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