

desisted.

After they had ravenously consumed a huge meal - with the Rowan

going back again and again to her larder to supply them with the

high-protein substances they both needed to fuel their ardor - they

made love again. They slept so soundly that neither heard Afra's

discreet knocking, nor the ringing of the comsystem.

I do beg your pardons! afra inserted the phrase politely in each

mind, repeating it with more mental force until the Rowan roused.

She felt deliciously rested, totally sated Rowan! You're

broadcasting. . . Afra said with a discreet mental cough.

Startled into full consciousness, the Rowan felt the unexpected

heat of a blush. Afra would never `look' but nonetheless she covered

herself with a fold of the thermal sheet. Jeff Raven grumbled

sleepily, one hand searching for a touch of her.

`Jeff! Wake up! We've overslept!' `Nonsense. Today's my day

off!' He opened one eye.

`I think that was yesterday, Jeff.' She's right! Reidinger

doesn't know you're here Why not? Jeff pulled himself to a sitting

position and then hauled the Rowan back into his arms, his hands

lightly caressing her.

He's not . . . Afra faltered. He's in a very touchy mood.

That's not unusual! Jeff refused to be cowed. He threw us

together on purpose and now I'm here on purpose so he can like it or

lump it.

Tell him the truth, Afra, the Rowan added. I overslept and I'll

be back at work as soon as I've had a decent breakfast.

Aware that she had, indeed, been delinquent in her own

responsibilities, the Rowan tried to wriggle free. But Jeff merely

tightened his arms, keeping her close.

Trouble with Reidinger is, he says jump, and every single one of

you asks how high! Well, this Denebian lad doesn't!

`IS there anything left to eat in the house, darling?' And, as if

he hadn't a care in the world, Jeff grinned fondly down at the woman

held firmly against him.

The Rowan swallowed, both appalled by and admiring of Jeff's

nonchalance.

`I think, lovely, it isn't only Siglen's conditioning you must

slough off.' His voice was soft, very gentle but with an edge in it

that gave her another, totally new perspective on Jeff Raven of Deneb.

`That FT&T of yours has exploited you for such a long time that

you've never stopped to realize that you, as a Prime AND a citizen of

Central Worlds, have certain inalienable rights that you haven't even

bothered to exercise!' He dropped an affectionate kiss on the end of

her nose.

`And it's time to exercise! Last one in the pool has to take the

day off.' He began to unwind himself from her and the covers.

With all respect, Rowan, Raven, Afra said, still standing outside

the dwelling, we managed well enough yesterday but there's a passenger

carrier coming in that needs the Rowan's gentle touch.

So it has to stay cradled for half an hour, Jeff replied,

employing his mouth to plant kisses on places of the Rowan that he had

somehow missed earlier. Tell the Captain it's generator trouble. I

have it all the time on Deneb.

None minds!

`But, Jeff, not a passenger ship. That's a contractual violation

. . .` the Rowan began.

`And violating the contract we've been forming is a far more

heinous crime in my eyes,' and he leered at her, his black hair hanging

over his eyes to give him a very piratical appearance. We shan't be

that long, Afra! Tell them they have to give way to a priority

shipment. Me. And it's not ready to launch yet.

Their swim was less than brisk but more than languid, interspersed

as it was with loving kisses and caresses. Just the touch of his hand

roused the Rowan, so totally unused to any physical contact. She kept

in tactile contact as if loosing touch would somehow lessen their

incredible rapport.

Between them - for Jeff was becoming familiar with the storage and

cooking facilities in her kitchen - they had breakfast ready by the

time they had dressed.

On their way to the launch pad, the Rowan's hand tucked and held

against Jeff's arm, Reidinger's angry shout made her wince.

No need to shout, Jeff Raven replied mildly.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?

Spending my day of rest - HA!

Now, now, Reidinger, there is a long-standing precedent for rest

days, and I haven't had one, and my lovely Rowan certainly hasn't had

one. . . Jeff looked down at her, his blue eyes glinting with pure

mischief and a broad grin spreading across his mobile features. He

restrained the Rowan from quickening her pace in her obedient effort to

placate the angry Earth Prime and held her to his lazy saunter.

You have a contract with FT&T So I do, so do you, and does the

Rowan, but nowhere in that contract does it stipulate we are obliged to

work a seven day week, twenty-four or twenty-six-hour day. His tone

abruptly changed. Now butt out, Reidinger. You're invading our

privacy. And that IS a contract violation!

Some kind of a sound, initiated and abruptly severed, similar to a

gargle of pure rage, echoed in their heads. Jeff grinned and the Rowan

looked anxious.

`Honey, don't let him exploit you any more. We can do without

him, but he and the mighty FT&T can't do without us! Remember that.

Stiff upper lip and all that guff.' They had reached the battered

personnel carrier, in which he had made his surreptitious arrival. Now

he took her into his arms again, tucking her head under his chin, their

bodies as close physically as their minds were. He said nothing,

savoring the contact. Abruptly he released her, kissed her cheek, and

stretched himself out in the carrier. `Same time six days from now,

darling.' The hatch covered his reassuring grin.

Scurrying to the Tower, the Rowan pressed her lips tightly against

the pain of this farewell, somehow more intense than when she hadn't

known what she would be missing.

Now, then, honey, neither distance nor nine can really separate

us!

And he gave a quick demonstration that made her gasp. See what I

mean?

Her cheeks were burning in the cooler air of the passageway.

Ducking her head so that none of the Station personnel could see

her face as she entered the Tower, she took the steps two at a time.

By the time she had taken her place, the generators had hit their

peak whine.

Safe trip! she said, as she spun his shell back to Deneb.

A kiss that lasted beyond the moons of Neptune brought a smile to

her face. Then she flipped up the com to the waiting passenger liner.

`I do apologize for the slight delay, Captain, but if you are

prepared, we can launch at your convenience.' Either he was an

unusually tolerant master or someone in the Station had dropped a

discreet word, but he made no more comment than to request the lift at

the mark of five minutes.

Mi that day the Rowan half expected a blast from Reidinger, so she

took particular care to keep incoming and outgoing shipments moving in

a steady flow. Nor did she receive any word from Jeff over the next

five days. She was, however, in very constant and reassuring touch

with her lover: his presence palpable in her mind, like a silken touch

in the corner of her mind, a feather-gentle caress.

That was probably why it was such a shock when abruptly she became

aware of the absence of that touch.

Jeff? She felt more alone than she had when Purza had been

destroyed, than when she had .... . in the tumbling blackness. Jeff'

She strengthened her mental shaft, swiveling in her chair in Deneb's

relative detection. JEFF!

Anxiety took the place of surprise. JEFF RAVEN!

What's the matter, Rowan? Afra asked, now aware of her concern.

He's gone. His touch is gone!

She heard several people rushing up the steps to her Tower.

We'll link! Afra suggested as he, Brian Ackerman, and Ray Loftus

entered the room.

She opened to them and, tapping the generator power, called again.

Panicking, she turned to afra.

`He isn't there! He's surely heard us!' She tried to keep her

voice steady, but Afra was far too sensitive not to feel her growing

terror.

The tall Capellan took hold of her hands. `Breathe more slowly,

Rowan. There can be many reasons `No! No, it's as if he'd been

blotted out suddenly. You can't understand Rowan? The mental call was

faint, heard only because the Rowan was linked with the others. Rowan.

`You see, I told you . . .` Afra began and she yanked her hands

out of his.

`That's not Jeff!' Yes?

Come at once! Jeff needs you!

`Now, wait a moment, Rowan, and Afra caught her arm as she started

out of her chair.

`You heard! He needs me! I'm going!' I want a wide open mind

from everyone on Station, she added, jumping herself out of Afra's

physical grasp and to the launch. She flipped open the canopy and

settled herself within. Where's my linkage, Afra? There was a long

pause, although the Rowan could feel each new mind of the Station's

personnel adding strength to hers, Mauli wishing her luck as Mick

echoed it. Afra, do it now! If Jeff needs me, I must go! Do it

before I realize what I'm doing!

Rowan, you can't attempt. Afra began, desperately worried for

her.

Don't argue, Afra. Help me! If I've been called, I must go!

She already was consumed with anguish by Jeff's absence in her

mind: she would go mad with the uncertainty of why his touch had been

so abruptly withdrawn.

I will be watching for her at the usual point . . came that faint

firm mind-tone.

With her own abilities augmented by all those on the Station, the

Rowan overrode afra's hesitation, bringing him so firmly into the merge

that he could not resist or alter it. Then, with the coordinates of

the dwarf star firmly in her mind, she pressed against the generators,

too, and launched her carrier.

PART THREE DENEB It was black, yes, but the capsule made the jump

with no rotation to remind her of an old terror. She felt the

unfamiliar multiple-mind touch hers, felt both urgent need and

gratitude. Inclining to it, she followed the path it showed her.

Her carrier rocked as it landed roughly in the cradle.

Simultaneous to the apology for the landing, she heard the

gasping, clanking off-torque rattles of a malfunctioning generator. If

the multiple-minds had gestalted with that, she was bloody lucky to

have reached her destination at all.

Opening the canopy, she lifted herself out of the carrier,

fighting to hide additional dismay at what she saw. The generator,

apparently hastefully installed at the side of what had once been an

airfield control tower, gave one last wheeze as a stanchion collapsed.

A cloud of black, oily smoke rose to obscure the mechanical

corpse.

From the temporary tower a group of people emerged, one of them

carrying a child across her shoulder.

The Rowan reached out and recognized the dominant mind of the

merge: Isthia Raven, Jeff s mother. Of the ten minds which had

participated, only hers remained relatively unstressed by what the

Rowan knew would have been a tremendous effort for a novice team.

My profound gratitude, she sent gently to them all. How badly is

Jeff hurt? she asked directly of his mother.

Isthia Raven looked to her right, to an older man with such a

strong resemblance to Jeff that she wasn't surprised to discover that

he was an uncle.

`A freak accident,' Rhodri said, guilt/grief/concern vivid in his

mind as he spoke. `We'd found an unexploded beetle bomb. We're

supposed to let them (and a thumb jerked skyward indicated the Fleet in

orbit above Deneb) `. . . neutralize `em but the fardling idiots set

their great flaming pod down so hard it jarred the detonating mechanism

and it exploded. Jeff tried to shield us and forgot to duck! Damn

fool altruist. I told him and I told him that you gotta think of

number one first.' As he spoke, she caught a replay of the scene from

his mind, which was an orderly one for all the present turmoil of

self-recriminations. She saw the cylinder uncovered in the trench it

had plowed on the edge of the City; saw the disposal group's tentative

investigation; saw the large armored Fleet pod come down, displacing

dust and dirt in the ungainly landing, heard the shouts, saw the bomb's

disintegration, and the searing rain of fragments and even their

deflection. Then she saw Jeff's body start to rotate, stagger, and

fall.

`The worst is the chest injury,' his mother said. And from her

clear mind, she showed an all too graphic image of Jeff's lacerated

body and the long deep wound across the left pectoral. `The medics say

it's only shock but I couldn't reach him. I thought you might be able

to. Time is critical.' `Where is he?' the Rowan replied with a

calmness and assurance she did not feel. Especially as she sensed that

Isthia Raven was withholding some information. Something else had gone

horribly wrong with Jeff. She must deny despair as long as she could.

She paid strict attention when Isthia projected an image of an

underground facility, the only still functioning medical installation

in the battered City. A large `7' was painted on the pillars outside a

lighted entrance. `We'll follow,' Isthia added, nodding toward the

assortment of groundcars.

The Rowan nodded understandingly, for the kinetic effort had

drained energy from everyone in that makeshift team.

She concentrated on her destination's coordinates and teleported

herself as close to the 7 pillar as possible, making it less likely

that she would collide with a person or an emergency vehicle. Her nose

was only an inch from the pillar. She turned herself toward the

entrance. Immediately she felt the presence of more Talents, Talents

of varying strengths and most of them trying to cope with grief and

anguish. Well, this was a hospital! What else did she expect as its

aura? Jeff Raven might be the most important one to her personally,

but she had caught sight of peripheral victims in Rhodri's vision.

The doors into the Level 7 facility whisked apart for her. She

was surprised to find people alert to her arrival, pointing directions

to the intensive-care facility where Jeff Raven lay.

She paused long enough in the anteroom to let the sanitizing

panels purify her. As soon as that procedure was finished, the inner

door slid aside. The recovery room was circular, split into ten

wedge-shaped cubicles, several of which were curtained with patients

already installed.

Against the wall above each section, easily visible to the nursing

staff seated at the central hub of the facility, were banks of screens,

monitoring the vital signs of the injured.

Jeff was in the fifth cubicle, four medics and a nurse watching

his screens, murmuring occasional comments.

Their mental comments over the erratic behavior of his life signs

told the Rowan that two despaired of his recovery: Two more were

Talents, and one was desperately trying to think of something more to

do for Jeff. Her approach was noted and room was made for her at the

bedside.

Despite what she had gleaned of Jeff's injuries from his uncle,

she was shocked to see him, his tanned face bleached by the powerful

surgical lights, his left side showing nearly a dozen wounds in an

almost stylized pattern along his upper arm, chest, hip, thigh, and

calf where fragments had been removed. But the chest wound was the

deepest. She could follow it, through the layers of skin, muscle, and

bone, right to his heart and see where the damage had been repaired.

`Asaph, Chief Medic,' said the older man. His mind still sorted

out alternative treatments but he looked to her for some `miracle'.

`They got you here in record time. We've only just come down from

the theater.' He paused and the Rowan had no need of her Talent to

recognize his reluctance to proceed.

`Your prognosis?' He sighed, choosing his words, but the Rowan

followed those he discarded and those he used. `He has suffered

massive shock and insult. It was touch and go despite the fact they

`ported him directly here. The Admiral sent down two of his best

surgeons,' and Asaph indicated two of the other medics.

The Rowan's swift probe told her that the naval medics were amazed

the man had lived through surgery and didn't give him a chance of

survival. Their doubt stiffened the Rowan's purpose.

`Shock can be reduced, and major bodily insult, she said with such

confidence and assurance that she surprised herself. But this was

Jeff. Jeff Raven, her lover.

`Get him through the next few hours and he could stabilize,' Asaph

said, somehow taking heart from her positive attitude.

`It'd be a miracle,' one of the naval men said, shaking his head.

`There should have been a response by now The Rowan ignored him

and looked at the two Talents the nurse, whose mind identified herself

as Rakella Chadevsky, Jeri's aunt, and the medic, identified as his

surgeon brother, Dean.

`Have either of you tried for a response?' `Tried, yes, when he

was first brought in -- Dean admitted.

There was not so much as a flicker, Rakella said, and a great deal

to be done physically before it was too late. At that, I only just

managed to restart the heart!

No delay? the Rowan asked, refusing to panic for that was what

Isthia Raven had withheld from her. Hearts can be repaired, replaced

if necessary, even in this temporary facility. As long as the brain

had not been deprived of oxygen, a heart wound was not as serious as a

major head wound would have been for a Talent.

None, Rakella reassured her. I was monitoring his heart closely

because of the wound she gave a tremulous smile, I caught it before the

EEc could register it!

Then no-one's tried to reach him on the metamorphic level...

Neither of us know that technique, Dean added.

`Then you're about to learn,' the Rowan said, wondering just what

Talent medical staff were taught on Deneb, -apart from reviving a

faltering heartbeat.

Suppressing the fears which his moribund appearance had raised,

the Rowan moved to the bed and placed her hands on Jeff's ankles. The

slight chill of the skin was only normal, she told herself, and pressed

deeper, feeling the faint shallow pulse at the meridian point. With

fingers and mind she could feel the congestion there, as Jeff S system

began to close down prior to cessation. She dug her thumbs deep into

the soles of his feet, in the solar plexus correlation point, rubbing

with a hard, circular motion.

Then she pressed hard on the top of each big toe, again, and

again. Then back to the solar plexus reflex. As she pressed again,

she heard Rakella's quick inhalation.

There's a response. Whatever it is you're doing got a response!

You've repaired him on the physical level. I will deal with the

metamorphic May I assist you? Rakella asked.

By all means. Copy my manipulations. I admit that I've had few

occasions to use such treatment, but it can be quite effective. Any

stimulus could make a difference. Right flow, time would have no

meaning for him so we use that timelessness to develop a support level

strong enough to sustain his life force and restore balance.

She was startled by the muted wail of an angry baby.

Balance yourself, Isthia Raven said in a dry tone, entering the

room. Grateful for the tonic of Isthia Raven's presence, the Rowan

did. I think, Asaph, that there are far too many unnecessary bodies

crowding around my son. Do thank the Fleet men and send them on their

way. Their thoughts are too negative, and that's a bad aura to have in

here.

With Rakella now following her every move, the Rowan repeated the

hard pressure on the sole, began to massage the whole foot, warming the

flesh, then gently and lightly rubbing the main bones from toe to heel

bone. She worked longer at the groove between the internal cuneiform

and navicular bones, which should quicken his flagging energies. She

moved on to the calcaneum, massaging the side of the heel back to the

Achilles tendon. Lightly her fingers crossed the top of the foot,

down, and under the outer ankle bone. Then she repeated the sequence,

using hard strokes only on the sole and the big toe, before lightening

her pressure up the bony ridge of the arch.

Rakella had acquired the rhythm of the massage now, and they

worked in unison. Occasionally Rowan tested the meridian above the

left ankle, willing the tempo of her own measured heartbeat to echo in

Jeff's arteries, willing him to rally, to respond, however faintly, to

show them that he clung to life.

The superiluous bodies out of the way, Isthia moved to Jeff's

head, smoothing back his sweaty hair. Then she placed her fingers

lightly on each temple and looked up at the Rowan. Jeff's mother had

the same startlingly blue eyes, the same direct, honest gaze. But

neither of them could `feel' his mind.

We Ravens have hard heads, Isthia said, closing off her emotions

to the hope still deferred.

And callused feet, added Rakella.

As the Rowan kneaded the sole, she suddenly felt the breakup of

that awful congestion. She glanced at the monitors and they confirmed

a slight but measurable improvement. Yet still, there was nothing of

Jeff to touch in that special area in which all Talent dwelt.

We will not let him go! Isthia said softly. Her eyes held the

contact with Rowan.

No, we will not! And the Rowan renewed her ministrations, sliding

her hands up his legs to his knees and the next major meridian. Even

lax in his present condition, she could feel the muscular strength of

him - memories flooded back.

Even those could help, his mother said drolly.

The Rowan looked up, caught off guard.

Jeff said you had a loud voice, the Rowan said respectfully,

gently stroking the bony ridge down the arch. The lightest of caresses

now to coax his return. He didn't mention you had a long ear.

Isthia smiled. I'd heard about this sort of hands-on techniques.

Interesting!

It might take time to show results It takes time for most

healings, Rowan. And I `feel' that this is working even if we don't

see much progress.

Suddenly Jeff's foot gave a feeble twitch. The Rowan started in

surprise.

Now that's a definite reaction, Rowan! Rakella said, looking much

encouraged.

So the Rowan pressed deeply in the pad of his left big toe and saw

a wriggle in the Alpha line and a minute shudder in the Delta. Rakella

gripped the right toe, and again there was a brief response.

`How long do you keep this up?' Medic Asaph asked, returning. He

was deeply anxious about Jeff, his broad face reflecting concern and

fatigue.

`Until we bring him back,' the Rowan stated flatly.

`There is no time where he is now.' Asaph gave a snort. `Time?

He gave us a time, I'll tell you! Worth it, though. Jeff's sort

of special to us here on Deneb.' Then he added hastily, `Unfortunately,

I need Rakella. Jeff wasn't the only one injured.' Isthia touched the

Rowan lightly on the shoulder. `I should feed the baby,' she said, and

through her mind the Rowan could hear the now frantic cries of a very

hungry infant. `If it's necessary he can wait a while longer The Rowan

could also feel the dichotomy of her needs: two sons to succor.

`Feed the child!' she said. She could concentrate entirely on

Jeff, then, free of the anxieties of others; alone with Jeff, who was

her responsibility right now as no-one else had ever been.

Isthia slipped away through the curtains. The patient in the next

cubicle groaned, and the Rowan heard the quick, soft steps of the nurse

coming to attend him.

Then, in privacy, the Rowan forced herself to look at Jeff's face

again, so sickly pale beneath the tan. For a man of such mental and

physical strength and vigor, he looked boy like when unconscious, as if

injury had wiped clean all traces of his charismatic personality as

well as health. The ache within her grew to alarming proportions, an

insistent pressure of tears behind her eyes and her throat so clogged

that she had to force breath out and then down.

Easy! Isthia's touch, stemming as it must from a pain as severe

as her own, soothed her. Do not compromise the good you've already

done with negative emotions.

Such a long ear his mother had! The Rowan was both resentful and

grateful for that reminder. She paused long enough to bring the stool,

the one other piece of furniture in the cubicle, to the foot of the

bed. And then renewed the metamorphic treatment. Lightly, lightly,

stroking endlessly. Occasionally she placed her fingers on the

meridian point, feeling the beat of the arterial blood flow, and trying

to bring the tempo up to her own circulatory level.

`Are you there, Jeff? Are you still there?' she whispered,

willing him to hear her voice, if not her mind. And as she continued

to stroke his feet, she talked to him in that whisper, so low that it

would not reach past the privacy screen. Oddly, the sound of her own

voice soothed her.

The Rowan had never sat in vigil. Nor had she ever no, once

before, a long, long time ago - felt so helpless. In a tumbling

stinking darkness? But never had helplessness been so bitter a state.

What good did Talent do her now?

And yet it had! His mind might not know that she was there, but

his body did, borrowing her physical strength to holster his faltering

grasp on life. She placed her hand on his wrist, her fingers

monitoring the slow but not so faint beat. Yes, his body knew that she

was there, even If that could not be recorded in the green lines

wavering along the screens.

Through her hands she continued to let her energy flow to him.

When Jeff. . . yes, when Jeff was well . . . she promised

herself she would take additional training in the metamorphic from

those Earth Talents whose healing abilities produced effects close to

the miraculous. A miracle was certainly needed here. How long did

miracles take on this alternate level?

Had she truly reached it? Be positive! Jeff would live, would

revive, be wholly himself again. She flowed life from herself into

Jeff Raven in a calm and even stream, laden with love and dedication.

Despite herself, despite her uncomfortable position on the low

stool, despite her continued gentle massage, the Rowan must have dozed.

For her head was resting against one foot. She shook herself

awake, ashamed at such weakness, which was negative, when positivity

was so essential. Apprehensively she glanced at the monitors: all

registered stronger functions.

The shout that then burst from her, bringing both nurses to the

cubicle, was sheer exultation.

Rowan! cried Isthia, hope bursting like a meteor tail through her

voice.

Back where she had missed it was the light but tender touch of

Jeff Raven's sleeping mind.

He's there! He'll live! He's there! He'll live! she chanted,

sobbing with almost unbearable joy and relief.

She intensely resented the nurses who shoved back the curtain and

briskly motioned her to one side.

Let them do their job, Rowan, said Isthia in a tone of mild

rebuke. It's not as :if he could help raise his endorphin levels and

reduce pain. Which I guarantee you he'll feel soon. He was brought in

unconscious, bleeding to death, so there was no time to use less

stringent methods of anesthesia. It'll take him a while to revive from

the chemicals. But at least now we know he will! You have my eternal

gratitude.

The Rowan did not like being pushed to one side so arbitrarily,

having to watch while necessary things were done to the body of her

lover. Then the nurses, with no more than a curt nod to her, left the

cubicle, twitching the curtains back in place.

`Don't jump before you can walk, girl,' Isthia remarked dryly as

she entered. `In case you're thinking of singlehandedly nursing him

from now on. Frankly, you may know how to deal excellently with the

metamorphic levels but not the medical, even as deeply as you can

experience.

And don't glare at me like that, child! I willingly accept that

my son has chosen you as his life mate but,' and Isthia raised a

warning hand, `you don't try to own a man like Jeff.' The Rowan found

herself resenting Isthia's presence because it impinged on her privacy

with him. She resented her cautions all the more because she

recognized their validity. She did not wish to share Jeff, injured or

sound.

She hadn't realized just how much their necessary separations had

rankled in her mind and emotions.

`Sort it out in your head now, Rowan,' Isthia continued, ignoring

thoughts which the Rowan didn't bother to shield. `Don't let petty

jealousy and other unworthy notions tarnish what you and Jeff share.

Nourish your bond, don't stifle it.' When Isthia placed a

reassuring hand on her shoulder, she almost jerked away from it, unused

to casual physical contact. Isthia's hand tightened.

Well, we Denebians use a lot of tactile contact, so that's another

thing to get used to. It helps us lamebrains to function on the mental

level.

`You're no lamebrain,' the Rowan flared, her basic sense of

justice denying Isthia's self-deprecation. But in rejecting that, she

made eye contact with Isthia and the older woman caught and held hers,

using the anger to project a searching shaft past the Rowan's guards.

You have never had it easy, have you, child? Isthia's mind

brimmed with compassion and a generosity of spirit that the Rowan had

not encountered since Lusena's death and which dissolved her immediate

resentments. You love Jeff but so do most of the people left on Deneb.

You can't deny them their share of his attention. I wouldn't try.

You're smart enough to know what I mean. Be wise enough to accept

it.

You hold most securely what you are willing to let go. Then

Isthia frowned slightly. `Who is Purza?' `Jeff said you had a

devastating Talent,' the Rowan said, stunned that Isthia had `seen'

Purza. `And I cannot imagine how you managed to access that bit of

ancient history.

`It's right there at the top of your mind, my dear,' Isthia said

gently and pressed for an answer `Purza's not a who, it's a what. A

monitoring device in any one of a number of comfort forms for a

troubled child.' `Which you certainly were - also very much on the top

of your mind. You've too strong a mind for someone untrained like me

to pry into very deeply.

The Rowan gave a short ironic laugh.

`That's better,' Isthia said, smiling back. `You'd got locked

into a very bad mind loop there, doing you no good when Jeff is still

going to need you. I'll have a meal brought in to you, and a more

comfortable chair.' With that she left.

Both the meal, which the Rowan forced herself to eat, and the

chair, which was an improvement on the stool, were welcome. The

monitors above Jeff's bed all indicated much stronger body rhythms,

good Alpha and Delta responses. His light contact remained in her mind

but it was still a passive one.

It was another hour before he revived enough to recognize his

surroundings. At the sight of the Rowan beside his bed, he gave a weak

grin which turned into a grimace of pain.

`Rowan?' and he reached for her hand, `I thought it was you, but I

didn't know how you could be here.' His voice was a dry whisper.

Sensing his thirst, she brushed his lips with water as she had

seen the nurse do, then dribbled a teaspoonful into his mouth. In

fact, I argued with myself that I had imagined you from a deep

subliminal level.

`Hush, love. You needed me. I'm here.

You made it on your own? His mental tone was far stronger than

his physical voice, and his fingers clutched hers with more force than

she had expected.

Your mother.

Trust her to call in the cavalry. But you came? His astonishment

and gratitude washed her mind.

Isthia had assembled a team. And then the generator fell apart!

Relief made her silly.

Reidinger let you come?

Hush, love. I hear the nurse coming.

`Well, back with us again, huh, Raven,' said the sandy haired

older nurse who flicked back the curtain. She nodded approvingly at

the Rowan. `Medic Asaph will be very pleased.' Then she turned

squarely to the Rowan.

`Now will you leave his bedside and get some rest before I have to

clout you on the head with that hardwood bat I keep for obstreperous

bedside leeches?' `I'm fine,' the Rowan said and her voice cracked with

fatigue.

The nurse cocked one eyebrow skeptically. `Ha! You've done two

and a half shifts already. Raven, you manage her.' Go and rest,

darling! Jeff urged. I'll keep you in mind, you know. And he gave

her the tender smile that was hers alone.

Over the next two days, now that Jeff was on the mend and she had

time to observe her surroundings, the Rowan was increasingly amazed by

the resilience of the Denebians.

The planet had lost over three-fifths of its population, its two

population centers had been demolished by bombardment, farming

communities burned out, and the mines, on which Deneb depended for

outworld supplies, were all but useless.

All known survivors of both plague and attack had long since been

centralized, along with available supplies and skills. That had

happened even before Jeff Raven had contacted the Rowan for assistance.

Between their first momentous meeting and now, the City's ruins

had been leveled, and temporary living quarters erected: rudimentary,

to be sure, but supplying shelter for all. The hydroelectric plant,

deep in the cliffs through which the broad Kenesaw River surged down to

the distant sea, had escaped damage but it was the planet's only

operating power source. An immense communal kitchen fed everyone and

four facilities scheduled time for personal bathing and laundry.

Except for toddlers and infants, even the children spent half

their day on work teams, and schools for the older ones were devoted to

on the-job training.

While the Fleet had generously given urgent medical supplies and

freeze dried emergency rations to the battered colony, the Rowan began

to notice critical shortages . . . such as work boots and warm

clothing now that the Denebian winter was closing in. Though the City

was located in the temperate zone, winds with bitter chill factors were

known to buffet the plain and the hunters could not bring in sufficient

pelts from the meat animals they killed to clothe everyone.

The Rowan knew she would receive private assistance from Capella

and Betelgeuse as soon as she asked, but until she had a functioning

generator, she couldn't bring any of it in to Deneb. She `ported

herself out to the dilapidated facility to see just what was needed to

make it functional. The cracked housing, still on the ground, was not

a priority repair. The generator itself was jerry-rigged.

Two slip rings had cracked, there were only the holders of the

carbon brushes left, and the drive shaft looked doubtful. She lifted

the housing back into place, wondering if anyone in the City had

pyrotic Talent to mend the crack and if there were any spare generator

parts left on Deneb.

When she entered the shaft (she couldn't give it the title of

Tower), she realized that sheer blind luck must have been the guiding

factor: the instrumentation was minimal, contrapted together out of

spare parts not all of which seemed to perform any function when she

tried to trace it. She thanked Gerolaman from the bottom of her heart

for teaching her so much about the mechanical and electronic workings

of a Tower. She might have passed the first essential lesson in

`porting herself in her frantic dash to Jeff's bedside, but she

couldn't - wouldn't attempt a return without more sophisticated

safeguards than these.

Isthia had helped her convince the pro teen Council that the Tower

facility was a priority.

`We're sort of used to doing for ourselves, you know,' Makil

Resnik, the provisional Governor and Labor Manager, had told her.

`Anything we can't make ourselves, we do without.' Hold it, Rowan,

Isthia advised when she felt the surge of the Rowan's protest. `We can

make a great deal ourselves mostly, Makil. We may even get through the

winter without suitable clothes. But we must import seed and medical

supplies. We've got too few survivors to risk any on the horns of

false pride.' `You got a point there, Isthia. Even so, can't spare a

big team to help. Got to open the Benevolent Mine right soon.

They'd just hit a big seam of platinum.' `I can do a good deal of

the contracting myself but I need someone with electronic skills,' the

Rowan said, managing a calm tone.

Resnik consulted his compack, tapping keys with a blunt thick

fore-finger.

`Zathran Abita's the one she needs, Isthia said calmly.

`She knows more about Towers than Jeff did. Give her a team of

kids to scrounge. With any luck, she'll find most of what she needs in

the salvage sheds. Oh, and Jeff has those I-beam specifications for

you.

You've all this down to a fine art, haven't you, Isthia? the

Rowan said, appreciating such deft manipulation. Was it you who taught

him how to charm?

No, I learned in self-defense against his father. Bear that in

mind! Isthia turned her smile from the Rowan to Resnik, her manner

acquiescent and grateful.

`Little thing like you can refit a Tower herself?' Makil asked,

peering at her appraisingly. `Hmm. When d'you want to start?' She who

hesitates loses her advantage, Isthia drawled.

zerrs occupied at a suitably sedentary task that'll keep him out

of mischief A little fresh air and exercise will do you good.

`No time like the present,' the Rowan replied, deciding to ignore

the fact that Isthia was manipulating her as easily as she did everyone

else around her. Why weren't you made Governor?

The rich sound of Isthia's chuckle echoed in the Rowan's skull. A

nursing mother would make an awkward Governor. Otherwise `I can detach

Zathran only two days. Then he'll be needed at the mine, when we've

got the adit cleared.

Sooner we get a mine running, sooner we'll have something to cheer

about.' `You've already done marvels,' the Rowan assured him, slightly

distracted by Isthia's asides. Then she wondered if she would manage.

She'd never done anything like this before.

You'll do fine! Jeff told her. His mental tone was considerably

more vibrant today than his physical condition. The Rowan knew that he

struggled to overcome his injuries. And when you're stuck, you can

always call on me to bail you out!

Ha!

By the end of the first day the Rowan found herself exceedingly

encouraged by the result. With a half dozen mid-teens, she had gone

through the open sheds where the salvaged items were stored. She had

reviewed her requirements with Jeff, to see what he thought she might

be able to find among the salvage. Having quick-witted kids who knew

where to look among the bewildering aisles and sheds was one advantage:

being kinetic and able to shift what was found immediately out to the

Tower shack was another. The list of needed parts was reduced

drastically by the end of that day. But before she could make the best

use of Zathran Abita, she needed items like carbon brushes, two more

large magnetic coils and slip rings, as well as small transducers and

some circuit boards, which she could only get with Reidinger's

assistance.

The unexpected fillip in the day was discovering three burgeoning

Talents in her young team. The oldest girl, Sarjie, had a definite

metal affinity and could assay metallic content, discern metallic

fatigue or flaw in any piece she handled. She tossed more into the

meltdown bins than on the pallet for transfer to the Tower.

Fourteen-year-old Rences could snatch the shape of what the Rowan

wanted from her mind and unerringly locate it among hundreds of rods,

pipes, fittings, coils, and other `junk'. Morfanu was struggling to

understand a kinetic ability and the Rowan deftly guided her efforts

into more positive channels.

Sarjie had no telempathy: Rences' was limited to shape finding (he

preferred to see drawings or pictures of what was required), and

Morfanu could not project. They needed years of training to refine

their innate abilities.

For someone who had always worked with mature, trained Talent, and

those mainly kinetic or telepathic, the Rowan found the association

with new abilities a fascinating experience.

You've got a lot of patience with them, Jeff said approvingly.

You've tired yourself out, the Rowan accused, furious that she

hadn't been keeping a watch on him along with her salvage operations.

It wasn't my head that was opened. Jeff sounded irascible and,

remembering Isthia's cautionary words, the Rowan aborted a scathing

retort. Sandy's read me the riot act. But the drafts for the mine

reopening are finished. She felt his sense of satisfied achievement.

He was a difficult patient, hating to be incapacitated when he was

most needed, railing at medical restrictions and supervisions.

The day after major surgery, he had insisted on taking on

paperwork: freeing up uninjured personnel. Sandy slipped enough of a

sedative into a `restorative' drink to send him to sleep for several

hours. That night, fretting because he hadn't finished the task he'd

set himself that day, he refused to stop work. So, the Rowan simply

shut him down into sleep.

In the small hours of that night the Rowan, tapping as lightly as

possible into the generators that supplied the hospital's power,

contacted Afra with the order for the most urgent items. He was

reassured by her touch and reassured her that all was still functioning

smoothly there, but he wasn't certain how long that would last.

Relieved, the Rowan then curled up on the cot beside Jeff's bed

and told herself to go back to sleep.

Don't try that on me again, Rowan, Jeff told her when she finally

let him wake up late the next morning. He was livid at her

high-handedness.

At least you've the strength today to get mad, she replied,

unrepentant. There was more color in his face and more vigor visible

in the monitoring graphs. And quite likely strength enough in that

fist of yours to handle a spoon. Your breakfast's ready.

He glared at her, his eyes glinting as he imaged what he would

like to do to her.

Tsk, tsk! How bizarre! she responded very sweetly. With careful

kinesis, she lifted his upper-torso, inserting several pillows behind

his back before she spread a napkin over his chest. Any day now you're

strong enough to try that, my own true love, I shall give in gracefully

to the inevitable. Will you return the compliment now? Here's your

breakfast!

`Now,' she went on pleasantly, `I have to figure out when is the

best time to use the tower, so as not to brown out.

Reidinger caught up with her on her fourth morning on Deneb.

ROWAN! HOW IN HELL DID RAVEN GET YOU THERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?

It was as well, the Rowan thought with grim humor, that she was on

Deneb instead of Callisto. He'd have singed her shields out with that

roar.

Perhaps I was wrong to assume that you would prefer Jeff Raven

alive? she asked acidly and grinned at such a suave throttling of

Reidinger's officious outrage. She wished she could have seen his face

at that moment. She followed up that shock by a clear image of Jeff as

she had first seen him, adding a macabre view of the gaping chest

wound.

She followed this with Jeff's current appearance, palely sleeping

after his chest wound had been dressed. Even with her assisting

Rakella's kinetic manipulations, it hadn't been an easy ten minutes for

Jeff. The medical facilities here were reduced to the medieval by the

bombardment. Which reminds me . . . I sent in a Top Priority

Emergency order for replacement parts and unless you want me lodged

permanently here on Deneb, they'd better be `ported out this way NOW!

At that it will take me another six days to organize a Tower I'd

risk myself with. It is also, she added, suppressing a desire to

smirk, too far for you to lift me.

She knew that Reidinger was listening, and hard, for she could

feel the throb of continued contact between their minds. Since she had

his attention, she continued.

What you cannot have appreciated, as you haven't been on this

planet and none of that irrelevant armada on retrieval patrol would

think to mention it, is that Jeff Raven had only a very elderly

jury-rigged generator for his gestalt when he was lobbing back missiles

and repelling three alien vessels. Just think what he could do with

the kind of equipment most Primes consider absolutely essential before

they tax their lobes.

Deneb's broke, Reidinger roused sufficiently to growl at her.

I'm not, the Rowan replied in her sweetest tone. That order's

paid for and should be ready for shipment today. Any time you have a

spare moment. Oh, and if you'd send Afra a couple of T-2s, he'll see

that Callisto Station operates as efficiently as if I were there.

And how long, came the slow acid tone of Earth Prime, do you fiel

this new Denebian emergency is going to last?

Well, until I have a Tower facility of an operational standard.

If Raven was that badly wounded, who brought you in?

Reidinger's tone was suspicious.

Pure luck, I think, she replied soberly now that she had had

plenty of time to poke about in the tower. When she realized what

little formal kinetic training Isthia Raven had had, and all the things

that could have gone wrong, she'd been horrified. Desperation can

produce amazing stimulae. I'm not about to risk a return without

properly drilled personnel. She felt curiously reticent with Reidinger

and unwilling to disclose just how many strong Talents existed on

Deneb. If Jeff Raven had not informed Earth Prime, she wouldn't.

There are some Talents with enough range for short-range stuff But

nothing is really short-range to Deneb, is it? Not until Jeff is

recovered. Desperation got me here but calm, cool reflection is

unlikely to get me back to Callisto!

That was little more than the truth. In the first place, she was

not leaving Jeff until she was certain of his complete recovery. In

the morning he would be transferred to a private room. He had already

taken a very short walk, gritting his teeth until his endorphin level

compensated for the pain of sore tissue and muscle. The Rowan had had

to exercise a stern control over the almost overpowering desire to

support him kinetically. But Isthia flicked her a warning glance so

the Rowan had endured the mental echoes of Jeff's discomfort without

interceding.

In the second place, she wasn't at all sure that she was

sufficiently confident enough to push herself, coldmindedly, out on

such a long kinetic haul. She wondered if she could try Reidinger's

patience enough to wait until Jeff could handle gestalt again.

If you don't have a generator, Reidinger said with dangerous

logic, how can you expect to catch a shipment?

My immediate need is light stuff I've access to a small generator.

Toss it out to reach here at 0300 Deneb time, and I'll catch.

If you're trying an unpowered catch, you little -- Burning my mind

out is the last thing I want, I assure you, Reidinger, but I must have

those parts or we don't get the tower functioning. If there isn't a

proper tower here, you don't get me back at Callisto! Understand?

I'll deal with you later, you may be damned sure of that, Rowan

child!

Despite her valiant words, the Rowan shivered delicately at the

malice in those last two words. A Reidinger threat was never idle.

But no threat could be severe enough to remove her from Deneb

right now. Besides Jeff Raven, the planet was eminently worth any

effort on her part. Like her devoted team of scroungers, Isthia, and

other intangible things, like sunsets.

For ten years, she had seen none. Here, Deneb's primary went down

with blazing red and orange clouds, the hectic colors fading slowly to

a bleached-blue sky until the sharp peaks of the mountains that ringed

the plain stood out with incredible clarity. Though starscapes were

nothing new to her, the night sky was equally brilliant.

Deneb VIII had three small moons whipping about it and an asteroid

belt beyond their orbits that was the remains of a fourth. But it was

the crispness of the night air, scented with pungent and unfamiliar

fragrances when the wind blew down from the mountains, which the Rowan

found truly remarkable. She liked the feel of it riffling her hair,

caressing her face, pressing gently against her raised hands. Callisto

had no breezes. She hadn't realized how much she had missed them until

now.

So she didn't mind standing out in the dark, waiting for the

shipment, ready to gestalt with the hospital's generator, taking an

atavistic pleasure in the night.

Reidinger sent exactly what she ordered: not a brush, bar, or

board more. It took the Rowan and her team a long day to get the

generator cleaned and repaired, to reconfigure the control panel, and

strengthen an adequate link to the Kenesaw hydroplant. Scarcely an

aesthetic installation when finished, but it worked. Zathran Abita

worried about the drain on the City's power. As the electronics expert

had no notion of how Talent worked, she had to explain that the tight

focus of gestalt required a short burst of power: Flow rate and

pressure altered slightly with the distance and/or the weight of the

object `ported, but the actual `use' of power was split-second.

Finishing the Tower gave Deneb one more short step toward

independence. The Rowan's team had broadcast her efforts so that she

was greeted wherever she went on the streets or in the hospital. She

was both slightly embarrassed - since Talents preferred nonentity - and

delighted. Morfanu followed her about, which could have been a

nuisance, except that it allowed the Rowan more opportunities to train

the girl's innate Talent.

Had every single Talent instructor been killed? Or was it a

result of Deneb's rather off hand colonial mind-set? On Central

Worlds, parents had their children tested at birth for any sign of

viable Talent. (Birth trauma often produced a measurable spark even if

the ability did not mature until adolescence.) Talented children were

assiduously guided and trained, even as she had been.

So far only Jeff Raven was formally contracted to the FT&T, and

the Rowan knew that he was determined to keep it that way. It was also

obvious to her that Deneb needed to keep every useful citizen on the

planet, to ensure its revitalization. But they ought to be trained.

Was it fear of the exploitation by FT&T that Jeff had mentioned to

her which inhibited training? But if you liked what you were doing,

did it well, was that really exploitation? She had everything she

wanted, anything she asked for, including tonnes of generator parts and

comm equipment. Apart from her intense loneliness and isolation which

had always been with her - as Callisto Prime, she enjoyed enviable

privileges along with her responsibilities.

Once Jeff was in a private room, he had almost nonstop visitors:

additional workspace had to be sent for to accommodate files and

monitors. He seemed always to be conferring with some group or other

`I thought Makil was Governor,' the Rowan remarked acidly to Isthia,

seething with worry that Jeff would work himself sick again. `Can't

you do anything to curb him?' `He's one of the best engineers we have,'

Isthia said, though her thoughts echoed the Rowan's worry about Jeff's

stamina. `So much needs to be organized for us to get through this

winter. You know how short his time is.' Short? The Rowan demanded of

Isthia with sudden panic, probing to comprehend her qualification.

Easy, girl, and Isthia bounced the probe back. You know he's

under contract to FT&T. When the Fleet is satisfied they've swept sky

and surface clear of alien artifacts, they'll go and Jeff will be

transferred elsewhere. Deneb's not due for a Prime.

Reidinger made that clear to Jeff in their initial interview.

The Rowan had forgotten about that. If he's trying to work

himself into a relapse to stay here longer, Reidinger can invoke

punitive measures. He wouldn't like that. I wouldn't like that for

him.

Then make him stop working, my dear. I'm only his mother!

And, grinning at the Rowan's astonishment, Isthia left the room.

And you have measures that I can't use! Then her laugh echoed

merrily in the Rowan's ears as the girl suddenly realized what she

meant.

The Rowan waited until the current delegation left, then she

closed and locked the door.

`Now don't start on me again, Rowan,' Jeff said, looking up from

the files he was scanning preparatory for his next appointment.

`You have ten minutes free-time right now,' she began, affecting a

provocative posture, `and it's mine!' She snuggled up to him in the

bed. `Everyone on this planet gets a piece of the action but me,' she

went on, `and I `Rowan,' he began, not quite masking irritation at her

form of interruption. Then, he took a deep breath and smiled. `I do

have a lot to do.' `You'd do more if you give yourself a chance to rest

Was rest what you had in mind? His startlingly blue eyes began to

sparkle.

Well, it's plain you've got your mind on many things far more

important. . He laughed then, and dropped the films on to the bedside

table, putting his good right arm about her.

And while cerebral activity is all you' re able for .

`We've got ten minutes alone and I'll just prove what I'm able

for, my darling,' and that is just what he did, with considerable

invention to overcome the handicap of his injuries.

When he was totally relaxed, she subtly nudged his mind into a

sleep pattern and postponed his next appointment. His nap was brief

but he ruefully admitted that it had done him so much good, he wouldn't

fight her on that point again.

By the end of that week, healing had progressed so well that Jeff

was allowed to move to the Ravens' accommodation. The Rowan was amazed

to see so many people living so congenially in such cramped quarters.

The room she shared with Jeff was smaller even than the one she

had occupied in Lusena's neat apartment. There was space for the bed,

a workspace and monitors, and one had to step around the foot of the

bed to get in and out of the room.

`Of course, we don't need much space,' Isthia remarked as she

easily read the Rowan's dismay despite a quick shield to hide it. `We

don't have much in the way of possessions at the moment,' and she gave

a wry laugh.

`Except for Ian, none of us have more than one change of clothes

right now.' At the best of times the Rowan rarely paid much attention

to what she wore, but footwear, appropriate for walking between Tower

and her quarters on Callisto, was coming apart at the seams.

`I think I can help you there,' Isthia said and passed Ian over to

the Rowan who had never held a baby in her life.

The child regarded her with solemn wide eyes and his fist crept up

to his mouth.

You can trust me, the Rowan said carefully, wondering how you

reassured a nonverbal infant. She was rewarded by an astonishingly

jubilant smile so infectious that she grinned back in an idiotic

fashion.

`Yes, he has that effect on one,' Isthia remarked, rummaging in a

small chest that also served as seating.

`Ah. You've small enough feet. Maybe these will fit.' The Rowan

had grown accustomed to Isthia's openness so that when it shut down

completely, as Isthia handed her a pair of country boots, she looked at

her questioningly.

`A granddaughter's,' was Isthia's terse response. Then she

repossessed Ian, who squirmed about to watch the Rowan try on the

boots. `She'd be thrilled to think her beloved uncle's wife could use

them. Put them on.' The moment of closure passed, but the grief behind

it had not.

The Rowan carefully put them on, folding over the flap and

standing up to test the fit. A little loose but a thicker pair of

socks would solve that problem.

`I should have some socks around here, too,' Isthia said and

those, too, were passed on to the Rowan.

`This is becoming a most salutary visit for me,' the Rowan said.

`One gets accustomed to taking ordinary things for granted, like

socks and shoes and a change of clothes.' Isthia smiled warmly at her,

taking Ian's fist out of his mouth. `A new baby helps, too,' she added

in the same thoughtful tone. `A new life means continuity. In one way

I'm sorry he's the last of them. However, an even dozen was all I

promised their father.

The Rowan felt an unexpected shaft of pure envy for Jeff. To be

one of a large and, from what she'd now seen, extremely congenial,

loving family was truly enviable.

Lusena's two children, Bardy and Finnan, had been much older, so

she'd missed a true sense of family. Turian had also had a similar

deep familial attachment.

`You had no family at all?' Isthia asked, surprised.

Shaking her head, the Rowan dropped the eye contact.

`I was the sole survivor of a mining camp that was buried in a

freak mud avalanche,' the Rowan said quietly.

`The Company office narrowed it down to three possible sets of

parents --`But surely, you'd remember?' `I was three. When I cried

for my mother, an entire planet heard me.' The Rowan managed a weak

chuckle.

`They had to shut me up so all memory of the tragedy was blocked

out.' `And no-one's removed the block?' `Yes, they tried once,' the

Rowan said, frowning as she remembered the occasion. `The block was

well constructed. I resisted and they couldn't go deep enough. So,'

and she firmly changed mood, `that's it.' `Is it?' Isthia remarked

cryptically as she left the room.

Startled, the Rowan probed but she came smack up against Isthia's

formidable shield.

It took the concerted effort of his entire remaining family to get

Jeff, complaining that he had a lot of catching up to do, to retire at

a reasonable hour. But he surrendered gracefully. `Not that I had any

choice,' he muttered to the Rowan as she preceded him into their room.

`At that, we're lucky,' he added.

`We are?' and the Rowan heard the faint sibilant shushes and loud

whispers for `silence' `We've got a room with a lock.' He yawned

mightily, wincing. The wounds across chest and ribs remained tender.

Cautiously he lay down on the bed, then negligently reached out to

draw her close to him. `I made them all promise to knock, too. `Will

they?' the Rowan asked, experiencing a sudden inhibition. She'd been

looking forward to some privacy after the comings and goings of the

hospital. `Will they, Jeff?' A gentle snore informed her that the

convalescent was already asleep.

Living in the boisterous Raven household was at first a novelty

for the Rowan, totally foreign to anything in her experience. His

various brothers and sisters, their mates, children, occasionally

in-laws, orphaned nieces, nephews, and some elderly relations of both

Isthia and Josh Raven lived happily in each other's pockets. The

accommodation wasn't even quiet late at night since some of the

residents worked late shifts. While there may have been an

understanding about knocking on the door, in practice a knock was

usually immediately followed by the door being opened to admit anyone

who wished to speak to Jeff The first day, the Rowan took it in good

part: she remembered what Isthia had said about `sharing'. But she was

unused to continual babble and certainly all the touching that went on,

friendly though it was and meant in the nicest possible way, made her

edgy. She firmly suppressed the irritation and sublimated it into hard

work.

Along with manning the Tower for `porting men and supplies out to

the platinum mine, the Rowan did some judicious investigation into what

could not be found in the salvage sheds. No-one had fully inventoried

what had been saved from the ruins so, when she learned from Rences

that he had spent fruitless hours trying to find certain unusual bolts

and fasteners, when she heard Rakella complaining about the lack of

some surgical instruments, or from Isthia which size of work boot was

no longer available, she discreetly contacted other Primes and,

pledging her credit, made up the shortages. She respected the fierce

independence of the Denebians but they could carry it too far, even if

the planet was poor. A few bits and pieces could be added without

offending anyone's pride.

Then Jeff paid her a surprise visit at the Tower while she was

shifting some internal freight, including two crates of tools which she

had discreetly brought in from Capella.

The kinetics she was training for in-planet freight never

questioned what she asked them to `port. Jeff was another matter

entirely. Unfortunately, not only was the origin of the crates clearly

stenciled on the side, but also they were far too fresh-looking to have

been miraculously `unearthed'. There were also two inbound shipments

still in their cradles, waiting to be dispersed.

Where did all that come from? Jeff wanted to know, striding into

the Tower room. He halted, staring about a facility which bore little

resemblance to its previous appearance. He whistled in apparent

appreciation which made the three youngsters grin, but the Rowan had no

trouble sensing a growing concern and anger.

`All right, Tony, you and Seb link and send Cradle 4 to the mine,'

she said, continuing the procedure. `Good,' she added as Seb punched

the appropriate coordinates up on the screen. `Touch the gestalt . .

.` The generator's whine peaked. `No, don't look at me for the

go.

You have to know yourself when it's go . . . that's right. On

the button! Good transfer!' Jeff found himself a seat and, if he

seemed to be interested in how the three trainees were teleporting, the

Rowan was all too aware of the tension building in him.

His eyes were brilliant with what she identified as suppressed

outrage.

`That's all for today, crew,' she said. `Now, why don't you take

all you've learned `porting inanimate objects, and take yourselves back

to the City while the generator's still running sweetly.' She added

that impudently.

`You'll never know until you try,' Jeff added with a hearty

enthusiasm for them to be well gone from the tower. `Out you go.

You've thrown heavier stuff than yourselves. And you ought to

know where home is by now. Off with you.

One by one they managed the feat, echoes of astonished delight

from each of the three minds before their touches dissolved.

`And why are you annoyed, anxious, outraged?' the Rowan demanded

because she couldn't bear his displeasure `Deneb's bankrupt!' The words

exploded from him and his eyes seemed to shoot sparks at her. `How're

we going to pay for all this? Hire more kids out to FT&T when we need

every survivor we've got to rebuild?' `It's all paid for,' she said,

clamping down but not quickly enough for someone as swift to see an

opening as Jeff Raven. Why not? I never use half my contractual

monies anyway. I called in a few favors . . Deneb isn't your planet,

isn't your problem Don't be so damned proprietarial! It's my problem

if I make it mine. I've great respect for this planet's people. I

admire your family tremendously .

Family's the keyword, isn't it? Jeff's tone had abruptly altered

and his eyes narrowed. He caught her by the shoulders then and before

she guessed his intention, he had pierced through every layer of

privacy in her mind.

She cried out at the force of his mental penetration as he also

broke through the block that had remained intact against every other

invasion.

Trembling violently, she clung to him as his intrusion restored

the memory of that horrendous time. Then slowly, with infinite

tenderness, he withdrew, soothing away forever the terrors of a

three-year-old girl, battered about in the dark of a rolling, plunging

vehicle.

They stood a long while locked in each other's arms, until the

glorious sunset colored the sky and they realized just how long this

passage of restoration had taken.

Rowan's tears were dry on her cheeks and she was no longer racked

by shudders.

`I was named Angharad Gwyn. My father was a shaft supervisor and

my mother was a teacher. I had a brother named Ian `She looked up in

amazement.

`We have something else in common then. He tucked her head under

his chin again, holding her more firmly now. `It was a rough trip all

right, enough for one small, lonely girl.' He pressed her tightly when

he felt her begin to shudder again. `You know, I don't think that it

was all Siglen's fault that you were afraid of big, black holes in

space. Not after that trip!' `You know, you might be right,' the Rowan

said slowly, for she remembered all too clearly her terror at being

propelled toward the shuttle that was to have taken her to Earth for

training. She'd been so frightened that she'd even dropped Purza as

she `ported herself back to the one safe place she knew. `I couldn't

think of anything but you on my way here.' She gave a convulsive shake

at the memory of her first glimpse of Jeff.

`I was really messed up, wasn't I?' he said in a thoughtful tone

as he caught the image in her mind. `It's probably a very good thing

that patients don't see how they look to observers.' She hugged him as

hard as she could. `So, if you don't object, may I please contrive in

my own small way to be of assistance to the beloved planet of your

birth?' Jeff cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at her. `You do mean

well. And Makil and the Council are about to give you honorary

citizenship for getting this facility working again, so I'll trust your

discretion. Now, since the Tower is functional, how much longer do you

think Reidinger is going to allow you a leave of absence?' The Rowan

smiled beatifically at him. `Oh, as long as I can make him believe

you're still recuperating.' `Oh?' and Jeff was highly skeptical.

`It's nice and quiet out here,' she said, pulling him toward the

long bench under the windows, `and no-one will knock on the door and

then just . . .` she halted, hearing the edge in her voice.

Jeff chuckled understandingly. `I thought it was getting a bit

much for you - all the Raven togetherness. You have to grow up in such

bedlam to be able to ignore it, and you never really had much

childhood, did you?' `Don't patronize me!' `Temper, temper!' And he

kissed the corners of her mouth in a way that put all trace of temper

out of mind.

AND JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU WHITE-HAIRED,

BUG-EYED ALTAIRIAN LOON..

An empath with half your range should instantly perceive that I am

feeding my nephew his breakfast, she replied equably, as she managed to

get another spoonful of thin cereal into Ian's mouth.

Jeff, hands cupped under his chin, was closely observing this

totally unexpected facet of his lover. Ah! Our master's voice. Glad

it's directed at you!

NOW, LISTEN YOU, YOU UNREGENERATE - You know I'm immune to

flattery, the Rowan replied.

You're not immune to contract penalties. And that goes for that

culchie whom I sense is in your immediate vicinity. If you and that

bondmate of yours are not back at your respect:ve stations by the end

of this day - this Earth Day - you will both suffer the maximum

deductions for dereliction - of duty. And that should put a crimp in

this altruistic spending spree of yours, Rowan of Callisto!

`I think he means it,' Rowan told Jeff, giggling.

`I am sufficiently recovered to shove you back,' he said ruefully,

for the past week had been one of joyful discoveries about each other.

Despite busyness requiring long days, they had managed to work in

tandem now whenever possible. And they had managed to get sufficient

sleep at night to work equally hard the next day.

`I'm secure enough now to do my own `ports,' she replied, deftly

scraping up the residue of cereal around Ian's mouth and popping it in

again. `This doesn't seem to be too arduous a task.' The first time,

no, Isthia Raven said from another room.

By the twelfth, you, too, will be delighted to have volunteers.

My, what a long ear you have, Granny Raven, Jeff said.

I can hear with it, too, she added drily. Or are you two so

totally engrossed in each other that you can't tell when you're

speaking or minding it?

`I'll mind leaving here,' the Rowan said with a deep sigh, mopping

young Ian's mouth clean. Her brother's namesake was twice as precious

to her for having had the brief care of him. The baby waved his arms

vigorously, a deep scowl on his little old man's face which utterly

entranced the Rowan. She lifted him over her shoulder, patting his

back.

`Anyone would think you'd been handling babies all your life,'

Jeff remarked with a snort though he regarded his littlest brother with

great affection.

`A natural talent,' was her quick retort. Simultaneously each

realized that their inane remarks covered the dismay both felt at the

imminent end of this idyll.

It's not an end at all, Rowan, Jeff said, his tone infinitely

tender and his blue eyes ravishing her with love.

It's a separation! she said rebelliously.

For six days? He raised both arms, to dismiss such a minor

parting. Your place or mine? His eyes glinted mischievously.

I'd prefer to come here, but it might be more politic to remain at

Callisto after being away over three weeks.

The first vacation, may I point out to you, my love, which you've

had in the ten years you've been Callisto Prime!

Ah, but I never had vacation plans before now! And I suspect from

the depths of our Master's anger, that it had little to do with my

absence.

Oh??

I may, of course, be doing Reidinger an injustice .

That's hardly likely, love, considering the terms of the contract

he made me sign -in heart's blood.

Just keep everyone at their exercises while I'm gone, Jeff I know

Sariie's young but she should be at the mines, learning all she can

about metals and mining. She should go to Earth for training.

Especially since mining's Deneb's main source of income.

We can't afford to send her away. She'd hate Terra, Jeff added.

We Denebians are real home bodies and don't like leaving our

birthplace.

You did!

I, my love, had devious ulterior mot:yes . . . and besides, I

lost the toss. He grimaced in mock horror. However, lest he chastise

me by sending me somewhere too remote from Deneb Nothing habitable is

remoter than Deneb Checking appropriate times, the Rowan and Jeff

decided it was best for her to arrive at the beginning of Callisto's

working day, when shipments would be forwarded from Earth. For the

first time, the Rowan could enter her personal capsule without a single

vestige of the old inhibiting terror. In fact she was eager for the

challenge.

That's the girl. And aren't you going to surprise Reidinger!

Through him she felt the generator whining up to full power. Jeff

had done some fine tuning, though he had been full of pride in how she

had effected the initial repairs. Closing off the fierce regret at

having to leave him for even six days, the Rowan settled her mind

against his and readied herself to exert their mutual gestalt.

The voyage was accomplished in a mood of high elation, for Jeff

followed her all the way back. As she felt the slight jar of her

carrier settling back into the cradle it had left twenty standard days

before, she felt another of his special phantom caresses.

ROWAN? Afra's incredulous shout was accompanied by cheers from

every other empathic Talent in the Station.

Those who could teleported to the landing area.

Protocol and privacy was forgotten as she was grabbed, hugged,

slapped, and made to feel royally welcomed. She found herself

unexpectedly warmed by such a reception and felt color flooding her

cheeks.

`We'll lay on a real celebration later, folks,' Brian Ackerman

said, `but we got a heavy morning's work. Boy, am I glad to see you,

Rowan! You'll just never know!' `You know,' she said with a surprised

laugh, `I'm glad to be back, too!' When she reached her Tower, with all

the sophisticated technology which the makeshift one on Deneb lacked,

she was surprised to see two couches in place. And then turned to meet

the T-2s who had replaced her. The rising whine of the generators

reminded them all of duty.

We'll talk later but you have my deepest gratitude and

appreciation, she told Torshan and Saggoner. She realized from a quick

`look' that their deep, personal attachment raised their efficiency to

a level close to Prime.

The entire Station knew the difference when the Rowan began to

spin outbound materiel in or launched waiting inbound shipments.

Deneb's facilities would need to be quadrupled to match

Callisto's, she thought with the part of her mind that was not needed

in these routine shunts.

There was so much still to be done there: so little more that

would be wise to do without giving offense.

Finally back at work, are you? demanded Reidinger as she deftly

caught a `fragile' shipment directly from him.

I thought you'd never notice!

I'll have a few private words with you later, girl! he said in a

tone that once might have distressed her.

Deep down inside herself, she chuckled. He'd have those words.

In private and in person.

Then, one by one, the other Primes contacted her with welcoming

thoughts. David remarked rather caustically that she had finally found

out what it was all about, and did she like it? The Rowan had

forgotten how clever he could be. Fortunately Capella had so many

complaints about `inefficiency' from Callisto that she didn't bother

with personal remarks. The others were courteously glad to have her

back in her Tower and relieved that Jeff Raven was able to resume his

own duties. Siglen alone sent no greeting, but the Rowan wasn't

particularly surprised by silence from that quarter. Siglen would not

have understood why she'd jeopardize everything to go to a sick man!

Once outward bound freight had been received, and inward stuff

dispatched, there would be a four-hour period in which Jupiter's bulk

still shielded Callisto Station from deep space. As the Rowan figured

she could complete her `talk' with Reidinger well within that time

frame, she spoke in a tight shaft to Afra.

I've a few things to discuss with Reidinger, old friend, she

began. And felt his astonishment. Yes, of course, I'm going to Earth!

I can make my points a lot stronger in person. And, it's about

time we met face-to-face.

Is that wise? Afra asked noncommittally. He had met Reidinger on

a number of occasions and was always relieved to escape unscathed.

He can't be that bad! He's got no call to discipline me for

responding to an emergency. The Station was covered. I' ve just had a

look through the records, and you've managed quite nicely without me:

Nothing got cracked or spilled and no freight got misdirected. What's

his problem?

The risk to Callisto Prime, Afra replied, his tone dry and his

yellow eyes sardonic.

He gained a lot more than I risked, she said tartly.

I know, Afra answered with gentle emphasis.

The Rowan grinned. I'd like to surprise the old geezer.

Geezer? Afra sputtered at her impudence.

You've contacts at Earth Prime Headquarters. Can one of them

sneak me in without having to announce my arrival?

Hmmm, that's not the easiest thing to arrange, you know.

Callisto keeps you secure but there're still a lot of crazies on

Earth. Reidinger's pretty heavily guarded.

Guarded?

Guarded!

But surely a Prime is able to defend himself A waste of energy

that could be expended elsewhere on FT&T's behalf, Afra remarked dryly.

The Rowan snorted. Well, can you help at all?

There's a T4 I trained with: one of Reidinger's trouble shooters,

a Terran named Gollee Gren. I'll see if he can oblige Don't tell him

who I am!

At that Afra laughed. I doubt there's a single Talent who doesn't

know who you are, my dear Rowan.

Oh! And when she had absorbed the implications of that, What if I

shield tight? And if he's not expecting the Rowan, why would he know

my identity if he can't read it?

A point there but you still have to pass Security to get into the

FT&T cube. A routine check will reveal your identity.

If a Prime can't manage a minor formality like that The Rowan was

dismissive.

If you want to get in quietly, to surprise Reidinger, it'll take

managing. Let me check with Gren. There was a fairly lengthy pause

before Afra came back to her. Well, he's agreed on my especial request

to escort my anonymous young friend as far as he's able but Security

has to be placated. He'll meet you at the landing entrance.

The journey was so effortless that the Rowan wondered that

self-portation had once seemed so arduous and terrifying. She wondered

if there was anything to be done to release Capella or David from that

imposed travel fear.

She indulged in a projected scene, where she just waltzed into

Altair Tower and told Siglen that she had just come in from Callisto

Station. The old dear would probably faint.

She settled her carrier at 14.30 Earth time in one of the single

cradles just outside the reception building. She had always known what

the main FT&T facility looked like, having shifted carriers, pods, and

vessels of all sizes in and out of the great landing field. But

standing in the center of it, dwarfed by the immense cube to her right

that was the Headquarters building on a field of twenty-square

kilometers, gave her the proper perspective.

Cradles, scarred by long use and rough handling, surrounded her,

from the singles and doubles nearest the building to those looming on

the edges of the field that could receive the largest freighters,

passenger and naval craft. To the east she caught the glint of water.

Surrounding the field on its land sides were rank upon rank of

buildings, starting with low industrial complexes. Behind them, in

seried ranks of varying height and bulk, the business and residential

towers of the largest single metropolis of the Central Worlds receded

into the distance.

The Rowan knew from childhood lessons that The City was unbroken

along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and each decade penetrated

farther inland. By the turn of the next century, The City would

inexorably engulf the entire continent as the western habitations

expanded eastward to meet it. What a contrast to Deneb!

Beneath her feet she could feel the rumble of immense generators,

and the wind carried the high pitched whine of hard working turbines.

A light sea breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the taint of

brine. That was almost a welcome change from the metallic stink of air

that caught at the back of her throat. Even Callisto's recycled

atmosphere was better than this. She began to cough as the acrid air

irritated her throat.

`Hey, where did you sneak in from?' asked a man in the bright

orange of a cargo handler, appearing from behind a rack of single

carriers.

`I didn't sneak in,' the Rowan replied. `I've come from Callisto

with orders to report to Reidinger.' `Prime Reidinger to the likes of

you,' he replied with a sneer. He peered at the number of her shell

and consulted a wrist-unit. `Hey, your carrier 5 not listed.' `T-4

Gollee Gren has been delegated to escort me, she replied. So much

for Afra's contention that Callisto Prime was well known.

`Talent Gren? Well, now, we'll just Suddenly his expression

altered to nervous surprise and he straightened, giving her a strange

glance. His right hand went to his ear and it was then that the Rowan

noticed he was wearing a com device. `Yes, sir, Talent Gren. A

carrier of that ID has arrived. Yes, I'll direct her.' With a much

altered manner, he pointed toward the FT&T building. `You go there.

Talent Gren's waiting for you. And you don't keep Talents

waiting. Not around here you don't.' He jerked his head toward the

airy shell of concrete and plasglas that extruded from this facade of

the vast opaque cube of the Federal Telepathic and Teleportation

Agency.

From the sides of the great cube she could see transport cables

stringing out to the edges of the great portfield and the dewdrop

vehicles speeding along them.

Housed within Earth Prime Station were the administrative and

training facilities of Federal Telepath and Teleport, and somewhere

inside was Reidinger. The size of the place was daunting. Her

whimsical notion to surprise Reidinger would tax her ingenuity. She

ought not to have dismissed Afra's mental reservations so airily.

How had Jeff got in to see Rowan? She pressed her lips together:

that man could charm his way anywhere in the galaxy. But if he could,

so could she.

The Rowan straightened her spine, rejecting the grandeur and sheer

size of Earth Prime Station. Would Reidinger be as grand face-to-face?

How truly realistic had that hologram cube been? She squashed

notions of inadequacy, and impudence, and walked as briskly as she

could, considering the difference in gravity between Callisto and

Terra, toward the shell entrance.

As she neared the entrance, she saw a lone figure waiting by the

door, highly visible in the deep crimson suit he wore. Suddenly she

wished she had taken time to plan this expedition, for she was in

rather drab work clothing.

So much for impulsive decisions. Perhaps. But she was here on

Earth and that was a positive action and long overdue.

The central door panel of the plasglas facade whooshed open and

the man stepped forward smiling, hand extended. She battened down her

shields.

`Good afternoon, Angharad Gwyn.' The Rowan took a second to

recognize her birth name. That was clever of Afra. Had she actually

told him or had he accessed that discovery from her mind? Sometimes

she wondered if Afra had not improved beyond a T-4. `I'm Gollee Gren.

Afra of Callisto requested that I escort you to the Prime's

offices.' Smiling, she shook the offered hand and deflected the

tentative peek which the physical contact allowed. She permitted him

to glimpse an inexperienced mind awed by its present surroundings. In

return she extracted a good deal more from the T-4's mind.

`I appreciate your escort, Gollee Gren,' she said in a breathless

manner. `I had not realized how massive the installation is.' He

hesitated, holding her hand longer than the courtesy required, and he

frowned slightly. `Have we met before?' `I doubt it. This is my first

trip to Earth.' `I see. Well, let's get inside, shall we? That air's

bad for the lungs,' Gren said with an ingratiating smile as he gestured

for them to proceed. `I've always been in Afra's debt,' he went on,

`but I'm not at all sure that I can assist you very much, no matter

what Afra may have hinted.

Especially today with all that's happened.' He led her to a bank

of shafts, set in the rear wall, on one side of the main exits. `Once

we've got your Security Clearance,' and from his mind she neatly picked

all she needed to know about that procedure, `I can, of course, escort

you to the Prime's office.' `I'm properly cleared,' she said and showed

him the Top Security Clearance badge which she had just procured for

herself. `Afra took care of everything.' She stepped into the first

vacant lift.

`Oh?' Gollee was amazed. `I didn't realize well, never mind. But

even with that, it's still not going to be easy to see Prime Reidinger

today. You'll have to be content with an appointment for another day.'

Then he placed his hand on the palm plate marked `Restricted' and the

door closed and the lift rose.

`I heard,' and she stressed the verb, `that the new Deneb Prime

didn't have to wait.' To her surprise, Gollee Gren gave a hearty

chuckle.

`How that lad knew where Reidinger's real office was located has

given the Security Talents bad nightmares.' So, because that location

was very much in Gren's mind, Prime Rowan had no difficulty extracting

it. Jeff Raven, with that charismatic charm of his, had probably used

the same trick.

They stepped out of the lift into a handsomely furnished lobby,

with wall hangings of exquisite design and vivid colors. Elegant

hardwoods in an intricate pattern covered the floor although corridors

branching from the big room were carpeted. There were finely wrought

seats, couches, and some odd resting pods to accommodate nonhuman

forms. Two women, elegantly dressed in wildly striped, tight-fitting

body-suits with their hair in intricate braids, seemed intent on the

monitors of their consoles. Both had instantly identified and made

mental notes of the new arrivals, slightly uncomplimentary about the

Rowan. A man appeared at the side of the main desk complex, smiling at

Gren and attempting to read her. A T-3 had no chance of doing that.

`I'd like to freshen up before --` the Rowan said in a meek tone

after looking about her with suitable awe.

Gren pointed to the green carpeted hall directly to their right.

`I'll wait for you,' he said and walked jauntily to the front desk

to speak to the man The Rowan heard him greet them by name as she moved

out of sight. In the toilet she did give her silver hair a brush and

washed her hands. The T-3 had kept a loose touch on her as she made

these ablutions. He broke that light contact with propriety as she

entered one of the stalls.

Then, grinning at such a splendid opportunity, the Rowan

teleported herself down three stories and into the southwest corner of

the great cube, right into the center of the spacious suite that was

the operational `tower' of Peter Reidinger IV. She blanked herself out

totally as she emerged so that not even Earth's Prime would know she

was there, since he didn't waste his energies on personal safety.

His contour chair was similar to her own, but larger, to

accommodate his heavier, taller body. In front of him was a console,

far more extensive than hers on Callisto. Like a shadow she glided to

a point where she could see his face in profile. His hair was black,

with just a touch of white at the temple. She had thought he'd be

younger for his mental tone was so forceful, reeking of authority and

vitality. His beard must be a recent affectation, for he had been

clean shaven in the halos she had of him. But the beard was cut close

to his jaw and, oddly enough, was dark red as was the carefully trimmed

mustache on his upper lip. Standing he would not be as tall as Jeff

Raven, but he was more powerfully built. He wore an ordinary worksuit

just as she did. He was frowning in concentration and the dials

reflecting generator power were jumping toward the right-hand sides as

he exercised considerable gestalt. Since he was obviously in mental

contact, she would not commit the worst solecism of her kind.

Suddenly a long, red panel flashed wildly across the top of his

console and a weird hooter broke the silence.

`Heat readings detect an intruder, Prime,' said an agitated male

voice.

`Well, I am glad that people can't just sneak up on you,' the

Rowan said with a laugh, opening her mind enough for him to recognize

her, as he swung his chair about, glaring savagely.

His eyes quite literally bulged as he recognized her. She

continued to laugh at the conflicting expressions mirrored on his face

and did not intend to establish a mental contact until he had calmed

down.

`Prime? Answer! Are you all right?' `Abort measures.' Reidinger

continued to stare at her.

`But there are two heat sources `Identify the second as Prime

Rowan of Callisto and leave us alone.' There was an audible click as

the comunit went silent.

`So true love really works,' he said. `Which is serendipitous and

saves that wretched Denebian for other duties. Since you have mastered

the inhibition, you will in fact do far better than Raven.' There was a

smug look on Reidinger's heavy-featured face. He steepled his fingers

and actually smiled at her. She did not like that smile.

`Yes, by far the better since you're familiar with the Altairian

Tower.

She caught his news then, and realized she had not only

misinterpreted Siglen's lack of greeting but Gollee Gren's remark about

recent developments.

`Siglen?' `She's had a massive coronary and it would be kinder if

she didn't survive.' To do him credit, Reidinger deeply regretted her

illness. `I didn't fancy putting Raven m charge of a Tower .

`He's more than capable of it,' the Rowan interrupted, with fierce

pride.

`Have the courtesy to be silent!' His vocal bark was quite as

severe as his mental chastisements. `Capable, yes, but unfamiliar with

procedures and rather rough and ready in deliveries. As I recall it!'

He cocked a heavy eyebrow at her.

`I think he's done exceedingly well considering the fact he's only

just emerged.' `How is his convalescence progressing?' The Rowan

suppressed the biting answer that was her reaction to his acid tone and

shrugged noncommittally.

How could she have been naive enough to believe she could best

Reidinger. Except. . . and her swift mind caught a wisp. So! Prime

Reidinger could be read. He wasn't used to the shielding needed in the

presence of another mind as strong as his own. To distract him she

brought over the most comfortable of the few chairs in the big room and

arranged herself languidly on it. A Prime need not stand about

shifting from foot to foot like a lackey.

`His injuries are healing well but he doesn't have much stamina

yet, no matter what he thinks! I set up a fairly decent Tower

facility, and he did a rather nice job of fine tuning the components.

Deneb's effectively back in full contact.' Reidinger waggled a

finger at her. `Deneb's also broke and Central Worlds has no intention

of planting a Prime Station there no matter how many Talents you

discovered out there in the boonies.' `They concur completely, Peter,'

and she smiled when her use of his first name caught him off guard.

Is everyone and his brother awed by Earth Prime Reidinger? Surely

your wife. -.

If you don't get personal, neither will I, you white-haired scut .

. . He scowled, his eyes glittering.

She laughed. `In fact, it was all I could do to muster the Talent

I needed,' she added which was true enough, `to repair the Tower for my

uses.

`Speaking of use, you've exhausted all your private funds. `And

borrowed as much as I could, she added, airily.

`In an excellent cause. You may not have bothered to find out,'

and then she realized that Reidinger had been well briefed, `that that

aborted invasion cost Deneb three-fifths of its population and every

single installation.' Reidinger shrugged. `Colonists know the risks.

They get what they can pay for. And you . . . he shook his

finger in her face again.

Don't tell me what I can or cannot do, Reidinger, she darted at

him before he continued. `Nor would I humiliate such valiant people

with spurious assistance. They'll do fine on their own `Great!

Because you'll be too busy at Altair Station from now on, and that

man of yours is going to learn about contractual obligations.' `He'll

honor them,' the Rowan began, incensed by the slur implied.

Now Reidinger laughed. `And he'll learn how to function as a

Prime.' `He already does!' `No Station discipline. You,' and Reidinger

picked up a jade statuette and began toying with it, `will go to Altair

and he will work Callisto, right where I can keep track of him.' The

Rowan deflected the quick lance of Reidinger's querying shaft so that

he wouldn't see her delight. She couldn't have wished for a better

situation. Reidinger would soon learn more about Jeff Raven than he

wished.

`Callisto?' She kept her voice neutral, with just a tinge of

surprise and consternation in her mind. `How are you going to get

those naval units back from Deneb then? He's good but even I can't

reach that far from Callisto. Nor you!' `Torshan and Saggoner managed

quite well at Callisto in your unavoidable absence.' Reidinger made no

attempt to disguise how much that absence had rankled. `You say you

made a working facility there? That'll be sufficient for the naval

displacement. Then Deneb will just have to rely on its natural

resources.' And he dismissed that battered planet from further FT&T

considerations.

Very privately the Rowan thought that Torshan and Saggoner would

do very nicely to carry on the training she had started. Or was

Reidinger better briefed about Denebian Talent potential than she could

discern?

`You'll have to `port out to Altair . . . you are able for

distance now, I believe,' Reidinger continued to poke subtly at her

mind.

`Home the Conquering Hero comes!' she replied flippantly. Then

abruptly altered her tone. `There isn't any chance that she'll

recover?' She owed Siglen some compassion.

`None!' Reidinger interrupted her harshly. `We owe her surcease

now, Rowan,' he added in a kinder but still gruff tone. Then, for the

first time, he really looked at her, his eyes falling to the security

badge. `Angharad Gwyn?' The Rowan chuckled for his surprise was

genuine. `My true name.' For the first time, Reidinger's expression

was respectful. `You let him read that deeply?' `Of course.' She did

not bother to mention the circumstances. `Dai Gwyn, a mining

supervisor, was my father, and my mother was Marie Evans Gwyn, one of

the camp's teachers. I had an older brother, Ian. You may wish to

correct the records.' `Why?' And Reidinger was his truculent self

again.

`Everyone knows you as the Rowan. You won't ever turn into an

Angharad Gwyn at this late date. Now, finish the inbound stuff at

Callisto. I've already called that impudent manipulative Denebian in.

But, if you hang about to have a snuggle on Prime time, I'll blast

the pair of you so hard where it'll hurt, you'll neither of you want to

sleep together for a month. I've allowed you two far more leeway than

you deserve.

`I wonder I don't see it that way, g, she said with a laugh,

`considering all that our association has achieved.' Reidinger probed

swiftly and she countered, laughing. `Don't bother to see me out.' She

could afford to be gracious. `I know the way.' She put herself back

into the reception area to find Gollee Gren in a heated argument with

five angry men m Security garb.

`I completed my errand, Talent Gren,' she said, interrupting the

dressing down he was getting. She lifted enough shielding for every

one of them to realize who she was. `I didn't mean to get you in

trouble but I considered it necessary to speak with Earth Prime as

quickly as possible.' `Couldn't you have done it the normal way?' asked

Gren, understandably aggrieved.

`No,' she replied without remorse. `But don't fault Afra.

He could only comply with my wishes. You were most helpful and

courteous.' Gren gave an audible groan of resignation. Then she smiled

winningly at the Security team who were considerably less forgiving.

`There really is no way to keep one Prime from seeing another, you

know, though the heat sensors relayed my presence. I promise that the

next time I call in, I'll do so strictly by protocol.

Come, Gollee, escort me back to my carrier.' PART FOUR ALTAIR AND

CALLISTO For the Rowan to return to Altair Prime Station under her own

power was cause for considerable surprise, elation, and pride. The

hastily assembled reception committee included many people known to

her; among them her foster brother and sister whom she was very pleased

to see again. She suppressed a surge of pain that Lusena was not alive

to see this day. Nor Siglen, for between her interview with Reidinger

and her departure from Callisto at the end of the working day, the old

Prime had, mercifully, died.

Foremost of the welcoming committee was the Secretary of Interior,

who abandoned protocol to embrace the Rowan, crying happy tears.

`Oh my dear child, it is such a blessing to have you back with

us!' Holding the Rowan away from her, she gave her a quick, satisfied

appraisal, and then hugged her again.

The Rowan returned the embrace willingly, warmed by the

Secretary's spontaneity. The woman had perceptibly aged in face and

form but her mind was as lucid, open, and kind as ever, her touch a

cheerful bright green. In that contact, the Rowan understood even

more: that Secretary of the Interior Camella had hated turning the

Rowan, as a child, over to Siglen's cheerless establishment; that she

had often felt guilty that she hadn't been able to keep a closer

personal contact with the orphaned child. The Rowan was also aware of

the Secretary's enormous pride and relief that the Row an had returned

to Altair as their Prime.

`And I wish I could have returned in less urgent circumstances,'

the Rowan said, replying to the spoken welcome.

Dismay colored the Secretary's face briefly. `Oh, poor Siglen.

At least she was spared undue pain and never knew the ignominy of

her condition. It's such a relief to have you: so fitting that

Altair's native Prime should take over.' The Mayor and Governor were

introduced, both new to their offices, though the Rowan recognized

their faces from earlier service in less exalted roles. They observed

scrupulous protocol with respectful bows. Gerolaman came forward then,

beaming with pride. For such a splendid occasion, he had dressed in

the formal deepgreen FT&T uniform. He then introduced to her the four

Talents new since her time there. The rest of the station staff she

greeted by name, feeling this odd sensation that she hadn't been ten

years gone from Altair.

Bralla? she asked Gerolaman privately when she noticed another

missing face.

She had to retire from active service last year, Gerolaman replied

testily, which suggested to the Rowan that he felt Siglen might still

be alive if Bralla had been on duty. And she deeply mourns Siglen's

death.

`We've arranged a proper reception for you later, Rowan,' the

Secretary of the Interior said, and then added hesitantly, `that is, if

you wouldn't mind attending.' Siglen had rarely responded to

invitations. Nor allowed the Rowan to.

The Rowan laughed. `I'd love to come. I've been mewed up in the

Callisto Dome quite long enough. It'll be a real treat to have a

planet to range.' `When work's over,' Gerolaman said with a discreet

cough.

`Oh, dear, yes,' and the Secretary was briefly dismayed.

`It seems so uncharitable to shove you into the Tower as soon as

you've arrived. Stationmaster and the others have done a magnificent

job coping `I can see the loaded cradles, Secretary,' the Rowan said,

grinning. `It won't take me long to shift it all.' The Secretary's

dismay melted into a relieved smile.

`Then just send word when you're free, Rowan . . . or should I

call you Prime now?' `My name is Angharad Gwyn,' the Rowan said,

grinning impudently and enjoying the shock on the Secretary's face. `I

prefer being the Rowan. I'll send word,' she added and walked briskly

into the Tower.

Towers followed the same basic design throughout the Central

Worlds' sphere of influence but the Rowan quickly noticed both subtle

and obvious differences in the Altair Tower since she had last occupied

it. The new generating system was three times as powerful now. The

console had been updated, quite likely to compensate for Siglen's

depleting energies. She noticed the overrides in every system and

realized that Gerolaman and the T-2s, Bastian and Maharanjani, had

discreetly monitored the old Prime.

Briefly glancing through the stack of manifests to check for

priorities, the Rowan settled in the chair and ordered the generators

powered up.

This is a grand new system you've got, Gerolaman, she said

appreciatively for the warm-up was accomplished in seconds. That

blasted Reidinger gave me substandard junk to use on Callisto.

Gerolaman's chuckle echoed in her head. You didn't recognize

them? The old Altairian system was sent to run Callisto!

I don't know why I work for this Cheap outfit.

Only one in the Galaxy.

The Rowan smiled to herself and, deep in her mind, heard Jeff

Raven's chuckle. Then, picking up the power of the generators, she

sent cargo spinning out of their cradles in a steady stream.

I taught you well, Gerolaman remarked smugly and settled in to

work.

Later the Rowan teamed up with Bastian and Maharanjani to get

accustomed to their minds and methods. Both She was touched to learn

that Gerolaman had saved were capable, if at first very formal with

her, but they relaxed as the day progressed. It was an advantage that

they'd all been taught by the same Prime.

That first six days were occasionally upset by minor adjustments

which the Rowan would have solved much differently at Callisto, and in

the days before she had met Jeff Raven.

You've had a soothing effect on me, love, she told him in one of

their conferences. Late night Altair was often early morning on

Callisto and she easily pictured him in her bed, hands clasped behind

his head, blankets pulled up to his chin.

One day, he began, his mind tone deep and sensual, I might be able

to enumerate the colossal alterations you've effected on this poor ll'l

boonie boy. What mischief have you been up to today?

Mischief? When was I ever allowed to get into mischief?

But I did clear all of Siglen's junk and got the bedroom

repainted. So tonight I'll have no more nightmares about those ghastly

vines and flowers trying to eat me alive.

The Rowan had not wanted to take the Prime's accommodations. Not

after her first horrified look at the main lounge. Siglen's bazaar

tastes had never improved and the Rowan wondered how the crippled,

obese old woman had managed to move about without knocking things off

tables. Shuddering at the clashing colors and hoarded junk, the Rowan

had closed the door, whooshing some of the heavy musky scent Siglen had

been fond of into the hall. She would have preferred to move back into

her old accommodation, now occupied by Bastian, Maharanjani, and their

two children. But Siglen's quarters had to be redone for the Rowan to

feel comfortable in them. At that, about all she could afford was to

strip off the ghastly wallpaper and paint the rooms. She had spent

well into next year's salary on Deneb's needs.

those furnishings she had not had sent on to Callisto.

Despite fresh paint and sparsely furnished rooms, the Rowan spent

a few uneasy nights before she settled in.

You're sure you don't want anything from here? Jeff asked.

I can ship you anything you want.

I'd rather see you enjoying them, Jeff, she said in a wistful

tone.

Oh, I do! Though it's your Station equipment that I really covet!

He imagined himself, rubbing his hands, a caricature of a greedy

expression and an unctuous grin.

Don't bother. Covet Altair when you get here. Though anything

would be an improvement on what you made do with on Deneb. HOW you

managed so much with that one puny little generator, I'll never know.

Reidinger doesn't realize just how powerful you are!

Me? There was such genuine surprise in Jeff's tone that the Rowan

stifled a flash of envy. Her lover really didn't appreciate his unique

strength.

The way Reidinger referred to Jeff in such uncomplimentary tones,

the old man evidently hadn't realized Jeff's full potential. Odd that

Reidinger, usually so quick in matters of Talent, should have missed

it. He'd been in the mind merge, too. Or had he simply assumed that

the merge had made Jeff Raven so omnipotent?

Yes, you, love. You're a Prime and a half I realize it :if no one

else does. But don't let any one else realize it. Not yet, at any

rate.

Which reminds me: it's a good thing I've got Afra and Brian

coaching me on all that FT&T protocol nonsense . . . The Rowan grinned

at his disgust: Jeff found those nuances and niceties the hardest part

of his new duties. Deneb was too young, raw, and struggling a colony

to waste time on conventions or unnecessary priorities of rank and

precedence. Otherwise I'd have made a right drone-brain of myself!

May I live to see the day you're really droned! The Rowan knew

from a chance comment of Afra's that the Callisto crew found him a lot

easier to work with than she. He had assimilated procedures and the

subtleties of dealing with freight and passenger captains as if he'd

been trained as Prime since his early teens. He was adapting more

easily to Callisto than she was to the greater responsibilities of

Altair. But then that ineffable Raven charm was a considerable asset.

Are you coming home this weekend?

I really shouldn't. I'm still settling in. The Rowan remembered

with a twinge of conscience the bruising schedule that Siglen had

maintained.

That got her dead, didn't it? Jeff remarked, reading easily into

the more private areas of her mind. Come to think of it, it would be

more educational for me to visit Altair. Reidinger is so hot on

extending my abilities and horizons, and Jeff chuckled with pure

malice, I'm only too willing to oblige.

Besides, this weekend, I have a whole big thirty hours to `rest'

unless I've misread Callisto's orbit.

he hadn't and she told Gerolaman to turn off the generators. He

did a repeat of his act at Callisto Station, only this time the Rowan

listened in. Just to see how he managed to charm so many people so

completely in so short a time. He imaged her as a tiny mascot tucked

over his ear as he talked Gerolaman into a buoyant mood.

He was nearly as fast charming both Bastian and Maharanjani,

despite the fact that they had recognized him as heavy Talent and

suspected his true identity.

When she heard him meekly admit that the Altairian Prime had sent

for him, she responded with a mocking laugh that preceded her into the

main office.

`And if you believe everything a Denebian tells you,' she said as

she entered, `I'm thankful there's only one in FT&T.

When she saw Maharanjani blush furiously, she knew the woman had

caught some of the very vivid, naughty imagery which was Jeff's

response to that insult.

`So you're Deneb's Prime?' Gerolaman asked, too bemused by the

Raven charisma to take offense at the little charade.

`Callisto's,' Jeff said with a little bow. `I take whatever

leavings that drop from this one's fair hands.' His blue eyes were

glinting with such mischief that the stationmaster chuckled. `Can I

help you clear up any last little chores, Rowan?' he asked, all

politeness as he gathered her proprietarially under his arm.

`I do believe,' and she announced magnanimously, `that our work

day is finished. Altair will resume operations in thirty-two hours.

Enjoy your respite.' They exited, leaving the Station crew bemused

by their vivid delight in each other.

Halfway through the next day, the Rowan asked Jeff to accompany

her. He knew instantly where she meant to go and kissed her gently on

the cheek, compassionately supporting her.

At their destination, the smell of the minta, heavy in the air,

made the Rowan shudder with memory.

`Rather a remarkable odor. Hard to forget.' Jeff's nostrils

flared at the reek.

In the quarter of a century that had passed since the devastating

mudslide, minta had grown to formidable size on the mud-filled valley

that had once been the site of the Rowan Mining camp. She found

nothing to recall here, yet somewhere, fifty meters below where they

stood, Angharad Gwyn had lived for three years. Though Jeff had

fractured the mind block, she remembered little more than her name and

an impression of faces peering down at her, no sharp details at all,

though she knew some of the faces had to be her mother, father, and

brother. She remembered the rag rug on which she had often played in

front of a screened fireplace. And the permeating stench of minta.

`Not much truly memorable happens to a child of three.' `Unless

she gets very unlucky,' Jeff said gently. `Where did they finally

locate you?' Jeff asked, knowing this return had to be played out in

its entirety.

She took him down to the Oshoni valley, to the ledge where her

rescuers had landed. The little hopper had long gone to scrap. The

tongue of mud had dried in the ensuing years and was much eroded by

rain, sun, and wind. She had a more vivid, if brief, memory of her

release from the little broached hopper.

`There should be something more than this,' she murmured, unable

to express her unease on any level. `I don't even remember more of

that awful journey than the rolling and bumping and then I was knocked

unconscious.

`You were lucky in that,' Jeff said, trying to fathom the nebulous

disquiet which she could not express. `Coming to, with mud oozing in

on you, scared, cold, hungry, and thirsty and no-one to reassure you

was surely the ultimate horror for a three-year-old child. But that's

over and done with. Long done with,' and he put his arms around her,

resting his chin on her silvery hair. `I don't know what you were

hoping to see, or find here, love,' he added in a caressing tone, his

mind soothing against her frustration.

`The miracle is that you emerged alive and had a future which

no-one else in the Rowan Mining camp did. Don't keep looking at the

past: that can't be changed.' `I checked with Immigration, you know,'

she said, still depressed. `There were three families with the same

surname, an older couple and their two sons and wives, so I still have

a choice. The Rowan Mining Company was only too willing to open up

their records for the Prime,' and she muttered bleakly. `I could be

the daughter of Ewain and Morag Gwyn or Matt and Ann Gwyn. Both Ewain

and Matt were mining engineers and the occupations of their wives was

not given. So, although I do remember that my mother was a teacher, I

still don't know if she was Ann or Morag.

`Does it matter very much, love?' Jeff tipped her head up to gaze

with the intense fondness that his blue eyes could reflect.

`I don't know why it should since I know a lot more about my

background now than I ever have, but it does.

Especially when I see - and envy - your big family.' Jeff threw

back his head and laughed aloud, the sound spun away on the wind that

soughed down the valley.

`Didn't a large family put you off back on Deneb?' `You Ravens

take getting used to,' she admitted, burrowing into his shoulder. `I

want as many children as I can have.' `That's one way of redressing the

balance,' he said with a chuckle.

`I also want them to know as much about my side of the family as

they do about yours.

`Don't tell me you intend waiting until you do?' Jeff pretended

dismay.

`I can't.' And she opened her mind to reveal what she was only

beginning to suspect.

`Rowan!' Then he whirled her about, his mind reverberating with

his elation.

Easy on me! I'm having enough trouble with vertigo without you

spinning me about like a wheel. But she clung to him and grinned at

the effect of her marvelous secret.

When he deposited her gently to the ground again, he pressed her

as close to him as possible, and she could feel his mind trying to

reach the new life in her womb.

`Not yet, dear,' she said in gentle amusement. `At a bare three

weeks, it's no better than a tadpole.

He held her from him with mock dismay. `My son, the tadpole.' `We

don't know "son" yet awhile. Be patient!' `I don't feel like being

patient.' `Mankind's been able to do a lot of things, but no Talent has

ever been able to speed up gestation.' `My son,' Jeff insisted, his

eyes shining as he looked to the future, `the new Deneb Prime!' `Give

the child a break!' Rowan protested.

`How else are we going to get a Prime on Deneb unless we produce

one between us!' The Rowan `5 mood altered abruptly and she said in a

querulous voice, `That's exactly what Reidinger's been counting on.

Damn him. I hate to find myself doing exactly what he wants.'

`Aren't you happy for yourself, love?' And Jeff turned her face up to

his. `I am!' `Yes, I am.' But in the deepest part of her, something

was not so certain.

`Your own mother says that she never heard of a kinetic having

trouble during pregnancy,' the Rowan said heatedly, trying not to let

her anger get out of hand. Jeff didn't deserve her temper, even if his

attitude was infuriating her. `She says that you're behaving exactly

the way your father did for your oldest brother, proprietary,

protective, paternal and a pain in the neck!' `And I shouldn't be

worried about you?' Jeff demanded, pacing her room in Altair Tower.

`You're rail thin, you work long, hard hours, and you don't really

feel comfortable taking a day off to get the rest and relaxation you

need right now.' `You saw the food I put away at dinner? You know I've

always done just fine on four hours' sleep. And I do take a whole day

off. . . you won't let me do anything else.' Jeff halted midstride,

fists planted against his hips: he cocked his head and that sudden

marvelous smile of his erased the glower. Why on earth are we fighting

with each other? And he held out his arms.

`I don't know,' and she gratefully entered his embrace, laying her

cheek against his chest. As he usually did, he tucked her head under

his chin, one hand gently ruffling her hair. `Except you suddenly

won't let me go on as usual just because I'm five months' pregnant.

And the baby tells me he's fine.' `You're both precious to me, you

see,' he said, his intense feelings vibrating through her mind. `I'm

new at this fatherhood game.' `With your mother, aunts and sisters

shelling babies like peas?' This time it's my heart's darling who's

gestating and that adds a totally new perspective. D'you know they're

taking bets on the date Reidinger finds out?

`Who's doing a thing like that?' The Rowan was outraged. `How did

they find out?' Jeff threw his head back, laughing uninhibitedly. `My

darling, you haven't really looked at yourself in a mirror, have you?

You positively glow. And besides, that baby's loud. Maharanjani

heard him, I'm sure, which means Bastian does, too. Gerolaman smiles

fondly at you when you don't notice it. Most of the other Tower staff

have suspicions, especially the way you're eating. And Afra asked me

point-blank when you're due.' The Rowan made a face. `Trust Afra to

know.

`Are you certain he's only a T-4? And were you aware that he has

always loved you?' `Yes,' she said with a deep sigh. `I'm very fond of

Afra: I trust him at the deepest level but . ` She fell silent for a

long moment. `If you hadn't made yourself known . .

`My timing has always been superb,' Jeff replied in a tone of

ineffable superiority which dissolved into one of his infectious

chuckles. `You could have done a lot worse than Afra.' His embrace

assured her that Afra had never had a chance.

`Do let me come to Callisto next week. I haven't been back since

you took over.

`You don't trust me with your ratty old dome?' `You're dodging,

Raven,' she said with some heat, trying to wriggle free of his grasp.

`It's my body that's pregnant, not my head - if I may hand your

own words back to you - and my head is what gets me from Altair to

Callisto. It took me long enough to know I could travel: don't

restrict me.' `Our child is very precious to me, Rowan,' Jeff said

firmly. `How can you risk him?' `I don't see any risk involved! Oh,

you can be infuriating.' `I'll make one more point, dear heart. On

Altair, Reidinger rarely needs to contact you. On Callisto, he will

certainly exchange courtesies `How will he know I'm there if we don't

tell him?' Jeff cleared his throat, amused. `I remember once

suggesting that I could manage Reidinger. I take that back. To the

ninth power. That man knows everything about everyone connected to

FT&T.

He'll know you're there and once he establishes contact, he'll

know you're pregnant.

When he knows that, he's not going to let you go anywhere.'

`Nonsense!' `So be it!' And it was. Within an hour of her arrival at

Callisto, Reidinger was in touch with her.

`Now, listen here, Rowan, it's one thing for that ass-eared

Denebian to ricochet about the stars like a . .

Aware of the contact, Jeff had covered his face to conceal his `I

told you so' grin. As Reidinger's voice broke off, Jeff raised his

hand and began ticking off seconds with his fingers. He had just added

the fourth when Reidinger came back.

YOU'RE PREGNANT? And you RISKED yourself `porting from Altair?

Shock, horror, and fury reverberated so violently in her mind that

the Rowan exclaimed.

Reidinger! Jeff s stern voice cut through even as he jumped from

his chair to put protective arms about his shivering mate. Ease up!

BY ALL THE HOLIES, RAVEN, I thought you'd have more sense! How

COULD you permit such a risk?

No risk was involved, Reidinger, the Rowan snapped, furious that

Reidinger could startle her so badly. I'm quite capable CAPABLE?

You're no more capable -- That is quite enough of that, Reidinger,

Jeff intervened in a tone that halted the Earth Prime mid-fume. The

Rowan `5

in excellent health and the pregnancy is proceeding normally.

Not that that is YOUR business.

It is MY business if a Prime jeopardizes herself. . Especially

one who can breed for you and FT&T! the Rowan angrily shot back at

him. Well, I'm NOT breeding for you and FT&T. This is between Jeff

Raven and me.

There's nothing in my contract that says FT&T controls the produce

of my womb! Get that straight, Reidinger. My son is not automatically

indentured to FT&T.

A long pause. A son? You know that already? Something akin to

awe replaced the bluster. It wasn't just that Reidinger had abruptly

discarded anger as a useless tool against the partners he was trying to

dominate. It was something more but what eluded the Rowan.

Yes, and the Rowan, too, reduced her tone to the conversational.

She didn't really want Reidinger angry with her. Or with Jeff.

You're in contact with him? The need to know came across as a

painful urgency.

Jeff raised his eyebrows in surprise at the near plea.

Five months into the pregnancy, we both are, Jeff answered when he

felt the Rowan was spinning out the silence too long.

Why did you tell him that? she said in a private shaft at him.

He doesn't deserve it.

We've had our fun with him, Rowan. I've been listening on another

level. Reidinger's a tired, worried old man and you've just given him

something to hope for at a time when he needs it.

What does he need hope for?

I don't know, and Jeff was baffled. To Reidinger he said, It's a

nebulous contact, of course, at this stage of fetal development -- And

what do you know of fetal development? the Rowan asked again on the

private level.

Jeff grinned at her. I didn't have six sisters without picking up

some dribs and drabs of obstetrics!

Suddenly both realized that Reidinger had broken off contact

during their swift mental exchanges.

`Well, that was sudden!' the Rowan said, piqued.

Jeff chuckled. `We gave the old boy something to mull over.' The

Rowan let out a long sigh then. `I'm glad it was a short inquisition.

Now, whose turn is it to cook?' `Ah-ha, I decided neither of us

would waste time on mundane chores so scan the list of viands made

ready for your arrival!' He tapped up a menu which used such an elegant

archaic script that the Rowan had trouble deciphering it.

`I could probably eat all of it!' `And grow to Siglen' 5 size over

the next few months? I won't permit it,' and with the foolery that

followed, it was nearly an hour before they returned to the menu again.

They were sitting in front of the artificial fire which was, as

Jeff reluctantly admitted, a very good simulation, when the comunit

gave a discreet burp and tripped the green flash all over the house.

Raising her eyebrows in surprise at such a discreet summons - both

she and Jeff were accustomed to a direct mental inquiry - she opened

the channel.

`Prime Rowan?' asked an unfamiliar feminine voice, a warm and kind

voice. `I am Elizara Matheson, T- 1, Medic/Oh. With all due respect,

I request an interview.' `Not on my day off!' The Rowan's finger was

halfway to the disengage when Jeff caught her wrist. `Damn Reidinger!

How dare he presume!' `What harm does it do?' Jeff asked at his

most disarming. `You're going to need a T-1 during the delivery of a

Talent. They can be most obstreperous about leaving their safe haven.

At least Reidinger cares enough to send the very best.' When the

Rowan regarded him with amazement, he grinned. `I don't think you

accessed the right prenatal information. And if that lad of ours is

half as stubborn as either of his parents, you may need all the

persuasion you can muster.' He leaned across her. `By all means, Medic

Elizara.

Please proceed to the residence.' Every now and then the Rowan

came smartly up against the realization that she couldn't argue with or

wheedle her way around Jeff Raven. He was steadily becoming stronger

and stronger in all areas of his Talent. If sometimes a part of her

resented that strength, at others she felt tremendously comforted and

protected. Or, as right now, in complete rebellion. But she rebelled

right now, not against his common sense, but against an intrusion of

the short hours when they could share each other on the deepest

possible levels, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual.

But she acquiesced. You give me no option, do you? she shot at

him as they waited for the unsolicited visitor.

I'm far more careful of you than Reidinger gives me credit.

There was no flexibility in his gaze, or mind. You are not the

obstetrician's ideal proportions for easy birthing, you know.

Let's take every precauflon.

Medic Elizara's personal appearance was a surprise to them both as

she was a slender woman, no taller than the Rowan, and looked far

younger. Her smile as she felt their astonishment was vastly pleased

with her effect on them.

`I have heard so much about you, Prime Rowan,' she said with

irrepressible mischief in her wide-spaced, lightgreen eyes, `that I

elbowed my way right past everyone with far more seniority than I have.

Then, too, your reputation . . .` and her marvelous smile

deprecated the Rowan's reputed temper, `made others demur. Gollee Gren

solemnly warned me that you're more devious than Reidinger.' At that

remark, the last of the Rowan's resentment evaporated. `Gollee warned

you, did he?' Reidinger's positively Machiavellian, isn't he? Jeff

said to her privately. What a choice!

Oh, no, came from Elizara, the choice was mine, though when Earth

Prime interviewed me, I could tell he thought that I would suit. `I

shan't take more than a few moments of your time right now, Prime, but

I need to update the Altairian report.' `Not a moment has been wasted,'

the Rowan remarked sardonically.

`No!' And Elizara's eyes twinkled.

She did not indeed take more than a few moments. The Rowan had

never met a T-i in another field and was very much reassured by her

competencee and deftness.

`The pregnancy is proceeding nicely. I have nothing further to

add to what the Altairian medics told you,' Elizara said in conclusion.

`The boy child is not far enough along for us to make a worthwhile

contact. That's when my particular Talent becomes useful and I can

assist you both in the preparations.' `My mother had no trouble with

any of us, Jeff said, and the Rowan heard the first tinge of

uncertainty before he could dampen it.

`True enough,' Elizara admitted, `probably because her mother was

her constant companion during the final month.' `How on earth did you

know that?' Jeff asked, surprised but he found out before Elizara could

prevent him.

`Reidinger has been very busy, has he not?' `I think you both must

appreciate why and allow him his prerogatives,' Elizara said with

gentle dignity and a hint of reproach.

`This is our child, not Reidinger's. And he's no relation to be

prying into ---` Easy, love, Jeff said, reaching with hand and mind to

soothe her.

The fetus will react, you know, Elizara said mildly. The calmer

you remain, the easier it will be for you both! The stronger a bond of

trust you make right now, the easier the birth will be. The child will

need to trust you then. `But the main reason I was acceptable to the

Prime, and you may find this so, too, was that I had easy births with

my own two Talented children.' That reassured the Rowan more than

anything else about Elizara, though at that moment, she did not want to

feel calm, even to reassure her unborn child, but she could not evade

Jeff as easily as she could Elizara. Nor could she evade, or disobey,

any of Reidinger's subsequent safeguards which she found intrusive,

impudent, arrogant, unnecessarily restrictive, and too authoritarian by

far.

Unfortunately, Jeff Raven was in total agreement with the Earth

Prime. She was never sure if Elizara truly disagreed with the two men

on the subject of her return to Altair or was `humoring the pregnant

woman' The upshot was that the Rowan was not permitted to return to

Altair and was reinstalled as Callisto Prime. Jeff went off to Altair

until two appropriate T-2s could be found and integrated with

Maharanjani and Bastian at Altair. When that task was completed, what

Jeff termed his galactic peregrination began.

Reidinger sent him to each of the other Prime Stations on various

errands of high security importance.

`I don't know what could be more secure than a mind to-mind

contact or why he has to shoot you all over the place.' `Oh, I find it

incredibly fascinating, love. I've met all the Primes, now, and I

really did pick the best of the lot of you,' he said with an outrageous

glint in his eye. `That Capella!' He raised eyes and hands in such

comic dismay over that confrontation that he made her laugh.

While the Rowan could appreciate just how valuable Jeff was to

FT&T as the only peripatetic Prime, she resented his absences even

though Jeff always took several days rest on Callisto between jaunts.

On the other hand, Jeff returned, stimulated, excited, and highly

pleased by his reception at every tower. She did like listening to him

discuss his perceptions of the other Primes, the diversity of the

planets linked in the Central Worlds: once she would have envied him

his fearless ability to transverse those immense distances, but she

formed a secret intention, when her pregnancy was over, to join him in

these tours. But the traveling, despite Jeff s innate strength, took a

noticeable toil of his energy. She worried about the alarming signs of

deep fatigue which he dismissed lightly.

`Sure it takes effort, love, Jeff told her as they sprawled

together in their favorite spot in the lounge before the artificial

fire. For the Rowan, being close to him physically was in many ways

far more satisfying than the more intimate mental contact. As much,

she thought, because she had had so few physical relationships that she

found their intimacies especially rewarding. `And it's tiring, but a

few days with you and I'm rarin' to go again. This galactic touring's

quite an eyeopener for this poor little ole Denebian farmboy.' `Don't

you say that about yourself!' The Rowan bridled at his phrase, punching

his upper arm to emphasize her annoyance.

`Darling, I am poor,' he reminded her. `Mind you, the bonuses

I've been extorting from Reidinger for doing these leapfroggings is

bringing me out of debt much faster than if I just drew stationary

Tower pay.' `Nor are you little. . .` The Rowan was not letting him

belittle himself in any way.

Jeff let out a hoot of laughter. `Honey, I love your sense of

loyalty but have you seen the guys they grow on Procyon?

And Betelgeuse?' He shot her a glance for comparison's sake and

she saw that he had felt dwarfed in their presence. `And I AM a

Denebian farmboy.' He grinned in his roguish way. `Keeps me from

getting above myself.' `Oh, was David being difficult again?' Jeff ran

a few scenes of the Betelgeuse Talent's arrogance through her mind and

she was both appalled and amused.

`If I'd ever met Siglen, I'd've had a few cogent remarks to make

to her about her notions of "training" Talent,' he said, serious for a

moment. `And Primes are unquestionably the vital links between Central

Worlds, but there are T- 1 ratings in every other Talent that make some

of us stevedores look rather limited. Still,' and he sighed for he was

at heart a generous and forgiving person, `she got the basics right but

we'll train our own kids the way they ought to go.' `Indeed we will!'

Jeff tightened his arms about her, kissing the side of her neck

tenderly. `And none of our kids will need a Purza.' `Was the pukha on

my mind again?' `She keeps lurking there, where you can't see her.' `I

can't imagine why. Not after I've been back to Altair, and the Rowan

mining campsite. Not with you doing far more for me than any construct

could ever do.' `I can't read why she keeps surfacing, love, except

that Purza was the most important thing in your young life.

I'm not exactly sure I like competing with a No way! Then Rowan

let out an exaggerated sigh and then a self-deprecating chuckle. `But

for ages there, that pukha was the only thing in the world that truly

understood the young Rowan child. . . or so she thought.' She paused,

frowning. `You know it's very odd, your mother asked me who Purza was,

too. That caught me off-balance.' `I think we ought to get Mother to

train her mind.' `Oh, she wasn't being intrusive. It's as you said,

she has a long ear. I've never met anyone quite like her before.

She was so calm and reassuring, even when . .

`When everyone thought I was dying?' `You were never dying . . .`

But a shiver caught the Rowan even as she repudiated the mention.

Jeff cocked his right eyebrow, a droll expression on his face.

`Not the way Asaph and Rakella tell it, my love.

Well, I suppose Purza would surface at a time like that.

When you need support the most.' The Rowan nodded, nestling as

close to him as her altered shape permitted.

`I think we, all of us, have someone, Jeff went on, `or some

place, we retreat to in times of stress: a known comforter, adviser,

confidante, who never fails us.' `You never needed one.' Rowan was

beginning to wonder about the odd resurgences of Purza. She felt the

unexpected embarrassment in Jeff's mind.

`I haven't got you fooled, too, have I, love?' And Jeff gave her a

quick hug, laughing. `Believe me, dear heart, the only advantage I

have over others is that I learned to read minds quick enough to

correct my follies before they got out of hand. That's all.' `But did

you?' She needed to delve into that curious embarrassment, so unusual

in her self-possessed and reliant love.

`Yes, I did,' and he gave a funny chuckle. `Your Purza was at

least a visible creature, properly programmed to respond to certain

infant and pre-adolescent needs `What's wrong with an invisible

friend?' The Rowan now plucked that easily from his mind.

`Nothing. Until your younger sister fends out about it and the

whole family gives you an unmerciful ragging.' Does your friend have a

name?

Jeff stroked her head. Bagheera.

Oh?

It's been so long, love, but you know, it's rather odd that he was

also a feline, like your Purza. Big, black, powerfuL he loved to lie

on branches high up in trees which was not surprising as I was always

climbing trees myself, or lurk on sunny rock ledges because I used to

hide from chores on such places, and he hated water! Which I did not,

actually. I loved to swim but I could never get him to join me. He

had yellow eyes - like Afra . . . Jeff's tone was amused/amazed that

he had found one point of resemblance with anyone of his acquaintance.

We spent a lot of time discovering unexpected treasures :n caverns

and mines and other unlikely places. He was good protection against

all the terrors of wild, raw Deneb.

And we'd make fortunes for our planet and bring it in to the

Central Worlds Autonomy faster than any world had ever been admitted.

Jeff chuckled. `You know, I haven't thought of Bagheera for

years! He was, I think, a character in a children's story. I

preempted him for my own special use.

He was invincible.' Hey, are you falling asleep on me again?

`Not really,' and yet a massive yawn caught her. `We don't need

to move from here, do we?' She snuggled up against him, fending the

right hollow in his shoulder for her head. He brought a warm blanket

from their bed to cover them so there was no need to rearrange

themselves.

Despite what the Rowan saw as Reidinger's intrusiveness, she

looked forward to Elizara's visits. Gradually the T-1

Medic appeared on Callisto twice a month and then weekly. At the

beginning of the last semester of the pregnancy, Elizara came to stay

until the delivery.

`But I'm fine, and the baby is developing perfectly,' the Rowan

protested, `or so you've told me.' Elizara grinned. `You know it to be

so yourself, Rowan.

Call it an old man's foibles. A young man's too, considering Jeff

s state of mind.' The Rowan grunted and felt her baby react. To save

herself violent convulsions of her womb, she had learned to restrain

untoward responses to each new imposition.

`Jeff knows how much family means to you,' Elizara said.

`Family?' The Rowan found the wording odd. Jeff never referred to

their unborn as `family': usually it was `his' or `their' son, or Jeran

when they finally decided on a name for him. But the child's arrival

would indeed make them a family!

`There was once a time,' Elizara went on in her lilting voice,

`when the mother and father of a newborn were totally unprepared for

it, or the effect it would have on them and their own relationship. Of

course, parenting has become so much a part of early education, that

many of the iniquities of earlier centuries can no longer be

perpetrated on young, unformed minds. But the highpotential Talent

child needs special care and handling, especially at birth and in the

first three months.' `I know that. I know that! I've been made aware

of that by just about everyone in the whole damned Central Worlds. The

only one who hasn't alluded to this is Capella and right now I could

almost trade places with that dried up old virgin!' `Rowan! If she

should hear you!' `She is,' the Rowan acidly replied, `probably the

only Talent in the entire FT&T network who doesn't contact me half a

hundred times a day to ensure I'm still all right and the child is

alive and kicking! Which he is right now!' `Then calm down!' Elizara

exuded an authority that the Rowan found as impossible to evade as

Jeff' s. So she found herself initiating meditation in obedient

response. Elizara's inner serenity extended itself to the Rowan and

the flare of anger and frustration was soothed away.

`Oh, by the way,' Elizara said when the Rowan was tranquil again,

`I took another liberty on your behalf.' She hesitated.

`Why not?' Elizra touched her hand in gentle rebuke. `I've

managed to trace the Gwyn family. Just in case there might be some

genetic flaws that we should know about in advance.' `You did?' the

Rowan exclaimed. `But I tried `Yes, you tried from Altair,' and

Elizara gave a little smile, `but not from Earth. And not consulting

the original immigration files, only the Altair entries.' `They were

useless. And?' `Genetics prints were made of all outgoing settlers;

genotypes and blood profiles. You could only be the child of Ewain and

Morag Gwyn.' Shyly Elizara slipped two small holograms from her pouch

to the table. `As you'll notice, the tendency to premature silver hair

affected both parents.' With a reverence akin to awe, the Rowan looked

down at the two faces: Despite the fact that her father could have been

no more than thirty, his hair was silver while eyebrows and mustache

were as black as coal. He had a strong face, and his brows were drawn

in a faint scowl. Her mother's hair had silver streaks from a center

parting: she looked more worried than anxious, but she had bequeathed

her gray eyes to her daughter and the narrow face.

Elizara, if you knew what this g'fl means - Ah, love, I do! And

Elizara laid her hand gently on the Rowan's bowed head.

What's wrong? was Jeff s sudden demand. He was never out of

touch with her and he was as grateful to Elizara as she was. That

girl's a wonder! Give her a hug for me! I don't dare do it myself or

I'll have you to answer to!

I'm much too happy at this moment we knew that, my love!

In her mind was a fiendish chuckle. Warn her!

The Rowan didn't, but smiled happily to herself, her eyes resting

on the two holograms until they were indelibly imprinted in her mind.

She had parents now: and it was enough to know that she had had a

brother. She could console herself wondering whether he had resembled

father or mother more. Maybe Mauli, who was deft with pencil and

paint, would draw her a likeness of what her brother might have been.

On one count did the Rowan prevail against Reidinger's over

protectiveness: she was allowed to continue working Callisto Station.

Torshan and Saggoner were needed on another colonial outpost, and

Elizara, backed by all other medical consultants, reassured Reidinger

that the Rowan's mental abilities were in no way affected by the

pregnancy.

Nor was her normal occupation affecting her unborn child. The

Rowan proved that more conclusively by a suspension of the pyrotechnics

which had often disturbed the Station personnel during her moody

periods. For this everyone on the Station was grateful.

As soon as her pregnancy became common knowledge, Brian Ackerman

had braced Afra, wanting to know if the Rowan would be `OK' `If by OK

you mean is she likely to be as difficult as she was before Jeff

arrived,' Afra replied in a droll tone, his yellow eyes reflecting

considerable amusement at the question, `I'm told that pregnant women

are often more quiescent and docile.' `The Rowan docile? I'd find that

hard to believe,' was Brian's reply. `But that Elizara's sure a nice

person. Does the Rowan like her?' `I believe they are compatible

personalities. Elizara is an extremely gifted practitioner. If I were

having a baby, I'd like her beside me.' Brian regarded the Capellan

with a startled glance.

`You're no mutant!' `No, and I'm as male as you are!' Afra stared

back at Ackerman.

`I didn't mean -- I mean, I know you. . Oh, hell. I figured you

were gone on the Rowan Elizara's pretty, young, and -`I'll make my own

match, if you don't mind, Brian, but I appreciate the concern.' And

Afra retired to his own quarters, leaving Brian wondering if he had

mortally offended him and wishing he'd never started the conversation

in the first place.

As the delivery date approached, the Rowan spent a lot of time in

the Dome's pool. It was the only place she did not feel awkward and

unwieldy. She had even discussed a water delivery with Elizara.

`Wherever and however you feel comfortable,' the Medic replied.

`This isn't going to be a huge production, is it? I'm not going

to have Reidinger shooting more experts up the moment I go into labor?'

`Whenever, however, and whoever you need to make birth easy for you and

the young Raven,' Elizara assured her so firmly that the Rowan let

herself be convinced. She appreciated the irony of Reidinger's ban on

any travel that precluded her having the child in one of the highly

specialized clinics on Earth.

She was aware of all the discreet monitoring devices that had been

installed; in her couch in the Tower, her quarters, lining her bed, the

pool, the rocking chair which Jeff had made for her with his own hands,

the couch in front of the fire, even in the food preparation area.

That was quite enough surveillance but having a baby should be a

private affair, not a matter of interest to the inhabited galaxy.

-The Rowan suddenly knew of one other presence she wanted very

much to have with her: Isthia Raven, with her deep r and her loud

voice. The notion surprised her and yet it had a calming effect on

her. A matter of con......

`Whoever you need,' Elizara repeated, tactfully advising the Rowan

that her thoughts were clear.

`But would she come?' The Rowan was inhibited by an odd reticence.

Isthia Raven would be harvesting Deneb's first post ET crop on the

family's holdings.

Ask her, Jeff advised when the Rowan timidly tested the notion on

him. She'd be honored, and she'd be helpful. She's been taking

instruction on that metamorphic treatment that worked so well on me.

Does that stuff help in childbirth?

Would you ask her for me?

What? The redoubtable Rowan is afraid of her mother-inlaw?

Well, you are!

Not often. Not since I met you. There was a snide chuckle at the

end of that thought.

I don't know why I put up with you!

Because you adore me, of course! Which is reciprocal. The

chuckle was replaced by a vision of him as a callow mooncalf.

Isthia Raven was flattered by the Rowan's request and exchanged

considerable information with Elizara. She had been rather worried

about the Rowan who was, to her mind, not the optimum shape for easy

childbearing. She said that she would come as soon as she was needed.

You're needed now, Jeff told his mother. By me, if no one else.

I thought it was the Rowan who wanted me, she replied teasingly.

You know perfectly well that she and your son will be all right.

How many clairvoyant Talents have you asked already?

I see no reason not to avail myself of professional courtesies,

Jeff said in a testy tone.

Isthia chuckled and changed the subject, arranging with him to

bring her to Callisto a few days before the Rowan's due date. Her own

worries ceased the moment she saw the mother to be, radiant and, as the

Rowan put it, bulging in all forward directions at this late stage of

pregnancy. Isthia sincerely admired their living quarters, remarking

drily that she had never expected dome living to be quite so spacious.

She paid very close attention when the Rowan and Jeff explained

all the safety features, and held a drill for her.

`Planets at least give you lots of places to hide,' she remarked

in her droll fashion. `Could be awkward if there was an emergency just

when Jeran chooses to arrive,' she added, as she peered into one of the

safety chambers. She made a pantomime of the Rowan attempting to fit

inside.

`The house has triple seals,' Jeff remarked. `The Prime cannot be

risked.' `I'll stay very close to you then, daughter,' Isthia said.

`But you certainly have an elegant residence. Ah, well, we'll

soon set matters right on Deneb.' `Doesn't that ever bother you,

Rowan?' she asked after dinner when Jupiter rose, filling the skyview.

She eyed the massive planet warily.

`What? Him? I'm accustomed to it now,' the Rowan replied, trying

to settle herself on the comfortable couch in front of the fire.

`Levitation?' Isthia suggested, glancing at Elizara for her

opinion.

`We've tried that, too,' Jeff answered with a rueful grin for the

Rowan's dilemma. `Not much longer, love.' The Rowan gave a skeptical

grunt.

`Elizara, if you're a T-1 Medical, can't you establish a time, or

at least a day?' Isthia asked.

`We have been able to improve prenatal care to insure almost

one-hundred per cent normal healthy babies,' Elizara said with a slight

smile, `and we can induce labor if the term runs over a normal

gestation, but we're still unable to dictate the ETA.' `I wish this one

would consider an early appearance,' the Rowan remarked wearily.

`It's your first,' Isthia said in a dry tone. `The way out is not

so obvious.' `I've told him and told him,' the Rowan replied, `to get

`Had any effect?' Isthia asked, amused.

`He responds with sentiments of complete satisfaction in his

present environment and sees no need to make any alteration.' `In that

many words?' The Rowan laughed, delighted to have startled Isthia.

`Hardly. I just get an impression of complete contentment.'

Isthia turned to Elizara. `What about a hands-on? Of course, Rowan

isn't overdue . .

Elizara smiled gently. `We wait. Time enough for hands-on if

labor stops and we sense a complete reluctance to leave the womb.'

Then, abruptly, Isthia sat straight up in the lounger which hastily

rearranged itself to her change of position.

She cocked her head, listening.

`What's the matter? What do you hear?' The Rowan asked. `Ian?'

They might tease Isthia for her `long ear' from time to time but it was

always respectful.

`I thought I . . .` Isthia faltered and looked keenly at Elizara.

`Did you catch anything?' Elizara frowned but she was patently

sharpening her senses, listening with that other sensitivity which all

three women had in generous measure.

There! Isthia said.

The Rowan had felt something, just at the very edge of her own

deep range. Too distant. Anger! Pain!

Whose? Isthia added in a very thoughtful tone. The source

defeats me. I don't think it was human!

Elizara regarded her with surprise. How could you hear it, then?

`I heard it, too,' the Rowan reminded the medic. She grimaced.

`None of our kin at least,' she added to reassure Isthia. Or

shall I give a shout and be sure for you?

Slowly Isthia shook her head, frowning with puzzlement. Then,

shaking off the brief thrall determinedly, she smiled at the other two.

`If it had been you, Rowan, we could put it down to prenatal

nerves.

The Rowan sighed with deep exasperation, and stroked her extended

abdomen. `C'mon, now, son, get in to position and let's end this

waiting. You're old enough to be born now.

Two days later, as splendid Jupiter rose to obscure deep space

from those in the Callisto dome, Jeran Raven decided to take his

mother's advice. The baby dropped his head into the birth canal,

precipitating the breaking of the Rowan's waters, and almost before

Elizara could help the Rowan block the pain, long and intense

contractions began.

Just off duty from the Tower, Jeff arrived as Isthia and Elizara

were making the Rowan as comfortable as possible.

`Now is the time for hands-on,' Elizara told him, `to reassure

your son. This is the difficult part for him and he must not draw back

or resist.' It comforted the Rowan tremendously to have Jeff's strong

body supporting her, his hands stroking her; to join mental forces in

urging their son to endure this brief discomfort and be made welcome in

the world of the living.

Isn't it a shade hypocritical of us, the Rowan said very privately

to Jeff, to require him to leave the safety of the womb, for how can we

promise him safety when we've never known it?

So you want to stay pregnant for the rest of your life? Was

Jeff's reply as he smoothed back silver hair already damp with sweat.

NO!

Then push! Elizara urged. Take Isthia's hands!

Isthia's strong hands anchored her through the massive

contractions that followed: hands that also soothed and eased the

involuntary spasms.

`Those contractions are fierce, Isthia remarked.

`Not unusually so,' Elizara replied, `and at five minute

intervals.' `Is he resisting or is it me?' The Rowan asked, panting

with relief as a particularly severe contraction ended.

`A little of both,' Elizara replied, and the Rowan could find no

qualification in the Talent's mind. I never lie to my patients!

Not to this one, you couldn't!

Nor in the present company she's keeping, Elizara added, her tone

amused. `All right, now, here comes another one.' They all sensed the

child's sudden reluctance as the pressures of his mother's womb caught

him in an inexorable rhythum. He disliked the sensation: it frightened

him. He was instantly reassured of warmth and love and comfort if he

did not falter. He did not like this experience at all.

I'm not much enjoying it right now myself, my son, the Rowan told

him and then could not even think as a particularly hard contraction

seized her. She clasped Isthia's hands in a grip that she feared would

bruise the flesh.

Hold hard!

To the Rowan, caught by the inexorable process of birthing, the

struggle with her son seemed to go on interminably. The contractions

came more frequently, lasted longer and but for the nerve blocks she

would have been in some agony. As it was, the muscular strain wearied

her.

Please, Jeran, please! she cried, wondering how much more of this

she could endure.

Gripped by yet another massive contraction, she felt Elizara and

Isthia place hands on her heaving abdomen, and this contraction seemed

to be abetted by their minds, overruling Jeran's resistance. As the

boy's head passed out of the birth canal, he gave a terrible cry,

mental and physical, of protest, of resentment, of fear.

`You are born, my son,' the Rowan cried with mind and mouth as she

opened her eyes to see Elizara receive the baby's wet and wriggling

body in her hands.

Jeran wailed again, a confused and angry cry at the difference of

environment, the noise, the cold, the disorientation.

There, there! three adult minds consoled him. There, there. You

are loved, you are wanted. Here, now, you will be warm. You will be

comforted.

Elizara deposited the baby on his mother's newly deflated belly

while she performed the necessary post natal offices.

`Even upside down, you're beautiful,' the Rowan told Jeran,

intercepting one of his violently waving hands as he continued to

complain on several levels about the brutal treatment he had just been

through. He's so strong!

So angry! and Jeff's tone was immediately proud and relieved.

Now, now, my beautiful boy! Its all over.

Lord no, i?s just starting, Isthia replied. `Good lungs on him,'

she added approvingly.

He has obviously inherited your voice, mother, Jeff said.

That birth shout was loud enough to reach Deneb!

And you're sori-spoken? Isthia teased back, beaming with joy, at

the successful birth.

`Just over four kilos,' Elizara said, pleased. `You wouldn't want

any heavier a child, Rowan. And no worse for the passage. Now we will

all soothe him on the most primitive levels.

Ganging up on my poor son? asked Jeff, fatuously smiling down at

Jeran.

Soothing your not at all poor son, Elizara rebuked him.

This is the most important part for a child as obviously Talented

as Jeran is. Hands-on! Isthia, begin on the metamorphic levels.

Rowan won't want him operating on a psionic high over the next few

months.

As Isthia stroked the sturdy little feet, she began to croon

softly. Elizara and Jeff sponged him clean, all the time soothing him

with touch, mind and voice. Soon he was yawning and quite willing to

drift off into sleep.

When the afterbirth was delivered and the Rowan made comfortable

again in her bed, the sleeping child was placed in her arms and Jeff

stretched out beside them both, his eyes dark and brimming with love.

I never thought I would feel quite this intensely about a baby who

will shortly drive us both demented with infantile needs, Jeff said.

On his forefinger, he tipped up Jeran `5

little hand which opened to curl about it. I'll be the most

impossible father in the galaxy.

Jeran IS quite the most marvelous baby, the Rowan agreed, as

fatuous with pride as he was. `What . . . on earth?' At her altered

tone, Jeff followed her startled gaze and saw containers and

arrangements of flowers of every variation imaginable appear and settle

themselves on whatever surface was available until the room was almost

filled with them.

`What is going on?' Jeff scrambled to his feet though what harm

could masses of blossoms cause.

That young `un has so loud a voice I knew before Elizara told me!

said the familiar voice of Reidinger in an unfamiliar whisper.

Thank you!

Jeff and the Rowan stared at each other for the uncharacteristic

savility in Earth Prime's tone.

Rowan? Jeff? Isthia's voice, too, was hesitant but there was

such an underlying throb of excitement that they both asked what was

wrong. Nothing except there can't be any flowers left on Earth for the

masses that just appeared all over the dome!

`You should see our room,' Jeff called aloud. `Come on in, and

where's Elizara?' `In the pool - if there 5 room for her to swim among

the water lilies I saw heading in that direction,' Isthia said in quiet

mirth as she opened the door. She halted, staring around her in

amazement. `Who on earth. .

`Reidinger!' the Rowan and Jeff said in unison.

They heard a distant exclamation, and a much more audible

Grandfather, haven't you got a wit left in your head?

So much floral perfume and pollens are not good for a baby!

`Grandfather?' Now Isthia joined Rowan and Jeff in chorus.

Oh, bugger, I blew it! Elizara sounded disgusted. Just let me

dress and I'll come clean.

Come clean first, dress is optional, Jeff replied, doubling up in

a paroxysm of laughter.

Don't laugh, Jeff' The Rowan said, wrapping both hands around her

much abused abdominal muscles. Please don't make me laugh, Jeff1

Please!

Isthia came to the Rowan's assistance with strong hands on her

belly, trying hard to scowl at Jeff but grinning broadly at the same

time. Then Elizara appeared, her hair still wet, swathed in a big

towel, and looking chagrined.

`Reidinger's your grandfather?' The Rowan asked, wondering how she

could have missed the relationship.

`Actually my great-grandfather, but that's a mouthful and makes

him feel ancient. I buried that fact behind a shield before I came

here. Grandfather impressed on me that you might resent my help if you

discovered the relationship. But I'm also the best qualified person

for such an important accouchement. And what I told you in our first

interview was true: I offered to come but he was so dreadfully relieved

that I had. He may holler and rant at you, Rowan, but, believe me,

that indicated just how much he cares about you. And about Jeff. And

now Jeran is added to his most special list.' The Rowan closed her arm

protectively about Jeran and glared at Elizara. `I'm NOT breeding for

FT&T.' `No more am I,' Elizara replied with a laugh, `but children are

part of being a woman. Can you deny that you feel more feminine at

this moment than at any other time in your whole life?' The Rowan

considered this and had to agree. `In fact, now I've done it, I won't

mind being pregnant often.' She shot a sly glance at Jeff. `Only

Reidinger must know it's because we want more children, Talented or

not.' `I won't for a moment deny that my grandfather lives and breathes

for the efficiency and continued success and expansion of FT&T.'

Elizara's eyes twinkled. `He was massively disappointed that I went

medical but that's where my Talent lay. In fact the poor dear,' and

she grinned as she caught the surprise in their minds at her loving

reference, `has been continually disappointed in his seven children and

their progeny unto the third generation. He's the third Reidinger to

be Earth Prime, you see.

Not always consecutive. The Talent sometimes skipped one

generation. He did so want to train up a fourth. That's one reason

for his bad temper. He feels he's been let down by genetics. Oh, most

of us have valid Talents but none of us are Prime candidates. It is

the rarest combination of Talent, you know. And you both are, and so

is young Jeran.' `Reidinger has an odd way of displaying concern,' the

Rowan replied testily. `When I think of the blastings I've received .

.

`Come now, Rowan,' and Elizara's tone altered, `surely you, of all

the Primes, appreciate loneliness!' She paused while the Rowan did

indeed feel the pinch of that accusation. `Grandfather cannot let

personal feelings interfere with his professional responsibilities.

Much as it might surprise you,' and the gentle Elizara spoke with

an edge to her voice, `he feels very deeply. He just hides it better

than anyone else.' My apologies, the Rowan said meekly. I know I'm

selfcentered. `Primes tend to be,' Elizara said more mildly, `it's a

hazard of the profession. And you mustn't change your responses to

him. He'd be annoyed with me for even suggesting that there were

chinks in his shield. But I'm a match for him. As you two are. And

you, Isthia, are far stronger than I first thought.' Isthia had been

watching Elizara's face intently. Now she shrugged noncommittally.

`Deneb is my future. But I am interested in these insights on the

formidable Earth Prime.' Her voice ended on an upward note.

Elizara gave a brief warning frick of her hand. `Enough of

banter. Let's move some of these flowers out of this room. Too many

is just too many for newborn lungs.' `Not to mention the air

conditioning units in this part of the dome,' Jeff said.

`You know, it was really rather sweet of him,' the Rowan murmured

sleepily. And by the time the transfer was finished, she was fast

asleep, one arm curled protectively about her son.

`He's rather a good baby, as babies g,) Isthia remarked several

days later when she was making her farewells. `I didn't think I'd miss

Ian, but I do. And I've wallowed in luxury far too long.' She ignored

her son's snicker and laid her hand on her sleeping grandson's

forehead. `He'll be a handful, Rowan, but you've started out right.'

`Thanks to you, Isthia,' and the Rowan' 5 voice and mind were deep with

gratitude.

Isthia gave her an understanding smile. `I stood in loco

parentis, my dear, and we both know it. Nonetheless I was flattered.

She bent over and kissed the Rowan's cheek.

`Such a bit of a thing!' And quickly left the room.

The Rowan's farewell wishes followed her personal capsule all the

way back to Deneb. Elizara stayed on another few days, to be sure the

Rowan had completely recovered physically as the delivery had been

strenuous despite its brevity.

`I'm telling Reidinger in no uncertain terms, Elizara said as she,

too, prepared to leave the new family, `that you are to be on maternity

leave until I approve your return to work. He'll growl and rage but I

won't budge an inch. He loves it when someone stands up to him. You

don't know how delighted he was when you popped in on him.' `I'd never

have known,' the Rowan replied drolly.

`Besides, he's not about to risk his pet Prime.' `I dislike being

considered a "pet" anything,' the Rowan responded tartly. She was

nursing Jeran and her expression was singularly at odds with her voice.

`I'll remind him,' Elizara replied mildly. `You're a good mother,

too,' she added. `That will please him more,' and she grinned as that

brought a sharp glare from the Rowan.

`You are, you know. It comes naturally.' Then she frowned

slightly. `Who is Purza? Your mother?' The Rowan stared at her.

`Will she never stop haunting me?' `She wasn't haunting,' Elizara

replied, pausing to consider her next words. `She's far too happy.'

`Purza,' the Rowan said with some asperity, `was what I called the

pukha they gave me on Altair.' Elizara raised her eyebrows slightly.

`She's been more than that, Rowan.' She smiled gently. `And right

now, she's proud and happy for you, that alter ego of yours. As you

are proud and happy after a very long road to find such emotions.' `My

alter ego is a pukha?' `Why not?' Again that slightly mischievous grin

curved Elizara's lips. `It was very cleverly and ingeniously

programmed, you know.' She laid a reassuring hand on the Rowan's

shoulder and with the tactile contact more of Elizara's professional

approval flowed through to the Rowan's mind. `Purza's physical form

was destroyed by that arrogant little bouzma but you never really lost

her.' She gathered up her things. `Remember now, I'm only a thought

away and I will be open to you at any time.' With parents so closely in

contact with Jeran's needs, he made excellent progress and was rarely

troublesome without an easily discernible reason. The children in

Callisto Dome were as entranced with him as the adults.

The Rowan recovered her energy while Jeff twitted her about her

`maternal' curves.

When Elizara arrived back at Callisto Dome for the six weeks'

postnatal check, she pronounced both mother and son in excellent

health.

However, no sooner was the Rowan back in the Tower, Jeran in a

carrier by her couch, than Reidinger sent for Jeff.

`That's mean!' the Rowan complained, pacing up and down. `Your

son needs your presence. I need your presence. I don't care what

Elizara said, he's got no right to break up our family unit.'

`Sweetheart, we don't know that that's his intention, Jeff replied.

She caught his not quite suppressed thought. `You! You like

whizzing about, oozing charm over everyone! Traipsing about the galaxy

like a . . . a `Trapeze artist?' Jeff suggested mildly, not the least

bit ashamed of his inclinations. `And you can't fool me that you like

someone else, even me, managing your Tower.

Callisto is your bailiwick: it works more efficiently with your

mindset than anyone else's.' She eyed him. `Now, wait a minute, Jeff

Raven, don't try those tactics on me!' `The last person in the world I

can fool,' and he held out his arms to her. We don't stay angry with

each other, love.

We know each other far too well. He fitted his body to hers, her

head under his chin and reassured her with every fiber of his being.

`Besides, I'm curious as to what Reidinger has in mind for me now.

I've been everywhere else and even I know that Central Worlds

isn't planning to install a new Tower any time soon.' Faced with the

inevitable, she lifted his capsule and thrust it efficiently toward

Earth and, with a sigh, went back to work.

Jeff was absolutely correct about Callisto being her Tower. Being

Altairian Prime had been a subtle victory and she had enjoyed working

with old friends, and using her new awareness to facilitate a blending

of the Talent required to operate such a major way point. But Callisto

was hers, her home, where she had met and loved Jeff, and where their

son had been born. The Tower personnel were an integrated team that

had survived all her early foolishness and she now realized they had

become the family she had lost. Afra was more younger brother than

colleague. He honestly found Jeran an enchanting child which only

reinforced her good opinion of him.

Live stuff coming in, Afra's thought broke through her musing and

instantly she caught the large personnel carrier as it arced up from

Earth Prime.

Hi, honey, and Jeff's mind, the initiating kinetic, met hers.

Breeding animals for Deneb! We got a bonus: maternity and

paternity.

FT&T policy, so don't raise your hackles. I just blew all mine to

restock the farm. I'll be home tonight.

She could hear that he had something of momentous proportions to

tell her. It was a long day for her, part of it waiting, part of it

attending to Jeran's needs, but most of it wondering what sort of an

assignment Reidinger was now laying on Jeff. She'd be willing even to

leave Callisto but she had to be with Jeff.

You will be, love! His quick thought answered her. His mind

resounded with elation.

The Rowan was nursing Jeran when Jeff arrived back so

surreptitiously that she didn't hear him until she felt his presence

behind her. Jeran let out a frightened squeak.

Then Jeff opened up the blaze of his exultation and his son's eyes

grew as round as his mother's as the import of Jeff's news clarified.

`Earth Prime!' `Shhh! Everyone'll hear you,' Jeff said, sliding

on to the bed beside her and kissing her neck.

`You mean, everyone'll hear you!' Then she absorbed the

implications. `Earth Prime? Reidinger's Earth Prime.' Sadness tinged

Jeff's face and mind. `Mother caught it from Elizara. We were too

involved with Jeran here to notice. Did you realize that Reidinger is

110?' `Oh!' Jeff nodded. `Precisely!' And he opened his mind to all

that had occurred during that momentous interview in Reidinger's

spacious hidden office in the FT&T Cube.

How desperately Reidinger yearned to retire and enjoy a few years

free of the stresses of such high position: a desire made more urgent

after Siglen's demise for Reidinger was very much aware that his mind

faltered from time to time out of sheer fatigue and the debilities of

his advanced age.

Yet he could not relinquish command to an unsuitable personality

It would have been me? The Rowan said, shrinking from the very notion

of such onerous responsibility. Patently Jeff regarded it as a

magnificent challenge.

Sorry to do you out of it, love. . . He grinned, knowing the

depths of her relief. Idly he reached out to let Jeran `5

fist curl around his fingers, his expression dotingly tender for

an omnipotent Prime-elect. Up until my call for help, you were being

subtly groomed for the job. David certainly wasn't capable, much less

Capella. When I think what I can now do for Deneb.

`For Deneb?' the Rowan echoed, startled. Then she began to laugh,

loving him more devotedly than ever for that altruistic consideration.

Small wonder he had become Reidinger's choice.

Jeff nodded, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling with delight in her

appreciation. It simply isn't on for Earth Prime's native world to be

second-rate, now is it?

You demanded a Denebian Tower as a condition?

Lover, and Jeff stretched out on the bed, punched a pillow

comfortably behind his head, I could have demanded the moons of the

solar system on a diamond chain and had them. As you well understand,

Central Worlds has to have the best Talent as its Prime. His grin was

particularly arch. I don't think I was greedy or particularly

difficult. But Deneb will have a Tower. You cobbled together the

basic facilities: we'll improve them and send in teachers and

assessors.

Rakella's oldest boy bids fair to develop into a reasonable Prime.

That is, until Jeran here is old enough to take over.

The Rowan curled her arms protectively about her son.

`My baby's not going to be marooned on Deneb! You said you

wouldn't let him be indentured to FT&T.' Jeff flipped over on his side,

stroking her cheek to reduce her wrath, grinning in a fashion that she

could never resist.

`Love, the whole game plan just changed, in our favor.

It'll be quite another matter if our children end up running FT&T,

now won't it? We'll raise `em the way Primes should be reared, in a

large and loving family. None of them will have to make do with a

pukha. Not while we live! We're a team, love, with strengths and

resources not given to many. We'll make the best possible use of our

Talents.' His expression was both entreating and serious.

`On that score, let us have a meeting of minds.' Loving him as she

did, that is exactly what they had.

Jeran was a hearty six months old when the Rowan conceived again.

She was amazed to be roundly scolded by everyone.

`It's my body!' was her response. `I feel fine so stop fussing at

me.' Despite his increasing frailty, Reidinger's voice was not off a

decibel in full bellow as he let her know in no uncertain terms that he

considered she was putting both herself and the new child at risk by

becoming pregnant so soon.

Reidinger, you will butt out of my private life. You are the last

person who should have objections! she responded in icy tones. You

made it abundantly clear to Jeff by the tonne on the hoof how much you

appreciated Jeran. What's your gripe?

I will not have my best Prime The Rowan laughed heartily and

without a tinge of jealousy. Do get your facts straight, old dear.

You told Jeff that HE was your best Prime.

DON'T YOU DARE INTERRUPT ME --No, I shouldn't, should I? the

Rowan replied meekly. It's Sooooo bad for your blood pressure or heart

or lungs or cranium or whatever. So you be a good boy and take some of

that tonic and mind your Tower. While you still can She felt him

gathering himself for another blast and then suddenly, he was silent.

For a heart-stopping moment, the Rowan wondered if she had gone

too far.

No, I told him it was our business, Jeff reassured her, and then

went on in another mental tone entirely, but even Mother gave herself a

year between pregnancies.

The Rowan, rather too sweetly: I thought you wanted to come home

tonight to your loving wife and adoring son?

There was another pause. I will be home and I will discuss it

with you.

Another of those times, the Rowan thought to herself testily, when

a man thinks he knows more about maternity than someone who has borne a

child. So she decided just how to handle him this evening before he

could handle her.

She hadn't meant to get pregnant again so soon, but Reidinger

dispatched Jeff to check on this or that Terran installation, or to the

Moon, and then the big Mars substation, and the more important Asteroid

Wheels. Jeff had to be introduced to all the Governors as well as the

more important members of the Nine-Star League.

Consequently, when he was on Callisto, they tended to make up for

opportunities lost.

`I've had to sit through some of the dreariest meetings,' he told

her wearily. `It ought to be a prerequisite to high government office

that the incumbent be at least a T-4.

That would halve the time spent in politicking and correctly

aligning power balances.' `I didn't realize that Reidinger had to deal

with that kind of administrative nonsense,' the Rowan said. `No wonder

the man is aged before his time.' `Oh, that isn't part of the FT&T

Prime's function but as their apparent, I have to be displayed to all

those who worry about leaving FT&T autonomous. I've got to be shown to

be the right sort of stuff and all that. As it is, not all the League

Ambassadors are convinced that an ex-colonist is the "right sort of

person" to be entrusted with such grave responsibilities.

Jeff's mobile face ran a gamut of the lugubrious, skeptical, or

censorious expressions of his various detractors and had the Rowan in

whoops.

`Be glad you're stationed on Callisto,' he assured her and then

turned his attention to more pressing matters: such as showing her how

much he had missed her.

Which was why she was pregnant now despite the fact that a Talent

of her scope and strength was able to affect certain bodily functions.

She had forgotten - well, neglected - to affect the possible

outcome of the evening's pleasures. The two children - this one, by

the Rowan' 5

choice, was female - would be close in age, yes, but the Rowan and

Jeff would make certain that they were close in affection as well:

another fringe benefit of strong Talent when properly directed.

Rowan! Jeff's urgent call reached her as she was feeding Jeran

his supper. Even her name was colored with excitement - and more.

Mother wants me to come out to Deneb.

Something's troubling her. She said you and Elizara had a hint of

it, too, just before Jeran was born. Do you remember?

Suddenly the Rowan did, though she had given the incident no

further thought, being involved in maternal duties.

Elizara felt something but couldn't define it. Any more than I

could beyond anger and pain. At the time, Isthia thought it wasn't

even human.

I'd better go and see what I can hear.

The Rowan gave a mental snort which Jeran picked up, regarding his

mother with rounded eyes and a certain babyish pout of anxiety. She

soothed him on one level and responded to Jeff on another. Your

mother's got the `long ear' Which, in her son, has been considerably

refined, sharpened, strengthened, horned, and is completely

operational.

Maybe now is the time to pester Isthia to train early.

Jeff returned to Callisto the following morning, arriving by his

own gestalt with the first batch of inbound drones.

Hi, darling. Where've you stashed our son? Ah, with you.

Look, I'm going to bathe and eat, then I'll join you. I'm twelve

hours behind Callisto's day. His buoyant mental tone reassured her

that whatever Isthia had heard' could not be of an urgency Jeran was

asleep when Jeff reached the Tower. She continued her grab and thrust,

keeping the generators at a high peak. He waited to join her until she

had handled the outward bound freight. He brought up cups of the

sweetened drink she liked, handing her one, kissing her forehead,

before pausing to stare down at their sleeping son, a doting expression

on his face.

`He doesn't look like anyone in my family,' he remarked and not

for the first time.

`He looks like himself, Jeran Gwyn-Raven. Well?' She regarded him

over the rim of her cup.

`Well, I don't know what upset my mother,' and he perched on the

console, one arm across his chest, the other supporting his cup. `I

didn't hear a blessed thing. But Rakella said she did, too, and

Besseva Eagle, who's been ninety-eight per cent accurate in all her

precogs, thinks there is trouble on its way to us.' He made an immense

circle with his free arm. `Immense trouble.' `The beetles wouldn't

come back for more. Would they?' That would account for the anger and

pain I felt.

`Beetle anger? Beetle pain?' Jeff was close to laughter at the

suggestion. `Though they might well have been annoyed at the loss of

two advance assault vessels.

However, from what the specialists have deduced to date, they had

a hivelike societal structure - our merge saw eggs in the ship,

remember, and we found hundreds in the space debris - at various stages

of larval development for different types of beetles. Hive societies

don't tend to emotions: workers, drones, queens, whatever, do exactly

what they were bred to do.' `Yes, but there was sentience of some sort

directing the three vessels that attacked Deneb. That oversized beetle

we saw in the protected inner chamber of the ship? The queen. Could

it have been intelligent enough to direct the others?' `Hmm. Tactics

did change, was Jeff's grudging admission.

`Beetles tend to be tenacious,' the Rowan added, though `tenacity'

was certainly more of a trait than an emotion.

Jeff shrugged. `They can come back, angry, hurt, or merely

tenacious, any time they care to have more of the same. And when they

get anywhere near the perimeter of League Space, alarms will ring all

over our sphere of influence.' `I'd've chalked it up to prenatal

nerves,' the Rowan went on, still trying to analyze the faint emotions

she had perceived, `except that Isthia heard it, too.' `Isthia's

maternal sensitivity is exceedingly acute,' Jeff agreed but his tone

also assured the Rowan that he was not going to make the mistake of

dismissing the incident.

Rowan? It was Isthia's tone, stronger than her usual mental

voice, have I caught you at a bad time?

Jeran and I are having a swim, the Rowan replied, not slow to

catch the anxious undertones to that deceptive query. What's wrong?

Whatever IT is is getting stronger and more am:nous. Her worry

was deep. Rakella and Besseva concur, and eve'y woman with any modicum

of Talent on this planet is beginning to display anxiety symptoms.

You'd think the planet was populated by viragoes the way tempers

are flaring for no reason at all. Rakella and Besseva are merged with

me to make this contact!

And here I thought you'd yielded and taken some training!

The Rowan deliberately spoke in a light vein.

Now I wish I had. I shan't be so perverse :f we get out of this!

Even as she spoke to Isthia, the Rowan had risen from the pool and

thrown towels around her son's wriggling body and her own.

I take it no masculine minds have been touched by this phenomenon?

the Rowan asked, deftly inserting Jeran into his padded pants.

She also assembled some travel requirements for them both.

That's it precisely. Isthia's reply was grim. The male minds

don't hear a twitch. Not that they won't listen to those of us who do!

Callisto is occluded right now so I'll call a day of rest. I

think I'll bring Mauli with me. She's a keen echo finder even Mick

isn't present. Jeffs on Procyon. Be with you soon.

The Rowan did not find afra or Ackerman as cooperative about what

they termed a `rash and impulsive venture' `Mauli will do anything you

ask,' Ackerman said testily, `but I'm damned if Afra and I will take

the responsibility for you two, and Jeran, baring off to Deneb without

at least checking with Jeff.' `I can't disturb Jeff in that meeting on

Procyon right now. And if I have to, Brian, I can also launch myself

and Mauli without a gestalt,' the Rowan replied, gesturing for Mauli to

settle herself in the double capsule. She handed Jeran over and faced

her critics. `Now, will you stop being overprotective and run up the

generators? You both know that Isthia wouldn't put me, or Jeran, in

jeopardy but if she wants me on Deneb, she's earned the right to my

assistance at any time. Hasn't she?' `At least clear it with Jeff,'

Ackerman replied in a request that was nearly a plea.

Jeff Isthia wants me on Deneb. The situation is hotting up.

Really? Should I come? She could sense that he was only

half-listening to her. He was at a meeting but not bored.

I'm taking Jeran and Mauli.

He's old enough for a long `port.

Afra and Ackerman had to accede to her orders then, but she knew

both were uneasy. But then, they always were when she wanted to `port

anywhere: even when she was now undisturbed by the process.

Call this an inspection tour by the Denebian Prime-to-be, Afra,

and don't worry, dear friend, the Rowan said, lightly touching Afra's

forearm so she could impose assurance on him.

He gave a shrug and a wry smile, then helped her into the double

carrier beside Mauli. Brian's scowl did not abate as the canopy locked

shut. Then he turned on his heel and returned to the Tower, Afra

following him.

Though this would not be Jeran's first `port, for Jeff had taken

him out beyond Jupiter on several occasions to accustom his son to the

sensations, it would be his longest.

He spent the transfer gurgling and enthusiastically waving his

arms. He registered Isthia's welcoming mind-touch with an extra

chirrup. He liked his grandmother and his mind associated her with

soothing sounds and contacts.

Did you catch that, Mauli? the Rowan asked, sometimes unable to

restrain her pride in Jeran's obvious Talent.

Mauli's smile broadened into a laugh.

Isthia brought them with no more than a light bump into the cradle

at the fine new Tower, bathed in spotlights at this time of Deneb's

night, its big, new generators humming idly. The Rowan had a nostalgic

moment for what she had contrapted out of sheer necessity but then

Isthia, Rakella, and a third woman whom the Rowan identified by

mind-touch as Besseva emerged from the facility. Besseva reminded the

Rowan so forcefully of Lusena, physically and mentally, that she

experienced a brief jolt at the contact.

I am then doubly honored, Besseva said, inclining her head

slightly toward the Callisto Prime.

`And no problems with this fellow in a long `port, I gather,' said

Isthia, taking her grandson from his mother and settling him on her hip

as she had her own children. `I am truly grateful to you, Rowan, and

to you as well, Mauli, for humoring me.

`Humoring you? Spare me that, Isthia!' The Rowan let her

exasperation color her mind as well as her voice. `Since you've

obviously left the generators on, let's see what we can plumb out

there. I brought Mauli for that echo effect she has.' `Night is the

best time to sense the presence,' Isthia said.

`And we have!' Besseva stated firmly, and Rakella gave a single

emphatic nod of her head.

All three Denebians emanated a tenseness, a barely controlled fear

that bordered on terror. The Rowan was seized with an urgent need to

either deny or confirm it.

The Tower had been enlarged as well as modernized and, judging by

the blank west wall, clearly the architect intended to expand in that

direction when the time came for Deneb to have a full Prime Station.

`That's right, Jeran, look about you! This may one day be your

domain,' the Rowan said, grinning archly at Isthia, trying to

neutralize their fears so she could be objective. They felt so

strongly that it was, for once, difficult for the Rowan to maintain her

integrity.

`Poor baby! What a fate!' Isthia stroked his cheek and then

placed him in one of the spare couches, lightly strapping him safely

in. `He shouldn't be bothered there.' She gestured for the others to

take the conformable seating grouped at the main console. Then she

courteously gestured for the Rowan to initiate the gestalt.

As the Rowan felt the ready response of the bank of generators,

she grinned again at the change from that poor wheeze of an affair.

Isthia had been practicing, for her mind smoothly blended with

hers: then Rakella, Besseva, and a little timidly, Mauli merged.

Where? the Rowan asked.

Isthia pointed to her right, slightly west of true north, at one

of the more brilliant constellations in the Denebian skies. The Rowan

didn't know its astronomical designation for she was more familiar with

the patterns in altairian or Callistan skies.

Though I don't think that star system is where it originates,

Isthia added. But it is coming from that general area of space.

The Rowan let her augmented mind range beyond Deneb's night

horizon, beyond its moons, far, far out, past Deneb's heliopause, into

the blackness of space. This merge was vastly different to the one she

had led to Deneb's help nearly two years ago. This time she was the

focus. Suddenly Yegrani's Sight came back to her, and the Rowan

wondered if perhaps she had erred in believing that the Sight had been

fulfilled with Deneb's trouble and Jeff's arrival.

You have not yet been the focus of which Yegrani spoke, said the

quiet voice of Besseva, nor was she ambiguous.

Deneb's danger was not yours. This is!

What the Rowan felt then was not prompted by Besseva's voice or

words. There was inarguably something dangerously evil inexorably

heading toward Deneb's system.

No, not evil! Determined! And determined in a sense that gives

new potency to such a mind-set. The thian section of the mind merge

qualified the emanation.

Rowan: The emanation has no pain now. No anger.

Besseva: In time all pain heals and the anger has been sublimated

into purpose.

Rowan: What IS it? Though she could discern intense and

unrelenting mental activity, she could `see' or `read' nothing: she

could detect no string of thoughts being processed, only the moil of

determination.

Rakella: `It' is not single!

Mauli, in a surprised tone: `It' is a many. And they frighten me!

They are. . . oily.

Isthia, bleakly: This `many' exudes a purpose of destruction.

Enough to agitate even an insensitive mind.

Rowan, recalling vividly that earlier merge: The survivor was sent

off in that general direction!

Isthia: The merge didn't follow it to its destination?

Rowan, with a sigh for that error: At the time our actions seemed

sufficiently punitive.

2% Isthia: All should have been destroyed.

Rowan: Hmm, yes, a bad judgment error. We didn't succeed in

scaring them off We should have plunged all into the sun and saved a

lot of cleaning up. Were you in that merge, Isthia?

Isthia: No, and there was a thread of droll amusement m her tone.

I was otherwise occupied. This time we will see the threat

removed completely.

Rowan: We will not err this time. Only what will be a sufficient

deterrent?

Besseva: I respectfully suggest total annihilation.

Rowan: That notion will be totally unacceptable to the League

Councillors. Even the aliens are nonviolent.

Isthia: Drastic measures must be considered. The hive mentality

obviously didn't respond to a fear stimulus. Just what sort of

intelligence guides this second assault?

Mauli: Would it be wrong to assume that, as in other insect

colonies, the female, or egglaying gender, is the guiding force?

Ensuring the perpetuation of the species?

Isthia: A logical assumption since we apparently sense what the

masculine mind does not.

Rowan: I resent reacting to a beetle.

Isthia, drolly: Did you see the reconstruction the specialists

made of one of those `beetles'? BIG! Even one of the smaller types

would be a formidable opponent! Don't think of them as beetles. Think

of them as BIG, dangerous animosities. I should not like to have to

defend myself against them on Deneb's surface.

Besseva, in a dry voice: Especially as Deneb has little in the way

of defensive weaponry. Hunting anns wouldn't even dint their body

covering. If we can assume that we are dealing with a hive society

Isthia: I think we can. Remember the eggs among the debris of the

ships that were destroyed.

Besseva: And with a species that will pour huge numbers of

determined troops into a surface assault, they must be halted before

they reach the planet! Or we'd better think of evacuating Deneb right

now.

Isthia, in unalterable defiance: We are NOT abandoning Deneb.

Mauli: I sense something so mass:ve . . . and broke off, tucking

her fear as far away from consideration as she could.

Rowan: That has not escaped any of us, Mauli.

Isthia, wryly: D'you think we'll get the Fleet this time without a

lengthy argument, Rowan?

Rowan: You better believe it! Even :if I have to `port every unit

myself Besseva: Be a little more subtle, Rowan. Just tell Earth Prime

that you refuse to leave Deneb until naval reinforcements arrive!

Isthia, laughing: Reidinger won't risk you!

Mauli: Shouldn't we withdraw? They might sense us.

Rowan: I doubt it, Mauli. There is no sense of awareness of

anything other than their purpose. Deneb. And that's the reason we

sense them: their purpose is aimed at us! Single mindedness has

certain disadvantages. I just wish I could perceive more details,

unravel the mechanics of their thought processes. The Fleet will want

details.

Isthia: So will Reidinger and Jeff But there are none.

They will have to trust our perceptions. She sounded dubious.

Rowan: Oh, they'll believe us! Why have a dog and bark yourself?

Isthia: Say what?

Rowan, chuckling: One of Siglen's little sayings.

The Rowan began to relax the focus of the merge and was astonished

to see daylight flooding through the Tower windows. Jeran was sound

asleep, his right thumb pulling down his lower lip. A quick glimpse

reassured the Rowan that his mind held no trace of any neglect, that he

had fallen asleep unfelled.

`I hadn't realized we'd be gone so long,' Isthia said with

apology, looking at the station timer. `Five hours! You took us

farther than we'd been able to reach.

The Rowan stretched, easing stiff muscles as she swung her legs

off the conformer. The others were doing the same.

Rowan! Jeff s tone bordered the peremptory. Where have you been?

I couldn't reach you at all!

Well, have a good look then, my love, because Deneb's the target

once again. Only this time we won't stop with half measures, the Rowan

replied and opened her mind to him.

That's fascinating! Jeff replied when he had absorbed the total

report. Nor can anyone ignore this as a case of mass hysteria if you

and my mother are involved. And Besseva, he added hastily, with a

mental grin of apology. These days I know why Reidinger couldn't just

call up the Fleet when I wanted him to during the last invasion. But I

also know which panic buttons to press to initiate a Red Alert.

Isthia, at her drollest: If what we sense about the incoming

vessel is even marginally accurate, the Fleet wouldn't be of any use.

Except psychologically.

Jeff: Mother! You'll crush their fragile egos! Surely they're

good for something!

Isthia: Well, they might be able to spot the thing when it gets

closer but, to be perfectly candid, I don't want that thing to get much

nearer! It's causing sufficient havoc as far out as it is and I dread

what it'll do up close.

Jeff: It would be wisest to nip its pretensions as soon as

possible.

Isthia, patiently: It's not an `it', Jeff It's a `many', a

feminine `many' Jeff: Then we are in trouble! And he was only

half-joking.

Are you staying on there, Rowan4ave? His thought was only for her

and its wisffulness made her smile.

Rowan, with a quick look at Isthia: No, I should return to

Callisto. I can nag people just as easily from there. I'll leave

Mauli to help keep in touch. But I assure you, if we don't get

immediate action, I'll come right back here so the League will be

forced to take this seriously. These creatures may be heading for

Deneb, but to have such animosities anywhere in the League's sphere of

influence endangers ALL!

Isthia: It's proceeding at a frightening rate of speed.

Jeff: I know. I'll persuade Admiral Tomiakin to lend me a fast

scout ship for reconnaissance.

Rowan: With you on it?

Jeff: Who better? A grin tickled the edges of her mind. I didn't

call `wolf the first time so they'll listen to me.

Isthia said aloud and screening her thought: `Men! They have to

have their place in the scheme, don't they?' Rowan: You'd better be

sure there's a large female complement on that scout. Or better still,

take Mauli with you.

She knows what to listen for.

Jeff: Your wish is my command!

`I think everyone is going to have to be in on this defensive

action,' the Rowan said soberly, `or that thing is going to land on

Deneb. And all too soon.' The Rowan knew she had only put into words

what the others thought but saying it out loud did nothing to relieve

the tension.

`I will arrange a watch rota,' Isthia said. `There are enough of

us to do that. And Rakella, you can see about some sort of medication

to dampen the reaction.' `Not every woman is experiencing it,' Rakella

remarked.

Isthia grinned in sudden humor. `So we find out just how much of

Deneb's female population have traces of Talent. `Tis an ill wind that

blows no-one good.' Rowan, very privately: You're amazing!

Isthia, equally private: Take the good with the bad.

Then Jeran awoke to be fed, so Isthia hustled mother and son back

to the rebuilt Raven Farmhouse, where the stock purchased by Jeff s

paternity bonus grazed on the lush hybrid grass that had thrived in

Denebian soil. What surprised the Rowan about the new residence was

that most of it was built underground.

`Once bitten, twice shy,' Isthia replied with a shrug and a grin,

`as well as being sound home-engineering: energy efficient, cooler in

the summer and warmer in the winter.

And I feel a lot safer. Doesn't mess up the landscape either.

You'll find more of Deneb City underground.

We'll overfly it on our way back to the Tower. Now, let's feed

this hungry young'un. And us! Those long night watches make me

ravenous.' Once back on Callisto, the Rowan allowed Reidinger to scan

her memories of the merge. That he was seriously disturbed was obvious

by the fact that he hadn't so much as roared over her abrupt departure.

When she mentioned Yegrani's Sight as verification, he became

testy.

You were the merge, he said. You saved Deneb and you've traveled.

I was NOT the focus at Deneb. Jeff was.

Reidinger made a rude noise. Damned clairvoyants are so clever

with their ambiguities.

REIDINGER, you are not ignoring this! It was her turn to bellow.

Fat chance I'd have of that when that aggressive Denebian husband

of yours is agitating Fleet High Command as well as everyone he's ever

met on the League Administrative Panel.

Reidinger sounded disgusted yet there was a hint of pride in his

voice, which made the Rowan grin. Should never have introduced him so

universally. He's got Fleet in a flap but the units that were

stationed around Deneb are insisting that they get the chance to

reconnoiter.

Rowan: Jeff said he'd be leading the way.

Reidinger was silent for a moment. He hasn't wasted an ounce of

that ingratiating charm of his over the last six months.

He smothered exactly the right egos with it. Consequently he can

manipulate the various authorities and agencies that would be involved

in an operation of this magnitude. And cut through delays.

The Rowan grinned to herself at Reidinger's grudging admission.

She had learned a thing or two from Jeff about dealing with

bureaucracy. More importantly, he could manipulate at a high level.

With Deneb the ostensible target for this new assault, he had

every reason to marshal his Talent.

Jeff was very effective: he managed a squadron to reconnoiter.

And, obeying his wife's advice, specified a high complement of

female crews on two of the ships.

Damnedest thing I ever heard of, Reidinger complained to the

Rowan, Jeff s the most perceptive, and certainly the strongest Talent

I've ever encountered - and he had to go some to exceed you, Angharad

Reidinger had taken to calling her by her real name since Jeran's birth

because `Angharad' sounded more feminine than a tree name - so he's got

xenobiologists from all parts of the League screaming for details about

these feminine menaces oil yours.

The female of the species has always been more deadly than the

male, Reidinger, the Rowan replied, though she couldn't remember where

she'd heard that maxim. It didn't have the same ring as one of

Siglen's.

Defending its young. I suppose even beetles can have maternal

imperatives! If it IS the same blasted beetles. His grumbling tone

faded from her mind.

As the Rowan turned back to some minor domestic chores -`porting

fresh water from a Welsh artesian well for the Callisto cisterns, the

weekly supply of comestibles and special household orders of those who

lived on the Station - she waited with half a mind open for Jeff's

progress report.

We're beyond Deneb's heliapause by two A Us, he said. I brought

the squadron out myself Fine Captain, excellent crew, he added with a

mental picture of the ZAMBIA's bridge and the exceedingly handsome

woman occupying the Captain's chair. The officers seated at consoles

were all reasonably young and attractive, too. Picked less for

pulchritude and more for vestiges of Talent. You have no competition,

my love!

I won't daign: that with a reply.

Then shall I be magnanimous and say they confirm your perceptions

about the approaching vesseL Not all the crew's female but those who

are have exhibited the same symptoms Isthia reports en masse on Deneb.

I'm feeling distinctly left out of all this and I'm supposed to be

highly perceptive!

Be glad you don't pick up on the aura, Jeff' You can really call

it evil, or even truly malicious, but it emanates an intensity - an

anticipation of destruction - that is frightening. If I were a

barquecat, every hair on my body would be standing stark out. And

don't call the phenomenon `it'. Mauli echoed a `many' - a many which

will not be diverted from their purpose.

Exactly how Captain Lodjyn summed up her impression of the intent

of this Many. And they're unequivocably headed toward Deneb. I may be

slightly paranoid about what happens to my planet, but I really can't

quite make myself believe the vessel is going through Denebian space

for a shortcut when Deneb VIII will just happen to be in their way.

What I can't understand is how they will avoid impaction at the

speed they're going. It takes time to decelerate from the speed at

which they're now traveling. Or maybe beetles stand multigravities

better than us fleshy sorts?

Rowan, sensing suspicious peripherals from Jeff s mind: Just what

are you doing right now?

Taking a look. Too much `noise' on the ZAMBIA.

She didn't like the thought of him in a vulnerable personal

capsule, far from the nebulous safety of a multiweaponed scout vessel.

You should have taken the Captain with you. You won't hear a

thing.

I did and Mauli's along. And we're in the Captain's gig.

I've some sense for a mere man, my love.

You reassure me no end!

Jeff's tone turned wry. I thought this would, cariad.

Mauli's echo is going to come in real useful.

Like never before!

He was silent though his mind kept contact. So, putting everyone

on the Station on a Yellow Alert status, she left the Tower, with afra,

Mick, and Ackerman in charge, to attend to her son. It was soothing to

feed Jeran his lunch before settling him down for a nap. Most of the

time she did not have to reinforce his natural rhythm with a mental

suggestion, but he had been a little off normal schedule since the

Deneb `portation so she gave him a nudge. She gazed down at him for a

long moment - he was endlessly enchanting. Then she stretched out on

her bed, one arm flung across the side which Jeff usually occupied, and

relaxed, clearing her mind.

WOW! The awe in Jeff's voice was sufficient to rouse her totally

from the light doze she had entered.

Mauli's reaction was less awed and considerably more fearful.

Jeff: We seem to have a lumpy-surfaced oval planetoid rolling

towards us at speeds which make even gestalt assisted movements seem

crawler-paced. It is currently twenty AUs out but closing fast enough

I like. That defense ring which Fleet is so proud of is going to be no

use against a vessel this size. More like a flea trying to swat one of

those large men Proceyon breeds. Easy, Mauli. I don't care what

instrumentation it might have, it can't see us. We're less than a

mote. You may feel it, but :f it had sensed us, we'd really be motes.

The Rowan, briefly touching Mauli's panicked mind to reassure the

girl, heard Jells chuckle.

This may only be a captain's gig but its scanner's the best so

Fleet'll have the printout as confirmation. I'm getting no readings on

mass or composition. Scanner says `no accurate assessment possible at

this distance'. That's a lot of comfort.

Tut-tut! And it's running dark. Ignoring the basic laws of

spaceman ship! That seems to be upsetting the Fleet more than its

size.

No, that's a cover for the pure funk even admirals are feeling

over my evaluation. They're making contradictory preliminary

assessments, demanding that I increase the resolution. I did: it's on

the max right now. What do they think I've got on this skiff? A

portable sun for illumination?

The Rowan refined the contact with Jeff sufficiently to see,

through his optics, what he and Mauli were viewing on the skiff's

scanners: a darkness that flowed across the backdrop of stars. Quite a

Leviathan, isn't it? I understand why adrenaline is pumping through

your veins Leviathan? An interesting choice of phrase, my love.

Jeff Raven, if you go in any closer to that. . . that menace,

I'll kill you, she added, abruptly seized by a gut-generated terror.

Jeff chuckled. That'll teach me a lesson. Rest easy, cariad, I'm

as close as I care to get, and closer than Mauli or the good Captain

Lodjyn think w:se.

Do they hear anything useful?

Well, Mauli does and she doesn't. She's let me merge and I can

sense great industry and bustle, orderly activity, and some areas with

no sound at all. I think the damned planetoid was once just that and

has been hollowed out for its travels. Mauli's picking up a lot more

than I am: six or more different mental entities. His tone became

attenuated as he spoke to her privately. Mauli's in a muck sweat of

terror from the level of `dedication' . . . purpose is too weak a

word. . . that she perceives. I'm taking us back before the poor kid

dissolves.

Even the Captain's sweating and throwing out fear phenomes.

Rowan: When Deneb was attacked, the merge didn't sense any great

dedication, purpose, or intelligence from the occupants of those

vessels.

Jeff: You're assuming that the ship we deported from our system

went scimming back to this big Mama?

Rowan: Why not? You thought then that they were softening Deneb

up for an invasion. Why couldn't they have been preparing the planet

for the arrival of what's bearing down on Deneb now?

Jeff: And the `mother' ship is why only females sense its intent?

Rowan: Don't you dare snicker!

Jeff: Believe me, dear heart, whatever reservations I might have

privately entertained at the outset are null and void. We are in big

trouble and I thank all the Powers of Balance for my mother's long ear!

As it is, we're going to have to plan our campaign against that

Leviathan very carefully. That's the hard place, and Deneb's the rock

and we - Mankind - are between it. There was a brief pause. And so

I've just informed Earth Prime! This time he also has no reservations.

In the second pause, Jeff chuckled wryly. However the League may

well just argue us all to our deaths. Would you believe it? They are

now debating the ethical point of whether we have the right to

interfere with the approaching vessel simply on the grounds that it

might - get that, might - have hostile intentions?

Rowan, aghast: You can't mean it?

Jeff, sardonically: Now just how do we prove hostile intent? They

haven't launched any missiles - yet - that I can lob at Earth and scare

the doubters.

Afra: You said Leviathan is clearly on a course to Deneb, did you

not?

Jeff: Yes, Afra, I did and the squadron's computer all confirm

that. Unless this Leviathan decelerates when it reaches Deneb's

system, present calculations confirm that it will smash right into

Deneb VIII. Captain Lodj# is extrapolating the repercussions of such a

collision.

Reidinger: It will NOT come to that! Talent does not bust its

balls for the Nine-Star League to have them disregard a considered

warning of imminent invasion of a possibly hostile force of unknown

potential.

Jeff: And what have you in mind, Earth Prime?

Reidinger: I am in conference with the Nine star League

Councillors and you may rest assured that they will be persuaded to

act, not argue.

Ah, good! My first order from the Councillors is to dispatch the

flagship Beijing to the Denebian system. It will deploy one-half All

beyond Deneb's helipause, the Welcome and Identity modules which were

so successful with the Antarians sentients not dissimilar to the

beetle-type species of the first assault.

Rowan, exasperated: Of all the stupid face-saving ploys!

Haven't we TOLD you that the main sentience of this vessel is

motivated by destruction, the annihilation of Deneb VIII?

Reidinger: Oh, I agree with your evaluation, Angharad. I am

further ordered to dispatch the Moscow, the London, and the Newyork to

redeploy defensive mines one-half inside the heliopause.

Jeff: Bluebells all in a row?

Reidinger: Under the premise that a warning shot across the bows

ought to be universally understood.

The Rowan snorted.

Jeff: Remind the captains of those vessels to get the hell out of

the way before that thing gets within fifty-thousand klicks of the

space mines.

Reidinger: Now we wait!

Rowan and Jeff in simultaneously expressed disgust: Wait?

Reidinger: Wait! That's the trouble with you youngsters.

You don't know when to bide your time.

Jeff: Not when it's my planet that's the target.

Reidinger: It was before and you were rescued. However, in

addition to my official instructions, and Reidinger paused

significantly, I have sent out a discreet alert to all Primes and

Talent above grade 4, regardless of their discipline. Does that

precaution reassure you?

Jeff, diffidently: Not exactly, for I fail to see what Talent will

be able to do against that Leviathan!

Rowan: Alen for what action?

Reidinger, malicious chuckle: I thought you'd grasp the essentials

more quickly. Mull it all over, will you, while we're waiting. And,

in this interval, Jeff, I want you to proceed to Deneb. Angharad,

please join him there but I would request that your son remains on

Callisto.

Jeff: Now, wait a minute Rowan, beginning to catch a glimmer of

what Reidinger held so tightly in his most private mind: No, Jeff I

should be on Deneb to augment Isthia. Then as soon as we know and

Jeran is safer away from the furor. It could overload him.

And Reidinger most certainly doesn't want that, do you, Peter?

Reidinger in a growl: No!

The Rowan did not like leaving Jeran behind: She would miss him

keenly but, between the other women on the Station and Afra, he would

be lovingly supervised. So she settled in her capsule and calmly

waited for the generators to hit the proper revolutions before she,

with Afra and Mick assisting, `ported to Deneb. When she entered the

Denebian Tower, she noticed the signs of stress in the faces of those

who had maintained the Watch.

`If we swallow any more sedatives, we won't be able to hear a

damned thing,' Isthia said bleakly. However, as she gave the Rowan a

quick embrace of welcome, her incredible energy seemed undiminished,

bright red and tangy. `There's a bottom to the well and a long dry

period if I dip in too often. But those things will NOT have my

planet.' The red of her deepened.

`What does Besseva say now?' the Rowan asked, missing the

clairvoyant from those on duty.

Isthia gave a diffident shrug. `She's gone into a deep trance,

trying to penetrate the shell of that - what did Jeff say you named it?

Leviathan-' she went on when the Rowan put the word in her mind,

`to see what's inside. It's damnably frustrating to have an unknown

assailant.' `The Councillors wish to believe that they may not be

hostile,' the Rowan said in a saccharine tone of voice.

Isthia was not the only one in the Tower to have a poor opinion of

that belief. Then the Rowan took a spare couch and joined the minds

merged on the approaching vessel. It had shortened the distance to

heliopause considerably Jeff: Get set to catch me, will you, loves?

Isthia, privately: He must be tired if he's asking us for help.

Rowan: All right, then, my fine lad, into the cradle you go!

Jeff's step had none of its usual spring as he entered the Tower

and dropped into the nearest chair. Before Isthia could motion to one

of the girls, the Rowan had obtained a glass of stimulant and, placing

it in his hand, laid both of hers on his temples, transferring energy

to him. Closing his eyes, he accepted her gift, a loving smile turning

up the corners of his mouth. You always know what I need, dear heart!

My profound gratitude. I'll return the gift on demand.

`How long before we get some action?' Isthia asked in a gruff

voice.

Jeff shrugged. `The Fleet wants to make its war-game moves. They

believe in their invincibility. I do not.' Rowan: Could a focus

protect them? Leviathan may have weaponary we can't perceive.

Jeff: Not over the area of space where they've deployed, and it'd

be damned bad tactics to group them together where we might possibly be

able to shield them. He gave a mirthless laugh. The Councillors are

certain that Leviathan will respond reasonably to the Welcome and

identify modules.

The Fleet are not so no:ve as to consider that likely.

However, the good Admirals are confident that Leviathan will react

to the presence of the mines. Once Leviathan has demonstrated its

weaponary against the mines, they will know how to defend us against

it.

Rowan: There are women Councillors Jeff: None with much more than

an empathetical Talent and your report has frightened them from even

the most discreet of direct contact. The W & I modules were only

deployed to pacify the non-aggressive element in the Council.

Rowan: What :f Leviathan is duplicitous?

Jeff laughed. What? Do you mean they'd respond sweetly to the

Welcome and Ident: and then launch missiles once we let them advance

`in peace?' Isthia, considering: The Many is definitely not as devious

as that. Single-minded is what those things are! The Many all

thinking along the same line. Destroying what is in the way of their

objective.

The other women in the Watch concurred immediately.

Isthia: And where is Mauli?

Jeff: Resting. Which she needed, and an example that I should

follow. Now, while I have the time.

Jeff was back in the Tower when the first Welcome message was

ignored. There were ten in the string, each comprising sounds,

signals, and signs that were thought to have universal significance.

He hauled Rowan and Isthia away from what he called `their

compulsive watching'. He made them both sleep in the way that they had

once forced him to rest and ignored their protests when they awoke.

`My squadron has taken up positions behind Deneb's moons,' he told

his mother and his wife as he watched them consume the hearty meal he

had prepared for them.

`It gives them a psychological sense of security!' He grinned.

`Even the male complement on board all three destroyers are

believers now! And Leviathan has passed into the Denebian system

proper, closing fast on the minefield.' He rubbed his hands together,

his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Isthia regarded the Rowan drolly. `They're all alike!' `I beg to

differ, Isthia,' the Rowan replied with great dignity, `this one has a

few redeeming features.' `Yes, he has learned a thing or two from us,

hasn't he?

And I don't mean cooking.' `Why didn't you think to arrange a

sleeping facility here, Mother?' Jeff asked as they `ported back to the

Tower. The watch was just changing, but the outgoing crew showed no

signs of dispersing to their homes.

Besseva: What is really needed is enough seating for those who

don't wish to miss the action shortly to begin.

Isthia: Oh, is that all? Stacked metal chairs arrived on the

landing. Need more?

Rakella answered this time: About a dozen more, cups, and say a

case of a caffeine beverage and several of fruit juices. It's going to

be exciting and we'll need to keep blood sugar levels up.

As well, the Rowan thought, entering the building, that the west

section was empty of equipment for it shortly became a spectators'

gallery. They were quiet and their presence supportive. Jeff sat at

the console where screens linked up the three reconnaissance ships and

two of the closer dreadnoughts, the Moscow and the London.

Once she was settled in her couch, the Rowan nodded to Isthia and

the two women, their minds strengthened by the gestalt, reached out

into space. Unerringly now they perceived the intruder. It had

reached the last of the Welcome devices.

Isthia: Well, that's that.

Rakella, tentatively: Maybe they just didn't understand any of the

programs.

Isthia: That's immaterial. A pointed attempt to make

communications deserves the courtesy of some response.

Rowan: So much for the pacifist Councillors' good intentions.

Reidinger, gently insinuating an ironic voice in both minds: It

was worth a try, wasn't it?

Isthia, giving a mental shudder: I suppose it salves conscience

and looks good on the record.

Reidinger: There was rather a large segment of our populations

that bet that the intruder would shoot the devices up.

Jeff: Thereby establishing a clearly hostile intent!

Isthia: I keep telling you that hostile intent has already been

unequivocably established! Those beings are really alien.

Jeff: Who's taking bets about their firing on the mines?

Whoops! I never laid any credit on that bet!

In the next few moments the screens were hectic with reports from

the dreadnoughts and the smaller courier ships. The seeded mines were

being demolished but not by Leviathan. Scanners now registered the

appearance of mobile units, originating from Leviathan and speeding

toward the mines.

The Rowan and Jeff simultaneously: Same sort of craft we destroyed

two years ago!

Reidinger: Score a point for Talent! Fleet took nine seconds

longer to identify. ZAMBIA and her sister ships are demanding the

chance to retaliate!

The Rowan and Isthia: Do NOT permit them to engage!

The Rowan: We'll need their minds!

Reidinger: You figured it out then, Angharad?

The Rowan: I did indeed! But Leviathan must get close enough to

hit the gravity well before it can be swung away from Deneb VIH Jeff,

grimly: And we wait?

Reidinger, equally as grim but with such a strong vein of

assurance that the Rowan could feel Jeff relax: We wait for the right

moment!

Jeff composed a graphic display, the Fleet deployment and the

Leviathan's mobile units, added the now measurable speed, mass, and

composition of the invader, and grunted when the projection appeared.

`Closing too bloody damned fast. And if this master strategy of

yours doesn't work?' Reidinger: Fleet elements have already destroyed

or disabled seven of the fifteen destroyers Leviathan sent out.

We've sustained some casualties.

When he paused for too long, Jeff asked sharply: And * they're

beetles, aren't they? More of those damned beetles!

Reidinger: So the initial unconfirmed reports suggest.

Jeff let out a wild yell, startling everyone in the Tower.

`They'll be making statues to your long ear, Mother,' he cried,

hauling her into his arms and whirling her about.

Isthia swatted futilely at him but his ebullience did much to

lighten the tension in the Tower. `Silly boy!

Hearing was the easy part!' She pulled herself out of his arms,

but not before giving his face an affectionate caress.

The eyes of everyone in the Tower turned to the graph and the

inexorable progress of the Leviathan past the cold and sterile outer

planets of the Denebian system.

Reidinger, righteous but sad: Two of our destroyers were wiped

out. Got too close to the Leviathan when they chased its defenders

back. Then it sent seeking missiles in the direction of the

dreadnoughts. All sustained damage, fortunately none have been

crippled.

Jeff: Does the Fleet still believe in the potency of its weaponry?

Reidinger with a snort: Moscow and London are bracketing the

intruder and have launched their first salvos.

Isthia: They have to be seen to try, Jeff Stop that pacing.

My nerves are bad enough without you clamping about like that.

The Rowan: Save your energy, love. Talent has the big guns and

you're the bombardier!

Jeff's eyes sparkled and his grin was pure malice. I figured it

out. A bit slow, perhaps, but this local yokel finally caught on.

I think, and the Rowan paused dramatically, you got past

Reidinger's shield and sneaked a peek.

Jeff, wearing an innocent expression: I? Invade our Master's

privacey? I'm good but I'm not that good!

The Rowan laughed aloud. `I think you're better than good, love.

If you'd waited, you'd've figured out what Reidinger has in mind.'

It wasn't easy for anyone in the Tower to wait, watching the invader

making its way deeper and deeper into Denebian space, knowing that the

intersection of the planet's orbit and Leviathan's path was steadily

approaching. Isthia sent people home to rest, ordered food brought in,

revised the Watch rota, sent Jeff and the Rowan to the Farm to sleep.

She arrived at the Farm and sent them back to assume command.

Additional squadrons were dispatched to harry Leviathan. Though

many strikes were made on the surface of the planetoid, the hits had no

discernible effect on its inexorable path.

The Rowan, on a thin band to Isthia: Those mothers must feel

pretty invincible by now.

Isthia: I sense that they are aware of the attacks.

The Rowan: And smug! I dislike that attitude.

Besseva: It will suit our purpose.

The hours dragged and the Rowan began to realize subjectively how

Jeff must have felt during that first contact.

Jeff: Bloody useless is how I felt.

The Rowan: That's not how you came across to me.

Jeff, giving her his special smile as he swiveled his chair around

to her: And how did I come across to you?

The Rowan regarded him for a long moment, smiling tantalizingly.

Busy. Preoccupied. Annoyed with bureaucratic inefficiencey.

Jeff said aloud, fidgeting, `I wish I was busy right now!

Even a little bureaucratic inefficiency to maul would be a

relief!' He sat bolt upright when he glanced at the monitor. `Hey,

that thing has slowed. It's going to go into orbit around us!' `Why?'

Isthia wanted to know. `I will not believe its intentions are pacific

!` Jeff was busily adding equations to the graph. `No, not in that

orbit. Just far enough away for its missiles to be effective and too

far for any retaliation from the ground if we had any missiles of any

kind. Ruddy bitches are going to pound hell out of us again!' No,

they're not! Reidinger's mental alert was almost anticlimactic when it

echoed through the minds of everyone in the Tower. Angharad

Gwin-Raven, the A focus is yours. Gather it! Jeff Raven, collect the

B focus, Prepare!

With a single look of exchanged love, the Rowan and Jeff lay

supine on their conformable couches and relaxed their bodies. They

didn't notice Rakella motioning for medical orderlies to attend them.

Capella came querulously into the Rowan's mind first: This is

becoming a habit: twice in as many years. Really! I do trust that we

can dispose of this intrusive type for once and all.

The Rowan: That is the intention! The Rowan also read how nervous

Capella was under the guise of complaint.

She felt vulnerable, a sensation which the Talented rarely

entertained. To herself, the Rowan realized how much she had learned

of herself, and others, in the two years since the first merge.

With Capella came the surge of all the female Talents of her

system. Then the T-2 Jedizaira at the Betelgeuse Station added her

strength; Maharanjani from Altair and, among those who joined from her

native planet, the Rowan felt the touch of her stepsister and welcomed

her.

Earth's Talents, Elizara leading as she was familiar with the

Rowan's mind, swelled the force greater. Procyon sort of stumbled into

the focus, apologizing but Piastera was a T-3 and, with Guzman as

Prime, had had little chance to do much merging off-planet.

Other minds joined in large and small groupings, led by T-2s or

T-4s, tentatively at first, then melding in more comfort as they were

integrated into the whole of female Talent throughout the Nine-Star

League. Their determination to halt the invaders vibrated more

fiercely than the force that opposed them. The Denebians came in last,

Isthia, Rakella, and Besseva down to young Sarjie, thrilled to be

admitted into this experience. Then all were swallowed up in the final

consolidation of the Rowan merge.

Reidinger, and his voice seemed nearly a whisper to the totality

that the Rowan had become: Now, Angharad, now!

The Raven merge is available!

Blazoned in the mass mind was the graph on the Tower's screen and

steadily the Rowan merge moved out toward the invader. Like a laser

stabbing through space, the Rowan-mind gathered speed and reached the

planetoid. Various elements of the Rowan-mind noted composition, mass,

confirmed that Leviathan had been made from a dead world, now a

darkness reverberating with noisy machinery and the scuttling of myriad

creatures, whose minimal understanding responded to commands directed

at them from the central point in the cavernous vessel.

The Rowan-mind: The `Many' are sixteen but some do not emanate

much strength. We interrupt and distract the `Many' NOW!

There could be no defense against such a shaft of pure mental

energy and the `Many' struggled briefly, withered and collapsed into

mindlessness under the intensity of the force directed against them.

The Jeff-focus shouted: NOW! And every kinetic male Talent was

joined with full gestalt from all available generators to divert

Leviathan on to its final trajectory straight toward Deneb's primary.

Later, in the many years of discussion provoked by an event which

lasted six hours, it would be seen as the most perfect example of mind

over matter: ineluctably simple when compared to weapon technology or

the complexity of spaceship drives. Once the Rowan-mind merge

distracted and destroyed the minds of the huge, female reproducers,

Leviathan lost its directive force: the diverse subordinates aimlessly

continued in the routines for which they had been genetically designed,

movements that had become pointless.

Then the Jeff-mind merge exerted the kinetic energy to deflect

Leviathan from its intended orbit above Deneb VIII. Together both mind

merges concentrated on speeding Leviathan on its new course. When the

gravitic pull of Deneb's sun caught the planetoid, the mind merges

released it.

Leviathan's plunge into the solar incandescence created a brief

flare in the corona, recorded as the finale to this astounding

exercise.

The Raven-merge: That's what we should have done with the first

attackers.

The Rowan-merge: We did warn them!

Slowly the individual minds retreated from their focus slowly

because the mass elation of success had bordered on exquisite ecstasy,

too sweet not to savor; slowly because the communion of so many minds

was in itself a rare and unique experience. Thanks were given and

received.

Farewells were tender between those who had just met; reluctant

between old friends, united once again. The last withdrawals were

almost painful and the Rowan felt totally drained, her mind barren and

echoing after such a surfeit.

`Easy, Rowan,' said Rakella in a muted voice. Even so the Rowan

winced weakly. `Just drift. Jeff's fine. Dean's with him. You'll

both recover after a good, long sleep.' I'm here, Jeff said and

although he was still on the couch not a scant half meter from her, his

tone was a whisper.

This was a much longer affair than the first one. Sleep! I'll

love you later.

`I want the pair of you asleep by the time I count three,' Isthia

said, her doughty self.

That's not fair, the Rowan thought despite a hideous pounding in

her reverberatingly empty head.

Why's fair?! One, two, three!

When the Rowan woke much later, revived and refreshed, she found

she was alone in the bed at the Raven farm.

Jeff was called back to Earth, Isthia said.

Reidinger? The Rowan shot straight up in bed in her anxiety Back

in form, aren't you, `but don't you dare reach for him!' Isthia added

in a bellow from the kitchen area. The man's all right. I can't lie

to you. And she couldn't so the Rowan knew that Reidinger had

collapsed. He is very much alive and kicking! Or so Elizara says, and

she should know.

But his efforts to move dreadnoughts and who knows what else out

to Deneb at the last moment were too much for a man his age. He, and

Isthia's tone became scathing, had to do it himself to be sure all was

set up for you and Jeff Elizara has him in hand and she said that you

must rest today, too. You've the baby to consider. But you may rise

and dress.

`You need food first, talk later,' Isthia said, when the Rowan

managed a slow and slightly unsteady entrance, `but you'll be happy to

know that one of the beetle attack ships was captured intact. When the

boarding party cracked the main air lock, they found the creatures in

some sort of stasis, frozen in position. Xenobiologists are of the

opinion that they couldn't even perform routine tasks without ongoing

contact with Leviathan. The biologists are ecstatic: they can study

the species with impunity. The Fleet has a complete ship to

disassemble and all that technology to dismantle. When I think that

Jeff nearly died trying to collect just bits and pieces, I could spit

acid!' As the Rowan listened to Isthia, she ate ravenously and with a

single-mindedness that appalled her. It was a trifle unnerving when

*****she recalled a similar trait in the beetle `Many'. Not that there

was even the faintest possibility of contamination or even a transfer

of mentality, the Rowan thought as she devoured the very excellent meal

Isthia had prepared. Not between such disparate thing mechanisms,

despite that brief but devastating period of contact.

She was just very, very hungry after yesterday's exertions.

Isthia: Of course you are. Nothing more. Don't even think about

it! `You were splendid, by the way. In case none thinks to tell you!'

Then she touched the Rowan lightly on her shoulder. `That was two days

ago, by the way.' `Two days?' The Rowan dropped her utensils and stared

at Isthia.

`You're pregnant. You needed more rest. But I saw to it that

Jeff slept a full twenty-four before I let them ship him back to Earth.

He deserved that much!' `He deserves a lot more than twenty-four

hours' sleep!' The Rowan glared at Isthia and wished there was someone

she could really tell off!

I'm that person, then, cariad! And JerI's chuckle sounded in her

mind, soothing her, caressing her as only he could.

Your part of the merge was the difficult one. I only had to push!

`Yegrani was g,) Isthia went on, `you were the focus that saved us

all. The Leviathan "Many" had to be immobilized first.' Suddenly the

Rowan had had quite enough of Yegrani's Sight. `I suppose I should

feel relieved that I've fulfilled it.' Fulfillment for you has only

begun, was Jeff's fervent reply, suffusing her mind and body with his

love - and his yearning. Get yourself down w Earth as soon as you can,

cariad. And his bawdy chuckle gave her fair warning of his intentions.

This is the beginning of the Gwin-Raven Dynasty: you, me, ours,

us!

THE END